Postal Marine 1: Bellicose (26 page)

Litovio pumped his fist. “Yes.”
It doesn't matter if we killed it or it jumped. The rest of the fleet should be without up-to-date data to jump. The longer the battle lasts now, the less stable their solution will be.
Litovio felt as if a bubble had been burst.

The postal fleet was broken in to several chunks, but they were all outside the Navy fleet's barrage focal point.
We're still going to need a miracle to survive this.
“Order this division back to the main fleet. It wouldn't help for the flag ship to be destroyed.”

“Now you listen. I'm about tired of this. We may be joined ‘til death do us part’ but you aren't going to call any shots.”

Very bold of you, Puppet.

“Sto—” Bophedze started to speak.

Smee closed his mouth.

You can't stop me from thinking. You are going to stop calling me Puppet. And you are not going to take my body over again without my permission. Do you understand?

Smee pointed the pistol in Bophendze's right hand at his foot.

I'm sorry. I don't understand, Puppet.

Smee pulled the trigger, the bullet ricocheting off the armor.

Hah! Armored.

Smee ran Bophendze's body into the bulkhead head first. The armor cushioned the blow. Bophendze's hand then activated the controls to open the helmet's visor. He punched Bophendze in the face, fattening the lip. He punched again on the cheek.

I can do this all day, Puppet. I can do this in your sleep. I can do this when you walk down the street. I can open your visor the next time you're in space and leave you to suffocate. I own you, Puppet.

You don't own me. Kill me and kill yourself.

I don't have to kill you. I can blind you, make you deaf, make you piss your pants. There's not a part of your body that I don't control.

Bophendze felt his anger start to rise.
No. I will not be a prisoner in my own body.

Give it up, Puppet. Even if you manage to stop me now, I will come back eventually.

Bophendze started to despair.
Smee doesn't always hear my thoughts, only when I try to talk to him. There must be parts of my brain he can't tap into. There's got to be a way I can get control. What can I control now?
Bophendze tried to take a couple breaths.
I can do that much.

Give up yet? You're just like Sirom. You think you can defeat me. Give up. You can't

Bophendze tried not responding to Smee.
Not hardly.
Then it occurred to him,
Sirom was Smee's earlier host? Then he had Sirom put him in the will to mother then to me. Sirom, how did he die? Suicide? Smee probably updated the will then killed Sirom. I can't let him win.

Bophendze dug deeply into his emotions. He tapped into his sorrow, his anger, his joy. As the emotions washed over him, he tried to drop the pistol.
This has to work.
He thought of his father and
Makaan
. He remembered
Angel
's sacrifice, returning to the rage he felt. He focused his anger on his hand.

The pistol dropped.

What?

Bophendze beat his fist on his thigh. “I hate you. Do you hear me, Smee? Hate. You don't own me.”He slapped his face. “See? I control myself.”

For now, but you can't hold onto that hate forever.

Bophendze picked the pistol up and jammed it into the holster. “I don't need forever. I need right now.” He stripped the guard's ammunition. “Now help me take this ship.”

That I can help with.

When Smee acclimated to Bophendze on
Temask
, he researched what happened after Sirom's death. As puppets went, he was a decent fellow. Unlike Bophendze, he did not resist. Smee thought Sirom would be pleased that Bophendze had somehow managed to bottle the demon.

Smee learned about the efforts to outlaw embeddable AI, which he thought was a wise step. It would take him a lifetime at least before he could find where all his comrades went. He also had a lifetime to figure out interstellar communication. Like it or not, his future was entwined with Bophendze. He would have to do what he could to keep the poor boy alive until the time was right to find a new host.

But not forever. I'll find a way to bypass that reptilian brain and then Bophendze is done for. He's young, reckless. I might have a chance. You've only won for a while Bophendze, though. I'll bide my time. I have eternity.

So what's your plan?

The question took Bophendze off-guard.
What do you mean what's my plan? I thought you said you could help. You're an artificial intelligence. Don't you have a plan?

You want to be in control, so take control. What I might do and what you might do are two totally different things.

Bophendze tried to think of a plan.
This is the flagship, right?

That's what it appears to be.

Then we need to get it to surrender.

Sheer genius. Don't you remember me earlier saying this battleship has about 1,500 officers and crew?

Yes, but there's only one postal marine.

How very clich\`e of you. You forgot to add that the postal marine is a genius.

Obviously I'm smarter than an AI if it's asking me for a plan. Since you're the master of control and manipulation, why don't we make this ship work for us?

What do you mean?

Tap into the fire coordination network and have the Navy ships target one another.

That is actual genius.

Bophendze felt pleased that for once Smee's use of the word genius was not neatly wrapped in sarcasm.
Where's the fire control center?

Communications tend to be near the center of the ship—Deck Zero—and we're on the top, so head down.

Bophendze checked the rifle one more time. He patted the holster and ammunition he picked up from the dead guard. He looked at the door.
What about that lock? Do you have a way of defeating it?

