by Chris Hechtl
Joshua cocked his head thoughtfully as he snacked on his pickle before she could snag it. “Might work. Mars? Your thoughts, buddy?”
“I'm a specialist. Doctor Thornby is correct. More dumb A.I. to oversee various operations and medical procedures would be more prudent. There is only so far Asclepius can diversify his attention between various projects.”
“I agree,” Ensign Asclepius stated, entering the conversation. “Since my name was being used, I thought I'd check in.”
“You're welcome, Ensign,” Joshua said with a nod.
Mars made a throat clearing sound. “I have to admit, if I'd had my way I'd be a base A.I. over a specialist. With dedicated hardware outside of your meat bag, I'd be like Captain Sprite, all over the place.”
Nara's eyes glittered. “See? Even your faithful minion agrees with me,” she said, pointing the last of her pickle at him and then the holo emitter.
Joshua nodded. “I'll write a memo. More A.I., specifically dumb A.I. in support positions, also other base A.I.”
“I'll sign off on it, sir,” Mars stated.
“The same here,” Nara said.
“The same here,” Asclepius stated.
“Good. So, of your recent crop of students, who do you think will last?” Joshua asked, not quite ready to let her off the hook just yet. He smirked at her annoyed expression.
“Why, opening a pool?” Nara asked as she finished off the pickle and then turned to the remains of her half of the sandwich. “Next time go light on the yellow peppers and more mayo,” she grumbled, picking the peppers out. “These things always give me gas—that and the spinach,” she complained.
“I'll try to remember that,” he said dryly.
“No, you being a military man will leave a sandwich out with just spinach and yellow peppers as bait,” she accused, glaring at him.
“Now, would I do that?” he asked with a grin. She caught the grin and mock glowered as he spread his hands apart in supplication.
“Yeah, now that I've given you the idea,” she grumbled. He snorted and took on an innocent expression. She threw a balled-up napkin at him, making him chuckle.
“Well, if you give me warning you are coming, I'll order your own sandwich,” he said. “Now that you are done dodging my question …?”
She rolled her eyes as she picked up the remains of her sandwich. “I think it is too early to tell. I've seen them in the surgical suites; they wouldn't be here if they didn't have the skills there. But stamina is an issue, along with the other factors. There, happy?”
“Their stamina would be augmented if they had an A.I. assistant and robotic help,” Asclepius stated. “I now see where this is going,” he stated.
“Glad you are up to speed,” Nara said dryly.
“But I'm not interested in you meat bags consuming or mild flirting so I'll just drop out,” the A.I. stated. There was a click from the intercom as he signed off. Mars chuckled.
Nara shot Joshua a look.
He shrugged it off and went back to finishing his meal. After a moment, she did so too, munching away in companionable silence.
~~~^~~~
“How goes it?” Commodore Montgomery asked as he looked over to Major Lyon.
“So far so good,” the major replied with a shrug. He was damn proud of his people, all of them. The Recon candidates had done an outstanding job in the SAR work. His Cadre had done just as well, though they'd had issues with their public profile. Liobat had been forced to pass a few of them off as Recon to maintain their cover.
Only a couple injuries had been reported. All in all, a good performance, not that any of them wanted to repeat it anytime soon.
“How is Nara doing with her new team? Are they settling in?”
“You mean your cronies haven't reported anything suspicious?” the major asked in amusement. Monty shrugged but didn't reply. “As far as I know okay. Some aren't happy about being isolated with the new accommodations in the mountain, but they're adapting.”
“Yes. We do need to work on transport to and from the mountain though. Loosing that surgical team in the storm sucked.”
“Well, that was one part the driver's fault for flying on manual and one part letting them out when the aircraft should have been grounded.” The grounding had occurred after the aircraft and others had hastily left the base in a mass exodus to get clear for the weekend.
“Well, it is definitely something to work on.”
“We know.”
“So, you wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Nara's point about the A.I. came to mind. We need more of them. A lot more,” the major said.
“Not your upcoming promotion?” the commodore teased.
The major stiffened and then shook his head. “I honestly never thought I'd live past lieutenant during the war. Getting to where I am now is … it's like I'm daydreaming.”
“Careful, someone might pinch you to wake you up,” Monty teased.
“Nara would be first in line,” the major replied with an amused grimace. “She has a point about the security considerations, but I am more focused on her gripes about the distribution of A.I. Putting smart A.I. in personnel is not an effective use of the A.I. They are limited to the host's processors and have to share any external hardware they encounter. And we both know how temperamental the A.I. can be about that,” he said. There had been reports of conflicts between the new A.I. and flag officers. Most of the reports were still scuttlebutt level but a few times the officers had noted friction in the subject's interactions with their A.I.
“Some of us try to rise above it,” First Lieutenant Fletcher stated from the overhead as he projected himself into the room. “Is this a singles-only party or can anyone join?”
“Feel free,” Monty said expansively. “As someone who has a smart A.I., I don't see her complaints holding water,” Monty said, moving his head from Fletcher to the major.
