The AI War Read Free

"You know what they used to say, when a man died on Fleet duty?" said K'Raoda, returning to his instruments.
    K'Raoda watched the light disappear, then looked at T'Ral. " 'Shipped into Blue Nine,' " he said quietly.
    Neither said anything until they reached jump point.

2
    "There are other contractors in this quadrant with your skills, K'Tran," said B'Rol with a smile, setting down his drink. The hard blue points of his eyes belied the laugh lines crinkling them. To the uninitiated, B'Rol was just another restaurant owner—a jovial man, grown round on his own rich food and the easier times since the war's end.
    K'Tran knew what lay beneath that facade: a man as hard and as cold as himself. "There aren't any in this quadrant with the resources your client needs," he said. "If you think you can do better—luck." He started to rise.
    A surprisingly strong hand gripped his arm, pulling him back to his seat. "Let's not be hasty, Captain. Another drink?"
    "It's your liquor."
    Catching the server's eyes, B'Rol held up two fingers.
    There were three restaurants worthy of the name in S'Tak. B'Rol's was atop the Bureau of Agriculture building and boasted a view of S'Takport. Sitting at the bar, the two watched as an agro freighter came gliding in on silent n-gravs, two miles of oblong black hull against a perfect blue sky.
    "It's just that since you failed your last mission," said B'Rol as the drinks came, "my client's uneasy about employing you again."
    "A fluke." KTran sipped his drink—a tart, yellow wine from the southern hills of STak. "If my ex-commander's brother hadn't been aboard Implacable, the mission would have succeeded." He glanced approvingly at himself in the bar glass—a wiry, light-complexioned man with thinning hair and the casual, well-cut clothes of a prosperous merchant.
    "Yes. But he was aboard. And it did fail." B'Rol held up a hand as KTran started to protest. "Because of your prior efforts on his behalf, my client is willing to forget that fiasco."
    "Generous. What does he want?"
    "As usual, I wasn't told." Reaching into his pocket, he took out a small white cylinder and handed it to KTran. "It's all in there. Mission and delivery specs. Same terms as the last venture—less my client's deposit on that debacle, of course."
    "Of course." KTran slipped the commwand into his shirt pocket. "We won't be seeing each other again."
    "Just as well," said B'Rol as fresh drinks arrived. "Fleet wants you dead, and I don't want ta be in the same system "with cruisers shooting it out. Rumor has it they pulled four task groups out of relief and recovery to hunt you down."
    KTran sipped his wine, watching the freighter. "Six task groups. Four in this quadrant alone. Flattering, but unwanted attention. We'll lift ship for a new base port as soon as my business with you is finished."
    "I'll drink to that," said the drugger.
    KTran lifted his glass. "Yourhealth, B'Rol. I don't suppose your client's available for questions, once I've read this?'' He tapped the pocket holding the commwand.
    B'Rol shook his head. "That came to me circuitously, like the rest. I've no idea who the client is—though I'm sure if I found out I wouldn't live to tell." He smiled, shaking his head. "Almost, I'm sorry to see you go, K'Tran. It's brought in some nice side money—my personal account always swelled the day after you lifted." Setting down his drink, he frowned, staring at the agro freighter. "Odd."
    "What?" said the corsair, following his gaze. The ship had landed, but without any of the usual port bustle. It sat alone, port center, locks closed, dwarfing the port buildings and government towers—-a ship big enough to feed a world.
    "Any freighter pulling into S'Takport, Captain, has about ten other ports to reach as fast as possible. We're a designated provision planet. What we don't eat is sent to the liberated planets—fast. Freighters come in, off-load, on-load and upship. One, two, three. Millions are starving. Time is