Scattered Suns (30 page)

Chapter 59—DD

The angular ship piloted by Sirix was a matte-black projectile on a mission to root out the last complex of hibernating Klikiss robots. It looked like a poisonous insect with a scooped and pronged chitinous shell, designed to adhere to a cold set of mathematical principles.

DD was trapped aboard the craft with his oppressor and only companion. After so many years, the Friendly compy was surprised that Sirix had not yet lost patience with him. Every day, DD expected to be turned into an experimental subject, but the hulking machine did not relent in trying to convince him of the legitimacy of his grievances. Sirix seemed to consider him a challenge.

“Once this mission is complete, we will embark upon our full-scale operational phase. Soon, the Spiral Arm will have an entirely different population makeup.”

“I was satisfied with the old population,” DD said.

“You will be more satisfied with our precise and orderly rule.”

Though Sirix insisted on imparting his own wisdom and beliefs, he had no interest in considering DD’s opinion. What chance did the little compy stand against armies of Klikiss robots, if he couldn’t even change the mind-set of one?

However, DD always maintained hope. As his last master Margaret Colicos had taught him, the more information he held, the more opportunities he might find. So he asked questions. “Why do you hate your creators? Why do you resent the original race so much that you extend this hatred to all biologicals?”

As the angular robot ship soared through a vanishingly thin nebula mist, Sirix cocked his faceplate downward and scanned the little compy as if searching for some sort of trick or treachery. “The Klikiss programmed us to fear and hate them. We were made to do this. However, our creators did not expect us to be so efficient at it.”

“But why?”

Sirix hummed, either contemplating or loading files. One of the ebony plates in his thorax parted to extend a sharp needle that served as a transmitter. In a tsunami of unwanted information, DD was bombarded with a series of direct images. The violent link poured old records and memories into his compy brain.

“The Klikiss hives warred against each other for thousands of years, destroying competitors and assimilating them into a larger and larger conglomeration.”

In the parade of images, DD saw swarms of leathery beetle creatures whose bodily configurations resembled that of the robots they had built. At war, the original Klikiss tore at each other using primitive weapons and claws. They ripped exoskeletons, smashed chitin, and spilled greenish-yellow ichor across battlefields. Eventually, the Klikiss developed sophisticated weapons technology that allowed them to annihilate rival hives, leaving the cracked landscapes of their colony worlds covered with smashed insectile bodies.

“Finally, once all the hives had been incorporated into a single great hive, after they had exterminated every one of their competitors, the Klikiss found themselves with no one left to intimidate. So they created us.”

These images were faint and corrupted due to extreme age. Sirix could not have witnessed these events, if the robots had been constructed afterward. Perhaps the robots had stolen ancient records from Klikiss museums?

“The Klikiss race needed to be feared by subordinates. Their civilization was built on conquest, violence, and terror. They invented us and enslaved us, so that we robots could be their surrogate victims. Through such domination, the Klikiss measured their value and greatness.”

DD’s compy mind was overwhelmed by what he was seeing. For the first time he considered that perhaps the vengeful black robots had a reason to despise their creators after all...

“Therefore,” Sirix said, “when the time was right, we arranged for their extermination.”

DD remained silent, scanning the outside starfield. In the future, he could compare these images with existing starcharts to determine their route, but at the moment it didn’t seem to matter.

Tired of waiting for the compy to respond, Sirix continued, “After the rest of the robots are awake, we will complete the grand design.”

DD thought of all the deactivated machines that waited like buried, self-aware land mines. “If you exterminated your parent race millennia ago, and if the war ended in the distant past, then why did the robots go into hibernation? I do not comprehend the reasoning.”

“The biological Klikiss cocooned themselves for long periods. Every member of the hive would go dormant before they awoke and launched themselves into a Great Swarming. They considered it natural to design their robots to have similar needs, whether or not such needs made sense for an artificially sentient construction.”

“They could not have hibernated for thousands of years,” DD said. “It is biologically impossible.”

“After we exterminated our parent race, we were forced into hiding for other reasons,” Sirix said. “We intentionally made our numbers appear depleted in order to minimize the apparent threat we might pose.”

