Former Demeter Security Director Woon flinched back. “Don’t blame me for the Marines. They were doomed anyway.”
“I think what we’re most interested in what you do know about it, Delbert,” said Consul Dubois.
“Oh. Well, I never asked for the technical details. I’m not a cyberneticist. I found them enough money to keep their system secure.”
“How did they describe it to you?”
“An infoweapon. One that might be able to destroy an AI. They said it had to be secure. It could destroy our network if it got loose. The Council was never willing to authorize deploying it.”
“Do you have any documentation?” asked Admiral Chu.
“It would have been at the research lab,” said Woon.
The table’s attention turned to Gunnery Sergeant Singh.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We never looked at any documents. They didn’t pick curious people for the job.”
“What about the technical staff?” asked Mitchie.
“They ran off,” said Gunny.
Mitchie looked calmly at him.
Gunny expanded, “They tried to convince me to turn the thing loose in the net after the infections started. Kept going on about it until I decked one. Most left then. The rest ran away after we fought off the first wave of bots.”
“You never considered releasing it?” asked Admiral Chu.
“No, sir. My orders were clear,” said Gunny.
The Diskers around the table were not impressed by his devotion to orders.
“Could the manuals be in the box?” asked Consul Dubois.
“We haven’t dared jack into it to check,” said Mitchie.
“Of course,” he replied.
Silence fell.
Admiral Chu let it go for a minute before saying, “It will have to go to the Secure Research Center on Akiak. They’re our best researchers on anti-AI technology.”
Mitchie brightened at the mention of her home.
Chu asked, “Gunnery Sergeant, are you and your men willing to take on securing the device at that facility? The conditions are austere.”
“Yes, sir!”
Mitchie kept her poker face on. She’d warned the admiral that Gunny might balk if the Disconnect tried to separate him from his charge. Now they had him volunteering to help the enemies of his former service dissect it.
“Thank you all for your time,” said the admiral. “Lieutenant Commander Long, please remain a moment.”
When the two of them were alone he asked, “When’s the last time you were on leave? Real leave, not working one job while on break from the other?”
She had to think about it. “I’ve had lulls . . . but a real leave? Five years. Maybe six.”
“Thought so. You need some downtime. It’s going to be a long war. Don’t burn out. That ship has to be due for an overhaul too. We obviously don’t want to store that box on Bonaventure. So take it to Akiak. Then you and your ship go into downtime. The Akiak spaceyards are expanding, it’s a good place for it. They’ll have work for any of your crew who don’t have leave saved up.”
Chu actually smiled for a moment. “You haven’t had your honeymoon yet. Take some time for that too.”
“Yes, sir.” She couldn’t help smiling back.
“Be on your way in a week.”
***
When Chetty Meena asked for a favor Mitchie happily helped him. She already owed him one, even if he didn’t know it. A visitor pass to one of Redondo Field’s unsecure briefing rooms was easy. Finding an audience was harder. Promising a catered lunch brought out a dozen intel analysts. None of them outranked her.
A minute before the official start time eight officers trooped in. Their ranks ranged from captain to ensign. Mitchie recognized some from Admiral Galen’s surprise party. They were from the admiral’s operations staff. Her message to Galen’s chief of staff had paid off.
Hopefully Chetty would make it worth their time.
The Demeter refugee took the floor confidently as she introduced him. He focused on the ops officers. They’d taken the center of the empty front row.
“Captain, I see you saw action as an exchange officer,” said Chetty. “Against Ushuaia?”
The officer started, glancing down at the Fusion Navy valor award topping his ribbon rack. “Why, yes. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. but it’s the way to bet.” A gesture put a pie chart on the screen behind Chetty. “The six AI systems bordering human space attack at roughly similar rates. But half the Navy’s valor awards come from engagements with Ushuaia.” A second pie chart appeared next to the first, the orange wedge expanded to over half the circle.
He continued, “An earlier investigation proved that the fleets were using proper criteria for awards. I was brought in to see if something about their tactics was creating the imbalance. I found there was a difference—but it was in the AI’s tactics, not the human ones.”
Mitchie noticed one of the back row analysts sit up. Maybe they’d pay attention instead of napping until the food arrived.
Chetty put a new graph up, a flat line with a sharp spike in the middle. “Valor awards are most likely to happen in an evenly matched engagement. If the human force has superior firepower—” he waved at the left part of the flat line “—there’s no need for courage. Everyone does their job by the book and they win. If the humans are outnumbered,” waving at the other side, “there may be great bravery, but no one lives to tell the tale.”
He pounded a fist on the spike. “It’s the fifty-fifty battles where one man’s extraordinary effort can make the difference between victory and defeat.”
The line greyed as black dots appeared around it. “Analyzing the data from the past twenty years of AI combat fits the curve. We used simulations to rerun each engagement until we had a solid estimate of the victory odds.”
The Disconnect officers took Chetty on a lengthy digression until he’d convinced them of the plausibility of his sims.
