LITTLE MIKE COMES ROARING BACK
ABOARD THE BLADE/SHARK
“You know me, Manzil,” Barnid said, “I’m not one to talk behind a shipmate’s back, but I don’t like this setup one clottin’ bit. Skink’s out there doin’ who knows what while we sit here diddlin’ around.
“Been thinkin’ the same thing me own self,” Manzil said. When it comes to cuttin’ up loot, Skink’s been known to put his thumb on the scales.”
“He claims it’s to cover expenses for Tortooga,” Barnid said, “but we already kick in fifteen percent for that.”
The two captains were talking via a holo hookup, looking as if they were sitting side by side in their command centers. Their first mates, Ranzid and Orkney hovered nearby, supposedly keeping an eye on the monitors, but mainly keeping their captains’ glasses full, as well as their own as they big-eared the conversation.
“Thing that ticks me off the clottin’ most,” Barnid said, “is that old Crocface refused to take any of our crew along. Said his guys were more experienced.”
“He’s full of drakh,” Manzil said. “I’d put any of my people against his any day, any time and any place.”
“You got that right, brother,” Barnid said, so indignant that he spilled his drink and his first mate had to hurry to top up the glass again.
“We’ve been piratin’ as long as Skink,” he continued, “and have boarded as many ships and got our hands on just as much loot as he ever has.”
Manzil raised a finger. “Except when Captain Crocface gets his claws on the loot first,” he said. “Then it never seems to be as much as we figured.”
Barnid stirred in his seat. “That is so clottin’ true,” he said. “Remember that time when we jumped that convoy in the Hanilla Sector and—”
At that moment, Ranzid—Barnid’s first mate—stepped back, as if he’d been hit in the gut.
“Holy clot,” he said, “where’d that come from?”
They all looked up at their monitors and were nearly blown out of their boots when they saw the Salamis filling the screens. Rushing down on them full speed, weapons bristling, silvery flak shooting out of her bows.
The two captains hit their alarm buttons at the same time. Horns shrilled and weapons’ officers bellowed, “All hands! All hands!”
Just before his holo image vanished, Manzil cried, “Barnid! Remember, you’ve got the particle cannon!”
For a moment Barnid just stared at the space where Manzil had been. Eyes glazed over with booze. He shook himself, adrenalin battling the amount of narcotics-laced booze he’d taken on.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “The particle cannon. Gotta get the particle cannon.”
He looked up at Ranzid, who was almost as drunk as his captain.
“You know how to run that thing, Ranzid?”
Ranzid looked up at the monitor again. So scared that he was about to foul his drawers.
“Uh, I think so, boss.”
“Well, get to it, man,” Barnid shouted.
Ranzid raced from the room, while Barnid called up his weapons board.
ABOARD THE JUBILEE
The pirates were all either passed out, or on their knees spewing their guts. Joyboys and joygirls were loading the unconscious ones onto gravskids to transport them to a secure hold.
Meanwhile, Charly moved from one still conscious pirate to another, smacking them on their heads with the balled up ends of his tentacles. At the same time the bar ’bots were swabbing the decks, cleaning up the reeking mess the pirates had left behind.
In the command center Sully was huddled with his navigator and helmsman, eyes on the main monitor. Waiting and praying for the promised signal.
All of a sudden the magnificent sight of an Imperial warship filled the screen.
“It’s the Salamis,” Sully cried. “Just like Ida said.”
Then he slapped his helmsman on the back. “Hit it, Arney,” he said.
And Arney hit it.
If any of the pirate captains had been watching their secondary screens they would have seen the Jubilee drop from her position. Then race away, full speed.
ABOARD THE SALAMIS
Normally, Commander Thema took no pleasure in killing her fellow beings. Her every molecule was imbued with cold, calculated professionalism.
But now for the first time in her long and hallowed career, she took the greatest pleasure when she said: “Fire!
A split second later the first missile shot out of its tube and sped toward the pirate fleet. A moment later a dozen more followed.
She thrilled as that first missile exploded against an enemy shield. Then another. And another. The shields were giving away. Cracking.
Thema slammed her fist on the board.
“Hit ‘em again,” she chortled. “More! More!”
And her weapons officer gave her more.
ABOARD THE BLADE
Captain Barnid checked the port monitor and saw a suited up Ranzid exit the ship and head for the particle cannon, which Skink’s crew had moved to his ship. It was just beneath the vessel, held by sturdy clamps.
Another missile barrage hit his shield and the force was so great that it rocked the ship, nearly throwing Barnid to the deck.
He steadied himself, then watched, terror-stricken, as Ranzid locked his magboots onto the body of the particle cannon and slowly made his way to the pilot’s canopy.
