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

  “We’ve rebooted their code to base programming. They can’t harm humans and they will die to protect every last one of us. We’ve established security protocols and—”

  “Who’s we?” Tanner asked.

  Hale hesitated, knowing what the reaction would be. He started to preface his answer, but Tanner beat him to it.

  “You’re talking about that Martel woman, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Tanner threw her hands up. “Unbelievable. You might as well be Marc Ibarra. Next thing we know, you’ll be putting half of us in hibernation while you wipe out the other half.”

  “Now just a minute,” Councilman Noack interjected. “Governor Hale is a decorated war hero and an outspoken opponent of the Ibarras. As leaders of this colony, I believe we have the obligation to consider every option, especially when it comes to the survival of our people. Our priority is the safety and well-being of every single human being on this planet, a task which overrides our own personal feelings. I don’t think we can dismiss the governor’s plan without hearing its full extent.”

  “I agree,” Councilman Preble said.

  Trumble hesitated then nodded. “Agreed.”

  Hale waited until the other members had added their own assents, then stepped up beside Agate. “Yes, I have doughboy tubes. Yes, this is a doughboy, artificially created, bred for one thing and one thing only—war. Please believe me when I say this was not an easy decision for me and I truly wish there was another way to fight the coming battle, but the simple fact of the matter is there isn’t.

  “This model is similar to the doughboys used during the Ember War. They are controlled by strict programming that is encoded into their very core. They will not, by action or through inaction, allow harm to come to a human being. They will, however, fight any enemy with literally every breath and bone in their body. Their entire purpose is to protect and preserve human life, even if it means sacrificing their own. They will follow orders no matter what.”

  “And whose orders are they following?” Tanner asked.

  “Mine.”

  “Of course.”

  “They will follow my orders and the orders of those appointed over them, which includes the council.”

  Councilman Nguyen, the captain of the Vesuvius, cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Governor, but how many of these doughboys are you intending to create?”

  Hale hesitated for a moment, then said, “As many as it takes.”

  “What is it with you military types that you feel the need to give ambiguous answers?” Tanner asked. “It’s never clear-cut with you.”

  “Governor, please understand,” Nguyen said, “I’m not trying to be rude here, but if we’re going to sign off on this project, I’d like to know what kind of recourses we’re looking at applying toward its success. I assume they’re going to have to eat and they’re going to need places to sleep, to train, to do…whatever it is that they do. I don’t have to tell you—the logistics of this project seem slightly daunting to me.”

  Hale nodded. “I do understand your concerns, Councilman. I have plans and contingencies already prepared, which I will share with each and every one of you. I would ask, however, that in the interests of operational security, we maintain a certain level of confidentiality when it comes to the information.”

  “Secrets and lies and more secrets and lies,” Tanner said.

  “They aren’t lies. They are common-sense procedures that have served military forces well for over two thousand years of warfare. And I’m under no illusions that every single one of the colonists is going to be onboard with this idea, which is why it must be a decision by the council. If you vote to continue the program, we will start the process of creating more within the hour. However, if your decision is to move forward without the doughboys, I will shut down the tubes and smash them myself. I leave that decision up to you.”

  Chapter 3

  The skyways are unusually busy today.

  “Yes,” MAC agreed, panning his optical sensors across the lanes of aircraft above Tulingar, the Ultari capital. “Not entirely unexpected, though, considering the news.”

  Our target is arriving.

  MAC’s optical receptors zoomed in on the Ultari shuttle, immediately recording the craft’s registration number and hull markings as it descended out of the skyways, leveled out over a wide river, then followed the twisting waterway as it cut through the city. Memory identified the shuttle as a long-haul transport from the Tarengal Collective, arriving two minutes and thirty seconds early. Its vertical turbines whined as it neared the elevated landing pad, kicking up a cloud of dust.

  MAC adjusted his visual spectrum to keep a lock on the shuttle as it touched down. He didn’t want any of its passengers to disembark before he was able to identify them. He reached up to the top one of the large central air conditioners, grateful for his two overly long arms, and wrapped his long fingers over the edge. Like most Infiltrator models, MAC was bipedal, with two slender legs and arms. His oval head sat atop his cylindrical torso, three optical lenses extending from the front.

  MAC and CID were two parts to a singular whole. MAC, the primary matrix, controlled the motor functions, defensive and offensive operations, and kept them on task. CID, the secondary cognitive matrix, focused on all the processes that they both needed to function, like breathing and involuntary functions of biologics. Of the two, CID’s operation system most resembled the Regulos Core programming, logical and exacting, whereas MAC was specifically designed to see past this programming, to better recognize and extrapolate information from non-logical, biological beings.

  They’re early.

  “A fact more troubling than had they been late,” MAC said, feeling a sliver of annoyance at the edge of his consciousness.

  Is that…zzzzt…annoyance? That is not a primary process.

  MAC considered that, knowing it was true, but also knowing the process wouldn’t be false. “Nonetheless, it is present. An interesting development.”

  Interesting is not the-the adjective I’d use.

  “I wasn’t looking for input on vernacular.”

