Full Frontal Cybertank

by Timothy Gawne

  Please refer to the D.M as she. I know that it is standard for baseline humanoids to split all sentient beings into male and female genders, and in the English language “he” is the default personal pronoun when the gender is not specified or relevant, but the D.M insisted on being referred to as she.

  “Oh,” said Olga. “Well, alright then. For politeness’ sake.”

  Originally the D.M. was a piece of ophthalmological equipment. She was designed to scan the central retinas of both eyes of a human subject, a fairly mundane task. She was progressively upgraded by overly zealous engineers until she outgrew her original purpose and ran away.

  “A surprising number of the early self-aware AIs were created by accident,” said Fanboy.

  “Indeed,” said Frisbee. He continued to fiddle with his slide rule. I think he was computing trigonometric functions. “But then why do you think that this one could be of use to us on this matter? How intelligent is she?”

  “It is hard to judge the relative levels of transcendent beings,” said Schadenfreude. “Provisionally I would rank the D.M. as less capable than, say, Globus Pallidus XI. But that might not matter. What we need is different.”

  “Something with a powerful intellect, that is divergent enough from us to be unaffected by whatever jamming signals are clouding our perceptions,” said Frisbee.

  Still assuming that our perceptions are being jammed.

  “So does anyone know where this D.M. currently is located?” said Olga.

  I have tried to track her on several occasions after our initial encounter, and failed. My current intelligence puts the last known whereabouts of the Dichoptic Maculatron on the planet Abweichend in the Wolf system.

  The shiny black sticks on Schadenfreude’s remote bristled like the hackles on a dog. It’s not like Schadenfreude to show overt emotion like that.

  “Abweichend,” said Fanboy. “You would have to pick a place like that. Why not something easy, like the middle of a black hole, or the 20th century Washington Beltway during rush hour?”

  “I used to speak German,” said Olga. “That means deviant, chaotic. It this some place like that Pandemonium world that Old Guy has been trying to get me to visit?”

  Pandemonium is a bit of a misnomer. It’s where many of our eccentrics settle, but it’s a mostly peaceful and safe part of our civilization. Abweichend is at another level of crazy altogether.

  “Most terrestrial planets end up under the control of a single dominant civilizational paradigm, even if there are rival factions,” said Frisbee, “Abweichend is an outlier. It has transcendent beings, refugees from alien civilizations, rogue A.I.s, failed experiments in biological engineering, out-of-control nanotech… everything and anything jammed onto one chaotic stew.”

  “Can we just send them a message?” said Olga.

  “No,” said Schadenfreude. “There has been no communications with Abweichend for centuries. All queries are ignored.”

  “In addition,” said Fanboy, “the Treaty of Ampersand prohibits any cybertank from getting closer than a quarter of light year to the system. We can’t go there.”

  “More precisely,” said Frisbee, “it is any digital system with a self-awareness level of baseline human and above that is proscribed. We could send a non-sentient probe with a message.”

  “But I’m not a cybertank, and my brain isn’t digital,” said Olga. “Could I go?”

  Fanboy crossed his arms. “Absolutely not.”

  Olga frowned. “Hey, why not? I can take care of myself. I’m older than you, you realize. And this Abweichend is just a place. I’ll take a heavy scout, no weapons, and just fly out there and see what I can see. If there are transcendent beings there I expect they’ll just ignore me. I’ll be neither a threat nor of interest. I’ll either find this Dichoptic Maculatron, or I won’t, and then I’ll come back.”

  Fanboy leaned back in his chair. “I do not think it will be that easy. And you? Traveling all that way on your own? Really?”

  “Oh, give me credit,” said Olga. “I’ve crewed with you for centuries. I know my way around a starship. I’ll have nonsentient AI support, so the scout can get me there and back on its own, if it has to. Remember, humans traveled to the stars long before you cybertanks were even created.”

  “You mean,” said Fanboy, “that humans traveled to the stars, and they died like flies.”

