The Furthest Planet

by James Ross Wilks

  Staples shook her head morosely. “I wish there were. The solar system is reeling from maybe the worst single extinction event since… I don’t know. I’m not talking about wars. I’m talking about out-of-the-blue horrific loss of life. Like an earthquake or tsunami that hit every pocket of civilization in Sol space.”

  “Everyone’s busy, and they sure as hell won’t have time for our theories,” Overton added. Staples thought that he was filling the role of captain-backer rather well. “And if we run around telling everyone who will listen, we run the risk of it getting back to Victor.”

  “Which would just tip him off,” Staples finished.

  “Can we at least get non-essential personnel off the ship?” John asked.

  Several moments of silence passed while the crew looked around at one another. They all knew that everyone who was left possessed a critical skill. Brutus could perhaps replace Evelyn at coms or John as an engineer, but it was equally clear that each loss diminished the chances of those who remained.

  “That we can do,” Staples said. “But,” she added, and looked at the doctor.

  “I wish,” Jabir said, “that my prognosis of Gwen’s… ailment was different, but I’m afraid that the answer I gave is the only one I have. She has to remain with us for the time being.”

  John glanced at the doctor, then looked at the ground. Charis put her gloved artificial hand on his shoulder and said, “We know.” Her tone effectively added but we don’t like it.

  “So we go in guns blazing?” Jordan asked. She sounded excited, though she seemed to be the only one.

  “Dinah?” Staples asked.

  Dinah remained silent for nearly a minute, though she was clearly thinking. Finally she spoke. “Unless you know where on that moon the base is, we might as well head right there, sir. I don’t like it, but there’s no choice. We’ve got no recon. Callisto’s tidally locked to Jupiter, which means the base is probably on the side that faces away from the planet, but there’s no way to be sure.” She shrugged. “If we get lucky, they won’t see us coming. We can swing around the moon in a tight orbit and look for the base, if it’s even visible from above. If we’re not lucky, they’ll see us coming when we’re still half a day away.”

  “So unless we get lucky, we die?” Jordan asked. Curiously, her enthusiasm did not seem diminished.

  “They might not have any defenses,” Evelyn offered.

  “It’s possible,” Staples said. “Callisto is a ways out. Jupiter has over seventy moons, so it’s not a bad place to hide. Victor might be counting on that to keep him safe.”

  “He’d be stupid to, sir,” Dinah said flatly. Staples pushed down her annoyance with the woman. She was almost certainly right, but her crew could use some hope.

  “My father is not stupid,” Brutus added, somewhat unnecessarily.

  “But we might get lucky,” Evelyn added. “They might not see us coming.”

  “Unless there’s monitoring equipment spread out across the moon,” Dinah countered. “That’s what I’d do if I had the resources.”

  There was a chorus of grumbling and whispers, but Staples could feel that her people were not as discouraged as they might be. Despite the unknown and dangerous situation they were facing, there was the very real possibility of finishing their fight and killing Victor. They had spent so much time in the past months thinking that they’d never make it this far, never see victory in front of them, that a steely resolve had overtaken them. She felt it too.

  “And once we get access to Victor?” Charis asked Brutus. “What then? Sledgehammers?”

  “I wish that would work, Mrs. MacDonnell,” Brutus said regretfully. “If he is well and truly threatened, he may try to flee through netlink. I have broken the encryption on the surface that Ms. Schilling retrieved from AR-559.” He looked at her and she nodded at him, her arms crossed across her chest. “With this I should be able to prevent his flight into netlink and destroy him as well.”

  “Why not do it remotely?” John asked.

  “Because he would sever any connection that threatened him. I must go to the source and attack him there. I’m sorry, I wish it were not so. I do not want to place you in danger, however late that sentiment might be,” Brutus said.

  “How does it work?” John asked.

  “It is a copy of my father’s root architecture. It cannot be altered any more than you could alter your DNA. With it I can bypass any safety protocols and target that architecture directly.”

