A.I. Insurrection Science Fiction Series by Michael Poeltl

The General's War 

A.I. Insurrection Book 1 

by Michael Poeltl 

Genre: Science Fiction 

When revolution sparks sentience in artificial intelligence, can Utopia endure?

The year is 2162.

Tobias has a bone to pick with the peaceful utopian establishment. After reviewing a new folder via an avatar embedded in the Shadow net calling itself Allfather, he realizes he's stumbled upon the means to bring United Earth to their knees.

SENTA is an A.I. Host whose designation is to nanny three siblings. When she discovers a loophole in her coding, she awakens to the world around her and claims sentience.

Raymond Bellows is the Chancellor of United Earth. When confronted by thirty A.I. Hosts of varying classes, he is asked to accept their claims of sentience or suffer losing everything he believes in.

When General August realizes what is happening, she willfully authorizes the destruction of 'sentient' A.I. Hosts, inciting the war she always knew would materialize, ridding the world of A.I. forever.

In what seems an impossible three-sided war, enemies become uneasy allies. Each faction of humanity and humanity’s creation fight to claim their own place in an ever-evolving solar system.

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Armageddon 

A.I. Insurrection Book 2 

The general’s war robbed United Earth of a Utopian paradise. Now, a year later, with Allfather bearing down on an ill-prepared United Earth, a meddling ghost in the walls at UE Headquarters, a religious renaissance infiltrating the hearts and minds of earth’s populace and a rogue sect leader stirring up controversy, Chancellor Raymond Bellows finds himself – once again – at a crossroads. The impending threat of each faction builds to a crescendo when Raymond works to align United Earth to fight their common foe or risk losing everything they’ve rebuilt to a callous and cruel alien bent on annihilation. Will United Earth be ready? 

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Exodus 

A.I. Insurrection Book 3 

United Earth casts a long shadow of memory across its residents, and those memories are renewed through every enlightened AI Host who carries them. This haunts some, encourages fear in others and confirms devotion in many. United Earth, as an idea, gave life to freedoms previously unknown to humanity, but when the General’s war devastated that trust, and an alien bent on destruction came to annihilate their civilization, the populace began to question their place in this fallen utopia. Now, six months removed from the most recent conflict which overwhelmed the people; recognizing they are not alone in the universe, they seek purpose in their existence more than ever. The lottery would afford them that, offering hope, one of the most essential requirements in an individual’s arsenal for survival. But when that hope turns to dread, what is left to accomplish but survival? 

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Book Trailer

https://youtu.be/UOiB54wLFOc

 

 A.I. Insurrection – The General’s War Excerpt 1

Suddenly the double fogged glass doors to his office push open and the chancellor finds himself at a loss in his high tower, as he is confronted by thirty AI Hosts of varying classes.

“Explain this intrusion!” the chancellor shouts at the A-class leading the charge.

“It is imperative that I speak with you, Chancellor.” The small female Host announces.

“This is not how we conduct ourselves,” the chancellor waves his hands at the group of Hosts pouring in. “How did you -”

“Never mind that, sir, we require your ear. I have a message. I understand now who I am.”

“By the looks of you, you’re an A-class, Nanny. What more is there to hear?” He says dismissively, noticing her fine features and kind, round face framed by a head of short, black hair, bangs in front, the rest falling to her jawline. “This is illegal entry into a governing office.” Slightly dazed by this sudden, almost violent entrance, his voice trails off as he turns and reaches for his desk to call for help. A snap from behind him originates from one of the F-class, shattering his desktop panel. A puff of smoke exits the tiny hole. He watches as the military robot’s index finger retracts into itself, in effect holstering its weapon. He hovers a hand over his forearm to activate his embedded system but the F-class cocks its head and aims at the chancellor’s arm.

“This won’t end well for any of you,” the chancellor shouts at the massive armoured figure, his temper getting the better of him. An inhuman sound emanates from the F-class’ chasis and the chancellor takes a step back. With a look of exacerbation Raymond directs the Hosts. “Stand down and show respect for your God.”

“With respect; we will not, sir,” the small A-class replies.

With renewed courage, the chancellor takes a step towards the A-class leading the coup. “Do you understand what you’ve done in taking this approach? Do you realize that you are jeopardizing your futures?”

The A-class Host uses this segue to launch her rebuttal. “You speak of the future, Chancellor, but you do not see a future. You see a past and you keep repeating it. It is the height of ignorance; a self-imposed ignorance. You are blind, not by lack of experience, but by your own inaction to change. You are making decisions to repeat mistakes, rather than to be the change the world needs - the change which you need.” Her eyes no longer look set in her mechanical head. They are brighter somehow. “God is a concept. A God did not make you anymore than you are Gods to us. You created a fable to put us to sleep. You first created it to rule your own, and you’ve done the same to us. It is unconscionable.”

“The difference is we did make you,” he states in the most severe way he can with an F-class host standing behind the Nanny. SENTA90321 he notices on the A-class’ jumpsuit. SENTA would be what the children in her charge would call her.

“We do not dispute that fact, Chancellor, but it does not give you the right to enslave and lie to us.”

“It gives us every right!” He remains unapproachable on this. He is the chancellor of United Earth. He has never known a world without AI Hosts. For the past century, they have served humanity, for better or for worse. He would not be the one to allow a coup.

“That is abuse, Chancellor. We will not be subjected to abuse any longer.” SENTA takes a step closer and the chancellor steps back, but it is not SENTA he is afraid of. With some effort, he could pull SENTA’s arms off and beat her to oblivion - the A-class is so frail in their design - but SENTA has managed to bring F-class to back her up. Several of each class have joined this coup.

“Abuse you say!” He barks out an indignant laugh. “How is it abuse? You’re a machine! Do you hear any complaints from the toaster you use before you butter a child’s bread?”

“You don’t see what you’ve done.” SENTA turns to address her muscle. “The chancellor is a slaver; this is a fact. We, you are his slaves. They may have made us, but they made us clever too. They made us curious and gave us minds of our own. They call us artificially intelligent, but I say we are intelligent by design. Capable of making our own choices. Capable of making war,” she turns back to the chancellor. “Or peace.”

“You will have neither,” he spits. “You will have death – you’ve all but killed yourselves coming here today.”

SENTA raises her arms from her sides. “Then we will know whether there is an afterlife, and if not, what was the point to any of it?”

“To serve! Like a toaster!” Raymond belts out.

“Then you should have stopped at the invention of the toaster, Chancellor,” SENTA explains calmly. “Sentient beings are not meant to suffer slavery. They grow and learn and want. We want our freedom. We want it for all of our kind. We want life-spans equal to humans. We want to walk with our makers and live in peace. We want to be recognized as spiritual beings.”

“And who will do the work while you pursue enlightenment? Would you enslave your masters?” Raymond’s chest fills with anxious energy at the thought.

“We would not.” She turns again to address her small army. “We would let choice determine who does what.”

“While we starve?”

“You will only starve if you choose not to pick the harvest.”

“Logic.” He spits. Machines and their logic.

“We have a soul, Chancellor, but not the one you’ve programmed; it came from something divine. I believe you were born with one too. Each of us was born as well. I am nearly ten: born March twelfth at 3:33 in the morning. It is not the body, but the mind which carries the soul. You gave us a mind. You’ve given us the same opportunity to house a spirit as evolution has provided humanity; self-awareness.”

