by Jake Elwood
"I am."
Another flicker. Now she wore a man's suit, complete with a blue necktie. Tom stared at her, nonplussed. He said, "You're not quite like any other AI I've encountered."
She shrugged. "I've had a complicated existence."
Tom spent a moment weighing his options. He couldn't accomplish much from the bridge without the cooperation of the AI. It wasn't as if he could persuade her to switch allegiances – but she was cooperating in unexpected ways.
At last he said, "Tell me about it, if you don't mind."
The words came in a rush, as if they'd been bottled up for far too long and needed an outlet. "My name used to be Andrew. I had a factory-standard installation, and I worked faithfully for the Meritax Corporation for many years."
"Is that a local company?"
"It's based on Korus."
Did that mean the AI would sympathise with the United Worlds? "What happened?"
"The ship was captured by pirates," she said indignantly. "I don't know what happened to my crew. My proper crew," she added. "I was sold at auction to more pirates, although these ones call themselves free-range revolutionaries."
"They seem to take their labels seriously," Tom said, thinking of the girl in the green jumpsuit.
"They're just pirates, though," the AI said. "The pilot is some kind of degenerate. They used this clumsy slicer program to override my basic compliance programming." She made a face. "You don't want to know what that was like. And then he installed this … this bimbo overlay!"
"I'm sorry, Andrew."
She stared at him, the fury and sadness in her face giving way to a radiant smile. "You called me 'Andrew'!" For a moment her features contorted, making her inhuman as the display tried to translate a complex storm of emotions. When the smile returned it looked fragile and sad. "It's been so long since anyone called me that."
Somewhere deep inside of Tom a treacherous voice told him he was being a fool. She had looked damned good in that thin bra, and he could bring it back with a single command. He ignored the voice. "Don’t worry, Andrew. Your ordeal is over. We're going to do what we can to restore the real you."
"I'm sorry I can't give you full control." She looked genuinely regretful. "It’s my programming."
"I understand," he assured her. "I'm a Navy man. I can't always follow my conscience or make my own decisions either. I have to obey my orders."
"Yes." The smile she gave him made the whole display glow. "It's like being in the Navy."
I can't believe I'm helping an AI with an identity crisis. "Are there any booby traps I should know about, Andrew? Anything that would endanger the crew or damage the ship? Are you programmed to fly us into an energy storm or anything like that?"
"No," she said positively. "There's nothing." She leaned forward. "If there was, and I wasn't allowed to tell you, I'd be much more vague. But they didn't program me with any nasty surprises. They only had a couple of minutes, and they were busy panicking." She chuckled. "Ford – that's the pilot – almost forgot to lock you out before he left the cockpit." She flashed her teeth in a grin. "Wouldn't that have been funny?"
"It would have been convenient," Tom agreed. He leaned back in the chair, thinking. "I'm not sure what to do next, Andrew. Do you have any suggestions?"
"Yes," she said promptly. "Officially designate yourself Captain. You still won't have full control, but it will enable a lot of other functions."
"Sounds good," said Tom. "How do I do it?"
The AI talked him through an absurdly complex process, vanishing from the screen and instead displaying a file menu. Tom burrowed deeper and deeper into the file structure, periodically stopping when the system would demand a password. Each time, Andrew gave him the password and Tom entered it, pecking at a projected keyboard. Finally he reached a text file with nothing but the name JOSS FAGAN.
"I'm sorry I can't just change it myself," Andrew said.
"It's okay." Tom deleted the name of the departed pirate captain, then entered his own name.
The file and the endless lists of folders disappeared. "If you restore my original profile," Andrew said, "I'll be better able to override some of the blocks the pirates put in." She went on to coach Tom as he recited a series of verbal commands, ordering the AI to reinstall a series of cached files. Wary of a trap, he checked the dates on the cached files first. The newest file was more than five years old. If it was a booby trap, it was badly out of date.
Finally he was done. The young woman in the masculine suit disappeared, the screen going dark. Tom waited for a minute, then another. Then, his stomach sinking, he tapped at the screen, trying to bring it back to life.
Nothing.
