by Patty Jansen
"I'd rather not. I'd drag down your team average."
I counted myself reasonably fit and I did my compulsory exercise, but compared to these career military women, I was nothing. The bikes and the climbing machines were OK, but I positively loathed the track machine. I just wasn't the right build. If these women were soldiers, I was a Greek goddess, with soft hips and boobs that bounced and hurt too much when I ran. And I refused to take hormonal supplements to change any of my appearance.
"Oh, you are funny. By the way, we are having a movie competition night tonight. You wanna come?"
"Sorry. I'd love to, but I don't have any time." The animation movies the technical grunts made, illegally, with their ISF-issued graphical software were sometimes funny, often sexually explicit, but rarely good.
"Still studying, eh?"
"Yeah. Inter-colony law."
"Gawd. I don't know how ya can stand it. You already have a degree fer chrissakes. Enjoy yourself a bit more Charlie."
We arrived at the mess hall, where people from the previous dinner shift were just filing out and in the crush at the door, we were separated. Julia spotted some regular medical staff and I was glad to go the other way to avoid more questions. Why did I study? Heavens knew. Something intelligent to do, I guessed. Three years on board this ship were starting to take their toll on me. I was hoping that when the war was over and our construct army had liberated Taurus, Arcadia University would be clamouring for medical specialists. I'd take a substantial pay cut if they showed any sign of wanting me. With my accrued ISF salary and the economic situation at Taurus as it had been for the past six years, I could probably buy the place. Anything to get off this blasted ship.
I collected my plate of food—soy cubes, pasta and tomato sauce again—and looked around for and empty spot.
Dr Spencer sat at the far end of a long table, eating while reading something on his PDA, surrounded by a couple of empty seats.
I sat down opposite him. He looked up, and his eyes said Did you find anything? His face betrayed that he was more worried about it than he let on. He'd staked his reputation on this research.
If the construct army defeated the Allionist blockade, he'd be a hero back on Earth. If not... he'd probably be doomed to stay in the military for the rest of his life.
I sighed, stabbing at the soy cubes with a fork. "I think there might be an illegal routine in the mindbase."
A flicker of distaste went over his face. Not what he'd like to hear, not at all.
"In the mindbase?" He frowned. "What makes you think that?"
Like this, he sounded just like the lecturer he had once been. Explain this to me, Charlotte. It was a front, I knew, because he put down his fork and grabbed the edge of the table.
"Well, I scanned all his inserted modules. While he's been on the Forward, he hasn't acquired any substantial knowledge that we haven't given to him. He's expanded his knowledge in a predictable way. There is nothing wrong there."
"You checked the mindbase?"
"Not yet, but I will do that tonight."
"Anything else unusual? What did he say when he woke up? Does he remember the fight?"
"No. Nothing unusual." I wasn't going to tell him about the embarrassing episode until I found out what caused it. "I haven't asked him about the fight yet. I... didn't want to upset him." I was sweating under my shirt.
He nodded. "Did you check his newsfeeds?"
"I checked those, too. There is nothing that shouldn't be there."
He sighed and ate in silence for a while.
A news update was playing on the wall screen at the far end of the room. Silent images of an Earth I hadn't seen for three years. Politicians in a meeting. Protests—only the pro-war ones of course. The ISF loved feeding us propaganda. The troops believed anything. A large percentage of personnel on board hadn't been to Earth for years, some of them never. They might have grown up on Taurus or Mars Base and might have joined up to fight for an ideal Earth that no longer existed, or, as most recruits, because ISF gave them opportunities they didn't have otherwise. They were either unaware of the New Purism on Earth, or maybe had been deliberately kept unaware.
From the young and innocent faces watching the screen, I judged the latter. I had to admit it wasn't pretty.
Five years ago, I had been a postdoc student at the University of Melbourne with a modest scholarship to investigate the use of mindbase technology on dementia patients. One year into my three-year contract, Australia had followed the US and the European Union into electing a New Pure government, which subsequently forbid all programs that modified humans as they were created by God, denying people the latest advances in science. Like prayer was going to heal a broken body. Like prayer was going to win a war, or even prevent one.
Way on the other side of the trade Axis, the Allionists had distanced themselves from the grip of old Earth, and were doing goodness-knew-what in their patch of space. It was likely to involve high-tech. Allionists travelled to other solar systems long before anyone else did. They made constructs long before anyone else did, too. They even made people who were half-machine.
If the Allionists were victorious in their blockade of Taurus and beat down the colonists' defences, they might well return to the Earth they abandoned fifty years ago, and I didn't like to think what sort of technology they would inflict on the New Purists who would have little but prayer books to wield.
Earth doesn't appreciate your efforts was something these soldiers should never have to hear.
Dr Spencer put his cup down with a clunk.
"This whole thing worries me, Charlotte. I told the top brass way back before we left that they were rushing the project through too much. If the problem is in the mindbase..." He spread his hands and shrugged.
I hesitated. "It could be... just a one-off." After all, I'd been looking for unexplained aggression and had found unexplained poetry instead. "I mean, they are human and have emotions. They're men geared up for war. Of course they get aggressive."
