Superdreadnought 1: A Military AI Space Opera

by CH Gideon

  Jiya drew in a deep breath. “Thank you for helping me get him out of there,” she said, exhaling slowly in relief. She’d been worried when Reynolds had first brought Maddox aboard. He had been so…scattered. So weak. She wasn’t sure there’d be any saving him.

  “I’ll just pretend you said, Thank you for doing all the work to get him out of there,’ to which I’d reply, ‘You’re welcome.’”

  “Hey! I distracted the guards and pulled them away from their posts.”

  “And that was excellent work,” he acknowledged. “I mean, it must have been hard work pressing that button three times, timing it so as not to press it too early or too late.” He grabbed her hand. “How’s your thumb? You need the Doc to take a look at it?”

  “I think I’ll manage,” she replied. “Anyway, Takal told me that the repairs are coming along well. Most of the pertinent systems have been brought back into compliance, so if you were waiting on any of that before we moved on, they’re no longer an issue.”

  “Excellent,” Reynolds said, rubbing his hands together like an evil genius. “And the remainder of the damage?”

  “Takal has recruited Ka’nak to do the heavy lifting on the hull repairs, so he predicts all that will done in a few more days at most. His strength is coming in handy,” she told him. “And Geroux has been syncing the computer systems, better preparing for Meatbag Manual Manipulation, as she’s named the changeover.”

  “Niiiice,” Reynolds applauded. “I like that girl already.”

  “So, with things progressing and the crew onboard, if not entirely functional, what’s the plan?” she asked.

  “Gather the crew who aren’t drooling all over themselves and have them meet me here at sickbay.”

  “And then?”

  “And then we start doing the fun stuff.”

  “Such as?” Jiya questioned.

  Reynolds grinned in reply. “First off, we jab a metal device into your temple, then we get to work.”

  “I’m sorry I asked.” Jiya grunted, spun on her heel, and marched off to put as much distance between her and the AI as possible.

  “Is this absolutely necessary?” Takal asked, twitching in his seat.

  “It is if you want to know what people are saying to you, and if you want to communicate with the rest of us while we’re out on a mission.”

  “So, you’re saying it’s not entirely necessary?” Takal clarified.

  “I’m being kind. You need to have this procedure. Every member of the crew needs to be linked. In combat, the ship could be filled with smoke, shrouding your fragile forms in darkness. What if you find yourself outside the ship? It would be best if you could communicate with us,” Reynolds told him, wrapping a hand around the back of Takal’s head and holding him in place. “Now, sit still. You don’t want this embedded in your eyeball.”

  Takal froze, and the AI pressed a long, thin device to the man’s temple. There was a quiet click and Takal flinched, then narrowed his eyes.

  “That’s it?”

  “Of course, that’s it,” Reynolds answered with a tssk. “We’re not here to torture you.”

  “Not physically,” Jiya muttered.

  Reynolds grinned and waved Jiya up next, shooing Takal out of the seat. “Mentally, you’re all fair game. Now, assume the position, Princess, and get ready to be poked.” He patted the now-empty seat.

  “Is he always like this?” Geroux asked.

  “It’s usually Tactical,” Jiya told her, sliding into the chair, “but I think the two have been apart too long. They’re starting to merge. Think of him as a socially-awkward genius who wants people to like him.”

  “Quirks?” Takal clarified.

  “I took more words to say the same thing. Thank you for your eloquence, Takal. We’ll go with quirks.”

  “Just sit still and be quiet,” Reynolds told them, waving the crew to silence. “This is an important part of the new-crew process.” He lifted the device and jabbed Jiya in the temple. There was a tiny pinch, less painful than a bug bite, and the AI motioned her out of the chair. “This device will allow us to stay in contact at all times, plus it is an upgrade to the low-rent translators you’ve already had implanted by your people. This one has a far vaster selection of languages, plus a miniature little me—an AI—in it that will allow it to process and better translate languages we don’t already know.”

  “A little you in them,” Tactical chuckled, his voice appearing out of nowhere. “Give yourself more credit, Reynolds.”