When he returned to his graphs he changed the black dots to ones matching the colors assigned to each AI in the original pie chart. The orange dots clustered tightly in the middle. “You can see that Ushuaia regularly engages at close to fifty-fifty odds. We followed up by looking at an array of cases in detail. In each of them Ushuaia took action to force the even engagement, either splitting ships off to pursue minor objectives or avoiding contact until it received the minimum reinforcements necessary.”
The audience instantly challenged that assertion. Chetty played animations of actual battles for them. He didn’t convince all of them but no one came up with a better explanation for the AI’s behavior.
Chetty blacked out the screen to cut short another round of quibbling. “If we accept that Ushuaia is fighting at even odds we can look at why. Several theories are apparent. It could be handicapping itself to force development of better small unit tactics. It could enjoy the challenge of hard fights. Those assume the AI is setting its own goals.
“If the Ushuaia AI is following human orders it could be a game program set to provide a fair fight. Or some long dead officer could have created it to maximize his chances of winning a medal.”
The last suggestion brought chuckles from some of the analysts. The front row was unamused.
Chetty wrapped up with a request for questions.
The Operations captain had the first one. “What was the Fusion Navy’s response to this briefing?”
Bitterness flashed across Chetty’s face. “Neither my management at the Institute, nor the officers I showed it to unofficially, were willing to let me brief this to the Navy. Apparently the idea of an AI’s motivation being something we can understand is officially unthinkable.”
Mitchie broke in to declare a recess. The food had arrived. The officers drifted over, too busy wrestling with Chetty’s ideas to be hungry. Once Chetty finished a burger she let the Q&A resume.
Half an hour later he explained his heart condition. An analyst replied, “T
hat shouldn’t be a problem for the Defense Force.”
Mitchie decided this lost lamb would be all right.
***
When the week ran out Mitchie was almost ready to leave. Setta declared supplies were adequate. The Marines and Rangers came back from leave. But Bing hadn’t come back which left a hole in the watch schedule.
Billy reported Bing had found an apartment in Commerce. She’d started helping him sell some of the more mundane items from the Eden loot. They’d passed the encrypted data archive back to Mitchie. Maybe she could get the Secure Research Center boffins to crack it. They wouldn’t mind finding a Betrayer inside.
She’d requested a new pilot through Admiral Chu. The personnel staff hadn’t found anyone. She suspected they hadn’t tried very hard. She and Hiroshi could trade off for the few weeks to Akiak without endangering the ship. There were lonely stretches where they could leave the bridge unmanned. But if either of them fell ill they’d be in trouble.
Well, if the worst case happened one pilot could get them to the nearest world to wait it out or find a replacement. She didn’t want to blow her departure date. She especially didn’t want to spend all her time arguing with personnel bureaucrats.
“Ma’am?”
Mitchie looked up from her datasheet. A Marine had just escorted a stranger into the galley.
“Yes, Senior Private?” she asked.
“Ma’am, this spacer wishes to present his orders,” said the Marine.
“Thank you, I’ll see him.”
The Marine saluted and left. The stranger saluted. “Coxswain’s Mate Third Class Mthembu, reporting aboard, ma’am.” After she returned the salute he held out a data crystal.
“Sit, please,” she said as she took it. Don’t want a crick in my neck. Sitting didn’t help much. The spacer stood a full two meters tall. He still loomed over her seated.
Her datasheet accepted a set of orders from the crystal. A quick scan explained why she hadn’t received a notice from Personnel. Mthembu belonged to Admiral Galen’s flagship as a backup shuttle pilot. The ship’s captain had detached him on temporary duty to the Joshua Chamberlain. With no end date.
Guo’s gotten good at working the Chief network, thought Mitchie. She said, “Welcome aboard, Coxswain’s Mate. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the crew and we’ll get you settled.”
Akiak, gravity 10.3 m/s2
Mitchie wondered if anyone in the Space Guard actually knew the coordinates of the Secure Research Center. Admiral Chu had given her some contacts but they were only willing to accept the “package” for later delivery. Separating the box from its Marines struck her as a bad idea in both directions.
In desperation she called the sole civilian on the list. He agreed to see her. She took a shuttle down to Muir City. A slim man in an elegant suit waited in the lobby of the Security Department building.
“Mr. Alverstoke?” she asked.
“Yes, but please call me George. I’m delighted to meet the famous Lieutenant Commander Long.” He shook her hand firmly.
“Sure you don’t mean infamous?”
“In this building they’re much the same.” Alverstoke led her to a secure conference room. Mitchie explained the problem of Demeter’s mystery box and its attendant Marines.
Alverstoke thought for a few moments. “That’s certainly something for SRC. The trouble with delivering it is that we’ve kept the location very tightly held. No one in the Space Guard knows it. We have some warehouses we use as cut-outs. But a platoon of Marines going to one and not coming out would raise suspicions.”
“I could just land Joshua Chamberlain at the site.”
“Yes, but the coordinates would be in your ship’s log. We’d want to replace the entire infosystem afterwards.”
“She’s an analog ship. We picked up a navigation box for the run here. I’ll offload it. If I’m the only one on the bridge no one else will have any clues to where we are,” said Mitchie.
“That . . . should be acceptable. I’ll need to talk to some people first. Can we meet back here in a couple of hours?”
