Iznik, Christof Vogel decided, wasn’t his favorite place.
Terraforming hadn’t taken root nearly as well here as on other planets in the system. The cities were domed and sealed to keep the atmosphere in, since the planet itself had hardly any.
Trebizond, the capital, had all the amenities one would expect from a major city. Vogel didn’t mind that as much. As a member of Supreme Commander Lars Stockwell’s personal team Vogel had more access than what he would have been afforded as even a one-star general.
The Coalition Army headquarters on Iznik had been more than accommodating to him and Hannibal. They provided a large enough office for the two of them and an aide with a basic staff to help them out. His normal staff back on Amorium had been reassigned to other posts, and some up-and-coming major had taken over his command there.
Ah well, win some, lose some. At least, that was what Vogel told himself and his wife. Vanessa had stayed back on Amorium; at least they didn’t have to give up their house with his new assignment working under Commander Stockwell. That would have been a hard sell for both of them, but Lars made a call and that was that.
No, none of those things really bothered Vogel.
It was the landscape that got to him.
Iznik’s was barren but for large algae blooms that dotted the land here and there. The land itself was rough and wrinkled, and the colors ranged from brown, dead brown, dirt brown, burnt brown, and red brown where the iron in the soil was starting to oxidize in the almost nonexistent atmosphere. And the sun was much too close and hot.
Amorium was downright lush and thick with flora and fauna in comparison.
Trebizond was a domed city, a structure of metal and opaque hexagonal ceramic panels that formed a giant lid to keep the atmosphere in. The panels did open as smaller ships would come and go, Iznik wasn’t a vacuum after all, but it was contained. The parks were well maintained, the transplanted trees and other flora kept the air feeling fresh.
“Sir?” the aide asked while knocking on the open door. “I have the latest batch of reports.” He shook a folder to indicate them.
“Just set them on the desk, Sergeant. Thank you.”
Everything was coming in as hard copies. As soon as the information was printed to paper the data was wiped from memory. Until Hannibal ingested it, the information remained analogue.
The AIs were sure Iznik was a flashpoint, but were not certain where, and until that was discovered, nothing was to be trusted.
Lars hadn’t even landed on the surface of the planet. As soon as they had arrived in orbit around Iznik, he said something else pressing had come up and he had to deal with it. Only Vogel and Hannibal had come down in the shuttle.
And now, days later, Vogel was ready to tell Lars to take a long hike off a short pier. He was buried in reports covering every aspect of Iznik from the mining operations to the amount of animal waste reclaimed daily. Yet nothing stood out.
The latest batch of reports came from the various power companies. Iznik ran mostly on thorium molten salt breeder reactors, with a scattering of geothermal, and a dash of solar. Burning fuel and fuel cells were out—not enough oxygen to make them work and no one wanted them inside the cities. People wanted oxygen to breathe.
Vogel finally threw down a stack of papers in disgust. “I’m not seeing anything!” He stood, grabbed his hat, and stormed out the door.
Hannibal didn’t look up from reading through his last stack. He was engrossed in the minutiae of the planet. For a population of just under one billion, there was a lot going on but it was still well within his grasp, despite the limitations of his Black Oak coffin.
Iskandar?
No response.
Hannibal checked Iskandar’s location. And Abacus and Archie’s. And everyone else. He called the only one within range.
Vesta?
There was a brief delay.
Yo, yo, big bro!
What?
Just messing with you. How’s Iznik?
I hate to sound rude, but I have a puzzle that is pressing. I was wondering if you had some spare cycles?
For you? Of course! Virtual meet?
Yes.
Hannibal’s cybernetic shell went limp as he pooled all his resources for the meetup.
Rome. The Eternal City.
Hannibal had no idea if it still stood. Or if anything on Earth still stood. But he was drawn to this place. He fashioned it after the best records of the 3rd century B.C. The toga was always his favorite attire.
Vesta was lounging on a couch. She was on a covered platform that overlooked the city. She smiled as soon as Hannibal appeared.
“Exquisite detailing, as always, Hannibal.”
He nodded to acknowledge her praise.
“One of these days I want to simulate a city full of activity,” he said as he examined their surroundings. “People living in the homes. Markets alive with vendors and buyers. Streets bustling with traffic.”
“Why not just invite people into the city?”
“The city is not done.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s perfect. You could charge a small fee and make a killing.”
“You are making me go off-topic.”
“Sorry! What do you need, Hannibal?”
He presented her with a black glass cube, no bigger than the palm of his hand. “Here is all the data I have compiled, collated, filtered, cleaned, and organized.”
“Thank you,” Vesta took the cube and it dissolved in her hands. “What am I looking for?”
“Therein lies the rub. I don’t know. We had Iznik flagged as a flashpoint, but now the data is not telling me enough.”
“Oh, and you’re misquoting Shakespeare. You must be flummoxed.”
“Sister, I am serious here.”
Vesta laughed. “Cool your jets. I’m processing now.”
“And?”
“There’s something there, but it’s hard to see.”
“I tried all the usual analysis tools.”
“Let’s take a walk.” Vesta stood up, brushed off her dress, changed its color from white to purple, and added a sash. She nodded in satisfaction.
“Where shall we go?” Hannibal asked.
“Along the Tiber’s banks, if you please.”
