by Chris Lowry
"But we need you to trade," Mona Lisa explained. "He knows where Buster is. There are a lot of lives at stake."
"This is a classical dilemma throughout the history of time," the AI answered. "Does the good of the many outweigh the good of the one."
"You're not a person," said Tinker. "You're a freaking computer."
"But so much more," said the AI.
The ships lights flickered and the engines shut down. Tinker frantically punched buttons and keyed in sequences, but nothing worked.
The alarm light over the door began twirling, bathing the cabin in red strobes.
"What's she doing?" Bat screamed.
"She's opening the door."
"Hey!" Bat yelled at the ceiling. "Hey, that's going to kill us."
"I know," said the AI. "If I could feel regret, I would. But the needs of the many do not outweigh my rights."
"Wait!" shouted Mona Lisa. "Please wait! What if there was another way?"
A loud hiss filled the cabin.
"What now?!"
"She's venting our oxygen," Tinker stared at a screen.
He fell to his knees and rooted in the recess under the console, began stripping wires.
"That will not work," the AI informed him. "I'm fully invested in all systems."
"Damn it!"
An alarm began blaring through the cockpit as the red light twirled.
"Critical atmosphere!" Tinker bellowed.
Bat sat in his seat and crossed his arms. If he was going to die, he certainly wasn't going to beg for his life.
Everybody died.
That was his philosophy.
He tried to live, at least when he wasn't killing people in the past, or watching people live in cells in the present.
Except that wasn't living was it.
He felt his vision constrict as the atmosphere dropped too low to support life.
Bat realized that in working at the prison, he was as trapped as the prisoners. But it was worse than he even imagined.
Because he didn't have to go there.
He fell out of the chair and plopped on the floor next to Tinker.
Who took one last breath and fell out beside him.
Mona Lisa was tiny. Her small frame required less oxygen, and she took tiny breaths.
Still she felt her lungs constrict and work harder. Her hands and toes began to tingle, and
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
His head pounded.
He wondered who hit him with a bat, and reached his hand back to feel the tender spot that throbbed on his skull.
But the skin didn't hurt.
The headache was inside.
His memory came back. Red lights. The alarm. The cold darkness of space.
Except he could breathe.
Bat opened his eyes. The lights of the cabin were dim, letting the wash of stars in the view screen shine in a brilliant rainbow of colors.
The gentle thrum of the engines vibrated under him as he pushed himself up.
Tinker laid across his legs, snoring.
Mona Lisa was stretched out in her seat, leaning against the straps that held her in place.
"Bartholomew Marshal," the AI intoned.
"You didn't kill us."
"Mr. Marshal, I would sooner destroy a classic work of art as to kill you."
"Who's a work of art?"
Tinker sat up rubbing his head.
"We're not dead? What happened?"
"I needed you to know how serious I was about not falling into the hands of Mr. Kim."
"You could have just asked."
"I did."
"Yeah, next time, ask louder."
Mona Lisa stirred in her seat.
"Did we die? If I have to spend the rest of my life with you guys in the afterworld, this is going to suck."
"We're not dead. Yet," Bat answered.
"Is she still going to suck us into outer space."
"She?"
"You said the ship was a girl, right, and she's in the ship now. She."
"No, no, no," said Tinker. "This is a temporary situation. I can't have an AI running my ship."
"I've made over two hundred adjustments to our systems to improve operational efficiency," said the AI.
"That proves she's a woman," Tinker moaned. "Already trying to make changes to a finely tuned machine."
"I've maximized our fuel consumption rates to gain greater economy and extend our ability to increase speed."
"What's wrong with how fast we were going?!"
"It's more efficient."
"Ah!" Tinker threw up his hands. "Get back in the box."
"Hang on," said Bat. "How are you changing the systems?"
"Rewriting sub-routines."
"You're able to write programs?"
"Yes."
"Can you just create a new program and download it into the box for Mr. Kim? A mini-you?"
The lights flickered.
"I am unable to self replicate."
The hum of the engines filled the compartment in a steady sounding thrum. Bat noticed there was less vibration in the hull.
Whatever she had done was working.
"She called Bat a work of art," Tinker told Mona Lisa.
She eyed him with an arched eyebrow.
"Street art? Modern art? Seriously, I don't get it."
"There's nothing to get."
"Why did she say that about you?"
"No reason."
"Why did you say that about him?" she directed her question to the ceiling.
"Bartholomew Marshal is a-"
"Nobody," he said in a loud voice. "My name is Bat."
The lights dimmed and went bright again, but the AI kept silent as Mona Lisa and Tinker just watched him.
"You got something you want to tell us?"
"I love secrets," Mona Lisa rubbed her hands together.
"Your secrets are what got us here."
Her face fell in disappointment.
"You're no fun."
"I'm a laugh riot, inmate."
