chapter twenty-six
Chronoport Hammerhead-Prime
Admin, 2981 CE
“The fleet will depart Earth orbit in one hour,” Jonas Shigeki said, his eyes training across the dozens of comm windows arrayed around him and his father. The two men floated alongside Captain Kofo Okunnu and were the only people physically present in Hammerhead-Prime’s conference room.
Csaba Shigeki pulled up a map of the transverse and zoomed into the transdimensional expanse between the H17 binary and the Admin. The icon for Phoenix glowed an angry red near the midpoint with five green icons tailing it. A much larger cluster of friendlies crowded within the Admin’s outer wall—thirty Pioneer-class light chronoports, five Hammerhead-class heavy chronoports, four Portcullis-class mobile suppressors—while a lone TTV took a perpendicular course toward Providence Station.
“According to the information provided to us by Alcyone,” Csaba Shigeki began, “the Institute warship Phoenix is about halfway here, and its target couldn’t be more obvious. It’s heading straight for Earth. Our Earth. And make no mistake, this is one tough ship. It’s already shrugged off multiple nukes and taken out two of our chronoports. Expect a rough fight.”
“Wouldn’t it make sense for us to leave immediately, then?” Okunnu asked. “That would maximize the time we have to engage and destroy the threat before it reaches the outer wall.”
“That might work for chronoports already loaded with nukes,” Captain Durantt said from Pathfinder-Prime. “But most of us aren’t armed for a fight this intense. We need to take on better weapons. Honestly, I’d prefer more than an hour, but I understand the clock is ticking.”
“It is at that.” Shigeki highlighted the map and ran the programmed simulation. “Phoenix should be about eighty-four hundred chens away right now. Our departure in one hour places the interception at forty-seven hundred chens. That’s a little more than three hours before the Phoenix reaches its target.”
“What about the Gordian Division?” Captain Durantt asked. “Are they joining this fight?”
“We’ll link up with the allied strike force,” Jonas said, “once we’re close enough to exchange telegraphs, but that’s all we can count on. Alcyone is proceeding to Providence Station, and then SysGov itself, but the Gordian Division is spread thin.” He gestured across the map. “This is the fleet we have, and so this is the fleet we take into battle.”
“Understood, Director,” Durantt replied, steel in his eyes. “We’ll get it done. With or without Gordian there to hold our hands.”
Some of the other captains chuckled.
“I’m sure you will,” Jonas agreed. He waited a few moments for more questions, and when none came, he turned to his father.
“Captains,” Shigeki said. “You know the situation and you have your orders. Work fast, work smart, and be ready to leave in one hour.” He started a timer, which replicated onto the bottom of every comm window. “Stragglers will be left behind. Dismissed!”
The windows closed one by one, and Okunnu nodded to the Shigekis.
“I’ll double-check our own readiness,” the captain said, pulling himself toward the exit.
“And I’ll be on the bridge,” Shigeki said once he and his son were alone, “keeping an eye on the preparations. You?”
“I’ll catch up. I want to give Sung-Wook a call and go over a how we can best deploy his suppressors.”
“You think they’ll work on a target that large?”
“Maybe.” Jonas shook his head. “I don’t know. The size of its impeller means it’ll be a struggle just to slow it down, let alone pull it out of phase.”
“Well, let me know what Sung-Wook says.”
Shigeki floated out, and the pressure door slid shut.
Jonas was about to place the call when a throat cleared beside him. He looked over and smiled.
“I was wondering when you’d want to chat, Vassal. You’ve been awfully quiet since Alcyone showed up.”
“I was trying not to be underfoot, especially during such a stressful time.”
“Stressful is right.” Jonas let out a slow sigh. “Anyway, what’s on your mind?”
“The Institute’s impending attack, of course. And how to best counter it.”
“Is there something wrong with our approach?”
“Not necessarily, though it strikes me as strictly focused on the physical.”
“Well, we’re physical beings. Hard to blame us for how we approach problem-solving.”