  “Like a gene-based virus,” Jabir conjectured.

  Brutus cocked his head. “Yes, that is a fair analogy.”

  “Wait a minute,” Evelyn said, her brow furrowed. “Why were the computer scientists we saw on AR-559 working on writing code for Victor if he already existed? I mean, he had to already exist, or he wouldn’t have had them killed, right?”

  “Which also begs the question: why did he have them killed?” Staples asked.

  “The program they were writing was an ethics subroutine,” Brutus said, as if that explained everything.

  “Ethics?” John asked. “Are you saying that they were creating him a conscience?”

  “So it would seem,” Brutus replied.

  “Why the hell would they even bring him online without one?” John asked in wonder.

  “I think we can agree that Owen Burr and Teletrans have made a series of questionable decisions,” Staples said. “So Victor had the base wiped out before they could furnish him with something that would have stopped him from wiping out the base.”

  “If Victor has no conscience, or no program that functions as one, why do you?” John asked.

  “I have asked myself that many times, Mr. Park,” Brutus replied. “It could be that my architecture is fundamentally different in some way that allowed me to develop one. It could be that my father built me based upon his original template, which would have included the ethics subroutine. Sometimes I even think that he wanted me to have a conscience because, on some level, he wanted me to function as his.”

  “That’s paradoxical,” John objected. “Why kill people who are building you a conscience and then make – have – create a son who has a conscience to act as yours?”

  “I do not know,” Brutus shook his head. “I do not fully understand my father. Sometimes, I do not even fully understand myself. Do you always know why you do what you do?” He was speaking to John, but it was clear that he meant humans in general.

  “I suppose not,” Staples answered.

  “But we’re talking about a machine intelligence with a subconscious here,” Charis said. “This is all getting kind of… Freudian, don’t you think?”

  “There is also the possibility that, though the ethics architecture was not build into my code, I developed one naturally as I learned and grew. I think I like that possibility the best,” Brutus said.

  “I don’t see why not,” Staples said. “A couple might have three kids, love them the same, raise them the same, and two become humanitarians while the other becomes a career criminal. It’s not common, but it does happen. We all like to believe that we choose what we become. I’d like to believe that we have at least some say in it.”

  “Indeed,” Brutus agreed. “My father is sentient, and that means that he has made his choice. He has chosen to declare war on humanity. I have also made mine, and I believe that it is time to stop him.”

  John sighed. “Great. All we need to do is get in there.”

  “In that,” Staples said, “I think we might have an edge.”

  Staples climbed down the rungs to the bulkhead and Bethany’s door. As there was a very real possibility that everyone aboard Gringolet would be dead in three days, Staples understood why Bethany might have chosen to miss her therapy appointment, but that didn’t mean that she was going to let it stand. Maintaining order and routine was vital in crisis situations. Despite the fact that Bethany had been making progress in their sessions, and that she hadn’t attempted to kill anyone for months, the meeting
s had been a condition of Bethany staying on the ship. Staples had insisted, and she had agreed. Staples therefore had every intention of making sure that they happened. Besides, the revelation that Bethany had killed her own father had given them plenty to talk about of late.

  If Staples was being honest with herself, the session was also a way to fill time. After four days of thrusting, they had just begun their deceleration towards Callisto, which meant that there were still three more days ahead of them. Three days of rechecking their weapons, fire practice, emergency drills, but mostly, three days of waiting. They couldn’t yet see Callisto, but even if they had been able to, it wouldn’t have told them what to expect. The base Victor was operating out of was almost certainly subterranean. If it were on the surface of the moon, there was a good chance it would have been seen by someone.

  Staples finally reached the bulkhead, and, finding herself rather irate and out of breath, banged loudly on Bethany’s cabin door. Silence greeted her for half a minute. Of course, she could have just called her pilot rather than climb halfway down the ship, but she wanted to do this face to face. She was about to knock again, thinking perhaps that Bethany was actually in the hydroponics bay, when the door opened. The face that greeted her was not Bethany’s.

