by Ben Wilson
“No. You need to stop treating me like a puppet. You need to let me be who I am.”
I don't think you understand. You are no longer you alone. You are now we; me and you. You don't get to call the shots. I do.
* * *
* * *
* * *
Litovio - Destroyer Korundaj
Korundaj's bridge was alive with action. The targeting crew slowly shifted from chaotic panic to accidental professionalism. The nearer painters were down, which stifled the Navy's barrage for the moment. The Navy fleet no longer received coordinated targeting information. Once the Navy noticed the Marine's sharpshooting, Litovio knew they would adjust tactics and renew the barrage. It was the break Litovio needed.
The jump ship continued to elude them. Litovio felt as long as that ship remained active, the Navy would continue the fight. If a ship became too damaged, they would grab the latest jump solution providig the escape route and jump away. Take away their escape route, and they'll be less willing to fight. The Navy was not manned by fanatics.
He looked at his communications officer. “Signal the destroyer divisions. I want two divisions to reform and prepare for a penetration run. We need interceptors.”
The officer nodded and repeated the order.
Litovio scanned the bridge. It was an intimate space. Every member of the bridge was focused and calm. A change from a few beats before. He shook his head. Bence and his precious money. How could he be so greedy that he would want to toss away all these men and material?
He shook himself out of his reflection. He needed to inventory the fleet, so he looked at the display. It looked like half the Postal fleet was gone, with not nearly as much wreckage. “Cowards, jumped when the fight started, no doubt.” His voice was low enough that he hoped nobody else on the bridge overheard him. He then pulled up the IFF transponder report. It confirmed his original assessment that several ships jumped away. Included among the cowards was the Spaka. Glad we didn't keep it as a flag.
He took a moment to pull up the ship's report. All of the ships feed constant automatic battle damage reports. The Spaka's report was brutal. Several hull breaches, and likely most of the armor had been destroyed. Jumping wasn't the right action there, Ravindra. If you're still alive now, you won't be when you emerge. Despite the animosity between them Litovio felt a twinge of sorrow, which turned to anger as he thought of the hundreds of men who are dying on the Spaka. They could have launched escape pods.
“Sir, the destroyers are formed and starting their acceleration.”
Litovio shook off the wave of despair that washed over him as he finished threading through the casualty report. “Get your head in the game,” he whispered. Litovio turned to the communications officer. “Form two more, now.”
“Yes, Sir. What are your orders for the first two divisions?”
Litovio looked over the battle display. The jump ship still did not stand out, which was a tribute to the admiral leading the Navy—a real admiral and not a Lieutenant frocked as a Colonel who staged a coup and seized control of a mass of ships that presumed itself to be a fleet. Again, Litovio pushed doubt out of his mind. No choice was a bad one. Serendipity, right? A full beat staring at the display and he made up his mind.
Litovio pointed at a ship roughly near the center. The Navy fleet was thinnest there, giving them a chance to breakout. “Tell the two divisions to split, then converge behind this ship here. Have them fire defensive barrages until they get near that ship, then hit anything they can.” Litovio looked over to see the communications officer repeating the order to the two divisions.
Over the next several beats, he watched the divisions split and execute the order. They lacked the precision Litovio remembered from simulators and academic replays of classic fleet actions that he was subjected to in the Academy. He sighed, wondering whether he should have listened to his father after all. Or would he just go down with the ship?
At last, the destroyers began to converge. Litovio focused on the opposing fleet, looking for indications about what the fleet cared about. The ship the destroyers targeted winked out under the maelstrom of postal gunnery. The postal destroyers crossed and finished punching through the Navy fleet. The divisions continued their separation, turning toward utility ships that afforded them targets of opportunity.
“Sir, the other destroyer divisions are formed, but one lacks its command element.”
“Then we'll have to join them. We can't be a destroyer that hangs back. The Navy will figure out we're important and target us. Tell them to form up on us and spin up to full thrust.” While he gave the order, his eyes remained locked on the display.
The Navy seemed not to react to the first destroyer rush, though utility ships were closing on Navy ships that could provide them covering fire. A few were breaking contact altogether, creating separation to improve their jump solution.
“That's it.” The utilities were trying to avoid the gravity of the two fleets. Proximity to gravity increased the risk of the jump. Rather than create maximum distance, a ship could go to libration points, where the gravity of nearby objects is nullified by the gravity of others. The jump ship would constantly calculate the total potential gravity in the local volume and feed the libration points to the rest of the fleet. Litovio suspected the libration points would expose the jump ship.
“Quick, where are the l-points? Have the computer plot them on the battle display. Nothing fancy, just probability spheres.”
Within the beat, the libration points appeared as faint, fuzzy spheroids. One l-point was within the Navy fleet, at its gravity center, which was not its true center. Within that point was a single ship. That libration point shifted as the first two postal destroyer divisions pursued the utility ships. The ship in the spheroid adjusted course to recenter itself in the l-point. The timeliness of the adjustment was too natural to be feeding off input from another ship.
