The Phantom in the Deep (Rook's Song) (24 page)

Another chime.

Rook looks at his trouble-board, then glances up at his window…and when he does, he glances at his reflection.  For a moment, he sees the Leader.  He hears the Leader’s words.  He considers what he is, what the Cerebs are.  It strikes him suddenly.  The Leader is following his own presets, a psychology forced on him by nature, and he, Rook, also follows that.  Nature has set our two races against one another, so what does that mean?  Are any of us at fault?

Then, he questions his own motives.  What is his greatest imperative now that he is the last human being alive?

Then, Rook makes a vow.  Partly to himself, and partly to his enemies.  He looks beyond his reflection, and imagines the forces coming at him.  “I am the last man.  I have no future.  My past…it was murdered before my eyes.  I wish to survive…because all life wishes to survive.  But I have nothing to live for.  I have nothing left and no reason to go on.  Save for you.  Just you.  My Enemy.  You, my foe, have stolen away all that I am, and was, and could be.  But I have you.  And if I am to be the last, then I will give you all that is left of me.”  Rook smiles then.   “Hell!  This is all that I have!  The fears and dreams and loss of all that we were.  And it will be…it will be Vendetta!  I have lost all that I loved, all that I cherished.  But I have you!  My Enemy!  And I shall not rest while your house stands!  While your kith and kin pave their roads with the bones of mine!  Vendetta… all that is left of Man, and the great tragedy of that fact!  But you will have it, as surely as you stole our future from us, I will give you our Hell!”  He’s started to sweat.  Hands shaking.  Teeth grinding.

Another chime.

Rook blinks, relaxes, looks down at his sensors.

A squadron of skirmishers
has been detected.  Rook checks their numbers.  Sixteen squadrons, each squadron consisting of four groups of four, flying in tight formation.  Then, they begin fanning out.  He looks at the main holo-display, and is glad to see that the computer is already assimilating this data, working it into its presets.

Another chime.

The computer has made its first move, taking a White pawn to D4.

Rook considers, and moves his knight to F6.  White moves pawn to C4.  Rook moves his pawn to C5.  An emerging Benko Gambit, as
it has been known since the 1960s when Pal Benko championed the opening maneuver.  It allows Rook to obtain fast development and control of the A1 to H8 diagonal, and then to put pressure down the half-open A and B files.

Another chime.

This time, it comes from the main sensor array station.  Rook taps a button, swivels his chair around to his right, and looks at the first line of skirmishers, which are just now penetrating his sectorboard.  They’ve elected to use one of the approach vectors that he and the computer worked out, coming up from around S41 and cutting clear across to S42, attempting to close in on the Queen.  Far across from them, in S17, Doc sits quietly.

Without waiting for his permission, the ship’s computer transmits a command over to Doc, moving it to subtly ad
vance towards the skirmishers.

Rook only has to worry about his own maneuvers, and the computer ought to do the rest for him concerning the other pieces. 
“Pawn to Sector twenty, Sector Quadrant one-oh-three, Sector Block nineteen, Decant three, Pentant eight, Haplant sixty-six,” he says, chuckling madly.  “Your move.”

11

Aboard the luminal ship, efficiency has never been better.  The Conductor still stands on the bridge, as stil
l as the stars, processing data, issuing commands, and working out subtle course corrections.  The asteroid traffic is getting thicker, and the faint ion emissions are getting stronger, which leads him to believe they are within minutes of coming across the last human refuge in the universe.

The anticipation has never been greater.  It’s a milestone moment.  The crew, their ship, and their Conductor are all privileged to be
the final vanquishing hand, the issuers of the last period for the Calculators to put into their account logs. 
One final debit wiped clean
, the Conductor thinks. 
Perhaps then we can rest for a time
. 
Return home, get a well-deserved sabbatical, and never concern ourselves with resource-devouring monsters such as mankind ever again
. 
At least, until the next infestation arises
.

The Conductor considers the trajectories of each asteroid.  The two largest ones seem prime
d for habitation, at least by a deep-space habitat like the humans had used during the War.  Extrapolating on what he knows, these two seem to be the most likely hiding spots for the Phantom.  They are surrounded by a few dozen sizable asteroids, and of course thousands of other smaller ones that would bounce harmlessly off the ship’s hull even if the solenoid cannons never deflected them.

“Sir,” says one Manager to his left, via their neural link.  “Skirmishers report heavy radioactive readings coming from the largest asteroid in this region.
  Spectral analysis shows mild distortions in light, most likely caused by ionic interference.”

The Conductor is
simultaneously receiving the report and incorporating the data into what he already knows.  He wordlessly commands the three-dimensional map to enlarge, then spins the image of the porous asteroid around, looking at each of its hemispheres and poles.  Trillions of bits of data are streaming through him, pausing only nanoseconds to intersect with other bits, cross-reference, and filter down into his seventh brain, where the decision is made.  A large cluster of asteroids poses a small quandary, one that is solved in less than a second.