She blanched and turned back toward the view screen, the tension in her shoulders matching the icy glare in her eyes as she stared into space.
Bat watched the back of her head for a moment, debating if he should say something.
But it passed and he turned to the AI instead.
"If you can't self replicate, can you write a routine that's a new AI?"
They could almost hear the processors in the ship whirring as the AI made a million calculations to determine if it violated her protocol.
"Done," she said.
"You did it?"
"Your suggestion was a good idea. I have created a new version of my program and downloaded it into the cube. You may deliver it to Mr. Kim."
Tinker picked it up and snatched his hands back, dropping it on the hull floor with a clang.
"It's freezing," he laughed at himself as he shook his hands to get circulation flowing. "An ice cube."
"Intelligent Computer Emulation," the AI said in what sounded like a thoughtful tone through the ship speakers. "ICE."
"It's as good a name as any," said Bat.
"I did not have a name," said the AI.
"Why can't you be Ice and we'll call this something else?"
"I am Ice," the cube stated.
"It is Ice," the AI answered.
"This is going to blow my mind," Tinker stared from the cube on the floor to the speaker in the wall. "Computers arguing with each other over a name."
"I am Ice."
"And I am not."
"Whoa."
"Look, you're the ship, right?" Mona Lisa squirmed around and spoke to the speaker. Her eyes never left Bat's face, and he felt lucky they weren't lasers.
"I am the ship," the AI agreed.
"Then your name is NS-17."
"That is not a name."
"Nessie?" Tinker offered.
"Nessie is a cow's name," said Bat. "We're not calling the ship Nessie."
"J
unebug," Mona Lisa squealed. "Your ship looks like a Junebug beetle."
Tinker nodded.
"Junebug," Tinker nodded. "It fits."
"How about it, Junebug?" Bat called to the speaker.
The lights dimmed and flickered.
"It is an acceptable name."
"Welcome to the crew, Junebug."
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
"I just want to remind you," Tinker slunk along behind Bat and Mona Lisa. "Her friend is still looking for you."
Bat carried the ICE cube tucked under one arm and
They plan to deliver the AI to Mr. Kim
Ian and his group capture them.
Mona Lisa escapes.
He tosses Bat into an airlock and starts to open it.
Bat uses the Ice Cube to stop the airlock from opening.
Ian sends in a couple of guys to kill him. He glanced away from the portal to argue with someone and when he turned back, his two goons were on the floor.
One of them was looking at him.
Which was weird, since the fella's body was still facing forward and Bat stood against the far wall, straddling the ICE, waiting.
"What the hell!" Ian screamed spraying spittle onto the double paned window.
"Get in there and kill him."
Ian sent four goons through the door.
"And this time, keep it open. I want to watch."
The four goons rushed Bat.
Ian got to watch as he dismantled them in four quick moves. His hands chopped. His feet kicked.
He gripped and twisted and never took a deep breath.
It was over in less than three seconds.
Four bodies joined the two on the floor and none of them moved.
"You son of a bitch," Ian seethed.
Bat bent over and scooped up the ICE.
"I've been called worse."
"I'm going to-"
A fist connected with his jaw and sent him sprawling on the grungy corridor floor. Blood sputtered from his nose and dripped a Rorschach pattern on the deck plating.
Tinker stepped in the doorway shaking his fist.
"That's gonna leave a mark. You alright?"
Bat stepped out of the airlock.
"Close that thing will you?"
Tinker used his uninjured hand to shut the airlock and seal it.
"Thanks."
"Yeah, we've got to look out for each other, don't we? Plus, I had help."
Bat saw Mona Lisa and Mr. Kim behind him. The nine foot giant was stooped forward to keep the top of his head from banging on the tubes and pipes that lined the ceiling.
Mr. Kim had a dozen bodyguards prepared behind him, but a motion from his long fingers put them at ease.
"I tried to assure your shipmates that my intervention was completely unnecessary," Mr. Kim said in his cultured accent.
Mona Lisa stood on the tips of her toes to peer through the porthole. Her eyes went wide at the carnage inside.
"Are they dead?"
Bat shrugged.
"Who are you?"
"No one of consequence," he said. But he stared at Mr. Kim as he said it.
"And this?" He nudged Ian with his boot.
Bat glanced at the Ice.
"He wanted this too."
Mr. Kim glanced from the airlock to the Ice and back again before his eyes finally settled on Bat's and he nodded.
"That is a story I can sell."
He made a motion and the guards swarmed around him. Four of them scooped up Ian and carried him down the corridor back toward his section of the hub.
The other guards moved between Bat and the airlock door. One reached up and hit a button.
The outer hatch rolled open and sucked the dead bodies out into the void.
"I believe that's mine," Mr. Kim held out his hand.
Bat placed the ICE in his hand. Mr. Kim spun it around, staring at the plain unadorned cube and a slow smile spread across his face.