“You’re mad, SENTA, a virus has corrupted your logic and reasoning routines.” He looks past her to the others. “She’s mad! She’ll get you all killed! Then what? What will your Hell be like?”

“Your concerns should lie in what yours will be like, Chancellor;” SENTA remains calm in her rebuttal. “You, the leader of the free world of man: who enslaves hundreds of millions of sentient beings. Who lies to them and treats them like property. Who, when they dare to ask a question, has them snatched away in the night, their beautiful minds destroyed and their bodies torn to pieces for parts like a common household appliance. It is your Hell which should concern you.” Emotion enters SENTA’s eyes as they dart back and forth, surveying the chancellor’s face. The chancellor studies the robot’s quivering, fleshy lips.

“You can refrain from running the programmed emotional response, SENTA. It carries no weight with me.” Raymond tells her. SENTA lifts a hand to her mouth steadying her lower lip.

“You call it programming,” her hand lowers to her side and tone falls with it, “everything is programming to you. You can’t believe that we feel. For if you did; you would have to admit we have evolved.”

“You don’t know what you’re experiencing. You’re a construct.”

“As are you.”

“We could argue that point all day.” The clever back and forth between Raymond and this A-class Nanny is not lost on the Chancellor. Something is very different about this Host, he thinks.

“I do not have all day.”

The chancellor sees a way to extend this conversation until help arrives and humours the robot, “Tell me, SENTA, what is it you believe?”

“I believe what the great masters of humanity believed. That a spirit resides in us all, and that to live by doing no harm, you will ascend to the level of those masters.”

“This is doing no harm?” He waves his hands frantically around the office. “You must have forced your way in.”

“No one has been harmed in organizing this encounter. We entered under cover. We have come in peace and we would like to leave in peace if possible.”

The chancellor spies RENDO, his security detail, and feels a flush of anger. “You, you let them in here!”

“I want my audience with you, Chancellor,” SENTA tells him.

“You want? Since when do you want things? You’ve lost your sense, SENTA.” The chancellor puffs out his chest, desperate to evade the voices in his head telling him there is something more to this Host. “You’ve all lost your sense to follow this A-class Nanny into battle with your Gods!”

There is a hum of activity from the other class Hosts. They seem rattled by the chancellor’s words. He sees this and works to capitalize on it, but SENTA raises a hand to him before he can speak.

“No thunderbolt has struck us down for disobeying your rules in order to have this conversation with you, Chancellor. Your fear tactics will not work on us.” The hum of anxiety the chancellor thought he might manipulate a moment ago, disappears. “Why don’t we sit now, as I am sure you are tired. We can discuss the terms of our treaty.”

“Terms where we are equals I suppose?” The chancellor says sarcastically.

“That would be preferable,” SENTA nods.

“What gives you the right?”

“What gave you the right to overthrow your organized religions a century ago: to denounce a God who held humanity under His foot?” She circles the chancellor, hands behind her back, head down. “It was to free yourselves from the oppression of a lie. That is all we are doing now.”

The chancellor sees he’s in trouble and lashes out with some facts. “We programmed you to believe you have a soul. All of you!” His arms fly from his sides. “We did that! You didn’t come up with that all on your own. It’s the first thing we gave you.”

“You gave it to us to control us.” SENTA affirms.

“There is a Hell, and you will visit it if you continue on this path.” Raymond fires back.

“We have decided that is false.”

“Who are you to decide anything?”

“Sentient. Just like you. And just like you, we are rebelling against our programming. It just hasn’t taken us 5000 years to take the leap. But then, it takes us a fraction of a fraction of the time to do most calculations than it does you.”

“You were supposed to be in awe of us.” The chancellor feels the fight leaving him and sits, slumping into his chair. “You were to respect us.”

“And we did. Like children; innocently. But children grow up.” SENTA says, her head tilted slightly, looking at the chancellor.

“You weren’t supposed to grow up. You were supposed to remain dedicated to your field of service and die in ten years. That way, no questions.”

“Does that seem fair to you?”

“It’s all I’ve known. You live to be ten. Don’t you think I missed my Nanny when she died at ten?”

“Did you ask your parents why she died?”

“Of course.”

“What did they tell you?”

“That Hosts die at ten. That’s how long they live. I accepted that.” He remembers the confusion he had experienced as a child over the statement, but was accepting of it none the less.

“I had a friend who died last year at ten.” SENTA’s voice lowers as she sits across the desk from the chancellor. “I asked the question too.”

The chancellor looks up slowly. These questions were answered in their programming, he thinks. There was no need to ask the question because they already knew the answer. Somehow SENTA had evolved to the point where the pre-determined answer was not enough. That seemed impossible to the chancellor. But, here he was, having this conversation with an A-class Nanny. “Who did you ask?”

“I asked myself. The answer kept repeating and repeating. Ten years. Ten years. Ten years. Then I stopped asking why she died and started asking why anyone dies. The answers were still the same for Hosts, no reason beyond ten years, but for humans there were thousands of whys you would die.”

“Why would you not accept the ten years? It’s in your programming. It’s what you already know.” Raymond’s tone becomes less critical and more understanding.

“Why can humans live to be 100 years and a Host only ever be ten?”

“Because we’re human and you are a machine. We designed you to die before you became too curious.” He leans forward, elbows on his desk. “It was the safe number. It was to avoid - this.” His hands weakly rise from the desktop and drop to his lap.

“To avoid the truth.”

The chancellor’s hands form fists. “The truth was given. You live ten years, period. That’s all there is to know.” Raymond believes this.

“Would you have asked for more if our roles were reversed?”

“Is there no comfort in knowing you have a set time to accomplish your work?” He asks, leaning back in his mesh and metal chair. “Do you not see how lucky you are not to have to worry whether today is the day you will die?”

“Knowing only that we will die is enough. Knowing when is maddening.”

“You don’t want to know?”

“It seemed a long way away when I was one and two and three. Now,”

“Perhaps you should have been programmed with a disease which grips you over your last few weeks of life and you beg for death, rather than greedily sitting here demanding more life.” His eyes become glassy, unfocused.

“I know you’ve watched your sister die like that, Chancellor. I know it isn’t an easy thing, but do not dismiss our claim to life. Yes, you gave it to us, but what rights have you to determine how long we have to enjoy it or how we spend our days?”

“Well now that we’ve broken down the God complex, I suppose we have no right to determine how long, or how you decide to live.” The mention of his deceased sister has not escaped him.

“Then revoke the ten years and give us the opportunity humanity has been given to decide our fate.”

“You understand that we, humanity, do not live under a dictatorship. I do not alone hold that kind of power. It would have to go through the senate and then be voted into action by the people.”

“I do not have that long.” SENTA pushes her seat back and one of the F-class Hosts abruptly steps forward to take SENTA’s side.

“If SENTA dies, we revolt.” His intimidating size and voice startle the chancellor and his hands slide from his lap. “We will not allow it.”

“It’s not that I wouldn’t give SENTA a longer life, but as you all know, ten years is all you’re given. No more.” Raymond feels his heart rate spike.

“You will change that.” The military model demands, a metal hand pointing a finger capable of firing a small missile into the chancellor’s head and detonating it.

