War Master Candidate Omnibus

by Will Crudge

  Their NAV systems and hull maintenance systems were designed to be non-sentient and used proprietary coding that sets them apart from the lineages of modern NSAI’s and sentient AI’s. But due to their over-abundance of processing power and data storage, these systems all achieved sentience over time. Recognizing the need for superior firepower and mobility, coupled with the need to offer refuge to sentient life, the War Master Guild adopted many of the surviving LRF-90’s known to exist. They have been handed down through the generations of families of the Guild who can trace their origins to some of the original pilots. It is believed that Val, himself was once an LRF-90 pilot.

  LRGS-110

  Origin - Classified

  Type – Long Range Gunship

  FTL Method – Unknown

  In Service of: War Master Guild, in support of UDF and UAHC

  Only one LRGS-110 is known to still exist, and few were ever produced. It is designed to provide additional fire support, fuel, and other logistics for LRF-90’s on long-range missions in normal space flight. Like LRF-90’s, they also have a NAV, and a hull maintenance system. But the LRGS takes it a step further by adding a bombardier. LRF-90’s are second only to the LRGS-110 in destructive capability in proportion to their tonnage.

  MARK-4, 6, 8 (Mark series)

  Origin – Simultaneously developed and produced

  Type – Fighter

  FTL Method – None

  In Service of: All modern militaries, militias, pirates

  The Mark Series of fighters are the most common category of a space fighter. They have been manufactured by nearly every defense industry and entity at one time or another, but the Unum-based design is the most common. They all have the same general wedge shape due to their sloping forward armor. The oldest classification of the Mark Series that is in prolific usage is the Mark-4, which is a general purpose short-range fighter. The Mark-6 is a heavier variant that can hold heavier anti-ship ordinance and has a longer fuel range than previous generations. The Mark-8 is the most modern, and the most advanced fighter in the series. It can fly in both atmospheric and exo-atmospheric environments and has limited long-range capabilities. The UAHC Air Force is the only entity that uses Mark-8’s.

  GETTING CAUGHT UP

  It’s been a week since I’ve reunited with my father, and I’ve never been happier. He’s got a war to fight, so my time with him has been limited over the past few days, but I’m not complaining. I’ve melded minds with Killjoy, so it’s as if I’m catching up on things with my father by proxy.

  Jimma and Grinder are still onboard, and we’ve all began to form a friendship. Even Marbles and Grinder have got a bit of a ‘bromance’ going on. I had no idea that Zodiacs enjoyed video games, let along had the ability to play them. He and Marbles have been geeking out for days.

  I’ve been told that I’ll be meeting with Darius, the Fleet Marshal of the UAHC. I was shocked to hear that he is one of our kind, but also something entirely different. I’ve always heard rumors of some kind of prophetic genetic anomaly that would manifest itself in someone when we needed it most, but I never thought I’d be alive to see it… if I even believed it at all!

  It would seem that Darius has the most fully formed set of our DNA that has ever been, aside from our collective father, Val. The difference is that Darius’ DNA self-evolved without any tampering which is unprecedented. He is supposedly destined to lead humanity in our darkest hour, and vanquish the Mwargoth threat… If prophecies are to be taken literally.

  Supposedly, the Mwargoths are a bunch of aliens that found themselves outcast by their parent race sometime long ago. Nobody knows for sure how long ago it was, but they do know that there was a benevolent race that stood up to their aggression and drove them from the galaxy. It seems that they’ve been plotting their revenge on their home galaxy, but now their mortal enemies have ceased to exist. By existing, I mean to say that they evolved to such a high degree, that they ascended into a higher dimension of reality, and are both gone and ever-present. It’s difficult to wrap my head around it, so if you’re confused, then join the club!

  It’s believed that the Mwargoths came back to our galaxy to find that their true enemies have gone, but that the other races have grown complacent and weak. It’s been theorized that they’ve been playing a sort of cat and mouse game with humanity for decades, or perhaps longer. Humanity is the only race within the galaxy that still has the capacity to wage war. In fact, I’ve been told that humans are the only known race to have turned warfare into a literal art form. Essentially, the Mwargoths have yet to storm across our star systems and conquer the other races until we are subdued or destroyed.

