Every now and then, every other cycle or so, the Hoon liked to tour the fleet. The easiest way to accomplish that was to choose two or three hundred of the more than twenty thousand surveillance devices at his disposal and spend a tenth of a second on each.
Though once routine, the excursions had been more rewarding of late, ever since the soft body had gone forth to "peach the gospel" - the essence of which seemed to consist of blocking thoroughfares, praising the supreme intelligence known as "God", and seeking "converts", which is to say semi autonomous units willing to listen to the human's rantings.The entire process seemed like a waste of time and resources except for one thing: interspersed with the nonsense regarding God was a good deal of anti Thraki rhetorics. And, like it or not, the Artificial Intelligence had no choice but to support sentients that shared the same mission it had which was to find Thraki and kill them.Still, the Hoon had encountered a consider"Don't tell me, let me guess", Herbert said disgustedly. "You signed on".Jyro looked away. "No, not exactly"."But close".The human turned back. The tone was petulant. "So, what if I did? There was no other choice".The navigational computer would have sighed, had such a thing been possible. "I think the message is pretty clear: They found some Thraki, and the Hoon wants you to kill them"."Why me?" Jyro asked desperately. "The Hoon could kill them by himself"."It's a test", the Artificial Intelligence replied patiently, "to see what you will do".The better part of a minute passed while the human considered the matter. When he spoke, the words fell one at a time."So it's kill or be killed"."Essentially", Herbert replied."Unless..." Jyro said."Unless what?""Unless I could convert the Thraki, and convince the Hoon to accept them"."Dream on", the Artificial Intelligence said simply. "The Hoon is a computer, and computers don't change. I
The starlight Ballroom was an enormous place, capable of accommodating up to one thousand guests in microhab controlled comfort, and protected by a transparent dome. It was like dining among the stars, and while most beings enjoyed the sensation, some found it uncomfortable. They say within the embrace of specially designed screens.The Unioncity's captain had positioned his vessel so that Byron filled half the view, and, thanks to the slowly rotating deck, everyone could see.Guests had started to arrive. Some relied on elaborate life support systems, while others came under their own power.The ceremonial meals were well attended in spite of the fact that they were a mostly human concept. Partly because of the status conferred on those who were invited, but largely due to the fact that the get-togethers represented a wonderful opportunity to consummate political deals, especially those that require some nose to beak contact.This particular dinner was being held to hon
The President's words were translated into a dozen languages, scanned for double entendres, racial slurs, or religious taboos, and edited accordingly.While something less than poetic, the results were nonoffensive."Good evening, honored guests. We gather to officially welcome the Abru-Mo to the Confederacy - and Ambassador Urulux Gray to our large and mostly functional family".Many, though not all, of those assembled in the room were equipped with a sense of humor and made a cacophony of noise ranging from laughter to clicks, pops, whistles, and in one case, a sort of honking sound.Sophie thought the laughter was funny, and struggled to wipe the smile off her face.The President's remarks were followed by a speech from the evening's official host, the senator from Byron, who, though too large to attend in person, was visible via the centrally projected holo.The speech was a long, rambling affair, which lasted through the first two courses and well into t
The Camouflage's commanding officer, Spear Commander Kolosi, met War Commander Xian Karrh at the main lock. He wore the same uniform that his superior did, except that his gem was red. Though mutually respectful, both officers were wary as well, since no Dodvalian truly trusts anyone else. "Greetings, War Commander... We welcome your presence".This at least was true, since Kolosi had been waiting for two complete ship cycles, two dangerous ship cycles, and looked forward to leaving the sector as soon as he could. The cloaking technology was good, but so were Confederate sensors, and there were plenty of patrols.Kolosi assumed subordinates would welcome his presence and ignore the greeting. "Did the torpedo arrive on schedule? Were you able to capture it?"The questions were logical enough, especially in light of the ship's mission, but that didn't prevent Kolosi from resenting the manner in which they were framed.What? The War Commander thought nothing of the skill re
They shared a number of interests, one of which was marine biology. Sophie paid close attention as Six described the manner in which the Founder, Dr. Hosakawa, had sterilized Alpha 001's oceans and seeded them with what she called genetic "maxotypes".It seemed that the indigenous species, few of which had survived, were a source of fascination for Six. He had established an extensive collection of native fossils and dreamed of bringing some back to life via the same science used to kill them. Genetic engineering.Then it was Sophie's turn, and the politician listened in rapt fascination as the executive described the Cynthia Harmon Center for Undersea Research, the Say'lnt named Shola, and the plan to seed the southern oceans with iron particles. A plan that, like so many things, was on hold due to civil unrest.It was at that point that Six looked as if he wanted to say something, seemed to think better of it, and shook his head. "I'm sorry so many were hurt... but glad y
The Thraki Armani was more than five thousand ships strong. They formed an enormous three dimensional diamond, which, when threatened, would morph into a globe with the arks at its core and warships all around.Consistent with the fact that the Thraki had no home world beyond the one mentioned in ancient legends, and needed to do everything they could to simplify the manufacture, repair, and maintenance of their ships, they allowed themselves only five types of vessels.There were moon sized arks, on which most of the civilian population lived, worked, and eventually died; supply ships, which carried the raw material required to sustain the Armani; and three types of warships, including battle ships, destroyers, and fighters.The fleet had been traveling through space for more than a millennium and would continue forever. Or would it?The Facers, so named because of their desire to put an end to the journey and "face" the Shem, had become even more powerful of la
It made no difference. Activity equaled threat. Alarms sounded, messages flew, and fighters arrowed away.The cloaking technology that protected the interceptors had been stolen from a race called the Guffu, and, barring the possibility that the target had something even better, would allow the attack craft to approach undetected. Skene wished the pilots well.* * *The moon called Two Ball was not all that different from Earth's moon, to which humans compared all other moons, since it had been their first step to the stars.Small when compared to the planet below, it not only lacked an atmosphere but was covered with overlapping impact craters. Angelina steered the utility vehicle toward a large depression. The surface dropped away and rose on the other side.The prefab equipment blister had been erected with help from Gethro's legionnaires. It was nearly invisible against the dark gray background. A tone plus a single red beacon guided the cyborg in.
Some rather sophisticated communication equipment had been incorporated into Angelina's body, and she switched it on. The most commonly used military frequency rattled with static. The Bund Oron was under aattack! The system had been right from the beginning. Shit!Angelina tried to make contact, realized it was useless, and entered the lock. Oxygen was removed, time seemed to slow, and the technician started to swear. It was a long series of linked profanities that even Sergeant Jona would have been proud of.But then, somewhere in the middle of it all, the words turned to prayer - "please God, please God, please God", over and over again. It was all she could do.* * *The Bund Oron lurched as still another enemy missile hit the shields, pushed them to the edge of failure, and dissipated the release energy. Lieutenant Commander Cux had responsibility for the station but not the legionnaires. He grabbed a console and yelled to make himself