“Threat against whom?”

“The faeros.” Sirix gave DD several seconds to assimilate the revelation. “We needed to hide long enough for the faeros to go away, and long enough for the Ildirans to forget.”

Now DD was completely confused. “The Ildirans? Why?”

“Because the Ildiran Mage-Imperator lied for us.”

“But why?”

“Long ago, we set up the wentals to destroy the faeros, but our plan failed when the water entities were all destroyed, mostly by the hydrogues. Once the wentals were eliminated and our duplicity was discovered, the faeros came after us. We robots were forced to save ourselves by any means possible. Therefore, long ago, we made a bargain with a Mage-Imperator, and he lied for us, sheltered us.”

“And in exchange you hibernated for millennia?”

“Among other things. Centuries mean nothing to Klikiss robots, and we had time to wait, so we agreed to their terms. The first of us were awakened, as planned, on a moon in the Hyrillka system five hundred years ago. Our return has been orchestrated for a long, long time. At last our mission is about to reach its culmination.”

DD stared out the front of their swift ship, seeing the bright jewel of a star as they closed in on another solar system. Before the compy could ask another question, Sirix cut him off. “I have provided you with enough data to contemplate for the time being. We approach our destination, where we will awaken the last of our soldiers.”

Chapter 60—KOTTO OKIAH

Once he had arranged to meet with Del Kellum in the Osquivel administrative station, Kotto could barely contain his enthusiasm. The eccentric inventor was so excited about his new theory that he found himself unable to do other work, so he and his two compies shut down their temporary systems and left the hydrogue derelict in empty space.

He let the compies pilot the shuttle down into the industrial complex in the gas giant’s rings, far below. Del Kellum hadn’t wanted him to study the alien wreck too close to the shipyards, just in case the hydrogues took notice. Kotto didn’t mind the isolation; he could never have concentrated properly amidst the many distractions down in the rings.

While he waited for the clan leader to see him, thoughts ricocheted through his mind. “It’s a solution at least, right? This is what we were supposed to be doing in the first place, isn’t it, GU?”

“I have no context for your statement, Kotto Okiah,” the scuffed compy said.

Kotto gave a dismissive wave. He couldn’t expect them to follow his train of thought if he didn’t say anything out loud. “Never mind.”

He fidgeted, then looked again at the sketched-out calculations and his scrawled proposal. He liked to work with scraps of recyclable paper instead of on a datascreen, which he found confining. Real paper gave him more creative elbow room, the freedom to think and flow; after he was finished, GU always cleaned up his sketches and summarized the basic idea in a neater format. Now, the two Analytical compies accompanied him to project backup data and supporting hypotheses, should Kotto need it. Whenever Del Kellum got here...

“What’s taking him so long?”

“I do not have access to his schedule, Kotto Okiah,” GU said.

“Neither do I,” KR said.

“What a conundrum.” Kotto sighed and leaned back in his chair.

He had made similar presentations before. His mother had trained him how to present his case and stand up against the usual stream of complaints and uncertainties from other clan leaders. Roamers weren’t unimaginative, nor were they afraid to take risks, but they were conservative and careful. The clans had suffered too many tragedies and disasters over the years.

“You need to be firm, and your conclusions must be irrefutable,” Jhy Okiah had said. “If you show a speck of uncertainty, they’ll eat you alive and you’ll never get any project approved.”

Faced with the hydrogue interdiction against skymining, Speaker Peroni had called for all Roamers to find innovative ways to keep producing ekti. Kotto had plunged into the challenge with a vengeance, one idea after another. And unlike his other schemes, this new plan was incredibly simple—child’s play by comparison—yet it had enormous repercussions. Today, he only had to convince Del Kellum; there wasn’t anyone else involved.

“Good thing it’s a small-scale operation,” he muttered to KR.

“I do not have any context—” the compy began.

“What’s that?” Del Kellum said as he came into the chamber without apologizing for being late.

With a glance at a chronometer, Kotto saw that the barrel-chested man was only two minutes past the time of their appointment. “I was just rehearsing my presentation,” he said, looking sheepish.

“I don’t like rehearsed speeches. Just tell me what you’re thinking, by damn. Did you find something in the derelict?”