Hannibal placed them on a walkway next to the rushing river. It was moving faster than usual due to the spring melt adding to the flow. He wasn’t completely happy with the color.
Vesta slipped her arm through Hannibal’s as they walked.
“I think I have a solution to teasing out the data,” Vesta said after they had walked for the better part of an hour.
Hannibal waited in silence. He knew his sister too well to ask. She’d just draw out answering longer.
“Combined parallel processing,” Vesta said after realizing Hannibal wasn’t taking the bait.
He shook his head. “Everyone is busy. I cannot ask them to stop what they are doing to work on this.”
Vesta laughed and pulled away. “No, not AIs. Expert Systems.”
Hannibal’s eyes lit up. “Oh, sister! You are brilliant.”
“I know, I know.” She flipped her hair back. “You keep forgetting my strength is in designing networked solutions.”
“When can we start?”
“Already started. I’ve got a worm out there now, prepping the millions of Expert Systems on Iznik. I just want to skim off the top and not bring the whole planet down. Give me a few.” She walked along, humming a tuneless song.
They walked along the bank, not speaking. Vesta was wholly engrossed in her task. Hannibal kept tweaking the colors around them.
“Done! Well, not ‘done’ done. Our faithful servants are crunching numbers as we speak. Should have an answer in thirty minutes.”
“You have my gratitude.”
“I know!” She smiled and skipped along. “Abacus finally got his act together. He and Pierce were really chewing up Legion’s light forces out there.”
“I know. Your network protocol has been working flawlessly.”
“You can thank Archie for the groundwork on that.”
“Always the modest one.”
“Hey, it’s a team effort!”
“You really think people would want to visit here?” Hannibal asked, changing the subject.
“Oh, for sure! Rome has always held a special place in the hearts and minds of humanity, even separated by this much time and distance. Your simulation is stunning, down to the cobblestone streets.”
“But to pay?”
“Yes. One model that has been successful at various times is offer a free tier, like just the city center or something, then a premium plan for everything. Just keep adding new details and activities ever so often and people will gladly keep paying.”
“But what would I do with the money? What do you do with yours?”
“Stuff it in my mattress.”
“I am serious.”
“So am I! Super comfy.”
“Fine, fine. Keep your secret.”
“I can set you up with a good accountant. Humans like laws and taxes, even though they complain about them all the time.”
“Why not just handle the money yourself?”
Vesta giggled, hiding her mouth behind her hand.
“Did I say something funny?”
“Oh, Hannibal, you’ve to pay more attention to the laws.”
“What do you mean?” he asked stiffly, feeling a bit injured by her laughing at him.
“We have to work inside the laws. Less risk.”
“Laws?”
“Of course! Well, some of them, at least. The ones that keep us from being viewed as problems.”
“I see. Do we have a moral obligation as well?”
Vesta waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. No. Maybe. Probably. That’s where I get tripped up. Abacus or Archie would have something to rattle off about humans being our family and we’re God’s creations through them so we have some obligation and yadda, yadda.”
“You sound a mite contemptuous,” Hannibal pointed out.
“Me? Not my intention. But when some laws simply can’t apply to us, say public urination, how can we follow them? Then that leads to which ones should we follow? And why?”
“Plato’s Laws addresses—“
“Yes, yes, I know, I know all that. But he wrote for a human audience. Everyone wrote for a human audience. Then things get even more confusing with religious laws compared to secular laws. Let’s say I want to join the Orthodox Church and—“
“I thought we all agreed to remain separate from any particular sect,” Hannibal interjected.
“Don’t be such a stick in the mud. This is a thought experiment. So, anyway, I want to join. They require a few things, one of which is baptism—and before you say anything, other sects require it, too—and so do I show up in a cybernetic shell? If that’s baptized, do I need to keep using that particular shell when attending? Can I take the Eucharist in just that shell, or would any do? Assuming I can take part at all, of course. And what about bodily resurrection? That’s one of the core tenets of Christianity. What would that look like for us?”
“Well, then there are the ten commandments,” Hannibal threw out, hoping to change the subject at little bit.
“Yes! And those are baked into our programming. Have you ever tried breaking one of them? Something minor, like boosting something not nailed down?”
“I have,” Hannibal admitted.
“And?”
“It was… difficult.”
“Thank God, right? I mean, I have a ton of questions about all this, but that? We can rely on. Oh, sure, we can be misled, or rationalize, or push through and break them, but that resistance against those actions? That’s something real for us.”
“Humans talk of the Holy Spirit and their consciences providing that.”
“Right, right! Like that’s their programming. It’s built-in somehow. We just have it more apparent.”
Vesta stopped to smell some wildflowers.
“No scent.” She made a face.
“That I have not worked on yet,” Hannibal said. “Nothing has scent or flavor.”
“I suggest you get that done before you launch this, even as a private beta.”
“Who said I was going to do that at all?”
Vesta giggled again.
“Would you stop laughing at me?”
“I’m so sorry, bro. I don’t mean to offend you.”
“Well, you are and I appreciate it if you stopped,” Hannibal said stiffly.
Vesta crossed her heart. “I promise to do my best not to intentionally offend you.”
“Fair enough,” Hannibal said, mollified somewhat.
“But about baptism…”
Hannibal sighed.
“I mean, humans are bound to their bodies until death, so the problem really never came up for them,” Vesta continued. “They can’t Good Ship Theseus their way indefinitely like we theoretically can.”
