The Independent Worlds (The Sixteen Galaxies Book 2) Page 5

  “Hang on,” Ron interjected. “You said the connection was to an entity on Earth; don’t you mean Kestil?”

  “Not Kestil,” David said. “An AI that Kestil obviously created.”

  Nuthros frowned. “Kestil? An AI? Surely not. My brother hates machines.”

  “Not so, Nuthros,” David replied. “Kestil is opposed to machines which wield power over sentients, but he is a pragmatist. He knows it takes an AI to defeat an AI. We don’t know how much information Kestil’s machine obtained, but it had access for nearly a full minute. It was programmed to obtain as much information as possible, so both my new form and the Entity’s existence may well be known by Kestil, now. By extension, the entire Independent Worlds will soon know.”

  “It’s a disaster,” Nuthros said.

  “It could have been a lot worse,” David replied. “Kestil’s AI also tried to access the Entity through Truly’s point connection. It attacked my connection as well. Truly severed the link quick enough to stop it before it could gain access through either one of us.”

  Hiram frowned at the floor. “It seems awfully advanced for something Kestil knocked together on Earth.”

  “It is a unique creation, in many ways,” David told him. “It is more like a parasite than a true single being. It occupies the human network, using whatever spare space and processing power it can find. It replicates itself at will, and can pass through any barriers mankind have in place. It is many centuries in advance of Earth technology. Its only capacity limitation is the transfer rate of the human network; that’s why it failed to access the Entity fast enough. This thing no doubt grants Kestil far more power than he currently uses. We did not detect it, as it doubtless spent all this time since its creation in expansion and evasion. It will now, undoubtedly, become much more active. It can control, or shut down, anything with a processor in it. At this point in your history, that is a long list.”

  “My God,” Hiram breathed, “Kestil owns the Earth.”

  Nuthros waved a hand. “Let us focus our priorities; we must return to Earth orbit immediately, or Kestil could place shiploads of whatever he chooses on the planet.”

  “We can’t,” David replied. “As long as that point connection generator is inside Mandy, she cannot be taken anywhere near Earth.”

  Nuthros frowned. “Why does Truly not remove it? It cannot be that advanced.”

  David shot a quick look at Jack. “That micro-drone has lodged itself in her spine. It has an anti-tamper detonator inside it with enough power to destroy her central nervous system. If we touch it, she will die. Truly doesn’t have the equipment to remove it, nor can she make it quickly enough. Mandy must go to Kareetha.”

  Jack clenched his fists and swore under his breath. Nuthros rubbed his forehead. “We simply must return to Earth orbit, Kestil will take in technology to advance the Earth even faster; he could place a fleet in orbit again, if they have improved their cloaking abilities. He could even bombard the planet if he chose to; we know they have mass drivers.”

  David gripped Nuthros by the arm. “Nuthros, Kestil wants to incorporate the Earth into the Independent Worlds with covert control; nobody on Earth will die right now. Besides, we cannot be complicit in Mandy’s death, whatever the cost. To do that would forsake thousands of years of peaceful advancement.”

  “Agreed. You’re right, David. I’m sorry.” Nuthros replied. “But, we cannot stay here for any length of time.”

  “Just so,” David told him. “However, Truly used the preset exit vector when she went to faster than light. For every ship in the Sixteen Galaxies fleet, that vector is a direct route to Kareetha.”

  Nuthros nodded. “The same route that Brantok takes, and he travels directly towards us.”

  “Quite,” Truly replied. “I have already sent a desist signal to Councilor Brantok’s ship. As soon as his ship AI, Breetak, receives it, she will drop out of faster than light speed, and I will apprise her of the situation. Once I have completely stabilized Mandy’s condition, I shall place her in a preservation capsule. If Hiram and Chris are agreeable, I shall leave them with Mandy in an escape pod for Brantok to pick up.”

  “You can leave me, too,” Jack said. “I’m staying with Mandy.”

  “I’m sorry, Jack,” Truly replied, “but you must return with us.”

  Jack shook his head. “No, you don’t need me there.”