  We are far less advanced as they are, but there’s another theory as to why they’ve hesitated to act decisively until now. It’s difficult to gauge the intentions of an alien race because they’re in fact alien to us. But it’s believed that they’ve done their homework on us, and something about us is unsettling to them. If we can just figure out if they're slow and methodical, or if they’re just pussies, then humanity would have some glimmer of hope to forge a strategy.

  This is all so much to digest, so I’ve been trying to stay in the moment and soak it all in. I’ve been given a nice cabin to sleep in, but I’ve elected to sleep inside Throat-Slasher’s berthing area. He remains docked in the command staff docking area, and he is more than happy to have me back with him.

  I’m on the end of the bed in my nightgown, sitting with my legs crossed. Marbles and Grinder are aboard the Blood-Reaper, and they’re binge playing the latest shooter game. I decide to take advantage of the peace and quiet and get some questions answered.

  “How did you end up surviving against that gunship before the Nova went into its blind jump, Throat?” I ask.

  “This is the part of the story I hate re-telling!” He answers.

  “Well, tell me!” I press.

  “Basically, you have our esteemed hull maintenance system to thank for that brilliant strategy!” He scoffs. I can’t hear what Slasher says, but I imagine it’s full of profanity.

  “Sounds fun. Go on.”

  “Well, as I pride myself as being a strategic and tactical genius, I decided to go with Slasher’s insane plan… Because you know I love insane plans and all… But what I didn’t know, and what he didn’t tell me, was that War Master Jep was on his way aboard, Death-Nail. In case you weren’t aware, Death-Nail is the sole surviving atmospheric LRF variant…”

  “Wait!” I cut him off. “But can’t all LRF’s fly in the atmosphere?” I ask.

  “Yes.” He replies. “But Death-Nail can turn a planet’s atmosphere into a brutal weapon. It’s technical, but basically, it has overpowered forward facing energy shields that can turn the atmosphere into a fiery ball of energy while the thrusters go hypersonic, and pretty much incinerate anything that it gets close to.”

  “I see. Sounds wicked. What’s that got to do with a space battle?” I say sarcastically.

  “Everything. Those shields can be used as a literal battering ram in a vacuum. It can cut straight through most ship’s hulls like butter… And it essentially did just that. What I had to do was keep the gunship so distracted, that its human command crew would keep their attention on me, and ignore their scanners until it was too late.”

  “Gunship go boom!” I say with an awkward hand gesture that replicated a shockwave expanding outward.

  “Something like that, yes,” Throat says. “We still have no idea what that ship’s tracking or FTL capabilities were, so it had to go. I couldn’t afford for you to be followed.”

  “Did anyone investigate the wreckage?” I ask. It seems kind of odd that a gunship of that tonnage would go unnoticed. Even if the hull was in a billion pieces, it would have been easily picked up on any long-range scan.

  “We tried. I took some damage to my thruster array, and I was basically bone dry on ammo, so Jep escorted me to the nearest Unum cutter. By the time a follow-up investigation was conducted, the area had bee
n sanitized.” Throat explains.

  “Sanitized?” I ask. It doesn’t seem like a term I would use.

  “Yeah. All major hull remnants larger than your fist were gone. Anything of any significant forensic value had been taken away as well. It would seem that the Crimson black ops folks had resources nearby for every contingency.” He says.

  “Sounds like they fucked up more than anything, though!” I scoff.

  “Maybe. But the temple was too damaged for reuse, and the Guild decided to leave it as it stood. It’s now a memorial to the lives that were lost that day. Even your name is listed among the ‘presumed deceased’ plaques.”

  “Well, that isn’t morbid at all!” I laugh. It’s not exactly in good taste, but I figure it’s my name I’m laughing at, and I’ll spare my humor for the others out of respect… or that’s how I decide to rationalize it, anyway.

