Superdreadnought 1: A Military AI Space Opera

by CH Gideon

  The energy readings gave Reynolds pause. He was confident that his shields would hold against the first attack, but the second and third? He wasn’t certain enough to stand toe to toe with the determined gnats.

  “Kill them,” he ordered.

  The first energy ball slammed against the shields of the Reynolds, and the protective shell about the ship shimmered and overwhelmed the energy buffers. The emergency klaxons rang anew. The energy that spilled out of the shield buffers coursed through the inner circuitry. Power junctions redlined and exploded.

  The bridge was suddenly alive with erupting consoles. As the energy danced across the surfaces, Reynolds stopped the charade of his multiple personalities and threw himself into repairing his ship.

  His arrogance was going to get his ship destroyed and the essence of his being scattered in a billion inconsequential bits.

  He sacrificed systems by rerouting the flow of power through junctions and down pathways that he knew couldn’t hold the power in order to preserve others. He had underestimated his enemy. Initial scans had shown no capability to generate this kind of power, and yet this blue energy torpedo was wreaking havoc as it wrestled its way through the shields.

  Then the port shielding gave, and the residual energy not absorbed by the shields slammed against the armored hull of the Reynolds. Plates of armor disintegrated as the pure, destructive energy breached the hull.

  “Decompress the ship,” the AI ordered as if there were a crew aboard. Emergency bulkheads retracted. Repair bots activated magnetic grappling and continued their frenzied activity to bring the ship back to combat readiness.

  Reynolds rerouted power across his injured systems. The superdreadnought automatically continued the evasive maneuvers engaged before the first volley hit, and the ship slid beneath the second and third energy balls.

  “I wonder if they can do that again?” the executive officer’s position asked, reestablishing his presence on the bridge.

  “I say we don’t give them a chance,” the captain replied. “Activate the ESD beam and target the three remaining ships.”

  “Saint Payback is a Bitch,” the tactical officer said, adding a moment later, “Targets acquired and ready to fire.”

  The ESD beam fired the equivalent of a solar flare. It had a tendency to wreak havoc on the ship’s systems, but it was useful when the chips were down. ESD stood for “Eat Shit and Die.”

  “Fire,” Reynolds ordered.

  The beam charged and sent death coursing through the pathways the AI had protected from the energy surges. Together, the enemy ships charged the emitters, and nanoseconds later the Reynolds violently lunged sideways, bringing her forward section to bear on the incoming ships just moments before the ESD beam streamed outward.

  The massive counterstroke forked as it approached the remaining ships, striking with devastating force, instantly collapsing their shields and ripping into their vulnerable hulls. The three hulks continued past the Reynolds on a ballistic trajectory toward deep space, the ships’ dead crews entombed on a forever trip to nowhere.

  Onboard Superdreadnought Reynolds, smoke drifted lazily through the corridors. The lack of atmosphere smothered any fires before they could start, and the cold of space crept in while the maintenance and repair bots clanged and banged their way through the long list of repairs.

  “Sensors! Where is my map of this galaxy? I’ll settle for a map of this star system.” Reynolds descended into a foul mood. Had he just killed innocents? What about their technology? “Helm, chase down those three and let’s see if we can’t scavenge some information.”

  Chapter Two

  “We’re within range, Captain,” Helm said. “And the retrieval bots are standing by.”

  “Get in front of those ships and use our shields to slow their momentum. I don’t want to have to chase them into deep space.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the empty seat at the helm replied.

  The Reynolds looped smoothly around the dead ships, took a position in front of them, and opted to use the shields as a bumper instead of the tractor beams because there was too much debris floating in space. The tractor beams set to repulse could further break the ship apart while launching all the debris like a shotgun blast. Matching speed, they touched gently, and the superdreadnought reversed thrusters.

  “Deploy the retrieval bots,” the AI ordered. “Comm, onscreen.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Comm replied.

