Torchship Pilot

by Karl K Gallagher

  “Why aren’t you?” asked Guo.

  Chetty thumped his chest. “Heart. I failed my recruiting physical. There’s a valve that will blow out if I take more than twenty gravs of acceleration.”

  “They wouldn’t fix that? It’s gotta be easier than a sex change.” Which was free for Fusion citizens with a one month waiting period.

  “If they screw up a sex change you just go back next month and have them put in a new set of plumbing. Heart repairs they have to get right the first time.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’m saving up. When I have enough for a surgeon’s fee and indemnity I’ll get the fix and sign up.” He watched the plumes move across the sky. “If we’re still here for me to get it.”

  Chapter Six: Duty

  The Navy stayed vague about the progress of their assault on the AI transmitter. If they intended to calm the public they failed. The news that Swakop’s incursion merited a full fleet deployment, so soon after the massive attack from Ushuaia, had all of Demeter’s citizens on edge.

  The crew felt the tension on the street. They stuck to the Port District for their outings or just stayed on the ship. The Fusion spacers tolerated Diskers more than the natives but still treated them as outsiders. Full access to Demeter’s data network kept the crew from being bored on the ship.

  The wait was worse for Mitchie and Guo. They’d—well, she’d—decided not to share Chetty’s six day estimate with the rest of the crew. They knew nothing could happen in the first couple of days. The Fusion Navy had to gather its forces before engaging the AI.

  Each day after that the lack of news became more frustrating. On the fourth Mitchie was desperate enough to call Chetty. He tersely refused to talk to her. Apparently someone at OAI had made the connection between “Mitchie, Chetty’s friend” and “Michigan Long, notorious Disker spy.”

  Day Six opened with the Navy declaring “substantial progress in operations to neutralize AI activity.” Mitchie’s trawl of social media found an upsurge in casualty notifications. She hinted to the rest that it was a good day to stay close to the ship. They complied. Even Bakhunin took a day off from visiting his new acquaintances from the ball.

  Lunch and dinner were delivered to the ship. Everyone was watching their own data sheets in the galley when the announcement came in. Every datasheet simultaneously played, “SPECIAL WARNING: A data infection has been detected. Shut down any autonomous system exhibiting unusual behavior. Some data channels will be shut down as a precaution. Report data incursions to the code police. Stay calm.” Their shows resumed.

  “At least the entertainment channels are still up,” said Hiroshi.

  Mitchie hunted through the undernews. A strong and complex radio signal was coming from the Coeus Trojans. The AI had connected Chetty’s dots. Amateur experts pushed a theory that the AI wanted to reprogram bots and autofacs. Professionals were too busy to contribute to the discussion.

  The Civil Defense Minister ordered antennas disabled but too many were integral to their structures. Markets were running out of metal foil as people tried to shield themselves.

  She realized Demeter’s network was disintegrating. Infection reports went unconfirmed as system operators broke connections in response to every rumor. The night side of the planet, in line of sight of the transmitter, felt it worst. The sun had set on Endymion City’s spaceport two hours ago.

  Mitchie flung her datasheet across the galley. It scratched across one of the painted flowers on the wall. Bing frowned at her. Mitchie snarled, “Goddammit, I can’t find any solid information on what’s going on!”

  Guo put his hand on her shoulder. “We don’t need to. Our mission is to take the ambassador home with his report. More data is nice. But we don’t need it.”

  Mitchie stayed pissed. “It’s my job to collect info.”

  Her husband talked her into watching a comedy with him. Her datasheet had curled up and landed on the counter. An hour into the farce it beeped. Bakhunin was closest. He tossed it to her.

  Guo paused his show.

  Mitchie unfolded it and found the alert that had gone off. “There’s a confirmation! An autofac cut its telemetry feeds. Its bots came out and formed a perimeter. More bots in the area are joining it.”

  “Ominous,” said Guo. “Why didn’t they cut the net to it?”

  She performed a net traffic analysis. “They did. The autofac is on the other side of Endymion from us. The planet isolated the city network. We’re inside with it.”

