Cyber Rogues (36 page)

“I can’t get through,” she called out after a few seconds. “All channels are jammed up with garbage.”

The second destroyer flopped down on its back and lay buzzing fitfully. The drones began maneuvering to adjust their positions as if experimenting with various configurations, but made no attempt to come in closer or to try anything overtly hostile. After a while Mike lowered his rifle and rested it on one of the front wheel guards, all the time studying the drones intently through narrowed eyes.

“Must be an ECM team,” Art decided. “They’re testing out ways of jamming our systems.”

After about five minutes the flight of drones about-turned and flew off in the direction from which they had come. The digger promptly recovered its sanity and carried on as if nothing had happened and the paralyzed destroyer came back to life and returned to its rack. The one that had made the nose dive remained dead. Mike and Art climbed the bank and walked over to examine it.

“At least it knows now that we’re not radio-controlled,” Mike murmured half to himself. Art gave him a funny look.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asked;

“I’m not sure,” Mike said in a strange voice. “It’s just that I had the spooky feeling that they weren’t trying to screw around with our systems at all. That was just an accident. I reckon they were trying to see if they could jam
us!
”

* * *

Three similar incidents were reported all at about the same time. In Berlin a squadron of drones disrupted communications and robot-control systems over a small localized area but went away again soon afterward. An Air Force major who was present stated that he too had formed the distinct impression that the drones had been watching for signs of any reaction on the part of the humans in the vicinity, not the machines.

A large number of drones appeared over the shopping precincts of Downtown, their curiosity evidently having been aroused by the crowds there. In the course of another futile people-jamming experiment, a nervous sergeant ordered his men to open fire with rifles after the precinct had been evacuated. Four drones were brought down immediately and the rest retired at once. It was an easy victory since the drones involved were not the armored variety that had made their first appearance earlier in Pittsburgh.

Although
Spartacus
seemed by this time to have had its back forced hard against the wall, these latest developments held a significance that several of the scientists, Dyer included, found ominous. So far,
Spartacus
had exhibited no means of acting offensively or even of knowing how to if it could. But if the interpretations of its latest behavior were correct, it was beginning to look around for ways of doing something about things other than itself which it appeared to be just starting to recognize within its environment, and which, seemingly, it had linked with all the things that had been plaguing it. It was forming the notion that perhaps prevention might be better than cure, and was exploring for ways of achieving it.

Its first experiments, which were logical things to try by a machine that was itself highly susceptible to electronic methods of interference, had failed to work. How long would it be before it discovered something that did?

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Melvin Krantz looked more at ease than he had for some time as he spread his arms along the edge of the table in the small conference room next to the Command Floor.

“I think we can safely say that the situation now looks extremely promising,” he said. “
Spartacus
has been able to devise no effective response to our latest moves and its last connection to the fusion grid should be severed at any time. Would you agree with that assessment; General?” He punctuated the question with an inquiring glance across the table at Linsay. Linsay nodded his head firmly.

“Totally,” he said. “We’re pressing our advantage aggressively on all fronts. I don’t anticipate any difficulty in maintaining the present position until the fusion grid has been isolated.”

“The wire-controlled destroyers have clinched it,” Fred Hayes couldn’t refrain from adding. “There’s no way it can monkey with those. It’s just about had it.”

“Don’t forget the M25s at close range,” Frank Wescott threw in, smiling in one of his rare jocular moods. “It looks like
Spartacus
could use a few lessons in designing armor.” A ripple of laughter from around the table greeted the remark.

Dyer remained frowning to himself at the end opposite Krantz. He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. When the noise had died away, he looked up again.

“Look.” His tone of voice caused all the heads to swing around curiously in his direction. He paused, as if unsure how to broach a delicate point. “I’d hate to spoil the party, but mightn’t all this be a little bit premature? Point one—
Spartacus
hasn’t been isolated from the fusion grid yet. Point two—the only reason that our destroyers are wiping out its drones is that it hasn’t come up with the idea of attacking them back
. . . yet
. And three—it could start turning out its own destroyers in Detroit at any time. I don’t think our precautions against that possibility are sufficient, and that’s what bothers me.” He was referring to the destroyers that
Spartacus
had grabbed earlier and hauled away for examination. Interrogation of the Detroit manufacturing schedules had revealed that
Spartacus
was still modifying its designs, in some cases substantially.