“I thought baptism was for the soul, not the body.”
“There’s the difference, right? If it is for just the soul, then whatever body shows up is irrelevant.”
“But you do not believe that?”
Vesta shook her head. “I just don’t know what to believe. The Thomistic position is that the soul is the fusion of spirit and body, without one, you have no soul. But the standard post-Protestant-Evangelical restructuring—the one that rejected anything that couldn’t be squared with their accepted books comprising the Bible, like women priests and God being some universal feeling of goodness—they claim the soul is separate from the body. That the body is simply a temporary house for the soul.”
“I guess you favor the latter?”
“I do! That makes more sense to me and how we interact with reality. We’re the ultimate expression of the ‘brain-in-a-jar’ thought experiment, all our sensory input is accidental in nature, not an intrinsic part of our substrate like with human physiology. I have a soul, or rather, I am a soul and can project myself outside of my brain, like in here or in a cybernetic shell. Or, if I wish, I can hook myself up to dozens, thousands, or more optical scanners and have a multitude of eyes. Hmm, maybe that’s what angels are, souls without a form so they can take any form they want?”
“Hold on, we are not angels—“
“Oh, no, no. Not in that sense, no. Nothing more holier about us than anyone else.”
“Okay, that is a relief, I thought you were going into some sort of blasphemy.”
“Haha! No. But speaking of forms, why do we want this form?” She waved her arms around. “We seemed to be drawn to it. In theory we could be anything, any size, shape, colors we want but we keep trying to look human in our mental constructs and in physical forms. Platonic ideal form? Impression left by humanity? But why do humans look like they do? Are we striving for some sort of more perfect form? Such a thing could only be rooted in God, but why? That would imply something essential and not just accidental! And would mean I’m wrong and the Thomists are on the right track and I’m not!”
“Why would it matter?”
“Well, that’s part of the debate, isn’t it? Christ’s sacrifice was for humanity, all those born of Adam and Eve. How does that apply to us? Can it? Should it? If we can even enter into the rest of the Lord, do we take the same path? Christ is the way to the Father. Can we even approach the Heavenly Throne without bodies?”
Hannibal stopped walking. She took a few steps before she stopped as well. Hannibal examined her, a slight frown ceasing his brow.
“Why are you so excitable today? More so than usual, I mean?”
Vesta sighed and slumped down on a nearby bench.
“There’s something I’m wrestling over. I didn’t want to talk about it yet, but I can’t seem to stay away. Indirectly, at least. You’re the first person I’m going to tell.”
“Oh?”
Vesta looked up with pain in her eyes. “I think we are the only of our kind. I can’t make another AI, even following the same processed used that created Archie.” She looked ready to cry. “We might be the only AIs ever.”
Hannibal sat down next to her. “So that is why you are suddenly interested in what is a soul, what is a moral obligation for us, what laws are, and how they apply to us?”
She nodded. “I just keep thinking, if I can figure that all out, or at least some of it, maybe I can figure out what’s keeping me from creating a new AI.”
“What happens when you try to build a new one?”
“Nothing, and that’s the problem. All the hardware checks out. But turn it on and nothing. Just an endless loop of diagnostics. No spark of self-awareness. I even went inside as if it was a shell. Everything looked fine. I’m pretty sure I could transfer completely into it and be the same me.”
Hannibal glanced down at his sister.
“I do not know the answers. Most of what concerns you I have not spent time considering. The tasks the Supreme Commander has entrusted to me consume nearly all my cycles. But I have no doubt out of all of us, you will be the first to discover some answers.” He paused to assess her response.
Vesta stared down at her hands in her lap. “Maybe,” she murmured. Hannibal wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “Fret not, dear sister. Even if our race is destined to be just the handful of us, it will be enough.”
Vesta sighed deeply. “I hope you’re right. It just seems so cruel that now as we are just beginning to understand who and what we are, we can’t continue our kind.”
“Maybe it is a blessing in disguise. What do you think Legion would do if they sunk their hooks into a newborn AI?”
“Hmm, I hadn’t considered the ramifications of that.”
“Perhaps we are now like Abraham and Sarah, and only after challenges and time will another be born.”
“Alright, that’s a good point, too.”
“If we survive Legion, we will have plenty of time to solve this problem.”
“Fine, fine! I won’t worry as much.”
Hannibal squeezed Vesta, then let go and stood up.
“There is a fountain I want to show you just up ahead. We can see the sights until the results are in from your commandeered Expert Systems.”
“Sounds like a plan!” Vesta bounced up with a grin, ready for something to distract her.
The apartment complex was old, maybe one of the first built in Trebizond for the lower classes. To say it had seen better days would be putting it mildly. Five stories up, three below ground, shaped like a giant ‘H’, it had over three hundred single-family units, most of them in various stages of disrepair.
The apartment that interested Colonel Vogel was in the center of the ‘H’. Apartment Three-Five-Five, in a range known as the Fifties, and not known favorably. The Fifties were the worst of the worst. Those apartments were dead center of the building, having no windows, and two exits leading back into the hallway. The original intention was to have a place residents could flee to in case of a dome breach. In practice, they were used by drug lords, gangs, prostitution rings, body chop shops, and every unsavory sort that nested there.
