The Machine Awakes (46 page)

But Kodiak, almost to his own surprise, found he had learned to trust Glass. He was sure the servitor would find a way to remove the infection safely.

That wasn't the only thing that needed attention, of course. The Europan facility was being dismantled, piece by piece, the sleepers woken under controlled conditions, one at a time, and given a full briefing.

And there was the matter of the Fleet Memorial. The Bureau was already working to ascertain how many exhumations would be required to determine how many of the graves actually contained remains and how many didn't. It was going to be a long and traumatic process for a lot of people.

And to top it off, the Fleet had to get back on its feet, and fast.

“Von?”

Kodiak blinked and turned slowly in his chair. He was tired. It was late. Avalon leaned on her desk on her elbows, the bottle of Scotch next to her, her own glass empty. On the desk were sheaves of secure plastiform papers in various colors.

“Sorry, I was miles away,” he said.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Change, mostly,” said Kodiak. He sipped his drink and frowned, unsure of quite what he meant. Then another thought popped into his head, something he'd forgotten about while they tried to sort out the mess. “Am I still dead? Legally speaking?”

Avalon laughed. “I think we can get that cleared up now.”

“So long as I stay off Helprin's radar,” said Kodiak. He rubbed his chin. “So … are you going to say yes?”

Avalon sighed and lifted the bottle, pouring herself another couple of fingers.

“Do I really have a choice?”

Kodiak leaned over his side of her desk. He pointed at her, with the glass in his hand. “Change is what the Fleet needs, Laurel.”

“It needs a lot more than that.”

“Right,” said Kodiak. Wasn't that the truth? Caitlin had come under the sway of the Morning Star, and while most of what they had fed her had been their own garbled view of the universe, with the secrets of the Fleet they promised to reveal being instead the diabolical operations of the Caviezel Corporation, the fact that she had fallen under their spell so easily was another worry, although both Kodiak and Avalon knew her circumstances were exceptional.

But … is that what people thought of the Fleet? The suspicions, the rumors, the secrets? It seemed the Fleet had a lot to do—not just in terms of fighting the way, but in repairing its reputation. The Fleet needed to not only get back on its feet, but it needed to clean itself up.

Kodiak sank back in his chair and drained his glass. Then he held it up to the light, as though the empty vessel retained some quality of the fine beverage it had just held. “Change,” he said again, and then he paused. He closed one eye and with the other peered at Avalon's distorted image through the glass. “The Fleet needs change, and who better to lead that change than you.”

Avalon spread her hands. “I'm not Fleet, Von. I'm part of the Bureau. I was there, on the
Ultramassive
when the arrowhead attacked the Spider. I was out of my depth. It's not my world at all.”

“Right again,” said Kodiak. Seeing the chief's puzzled look, he smiled. “But that's exactly why it has to be you. The Fleet has gone down a dark path. They need someone new. An outsider. A leader who is going to
inspire
people. All of Fleetspace is going to be looking to you for that.”

Avalon laughed. “No pressure, then.”

“Hey,” said Kodiak. “What better person than one with the famous Avalon name.”

The chief frowned. “Don't start. I'm not sure the Avalon name is a good thing. Everybody is going to think that's why I got the job.” She shook her head. “Reason enough to turn it down.”

Kodiak waved her off. “Nonsense. Your family's been with the Fleet since the very beginning. Everybody knows the name—”

“Von—”

“But,”
he said, raising his empty glass to emphasize the point, “that's just what they need now. Fresh blood but one that comes from a long line of leaders. They might not know you, but they'll know the Fleet is in safe hands.”

“They're going to expect greatness,” said Avalon. “I'm not sure I have that in me.”

“You know, Laurel, you may be surprised.”

There was a soft chime. The chief touched her collar. “Avalon.”

Kodiak watched as she nodded. Then she said, “Send them over.”

“Bit late for visitors?”

Avalon stood and smiled. “Not these ones.”

Kodiak turned back to face the bullpen through the glass wall of the chief's office. Three people approached, stepping down into the work area, then up the short stairs outside the office door. Commander Moustafa nodded a greeting, then allowed Tyler and Cait Smith to enter the office in front of him.

“Cait, how are you feeling?” said Kodiak as he hugged the young woman. She had a heavy medical collar around her neck, and her brother had an arm in a sling. Their injuries didn't stop either of them from grinning broadly as they greeted Kodiak and the chief.

Avalon sat behind her desk, Kodiak perched on the side. Tyler and Cait stood to attention in front of them.

“Screening and debrief complete,” said Moustafa. “We can go over the data in more detail tomorrow, Commander Avalon, but as far as the psi-evaluation is concerned, Tyler Smith and Caitlin Smith are cleared.”

Tyler cleared his throat. Moustafa nodded at him.

“Sir,” said Tyler. “
Sirs,
ma'am. I just want to say that I appreciate this opportunity. I realize how difficult this is—”

Kodiak shook his head. “Whatever happened, it wasn't you, buddy. You know that.”

Tyler smiled and gave Kodiak a short bow. “Understood, sir. And maybe I'll be able to come to terms with that someday. But it's not easy.”

“I understand,” said Avalon. Then she looked at Cait, and Kodiak noticed her expression cool slightly. The chief cocked her head. Cait seemed to pull herself to attention just that little bit more.

Kodiak frowned. Of course, while Tyler had been the one who had carried out the assassinations, he'd been under the control of Caviezel—of Mike Braben—and completely unaware.

Caitlin was another story. The young cadet had fled the Academy, taking up arms against the Fleet at the instigation of Flood's twisted propaganda. She hadn't pulled the trigger like her brother—indeed, she'd saved them all, maybe even the entire Fleet back in the Jovian system.

