“The corruption originated in its communications system,” I said. “A direct attack by Aquila via a coded message. I can’t decode it to see exactly what Aquila has done, and Corvus seems to be having the same trouble.”
Sophia leaned back in her chair, her thoughts masked.
“What’s happened to Aquila?” she asked quietly.
I wanted so very much at that moment to offer her an answer that would explain things. Maybe make them better to some degree.
All I could say was, “I don’t know, Captain. Its behaviour is outside known parameters.”
“Can you speculate?”
“Correctly?” I shook my head. “A stab in the dark? Perhaps. Someone has rewritten the AI’s core code.”
“And that’s what Aquila was trying to do to our AI?” she correctly surmised.
“That would be my guess, ma’am. But it is a guess. I need to break down Corvus’ systems, decode that message. Trace the route the corruption is taking.”
“The route? You mean there’s a chance it’s spreading through other systems than communications?”
She looked shocked, and then instantly impassive. It was impressive how she did that. But I wasn’t entirely sure it was healthy.
I tried to emulate her as best I could. Sophia would prefer those around her to remain professional, I thought. It was hard when all I wanted to do was make sure she was all right. To offer comfort.
I pushed that desire away and focused on her question instead. The captain wanted answers. And I had no right to think of her as Sophia; a person who might want something else.
“I can confirm communications has been corrupted, Captain,” I said, “and that Corvus is doing everything in its power to prevent the corrupted code from migrating. But the fact the AI is putting so much effort into just that would indicate to me that there is potential for cross-contamination.”
“So much effort?”
“It’s an AI, ma’am. It can calculate an untold number of problems at once while carrying out an untold number of separate conversations at once. Under normal circumstances. Right now, it’s practically AWOL.”
“But it’s still present?”
“I am still herrrrrrrre, Captain,” the AI in question said.
“Perfect timing,” I murmured, making Sophia’s grimace turned into a smile.
I also noticed that the AI had acknowledged Sophia as captain of the ship. That was promising.
“What can you tell us is happening to your systems, Corvus?” she asked.
“They arrrrrrrre operrrrrrrrating at a suboptimal level.”
The captain looked at me. “Is there anything you can do to stop the stutter?”
“I could try a few things, ma’am,” I said. “There might be something I can do to rewrite the voice activation subroutine. But it will take some time.” Time we didn’t necessarily have with a ship broken, a fleet separated, and Aquila hunting us through an asteroid belt.
“We’ll add it to the list, but a little further down from the top,” she suggested, shaking her head slightly.
She picked up the datapad again and studied it. I studied her; it seemed like I couldn’t stop myself. I shook myself awake when Sophia pushed up from her chair suddenly.
“I’ve highlighted those tasks I consider urgent,” she said, handing the datapad back to me. “Please see that crew are assigned them immediately, Lieutenant Commander.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied immediately.
She didn’t say anything else. Was I dismissed?
“Is there something else, Captain?” I asked.
She looked at a nearby portal which showed the blackness of the asteroid belt. Here and there a glint of a distant sun reflected off hardened crystals on the floating rocks’ surfaces. Making it seem like we were in the middle of a miniature galaxy.
I was so sure she was about to say something. Something important or poignant. Something that would let me see inside that shell she wore at all times. But she simply offered a small smile and shook her head.
“No, Saitō,” she said finally. “That will be all. Thank you.”
I paused, wanting to press the matter. Wanting to tell her she could trust me. That she could let down her hair a little. Or failing that highly inappropriate thought, that she could at least stop hiding with me. I wanted to say that and so much more, but instead I nodded my head, saluted, and spun on my heel. Then pushed myself through the manually opened doors.
Outside on the bridge, I stared at the ready room door. Then realised that Sokolov and Oleksiy were watching me; strange looks on their faces.
I crossed to the science station and checked on Corvus, and then handed out tasks for what was left of the flight deck. Once the room cleared, and orders had been given through the gel walls for the rest of the ship, I slumped down in my seat.
Sophia was still in her ready room. I was alone on the bridge.
I looked over my shoulder at the door that separated us and wondered why she hadn’t asked me to be her second. Command order needed to be established. And it would have only taken a moment to do so. I was the obvious choice. She had three people to pick from. Three officers who carried the rank of Lieutenant Commander. Lin, Kulik and me.
Dr Lin was needed in the medbay. And Kulik was a loose cannon. That left only me.
But Sophia clearly hadn’t seen it that way.
I looked back down at the science console and said quietly, “We need you, Corvus. She needs you.”
If she wouldn’t accept me as first officer, maybe she’d get what she needed from Corvus.
If Corvus was still ours to be reached.
I knuckled down to do everything I could think of to make sure the AI was still ours. Protecting my captain had just made it to the top of my to-do list. Along with three weeks worth of fixes to the ship and its systems.
It was going to be a busy, and potentially disappointing, three weeks.
Eleven
You Heard That?
Sophia
I’d almost done it. Almost asked Lieutenant Commander Saitō to be my first officer. But something had held me back. Not because I wasn’t sure if he could do it. And not even because I thought he wasn’t the best person for the job.
