“I’ll keep it in mind,” ChienChu answered grimly.
“Now open that hatch.”
Jepp stopped and crossed his arms. “I can’t.”
ChienChu started to reply but stopped when Veera raised a clawlike hand. She warbled a phrase, Sam answered in Prithian, and Alpha joined in. The conversation continued for a good fifteen seconds before Alpha approached the barrier, inserted an extension of his tool arm, and tried to make it open. Nothing happened.
Alerted by the attempt to open the hatch, the Hoon turned its attention to that particular portion of its farflung anatomy. Tiny silicon imaging chips had been “painted” onto the bulkheads. They produced a composite picture. The primary soft body, the secondary soft body, and the “hostage” soft body were trying to access the AI*s private domain. Why? The computer should have felt threatened, should have opposed the invasion, but couldn’t process a reason for doing so. A biological might have wondered about that—but the Hoon didn’t. It released the door. The hatch opened with a pronounced hissing sound.
Jepp, who had already formed the words, “I told you so,” was forced to swallow them. The air beyond the opening was flavored with ozone. The prospector was confused. The Hoon, which had been so predictable up till then, suddenly wasn’t. The realization shattered the human’s sense of security and made him frightened. He looked around. His voice sounded weak and uncertain. “Watch for robots—they attacked last time.”
But the machines didn‘t attack, a fact that troubled Jepp, but didn’t bother ChienChu. They arrived at the end of the corridor. Another hatch faced them. “We’re closer now,” the exprospector announced.
“Assuming you get past that door, you’ll find yourself in another section of hallway. It ends in front of a hatch. That’s the last of them. Knock politely, step inside, and find the bright blue module Grab the bright red handle and give it one full turn to the right. Or was it the left? Not that it matters, since you’ll never make it.”
“But what if he did?” Veera asked pragmatically. “What then?”
“Pull on the red handle, and the whole component will come free.”
“That’s it?” ChienChu inquired cynically. ‘That’s all I have to do?”
Jepp shrugged. “It worked for me.”
The industrialist looked at Veera. They approached the door together. The navcomp known as Henry forced the non-sentient Thraki computer to do its will, “felt” the retros fire, and knew the transport had started to slow. It felt good to control a real body for once. Even if the design was a bit uncomfortable.
A Thraki battleship loomed ahead, its bulk blotting out dozens of stars, sensors probing for incoming threats. The very thing strapped down at the center of the transport’s hold: Two nuclear warheads—either one of which could turn the larger vessel into tiny bits of scrap. The voice was hard and demanding. Henry took care of the translation himself. “This is Thraki warship Will of the Gods. The incoming transport will identify itself or be fired on.” A tone sounded to mark the end of the transmission. Authentication codes were included.
Henry had a story and put it to use. The voice message was preceded by a code, which he hoped was current. The transport had been captured less than a standard day earlier so if it was out of date it wouldn’t be by much. ‘This is Transport U81279. I have a Class IFI environmental system failure. Both my pilots are incapacitated. Request permission to land.”
The navcomp sent the standard endtone and waited to see what would happen next. Would the Thraki terminate that particular existence right then? Or would the AI “live” long enough to enter the enemy’s launch bay and detonate the nukes? What was it that humans liked to say? “Never volunteer for anything?” How right they were. But how could he say “no?” Especially to Admiral Tyspin?
Yes, there was some satisfaction in knowing that a copy of itself remained on the Friendship, already different by more than twelve hours of divergent experiences, and therefore unique. Would the other Henry mourn the “death” of a copy? And why did that matter?
The navcomp’s ruminations were interrupted by a second transmission, “Your vessel is cleared to land, U81279. Medical personnel will be waiting.”
Henry noted the endtone, acknowledged the transmission, and fired the transport’s steering jets. Robo beacons swarmed into position, turned themselves on, and formed a lane. The launch bay appeared as a rectangle of yellow light. The navcomp used the transport’s sensors to make one last sweep of the stars. The control room had the quiet, almost hushed atmosphere of a library or monastery. The light was subdued, corn sets whispered in the background, and the bridge crew sat in front of what could have been electronic altars. Andragna sat on a dais. His U-shaped command chair could swivel through 360degrees. The unexpected arrival of Transport U81279 had delayed the officer’s plan of attack by a full twenty units. He had even toyed with the idea of directing the unfortunate spacecraft to rendezvous with another ship but talked himself out of it. The Sheen, with whom he had expected to be locked in mortal combat by now, seemed content to wait. That being the case, the Thraki could afford to accommodate the medical emergency.
But that was it, though . .. The technical issues had been resolved, the twins were ready, and so was the armada. More than ready, it was eager, which made the attack that much more imperative. To turn away now, to show the slightest hesitation, would be political suicide. Andragna looked up at the screens, saw the transport enter the bay, and gave the preparatory orders.
“Message the fleet: ‘Prepare to attack—May the gods be with us.’ Ready the twins. Remove all safeties. Launch on my command.”
A digital countdown appeared in the upper lefthand comer of every screen. All eyes went there, ears lay flat against skulls, and the seconds leaked away.
Jepp had detected something of a sea change and, in keeping with his somewhat elastic standards of behavior, was already seeking to accommodate it. Somehow, against all logic, the balance of power had started to shift. That being the case, it made sense to put something into the Confederate bank. And why not? The attack on Long Jump could be blamed on the Sheen, the attempt to assassinate him would generate some sympathy, and the whole thing could turn around.
The exprospector saw the shimmery blue force field that blocked the corridor and waved ChienChu forward. “Come on! It’s meant for robots ... we can pass through.”
The industrialist took Jepp at his word, charged forward, and staggered as what felt like a thousand volts of electricity blasted his electronic nervous system.
Veera saw the cyborg convulse, grabbed his tunic, and pulled him back. The industrialist collapsed on the deck. His limbs twitched as his overloaded system sought to rid itself of excess electricity. ChienChu found it difficult to speak. “Go—Veera. It’s—up—to—you.”
Veera wanted to help the human but knew she lacked the necessary skills. There was something about ChienChu that reminded the teenager of her father. She turned to find that Jepp blocked her path. The human wore a sneer. “Hold it right there—I’m in charge now. Nobody messes with the Hoon unless I say so.”
Veera considered her options. Jepp was larger than she was, much larger, which pretty much settled the issue. Unless .. Veera issued a short burst of staccato song. Sam was in the air and halfway to Jepp’s throat before the exprospector knew what was happening.
The Thraki robot landed, sank alloy hooks into the human’s chest muscles, and transformed itself into a configuration Jepp had never seen before. He brought his hands up, grabbed the machine’s torso, and tried to pull it off. But the robot’s steel claws had an excellent grip. The machine was literally in his face. A heavily serrated blade appeared, started to spin, and produced a mindnumbing whine. Something pushed it forward, the human felt something press against his throat, and saw blood jet left to right. That’s when Jepp tried to speak, tried to countermand Veera’s orders, but couldn’t produce the necessary air. There was time to think, however—to process one last thought: It wasn‘t fair. Darkness closed around him.