by Jay Allan
He stood there for a few more seconds, but then he realized there was nothing further to be gained by continuing the meeting. He’d told them they weren’t going to try to find a way home, and he’d made it clear he wasn’t going to recognize any authority to challenge his decision. He’d intended to try to command through confidence and by cultivating their respect. But now his authority was just as rooted in fear. Whatever, he thought. It doesn’t matter. Whatever I could have said, some of those in this room would disagree. Perhaps fear will hold them in check more firmly than reason could hope to do.
Perhaps.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said calmly, his voice firm and commanding. “I think it is time we all returned to our posts. If any of you have any questions, please feel free to contact me at any time. My door, so to speak, is always open.”
He stood still for a few seconds then he turned on his heels and walked out of the room, with one thought going through his mind.
Fuck…that went like shit.
* * *
“What is it, Dr. Cutter? I know your work is important, but right now is not a very good time.” Compton stood just inside the door to the laboratory. It had been almost 21 hours since the meeting, during which time Terrance Compton estimated he’d gotten about 45 minutes of sleep. His head was pounding, as it had been since the day before, defying the attempts of several doses of analgesics to alleviate the discomfort.
“Thank you for coming, Admiral. I assure you I would not waste your time if it wasn’t important.” Cutter was standing in front of Compton, his posture suggesting the best attempt at a misanthropic scientist’s idea of attention. “And please, feel free to call me Hieronymus.” He glanced down slightly and stifled a small laugh. “Not that it is any easier. A family name, I’m afraid. Goes back at least six generations.”
Compton smiled. “I can sympathize. I had a friend who had a similar situation. Admiral Garret, actually. Augustus is a name that goes deep among his ancestors too.”
Cutter smiled, at least as much as he ever did. “Yes, Admiral. I believe I had heard that was a family name. Still, at least it was fortuitous for a man destined to achieve such military glory. Hieronymus, I’m afraid, only exacerbates by various social…discomforts.” The scientist paused for a few seconds then he turned and gestured to a tall blond woman at his side. “You remember Dr. Zhukov, don’t you Admiral?”
“Of course I do. Doctor Zhukov, it is a pleasure to see you again.” Compton nodded and smiled at the Russian scientist. He’d seen her twice before but he still felt a rush of surprise at how attractive she was. She looked more like the mistress of some high government official than an expert in quantum computing but, in her case at least, appearances were deceiving. Anastasia Zhukov was a woman of astonishing intellect. She was extraordinarily charming as well, unlike Hieronymus and most of her colleagues.
“Thank you, Admiral…and please call me Ana.” She smiled warmly.
“I will…Ana.” Compton turned to face Cutter. “So, Hieronymus…what do you have to show me?”
Cutter nodded nervously and then turned his head to the side, looking off toward a small alcove. “Sigmund…come out here and meet Admiral Compton.”
The sound of loud footsteps suddenly echoed around the room, and an instant later a robot came walking around the corner. Not any robot, but a First Imperium warrior bot, one of the most dangerous killing machines ever built.
Compton felt a rush of adrenalin, and his hand moved to his belt, toward his sidearm. But he managed to maintain control. The hulking monster continued moving toward the small group, but as it came closer it didn’t appear terribly threatening. Its weapon systems were gone, leaving empty hardpoints and a few spots with exposed fiber optics, neatly tied off. It moved slowly, as if its power supply was limited, and it dragged one damaged foot behind it.
“Greetings, Admiral Compton,” it said, coming to a halt about two meters from the group.
Compton stared in disbelief. He was usually difficult to surprise, but he was ready to admit he was absolutely stunned. “How did you do this?” he said softly, his eyes moving up and down over the First Imperium bot.
“I have been working for some time on a way to infect and control First Imperium processing systems with a customized virus.” Cutter glanced at the bot then back to Compton. “Sigmund here is the first successful test.” He paused a few seconds. “I have been sending you regular progress reports on my research, Admiral.”
