The A.I. War, Book One: The Big Boost (Tales of the Continuing Time) by Daniel Keys Moran Page A

over two million. And you stupid, wicked fucks were going to set off a nuke in the middle of the city.”
    “It was a pinched explosive,” said Gorabel.
    “Meaning? How many people were you prepared to kill?”
    Hera Saunders said reluctantly, “We ran simulations. They were –” She stopped speaking and simply shook her head.
    Trent fixed his eyes upon her. He said, “How many?”
    Her lips worked. Finally she said, “About a quarter million. Everyone within about a six kilometer radius of the Unity .”
    Trent sat in the silence, thinking. He was distantly aware of the sound of the ventilators, the gentle movement of the air against his face.
    Finally he looked up at them. “It’s things like this,” he said, “that make me appreciate my enemies. Their finer qualities. The PKF would never have tried to nuke a city full of innocent people. You do know that, don’t you?” He was unaware of the smile that had remained fixed on his features throughout. “I’ll go. I’ll do it. But I don’t have to like it, or you.” He stood up from the table. “And I don’t.”
    REVEREND ANDY AND Jimmy were waiting for him at the Vatsayama.
    Jimmy said, “Well?”
    Trent shrugged. “Business as usual.”
    “You’re going to Halfway,” said Reverend Andy.
    Trent said, “I told you I was.”

7
    THE MARTIAN TOWN of Sulci Gordii is mostly underground. But just mostly: the location, south and east of Mons Olympus, gave superb views of the great mountain. So some structures were above ground, and hard to heat, and expensive: and one of those was the Valentine Dome where the SpaceFarer’s Collective’s Board of Directors met.
    Over two hundred persons attended, though at most forty of those had the right to cast votes, either directly or by proxy. The others were staff, security, lovers, children, and other members of the retinues of the powerful.
    Trent was pretty sure he was the only voting member who was there by himself. Not by choice, either – Jimmy had refused to come and Reverend Andy had just laughed at him.
    The Dome seated over three hundred, the seating arranged around small tables set in concentric and rising circles. Trent took a table four rows up from the floor, facing Olympus Mons, and ordered two pints of Guinness Foreign Extra Stout – from Earth, imported – and a bacon lettuce and tomato sandwich: the bacon had never seen the inside of a pig and the bread, lettuce, tomatoes and mayonnaise were all from the Mormon colony to Sulci Gordii’s north. The waiter was short, for a Martian – a young Mormon Trent knew slightly, Ryan Larsen – and Trent had an awkward moment trying to remember whether Ryan was a member of one of the families that were mad at him. If Trent had ever known that, the information had not made it into Trent’s inskin, where it would have been secure for as long as he cared to remember it.
    Ryan confirmed that he was. “But it’s OK,” he assured Trent, “we got her married anyway, and pretty much everyone else has let it go.” He paused. “Well, not cousin Aaron. If you ever see Aaron, you should be careful.” He smiled reassuringly at Trent. “But he’s not here, so no need to worry, right?”
    “I have a ten million Credit bounty on me,” Trent told him. “You tell cousin Aaron he’s not allowed to kill me for trivial reasons.”
    Ryan looked hurt. “It’s not like that. Aaron’s as patriotic as anyone. He wouldn’t even want the bounty.”
    “You bring me my sandwich and stout,” Trent instructed the boy. “And no more talk of killing me, it ruins the digestion.”
    “Right,” said Ryan, smiling uncertainly. “I’ll be right back with your order.” He hurried away.
    Captain Saunders arrived a moment later with one of her crew, and paused by Trent’s table. Before she could even speak, Trent eyed her and said flatly, “I hate Mars.”
    She paused. Trent glanced past her, saw the tall man standing beside her was Sidney Zinth – Trent had once