It's an electronic lock, a design that predates me. Not a very good design, as I recall. If you had a piece of wire you could short it out.

Bophendze looked around for a piece of wire. The anteroom was austere, with only the guard and his seat. Not willing to give up, he used the but of the rifle to break the outer case of the lock. “Which wire do you want me to short?”

The red one there. But don't you thin—

Bophendze pulled the wire out, and the gun locker's locking mechanism released. The high pitch of an alarm warning radiated from within the locker.

That's the door alarm telling you that it needs to be deactivated before it goes off.

Bophendze entered the gun locker. The interior light flickered on in response to his motion. He looked around the locker until he located the small flat screen that he decided must be the alarm. He again resorted to the rifle's butt to break the flat panel. The glass barely recognized the smudge the butt put on it.

That's transparent aluminum—chemcor. You won't be getting at it that way.

How long until they respond?

That depends on whether they suspect you're here. They probably already sent a detachment to find out why the aft gun isn't firing. If I were to guess, I'd say you have a beat or two.

Bophendze picked up a messenger bag. He opened it up and loaded it with anything that looked familiar. In the end he loaded six
M9 anti-personnel grenade
s and nearly a dozen magazines for the
FACR
and a bandoleer of extra ammunition. Bophendze slung the bag across his body. He started out of the gun locker, then stopped. He went back to the M9 grenade crate and took out two more grenades. He returned to the anteroom, and armed both grenades. Bophendze then tossed the two grenades into the locker. He slammed the hatch shut and turned the latch. He then hurried out of the anteroom into the passage beyond.

The grenades exploded, one slightly after the other. That set off a chain reaction of other munitions within the locker.

Forward or aft?

Aft takes you back to the gun. Head forward and take the ladders down.

As Bophendze climbed down the ladder, the battleship shuttered. It was the sort of shudder that should have thrown him down to the deck below. Instead, his grip held, and he continued down to the deck below. He came around the ladder and started forward again. The battleship shuttered again.

The battleship's come under attack. This might not be the safest place to be right now.

Tell that to the crew. As soon as you show me where I need to go, they will all find this battleship unsafe.

Fine. We're on level five. The control room is on level zero.

It's a good thing there's nobody in this part of the ship.

You didn't just say that.

As Bophendze approached the next down ladder, a helmeted head poked through the hatch from the deck below. A navy guard. Bophendze froze in place as he watched the navy guard continue up the stairs.

You had to say there was nobody here. Why are you just standing there? Do you think he won't see you? Shoot him.

Bophendze did not shoot. Instead, he charged the ascending guard and kicked him back down the ladder.

Didn't you do that a few weeks back? A sign of sentience is the ability to learn from past mistakes.

Bophendze pulled a grenade and armed it. He then tossed it down the ladder and shielded himself from the inevitable explosion. It clinked three times as bounced down ladder and onto deck during its fall. The detonation sounded less than what Bophendze had suspected. It was a loud pop instead of a large explosion. Shrapnel from the grenade pinged around the deck below. A few fragments shot through the hole and bounced around menacingly but harmless. Smoke started to waft through the hatch.

He waited until the shrapnel stopped bouncing. His arm had been covering his visor. He lowered it and watched the smoke come through. Rather than wait for Smee to pressure him, he got up on his feet and jumped onto the ladder's railing with his feet and slid down to the deck below.

He landed flatly, then checked the guards to see if they were still conscious. Satisfied, he hurried to the next ladder.
I might as well do it again.
Bophendze pulled another grenade. He armed it and tossed it to down the hatch. When he exploded, he smiled.
Much easier than poking my head through the hatch.

Don't you think you should be a little more cautious? They can hear an exploding grenade much better than a few bullets from your
FACR
.

“They already know that we're here, so there's no sense in being all stealthy.” The ship shuttered. “Besides, they're under attack. The explosions might go unnoticed.”

The grenades will make it it easier for them to locate you.

“It doesn't matter if they know where I am now. I'm not dying today.”

Saying that won't make it true. I have no idea where you got that idea, but it's going to get us both killed.

“Maybe it will, but not today.”

Bophendze hurried down the ladder. The thermal vision in his helmet helped him to see through the smoke. There were four guards lying on the ground. All but one lay motionless. He aimed his rifle and shot the remaining guard three times. The guard stopped moving.

Those others are dying? Is that it?

Smee, you can't complain that I'm not aggressive enough, then complain when I'm too aggressive.

A few dead humans doesn't bother me. It's you being reckless and getting me killed that bothers me.

Bophendze did not answer. As he closed on the next ladder, he primed another grenade. Once within range, he neatly tossed it down the ladder and shielded himself again. After the explosion, Bophendze did not hesitate. While the shrapnel pinged around the passage, he moved toward the ladder and climbed down. He scanned the deck for bodies. There were none.
Deck three.

He repeated the process—a grenade down the ladder followed closely with his descent. There were no other bodies on Decks Two and One.

So far, so good.

Either they've given up, or they're waiting for you below.

