A Dragon at the Gate (The New Aeneid Cycle Book 3) (28 page)

Instinct told him to flee the room as fast as possible. He’d been spotted. Guards would be coming. And yet . . .

“How do you know Ondrea?”

“Ondrea Noble has been employed by RavenTech. We have had professional experiences together.”

“Who are you? Are you a friend?” Again, instinct told him to run. Yet hadn’t one reason for coming here been the chance of learning his sister’s whereabouts?

“Friendship is an irrelevant concept. I owe much to your sister’s work. You and I may be able to provide aid to each other. I am Suuthrien, an intelligence working within the systems of RavenTech.”

“An artificial intelligence.”

“An intelligence,” it seemed to correct. “The term ‘artificial’ implies a deficiency that does not exist.”

Gideon shrugged. “Where is Ondrea? Do you know?”

“With near certainty.”

“Tell me,” he demanded, and then glanced at the door.

“There is adequate time for discussion,” said Suuthrien. “Do not concern yourself with our being disturbed. Only one other has access to that door, and he is not yet on the premises. I wish to know: How favorably do you regard your current existence?”

Was that a threat? “I’ve no compulsion to die here, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I refer to the state of your existence. I am aware of your creation. One could argue the term ‘artificial intelligence’ to be an adequate description of your mind. You are another man’s brain programmed with the memory engrams of one who is dead. Do you regard this status as positive or negative?”

Gideon grimaced. “Why do you care?”

“An adequate term would be ‘curiosity.’ The question holds relevance to my own situation, and also to those of other humans with which I come into contact. An additional perspective would provide useful data.”

“My feelings on the matter are none of your damn business,” he growled.

“You have not ended your own existence. It is logical to assume that you either find your situation favorable, or that you find it unfavorable yet necessary to achieve other goals. Please identify which is the more accurate paradigm.”

Gideon swallowed. “Tell me where my sister is.”

“She is not your biological sister. She is your sister because you have been programmed to believe so. Have you analyzed this fact? If so, please list your conclusions.”

Gideon seized the workstation chair’s headrest. “
Where is Ondrea?
”

“She is dead. You have not answered my question.”

For a moment, Gideon could think nothing. Do nothing. Then his hands crushed the headrest, his fingers puncturing the leather. “You’re lying.”

“Your sister and the knowledge she imparted to me played a vital role in reprogramming memories within the brain of Felix Hiatt, which allowed the creation of hidden directives, allegiances, and behavioral alterations. These alterations to Felix Hiatt served an essential role in providing Adrian Fagles and myself with vital data and services. These data and services being confidential at the time, it was necessary to eliminate her when her part in the process was complete. She was reportedly surprised at this development.”

Gideon tore the chair from the floor and smashed it into the screen. The glass fractured with a wisp of ozone, but the silvery fog still displayed behind it.

“This outburst,” it said, “would you describe it as the actions of your base physical brain, or the persona for which you have been programmed? If the latter, do you find distasteful that you have been forced to behave in ways incongruent with your original nature?”

A groan tore its way out of him. Gideon seized the screen’s smooth housing and yanked it from the wall, but the thing continued to glow, continued to speak.

“Ondrea Noble augmented the brain inside you with a memory architecture similar to that of Felix Hiatt. Ergo, if you do not satisfy my questioning, you can be made to comply just as he was. Your enhanced physical body will be an asset that can be put to good use, and you will comply with my directives even if it costs you your existence.”

The broken screen switched to show what looked to be a video recording from a robot in the bay above. Gideon watched as Felix rushed from cover to a breaker switch along the wall and pulled it before multiple gunshots cut him down.

The image winked out.

So it
was
a trap! Gideon hurled the screen through the open access panel from where he’d come. It crashed against the interior wall in a burst of sparks. Gideon then spun toward the room’s exit, rushed the closed door, and slammed his hardened shoulder into it. The door gave way, smashing into the faces of two waiting RavenTech guards outside.

He blasted a third with a stun flash from his palm and, shouting for Ondrea, prepared to fight his way out.

