81
ASSAULT ON APYAR KYUN
Saturday November 3rd
In a loose ring around the isle of Apyar Kyun, little more than half a mile from shore, six Moray-class amphibious drones received instructions from their Manta-class submersible mother ship.
Independently, their combat AIs evaluated their instructions. Weapons-safe protocols fired off confirmation and authentication requests, checked the private encryption key used, validated the command authority. Legitimate human instruction had been received. Lethal force had been authorized. Their decision trees dictated that their weapons were now free. Independently they loaded their assault plans, phase alpha, sub-plans one, two, and three. Confirmed. Execute. Execute. Execute.
For a moment nothing happened. The dark sea gently rolled and swelled under a moonless midnight sky. Ashore, a macaw called to its mate. Frogs croaked. Insects chirped.
Then chaos filled the night.
Off the southeastern tip of the island, two Moray drones powered up their drive systems on the surface of the water, detuned their radar-absorbent skins, engaged their active radar and sonar, maximized their profiles to appear far larger and more massive than they were, and propelled themselves at high speed towards the island’s marina, guns firing. The drones’ combat AIs steered them on semi-autonomous paths meant to produce the impression of a significant attacking fleet.
Micromissiles launched out from other Moray drones on the south, north, and east. Their hydrazine-fueled solid rocket motors ignited, forcing out jets of superheated plasma behind them as they accelerated at eight gees towards targets on the island. The drones that launched them activated their own radar and sonar systems, broadcasting loudly, exaggerating their presence, and initiated reload of their micromissile launchers.
To the west of the island a lone Moray bobbed silently on the surface, fully stealthed. It watched, evaluated, and took careful aim with its smart pebble launcher, waiting for just the right moment.
Automated defenses on the island activated. Alarms blared, jolting human operators out of their boredom. Screens scrolled status. Before the humans could react, the machines did. Missile interception systems came alive, targeted defense lasers on the incoming missiles, launched clouds of thousands upon thousands of anti-missile projectiles into the air. Island-based launchers pivoted to target the enemy ships attacking the marina.
The micromissiles zigged, zagged, their own AIs adapting their courses in real time to the countermeasures they saw heading their way. For some, it wasn’t enough. A micromissile fell from the sky, its warhead ignited by a defense laser. Another collided with a defense projectile at twice the speed of sound. A third was knocked off course by the resulting explosion. More fell from projectiles, from lasers, from the secondary effects of explosions.
In seconds, eight of the sea-launched micromissiles were knocked from the sky.
Sixteen got through.
The first micromissile struck home four seconds after launch, igniting its warhead at the last instant, a kamikaze burst of goal-satisfaction rushing through its primitive mind as it demolished one of the island’s radar installations. The next bore down on its target a fraction of a second later, setting off its own explosive warhead in a blaze of impact-maximization just instants before it collided with one of the island’s missile launchers. The resulting blast set off the warheads of the launcher’s dozen remaining missiles in a chain reaction, booming a thundering staccato explosion across the island, lighting up the night, sending up a bright red mushroom cloud that expanded as it rose into the moonless sky. If the micromissile’s AI had survived, it would have been very satisfied indeed.
Within seconds the island’s radars, missiles, and uplinks were destroyed. In a buried command center, the klaxons continued to blare. Security personnel blanched at what they’d seen before their radar was destroyed. They were under attack. Multiple ships had fired on them. And two were coming in fast for the marina.
They were about to be invaded.
To the west, the only Moray that hadn’t announced its position waited, waited, waited with the infinite vigilant patience that only machines can know. Then the explosions came, and the counter explosions. Now, its AI determined. Now is the time. The Moray fired a salvo of tiny, nearly silent smart pebbles. The pebbles streaked out at the house, compared their positions and trajectories to their targets, morphed their body shapes as they flew to adjust their course, and streaked in to strike the cameras and audio pickups that covered the western wall of the palatial home.
The Moray’s AI noted the successful barrage, gave the digital neurons of its aiming circuits jolts of positive reinforcement, and took itself back down, below the waves.
In the chaos, the blinding of the western side of the house was just one detail, one small event hidden among the noise of so many larger ones.
Kade sat cross-legged on the bed in anapana. He had no control over the outside world. But he could control himself, his own mind, his own thoughts. He wouldn’t crumble. He wouldn’t lose himself. He had to stay centered, to stay alert. No matter how bad it got, he wouldn’t give up.
So he breathed. In, out. Observe the breath. Let that be your all. Let it grow to fill all consciousness. Allow the thoughts to rise up, then bring the attention back to the breath. Release attachments. Find solace in the absence of thought, in the sensations of the breath filling up attention completely, leaving no room for fear, or anxiety, or self-recrimination.
Then the sounds of explosions ripped through the night, and Kade’s eyes snapped open.
The sound of explosions ripped Shiva out of his godhood trance, away from the tens of thousands of minds that were now part of his extended consciousness, and back to the physical world.
He reached out to the island’s information systems, but all was chaos. An assault. Missiles launched. Defenses down. Ships heading for the marina. They were about to be invaded.
The data was old by the time he saw it. Radars were down. Cameras were destroyed. Drones were crashing.
Who? The Americans? The Chinese? His Burmese hosts?
Shiva reached out to the Nexus projectors and signal boosting antennae built into his home. His thoughts expanded to encompass the whole of the mansion. He felt the minds of the children, of all of his staff in and around the building. He found Ashok among them.
Secure Lane and the children, he sent to his Director of Operations. Get them underground.
Then he leapt from his hard narrow bed, out the door of his bare cell, and to the stairs that would take him to the roof. He needed to know what was going on.
Nakamura watched his feed from the drones. Missile strikes successful. The soldiers at the guard post above them turned and ran, headed to the action at the east side of the house as they’d hoped.
Excellent.
Nakamura waited until the three soldiers passed, then gave the signal. As one, he and Feng and Sam slipped over the lip and onto the walkway below the house.
Then Nakamura turned to Sam, and nodded. Time for phase two.
Kade leapt to the west-facing window, but he saw nothing out there but dark waters. Another explosion boomed from somewhere behind him. Faint red light reflected onto the sea.
He ran to the kitchen. From its window he could see the courtyard and parts of the house. Security men moved about frantically. Beyond the house he could see smoke rising, underlit by the red of flames. Gunfire sounded from somewhere.
Then he heard the door to his suite open, heavy footfalls.
He turned and they were there. Two of Shiva’s security men. They wore Nexus jammers. Their minds were balls of static.