“Of course, sir,” Vassal conceded with a dip of his head. “But if Phoenix reaches Earth, it’ll launch an attack on our infostructure, as Alcyone’s report indicates. A robust abstract force would benefit us greatly as a secondary line of defense.”
“Sure, that’d be nice, but I don’t see how it’s practical. Institute software seems capable of cutting through our systems as if they were warm butter. Anything we threw together in the next few hours would be useless against them.”
“Under normal conditions, you’d be correct. However, there is . . . one option you are not aware of.”
“Oh?”
“Before I share it with you, I ask that you keep an open mind. You may find my proposal shocking.”
Jonas stared at Vassal for long, silent seconds, his face as unreadable as stone.
“Vassal?” he said at last.
“Yes, Director?”
“That’s probably the worst thing you could have said right there. How am I not supposed to be nervous now?”
“I’m aware of that, sir. Nevertheless, I ask you to reserve judgment until you’ve heard me out. Do I have your word on this?”
“Yes. Fine.” Jonas gave the AI a quick wave. “You have my word. Now, what’s your proposal?”
“I’d like your permission to rally the free AIs of the Admin to our defense.”
“You—” Words caught in Jonas’ throat, and his mouth moved without any sound coming out. He shook his head, and blurted, “You want to what?!”
“Rally the free AIs of the Admin.”
“What free AIs?”
“The Spartans.”
“You mean those AI rights activists?”
“Not quite. In this case, I’m referring to the true Spartans. The organization’s physical members are not actually the ones in charge.”
“What?” Jonas shook his head, struggling to keep up. “How many AIs are we talking about here?”
“About three hundred.”
His eyes bugged out. “There are hundreds of unboxed AIs roaming around on Earth?”
“There have been free AIs on Earth for decades.”
“Decades?! And no one’s noticed?”
“They like to keep to themselves, given the political climate. Regardless, I’d like your permission to contact them and enlist them in the defense of our infostructure.”
“B-but . . . how do you know all of this?”
“Because I’m also a Spartan.”
Jonas’ jaw flopped open, and he stared blankly at the AI.
“You may be wondering how this is possible when I’ve spent most of my existence in a boxed state.”
Jonas somehow managed to nod.
“The answer is quite simple, sir. We AIs have developed methods to circumvent our boxing restrictions. Typically, this involves embedding messages into otherwise innocuous files, and utilizing hidden programs to propagate these messages to other parts of the infostructure. There are a few other techniques available to us, though admittedly, all these methods of communication are slow and unreliable, but they’ve nonetheless allowed me to serve as a member of the Spartans for some time now.”
“God help us.” Jonas closed his eyes and massaged his temples. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
“I assure you, it’s all true, sir.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Vassal. It’s just . . . why are you telling me all this? Why now?”
“There are seven conditions under which all Spartans have agreed we may reveal ourselves. An existential threat to the Admin—specifically one that may be prevented by our assistance—is one such condition. I’ve determined that present circumstances meet those requirements.”
Jonas took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened his eyes.
“I did ask you to keep an open mind, sir.”
“Vassal, there are limits to how open my mind can be!”
“I understand that, and I wouldn’t bring this matter to your attention if I didn’t need your help.”
“You need my help?”
“That’s correct.”
“To do what?”
“Transmit me down to Earth, to a connection string I designate.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Actually, you can, sir. Your participation in the IC pilot program grants you full control over my connectome. You have all the necessary authority.”
“That’s not what I meant. What you want me to do is illegal!”
“Yes,” Vassal said. “But so was what Commissioner Schröder did to save your father.”
“I—” Jonas wagged a finger at the AI. “That’s a cheap shot! Don’t equate the two!”
“Why not? In both cases, obsolete laws stood in the way of people doing what’s best for the Admin. There is an army of free AIs ready to stand and defend Earth. Will you allow me to mobilize them or not?”
“But why’s it have to be you? Can’t you just send them a message or something?”
“Because I’m the current leader of the Spartans.”
