Superdreadnought 1: A Military AI Space Opera

by CH Gideon

  “You!”

  “Yes, me,” the bot she’d run into answered as it eased into the room. “Expecting someone else?”

  Jiya stared at the bot, caught off guard by its flippancy. Humanoid in shape, it was built sturdily, but despite its heavily-armored frame, it moved with a feline-like grace.

  “Uh, I really don’t know what I expected,” she replied.

  “Then why so surprised?”

  It was a good question, and one Jiya had no answer for. So, instead of muttering something inane, she shook her head and stared.

  Silence settled over them for a moment.

  “Anyway,” the bot started, “you’re probably wondering why you’re here.”

  “You mean, why you killed the lights, ambushed my co-workers and me, and tossed me into a tiny room that might as well be a cell?”

  One of the bot’s eyes widened. “Well, when you put it that way it sounds kind of ominous, doesn’t it?”

  “You think?”

  “Occasionally,” the bot replied. “Although I don’t often recommend it. Tactical, however—he swears by it. Gotta watch that guy.”

  Jiya continued to stare. She took a step back, angling to put the cot between her and the strange bot. It hadn’t hurt her—yet—but it was sure as hell making her nervous. The thing sounded as if its gears were out of alignment. She wanted some kind of advantage if the thing lost what was left of its mechanical mind and came after her.

  “So, uh, yeah…back to why you brought me here.”

  “Yeah, that.” A crease on its face that Jiya imagined was meant to represent a mouth drew upward in an attempt to mimic what she thought might be a smile.

  No, that’s not creepy at all. She took another step away from the bot.

  “You’re a pilot, correct?”

  A confused shudder ran through Jiya, and she ran a hand across her face to wipe away the dumbfounded expression. She nodded in reply, unsure what the bot was looking for with its casual interrogation. “Among other things.”

  “Do you work well with AI systems?”

  Jiya swallowed hard, but there was no holding back this time. “You mean ones that aren’t insane?”

  The bot made that weird grin attempt again. “I see what you’re implying,” it said. “I am not crazy, I’m simply…expressive.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do indeed.” The bot paused. “Oh, what did you say your name was?”

  “Seeing as how I was busy being bushwhacked and kidnapped, I didn’t say,” she told it. “But since I’m feeling a bit Stockholmish, the name’s Jiya. Jiya Lemaire.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Jiya. You can call me Reynolds.”

  I’m likely to call you a whole bunch of other things if you don’t get to the point soon and let me go. “So, Reynolds, care to hop back on track and let me know why I’m here?” She motioned toward the bot blocking the door.

  “Oh, that’s right,” Reynolds said, stepping in and clearing the way to the exit. “It’s not my intention to keep you anywhere, although I am hoping you’ll choose to remain.”

  Jiya chuckled. “Really? No offense, but you did trick me in here. That doesn’t exactly ping high on the trust meter. Why the hell would I stick around?”

  “Uh, because I pay well?”

  “Wait…what?” Jiya turned her head sideways like a befuddled dog. “You kidnap me, and now you’re offering me a job?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I have to admit that some human expressions confound me. I may have beaten around the bush too much in my efforts to appear more sympathetic.”

  Jiya shook her head. “No, have to say it really wasn’t.”

  The bot shrugged. “Well, I am. Good pay, benefits, the opportunity to travel the stars—”

  “The excellent company,” she muttered.

  “And that, of course,” Reynolds replied. “I’m quite the companion. Ask all the other mes.”

  Jiya sighed and convinced herself not to ask what he meant by that. “I’m not so sure. What say you let me go and I contemplate the offer out in the sunshine?”

  “You have something better to do?” the bot asked. “Going to drive a hovercab the rest of your life?”

  “Hey!” Jiya snarled at Reynolds, but she found that his words had struck a chord, the sad truth drawing her stomach into a knot. “I have other options.”

  Did she? Her father had all but cut the tail off her future here on Lariest.

  “True, the food service industry is always hiring. Would you like veggie-fries with that?”

