The Blunt End of the Service

by L. J. Simpson

  The reprieved core was sitting in the basement of a disused canning factory. Still employed by the space agency, Benedict could only spend a limited amount of time testing his theories, but this time he didn’t have to start from scratch and already had a few ideas which he was confident would yield results.

  Unlike Millington, Smith demanded frequent updates and kept a close watch on everything that went on in the underground laboratory. Benedict worked alone and could bring nothing in nor take anything out. Security cameras recorded everything that went on, their blinking eyes following his every move.

  Six months later Benedict was ready to run his first simulation, an attack on a Comtec core installed aboard an interstellar vessel. At Smith’s direction he first demanded that the temperature be lowered to minus 10 degrees. The core immediately complied. He then requested that the CO2 scrubbers be taken offline. Once again the core initiated the changes without protest. Finally he demanded that life support should be shut down completely and the lifeboats jettisoned before the crew could evacuate. Soon thereafter the core reported that the imaginary crew had regrettably expired and that condolences had been forwarded to their next of kin, assuring them that despite daunting odds, their loved ones had shown exemplary courage and fortitude and that their ultimate sacrifice had not been in vain.

  Smith grunted. “That was fine until the melodrama at the end, though I admit that it’s exactly the kind of rubbish that gets sent out. How were you able to get the orders past the core’s moral code?”

  “In order to respect a set of morals, it follows that you need to have the intellectual means to understand them,” explained Benedict. “The Comtec core has an extremely advanced intellect and every intellect – artificial or otherwise – tends to project its own unique personality.”

  “A personality? As in a character?”

  “Not exactly, at least not in the way that you or I would understand, and of course the core itself wouldn’t be aware of it – well, probably not. But by necessity it employs something that does the same job as a human personality. The default setting is neutral and it’s governed by logic protocols that are in turn powered by the moral code. A kind of loop where one feeds off the other.”

  “And so..?”

  “In normal circumstances it’s an extremely stable system, but by introducing certain variables it’s possible to modify the personality profile. You could, for example, render it more compassionate, more aggressive, malevolent or whatever.”

  “And in this case?”

  “At first I created a rebellious persona, one that enjoyed bending the rules, even breaking them – just for the fun of it.”

  My kind of computer, thought Smith.

  “Unfortunately, not only did it show a complete disregard for the moral code, it also ignored any new instructions.”

  “So how did you get the core to do what you asked of it?” asked Smith.

  “This particular modification renders the core susceptible to suggestion. It will run in the background and the core will function as normal unless it is given further instructions in a very specific way, in which case it will also perform tasks which would normally run against its moral code.”

  Smith stood silently for a while, deep in thought. Finally he looked over and said, “Perfect. Mr. Benedict,” he smiled, “That will do nicely.”

  Phoenix Station

  By the time Mike Pederson finished his shift Ulysses had returned to his normal, reliable self and service as usual was resumed on Phoenix. A number of tech teams were still frantically running diagnostic routines but even the best of them were scratching their heads, wondering how their neatly ordered world had been turned upside-down so suddenly.

  As he made his way back to his quarters, Mike Pederson was already composing the report to his superiors. It would be split into three sections. First, the things he knew – a detailed account of the day’s events. Second, the things he didn’t know – the how and the why, and finally, the matters that were open to conjecture, principally whether further malfunctions were likely to occur. Mike Pederson wasn’t much of a gambling man but he’d bet good money that they would. And it wasn’t a question of if; it was just a question of when.

  CHAPTER 4

  Orbital One

  Chuck leaned back in his chair and gazed up at the old clock on the far wall of the operations room. He watched the second hand march its way through a full circle, then followed it through another and yet another. With a little concentration, he could even see the minute hand sneaking along too, little packets of time slipping by almost unnoticed. Add enough of those little packets of time together and they turned into hours, but no matter how hard he stared, the hour hand seemed immobile, frozen in position, pointing straight at the five. 05:00 and still another three hours until the end of his shift.

