Superdreadnought 1: A Military AI Space Opera

by CH Gideon

  Jiya rose to her feet and glared at her father. His words resonated in her head, and she hated what he’d just told her. She’d run away more times than she could count, but there was always an option to return no matter how uncomfortable it might have been. Not any longer.

  Rather than think about what she might be leaving behind—her sisters, the memory of her mother, the place she was born—Jiya stomped off without a word.

  This was what she’d always wanted, if not exactly how she’d wanted it to go down, so there wasn’t any point in arguing. Her sisters would be looked after, and they’d always been more like their father than their mother anyway. They’d be okay, and that was all that mattered.

  Reynolds caught up to her out in the hall, and the two walked toward the courtyard where the shuttle had parked.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” he said, grinning.

  “Nope, not bad at all,” she replied with a grunt. “I can never come home again, never see my sisters, never visit the burial place of my mother, and we’ve made an enemy for life of Marianas. Not bad at all.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Reynolds told her, patting her on the back. “I’m glad you can see the bright side of things.”

  She groaned, not even bothering to reply.

  “While you’re down there,” Takal’s voice said over the comm, interrupting them, “would you mind a slight detour? I mean, we’ve got the place locked down, right?”

  “It’s not like we’re on a shopping trip, Takal,” Jiya told him.

  “I promise this will be worth the time spent,” he argued. “We’ll get no better opportunity than this.”

  “I’m not bringing you a Happy Meal,” Reynolds replied.

  “I have no idea what that is,” Takal admitted. “I just need you to stop by my lab really quick. There are a few things there we could use.”

  Jiya sighed, and Reynolds shrugged.

  “Fine, but you’ll owe me,” Reynolds answered.

  “As if I don’t already,” Takal mumbled.

  “So true,” the AI said with a grin. “Let’s do this.”

  Jora’nal sat before the altar in Thra’kal, the Temple of Life, and prayed. His voice rose in the empty temple like the hum of bees, fading as he offered the last of his supplication to Phraim-‘Eh and the other gods.

  He always preferred coming to worship in the middle of the night, believing the silence brought him closer to the gods. The waft of heady incense filled his nose, and he breathed it in deep, letting the musky scent invade his lungs.

  He exhaled slowly, wisps of smoke billowing from between his lips. His body was comfortably numb, a gentle tingle invading his limbs. The hours spent in worship had layered him in peace and serenity. He felt as if he were one with his god, the universe splayed before him.

  Jora’nal stretched his arms toward the mosaic-tile ceiling and brought them down slowly, synching his breath with his movements. As his clasped hands settled into his lap, he sent the last of his nightly prayers out into the air.

  “You asked, he answers,” an ethereal voice said.

  Jora’nal started and clambered to his feet, his legs swaying beneath him. A shadowy figure stood just meters behind the altar, shrouded in the gloom of the temple.

  “Who are you?” Jora’nal asked, surprised at how easily the man had crept up on him in the empty temple.

  “I am Gerish, the Voice of Phraim-‘Eh, the echo of his wishes,” the figure answered. “And you are Jora’nal, are you not?”

  Jora’nal stiffened at the mention of the god’s name, eyes narrowing in uncertainty. “How do you know me, stranger?”

  “I know you through your prayers to him, our lord Phraim-‘Eh,” the figure answered. “You speak to him nightly, and I am the vessel of his wisdom.”

  Jora’nal inched closer to the cloaked man, desperate to see his features, but there was nothing beneath the frayed hood. A wavering shimmer met his gaze, blurring the features beyond into a wash of colors that made his eyes ache. Jora’nal stepped back and turned his gaze away. A knot swelled in his guts.

  “Forgive me, Gerish, but how do I know you are who you say you are?” Jora’nal asked.

  What appeared to be a smile formed in the blur of the stranger’s features. He spread his arms to the sides and, to Jora’nal’s surprise, rose into the air until he hovered a meter above the tiled floor of the temple.