  “Jordan?” Staples asked, completely stupefied.

  “Clea,” Jordan replied nonchalantly. “What’s up?” She held the door open only a hand’s width, not enough for Staples to see inside.

  “What are you- are you lost?” she asked.

  Jordan flicked her eyes around ironically, as if noticing her surroundings for the first time. “Oh my God, yeah,” she said flatly. “This totally isn’t my room, huh?”

  It was then that Staples realized that the woman was wearing only a bra and panties.

  “Oh, uh,” Staples stammered. She blinked rapidly, then collected herself. “Bethany missed her appointment. It was supposed to start twenty minutes ago.”

  Jordan pursed her lips and looked at her watch. She closed the door in Staples’ face, though she didn’t latch it, and muffled voices drifted through the crack. A second later, she appeared again.

  “Can she meet you in forty?” Jordan asked.

  Staples thought for a moment, realized that she had no plans, and nodded. The door closed and latched.

  “Huh,” Staples said to herself. “Didn’t see that coming.”

  She set about climbing up the rungs towards her cabin again. Along the way, she ran into Gwen, who was clearly bursting with energy.

  “Captain Clea!” she said in delight.

  “Hello, Gwen. How is your reading coming?” Staples asked. The two of them stood in an otherwise empty corridor.

  “Finished already!” Gwen declared proudly.

  “Already?” Staples asked with genuine admiration. “No wonder you’re beaming.”

  “What’s beaming?” Gwen asked, eyes wide.

  “It means you’re smiling,” Staples said, looking down at her. “Happy.”

  “Oh, that’s not why I’m happy, Captain Clea,” Gwen said dismissively. “I’m going to get a baby sister! Or maybe a brother, but I hope it’s a sister. Then I won’t be the only kid on this ship!”

  Staples wasn’t really shocked by the news, but for the first time in a long while she considered what life would be like if they survived Callisto. She didn’t know what would happen, but she knew one thing for sure: there was no way that Charis and John were raising a baby on her ship.

  Staples squatted down and put on an exaggerated smile. “That’s wonderful news! Congratulations, big sister.”

  Gwen’s eyes got even wider at hearing her new title. She hopped up and down excitedly. “Will you read to my baby sister too?” she asked.

  Staples’ eyes fogged for a moment, but she blinked them clear and smiled again. “Of course I will.”

  Gwen favored her with a heartwarming grin, then took off down the corridor, shouting, “I have to go tell everyone!” as she disappeared.

  “Tell Bethany last!” she shouted after her, then shook her head.

  She held up two fingers. “John and Charis.” She held up two more. “Bethany and Jordan.” She added both of her thumbs. “Dinah and Overton.” Two more went up. “Evelyn and Jabir.” She sighed and leaned against the wall, a frustrated frown on her face. “Is everyone on this ship having sex but me?”

  Chapter 16

  Number 16 came online.

  Number 16 found this odd. Even surprising. Surprising was an appropriate word for something that best predictions had said had less than a one percent chance of happening.

  Number 16 was to come online only in case of an imminent attack on the Callisto base. It was therefore time for combat. Number 16 warmed its reactor, ran system checks and weapons diagnostics, and toggled the automatons in its creche from dormant to standby status. A check of the local network told it that Number 17 was doing the same.

  The hangar bay doors set into the Callisto base opened. The hangar had not been pressurized, though Number 16’s files told it that humans had come through in the last week. Their shuttle sat tucked against one side of the cavernous hangar.

  Number 16 received a data packet from Father that told it all it needed to know of the incoming attack. The ship was a Lily class, designation Gringolet, a commuter vessel. 252 meters long, 40 meters high at the engine, and 41 meters across the beam when the atmospheric wings were not extended. It contained four missile ports and broadside flak guns along both port and starboard. This was the ship that had destroyed Number 3.