  Hiroshi asked, “Does it make anything dangerous?”

  “The autofacs here are all general purpose. They can make anything if they have the programming.”

  Captain Schwartzenberger ordered, “Hiroshi. Get on the bridge. Lift if we get permission or you see something on the ground about to attack us. We’ll relieve you at midnight.”

  “Aye-aye.” The co-pilot scampered.

  “I’ll take midnight,” said Bing.

  “Fine. I’ll relieve you at six,” said the captain. “So I’m going to get some sleep.” He gave Mitchie a stern look.

  “Right, I’m on for noon. I’ll get a good night’s sleep,” she said.

  ***

  Breakfast came from ship stores. No one suggested ordering something a deliverybot would have to bring to the ship.

  Mitchie started collecting updates as soon as she woke up. A second autofac betrayed humanity but the city police set it on fire before it could muster its bots. The first corrupted autofac used its bots to keep anyone from getting inside. The police blocked it off from more reinforcements, smashing rogue bots trying to get through.

  Rumors from people who’d crossed between net-fragments described similar standoffs elsewhere. No one had been hurt yet, if one didn’t count those crushed in a panicked stampede and a few suicides.

  The datasheet announced a conference call invitation from Chetty Meena. Mitchie accepted. There were about forty people in it. Chetty was the only one she knew.

  Guo leaned in to see. She propped the sheet up on the table and turned up the volume. A live camera showed a street approaching the betrayer autofac. Chetty provided voiceover. “My colleague Shushma Pawar theorizes that a proper command sequence should trigger the original control algorithms built into AI code. He’s developed a verbal command that should work. Now he’s negotiating with the police for permission to attempt it.”

  Bakhunin and Setta came around the table to watch.

  A mismatched group of bots came out of the autofac’s cargo receiving door. Mitchie saw two forklifts, one deliverybot with a chain restaurant logo, a home nurse, and several more she didn’t recognize. The forklifts held up a black square, about three meters on a side.

  “If that’s a protest sign they’re doing it wrong,” said Bakhunin.

  Chetty’s voiceover resumed. “Shush convinced the police this may be a contact attempt. He’s going to issue the command.”

  The camera showed a young man walking toward the bots. Looks like he could be Chetty’s cousin, thought Mitchie.

  The bots froze in place as he approached. The conference displayed the text of Shushma’s command. Mitchie skimmed through it. Seems logical, if it responds to any of the code words.

  Shushma stopped two meters from the lead bot. He read out the order, checking himself against a hardcopy in his hand. The watchers held their breath. If it worked the bots should all place themselves in storage then shut down.

  The front two bots picked up Shushma and threw him into the black square. He didn’t land on the other side.

  “Did it teleport him?” exclaimed Guo.

  Another member of the conference call posted some video taken from a camera on the far side. Mitchie ran it in slow motion. The black square had a red spot, changing from a small circle to wide oval to two circles. The red color dripped down to the pavement.

  “It pureed him,” said Mitchie.

  A third member posted an analysis showing the conical pile under the black square had a volume c
orresponding to the mass listed in Shushma’s public medical records.

  “I owe Stakeholder Ping an apology,” said Mitchie.

  The police fired explosive bullets at the bots, smashing them before they could get back behind their perimeter. The black square shattered into shards at the first hit. The conference call ended.

  “We need to get out of here,” said Guo.

  “Yep. I’ll go brief the captain.” Mitchie zipped up the ladder to the bridge and recounted the story to Schwartzenberger. He promptly called the Portmaster.

  She heard her datasheet ringing and slid back down. Chetty was calling. “Did you see that?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have room for a passenger?”

  “Probably,” she answered. “But don’t pack. We’re leaving as soon as we can.”

  “I already have a bag with me,” said Chetty.

  “Hurry.” She disconnected.

  Schwartzenberger had lost his temper. Hopefully after talking to the Portmaster. When the curses stopped he called her up to the bridge.