“Bring us around this large cluster on a parabola.  Approach vectors…”  The pause takes only a millisecond, but it is enough to consult with all sixteen ideal approach vectors, select the four of least resistance, and issue the command for the simplest maneuver with the other three as backup
.  Always allowing for margins of error, as remote as their possibilities are.  He sends these commands wordlessly to the Manager to his right.

“Yes, sir.”

There are only so many solenoid cannons to push the asteroids out of the way, so some care has to be taken with navigation.  The approach vectors are spread throughout the ship’s matrix, the engines and thrusters on each side of the vessel make the necessary adjustments.

The massive ship moves slowly around the large cluster of rocks, on a parabola, just as the Conductor commanded.
  Then it’s just a matter of—

“Sir…we have movement.”  There is a note of consternation in the Manager’s wordless update. 

“Movement?”

“Yes, sir.  The second-largest asteroid is just on the other
side of this cluster, and it is…it is…moving out of the way.”

The Conductor absorbs this data,
and looks across the gulf of space and allows his gaze to penetrate the asteroid field, looking at the visual feed being sent by the skirmishers.  Something has erupted on the surface of that asteroid, something large and angry.  Engines suddenly roar to life, and steer the asteroid towards—

Then, he receives
confirmation that a few of their skirmishers have been destroyed.  They were flying close to what we the ghosts know as the Queen, but once the Queen started moving, a few of them were unable able to make course corrections in time—Happy and Bashful surreptitiously closed in, using their own mass to close off the most likely retreat lines the skirmishers would have taken, and fired their ten-terajoule particle beams along the other three possible lines, intercepting them.  The skirmishers were caught, with nowhere to go.  The Queen crashes into thirty-two skirmishers, one of which barely survives, the pilot ejecting at the penultimate moment.  The others are all killed.

It happens all in the span of twenty seconds, and the bridge remains silent as the Conductor tries to account for this.

The Conductor doesn’t know about Happy and Bashful, of course.  He only knows he’s just lost a few more skirmishers, and some very good pilots.  “How is that asteroid able to move?” he demands to know.

Managers scramble for the data.  One of them sends him the update two seconds later
: “The asteroid is giving off strange readings.  There’s…yes, the skirmishers confirm.  They detect powerful radioactive trails and ionic disturbance from every single hemisphere.  It is appears to be—”

“Mass drivers,”
the Conductor supplies.  It is obvious to him a full second before the Manager can confirm.  “It is the only way the asteroid can be moving.  Interesting.  How did we miss it?”  The Managers all begin to consult their data, but the Conductor doesn’t really need them to.  “Never mind.  It was likely more sensor shrouds.  Humans and their deceptions,” he impugns.  “Such base methods.  Continue with the survey, but keep us away from that asteroid.  The human most likely plans a suicidal collision.  Align so that we may get a more direct firing line—”

He halts mid-command.  All at once, he senses it.  They all do.  Data streaming in from the belly of the ship.  Something is firing on the underside of the hull, something strong and—

“Sir, spatial particle-beam turrets firing on—”

“
I know,” the Conductor communicates calmly.  He understands the data streaming in. 
More false asteroids
. 
Such a corrupt notion, and utterly useless
.  “Angle our turrets,” he issues, almost bored by the procedure.  “Set targeting parameters, and move us to confront the threat.”  Within a second, he has processed the sixteen main vector lines approaching the false asteroid, prioritizes the four most appealing, and selects the best of those, with the other three possible retreat lines as backup.

It never even occurs to him to evade.  The firepower from Doc is considerable, but not so great that it commands their respect.
  As ghosts, we watch the Conductor and his people carefully.  How much will they perceive, and how much will they miss?

“Sir,” says one Manager.  “We have confirmation on the Sidewinder’s position.  It has been detected alongside the largest asteroid.”

Predictable
, he thinks. 
Such a large asteroid would give him many places to hide
. 
From skirmishers and seekers, at least
. 
But not from this grand ship
.  But something else occurs to him.  “The Sidewinder.  Is it not using its cloaking mechanisms?”

“No, sir.”  The Manager seems as confused as he is.  “
The Sidewinder’s sensor shroud has not been activated.”

The Conductor
nods.  “He still intends to fight, to lure us in so that our particle beams can feed his EA systems, batteries, and power cells.  He still hopes to survive this day.”  It’s almost stunning in its stupidity.  “It makes no matter.  Push the remaining asteroids out of our way, and give us a clear line-of-sight.  Target that asteroid, and have the skirmishers send out seekers to do a more thorough scan of the asteroids around us.  I want a clear account of all other ensconced particle beam turrets and—”

Another Manager’s update cuts him off.  “Sir,
the second-largest asteroid’s mass drivers are scaling down force in one hemisphere, and upping it in another.  It is changing its course.”