Compton had been staring at the robot, but now he shook his attention free. “Yes…I’m sorry I haven’t kept up on those.” He looked back at the bot. “Very sorry, indeed. Hieronymus, this is amazing. You have total control over this robot?”
“Oh yes, Admiral. I could tell it to stand on one leg for you and it would comply. Though I probably shouldn’t. He has some battle damage to one foot, and he’d probably fall down.”
“You did all this with a computer virus?”
“That is perhaps an oversimplification, but essentially correct. Virus is probably not an accurate description. My software invades the system much like a normal virus, though I am afraid it is considerably more complex in how it operates. And it does not spread like a typical virus. I do not know enough of First Imperium communication protocols to begin to develop a replication and transmission function. At least for the foreseeable future, it must be introduced into each host system manually.”
“But when introduced it immediately puts the subject under your control?”
“Again, an oversimplification, but essentially correct. To be more specific, the software takes advantage of the algorithms the enemy intelligences use to predict random and irrational behavior in biological adversaries.”
“And that allows you to control them?” Compton asked, a confused look on his face.
“Not exactly, Admiral,” Zhukov answered before Cutter could. “Hieronymus’ system uses those particular pathways in the artificial intelligence’s programming to gain access. Simply put, once it has successfully entered the processing core, it causes the intelligence not only to cease viewing us as a threat, but to accept us as allies. I wouldn’t describe the result as outright control in the sense that the system is incapable of refusing an order. But its processes are altered so its assessment of any incoming command from a biologic organism determines that it is the correct course of action to obey. In a manner of speaking, it thinks we are duly authorized superiors.”
Compton turned toward Zhukov then back to Cutter. “So that is effectively the same thing, isn’t it? It will do whatever you tell it to do?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Cutter said. “In a manner of speaking. But I hesitate to say we control it. For example, if it received input from another source…orders from a command intelligence, say, it would be difficult to predict how it would react. I have attempted to run some simulations, but even these front line warrior robots are vastly more complex than our most advanced computer systems. I’m afraid I still cannot predict how conflicting commands would be handled.”
“So, for all practical purposes, you can manage the thing…as long as it doesn’t receive orders from anywhere in its chain of command?” Compton glanced back at the battle bot. It was standing motionless, taking no action at all.
“Correct, sir. Indeed, that is why Sigmund just sits there and takes no hostile actions toward us. I have already issued the command that everyone on this ship is an ally, and lacking any contradictory orders, it will continue to operate on that basis.”
“Hieronymus, I don’t know what to say. This is a remarkable development, one with astonishing implications.”
“Thank you, Admiral, though I am afraid it is a first step only. There is much work to be done before it will be truly useful.”
Compton nodded. “Your research has just become a top priority. What are your next steps?”
Cutter took a deep breath. “Well, as a practical matter, if we are to weaponize this, to use it to actually control First
Imperium intelligences—or to remove their hostile assessment of humans—we will need a much better delivery system. Sigmund here was a special case. But we can’t exactly go up to active enemy warbots—or spaceships—and access their data points to inject the virus.” He paused, looking up at Compton. “And I’m afraid to say, Admiral, that were are at the very beginning on that initiative. I’m afraid I have little in the way of ideas for delivery systems.”
Compton nodded. “What else?”
“I would say a second consideration is ensuring we can prevent any orders from reaching compromised units, at least until we are able to do significantly more research into how contradictory commands are handled. For this, I have only a very simple solution…to disable all communication functionality except for direct verbal speech.” He paused for a few seconds then continued. “That sounds simpler than it is, I’m afraid. First Imperium units have some astonishingly complex com systems. We know, for example, that the complex on Epsilon Eridani IV somehow sent a distress signal that instigated the first invasion. That would require, at the very least, a method for sending messages either through warp gates or over normal space at a speed greatly faster than that of light. Either of these possibilities involves science that is utterly unknown to us.”