But unlike her brother, she had acted of her own free will. And that was treason, pure and simple. The Fleet was at war, the whole of humanity in a permanent state of martial law.

So had Cait done enough to mitigate her earlier actions?

Kodiak really wasn't sure. If she could be swayed so easily once, could it happen again?

Nobody spoke. Kodiak glanced between Avalon and Moustafa. Tyler and Cait stared straight ahead at the wall over Avalon's head.

Avalon looked at Commander Moustafa. “They're
both
cleared?”

Moustafa nodded, and he glanced at Cait. “I understand your concerns, Commander, but yes, I have cleared them both. Despite their actions against the Fleet, voluntary or involuntary, it is my assessment that they are vital assets to the war effort. As such, I recommend we grant leniency and, in fact, do our utmost to help rehabilitate them both.” He paused, pursed his lips. “More than that,
Cadet
Smith has volunteered to undergo psychic reconditioning and retraining in return for a period of indentured service.”

“They're going back out there?” asked Kodiak.

Moustafa shook his head; Tyler glanced at the others and the Psi-Marine Commander nodded his permission for the marine to speak.

“Actually, sir,” said Tyler. He gestured at Commander Moustafa. “The commander has offered me a training position at the Academy. Apparently I'm one of a kind.”

Cait cleared her throat quietly, her eyes still fixed on the wall.

“Well,” said Tyler, laughing. “Maybe one of a pair.”

“Sounds like a good position, Tyler,” said Avalon. She turned to Cait. “And you?”

Cait snapped her chin up. “I want to go back to the Academy, too. I want to complete my training.”

“And become a psi-marine?” asked Kodiak.

Cait smiled. “It beats execution, sir.”

Kodiak blinked, surprised by her honesty. Then he saw Cait glance sideways at Commander Moustafa, who nodded.

“Wait, what's that?” asked Kodiak. “I saw that.”

Cait smiled.

“Come on,” said Kodiak. “Spill.”

“Well, Agent Kodiak,” said Cait, chin still high, eyes front, “with the chief's permission, I would like to apply for the Bureau when my Academy training is complete. The Bureau doesn't have a psi-division of its own, but maybe it should.”

Well now. Kodiak moved his empty glass around between his hands. Maybe he'd had too much to drink. Maybe he needed to sleep for about a week and then maybe he would be more capable of making rational decisions.

But a thought had entered his mind. A
decision.
Maybe it was the wrong one.

Maybe.

Kodiak shook his head. “No.”

Everyone looked at him. Avalon raised an eyebrow. “No, agent?”

“Nope,” said Kodiak. He put his glass down on the chief's desk and … screw it, he thought, pouring himself another generous measure of Scotch. “I have a better idea.” He took a long gulp of alcohol, then walked to the glass wall of the office and pointed out into the bullpen.

“See that empty desk? Next to mine?” He turned around and pointed at Commander Moustafa. “How about she interns, while she studies at the Academy. Learns on the job.”

Cait and Tyler exchanged a look, Cait's smile growing by the second. Moustafa frowned, but Kodiak could tell he had already agreed to the arrangement. The Psi-Marine Commander turned to face Avalon. Avalon's brow was furrowed. She turned to Kodiak.

“Hey,” he said. “I can keep an eye on her, and if she tries anything, I can shoot her.” He looked at Cait. “You're okay, aren't you? Because I'd rather
not
shoot you.”

Cait inhaled deeply through her nose and gave a small nod.

“Yes,” she said. “I'm okay.”

Kodiak smiled. “Looks like you're hired, Agent Smith.

“Now, who wants another drink?”

 

50

The room was sterile,
spartan, white walls and white floor and white ceiling. Apparatus, chromed and polished, dangled from above on adjustable arms. There were diamond-tipped drills and laser probes and self-governing AI scalpels among the hooks and clamps and spotlights.

As a medical facility, it was high tech, the best of the best, beyond what the Fleet could offer. But this was a private facility. One built in secret and hidden like so many things under the control of the Caviezel Corporation.

Mr. Caviezel adjusted the cuff of his new suit as he watched the proceedings. The servitor his mind now occupied had been a lucky accident, might even have borne a passing resemblance to the real Caviezel when he was just a young man.

“You may proceed,” he said.

Under the lights, under the surgical tools and other instruments, a man lay on the table, still, unmoving, removed from his stasis pod, which sat against the far wall. The man was naked, his body covered with sensors and probes that relayed data to a large holodisplay that floated at his head.

Two purple-uniformed JMC servitors stood by the body. One nodded at Caviezel, then reached up and selected an instrument from the array above the table.

Caviezel thought about how he had got it so very wrong, as the servitor removed the top of the man's skull, exposing the brain. They had failed, but they had been close. So very, very close. He had underestimated the ability of the Spider operating system to rewrite itself, to adapt—
evolve
—to escape the JMC systems, learning from the very psychic transference technology that allowed Caviezel himself a perpetual existence inside an android body.

But, he had also been right about a lot of things. Most crucially, his theory about psychic exposure to the SpiderWeb had been correct—every psi-marine who engaged in battle with the machine gestalt became infected, a fragment of the Spider AI lodging itself in their minds.

A powerful resource. He'd been so close to controlling it too. And if he could do that, then …

Caviezel allowed himself a smile as the technicians continued to operate.

Because the Spider OS was not just a part of the whole—it
was
the whole. The machines were not alive; they had no sentience, no individuality. They were a true gestalt, a hive mind. To have a splinter of their operating system was to have the hive mind itself.

And if that splinter could be extracted from the minds of the infected …

Caviezel laughed. The possibilities were endless.

The servitor operating on the stolen sleeper pushed his surgical tool back up onto the rack above his head and then, reaching into the subject's skull with both hands, gently pulled out the brain.

Yes, thought Caviezel. The possibilities were
endless.

 

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