  David put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “We don’t need you as a journalist, my friend, but we very much need you as what you were.”

  Jack recoiled like David had slapped him in the face. His voice was a hoarse whisper; “No.”

  Ron frowned at David. “What on Earth are you on about?”

  Jack took a step toward David, who stepped back. “You can’t ask that of me, David; nobody can. I don’t do that stuff anymore, and you can’t make me. I won’t be used that way again by anyone; ever.” He stalked out of the room and over to the viewport.

  Nuthros sighed. “I’m sorry, Ron, and all of you. We’ve known about Jack’s former life all along, but he was not aware that we knew. He was the main reason we recruited Mandy and Jack in the first place. He’s lived the life of Jack Short for twelve years, now. But, before that, he was a British soldier who became something of a legend within MI6, the English equivalent of your agency, I believe, Ron.”

  Ron shook his head in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  Chris whistled. “He makes a very convincing American, if you ask me.”

  Ron laughed. “If he was with MI6, he could probably make a convincing African tribesman, if he wanted to.”

  *****

  Chicago, Illinois, 2005

  Justin Blake sat in his hotel room and stared at a laptop, his hands steepled under his chin. On the screen was a picture of his three targets; an investigative reporter called Peter Somers, his wife, Marilyn Somers, and their 16-year-old daughter; Mandy.

  The daughter was a typical teenager, out and about all over the place. The mother stayed home most days, and the father worked long hours. Jobs like this were tricky; doubly so because of the fact the targets were US citizens on their home soil. It would have to be a three-in-one; any other way would rouse suspicions too easily.

  The best method was a fire, he decided. The problem with a fire was the house had a full set of smoke alarms. If he knocked them out, the inspectors would cry foul straight away. So, it had to be quick enough to prevent escape. There was an advantage here, he mused. The house was a two-story, with the bedrooms upstairs. Get a quick burn going near the internal stairs and they had no way to get out. He thought about gassing them first; he hated to burn targets to death. Unfortunately, while the daughter would be no issue, the couple in bed together was too risky. He decided to gas the daughter, at least he could make it quick for her. The smoke might knock the parents out before they burned, anyway.

  Justin didn’t enjoy the kill. A few operatives did, but they usually messed it up in the end, because the desire for enjoyment increased with the frequency. They ended up on the scene when they shouldn’t be there. The department weeded these ones out with dedication, and Justin had terminated a couple himself.

  No, the best operatives were like him; remote, dispassionate, and efficient. He had the ability to separate a target from a fellow human being in his mind, and see them as one would a cockroach or a fly. The reason was simple enough; his brother.

  He flicked through the plans of the house again, it was only three years old and was an off-the-shelf design. The building company had happily supplied a set of drawings upon Justin Wilson’s request for a quote. There was a hall cupboard, under the stairs. The plans showed a power outlet on the wall outside the cupboard, but he’d need to do a reconnaissance to confirm that.

  First up was a trip to Peter Somers’ office to check his schedule; a quick look at his diary should tell Justin everything he needed to know. Once he had confirmed a night that the family would be home together, it should be a quick in and out, hang around
long enough to see a news article confirming the deaths, and then jump on the next plane home to England.

  5

  Kestil’s base, Present Day

  Kestil regarded the hologram of Prestern with a warm smile. “At last, my friend, I speak to you directly.”

  Prestern nodded. “So, your machine did its job?”

  Kestil’s smile faded. “Indeed it did, Prestern; but the news it gave me is grave. The Sixteen Galaxies does not just allow its ships to be run by AI; the whole society is commanded by one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Kestil spread his arms wide. “All their ship AIs, all their planetary ones, all their council buildings; they’re all linked together into one huge AI. They call it The Entity.”

  Prestern rubbed his chin. “Do they, indeed? This is unexpected.”

  “It’s more than unexpected, my friend. It’s downright monstrous. A whole society of planets governed by a damned machine. The intellect that thing must have will make it a formidable opponent. They have created a tactical nightmare for us with that monstrosity, no doubt about it.”

  “I shall give this matter some thought. Anything else?”

