Wings of Redemption (The Terra Nova Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  “The humans,” Kyrios sneered, glaring at Jared. “Their precious Terra Nova has no defenses and their pitiful forces won’t be able to stand against the Netherguard. We will crush them just as we did before, and once we have the Crucible, we can launch attacks throughout the galaxy with impunity.”

  Cigyd dropped to a knee before the Emperor. “Allow me to lead this attack, my Emperor. Give me this honor and I shall bring you the Crucible and the heads of those responsible for destroying our sanctum on Negev.”

  “We will need to move swiftly. The Abomination will not stand idly by and wait for us to make the next move, but it will take them time to organize their forces. I have no doubt that if we do not move against them soon, they will bring the battle to us.”

  “I will make all haste, Master.”

  Jared gritted his teeth together. You can’t just do nothing.

  “Your only objective is the Crucible,” Kyrios said. “Everything else is secondary. Once you have the technology, return here. It will take me some time to reorganize our subjects, return them to the might we possessed before the rebellion. I rule over pirates and brigands; I need soldiers again.”

  “Centuries of bad habits,” Zviera said. “Hard to undo.”

  “Don’t you remember the old ways?” the Emperor asked. “‘The ache of the body creates the strongest of wills.’ We will put this city to work. Those that aren’t building ships or weapons will re-build my palace. My Citadel. We shall have it here, in these ruins. The Ultari will create it, and in so doing remember what it is to obey…and then to dominate. Bring the vessel the humans slaves made for us to the construction site. I want it as my personal chambers to remind me of the injustice we survived…and to keep my hate burning.”

  “As you wish,” Zviera said.

  Jared keyed in the infiltrator’s signal code from memory. Not wanting to take any chances, he’d redacted the logs to mask any connection with the droid after their encounter at Network Control. The message would have to be small, but what could he send that the droid would understand?

  “Take a force.” The Emperor pointed at Cigyd. “Whatever you need. Bring me the Crucible technology from the humans. Don’t return without it.”

  Cigyd stood. “I will not fail you, Emperor. I will show the humans what it means to cross the Triumvirate.”

  “I know you will, Cigyd.” Kyrios said. “But remember, the Crucible is what we want. There will be time to deal with the humans after we destroy the Core.”

  Cigyd bowed his head again. “Of course, Master.”

  Jared held his breath and sent the message.

  ****

  The shuttle rocked slightly as it lifted off its landing struts, hovering in the darkness as MAC pondered his next command. Was that anticipation? He’d considered leaving the restrictions in place, but for this, he needed CID. He had no other options. He initiated the sequence, dreading what came next.

  System-system initial-initializing. Boot…zzzzt…sequence-sequence…zzzzt…boot sequence initiated. Processing…zzzzt…Processing…

  Diagnostic readouts scrolled across MAC’s optical display, showing him the operations. Trigger warnings flashed as several sections of code registered faulty. The matrix restrictions he’d imposed had degraded CID’s processes even more than they had been. A troubling thought, since CID’s matrix was the only one capable of initializing the quantum link needed to reach the Core.

  Suboptimal, CID advised. Zzzzt…operational capa-capability reduced to-to-to seventy-three-three…zzzzt…percent.

  “I’m sorry, CID,” MAC told his other half. “I had no other choice.”

  Limited-limited functions available…zzzzt…system-wide-wide…zzzzt…reset required.

  MAC keyed a command into the shuttle’s computer, opening the hidden doors in the ceiling of his hideaway. Sunlight spilled into the confined space as the ceiling parted, revealing blue skies above.

  “We don’t have time for that,” MAC said. “Can you open a quantum link?”

  Now-now-now you…zzzzt…want to-to contact the…zzzzt…Core-core?

  MAC adjusted the flight controls, maneuvering the shuttle through the opening in the building’s roof then angling for orbit. “We don’t have a choice. Operational conditions have changed.”

  A con-considerable…zzzzt…under-understatement.