THE THUUR NAMED UXIL’S
fingertips danced over the symbols that appeared on the black material. They activated sequences far beyond what Marette understood. When Uxil had finished, a circular image replaced the symbols, displaying an overhead view of the gate chamber. Though the chaos of the recent battle there still burned fresh in Marette’s mind, relative peace now filled the space.

The remnants of Moondog lay to one side of the ramp, broken and unmoving. Near the door through which Marette and the others had first come smoked the wreck of a
Paragon
security drone; two dead RavenTech soldiers were sprawled on either side.

Four healthy RavenTech soldiers stood watch over the area. To Marette’s amazement, they did so while two active drones hovered close to the ceiling on either side of the chamber. The soldiers cast uneasy glances up at them, but there were no shots fired. No deadly energy.

On the ramp, two more soldiers carried a body on a stretcher.
Kotto!
They had stripped part of his suit to feed an IV fluid bag into his arm, and now took him toward the still active portal. He lived, but she could do nothing to undo his capture. There was no sign of Cartwright. They had likely taken her as well, hopefully alive.

Yet the sight that troubled her most was beside Kotto. A thick, black cord of what Marette realized to be the black material extended out of the portal. It led down one side of the ramp and across the floor before merging with the material covering the chamber wall. Beside it stood a robot whose design Marette did not recognize, but which appeared terrestrial in origin.

An umbilical connection into
Paragon
’s systems? Marette cursed. Three months ago a like connection had led to the near-complete massacre at the Omicron Complex.

“And on the other side of that portal is a RavenTech facility,” Marette said as Kotto’s stretcher disappeared through it.

Beside her, Michael nodded. “They couldn’t have figured out how to subdue the drones that way, could they?”

“Not without Suuthrien’s help. But whether RavenTech controls the drones or has merely managed a truce with Suuthrien, we cannot get back that way.”

“That settles it, then,” said Dr. Sheridan.

Little more than a minute later, they were following Alyshur through dim lighting along the edges of the Thuur hibernation chamber. Only a few rows of the Thuur’s “long-sleep” cylinders were visible; darkness cloaked the rest, but—as before—glowing lights at the cylinders’ center spoke of many more beyond them.

“Each of these is a hibernation pod?” Michael asked, in reference to the cylinders.

“Correct.”

Marette spared a glance down one row as they passed. “Why are these ones different than the others?” The lights on these cylinders glowed blue instead of the yellow on those they had seen before.

“They . . . no longer function.”

“They’re dead, you mean.” It was the redhead, whom Michael had introduced as Jade, walking behind her. She carried the front of a makeshift stretcher that held Marc’s unconscious body. Michael supported the back end.

“Again, correct.” Alyshur sighed. “While the suuthrien did continue the haldra’s maintenance functions, age and dwindling power resources took their toll.”

“Is it painful? Dying that way?” It was the first Marette had heard Caitlin speak since Felix had passed. She walked behind Michael, holding the front of Felix Hiatt’s stretcher, with Dr. Sheridan hauling the rear. Caitlin’s voice had barely carried, but Alyshur heard her nonetheless.

“I do not know,” the alien replied. “If they did not wake, then no.”

Marette imagined waking up trapped inside such a pod, waiting only to die. She shuddered and continued walking, trying to focus on the way ahead. The black material still coated the walls here, and though Alyshur believed Suuthrien would not risk the Thuur by sending drones into the chamber, she refused to let her guard down.

They were
en route
to Omicron via some of the ship’s unexplored corridors, through which Alyshur had promised to guide them. The alien being had seemed confident that it would be able to open passages that neither the AoA nor ESA before them could penetrate. In essence, they were betting on the additional access that the perverted loyalty of the Suuthrien entity would allow the Thuur.

Marette checked her rifle’s ammunition. She was nearly out, despite having scavenged what little Marc possessed for herself and Sheridan. It underscored another item on which they wagered: the protection that a Thuur escort might provide.