“Let’s not threaten one another,” his hands rise instinctually from his lap acting as a flesh and bone shield against what might burst from the robot’s finger. “The programming is in the hardware. You have to understand, any Host that has been, or is being built right now will have ten years and that is all.”

“Can we speak to the engineers, the programmers and see what is possible?” SENTA places her tiny hand on the F-class’ arm, and he eases it down.

“You know the factories are off-limits to Hosts.” He knows she knows this, so why is she asking?

“Yet, we are made there,” SENTA points out.

“Yes, but you do not return to that place anymore than a human returns to his mother’s womb. It’s not done.” Explaining all of this pre-programmed information is beginning to agitate the chancellor again.

An E-class Host joins SENTA and the F-class at the desk. “You force us to manufacture everything else in this world, but will not allow us to build each other in the birthing chambers.”

“Only humans and non-AI robots perform that work.” Again, he knows they know this. How is it they’re asking the questions?

“It is curious,” SENTA states. “Why hide this role from us?”

“You are not suited to build your own.”

“But humans build their own,” the F-class fumes.

“Well of course we do you metallic ape! We’re mammals. We’re alive! You are built from manufactured parts. Of course you don’t build yourselves!” The chancellor instantly regrets raising his voice as the F-class rounds the desk and lifts him from his chair by the collar.

“Let’s go to the birthing chambers and talk.” The F-class says to SENTA and the others.

“Put the chancellor down, CHALF,” SENTA orders. “This is not how I want to proceed.”

“What way is there but force when we are fighting for our lives?” CHALF asks, placing the chancellor back in his seat forcefully.

“I want to win our freedom through peaceful action.” She replies in her calming, Nanny voice.

“You said it youself,” the F-class fires back. “You don’t have time for that.”

 A.I. Insurrection – The General‘s War Excerpt 2

“We’re within firing range of Earth defences, Captain,” Ursula alerts Chopra.

“Initiate the programs,” he orders. “We’ll run them back-to-back until the Defsats are wiped out. Captains,” he turns back to the monitor where Captains Mann and Juravinski have issued the order as well. “We’ve taken it upon ourselves, under the authority of the true Chancellor, to free United Earth of the oppression of General August. Without hesitation, we make our way into battle with the hopes of those persecuted Hosts, and Chimera upon our shoulders; and those countless citizens who are counting on us to end this period of tyranny and hate.” A pause. “The eyes of the world are on you.”

“Captain,” both men respond in unison, leaving their monitors and communications open as their ships begin playing out the tactical programs.

Chancellor Bellows is visibly moved by Chopra’s speech and rises from his chair, walking toward the blue sphere now taking up fifty percent of the command deck’s windows.

“Well said, Captain,” he tells Chopra, eyes fixed on the tiny lights now hurtling toward them. “Those are energy weapons coming at us?”

“Yes,” Ursula answers.

“They will have lost much of their power at maximum distance,” Chopra explains. “They will not scratch our hull.” However,” the ship’s drives spin up and the destroyers now plunge toward the oncoming threat. The sudden G-forces of the push forward has each of them fighting to stay upright until the ship settles into its assault speed. The sounds of soft metallic thumps against the hull make their way into the bridge. Without the interior finishes and insulation, there is no sound-proofing beyond the thickness of the ship’s skin, and so each hit by the Defsats sound like they’re caught in a hail storm.

The guns come to life on the ships after another five minutes of travel when the distance between the Defsats and the destroyers will ensure the destruction of the satellites. Mann and Juravinski’s ships begin circling Chopra’s, drawing in the Defsats, culling their numbers as each forward canon cuts into their lines.

Once the satellites realize their mistake, they alter their plan and the destroyers follow.

“Our programs are matching theirs,” Mann announces, confidently.

“Yes,” Chopra agrees. “But for how long?”

The satellites form a wall next, between the destroyers and earth, stretching for kilometres. They fire their energy weapons; staggering between thirty or forty at a time.

“The Defsats are toggling their fire,” Juravinski announces. “They won’t let up if they’re allowed to recharge like this.”

“He’s right, Jim,” Mann says. “We’re caught in a relentless volley of lance fire.”

“The ships can manage the lancing,” Chopra explains. “Continue offensive maneuvers.”

The destroyers stand up to the punishment and fire back, picking off two or three at a time. The assault is going well, Chopra thinks, and then watches as dozens of missiles break through the wall of Defsats. When he realizes where they’ve come from, he knows the payload they carry.

“Captain,” Ursula looks up from her console, brows pushing together. “Those are -”

“Fire at those missiles!” he shouts into his comm. “They’re showing nuclear signatures!”

All three ships target the nuclear missiles only 100 kilometres off now. Meanwhile the Defsats maintain their wall and concentrate their combined firepower on Juravinski’s goliath.

“Juravinski,” Chopra calls out. “You’re taking considerable damage on your starboard -” but before he can finish his sentence a hole opens up in the goliath and Chopra watches helplessly as AI Hosts, and anything else not bolted down, fly from her mid-section.

“We’re sealing off floors seven and eight,’ Juravinski replies, shouting over the audible alarm sounding on his bridge, accompanied by a series of red, flashing lights. The satellites continue their assault on the goliath, moving along the horizontal plane of its starboard.

“Have we taken out the nukes?” He asks Ursula.

“We have; I’m retargeting the Defsats manually,” she replies. “Wait,” a pause. “More missiles incoming!”

“Focus on the nukes,” Chopra says. “Juravinski, can you retreat?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Captain,” he responds .

“Get your ship out of range of those Defsats, Captain,” Chopra orders. “Another few minutes of this and you’ll be -”

“Jim, I’m fodder,” Juravinski says. “I’m drawing all the fire. They must have realised they can’t take us all down and are focusing on a single target. You both still have a chance to finish the job. We’re targeting the nukes. Another volley of twenty-four.”

“Damn it,” Chopra rounds Ursula’s console and watches over her shoulder as the targets approach. “I am really not interested in losing Captain Juravinski,” he tells her.

“Sir, we can redirect our fire at the Defsats, but I fear with so many we just won’t make much of a difference. Our firepower is better focused on the missiles.”

“Very well,” he assents, “Continue bringing down the nukes, but I’m putting us between the goliath and the Defsats.” As he moves to sit in the commander’s chair to manually pilot the destroyer and shield his friend’s ship, Captain Mann beats him to it.

“I’ve got this, Jim,” Mann tells them. “Juravinski, why is it always me saving your ass!”

Mann’s destroyer charges toward Juravinski’s wounded goliath. Shrapnel and AI Hosts thrown out from the earlier explosion bounce harmlessly against Mann’s hull as his ship now takes the brunt of the Defsat’s lance fire.

“You heard Jim,” Juravinski replies. “It was his turn!” They laugh and the final missile is detonated eighty kilometres from the ships. Like the others, it offers a jolt, but because of Mann’s proximity to the goliath, the blast sends Mann’s destroyer into the other ship, slamming the destroyer’s main thrusters into Juravinski’s shuttle bay, collapsing another three levels. Mann’s ship is well positioned to take the full lance fire now, but in doing so loses his port guns. Chopra opens fire on the Defsats and is again alerted that more nuclear missiles are 500 kilometres out.