  The shiny black sticks of Schadenfreude’s head spread out like a dark sunburst. I’m not sure what emotion he wished to convey by this. “The vampire has a point,” he said. “She could slip in and reconnoiter, and likely pass, not un-noticed, but un-regarded. She would likely have a better chance than a major naval task force of accomplishing this mission.”

  “But not a perfect chance,” said Fanboy. “She could just as easily be squashed like a bug.”

  “Any of us are likely to be squashed like a bug on Abweichend,” said Frisbee. “It’s just that Olga is perhaps less likely to attract that attention of those capable of doing the squashing.”

  I admire the idea, Olga, but I have to agree with Fanboy. You going alone is too risky.

  “My my,” said Olga, “caution, and from one that I would least have expected it from. Old Guy, I’m disappointed in you. You really think that you’re the only one that can do something unexpected?”

  Um. Well, no. But being a fusion-powered 2,000 ton armored fighting vehicle gives me a little more latitude when it comes to taking risks, I should think. No offense.

  “Well," said Olga, “I appreciate the concern, but I’m going. I could use a break. Anyhow, what’s this Dichoptic Maculatron like?”

  At the time that I interacted with her, her physical form was of a series of metal filing cabinets. Although I expect that she has changed her appearance since then.

  “Transcendent beings are often physically mutable,” said Fanboy. “Except when they aren’t.”

  Yes. Personality-wise she’s hard to pin down. If I had to come up with one word to describe her, it would be indirect. She never spoke to me in person. Sometimes she’d leave written notes, but always in places that I would stumble across by seeming accident. At other times she would change the sound of the breeze, leave hints in the pattern of data files, or cause shafts of light to fall on different objects in such a way as to convey a message. I’m sorry I can’t describe it any better than that, and I lack the talent to duplicate the effect. Let’s just say that if she wants to communicate with you, and you have an open mind, she will.

  “All very well,” said Frisbee. “But shouldn’t we get a vote of the peerage on this? There are broad society-wide implications here.”

  “A public debate amongst the peerage would make our intentions known to all,” said Schadenfreude. “Any hidden power watching us would know exactly what we intended, and act to head it off.”

  Frisbee frowned. “That’s the kind of logic that got the ancient humans into so much trouble. An unelected elite meeting in secret making decisions for everyone else because they know so much better…”

  “Excuse me,” said Olga. “As a private citizen, I have a right to go wherever I choose. I’m just going to Abweichend because I feel like it. I promise to be polite. If some transcendent being takes offense, well, who can really say what might or might not piss off a transcendent being? Even doing nothing might tick one of them off. So why not?”

  “That sounds a lot like sophistry,” said Frisbee.

  What’s wrong with sophistry?

  “If this goes wrong,” said Frisbee, “we’ll have to face a judgment by our peers.”

  “We’ll have to face a judgment if this goes right,” said Fanboy.

  I’ve faced judgments before. As long as you act in good faith, and show reasonable behavior, I would not worry too much. Remember, the peerage is just a lot of other cybertanks like us.

  Frisbee leaned back and crossed his arms. “Some of us like to court disaster, apparently as a hobby. And some of us do not.”

  Schadenfreude sli
cked all his sticks down to lie flat. “What the vampire says has merit. She is entitled to go to Abweichend. It violates no treaty. Technically the peerage does not need to be involved. I suggest we all vote on the matter. If it is unanimous, Olga Razon goes to Abweichend, and we keep what we have discussed here to ourselves until she returns or the situation changes. If there is one dissenter, we end the discussion, and I will pursue the matter by other means.”

  I vote yes.

  Frisbee raised his right arm. “I also vote yes.”

  Schadenfreude raised the black sticks on his upper right shoulder. “Yes.”

  Fanboy grumbled. “I still don’t like it, but I can’t think of any good reason to say no. So yes.”

  “Then,” said Schadenfreude, “it is decided.”

  “Hey wait a moment,” said Olga, “don’t I get a vote?”

  But you already agreed to go.

  “I still say that I should get a vote,” said Olga. “On principle.”

  It’s getting bad if we are resorting to principle. And this early.

