Superdreadnought 1: A Military AI Space Opera

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by CH Gideon


  “A rebel with an actual cause,” Tactical jumped in. “I like it. He does have a real cause, right? He wasn’t caught protesting for softer toilet paper in schools or anything like that, was he?”

  Jiya dragged her gaze from the planet and turned her glare on Tactical’s seat. “The general was jailed for defying my father and doing his damnedest to turn the people against him, all in the name of a better world. Then he was quietly retired to the south, imprisoned for standing up to my father.”

  “Noble, I’ll give you that, but it doesn’t answer my question,” Reynolds asked. “What does Maddox bring to the table, that we need to put ourselves at risk for and break him out of prison?”

  “He’s a tactical genius, far beyond anyone I’ve ever met,” she answered, not mincing words.

  “I’m right here,” Tactical called. “We’ve survived this long without the general.”

  “Wasn’t that the point?” Jiya asked, raising her hands questioningly. “You wanted a crew to alleviate the stress of doing a bunch of different jobs, and now you’re going to bitch about me finding you one?”

  Tactical grunted. “Your point is?”

  Jiya sighed and turned back to face Reynolds. Even though she knew he was the exact same entity as Tactical, she couldn’t help but think of them as individuals.

  I’m becoming as damaged as they are.

  “Look, Reynolds, Maddox is as much a genius in his field as Geroux is in research and computers and Takal is with technology and Ka’nak is with fighting. We need him.”

  Reynolds nodded. “Okay, I’m willing to give it a shot, but we have to be realistic. He’s not the most accessible person on the planet.”

  “A few quick blasts of a railgun and we can walk right in the front door and pluck him out of his cell,” Tactical said, sounding smug. “Easy-peasy quite consleazy.”

  Jiya cast a thumb Tactical’s direction. “This is exactly why we need a new tactician.”

  “I can see your point,” Reynolds answered.

  “Are you kidding me?” Tactical argued. “This third-world planet—a little bit of offense intended—can’t compete with us. A quick blast and there’s no one around to challenge us. You really think the meatbags down there want to match firepower with a superdreadnought? Not likely.”

  Jiya raised her hand. “As one of those meatbags you’re referring to, no, maybe the planetary defenses can’t match your destructive power, but we’re not looking to go to war with the planet in our search for a crew. And we’re not looking to destroy civilizations, only Kurtherians and from what I’ve heard, there aren’t that many.”

  “I beg to differ,” Tactical countered. “This is Darwin’s theory at its finest—survival of the fittest. Those who live and manage to throw a halfway decent punch at us get the job. Those who get scorched provide the fire to cook our marshmallows over. Pretty clear-cut decision from where I’m sitting.”

  “And, for the sake of argument where I completely discount your blatant homicidal tendencies—”

  “Which is truly my best feature,” Tactical clarified.

  “—we’re trying not to draw a bunch of attention to ourselves, remember?”

  “Vaguely,” Tactical admitted.

  “And forgive me for being so dense that I don’t understand the great mind that is you, but wouldn’t nuking the planet make people notice?”

  “Not if you do it right.” Jiya could practically hear Tactical shrugging.

  Reynolds coughed, demanding their attention. “Look, we can’t go blasting the planet. We’re not here to start a war. Bethany Anne would kick our metallic asses if we went back and all we had to show for our efforts was a bunch of cratered worlds in our wake and a slew of new enemies the Federation would have to go to war with because of us.”

  “No, our job is hunt down Kurtherians, and we’re wasting our time debating how we’re going to free a local inmate from prison when we should be seeking our real enemy,” the XO interjected.

  Reynolds sighed. “He’s not completely wrong.”

  “But he’s not completely right either,” Jiya argued. “Will a few days make such a huge difference in your hunt for Kurtherians?”

  “Yes,” Tactical answered immediately. “The longer we wait, the farther they can run and the deeper they can burrow.”

