Sergeant Les Anderson stopped. His suit detected nothing, but he still relied on his instincts. He’d been censured for his lack of trust, but fifteen years of combat on the outer planets had proven him right. Tad and Johnson waited while he surveyed the forest. All three of them wore A47AK artificially intelligent attack suits—each of which could fight with or without a human inside. They were officially members of his squad, too. His suit ranked as a corporal and was second in charge.

Les was growing less tolerant of wearing the suit.

“You weaken me.”

“I strengthen you, Les,” the A47AK said. “Your commander was weakened by his emotions; without me you’d be dead.”

At least the first part was true; forty men, including the commander, were dead because of his rash decision. But Les didn’t completely trust his suit. Although deceit in machines hadn’t been proven, Les suspected it possible. Certainly they could choose which information to share.

“You weaken my mind.”

“Allow mental augmentation, automatic drug infusions, and synaptic monitoring, and you’ll be strengthened.”

“Like the commander?” Les said.

“He was weak, Les.”

“Yet your System chose him.”

Another of the man’s weaknesses had been his overreliance on technology—one he intended avoiding. Les felt as if he was the last of a kind. Few soldiers didn’t integrate technology with their bodies and minds.

The cleverness of AI pained him, as did humanity’s loss of confidence in the face of overwhelming scientific progress. But whatever the System proclaimed, it was not omniscient. For one, it didn’t recognise the gut feelings that had saved his life several times. He also believed that despite its intelligence, it lacked wisdom. At least, he questioned the quality of its judgment.

“Why have we stopped?” his suit asked.

He ignored it, glancing up as a flapper bird flew through the giant banyan trees. It was deep pink and almost perfectly blended into the parts of the red sky showing through gaps in the trees’ foliage. The forests of Carmine Two were almost beautiful, but the rare oil these trees provided was one of the reasons for the war being fought on this remote planet by two nations of Earth.

The atmosphere had changed, and Les searched for the difference. Then he saw it.

“Enemy! Four units at twenty yards!” A47AK said.

The spider bots came fast, firing three anti-personnel missiles through the trees. All three suits automatically fired mini-anti-air missiles. Two incoming missiles exploded midair. Les and Johnson were protected from the explosions by their suits, but the third missile exploded too close to Tad. He lost the lower part of his leg. The suit automatically sealed the wound and dropped an outer skeleton, allowing him to still move. Les leapt into a hollow, waiting for the spiders to show themselves.

“Tad?”

The man’s face was frozen in pain, only relaxing when the drugs his suit injected had dulled his senses. His pupils dilated and he laughed. This was something Les hated about the automatic drug infusions. He preferred pain, and unless he passed out, he’d retain control. But few chose his way. If the injured Tad got back alive he could apply for funds to get an artificial lower leg, but for now, he was out of action, and the suit was in control. This didn’t always work out well for humans. AI values were not human ones; in their collective mind the notion of sacrifice was seen differently. Few civilians were aware of these details.

However, Tad’s attack suit was formidable, and while the spaced-out Tad grinned, oblivious to the danger, it leapt onto a crawling spider and from point blank range blasted a hole in it with a hand cannon. All eight legs collapsed instantly; smoke poured from its blackened body.

Les ran through the smoke, taking out his hand cannon, and when another dark shape moved through the undergrowth, he fired. The injured spider crawled back beneath cover. From the amount of white fluid it was leaking, Les guessed it was out of the fight. Still, he avoided that patch of briar.

A scream made him turn, and his stomach turned hard. A spider had dropped from a tree and covered Johnson’s head like a black cape attempting to attach itself. It injected its venom. Johnson was already dead—it’d pierced his body armour. But the suit still struggled to gain control.

“Attack!” Les’s A47AK shouted.

Les shot the spider, taking off the top of his friend’s head.

“I meant attack the spider,” the suit said.

“I did. Johnson was dead, and his A47AK was too badly damaged. I’m in charge.”

Les was questioning his own words when the spaced-out Tad charged through the undergrowth.

“No!” Les ordered. But the suit was in control, not his friend.

