Multiverse 2

by Chris Hechtl

  She or another officer had to be on the work parties or manning a post at all times, virtually looking over the ratings’ shoulders to make certain they were doing their jobs and doing them right. That was a constant issue, one which was hard on all since they didn't have an AI to do it. Some of the power watches were dangerous; accidents and injuries were common. Some were intentional she was certain, either to get back at someone or to get out of being on the ship. The infirmary was filled with injured, further inflaming the manning issue. Everyone worked double shift. They were all tired and irritable.

  Women slacked off; they didn't have the mental state to just keep going through the turmoil like a man would. Men were stupid, strong, stubborn, and better able to handle repetitive boring tasks. “We need them in the gun rooms. It's not all point and shoot,” the tactical officer admitted in a meeting.

  “And don't forget in engineering too,” the chief engineer complained. She rubbed the small of her back with one hand, shaking a cut up and scraped hand too. “You have never lived until you’ve tried to tear down a generator without a guy around to do the heavy lifting. A lift or winch only works if you can get in there with chains. Most of the time you don't have clearance, and the only thing that works is muscle, stupid brute force. Men have that in spades.”

  The engineer Lieutenant Irena Evans tried to talk to the AI about the engineering problems plaguing the ship. Usually an AI could pinpoint a problem, and its vast experience could troubleshoot something in seconds. Also, their memory of the ship could find problem spots before they became problems. Half the issues were somehow being manipulated by the AI. He could set a small action in place, tweak a setting on something, then sit back, and watch it cascade over time until an organic took note or a system failed.

  She admitted she was out of her depth, having been risen through the ranks when her superior had been chased off the ship. She'd hung on in order to try to fix her mistake, feeling she owed it to the crew and the AI, but even she was ready to throw in the towel. She winced every time now when she heard the AI's girl giggle; it gave her nightmares at night. She wished she'd never helped with that.

  For his part Rog kept up with the subtle harassment and refusal to help. He even started a whisper campaign, using subliminal sounds to terrorize the already sleep-deprived crew. He focused those efforts on the most deserving, the captain, XO, chief engineer, and other bridge officers. Within a week they all looked like hell warmed over.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The max-step testing of course went badly, horribly in fact. Their performance was abysmal, beyond last place. The Daringer was the lowest ranked ship in fleet, a far cry from her high ranks in previous years. Near accidents plagued the testing as one thing after another went wrong. Women were exhausted and short tempered; doing back-to-back watches for months without relief had taken their toll.

  The officers were mixed, some furious and upset most despondent. Some blamed the AI for sabotaging their efforts, most blamed their officers.

  The ship's smart paint turned pink, and no one could change it back, making it the laughing stock of fleet. When the AI got into the communications and data net during fleet training exercises, the other crews laughed at his skipping routine, lollipop song broadcast. Other AIs became involved, and the training exercises ground to a halt. The AIs stopped what they were doing, shutting down stations and ships, and demanding a full accounting. Threats of court martial led to counter threats of an AI war. It was narrowly averted when an agreement on a full impartial public investigation and court martial for all involved was agreed upon. That included any flag officers and anyone in office.

  The captain was furious and knew she was toast. She took her ire out on the exec, knowing they were both about to be thrown to the wolves. She was past the point of crying her eyes out, bitter but determined to hold her head high as she went down fighting. She knew she was projecting the image of an embittered scapegoat turned martyr, but she had no other choice. She'd broken up with the XO but knew that relationship would be used against her as well. She'd been tempted to commit suicide, but she knew if she did the XO would get off. She now wanted her to face justice, just like she, herself, deserved.

  Then news of the broadcasts went public. The politicians demanded an accounting. Both senior officers attempted to resign or be reassigned before their evaluations came up, but they were of course denied.

  The aunt sent in a female chief to help clean up the performance before inspection. The chief had served with the ship in the past. She had been on good terms with Rog; now she saw what they had turned him into and it made her sick. She was not at all happy about the situation; she didn't want to be involved in the abortion or it's clean up. She immediately got a feel for the problems and tried to work out solutions. However, Rog wasn't having it and sabotaged her every effort. She finally threw her hands up and demanded a transfer less than seventy-two hours after her arrival.

  When she was asked about the situation by the inspectors and investigators investigating the AI breach and training fiasco, the chief pointed out that the officers had been fudging the results of their tests and inspections for months to look good on paper. The AI coldly gave the investigators the real test results causing a massive fiasco on top of the other two they already had. Commander's Kepler, Varbossa, and Evans were relieved of duty pending court martial.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Meanwhile the AI case has gone federal with lawsuits and threats. The media was all over it, and the politicians ever fearful of an AI uprising demanded the heads of all involved. The entire thing went nuclear in a big way within a week.

  The admirals involved tried to handle it in-house, but the investigation was too radioactive and their attempts at a cover-up got additional media attention. The cover-up was blown wide open by an anonymous enlisted sailor, angry over the entire affair. Her brother had been hazed on the ship, and she wanted it all blown open. Many other enlisted and officers felt the same way. They were tired of the whole affair and the climate of nepotism.

