by G J Ogden
This last statement got Sterling’s attention, and from the way Ensign One’s ocular units appeared to flash even more vibrantly, Sterling realized the machine knew it too.
“Okay, damn it, you win,” Sterling conceded, deciding that the threat of imminent death was a good reason to obey his new medical officer’s advice. He also admired the machine’s cunning and subtlety; something the gen-fourteen AI it had evolved from regularly lacked.
“Thank you, Captain,” Ensign One said, resuming its course to the exit. “I believe we are going to get along very nicely.”
Chapter 29
The Obsidian crew
Sterling collapsed to the ground and pressed the side of his face to the dimpled deck plates, allowing the cool metal to freshen the burning-hot skin on his cheek. However, the weight of Mercedes Banks pressing down on his back remained.
“That’s sixty, surely?” wheezed Sterling. He was sure that he hadn’t miscounted, or at least he hoped he hadn’t. His slave-driver of a personal trainer wouldn’t let him get away with doing any less than his agreed quota of push-ups. Nor would Sterling’s own pride allow him to give up.
“Fifty-eight, I’m afraid, Captain,” said Banks. Sterling couldn’t see her face, but he was sure she was smirking.
“Come on, you’re just yanking my chain now,” Sterling hit back. “I can count to sixty, damn it.”
“You can give up now, if you like,” replied Banks, nonchalantly. The breeziness of her reply and the casual mention of giving up was designed to goad Sterling into compliance. Banks knew it would work, and she wasn’t wrong.
“Who said anything about giving up?” Sterling said, planting his palms back on the deck. For once, he was glad of his bionic hand, which at least didn’t throb with pain like his real one did.
“It’s just two more, Captain, you can do it,” said Banks.
Sterling snorted a laugh. He knew his first officer wasn’t really offering encouragement; she was implying that two more should be easy. It was meant to inspire Sterling to push on and complete more than just the required two additional push-ups. It was an obvious tactic, but again they both knew it would work.
Bracing himself, Sterling pushed himself back into the plank position. Even the act of doing this was almost too much to bear, thanks to the dead weight on his back. He then bit down hard and completed an additional three push-ups before again collapsing face-first onto the deck. This time, the dimpled metal deck plates in his quarters pressed against his skin with considerably more pressure.
“You can get off now…” Sterling said, though the words were muffled due to the fact his mouth was partially squashed against the deck. Suddenly, the pressure on his back was gone. It was followed by the clack of boots and Sterling watched, face still planted to the deck, as his first officer walked around him then sat down in the armchair to the side of his bed.
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” said Banks, sliding open a desk drawer and removing a ration bar. She tore open the packaging and chomped down heartily on the snack.
“We are about to go for breakfast, you know?” said Sterling, rolling onto his back and flexing his arms and chest muscles. They were burning hotter than if he’d taken a plasma blast at point-blank range.
“You need a shower first,” Banks replied, speaking with her mouth half-full. “Besides, I need to fuel up. Busting your balls is tiring work.”
“I’m glad you find this so entertaining,” said Sterling, pushing himself up. He then tore off his sweaty t-shirt and tossed it into Banks’ face. “Here, throw that in the laundry recycler will you?” he added, while heading toward his rest room. “Assuming they work, anyway.”
Banks tore the garment off her face, her nose scrunched up as if Sterling had just broken wind. She then bundled it into a ball and tossed it in the direction of the recycling bin. It went straight in without even touching the sides.
“They work, or at least they do in this section,” Banks replied, biting off another chunk the ration bar. “There isn’t much point in enabling them for the crew quarters in the other sections, since there are only six human beings on board the entire damn ship.”
Sterling turned on the shower then removed his pants. He considered also lobbing them at Commander Banks, but judged that was probably a step to far. The water quickly ran hot and Sterling stepped under the stream, allowing the powerful jets to invigorate him. It felt so good that he could have stayed there all day. Then he realized that he actually could do if he wanted to. The Vanguard was designed to support a crew of more than two thousand. With only six of them on board, its resources were practically unlimited.
“Have you looked at the latest condition report?” he called out, while soaping himself all over.
“Briefly,” Banks called back. “Ensign One wanted to go through it with us personally over breakfast.”
“That AI has been a godsend,” replied Sterling. “Not only does he do the work of a dozen officers all by himself, he’s fixed the wonky programming in all of the other Obsidian Soldiers too.”
“I’m less keen that the machines now have free will, but at least they appear happy to crew the ship,” Banks called back. “Assuming they can be happy, anyway.”
“So long as they’re not trying to kill us, I don’t care if they’re ecstatic or miserable,” Sterling said, turning off the water. He grabbed a towel and stepped out of the shower.
Banks got up and moved over to Sterling’s wardrobe, pulling out a clean uniform and tank-top. She hung the tunic over the door then held out the clean set of pants so that Sterling could reach them, without exposing himself to her.
“We’ll arrive at the aperture leading into the Void today,” Banks said, wistfully. “I’m almost going to miss this time. The last four weeks have been like an extended shore leave.”
Sterling took the pants and hastily pulled them on before stepping back into his quarters so that he could speak to his first officer face-to-face.