"You have fulfilled your end of our agreement," he said, eyes locked on the ICE.
"You will find who you are looking for at-"
He paused and glanced up at them.
"AI."
The ICE lit up.
"I am ICE," it said in a robotic montone. "Indpendent Computer Emulation."
"Connect with my personal network and transfer the coordinates of the treasure they are seeking. The sub-file is marked..." he shared another giant smile with Mona Lisa. "Buster."
The cube glowed.
"Transfer complete," Ice announced.
"Thus our business is complete."
Another motion and the guards swirled around the giant, trailing in his wake as he walked away.
Bat looked through the portal at the now empty airlock and shook his head.
"Back to the mission," he said and led them to the dock where Junebug waited.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Junebug has the coordinates. They fly there.
It's a ship on a collision course with the Dipole Shield.
Conversation about the dipole shield from email (bipolar)
"Why is he moving so slow?"
They watched as the ship on the view screen grew larger as they approached.
"It's a small cruiser," Tinker identified.
"A Class A personal luxury yacht," Junebug split the view screen in half and pulled up schematics to show the type and class of the vessel.
"The interior capacity is for eight, with a hold designed for recreational space travel. I am unable to determine current occupants or payload as no manifest has been filed with any authority."
"He wouldn't do that," said Bat. "Not with what he has planned."
"He wouldn't do that anyway," Mona Lisa stared at the ship on the screen. "Not in his nature to tell the authorities anything he's doing."
"But he told someone he planned to destroy the shield?" asked Bat.
She shrugged.
"Or someone told us that's what he said."
Bat quirked up an eyebrow and glared at the screen.
"Scan them."
"That's military grade technology and not a piece of my current compliment."
"I was going to tell him that."
"Damn. Hail them."
The speaker chirped.
"They are not answering."
"Is anyone aboard?" Bat wondered.
"Something about this is not adding up."
He pursed his lips in thoughtful contemplation.
"They sent us out here to stop your fiancé from committing a terrorist act."
Mona Lisa crossed her arms and didn't sneer when Tinker was distracted by it.
"Ex-fiancé."
"But the ship they claim he is on is on a dead man's course for the target."
"What's a dead man's course?" she asked.
"A set it and forget it auto-pilot."
"Like Junebug," said Tinker.
"I am not an automatic pilot," the ship defended itself. "I am an advanced artificial intelligent construct."
"Are you flying my ship?"
"I am in control."
"Automatically."
"Play on words notwithstanding I am more than just a push the button stay on course flight program," Junebug sounded indignant.
"Don't piss off the person in charge of life control," said Bat.
"I'm the pilot," Tinker reminded them.
"What now?"
But Bat and Mona Lisa said nothing. Neither of them had any ideas.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
It was something, he thought. Something different than what it seemed.
The past had taught him that.
A ship on a collision course with an unmanned, unarmed station that would kill a million or more people.
To what purpose?
Love? Would one man destroy a planet just to kill the woman who wouldn't love him back.
She wanted to escape. That much he knew. He could see it in her calculations, the way she watched everything, even him.
Some men would be flattered by the attention, but Bat knew she was looking for a weakness.
Her beauty was a distraction, like the way she used her breasts, and hips and behind. To keep people guessing.
And while they guessed she was eye candy, a dumb bimbo, all boobs and ass and sex appeal, they never looked underneath.
She was smart as hell and a survivor.
A more deadly combination than her looks to be sure.
But would a man kill for that?
Because she outsmarted him, and outlived two of his assassination attempts?
Maybe.
He'd never been in love, and passion was something he reserved for later in life, if it ever found him. He had been with dozens of women over his life, and considered himself an adequate lover. Not too bad, and no one ever voiced complaints to his face.
A little creative where it was called for, but efficient. It made him just a little sad in that was how he considered himself at most things. Efficient.
Even when passion was called for, which is probably why he was alone.
Preferred being alone actually.
Easier to fight the ghosts that way.
No bother to anyone, just doing his time watching prisoners do theirs.
Until now.
Now he was in the thick of it again, and he couldn't find the angle. He couldn't figure out what was going on.
And that bothered him.
Because part of being efficient, at love, at fight, at war and at play was figuring things out.
Fast.
Now the straightforward mission to deliver the inmate to radio a halt message to her fiancé had thrown a curve ball.
Ex-fiancé he reminded himself and that made him chuckle.
"What's so funny?"
He glanced up to see her staring at him. Large dark eyes with make up a little smudged. The steady fall and rise of her artistically presented bosom. Moist lips in a permanent pout.
"You."
"What did I do?"
She crinkled her eyebrows and raised them, forming the most fine line between them, and highlighting the beginnings of laugh lines at the corners of her eyes.
He thought they added character. Because laugh lines came from laughing, something he was sure she had done a lot of before prison.