  “It is I,” a bellowing voice boomed, “Phraim-‘Eh, who speaks to you through this vessel, child Jora’nal.”

  Thunder rumbled outside, and the temple shook with its roar. Wisps of smoke rose from the altar and danced serpentine in the air. A pool of crimson liquid formed on the stone of the altar, swirling around and around until rivulets of blood ran over the edges and stained the tiles.

  “Do you doubt your god?” the voice asked, and Jora’nal felt its presence bearing down on him like a storm in the deep desert.

  “No, lord, I do not,” Jora’nal confirmed, dropping to his knees and averting his gaze.

  Silence followed his proclamation, and Jora’nal spied the sandaled feet of his god’s messenger as he returned to the ground.

  “Our lord is pleased,” the figure said, his voice returning to that of Gerish once more. “Phraim-‘Eh has a mission for you, one of grave importance. Will you be his messenger?”

  Jora’nal’s breath caught in his throat, but he nodded, then forced himself to speak. “I will, in this and all things.”

  “Then rise, child,” Gerish told him. “We have much to discuss.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Five days after they’d returned to the superdreadnought, Jiya stood in the mess hall and stared across the room, amazed at the flurry of activity. The quick stops at the Toller and Melowi capitals after they’d been released from her father’s compound had been quite fruitful.

  XO had organized a recruitment drive, Jiya the face of it, and both nations had flooded them with willing applicants. Geroux had scanned each and every one of them, linking into local law enforcement systems to ensure the would-be crew members weren’t spies or criminals. They hadn’t even bothered to recruit in Marianas, knowing for sure her father would try to slip someone unsavory onboard. She’d had more than enough of the man and his machinations.

  The Melowi and Toller people scrambled around the hall, organizing and packing away the food supplies both nations had provided in exchange for Reynolds’ knowledge.

  Both countries had been generous once they’d seen what the AI had to offer, and there was so much stuff that Jiya wasn’t sure where it would all fit. She learned how truly large the ship was when supplies were directed into massive storage bays that she hadn’t realized existed. She knew so little of the ship. She wondered how long it would be before she would be able to see it all.

  She watched in appreciation as not only were rations carted into the galley, but fresh fruits and vegetables were, too, an assortment of delicacies from across the planet that even Jiya hadn’t seen before despite being raised in what amounted to a mansion.

  “If you’re done overseeing the complicated job of food storage, I could use you on the bridge,” Reynolds said over the comm, a bite to his voice. “Right now.”

  Jiya sighed. “On my way.”

  They’d left orbit almost immediately after loading everything—the food, med supplies, the special metals V’ariat promised, and a wide assortment of other equipment and materials—and had been running the quadrant search Reynolds had devised to hunt down Kurtherians.

  So far, they hadn’t had any luck finding the first clue as to where the enemy might be hiding, or if they were there at all.

  Jiya knew that was a big part of what was frustrating the AI. After the drama of their kidnapping, he’d expected to fly off and begin his mission, but nothing had been as simple as that.

  She marched down the corridors, dodging the new crew members wandering through the ship, trying to find their duty stations and gain familiarity with the massive superdreadnought.


  As she passed the admin quarters, she spied several of the meeting rooms filled to bursting with recruits. Helm, Comm, Tactical, and XO oversaw their training, each personality doing its best to bring the crew up to speed before they made contact with anyone else. When would the crew be ready to tackle combat? As the first officer, she suspected that was her question to answer.

  While everyone they’d brought onboard had had some sort of military or commercial ship training, the SD Reynolds wasn’t like any other craft they’d ever seen or operated. That meant everyone needed to be taught the intricacies of their jobs. Fortunately, the AI’s personalities could multitask tirelessly and get it done in huge swaths, training after training occurring one after another, recruits filing in every hour on the hour.

  As Jiya strode onto the bridge, she was glad the AIs were saddled with that task and not her or the other crew.

  “About time,” Reynolds muttered.