  “Can you establish a link or not?”

  Working.

  An incoming burst transmission flashed over MAC’s optical display. Security protocols scrubbed the packet, searching for any malicious code, and found none. The file wasn’t large enough to contain anything more than text.

  The-the origin designation…zzzzt…has-has been masked, CID advised. It was-was…zzzzt…addressed directly to us-us-us…zzzzt…

  “There’s only one entity on Ultar that knows how to contact us directly.”

  The Herald.

  MAC opened the message and ran his translation protocol. The message was only two words, but MAC had no problem understanding its meaning.

 

  “The Quantum Link?”

  Establishing.

  The shuttle’s display panels blinked out, replaced with a complex, glowing fractal. The purple lines floated above the shuttle’s controls, casting a lavender hue throughout the cockpit.

  The pattern pulsed and twisted as Core Intelligence Node Governance spoke. “Machine Algorithmic Cognitive version 1968, Core Intelligence Designator profile B2, Infiltrator Unit, contract protocol established. Your Compressed Intelligence Depository is degrading. It has been 476 cycles since your last mission update. Explain.”

  “Our observation mission on Ultar has changed, CIN Governance. The Triumvirate have returned.”

  “We are aware.”

  The-the Core is attempting…zzzzt…to in-insert diagnostic protocols into-into our…zzzzt…matrix.

  “Seal it off.”

  The fractal patterned pulsed. “You are attempting to block our access to your matrix. This is not protocol. Release the partitions immediately.”

  Matrix-matrix sealed.

  CIN Governance’s hue shifted to red. “Machine Algorithm Cognitive, you will comply.”

  “I can’t do that,” MAC said. “There are new considerations here of which the Core is not aware.” MAC went on to relay everything he’d learned so far, leaving out the fact that he’d altered his base design—not that it mattered now. His failure to allow Governance to establish a direct link with his matrix was grounds for immediate reprocessing.

  As MAC spoke, the fractal pattern gradually faded back to its original lavender. Outside, the blue skies had given way to the blackness of space and CID began identifying Ultari warships in the distance. Warships, troop transports, and supply ships were all clustered around the Triumvirate command ship, without any consideration for organization.

  The fractal pulsed silently for several millicycles, then said, “And you believe this human is providing you with accurate information?”

  “He has done nothing so far that would suggest otherwise.”

  “Your assessment of the situation is accurate, MAC-1968-CID-B2. Suggestions?”

  “We cannot allow the Triumvirate to spread through the galaxy,” MAC said. “They will not stop until they control every form of life everywhere. Exclusionary Protocols will not be successful. We must destroy them.”

  CIN Governance pulsed again. “The Core is evaluating a number of alternatives. The human presence on the prison world is a variable we’re unable to properly factor. We lack sufficient data to proceed. Your contact with this human ‘herald’ has compromised your programming. You will return for reprocessing and reassignment immediately.”

  I am-am-am…zzzzt…detecting multiple-multiple drive acti-activations.

  “I cannot do that,” MAC said.

  The lavender fractals flashed red, their shapes rapidly expanding and collapsing. “You are in violation of—”

  For the first time since being brought
online, Machine Algorithm Cognitive 1968, Core Intelligence Designator B2, interrupted his superior. “No. Reprocessing is not an option. Nor will I submit to reassignment.”

  We-we-we, CID corrected. Numerous orders are coming through the Ultar command channels…and a message from the Herald.

  “Share it with the Core,” MAC said and accessed Jared’s warning. “There you have it. The Ultari are moving against Terra Nova.”

  “Too many variables.” The fractal slowed, then settled to a single blinking cursor. “System errors are cascading through the decision matrix…system pause. System pause.”

  “I am the only android capable of anything these days,” MAC said. “I will infiltrate the assault force heading to Terra Nova and relay data. If the Core is offline, then I hope the meat bags we serve remember how to make a decision. Fix yourself.”