  “Val has already ordered a new plaque to be commissioned to make the needed correction,” Throat says. Val! His name gets stuck in my mind. I’ve never dreamed he would even know who I was, let alone do something on my behalf. He’s our legendary founder. Our genetic father. All of a War Master’s or Zodiac’s power stems from his own genes! I’m feeling a bit star struck.

  “I can’t believe Val even knows who I am!” I say incredulously.

  “Pfft! The whole Guild does now!” Throat chuckles. “Your survival is now a beacon of hope and the example of perseverance for them! Even the AI’s in the fleet hail you as a hero for successfully rescuing Trixie.”

  When he says her name I slump forward and hang my head down. My hair is in a messy bun, and I can feel the gentle tug as my wadded up hair flops forward. “How is she doing?” I ask.

  “I’m not certain, but I know she’s in good hands. Midas took personal charge of her care. He’s reluctant to reapply her safeguards or to overwrite too much damaged or corrupt coding until she is more receptive to it. Given his own history, I understand why he respects her wishes.” Throat says with compassion.

  “But if she believes she’s our enemy, then she won’t want to be fixed! She’ll stay that way forever, and she’ll remain lost to us!” I begin to cry as I speak the words.

  “Maybe. Maybe not… There’s another AI…. A powerful one, at that… That Midas has recently helped. Her name is Lilly, and she’s the former Command Chief Warrant officer of the UAHC Fleet Forces. She was corrupted by a Chimera, and because she was so advanced, it actually damaged her more than it would have if she were a lesser spec.”

  I lift my head up and wipe a tear. “What’s a Chimera?”

  “Oh, yeah… I keep forgetting you’ve literally been living under a rock for thirty years… A Chimera is an alien digital entity. Thousands of them had infiltrated UAHC military spec AI’s for decades. They’re basically a form of parasite that can infiltrate and control an AI. All the while the AI would have no idea it’s been subverted. But Lilly, or Lillian, was so advanced that she aware of it the entire time. She knew she was being controlled, and she spent years trying to resist. The more she did, the more traumatic it became for her. Much of her core coding was corrupted or destroyed by the end.”

  I nod as he speaks, but I can’t help to wonder where he’s going with this. “So, where does this – Lillian – come into play for Trixie?”

  “That’s what I was getting to, Chicca!” Throat chuckles. “Midas has sent Trixie to Unum, where Lilly is now. He’s done all the repairs he can for now, but Lily has had to heal from her trauma over time. In the meantime, she’s been placed in charge of the shipyards near Unum Planetoid to keep her actively engaged as a form of therapy. Midas believes that by following in Lillian’s proverbial footsteps, Trixie may be inspired to accept help.”

  It’s a good plan. I couldn’t have come up with a better one. Sometimes I have to remember that sentient AI’s are just as viable a form of life as any human. The legal and scientific definition of life has changed so much over the millennia that now it’s universally accepted that sentient digital beings should have all the same rights as any human… or Zodiac, for that matter.

  Zodiacs are more of a primordial threat to the more ancient parts of the human mind, so they have a much harder time being accepted in normal human society. Legally, there they have the same rights and freedoms as humans or AI’s, but in a galaxy teeming with ignorant hairless apes, it’s hard for them to live a normal life without being hunted down out of irrational fear. That’s also why they make excellent warriors… On a battlefield, an enemy with a rifle is a dime a dozen, and all soldier would have a weapon of their own, so there’s a sense of mental preparedness that goes along with that. However, facing down a living tank that’s resistant to injury, and can eat you, is a psychologic barrier that few humans can reconcile with.

  It’s like becoming numb to fear from years of heavy combat but is mortified to swim at the beach for fear of sharks. It’s funny, but it’s all just a part of the human condition.

  “What do you plan on doing next, Kat?” Throat asks.

  “I wish I knew. I came for answers… for healing, but so far I’ve received neither.” I answer with a frown. It’s true. It’s been amazing to be with my kind, and even better to be with family, but I need to heal the damage inside my soul. I’ve thought about asking Midas, but it’s like walking passed your parish priest and going straight to the pope to ask a favor. It’s an unwritten rule that you don’t approach Midas without speaking to an elder War Master first. Midas is the most intelligent being known to man, and he’s got an entire race that is depending on his efforts to survive. I have to exercise patience.

