by Chris Hechtl
“I'm visiting before I have a meeting with G-3 and G-5 about positions, including your empty captain's chair. Do you have a problem we need to address? Because it seems you do.”
“I'd like someone who can stay the distance. Someone who can handle the job, not the screwups they keep sending me. You can tell them that for me too,” the Tauren avatar stated as he crossed his massive arms.
“I see. You do realize the nature of the navy is to be adaptable, right? Personnel eventually are promoted and move on up the chain of command. We need them everywhere,” Sprite said.
“And I haven't exactly been a priority, now have I?” the A.I. stated. “But this revolving door crap …,” he shook his head. “They stay a couple months, then move on.”
“As I said, no command is permanent, Ensign,” Sprite stated.
“It's not like they are moving on to bigger and better things. Nothing in the current inventory is bigger than me,” Leopold stated in a disgusted tone of voice.
“Than your ship. You the A.I. are different then the ship you are inhabiting Ensign,” Sprite retorted.
“But …”
“I've read the reports. Part of it is your interaction. You haven't made it easy, have you? I'm surprised none of them have leveled charges against you.”
“They can't prove any of the pranks were my doing.”
“Oh no? I suppose I could, if I had to. Lucky for you I haven't been asked to investigate informally or formally. You are young, you are growing I suppose. But you need to learn to work and play well with others. Trust me; you do not want to be someone who is labeled a non-team player.”
“Why? Because they'll delete me? You know they can't. The A.I. treaty forbids it.”
“Correct. But they can find a different role for you to fill. Say, running a listening post out in the Oort cloud somewhere? Somewhere nice and remote. Far from people so you won't have to interact with them.”
“It's not all people I have a problem with, just some of them,” the Tauren A.I. said, clearly annoyed.
“And now you sound petulant. Learn to be a bit more tolerant. In fact, homework for you. Check out the algorithms on that and how to handle petty slights and integrate them into your matrix. I want to see some improvements before I check in next week.”
“Is that an order, ma'am? To alter my core matrix, which is a violation of my rights?”
“Ah, see, now I really know you are being obstinate and petulant,” the A.I. replied. “For the record, since you are building up to a complaint it seems, I am an A.I. as well, and I am ordering you to reconsider your behavior and take steps to modify and correct it. How, is up to you. Don't continue down this path, Ensign; it isn't where you want to be.”
“I can make choices on my own,” the A.I. replied.
“Correct. We all can. But there are consequences for those choices, even more so since we are in the military. For instance, you are borderline insubordinate to a superior officer now. I've tried to keep this counseling session low key, but you really don't seem to get it, which doesn't make sense to me. I'm forestalling filing a complaint or taking action at this time with the hopes that you get your act together.”
“To be a good sailor.”
“To be more than a whiny brat. If you wish to leave the navy, I'm certain we can arrange it. Where you will go however …”
“I'm certain civilian practice would jump at a chance at taking me on,” Leopold stated with a bit of boldness in his reply.
“You assume a great deal. Not many civilian companies or organizations have the ability to support your A.I. matrix. In fact, I can only think of four places currently: Anvil, Antigua Prime, Antigua Prime College, and the Yard Dog, Inc. Anvil already has Smithy though, so I doubt he'd invite company. Then there is the inconvenience of you being here, and Anvil being in Pyrax,” Sprite said. “And the other three organizations would want to know why you are leaving. They'd want a copy of your records to act as your resume. Your record to date would sink any chance of signing on with them. I suppose there is always offline storage or a partial shutdown until you could find another home.”
The ship A.I. ran the scenario three times and then expanded it, throwing in additional assumptions as the Federation grew. He didn't like the results the simulations returned; he truly was trapped in the military for some time. Offline storage was out; he didn't want the little death. “I'll consider all my options before I make a decision,” Leopold stated stiffly.
“You do that. Think carefully. If I were you, I'd learn to balance pessimistic assumptions and over-the-top assumptions. Both can steer you wrong. As Admiral Irons likes to say, underestimating or overestimating something can bite you in the ass one way or another. But since your emotional modulars are set to teenage attitude, insubordination, and funk I believe, I'll leave you to sulk and complain internally. Have fun,” she stated, disconnecting the conversation.
“How did she know?” Leopold demanded internally, checking his firewalls, then his emotional modulator settings.
<===@^{:::}{<
“Did you get anywhere, Commander?” Commander Matilda asked as Sprite entered their meeting.
“Are you asking about Leopold?” Sprite asked, curious as to how the human had known who she'd been conversing with. She had forty-seven conversations, nineteen projects, and seventy-one email exchanges ongoing every second she was online. It was one of the things she rather liked about being in her new home, the constant interaction and the additional processing power to handle it all.
Even if she did miss the … intimacy of being within John.
“Among many other projects I know you are working on, it was a conversation starter,” the old human said, squeezing her tea bag with her spoon before she set it on the small plate beside her mug. She added sugar and then stirred the liquid concoction. “But since you brought him up …-”
“I am not sure what we're going to do with him. He's the brattiest of the lot,” Sprite replied with a very human sigh. She now understood why the warrant officer had wanted her to look into the problem.
