Fred Saberhagen - Berserker 01 - Berserker.pdf - Fred Saberhagen - widez2

Fred Saberhagen - Berserker 1 Table of Contents INTRODUCTION WITHOUT A

THOUGHT GOODLIFE PATRON OF THE ARTS THE PEACEMAKER STONE PLACE WHAT T AND I

DID MR. JESTER MASQUE OF THE RED SHIFT SIGN OF THE WOLF IN THE TEMPLE OF

MARS THE FACE OF THE DEEP INTRODUCTION I, third historian of the carmpan

race, in gratitude to the Earth-descended race for their defense of my world,

set down here for them my fragmentary vision of their great war against our

common enemy. The vision has been formed piece by piece through my contacts

in past and present time with the minds of men and of machines. In these minds

alien to me I often perceive what I cannot understand, yet what I see is true.

And so I have truly set down the acts and words of Earth-descended men great

and small and ordinary, the words and even the secret thoughts of your heroes

and your traitors. Looking into the past I have seen how in the twentieth

century of your Christian calendar your forefathers on Earth first built radio

detectors capable of sounding the deeps of interstellar space. On the day when

whispers in our alien voices were first detected, straying in across the

enormous intervals, the universe of stars became real to all Earth's nations

and all her tribes. They became aware of the real world surrounding them-a

universe strange and immense beyond thought, possibly hostile, surrounding and

shrinking all Earthmen alike. Like island savages just become aware of the

great powers existing on and beyond their ocean, your nations began-sullenly,

mistrustfully, almost against their will-to put aside their quarrels with one

another. In the same century the men of old Earth took their first steps into

space. They studied our alien voices whenever they could hear us. And when the

men of old Earth began to travel faster than light, they followed our voices

to seek us out. Your race and mine studied each other with eager science and

with great caution and courtesy. We Carmpan and our older friends are more

passive than you. We live in different environments and think mainly in

different directions. We posed no threat to Earth. We saw to it that Earthmen

were not crowded by our presence; physically and mentally they had to stretch

to touch us. Ours, all the skills of keeping peace. Alas, for the day

unthinkable that was to come, the day when we wished ourselves warlike! You

of Earth found uninhabited planets, where you could thrive in the warmth of

suns much like your own. In large colonies and small you scattered yourselves

across one segment of one arm of our slow-turning galaxy. To your settlers and

frontiersmen the galaxy began to seem a friendly place, rich in worlds hanging

ripe for your peaceful occupation. The alien immensity surrounding you

appeared to be not hostile after all. Imagined threats had receded behind

horizons of silence and vastness. And so once more you allowed among

yourselves the luxury of dangerous conflict, carrying the threat of suicidal

violence. No enforceable law existed among the planets. On each of your

scattered colonies individual leaders maneuvered for personal power,

distracting their people with real or imagined dangers posed by other

Earth-descended men. All further exploration was delayed, in the very days

when the new and inexplicable radio voices were first heard drifting in from

beyond your frontiers, the strange soon-to-be-terrible voices that conversed

only in mathematics. Earth and Earth's colonies were divided each against all

by suspicion, and in mutual fear were rapidly training and arming for

war. And at this point the very readiness for violence that had sometimes so

nearly destroyed you, proved to be the means of life's survival. To us, the

Carmpan watchers, the withdrawn seers and touchers of minds, it appeared that

you had carried the crushing weight of war through all your history knowing

that it would at last be needed, that this hour would strike when nothing less

awful would serve. When the hour struck and our enemy came without warning,

you were ready with swarming battlefleets. You were dispersed and dug in on

scores of planets, and heavily armed. Because you were, some of you and some

of us are now alive. Not all our Carmpan psychology, our logic and vision and

subtlety, would have availed us anything. The skills of peace and tolerance

were useless, for our enemy was not alive. What is thought, that mechanism

seems to bring it forth? WITHOUT A THOUGHT The machine was a vast fortress,

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containing no life, set by its long-dead masters to destroy anything that