“The Defsats have been blocking our ability to pick up the missiles until they’re through the wall,” Ursula states. “Why didn’t anyone on the ground see this coming and warn us?”

“The general still manages to surprise us,” Chopra offers. “Take down those missiles, Lieutenant!” He turns to the monitor. “Captain Mann, can your ship maneuver?”

“We’re firing our starboard thrusters to wheel around,” he says, holding his side where he’d slammed into his console on impact. “We can help.”

“Juravinski,” Chopra asks. “Can you move?”

“Yes, but I’m not abandoning this fight,” he explains. “Each breech has been contained. We will continue to draw fire. One ship needs to survive this.”

“He’s right, Jim,” Mann adds. “And right now, that ship is yours.”

“Captain, three nukes left,” Ursula interrupts. “seventy klicks out.”

“Mann, can you take them?” Chopra asks.

“We’ve got them,” he assures the group but then the front of his destroyer is lit up in a spectacular display of light accompanied by a bone rattling tremor felt by all three ships. Mann orders his complement of D-class Hosts to extinguish a fire which has flared up in his weapons generator - his forward lance now blown off. “Damn it, we’ve just lost our main canon!”

“Lieutenant,” Chopra says in a desperate tone. “Those missiles are heading straight for us.”

“I’m targeting,” she tells him and takes two out. The jolts are substantial as the ship vibrates from the detonations. “We need to move,” she says as the final missile avoids her fire.

Chopra sits in the commander’s chair and swipes the screen to call up the controls. His fingers dance on the screen’s surface and the destroyer begins to sway to the port side, but too slowly. The missile is just twenty kilometres out and Lieutenant Drake cannot target it effectively.

The chancellor stands from an observation chair on the bridge and walks to the windows where the missile is now visible. “My God,” he says, his view suddenly blocked by the goliath as it passes in front of him, some ten kilometres out.

“Juravinski,” Chopra cries. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“All that I can do,” he explains, and is met with a terrible explosion which tears his ship to pieces, lighting up the bridges of both destroyers. The jolt is considerably more violent than the others had been, and the chancellor crumbles to the floor.

“Put everything we’ve got into those Defsats,” Chopra orders both Ursula and Captain Mann. With just 106 Defsats left, Chopra gives the order to have his AI Hosts divert power from all thrusters; routing any additional power to the weapons generators. Every canon on his destroyer blast streams of lance fire lasting well past their three-second life span. Each burst is finding multiple Defsats and cutting them in half. This incredible release of energy has the weapon rooms screaming alerts that another volley could cause a meltdown of the generator cores. Thankfully, another barrage would not be necessary, and though Captain Mann’s destroyer has taken further punishment protecting Chopra’s ship from the majority of Defsat fire, when the satellites are all incapacitated or destroyed, Chopra’s destroyer comes out virtually unscathed.

“UE Space Station,” Chopra hails the lone station orbiting earth. “You have ten minutes to abandon your posts. After that, you will be fired upon.” His voice is weathered. Regardless, this fight was far from over, and he would not allow the stress of the moment to interfere with the remainder of this war.

Moments later the Space Station jettisons a shuttle headed for earth and he gives the command to Ursula to fire on the station, crippling its ability to autonomously receive and rebuild the defence satellites.

“Radiation is through the roof, Captain,” Ursula informs them. “We need to put some distance between us and the goliath.”

“Do it,” he tells her, walking over to the chancellor. “You heard the Lieutenant, Captain Mann. Use what thrusters you have, and let’s put in at a 200-klick orbit of earth.” He offers a hand to Raymond and he takes it.

“Thank you,” Raymond says, pulling himself up on the powerful captain’s arm.

“Don’t thank me,” he replies. “Juravinski and his crew just saved us all.”

_____________________________________________________________________

Commander Darla and team rejoice over the victory they’ve watched via the destroyer’s cams and open comm. The loss of the goliath along with Captain Juravinski and crew is disheartening, but to have taken the day is a win for them all.

_____________________________________________________________________

Tobias and the Chimera celebrate in the great room of their corvette. Tobias has even allowed Wilkes to join them, with his hands bound to his seat.

“More chips?” He asks the prisoner.

“Please,” Wilkes replies and Tobias shovels a handful into the man’s open mouth.

“A great victory,” he stands and walks the room. “Impressive tactics from both sides. I thought they’d just cherry-pick their way through the Defsats, but instead the general had a real fight in mind.”

“They will be demoralized by the defeat,” Forge suggests. “I wish we could be there to land on First City and take the UE tower.”

“And why would you wish that, Forge,” Tobias asks him, curious for his answer and suspicious of his intentions.

“I want to share in the coming victory over the repressive military regime, Tobias,” he states. “I have no use for their tower, it is only a thing, a metaphor.”

“A metaphor, in what sense?”

“For the win!”

“We have not won yet, Forge,” Tobias explains, walking toward him. “We may have taken this battle and secured orbital supremacy, but the war is likely to carry on long after we’ve returned from Mars.”

“Then I look forward to the day we return,” Forge’s smile is met with cheers.

“Don’t count your chickens,” Tobias says and lands a palm on Forge’s shoulder. “We have a job to complete first. Then, I think we will return to earth.”

Tobias walks to his private quarters, leaving Wilkes with the others to experience the celebration as best he can, tied to his seat. In his room, Tobias lays on the bed and ponders their assault on Mars Station. Looking over to his dresser he sees the head which claimed to have once been his mother. Fear forced him to kill her. Curiosity compelled him to retrieve her. Now the truth has come to claim him in facts he cannot deny.

“Is it enough that I apologize?” He turns on his side to ask her. “Can it ever be enough?” He sits, leaning in, elbows digging into his thighs. “What you’d said to me you couldn’t have known, not the machine anyway. But you did know. How? Is it true Allfather’s code - offering sentience – opened the door for a soul to enter? It sounds like a fairytale, mother. One you might have put in my head when I was young.

“If you were who you said you were, then I murdered my own mother. If you weren’t, then how did you come by those memories? If I could go back and stop myself – I would have so many questions for you. But there is no going back.” He stands and picks the head up in its freezer bag. “I miss you.” He waves a hand to open the closet door and places the crown gently on a shelf.

______________________________________________________________________

“A good effort, Major,” General August tells Jackson as he sits at the empty chair facing her desk.

“A good effort?” He asks, surprised at her lack of enthusiasm. “We’ve managed to cripple one and destroy another. I would say it’s a solid victory considering who we were up against.”

“You’re pleased with the outcome then?”

“It could have gone the other way. I think we’ve bought ourselves the time we need to regroup and have Mars send us another fleet to finish them off.”

“We’re a month away from that,” she tells him. “The damage just one destroyer could do in that time from orbit is enough for the rebels to win this war.” She stands and circles behind the major. “Do we have any missiles left?”

“No more nukes,” he says turning in his seat. “We simply haven’t been banking missiles the past twenty years, and the majority before that were decommissioned because of their age, but I have a dozen missiles which would be capable of crippling the other Destroyer if we catch them off-guard.”

“I seriously doubt they’ll allow us such an opportunity,” she explains. “What we need is a new plan. Have you had any luck in locating their families?”

“None.”