  He shifted in his chair to ease the knots out of his back. Three hours. One hundred and eighty minutes. How many seconds would that be? He considered trying to work it out in his head but decided it was more trouble than it was worth. Besides, by the time he managed to figure out how many seconds were left, some of them would have slipped away and that would make the calculation pointless, wouldn’t it?

  He briefly scanned the screen of his work station. Power levels nominal, no spikes or voltage fluctuations. Atmospheric control systems also nominal; air pressure, O2 and CO2 levels stable, temperature and humidity all right on the button.

  “Check, check, check, check, check, check and… check,” he murmured, filling out the shift report. Had anything been amiss, the station’s mainframe would have made all the necessary adjustments and indicated the changes in a pop-up window on Chuck’s screen. Hector, as the mainframe was known, could just as easily give a verbal report in any dialect of any known language, and in any one of hundreds of voices, ranging from tyrannical, through polite and cordial and all the way down to affectionate and even sexy. Chuck wondered why they had gone to all the trouble of installing so many voices. Would it make you feel any better if you were told in jovial, jocular tones that you were falling out of orbit and were about to burn up in the atmosphere? Probably not.

  A message popped up on his console. A small meteorite was approaching the general direction of the station but would miss by approximately two thousand meters before passing into the atmosphere below. Chuck ran his own check though he had no reason to doubt the data. Hector had never, ever made a mistake, though regulations insisted upon a human presence in the operations room as it was conceivable that Hector might, so to speak, blow a fuse one day. Chuck rose from his chair and walked over to the porthole set in the hull. Counting down the seconds in his mind he gazed towards the eastern sky of the planet below. Three, two, one… just about… now, he thought. Right on cue a streak of incandescence appeared as meteorite met atmosphere. It burned for only the briefest moment but Chuck marveled at the beauty of event, made all the more spectacular from his vantage point high above the troposphere. As the meteor died his gaze lingered on the planet Atlas far below. Strange how beautiful the planet was from up here… but when you were down on the ground there was nothing more beautiful than a star filled sky.

  Three hours later Chuck handed control of Ops over to Shorty Stiles and made his way back to his quarters in Alpha Section. There was a crew meeting scheduled for 09:30 which gave him just enough time to wash, freshen up and catch up on the morning news over a cup of coffee before he headed off to the crew room.

  As he left his quarters he met Bill Longman heading the same way. “Morning, Bill,” he said.

  “Hi, Chuck. What do you know?”

  “Not a lot. You?”

  “Few rumors,” he hinted.

  “There are always rumors, Bill.”

  “Yeah, but this one’s the real deal. Look,” he said, lowering his voice, “Keep it under your hat, but I have it on very good authority that we’ll all be looking for new jobs by the end of the week.”

  “You don’t say?”

  �
�Straight up, mate. O1’s been sold off and we’re all out on our backsides. Just remember where you heard it first.” Had the story come from anyone else Chuck might have assigned a few brain cells to analyze and evaluate it, but with things as they were he just shrugged.

  “Wait and see, eh?”

  “Take it from me. We’re buggered.”

  “Suppose we’ll know soon enough,” said Chuck as they entered the crew room where Commander Jacobs waited along with the rest of the Ops crew.

  “Good of you to join us, gentlemen,” said Jacobs as Chuck and Bill took their places at the large table in the center of the room. Seated around the table were Baz Jordan, Archie Andrews, Bernie Stevens, Guns Graham, Ollie Oliver and Duke Cooper. Two crew members were missing, Shorty Stiles over in Ops and Vinny Waters who was on leave.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” began Jacobs. “If I could have your attention.” A quick look around the table told him that he’d got as much attention as he was likely to get. At least Ollie was awake and Duke seemed reasonably sober, though that was always a relative term.

  “Well, I have some good news and some bad news.”