lived. It and many others like it were the inheritance of Earth from some war

fought between unknown interstellar empires, in some time that could hardly be

connected with any Earthly calendar. One such machine could hang over a

planet colonized by men and in two days pound the surface into a lifeless

cloud of dust and steam, a hundred miles deep. This particular machine had

already done just that. It used no predictable tactics in its dedicated,

unconscious war against life. The ancient, unknown gamesmen had built it as a

random factor, to be loosed in the enemy's territory to do what damage it

might. Men thought its plan of battle was chosen by the random disintegrations

of atoms in a block of some long-lived isotope buried deep inside it, and so

was not even in theory predictable by opposing brains, human or

electronic. Men called it a berserker. Del Murray, sometime computer

specialist, had called it other names than that; but right now he was too busy

to waste breath, as he moved in staggering lunges around the little cabin of

his one-man fighter, plugging in replacement units for equipment damaged by

the last near-miss of a berserker missile. An animal resembling a large dog

with an ape's forelegs moved around the cabin too, carrying in its nearly

human hands a supply of emergency sealing patches. The cabin air was full of

haze. Wherever movement of the haze showed a leak to an unpressurized part of

the hull, the dog-ape moved to apply a patch. "Hello, Foxglove!" the man

shouted, hoping that his radio was again in working order. "Hello, Murray,

this is Foxglove," said a sudden loud voice in the cabin. "How far did you

get?" Del was too weary to show much relief that his communications were open

again. "I'll let you know in a minute. At least it's stopped shooting at me

for a while. Move, Newton." The alien animal, pet and ally, called an aiyan,

moved away from the man's feet and kept singlemindedly looking for

leaks. After another minute's work Del could strap his body into the

deep-cushioned command chair again, with something like an operational panel

before him. That last near-miss had sprayed the whole cabin with fine

penetrating splinters. It was remarkable that man and aiyan had come through

unwounded. His radar working again, Del could say: "I'm about ninety miles

out from it, Foxglove. On the opposite side from you." His present position

was the one he had been trying to achieve since the battle had begun. The two

Earth ships and the berserker were half a light year from the nearest sun. The

berserker could not leap out of normal space, toward the defenseless colonies

of the planets of that sun, while the two ships stayed close to it. There were

only two men aboard Foxglove. They had more machinery working for them than

did Del, but both manned ships were mites compared to their opponent. Del's

radar showed him an ancient ruin of metal, not much smaller in cross section

than New Jersey. Men had blown holes in it the size of Manhattan Island, and

melted puddles of slag as big as lakes upon its surface. But the berserker's

power was still enormous. So far no man had fought it and survived. Now, it

could squash Del's little ship like a mosquito; it was wasting its

unpredictable subtlety on him. Yet there was a special taste of terror in the

very difference of it. Men could never frighten this enemy, as it frightened

them. Earthmen's tactics, worked out from bitter experience against other

berserkers, called for a simultaneous attack by three ships. Foxglove and

Murray made two. A third was supposedly on the way, but still about eight

hours distant, moving at C-plus velocity, outside of normal space. Until it

arrived, Foxglove and Murray must hold the berserker at bay, while it brooded

unguessable schemes. It might attack either ship at any moment, or it might

seek to disengage. It might wait hours for them to make the first move-though

it would certainly fight if the men attacked it. It had learned the language

of Earth's spacemen-it might try to talk with them. But always, ultimately, it

would seek to destroy them and every other living thing it met. That was the

basic command given it by the ancient warlords. A thousand years ago, it

would easily have swept ships of the type that now opposed it from its path,

whether they carried fusion missiles or not. Now, it was in some electrical

way conscious of its own weakening by accumulated damage. And perhaps in long

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centuries of fighting its way across the galaxy it had learned to be

wary. Now, quite suddenly, Del's detectors showed force fields forming in

behind his ship. Like the encircling arms of a huge bear they blocked his path

away from the enemy. He waited for some deadly blow, with his hand trembling

over the red button that would salvo his atomic missiles at the berserker-but

if he attacked alone, or even with Foxglove, the infernal machine would parry

their missiles, crush their ships, and go on to destroy another helpless

planet. Three ships were needed to attack. The red firing button was now only

a last desperate resort. Del was reporting the force fields to Foxglove when

he felt the first hint in his mind of another attack. "Newton!" he called

sharply, leaving the radio connection with Foxglove open. They would hear and

understand what was going to happen. The aiyan bounded instantly from its

combat couch to stand before Del as if hypnotized, all attention riveted on

the man. Del had sometimes bragged: "Show Newton a drawing of

different-colored lights, convince him it represents a particular control

panel, and he'll push buttons or whatever you tell him, until the real panel

matches the drawing." But no aiyan had the human ability to learn and to

create on an abstract level; which was why Del was now going to put Newton in

command of his ship. He switched off the ship's computers-they were going to

be as useless as his own brain under the attack he felt gathering-and said to

Newton: "Situation Zombie." The animal responded instantly as it had been

trained, seizing Del's hands with firm insistence and dragging them one at a

time down beside the command chair to where the fetters had been

installed. Hard experience had taught men something about the berserkers'

mind weapon, although its principles of operation were still unknown. It was

slow in its onslaught, and its effects could not be steadily maintained for

more than about two hours, after which a berserker was evidently forced to

turn it off for an equal time. But while in effect, it robbed any human or

electronic brain of the ability to plan or to predict-and left it unconscious

of its own incapacity. It seemed to Del that all this had happened before,

maybe more than once. Newton, that funny fellow, had gone too far with his

pranks; he had abandoned the little boxes of colored beads that were his

favorite toys, and was moving the controls around at the lighted panel.