"But they can't fight each other. They are absolutely loyal to each other. They'd have play-fights, and accidents, but they would never shoot each other. There's got to be something wrong."
"But if it's in the mindbase, how can we fix it up?" That was even presuming we found something to fix.
"There's only one way to be certain. Bring them all in and patch them."
"All seven thousand of them? Override them? Any technical knowledge they have acquired since being deployed would be lost." I couldn't help my voice rising. It was a concept I found fundamentally repulsive. Once a construct agent had been 'awoken' in the lab, he needed to work with the tools he had been given. He was a person, and we had no right to interfere with his learning experience or his emotional state.
Dr Spencer looked down. "It would solve the problem. Even though I agree with you that it's a rather... crude solution."
"Crude?" Inhuman, barbaric.
He scraped his spoon over his plate, which was already empty.
I said, softly, "I would prefer to talk to them first."
"Who will get anything out of them, Charlotte? You ask them a question that might betray one of their fellow soldiers, and they all clam up. They are not going to talk openly to any of us."
I sighed. "I would be much happier if the captains of those strike ships were constructs, too."
"We tried that, remember? They didn't like the rankings."
"But they did select leaders." Those leaders just hadn't been the ones the top brass approved of, so each of the nine ships had a natural human captain with a few natural human assistants. Obeying orders was something constructs did astonishingly well, up until now, maybe.
Was maybe the spate of fights amongst constructs a sign that some of them were not so keen to fight this abstract war? After all, what did they know of the blockade of the trade routes at Taurus by the Allionists? We had supplied the men with newsfeeds of dying children and other emotion-jerking propaganda. We had monitored
their responses and judged them to be the right ones. They were angry about it. They wanted it to stop. But how far could we really go to influence a human being's thinking and especially their loyalty?
"Anyway, dinnertime's over," I said and rose.
Most others on our shift were also crowding around the recycler chutes, separating waste into organics—leftover food—and inorganics—plates and cutlery. The first people from the next dinner shift were coming in.
In the corridor, I turned into the direction of the lab. "I'm going to run a few tests on his mindbase." Trying to find out where these Earth-based memories came from.
Dr Spencer hesitated. "Charlotte..."
I met his eyes. They were red and the skin under them seemed to be more baggy than usual.
"Do you want any help?"
"With the diagnostics, no. Go to bed. You look tired."
"I am tired, but if you want any help—"
"I don't. Honest."
"Oh. OK."
5
Kali crouched under the hatch, blowing silver-edged clouds of steam into the dimness lit by a single light.
The four others, Donagh, Aidin, Stani and Jade, were nothing more than blinking eyes surrounding him. The air in the maintenance tunnel was so cold that it hurt his nose and throat to breathe, yet none of them complained or told him to hurry. They knew what they wanted and they knew they had only one chance.
There were footsteps on the ship's bridge above them. Kali tensed staring at the time displayed on the screen of his PDA, and gestured.
His comrades grabbed their guns.
For a few moments, during the change-over of the watch, the bridge would be almost unmanned. They could easily overwhelm what little pristine personnel remained and re-set the auto-pilot, which was auto-programmed to "return to base" when a major failure occurred. By that time, the Forward would be out of hyperspeed formation, and the other nine ships would be so far ahead that to return to the support fleet and await orders would be the only option.
And he could see his girl.
Kali nodded at his comrades, and opened the hatch.
Silent and cat-like, he jumped out, the others dark shadows behind him. He had selected the best men at ship warfare. No shooting, all stealth and speed.
The bridge area was quiet with efficiency. Lights blinked. Screens displayed various scans and readouts. The pilots sat at their posts, facing the controls.
Three of the replacement crew were huddled around the data loggers, reading up on messages and manoeuvres the ship had made in the previous watch.
"Everyone, hands up." Kali strode onto the bridge.
The three constructs raised their hands, but Kali ignored them; it was only show. They had known about this. The pilots were both pristine humans. Donagh poked a gun in the first pilot's back, and he slowly raised his hands.
"Where is Captain Crozier?" Kali asked.
"Got her," Jade called from behind, followed by muffled curses in a female voice.
"Confine her to her cabin."
The pristine guard at the door made a move to his waist.
That was the first victim, a clean shot by Stani.
The chief pilot paled.
Donagh poked him again with the gun. "We are going to drop out of hyperspeed."
"But..."
Kali said, "Arguing is not an option. Get moving. And don't think we don't know how to fly this thing. You are totally expendable."
Sweaty-faced, the pilot moved his hands. Lights on the control panel flashed. A shudder went through the ship, and Kali's feet felt somehow... heavier.
"There. It's done." The pilot glanced over his shoulder at Donagh. "Can you point that gun somewhere else?"
"I can, but no funny business, right? Because I'm going to be standing at your back and I'll put some live ammunition in you the moment you get out of that chair."
The pilot nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.
Kali sat down at the communication module. Now they had dropped out of hyperspeed, it would be possible to send direct messages to the support fleet.
But how did he get in contact with Charlotte?
He seemed to have forgotten. A moment of confusion, as if the thought modules in his mind refused to talk to each other. How had he sent his last message to her? Another, more disturbing, thought: had he ever sent a message to her?