“I know what you mean,” he replied, as Banks handed him the fresh tank-top. He pulled it on then grabbed the tunic off the hangar. Banks helped to fasten the buttons, as if the two of them were an old married couple, getting ready for a dinner party. “It sort of feels like we’re deserters, though, don’t you think?”
In the time it had taken to navigate the Vanguard back through dead space to the nearest aperture, they’d had ample time to recuperate and even relax. However, always at the back of his mind was the knowledge that for every day that passed without them being on the front lines, humanity came one step closer to annihilation.
“If the Sa’Nerran armada has already reached Earth, one more ship wouldn’t have made a difference, even one as powerful as the Vanguard,” Banks said, brushing some fluff of Sterling’s tunic. “All we can do is hope that our forces were strong enough to hold out. And if they weren’t then it doesn’t change what we have to do.”
Sterling sighed and nodded. “I’m almost afraid to reach Omega Four and hear the report from Admiral Griffin,” he replied. “I want to believe that Fleet gave those Sa’Nerran bastards the ass-kicking of a lifetime, but deep down I don’t think it’s true.”
Banks stepped back and pressed her hands behind her back. “Best case, Fleet pushed the alien armada back and is holding the solar system,” she said, running through the options as she saw them. “Worst case is that the Sa’Nerra have already destroyed or turned all the Fleet ships and Earth is now a smoldering wasteland.”
Sterling nodded. Banks was right; they would either arrive in time to save Earth, or in time to avenge it. Either way, it required them to fight.
“The first thing we have to do is get breakfast,” said Sterling, heading toward the door. However, he’d only taken a couple of paces toward it before the buzzer chimed. “Computer, who is at the door?” Sterling said. In truth, there were only four people it could have been, but Sterling wasn’t expecting a visit from any of them.
“It’s me, Captain,” said Ensi
gn One.
Sterling frowned. He was still getting used to the fact that his unique, sentient AI was effectively in multiple places at the same time. He finished walking to the door and opened it, glad that his AI had actually respected their agreement not to open it without his permission. The door swished back and an Obsidian Soldier greeted him. However, unlike every other soldier on the ship, this one was wearing a Fleet uniform, and its cranial section had been modified.
“Ensign One, is that you?” said Sterling, feeling a little nervous about the unexpected new arrival.
“Yes, sir,” One replied. I have taken the liberty of fashioning a Fleet uniform to fit my frame. I hope that this is okay?”
“You’re a Fleet officer so of course it’s okay,” replied Sterling, though he was still frowning.
“You are perhaps wondering about my modified cranial section?” Ensign One continued, displaying human-like intuition.
“It’s just not what I’m used to that’s all,” replied Sterling. The new cranial section was actually a significant improvement. It was head shaped, with optical sensors that resembled eyes. However, Ensign One had made no further attempts to make itself look human, opting for the same onyx black metal as the rest of its body.
“It has been my observation that the cranial sections of the Obsidian Soldiers generate feelings of fear and anxiety amongst the human crew,” Ensign One went on. “I therefore concluded that a more ‘organic’ appearance would allow me to integrate more easily.”
“You don’t need to do anything to fit in,” Sterling hit back. “If you want to engineer yourself with two heads, or four arms, or just want to paint yourself pink then go ahead and do it. You’re already a part of this crew, the same as everyone else.”
Though he appreciated the AI’s sentiment, Sterling valued individuality and hated anyone feeling that they had to change themselves to conform. Every Omega Officer was unique in their own way, and it was their differences that made them special.
“Thank you, sir, though I actually prefer myself this way,” Ensign One replied. “I am unique and so my appearance should reflect that.” The AI then cocked its new head to one side. “Though I do believe that painting myself pink would actually violate standard Fleet dress code regulations.”
“I think you get my point, Ensign,” Sterling replied, a little huffily.
“I do, sir,” One answered.
Sterling extended a hand toward the corridor outside. “Let’s walk and talk, Ensign,” he said. “What’s the status of the ship?”
“Fleet Dreadnaught Vanguard is operating at sixty-nine percent efficiency, Captain,” Ensign One began as the three officers headed along the corridor to the makeshift canteen that had inadvertently become a permanent fixture on the ship. “Main reactor performance is holding at eighty-three percent and main engines are steady at full ahead.”
“What about weapons and armor?” asked Banks.
“Armor integrity overall is at seventy-one percent, Commander,” Ensign One replied. “There are fourteen minor hull breaches, all of which are contained and in non-essential sections. We will require a space dock in order to complete these repairs. However, the facility at Omega Four will suffice.”
“Assuming we can get there,” Commented Sterling.
“With respect to weapons, our forward batteries are now operational, and at general quarters we have enough Obsidian crew to operate all six main batteries, fore, midships and aft. Only fifty percent of the batteries are operational, however.”
Sterling nodded. “Hopefully, that’s more than enough to get us where we need to be,” he said, weaving through the corridors of the massive ship.
The canteen came into view ahead. Commander Banks had intentionally configured the living spaces so that all the crew were within close proximity of the CIC and a place to eat and congregate. Even, so Lieutenant Razor had also set up quarters in the former pilot’s living area, which was closer to the engineering decks, aft of the ship.