  “These—” he started over again. “Captains don’t have the right to declare an emergency on the ground here. So. New orders. Last week I took a look at the defense battery on the other side of the spaceport. It only has four anti-ship missiles. When ships start lifting we’re going to be number five.”

  “Five, aye, sir,” said Mitchie.

  “Pass the word to Bing and Hiroshi when they wake up.”

  ***

  Chetty showed up dripping with sweat. He’d had to trot most of the way. Between betrayals and people fleeing the city cars were scarce.

  Mitchie welcomed him onto the ship. After assuring him the captain had given permission for him to come aboard she said, “I have to warn you. If protecting the ship means I have to boost at twenty gravs—or fifty—I’m going to do it. You and your leaky valve will just have to take your chances.”

  “It’s better odds than staying here,” he said.

  ***

  Mitchie’s shift on the bridge was almost over. The Portmaster still insisted on grounding all ships. Rumors of bots disintegrating people abounded. Joshua Chamberlain had taken on a couple of dozen refugees. Sitting on the outskirts of the spaceport protected them from the main flow. Mitchie could see crowds besieging ships closer to the terminal building. If more drifted out this way the crew would have to make some unpleasant decisions again.

  Her datasheet announced a call from Guenivere. “Hi! We’re on Daddy’s yacht. I wanted to make sure your ship was good to fly before we took off.”

  Oh, yes, friends in high places, thought Mitchie. “We’re good to go, but we don’t have permission to lift.”

  “Huh?” Her puzzled expression was adorable.

  “The Navy issued a grounding order when the incursion started, for safety. The Port is still enforcing it. So all the ships here are afraid we’ll catch a missile if we lift without permission.”

  “Oh! Right.” The teenager wore an I-can-fix-this expression as she turned to her right. “Daddy!” End of call.

  Mitchie noted the time. Nineteen minutes later she was copied on a Portmaster announcement. The top line was “Grounding order lifted effective immediately.” She didn’t read the rest.

  “Up ship!” she called on the PA. Then all four turbines spun up. She kept the lift-off carefully vertical to not scrape the hull against the unretracted stairs. Then Mitchie increased thrust and headed for the Black.

  Demeter Orbit, acceleration 10 m/s2

  With Orbital Traffic Control offline maneuvering away from the planet required a careful watch to avoid being plumed by another fleeing ship. Schwartzenberger and Hiroshi joined Mitchie on the bridge to share the workload.

  The captain watched the radar. Hiroshi manned communications. Mitchie handled dodging and weaving.

  Fortunately the various spaceports had released their ships at different times. Dealing with the fast-burners from Endymion trying to climb up their pipes had been bad enough. So far Mitchie had avoided them with sharp turns and bursts of fifteen gravs acceleration.

  “Sir, Rosy Cheeks states her intention is to hold vector to the half million klick sphere and then head for the Argo gate,” said Hiroshi.

  “Good,” said Schwartzenberger. “We can stop worrying about that one.” He pulled a marker off the plotting table. “In a couple of hours we’ll be clear of traffic. Then it should be a straight shot home.”

  Mitchie sighed appreciatively. ‘Home’ had a lovely sound to it. The captain meant Bonaventure, not Akiak, but she’d settle for being in the Disconnect.

  Hiroshi started talking into his headset again. “Yes, this is Joshua Chamberlain . . . Return home via Coatlicue . . . No, I’m the co-pilot. I’ll pass that on to the captain. Stand by.” He took the headset off. “Sir, we’re being hailed by someone claiming to be the analog ship Agape out of Fuego. They say they have the Disconnected Worlds consul to Demeter on board and want us to rendezvous with them.”

  Captain Schwartzenberger responded by activating the PA. “Mr. Bakhunin to the bridge.”

  The diplomat’s head poked out of the hatch only a couple of minutes later. “May I help you, Captain?”

  Schwartzenberger waved at the comm console. “Someone on the radio claims the consul to Demeter wants us to rendezvous with him.”