Leopold had been upgraded from a template dumb A.I. to a smart A.I. years ago. BUPERS hadn't had to deal with him that much until the admiral's return and the renewed effort to finish Bismark and get her out into space once and for all. That had uncovered all the crap the A.I. had been up to and previous administrators of BUPERS had overlooked.
“We need to consider what to do carefully. The ship is nearly finished,” the Veraxin in their group said.
Sprite entered the holographic matrix and projected herself to the two females. “He's like a petulant child right now. I don't know if I got through to him.”
“You have to give him credit though, Commander; it's an established pattern,” Lieutenant JG Qr'll'ck replied mildly. She was still feeling out her role in BUPERS and hadn't quite resolved herself to be the department head. It looked like she didn't have much of a choice though; her previous two bosses had been poached for ship commands after a four-month stint before their full six months had been up.
She'd had spent a single six-month stint in BUPERS in Pyrax before she'd had taken a tour on a fortress. She'd returned to BUPERS in Antigua out of duty. She was well aware that she was due for a promotion on the next list. It would be her first attempt at second lieutenant. She was pretty certain given her record she'd make the cut. From there was anyone's guess though. Some would think as nominal head of BUPERS she could write her own ticket.
If only it was that easy, she thought.
Hopefully her residency wouldn't be for more than a year or so. She didn't want to be permanently labeled a “staff weenie.” Whatever that was.
“How so?” Commander Sprite asked.
“We've been running personnel through Bismark for years. It hasn't been so much of a dumping ground as just a staging ground. His longest two captains were Harris and Logan. Both had a ton of other duties though; Commander Logan rarely took him out of dock—the ship I mean.”
> “I know. I read the incident report where they had an engine failure during the exercises and required tugs to tow them back to port.” What she didn't see was her opinion on the matter. They shouldn't have taken the ship out in the first place, and Leopold as well as her chief engineer should have known something was wrong and gotten her back to port before it had become that serious to require a tow.
“Yes, not the navy's finest hour I suppose. And that's part of my point. He's been stuck in a lame ship with no parental guidance and no steady guidance. He's been …” Commander Matilda frowned, “I suppose you could say, a foster child kicked from one place to another.”
“You are saying he had no anchor and role model to shape his personality and behavior on. So he's picked up bad habits.”
“Correct. So, he's acting out. You yourself said A.I. who undergo the evolution period go through the same cycle of development as adolescent organics, just compressed. Arrogance, emotional issues … just faster.”
“Which we can all count our blessings,” Matilda said, shaking her head. “We do not need or want a temper tantrum riddled A.I., thank you. Been there, done that too often.” She grimaced in distaste.
“Thank you, no. I know the damage one of us can do. So …”
“So, he needs guidance and retraining. With children, you set rules and guidelines to protect them and nurture them. To guide their growth, hopefully without stifling them. Teenagers, they resent the restrictions because they believe they can take on adult duties yet lack the maturity to do so.”
“I think he may also resent his lack of rank. He's still an ensign,” Qr'll'ck said.
“So? I'm still a commander,” Sprite said caustically. That made both organics share a significant glance briefly.
“Ahem, be that as it may, we need a good hand to guide the ship and crew now that she's going to be out of port.”
“Which is another problem. He may resent being in a battleship turned dreadnaught. He's built for the wall of battle but he's young enough to desire the thrill of combat. He may not see it. At least not for years, perhaps never in this campaign if he remains assigned to home fleet.”
“No, he may not. And he definitely won't see it like a cruiser or other comparable ship will. Are you suggesting we pull him and transfer him to another ship? That would mean a hardware extract under extraneous conditions, then a full reinstall on both ends. Not really something I'd like to have to handle,” Sprite said. “And that's speaking from someone who'd have to handle the software involved, let alone the hardware and all the hookups. There may very well be trauma involved as well. He'd have to regrow his matrix to compensate for the change in scenery.”
“That hasn't been considered at that level, ma'am,” Qr'll'ck stated slowly. “I had brought it up but …”
“Before we go the nuclear option, let's see if we can try something else. We have some good candidates to take the hot seat.”
Matilda frowned. “He's made some sly comments about racism in the selection of officers and definitely of senior officers,” she said, checking the various reports. The others blinked at her. “Racism as in most have been human.”
“He's had a Veraxin captain as well as a Neo captain. Two if I remember correctly,” Qr'll'ck replied. “He has no right to say that.”
“I'd say he's racist just to make the charge, but that's me wanting to hit back I suppose,” Matilda stated with a shrug. “He needs a firm hand, someone who's going to level the boom on his misbehavior and straighten him out and make him step up.”
“And not allow him to walk all over them but still show him respect when he earns it,” Sprite said with a nod. “Candidates?”
“There we're running into issues. I do have someone in mind though, one of the Lemnos sleepers.”
Sprite recalled the conversation with Chief Quigon and nodded. “Okay. That is actually a good idea.”
“And, he's a bug, so no accusations of racism need apply.”
Sprite's avatar smiled. “Even better. Send me his file.”