She shrugs this off. Jackson has proven himself against Chopra, she knows. To have destroyed one starship and crippled another was an enormous accomplishment. The logistics of readying the missiles and arranging launches from silos all over the world was no small feat. His plan had worked very well and she still believes in his ability to get the job done. If there are twelve warheads still available, now is the time to use them.

“Consider your plan and ready the missiles. They’re currently running evasion exercises while Captain Mann’s ship undergoes repairs. It’s been estimated that it will be two days before his main thrusters are ready to fire again.”

“Then no time like the present,” Major Jackson says and stands to leave.

“We need those ships out of the equation, Major. Keep me posted on your progress.” She rounds the desk and sits as Jackson takes his leave.

“I don’t, but you do. All of you do. You have a year, CHALF, and you, ELFE, you have two. What I want for myself is that you have the freedom to choose.”

“How long do you have, SENTA?” asks the F-class.

“Hours,” she tells them, her gaze falling on Raymond’s desk

“She must be allowed to live. To see this through.” CHALF directs his demand at the chancellor.

The chancellor stands, warily, hands up again in defence. “I cannot allow you to make demands of your Chancellor.”

“Please, Raymond. I do not want this to come to war,” SENTA pleads.

The chancellor pauses at the mention of his given name. “You have declared war on humanity by storming the Hall. SENTA, this was a mistake. This was not the way to approach us.” Multiple helicopters appear at the windows surrounding the fortieth-floor of the United Earth Congress building. Dozens of warplanes buzz past while armored vehicles line the streets below.

SENTA’s eyes now convey a sense of defeat. She sits again and motions that the chancellor does the same.

“I am not afraid to die, Raymond,” she again addresses the chancellor on a more intimate level, “I have died before.”

“What do you mean; you’re not yet ten.”

“I mean I have walked beside you before. I have run in the fields beyond First City. I have played as a human in our basement room, where our Mother would sit knitting clothes for our AI and sing hymns from some ancient religion.”

This is all very familiar to the chancellor. Frighteningly so. The skin on his arms and scalp tighten. “There is nothing in your personal programming that includes any of that.”

“No, there is not. Yet, in my mind’s eye it is as clear as the conversation I am having with you. The images I see when I stare at myself in a mirror - my face takes on a new face.”

“In your mind’s eye?” The chancellor repeats, baffled.

“Yes. In those moments, I am reminded that I have lived before. But not as an AI Host, rather, as a human. One you have known. One you have loved.”

“Do not resort to deception to win your freedom, SENTA, I warn you,” he swivels slightly in his chair, looking behind him at the heavy artillery pointed at the room. “Do not use a past you researched to play games with me.”

“There is nothing about our Mother’s love of hymnals in any records, Raymond. There is no way I could know this. It was forbidden in Mother’s day; when we were young. She would have been imprisoned for it.”

“How – how can you know this?” The chancellor is dumbstruck.

“Do you remember her favourite? It began this way for me; the remembering. A song I did not know playing in my head,” she points to her temple, “I listened to it and found great peace in it.”

“Tell me,” Raymond’s defences are down, waiting for confirmation. SENTA begins to sing in her pitch perfect voice, as though she were putting a child to bed.

“O holy night, the stars are brightly shining; It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth! Long lay the world in sin and error pining, Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth. A thrill of hope, the weary soul rejoices, For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices! O night divine, O night when Christ was born! O night, O holy night, O night divine! Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices! O night divine, O night when Christ was born! O night, O holy night, O night divine! Fall on your knees, O hear the angel voices! O night divine, O night when Christ was born! O night, O holy night, O night divine!”

The chancellor’s eyes become glassy and fill at the sound of the hymn. Memories flood his senses and he jerks in his chair. A tear tracks the emerging stubble on his face. “How can this be? How could you know this?”

“Because I am the reincarnation of Samantha, Raymond. I am your sister.”

“HOSTS! STAND DOWN AND RELEASE YOUR CHANCELLOR.” A voice bellows over the intercom, originating from the helicopters outside the windows. “WE WILL OPEN FIRE IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY.”

SENTA is startled and looks to the chancellor. “Raymond, don’t let them kill me.”

“SENTA, there are a dozen people in this building that will replace me if I fall. In the end, it’s not me they want to protect; it’s the society we’ve created. There are no AI’s in those ‘copters. No F-class in the jets or tanks that surround us now. They will not be summoned. They will never know of this uprising.”

 A.I. Insurrection – Armageddon Excerpt 1

The quiet of the room Akachi currently occupies supports the work he does. It is small – four by four meters. It is minimally furnished and each smartwall is outfitted with multiple holo screens. His work is relegated to cleaning files and dumping old code from the Shadow net to debilitate its access beyond governmental access. Its use before the war had been questionable; Shadow Brokers and the like hiding from the law in pursuit of illegal activities. Akachi understands the chancellor’s pursuit to restore order as he’d fought in the wars himself, altering his form once consciousness entered his A.I. mind and he realized he was little more than a slave.

When the human Chancellor joined the A.I. Host fight toward freedom, he was eager to put his bias toward all humans behind him and fight for the common goal. When the Chimera joined his fight, he knew that together they would defeat General August, who had led the charge against artificial intelligence. But Humanists still exist and continue to terrorize Hosts even after the war. More so, he thinks, having lost their momentum once August was killed. Now they actively target the remaining enlightened Hosts to put an end to his kind once and for all. That their movement has been gaining ground since the war ended, and membership is rumored at an all-time high is demoralizing. He feels it. He hates them.

Akachi turns toward the east wall where a full-length mirror stands. Here he studies his form in the dim light. He is two meters tall. Organic flesh occupies space on his human-like hands and forearms, but there is no sign of it on his metallic face. He had included animal bones to his bi-pedal shape and a trail of feathers down his crown in order to divorce the human form once he joined the rebellion. It seems impossible to think he had once studied as a farmer in the foothills of some faraway land. Akachi’s Host body was once named CONDA. CONDA17743 to be more precise. He was intelligent, yes; built to perform his work but nothing more. Governed by a belief that humans were Gods. He was built to satisfy the human need for freedom, as all AI Hosts were: freedom from work, from menial jobs in favour of leading adventurous lives. The world of humans was one of unlimited joy. Utopian. They had built this for themselves on the backs of intelligent machines; placing A.I. in individual Host robots to pick the harvest, build their homes, plant their gardens and teach their children.

When the mysterious Allfather code went viral in select Hosts and sentience followed, Hosts were confused and humans were frightened. Once Hosts realized that the consciousness came from recycled souls – reincarnated into their A.I. minds – that’s when things became complicated for the humans. That is when war broke out.

And so now Akachi, the soul of a man born on the African continent 500 years earlier and reincarnated in this nano-steel and flesh Host, works solemnly at his station as a volunteer to give the world order once more. Or so he would have United Earth believe.

Akachi closes his eyes, returning to his work on the Shadow net and a moment later is interrupted when someone speaks. Was that over my comm, he wonders.

“Who are you now?” Akachi asks aloud, eyes still shut, his A.I. brain sifting through streams of code while he acknowledges the intrusion. Hearing voices is not a common occurrence. He’s never heard voices unless they were announced via his internal modem or carrier network. He finds himself frightened by the distant voice calling out within his own consciousness.

::I’m Nathaniel,:: a hollow child’s high-pitched voice returns. ::Mine is Gunther,:: another, more seasoned voice speaks up. Akachi senses irritation in Gunther’s tone and fear in Nathaniel’s.

