by M. D. Cooper
The jet even struck the fleeing Intrepid squarely astern. At that sight, Sini cheered, or tried to; she still couldn’t move. But maybe the black hole would finish their job after all.
The Intrepid was still there. Worse, it had ridden the jet and was now moving at almost a third the speed of light.
Are they gods? Core devils?
Finally free of the gravity well, Sini ordered the Fifth Fleet to pursue as possible. Only forty-five minutes had passed since she’d issued her orders to destroy Aurora, and a sixth of the fleet was gone.
But they were finally in clear space. The Imperatrix’s gravity and AP drives flared at full power, driving forward and gaining on that damned ship.
A few minutes later, Matilda spoke.
The hard burn continued, more and more ships joining the pursuit. Sini wanted to cry at the casualties: of six hundred and seventy ships, she’d lost one hundred and ten outright, and many of the rest had serious damage. And all from what amounted to friendly fire.
Win or lose, I’m done. After this catastrophe, I’ll never command a fleet again.
Seventeen minutes after the jet had slashed across them, Jaumet announced, “CIC, bridge. Possible aspect change in target. Confirm that, the Intrepid is maneuvering and accelerating; they must have dropped stasis. Its course lines up with one of the official jump points. RM range in thirty seconds.”
Sini sent a confirmation over the Link. They’d burned through a lot of their nuke heads escaping the black hole, but she knew that at this range, Jaumet would use kinetics. There was enough space between them and the Intrepid still to get a five-ton RM slug head well above half the speed of light, and at such speeds, even a hydrogen bomb was superfluous.
Thirty dreadnoughts and eighty-six cruisers and destroyers were in range when she gave the order, the tonal codes of the Imperatrix’s forward launchers coming so fast, they were almost a symphonic scale. The crew was angry. So many comrades were dead for nothing, they deserved to be.
More ships entered range, emptying their tubes as fast as they could reload. In thirty seconds, over sixteen hundred missiles were riding fusion torches.
Then the Intrepid played its last card.
As the missile tracks converged on the retreating colony ship, a massive gravimetric distortion enveloped it on the scanner.
The ship had jumped early.
Sini quickly reviewed it and passed it on.
CHAPTER SIX
STELLAR DATE: 11.18.8927 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: HWS Imperatrix
REGION: Bollam’s World System, Bollam’s World Federation
Seven days after calling off the search for the ISS Intrepid and sending courier drones to nearby Hegemony consulates to relay rendezvous orders to Sini’s far-flung forces, a reduced and dejected BatRon 66 returned to Bollam’s World.
The black hole had fed well on dark matter since they’d been gone. It wasn’t growing anymore, but it had redoubled in size since the last measurement, now massing over a tenth of a Sol. The Imperatrix’s sensors sniffed the system’s news feeds. Reports of tremendous destruction and tens of thousands of distress signals echoed from one side to the other.
Of the Agrippa and the Sitting Bull, the two dreadnoughts that remained of the savaged BatRon 227, there was no sign.
“Captain, where the hell are those ships?” Sini demanded.
“I’m trying them again,” Jaumet answered tiredly. “Hang on, getting a signal.”
It was a space force comm buoy, seemingly awakening to their presence. Sini and Thea quickly pulled its message.
“This is Rear Admiral Lanza to any AST Space Force ship receiving this message. We have retreated from a counterattack by the Bollam’s World Space Force and armed civilian ships. Awaiting rendezvous at following coordinates…>
Sini fisted her hands in frustration. Just a bad month for the service all around… “Captain, set course for the rendezvous point in this message. I’m sending tokens to override the buoy with new orders. We’ll give the fleet another week to link back up.”
“We’re not going to report in?”
“Not until I have something to show for all this effort, no. You have your orders.”
“Yes sir.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
STELLAR DATE: 06.09.8947 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: AST Space Force Eridanus Border Command, High Vulcan
REGION: Orbit of Vulcan, Keid System
Present day…
“That’s why I won’t lead this mission, Jerra. You can’t even call Bollam’s World a pyrrhic victory. We took twenty-five percent casualties to capture one system, and a bunch of upstart colonists made fools of us. And that was one ship by itself. Imagine what they’ve done in twenty years.”
“I understand your concerns—”
“No, you don’t!” Sini interrupted, gesticulating furiously and manipulating the holotank to show the New Canaan system. “They did all that to get out of a system. You invade New Canaan, you invade their homes, Jerra. You put their backs against the wall, make them defend everything they fought so hard just to get to, and they will stop at nothing to kill every last ship we send against them. Trust me, I know a little something about that.”