“Give me specifics.”

“Vectoring above us to these coordinates.”

The Conductor assimilates the coordinates, sees how it is moving behind other, lesser asteroids. 
Searching for cover, my dear Phantom?
  Such a ludicrous and, in the end, hopeless ploy. 
There’s nowhere you can hide
. 
No asteroids we cannot push or blast out of our way
.

Three seconds later, the false asteroid we know as Doc is obliterated, having done only marginal damage to the belly of the
mother ship.  However, this single spot has been somewhat weakened, and that fact isn’t missed by the Sidewinder’s computers.  Moments before destruction, the cameras on Doc recorded the exact spot on the hull it targeted, shared that information with the rest of its brethren, who in turn relayed it to Rook.

Doc’s sacrifice may not have been in vain.

Having followed this signal all the way back to the Sidewinder, we now sit beside Rook.  Something has changed about him, though we don’t know what.  He is strapped into his pilot’s seat, yet he is wearing his spacesuit, as if he is planning to take a spacewalk any minute now.  The spacesuit also seems bulky, like he’s put a great deal of extra padding underneath.  His helmet is on, and the visor has been dimmed.  We cannot see his face.  What is he concealing?  More importantly,
why
is he concealing it?  There is no one here but us ghosts.

We
may not be able to see his face, but we can certainly see his mind. 
Queen takes a few pawns
.  Rook smiles.  He looks down at the data that Doc sent just before its destruction. 
But their king took a pretty big knight
.  Rook feels this is okay.  The first exchange has transpired, but before it did he was able to develop a few of his pieces, advancing the other Dwarfs and maneuvering a few dozen Wild Cards.

The mother ship
is now ascending to S43, chasing after the Queen.

Now that
the pieces are interacting, and Rook sees that some of his calculations and theories are working (Bashful and Happy did, after all, make it so that the skirmishers were boxed in by their own psychology, cutting off their escape from the Queen), he has to determine his enemy’s strategy, and finally decide on his own.

Having seen their approach on his scanners, Rook figures the mother ship will just blast the Queen and the King as soon as it has a clear shot.  If it destroys the King from too far away,
though, it will not have the effect Rook desires. 
I have to maneuver the mother ship into S1, get it side-by-side with the King
.

An alarm!

Skirmishers are coming in. 
They’ve spotted me
.  He sighs, and checks his trouble-board once more, making sure most of the systems are showing green.  He then checks with the repair bot, to ensure that it’s ready to start doing repairs on the go.

Rook sets the computer to move
the Queen around Goose Egg, Mickey Mouse, Lucifer, and then the Blarney Stone, so as to give it more cover, and give the remaining Dwarfs time to subtly scoot into their positions.  The luminal ship will obliterate them one at a time, no doubt, but if Rook’s strategy works, it will be aligned for another possible ruse.

The alarms sound again.  The skirmishers are closing in.  He lets them get within a mile, then suddenly activates his engines and rolls and pulls back on the cyclic, taking the Sidewinder around the King’s western hemisphere.  They are hard on his heels, and are just getting within firing range when he makes it to Badger’s Mountains.
  The alarms sound again, letting him know he’s being targeted.  He rolls, so that directly above him is the Great Chasm, at the feet of Badger’s Mountains.  He allows the Sidewinder to take a sustained shot, and waits until the very moment that his endoergic armor is about to overheat, and then pulls the cyclic back.

The Sidewinder plunges into the Great Chasm, and directly behind him eight skirmishers (two groups of four) follow him.  The other eight fan out across the King, no doubt scanning with GPR to determine where he’s going to come out.

Farther outside, the mother ship has obliterated Goose Egg and Lucifer, and is now moving on Mickey Mouse, looking for its clear shot of the Queen.  Rook watches this on his holo-display, and taps a few keys to communicate with the Dwarfs.  The computer sees his logic, and applies its preset tactics.

His pieces are developing well enough. 
Dopey moves silently to S17, while Grumpy moves surreptitiously a few miles beneath the mother ship, to the far corner of S18.  He also takes a moment to move Sleepy farther up the Sector Block of S1, so close to the King that the two might be kissing.

The
skirmishers behind him fire their seekers, and Rook does two things at once: first, he activates his sensor shroud.  Second, he rolls hard to port and pulls back on the cyclic, diving into one of the many passages splintering off from the Great Chasm.  The sensor shroud will make him harder to detect, but he is not invisible.  The dark confines and his familiarity with them give him a home field advantage.

Only two of the
skirmishers are able to follow.  They don’t fire, because the tunnel is too narrow, and a deflected shot could easily cause it to collapse.