Unwilling to share the fun with Del, he had tied the man to his chair somehow.

Such behavior was really intolerable, especially when there was supposed to be

a battle in progress. Del tried to pull his hands free, and called to

Newton. Newton whined earnestly, and stayed at the panel. "Newt, you dog,

come lemme loose. I know what I have to say: Four score and seven... hey,

Newt, where're your toys? Lemme see your pretty beads." There were hundreds of

tiny boxes of the varicolored beads, leftover trade goods that Newton loved to

sort out and handle. Del peered around the cabin, chuckling a little at his

own cleverness. He would get Newton distracted by the beads, and then... the

vague idea faded into other crackbrained grotesqueries. Newton whined now and

then but stayed at the panel moving controls in the long sequence he had been

taught, taking the ship through the feinting, evasive maneuvers that might

fool a berserker into thinking it was still competently manned. Newton never

put a hand near the big red button. Only if he felt deadly pain himself, or

found a dead man in Del's chair, would he reach for that. "Ah, roger,

Murray," said the radio from time to time, as if acknowledging a message.

Sometimes Foxglove added a few words or numbers that might have meant

something. Del wondered what the talking was about. At last he understood

that Foxglove was trying to help maintain the illusion that there was still a

competent brain in charge of Del's ship. The fear reaction came when he began

to realize that he had once again lived through the effect of the mind weapon.

The brooding berserker, half genius, half idiot, had forborne to press the

attack when success would have been certain-perhaps deceived, perhaps

following the strategy that avoided predictability at almost any

cost. "Newton." The animal turned, hearing a change in his voice. Now Del

could say the words that would tell Newton it was safe to set his master free,

a sequence too long for anyone under the mind weapon to recite. "-shall not

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perish from the earth," he finished. With a yelp of joy Newton pulled the

fetters from Del's hands. Del turned instantly to the radio. "Effect has

evidently been turned off, Foxglove," said Del's voice through the speaker in

the cabin of the larger ship. The Commander let out a sigh. "He's back in

control!" The Second Officer-there was no third-said: "That means we've got

some kind of fighting chance, for the next two hours. I say let's attack

now!" The Commander shook his head, slowly but without hesitation. "With two

ships, we don't have any real chance. Less than four hours until Gizmo gets

here. We have to stall until then, if we want to win." "It'll attack the next

time it gets Del's mind scrambled! I don't think we fooled it for a minute...

we're out of range of the mind beam here, but Del can't withdraw now. And we

can't expect that aiyan to fight his ship for him. We'll really have no

chance, with Del gone." The Commander's eyes moved ceaselessly over his

panel. "We'll wait. We can't be sure it'll attack the next time it puts the

beam on him... " The berserker spoke suddenly, its radioed voice plain in the

cabins of both ships: "I have a proposition for you, little ship." Its voice

had a cracking, adolescent quality, because it strung together words and

syllables recorded from the voices of human prisoners of both sexes and

different ages. Bits of human emotion, sorted and fixed like butterflies on

pins, thought the Commander. There was no reason to think it had kept the

prisoners alive after learning the language from them. "Well?" Del's voice

sounded tough and capable by comparison. "I have invented a game which we

will play," it said. "If you play well enough, I will not kill you right

away." "Now I've heard everything," murmured the Second Officer. After three

thoughtful seconds the Commander slammed a fist on the arm of his chair. "It

means to test his learning ability, to run a continuous check on his brain

while it turns up the power of the mind beam and tries different modulations.

If it can make sure the mind beam is working, it'll attack instantly. I'll bet

my life on it. That's the game it's playing this time." "I will think over

your proposition," said Del's voice coolly. The Commarder said: "It's in no

hurry to start. It won't be able to turn on the mind beam again for almost two

hours." "But we need another two hours beyond that." Del's voice said:

"Describe the game you want to play." "It is a simplified version of the

human game called checkers." The Commander and the Second looked at each

other, neither able to imagine Newton able to play checkers. Nor could they

doubt that Newton's failure would kill them within a few hours, and leave

another planet open to destruction. After a minute's silence, Del's voice

asked: "What'll we use for a board?" "We will radio our moves to one

another," said the berserker equably. It went on to describe a checkers-like

game, played on a smaller board with less than the normal number of pieces.

There was nothing very profound about it; but, of course, playing would seem

to require a functional brain, human or electronic, able to plan and to

predict. "If I agree to play," said Del slowly, "how'll we decide who gets to

move first?" "He's trying to stall," said the Commander, gnawing a thumbnail.