  Jiya flinched when Tactical’s voice sounded inside her head. “He really shouldn’t,” Tactical whispered.

  “You realize I heard that, right?” the AI asked.

  “No clue what you’re talking about?” Tactical deflected. “Oh, I hear Helm calling me. Gotta go.”

  Reynolds grumbled and motioned for Ka’nak to hop into the chair.

  “What about her?” the warrior asked, pointing at Geroux while eyeing the device as if it might bite him.

  “Ladies last,” he replied. “Now get over here so we can get on with things. Unless, of course, you’re afraid of needles. You aren’t, are you?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” he answered, puffing out his barrel chest and scowling. “I’m just uncomfortable around needles.”

  Reynolds sighed and glanced over his shoulder at Jiya. “Our great and mighty security officer is afraid of getting a shot. Am I going to have to whip out my Danny Devito on this one?”

  “What?” Jiya asked.

  “That was punny right there, I don’t care who you are,” the AI went on.

  Jiya tapped the side of her head where Reynolds had just inserted the communicator. “Seriously, is this thing working, because I don’t understand a damn word you’re saying.”

  “You people are so uncultured.” Reynolds grunted and stomped over to Ka’nak. “Hey, what the hell is that?” he shouted, pointing out the viewport.

  “What is it?” the fighter asked, whipping his head around to look.

  Reynolds jammed the device into his temple as soon as Ka’nak spun, implanting the comm.

  Ka’nak spun back around and rubbed his temple. “Hey!” He made to grab the AI.

  “Be grateful I don’t release a horde of mosquito nanites on your ass,” Reynolds threatened.

  “You have those?” Ka’nak asked, pausing in his attempt to grab the AI.

  “Want to find out?”

  “Pass,” he answered, waving his hands and backing up.

  “Good choice.” Reynolds huffed and spun around. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah…Geroux.”

  Geroux walked over, snatched the device out of Reynold’s hand, examined it for a split-second, and thumped it against her temple, inserting her own comm. She handed the device back to Reynolds, who took it back, handling it as if it were infested.

  “That was easy,” Geroux said, rubbing her temple and grinning.

  “Yeah,” Reynolds muttered. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

  “What about Maddox?” Jiya asked. “Will he get one, too?”

  The AI nodded. “The Pod-doc will insert his while it’s working on the rest of him. He’ll be in the loop as soon as he’s out of the Pod.”

  “Until then?” Jiya questioned.

  “I show you all around the ship to get you better acquainted with its amenities and systems, and then we get ready for our first away mission.”

  “Away from what?” Takal asked.

  “Just away,” Reynolds snapped. “You know, like in that ancient television show, Star Trek?”

  “Star what?” Ka’nak asked. “Did it make more sense than you? Because if so, I might like to watch it.”

  “How can you not have seen it? It was the pinnacle of science fiction in the day.”

  “Science isn’t fiction, though,” Geroux argued.

  “No, that was just what they called it,” Reynolds defended.

  “Why?” Geroux put her hands on her hips, seriously wondering.

  “Be
cause at the time, much of the science on the show was just that—fiction,” the AI explained.

  “So, they were sub-humans acting like they were scientifically advanced?” Ka’nak asked, shaking his shaggy head. “How is that interesting?”

  “It was. I’m appalled at the abject barbarity in this galaxy!” Reynolds complained. “I will schedule mandatory viewing sessions for the crew as part of your training. We’re going on an away mission because that’s what I want to call it, okay?”

  “Still never answered my question,” Takal said. “Away where?”

  “To throw myself into the sun if everything I say will be questioned. I can’t believe I ever agreed with myself to bring meatbags aboard. So much trouble.” He spun on a robotic heel and marched off. “Now, come with me to the bridge.”

  “I never understood why they call it a ‘bridge,’” Ka’nak mused as they followed. “It doesn’t span a river or creek. Maybe the term came from that Star Whack show Reynolds was talking about. That would explain it.”