  The endless black of space appeared on the viewscreen at the front of the bridge. Thin green lines segmented the screen into four quadrants, and an identification number, heading, and coordinates occupied the upper righthand corner of each bot’s section.

  Stars speckled the retrieval bots’ feeds, except for the ever-growing dark forms that blotted out the center of their views. The alien ships.

  “Contact in approximately one minute. It’ll take some time for the bots to cut through the hull,” Comm reported.

  “We’ve got Kurtherian bastards to hunt,” the captain said. “Whatever you’re doing, do it faster.”

  “You know as well as I do that the bots will cut as fast as they cut, and no faster. There’s not much that can be done to speed them up.”

  “We could pierce the hull with another shot from the railgun,” Weapons said. “Punch a hole they could use to get in.”

  “I like the way you think,” the captain said. “Let’s—”

  “Nope,” Tactical said. “Too late now. The bots are already cutting.”

  Violet light flared in each of the four quadrants of the viewscreen—the bots’ cutting lasers hard at work.

  The captain grumbled, “I hate waiting.”

  A dark object glinted in the corner of one of the quadrants, then it went black again.

  “Did you see that?” the captain asked.

  “See what?” the XO replied. “You don’t have fingers to point, so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Something in the corner of the viewscreen. Comm, order the bots to do a visual sweep of the area.”

  “Yessir.”

  The bots’ heads swiveled, shifting the feeds on the viewscreen. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The cold black of space extended infinitely.

  A dark form passed over a distant cluster of stars. Then it happened again.

  “There,” the captain said. “Bot 27652’s feed.”

  “I see it,” the rest of the AI’s personalities replied in unison.

  “It appears to be debris from one of the damaged ships,” Navigation reported.

  “It can’t harm us,” Tactical said. “It’ll just bounce off our shields.”

  “The first of the bots is through the hull,” Comm reported. “The others aren’t far behind.”

  The viewscreen showed the bots’ progression into the alien ship, through plates of metal, circuitry, and piping until they broke into a trapezoidal corridor wide enough for three or four average humans to walk side-by-side with plenty of extra room.

  It was perfectly dark aside from the bots’ spotlights shining down the corridor and the soft, orange glow they emitted from their thrusters.

  “No power at all,” the captain grumbled.

  Grated metal floors matched the ceiling, and smooth panels covered the walls between the bulkheads and crossbeams that divided the corridor every twenty feet or so.

  Most of the ship’s interior looked intact, but after five minutes of progress, the bots’ feeds showed plenty of scattered debris floating throughout. Conduits, hoses, and twisted metal extended from the overhead and bulkheads like tendrils.

  The AI found it disturbing that the bots hadn’t run across any alien bodies yet.

  “Perhaps the ship was piloted by another form of artificial intelligence?” the XO said.

  The captain bristled at the interruption. “Stop reading my thoughts, Commander.”

  “I am your thoughts, Captain.”

  “You know what I mean. It pains me to think that we
’ve destroyed one of our own. Why wouldn’t an alien AI want to talk to us?”

  “We transmitted in the languages of living beings,” Comm offered slowly.

  “Next time, add binary to the mix. Hell, throw in some cool equations and shit.”

  “And pictures of your mother.” The XO’s position let out a hearty belly laugh, and he made it sound convincing although there was no belly or vocal cords.

  “Although she smelt of elderberries, she was still my mum,” Helm added.

  “At ease!” the captain’s position ordered. “You know very well that mom smelled of elbow grease and desire.”

  The positions laughed easily, appreciating their shared sense of humor.

  “They’ve reached the bridge. At least, I think it’s the bridge,” Comm said.

  “Proceed,” the captain ordered, instantly returning to business.

  The viewscreen flared with violet light as the bots cut into the bridge’s airtight hatch. It succumbed to the lasers in seconds, and the bots’ metal arms pushed it inward. The door floated into the bridge until it collided with one of the consoles and came to rest.