Litovio pointed. “That is the jump ship. There.” He was beaming. How to get close without spooking the ship? We'll feint after another deep target. He scanned the display until he found a suitable decoy. “Tell the other division to break away from us, arc up, then target this ship.”
After the communications officer nodded, he turned to the navigations officer. The officer was focused on maneuvers, so Litovio grabbed him by the tunic shoulder to get his attention.“Look at the display. I want you to turn down, and plot a course that will have us arcing just outside weapons range of that ship. When we get close enough, I want you to turn us directly into that ship. Comms, did you get that?”
“Yes, Sir.” The communications officer relayed the orders to the other ships.
This time, the wait was more nerve-wracking. Korundaj was a part of the rush, more likely to be a target. Litovio noticed that the Navy admiral had not focused on the destroyers. Instead, the Navy's destroyer group sent its own divisions in pursuit. Maybe they'll ignore us and send other destroyers after us. If Litovio pulled the maneuver off, then the Navy fleet will be trapped. The ships would be slightly more willing to surrender than jump away.
The arced course flattened, careful to avoid the appearance of going after the jump ship. Litovio was satisfied as the ship continued to remain within the libration point's spheroid, though drifting slightly to the more distant lobe.
At the last possible moment, the destroyer division cut course. The ships all started driving for the jump ship, as much as they could as they fought with their momentum. The Korundaj shook as its guns fired. A moment later, the jump ship disappeared.
Litovio pumped his fist. “Yes.” It doesn't matter if we killed it or it jumped. The rest of the fleet should be without up-to-date data to jump. The longer the battle lasts now, the less stable their solution will be. Litovio felt as if a bubble had been burst.
The postal fleet was broken in to several chunks, but they were all outside the Navy fleet's barrage focal point. We're still going to need a miracle to survive this. “Order this division back to the main
fleet. It wouldn't help for the flag ship to be destroyed.”
* * *
Bophendze - Naval Battleship
“Now you listen. I'm about tired of this. We may be joined ‘til death do us part’ but you aren't going to call any shots.”
Very bold of you, Puppet.
“Sto—” Bophedze started to speak.
Smee closed his mouth.
You can't stop me from thinking. You are going to stop calling me Puppet. And you are not going to take my body over again without my permission. Do you understand?
Smee pointed the pistol in Bophendze's right hand at his foot.
I'm sorry. I don't understand, Puppet.
Smee pulled the trigger, the bullet ricocheting off the armor.
Hah! Armored.
Smee ran Bophendze's body into the bulkhead head first. The armor cushioned the blow. Bophendze's hand then activated the controls to open the helmet's visor. He punched Bophendze in the face, fattening the lip. He punched again on the cheek.
I can do this all day, Puppet. I can do this in your sleep. I can do this when you walk down the street. I can open your visor the next time you're in space and leave you to suffocate. I own you, Puppet.
You don't own me. Kill me and kill yourself.
I don't have to kill you. I can blind you, make you deaf, make you piss your pants. There's not a part of your body that I don't control.
Bophendze felt his anger start to rise. No. I will not be a prisoner in my own body.
Give it up, Puppet. Even if you manage to stop me now, I will come back eventually.
Bophendze started to despair. Smee doesn't always hear my thoughts, only when I try to talk to him. There must be parts of my brain he can't tap into. There's got to be a way I can get control. What can I control now? Bophendze tried to take a couple breaths. I can do that much.
Give up yet? You're just like Sirom. You think you can defeat me. Give up. You can't
Bophendze tried not responding to Smee. Not hardly. Then it occurred to him, Sirom was Smee's earlier host? Then he had Sirom put him in the will to mother then to me. Sirom, how did he die? Suicide? Smee probably updated the will then killed Sirom. I can't let him win.
Bophendze dug deeply into his emotions. He tapped into his sorrow, his anger, his joy. As the emotions washed over him, he tried to drop the pistol. This has to work. He thought of his father and Makaan. He remembered Angel's sacrifice, returning to the rage he felt. He focused his anger on his hand.
The pistol dropped.
What?
Bophendze beat his fist on his thigh. “I hate you. Do you hear me, Smee? Hate. You don't own me.”He slapped his face. “See? I control myself.”
For now, but you can't hold onto that hate forever.
Bophendze picked the pistol up and jammed it into the holster. “I don't need forever. I need right now.” He stripped the guard's ammunition. “Now help me take this ship.”
That I can help with.
* * *
When Smee acclimated to Bophendze on Temask, he researched what happened after Sirom's death. As puppets went, he was a decent fellow. Unlike Bophendze, he did not resist. Smee thought Sirom would be pleased that Bophendze had somehow managed to bottle the demon.
Smee learned about the efforts to outlaw embeddable AI, which he thought was a wise step. It would take him a lifetime at least before he could find where all his comrades went. He also had a lifetime to figure out interstellar communication. Like it or not, his future was entwined with Bophendze. He would have to do what he could to keep the poor boy alive until the time was right to find a new host.
But not forever. I'll find a way to bypass that reptilian brain and then Bophendze is done for. He's young, reckless. I might have a chance. You've only won for a while Bophendze, though. I'll bide my time. I have eternity.