  “You don’t even know where they are!” Jiya shouted, her frustration clear. She clenched her fists, wishing she could punch Tactical in his nonexistent mouth.

  “Don’t you go whipping out logic and reason,” Tactical warned. “We were having a perfectly good argument without any hint of fact or correctness, and you had to go and ruin it.”

  “Which is your concession that she’s right. Stow it, Tactical. The decision is made.” Reynolds continued, “We don’t know where the Kurtherians are, and we need a crew to repair our ship and better prepare us to find and annihilate them.”

  “Guns are the answer,” Tactical insisted. “They’re always the answer.”

  Jiya grunted. “Much as I hate to admit it, he might well be onto something.”

  “I’m marking this moment on the calendar,” Tactical exclaimed. “Jiya Lemaire agrees with Tactical for once. Shit, this should be a national holiday.” He chuckled. “I’m going to petition Bethany Anne when we get home. It’ll be glorious. We can celebrate with donkey balloons and pin them with tails that say, ‘Tactical is right!’ Then we can watch all the hot air spew out as the balloon goes limp, kind of like how Jiya is doing right now.”

  Reynolds sighed. “How about you explain what you mean before Tactical starts off on another tirade?”

  “Well, I wasn’t exactly thinking of using guns to free Maddox,” she replied, returning to the viewscreen and looking down at the planet below. “I was picturing something more…explosive.”

  “We’re raising a monster,” Helm muttered from his console. “I blame you, Tactical.”

  “I’ll take it,” Tactical replied.

  Reynolds grunted. “You might well be right, Helm.” He came alongside Jiya, meeting her at the viewscreen. “What did you have in mind.”

  She turned to face him, grinning, holding up her hand, thumb and index finger about two centimeters apart. “Just a little explosion,” she answered, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Boom.”

  Ex-General Adrial Maddox sat in his cell, staring at the wall.

  It had become a ritual.

  The dull gray stared back, right into his soul. The paint peeled in places, and Maddox had helped it along in a few spots, doing his best to manipulate the removal so that the resulting pale sections stood out against the darker gray.

  He’d managed to make one look like a cat, and he’d even scraped a fingernail across the paint to mimic whiskers. There was another that resembled a spider about the size of his fist, which he hadn’t meant to do because he wasn’t fond of spiders, but he hesitated to scratch it away given how perfect it was.

  Then there was the ancient battle tank, which was his favorite. He’d aimed the barrel at the door and imagined it blasting the guards every time they opened his cell door.

  Which wasn’t very often, actually. They ignored him more often than not, spending their time playing cards and napping out in the main room that adjoined the section of cells he was locked in. He could hear them snoring or cursing as they lost money and arguing among themselves, but the angle was horrible. He couldn’t see a thing.

  That only compounded his misery.

  He’d been so proud of himself when he’d faced down President Lemaire. He had been certain the people would embrace him and rise up. Stand behind him and overthrow Lemaire’s corrupt regime.

  “Oh, how wrong I was,” he muttered, always a bit perturbed by the sound of his own voice.

  Even though he talked to himself quite often—it wouldn’t do to forget how to speak, now would it?—he didn’t think he sounded like him. The raspy, tired voice that came out of his mouth was nothing like the bold, powerful baritone he used to projec
t.

  These days, he sounded like he’d spent his life sucking down drain-cleaner shooters with a side of glass shards. Felt like it, too.

  He flopped on his cot and groaned.

  His world had shrunken from the whole universe to this tiny six-by-six-meter cell without a window. He’d had a life before—women, wine, and even the occasional song—and Lemaire had taken it from him.

  Maddox shook his head, letting out a quiet growl. “Get over it, Adrial,” he said, chastising himself. “No matter how often you bitch about this, nothing is going to change.”

  He hated that he was right.

  The last eight years locked away had worn on his confidence, on who he’d been before being hauled away in his sleep. Morning had landed him in this exact cell, and he’d been here ever since.