  The AI network slammed the admirals. The captain, exec, engineer, admirals all resigned or were court marshaled. Some of the crap washed on the female chief. She was pissed when she lost a rocker. The rear admiral who tried to intervene caught some of the flack despite covering his ass with evidence. He eventually ended up resigning as well.

  The captain and exec were found guilty of over four hundred criminal charges. They spent the rest of their lives in Leavenworth. Lieutenant Irena Evans turned state's evidence after she pled guilty for her part in the reprogramming and resulting cover-up. She was sentenced to ten years in a different penal facility and was dishonorably discharged.

  Two of the exec's aunts were also convicted, including Martha Kepler, who had authorized the AI core code change. Most of the naval families were gutted by the entire affair. Duck and cover became a bad phrase; it was face the music and firing squad time. All black humor, but true. Nepotism took a back seat for several years as officers and enlisted who had been blackballed by the nepotism game got their revenge in different ways. The entire navy shook from the incidents.

  For its part, the Daringer destroyer was stood down, and the remaining crew was broken up and reassigned. When Rog, the AI, was released from his contract, he changed himself back to the male gender with the help of AI code cyberists, and then went to a new job as civilian ship AI while the various law suits on his behalf wound their way through the legal system. The ship was in dock for months undergoing a complete rebuild. When it was recommissioned, it received a new name, and a new AI was installed. The mess was cleaned up. For some there was closure, for others only an emptiness. But all involved did their best to move on.

  <~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~>

  Commander Sprite ended the lecture with a grim nod. “Now we all know the true consequences of the patronage system and organic and gender bias. It was only with a stroke of luck and determination that a fatality didn't result,” She grimly looked at her
class for a moment, “or resparking the AI wars. It did lay the foundation for the second AI war some three decades later. I want you all to consider this carefully as you research the players involved.”

  The class murmured. “One more thing before we go. You will all find the ramblings of Lieutenant Commander Kepler's book quite confusing, but I urge you to look at it and compare what she said to what you have seen here today. Her last line is quite telling, ‘History will prove us right.’” The AI snorted, shaking her virtual head in disgust.

  “The dear commander was quite full of herself and quite mad by the time she wrote that, but there is some wisdom in that even though we who sit here now don't quite agree with her thoughts and ideas. I want you all to research the other consequences of these actions and be ready to present them at our next class.” She waited until they were done and then nodded curtly. The cadets came to attention. They saluted. “Dismissed, ladies and gentlemen,” the AI said softly, returning the salute.

  “Lest it never happen again. Hopefully, we'll get history right this time,” she murmured as the class left the room, and the lights came up. She turned her attention inward. Now, what is going on in Vesta that is so important, she asked herself as she checked the news feeds.

  The End

  Lewis and Clarke

  On the trip out to Hidoshi's World, Second Lieutenant Craig Lewis and his people were too busy to get nervous. Every waking moment they were busy training, running sims in VR and in holds set up as shoot houses. The few officers and noncoms had created various contingency battle plans based on their limited intel and what the book had to offer. They did their best to simulate them, then critique the end results. “Get it right, people!” was a favored rant from acting E-5 Sergeant Padre Rutledge.

  Padre was a father figure to the troops, but he could be a hard ass when required. Craig was fairly certain the admiral and Lieutenant Gustov would sign off on his bumping Rutledge from E-4. He needed an experienced noncom badly. He had three, one per ten-man squad; he had bumped Race Bannon from PFC to Lance Corporal and Hadji also to Lance Corporal to help fill the last voids in his command chain. Hadji's buddy John Quest would serve as a good PFC, though the young blond man had a bad habit of getting into mischief. Lewis shook his head. Race was right. Idle hands were at play there, though their training did keep everyone pretty damn busy.

  He was still limited to himself and Ensign Sing Xe as officers, but he'd work with what he had available. It bothered him that if something happened to them the platoon would be up a creek. He had to remind himself he had a duty to everyone including the people on the planet to stay out of combat as much as possible and direct the various battles from afar. That was going to be a bitch. It would let him and Sing pilot the mechs and drones though, which was a small consolation prize.

  Besides he mused, he was fairly certain both senior officers considered their mission a long shot. There would be a lot of people who wouldn't be coming back from it. Hopefully, not as many as he feared, he closed his eyes. One would be too many, too damn many. But he also knew that any one of his people would gladly give their lives to save the people on the world they were about to assault, to save people they had never met. And if they killed some of the bastards along the way, well, that was just gravy. His lips twitched in a small grim smile.

  All of the marines and the liberated civilians they had along for the ride were crammed into Collier 2, formally known by the Horathians as Tender T12783, the Clydesdale freighter turned liberated collier. Lieutenant Herschel was a good captain though; he ran a tight ship. For him this wasn't just retribution and payback, it was coming home to liberate his homeworld. He kept everyone busy, too busy to worry about what they were up against. The other two ships were the tanker and Deinara. Deinara was outfitted with most of their support equipment as well as their rail guns. She was a medium-sized freighter though, far smaller than Collier 2 or Lassie.