Jerra gave her a quizzical look. “When did you ever have to—”
“I’m from Ahti, remember? My ancestors had a word for it: sisu. There isn’t a motivation that exists that is like fighting for hearth and home, sir. Even if we win, they’ll fight us to the last man, woman, or child before they give up one scrap of their technology.”
The older woman pursed her lips. Then s
he narrowed her eyes. “You’re scared.”
“Scared to death, sir,” Sini agreed. “They’re like nothing anyone’s seen in the galaxy since the FTL Wars. I threw a hundred thousand lives down the drain and failed to stop Tanis Richards last time; I won’t throw away another twenty million now.”
“Dammit, Sini, there isn’t a thing you’ve said here that the Joint Chiefs haven’t said to President Uriel already—”
“Well, kauhistuttava tuo vitun paskiainen kuiskaus hehkuttaa helvettiin, the Joint Chiefs are right! Presidentti Kusimulkku is going to get us all killed!”
Even Thea’s avatar blushed at that one. Jerra just gaped at her.
“Sorry, excuse my language,” Sini offered lamely.
There was a long pause.
“So I have to order you to do it,” Jerra finally said.
Sini swallowed hard. “No. You’re not ordering me to do anything.”
She reached up and peeled her rank tabs off her epaulets and threw them on Jerra’s desk.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m resigning my commission.”
Sinikka Tarja Laaksonen, Admiral, AST Space Force (retired), turned on a heel and stalked out.
THE END
I HAVE NO MASTER
BY JOHN STRIPE
FROM THE AUTHOR
Like the rest of the fan authors in this book, I feel honored to have been included and allowed to share my imagination with you.
One of the major themes in the Aeon 14 universe is the interaction of humans and sentient AIs. But SAIs and humans aren't the only intelligence in this universe; there are the Non-Sentient AIs who do all the mundane jobs. Granted, the NSAI that runs your toaster isn't going to have any great insight into the world at large, however what of the more advanced NSAIs, programmed to analyze and act while also interacting and aiding humans? How do they perceive the universe? In trying to examine that question, I bring to you the story of Dregs. I hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I did writing it.
John Stripe
M. D. Cooper’s Note:
In the Sentience Wars books, we get the impression that the demarcation between AIs and NSAIs isn’t exactly crystal clear. Lyssa herself often wonders if certain AIs are truly sentient, and some seem to struggle with it themselves.
But what of an NSAI that was on the cusp of independent thought? What would life be like for such a person? Well, Johnny Five, you’ve got a friend in Dregs.
CHAPTER ONE
STELLAR DATE: 07.17.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Vulgar Penguin, Spindizzy Station
REGION: Nuevo Santos System, Fringe Trade Alliance
The internal timer reached it's 0700 preset and sent a signal to a circuit set on low power. Restarting and rebooting, the Non-Sentient AI core powered on and began its self test. Completed, it set a secondary processor to test its sensors, and another to check its limbs. While that was ongoing, the core began its reorientation process.
System: Workmate Model 7, initiated 09.22.8908, Workmate Inc., Alowan, Alowan System, Fringe Trade Alliance
OS: WM Core 7, Patch 7.9.08, Last Reset: none
Advanced Personality Matrix: APM-7, Patch 7.10.04
Enhanced Ethics/Social Matrix: EESM-7, Patch 7.11.2
Datumcrystal Module Sockets: 1
Datumcrystal Modules: none
Additional mods: Armored Mining Shell with Faraday cage protection
Job History:
10.22.8908, Steward, FTA Luxury Liner Starlight Queen
01.01.8920, Maintenance (Engineering), FTA Luxury Liner Starlight Queen
07.29.8930 Inactive (demo mode) Gregor's Automaton Sales and Service; Alowan Beanstalk Station, Alowan System
02.13.8931, Maintenance (Drone), Mining Platform 23K19, Alowan System
01.01.8936, Maintenance (Cleaning), Mining Platform 23K19, Alowan System
01.01.8940, Deactivated and sold for scrap, FTA Salvage Ship Scrappy Dude, Alowan System, Brought to Nuevo Santos System
03.22.8940 Bought for scrap price, Re-activated for Current Job
Current Date: 07.17.8948
Current Name: Dregs
Current Owner: The Vulgar Penguin Inn
Current Job: Server and Maintenance (cleaning and minor repair) user-made program.
Current Location: The Vulgar Penguin Inn, Spindizzy Station, Nuevo Santos System, Fringe Trade Alliance.
Initiation Complete, Status: Active
Dregs slowly looked around, recognizing the small janitorial closet that served as his home at The Vulgar Penguin.