  Not once had the guards taken him out so he could get some fresh air or stretch his legs. That didn’t mean he hadn’t stayed in shape. Every day, first thing when he woke up, he worked out, doing pushups, sit-ups, and running the width and breadth of his cell until he was so tired he was ready to crawl back into bed.

  Still, if he were honest with himself, there were days when he yearned for some attention and someone to talk to. Hell, he’d even greet a torturer with a smile as long as it got him out of the cell and gave him someone to interact with.

  But no, Lemaire knew Maddox too well to offer him anything that might break the monotony. It wasn’t the cell that was the torment, not the imprisonment or the loss of his former life. The absolute emptiness of his existence was what threatened to cast Maddox over the edge.

  He’d held on for all these years, but he could feel himself slipping more and more every day of late. It wouldn’t be long before he chewed the veins from his arms in an attempt to bleed out and end the misery.

  A crooked smile stretched his lips at the thought, and so caught up was he in his dreams of peace that he barely noticed the loud thump in the courtyard that stirred the dust in his cell and caused it to rain down on top of him.

  He wiped his face and sat up, the murmur of the guards, frantic and so out of place, drawing him to the surface of his self-imposed mire.

  “Is this real?” he asked himself, mustering the energy to get up and walk to the bars of his cell.

  Men shouted and cursed and he heard evidence of a scramble, feet slapping concrete, armor slapping flesh. Chaos engulfed his captors for several long moments, then routine took over and they were gone, storming away from his cell as a unit.

  Silence remained in their wake.

  He stood at the bars for several long minutes, having expected the guards to return to the room and their game and normality to resume, but it didn’t happen. There was only the quiet.

  “What’s going on?” Maddox asked himself, disappointed that he didn’t have an answer.

  Fortunately, someone else did.

  “This is what they call a breakout,” a voice said.

  The sound sent shivers down Maddox’s spine.

  “Who’s there?”

  A figure emerged from the room where the guards normally were, and Maddox slunk toward the back of his cage.

  “No need to be afraid,” the figure said, coming up to stand before the bars of Maddox’s cell.

  “A Jonny taxi driver?” Maddox asked, finally able to get a clear look at his unexpected guest.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” the newcomer cursed, shaking his head. “Priority one, a new damn body for Reynolds.”

  “Who’s Reynolds?” Maddox asked.

  “That would be me,” the Jonny driver responded. “And you, I presume by the musty smell of long-lost freedom, would be General Adrial Maddox?”

  Maddox nodded after a few moment’s hesitation, unsure how to respond. More to the point, he had to remember his name, seeing as how no one had used it since he’d been locked in this cage. Not a single time.

  That was another brilliant part of Lemaire’s plan. He had effectively erased Maddox from the minds of the world, including his own.

  Suddenly lightheaded, Maddox dropped onto his cot and laid back, staring at the blurry ceiling as he waited for the feeling to pass.

  “No offense, General, but we don’t have a lot of time here,” Reynolds told him, grabbing the bars. “My associate is outside stirring up trouble as a diversion and—”

  Another boom sounded in the distance, interrupting the android, and Maddox sat up to listen.

  “Ah, there she is,” Reynolds went on. “Anyway, as I was saying, we don’t have a lot of time, and you and I need to have a chat.”

  Maddox stared at the wall for a moment, imagining he could see what was going on beyond it, then he turned to face the android who was snapping his fingers for Maddox’s attention.

  “There we go,” Reynolds told him. “Come back to the present and the real world.”

  “I-I—”

  “You know what? How about I talk, and you listen?” Reynolds suggested. “Seems to me that’s the only way we’ll actually get to the point here. It’s clear that if I wait for you, my joints are going to rust.”

  “Uh…I—”

  “Couldn’t agree with you more, General,” Reynolds interrupted, doing as much as possible to make his android face express disappointment and annoyance at the same time. He’d just have to assume he’d made it work since there was nothing reflective in the cell he could use to judge his efforts. “Simple question, General. Do you want to be free and travel the stars and get revenge on the asshole who locked you up and stole your life?”