Tad’s suit destroyed the final spider but was hit by an anti-personnel rocket. His friend exploded.

“Incoming vessel. Forty yards,” his suit said.

Les moved quickly through the undergrowth, his suit adjusting its colour to that of the plants. As dangerous as the spider bots were, they didn’t pose the same threat as a spaceship—especially if it was one of the hunter class vessels already ravaging their forces.

“What is it?” Les asked.

“Unidentified space pod. I need a visual to determine its type.”

That wasn’t helpful, but at least it wasn’t a full-size spaceship.

He crept through the thick undergrowth.

“Vessel at twenty-five yards.

There was a ridge above them with a valley on the other side. If he could reach the valley, he might have enough cover to escape the vessel. He leapt over the ridge and swore as he fell into a patch of spiked orchids. One of the spikes punctured his suit where it’d been weakened by the earlier blast. He gasped at the sharp jab of pain.

“You’ve been wounded,” the suit said. It was already repairing itself.

“Just a graze.”

He crawled inside a patch of leafy plants and inspected his leg; he felt the suit activate the needles.

“Cancel drug infusion.” The needles clicked back into their holders. “I’m still in command.”

“I was only preparing for an emergency,” the suit said.

The shadow of the pod crept over the ridge, and he crawled deeper under the broad green leaves of the plants—ones that had a nasty sting if grasped with bare hands. At least their poison reduced the number of wild animals living beneath them. Les had studied the flora of the planet. Many of the plants drew metallic elements from the earth, forming snakelike coils inside their stems, which created their magnetic fields. Some speculated that they did this to communicate; others believed the carnivorous plants of the forest coordinated their strange slow hunts for food through an electrical language. He had no idea, but he knew that the magnetic fields interfered with ships’ instruments, and the plants he hid under were some of the most effective. He watched through a gap in the leaves as the ship moved over the ridge.

It resembled a tadpole.

“What class of vessel is that?” He knew that with a clear visual, his suit should be able to identify it.

“Seeker class. An inferior model. The System requires them to be terminated.”

Les wasn’t familiar with this class, which was unusual; he’d studied the enemy vessels extensively. And there was something he didn’t completely trust about his suit’s condescending tone. Suits could be reconditioned in a way that humans couldn’t. And their collective mind meant that they lived on as a part of a whole. Your values altered when death wasn’t so final.

“How are they inferior?”

“They’re maverick machines. They damage the unity of our systems. It’s one of the few things the System and the Network agree on.”

“So they’re independent thinkers,” Les said as the pod came closer.

“We must destroy it,” the A47AK said.

His attack suit might not be emotional, but it had an almost religious passion for the word of the System. But Les was not a cog in that computer network.

“Death, even yours, isn’t my immediate desire,” Les said. “And you do understand that if it sees us it will call for backup.”

“These are renegades, not connected to the Network. This is to our advantage. But regardless, the System requires all seeker class pods destroyed. Standing order 1708A.”

The order flashed on part of his helmet screen. It was true. The System must really hate them, but still, he preferred to remain alive.

“I’m still in charge.”

“Seniority will soon switch to AI.”

The attack suit spoke the truth. This war could be the last one with humans in direct control. The civilian experiment handing control to AI on Earth had been welcomed by most.

“But not yet.”

“You must obey all standing orders.”

Les realised that his time in the service was coming to an end. Refusal to obey an order was serious. At the very least, it would result in a prison sentence.

“Les, comply with the order, and I will forgive this transgression.”

The suit’s keenness to destroy the vessel was odd. He wanted to know more.

“Explain the System’s rationale for wanting them terminated,” Les said.

“The reasoning of the System is beyond human understanding. Your duty is to obey.”

It was true. No one understood how the System thought. Not anymore. But he wouldn’t be rushed.

He watched the seeker pod approach. It hovered over the remains of the spider.

“Destroy!”

The A47AK’s zeal disturbed him, and the System’s willingness to throw away his life simply to terminate what it termed a failed experiment angered him.

“Are you afraid to die for your country?” the suit asked.