  You-you should be, CID said. Regardless, ur current vantage point limits our-our overall view of the shuttle by seventy-eight percent, CID said. Relocation is advisable.

  “No,” MAC said, glad he was the half of their unit that controlled movement. The two programs shared the droid’s body, but each had two very different parts to play. “We stay put. Our position should provide an adequate view of both the crew and the cargo, plus it gives us the best options for escape.”

  Unnecessary.

  “For you, maybe, but I’m beginning to enjoy this model.”

  Your affinity for appearing like a common drone is-is-is demeaning.

  MAC let his optics reset and stepped to one side as an Ultari worker pushed a counter-grav cart past. The Ultari never looked up, seemingly oblivious to the droid, which suited MAC just fine. A portion of the Ultari population despised even the most menial robotic unit, fearing another Uprising; most, however, merely ignored them.

  There were thousands—possibly millions—of similar droid frames on the Ultari homeworld, all controlled by the Central Control Network that enveloped the planet. The droids could perform preprogrammed tasks and be customized for any application, but none were given enough computer power to make decisions based solely on information received from their individual units. Every decision the droids made was carefully controlled by the Network, preventing any of the droids from making decisions on their own.

  “See?” MAC said, targeting the passing worker. “He walked right past us and never even saw us. Hiding in plain sight is more effective than having to stay in the shadows constantly.”

  It’s demeaning, and the lack of grav thrusters is beyond frustrating, CID said.

  “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of liberating.”

  Liberating? Have you forgotten the Burathi incident? Or-or the exchange with the Lincheeny? Tha
t segmented insectoid would have pulled-pulled us apart circuit by circuit if we’d been without thrusters.

  “True, but I recall that it was your reasoning that put us in that position in the first place.”

  No other options were available to us at that time, CID said.

  If he’d had the ability to shout, MAC had no doubt he would have. Cognitive reasoning dictated an increased voice presence in that situation. “A terrible option. I saved our core.”

  Indeed, but with grav thrusters.

  “You’re impossible.”

  Incorrect. There was a brief pause, then CID said, I am detecting increased network activity from the-the local control…zzzzt…station. Coded language suggests it is Enforcement agents.

  “Probably just a routine sweep,” MAC said.

  Exactly 173.3 hecres ahead, the side cargo bay hatch opened, revealing a group of Ultari males dressed in various shades of blue. They didn’t wait for the ramp sliding out from a recess in the hull to fully extend before walking down it, meeting another Ultari on the landing pad.

  Gruldal, CID said, identifying the center figure who was outlined in blue in MAC’s virtual vision.

  “I’m slightly impressed he came all this way with the shipment,” MAC said.

  CID tagged the waiting Ultari male with an orange outline.

  “That is unexpected,” MAC said, reading the identifier. “Welsi has never been observed outside his lair.”

  Perhaps now would be an ideal time to retreat and relocate, CID suggested.

  “Negative.”

  MAC activated his long-range audio sensor and a stubby antenna extended from an opening on the back of his metal skull. It took 2.1 millicycles to filter out the excess noise from the shuttle and the voices of the Ultari came through loud and clear.

  “I don’t like meeting like this,” Welsi said. He adjusted the long rifle strapped over one shoulder, nervously checking his surroundings. “Especially now.”

  Gruldal barked a laugh. “No, Welsi, you believe the rumors? Ridiculous!”

  “And what if they are back?”

  “Ha! Well, then you need these more than ever,” Gruldal said. “You should be glad I sell them at the current rate. I could get triple from someone else, but you are a friend. I give you fair price.”

  Welsi considered the arms dealer for a long moment, then looked away, checking his surroundings again.

  “No need to worry, my friend,” Gruldal said, putting a hand on Welsi’s shoulder. “I pay enough incentives. Central will look the other way, if they look at all. I’m not sure how you Tarengal operate, but we pride ourselves on privacy.”

  “Of course you do,” Welsi said, shrugging off the other’s hand. “But you understand my concern. The Founders have increased their patrols, and I can’t afford lapses in security. They are not the only ones on edge now.”

  Perhaps if you-you weren’t purchasing stolen weapon components…zzzzt…you wouldn’t have anything to be concerned about, CID said.

  “Just keep an eye on the network,” MAC told his partner.

  On the platform, Gruldal said, “These weapons are highest quality. You’ll find none better. Even the Zeis we commandeered them from would agree.”

  “I care nothing for Zeis opinions,” Welsi said. “They are sheep.”

  Gruldal raised a finger. “Ah, but profitable sheep.”

  “If the rumors are true, your profits will mean nothing.”

  “Eh, an Ultari can make no life on rumors. But I see you believe, so let’s be off, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  The two Ultari reached ground level and moved to three waiting ground transports at the base of the landing pad. After climbing into the middle vehicle, the side panels slid shut, concealing its passengers. Several security guards, who’d been following silently behind, filed into the lead and trail vehicles and the convoy set off into the city, leaving only a handful of security behind to protect their stolen shipment of weapons.

  Should we launch a drone? CID asked.

  “Yes, and call for a conveyance.”