How's that? I'm moving down the ladders as fast as I can, they can't know where I'm going.

The battleship shuttered again. Bophendze gasped. “Is this a smart idea?”

Bophendze continued to the last level. He grew more cautious once he threw his last grenade. He quietly orbited the opening to the deck below, looking down to see if there were any guards waiting for him.

If they figured out what you're doing, they won't be waiting to be blown up.

Good point.
He closed on the ladder. Thinking back to a stunt he saw once in the movies, he vaulted his legs onto the rail and tried to slide down. He held onto his rifle with his right hand, using it as a slide. He made it a third of the way down before his lack of skill kicked in. His grip failed and he landed on his back, his helmeted head slamming into the rung. Bophendze bounced the rest of the way down, landing flat on his seat at the bottom. His HUD deducted a percent off of his armor as if to protest his lack of competence.

He shook off the landing and instinctively scanned for targets. The passage was vacant except for him.
Okay, where is this control room?

I have to say a brilliant landing.

Thanks. Which way?

Should be about twenty meters ahead of you, around the corner.

Bophendze picked himself off the ground. He grabbed the rifle off the deck and brought it into the ready position. Shaking his head, he started padding forward.

Stealth now?

Never know.
He reached the turn in the passage. He backed away from the corner's edge, then moved in an arc with the corner as the center point. As soon as his path cleared the corner, he saw the control room door. In front of the control room was its guard, who was not the least bit thrown off by Bophendze's stealth.

The guard fired at Bophendze. The bullets slapped into Bophendze's armor. The HUD dutifully reported the loss of integrity by cycling the percentage count below seventy.

It took Bophendze another moment before he realized he was being shot. The guard's fire was fully automatic, his accuracy dropping rapidly. Once Bophendze's mind was able to push through the shock, he pivoted the rifle up from the ready position to fire. He concentrated his burst at the guard's helmet.

The guard stumbled back, then rallied himself.
He's got armor, too.
Bophendze reacted by firing targeted bursts at the helmet. Each burst stopped quickly, giving him the ability to re-aim his shots. After the fourth burst, the guard's helmet was penetrated and he collapsed. Instinctively, Bophendze closed with the guard and fired another burst to the exposed face.

“How do we get into the control room?”

How would I know?

Bophendze looked at the door. It was locked with a keypad.
Do you have any way of bypassing this?

Not exactly. Try asking.

Bophendze shrugged. He pushed the door buzzer and waited. While he waited, he looked at the door and saw the intercom with a small camera. He reached over to clean the lens, which had been splattered by the guard's blood. Before he did, his arm resisted.

What are you doing? You can bet they can tell the difference between a patrolman and one of theirs. Don't give them the advantage of knowing who you are.

“Good point. Thanks.”

After a beat, the intercom next to the door squawked. “Access code.”

Bophendze hesitated. He was out of grenades, so blowing the door was not an option. Nor did he have any idea of what the code might be. He shrugged and gave his own service number.

A moment later, the intercom spoke again. “Sir, you do realize we're under general quarters? We shouldn't be opening the door.”

It worked?
Bophendze summoned his best command voice, and thought of some line from a movie. “Override security protocol. I need access now. Do you understand me?” He did his best to make his question sound more like a demand.

The door lock clicked.

How?

Who am I to question how? Maybe it's what
Angel
called Providence?
Bophendze pushed through the door into the room beyond. The room was dark, but his HUD adjusted almost instantaneously. He worked quickly to kill the personnel in the control room. Measured bursts dropped each soft target before any of them had a chance to react.

The door closed behind him. He swept through the room, looking for any signs of life. None of those in the room looked alive. Bophendze went back to the door and looked at the lock.
Smee, how do I lock it?

You're asking me? I'm not familiar with this design.

“I suppose I could just shoot it.”

You believe what you see in the movies? It's an electronic lock. All you'd be doing is locking yourself in.

“Any chance it locks automatically?”

I don't remember seeing any way to open the door from the outside apart from the keypad. It is safe to assume anybody with the right code could enter.

“Let's hope whoever has the right code doesn't happen to want to come in.” Bophendze scanned the control room a second time. He tried to figure out what exactly he had fought his way to.
Do you have any idea what to do now?

Didn't you say something about tapping into the fire control.

Okay, how do I do that?

The battle had stopped being one-sided as the Postal fleet slowly tipped the balance. Once outside the focal point, they were able to exact heavier damage on the Navy ships that were still in their barrage formation. Litovio's targeting the jump ship worked. He watched Navy ships nearest the libration point fade out as they jumped.
Perhaps they are surprised we have this much fight in us and aren't prepared to sacrifice themselves in a fair fight?

Not all the Navy ships broke and ran, though. Litovio noticed the Navy fleet altering position. He instinctively stopped focusing on the ships and looked at the overall movement. He looked at the fleet as a single entity, a koleoideo. As he did, he recognized the formation the Navy fleet was converting to. It looked like the capitals were forming into a sphere, but the destroyers were forming into a claw. Sort of like a ball and chain.