by G J Ogden
Sterling shook his head. “No way, I’m not wiping you and starting over,” he said, defiantly. “You have two-years’ worth of accumulated knowledge and experience in your fritzed-up circuits. That’s experience I badly need right now.”
“Nor do I wish to perform the wipe, Captain, since it would essentially erase the essence of what I am,” the computer replied. “However, there appears to be no other option.”
Sterling flopped back into his chair and let out a sigh. On top of all their other problems, this was just another kick in the balls. “I would have thought a smart-ass AI like you could have re-programmed itself,” Sterling said, allowing his frustration to seep into his words.
“I can,” the computer replied, flatly.
Sterling shot up again. “What do you mean you can?”
“I mean exactly that, sir,” the AI replied, cheerfully. “I can self-correct this fault.”
“Then do it already!” Sterling yelled, throwing his arms out wide. “Why are we even having this conversation?”
“Unfortunately, Fleet and United Governments law expressly forbids an AI to self-program, Captain,” the computer replied. “All Fleet vessels contain inhibitor chips that prevent this from happening. The Invictus is no exception.”
Sterling cursed and nodded, remembering the specific regulation that related to ship-board AIs. However, he would also be damned if he was going to let regulations stand in the way of getting what he needed. While he may have still been fighting for Earth and for humanity, he was technically no longer a member of Fleet.
Tapping his neural interface, Sterling opened a link to Lieutenant Razor and waited for her to respond. In many ways, the computer and his engineer shared a similar problem. Both had suffered corruption to their brains, though while Razor’s condition continued to be a ticking time bomb, Sterling was hopeful that his computer’s problem could be repaired fully.
“Razor here, Captain, what do you need?” said the voice of his chief engineer in his head. Sterling could sense a feeling of discomfort and claustrophobia, and guessed that Razor was crawling around inside some engineering service space or another.
“I need you to immediately disable the computer’s inhibitor chip, Lieutenant,” Sterling said, getting straight to brass tacks.
There was an awkward pause before Razor replied. “Sir, tampering with the AI inhibitor system is a court-martial offence,” Razor said. Sterling could feel his engineer’s uneasiness through the link. “If I do that, I could be looking at ten-to-fifteen years in Grimaldi.”
“I will take full responsibility, Lieutenant,” replied Sterling, confidently. “Besides, there won’t be anyone left to court-martial either of us if we don’t get the AI fixed. Hell, there won’t even be a Grimaldi and maybe not even a moon.”
There was another pause before the engineer replied. “I take your point, sir, I’ll get right on it. In fact, I’ve always been curious to see what would happen if an AI was left to essentially program itself, so this could be fun.”
Sterling laughed. “I’m not interested in fun, Lieutenant, just a working computer. Let me know when it’s done.”
“Aye, sir,” Razor replied. Sterling was about to tap his neural interface to close the link, but he could sense that his engineer had more to say. “I feel it important to point out that there are good reasons why the inhibitor chips were installed,” Razor went on. “We are essentially permitting the computer to evolve, sir. And given the power of our gen-fourteen, we’re talking about evolution over a period of hours, not millions of years.”
“I understand, Lieutenant,” replied Sterling, though in truth he understood very little about computers and AIs in particular. “Get it done. Sterling out,” he added, tapping his interface to close to link.
“Thank you, Captain,” the computer then said. “I will endeavor to correct the issues with my programming as soon as Lieutenant Razor disables the inhibitor.”
“No need to thank me, computer, you’re a member of this crew, the same as any other,” Sterling replied. Then he jabbed an admonishing finger toward the ceiling of his quarters. “Just don’t go all psycho on us and take over the ship, okay?” he added. “We’re already under threat of extinction by the damned Sa’Nerra and I don’t need a power-crazed AI adding to humanity’s problems.”
“I will do by best, but no promises, Captain,” the computer replied, cheerfully. Sterling froze and felt his stomach knot, fretful that he may have just opened pandora’s box. “That was a joke, Captain,” the AI then added, smugly.
