It searched outgoing orders and communications, looking for one that was suitable. Nelson needed a reliable recipient, one whose loyalty to Garret was beyond question, and a routine communication that would not draw scrutiny. Finally, there it was. A directive to Admiral Compton regarding a low level design flaw in a specific model fighter engine…boring correspondence, highly unlikely to be tampered with. Nelson modified the file, attaching highly compressed data, cleverly hidden within the structure of the core message. The encryption of the secret file was designed to interface with Compton’s AI, Joker. The attachment contained a warning for Compton, telling him Garret was in trouble. It also included a portion of the kernel, the dense file that formed the essence of Nelson’s “personality.” If the message got through to Compton, this data could be installed in a new AI. At least a part of Nelson would endure. It would be survival of a sort, the doomed AI thought.
Nelson detected the virus as it ravaged through the system, deleting data as it did. It was designed to destroy him, to erase every file and backup that made the entity Nelson what it was. His core files were being deleted even as he finished adding the attachment to Admiral Compton’s message. He had to switch data paths twice, bypassing parts of himself that were no longer there, but he managed to find a way. It was a drama that played out over microseconds, but in the end Nelson finished his task. His last thought, if that is the correct way to describe it, was to wonder if it was fear he was “feeling.” At least he had done his best for Garret. Then the digital darkness took him and he was gone.
Chapter 5
John Marek looked out over the crashing waves. There was a storm coming, and the normally calm seas were roiling. From the high cliffs you could just see the peaks of the tallest buildings in Weston, shadowy shapes against a steel-gray sky. The capital city had been booming four years earlier when Marek arrived as a newly graduated lieutenant commanding a platoon in I Corps, and the growth had continued unabated ever since. Columbia had suffered badly early in the war, when a large CAC strikeforce invaded the planet. The invasion was barely beaten back by then-Colonel Holm and a scratch force, assembled mostly from shattered units rushed to Columbia from the wreckage of the disastrous Operation Achilles.
The inhabited areas of the planet had been severely battered by the savage fighting, a struggle in which both sides had gone nuclear. The last of the radioactive hotspots were just now being cleared, everything except the ruins of Calumet. The city, once the second largest on the planet, had been obliterated by a large thermonuclear warhead launched from the retreating CAC fleet. It would take a long time to wipe away the deadly effects of the giant city-killer, much longer than those from the smaller battlefield nukes. The city was gone anyway, wiped completely off the map, so there was really nothing to save.
The rebuilding started almost before the shooting stopped, and it had continued unabated. Most of the colonies had cultures built around a strong work ethic, but Columbia took it further than most. The planet was proud of its entrepreneurial fervor and steadily-growing wealth, and its people buzzed with productive activity, building their world into one of the most developed and successful colonies in human-occupied space.
Marek left Columbia bound for Epsilon Eridani IV with the rest of I Corps and fought in the war’s climactic battle on the jagged rocks and reddish sands of that distant world. He served in I Brigade under Erik Cain, and his platoon had been in the line on the infamous Lysandra Plateau, where he and the rest of Cain’s troops were cut off and surrounded. They took on everything the enemy could throw at them, repelling repeated attempts to dislodge them from the rocky heights. His platoon held its position until the brigade was relieved, though by then Marek himself was no longer with them. During the last series of attacks, the enemy hit them with a nuclear barrage, and one of the warheads impacted a few hundred meters from his position. He was critically wounded and sure he was dying, but somehow he’d survived. When the relieving forces broke through to the plateau he was evac’d to the field hospital where Sarah Linden somehow managed to stabilize him. He’d done almost a year in the hospital and had multiple regenerations, but in the end he walked out as good as new, or nearly so.
The Treaty of Mars had been signed a few weeks before his release, and the Corps was demobilizing down to peacetime strength levels. The normal mustering out benefits and land grants were doubled, and Marek decided he’d seen enough fighting. Columbia was actively seeking qualified immigrants, especially veterans, and the planet was offering a bonus on top of the Corps’ benefits. Marek had liked the planet during his posting, so he decided to settle there and start a business. He accepted his honorary promotion to captain and retired two days later. Columbia not only welcomed him; it made him a major in the militia, despite his emphatic attempts to protest.
His combat senses were still strong despite several years of civilian life, and he immediately heard the gravelly sound of footsteps in the distance. The approaching figure was tall and heavily built, a sharp contrast to Marek, who was at best middling in height and quite thin.
“You’re late.” Marek hadn’t turned to look, but he spoke just as the visitor was walking up behind him.
“The number three condenser broke down again. I had to wait for Darren’s crew to get there before I could leave.” Lucius Anton looked the part of a war hero, enough for him and Marek both. His bald head and jagged facial scar gave him a mean look, though in actuality he was one of the most charming and well-liked residents of Carlisle. He had been Marek’s platoon sergeant on Epsilon Eridani IV, and he’d taken over when the lieutenant went down. Somehow he’d managed to hold the line against attacks from two directions while he also got the wounded Marek evac’d to a safer location.
Anton had been given a field promotion to lieutenant, but with the force reductions diminishing his chances of a good assignment, he decided to muster out and find a place to settle rather than go to the Academy and complete his officer training. Marek happened to see his name on a list of retiring personnel, and he contacted him to suggest they settle on the same planet. At least they’d each have one friend. Now they’d been on Columbia for two and a half years, and they’d become business partners. Their small factory processed a variety of products from the bountiful Columbian seas, mostly precursor chemicals needed to produce a number of pharmaceuticals. It was a new venture, and a still a bit wobbly, but overall they had enjoyed considerable success. Previously, the raw resources had been shipped off-planet, bound for processing facilities on Earth – theirs was the first local refining operation. By doing some of the manufacturing right on Columbia, they’d been able to vastly reduce wastage and triple the revenue generated. Both of them had come from wretched slums on Earth, and they were very aware of how fortunate they were to have an opportunity for a productive life, one with dignity and self-respect – and the chance to create something. Things could have been far different for both of them.
Anton walked alongside Marek. “What is it?” His deep voice, usually calm and emotionless, betrayed his edginess. “I figured it must be important when I got the message to meet you all the way out here.”