“I think she has a point about needing more A.I. like Fletcher here handling the base or certain aspects of it. But I've kept the base neutral since there are so many A.I. already.”
“Ah.”
“We're also lacking in support A.I. like medical ones. Currently we've got just the one as you are aware. Plus, there are few in logistics. Those positions I'd assume would go to a dumb A.I. I know our people could do better with an A.I. handling the paperwork and tracking inventory. It doesn't have to be as smart as Fletcher here as I said,” Major Lyon pointed out.
“I'd go bonky trying to handle logistics paperwork all day every day. It's a tedious profession. A dumb A.I. could do the job,” Fletcher stated. “They lack creativity and some levels of self-awareness. Dull.”
Monty made a note on a tablet as he nodded.
“So, are you getting used to the idea of becoming a colonel?” Fletcher asked.
“It is starting to grow on me. I haven't been a major for that long.”
“Perhaps to you, but for the rest of us, it's been a couple years.”
“Yes, but in the old Federation, the higher you went the longer in grade you sat. I understand we don't have the luxury here. And I know some competition with Bek is involved.”
“You've got that right. If we're not careful, we'll import a lot of headaches not to mention their top echelons will take over. That's another headache there; people here will resent it. They already are with certain parties in place. But on their side, they resent not getting the positions they think they deserve.”
“Catch twenty-two,” Fletcher stated.
“Exactly. “What about your second?”
“Second? You mean …?”
“In this case, I mean Warrant Officer McClintock,” Monty said. The major blinked. Monty snorted. “Come on, Josh, we all know that Jethro is your alter ego. He is your field commander and is the expert on all things special forces.”
“He's on his way back from his recuperation and liberty on Kathy's World. He's due back in a couple of months,” the major replied. “I can
't call him my second; he's not even an officer.”
“But in a way he is. He's also another indispensable man, one of the reasons the powers that be agreed to Nara's urge to distribute some of the surgical load.”
“Are you telling me the powers that be want him to be an officer?”
Monty grimaced. “They tried twice. He's turned them down. They compromised with getting him to accept a warrant. He's a natural operator and a good field officer. He's also a damn good trainer as you know. He's no slouch with the paperwork side, though I understand Bast helps him out there.”
“Well, speaking from recent experience an officer's load is more administrative and supervisory than hands-on. I can understand his reluctance to not be allowed to get his hands dirty and being forced to shine a seat with his ass in an office,” the major replied with a grimace. “I get stir crazy now and then too.”
Monty smiled at him in sympathy.
“I don't know if we can talk him into it. If you want me to have a go at him, I'll try,” there was an obvious hint of reluctance in his tone though Monty noted.
“It's something to consider. Also getting his family to here would cut down on transit time. But that's another matter. Are you having a ceremony for your promotion? I haven't gotten an E-vite yet.”
“Well, since so far it is scuttlebutt and I haven't even gotten the official version, I can't exactly write them, now can I?” the major replied dryly. “I'll let you know.”
“Okay. So, next subject, Nuevo Madrid's report plus the next line of targets for your people. With Nuevo Madrid more or less cleared, that leaves the front. But the navy can't clear it and secure the orbitals for a while. So, the brass pitched the idea of shifting your boys and girls south. It seems that the Eastern Front ran into a spot of bother both in OTBP and on a little world called Konohagakure …”
Chapter 25
Antigua
“So, this is the deal, kid,” Trace Zarif said as he looked over to his junior partner. “Shipments arrive in port from a convoy every other day. It's our job to inspect them.”
“Not what I was expecting,” Dre Mnuchin said, looking at the pod interior dubiously. There were rows upon rows of neatly stacked containers. Hundreds, no, thousands of them.
The shipment was microcomputers and controllers that had been sent from new factories in the Federation. The micro computers were starter kits that could be used in a mix of equipment, everything from tablets to industrial controls to controlling traffic lights or as simple servers.
These were from a new contract on Epsilon Triangula. They were civilian grade and destined for use by the state department in Pi and other places according to their brief. That meant they had to be general purpose computers.
But, there was a hitch. Despite being inspected at the factory, the IG had to dispatch a team to inspect the cargo on their end before it was allowed to be distributed. That was where Zarif and his partner came in.
“That's a lot of computers,” Dre said. Trace looked over to him with only a hint of pity in his thoughts but not expression. Dre was the noob on the circuit, fresh from the IG school. All noobs were started on the hard jobs to prove themselves. They had to show they could hang in order to move on to other assignments. Either that or they had to hang in there long enough for someone else who was green to come in behind them and push them up. The IG's office was still growing and chronically short staffed.
Given how many shipments were coming in that was to be expected. They could barely keep up with demand, sometimes having to skip an inspection of a shipment and keep their fingers crossed they were all good.
At least they didn't have to check them for contraband. That was someone else's problem, Trace reminded himself.
“We don't have to test them all do we?” the jet-black chimera student asked dubiously.
“Oh, heavens no! What gave you that idea?” his instructor said. “You have to random test one in a thousand. So, random number generator, it chooses, you pull that sample, document the packaging, and every step as you take it out and then check it. You do more than a POST check. We run a program to make sure it works. Then you repackage it and either sign off on the batch or not.”