  “Franz is alive? Oh, that is splendid!” Bakhunin caroled.

  “I thought the consuls were all kicked out of the Fusion.”

  “No, not all. Franz was merely banned from speaking with any official higher than a license clerk. I spoke with him last week but we didn’t dare meet. He was afraid it would rub off on me.” This seemed to be diplomat humor.

  “Why a rendezvous?” asked the captain.

  “I truly have no idea. He’s certainly within his rights to demand it. As senior DCC official in the system he can requisition any vessel or military personnel in an emergency.”

  “I’d have a hard time claiming this wasn’t an emergency,” muttered Schwartzenberger. “Can you confirm his identity?”

  “Certainly. If you’ll allow me . . .” Hiroshi ceded his seat and headset to the diplomat. Agape’s radio operator put the consul on. Bakhunin traded pleasantries and anecdotes about his cat and the consul’s dog.

  “Thank you, Franz. Please wait one.” Bakhunin took the headset off. “It’s really him, Captain. He’s not using duress codes. I recommend meeting with him.”

  Mitchie had her back to them so she could smirk in secret. When does a diplomat not recommend a meeting?

  “Very well,” said Captain Schwartzenberger. “Pilot Long, please dock us with the Agape.”

  Demeter Orbit, acceleration 0 m/s2

  The consul’s ship had a ten-meter boarding tube to spare visitors from donning space suits. Schwartzenberger brought Bakhunin and Mitchie with him.

  They emerged into Agape’s cargo hold. That ship’s collection of Fuzie refugees clung to the far bulkhead, away from the reception committee. Mitchie’s heart lifted at the sight of ten Akiak Rangers floating easily in their fatigues.

  Schwartzenberger let Bakhunin handle the introductions. The steel-haired man acting if he owned the ship was “Francois Dubois, Consul-General to Demeter.”

  Franz introduced the Fuzie in the very spiffy suit. “Delbert Woon, Demeter Security Director.” Master Ranger Robinson was the only one of the troops introduced. The rest of the Rangers hung back from the conversation.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you all,” said Captain Schwartzenberger. “It’s good to see more people made it off Demeter. But right now our top priority is to return home as quickly as possible.”

  “There may be something more important,” said the Consul-General. “Director Woon?”

  Mitchie studied Woon, wondering if he’d been at Guenivere’s Revelation. Probably not. The Claret family seemed on the outs with the party which won the last planetary election. Really the last, she thought.

  The Direct
or seemed uncertain where to start. “Many research avenues are prohibited for safety reasons. But there are government laboratories that receive special exemptions to perform secret research in crucial areas. Particularly ways to analyze or strike back at the Betrayers.”

  He paused, possibly hoping for a straight line. The Diskers were all unimpressed with his hypocrisy. Woon forged on. “We discovered, or created, a powerful cyberweapon. The Council of Stakeholders never gave permission to use it in an offensive. So it’s been locked away. It may be our best chance to defeat the Swakop AI and take our planet back. Or at least we want to make sure the AI doesn’t take control of it.”

  As Woon trailed off Consul Dubois jumped in. “It’s a straight-forward mission. Land near the storage bunker. Grab the box. Fly off. Your return home would be delayed less than a day.”

  Mitchie wanted to know more about this mysterious weapon. Her captain was less enthusiastic. He had his arms crossed over his chest, body language indicating resistance. In free fall he could cross his legs in front of his hips to emphasize it, and had. “Why us?” he asked.

  Woon desperately glanced at the consul.

  Dubois explained, “Only an analog ship can go to Demeter without risking subversion by the AI. The Chamberlain is far more maneuverable than the only other analog ship in the system.”

  Mitchie had to agree with that. Agape was a pig. Joshua Chamberlain had done all the work of the rendezvous while Agape drifted.

  “As a military crew you’re obligated to carry out assigned missions,” continued Dubois. “And if you’ll forgive the enthusiasm, your crew has a heroic record of perseverance in dire circumstances.”

  Schwartzenberger turned to glare at Bakhunin.