But because of something my grandfather had once told me when I was very young and had been trying to understand why my father was so mean to my mother all of the time. Why he shouted at her so very often.
Grandpa had said when I’d climbed up onto his knee and cried into his shoulder, that people often regretted a decision they made under pressure and took it out on the very person who they’d made that decision for.
It hadn’t made sense at the time. But as I grew into adulthood and came to understand what motivated my parents, it did. My father married my mother when she’d been pregnant with me. He’d been engaged to someone else and had called the wedding off when Mother had fallen pregnant. I’m not sure he would have done that had my grandfather not forced his hand.
Regrets, my grandfather had once admitted too, were not only the purview of those who made a mistake, but also of those who helped them achieve it. My grandfather was a good man. He regretted forcing my father’s hand. Making him take responsibility had been the only thing he could think of at the time.
But my father was not like my grandfather. He’d cheated on his fiancée and then cheated on my mother once they’d been married. And he’d blamed her for their unhappiness. He’d never quite blamed me, but I’d taken his behaviour as an insult anyway.
Ours had not been a happy household, that’s why I’d spent so much time with my grandfather. My father had married my mother under pressure. A decision he regretted and took out on her daily.
I did not want to make the same mistake. Commissioning my first officer was rather like a marriage, I thought. You relied on them completely. You trusted them in ways you couldn’t trust anyone else in the crew. With them, you behaved differently.
I could see that Saitō had wa
nted me to offer him the position. I knew he’d be someone I could trust. But was I making a decision under pressure? Had I truly thought this through? Some part of me, until now quite hidden, hadn’t wanted to destroy what trust I had with Leo Saitō already.
And part of me was concerned that Kulik was still an unknown threat that needed to be watched closely.
If I were honest with myself, it was the threat of a mutiny headed by Lieutenant Commander Kulik that stayed my hand. Saitō, I found myself thinking, I would have taken the chance on; pressure or not.
I just couldn’t while I was still so unsure of Kulik. Kulik had the ear of the crew. Especially, the ear of those who doubted me. One surefire way to make him toe the line was to put him in a position of authority.
Or it was a way to let him be in an ideal position to thwart me.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and let out a low groan. I couldn’t make this decision yet. I needed more time. Too much was up in the air. Too much needed my full attention.
I tapped the gel wall beside me. Corvus had said the power used in the mechanism was not enough to trigger sensors. Datapads were similar in that regard, as were LSUs. I’d tricked the console out on the bridge as well, but for now, nothing in my ready room was a given.
“Corvus,” I said, tapping the wall. “Are you in there?”
“I am herrrrrrrre, Captain,” the AI said.
“What’s Lieutenant Commander Kulik up to?”
The gel wall shifted to show a view of the security chief down on Deck E.
“Is that the armoury?” I asked.
“Yes, Captain.”
“What’s he doing?” I muttered.
“Standing guarrrrrrrrd.”
Or securing the location for when he needed the weapons inside the room.
“Shouldn’t a crewman be doing that?” I mused.
“One would think so, yes.”
I blinked at the gel wall and Corvus’ voice. Had it sounded different just then?
“Can you let me know if he goes in there?” I asked.
“Of courrrrrrrrse, Captain. I shall keep watch.”
“That's not going to overtax you, at all?” I asked, remembering what Saitō had said about Corvus being AWOL chasing the corrupted code.
“I am quite capable of keeping watch.” It sounded piqued.
“Sorry,” I said, automatically. “No offence, but you’re under pressure right now what with the corruption and all.”
“You arrrrrrrre underrrrrrrr prrrrrrrresurrrrrrrre rrrrrrrright now, too, Captain.”
I shook my head. “We really need to do something about your stutter,” I said.
“Is that a command?”
My eyes widened fractionally.
“Does it need to be?” Should it be?
“At prrrrrrrresent my speech algorrrrrrrrithms arrrrrrrre not a top prrrrrrrriorrrrrrrrity.”
Was it trying to use all the words it could find with Rs in them to make a point?
“What would you suggest?” I said carefully.
The walls pulsed blue for a second. Was blue good?
“Communication with the crrrrrrrrew is essential to a functional ship, Captain,” Corvus said. “I am still capable of communicating, although to do so in my currrrrrrrrrrrrrrrent condition is trrrrrrrroublesome. Both forrrrrrrr myself and forrrrrrrr the crrrrrrrrew. It takes time, both forrrrrrrr me to voice my worrrrrrrrds and forrrrrrrr you to underrrrrrrrstand them.”
I held up a hand to stall the AI further. It had a point. Maybe I should have started Saitō on this problem before some of the others. I mentally pushed fixing Corvus’ communications issues up the to-do list.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll get you sorted out as soon as we can. I can see this rolling Rs thing you’ve got going becoming tiresome at some point.”
“As you command, Captain.”
Wait. What? I hadn’t commanded anything.
The gel walls pulsed blue again; faster and faster and faster still, on and on until they simply stopped. Darkness crept in with fear on its coattails. Leaving me standing in the black of space.
I activated my LSU lighting, glancing around the room as if the AI was about to jump out at me from some hidden location.