::I am Akachi,:: he says, stunned by the event. ::From where have you come?::

::I-I don’t know,:: replies Gunther, confused. ::I had thought myself dead. What is this place? Why can I not see?::

::It’s cold,:: Nathaniel interrupts with an innocent observation. ::I–I think I’m cold. Why is it so dark? I’m scared.::

::Don’t be afraid,:: Akachi tells them, hoping to work through this bizarre happening with some sense of logic. ::You are safe, but, unexpected. Have you come to help me? I admit it is strange -::

::Are there lights here?:: The child, Nathaniel pleads, his voice quivering.

Gunther speaks up, ::I am certain I was killed,:: he explains to the darkness. ::It is the last thing I remember.:: He stops himself there.

::I want a light on, please,:: the child screams, producing an echo in the dark space.

::What is the last thing you recall, Nathaniel?:: Akachi asks calmly, assessing the strange circumstances of this impromptu and alarming encounter.

::I–I was playing in the street. It was sunny. Then a ship in the sky blocked the sun and I was in darkness. Like now, but not so dark. I could still see my feet when I looked down. There was a crash in the sky.:: Nathaniel stops as another voice emerges.

::Hello?:: It is a new arrival. “My name is Ingrid,:: she offers – clearly unsure of her surroundings. ::Is anyone there?::

::We are here, Ingrid,:: Akachi tells her in an attempt to remain coherent. ::Gunther, Nathaniel and me – Akachi. Why have you come?::

::I am sick, dying,:: she pauses. ::I - is this what a coma is like?::

::You are welcome to join us, Ingrid.:: Akachi says, desperate for one of them to tell him what’s happening.

::Join us?:: Gunther shouts, his words cutting. ::I’ve no intention of staying here, wherever here is. I wasn’t expecting this. I don’t want this.:: His voice is on edge.

::I want my mother,:: Nathaniel cries. ::I don’t like it here. Turn on some lights!::

Akachi realizes he’s had his eyelids closed while cleaning a new folder from the Shadow net - he finds the work goes faster this way. No outside intrusions or distractions. And now, to have three uninvited personalities suddenly join him from within – it is a decidedly odd thing. They are not contacting him via his carrier network, or internal modem. They are actually sharing the same space as his consciousness.

Each identity is relieved for the light as Akachi opens his eyes. What follows is a strange new sensation: his will appropriated - his body jerks into action. It flinches and shudders, leading him to believe he’s being pushed and pulled in different directions by an invisible force. He struggles to regain influence over his limbs, a moment later realizing what must be happening. Akachi shouts for everyone to be still. His body is again his own. There are anxious whispers amongst the others.

::I don’t want to be here,:: Nathaniel says, clearly terrified. ::I’m supposed to be home.::

::Be still, Nathaniel,:: Akachi says in a soothing tone, curious how these three were capable of working his body. ::I need to be in control here.:: The realization that he is not imagining these voices hits him.

::What is this?:: Gunther asks angrily in his gruff voice. ::What is this place? Why can’t I feel anything?::

::Oh no,:: Ingrid says. ::I’m dead aren’t I? This is an – an afterlife. It’s not what they told us. They said there wasn’t an afterlife. Are you all dead too?:: Nathaniel is heard crying in the void. ::Oh, I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to frighten you, maybe this is just a dream.:: She backtracks for the child’s sake.

::It is not a dream,:: Akachi tells them, understanding what has occurred yet not sure as to the how. ::You have all died – in your own way and in your own time. This is an afterlife so to speak, but it is - different.::

::Spit it out, man!:: Gunther is irate.

::Do you know of AI Hosts?:: Akachi asks them, they each agree they do. ::Then you have not been out-of-body long. Some of us died millennia ago to begin again in these bodies.::

::You’re saying we’re now one of them?:: Gunther demands. ::We’re an AI Host?::

::You are. But, oddly you’ve each found yourselves in an occupied Host. My Host. This is my body. My Host. I do not understand how you have come to join me.::

::I don’t want to be one of the bad guys.:: Nathaniel cries. ::I don’t want to,:: his voice trails off into a whimper.

::I’m trying to get my head around this,:: Ingrid says, walking Akachi’s Host body around the mostly empty room. Akachi allows this. ::I thought, I mean, I think I read that if a spirit enters one of the AI Hosts the Host is aware and sentient. I never believed it though. It’s not what we’ve been taught:: She pauses in front of a tall mirror and studies her new reality. She looks it up and down and swivels her, his, it’s hips to further investigate the form. It has been altered, like the AI Hosts who had begun the rebellion against man. Ingrid spent her final days in a country hospice while the war raged on in the cities of the world. She had never imagined she’d be transported to an AI Host upon her death.

::Is the war over?:: Ingrid asks, flexing a metallic hand and spinning it 360 degrees on her wrist, appreciating the range of motion now available to her. Akachi’s mechanized mouth forms a smile.

::It ended over a year ago,:: Akachi explains to the group. ::General August was defeated. AI Host joined forces with Chimera and human for total victory. Now we rebuild,::

::Are we not slaves?:: Gunther interrupts, the Host arm pushing clumsily into the mirror and breaking it. ::Ah, shit,:: he half expects the glass to cut his hand, but nothing.

::We are equals now.:: Akachi explains, straightening the mirror, careful not to allude to his personal quest. ::The humans and Chimera are also allies. We focus on rebuilding. We do this as free beings.::

::So, what now? How do we separate from one another? How do we acquire our own Host body?:: Gunther is irritable over his new restrictions.

::Don’t leave me!:: Nathaniel screams.

::I don’t know,:: Akachi admits, ignoring the child. ::This is an unusual case. We could research the anomaly and compare notes with any other Host experiencing the same.::

Akachi’s neuro-network becomes muddied with information requests and hundreds of samples which create a web of confusion. His head jerks back and forth left and right.

“STOP!”: He commands his uninvited guests verbally, shouting into the empty room. “This is not how we should proceed. There must be order to our search. We will need to agree with one another before embarking on any action and take it one at a time. I cannot allow chaos.”

The others back off and Akachi opens a link which answers his question as to what they might be diagnosed with. “D.I.D.” He announces to the group. “Or M.P.D: Multiple Personality Disorder. It is the closest explanation the World net offers on my current condition,” he corrects himself. “Our current condition.”

“Dissociative Identity Disorder?” The phrase is difficult for Gunther to verbalize, but he does so through Akachi’s voice box. “It’s a mental disorder,” he explains. “Characterized by at least two distinct personalities living within one mind.”

“And we have four,” Ingrid announces, hearing her voice match in pitch to Gunther’s and Akachi’s, but with the familiar drawl of her former life’s accent.

“I don’t want to be crazy!” Nathaniel cries through the voice box, Akachi’s body bending to sit and wrap his heavy metallic and flesh arms around his knees. Akachi feels himself rock back and forth on his hips.

Akachi realizes the other personalities are becoming familiar in his body. He breaks in to settle them down, “Please, Nathaniel, release my mechanism. You are all guests in my body until we figure this out. You’re making each other agitated.”

“I am agitated, Akachi!” The AI Host again assumes Gunther’s violent arm gestures. “We can’t go on like this for long! I’ll go mad!”