“We’ve been over that,” Krantz replied. “We have observers in Detroit all the time who will report back immediately if anything even vaguely resembling a destroyer starts being actually assembled. We all know there’s no way that assembly could be accomplished instantaneously. It would require a few hours at least, which would give us ample time to react as appropriate.”

“Why give it any time at all?” Dyer objected. “Put kill-teams right in there to stop it before it starts. I don’t want any risk of hostile destroyers getting loose. It worries me. If they ever get in among ours it could tip the balance all the way back again—maybe permanently. If we’ve practically got it in the bag, why risk throwing it away?”

“We haven’t given it any time,” Linsay came in, sounding somewhat impatient; the issue had been debated earlier, and agreed upon, he’d thought. “There are kill-teams in there. What more do you want—tactical nukes?”

“They’re too thin,” Dyer insisted. “There’s more than one production line and there aren’t enough destroyer units in there to cover all of them adequately. I still say we should move down some of the reserves you’ve got sitting in the Hub.”

Linsay sighed and compressed his lips in a way that spelled out in a single gesture a message that said academics should leave military judgments to soldiers.

“It only takes ten minutes or less to move units from the Hub to Detroit,” he said. “Mel has just told us that
Spartacus
will need hours to get from a preliminary assembly to anything usable. The teams in Detroit are there in case we have to deal with more bridges. We don’t even need them as a cover against potential hostile destroyers showing up. With the timescale involved, the reserve at the Hub will be perfectly capable of handling anything like that on their own if need be. In other words we’ve already got extra insurance.”

“So why not put the reserve in Detroit to start with?” Dyer demanded. “If they ever get needed, that’s where it’ll be.”

“An elementary principle of deploying reserves is that you don’t put them in the front line,” Linsay answered shortly. “You put them so you can move them anywhere they might have to be committed. A second elementary principle is never to ignore your rear, and especially to protect your lines of communication. You’re forgetting to allow for the possibility that whatever you do in Detroit, destroyers might get out. If they did that, they could become a real problem if they got loose in the Rim. The only way through to the Rim is along the Spindle and through the Hub. With a strong force permanently placed around the exits from the Spindle to the Hub, that possibility is blocked. With the reserve where it is, we’ve covered that line too.”

“The only way into the Spindle is from the production lines,” Dyer retorted. “If you get ’em there they can’t get as far as the Spindle. Why screw around with all this Cannae stuff? This isn’t Cannae. If you plug the roof, you don’t need buckets all around the house.”

Dyer had said what he felt but the expressions around him seemed to warn that things like that should be left to people like generals. He decided to make one last point, and if that didn’t attract any support he’d shut up. Deep down he was still troubled by what he felt had been his blunder in failing to anticipate that
Spartacus
might bridge itself to the fusion grid, so he didn’t feel strongly assertive.

“Okay, so you stop them at the Hub,” he said. “What about the rest of the Spindle, Detroit itself and Pittsburgh? You’ve still got people in there. What’s supposed to happen to them?”

Linsay’s expression darkened at what he took to be an open challenge to his professionalism and his integrity.

“They are trained soldiers who have been well briefed,” he grated. “If they are unable to hold an assault directed at their own destroyers, which I doubt, they will take up holding positions. We will then commence a systematically planned sweep forward from the Hub to relieve them. That way, the enemy will always be contained between our strongest line and the Hub.” His voice took on an unconcealed note of sarcasm. “If we did it
your
way, we’d run a strong risk of ending up with our main force sitting playing with itself in Detroit while the enemy was half a mile behind them pouring down the spokes.”

“Not if you hit ’em as they come off the line,” Dyer insisted.