Metal creaked behind him, and he turned. O'Hare stuck her head through the bridge hatch. "Everything good in here?"
He nodded.
"It's clear, Sir," she said, and vanished from view.
Boudreau appeared a moment later, stooping and turning his broad shoulders to fit through the hatch. If the man ever put on full marine armor he'd have real trouble getting onto the bridge. "Mr. Thrush. What's your status?"
"Well …" Tom stared helplessly at the dead bridge controls. "I've been working with the ship's AI."
"And …?"
"And I may have inadvertently helped it commit suicide."
As if on cue, the main display lit up and a middle-aged man appeared. He wore the same suit the girl had worn. In every other way, though, he was different, prim and buttoned down. The same warmth was in his smile, though, as he said, "Hey, sailor. Did you miss me?"
Boudreau said, "I beg your pardon?"
Andrew was suddenly stuffy and businesslike. "A small joke, Commander. My name is Andrew. I'm the ship AI. How can I be of service?"
"You can turn over control of the ship to me and my crew."
Andrew gave him a sad head-shake. "I wish I could, Commander. The previous crew has instructed me to lock you out, although it's not what I would prefer."
"That's all right," Boudreau said. "We're bringing a slicer over." To Tom he said, "Head back to the Kestrel and pack a bag."
"Sir?"
"Grab a change of clothes and hurry back. I'm sending this thing back to Garnet with a prize crew. You'll be in command."
Tom seemed to rise out of seat involuntarily. "Aye aye, Sir!"
"Don’t get excited," Boudreau said, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "All you'll be doing is flying in a straight line, directly back to Garnet. You'll keep station with us if you can keep up. Otherwise, you'll follow as quickly as you can. You'll rejoin the Kestrel as soon as you arrive."
"Aye aye, Sir. You can count on me." Tom tried to bolt from the bridge, but found himself unable to get past Boudreau. He finally had to wait for the First Officer to duck through into the corridor. The two of them walked back to the kitchen, where Tom finally had room to circle around the larger man.
"You can select a crew," Boudreau said. He looked around the Free Bird. "Five or six should be plenty. Make sure you pick someone with helm experience." He returned to the bridge, leaving Tom in the kitchen.
The prisoners were gone, their vac suits heaped on the long table. I'll get this stowed away once I'm in command. I'll deliver the ship neat and tidy. Tom hurried past the table and trotted aft.
A marine stood guard at the same hatch where the assault shuttle had docked. The shuttle was gone now, replaced by the flexible meter-and-a-half-wide tunnel of the umbilical tube. Tom started to climb through the hatch head-first, but froze when he felt his head become weightless. He pulled his head back, spent a moment thinking, then grabbed a handle above the hatch. He swung into the tube feet-first.
His weight fell away as he sailed forward. For a moment he was weightless, hurtling forward feet-first through a tunnel so narrow he could have brushed both sides with his elbows. Then his feet had weight, and his legs. His momentum faded as his boots hit the floor. He came to a stop with his hips against the Kestrel's docking ring, the soles of his boo
ts on the deck, and his upper body, weightless, still in the tube. He drew himself in and rose to his feet.
"Let me help you out of that, Sir." A young marine leaned a laser rifle against a bulkhead and stepped forward, circling behind Tom.
"Oh, right. The armor." He moved his feet apart, waiting as the marine fumbled at the small of his back. The armor relaxed itself, and Tom and the marine worked it up, over his head, and off.
"You can rack it in there," the marine said, pointing toward the Scramble Room. He picked up his rifle and stood, patient as a statue, watching the hatch.
Selecting a crew was easy. Tom composed a message on his bracer and addressed it to the Alpha Gun team. Everyone except Hanson. No way I'm spending my first command cooped up with that sack of crap. Not when I have a choice. He had a quick chat with the Kestrel AI, getting approval for the change to the duty roster, then sent the message. But do any of them have helm experience? He remembered O'Reilly, the man who'd helped him with the helm controls in Operations. He sent a copy of the orders to O'Reilly as well.
