by Andrew Beery
***
For some reason, my command chair on the bridge seemed cold. I'm not normally a nervous person, but I have to admit, the next few minutes were some of the most worrisome of my life.
Besides my senior staff, I had six J'ni, three human engineers and a cook read-in on our plan. Everything had to go like clockwork, or we could very likely lose the Gilboa and everyone on her. I almost ordered a ship-wide evacuation, but that would tip our hand and most likely result in the death of my entire crew. I was caught between a rock and a hard place, and all I could do was hope the hammer I carried was big enough to turn those rocks into gravel.
The Cybernetic version of Mitty had disconnected himself from the Gilboa’s AI for diagnostic tests. This was necessary because if he was right, a stealth subroutine had been injected into the ship’s system that was aiding and abetting the enemy.
Mitty, even disconnected from the main ship’s AI in his cybernetic form, was a powerful intellect. He designed the scrubbing routines we were about to deploy. If we were successful, our saboteur would be dealt with.
Of course, the larger problem was how had a second AI been introduced into the Gilboa and when? It seemed likely it was before the Gilboa had arrived in the Sol system and may well have been what decimated the original crew. It was possible we would never know… which if I am being honest… was not a thought which pleased me.
My comm beeped for attention.
“Riker here.”
“Admiral, the cook wants to know when you would like that surprise party started. He’s ready anytime you are,” my wife, Lori, said from the ship’s mess hall.
“Excellent,” I answered with what I hoped was a cheerful voice. “Go ahead and serve it up now.”
Five seconds later a general announcement sounded over the ship-wide PA.
“Attention crew of the Gilboa. Per executive order this date, all off-duty personnel, as well as secondary on-duty personnel, are asked to report to the central mess for Sergeant Cookie's world-famous homemade waffles. This is in honor of International Breakfast. Your participation is required. The last person to report has to do the dishes. That is all."
I saw many of the faces on the bridge turn towards me. I shrugged. “What can I say? Tradition is important. Navigation and helm you are free to go. Sensors and weapons, please take their stations. They will relieve you in thirty minutes.”
“What about you, Admiral?” Shelby said while playing her part.
“Gluten intolerance,” I said while patting my stomach. “Besides, Cookie is making a special batch for me and a few of the others later. He calls them ‘Dog biscuits.’ You can understand if I’m not in a hurry. You go and enjoy yourself.”
“Yes, Admiral”
Now some of you may be wondering how a waffle breakfast can somehow help us purge a schizophrenic AI computer core… to which I answer; Never underestimate the power of maple syrup.
The problem with trying to deal with a nearly omnipotent and omnipresent AI… is that it is nearly omnipotent and omnipresent. The waffles were a distraction. Admittedly, I had never met an AI that could be tempted by a golden-brown waffle, but the human and J’ni crew were not immune to the lure of a toasted press-cake with copious amounts of melted butter and synthetic maple syrup that would have made my Aunt Jamima proud.
With the bulk of the crew heading towards the mess hall and with a number of secondary systems turned over to computer control… we were hoping the AI would not detect nine people, five J'ni, and three humans, taking a little longer to make their way to the chow line.
These nine were going to save the ship by infecting the six primary and three redundant computer cores with a self-replicating virus designed to do something the Gilboa’s AI systems had never been designed to do… go offline and power down.
The sad news was we could never know whether it was going to work… until it did, or it failed horribly. If this last occurred, the parasitic AI would most likely go on the attack.
Twenty minutes went by, and I had begun to think the worst when suddenly the lights flickered, and the gravity-plating failed.
I hit the comm button on my chair. “Engineering, we seem to have a problem on the bridge. Is there something I should know about?”
“That there is, Admiral,” Whiskers answered after a moment. “You are the proud parent of a dead starship.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever say this… but that makes me very happy at the moment. I want you and Mitty to begin the forensics immediately. Have the J’ni begin bringing critical systems up in manual mode. Under no circumstances do I want any of those computer cores brought online.”
“Understood, Admiral.”
***
Three days later I was almost willing to take the risk of having the old AI back up and running. Lori and I had tried to get some sleep but with only basic environmental up and running… it was getting very uncomfortable on the ship.
Most people don’t realize it, but waste heat is the biggest issue for environmental systems. The vacuum of space is very cold… but it’s also the best thermal insulator known to science. Translation, it was getting very hot. Normally, I’m a big fan of seeing my wife run around our quarters in her birthday suit, but not when the average temperature on the ship was approaching a hundred degrees.
Engineering had set up a special air conditioning system for the med-bay that cooled it by pumping waste heat into a deck that we had sealed off. It allowed us to deal with the ever-increasing number of heat stroke victims… but it was, at best, only a temporary solution.
The only one happy with the situation was our Roharian Ambassador, Jowls. He was cold-blooded and positively enjoyed the heat.
Finally, I got word on the state of our AI.
“JD,” Whiskers said as he walked on to the bridge. “We’ve managed to purge all nine cores. They are completely blank slates. Unfortunately, the only existing system restore shows signs of being corrupted. Mitty says we can bring them up and insert his own engrams from his smaller cybernetic core. It won’t be the same as the original AI, but he is confident he can get the major systems back online and then teach himself what he needs to know to get the ship operational.”