"We won't be able to offer any advice, with that thing listening. Oh, stay

sharp, Del boy!" "To simplify matters," said the berserker, "I will move

first in every game." Del could look forward to another hour free of the mind

weapon when he finished rigging the checkerboard. When the pegged pieces were

moved, appropriate signals would be radioed to the berserker; lighted squares

on the board would show him where its pieces were moved. If it spoke to him

while the mind weapon was on, Del's voice would answer from a tape, which he

had stocked with vaguely aggressive phrases, such as: "Get on with the game,"

or "Do you want to give up now?" He hadn't told the enemy how far along he

was with his preparations because he was still busy with something the enemy

must not know-the system that was going to enable Newton to play a game of

simplified checkers. Del gave a soundless little laugh as he worked, and

glanced over to where Newton was lounging on his couch, clutching toys in his

hands as if he drew some comfort from them. This scheme was going to push the

aiyan near the limit of his ability, but Del saw no reason why it should

fail. Del had completely analyzed the miniature checker game, and diagrammed

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every position that Newton could possibly face-playing only even-numbered

moves, thank the random berserker for that specification!-on small cards. Del

had discarded some lines of play that would arise from some poor early moves

by Newton, further simplifying his job. Now, on a card showing each possible

remaining position, Del indicated the best possible move with a drawn-in

arrow. Now he could quickly teach Newton to play the game by looking at the

appropriate card and making the move shown by the arrow- "Oh, oh," said Del,

as his hands stopped working and he stared into space. Newton whined at the

tone of his voice. Once Del had sat at one board in a simultaneous chess

exhibition, one of sixty players opposing the world champion, Blankenship. Del

had held his own into the middle game. Then, when the great man paused again

opposite his board, Del had shoved a pawn forward, thinking he had reached an

unassailable position and could begin a counterattack. Blankenship had moved a

rook to an innocent-looking square and strolled on to the next board-and then

Del had seen the checkmate coming at him, four moves away but one move too

late for him to do anything about it. The Commander suddenly said a foul

phrase in a loud distinct voice. Such conduct on his part was extremely rare,

and the Second Officer looked round in surprise. "What?" "I think we've had

it. "The Commander paused. "I hoped that Murray could set up some kind of a

system over there, so that Newton could play the game-or appear to be playing

it. But it won't work. Whatever system Newton plays by rote will always have

him making the same move in the same position. It may be a perfect system-but

a man doesn't play any game that way, damn it. He makes mistakes, he changes

strategy. Even in a game this simple there'll be room for that. Most of all, a

man learns a game as he plays it. He gets better as he goes along. That's

what'll give Newton away, and that's what our bandit wants. It's probably

heard about aiyans. Now as soon as it can be sure it's facing a dumb animal

over there, and not a man or computer... " After a little while the Second

Officer said: "I'm getting signals of their moves. They've begun play. Maybe

we should've rigged up a board so we could follow along with the game." "We

better just be ready to go at it when the time comes." The Commander looked

hopelessly at his salvo button, and then at the clock that showed two hours

must pass before Gizmo could reasonably be hoped for. Soon the Second Officer

said: "That seems to be the end of the first game; Del lost it, if I'm reading

their scoreboard signal right." He paused. "Sir, here's that signal we picked

up the last time it turned the mind beam on. Del must be starting to get it

again." There was nothing for the Commander to say. The two men waited

silently for the enemy's attack, hoping only that they could damage it in the

seconds before it would overwhelm them and kill them. "He's playing the

second game," said the Second Officer, puzzled. "And I just heard him say

`Let's get on with it.' " "His voice could be recorded. He must have made

some plan of play for Newton to follow; but it won't fool the berserker for

long. It can't." Time crept unmeasurably past them. The Second said: "He's

lost the first four games. But he's not making the same moves every time. I

wish we'd made a board... " "Shut up about the board! We'd be watching it

instead of the panel. Now stay alert, Mister." After what seemed a long time,

the Second said: "Well, I'll be!" "What?" "Our side got a draw in that

game." "Then the beam can't be on him. Are you sure... " "It is! Look, here,

the same indication we got last time. It's been on him the better part of an

hour now, and getting stronger." The Commander stared in disbelief; but he

knew and trusted his Second's ability. And the panel indications were

convincing. He said: "Then someone-or something-with no functioning mind is

learning how to play a game, over there. Ha, ha," he added, as if trying to

remember how to laugh. The berserker won another game. Another draw. Another

win for the enemy. Then three drawn games in a row. Once the Second Officer

heard Del's voice ask coolly: "Do you want to give up now?" On the next move

he lost another game. But the following game ended in another draw. Del was

plainly taking more time than his opponent to move, but not enough to make the

enemy impatient. "It's trying different modulations of the mind beam," said

the Second. "And it's got the power turned way up." "Yeah," said the

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