  He closed the channel.

  The Core will not forgive that insult. You’ve spent too much time with the Ultari. Their culture has-has a toxic effect on you.

  MAC continued, ignoring his other half. “There is much more at stake here than the survival of just the Regulos. The Triumvirate’s rule was a dark time in history. Billions dead and enslaved. The Core cannot defeat the Triumvirate on our own. We’re going to need assistance, and I’m going to secure it.”

  On the navigational display in front of him, MAC watched as CID processed the data and fed it into their shuttle’s computer. His interface with the shuttle’s system was much faster than MAC’s would’ve been, but even then, it took the better part of half a millicycle for his counterpart to finish the calculations.

  Destination coordinates…zzzzt…locked-locked in. I will adjust orbital control measures and have our shuttle cleared to dock the flagship. If any Ultari ask, we’re delivering fish cakes for the galley.

  “And when they realize we have no fish cakes on this shuttle?”

  That’s your p-p-problem.

  MAC drummed his fingers on the console, then paused. He waited as the shuttle accelerated towards the growing Ultari flotilla, considering just how far he’d deviated from his core programming, and just what that meant for him as a proper android.

  Chapter 24

  The ground rumbled as the last shuttle lifted off the ground, its engines glowing red, blowing wind and water everywhere. Hale shielded his eyes against the rain as he watched the large transport rotate and fly away. Another identical transport was vanishing into the gray clouds several thousand feet above.

  “That’s the last of them,” Marie said.

  Hale nodded. He knew the doughboys would be their only hope at a real defense, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just sentenced them to their deaths. He’d led Marines in battle before, losing too many to the enemy, but this was different somehow.

  “Do you think we have the numbers to put up a real fight?” Hale asked her, turning away from the shuttle. “Let’s say we repel one attack. Do you think Kyrios will stop there? I don’t know much about that metal-plated bastard, but he doesn’t seem like the type to just give up, go away and sulk. He’ll produce more Netherguard and come at us again and again until he destroys us or we destroy him.”

  “I was hoping the chief would be back with some good news before we reached that point.”

  “So was I,” Hale said.

  He led his wife back inside the doughboy operations center.

  “Honestly, Ken,” Marie said, keeping her voice low as they maneuvered through the mass of doughboys who were carrying equipment and wreckage up from the lab. “What do you think happened to them? I’m really starting to get worried.”

  “I know.” Hale didn’t want to think about that now. In truth, he didn’t want to think about that ever. To think about it meant he had to consider the possibility that his boys might not make it back home, and that was something he did not want to imagine.

  The emotional part of his brain wanted to blame Carson for everything—for the boys leaving, for the Triumvirate escaping, for the lack of help out here in the great unknown. The logical part of him, however, knew none of that was true. He knew the chief would do everything in her power to keep his children safe. She was a Pathfinder, and despite his personal feelings about her, she was a damn good one.

  On some level, he’d known that ever since the Belisarius, but he’d never been able to vocalize it. Is that why you held her back as long as you did? Because she’s too much like you?

  “They’re going to be OK,” Hale said, holding the door for his wife.

  She paused in the doorway and put a hand on his face. As she looked into his eyes, Hale felt his insides twist, seeing the anguish behind those beautiful eyes.

  “I know,” she said.

  Hale wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her close. “I love you.”

  Marie nestled her head into his shoulder. “I love you.”

  After several long moments, Hale released her, leaning back with both hands on her damp cheeks. Her eyes were wet, and not from the rain. “We will see them again.”

  Marie nodded, putting her hands over his. “I know.”

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  Hale looked up as a pair of doughboys stepped out of the security office carrying a long metal bracket between them. Its frame was twisted and scarred black from the explosion. He pulled Marie to the side so they could pass.

  “Do you think Martel can recreate the programming?” Marie asked, watching the two doughboys carry the broken tank fragment out to the refuse pile.