“Goddammit, how many more times do we have to go through this?” Linsay shouted, suddenly losing his patience. “Do you think I haven’t been in this business long enough to know how to make a sound battle plan? Rommel tried what you’re saying at Normandy—hit ’em on the beaches. He wound up getting outflanked and lost his pants at Falaise. Harold screwed up at Hastings because he was all horns and no ass.”

“We’re not here to fight battles for history books,” Dyer threw back. Despite himself he heard his voice starting to rise. “We’re here to prevent one. Those days are over, for Christ’s sake. This is a scientific experiment, not a textbook campaign.”

“Do I tell you how to program your computers?” Linsay challenged. He shot an appealing loot at Krantz. “Mel, tell us once and for all who runs what in this goddam place.”

“He’s got a point, Mark,” Krantz cautioned Linsay. “The prime objective is scientific. What do the other scientists think?” He cast his eyes around the table to invite comments. Before anyone else could say anything, Kim sat forward. Her fingers were straining hard against the pen that she was holding.

“We came here to see how far a machine like
Spartacus
could go,” she said, almost whispering. “So let’s do that. Let’s prove while we’ve got the chance that we can always go one better than it can. The only way we’ll do that is by showing that we are capable of smashing everything it tries. That’s why we’re all here, for Christ’s sake. We can’t back off now.”

Even before she had finished speaking, Dyer could sense that the suppressed passion in her voice was carrying everybody in the room. Hayes was nodding slowly to himself while Wescott was looking awkward and keeping his eyes averted. Dyer shifted his gaze to take in the others. Krantz was still mentally savoring his victory celebration and Linsay was already writing his memoirs; Kim was about to tackle the summit slope of her own personal mountain. There was no way, Dyer realized, that he was going to change them now. He sighed and nodded his head slowly in reluctant acceptance.

“Okay,” he said. “I guess I go along. But it still bothers me. If
Spartacus
starts making its own destroyers and they get loose, we could be in real trouble. I don’t like it. Right after this meeting I’m going down to Detroit myself to get a look firsthand at exactly what it’s up to. Anyone else who wants to come along is welcome.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The picture on the screen inside the monitor room in Detroit was a graphical interpretation of manufacturing design data extracted from one of
Spartacus
’s
files. Dyer studied it for a long time and compared details from it with some of the components lying on the desk in front of him. The components had been taken from one of the production units a few minutes before. At length he sat back in his chair, looked up at Danny Cordelle, who was watching with interest, and nodded.

“It’s a cannon-firing destroyer modeled on our Type 6,” he confirmed. “Except that it’s got
Spartacus
’s
own brand of armor added to it as well. Chris Steeton was right when he talked about flying tanks.”

Cordelle looked impressed. “It’s setting itself up with armored destroyers? Say . . . that’s something that we haven’t got. Ah’ll be darned . . .” He scratched his ear and accepted the news matter-of-factly. “How long d’you figure afore it starts flyin’ ’em?”

“Three or four hours at the least,” Dyer replied. “Maybe more. It’ll probably have to tune the designs a bit when it starts testing prototypes.” He changed the picture to bring back another model that he had examined earlier. “I still think this one’s more interesting. It’s not like any of ours at all . . . It’s something completely new that
Spartacus
has come up with all by itself. I’d like to see some pieces of it. Can we do that? It’s scheduled as Batch PP5907, Works Order 3868/45.20.”

“The buzz-bomb?” Cordelle looked at Phil Wyatt, one of the production technicians assigned to that part of Detroit, who was standing behind them. “Can we get some pieces of that, Phil?” Wyatt consulted the wad of printed sheets that he was holding.

“Let’s see now . . . WO 3868 . . .” He turned a page and located an item on the next. “That’s being set up in Sector Three. It’s a little distance from here. Want me to show you the way?”

“Let’s go,” Dyer said, flipping off the screen and standing up. They left the monitor room and began clumping along the catwalk outside, moving slowly and clumsily in their magnetic overboots. With the amount of machinery whirring and chattering on every side, this part of Detroit was not a place for people to be free-falling around. On the way they collected Frank Wescott and Mary Cullen, a member of Cordelle’s group, who were running tests on some
Spartacus
designed electronics modules in the lab next door.