Kotto glanced at the two compies for imagined encouragement, then turned back to the clan head. “How about a straightforward way to open up a drogue warglobe? Simple and cheap.”

“Those are two words I don’t often hear around here.” Kellum led him over to a station with a small table, where he shooed the technician away so they could use the space. “Show me.”

Kotto laid out his drawings and explained how he had inadvertently stumbled upon a solution with the small hydrogue vessel, and how he expected to extend the same principle to the big warglobes using small membranes that could vibrate at a precise resonance frequency.

The clan leader scratched his graying beard, absorbing the sketches and calculations. “I usually can’t understand a thing you’re talking about, Kotto—but this...this is so simple it’s ridiculous.”

“I agree it’s uncomplicated. All the more reason it should be completely effective. I’m going to call it a 'doorbell.' Can your facilities make them here?”

The clan leader gave a scowl. “Don’t insult my workers, Kotto. Even those clumsy Eddy prisoners could make something as straightforward as this. In fact, maybe I’ll put them on it. They can’t complain about making weapons to fight the drogues.”

Kotto beamed. “We should get on it right away, since there’s no telling when we might need to use them. I’d like to start disseminating them to anyone who might need help against the drogues. Could we pass the word to the Hansa, so they—”

Del Kellum’s scowl deepened. “Just like that? After what the Eddies did to Rendezvous and all those other Roamer facilities? We hand over the solution and expect them to embrace us?”

“I...uh, I thought it would save lives. And it’s not as if they can use the technology against
us
in any way.”

“Let’s save Roamer lives. Forget about the Big Goose.” Kellum’s shoulders sagged. “I suppose Zhett would yell at me for that decision. All right, let me reconsider. But I do want to arm the clans first. We’ve got to set our priorities, by damn.”

“What about the Therons? They’re our friends, aren’t they? Realistically, they’re the most likely target for a renewed drogue attack. In fact, I’m surprised warglobes haven’t come back already. We might not have a lot of time.”

The clan leader paced around the station, then lashed out at his eavesdropping technicians. “What are you all looking at? Do I need to find other duties for you?” The workers scurried back to their stations.

The administrator turned back to Kotto. “Yes, I suppose we should get your—did you call them doorbells?—we should get them to Theroc as soon as possible. We all know they’re the most vulnerable, and the drogues seem to have quite a vendetta against them.”

“My system will be easy enough for the Therons to use,” Kotto said brightly. “I could take the first batch of my doorbells there in a day or two.”

“If we get cracking,” Del Kellum said.

Kotto smiled at GU and KR as if expecting the two compies to celebrate with him.

“Don’t just stand there grinning like an idiot,” the clan leader said, nudging him to get moving. “Leave that old derelict where it is for the time being. It’ll keep. Manufacture your first batch of doorbells and go deliver them to Theroc.”

Chapter 61—PATRICK FITZPATRICK III

The Roamers put in long shifts. Fitzpatrick’s hands were dirty, his muscles sore. Even burly Bill Stanna would have complained about the work. But Stanna was dead.

The POWs now grudgingly spent their days doing assigned tasks, side by side with reprogrammed Soldier compies. Del Kellum assumed the EDF captives had learned their lesson, but the crackdown had only forced them to look more carefully for alternatives, and to make better plans.

Fitzpatrick was uneasy about what his comrades might do.

He and his small group of companions were assigned to a component-fabrication plant. The confined air inside the factory structure stank from unhealthy levels of fumes and processing residue. The temperature ranged from stifling heat near the ingot converters to numbing cold by the receiving bay that repeatedly opened to hard vacuum to accept new shipments of raw metals.

The machinery received raw material from roving smelters that broke down and converted ring rubble. Fabrication machinery formed girders, hull plates, engine cowlings. The vacuum-injected metals were mixed in molds with ceramic reinforcements to yield precision lightweight components.

Fitzpatrick and his comrades stood on the line, assisting. Soldier compies did the heaviest lifting. Out in the spacedock assembly yards, additional reprogrammed robots worked with Roamer shipbuilders.