Barnid wanted to scream for Ranzid to hurry, for clot’s sake, but in his haste Ranzid neglected to set up a com link.
Not that it would do any good. Although Barnid was sweating bullets, he knew Ranzid was going as fast he could, lifting up one magboot after another and setting down, as if moving through thick mud.
Finally, he got to the canopy. Agonizing minutes were lost as he fumbled with the locks. Barnid groaned when he saw Ranzid lose the locking tool and it drifted away on its tether.
Ranzid struggled to reel it in, then finally caught it, swiveled back to the canopy and fumbled with the locking mechanism. It popped open and Ranzid pulled himself inside.
More precious minutes were lost as Ranzid fumbled with unfamiliar controls and the Salamis continued hammering the pirate fleet.
ABOARD THE SHARK
The shields protecting Manzil and his ships cracked first. A missile got through the silvery flak intact and hit the Shark, ripping an enormous hole in her guts.
Manzil was slammed against his comcenter, then crashed to the floor, his head smashing against a chair.
He fell to his hands and knees, dazed. Blood pouring from the wound in his scalp.
Desperately he looked up at the monitor, praying that Barnid had gotten the particle cannon operational.
Manzil cursed Skink for refusing to give him, or any of the other captains more than a cursory look at the cannon and its controls.
Orkney tried to help him to his feet, but Manzil slapped his hands away.
“I wanna see, dammit,” he shouted.
Then he spotted one of Manzil’s people unlock the canopy and hoist himself inside.
“It’s Ranzid,” Orkney said. “He got more time on that particle cannon than any of us.”
“Well, thank his lordship for no favors what-so-clottin-ever,” Barnid said.
Manzil had never been a praying man, but now he wished he’d paid more attention to his mother’s bedtime ritual.
Then he saw puffs of air as explosive bolts fired and the straps holding the cannon in place released their grip.
A moment later the cannon was free and moving slowly away.
“God,” he moaned. “God. God. God. God.”
ABOARD THE SALAMIS
Commander Thema smiled as she saw the particle cannon head for her ship. The pirates were all bunched up where the Jubilee had been a few minutes before. But she wanted them closer together.
What she was looking for was the ultimate Cluster Clot.
And she was getting it.
“Hit them with the chainguns,” Thema ordered Jumbe. “Squeeze them in from the sides.”
“Gotcha, bossi,” Jumbe chortled. “We give it to ‘em big time.”
The chainguns chewed up the smaller ships on the edges of the pirate fleet. Instinctively, the captains of the other ships moved closer together in a fruitless effort to escape the withering fire.
“Now show them our behind,” she ordered.
“Oh, I love it, bossi,” Jumbe said, turning the ship about. “It’s so pretty too.”
ABOARD THE PARTICLE CANNON
Ranzid sweated over unfamiliar controls. Incoming missile fire rattled his senses as his gloved hands moved unsurely from one bank of dials and buttons to another.
It was a major victory when he got the cannon to start moving forward. Through the canopy he had a clear view of the approaching Imperial ship.
His heart leaped in joy when the ship turned, presenting its stern to the cannon.
Ranzid pinged the ship and to his supreme delight the echo showed a great absence of any sort of shield whatsoever.
“The bitch doesn’t know I’m here,” he chortled, his right hand going to the firing trigger.
In a minute it would be over. The cannon would rip the Salamis to pieces. He’d be many times a hero. His name would be sung at the drunken parties on Tortooga for years to come. Visions of bonuses danced in his head. Skink would have to give him a bigger share.
Clot, he’d be able to buy his own captaincy and tell Barnid to stick his second-mate’s job where the sun don’t shine.
Laughing, he jabbed a finger at the firing trigger.
“Here it comes,” he chortled. “A big damned kaboom!”
ABOARD THE SALAMIS
“Oh, what a joke,” Commander Thema chuckled, as the particle cannon spit a shower of harmless sparks. “What a glorious joke.”
“I don’t see the funny, bossi,” Jumbe said.
“Just wait, Jumbe,” Thema advised. “Just wait.”
ABOARD THE PARTICLE CANNON
Ranzid cursed at the cannon’s feeble effort. In his ear Barnid was shouting, “Come on, you idiot! Come on!”
“For drakh’s sake,” Ranzid said under his breath. “I’m trying. I’m trying.”
He dialed the cannon to its greatest force level, sighted on the Salamis and hit the trigger.
“Now kaboom me, for clot’s sake,” he shouted.
ABOARD THE SALAMIS
Thema stepped back from the monitor, hands going to her face, as the cannon went nova. The flare of white light was so intense that it burned her retinas.
“Oh, bossi,” Jumbe said. “Lookee that!”
Thema pulled her hands away and where the particle cannon and the entire fleet of ships that surrounded it had been was now a gigantic many-colored cloud of particles shooting away into uttermost space.