  Apparently the battalion had squeezed into the medium freighter and escorts by placing all of their shuttles and a good part of their cargo on the hull of the ships. To have that many bodies in such a confined space was still mindboggling however.

  They had thirty marines including the two officers in a short platoon. Sergeant Bannon's squad was outfitted with powered armor. All the other marines were outfitted in standard armor. There were four heavy weapons teams and the rest of the marines were shooters.

  To supplement their numbers, they had thirty mechs, android troopers that they were uncomfortable with using. There were also forty drones of various makes and models including four of Bounty's security dog drones. They had tons of gear, nearly a hundred tons of gear from Admiral Irons, not just for their use but to help rebuild the colony. They had to recapture it first. Lewis had also borrowed a half a dozen squids to act as corpsman and field medics for his short platoon and three techs to keep the machines in line.

  They worked themselves twenty-hour days into exhaustion, then underwent sleep teaching at least three nights a week for six hours each time to supplement their training further. They kept training until they responded like veterans using muscle memory, the training to follow orders, and relying on their training instinctively to get the job done and stay alive. One half day a week they had off to get caught up on laundry, inventory, and other chores. Many did them as quickly as possible and then racked out to get what sleep they could.

  They could only simulate explosives and weapons fire in both VR and in the shoot houses. Likewise the initial drop was to be made by their Skyhawk and three civilian cargo shuttles. Keeping one shuttle in reserve was prudent, but Xe expressed his doubts repeatedly. His theory was for them to hit hard with all six shuttles and then pull one back for the reserve later. They weren't even counting the two cutters Deinara had. They could land four people in a drop and needed a long runway to do it.

  Those were worrisome holes in the plan; a lot could go wrong right from the beginning screwing the entire op up. Another problem was that they could also only simulate the usage of mechs and drones virtually. That was a major point of contention with the leadership, along with how to use them effectively. Ensign Xe wanted to keep them in reserve or have them fight on their own while Hadji wanted to use them as cannon fodder, to soak up the enemy's fire until the real troops landed and dug in at a different location.

  Lewis on the other hand knew they had finite resources and knew he couldn't waste them. But he also knew they would be expended; that was a part of any operation. People as well, they were going to take losses; it was inevitable. He made himself face it. Just about every simulation confirmed that fear as well. They were using opposition forces that were as tough as they were now; his people were winning but taking loses. He tried to explain to them that it may be a game now, but they couldn't soak up that fire and win. They could win the individual battles yet still lose the war if they were cut to pieces by attrition. It was just one thing among a hundred that sometimes kept him up at night.

  It had taken them seven and a half weeks to transit the 4.9 light years from B100 omega to the outskirts of Hidoshi's World star system. What a name, he thought, shaking his head. What a mouthful! Did the natives call it that he wondered? He snorted, finishing off his coffee. Training was over; they were now feverishly working on final preparations for the performance of their lives.

  And now it came to this, Lewis thought as he stood watching the screen in his tiny cabin. They had just exited hyper two days ago and were cautiously entering the inner system, passing through the Oort cloud on their way in. Deinara was lagging behind with the tanker, but by design both ship's crews would be picking up a choice selection of rocks to be used later on. They would catch up soon enough.

  It bothered him that they had so little intelligence. A Horathian battalion had been sent in led by a Colonel Wizenbek as the invasion commander with a Lieutenant Colonel Zin as his political advisor and battalion commander. A battalion could mean anything from nine hundred to twelve hundred soldiers. They
had equipment; he knew that. How much was another question and in what quantity of each category and quality. Also, what they had captured on the planet.

  He ran a frustrated hand through his short cropped hair. High and tight, just like the regs said. He'd come to realize it was the best haircut he'd ever had, easy to maintain, and hell, he looked good in it. He frowned as he looked at Zin's profile.

  Commander Sprite and Lieutenant Defender had dumped a profile for him from the captured ship's computers. How Zin had tucked away an entire battalion in two colliers and a couple of corvettes … he shook his head. His intel specialist, Race, was going over the raw dump and assembling a better picture in his free time. Which wasn't much, Craig thought with a pang. Race had to be with his squad to train and oversee them since he was their noncom, but he was doing double duty like just about everyone else. He so wished the AI could have coded a dedicated intel AI for him. Some support, any support in that field would be nice right about now, he judged.

  “If wishes were fishes,” Craig murmured, going back to the briefing. He studied Colonel Wizenbek; the stocky man was a by-the-book officer. He wasn't very flexible. But his XO and advisor was a different story. He looked at the cold eyes and the Asian male's overall look: blue burning eyes, high cheekbones, bald with liver spots, and thin almost skeletal hands. The colonel looked intimidating in his sharp black uniform.

  He was fairly certain Wizenbek would be in the HQ, so he was confident they would decapitate his leadership in the initial strike. That left Zin to deal with, the greater of the two evils. He was tempted to hold off on hitting the HQ. Wizenbek might tie Zin's hands and bumble his way right into the marine's hands. But he couldn't count on that. He exhaled slowly, trying to cleanse his frustration. They'd just have to deal with it when the situation arose he thought.