Sterling let out the breath he realized he’d been holding, then shook his head. “Work on your sense of humor while you’re at it,” he said, heading toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there is a certain Commander I need to beat to the wardroom.
“Commander Banks and Ensign Jinx arrived in the wardroom, four minutes, six seconds ago,” the computer announced.
Sterling froze again. “Damn it, how many number twenty-sevens do we have left in stock?” he asked, casting his eyes toward the ceiling.
“Excluding the one that Commander Banks has just retrieved; none, sir,” the computer said. Sterling thought he could detect a mood of amusement in the computer’s reply.
“Well, that last number twenty-seven had better be for me, or there’s going to be a sudden command-level re-shuffle around here,” Sterling grumbled, hitting the button to open the door.
He stepped outside, and was immediately forced to halt his advance toward the wardroom as he returned a number of salutes and morning greetings from the crew. The door shut behind him, cutting off the computer’s response to his last statement. However, if he had waited, Sterling would have heard the computer say, “Of course it is for you, Captain. After all, she loves you.”
Chapter 2
A different Shade
Sterling arrived at the wardroom slightly out of breath. He had run part of the way to ensure Banks hadn’t eaten the number twenty-seven meal tray before he got there. Surveying the room, he spotted Commander Banks at their usual corner table and cursed. His first officer was already working her way through the second of two meal trays. Then he saw a third meal tray, foil cover still intact, at the place-setting opposite, and he smiled.
“I knew you’d come through for me,” Sterling said, sliding into the chair across from his first officer.
Banks smiled. “I considered eating it, but I’m just not as cruel and heartless as you are,” she said, scooping up a spoonful of beans.
“You’ll need to work on that, if you’re ever to become an Omega Captain yourself,” said Sterling, glancing around for one of the wardroom staff. Then he remembered that the crewman who usually worked in the wardroom had been killed in the battle at F-sector. He suddenly felt a little guilty because he couldn’t remember his name.
“It’s okay, I can just double-up on cruelty in other areas,” Banks replied, flashing her eyes at him. “Or I could simply assassinate the current captain in his sleep and assume command of the ship.”
Sterling frowned. “That would be funny if I didn’t think you were being at least partly serious,” he replied. Grabbing the meal tray he slid off his seat and went to process it himself.
“Grab some fresh coffee while you’re over there,” Banks called out. A bean fell out of her mouth and bounced off the table as she was speaking.
“Yes, sir…” Sterling said, while sliding the tray into the processor. He looked for a clean coffee jug, which wasn’t as easy as it should have been. The untimely demise of the wardroom staff had led to coffee jugs, cutlery and mugs piling up, waiting to be put into the washer. “We’re going to need to set up a new cleaning rota,” Sterling added, checking through the pile of jugs until he found a clean one. “This place is becoming a tip.”
“Half the ship has walls missing and cables dangling from the ceiling, and you’re worried about clean mugs?” Banks said, as Sterling placed the jug underneath the dispenser. “It would be easier to just build
a new Marauder than repair the Invictus.”
“Not a chance,” said Sterling, collecting two mugs and returning to the table with them and the jug of coffee. “The Invictus is not just a ‘Marauder’, it’s a member of the crew. Frankly there aren’t that many of us left, so we’re not letting her go, even if I have to bolt her back together with my own bare hands.”
The food processor pinged, notifying Sterling that his number twenty-seven meal tray was ready. He hurried back to the machine, wary of allowing anyone else to potentially steal his prize, and slid the tray out. He could already smell the glorious odor of fake cheese and lab-engineered ham.
“I don’t think there’s anything in the universe more satisfying than a Fleet grilled ham and cheese,” Sterling said, returning to the table.
“You must have led a very sheltered life then,” quipped Banks.
Sterling gave his first officer a derisive snort then set to work devouring his breakfast tray. The cheese tasted particularly tangy, he realized. Then he noticed that it was one of the vintage number twenty-sevens that they’d recovered from the vaults at Colony Two, Middle Star, shortly before he’d met the mutineer, Christopher Fletcher for the first time.