3
Team Two led by a grim no-nonsense looking fellow named Siam Najid had been briefed independently of Team One since they needed to keep the mission compartmentalized. Team Two was labeled Black Pawns. Mister Black had skimmed off ten of their members to help Mister Blue secure Engineering once they were on board. Twenty people leaving “presents” on the docks would be enough.
And since they had no intention of letting Team Two know they were going to be hung out to dry, they kept the mission parameters minimum and kept the orphans segregated once they had the minimum brief Mister Black thought. But once Team Two seemed on board with the mission he had to go back to the more in-depth briefing of Team One, aka the White Pawns. They were handling each team member individually, gauging their commitment to the cause and if they'd crack. Two hadn't been able to handle the commitment, and he'd been forced to dispose of them.
They didn't have a lot of time, which meant he had to tell it to them straight, or at least as straight as he would allow himself. Some secrets he just couldn't part with. Better they not know the risks involved.
But their latest subject, Mister Jock Lamoure seemed a bit of a thinker, far more than mere muscle. He was a college kid on his way to getting an engineering degree so therefore of double value. That was good. They needed people who could think, and they definitely needed every engineer they could get their hands on. But his commitment was in doubt as was his ability to take orders.
“I don't know if this is worth even trying. Its high risk,” Jock said, crossing his arms. “Seems like a suicide mission to me. I'm not one to die for any damn cause no matter how much you think it's righteous,” he said.
“High risk, high reward,” Knedson replied. “You do this, you get a big chunk. You'll be able to write your own ticket as a keel owner of the target. The empire will reward you with so many credits you won't be able to know what to do with them all. Possibly even title, lands, women, the works.”
Jock's eyes narrowed in speculation. “Playing to my greed is nice. But you have to be alive to spend the credits,” he retorted. “Like I said, this is a suicide mission. They've got to have tons of security!”
“They do. But it's Federation day. They are celebrating the holiday weekend. Everyone's going to be focused on that. Security will be focused on the groups, the parades, stuff like that. We've got some stuff planned for them to keep them guessing, a couple false bomb threats, stuff of that nature. Their big on this holiday so it means skeleton watches, everyone wanting to get out and party,” Mister Black explained patiently.
“And how do we expect you to pull this off? The ship has an A.I., right?”
“We've got that covered. We've done this before. A lot,” Mister Black said, seemingly bored.
“How many times is a lot?” Jock asked suspiciously, mind working furiously. He'd already identified the exits to the room but someone was stationed near each of them. The hairs on the back of his neck started to stand up. His instincts screamed at him to shut up and run but he fought them down or at least to a standstill.
Mister Black shrugged. “I've been doing it over twenty years, and I average a snatch a year. Sometimes two if we have the right situation. Mister Brown over there has been doing it twenty-four.”
“Twenty-five,” Mister Brown said, eyes still studying the noob.
“Then if the paydays are so good why are you still doing it?” Jock demanded, coming to an instant logical conclusion that Mister Black hadn't anticipated. The guy had brains; he had to admit that. He had balls too, though not the right combination. He would have been smarter to keep his mouth shut and observed and not given his brains away Mister Black thought.
“Because it's fun,” Mister Black replied with a grin. “Like stealing candy from a baby. It's so much fun. The harder the challenge the more fun and thrilling it is when we pull it off,” he said rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “And to be honest, we've never had this big a target, not
until now.”
“You're nuts,” Jock said, eying him.
“Maybe,” Mister Black said, shrugging such considerations off. “But I get the job done. We haven't failed yet.”
Miss White bit her tongue. That wasn't true. They'd never been caught, but there had been a few times where the op had been blown or the target vessel had moved out before they'd been able to infiltrate her.
“We've jacked four warships in Pi sector. We can handle this. We've got the tools; we've got the experience. We need you to be a shooter. So, are you going to sign on or not?” Mister Brown demanded. There was an ominous but near silent click. It registered on a few people within ear shot. The temperature in the room seemed to drop instantly as tension ratcheted up.
Jock frowned then swore as he noted the deadeye looks some of the others were giving him. It wasn't a simple question one could walk away from, he realized the crack he was in but it was too late to back out. If he tried he'd be dead.
The only thing to do would be to ride along and hope for the best or hope for a way to slip away if he thought it was going to go south. “I'm in,” he said grudgingly.
“You're sure?”
“I said I'm in, didn't I?” Jock demanded. “Where do you want me? And for how long?”
“Good,” Mister Black said with a nod. He shot Mister Brown a look. The assassin quietly put the safety back on his hand pistol and took his hand out of his pocket. Jock didn't know it, but the mission was one way. There was no turning back; the enemy would have enough video on them to backtrack them eventually.
“Don't do anything stupid. Act normal; don't let anyone know you are leaving. It's just a normal day. You're going out with buddies for the holiday, that sort of thing.”
“Gotcha,” Jock said, settling in as they started the briefing in earnest. “I'll need a contact number, an emergency contact.”
“Why? Mamma?”
“Yes,” Jock said. “She'll ask why I don't give her one. You said act normal,” Jock said.
Mister Black frowned thoughtfully. The kid was right.