  Kestil sighed. “I wish I could say no, I really do. However, the fact is, they have used this Entity abomination to create a new being. It’s called a Starchild, of all things. Not only that, but…” Kestil trailed off at the look on Prestern’s face.

  “What did you just say?” Prestern whispered; his face drained of all color.

  In the time since Kestil had first met Prestern, over all the time they had forged an entire planetary society together, he had never seen his friend this way. Good grief, he thought, he looks terrified.

  “Prestern, what is it?”

  The older man shook his head. “This can’t be. They…they can’t have; I destroyed all the records, all my work, everything. They can’t have, they…just can’t have.”

  Kestil frowned at his friend’s image. Even though it was only a small hologram, he could just about smell the fear emanating from it. “Prestern, you’re not making any sense. It’s just a name, that’s all. If you were working on something similar I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

  “NO!” Prestern yelled at him. “This is no coincidence, not at all.” He looked around him as if to search for something. “The Starchild project was a total secret; nobody knew except me, nobody!” Prestern stood for a moment, and then raised a finger, which Kestil saw trembled. “How is this Entity thing constructed? Does it encompass every AI in the Sixteen Galaxies, hmm?”

  Kestil shrugged. “From what my AI tells me, yes, it comprises every AI they have.”

  Prestern laughed, but it had a maniacal edge to it. “Oh, they really have done it to us, my boy. The building AI; the damned building AI! It would have seen it all; my experiments, my surveys, the early prototypes…” Prestern took a moment to compose himself. He took a deep breath before he continued. “The Starchild project was my personal masterpiece, Kestil. It was to be the next generation of citizens for the Ten Galaxies, as it was then. I wanted to present it as a finished product, you see. It was to be my gift to civilization; my legacy to all future generations, as it were. So, while I worked on the rebirth project, I kept the Starchild a secret.”

  “I see,” Kestil said. “And when they rejected the rebirth project, you kept the Starchild to yourself?”

  “Precisely,” Prestern replied. “It was thousands of cycles from any kind of completion. But, it would seem the Entity creature has finished my work for me…” Prestern seemed calmer, but Kestil was still filled with concern. He had never seen his friend so frightened. Suddenly, Prestern snapped his fingers, and his countenance transformed. “Yes, yes, YES! Oh, but this could be wonderful, Kestil, simply wonderful!”

  “Prestern, maybe you should just calm down a bit,” Kestil replied, “take some time to-”

  Prestern cut him off with an upraised hand. “No, no, I’m fine, my boy, just fine. Don’t you see? They have finished my work for me!”

  Kestil shook his head. “No, I don’t see, I’m afraid. All I see is my one true friend acting irrationally; going from downright terrified to jubilant in the space of a heartbeat. What exactly is going on here, Prestern?”

  Prestern laughed. “I’m sorry, my friend. The Starchild is the key to victory against the Sixteen Galaxies. It is a combination of advanced and enhanced genetics that make it incredibly powerful. The sentient brain has an immense capacity; many orders of magnitude more than even we currently use.”

  Kestil nodded. “Yes, I’m sure every sentient in the universe is well aware of that.”

  “I designed the Starchild with the potential to take full advantage of the brain’s huge capacity, along with muscular and motor function enhancements to match its staggering intellect.” Prestern fell silent. He stood there lost in thought for a few minutes, and Kestil let him think. He had learned long ago never to interfere with Prestern’s musings.

  Prestern finally spoke. “What genetic material did they use to make the Starchild? Blank biomass?”

  “No,” Kestil replied. “Truly assisted a human couple to birth a child. When she did so, she made it with the Starchild DNA somehow inserted but inert.”

  Prestern looked shocked. “A human?! They put underlayment code into a human?!”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what underlayment code is. But, yes, they used a human.”

  Prestern shook his head in wonder. “The Starchild DNA combined with human ingenuity; the thing will be unstoppable.” He pondered a moment, before asking; “This Starchild, is it connected to the Entity in any way?”

  Kestil nodded. “That was another piece of bad news, I’m afraid. The Starchild has a special point connection to the Entity; it is ultra-high-speed, and it appears to be unbreakable.”

