missile’s side.
Once activated, the AI would take control of the craft. Gharlane had studied the specs on the AI. It was an advanced artificial intelligence, with breakthrough crystal technology. Presently, the crystal AI lived in a virtual reality world of careful Jovian devising. The AI didn’t realize it lived in a make-believe world. Instead, it went on a hundred different expeditions in the virtual world, gaining experiences that would hopefully stand it in good stead the day it awakened to reality. The day that occurred would sentence it to a quick combat death, one way or another.
Gharlane had never expected such an abundance of military hardware. The Jupiter System was awash in combat vessels, missiles and armored satellites. By studying historical files, it was clear the Jovians had been rebuilding ever since 2339. The annihilating defeat of its expeditionary force to Mars many years ago had horrified them. Since then, they had added ships and hardware every year to insure victory in case Social Unity attacked the Jupiter System.
“I am ready to receive,” Gharlane said over the radio embedded in his head.
There was a priority one tone to the Web-Mind’s command.
Gharlane glanced around. He was in a maze of the giant missiles, with crisscrossing rail-lines and busy cyborgs doing a hundred last-minute chores.
Gharlane magnetized his boots and began to run, building up speed. Then he snapped off his magnetic boots and leapt. He flew like a man in a dream, using his hands and feet to propel himself from missile to missile, turning, using his cyborg reflexes to keep him from harm.
In moments, he lightly magnetized his boots. Gharlane ran over metallic surfaces and slowed his speed before entering a single-storey building. He floated into a lift, pressed a red button and rode it down three levels. Hurrying through a dim corridor, he came to an electronic bed with a body depression. Medical monitors on top ran through sequencing numbers, the middle monitor rapidly changing from 1 to 99 in blue numerals. Gharlane shed his vacc- suit and lay down in the depression.
He stiffened as his entire self merged into a direct link with the Web-Mind.
Without any introduction or explanation, the Web-Mind shot a series of images into Gharlane.
First were interferometer shots of the Highborn vessel. Its laser stabbed with precision and destroyed a Zeno. Then a different image invaded Gharlane’s thoughts. Two enemy Zenos activated at the last possible moment, suddenly appearing. The
“I await your instructions,” Gharlane said.
The Web-Mind flooded Gharlane with the data that needed to go out to the cyborg vessels.
“Calculations indicate a quicker timetable would achieve greater success.”
Gharlane reevaluated. “I have received,” he said. Then he arose to begin the preparations.
The Strike
-1-
In the lonely vastness of space, Arbiter Octagon continued to tumble end over end. In his ears, he heard the harshness of close breathing. It was a hoarse sound, a bitter one and it told about the futility of his existence.
His throat was raw from screaming. His eyes had bled a thousand tears. Now he stared like a dead man at the many stars shining in mockery around him.
Soon, he would choke to death on carbon dioxide. He would likely beg for an extension of life to whatever being could hear in the chilling vacuum of space. He realized that the Dictates were a bloody pack of lies. Man wasn’t logical, but a seething bed of passions. Men yearned for existence and they desperately wanted things. Men did not rationally reason out each step as the Dictates implied. Perhaps for the first time, Octagon realized that man was not a rational animal, but a rationalizing beast, making excuses for whatever suited his yearnings.
All these cycles aboard the warships, and before that the grueling courses readying him for duty as an arbiter —everything was composed of lies. It was all the bloody, pathetic ravings of idiot-buffoons. It had led to this, to his tumbling in space, hopeless, helpless and defeated by a primitive barbarian. The Dictates….
Arbiter Octagon frowned as something entered his vision. Something out there—
His jaw dropped as his mouth hung slackly.
The something blazed brighter than anything else did, making it greater than a star, greater even than Jupiter, at least from his vantage.
Octagon’s frown changed texture as a decided change came over him. The futility of life dribbled away. A dim thing, a chattering thing, an animal longing burst into life and quickly become hope. The hope thudded like his heartbeats and revived his spirits. It also rekindled his hatred for barbarians, for the supreme bastard of them all: the arrogant Marten Kluge.
The brightness was a flare of exhaust. It grew larger and larger as he stared at it. In time, Octagon realized it was the exhaust of a pod.
A weird smile twisted Octagon’s face. It wasn’t a sane smile, rather that of a madman whose prayers had been answered. The universe, maybe the Dictates or some divine being, realized that he had been unjustly abused. Now he was going to be allowed to exact his revenge against barbarians, against vile Marten Kluge.
Octagon laughed with glee, a wild, whooping noise.
As he tumbled end over end, as he twisted his head to get a better view, he read the pod’s lettering. Ah, he was in luck. This wasn’t a pod from his old ship. This one said,
A fierce grin stretched Octagon’s lips. A new ship, a different Force-Leader and Arbiter would listen to his tale. In a matter of weeks, he was going to be before the Philosopher’s Board on Callisto. They would hear his story. They would learn that he had been right and Strategist Tan had been wrong. This could well mean a leap in status.
Octagon rubbed his gloved hands.
The bright flare had died. Now smaller jets appeared as the pod slowed and moved toward him. An airlock opened and a vacc-suited rescue-worker jumped out. The worker was strong, for the leap quickly accelerated the worker. A tether line hooked to the worker’s belt played out behind him.
Octagon’s grin was beginning to hurt, he smiled so widely. The indignity of his kidnapping and the horror of