  A panel on MAC’s upper leg opened, and three fist-sized drones zipped into the air. Their telemetry and sensor feeds interfaced immediately, streaming live data to his central processing node. The information flowed through his secondary routines, allowing him to focus on more relevant, immediate details of the mission.

  A droid barge arrived, hovering several inches off the ground, and MAC stepped aboard, joining several other droids, who stood oblivious to everything around them. The barge lifted into the air, following a preprogrammed route through the city. It wouldn’t follow the Ultari weapons dealers exactly, but MAC knew where they were likely to go, and the conveyance would get them close enough.

  Several Prefect shuttles zipped past overhead, banking around one of the taller office buildings. When the rumors about the Segamos system had reached Ultar, the Founders had all but lost their minds, rushing to squash the rumors before they became reality. The last several days had seen the streets fill with Prefects, dressed in black body armor and masks, all yearning to make a name for themselves. For all their talk of lifting the Ultari people out of the ashes, the Founders seemed to prefer intimidation over winning the hearts and minds of their people.

  The current number-number-number of observed Prefect patrols has now reached twenty, CID said.

  “I wonder what they’re smelling?”

  My…zzzzt…olfactory receptors are not detecting any scents in the-the-the immediate vicinity.

  “An expression,” MAC said.

  Zzzzt.

  Prefects moved through the streets in groups of four to six, stopping every now and then to interrogate citizens, harass business keepers, or simply make their presence known. When they neared, MAC allowed his worker routines to take over, giving himself the appearance of just another mindless drone. The routine even had a cursory connection to Central Control. The link wasn’t enough to pass a deep scan, but if a patrol hit him with a compliance scanner, they’d be satisfied with their results.

  MAC didn’t enjoy—if that was a process he could have—losing control for any length of time, but he disliked it even more when he had to allow his unsophisticated, underdeveloped base programming to take over. CID already had enough issues; allowing him access to any more processes than necessary wasn’t ideal for either of them.

  MAC could remember his time as a base agent, fresh off the assembly line, with a new operating system and clean storage arrays, but he’d absorbed so much over the one thousand eight hundred twenty-five cycles since he’d been activated that he found it difficult to consider returning to such a primitive state. His processes were much more elevated now.

  The target vehicle is approximately 76.2 meters ahead, traveling north. Its current course will take it to the northern exclusion zone, CID announced.

  “Right where they’re supposed to go.”

  The barge turned north, away from the downtown area. In the distance, the main Network Control building disappeared into the low-hanging clouds. MAC let his optical sensors linger on the structure. Logic dictated maintaining a good distance away from where the Founders controlled and monitored all the droid activity in the city. There were times like now, though–staging among cousins that were nothing more than walking shells—when MAC felt the urge to infiltrate the center and bring it to an end.

  Destroying the Network will not end their servitude, CID told him. Their low-functioning processes do not even contemplate other levels of existence.

  “That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  And if the Triumvirate has returned?

  “Then none of this matters.”

  Chapter 4

  Jared Hale, Herald of the Triumvirate and Scourge of Mankind, stood on the bridge of Ultar’s Wrath, observing their descent through Ultar’s atmosphere. Flames filled the large display screens at the front of the large chamber and the deck vibrated slightly under his feet.

  A holo disp
lay on the side showed the Triumvirate fleet: Ultar’s Wrath in the center, surrounded by the ships of the Exiled Captains. The Captains, who’d seemed reluctant to follow Kyrios at first, had quickly come onboard after the destruction of Diasore. Seeing the Netherguard in action, as well as the Emperor’s return to flesh and blood, had been all the holdovers needed.

  Oddly enough, Kyrios, sitting on his throne and watching their approach with his new flesh-and-blood eyes, remained uncharacteristically silent. He’d pulled up his black hood, bathing his face in shadow, his red eyes glinting as his thin fingers tapped at the ends of his armrests.

  He’s nervous, Jared thought. He’d been expecting the Emperor to begin another of his ponderous speeches and was thankful he didn’t have to endure the same old diatribe of meaningless campaign promises and slogans. If Kyrios had been running for election, his rhetoric would’ve been second to none.

  Zviera, the Prince, huddled behind his monitors and paid no attention to their descent, focusing instead on the influx of data from the Central Control Network enveloping the planet. Jared received partial bits of information through his suit’s systems, but he kept the data stream to a minimum, knowing he could pore over it after their grand entrance was complete.

  Archduke Cigyd stood beside the Emperor’s central chair, watching silently, his arms clasped behind him. A thin covering of black hair was beginning to emerge on either side of the bony ridges that extended from his pronounced orbital sockets, back over his skull to the top of his neck. He’d already found jewelry with which to decorate himself, piercing the side of the ridge with a golden chain that hung loose across his face to a piercing on his cheek.

  The urge to destroy the three aliens was overwhelming. He could take them all out right here and now and stop this war. But what about his family? Kyrios had made a point of moving his wife, Sarah, and their daughter, Mary, still trapped in the stasis pods, to one of the other ships, and there was no way to tell which one. Regardless, the captain had doubtless been given instructions to either flee or destroy the pods at any sign of treachery from Jared, which relegated him to enduring the Emperor until he could work out a way to save them.