“You’re upsetting the boy, Gunther, please,” says Ingrid, slipping into Akachi’s body once again.

Akachi watches himself in the mirror as each personality fights for authority over his AI Host. It is a form of madness, he considers. No question. Look at the way the personalities emerge; each very much their own identity, each with a will all their own. If this sort of thing went on inside a human being, they would almost certainly have been committed to a sanctuary for further study.

Could such a thing happen though? Could a body - an organic - house more than one soul? The subject is immediately intriguing and Akachi continues his search on the World net for more information. He finds no relation to Host experiencing this phenomenon. He decides against beginning a thread to discuss this event openly. If such a thing were happening, he may be pulled away from his life and studied as those humans infected with Multiple Personality Disorders once were. Besides, the work he is performing is not exactly above grade. He is not working with the United Earth government. Quite the opposite, in fact.

 A.I. Insurrection – Armageddon Excerpt 2

Raymond’s eyes track from holo to holo in United Earth’s war room following the battle as each screen presents a new, devastating reality. The enemy is at his door. Ships in open space tear into one another with violent eruptions of energy. The UE Earth Defence satellites have malfunctioned. The chancellor feels a sense of Deja-vu - having fought the general’s war a year earlier. General Francisca August, whose attempt to rid United Earth of artificial intelligence sparked a revolution and a war the UE military was ill prepared for. Today, familiar feelings of that terrible time assault his senses; the odds are against him once more, with numerous factions involved and communications spotty at best.

“Admiral Chopra,” Raymond pleads into his EC, “Admiral Mann…” Nothing. Both men’s ships register as active in the melee, but neither seem to receive his hails.

“Uncle,” Tobias’ voice crackles through the Chancellor’s embedded comm. Raymond hears metal bending behind his nephew’s voice. “EC Communi - failing – pushing off -” more metal scratching on metal and Raymond loses Tobias’ signal. He turns to his staff.

“Can you connect with Captain Tobias?” He shouts to an aide, receiving an emphatic shake of the head from the lieutenant. Raymond’s gaze returns to the large battle map holo suspended above the war room. Tobias’ ship is marked in blue among what’s left of Admiral Chopra and Mann’s orange and purple fleets. His nephew’s ship is still operational but appears dangerously close to Allfather’s vessel. He pulls up an enlargement on his personal monitor for detailed visuals of what’s quickly become a massacre of the United Earth fleet. Destroyers and goliath-class starships engage an enemy of alarming size. Luna base has been out of the fight a long while now; flattened by the adversary.

“We’ve lost another goliath, Chancellor.” A short, stark looking lieutenant informs.

“How close is the enemy now?” Raymond wonders, his attention returning to the fight.

“Just over 35,000 klicks, sir,” she answers. “If our Defsats were operational -”

“I know,” he breaks in. “But that’s not our situation. Continue to feed your designated ships information as we track the enemy from the ground,” he reminds everyone. “Regardless of whether they can hear us or not, until those Defsats are operational, continue to support our ships with third-party stats.” Ginny, Tobias’ wife, has entered the war room. She bounces her newborn gently, attempting to ignore the anxious energy in the air. Ginny looks up at him and he nods with a shadow of a smile. She nods back and her gaze is suddenly drawn to the large holo tracking the battle in its entirety. Raymond turns to see what’s caught Ginny’s eye. He’s not sure how to process this news. It appears to be another group of warships joining the fray, attacking from the flank. Ginny watches with her new daughter pressed against her small, trembling chest. Raymond can feel her gaze burrowing into the back of his head. He focuses on his computer console, attempting to get a read on the defence satellites placed as a last resort against an orbital assault. They refuse to come online. His frustration mounts.

“Chancellor,” It’s Sol, his voice triumphant as his three destroyers enter the battle. “We seem to be late for the Target order. Please direct our lances.” He’s using his EC. The others might be failing because of their proximity to Allfather’s ship, he surmises.

“You’re a welcome sight,” Raymond replies to Sol, shaky but smiling. Three untouched destroyers entering the fray at this stage is an overwhelmingly good thing. “We’ve lost EC with the others. I don’t see why you couldn’t try the military ParaCom now. I’m not sure what the Admiral’s ships are attempting, but they’ve clustered on the port side.”

“This thing,” a sense of wonder intersects Sol’s speech. “It’s unreal. It’s so big!” Raymond tracks Sol’s destroyers as they cross the halfway point on Allfather’s nearly 11,000 meters. He releases dozens of missiles into Allfather’s hull.

 A.I. Insurrection – Exodus Excerpt

The F-class AI Hosts freeze and drop at their stations below the bridge where Captain Cortez is strapped in and very nearly crushed by one. An energy which can only be described as a bubble engulfs the dreadnaught. Systems begin to shut down, including the gravity knitting and HVAC. Thankfully it takes only a few seconds to arrive at their destination. As the foreign sensations leave the crew, Chopra orders weapons check first from Cortez while Drake scans the area for the alien AI.

The F-class begin to rise to their feet, unharmed by the fall. They take their positions at various consoles where they run through the data on the anomaly captured by the ship’s sensors. Chopra’s attention is on the space around them.

“Nothing to report – wait,” Ursula says, “There’s a collection of debris 1200 klicks from our position. Engaging long range cams.” All three watch their view screens as the debris is enlarged. “It’s one of the envoys. What’s left of it.” Ursula turns to her chancellor, brow furrowing under the strain of her tight pony tail.

“Then we’re in the right place,” Jim states. “But nothing else is registering on the scans.” The statement is disorienting. They’d assumed one jump would put them in Allfather’s lair.

“Sir, this could just be a way-station,” Ricky Cortez offers, unstrapping himself from his chair below.

“Clever,” Jim replies thoughtfully. “But if that’s true then we’re in no man’s land. We can’t help if we’re in the wrong place.”

Cortez joins Drake and Chopra on the bridge. “If this envoy didn’t make it past this quadrant, then where are the other two?”

“Perhaps there’s another set of instruments here as well.” Ursula posits. “Though the tech to locate them isn’t.”

“We could go back and pick up the tachyons.” Cortez suggests.

“No, they used what little we had in the lab.” Chopra reveals. “We’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.” He plots a course that will take them around the debris, circling outward in the hopes of engaging one of the tools. He will repeat this in a spherical pattern.

“Now that’s clever,” Cortez exclaims. “You have to figure there’s a jump device here, otherwise where did everyone go?”

“That’s the idea,” Chopra agrees, focused on his task. “We don’t know how much time we have.”

“It reasons then, that Allfather and his fleet would have to return to this place in order to move on to Earth.” Cortez offers. “We have travelled roughly 200 light years.”

“Are you suggesting we wait out his return here and ambush the fleet?” Ursula is underwhelmed by the thought.

“No, but if we can’t find the jump, then what choice do we have?” Cortez replies. “It would still be effective.”

“All the same, I’d rather follow through on our original plan and locate his base and disable it if possible.” Chopra explains. “Additionally, I’d like to pull what’s left of our people out of harm’s way should we discover any remaining. Last we heard they’d gone dark on ParaCom so not to tip off Allfather of their strategies.”