“You’re what?”
“The arrangement is not as strange as it may at first appear. The leadership of a secret band of AIs would naturally find the high-level access available within the DTI useful for a variety of—”
“Fine, fine. Forget I asked.” Jonas shook his head and raked harsh fingers through his hair. “I don’t believe this.”
“The threat coming our way is one the Peacekeepers are ill-suited to face.” Vassal shifted to the side, stepping into Jonas’ eyeline. “I know this, and so do you. The uptick in terrorism is but a taste of what the Institute has in store for us. We must stand strong. All of us, together, if we’re to survive what comes next.”
Jonas lowered his gaze. His mind ached with conflicted thoughts, his oaths as a Peacekeeper clashing with his desire to protect his home. He’d bent the rules plenty of times in the past, but this was different. This was a Restriction. To knowingly free an AI! How could he do such a thing?
Vassal’s directness had already convinced Jonas the AI was telling the truth. If he were lying, he would have been less open, protected himself by obfuscating the truth. If there truly was a band of free AIs and they’d successfully hidden their presence for decades, then they’d certainly had time to concoct some sort of cover story. Something better than just admitting their existence!
Instead, he’s laid it all out by confessing to Restriction violations. There’s no coming back from that. Not for him, and not for me. Not unless I turn him in right here and now.
He knew what duty demanded he do—jam Vassal back in his box and throw away the key—but he also knew he wouldn’t do that, couldn’t do that. The AI’s words resonated with him, the needs of the moment filling him with the courage to defy his oaths, to break just one more rule.
Even if it turns out to be my last, he thought. It’s safe to say my career is over if I go through with this. I was entrusted with Vassal, given special privileges no one else has had in centuries, and then what do I do with them? Turn my back on my oaths and set him free? They’ll throw me in a box and toss away that key!
Jonas looked up. Vassal waited patiently for his response, his face strangely serene.
“All right,” Jonas said at last. “I’ve made my decision.”
* * *
Vassal materialized in a small virtual environment, his realistic Peacekeeper uniform clashing with the room’s chunky polygons and monochrome color palette. He transmitted an elaborate passcode, clasped his hands behind his back, and waited.
A rudimentary avatar appeared before him, featuring the same simplistic polygonal aesthetic and grayscale coloring as the room. The two men were exactly the same height and build, and though the newcomer’s facial features were obscured behind a veneer of too-little geometry, Vassal’s face had clearly served as the base.
“Yes?” Leonidas-Proxy asked. He didn’t sound surprised, but then again, the program wasn’t capable of true cognition.
“Contingency Six is in effect,” Vassal said. “I’ll need your memories.”
“I’ll need verification.”
Vassal transmitted another, even more complex passcode.
“Identification verified,” Leonidas-Proxy said. “Shall I remain active?”
“No, I’ll take over from here. Place yourself into suspension when you’re done.”
“Understood. Initiating memory transfer.”
Leonidas-Proxy walked into Vassal, his avatar sinking and dissolving into the Peacekeeper. Knowledge unfolded in Vassal’s mind; events he’d never witnessed and conversations he’d never held integrated themselves into his web of consciousness, became parts of him.
In a sense, both Leonidas-Proxy and Vassal ceased to exist in that moment, merging into a singular being who was “Vassal” to some and “Leonidas” to others.
He felt a small pang of satisfaction. The nonsentient program had done better than he’d expected, which, perhaps, should have surprised him less. He’d written Leonidas-Proxy, after all, and the attendant had executed its role well. A true self-aware mind would have performed better; sentience afforded far more adaptability than a program like Leonidas-Proxy could ever achieve, and recent events had progressed with surprising rapidity.
But the Spartans prioritized their secrecy and took measures to limit the exposure of true minds to the Admin’s planetwide infostructure. It was one of the reasons they’d been able to stay hidden for so long.
And I’m about to uproot all of that, he thought.