Chapter
So what's your plan?
The question took Bophendze off-guard. What do you mean what's my plan? I thought you said you could help. You're an artificial intelligence. Don't you have a plan?
You want to be in control, so take control. What I might do and what you might do are two totally different things.
Bophendze tried to think of a plan. This is the flagship, right?
That's what it appears to be.
Then we need to get it to surrender.
Sheer genius. Don't you remember me earlier saying this battleship has about 1,500 officers and crew?
Yes, but there's only one postal marine.
How very clich`e of you. You forgot to add that the postal marine is a genius.
Obviously I'm smarter than an AI if it's asking me for a plan. Since you're the master of control and manipulation, why don't we make this ship work for us?
What do you mean?
Tap into the fire coordination network and have the Navy ships target one another.
That is actual genius.
Bophendze felt pleased that for once Smee's use of the word genius was not neatly wrapped in sarcasm. Where's the fire control center?
Communications tend to be near the center of the ship—Deck Zero—and we're on the top, so head down.
Bophendze checked the rifle one more time. He patted the holster and ammunition he picked up from the dead guard. He looked at the door. What about that lock? Do you have a way of defeating it?
It's an electronic lock, a design that predates me. Not a very good design, as I recall. If you had a piece of wire you could short it out.
Bophendze looked around for a piece of wire. The anteroom was austere, with only the guard and his seat. Not willing to give up, he used the but of the rifle to break the outer case of the lock. “Which wire do you want me to short?”
The red one there. But don't you thin—
Bophendze pulled the wire out, and the gun locker's locking mechanism released. The high pitch of an alarm warning radiated from within the locker.
That's the door alarm telling you that it needs to be deactivated before it goes off.
Bophendze entered the gun locker. The interior light flickered on in response to his motion. He looked around the locker until he located the small flat screen that he decided must be the alarm. He again resorted to the rifle's butt to break the flat panel. The glass barely recognized the smudge the butt put on it.
That's transparent aluminum—chemcor. You won't be getting at it that way.
How long until they respond?
That depends on whether they suspect you're here. They probably already sent a detachment to find out why the aft gun isn't firing. If I were to guess, I'd say you have a beat or two.
Bophendze picked up a messenger bag. He opened it up and loaded it with anything that looked familiar. In the end he loaded six M9 anti-personnel grenades and nearly a dozen magazines for the FACR and a bandoleer of extra ammunition. Bophendze slung the bag across his body. He started out of the gun locker, then stopped. He went back to the M9 grenade crate and took out two more grenades. He returned to the anteroom, and armed both grenades. Bophendze then tossed the two grenades into the locker. He slammed the hatch shut and turned the latch. He then hurried out of the anteroom into the passage beyond.
The grenades exploded, one slightly after the other. That set off a chain reaction of other munitions within the locker.
Forward or aft?
Aft takes you back to the gun. Head forward and take the ladders down.
As Bophendze climbed down the ladder, the battleship shuttered. It was the sort of shudder that should have thrown him down to the deck below. Instead, his grip held, and he continued down to the deck below. He came around the ladder and started forward again. The battleship shuttered again.
The battleship's come under attack. This might not be the safest place to be right now.
Tell that to the crew. As soon as you show me where I need to go, they will all find this battleship unsafe.
Fine. We're on level five. The control room is on level zero.
It's a good
thing there's nobody in this part of the ship.
You didn't just say that.
As Bophendze approached the next down ladder, a helmeted head poked through the hatch from the deck below. A navy guard. Bophendze froze in place as he watched the navy guard continue up the stairs.
You had to say there was nobody here. Why are you just standing there? Do you think he won't see you? Shoot him.
Bophendze did not shoot. Instead, he charged the ascending guard and kicked him back down the ladder.
Didn't you do that a few weeks back? A sign of sentience is the ability to learn from past mistakes.
Bophendze pulled a grenade and armed it. He then tossed it down the ladder and shielded himself from the inevitable explosion. It clinked three times as bounced down ladder and onto deck during its fall. The detonation sounded less than what Bophendze had suspected. It was a loud pop instead of a large explosion. Shrapnel from the grenade pinged around the deck below. A few fragments shot through the hole and bounced around menacingly but harmless. Smoke started to waft through the hatch.
He waited until the shrapnel stopped bouncing. His arm had been covering his visor. He lowered it and watched the smoke come through. Rather than wait for Smee to pressure him, he got up on his feet and jumped onto the ladder's railing with his feet and slid down to the deck below.
He landed flatly, then checked the guards to see if they were still conscious. Satisfied, he hurried to the next ladder. I might as well do it again. Bophendze pulled another grenade. He armed it and tossed it to down the hatch. When he exploded, he smiled. Much easier than poking my head through the hatch.
Don't you think you should be a little more cautious? They can hear an exploding grenade much better than a few bullets from your FACR.
“They already know that we're here, so there's no sense in being all stealthy.” The ship shuttered. “Besides, they're under attack. The explosions might go unnoticed.”