Cyborg Assault

hundred other necessary chores to keep the Web-Mind functioning perfectly. The biomind could outthink any known entity and track many thousands of cyborgs. The Prime Web-Mind was supreme, but the Jupiter Web-Mind possessed override authority here. It could adjust the master plan to emergencies.

“Further—” Gharlane halted his summary of the situation. With the mass detector, he spotted an object hurtling much too fast toward Jupiter.

“Priority one scan,” Gharlane said.

He had permission to override the mind-link. Every scope, every mass meter and thermal sensor now strained at the selected point.

In the dim room, plugged cyborgs twitched and eyelids flickered faster. The ozone odor increased, as did the humming.

Gharlane sensed the Web-Mind turning more of its brain-mass to the new situation.

“The vessel’s specifications are similar to a Social Unity missile-ship,” Gharlane said.

Your analysis is false, the Web-Mind said.

“I mean without a missile-ship’s regular particle shielding.”

Explain your logic.

“I deducted the mass of particle shielding and compared the under-vessel to the basic, SU missile-ship design.”

What prompted such action?

“Firstly, the vessel appears to have stealth capabilities,” Gharlane said, “which would logically imply that any particle shielding would have been subtracted from its mass.”

That was insufficient reason for your comparative values.

“I recalled the analytical study of the Third Battle for Mars. The study indicated the presence of hidden missile-ships—Web-Mind, I request an immediate discontinuation of our stealth campaign.”

You are evading my question.

“Not for any nefarious reasons,” Gharlane said. Soothing chemicals injected into his brainpan then, helping to stem his emotional excitement. “Web-Mind, the enemy vessel indicates reinforcements from Social Unity. Our stealth campaign has now been compromised on two levels.”

Notice the angle of the attack. The vessel comes from out-system, not from Inner Planets.

Gharlane made fast computations. “There was sufficient time for a deep strike and turnaround—”

Are you suggesting that the masters of Social Unity deduced our Jupiter Assault a year ago and sent vessels bound for here at the curtailment of the Third Battle for Mars? At that juncture, they lacked sufficient vessels to face a single Doom Star. The Highborn vessels were still within the Mars System. Your thought is gravely unbalanced.

“The stealth vessel is here, implying strategic action. That it matches its approach with the meteor-ship’s action proves my thesis. The probability that the two incidents are independent of each other is twenty-seven percent.”

Twenty-NINE point six-five percent.

Gharlane studied the Web-Mind’s data. “Ah. I failed to take into account the chaotic principle.”

Our stealth campaign has proven effective. Given another thirty-seven days, we will gain complete system-movement control.

“Agreed,” said Gharlane. “But now we must initiate a surprise strike against the remaining vessels and against the defensive establishments of the Galilean moons.”

You are stubborn, and still yearn for an immediate missile assault against Callisto.

“It is the logical action.”

In several seconds, the Web-Mind ran through a thousand scenarios. It computed odds, vectors and random factors.

We are under-strength for an optimal strike.

“Which means we must strike at once,” Gharlane said. “For we are also under-strength against an alerted Callisto defense.”

Position the missiles for a surprise assault and begin the preliminary countdown. We shall observe the stealth vessel with Social Unity missile-ship design specifications.

“A surprise strike should place all military vessels under my control.”

You are the hand, Cyborg Gharlane. I am the intellect. If you fail to remember that, I shall delete you.

“I have received,” Gharlane said.

Patience is the great virtue. And cyborgs cannot panic. Thus, ultimate victory shall be ours. Await the next development as you begin preparations for a sustained strike.

A discharging impulse sent sparks and blue arcs writhing over Gharlane’s body. He sat upright in his mind-link bed. Then, with a clang, he slid his feet onto the floor.

They should immediately begin the strike, he knew, but the Web-Mind sought optimal conditions. He was unable to disobey a direct order, although on some deep level he desired to run the cyborg assault along his parameters. Gharlane wondered, for just a moment, if the biomind in the Web-Mind meant that it coordinated too many factors. Did the many kilos of brain tissue argue against itself in an ongoing roundtable? That might explain the Web-Mind’s need for optimal percentage levels.

In the dim, humming chamber, Gharlane examined the plugged cyborgs. He might have shrugged, but such a response had long ago been scrubbed from him. He strode for the exit in order to implement his directives.

-17-

The Thutmosis III sped for Jupiter at hyper-velocity, although it no longer hurtled through the void at its star-spanning speeds. Side-jets had rotated the squat vessel until its engines were aimed in the direction it traveled.

Within the crippled warship, the remaining crew readied for an intense period of deceleration. A single laser of medium strength functioned, and the ship retained four anti-missile pods.

The Thutmosis III had a triple-structured hull, with reactive armor on the outer surface. A nanosecond before a missile or shell hit the reactive armor, targeted sections of the hull would explode outward. The shape-charged shrapnel would theoretically obliterate the incoming mass, enough to steal its ship- killing power. The outward-blowing kinetic energy also acted as a shock absorber. It was a paltry defense, many factors less protective than six-hundred meters of asteroid rock, but it was better than a single, non-reactive hull.

The Praetor was on the bridge in his command chair, observing several concerned Highborn. He only possessed a skeleton crew, and everyone was stretched to the breaking point. They sat rigidly, with tight skin and the haunted eyes of deranged killers. Their big hands were on the boards and ready to begin their final battle for survival.

To Homo sapiens, the desperate Highborn would have seemed like starved lions ready to rend a training master into bloody shreds. Three times throughout the harrowing journey, fights had broken out. Because of them, five Highborn had died.

Twice, the Praetor had waded into battle, using his fists to enforce discipline. He was the dominant officer, Fourth-ranked among all Highborn by the old scale. Who knew his position now since the conclusion of the Third Battle for Mars.

The Praetor surveyed the others. They respected him just a little more than death from decompression. And they were concerned about catching Jupiter’s heavy gravity-well and braking their out-of-control vessel.

“Is the system still peaceful?” the Praetor asked, with menace in his voice.

“I monitored an explosion earlier,” a thick-necked officer said.

“Was the explosion directed at us?”