  Of course, the mundanity of it all wore on Reynolds’ last nerve, only adding to the irritation of his not finding an enemy to take it all out on.

  “Aye-aye, Captain Crabs,” she answered, snapping a sarcastic salute. “I’m here.”

  Reynolds, in his new android form—Takal had just begun to layer the special metal frame onto the skeleton—looked like a furious chrome angel of death. His shiny skull was perturbing, and when his expression didn’t change, it only made the effect worse.

  The look on his face was downright terrifying.

  “Give us the bridge, Maddox,” Reynolds snapped, waving for the ex-general to leave.

  Maddox mouthed, “Yes, sir,” and rose to his feet.

  “Why’s he have to leave?” Jiya asked. “Just because you’re grumpy doesn’t mean we all need to suffer for it.”

  Reynolds snarled but said nothing.

  Maddox raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be outside.”

  He left without hesitation and the bridge door hissed shut behind him, slamming with a thump.

  “Damn, you’re in a mood,” Jiya told the AI.

  He spun, walking over to stand before Jiya. “We need to get something straight.”

  Jiya met his eyes, and despite their chrome gleam, she realized he was serious. “Sure.”

  “While I’ve likely set a poor example given how I speak to myself, I think we need to set a better example for the new crew.”

  “How’s that?”

  “First of all, there needs to be a clear chain of command,” he answered. “This is a military craft, and there needs to be discipline in all aspects or people will end up dead.”

  “You realize, of course, that a good number of the people onboard are not soldiers, right? Including Geroux and me, Takal, and Ka’nak. Maddox is the only one with real military experience,” she explained. “You’re going to have a hard time instilling military discipline in a bunch of civilians. If that was what you wanted, we should have recruited a different crew.”

  Reynolds sighed. “That might be true, but we can’t just have everyone running around doing whatever they want to and speaking out of turn.”

  “Is that what this is about?” Jiya asked, eyes narrowing.

  Reynolds huffed. “Maybe.”

  She chuckled. “Look, I get it. Maybe we are too lax, to some degree. There’s a whole lot of shit-talk. I can see how that might erode discipline.”

  He nodded. “People need to know who’s in charge and respect them—you, me—and that won’t happen if we don’t set an example ourselves.”

  “I can see that,” she agreed. “It makes sense.”

  “It’s one thing when it’s just us,” he said, “but when the rest of the crew are present, we need to show order and discipline and make sure they understand that when a command is given, they need to follow it without hesitation. No trash talk, no joking around. Cruel as it might sound, we can’t have them thinking we’re friends. We need to be superior officers first, and they need to know they’re subordinates when it comes to doing their jobs.”

  Jiya sighed. She’d just been thinking the same thing. Reynolds was right. It wasn’t just a handful of crew members who knew each other now; it was hundreds, and they were strangers. Order needed to be maintained or chaos would take over, especially if they found themselves in a combat situation. People would die then, and Jiya didn’t want to be responsible for that because she’d acted the fool and given them a reason to be idiots.

  “I’ll set a better example,” she promised.

  “As will I,” Reynolds agreed.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Tactical muttered.

  “Shut up,” Reynolds told him. “Aren’t you supposed to be training cadets?”

  “As if I can’t do that with half my processors shut down.”

  Jiya grinned and made for the door. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

  “Send Maddox back in, please,” the AI ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” Jiya replied as the door slid open. She marched out, shaking her head.

  “Everything all right?” Maddox asked as she passed. He’d taken up a spot against the wall while he waited.

  She nodded. “All good, General. Reynolds wants you back at your post, just so you know.”

  He offered up a grin. “No rest for the wicked, right?”

  “That’s for sure.” Jiya waved and headed down the corridor as the bridge sealed at her back.

  Having pacified Reynolds for the moment, she decided to check on Takal and Geroux. The pair had been hard at work in Takal’s new workshop since they’d left Lariest. Well, drinking and working.