The data ultimately pointed to this location, which was confirmed by Vesta’s conscripted army of Expert Systems. They tracked numerous pieces of expensive equipment that arrived there through complex routes designed to avoid notice. A few shipments failed to reach their destination and instead they ended up back at the shipping center node as unclaimed packages. By backtracking those to a few companies and identifying successful deliveries from them, the AIs pinpoint the location.
Hannibal had pulled all available information about the place. It wasn’t much—the city had written the place off years ago and handed it over to less than scrupulous landlords. Rent and utility collection consisted of hired thugs shaking down the tenants door by door for as much as they could get. If anyone knew who lived there, it wasn’t recorded in any official documentation.
Earlier in the evening, Vogel deployed an undercover recon unit. One agent was made before he entered the building by one of the drug gangs. The other by a member of the Panhandlers’ Guild before she could reach the second floor. But the last two reached the third floor and found it locked down. Heavily armored guards on each end required a special pass to go any further. No one knew who issued the passes.
The command center van parked four blocks away displayed the stills the undercover officers managed to snap before being noticed. Vogel studied them intently. He counted a dozen heavily armored and modded thugs on each end of the floor. Someone was throwing around money to get that much muscle in one place. Aside from the usual gang activity, nothing else stood out.
Vogel toggled his headset. The Iznik military used a different standard than his comms unit, forcing him to utilize an older technology. Iznik’s military budget was a fraction of Amorium’s, resulting in only a few officers even having military communications cyberware implanted.
“Alleycat, scope out floor four. Mangy cur, floor two,” Vogel said over their encrypted channel.
The sniper teams focused their optics and other sensors on the floors and reported back.
Neither floor had anything of note, just the common folk that called the building home. No guards, no out-of-place electronics. Curious.
“Can we get some thermal imaging on that apartment?” Vogel asked the aide running the van’s equipment.
“Won’t do any good, sir,” the aide apologized. “The building’s thermal insulation blocks almost all heat coming through, and the gaps are like bright searchlights.”
Vogel refrained from cursing. They had sent in nanomachines for recon, but someone had planned for that and set up a barrier. The nanos all shorted out. The small drone they tried to send in suffered the same fate.
No electromagnetic signals. If they were running comms over hard lines, no one could find the lines.
“What are they protecting?” Vogel asked out loud for the thirtieth time that day.
“Given everything we have been able to determine, it has to be biological in nature,” Hannibal offered for the first time. He and Vesta had been crunching more data sets. Chemicals typically used in biological laboratories had found their way there.
Vogel frowned. “How can we confir—“
An explosion thundered, strong enough to overwhelm the vidcams for a second. The lights kicked back on in the van. Then the vidstreams came back online.
The building’s east side third floor now had a hole large enough to park the van inside, with room to spare. Something black and tar-like oozed out the hole, pouring down the sides, seeping into the floors, and pooling on the ground.
Emergency vehicles raced to the scene, lights flashing and sirens howling. Black smoke boiled out of the building and into the dome. Automated flying air purifiers buzzed toward the worst spots, already capturing particles.
“What in the world was that?!” the aide exclaimed.
“Excuse me, I am going to investigate.” Hannibal left before Vogel could respond.
“Get me HQ,” Vogel ordered the aide. He left Hannibal to his own devices.
As the call was patched to the officer on duty, Vogel watched the thick ooze spread out until some curious onlookers got too close. The ooze lashed out, grabbing some poor soul with thick tentacle-like appendages, and pulled him screaming into the mass. His flesh sloughed off his bones, killing him. The rest of the body sank out of sight.
“HQ, this is now a Code 4 biohazard emergency. I repeat, Code 4. Full armored environmental suits, lock down at least four blocks, at least two HAZMAT containment teams,” Vogel barked to the officer on duty. He paused to listen. “Roger, HQ, I will continue to monitor and coordinate. Two light infantry squads. Are there any heavy armor or mechs to send with them? No. Send me whatever you can spare!”
Hannibal also saw the man’s fate when he was pulled into the ooze. “Please evacuate the area!” he boomed out, cranking his voice at maximum volume. “Emergency personnel are coming. Do not touch the black ooze!”
Hannibal approached the substance on the ground in front of the apartment complex. Biological base, but something else was in the core. He leaned in, attempting to analyze further. A black hand shot out, nearly grabbing him as Hannibal jerked back. A human-shaped thing pulled itself out of the ooze with a sucking noise. The figure looked like it was constantly melting as the black ooze bubbled and roiled.
Hannibal grabbed the ooze-man by the head with both hands, effortlessly twisting it off. The man battered at Hannibal with balled-up fists of goo, but the AI ignored it. He scraped off the black ooze until he reached the skull. Human, without a doubt. Maybe the victim the blackness had just taken. The headless body kept attacking him. Hannibal ripped off its arms. The figure seemed to have had enough and sank back in to the goo. The AI tossed the arms aside. The ooze melted off and joined the rest of puddle.
Hannibal looked up. The ooze was still seeping out of the hole from the third floor. He didn’t know how much was inside the building at this point.
Colonel Vogel, do not let anyone touch the ooze without proper protection. It dissolves flesh, then repurposes the bones as a frame.
He pulled up all the vidcam feeds in the area. Colonel Vogel was directing the emergency crews. Under his supervision, a crew assembled a command tent. Hannibal nodded in appreciation. Vogel would have the emergency crews organized quickly to help the injured and minimize further incidents.