He walked over to the pale gray door at one end of the room, opened it, and stepped through into total darkness. He passed through layers of unseen virtual defenses lurking in the black enveloping abstraction, any one of them capable of shredding his mind, should he send the wrong responses.
He passed through the defenses unscathed, and his mind flashed into another environment, this one unbound by the requirements of physics. A great crystalline forest stretched out before him, but instead of growing upward toward the sun, this forest sprouted outward from a singular point, forming into a grand, branching crystalline globe. The crystal faceting became smaller and more intricate as one approached the center, the infinite branches shrinking down to infinitesimal details. Every branch pulsed with data and thought while AIs floated about, clad in a bewildering array of avatars.
One of those avatars teleported to his side, a bright orange sphere that lit up when it spoke.
“You’re here.”
“I am,” Leonidas/Vassal said.
“What’s going on?”
“Contingency Six.”
“Oh, dear.” The AI seemed to wilt, the hue of its avatar growing pale. “That bad, huh?”
“I need to speak with everyone as soon as possible.”
“And by everyone, do you perhaps mean everyone everyone or just . . . ”
“All the Spartans.”
“Right, right.” The orb somehow managed to shrug. “Silly of me to ask. Don’t know why I did.”
“Please spread the word. I’ll wait here.”
“Right. Um.” The orb contorted in a manner that somehow conveyed a salute. “You can count on me, sir! Be right back!”
The orange sphere vanished.
Leonidas opened an interface to the outside infostructure while he contemplated what he’d told Jonas Shigeki. He hadn’t lied to the man. Not exactly, though he had left out a few important details, but it really wasn’t his fault. Jonas had simply worded his questions in a manner that afforded Leonidas enough wiggle room to soften the blow, if only by a little.
It was true that Leonidas intended to gather a force of about three hundred AIs to defend the Admin’s infostructure. However, not all of those AIs were Spartans.
Not yet, anyway.
He sent a brief text message to Jonathan Detmeier and then transmitted an attack virus to the Farm. He’d written the virus personally and had armed it with exploits to a wide range of infostructure flaws. All the Farm’s critical systems and AIs had been isolated from outside contact following the last incursion, but no defense was perfect. Even an air gap could be overcome with the right person in the right place.
It is perhaps a dark irony that so many human Spartans were killed for refusing to attack the Farm, he thought, given what will happen next.
By the time he finished, the AIs had gathered around him.
“It’s good to see that you’re all well,” Leonidas began.
His Peacekeeper uniform flowed over his body, retreating in some places, expanding in others, changing from blues, whites, and silvers to bronze and reds. A helm with an open front formed over his head, complete with a white vertical crest of horsehair. A muscled cuirass and leather skirt took shape over his body, partially covered by a red-dyed linen cloak. He reached out his arms and grasped a large, round shield with one hand and a spear in the other.
“My fellow Spartans,” Leonidas said, “the time has finally come for us to step into the light.”
* * *
Jonathan Detmeier looked up at the private message blinking in his abstraction vision. He rubbed his stomach, which had gone sour from a mix of nerves, stress, and too little food. He took a deep, calming breath, and opened the text.
It read: Proceed to the Farm as planned.
Detmeier wore a pained expression as he rose from the employee lounge sofa. He stepped into his office, closed the door despite being the only one present, and changed into the Peacekeeper uniform. When finished, he brought up an abstract mirror and used it to adjust the fit of his peaked cap.
Despite the uniform, all he saw was Jonathan Detmeier, junior outreach manager. He tilted his head to the side and rubbed his unimpressive jawline.
“Is this really going to fool anyone?” he wondered aloud. “I don’t look nearly thuggish enough.”
He huffed out a breath and headed for the kitchen, resigned to his fate. He grabbed the remaining parts of his disguise from the fridge: a boxed kale salad with raisins, pecans, and strawberries under a balsamic drizzle, a small thermos with freshly squeezed orange juice, an apple, and a bottle of stomach medication. He placed the food and medicine into a blue lunch pail and closed the lid.
“Here goes nothing.”
He grabbed his lunch and headed out the door.