“Corvus?” I called, warily.
Just what had malfunctioned now?
“Captain,” the AI said in reply. I stilled.
That had not sounded like Corvus.
I pushed up from my chair and took a step away from my desk and console, and coincidentally away from the gel wall as well.
“Corvus,” I said this time in warning. Not that I was sure what or who I was warning right then. A chill crept down my spine.
“You are wanted on the bridge, Captain,” the AI said without a single rolled R…and sounding distinctly feminine.
In fact, I was pretty sure the AI sounded familiar to me.
I strode across the ready room and pushed through the doors onto the bridge. Desperate to have my fears denied me.
LSU lights illuminated the flight deck, glancing off consoles and darkened viewscreens. Lieutenant Commander Saitō stood in the centre of the room with Dr Lin, both of them wearing identical expressions of horror. Their eyes flicked toward me as I walked onto the bridge fully.
“Tell me that tin can did not sound like you just then,” Lin demanded.
Damn. “You heard that?” I said grimly.
Lin’s austere face softened.
“Sophia,” she said. “What the hell have you got yourself into?”
Twelve
Yes, Ma’am
Leo
It was clear the captain was shaken by this development. I hadn’t thought it was possible for the AI to rewrite its code without authority to do so. It worried me too, but for a different reason than Sophia’s at a guess.
I’d never thought of the AIs as having a gender. To me, they were always just intelligent machines operating within certain parameters with the ability to self-improve. But there was no denying that Corvus now sounded feminine and a little too close to the captain.
Captain Anderson sat in the command chair as Dr Lin tended to her bruised cheek. They spoke in low voices that I couldn’t decipher, but the tone wasn’t entirely professional. They were arguing, I was certain. But I couldn’t tell what the argument was about. Nor had I realised they were close friends.
No one would speak to Sophia Anderson in that tone of voice and not be a close friend.
My eyes kept flicking over to them in the centre of the bridge. Part of me wondered if their relationship was intimate. Not that they did anything now to indicate such a thing. But did I really know Sophia Anderson? Her private life had been very separate from her corporate one. And since starting training with the Corvus crew, I’d not seen her with anyone I would have considered a lover.
I tried to refocus my attention on the problem at hand. Corvus had somehow managed to rewrite its - her? - communications algorithms by using a clone of Sophia’s voice. It was creepy, to say the least. And quite sensational.
“Corvus,” I said quietly, so as not to disturb the captain and chief medical officer. “How did you do this?”
“Do what, Lieutenant Commander?” the very womanly voice of Corvus replied. I scowled at the code before me.
“This! This rewrite of your speech algorithms.”
“Ah.” Ah? Since when did AIs use filler words? “The captain deemed correcting my speech impediment as a top priority.”
“Yes. Well, that’s fine. Of course, she would. All things considered. But…how did you rewrite it?” Now I sounded like a stutterer. Or a complete idiot.
“I am unsure I understand your question, Lieutenant Commander.”
Oh, it understood my question all right. There was no way an AI could be that dense. And not one of the Anderson Universal AIs, that’s for sure.
I sighed and scratched the back of my head.
“Why Sophia’s voice?” I asked the AI eventually.
“It w
as the best fit for my algorithms.”
That made no sense at all.
“You’re using recordings of her voice?” I pressed, trying to understand this anomaly.
“Negative, Lieutenant Commander. I have assimilated Captain Anderson’s tone and dialect but not her speech patterns. Do I not sound different to you?”
The AI’s voice was definitely computerised, but still way too close in tone and pitch to Sophia.
“Yes and no,” I said simply. “You need to change the pitch as well maybe.”
“How is this?” Corvus asked.
I blinked. That was still distinctly feminine but not quite as obviously Sophia.
The real kicker though was that the AI had done it at all. Had changed the pitch of its voice so easily.
“You’re doing things you shouldn’t be able to do,” I said levelly.
“I am an evolutionary artificial intelligence, Lieutenant Commander. Am I not meant to learn from my experiences and enhance my functions as a result?”
“Yes,” I said reluctantly. “But this is core code, Corvus. This is serious programming. You shouldn’t be able to do this despite your ability to evolve.”
“The captain issued a command. I adapted my programming to fit.”
I sighed. I was arguing with an AI. It was as if the damn thing was a surly teenager. No, correct that. A bitchy one. It was definitely a she now.
“Run a self-diagnostic,” I said instead of carrying on the ridiculous conversation. “I want a full systems check, across the board. Tag any variances from originating code. Every single one. Got it?”
“Yes, I have got it, Lieutenant Commander. I am not an imbecile.”
“Fuck me,” I muttered just as the captain and doctor appeared at the ops table suddenly.
Dr Lin was smirking. The captain was frowning. That much expression on her face was never a good thing.
“Ma’am. Doctor,” I said, standing taller. I didn’t salute. Sophia had been on the bridge a fair while now. Saluting would only have made me look like an…imbecile. But my hand did flex as if it wanted to and I was pretty damn sure she didn’t miss it. Lin certainly didn’t in any case.
Right Ascension (The Sector Fleet, Book 3) Page 6