  On the bridge, the crew gathered around the viewscreen, the brilliant vista of Lariest glowing before them. Jiya noticed that the view had changed from the one they’d been looking at just a short while earlier.

  “I’ve had Helm move us to the other side of the planet,” Reynolds said as if reading Jiya’s mind.

  She gasped under her breath and touched the newly inserted device, suddenly worried that it might be used to purloin her thoughts. What if…

  “Our little adventure on the surface might have attracted some attention, and there’s a chance our shuttle was detected either entering or exiting orbit, or it will be. The Lariest government will put the pieces together eventually and start looking around up here for their missing political prisoner. As such, we need to be ready to haul anchor and be about our business.”

  Jiya sighed when she realized it had only been a coincidence he’d mentioned the planet’s position.

  He turned to face the crew. “Takal, Ka’nak, keep doing what you’re doing with the hull and ship repairs. If we have to leave in a hurry, I don’t want anything lingering that’ll cause problems down the road. We need to be as close to full integrity as possible. Keep track of how many additional people you’ll need. Now that we have Larians aboard, you can expand the number of crew in a way that will be best for the ship. ” He turned his focus to Geroux and Jiya. “You two stay here on the bridge with me. We need to get you up to speed with the ship’s systems so you can assist in operations. We’ll meet in the crew lounge at 1900 hours to discuss our mission in more detail.”

  At that point, the AI waved everyone away to their duty.

  Chapter Eleven

  Right around the assigned time, Jiya and Geroux dragged themselves to the crew lounge. Although the work they’d done was hardly physically taxing, it was mentally draining.

  Reynolds had put them through their paces, showing and re-showing them each and every aspect of the superdreadnought. There was so much to the ship Jiya didn’t know. She’d never seen a spaceship like this one, and she realized early on why the AI had been tasked with running it. It would take a crew of thousands to manage what the AI did.

  There was no way she and the rest of the crew could ever replace the AI, as she’d pictured her task. Now she knew her job was simply to assist Reynolds in doing what he couldn’t do alone, which wasn’t a whole lot.

  Much as the different versions of the Reynolds AI drove her nuts, she was beginning to see why he’d splintered into so many personalities. Far too human for his own good—which was what he’d called his people back home—Jiya realized he needed more than just a crew to help repair him and keep him running. He needed companionship.

  Which, weird as it sounded, made a whole lot of sense now that she’d seen him in action—and seen General Adrial Maddox and the damage that had been done to him without interaction.

  He wasn’t just an artificial intelligence; he had become something more along the way. His time around incredibly strong personalities had rubbed off on him. While never able to become these Federation heroes he admired, he did his best to rise to their level; to get as close as he could manage.

  Then when he’d been sent into exile, which was the only way Jiya could imagine it, he was alone again, bereft of his family, as he saw them—these powerful people he’d come to rely on, as they had him.

  Or maybe she was tired and projecting.

  Ka’nak and Takal were already there when the two women arrived, and they waved Geroux and Jiya over to sit with them. They gratefully accepted the invitation.

  Takal looked worn out to Jiya, the bags under his dark eyes making them look like deep craters on a moon. He lifted a small flask to his lips and drank deep, the contents of which likely weren’t doing anything to improve his appearance. Ka’nak, however, looked as fresh as he had when he’d faced down the monstrosity in the pit.

  “Are you tired, Uncle?” Geroux asked, apparently seeing the same thing Jiya had.

  “A bit,” he answered, nodding, “but I’d be far worse if Ka’nak hadn’t been helping me all day. He’s made my work much easier. Thank you, friend.”

  Ka’nak nodded. “Know what else would make our work easier?”

  “What’s that?” Geroux asked.

  “Dinner,” the Melowi warrior answered, leaning back in his seat. His stomach rumbled on cue, and he grimaced. “Who’s a guy got to kill to get a meal around this place?”

  “That would be Helm, actually,” Tactical said through the comms in their heads. “Though, I suspect he might be a bit gamey if you tried to eat him afterward.”

  Jiya grimaced, realizing she would never be free of the AI’s multiple inner monologues now that she had the device in her head.