"That's because she's my girl." Jade stood behind him. He must have picked up the vibes about Charlotte.
"She's not."
"She is."
"Then what's her contact code?"
A twinge of discomfort flickered over Jade's face. "I am not going to tell you."
"That's because you don't know."
"What the fuck do you know?" Jade grabbed him by the front of the shirt.
Kali pulled up his knee, but missed Jade's balls.
"Stop, stop! Kessler, Landau, listen!" Aidin called.
Kali froze. What was wrong with him? They had agreed not to fight. Jade let his arms sink by his sides. His eyes said I'm sorry. It went very quiet on the bridge. Air hissed out of the vents.
"We agreed to do this together, right?" Aidin said. "We want to watch the sun sink in the sea and take long strolls along the beach?"
"Yeah," Jade said.
"We agreed to work together. We all want to get back to our girl, don't we?"
Kali nodded, not meeting Jade's eyes.
"Then we need to get along to fly this ship back to Operations Base."
Kali nodded again. Aidin was his brother. Jade was his brother. Brothers loved one another.
Aidin walked across the bridge in measured strides.
"So we go ahead with the plan. We need a mole on the hospital ship to put us in contact with her. One of us needs an injury bad enough to justify an emergency drop to the Comfort." He stopped and turned to Kali, and spread his arms wide. "Go on, mate, I'm giving the ship to you. Now get the knife and stab me. Make sure you do a good job."
He closed his eyes.
Kali felt how Aidin's body stiffened and his senses shut off.
He grabbed for the knife at his side, stepped forward and stabbed. The knife cut through Aidin's clothing and sunk deep into his belly. Blood spurted over Kali's hands.
Aidin collapsed without a word, and Kali sank to his knees, Aidin's pain washing over him.
"Sorry, mate."
Aidin's lips moved in a barely audible whisper. "You did good. Get the medbot. Call The Comfort."
6
It was 4.06am ship time when the emergency bell went off in the corridor. In the few seconds it took me to jump out of bed and into my pants, I realised that the ringing bell signified a medical emergency and furthermore, that I wasn't on duty. But I threw on my shirt and went outside anyway. In the corridor, Julia almost crashed into me.
"Charlie! You're going the wrong way. Not the hospital, the docking bay."
I ran after her. "Docking bay?"
"A shuttle came in from the Forward. Stab wound. A bad one."
No. Another one.
We ran into the docking area, where a number of dock personnel and medical grunts already waited. The screen of the airlock camera, showed the shuttle already in place. Lights flashed. Flight assistance personnel were manoeuvring the ramp into place. A few nurses waited with trolleys. Dr Spencer was there, too, in full gown and gloves.
There were some low metallic noises, a squeak and the airlock hissed open. Two flight personnel ran out, carrying a stretcher with a blanket-covered form, which they put on the trolley the nurses had pushed up the ramp.
The whole scene passed in quiet, grim efficiency. Walking back to the hospital behind the patient, I tried to see the soldier's face, but an oxygen mask covered it. Dark curls peeped from between insulating covers.
Into the operating theatre, the blankets came off.
His skin was pale and clammy. He was breathing irregularly. He had a deep gash in his stomach. The onboard medbot had done a reasonable job at stemming t
he bleeding, but this would require surgery. Dr Spencer spotted me and gestured me over to assist while he repaired the wound.
I worked in detached efficiency.
Later, after a tasteless breakfast and too-hot coffee, fatigue and shock hit. Another construct injured by his comrades. This one Landau, our pride stock, the recipients of the most advanced leadership modules. What ailed them?
One thing about constructs was that their bodies healed quickly. I asked Julia to message me when he was out of danger, and had been brought into the lab. My PDA beeped while I was in the shower.
When I came into the lab, it was to the sound of angry voices.
"The whole ship?" Dr Spencer shouted. He was still in his bloodied hospital gown. Had he even been to breakfast?
Carla Avery fixed him with her piercing eyes. "They've broken formation and are heading this way. Apparently some of the rebellious constructs broke onto the bridge and hijacked the ship. We don't know what's happened to Captain Crozier. The ship is no longer listening to our commands. And you're telling me you still don't know what's causing this?"
"We need more time."
"We don't have more time. We'll catch up with them within two days. We need to know, now!"
"But—"
I sneaked past and I shut the door between Dr Spencer's office and the lab, a feeling of horror rising inside me. The whole ship had broken formation? That was a disaster.
Hyperspeed was vital for this mission. The Allionists at Taurus wouldn't expect us to use it over such a distance—the development of vessels that could sustain it for longer periods than a few seconds had been a closely guarded secret. Technically, the ships didn't maintain hyperspeed all the time, but made series of hops, each a few minutes long. Apparently, it was about as comfortable as riding a bucking steer. Our advantage was that while the fleet spent more than approximately fifty percent of time at hyperspeed, they could not be detected by any existing equipment in the direction in which they were travelling, because they would arrive before the message reporting them did. The Allionists would probably notice us coming sooner or later, but there were no combat ships in the support fleet. If they spotted the Forward ... bad, bad news.