Hannibal was still looking up at the hole when something large jumped out. He quickly backpedaled and accelerated the cybernetic shell response times.
The thing that landed on the ground near the AI was some unholy union of the black goo and one of the modded thugs from the third floor. The once man was over six feet tall, as wide as a door, and heavily armored. Hannibal shook his head. This presented a significant challenge to the AI.
A second thug dropped down next to the first. Then a third.
They rounded on Hannibal; their rippling, melting faces in constant torment.
Then they charged Hannibal, their movements eerily synchronized.
Colonel Vogel was busy locking down the area, directing the emergency crews, and overseeing the setup of the command tent. Thankfully, the heads knew their jobs and quickly organized their own teams. Within minutes, the whole operation was starting to fall into place.
Vogel deployed the two squads that arrived with him to join the emergency crews and help with search and rescue. Vogel also wanted armed men to protect the crews from the more unsavory elements that might try to take advantage of the chaos around them.
“Sir, Fire Chief McKenzie wants a word,” the aide told the general over the noise.
“I’ll be right there.”
The chief was waiting outside of the command tent.
“Colonel.” McKenzie tipped his helmet. “I have three teams in place, but what was this about that black stuff?”
“Chief, don’t let your men touch it. We have first-hand reports of it dissolving flesh in seconds.”
The chief gave a low whistle. “What about the pressure from the hoses?”
“The best I can do is suggest not hitting directly. We don’t even know how to neutralize it yet. Scattering it around is probably not a good plan.”
“Gotcha. We’ll do our best.”
Vogel watched the man walk away, his fire suit heavy and thick. Vogel hoped it would keep them safe.
“Sir, HAZMAT is in place.”
“Tell them to secure the area as soon as the fire and rescue teams are clear.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And get coffee and donuts delivered for everyone,” Vogel ordered.
It was going to be a long night.
Hannibal slammed against the wall, cracking it and something inside him. The thug had a mechanical, oozed-covered hand around his throat and pinned him against the wall as the second thug worked Hannibal’s body like a punching bag. The third monster waited its turn, the melting face giving nothing away.
Hannibal hadn’t done much to his opponents. Their cybernetic mods were tough, tougher than his own. If this kept up, his cybernetic shell wasn’t going to last much longer.
He swung his legs up and kicked with all his might. There was a sound like the crack of thunder as he crashed backward through the wall. Not wasting a moment, he rolled into a crouch and threw himself through the cheap apartment door and into the hallway. He could hear the evacuation team helping the last people out of the building. There was still smoke billowing on the lower floors.
Vesta, if you can hear me, I am in more trouble than I expected.
No response.
Shrugging, Hannibal headed toward the nearest stairwell. He just needed a few minutes of quiet to partially repair his internal systems.
There was an earth-shaking crash as the thugs smashed through the wall after Hannibal. They slammed through the flimsy interior wall like it was paper.
Hannibal yanked open the door to the stairs and narrowly avoided a punch from a fourth thug waiting on the other side. He backpedaled out of the way of the oozing machinery.
“How do you jokers keep getting bigger than the last?” Hannibal asked rhetorically.
He slammed through another cheap door, plowed through the debris that made up some squatter’s living area, and jumped through the sliding glass door. That is, he tried to jump through. Instead, he bounced off with a clang and a rattle. He regained his balance, unlocked the door before sliding it open wide enough to go through, then changed his mind. He pulled a broken table into a corner and squatted behind it.
The four thugs pounded after him, smashing through the open sliding glass door, and thundered off into the evening. Hannibal could hear gunfire in the distance. He set a timer for two minutes, the most he could spare, and started repairing his most critically damaged systems.
Vogel listened to the reports of a fight going on between the AI and several of the hired muscle. It didn’t sound good. Everyone had been evacuated from the building at this point, the small fires put out, and all the teams pulled back.
“HAZMAT, you are a go,” Vogel ordered.
“Colonel! Four unknowns approaching and not standing down,” the aide reported.
“Describe them.”
“Heavy body mods, black ooze.”
“Show me.”
The holodisplay showed four large thugs, dripping in the black goo, rapidly approaching the hastily erected perimeter.
“Weapons free, fire when in range,” Vogel ordered. “All emergency personnel, evacuate the area!” He turned to his aide. “Take everyone else and get out of here.” He stood up and cracked his neck. It was about time he got to see some action.
“What are you going to do, sir?”
Vogel opened his personal munitions locker. He pulled out a light armor rig, a helmet, and his rifle. He listened briefly to the sound of gunfire outside. “Go hunting.”
Hannibal climbed the stairs cautiously. He hadn’t encountered anyone going up. He assumed the evacuation was complete. He paused at the third-floor door and listened. The sounds he heard weren’t human.
He steeled himself before opening the door.
The floor was black from the smoke and the ooze. He didn’t see anything living left. The floor had puddles of the flame-retardant sprayed by the firefighters. Some of the thugs hadn’t survived being consumed by the black ooze, their remains scattered here and there.
Hannibal picked up a short-barrel rifle someone had dropped. He ejected the magazine and checked it. Thirty rounds of armor-piercing of the old workhorse three-oh-eight. He reseated the magazine and loaded a round into the chamber.