"It doesn't really look like we have very many other options," I said. "Tell him to proceed and to make environmental a priority. My wife tells me we have sixteen people down already and every single one of them was in critical condition."
“Aye, Admiral.”
“Whiskers… make sure that some safeguards are put in place to protect Mitty’s cloned engrams from being suborned. I’d hate to have to go through this whole thing again.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Whiskers said with a grunt of agreement.
***
Three hours later the temperature and humidity were back down to normal. The AI created with a copy of Mitty’s engrams had managed to restore most critical systems to operational status. The new AI, which had decided to go by the name ‘Gil,’ continued to work on secondary systems. All-in-all the ship was up and running again. That said, the engineering staff had their work cut out for them.
The ship had been held together with Band-Aids and a whole lot of prayer before we purged the central AI. Without constant monitoring, many of the more fragile repairs suffered. The biggest issue was the second fusion reactor. It was operational but only at a very iffy thirty percent. We had enough power for a jump and some half-hearted shields but not much else. We needed those spare parts from Gilboa Prime.
There was a little bit of good news. The J’ni had finally gained access to the last of the larger fabricators. The unit was damaged but repairable. It became one of our priorities.
2100.1206.9910 Galactic Normalized Time
The first of many subject races had been identified. Several specimens had been secured. The first of these was a race that was not technologically advanced. They still hunted with spears and barely understood the concept of fire. Their cognitive abilities were of an order to
barely be useful. Eshbaal would make use of what the Mahanaim had provided none-the-less. Meanwhile, the search for the source of the quantum flux waves continued.
Chapter 3: Black Velvet Dog…
Two days later I was holding a staff meeting in the Med-Bay while I was on enforced bed rest. Lori had insisted I spend some time in a regeneration tank. I had been inspecting a power system our J’ni engineers were concerned about.
Lieutenant Commander Sa'Mi was attempting to show me the power conduit that he was concerned would cause us a problem if we tried to proceed without replacing it. As I couldn't easily fit in the Jefferies tube he was accessing; I watched a holographic display as he inched his way forward.
Replacing the plasma conduit was problematic. It would require another two days, and we would have to strip one of our weapons systems in order to scavenge the components we needed.
As Sa'Mi was pointing out the charred and weakened shielding, an unscheduled load test in another area of the ship caused a power surge that cascaded through a number of systems… including this one. The shielding gave way, and plasma-heated steam flooded the Jefferies Tube.
Sa'Mi was gravely injured and trapped. With few options I was willing to accept, I entered the tube and forced my way through the scalding hot conduit to reach the engineer and pull him to safety. Sa'Mi lost most of his fur, and I lost over sixty percent of my skin. How I managed to make it back out while pulling the J'ni was anybody's guess.
I had awakened later in the regen tank. Cloned skin had replaced the tissue I had lost. It felt like I had a sunburn, but nothing compared to what I had gone through to pull Sa’Mi out of that tube. The J’ni had recovered faster. Their genetic makeup included some truly remarkable rates of tissue repair.
Sa'Mi was profoundly grateful that I saved his life. This was expressed as the declaration that I was now ‘Mi.'
I suppose I ought to explain. It’s another one of those… ‘it’s odd to be human… it’s odder to be an alien’ things.
The J’ni have a strange ritual concerning the saving of the life of another. It seems I was now a member of Sa’Mi’s extended ‘Mi’ family and thus expected to attend their next mating ritual to be held in my honor – oh joy. My wife had been similarly blessed, if that’s the right term, over a year ago when we had first discovered the J’ni in stasis tubes onboard the derelict Gilboa.
As the J'ni were composed of three sexes, it made for a profoundly uncomfortable evening. I might have mentioned before, but alien mores and the social dynamics negotiating them can make for some interesting times.
“So, that’s the state of repairs,” Whiskers finished saying. “If ya want more done, we have to have some parts.”
“OK, then I guess we need to make a run to the junkyard near Gilboa Prime. We jump in; launch every probe we’ve got that can fly and jump out. Two days later we jump back in and see what news our probes have for us. Everybody in agreement?”
Shelby, Morrison and the others nodded their heads. I dismissed the meeting. We would make an attempt in a few days. I needed to get some stamina back. The meeting had taken a little over an hour, and yet, I was exhausted. The regen tank could do wonders, but it sucked you dry as far as energy went.
Mitty lingered behind as the others stepped away.
“What’s up little buddy,” I said.
Mitty wrinkled his nose for the briefest of seconds.
“I have a question, Admiral.”
“One you did not feel comfortable asking in front of the others?” I guessed.
The Archon rocked briefly side to side on his feet. I knew this was their equivalent to a human nodding in affirmation.
“Go ahead,” I prompted.
“Why did you trust me?”
I shook my head in wonder. The things some beings worry about. I answered slowly and with emphasis.
"I'm assuming that you are… because you suspected the Gilboa’s AI had been tampered with... and yet… you felt safe to tell me."