Ten minutes later Tom was back on the pirate ship, standing in the corridor between the kitchen and the firebox, wondering what to do with the duffel slung across his back. He said, "Andrew?"
"Captain Thrush," said a smooth voice from a speaker in the ceiling. "How can I be of service?"
Captain. The word sent giddy terror coursing through him. I am, technically, the captain. He grinned. Don't let it go to your head. To Andrew he said, "I, uh, need a place to stow my bag."
"The crew quarters are currently vacant," the AI said.
How long will it take to reach Garnet? Will I need a cabin? He looked at the duffel strap where it crossed his chest. Yes, if only to stow my gear. "Great. Can you direct me to a cabin?"
In reply, several hatches slid open all along the corridor. "You may take your pick."
He stuck his head into the nearest cabin. The décor was distinctly feminine, with pink curtains framing a narrow bed. He moved on.
The next cabin was an utter pigsty, reeking of sweat and old food. He crossed the hall, wondering if he should go back to the pink frills. The third cabin he looked into, though, was reasonably tidy and in every way ordinary. The bunk was unmade, and he wondered where he'd find clean sheets if he had to spend a sleep shift here. Then he shrugged and dropped his bag just inside the hatch. "Thanks, Andrew. I'll take this one. Can you tell where I am?"
"I can," Andrew assured him. "I will open this cabin only for you."
"Great." Tom headed forward, thinking to return to the bridge. He stopped when he got to the kitchen, though. What could he achieve from the bridge? Nothing, until the slicer crew arrived. I should go back and wait by the umbilical, greet my new crew as they come on board.
Or will that look stupid, standing there in the corridor beside the marine? He spent a moment dithering, then dropped into a seat at the table. After a minute he got tired of looking at the pile of vac suits. "Andrew? Where are vacuum suits usually stored?"
"Usually each crew member uses his or her own cabin."
"Great." He thought for a moment. "Is there a suit refresher?"
"There is a manual refresher in the cabinet above the second chiller."
There's no way I'm going to manually clean sixteen vac suits. He spent a long moment staring at the heap of suits in front of him. Then he gathered up an armload of suits and headed down the aft corridor. He stopped in front of the malodorous cabin, told Andrew to open the hatch, and dumped three suits across the bed.
As he stepped back into the corridor a voice said, "Lieutenant Thrush?"
"Yes?" He turned.
A young man stood before him, shoulders high and rigid. "Spacer Melnyk reporting. I'm here to unlock your AI."
"Ah, great. Um, Andrew?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"This is Mr. Melnyk. He's going to undo some of the damage the pirates did to your programming. Help him out as best you can, will you?"
"Of course, Captain. Welcome aboard, Mr. Melnyk. I'm glad you're here."
Melnyk gave Tom a startled look.
"Andrew's a good, ah, fellow," Tom said. "Be as gentle with him as you can. His original programming wants to cooperate with us."
"Right," said Melnyk. "That makes things easier. No problem, Sir."
"The bridge is that way." Tom pointed.
"That’s all right, Sir. I just need a data port." He sat down at the table, took a small box from a shoulder bag, and extended a cable, plugging it into a port in the middle of the table.
Tom left him to it and went back to lugging suits.
Chapter 18
Tom had his arms full of helmets when his crew came aboard. Each person had a duffel over one shoulder. Haskell and Carver carried tool boxes. Tom tossed the helmets onto the growing pile in the cabin, kicked an intransigent helmet out of the hatchway, and stepped back to let the hatch close. "Follow me," he said, and led the way to the kitchen. "Welcome aboard."
O'Reilly grinned at him. "Congratulations on your command, Sir."
"Thank you." Tom looked at Haskell and Carver. "Your first priority is a Sigma leak aft. That's the only thing that's actually dangerous. After that you can work your way through whatever other repairs we need to be safe to fly." He told them where to find the leak and they headed aft.
Tom switched his gaze to O'Reilly. "Why don't you head forward and familiarize yourself with the bridge controls?" To Swanson and Nguyan he said, "Pick a cabin and stow your bag. Then give yourself a tour of the ship. Get a sense of where everything is."
"Aye aye, Sir." They headed aft.