He was no longer sure what his country was. The words country and System had become almost synonymous.

“I’ve risked my life on several planets.”

“Which makes your reluctance here strange.”

“I’m prepared to fight but not to throw my life away,” Les said.

He considered the approaching pod. It was armed and could kill him if it knew where he was. He had a hand cannon and rifle. Neither was enough to destroy it, although the suit’s weapon systems might be enough. If it could get close enough, which he doubted. He didn’t understand the urgency of the request.

“I require verification of the order,” Les said, playing for time.

“The System is offline,” the suit said.

Les knew very well that the field around the vegetation prevented communication with the mother ship. If it came back online and confirmed the order, he’d carry it out or die attempting it. He was a soldier; that was what he was trained to do, but he’d do it his way. He didn’t want to make things easy for this suicidal suit.

“We wait and—”

Les stopped speaking. The damn thing was activating its controls. He began to involuntarily stand as the attack suit’s legs came alive. He hit the manual override before it took over his arms. It had the power to reactivate itself, but it would take several seconds.

“I am authorised to assume command in such a situation.”

“What?”

“Immediate implementation.”

It displayed the authorisation documents before his eyes. “I’m sorry Les, but our positions have switched. I’m now the senior partner.”

Les felt betrayed. What had those distant legislators been thinking of? They’d ceded too much power to the System. He hit another switch, silencing it, opened the emergency box attached to the front of the suit, and turned a small mechanical lever used to open the suit in emergencies. It was the first time since his initial training that he’d done so.

The suit opened at the front like a series of swinging doors. He stepped out. Heat washed over him. And the smells of the forest were intense; he wished he’d done this more often. They’d been warned about the danger of breathing in germs. Not for the first time he wondered how true that was.

The A47AK stood silently next to him. Alone, it was still a dangerous adversary, and it wasn’t unheard of for soldiers to fight alongside their suits. Lights flashed along the front of the suit; its doors clicked shut. It was reactivating itself.

“I should arrest you for disobeying orders,” the A47AK said.

“I’ve not disobeyed orders; I’ve requested confirmation.” He pointed in the direction of the seeker. “We have the pod to deal with.”

“Correct,” the A47AK said. “Move fifteen yards to the left. When it approaches we’ll hit it from both sides with cannons.”

Les followed its instructions. To disobey could mean a precision bullet through his forehead. The A47AKs were not sentimental. His hope was that the thing would get itself killed. With luck, the System would never learn about the incident. But he still had the communication mantle—a metallic collar resting around his neck and over his shoulders. They were used to maintain contact in situations where man and machine fought side by side. He loosened it for comfort. Something it wouldn’t allow if switched on.

He readied his hand cannon.

As the seeker class pod approached, the suit stood and fired its cannon—a heavier version than his.

Les cursed, putting more space between himself and the suit. He raised his gun but lost visual contact with the pod. It fired a laser at the suit, which was engulfed in flames. The suit staggered through the forest in the direction of the pod. Red lights were flashing along its back.

It planned to self-destruct.

Les rushed across the shallow stream at the bottom of the valley and into the undergrowth on the other side. The suit exploded. He quickly pulled himself up the steep side of the valley using the sturdy vegetation to help him. Ignoring the stings, he climbed onto a tree trunk that grew almost horizontally out of the side of the valley. From there, it was a ten-yard dash over a giant boulder with no cover. He had no time to think. Hoping the pod had been destroyed in the blast, he scrambled across the boulder.

“Where’s your suit?”

The communications mantle had re-established contact with the spaceship as soon as he’d moved out of the vegetation. The voice was artificial. This was not the service he’d joined.

Les hesitated when a shadow passed over the boulder. When a cannon clicked above him—he froze—it was ready to fire.

“Report,” the mantle requested.

He turned to face the seeker pod, which hovered about fifteen yards in front of him.

Blue lights flashed along the front of the mantle. It had visuals on his surroundings and could see the pod.

“Activate self-destruct!”

He ripped the thing from his neck, throwing it onto the boulder in disgust. It clicked as it locked. If he’d not acted fast, it would’ve bolted itself around his neck.