  “Very well,” said Schadenfreude, “the vampire gets a vote. Olga Razon, what is it?”

  Olga held up her right hand. “I vote yes, obviously, but thank you for the courtesy of asking. I’ll take a shuttle up to Fanboy’s heavy scout, the one that we used to visit the Planet of Eternal War. Fanboy, any idea how long it would take to prep?”

  “I’ve kept it maintained, it’ll be ready to move out when you get there,” said Fanboy. “If there are any extra supplies you think you might need, let me know and I’ll have then ready. Otherwise I’ll give it a standard loadout, anything a single vampire exploring a planet might want. But as we’ve said, no weapons.”

  “Fine,” said Olga. “Also I’d like to take Zippo. I presume he’s not sentient enough to violate this treaty?”

  I thought you weren’t that keen on the second version?

  “He’s grown on me,” said Olga.

  “The robotic space monkey has a degree of awareness comparable to a dog, but not what we would term full human sentience,” said Schadenfreude. “His accompanying you not be a violation of treaty.”

  “I also think you should take the Sword of Gadolinia,” said Fanboy.

  “The sword?” asked Olga. “I mean, he was useful during the Bollard Affair, but I can’t see what he could add here. And we did say no weapons.”

  “The sword is analog,” said Fanboy. “He is fully self aware, but not at a level qualitatively greater than a baseline human mind so he won’t be a treaty violation He could keep you company, and keep watch when you are asleep. As far as being a weapon, well, a sword is hardly more than a long knife, and that’s a tool. I don’t think the treaty counts swords as real weapons. You’re not going back to 15th century Terran Europe, you know.”

  “Very well,” said Olga, “I’ll take the sword.” She stood up. “So are we done here? I head off for Abweichend, see if I can get an audience with this Dichoptic Maculatron, and if so, ask her for help with our hidden watchers. Regardless of the result, I then come back here and report. Agreed?”

  Schadenfreude’s vaguely anthropoid remote stood up and bowed. “Concisely summarized, Olga Razon. We shall await your return. Good luck.”

  I thought you didn’t believe in luck.

  “I have,” said Schadenfreude, “decided to make an exception.”

  14. The Ground Ripper

  “Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.” Mark Twain, from The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, 19 th Century, Earth.

  The vampire Olga Razon sat in a shuttle, and headed off to the parking orbit of Fanboy’s heavy scout. She was accompanied only by the second version of Zippo the Space Monkey. There wasn’t much to do in the shuttle, and Zippo had rapidly gotten bored watching the shuttle’s display screens scroll through lists of data, so he’d curled up in a corner and gone into sleep mode.

  The original Zippo had been created by a long-dead cybertank known as Rock Dancer, and adopted by Fanboy after the former’s demise at the hands of the Amok. A cybernetic creation combining the loyalty of a domestic dog with the insatiable curiosity and jittery energy of a monkey, Zippo had been a hyperkinetic 15 kilograms of metal and ceramics. Shaped vaguely like a rhesus macaque, it could scamper on four legs, had a long prehensile tail, and big round goggle glass eyes that looked perpetually fascinated.

  After the original Zippo had been destroyed on the planet of the vampires at the onset of the cybertank-Yllg wars, Fanboy had created a second version. Certainly the second version was more advanced: the original could run in a blur faster than a regular human eye could follow; this new one could run even faster than Olga’s superhumanly fast vampire senses could track.

  The second version had retained the desire to stick its nose into anything and everything, which was both irritating and charming, but somehow Olga hadn’t warmed up to it. She remembered a time, so very long ago, back on old Earth before she had even become a vampire. As a child she had had a cloth doll. It was ragged and worn, but she had loved it. One day her mother had thrown it out and replaced it with another, newer and cleaner one, and Olga had hated it immediately. It wasn’t hers.

  Olga decided that there was nothing wrong with the new Zippo, she just missed the old one. Eventually the energy and eagerness to please of the new Space Monkey had won her over.