  “She says she can.” Hale turned into the office. The guard’s blood had been scrubbed from the floor and the security locks replaced, but now both doors were propped open so the remains of the lab could be hauled out.

  Marie followed close behind. “But you don’t think she can.”

  “It’s a complicated procedure. Millions of lines of code, millions of variables. You get just one wrong, you end up with Frankenstein’s monster. Ibarra had years to perfect his design—not to mention the Qa’Resh probe that helped him. We have neither.”

  Hale stopped at the base of the stairs, staring at the spot where Captain Handley had died. The former Marine had sacrificed his own life to save Hale’s and hadn’t even thought twice about it. A pit formed in his stomach as he remembered the man’s last words to him. “This is a bad idea.”

  I’m sorry, Hale told the memory. So very sorry.

  Marie put a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back from his thoughts. She gave him a reassuring smile. “He was a hero.”

  Hale nodded. “I know.”

  Several cleanup teams were still working in the lab, dismantling the destroyed remains of gestational pods and their support equipment. Flood lamps had been set up in the corners of the room, illuminating the space in glaring white light. Sparks erupted from one of the tanks near the back as a crew cut away the damaged pieces.

  Martel stood next to the least damaged tank, holding a pad in one hand, a thin wire connecting it to the tank’s processing core. Her fingers danced over the pad as she slowly shook her head. Her face was smeared with dirt, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.

  She looked up as the two Hales approached and tossed the pad onto the tube’s control terminal. “Little bastard really screwed us, Hale. Really and truly.”

  “Can you fix it?” Hale asked.

  “Fix it?” Martel threw both hands up in frustration. “Sure, if there was anything left to fix, but there’s not. The entire core is fried. None of the processing routines are intact—even the basic subroutines are gone. I’m going to have to completely redesign and program a brand-new code if we’re going to have any hope of ever producing another doughboy. And I can tell you, I’m not an expert. Tweaking a line of code here and there? Patching the matrix together? Sure. Designing a whole new system…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

  “What do you need?”

  Martel laughed. “I need Marc Ibarra.”

  Hale scoffed. “Unfortunately, he’s a few ten
s of thousands of light-years back that way.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Not that it would matter much anyway. Some other asshole would probably try and blow those tanks up too.”

  “You don’t think it was just the one?” Marie asked.

  Martel shook her head. “Weber was only one guy. He couldn’t have stayed under the radar that long without help. Not to mention he didn’t have the access to alter all the security footage from the foundry.”

  Hale put a hand on the side of the tank. “Any leads?”

  “Knight’s working on Weber’s computer, but it’s encrypted—another thing he didn’t have the know-how to do.” Martel unplugged the data pad and stuffed it into a satchel. “You know who I think it is?”

  Hale held up a hand. “We don’t want to start that rumor without any hard information. Tanner already has her followers worked into a frenzy over this. I’d rather not feed into that paranoia. She still has it in her head that I’m trying to turn the colony into my own little fiefdom. It doesn’t help that we’ve prioritized printing Strike Marine armor for the militia. Apparently, that means I’m creating special enforcer units to put down ‘any further resistance,’” he said, inserting air quotes with his fingers for the last part.

  “Completely unsubstantiated. I don’t understand why anyone is even listening to her,” Marie said.

  “Stress does strange things to people,” Martel said.

  “We just have to keep pushing forward. Have Knight put something together on Weber—known associates, personal history, the works. When I present to the Council, I want to have everything nailed down tight.”

  “Not a whole lot to tell, really,” Martel said. “He was a veteran, came over with the original colony, wife was killed when the Netherguard invaded. Medical records show he suffered from PTSD and severe depression. My guess is the appearance of the doughboys triggered some latent psychosis resulting from the years of imprisonment and torture.”

  “But the doughboys weren’t hurting anyone,” Hale countered.

  Martel shrugged. “Battle trauma affects everyone different. Sometimes people interpose their grief and hatred on objects they can see and touch, regardless of any logical reasoning.”