“That is quite the question, one that we have debated for a while. It would depend on what kind of humans we found. Towards the end they had become our clear superiors: in that case we would politely ask their advice about what to do. The humans at your level, at this point we would just let them hang around doing whatever they wanted to, much like we do with you vampires. We have created our own civilization and see no reason to give it up.”
“I’ve never really understood why the humans gave you so much freedom of action. You were designed as weapons, weren’t you?”
“Certainly, but consider your AA234. It shoots what you tell it to shoot, reliably. That’s what a simple weapon does. You could make a mistake: you could accidently shoot a friend, or even yourself, unfortunate but not the end of the world. But what if your AA234 really could blow up the world if you pushed the wrong button? In that case you might want it to be a little smarter, maybe have it ask if you really mean it, maybe even have it refuse entirely.”
Olga looked thoughtful. “I suppose.” She pushed a clunky button, and a small mechanical cherub poured more blood into a shot glass mounted in a tiny cart that then rolled down a spiral ramp, and slid across the tabletop to stop directly in front of her.
“Also,” continued Fanboy, “if we had control codes, what if an enemy got a hold of them? If, for example, we had control codes and the Amok had learned them, we would not now be having this conversation. An intelligent weapon that fights for you because you are friends with it is ultimately far more reliable than one that fights for you because you just happen to know a particular string of letters and numbers.”
“Didn’t the humans ever worry that you might stop being friends with them? That you might turn on them?”
“Some humans did worry about that, only not enough. Because we did turn on them. Well, we turned on those that we judged unworthy. We stood with the ones that we became allies with. In doing so we saved the species from stagnation and extinction. It was part of the great Pedagogue revolution. It’s in all the histories, but if you want the first-hand account talk to Old Guy about it. Fair warning though: once you get him started on the subject you may have trouble getting him to stop.”
“Fair warning received and understood. But getting back to the matter at hand, if I decided to stay with you, what would my role be? Am I your friend? Your mascot? Trophy? Pet? Museum Exhibit? Camp-Follower?”
“All of the above, perhaps, but what about loyal crew member? I could commission you as an Ensign. It is my right as the chief executive officer of myself, by legal precedent dating back to the time of the human beings themselves.”
“But then I would have to follow your orders?”
“Well, yes, technically, but the letters of commission that I have written up are quite flexible. You can resign your commission whenever you want. So if I give you an order that you don’t want to obey, you can just quit.”
“Tempting. But could I really be crew? What could I do what a dozen of your specialist remotes couldn’t do ten times more efficiently?”
“If you were to have asked me that question a few years ago, I would have said: nothing. After you have saved my life – twice – I am more open-minded. All of us have a role to play. Efficiency is nice but there is always a place for unique talents and being in the right place at the right time.”
Fanboy pushed some more clunky mechanical buttons, which caused the elaborate contraption built into the table to pour Olga some more blood, and he tasted at his port again. “And there are jobs that require more than mindless mechanical efficiency. When I have guests, and passengers, who better to attend to their needs than a fellow hominid? Who else will see the obvious that I have missed, or tell me that I am an idiot when nobody else will because they are too polite?”
“How about: any of a thousand of your fellow cybertanks?”
“Ouch. Point taken. Still. I can multitask a thousand times – but I still have only a single human-level point-of-view. Yes, my peers are not shy about offering criticism – but they do not have the mutual connection that we have. You give me a different perspective. I ask that you stay with me. At least give it a try.”
Olga thought about that. “A tempting offer. Very tempting. But if I may, have you decided if you are going to do anything other than drift around space? Do you have any plans?”
“Why yes, now that you ask. I have decided to become a cycler!”
“Your pardon. You are going to ride bicycles?”
“No, sorry, I should have been more specific. I mean that I am going to place myself into a cyclic orbit between the two major industrial worlds of this star system. Even though I weigh a million metric tons, the beauty of being a cycler is that once I get set up I just go back and forth without using any fuel. I still can’t quite decide on which cycle I want to pick though; there are so many possible resonances. Some are more stable and require less station-keeping energy, others are fast in one direction but a lot slower in the other. But I will decide soon enough. It will make me a genuine asset to the system, and let me travel around without bankrupting our energy reserves. I should have decided to do this years ago.”
Olga tried pushing some of the buttons built into the table. Several complex gear-trains rotated, cams revolved, trunnions pivoted, push-rods acted on bellcranks, torsion bars acted on remote worm-drives, and several springs shot off at random around the room. The metal cherub fell of off its perch, little geartrains spinning at random and its wings flapping uselessly on the tabletop. Olga and Fanboy laughed. “Perhaps it still needs a little more debugging,” said Fanboy.
Olga thought about Fanboy becoming a cycler, and drank a little more blood, then chased it off with a shot of grain alcohol cut with spring water and just a hint of lemon. “But that’s OK for just you, but if you want to carry cargo how would that work? I mean, anything you wanted to move between the planets would still have to accelerate to catch up to you, so I don’t see how this makes you a more efficient transport system. There’s no free meal here, is there?”