“Can you believe that?” Thema said. “In all my days I’ve never seen…”
ABOARD THE GESSEL
The Mantis A-Team looked on in amazement as the entire pirate fleet turned into star dust.
“Loch the bloke said oan ‘at old livee—ah loove it when a plan comes together,” Kilgour chortled.
Sten turned to his friends. “Now for the hard part,” he said. “On to Demeter.”
“I have everything loaded and ready to go,” Mk’wolf said.
“I want Ripley and Lancer with us,” Sten aid. “I have a feeling we made need some expert trackers.”
Corporals Ripley and Lancers were two Suzdals, canine-like refugees from the always contentious Altaic Cluster.
“Do you still want me and Doc to supervise from here?” Ida asked. “I wouldn’t mind a little exercise.”
“Leave me out of it,” Doc said, wrinkling his button nose in disgust. “Nothing but vegetable matter down there.”
“From my understanding,” Sten said, “there’s all kinds of wildlife on Demeter. Everything from birds and insects to deer and big cats. And then there are all the herd animals. Cattle, sheep…”
“Stop it,” Doc said. “You’re making me hungry. A little venison tartare will go very well just about now.”
Alex laughed. “If there’s onie left ower I’ll bring ye backa wee gram ay two,” he said.
The red line buzzed.
“That can’t be good,” Ida said. “It’s Mahoney.”
She palmed a button and a holo image of Mahoney appeared.
Without preamble Ian said, “We’re got ourselves a smallish problem, lads and lassie, so we do.”
Sten grimaced. In his experience there was no such thing as a “smallish” Mahoney problem.
But he only shrugged and said, “What’s up, boss?”
“An AI difficulty has popped up at the agworld proving grounds,” he said.
Sten and the other looked at each other. This could not be good news. Problems with artificial intelligence in modern times were rare. But when they occurred they were almost never easily solvable and were frequently catastrophic.
“And what exactly would that difficulty, be, General?” Doc asked.
“It seems they’re going rogue on us,” Mahoney said. “After a period of time, just when everything seems settled in and all the biological activity is up to speed, some of the critters and the AI mainframe start communicating with each other in earnest. And then they bond together for self protection.”
“How the clot is that possible?” Sten asked. The others were as equally confounded.
“Apparently it starts with the trees,” Mahoney said.
They just all goggled at him. “Trees?”
Mahoney raised at hand. “I’m just a mere soldier boy, so I am,” he said. “This is all a bit above me. The bio boyos are telling us it started with forests way back on old Earth. The trees communicate with each other, through what the science guys call—” He raised a hand. “… And I swear I’m not joking… They call it the Wood Wide Network.”
Only Doc was nonplussed. He nodded, catching on immediately.
“This isn’t limited to just life from old Earth,” Doc said. “It’s a phenomenon natural to all planetary systems with tree-like organisms. It has to do with the roots and fibers they send out to communicate with other trees.
“They warn each other about insect attacks and other blights. In a well-developed forest they even feed each other, and share chemicals to ward off disease and insects.”
Mahoney said, “That’s the gist of it, near as I can understand the problem. Except in our case it ends up involving not just trees—but all plant life. Eventually, they join up with the AI mainframe to really wreak havoc. And now there are even reports that the animals are getting involved. Don’t ask me how. It’s just so.”
“What do they do that has everyone so upset?” Sten asked.
“They attack anything they come to believe is a threat, is what they do,” Mahoney said. “Only only one person has been killed at this point. But there have been a lot of injuries and any number of close calls.”
Sten sighed. “I suppose that’s the end of the Demeter Project,” he said.
In every case Sten had heard of the AI project was scrapped and everything was not just destroyed, but burned to a molecular crisp before the problem spread.
“It hasn’t been decided yet,” Mahoney said. “It doesn’t happen in every instance. At least not yet. Besides, it’s such a grand idea. Fresh, infinitely transportable food for those that need it most.”
“Put another way,” Sten said, “while we’re down there dealing with pirates and nasty warrior women the little agworld might try to bite us as well.”
“That’s the size of it,” Mahoney said.
Ida broke in. “Pity we can’t sit back and let Demeter do the job for us. Because she may—or may not—go rogue.”
Mahoney nodded. “The purpose of this mission remains unchanged…” And his eyes cut to Sten. “Except for yourselves, no one is to leave Demeter alive.”
Inwardly Sten gulped. Outwardly, his features remained blank.
“Yessir,” he said.
And Mahoney was gone.
Everyone was silent. Kilgour squeezed Sten’s shoulder.
“Sorry, mate,” he said.
Sten shrugged. “It is what it is,” he said.
But already his mental wheels were turning.