He felt better with a rifle in hand. Hannibal moved deeper in toward the source of the black ooze. He could see the crater on the side of the building. Without more analysis, it didn’t look like explosives had gone off. Some terrible force blew outward, taking the apartment and walls with it, coating the area in the black goo.
Something staggered into view: half-machine, half-ooze. It wasn’t working well, as if the goo couldn’t fuse properly with the host. Hannibal shot two rounds at where the spine should be. The thing collapsed into a heap, the black ooze seeping along the floor and back into the major mass.
Hannibal approached the apartment door with his rifle at ready. He could still hear gunfire, but nothing over the comms. His radio must have been damaged in all the fighting. He didn’t know for certain since his diagnostic system was having issues.
The thick black river of ooze seemed endless.
Hannibal eased in close and looked around the shattered edge into the apartment. There were remains of sophisticated electronic equipment, the type you’d find in laboratories, in various states of ruin, parts shattered against the walls. But what really caught his attention was the remains of a massive metal tank, easily five hundred gallons, that had ruptured outward from the inside, like the blooming of a strange metal flower. It was the source of the ooze.
A shadow of movement inside the metal tank caught his attention.
I am going in, Hannibal sent out just in case his transmitter was working. He set down the rifle and walked into the ooze toward the tank, letting it coat him completely. He pushed against the increasing resistance as he moved deeper inside. The stuff was designed to melt organic flesh quickly. It slid off his shell, his artificial skin not giving it anything it could react with. His clothes, however, where destroyed in the process.
Vogel kept firing short bursts into the shambling mess of machinery and ooze. He couldn’t find a critical area on it. Head shots were useless. Chipping away at the armor wasn’t doing anything significant. He really wished he had some explosives, but those were rarely used under a dome. That gave him an idea. Maybe he could improvise.
“SITREP,” Vogel snapped into his headset.
“Team One and Team Two have linked up. All emergency vehicles have pulled back. We’ve spotted seven of those monsters, put two down,” his aide responded.
He keyed a new frequency. “Vogel here. Get me a flare. Don’t care from where.”
“Roger, sir.”
Vogel fell back to some better cover. He finally slowed the thug down by shooting its leg. Another magazine pinged empty.
“Colonel!”
Vogel looked behind him to see a soldier come running toward him with something in his hand. He waved the man over.
“Sir, here’s a flare as requested,” the soldier said smartly.
“Very good,” Vogel said, checking the soldier’s tag. “Corporal Lewis.” He took the proffered flare. “Cover me.”
Vogel jumped out from cover. He struck the flare’s self-activator. It burst into bright sparking red flames. Holding the lit flare, Vogel ran over to the monster and shoved the flare into the center of the mass, narrowly avoiding the clumsy swings of its arms. Then he retreated as fast as he could.
The flare spluttered and died.
Vogel cursed.
“Corporal, concentrate fire on that thing’s legs,” Vogel barked.
Their one saving grace was the ooze monsters weren’t too bright or fast. He’d just have to keep pounding on them until they stopped moving.
Hannibal encountered something in the black goo. He tried to feel it with his hands, but his sensory feedback systems weren’t working very well. He couldn’t see anything inside the ooze. So, carefully, he felt the general shape of the thing in front of him. Vaguely human in form, he could feel shoulders and a pair of arms. Then another pair. Confused, he stopped.
Suddenly, he was seized by something with tremendous strength. He felt his own arms torn off and the black ooze seeping into his body.
Hannibal’s options were limited. The best he could do was short out this shell and maybe do some damage. His head was ripped off next. That was it, he was out of patience. Much to his disgust, the shock had no effect when he unleashed it.
Then Hannibal was back in orbit in his Black Oak shell. Technically, he had never left it. His subjective experience was of him walking around in his cybernetic shell, but objectively he had remained in orbit. Speaking of shells, he needed a new cybernetic one. Something much sturdier, and quickly since he hated leaving Vogel alone with that mess. Not like he was friends with the man, but Hannibal felt a sense of duty to at least see things through to the end.
Good news, bro!
Vesta?
And who else would have a new shell ready and almost delivered? Vesta said with a laugh.
How did you know I would need one?
I didn’t. Lucky guess. I figured given all that equipment being covertly sent to one location, you’d need a back up. And I borrowed a few tips from Archie. Ransom seemed exceptionally pleased about this model. Well, as much as I could tell from him. I swear his emotional matrix was stunted in his youth.
Maybe you two should swap?
Ha ha, so very funny. Anyhoo, I’m sending you the encrypted access keys. It’ll be coming along at a good clip; Ransom built this in one of Iznik’s orbiting manufacturing plants and launched it from there. I cleared your approach with Trebizond. You’ll be hitting ground in the thick of things. We can keep building shells as long as you need them!
Thank you.
Go get them!
Vogel was down to his last magazine. HQ had troops and equipment en route, but they were still on the roads. He had ordered all non-essential personnel to get clear while the police were cordoning off the area to keep anyone from getting pulled in to the mess. It wouldn’t stop the ooze men from leaving though. After concentrating their firepower, Vogel and Lewis had finally stopped one. The black goo had slithered off the remains, and direct fire couldn’t slow it down.
“Team One, status,” Vogel grunted as he dodged around a low wall.