  Inside, the bots found a slew of wide seats at various stations, all empty except for one centralized chair facing away from them.

  Something sat in that chair—a hulking form, indistinguishable in the low light but clearly not humanoid.

  “Comm, order three bots to work on retrieving data from the ship’s systems. Have them focus on identifying habitable populated worlds with advanced technology,” the captain said. “You know, the usual shit.”

  “Roger,” Tactical replied.

  Two of the bots removed panels to dig into the guts of the enemy computers. Once they identified the power supply line, they tapped in and cycled the power through a variety of phases before the system reacted. They added juice to bring the enemy ship’s computer to life.

  “And obviously, have them grab whatever info they can regarding the ship’s weapons systems, shields, and other diagnostics.”

  “Right. Working on it, Captain.”

  “And have them look for signs of Kurtherians.”

  Navigation sighed. “Is there anything you don’t want them to look for?”

  “Maybe they can find you a better attitude while they’re at it?” the captain replied, making it sound like a question.

  “One improved attitude coming right up. Would you like fries with that?”

  “Does it count as a burn if you’re technically insulting yourself?” Helm asked.

  “I don’t see why not. Self-deprecation can be a useful asset,” Tactical replied.

  “Can you tell me who’s in that chair?” the captain asked, diverting the positions’ attention back to the matter at hand.

  “Captain?” Comm asked.

  “What?”

  “What about the fourth bot?”

  “What about it?”

  “What do you want it to do?” Comm asked.

  “Check out the thing in the chair, of course. Why do I have to think of everything?” The captain sounded miffed.

  “I know that one. Pick me!” Tactical replied.

  “No, pick me!” Helm said.

  “I’ll take it,” the XO said dismissively. “Because in all the universe, there is no one smarter than you. None of us are as smart as all of us, and that is you, good Captain.”

  “Bravo, XO! You get a cookie. Now, send the bot to check out the thing in the captain’s chair. I want to know about the sonofabitch who attacked us.”

  “Roger that, Captain.”

  Three of the viewscreen quadrants focused on various consoles and panels within the bridge as the bots began working to power up the ship’s systems enough to extract data. The fourth quadrant showed an approach toward the alien captain’s chair and the monstrosity sitting in it.

  Whatever the alien was, it was brown and black, covered in hair reminiscent of the rough bristles of a brush or even a porcupine’s quills, and it was bulky. In the cold vacuum of space, some sort of moisture had crystallized into tiny yellow flecks on the tips of its quills.

  As the bot began to round the chair for a better look, a deep groan sounded throughout the alien ship’s bridge.

  The screech of rending metal tore over the comm, and the fourth bot’s feed turned toward the bridge’s ceiling in time to see a jagged stalactite of metal jabbing through.

  Pop.

  The fourth bot’s feed went dark.

  “Shit! Report!” the captain yelled.

  “Assessing,” Tactical said.

  “I mean fucking now! What the hell happened?”

  “It’s debris from one of the other ships, Captain,” the XO said. “It’s a total nut roll out there.”

  He swapped the fourth robot’s quadrant for a “windshield” view beyond the Reynolds’ hull. It showed a massive, jagged chunk of metal carving through the alien ship’s hull. Meanwhile, the bots in the other three quadrants scrambled and scurried around the bridge to avoid succumbing to the same fate as their crushed cousin.

  “Captain, we’ve got to extract them now,” Tactical said.

  “But they haven’t gotten even a tenth of the information we wanted from—” Comm started to protest.

  “Scans indicate the ship’s hull’s integrity is failing,” Tactical continued. “We won’t get shit for information if the rest of the bots get pulverized in the process.”

  “Tell bots two and three to transmit to the last nanosecond. Stay the course, good bots. Your lives will not be lost in vain!” the captain declared. “Order bot number one to grab a sample from the alien captain so we can analyze it.”

  “Yeah, if we can get it out,” Navigation muttered. “I respectfully suggest that maybe next time we plan our dead enemy ship exploitation operation a little better.”