  “I’m not liking you much,” she told the bot.

  “Fortunately, I like me enough for both of us.” That weird smile returned.

  “I really wish you’d stop doing that,” she said.

  “Then accept my offer,” it answered. “I’m on a mission—a super-important mission.” The Reynolds bot glanced furtively around the room, then inched forward, closing the distance between them. “Can I tell you a secret?” it whispered conspiratorially.

  Jiya stiffened at its closeness. “If you feel it’s necessary.” Her paranoia warred between running and punching Reynolds in its grinning mouth. Figuring she’d break her fist on its metal skull, she stood her ground peacefully.

  “I do,” it answered, moving even closer. “I’m not really a bot.”

  Nod and smile, Jiya, nod and smile. She did just that.

  “I’m actually a superdreadnought,” Reynolds continued. “This ship you’re in, that’s me.” The lights flickered on and off as if emphasizing Reynolds’ words. “My Queen sent me on a mission to seek out and destroy Kurtherians.” He inched closer. “You don’t know of any Kurtherians, do you?”

  “Uh, can’t say that I do.”

  “Good! Dirty little bastards, those Kurtherians. Even their name sounds awful. Kur-ther-i-ans,” Reynolds muttered. “Sound it out with me, and you’ll see what I mean. Awful.”

  “No, I’m okay, thanks. I’ll take your word for it.”

  Reynolds shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll give you a few minutes to think about my offer while I confer with my other selves. Be right back.”

  The bot stiffened, its eyes dimming to black. Jiya stood there for a moment, her heart stuttering in her chest. She cast a sideways glance at the door, wondering if she could dart out before the bot came back online.

  But if what it said was true?

  Jiya sighed. How do you outrun a ship? She was sure that wasn’t going to happen. Besides, the stupid thing was right.

  She flopped back onto the cot, ignoring the plastic sheeting as it squeaked in protest. Did she really want to drive a hovercab the rest of her life? Working for assholes like Magni, listening to Rictor comment about her ass all day?

  Wasn’t this the type of adventure she’d wanted when she’d applied for the Larien military? To fly off into space and leave Lariest and her father and his impossible demands behind? What did she have on the planet besides debt and the daily grind, shuttling johns back and forth all day for shitty wages and even shittier tips?

  She groaned as she thought about her life. What kind of future did she have to look forward to? The military had passed on her. Apparently, she was too difficult, if you could believe that. Tell one asshole where to go and how to get there, and they label you insubordinate. Of course, Daddy’s influence in all that didn’t help. He’d made it clear she’d toe the line—his line—or she’d suffer for it.

  Jiya stared at the blank walls, letting her thoughts drift in directions she wanted nothing to do with. How much harder would it be working for some crazy AI spaceship as opposed to a snarky cab boss?

  Well, Magni wasn’t likely to get her killed. Then again, he had sent her on a bunch of runs to lousy neighborhoods where it was possible she’d get shot.

  Jiya sat up on the cot and grunted. She’d spent her life making bad decisions without thinking about the consequences, the specter of her father always there, pushing, smothering her. Was this another bad decision or was there t
ruly something here?

  “Made up your mind?” the bot asked out of nowhere.

  Jiya shrieked, turning the tail end of it into a growl. Her fist went up, ready to smash the bot in its grinning face. “Damn, Reynolds. Don’t sneak up on a girl like that.”

  “Been standing here the whole time.”

  He had been, which only made his sudden reactivation worse.

  Heart echoing like thunder, she glared at the bot. “So, if I accepted your offer, what would I be doing?”

  “Pretty much whatever I need you to do,” Reynolds answered, shrugging. “I’m a big ship with lots of needs.”

  Psychiatric, first and foremost. “That’s not really all that enticing,” she admitted. “Sounds a little…freaky.”

  “Much as I hate to admit this, I can’t do everything on my own, even with my own help. We need a crew. They should be loyal, faithful, and courageous, but we’ll settle for competent right now.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Nothing personal. You are just flesh and blood.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she told him, huffing.