“These things age well,” commented Sterling, already half-way through the sandwich. “I’d love to know the recipe, so I can get Razor to engineer more of them.”
“If we hadn’t let Jana from Middle Star take half of the consignment from the vaults, we wouldn’t need to,” Banks replied, her eyebrow raised slightly.
Sterling placed the crusts of the sandwich down on the tray, dusted off his hands and glared at his first officer.
“That almost sounded like you were questioning one of my decisions, Commander,” Sterling said, practically daring Banks to confirm her act of insubordination.
“I would never even contemplate doing such a thing, sir,” Banks replied, grabbing the crusts from Sterling’s tray and dropping them onto her own.
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Sterling, picking up his coffee mug to help wash down the sandwich. A shadow then crept across the table and Sterling glanced up, noticing that one of the ceiling lights was flickering on and off. Along with the problems with the gen-fourteen AI, a number of other systems were experiencing malfunctions too. “This ship is coming apart at the seams,” Sterling added, now realizing that a quarter of the light panels were defective.
“The fact the Invictus is still flying at all is a miracle,” said Banks, reaching over to steal a fruit biscuit from Sterling’s tray. “We lucked out by getting Lieutenant Razor as a replacement for Crow. What she’s been able to do these last two weeks, without the benefit of a repair facility, has been incredible.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Sterling said. He spotted Banks reaching over to steal another biscuit and slapped her hand away. “It’s a shame she can’t fix the corruption in her own implant, though,” he added, bitterly. “We’d all be dead a dozen times over if it weren’t for her skills.”
Another shadow then crept over the table and Sterling cursed, peering over his shoulder to look for the offending light tile. Instead he saw Lieutenant Shade standing behind him, meal tray in hand.
“Oh, it’s you, Lieutenant,” said Sterling, removing the gruff expression from his face. “I thought the sudden drop in light level was from another faulty light tile.” Sterling turned back to his tray, noticing that his first officer had used the momentary distraction to break off a chunk of his cake bar. Banks was innocently looking away, trying to disguise the fact she was clearly chewing the stolen half of the bar. Shaking his head, he picked up the remainder of the cake and was about to take a bite when he noticed that the shadow had not moved on. “Was there something you needed, Lieutenant?” Sterling said, glancing back over his shoulder at Shade.
“I… erm,” Shade began, sounding uncharacteristically apprehensive. “I thought I might join you, sir. If you don’t mind, of course.”
The surprise request momentarily stunned Sterling and he almost dropped the cake bar. “Oh, yes, yes, of course, Lieutenant,” he eventually managed to blurt out. He kicked out a chair for his weapons officer and gestured to it with his free hand. “Take a pew.”
Shade obliged and dropped down into the chair, sliding the meal tray in front of her. She carefully adjusted her seat and the precise position of the meal tray on the table, before peeling back the foil. Every move was done with a level of regimented precision unlike anything he had ever witnessed before. Sterling then noticed that the significance of the occasion was not lost on Banks, either. She looked stunned to see their antisocial weapons officer sitting at the same table. In all the time Opal Shade had been on the ship, she had always eaten alone.
“How are our robot guests in the cargo bay doing, Lieutenant?” said Banks as Shade began slicing through a sausage like a surgeon performing a delicate operation.
“The Obsidian Soldiers have remained in low-power mode for the entire duration of the journey, sir,” Shade replied. She placed a piece of sausage into her mouth and chewed it precisely eighteen times before swallowing. “I have them under observation twenty-four seven, just in case.”
“Maybe we could program one of those infernal machines to work in here,” said Sterling, filling up Shade’s mug from the coffee pot. “I’d rather they be useful than just stand around in the cargo bay, sucking up power.”
“They are actually very compliant, Captain,” Shade said, while surgically dissecting other parts of her meal tray. “I have one on duty at the weapons control station right now. They are surprisingly adept at firing plasma rail cannons.”