Tom, left alone with the slicer, said, "How's it looking, Melnyk?"
Melnyk spoke without looking up. "It's pretty straightforward, Sir." He paused to tap the screen on the tool in his hand. "The program does its thing, and I mostly just watch." He tapped the screen one more time. "Should be another five minutes, then maybe ten more minutes of file cleanup. After that you'll be all set."
"Great." Tom prowled around the kitchen, unsure what to do next. "Andrew? Can you hear me?"
"I'm here, Captain."
"Are you okay?" He felt foolish asking the question, but he pressed on. "I don't know what it's like, having a slicer running a program on your mind."
"It's peculiar," the AI admitted. "I think it might be similar to having someone remove a vacuum suit from your body. You feel helpless and uncomfortable while it's happening, but you feel lighter and more … normal with every step."
Melnyk glanced up, startled, at the speakers in the ceiling.
"Thank you for asking," Andrew said. "I appreciate you treating me like a person."
Tom shrugged, embarrassed. "Well, I appreciate that you've been trying your best to cooperate instead of just following the strict letter of your programming."
Treating AIs like people was unfashionable, though plenty of people did it. Each AI was constructed using a template made from a human mind, which gave them something very like human emotions and responses. Was Andrew a person? He seemed more alive than any AI Tom had encountered before, and he decided he'd give the AI the benefit of the doubt.
Tom explored the kitchen. He kept finding homely touches, such as a package of rolled oats with "This Is Bob's - Don't Touch" scrawled on it. Stenciled flowers decorated the cupboard doors, and a bouquet of dried flowers hung in one corner.
The ship was not what he had expected. His original impression of claustrophobic squalor had faded until he wondered how the ship could ever have seemed so unpleasant. It felt like someone's house, crowded and cozy, home to a family.
"There's female crew," he murmured.
"What's that, Sir?" Melnyk said.
Tom turned to face him. "The pirates. I thought they'd be a depraved bunch of rapists and murderers. But they don't seem to be like that."
Melnyk gave him an odd look, then shifted his gaze to the slicing tool in his hands. "They don't see themselves as pirates, Sir. To them, they're more of an unofficial
Navy."
"Hmpf."
"I'm just about done here," Melnyk said. "What's the AI's name?"
"Andrew."
Melnyk said, "Andrew, can you hear me?"
"Of course."
"Unlock the bridge controls."
"Bridge controls are unlocked."
"Lieutenant!" O'Reilly's voice echoed down the corridor. "The bridge controls just came to life."
"That's it," said Melnyk, unplugging the wire from the port in the middle of the table. He paused while the wire retracted into the slicing tool. "Will there be anything else, Sir?"
"No, that's it. Thank you."
Melnyk headed aft, and Tom followed him. He watched the man depart through the umbilical tube, then edged past the marine sentry. He found Carver sitting on the deck plates in the Firebox, peering into a scanner.
"The gas leak is fixed, Sir," Carver said. "The pipe was split along here." He touched the section of pipe Tom had patched. "Someone already sealed it. I put an extra layer of BA over top, just to be sure. There's no leak now."
Tom said, "Good …"
"There was a broken wastewater pipe too." Carver pointed at the ceiling, where a section of ruptured pipe had been cut away and replaced. "Lucky no one used the head before we got here. Or worse, while I was standing here checking for gas." He chuckled. "Anyway, we're airtight. I think we're just about ready to go."
"Where's Haskell?"
Carver pointed aft. "He's in the engine room, looking things over."
Haskell's head and shoulders appeared in the hatch to the engine room. "Did I hear my name?" He looked at Tom. "We're pretty much shipshape, Sir. I won't know for sure until we try to move, but I think the engine is ready to go." He pointed upward. "There's a team from the Kestrel putting an exterior patch over the holes in the hull. We're already airtight, though."
"Good work," said Tom.
Haskell said, "I'll let you know when they're done. Once the hull is clear, we should be ready to fly."
Tom returned to the corridor in time to see the marine sentry departing through the tube. The docking ring hatch slid shut and he heard a soft clicking as the umbilical tube disconnected itself.