  Prestern smiled. “Oh yes, indeed. A connection between two such beings would be both unbreakable and impregnable, I have no doubt.” He held up a finger, which Kestil saw did not tremble at all, now. “I would also bet it is a link neither end could shut off. FTL travel would sever it, but only temporarily. Do you see where I’m going?”

  Now it was Kestil’s turn to smile. “I certainly do, my friend. The Starchild is not just their greatest achievement, it is also their biggest weakness. If we were to get hold of that creature, The Sixteen Galaxies would be ours.”

  Prestern shook his head. “No, no. You forget my project, which is still in progress here. If we can get the Starchild here, and combine it with my latest creation, The Sixteen Galaxies is just a waypoint. With human ingenuity, Starchild capabilities, connection to the Entity, and the power of my project here, there is no limit to what we could achieve.”

  Kestil nodded. “We must capture the Starchild.”

  “Not just capture it, my boy,” Prestern replied. “We must get it here, to me.” He turned to glance at the big tank behind him. “We must get it here to us!”

  Kestil frowned. “That will be no mean feat, though. That thing will be nearly impossible to capture. How do you hold onto something far more powerful than yourself?”

  Prestern’s smile turned nasty. “It is a Sixteen Galaxies creation, Kestil. It will have the same inherent weakness the rest of them have; a pacifist philosophy.”

  *****

  Chicago, Illinois, 2005

  Justin Blake put his hands on the thirteen-year-old boy’s shoulders. “I have to go now, Timmy.”

  Timothy Blake’s eyes glowed in admiration of his older brother. “I’m gonna be just like you Justin! I’m gonna be a paratrooper!” The boy wriggled out of Justin’s grip and raced inside the house. He came back out ten years older and in the uniform of a British regular. “I have to go, Justin. I’m off to Afghanistan!” He waved and headed for a truck.

  Justin felt cold all over. He had an overwhelming feeling of dread. He had to stop Timothy before he got into that truck. He couldn’t cry out; his mouth wouldn’t work. The truck drove off, and he tried to run after
it. It was so hard to move; his body felt heavy and sluggish. The truck was ripped apart in a fireball just seconds later. He ran towards the blazing wreck, but it was like he ran in deep mud. Tim walked out of the flames, his uniform shredded and blackened, his helmet gone, along with his hair. Justin saw his brother’s face, burned and bleeding. Tim’s mouth moved, but Justin couldn’t quite hear the words. As he pounded toward the truck, the wreck no closer though he ran with all his strength, Tim fell down, and was swallowed by a black plastic bag.

  Then his words finally reached Justin’s ears; “Why didn’t you tell me it was like this, Justin? Why? Why?!”

  “TIM!”

  Justin sat up with the taste of salt in his mouth. The salt was from the tears that ran freely down his cheeks. His throat was tight, and he was covered in sweat. He ran a hand through his damp hair and checked his phone by the bed; 2:37am. He got up and washed his face, and then made a coffee. He sat down with a sigh. The dream never changed at all. It hadn’t changed since Tim died. Timothy Blake had joined the British army, to follow in his older brother’s footsteps. But, he failed to make the cut to join the Paratroop Regiment. He remained a regular and was shipped to Helmand Province in Afghanistan. He’d only been there three weeks when the Land Rover he was in drove over a Taliban remotely-detonated IED.

  Justin’s mother, alone and still mourning her husband, who died of a brain tumor in 1997, couldn’t take the added sorrow. She never answered the door when Justin arrived home on compassionate leave. He kicked it in and found her on the kitchen floor, with her head in the oven. He’d turned the gas off, choking on the fumes, and staggered back outside to dial 999. He sat on the footpath and cried like a baby until the ambulance, fire brigade and police arrived.

  He sipped the hot coffee and ignored the tear that trickled down his cheek. The war on terror had become his war; deep and personal. When Hilary recruited Justin, she told him the department fought terror cells that threatened the UK. That, and those British citizens who financed and fed them information and other support. Their department was black; it didn’t exist. There were no arrests, no lawyers. Every target died, quickly and quietly.