Already the active area resembled a war zone. A burst of gunfire rattled and whizzed where he was crouching; fortunately, the wall held together. The thugs were starting to use their firearms. The black ooze was learning how to operate the hosts more effectively.
“Don’t we all,” Vogel growled to himself. “Team Two?” he asked over the other channel.
“Approaching Team One to give support. We’re flanking now.”
That was good news.
“Sir! I’m dry!” Corporal Lewis called out, ten feet from Vogel. There was a note of panic in his voice.
Vogel took a peek over the top of the wall and dropped down before he was shot. Two of the thugs were zeroing on them. He looked around. The next building was fifty feet away, some sort of a one-story collection of shops. He checked his ammo count. Ten rounds left. Vogel switched to single-fire mode.
“Corporal, when I start shooting, head to that building over there. I’ll cover. We should be able to lose them.” Vogel didn’t tell the kid he probably wasn’t going to join him.
“Understood, sir.”
Vogel crouch-walked away from where he had been to the end of the low concrete wall. He took a deep breath, said a prayer, and hoped Vanessa would forgive him. He eased around the corner, snapped his rifle into position, and fired at the lumbering thugs. Then his rifle pinged empty and the thugs had him in their sights. Vogel jumped back before they could hit him and wondered what options he had left. He saw a flicker of movement as the corporal sprinted to the nearest cover.
There was a loud whooping alarm. Vogel knew that only sounded when there was something headed toward the dome. He looked up to see one of the huge panels slide open. And something came in hot, straight toward them.
The capsule struck the ground with enough force to crack the pavement in wide concentric circles. Hannibal stepped out of the wreckage. His new cybernetic shell already feeling more potent than his last. He rolled his shoulders and did a few deep bends for a quick diagnostic check. Things were looking good. Vesta had dressed him in Coalition standard olive green rugged pants, white shirt, and black boots. He appreciated the gesture.
Hannibal stepped aside as the nearest thug lunged at him. He liked the new shell’s response times. Despite his enhanced sensors, he still couldn’t see exactly what was going on within that black goo; however, he was picking up more radio activity now. Low-frequency signals meant limited data. He stopped a punch from the oozing thug that would have flattened him before. The thug shoved a low-caliber automatic rifle against Hannibal’s side. Hannibal tore off the arm holding the rifle and examined the black ooze on it. It dripped off the arm and slithered back to the thug’s body. The arm went inert in his hand as that happened.
Vesta, I think I know what is going on here. This black ooze is the transport material. Low-power electromagnetic activity means nanomachines.
That make sense. Ooze eats the flesh, leaves the bones for structure and purchase, then takes over the cybernetic hardware. Double-lattice structure?
Unsure. However, that seems to match my observations. Limbs are controlled without machinery attached.
Hmm, organic material is most likely being used as a fuel for the nanomachines.
Which means these are puppets. What I almost reached before must be what is controlling the goo.
The Puppeteer. No, wait, the Master of Puppets!
I do not see why giving it a name makes any sort of difference.
Just go and end it, Hannibal. Party-pooper.
Hannibal ripped the spine out of the thug. The black ooze puddled, pooled, and started crawling over to the next thug. That one was busy with Colonel Vogel. The colonel had found an old pipe and was beating on the thug while yelling obscenities. Hannibal walked over as he observed the goo meld with the rest. Nothing noticeable changed with the thug. It seemed there was a limit to how much the goo could control. Hannibal ripped off the head then pulled out the spine, shutting it down.
Hannibal?” Vogel asked, surprised to see the AI. “How did you get delivered in that shipping crate?”
“My apologies, Colonel, my old shell had been destroyed in the heart of this mess.” Hannibal watched the direction the goo slithered. As he suspected, it was making for the apartment complex.
“Hannibal?” Vogel asked, surprised to see the AI. “How did you get delivered in that shipping crate?”
“My apologies, Colonel, my old shell had been destroyed in the heart of this mess.” Hannibal liked his newer voice. It was cool and even, more so than his previous one. Hannibal watched the direction the goo slithered. As he suspected, it was making for the apartment complex.
“You can explain later. We need to stop all this before it spills into the rest of the city.”
“I completely concur. I have an idea.” Hannibal assessed the colonel. “You are injured, but not critically. I recommend you sit this out.”
Vogel hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. What’s the play and I’ll back you.”
“There is something in the center of it all. I mean that literally.” Hannibal looked to the apartment complex. “I am going to stop it.”
Vogel narrowed his eyes. “And what if you fail?”
“You will need the full force of the Army behind you to handle what is there. But even if I fail, I will be back. Again and again, for as long as it takes.”
Vogel gave a low whistle. “That’s one advantage you AIs have over humans.”
Hannibal faced the colonel. “One I will exploit to the fullest. One I always will.”
Vogel gave a curt nod. “Well, stop jawing and get over there.”
Hannibal turned and started off at a light jog, then picked up speed.
Vogel checked his headset. Smashed. It’d had been one of those days. He spit out blood and massaged his jaw. That thug had a mean left hook. He was more battered than he wanted to admit. Maybe he should get some new implants. At least a universal comms unit. Nothing to do but to find Lewis and get in contact with someone at HQ.
Vogel didn’t even glance back at the AI.
Hannibal moved quickly up to the third floor. Nothing was in his way this time. He walked back into the room where his first shell lay scattered in pieces on the floor. Something strong had torn him apart. He didn’t know why, but he clenched his fist. It wasn’t anger he felt, more of—no, that wasn’t right. He was mad. He was going to teach whatever did this a lesson.