Compton nodded in understanding. “However, it does not require a full understanding of how their communications work in order to have a reasonable degree of confidence we have disabled them, does it?”
“I would basically agree with that, Admiral…with the caveat that we could never be sure. It would be a calculated risk to rely on the fact that we have blocked all communications.”
Compton’s eyes moved back and forth, from Cutter to Zhukov to Sigmund. “I have to say again, Hieronymus, this is most unexpected. The next time you have a development of this magnitude, don’t let me ignore your reports. You march right on the flag bridge and drag me down here by my ears.”
Cutter smiled. “Yes, sir.” He hesitated. “I foresee another problem in the expansion of this program.”
Compton looked back at him, gesturing for him to elaborate.
“Our best theories suggest that the First Imperium intelligences are extremely hierarchal. Thus, a soldier like Sigmund is near the bottom. It is likely to become more difficult as we attempt to access higher level AIs…combat leadership units first, then fleet and operations command systems. Beyond that we must assume there are other units for planetary and sector command…all the way up to whatever machine is at the top, making the decisions for the entire imperium.”
“You’re suggesting that what works to control a low level unit like this one might not work on more sophisticated systems?”
“Yes, Admiral, though I do not mean we cannot refine the virus until it is effective enough to have the same result with progressively more powerful AIs. But it will take time…and we can only guess right now about such intelligences. There is much we don’t know about them…in fact, we know very little. But I suspect at each level the increase in complexity is almost exponential.”
Compton took a deep breath. Cutter had hit him with a lot of very unexpected information. “Well, Hieronymus, it looks like you have your work cut out for you.” He turned toward Zhukov. “And you, Ana. I hate to virtually imprison you both in this lab, but there is nothing in this fleet—nothing—more important than your research. Please proceed as aggressively as possible. And if you need anything, anything at all, you come right to me. Okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Cutter said gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Zhukov added. “Thank you very much.”
“No,” Compton said firmly. “Let me thank both of you. Your research may just be the miracle that saves us all.”
Chapter Eight
Secret Communique from Admiral Udinov to Admiral Zhang
I am sending this communication through a trusted officer. He has been instructed to allow you to view the contents and then to destroy it.
I have discussed the situation with Admirals Peltier and Samar. We are all of like mind. While I do not believe Admiral Compton is acting with malice or with the desire for personal aggrandizement, we are in agreement he is exerting excessive caution and that allowing him to continue to do so, at least with respect to our own fleet contingents, needlessly costs us any chance of finding a way home.
Peltier, Samar, and I intend to assert control over our respective national forces and to leave the fleet. We do not intend to challenge Admiral Compton’s authority over the Alliance units, nor any of the other national force leaders who elect to remain under his command. However, we are preparing several contingency plans in the event he attempts to interfere with our departure.
The time is upon you to make a decision. You are welcome to come aboard Petersburg, along with your aides. If you feel you can secure control of the CAC contingent and lead it alongside our own ships, I wish you the best. But I must warn you against attempting to persuade Admiral Chen. He will not repudiate his allegiance to Admiral Compton. I also must advise you that, while a united CAC contingent is welcome to join our splinter fleet, we will not have the time to deal with a fragmented and feuding force. So if you are not certain you can obtain complete control of the CAC forces, I urge you to give up any attempt and transfer your immediate entourage to Petersburg.
AS Midway
System X18
En Route to X18 V from X16 Warp Gate
The Fleet: 225 ships, 47,909 crew
“The fleet will set a course for planet five, Commander. Acceleration 1.5g.” Compton didn’t see any reason to punish his crews with high gee maneuvers. It would take a little longer to reach the planet, but the refinery’s output was still refueling the fast attack ships and its own support ships. There was no rush in getting the vast and thirsty tanks of the battleships there when there were plenty of other vessels to top off in the meanwhile.