It was barely big enough to hold him, plus a metal shelf unit, a floor sink, and the rickety cleaning cart that he used to try to maintain some semblance of a hygienic environment in the club.
He reached down and unplugged his charge cord and allowed it to slowly retract into its compartment. He double-checked that the compartment door was firmly closed and sealed; he didn't want to risk getting another black cherry margarita or the like in there. It had taken a month to clean that mess out, and he had only been able to get half a charge on his battery while the connectors were gummed up like that.
Next, he filled the cart's bucket at the floor sink, taking care to compensate for the coriolis force. Why they hadn't gotten around to adding grav generators to Spindizzy Station like the newer stations had, he never understood.
Before reaching up to a high shelf to get the bottle of soap, he stopped on the shelf below it to touch the purple velvet liquor bag that held his ‘treasures’: the datumcrystal modules that held the programs and knowledge bases from his previous jobs, and the marks he had found while cleaning the bar. He wasn't sure why he kept the coins—it's not like he'd need or get to buy anything. Still, having his ‘savings’ gave him an odd feeling of satisfaction that he enjoyed.
He finished adding soap to the bucket then put on his apron and gloves, artifacts he'd managed to keep from his days on the mining platform. Made from Teflon-coated carbon fiber cloth that was used for conveyor belts, they had helped to keep the sparks from the laser welding equipment off him as he had repaired the mining drones. These days, they helped to keep off the grime from this squalid place.
Last, he picked up his battered toolbox containing the few worn tools and leftover parts he'd salvaged from the industrial dumpster that was across the service corridor behind the bar, and placed it in the cart.
Dregs wheeled his cart through the back hallway, into the club's main room. It had been a pretty raucous night at the bar, though not as bad as usual; security had been called only four times, and only three chairs and one table had been broken. Then again, there was the new pulse pistol damage to the cheap tin roof tiles…. Par for the course at the lowest of the station's low bars, where security only bothered to show up to remove the bodies.
He grabbed a cleaning rag and a solution bottle off his cart and began scrubbing the tabletops, removing as much of the spilled goop and bodily fluids as he could. His aroma sensors lit up as he did so. He knew that, had he been human, he would have gagged, and though he wasn’t Dreg still filtered out that input before he started.
He didn't understand why humans drank till they regurgitated, or did the business of mating on the tables in full view. Why not take their sex upstairs? The inn had hourly rates. He had asked Mistress Balva, but her response had involved concepts like exhibitionism and voyeurism—words he knew the definitions of, but really didn't comprehend.
As he worked on cleaning the tables and chairs, he considered his lowly position and the statistical oddities of the universe that had brought him here. If he had been human, he might have been bitter and angry. Instead, he was more grateful that he was still operational and that, as far as he could tell, he was the last servitor with a Model 7 core. All the other Model 7s had been scrapped or repurposed.
Here he was, one of the most advanced NSAI cores ever produced by the Fringe Trade Alliance, working as a lowly drudge. Designed in an attempt to replace the lost tech of sent
ient AIs, he and his kind where superseded when the labs at the University of Dresden and Workmate Inc. on Alowan made the necessary breakthroughs.
As part of that effort to replace the non-existent SAIs, he and the other Model 7s were given basic emotional synapses and algorithms that were supposed to be the machine equivalent of human intelligence. Although his was not a true sentience, it was hard for most humans to distinguish, and as he studied human interaction with his learning algorithms, he had gotten better at emulating it.
Dregs recalled the moment when everything changed.
He had been showing one of the Starlight Queen's passengers to his room. When he'd asked if there was anything else, the man had asked if Dregs could stay a bit. Lonely passengers were a common occurrence; there was even a code he could pass to the chief steward and the department NSAI to indicate he would be delayed.
As usual, the man began telling Dregs (known then as ‘A12’) his life story, his hopes, dreams, and disappointments. However, this time something was different. Dregs wasn't sure if it was what was said or how, or just the cadence of the man's monologue, but the speech interacted oddly with his learning algorithms and self-organizing synapses.
When he had walked into the room, emotions like wants and desires had just been data—now it was more of an understanding, though Dregs was sure that it wasn't the full understanding that humans and SAIs had. He also now had a deeper grasp of social interactions, subtle things he had never noticed before.
His attempts to pass this new knowledge on to the other Model 7s had failed; whatever had happened to his circuitry and algorithms had moved him beyond his peers.
However, this new limited understanding had helped him in the performance of his duties. He was now aware of the cadence of jokes, the flow of a story…and then there was music. Ah, music.