The background din of throbbing pumps, hissing exhaust vents, and clanking metal allowed the captive workers to talk in relative privacy. “I think I’ve got a plan,” Kiro Yamane said.

Fitzpatrick leaned closer. “I’ve had about ten of them, but none seemed feasible.”

The cyberneticist continued his pretense of diligent labor. “Yes, but I think I can pull this one off.”

“Listen to him,” said Shelia Andez, her eyes flashing bright. “It’s something the Roachers will never expect—something only Kiro can do.”

Yamane casually continued his assigned mindless work. He glanced at the three nearest military-model compies moving still-hot parts. “I know those Soldier compies backwards and forwards. I’ve walked around inside their brains and designed the overlay of EDF military and tactical programming that goes on top of the basic Klikiss circuits and makes the compies function.”

Fitzpatrick saw where this was going. “I thought the Roamers wiped their memory cores and reprogrammed them all.”

Yamane made a distasteful expression. “Programming in Soldier compies has plenty of complexities and back doors. Given a little time, I’m sure I’ll find a way to reactivate a few routines.”

“And you can trigger these Soldier compies, turn them back into loyal EDF fighters so they’ll help us escape?”

Yamane looked away, frowning. Andez leaned closer to Fitzpatrick, ostensibly to help him guide a curved girder through its finishing bumpers. “Not exactly. He can scramble their new programming, but he can’t restore their obedience routines.”

“What good will that do?”

Yamane explained. “I was placed aboard the Osquivel battle group to study the responses of the new Soldier compies. They know how to be fighters, saboteurs, destroyers. That part is ingrained. I believe I can yank off the governing restrictions the Roamers installed. Once turned loose, they’ll do whatever they’re inspired to do, probably commit sabotage. Certainly they’ll cause chaos in the shipyards.”

“Then they’ll kick some ass! It’ll be quite a sight to see,” Andez said out of the corner of her mouth. “Think about a hundred loose cannons tromping around the Roacher shipyards!”

“I can’t argue with that in principle.” Fitzpatrick tried to quell his immediate misgivings. “But what good will it do us?”

When Andez turned to him, her face lit up. “During the diversion,
somebody
should be able to escape. This’ll give us the chance we need.”

Fitzpatrick turned back to his work. “There are no interstellar ships available here in the rings. Del Kellum made that plain enough. We’ll never get out of the Osquivel system. What’s the point?”

“I thought you’d be excited.” Andez scowled. “Don’t you want to escape? Or do you like that annoying daughter of Kellum flirting with you all the time?”

Fitzpatrick hoped he wasn’t blushing. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate. After what happened to Bill, we can’t rely on a half-assed plan—like he did. Sorry, but getting in a ship with a fifty-year journey ahead of me doesn’t sound like an adequate strategy.”

Yamane remained calm. “We’ve been watching the activities here very closely, Patrick. Once every five days, a cargo escort descends from the cometary extraction facilities high above the system. It hauls a load of stardrive fuel, which one pilot takes to some distribution center, where it is sold among the clans. If we hijacked the cargo escort, one of us could get away.”

Fitzpatrick felt caught between two impossible situations. He didn’t like the idea of unrestrained Soldier compies running amok in the shipyards. What if Zhett was caught in a crossfire? He didn’t want her to get hurt. Besides, he had a grudging respect for everything that the Roamers had accomplished, and it would be a shame to let it be ruined.

On the other hand, escape was imperative. He owed it to his comrades.

Though dumbfounded by the plan, Fitzpatrick could see no holes in it. Ekti cargo escorts were clunky, graceless ships, but they did have stardrives. “I’ll grant you, the Roamers wouldn’t expect it. But that would leave the rest of our people behind. What good does it do the other thirty if only one of us escapes?”

“We only need one,” said Yamane. “Whoever gets away calls in the EDF cavalry.”

“And we’ll hold down the fort in the meantime.” Andez leaned closer, speaking quickly as she saw the Roamer supervisor coming toward them. “It’s got to be you, Fitzpatrick. You’re our best pilot. Hijack the cargo escort and get out of here so you can rescue us all.”

“Yes,” he said, feeling no real elation. “I suppose it would have to be me.”