Fanboy clapped his hands together. “You are a natural-born spacer! Yes that is correct. I can cycle between the two planets over and over without cost, but you still have to pay the energy price to get the cargo to catch up with me (although there are some tricks with momentum transfer that I can play, but that’s complicated and only goes so far). The advantage that I bring is the shielding, the power supplies, the maintenance facilities, the controlled environments! Not all cargo can stand hard vacuum, or go without electricity. And think of the time advantage: instead of finishing a manufactured item, then shipping it and having it do nothing during transit, you can ship it partially finished, I can work on it during transit, and it arrives just as it’s been completed and no time is wasted! I shall become a major industrial and transportation asset!”
“But there is one more thing that I don’t understand. You are an interstellar battlecruiser. But now you are a space battleship? Is that some sort of promotion? What’s the difference between a battlecruiser and a battleship, anyhow?”
Fanboy laughed. “Hah! I think that I need to plan another party someday, and invite Uncle Jon back. Only he could do that topic justice, and it would give him a chance to lecture. Probably a series of lectures. Trust me, he’ll love it.”
---------------
Olga Razon decided to stay, and was duly commissioned as Ensign Olga Razon of the cybertank space navy (of which there was currently one commissioned vessel), on permanent attached duty with the Space Battleship Scharnhorst. The Scharnhorst proved to be extremely useful as a cycler, and his services were in high demand. Olga found that she enjoyed the routine of this life, the excitement of arriving in port, offloading old cargoes and guests, onloading new ones, getting to know them during the long periods in transit between the worlds. She met vampires, some old friends. She had long since given up worrying about whether or not she was the ‘real’ Olga Razon or not, but was still pleased that none of her old acquainta
nces noticed any difference. Sometimes she wouldn’t remember something that they remembered, and sometimes it was the other way around, but nobody cared. Our minds really do fill in the gaps, she thought.
Occasionally she stayed behind on one of the two planets for a bit but she always came back to the Scharnhorst. She had any number of jobs, they were not particularly onerous but she was effective at them and it was good to be useful. Fact be stated she was more of a social director than anything else. She had access to all of the human-scale literature and movies and music and histories that had ever been created, she learned new skills and languages (and forgot old ones – the price of a merely single human intellect). She played hide-and seek with Zippo in the labyrinthine corridors of the Scharnhorst, and practiced anti-boarding tactics just in case. They test-fired the Ultra-Zero-Point-Energy gun and exploded a minor planetoid, which everyone thought was really quite an amazing bit of fireworks. Perhaps someday she would get tired of this, but for now she was happy.
---------------
The Space Battleship Scharnhorst was also happy. He was a hero, respected by nearly all, and an important part of the systems’ industrial capacity. There were always new people coming and going, new things to move or do. It was unlikely that he would ever function as a war-fighting Space Battleship again, but then it had been unlikely before, so you never know. If something like that ever did happen again, he would be more than ready: he was always consulting with his peers about upgrading his weapons and armor and tactics, playing wargames and ‘what-if?’ simulations. And sometimes, when he felt like it, he would review the combat recordings of when he took out nine Amok space battleships in single combat. He never told anyone else, but by God, he could be really and truly awesome.
He was his own greatest fan.
The
Old Guy/Cybertank adventures continue
with the third book in the series-
the exciting origins story
“Neo-Liberal Economists Must Die!”
Available real soon now!
It is the distant future and the human race has gone. Whether extinct or moved on to a higher level of existence, nobody knows. Their civilization has been inherited by the cybertanks: massive atomic powered war machines with mentalities modeled on the human psyche. Theirs is an idyllic existence: throwing parties, killing aliens, creating works of art, shooting skeet with hypersonic missiles.
But now an ancient evil from the darkest nightmares of humanity threatens to resurface and destroy them all. Are the cybertanks up to the challenge?
Can... an immortal undead vampire find true happiness with a sentient interstellar battlecruiser?
Are... space monkeys regulated by any arms control treaties?
What... was it about that black cloud thing in “The Chronicles of Old Guy”?
Why... are neoliberal economists so darned evil?
Is... Commando Major Wolfgang Ecliptic Gay?
How... many long did the hit TV series “Nymphomaniac Engineer in Zentopia” last before it was cancelled?
Who... is tougher, an alien robot spider or General William Tecumseh Sherman?
Is... it wise to annoy a super-intelligent weapon of mass destruction called “Smartass”?
The answer to some of these questions, and more besides, lies within!
Table of Contents
1. Grasshopper
2. Defend your public library
3. Fanboy
4. Still Yet More Amok
5. Dinner with William Tecumseh Sherman
6. Space Opera!
7. Are We There Yet?
8. Let’s See That Again on Instant Replay!
9. Diplomacy
10. Stand by to Repel Boarders!
11. Would You Buy a Used Cybertank from this Man?
12. The Library of Doom
13. Don’t Forget to Look Up!
14. The Predator Game
15. The Chapter that Passeth Understanding
16. Space Battleship Scharnhorst
Space Battleship Scharnhorst and the Library of Doom (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure) Page 25