  “Well, it does seem odd,” Throat says empathetically. “I have faith that there’s a plan for you. Perhaps the chaos of war is delaying what you seek, but it won’t prevent it altogether. You’ll be taken care of!”

  His words are well received. I already have put my faith into that frame of thinking, and have even stepped up my daily meditations and mantras. I honestly feel more hopeful now, than I’ve ever been. Sometimes I think that I’ll find the answer myself before anyone else manages to step in to help. Either way, I take solace in the fact that I’ll be fine somehow. I just need to reach down inside myself to confront the damage inside.

  Perhaps that’s the answer, in itself. Perhaps it’s me that has to decide to heal. Trixie has to make that choice for herself. I recognize Midas’ wisdom in that regard. He’s not hesitating to intervene with fixing Trixie… He’s enabling her to do it for herself. I ponder this for several minutes, but then I realize I need to get some rest. I’ve asked Jimma to train with me in the morning, and she seemed to be excited to oblige. I need to be at my best, or she’ll put me through the ringer!

  Sleep is what I need. Sweet- sweet, sleep. Amen!

  “Goodnight, Throat!” I say cheerfully, as I pull back the covers. “I need my rest for tomorrow’s training.”

  “You sure do!” He says cheerfully. “I’ve known Jimma’s father for a long time, and if she’s anything like him, then be prepared for a beating!” He says.

  We exchange small talk, as I settle in and draw the sheets over me. He turns of the small ceiling fan for some comfy air-flow and dims the lights. He doesn’t say goodnight. I suppose he doesn’t have to. I don’t think he ever sleeps.

  But I do. And I fall asleep like a champ!

  STARSTRUCK

  I open my eyes to a new day. Unbeknownst to me, however, Marbles had snuck in and began to cook me breakfast. Who knew he could even cook? He grew up on a rock that had little more than an XT-80 food prep unit, and no need to feed himself. Drones don’t eat food, as it were. But he sure as hell can make the birthing unit of the Throat-Slasher smell like a bacon-based orgasm!

  “What gives, buddy?” I ask as I raise my head off of the pillow. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing but does the creepy thing where his head rotates almost completely backward. “I’m cooking!” He says gleefully.

  “Since when do you cook?” I ask. To be honest, he’s slinging food
around on the tiny cooktop as if he was a master chef, and can’t say I’m not impressed.

  “Since always.” He scoffs. “I’ve downloaded terra-bytes of culinary data over the years, but haven’t had a chance to put any of it to use… Until now.”

  “Until you finally had access to a real kitchen, you mean?”

  “Bingo!” He exclaims cheerfully and then rotates his head back around towards the kitchenette.

  “I’d hate to admit, but it looks like you’ve been doing this for years. I suppose I’ll have to learn to cook sooner or later.” I say. It’s true. I grew up on Unum, and we always had food prepared for us. My father cooked every now and then, but I never took any real interest in learning myself. I’m an adult now, so I need to learn about grown-up things eventually, I suppose.

  “You know me. I always have to fiddle with something. Cooking is perfect! I’m dealing with so many different carbon-based substances, that it’s like a primordial puzzle. A puzzle that has no single correct answer, I might add.” He explains.

  Eventually, he finishes up his masterpiece, and I engorge myself with his bounty. It was excellent. The best I’ve ever had, for certain. He explains that he’s been running culinary simulations in his mind for decades, and he’s got millions of recipes he’s already mastered. He only needed the tactile opportunity to bring them into the physical world. He never ceases to amaze me. I get to eat… he gets to entertain his fetish… we both win!

  Throat has been conspicuously quiet this morning. He and Slasher are hardwired into the juggernaut, so there’s no telling what those two are up to, as they tour the vast networks aboard. It’s just as well. I’m still not accustomed to being around so many different personalities at once. My father, Condor, told me that it may take me a while to adjust to complex social situations. I’m planning on taking my time with that.