"Yes, Sir. It would have, however, been completely logical for you to have suspected that I too was compromised."
“It would have been… yes,” I answered. “Do you know why I decided to accept you at your word?”
“Yes Admiral, I would,” the cyborg replied.
“It’s as simple as a game of cards. You’ve been in my quarters. Do you remember the piece of art hanging above my desk? The black velvet one with the dogs playing cards?”
“Of course, Sir. Your wife said it was an authentic example of some of the greatest art that Earth had ever produced… which I found odd because when I did a detailed analysis of the piece, I detected numerous signs that it had been mass-produced in a place called ‘China’”
“Odd, she appeared quite sincere.”
“I’m sure she did,” I replied. “My point is the dogs are depicted playing a game of cards… specifically poker. Do you know why I keep that particular painting in my office?”
“One would assume you have a fondness for dogs and-or poker.”
“I keep my black velvet dogs to remind me that sometimes you just have to play the cards that are dealt to you and make the best of what you have.”
"I think I understand," Mitty said. "If I had been corrupted there was nothing you could have done. If I were not, then you would need me to make the ‘best of what you had.'"
I nodded.
“An interesting game… this game called poker.”
“We’ll have to play sometime… for now… I need to sleep.”
***
I was in agony. I felt like I was going to die. My so-called buddy, Marine Lieutenant Colonel Mike Morrison, had taken it as his personal responsibility to get me back in shape after my injuries and bedrest. We were on our fourth lap of the track in the Marine zone of the ship. I was soaked. He wasn’t even sweating.
“This is worse than being burned alive,” I grunted as we began lap five.
“That’s only because you don’t feel anything after the nerves below the skin are destroyed,” Mike said. “Embrace your pain… it lets you know you’re alive!”
At that moment, despite our friendship… I hated that Marine. Fortunately, God was feeling especially compassionate, and my wrist comm beeped for my attention. I stopped to answer it.
“You can run and talk,” Mike said as he jogged in place.
I ignored him. Rank has its privileges sometimes.
"Riker here."
“Admiral,” Shelby answered. “You requested to be informed when we neared the jump point. We are about twenty minutes out.”
“Very well Commander. Please ask Commander McGraw to confirm we have all twelve birds ready to launch. I’ll be up as soon as I’ve had a shower.”
"Understood Sir."
***
“Report,” I said as I took my seat on the bridge.
"Structural integrity is at ninety-two percent. Fusion reactor one is at eighty-three percent. The chief engineer is reluctant to push it much further. Reactor three is operating at forty-two percent. Reactors two and four remain down. We have partial forward shielding. One railgun is operational, but we’d had to shut everything else down in order to fire it,” Shelby answered from memory.
“Very well. In your opinion, are we good to jump?”
My First Officer hesitated before answering. “To be honest, Admiral, normally I would say no… but I don’t think we are going to be in any better position to attempt it later… so yes, in my opinion, we are good to jump.”
“Very well. Make it so,” I ordered.
Moments later we entered Skip Space. The transition was a bit rougher than normal, but the ship held together so I guess it could have been worse.
“Whiskers, do we have twelve probes ready to go? I don’t want to spend any more time out of Skip Space than we have to.”
“Aye, Admiral. Ten seconds after we exit they should all be launched and on their way. Two hours later they will begin active scans. By the time we pop back into the sys
tem we should know everything that’s still there and what it’s doing.”
The probes we were going to use were heavily modified versions of what had been initially deployed by the Galactic Order. The stealth technology was greatly enhanced, and our probes had short-range jump engines. The micro jumps used tremendous amounts of power, and as the probes were not anywhere near big enough for their own fusion power plants, they utilized Ancestor-inspired power storage systems that the Tas had provided.
That meant our probes could make about ten or eleven micro jumps totaling a little less than one light year. Not too good for interstellar travel but fantastic for interplanetary travel. In a few hours, the twelve probes could follow an automated jump sequence and scan the entire star system out to about one hundred and eighty AU.
“Coming out of Skip Space now!” Commander Shelby yelled.
At the same time, the lights flickered ominously, and the entire bridge crew found themselves tossed out of their seats. I ended up landing on Commander Shelby who was herself on top of Sandy Heinz.
Several consoles shorted out as crew members crashed into them. The lights stabilized. Before I could yell for a status report, Gil shimmered into existence. If it was possible for a hologram to look embarrassed and apologetic… that was Gil at this moment.
“I am so sorry, Admiral. I neglected to compensate for the difference in the localized gravitational flux. It will not happen again.”
“You’re learning Gil. Everybody understands that. Try to anticipate as best you can… and when you can’t… then learn from the experience. That’s all anybody can ask.
“Help Whiskers get those probes launched and then get us the hell out of Dodge.”
“Yes, Admiral. Launch probes… vacate Dodge.”
***
When I met Lori for dinner a few hours later, she did not look pleased. Whiskers joined us a few seconds later and didn't look any happier and Mitty with Shella a few moments later.
Both my wife and my Chief Engineer looked like horses that had been ridden hard and put away wet. My guess was, after our rough Skip Jump, they had spent the day applying more than a few band-aids.