  Takal had been so excited that President V’ariat had provided damn near a warehouse of equipment and tools that’d he’d spent all his time there, day and night, barely squeezing in a few hours of sleep between shifts while he tinkered.

  It hadn’t helped things that Jiya and Reynolds had raided Takal’s old lab in the presidential compound, carrying a number of Takal’s secret projects back up to the ship with them. That had only encouraged him more, and he’d roped Geroux into his madness.

  “Hey,” Jiya said as she entered the workshop.

  Geroux grinned and ran over, giving her a hug. She pulled back and stifled a yawn. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Long night.” Jiya could smell the strong scent of coffee on her friend.

  “Should probably take a break and get some sleep,” Jiya suggested. “Caffeine will only get you so far.”

  “Blasphemy!” Geroux joked.

  “No time for that,” Takal called, interrupting them. He waved the pair over to his workbench. “Come, you should see this.”

  Jiya wandered over and saw scattered bits and pieces of armor lying there. It was the same stuff that they’d worn when they’d boarded the alien scout ship, although it was clear Takal had worked his magic on it. The metal gleamed, and it looked different somehow.

  Takal gestured to the assembled suit. “I’ve gone and sized the armor so it will fit everyone better, adjusting to take on the proportions of the wearer instead of just hanging limp. Beyond that, I’ve managed to install limited flight capabilities.”

  “Limited?”

  “I’d advise against trying to leap off a skyscraper,” he replied, “but a two- or three-story flight attempt wouldn’t end up so badly…probably.”

  “You are inspiring confidence,” Jiya muttered.

  Takal shrugged. “It’s a work in progress. You have to expect bumps.”

  “As long as said bumps don’t result in anyone becoming a wet splat on the ground,” she countered.

  “Well, then I’d suggest no one take gravity for granted until I’ve perfected the system.” Takal grinned.

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” Jiya told him, chuckling.

  Takal raised a finger, still smiling. “But that’s not the best part.”

  Jiya raised an eyebrow. “Impress me, O Techno-wizard.”

  He held up a small, flat device the size of her hand. “You recognize this from my lab?”

  Jiya nodded. “Can’t s
ay I know what the hell it is, but I remember collecting it.”

  “Well, this is one of my greatest achievements, and which I’m glad your father never realized what it was.”

  “The suspense is killing me.”

  Takal nodded. “Sorry, I get excited.” He sipped from his flask.

  “And easily sidetracked,” Geroux confirmed, nudging him to continue.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, putting his flask away. “Anyway, this is a personal stealth device,” he told them, turning the tiny device around so they could see it. “Essentially, it’s a cloaking device.”

  “Wait, that’s the thing you were working on before I ran away last time, right?”

  Geroux nodded. “He’s been perfecting it for a long time now, and it’s finally ready.” She patted her uncle on the shoulder. “This is his masterpiece.”

  “Hardly,” Takal corrected, “but it’s close.” He pressed the device against the armor’s breastplate, which vanished.

  “Woah!” Jiya gasped. She reached out and ran her hand around where the armor had just been and was amazed to feel it beneath her fingertips despite not being able to see it. “That’s amazing.”

  Takal pulled the device away, letting the breastplate reappear. “With all the equipment President V’ariat provided us, I’ll be able to replicate the device en masse soon enough.” He sighed then. “Unfortunately, right now, I only have the one.” He looked at the device with obvious yearning. “I’ll be able to cloak a single suit of armor until then, but that’s one more than we have now, right?”

  “It’s perfect, Takal,” Jiya assured him. “Just perfect.”

  “He’s also made headway on Reynolds’ outer covering, although there’s still a bunch of work to do on it.” She motioned toward a cluster of metal plates at the far end of the table. “I’ve incorporated networking systems and circuitry to provide better assimilation with the body and give him better overall control over it and the ship at the same time. It’ll also allow him to access external systems much more easily, giving him nearly instant access to alien computers.”