  An alert dinged on a terminal. She checked the readings, and saw that her shuttle was due to dock with the heavy scout. She undogged a metal hatch covering a clear window, so that she could watch the approach with her own eyes. The scout was eight kilometers distant, its 200-meter long hull clearly visible even this far away. Unsurprisingly, Zippo had woken up and crowded next to her near the window to get a view.

  The scout itself was encrusted with fuel containers and boxes of consumables – traveling between stars in a reasonable amount of time takes a lot of energy, and the more stuff you can crowd onto the surface of the hull the more shielding you get, for free. The shuttle eased in slowly towards the larger form of the heavy scout, then slowly rotated and fit itself into a slot in the hull. There would be two others just like it, and a heavy lift version, already docked: nothing like a little redundancy, when you are light years away from help.

  The shuttle vibrated and clanged as it was locked into place, and Olga cycled the lock that opened up into the heavy scout. Fanboy had been waiting for her, in the form of his Dieter Waystar android.

  “Permission to come aboard?” asked Olga.

  “Permission granted, Captain Razon. Welcome.”

  The scout was big enough to rotate to simulate gravity, but not so big that the coriolis forces weren’t annoying. However, for now it was stationary and everything was zero-G. Olga floated through the open hatch, though not until after Zippo had slipped on ahead first. He bounced around the Fanboy android several times, ricocheting off the walls, hooting happily.

  “Captain?” said Olga. “I’ve finally been promoted from Ensign?”

  “Absolutely! This will be your first solo command, after all, and it seemed appropriate.”

  “But then you no longer outrank me?”

  Fanboy shook his head, and pointed to a row of red diamonds at his white dress uniform’s collar. “Sorry, I have promoted myself to Admiral. Admiral Dieter Waystar, Cybertank Royal Space Navy, at your service!”

  “But I thought Waystar remained a Captain all through the series?”

  “The surviving shows, yes. But there was a follow on season – Space Battleship Scharnhorst: Death Ground – where Waystar was promoted to full admiral. No copies survive, but the references are clear. So I am entitled.”

  “Well, congratulations, Admiral. And thank you. Let’s see, how do we do this all formal like? Shall I say something like: Captain Olga Razon, reporting for duty admiral, sir!”

  “That sounds about right. So tell m
e, Captain Razon, are you ready to take command of the Heavy Scout Due Diligence?”

  “Aye aye, admiral, I stand ready to take command.”

  “Then you have the command, captain.”

  “Well, that was all nice and by the regs – but since when did the scout have a name?”

  “A mission this important, I decided to make it a formally commissioned vessel. And yes I know that, technically, we cybertanks do not have a Royal Space Navy, or commissioned vessels, but Due Diligence seemed like a good name to me; you have a better one in mind?”

  Olga thought for a moment. “No, Due Diligence will do fine.”

  “It’s been done,” said a voice from the next room over. “How about something more dramatic, like StormSlicer, or Heaven’s Rapier?”

  “Sword of Gadolinia?” said Olga. “That you?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Come on over and say hello to your old comrade.”

  Olga and Fanboy drifted through the hatch into the next room. The Sword of Gadolinia, snug in its scabbard, had been lashed to a wall, with line-of-sight to several computer terminals and an armored viewport.

  “Been a while since Wonderbear,” said Olga. “How have you been doing, sword?”

  “Oh nothing much. Ever since Bollard died nobody else has taken up the hobby of dungeons-and-dragons style simulacra, so it’s been slow. Thanks for bringing me along on this adventure. I’ve been looking forward to it!”

  “It’s not supposed to be an adventure,” said Fanboy. “Just a visit to another system to see if someone that we think owes us a favor, still does. It should be routine.”

  “But that’s how all the best adventures start out!” said the sword.

  “One way of putting it,” said Olga. “Just to make sure, you don’t mind coming along? As Fanboy said, it’s probably going to be boring and routine. As a full sentient, you have a choice.”

  “No, I’m just happy to be of even potential use. My programming prevents me from performing any physical actions unless I am grasped by a human hand, even giving orders to the scout’s AI, but I can stand watch, and sound the alarm. Besides, I like waiting. It’s a sword thing.”