The A.I. War, Book One: The Big Boost (Tales of the Continuing Time) by Daniel Keys Moran
Authors: Daniel Keys Moran
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everything.
All he could see were stars and part of Ceres, off in one corner of the faceplate. They’d hit on the Temple’s dark side.
Abruptly the universe came back into focus. Trent’s inskin reintegrated –
They drifted together, Trent and Elite Captain Colbert, only a few meters above the surface of the Temple. Trent’s scalesuit still had the left hand locked around Colbert’s right wrist. The Elite was not moving, which was certainly more good news and nothing to complain about. The Elite was as far away from Trent as he could get with Trent’s scalesuit locked onto his combat suit.
Broken left ankle, Trent guessed. Wrenched left knee. Dislocated right knee, and the ligaments, already stiffened by past injuries, had probably gone with the socket. Cracked ribs, sure. The scalesuit was not in much better shape than the protoplasm it protected: the hand locked around Colbert’s suit would not unlock, the faceplate was cracked, and something was wrong with the airplant. The airplant was the least of Trent’s worries; he expected he’d be dead or safe before he had to worry about foul air.
What a bad day this is turning out to be , Trent thought.
A voice came, silently, over his secure channel: TRENT !
Over the general bands, at the same time, he got: “Ehhhh, what’s up, Doc?”
THIS IS CAPTAIN BITTAN . WE ’ RE LOCKED IN ON YOUR BEACON AND ARE EN ROUTE TO THE TEMPLE . E . T . A . SIX MINUTES . THERE ’ S A PKF CORVETTE IN THE AREA , SO BE CAREFUL .
Laughing hurt . “Now they tell me,” Trent whispered aloud.
“Hey, Buddy. Yeah, you, pal.”
Trent calculated, blasted once with his free wrist rocket. He and Elite Captain Colbert rotated together, lovers holding hands.
It was Bugs. Trent had known it, from the voice, that Brooklyn accent. He stood there with a carrot in one hand, hovering over the Temple’s rocky surface, eying Trent skeptically. “We’re closed, pal. You and yer, uh, friend there, you gotta leave.”
COMMAND , said Trent. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY . WE REQUIRE IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION . WE NEED TO GET INTO PRESSURE .
The holograph of Bugs Bunny hesitated, said, “Look, pal, why cause trouble for yourself –” and then the voice ceased and Bugs vanished. A different voice said, “Do not move. Medbots from Ceres CityState are being routed to your location with a pressurized ambulance.”
Trent closed his eyes and floated in the pain. Jesus and Harry. Only a few more minutes.
The Elite moved .
The sudden blast of fear shocked Trent into awareness. He did everything with the servos in the scalesuit, afraid to rely on his own joints and muscles, pulling himself around to face the Elite, the waves of pain simply unreal, laser in the right scalesuit index finger coming alight, and screamed at the man, broadcast it on every PKF communication band, “I’m going to let your air out!”
Colbert had covered his faceplate with his free hand.
Trent stared at him through his own cracked faceplate, heart pounding. The Elite’s hand covered much of his faceplate, but not all of it –
Deep, jagged cracks covered every exposed centimeter of the man’s faceplate. Trent had never seen anything like it before except on the suits of dead people, which probably described Colbert. Trent turned off his finger laser, and with his right hand took a firm grip on the wrist of the hand Colbert had covering his faceplate. In pressure, the Elite was many times stronger than Trent; but the servos in Trent’s scalesuit were roughly as strong as the servos in Colbert’s combat suit: close enough for government work.
In a very soft, French-accented voice, Colbert said in English, “Please not.”
“You ever box?” asked Trent.
“What?”
“First rule of boxing is, don’t hit the other guy’s fist with your face. It’s the same principle with asteroids.”
The fear in the man’s voice was palpable. “You are going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“No, but I might let you die, you
All he could see were stars and part of Ceres, off in one corner of the faceplate. They’d hit on the Temple’s dark side.
Abruptly the universe came back into focus. Trent’s inskin reintegrated –
They drifted together, Trent and Elite Captain Colbert, only a few meters above the surface of the Temple. Trent’s scalesuit still had the left hand locked around Colbert’s right wrist. The Elite was not moving, which was certainly more good news and nothing to complain about. The Elite was as far away from Trent as he could get with Trent’s scalesuit locked onto his combat suit.
Broken left ankle, Trent guessed. Wrenched left knee. Dislocated right knee, and the ligaments, already stiffened by past injuries, had probably gone with the socket. Cracked ribs, sure. The scalesuit was not in much better shape than the protoplasm it protected: the hand locked around Colbert’s suit would not unlock, the faceplate was cracked, and something was wrong with the airplant. The airplant was the least of Trent’s worries; he expected he’d be dead or safe before he had to worry about foul air.
What a bad day this is turning out to be , Trent thought.
A voice came, silently, over his secure channel: TRENT !
Over the general bands, at the same time, he got: “Ehhhh, what’s up, Doc?”
THIS IS CAPTAIN BITTAN . WE ’ RE LOCKED IN ON YOUR BEACON AND ARE EN ROUTE TO THE TEMPLE . E . T . A . SIX MINUTES . THERE ’ S A PKF CORVETTE IN THE AREA , SO BE CAREFUL .
Laughing hurt . “Now they tell me,” Trent whispered aloud.
“Hey, Buddy. Yeah, you, pal.”
Trent calculated, blasted once with his free wrist rocket. He and Elite Captain Colbert rotated together, lovers holding hands.
It was Bugs. Trent had known it, from the voice, that Brooklyn accent. He stood there with a carrot in one hand, hovering over the Temple’s rocky surface, eying Trent skeptically. “We’re closed, pal. You and yer, uh, friend there, you gotta leave.”
COMMAND , said Trent. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY . WE REQUIRE IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION . WE NEED TO GET INTO PRESSURE .
The holograph of Bugs Bunny hesitated, said, “Look, pal, why cause trouble for yourself –” and then the voice ceased and Bugs vanished. A different voice said, “Do not move. Medbots from Ceres CityState are being routed to your location with a pressurized ambulance.”
Trent closed his eyes and floated in the pain. Jesus and Harry. Only a few more minutes.
The Elite moved .
The sudden blast of fear shocked Trent into awareness. He did everything with the servos in the scalesuit, afraid to rely on his own joints and muscles, pulling himself around to face the Elite, the waves of pain simply unreal, laser in the right scalesuit index finger coming alight, and screamed at the man, broadcast it on every PKF communication band, “I’m going to let your air out!”
Colbert had covered his faceplate with his free hand.
Trent stared at him through his own cracked faceplate, heart pounding. The Elite’s hand covered much of his faceplate, but not all of it –
Deep, jagged cracks covered every exposed centimeter of the man’s faceplate. Trent had never seen anything like it before except on the suits of dead people, which probably described Colbert. Trent turned off his finger laser, and with his right hand took a firm grip on the wrist of the hand Colbert had covering his faceplate. In pressure, the Elite was many times stronger than Trent; but the servos in Trent’s scalesuit were roughly as strong as the servos in Colbert’s combat suit: close enough for government work.
In a very soft, French-accented voice, Colbert said in English, “Please not.”
“You ever box?” asked Trent.
“What?”
“First rule of boxing is, don’t hit the other guy’s fist with your face. It’s the same principle with asteroids.”
The fear in the man’s voice was palpable. “You are going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“No, but I might let you die, you
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