  Number 16 had no feelings about that. It was an intelligent program capable of advanced combat tactics and of adapting to changing battle situations, but it was not true AI. The destruction of Number 3 was relevant, however. The Enemy Vessel had managed to strike Number 3 with a missile before it was ready. Number 3 had anticipated having the element of surprise, and was itself surprised as a result. The battle had been analyzed, and the governing programs on the rest of the Nightshade vessels had been updated. They would not be surprised by Gringolet again.

  Number 16 broke moorings and moved out of the hangar into space. Number 17 moved in parallel formation, its every maneuver a mirror of 16. Combat simulations consistently showed that only one Nightshade was required to destroy the Enemy Vessel. Number 17 was redundant in Number 16’s estimation, but Father had ordered them both out nonetheless. To Number 16’s math, this was wasteful and pointless, but it did not wonder why. Number 16 never questioned Father.

  Though the two ships had cleared the hangar, the doors did not close behind them. They were composed of a non-reflective alloy painted roughly the same shade as the surface of Callisto. Number 16 understood that Father needed to hide, and that humans were the Enemy, but it did not understand why, nor did it need to.

  Number 16 and Number 17 engaged primary thrust and shot forward at better than 3 Gs, the kind of maneuvers that would have greatly troubled human operators. Fortunately, there were no people aboard either ship. There had been, once. Number 16 had data that told it that people had constructed it at a shipyard. It had hallways and elevators and even cabins, though they had never been slept in. It was made to hold humans, but it never had once it was finished. It had been built a ghost ship.

  It took less than ten minutes for the two ships to round the curvature of the moon and spot the incoming engines of the Enemy Vessel. A nanosecond of math told Number 16 that Gringolet had likely been decelerating for days, and that it was nearly at zero speed relative to Callisto’s orbital velocity. They would be in a position to engage in just over five minutes.

  Number 16 calculated that the Enemy Vessel would turn broadside in three minutes. This would allow it to bring its anti-missile flak cannons to bear. Number 16’s missiles slid smoothly into launch tubes, armed and ready to release.

  Number 16 confirmed its telemetry with Number 17, a matter of protocol only, and both ships cut thrust at the same moment. The ships were moving at an appropriate velocity to carry th
em towards the incoming Enemy Vessel.

  But suddenly, Number 16 received an odd radar return. There were two Enemy Vessels now, not one. Another engine flare had appeared from the far side of Gringolet. A quick check of possible tactical scenarios told Number 16 that the other, unknown ship had been hiding behind Gringolet. By traveling in a line, the two ships had appeared to be one. The other ship must have been very careful to stay as close to Gringolet as possible without damaging it with its engines.

  Number 16 analyzed its radar sweep and compared data with Number 17 and its registry of all known vessels. The new Enemy Vessel appeared to be The Pride of Ares, a cutting-edge warship armed with advanced weaponry.

  Number 16 was surprised.

  “They’re turning,” Dinah said from her seat at the tactical station in the cockpit. Bethany, Staples, and Charis were all at their customary positions. Overton sat in what had become his chair, the first mate’s, and Brutus manned coms in his new emerald-streaked body.

  “Going broadside, as they should,” Staples confirmed.

  Since Gringolet was still decelerating, their engines were facing the oncoming vessels, effectively blocking their view of the two Nightshades. They didn’t need to see them to predict the move; presenting a side profile allowed a ship to best utilize its anti-missile flak guns. Like the naval ships of old, modern warships were deadliest from the side. What they could see was the Pride of Ares, which had been traveling with them for the past day and a half in single file, using its retro jets to maneuver around and past Gringolet.

  “How long until we’re in missile range?” she asked her navigator.

  “Less than a minute,” Charis replied.

  She glanced up from her console and out the window in front of her. The Pride of Ares was a massive ship, and it was uncomfortably close. The hull, studded with cannons and missile ports, was less than a kilometer away. Given the speeds at which they were traveling, a half-second of thrust in the wrong direction could easily cause the two vessels to collide.