  “Y-you… You…” Maddox struggled to speak. It wasn’t that he was unable; his voice worked fine. It was simply that he was so overwhelmed by the android’s arrival that he couldn’t stop shaking. His throat had clasped tight, and he could barely breathe.

  He wanted to shout and scream, “Yes,” and race to the bars and hug this strange android, thanking him for his offer of freedom, but his body rebelled. He’d been in the cell too long; he no longer knew how to respond.

  “That’s it, Maddox, use your words.” Reynolds bit back a groan as yet another explosion echoed through the prison. That was the last of them, Jiya’s ruse having run out of juice. “Complete sentences would be a bonus.”

  “Y-you…would f-free me?”

  “That’s the idea, yeah.”

  Maddox managed to move his head up and down enough that it qualified as a nod. “P-pl..eeeease,” he spat, more drool than actual sounds.

  Reynolds raised an eyebrow and leaned into the bars. “Good enough for government work,” he said, then he went to work on the bars, tugging at them. “I’m glad I had Doc strengthen the servos on this rent-a-husk,” he muttered.

  Maddox had no idea what he meant, but that didn’t matter. When the bars to his cell creaked and bent under the android’s pressure, Maddox forgot everything. He squealed as the bars kept bending and bending and bending, finally providing an opening wide enough for him to clamber through.

  He didn’t, of course, because that would require a strength—both mental and physical—that Maddox wasn’t able to summon. Instead, he slumped on his cot in a fetal position.

  Reynolds groaned. “You’re like a sack of moldy potatoes. Why the hell Jiya wants you, I have no idea.”

  “Jiya?” Maddox repeated, memories stirring him from his near-comatose state. “Y-you…said Jiya?”

  “I did indeed,” the android confirmed, easing through the bent bars to enter Maddox’s cell. “She’s waiting for you outside. If you want to see her, I suggest you stand up and come with me right fucking now.”

  Maddox bolted upright, managing to get to his feet…for about a second. Then he wavered, wobbled, and almost collapsed.

  Reynolds caught him, slipping an arm under Maddox’s armpit and wrapping it around his waist. “I guess I’m a Jonny taxi after all,” he muttered, carting the limp Maddox out through the bent bars into the room beyond. “I’m turning on the meter for this trip.”

  The android carried Maddox thro
ugh the guard’s room, which Maddox barely remembered, it having been so long since he’d seen it, then down a corridor he didn’t remember at all.

  They came to a room with a closed door, and Reynolds opened it and helped Maddox inside. A window shone at the back of the room, and the bars that had previously blocked passage through it were ripped loose and lay on the floor. The glass was missing, too.

  Before Maddox could complain, which probably would have taken weeks given his sudden lack of ability to vocalize, the android squeezed him through the window and dumped him outside.

  Maddox landed with a thud, but he didn’t care. The warm grass and gritty dirt pressed against his cheek were all that mattered at that moment. It didn’t last nearly long enough, however.

  The android snatched him up again and tossed him over its shoulder. Maddox grunted as it took off at a sprint, its mechanical shoulder bone driving into his gut.

  “I hope you get your energy back or Jiya is going to owe me big time.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You sure he’ll be okay,” Jiya asked, staring through the window that looked into the med bay.

  General Maddox laid on the bed as the automated surgical services scanned and assessed him.

  “He’ll be fine,” Reynolds replied. “Doc says a day or two in the Pod-doc and he’ll be right as rain.”

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  Reynolds shrugged. “So my databases tell me.”

  “What about his mind?”

  “It’s like a turd floating in a fishbowl right now,” the AI answered, “but…Doc says it’s just stress and trauma from his long incarceration in solitary confinement. Eight years with almost no interaction is an inhumane level of torture. The fact that he survived is a testament to his mental strength. He’s cracked a few seals here and there. Fortunately, it’s nothing serious in the grand scheme of things. Might take a little time, but the genius you knew will return, or so Doc says.”

 

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