“Oh,” Dre said dubiously. All that was from the manual, but he hadn't understood the sheer scope of the job. It was going to be tedious and thankless, just like they had warned him. Joy. “But I thought they did that at the factory?”
“They do to a point. It's automated on their end now. They are supposed to send us stuff in spec.”
Dre caught on to the stressed word instantly. “Supposed to?”
“That, my intrepid friend is where you come in. You are our eyes and ears to make sure they did what they are being paid to do with taxpayer money,” Trace replied. “Never equate accident when malice or stupidity might be at fault. You'll hear all sorts of excuses. Remember what they told you—don’t take it personally and develop a thick skin. In this job, you'll need it.”
“Oh,” Dre said in a different tone of voice.
“We don't want to ship these things out and find out later there was a brick in them, right?” Trace said, indicating the contents of the warehouse. “Better to catch it now than later in some kid's life support or something or other.”
Dre nodded, catching on. “Ah.”
“What sort of impression would that make? The same for MREs and other things. That's part of the job. It's not a nice one I suppose, but you are just starting out …”
Dre held up a four-fingered hand. “Power down, I get it. And I get that it needs to be done. Okay. Why us again?” he asked looking at the mountain of crates in the orbital warehouse.
“Just lucky I guess? Like I said, it's the job. We keep them honest.”
“Okay.”
Dre frowned as they got to work. After an hour, his instructor was ready to sign off on leaving him to do it on his own. But Trace could see there was a question there. “Okay, any questions?”
“Yeah, why simple computers? Why not food or replicators or seeds, you know, stuff they could use more?”
“These are seeds of a sort.”
“But they can't figure them out. Most of them can't read!”
“They are simple. Plug and play. Voice activated. We even have solar panels in the kits to charge them if necessary. The instructions are there, and presumable someone can read to get them started. They teach the next person and so on and so forth.”
“Okay, but still …”
“You'd be surprised what these can do. They are as I said seeds of knowledge. We have to learn to walk before we can run. Besides, would you want a civilian making replicators?”
Dre shook his head.
“See? They are damned expensive. These are cheap. We're still learning to walk on the industrial side anyway. This provides jobs to our people, which goes into our economy. It also allows us to distribute these babies. Yes, we're giving them away to people outside the Federation, but they'll get some use out of them. Education is a big one. That'll give them a leg up. It's also great publicity.”
“Oh.”
“These are for Pi sector I believe. It'll give them an early start and get them on the road to joining us. Sort of whet the appetite.”
“Oh. So, whose bright idea was this?”
“Believe it or not, Admiral Irons.”
“Oh.” Dre inhaled and then exhaled. That settled it; he didn't want to disappoint the big man.
~~~^~~~
Dre's IG report crossed several desks as it made waves throughout the Inspector General's office. It also made headaches for the men and women in logistics. He couldn't help that; he was just doing his job. There were ten million units in the one shipment Dre had checked. Of the ten thousand units inspected, 1,439 had been found to be defective. That was far higher than the acceptable ratio. The IG ordered another round of checks with Trace taking the lead.
Trace swore but it meant overtime. After a full shift of going over everything Dre had done a
nd then pulling a fresh sample lot, they found more problems.
“So, where do we go from here?” Dre asked dubiously as he looked at the results. Someone was going to have a field day with this mess. It wasn't just sloppy; it was stupid and in some cases criminal since they'd found some of the packages empty or filled with shredded paper.
“Well, first we send the report to the factory to do their own inspections and tighten things up there. They have their tests, so the legal people will wrangle it out. Everything is supposed to be recorded on their end,” Trace explained.
Dre wrinkled his nose at which word Trace had stressed again. “Oh.”
“We'll also refuse the shipment,” Admiral Irons said surprising them. They turned and then stiffened, rising to their feet.
“Mister President!” Trace stuttered as Dre's golden eyes widened comically.
“We'll slap their hand and threaten them to get their acts straight or we'll keep refusing shipments and they won't get paid. We'll remind them that we're shipping them back at their expense. If they pull this shit again, we'll blacklist them.”
“It seems we should do these checks on the planet or wherever these are made before incurring the cost of shipping,” Dre said slowly, “sir.”
The admiral nodded. He'd had a schedule change and had taken note of the IG report. Sprite hadn't been happy when he'd had her clear part of his day to take a look personally. He was glad he had though. His personal interest would light some fires under certain derrieres and make some people who'd thought they'd get cute and pull a fast one duck and cover. If they thought twice or even three times about pulling the same stunt again, all the better. “Point. Good point, which is what we'll eventually have to do. But Antigua is one of the clearing houses for all this.”
“Why do they do this? Send defective equipment? Short change us, sir?” Dre asked, indicating the shipment.
“They'll claim it was damaged in shipping. We, I mean you of course, did all the proper documentation on everything, right?” Trace nodded. “Pictures, all of it?”
“Yes, sir. Tests and images. That includes the empty packages too. We've got it all logged as evidence too.”