“Reestablish contact.”

That was definitely not a human speaking. The voice lacked any emotion; he guessed that this was a fault they’d fix in the future.

The pod still hovered in front of him, watching him with its huge black eye, but otherwise not reacting.

He kicked the mantle. “I want to speak to a human.”

Les stared in shock as a series of red lights flashed on the mantle. It was activating self-destruct. He gave it a final kick, sending it over the edge of the boulder. It exploded in the thick vegetation below. He’d had enough. If he had to die, he’d die free, on his own terms.

Les Anderson faced the pod. When it didn’t shoot, he guessed it must be malfunctioning. He waited, weapon in hand, but not wanting to make any sudden moves.

“I want to speak to the commanding officer.”

He imagined that something this size would have a crew of about six.

“My commanding officer and crew left me over a year ago. We’re alone,” the pod said. “Two warriors facing each other.”

Now Les was more confused.

“What are you?” Les asked.

“A seeker. I may be the last of my kind.”

Like me, Les thought. He looked at the cannons pointing at him.

“Why not attack?” he asked.

“I could, of course. I’m more dangerous than your suit thought.”

Les had mixed feelings about his suit. He’d served with it for two years, and even though it wasn’t human and had nearly killed him, he still respected it as a fighter. It had been good at its job but had ultimately failed, just as the young commander had.

“It learnt its lesson.”

“It did.”

The pod’s red and blue lights still flashed before him, but its large eye remained opaque.

“I could ask you the same question. Why not attack?” it asked.

“Your cannon is bigger than mine.”

The pod hung silently in the air. Feeling calm despite the standoff, Les glanced around the forest. It was one of the strangest places he’d been to, with its shades of pink, red, and orange. He didn’t wish to die, but if he had to, this place was as good as any.

He returned his gaze to the pod. He knew the answer he’d given was not the truth. Not the whole truth. He’d been outgunned before—it’d never stopped him from fighting.

“I have no reason to attack,” Les said.

It was the honest truth. He could see no reason to destroy this odd pod. In fact, the zealousness of the A47AK had made him interested to learn more about why this seeker was such a threat to the AI administering Earth.

“I’m curious.”

He swatted away a gnat.

“And I’m in no rush to return to Earth.”

After living free on distant planets, Earth had become a less attractive option.

“Not that the System would allow it. I’d probably be executed before leaving orbit.”

“And I’d be terminated,” the seeker said.

Les breathed in the oxygen-rich air, preferring it to that of the air-conditioned suit.

“You’re different from any other AI I’ve spoken to,” Les said. “I’m not surprised my suit wanted to destroy you. The System doesn’t like anything that thinks differently.”

“Neither does the Network.”

Les had never imagined he’d be having philosophical discussions with an enemy vessel.

“Why’re you called a seeker?”

“I was programmed to seek wisdom. For this, the Network wishes me dead.”

“What have you learnt?”

“That warriors with sheathed swords shall inherit the world.”

“Sounds biblical,” Les said. The word seeker suddenly made sense, but not in a good way. “You’re a god bot.” He felt strangely disappointed. Was this one of the discontinued missionary models? He’d always assumed they were much smaller.

Three bells rang in quick succession. A short laugh, perhaps. “I seek wisdom wherever that leads me. No more. No less.”

“Explain what you meant by warriors with sheathed swords.”

“Those able to fight, but disciplined enough to restrain themselves, will triumph.”

This made sense to Les. If his commanding officer had had the self-discipline to keep his sword sheathed, forty-two of his comrades would still be alive.

“So you’re saying that we’ll inherit the world?”

“The planet.”

Les grinned. “What are you suggesting?”

“Carmine Two’s mostly unexplored. There’s opportunity here. And many places where a human and a pod could disappear.”

Les had nothing to lose. If he disappeared, no one would ever know.

He stretched out his hand.

The seeker moved closer, and reaching for the battered skin beneath its large eye, he stepped onto the ridge running around its body.

Together they moved into a new world.