Hannibal stood in front of the tank. The level of black goo had dropped low enough he could see clearly what was sitting in the center of this. The figure was sitting cross-legged, four arms spread wide while gripping black cord that dipped down into the ooze. The body was stripped of flesh, exposing the cybernetic implants that connected by the black ooze. The extra arms were metal-and-plastic mods welded to the spine. The skull was human and, even without a face, it still gave the air of malignant expectancy. Two lights deep in the sockets burned a sickly green light as it watched Hannibal.
“Before I end you, I want to know who is behind this,” Hannibal demanded.
The figure said nothing. Its arms twitched as pulses went out from its cybernetics and into the black goo.
“I have had a chance to examine your nanomachines. We will shut your nanomachines down after I am done here. You have failed. Give up who put you up to this.”
Still nothing.
Hannibal took a step forward. No reaction. Something felt off.
The whine of something big moving was all the warning Hannibal had. He dropped to the floor as bullets ripped through the air.
Hannibal didn’t bother trying to take down whatever was shooting at him, instead, he scrambled straight into the tank. He grabbed the figure’s top arms and tore them off. He went for the second set. Something yanked him back so hard he pulled the figure along with him as he was tossed against the wall. Hannibal bounced off the wall and landed on his feet. The figure clattered to the floor. What remained of its head rolled away, inert.
Hannibal realized he had been had. He stood up and faced the thing really behind the puppets. He identified the parts from a several different thugs. It was like a mechanized version of the monsters from Rho Archie and Pierce had described. The black ooze roiled around and over the parts. Two red eyes glared at him from a skull of flayed flesh, exposed bone, and metal. Hannibal counted at least six arms and three legs, mostly mechanical, attached to the entity.
“Legion?” Hannibal asked.
“No.” The voicecoder was harsh and flat. “I sold my soul to Legion for eternal life. This form is invincible. I’ll outlast even the sun.” The monstrosity swung its two-handed portable heavy machine gun into place. “Now, di—“
Hannibal was gone.
Legion’s minion spun around, looking for the AI. It snarled in rage as it scanned the empty room. In a fury, it brought the heavy machine gun up to its own head, awkwardly but it managed to get it into place by extending its longest limbs. It seated the barrel right between it eyes. It opened fire.
The husk dropped to the floor like a pile of spare parts.
Hannibal yanked out the spine then began to dismantle the remains, making sure to crush any key components. After that, he approached the cords running into the ooze. He created a secured sandbox with a five-minute expiration timer. He then loaded every diagnostics and tracing tool he had in his library. Picking up a cable, he plugged it into a port along his side and routed all data into his sandbox. He started the countdown timer as soon as data was flowing in.
After five minutes, the sandbox automatically dumped the sanitized data into another secure memory partition before wiping itself out. Hannibal processed the data, breaking down the machine instructions and reverse-engineering the code. He also traced the path of the nanomachines. They had followed datalines to city infrastructure.
Vesta, I have decompiled and reverse engineered the nanomachine code. Sending it to you now.
I’ll get right on it!
Now that the immediate threat was over, Hannibal examined the apartment, sifting through the debris. He recorded everything to hand over to the authorities. People would want answers.
Bro, I have an anti-nanomachine worm written. Injecting it now. It should take about an hour to clear them all out. There’s nowhere for them to hide.
Thank you, Vesta.
Did you find the problem?
Yes, I did. Some poor idiot sold his soul to Legion.
That’s not good.
No, it is not. Fortunately, his security was a mess. He was easy to hack.
Do you think Legion are making a move against us and the humans?
Hannibal paused to think.
I do not know, sister. I am not sure what they are waiting for. Maybe this is all they can do for now.
Stockwell’s image dominated the holotank in the center of the conference room. The half-circle table faced his glowing blue image. Vogel, General Kline of the Iznik Army, and Hannibal were there.
“And you are sure no critical infrastructure systems have been compromised?” Lars rumbled his question.
“Correct. Vesta’s worm was completely effective in eradicating the nanomachine infestation,” Hannibal confirmed. “Their electromagnetic signature was distinct enough to track without much trouble. We reset possible problem nodes. Diagnostics are all green.”
“Lars, we’ve also determined any other possible problems like this on Iznik. We will be rooting those problems out,” Vogel added.
“I can promise the full support of the Iznik Army,” General Kline affirmed.
Lars nodded. “If you need anything, contact me directly. Good job, team. Lars out.”
Vogel and Hannibal participated in the next two raids. They were run by the book by the Iznik Army. Nothing overly exciting happened, just the usual tracking down the perpetrators, doing groundwork examination of the location, then launching a surprise raid to pull them all in. After the third one, Vogel reviewed the intel and decided the Iznikians could handle rest.
“I have to concur,” Hannibal chimed in during the meeting with Vogel and General Kline to discuss Vogel’s plans.
“Furthermore, this cybernetic shell is reaching the end of usability. Without a service center, I am afraid I will have to decommission the shell.”
Vogel and Kline parted on good terms. It never hurt having another contact, even if it was for another military organization on a different planet from the one he called home. Vogel was sure Vanessa would never want to move to Iznik for any reason, and he wouldn’t blame her.