Mitchie used the free time to go by Personnel and find out what paperwork she’d need to make the Guard recognize her married name. Whether a handwritten ship’s log entry could be considered equivalent to a government-issued certification had to be decided by the legal expert, who was on vacation. The conversation stayed polite until a clerk suggested Mitchie have a ‘proper’ wedding for the records.
She’d calmed down by the time Alverstoke returned to the conference room.
He was cheerful. “The muck-de-mucks like the idea. They’re hoping you could take on some other items for the trip, ones too big for the usual shuttle.” He displayed a cargo manifest on his datasheet.
Mitchie looked it over. “Hauling cargo is what she’s built for. Looks normal enough. Wait. Imported live plants?”
Alverstoke shrugged. “You’ll understand when you see the place.”
***
The toughest part of the delivery was timing it to avoid witnesses. The Space Guard ran an exercise to divert civilian traffic. Mitchie entered atmosphere over the north pole to avoid spaceport control radars.
Well, that was the toughest part for Mitchie. For her passengers the worst was when she flew the ship in circles tilted forty-five degrees looking for the building. It was designed to blend into the icecap. She spotted it as she started the fourth loop.
The touchdown was one of her best, hardly a bump as the landing legs met the surface. When she cut the turbines the ship shivered as the pads crunched their way through the snow layer to the solid ice below.
“Gotta love home,” she said to the empty bridge.
Finding her parka took a few minutes. By the time she climbed down to the cargo hold offloading was in progress. A few Marines were on the ice, holding guide ropes to lower a container onto a flatbed tractor. Another tractor had a passenger compartment. Half a dozen figures in parkas emerged.
Alverstoke stood at the corner of the cargo bay hatch watching the work. Mitchie joined him. When the welcome party came closer she asked, “Is that Pete? From Lapis?”
“Pete Smith, yes. How do you know him?”
“I accidentally got him kicked off the planet,” she admitted.
Alverstoke chucked. “That explains why his file was so vague about that part.”
“I’m glad he’s alive. I was afraid he might have been at Noisy Water.”
“He has a neurotic aversion to debt. So all his new friends went and left him behind. Then became radioactive ash. Powerfully motivated him to help us out. He’s been an asset.”
“Good,” she said. “He was wasted in the Fusion.”
Pete recognized her. “Michigan? Is that you?”
“Hello, Pete, you’re looking well.” Much more cheerful than when she’d landed him on Lapis’ most wanted list.
Parkas made for clumsy hugs. When he let go she introduced Guo, who received a handshake.
Pete shifted to talking shop. “I’ve prepared a secure analysis lab,” he said. “It has complete electromagnetic isolation.”
Gunny insisted on interrogating Pete and his team at length before admitting the system was safe enough for his charge. His last question flustered them. “What authority do you have to open it?”
Alverstoke stepped in. “I can answer that.” He read from his datasheet. “The following information is declared Most Secret. The Chancellor, with the concurrence of the Security Committees of the Senate and Commons, has issued the following directive. One. The SRC will analyze the device described in attachment one to determine its function and capabilities. Two. The SRC will provide recommendations on how to best use the device against an AI incursion. Three. The SRC will provide recommendations for future research and development based on the device.”
Mitchie thought, Four. Provide recommendations on how to use it against the Fusion Navy. But best not to stress the Gunny. He’s new to our side.
Alverstoke po
cketed the datasheet. “I trust that answers your concerns, Gunnery Sergeant Singh?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
***
Pete’s isolation lab had a transparent wall. Mitchie stood with him as two Marines set the box on a test stand and opened it. A computer faced the wall. Its monitor declared it was healthy and ready for new data.
“It’ll check for stand-alone files first,” said Pete. “Hopefully they included some documentation.”
The actual device was a standard memory rack covered in hazard warnings. At Pete’s wave a Marine plugged the computer’s cable into the rack’s socket. The display announced “Connection made.” Then it flashed grey snow for a second before turning completely black.
Pete said, “That was very informative.”
“Really?” snapped Alverstoke.
“Oh, yes. Whatever that is blew through our finest firewall faster than I could measure. It proves Gunny’s rigid attitude toward handling it is totally justified. I’ll have to build a new test set-up. The base code will need read-only hardware.”
“Before you start designing that,” said Mitchie, “I have a favor I’d like to ask you.”
Pete’s eyes refocused. “Yes?”
“We picked up a data archive on a trip to Old Earth.”
“You were on that trip?” Pete exclaimed.
“Yes, that was my ship. The archive is encrypted. We couldn’t open it. Would you be willing to give it a try?”
“Sure. It’s a century behind the state of the art. Easy problem.” He paused for thought. “Unless it’s an AI-created cipher. That might be impossible.”
“AI’s part of the worry. One of the shareholders thinks it could have a Betrayer trapped inside.”
Pete’s face lit up at the prospect of analyzing an actual AI’s source code.
Mitchie continued, “If it’s a Betrayer it’s all yours. Any commercially valuable information I need to keep the rights to. Contractual obligations.” Even if they wouldn’t be able to give Alexi his share until after the war.
Torchship Pilot Page 18