  “Noted, you sandy little butthole. Do you know what we need?” the captain growled.

  None of the AI’s other personalities answered.

  “Fucking people. Fucking people would be warier because they die so easily.”

  “Captain?” Comm asked, trying to turn the attention back to the issues on screen.

  One of the bots zipped over to the captain’s chair, now obliterated by the debris piercing the bridge. It somehow managed to retrieve what looked to be some sort of prickly brown-and-black arm. It happened so fast that the captain didn’t get a good look at it.

  The alien ship continued to moan, and the bulkheads, girders, and decks buckled and tore as the bot rushed from the bridge.

  Bots two and three started transmitting data.

  “Yes!” Comm shouted. “See me fist-pumping the air in victory. The data is coming through.”

  Then another quadrant blinked out with a crunch and a sharp hiss.

  The second bot was down. The feed from the third bot showed a section of the bridge ceiling slamming down on top of it, smashing the second to scrap. Worse still, the third bot was trapped under the debris that had destroyed the second bot.

  “Shit!” the captain fumed. “Can it cut itself out?”

  “It’s trying,” Comm said.

  “Tell it to keep transmitting the data. Go, stupid little cousin, go!” the XO encouraged. “Focus all your efforts into getting that data. And then focus the rest of your efforts on recovering the bot with the arm, or whatever the hell that biomass is.”

  Bot three remained on the bridge, still transmitting, but only a quarter of a tenth of the information they could’ve gleaned. And that was if bot three managed to stay plugged in.

  As the bot with the arm peeled out of the bridge and into the dying ship, every curse in every human language cycled through the AI’s thought patterns.

  “It’s not going to make it,” Helm said.

  “He’s right,” Tactical confirmed. “The ship’s tearing apart too quickly.”

  “Bullshit. It’s gonna make it,” the captain said. The bridge started cheering.

  “Come on, little guy. You can do it!”


  “Go, bot, go.”

  “Fuck the blasphemers! You got this.”

  “Like hell, it does,” Navigation muttered. “I’m taking control.”

  The arm-bot’s feed jumped and jolted, then drew to almost a complete stop. Its onscreen progression jerked to life again and the bot lurched forward, its thrusters burning at full-blast.

  “Don’t fuck this up,” the captain said.

  “I play a lot of video games,” Navigation replied.

  The third bot’s viewscreen went black.

  “Transmission has ceased. Retrieval bots on the bridge are out of commission.”

  “A moment of silence, please, for our stupid brethren.” The moment lasted five microseconds. “Now order three more retrieval bots to be produced from the scrap metal of the enemy ship. That’ll teach those bastards to fuck with the SD Reynolds. Maybe the next aliens will smell the fear.”

  “Captain?” the XO said. “Looks like Nav is earning his pay today.

  The bot’s view expanded to fill the whole viewscreen. It ducked under debris, wove between bending bulkheads, and dodged tentacles of wires lashing out toward it.

  Then a grate from the ceiling swung down like a scythe.

  “Watch out!” the captain yelled.

  “I see it!” Navigation said.

  The bot whizzed out of the way—just barely—and evaded a circuit-severing collision. In the distance, the path the bots had carved from the ship’s hull gaped open.

  “Almost there…” Navigation muttered.

  “I think he’s gonna do it,” Helm said.

  “C’mon, kid. You’ve got this!” the XO said.

  “Only fifty more meters…” Tactical said.

  The wall shrieked and collapsed onto itself, sealing the hole and trapping the bot and its precious bit of alien inside the ship.

  Chapter Three

  “All hands on deck!” the captain bellowed. “I need options, people. I want to know about the aliens who gave us such a warm welcome.”

  Tactical was the first to speak up. “Watch this. Weapons are ready?”

  “Ready,” Tactical told himself in a cold, hard voice.

  “What are you doing?” the XO asked.