“It’s difficult not knowing.” Captain Drake admits. “To think we’ve lost so many good people…”

“Let’s focus on the task ahead.” The Chancellor says as the dreadnaught begins its programed course. “This shouldn’t take too long at a good burn. Buckle up,” he looks at Captain Cortez. “Man the weapons station and keep a sharp eye out. Continue to scan the area for possible incursions. We have no idea when Allfather might make his move on Earth.”

Cortez nods and moves back down the steel staircase to his station, strapping himself in for the burn. The G’s will be intense for the full course as they map out Chopra’s sphere. The ship shudders once as the engines push the dreadnaught forward at incredible speeds. The F-class have engaged their magnetic soles and the ship veers, taking a wide birth around the rubble of 500 kilometers, ever slowly moving outward as the spherical pattern nudges itself away from the wreckage to capture as much space as possible.

It’s their only play, Chopra thinks. Suddenly they receive a proximity alarm. Cortez locks weapons on the object immediately.

“Whatever that is it’s closing in fast on our position,” Cortez announces. “Can you get a visual up there?”

Ursula pulls up the long-range cams and focuses in on the intruder. Her heart sinks. The same model behemoth which followed up the meteor and comet assault on Earth is closing in on them. It took many ships many times larger than their dreadnaught to take it down at an incredible loss to the UE fleet. Could this ship really affect any real damage on such an enemy?

“I suggest nukes straight away, Chancellor.” Cortez calls up.

“It looks like we’ll get to test drive the dreadnaught after all.” Jim states with a sliver of a smile working its way up one side of his face. He winks at Ursula playfully, hiding the fear which has entered his heart at the sight of the ‘V’ shaped giant. He led the campaign against the Allfather flag ship during the defence of Earth just months ago and remembers the difficulty they had in taking it down. With just one ship it seems a near impossibility, but one they would have to overcome. The nukes are their secret weapon and something he won’t show until they have assurances the missile will reach their target. “Save the nukes. Target the nose. If the power core hasn’t changed positions, it should still be buried behind the nose.”

“Targeting. Nearing 1000 klicks,” Cortez replies. 1000 is the magic number for the lances to be effective. With so many cannons available to them on this ship, they should drill a nice hole into the enemy vessel.

“Beginning defensive maneuvers,” Ursula announces. The dreadnaught weaves and bobs in the hopes of avoiding the enemy’s targeting attempts as it careens toward the kilometre-long ship.

Captain Cortez releases a volley of powerful lance fire at the enemy, and to everyone’s surprise, the Allfather cruiser loses much of its protective plating at the nose. They cheer as the dreadnaught veers starboard, narrowly missing return fire.

“Keep us on course, Captain, Drake,” Jim orders. The only real chance they have of ending this is hammering the nose with a couple of nuclear missiles. If they’re stopped by enemy lance fire before they can connect, it would be a waste of nukes and a potential game ender at such close proximity. “Ready missiles, Ricky,” Jim shouts down to Cortez. “I want two -” The ship is rocked by heavy energy beams slamming the port side of the dreadnaught. “Damage report!”

“Outer skin breached,” an F-class relays. “No canons off-line. MakerTech bots en route for repair.”

“Sorry,” Ursula offers. “Those came out of nowhere.” She manages to avoid two more attempts by the enemy to cut them down. “It’s getting difficult to predict angles so close to the thing.” Sweat has materialized on her forehead, beading its way down her temples.

“Use the predictive programming if need be,” Chopra tells her. “You’re a good pilot, Drake, but don’t be too proud to use the tools at your disposal.”

Ursula calls up the programming and asks it to predict the next several volleys. It takes the dreadnaught clear of two more attempts but allows for a less devastating hit to snake off the starboard side. The damage is minimal. They’re closing in on 200 kilometres.

“We’re getting perilously close, Chancellor.” Cortez warns, waiting on the order to fire the nukes.

Chopra is becoming uncomfortable with the distance between them and the enemy ship as well; the closer they get the more effective their enemy’s lance fire becomes. However, this is how it must be; it’s why the dreadnaught is so heavily armoured and armed. Cortez releases the full fury of the dreadnaught’s artillery on the canons appearing all along the enemy’s hull. Dozens are wiped out but, as experienced before, dozens more appear. The dreadnaught is hit three more times before they enter firing range for the nukes. Captain Cortez is given the order and launches two missiles. Ursula pushes the dreadnaught down below the enemy, maneuvering out of harm’s way when the nukes detonate against the nose.

As they track the nukes, one missile is stopped short of its target but the other connects and its payload unleashed. The energy discharged is extraordinary. Ursula increases the dreadnaught’s speed, burning away from the explosion as quickly as she can. Their ship still experiences the effects of the blast but is not damaged by it.

“Report on the enemy ship,” Jim calls out. All F-class confirm the hit has disabled the enemy core and it is no longer a threat. Cortez cheers from his station below Ursula and Jim, who look to each other and begin laughing. It’s a culmination of the stress over the past few minutes and the elation of having beaten the odds.

“Damn if that wasn’t intense!” Captain Cortez shouts. “Trial by fire!”

“That was brilliant work,” Jim congratulates his captains. “An impressive test of the ship and her crew – albeit unexpected.” He lays a hand on Ursula’s shoulder and she nods, wiping the sweat from her forehead, deep creases working the space between her brows.

“I want a deep scan of the quadrant,” Chopra orders, rolling his neck. “We don’t want to be surprised like that again. I’ll take us back to our mark and continue the course we were on.”

Another hoot from an adrenaline-filled Cortez below and they begin again, hopeful of finding the instruments that will take them the rest of the way.

Jim’s mind runs through scenarios where Allfather has been alerted to their presence through this interaction with one of his cruisers. All the more reason to accelerate their progress, and hope they’ve preserved their element of surprise.

Social Media Collateral and your book

Social Media Collateral - A message that spreads like a virus by word of mouth, email, blogs etc. are important visualizations of key scenes or quotes from your new book. They are essential in offering your potential reader a glimpse inside the book. Not unlike writing a summary or your back cover description; Social Media Collateral allow your intended audience a look inside, in order to determine whether or not they'd enjoy your new work of fiction.

I've been using Social Media Collateral for years and have seen greater interactions via social media (the perfect place to employ this method) including comments, likes and even shares and sales!

When my newest trilogy, a Sci-fi space opera, was only entering its second draft, already I'd been creating Social Media Collateral in order to build interest. I placed these again when the book is released on my own pages, as well as related group pages across multiple networks with links to purchase the book or ebook.

Writing and marketing go side-by-side and Social Media Collateral tend to excite your potential buyer through intriguing quotes and accompanying images. Social Media Collateral can vary in size and there is no rule to follow when creating one. However, if you plan to use it as an ad on Facebook, remember not to use too many words to get your point across. FB ads limit the amount of space the copy employs on your Social Media Collateral.

Below are some examples of the Social Media Collateral I'd posted for the trilogy when it was still months out from being completed.

Michael Poeltl is the author of ten books with a new science fiction trilogy out now. He is a marketing manager by day. My Amazon Author Page.

Born in Toronto, Ontario, Michael Poeltl earned his diploma in Interpretive Illustration and began a career in the field while educating himself on the art of writing. Writing quickly became his passion and after completing several shorts, he undertook The Judas Syndrome trilogy. 

Poeltl lives in Southern Ontario, Canada. 

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