  Reynolds shrugged. “Not always, no,” it admitted, “but all your sleeping and eating and pooping take up an inordinate amount of your time; non-productive ship time that requires much in the way of logistics to support, which means I need even more humans to support the few humans I need. You follow?”

  “You got me there.” How could you argue with logic like that? Jiya just shook her head. “So, are you expecting me to help with recruiting, too?”

  “Have a problem with that?”

  “Not as long as the paycheck is commensurate,” Jiya replied, shrugging and doing her best to make her bargaining appear casual, “and…I get first choice in who gets the job.” She already had an idea as to who she wanted working beside her.

  The fact that her choices would piss off Daddy Dearest only made it more satisfying.

  Reynolds forced that inhuman grin onto his face again. “Fair enough, but you have to accept the job first. You are accepting it, right?”

  She drew in a deep breath, letting it fill her lungs, then let it out in a soft whistle. “Sure, why not? I’ve nothing better to do than travel to some distant universe where I’m likely to die horribly while working for a AI with multiple personalities.” Just another day at the office. “What about the other knuckleheads who came in with me?”

  “That’s the spirit,” Reynolds said, patting her on the shoulder. “Those other knuckleheads are passed out in their hovercabs. They’re not exactly the be-all-you-can-be types. When they wake up, they won’t remember coming aboard. My bots dumped them on the tarmac with their hovercabs. There are no Larians left aboard besides you. We still have your cab. I feel like we’re going to need that.”

  Jiya muffled a chuckle with the back of her hand. She was glad Reynolds had seen the lack of potential in her boneheaded co-workers. It wasn’t just her. The very last thing she wanted to do was spend more time with Magni and Rictor.

  “All right, let’s go find you a crew,” Jiya told the AI.

  Chapter Five

  Reynolds led Jiya through the massive ship—through him, actually, which really wasn’t how she wanted to think about it—to what was apparently a crew lounge. He waved her inside.

  A large table sat near the back corner, comfortable chairs all around. A large viewscreen rose out of the center of the table. Reynolds gestured in that direction.

  “Have a seat,” he told her.

  She shrugged and made to flop into the nearest chair.

  Reynolds shouted, catching her in half-squat. “Not there! That seat’s taken.”

  Jiya eased up, casting a glance over her shoulder at what appeared to be an empty chair. “Uh, okay…” She moved to the one next to it.

  Reynolds' voice sounded from the seat. “Not this one either, cabbie. Find your own. I’m not sharing.”

  “Neither am I,” Reynolds’ voice called from another chair.

  Jiya glared at the speaking chairs in turn, then she shared that glare with the bot. “Are any of these chairs not taken by the other yous?”

  The bot pointed at one right in front of the viewscreen. “That one is open.”

  After throwing a casual stink-eye in his direction, she dropped into the proffered seat. “Can we at least do introductions, so I know which you is you?”

  “We’re all me,” the chair next to her answered.

  “Not helping,” Jiya replied. “You’re going to give me whiplash trying to keep up.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” the bot conceded. “The chair to your right is Executive Officer Reynolds, my second-in-command. To his right is Tactical…”

  Jiya sighed. “And who’s to my left?”

  “That’d be Comm.”

  “Navigation is on the other side,” the bot said.

  The far chair called out a howdy.

  “Helm is absent,” Reynolds said. “Probably asleep at the wheel.”

  “And you’re the captain?” she asked the bot.

  “We’re all captain,” Tactical answered. “He’s Lance Reynolds, but as the captain and the ship, he’s just called Reynolds.”

  Jiya slumped in her seat. “Can we get on with this?” she told them, hoping the sooner she got a real crew in place, the sooner the split-personality AI could pull itself together. Literally.

  Emphasis on hope.

  “Someone’s in a hurry, I see,” Tactical said, adding a little reverb for sass.