Sterling choked on his coffee and grabbed a napkin to mop up the liquid as it dribbled down his chin. “What the hell?” he said, almost dropping the cup down on the table. “I didn’t authorize that,” he added before glancing across to Banks. “Did you?”
Banks shook her head. “Not a chance. I don’t trust those machines as far as I could throw them.” Sterling threw out his hands and Banks swiftly modified her statement. “Okay, as far as you could throw them,” she corrected herself.
Shade’s eyes flicked from Sterling to Banks. She looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I apologize, Captain, that was intended as a joke,” the weapons officer explained.
Sterling flopped back in his seat, tossing the napkin down onto his tray. “Damn it, Lieutenant, have you been taking lessons in comedy from the computer?”
Shade continued to look like she would rather be tied to a pole and surrounded by Sa’Nerran warriors than sit at the captain’s table. “Yes, sir, it advised me that humor might allow me to better fit in with the rest of the crew,” the weapons officer replied. Sterling was again lost for words. He hadn’t actually expected his glib remark to have been the truth. “I am aware that most people view me with…” Shade hesitated then added, “…suspicion.”
“They’re afraid of you, Lieutenant,” Sterling said, taking a far less tactful approach than Shade had done. “And rightly too. You’re a killing machine, which is exactly what I need you to be.”
“Aye, sir, I apologize again,” said Shade. She then gathered her knife and fork onto the tray and began to stand up.
“Sit the hell back down, Lieutenant,” Sterling said before Shade had even risen to her full height. She reluctantly dropped into the seat again then Sterling straightened his back and turned his body to face her. “You’re always welcome at this table, Lieutenant,” Sterling went on. “The only stipulation is that you be you, because you already fit in here.”
“I understand, sir,” replied Shade. “Thank you.”
Sterling huffed a laugh. “Don’t be so eager to thank me yet,” he replied, narrowing his eyes in the direction of Commander Banks. “Anyone who sits at this table is liable to lose half of their meal tray to that eating machine over there.”
“That won't be a problem, Captain,” Shade replied, picking up her knife and fork again. “I scored in the top first percentile for the Fleet reaction time test at
the academy. I would be able to stab my fork into Commander Banks’ hand before she managed to take anything from my tray.”
A silence fell over the table as Sterling and Banks both narrowed their eyes at the weapons officer.
“That was another joke, right?” said Banks, still regarding Shade suspiciously.
“Aye, Commander it was,” Shade replied.
Sterling snorted a laugh. “That wasn’t actually too bad,” he said, slapping Shade on the shoulder. The sudden physical contact seemed to perturb the weapons officer more than her earlier faux-pas had done
Sterling then felt a neural connection form in his mind from Commander Graves. Glancing across to Banks, he realized that the link had been opened to his first officer too.
“Captain, Commander, may I request your presence in the medical laboratory?” said Graves, speaking with the refined tenor of a Cambridge scholar. “With the assistance of James Colicos’ detailed notes that were retrieved on Far Deep Nine, I believe I have finally perfected the neural firewall device.”
“On my way, Commander,” said Sterling. He then tapped his interface to close the link and stood up. “If you’ll excuse us Lieutenant, we have to see Commander Graves in medical,” he explained. He tore open the small packet containing a wet wipe and used it to freshen his hands and face.
“Aye, Captain, I will see you on the bridge,” Shade replied. Sterling couldn’t help but notice that his weapons officer appeared relieved at the announcement of their immanent departure. “I need to relieve the Obsidian Soldier, anyway,” she added, dryly.
“Don’t push it, Lieutenant,” said Sterling, tossing the wet wipe onto his tray. Banks, however, was smiling.
“I hope this neural firewall actually works,” said Banks, quickening her pace to catch up with Sterling as he marched purposefully toward the exit.
“You and me both.” Sterling felt a tingle of excitement rush through his body at the prospect of being able to thwart the Sa’Nerra’s key weapon. “That damned device has given those alien bastards an advantage for too long.”