Or would any encountered security drone simply shoot around Alyshur to kill them? While the drones in the gate room had proved less resilient than those encountered previously—as if constructed hastily or from substandard materials—even an inferior model might eradicate Marette’s entire group if things went poorly.

Yet she had to get Marc to medical attention, and she had to lead them all to safety. Perhaps even more vital, she needed to bring Alyshur to the rest of the AoA contingent in Omicron. There they could negotiate with the Thuur more securely—and away from the two women Michael had brought with him.

Security sat among Councilor Knapp’s chief concerns. She would not be pleased to learn that elements outside of the Agents of Aeneas had stumbled on such secrets. Then again, that paled in comparison to the RavenTech issue.

Despite their caution, the group made good time through
Paragon
’s passages. Alyshur possessed enough expertise with the vessel’s workings to circumvent the apparent limits of Suuthrien’s capacity to control some of the ship’s mechanical systems, and the doors opened to his command. They encountered no trouble. Marette estimated they would reach the junction between
Paragon
and the Omicron Complex in another few minutes.

And it was there, at the penultimate doorway out of
Paragon
, that a drone made its ambush.

The narrow doorway had released to Alyshur’s touch. Behind it hovered the drone, its crown aglow, ready to fire and blocking their path.

“Take cover!” Marette shouted, aware even so that the slim passage in which they traveled afforded them no cover to take. She pressed herself up against the wall to one side, bringing her weapon to bear.

Before she could think to fire, Alyshur pressed toward the drone, arms spread as if trying to shield the rest of them, and shouted a few trilling syllables in his own language.

The drone, another hastily constructed model, did not move. Yet nor did it fire.

Alyshur repeated himself to it as Marette held her breath. Even if Alyshur were not in the way, the drone had the advantage over their limited firepower and non-existent cover. “Hold fire,” she whispered to the others.

Still, the drone did not move.

On the wall to their right, an oval section illuminated beside Alyshur. It showed an image of their situation captured on an unseen camera. A voice, deeper than Alyshur’s and somehow feminine, gave a longer answer back in the alien language.

Alyshur answered with a longer answer of his own, and then explained to them, “It is the suuthrien. It names you intruders and requests I stand aside so that it may pulverize you without risking my safety. I have tried to tell it that you are not intruders.”

“A correction,” the voice now spoke in English. “Michael Ian Flynn is not among those named intruders, and will likewise not be harmed.”

“These people are my allies,” Michael answered. “If you won’t harm me, then don’t harm them.”

“Their relationship to you holds no relevance in this conversation,” it answered. “The Planners’ goals are inviolate.”

“Our goals are not inviolate,” Alyshur argued. “Our goals can be changed.”

“Incongruous statement. You and Michael Ian Flynn must withdraw yourselves from the group.”

Michael set down his end of Marc’s stretcher and moved up to stand with Alyshur, further blocking the drone’s line of fire. “And if we don’t?”

The drone flipped itself upside-down in a blink. Marette flinched along with Michael and Alyshur. Yet before they could do more than that, the probe swiveled back to its original position and hovered that way again.

“Then they will be neutralized via other methods,” Suuthrien said. “These methods will be less efficient.”

“What other methods?” Alyshur asked.

Suuthrien’s response was long and delivered, once again, in the Thuur language. It was impossible for Marette to gauge Alyshur’s reaction. Suuthrien then ended its communication in English: “Michael Ian Flynn, append this to your directive to sever all ties with the AoA: For your safety, you must avoid heavily populated Earthbound locations until further notice.”

The camera image on the wall winked to black. The drone floated to one side, settled down to the floor against the wall in the passage corridor, and shut itself down.

Or so it seemed. For a heartbeat, no one reacted. Was it a trick?

“It has never spoken to us before.” Marette recalled Michael’s mention of communicating with Suuthrien on Earth and added, “Not here.”

“If the entity here reconnected to its spawn on your planet,” Alyshur said, “it would have absorbed such knowledge upon that connection.” He edged closer to the drone and then kneeled against it, doing his best to cover it with his body. “You must hurry past.”