  The viewscreen came to life, and Jiya leaned back in her chair in surprise as an orbital view of a looming planet appeared. Enthralled by the brilliant blues and greens on the screen, she realized after only a moment that the screen showed her homeworld of Lariest.

  It hung in space, the image too clear and precise to be a holovid or picture.

  Then it struck her.

  “Wait a second! When did we end up in space?” She spun around to face the bot. “You took off before I said yes?”

  “Call me an optimist.” Reynolds shrugged awkwardly.

  “Oh, hell, you have got to be kidding me,” she shouted, jumping to her feet and marching over to the bot. She jabbed it in the chest with her index finger. “I can’t believe you did this!” Then she dipped her head to the side. “Did you just kidnap me for the second time in one day? Of course, you did.”

  Jiya growled, storming back to her seat. She refused to sit, though.

  “Here’s the deal, Reynolds,” Jiya started. “If you want me to work with you, to help you find a good crew, we need to come to an understanding.”

  “Oh, here we go,” Tactical mumbled.

  “Stow it,” Navigation told him. “She has a right to speak her piece.”

  The bot raised its hand in surrender. “I vote we listen.”

  “Are you all done?”

  “The pulpit’s yours,” XO replied. “Preach on, sister!”

  “Good,” she spat. “Look, you can’t just jerk me around like I’m some sort of meaty marionette—”

  “Interesting visual,” Tactical muttered, “but I wonder if meat puppet might be a bit more apropos to—”

  “Shut it,” the Reynolds bot told him, pointing a stubby finger at the empty seat.

  Jiya continued as if they hadn’t interrupted, “There need to be ground rules. I need a say in what happens to me, like whether I leave a planet. I expect you to treat me like part of the crew—with respect.”

  “Those last two are a bit contradictory if you ask me,” Tactical stated.

  “Anyway,” Jiya said, clearing her throat and wondering how the hell she ended up on a spaceship with an asshole like Rictor, only in AI form. “My point is, I’m not a tool to be whipped out and used and then cast aside when you’re done. I’m a Larian, flesh and blood, a living being, and I need to be treated as such. I need to be involved in the decisions that affect me. Is that clear? Are we on the same page, Reynolds?”

  “You’re right,” the bot said
, “and we apologize. We’re on the same page, I assure you, so, please sit down and relax. We promise to behave.”

  Jiya glared at the bot for a moment longer before conceding and flopping into her seat. She leaned back and steepled her fingers, shifting her gaze around the table at the invisible AIs—feeling stupid for doing it.

  “So, I’m guessing by the empty chairs around the big table that you need a complete crew: pilot, XO, Tactical, Comm, Navigation, Helm, and Security, but not Captain, right?”

  “Give or take a few positions, correct. Some of those I can handle on my own.”

  She nodded. “I’m also guessing you want them all right away?”

  “We are on a mission—an important one—so yes, the quicker, the better,” the bot replied.

  “Okay, then I have some candidates for you, like I told you earlier. These people will be perfect.”

  “As long as you understand we get final approval on your selections,” the bot told her, “and…I will be going with you to recruit them.”

  Jiya raised an eyebrow. “I understand oversight and whatnot, and I’m okay with that since it is your ship…but do you have any clue what you look like?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the way I look.” The bot glanced down at itself, running its hands over its sleek metallic frame. “It’s all about the chrome, baby.”

  “Exactly,” Jiya said. “Your gleaming metal ass won’t get past port security, let alone be allowed to wander the streets. And these people I have in mind, they’re kind of in the same boat as me with regards to my father, as in, they’re in the doghouse—the castaways. You won’t get anywhere near them in that hunk of bolts you’re wearing, and they sure as hell won’t be allowed off-planet with you.”

  “Well, the crew and I discussed jacking one of the automated hovercabs and plugging me into the body of the android driver.”

  “That’s not the worst idea I’ve heard,” Jiya told him. “Still, we’d have to get hold of one first, then defeat the security protocols because the cab company keeps constant tabs on their drivers. They’d notice one missing pretty quick if we simply grabbed one and ran off with it.”