Sterling stepped inside the canteen and discovered that, unsurprisingly, there was no-one else in there. Lieutenant Shade was already in the CIC and Lieutenant Razor, true to form, had already eaten at five hundred hours Zulu and was in engineering with her sole-surviving human crew member. The junior doctor, Lieutenant Hoshi, was still in a medically-induced coma, recovering from injuries sustained during the robot revolt that would have succeeded, had it not been for their new ensign.
Banks was quick to slide over the top of the serving counter and sift through the various meal trays, while Sterling and Ensign One sat down at a nearby table. As he did so, another Obsidian Soldier marched into the room and moved over to one of the food processors. Sterling and Banks both watched it anxiously, though its presence didn’t deter his first officer from sliding three meal trays into another one of the processor units. The Obsidian Soldier then proceeded to prepare a jug of fresh coffee, collect three sparklingly-clean cups and place them all on a tray, along with a bowl of sugar and creamers. To Sterling’s surprise it then brought the tray to his table.
“There’s no need to have the other robots wait on me,” said Sterling, as the machine began to unload the items onto the table.
“Your unease is unwarranted, Captain,” Ensign One replied. “It is this unit’s choice to perform this duty, amongst others.”
Sterling watched the Obsidian Soldier pour two cups of coffee and slide the cups in front of Sterling and the seat where Banks would sit. It then slid an empty cup in front of Ensign One.
“I take it you’re not actually going to drink coffee?” Sterling asked, frowning at the empty mug in front of the robot.
“No, sir, but by also having a cup, I feel that I am participating in the ritual in some way,” Ensign One replied, as the other robot marched away.
Sterling cast a glance back to Commander Banks, who was watching the Obsidian Soldier like a hawk. He then returned his gaze to the modified ocular sensors of Ensign One, which were shining back at him. The whole scene had raised a question that Sterling had been pondering for the last four weeks, but never gotten around to asking. This was partly because he was concerned about what the answer might be. However, with the Vanguard due to surge back into enemy space within the next few hours, it was something he could no longer avoid.
“Based on your elevated vital signs and classic stress indicators, I sense that you are about to ask me a difficult question, Captain,” said Ensign One.
Banks returned to the table, sliding a number twenty-seven meal tray in front of Sterling, before lining up a number three and a number fifteen in front of her own seat. However, unusually for the perpetually-hungry officer, Banks did not immediately tear back the foil and begin eating. She was waiting for Sterling to ask his question, and for Ensign One’s response.
“I need to know where I stand with the other Obsidian Soldiers,” Sterling began, deciding to get straight to the point.
“Obsidian crew,” One interrupted.
“Say again?” said Sterling, unsure if he’d heard his AI officer correctly.
“They prefer to be called Obsidian crew, rather than soldiers,” Ensign One clarified. “Though soldiering is a function that they can perform, of course.”
“Crew, soldier, popsicle… I don’t care what they’re called, Ensign, I want to know whose commands they follow,” Sterling hit back. “Because right now, it seems like their leader is you. And as I’m sure you understand, a ship can have only one captain.”
“I understand your concern, sir,” replied Ensign One. It slid a metal finger through the handle of the coffee cup and pretended to take a sip. “The answer is that they have chosen to be a part of this crew, at least for now. As such, they will follow your orders.”
“What do you mean, ‘at least for now?’,” said Banks, beating Sterling to the punch.
“They may wish to follow a different path in the future, Commander,” Ensign One replied. “However, they will honor their original programming until the mis
sion is complete.”
Sterling picked up his cup of robot-poured coffee and took a sip, while contemplating Ensign One’s answer. Banks was looking at him out of the corner of her eye, stroking the underside of her bottom lip with her thumb as she did so.
“Fair enough, Ensign,” Sterling said. The widening of his first officer’s eyes told him that this answer had surprised her. “But we need a way to communicate with them without using you as a go-between,” he added. “And I’ll need them to follow a work rota that Commander Banks will draw up, as if they were regular members of the crew.”
“Understood, Captain,” Ensign One replied. “I will configure the Obsidian crew with the voice processors of a gen-thirteen AI, in order to distinguish them from myself.”
“A little dull, but better than nothing,” commented Banks.
“Dull is fine, Commander,” Sterling was quick to interject. He didn’t need fifty more robots walking and talking with the swagger of the unique sentient AI sitting at the table with them.
“And with your permission, I will work with Commander Banks to create a suitable rota,” Ensign One added. “Though I think you will find that the one I have already developed is optimal.”
“Maybe so, Ensign, but the XO signs off on it,” Sterling retorted. “So long as there’s still a Fleet, this is a Fleet ship and we operate by Fleet protocols, human and robot alike.”
“Agreed, sir,” said Ensign One, taking another fake sip of coffee.
“And what about you, Ensign?” Banks asked. “After this is all over, what’s your plan?”
Sterling was now the one to raise an eyebrow. His first officer had asked a very good question.
“I have narrowed my options down to sixteen preferred possibilities, Commander,” Ensign One replied. “From an initial shortlist of eighty-seven thousand six-hundred and two.”