  “I’ll eat about anything at this point,” the warrior complained.

  Even Geroux seemed to agree. “Yeah, I’m getting pretty hungry. It’s been a long day.” She glanced around the lounge. “We learned a whole bunch about the ship, but I didn’t see anything like a mess hall or kitchen. How do we get food here?”

  The Reynolds `droid walked in right then, a weird grimace plastered across his mechanical features as he heard them talking. “Food?”

  “Yeah, you know, the stuff us meatbags eat so we can live?” Jiya explained.

  “Damn it!” Reynolds grumbled. “I knew I forgot something.”

  “What?” Ka’nak shouted, leaping to his feet and knocking his chair to the floor. “There’s no food on this tub?”

  Reynolds shrugged. “What did I need it for? There’s only me, myself, and I, and I, and I, and I aboard. None of us eat.”

  “Well, looks like none of us are going to eat either,” Jiya grumped. “We need to be better prepared than this. Had I known there wasn’t any food aboard, we could have bought supplies when I first joined you—before we started chasing down a crew. That should have been the priority.”

  Reynolds explained, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a crew on board, and they brought their own food when they were here.”

  Ka’nak growled and looked ready to leap across the table at the AI. Even Geroux and Takal looked pissed, both raising their voices to complain. Jiya rubbed her temples and willed the headache sneaking up on her to go away.

  “Okay, people, calm down,” she hissed. “We’ll get this fixed, isn’t that right, Reynolds?”

  “If you say so,” he replied, triggering more of an outburst from the rest of the crew. “I’m kidding, sheesh.” He raised his hands in surrender. “There have to be some protein bars stashed around here somewhere. Those will have to do for now, and there’s that Coke we brought for trading. The sugar might take the edge off.”

  The crew groaned and started in again, Jiya shouting to rein them in a second later. She let them get a little of the steam out first.

  “Then…” she said, dragging out the word until everyone went silent, “after our protein bars and our meeting, we’ll organize a supply run and pop down to the surface
with the shuttle and get what we need.” Jiya pointed at each crewmember in turn. “While we’re waiting on our meal, think of reasonable items you might need outside of food, and I’ll get with Reynolds to see what we can pick up.”

  Reynolds came over and plopped down in one of the empty chairs. “Comm, get the bots to do a search of the ship, starting with the kitchen, then mess hall, and sweep through the private quarters and see if anyone left behind any still-edible food for the crew.”

  “I’m almost afraid to go pillaging those rooms,” Comm replied. “Who knows what kind of weird human items I might stumble across?”

  “Wear gloves,” Reynolds suggested.

  “Excellent idea,” Comm said. “I’ll let you know what potentially embarrassing things I find. Oh, and the food, of course.”

  “Soon, right?” Ka’nak asked, putting a salty emphasis on the “soon” part.

  An animated thumbs-up appeared on the viewscreen above the table. It wiggled and danced before disappearing in a cluster of sparkles.

  “I’ll take that as a yes?” Ka’nak mumbled.

  “Had it been a no, it would have been a different finger,” Jiya clarified. “And probably fewer sparkles.”

  “Okay,” Reynolds said, rapping the table to get their attention, “the main reason I called you here—”

  “Besides not to feed us?” Ka’nak complained.

  “Yes, besides that,” the AI responded. “We need to establish a chain of authority aboard the ship.”

  “Aboard you?” Takal asked.

  “Yes, me. The ship.”

  “I’m thinking it’s pretty clear you’re in charge when you’re the ship,” Takal continued. “I mean, there’s really no way to mutiny and take control from you. That puts you in charge. You could simply kill the atmospherics and vent us to space If we give you grief, right?”

  Reynolds sighed. “My point here is not that I’m in charge of—”

  “You’re not?” Ka’nak asked. “Now I’m confused. Who did he say was in charge, Takal?”

  “I’m in charge,” Reynolds asserted.

  “Then why are we having this conversation if it’s already decided?” Ka’nak shook his head. “And by the way, who decided that in the first place? Shouldn’t we vote on something as important as who’s the boss?”