“Yes, Admiral.” Jack Cortez relayed the orders to the other vessels through the fleetcom line. An instant later he turned back toward Compton. “Sir, I have Captain Duke. He says it’s urgent.”
“Put him on, Commander.” Compton slipped his headset on. “John, what is it? Did your people find something in one of the adjoining systems?” He felt his stomach tighten. The last thing they needed now was a fight. Most of his ships were still low on fuel—and if the refinery was destroyed or they were driven from the system, they were all screwed.
“Yes, Admiral.” A short pause. “Sort of. No hostile activity, but we did find something.”
“What is it, John? Get to the point. This isn’t like you.”
“Well, sir…Captain Steiner found an enemy vessel in X20. A Colossus.”
Compton felt his fists clench. His people had first encountered the enemy’s largest ship class in X2, and they’d retreated before engaging any of them. But his best guess was that one of the behemoths had damned near as much firepower as his entire fleet.
“What do you mean ‘found it?’ You said there was no hostile activity.”
“That’s correct, sir. No hostile activity. The ship is definitely a First Imperium Colossus, but it appears to be non-operative. It’s in orbit around the fourth planet…which also appears to have a large number of First Imperium cities on it. All apparently lifeless. Steiner’s people are getting only trace energy readings from the vessel. They think it is an antimatter containment system still functioning on some kind of reserve power. But the rest of the thing is dead, Admiral. No emissions, no sign of any other activity at all.”
“Is it badly damaged? Does it look like it’s been in a fight…or an accident of some kind?”
“Negative, sir. Steiner’s report suggests the vessel is intact. Our operating assumption is that it suffered some kind of malfunction of a critical system and shut down as a result, leaving only antimatter containment functioning, probably on some independent backup system.” Duke paused. “Of course we’re just guessing. Steiner doesn’t have the qualified staff with him to invest
igate further.
Compton took a deep breath. “John, how many of your ships have refueled?”
“Ten, sir,” came the reply.
“Okay…I want you to take them all into X20. And order the rest to follow as soon as they have filled their tanks. I want that system searched…and I do mean searched. If there is anything there, anything at all, I’m counting on you to find it. Understood?”
“Yes, Admiral.” A short pause. “You can count on us, sir. If there’s anything hiding in that system, we’ll find it.”
“I’m confident you will, Captain. Compton out.” He turned toward Cortez. “Commander, get me Admiral Dumont.”
“Yes, sir.” An instant later: “The admiral is on your line.”
“Yes, sir?” Dumont’s gravelly voice was loud and clear through Compton’s headset.
“Barret, John Duke’s people found something in X20. A Colossus. It appears to be dead, though there is no apparent damage.”
“Some kind of critical malfunction?”
“Probably. But I don’t want to take any chances. I sent Duke and the rest of his ships to scout the system closely. But I want some power there just in case they find anything. I know your boats haven’t refueled yet, but I’d like you to move your task force into X20. Just in case.”
“Yes, sir,” Dumont snapped off a crisp acknowledgement.
Compton paused. He’d been one rung below the top spot in the Alliance’s naval chain of command for years now, but he was still uncomfortable giving orders to his old boss. He’d been wet behind the ears, the illegitimate son of a London politician adapting to life as a newly minted ensign when he’d first heard that gravelly voice issue him a command. He and Garret had both served aboard Dumont’s flagship in the early stages of the Second Frontier War. Shiloh had been a battleship, the biggest in the navy at the time, though barely the size of a modern heavy cruiser.
He still remembered the feeling of abject terror he’d felt, not at the prospect of facing the enemy, but at the mere approach of the legend. Barret Dumont had been a hero in his own day, just as Garret and Compton had gone on to enjoy acclaim in their own rights. Compton couldn’t remember a single instance of Dumont being anything but courteous and respectful to his junior officers, but they’d been terrorized by him nevertheless. Compton could almost feel the old sensation in the pit of his stomach.