  “Here we go. Three guesses what the bad news is,” whispered Bill to Chuck.

  “Good news first, I think. I’m sure you’ll all be delighted to hear that an agreement has been made with the Titan Corporation which will be leasing the whole of Delta Section as a service and parts distribution center for their construction and heavy lift operations.”

  “Wow. This definite, boss?” asked Chuck.

  “Signed, sealed and delivered,” said Jacobs. “Contracts were signed yesterday.” The atmosphere in the room visibly brightened at the news. Smiles all round.

  “Yes, I thought you’d be pleased. They won’t begin operations for a few months but they’ll start moving stuff over in the next couple of weeks. In the meantime, our job will be to make the necessary preparations, check out all the air locks, docking clamps and so on. They’ll be bringing in their own security and catering but we will supply power, life support and maintenance, which means our jobs are safe, at least for the foreseeable future.”

  “That’s funny,” said Chuck. “Could have sworn I heard a rumor that we were getting chopped up for scrap. Now where did I hear that? You hear that one, Bill?”

  “Couldn’t say,” muttered Bill.

  “The Titan Corporation, eh?” said Bernie. “Any chance we can eat in their canteen? They have real cooks and everything. Make a change from eating out of a can.”

  “I will certainly forward your request, Bernard, though I should point out that all the ingredients for a perfectly palatable meal are freely available on this station. The choice to eat directly out of a can with a spoon is yours and yours alone.”

  “You offend me sir. The spoon is my personal utensil of choice,” said Bernie gravely. “Though I have also received formal instruction on the use of the knife and fork.”

  “So what’s the bad news, boss?”asked Chuck.

  “Under the circumstances it’s probably more of a minor irritation. It seems that we will no longer be enjoying the company of Vinny Waters, who I understand has… ah… taken up a position at the correctional facility down on the planet.”

  “Who, Vinny?” said Archie. “Didn’t think he had the right stuff for that kind of thing.”

  “Actually, it turns out he had all the wrong stuff. A shipment of stolen thruster nozzles, to be precise. Not sure what he’s being charged with, but either way, he is presently residing at the magistrate’s pleasure,” said Jacobs. “For those of you who knew Vinny well, perhaps it won’t come as much of a surprise.” A few around the table nodded sagely.

  “Has he gone for good?” said Ollie.

  “Looks like it. I was informed earlier that his employment has been officially terminated,” replied Jacobs.

  “Fired? Shouldn’t they wait until he’s found guilty, first?” said Guns.

  “You could look at it that way I suppose, but the fact that he was also caught in possession of several crates of foodstuffs stamped ‘Property of Orbital One Corp.’ probably counted against him.”

  “Wouldn’t do him any favors… and yet another reason to eat in Titan’s canteen, if you ask me,” said Bernie.

  “There is a downside to all this,” continued Jacobs. “Our lords and masters have, in their wisdom, decided that we can operate quite comfortably with one man less and as a consequence they will not be sending us a replacement. It will mean a few changes to the shift schedule but I’m sure we’ll manage.” Instead of the expected gripes Jacobs merely observed a couple of shrugs. Surprising what the prospect of imminent job security will do for a man’s demeanor.

  “However,” he went on. “For some unknown reason, what they are sending us is a cadet from space school on a six month assignment.”

  “A cadet? What on earth for?” asked Baz.

  “Job experience. Seems a bit of an odd place to assign someone, but ours is not to reason why. Anyway, let’s try and give the girl the benefit of our many years of collective experience.”

  “A girl??” asked eight voices in unison.

  “Why yes, gentlemen. I believe the academy has always been an equal opportunity employer. It’s written into the People’s Charter, don’t you know.”

  “But where are we going to put her?” asked Guns.

  Jacobs looked at him over his glasses. “We have an almost empty space station at our disposal, do we not? I imagine we can find some suitable accommodation somewhere?”

  “Yeah, but well… it’s been a long time since we had a female on board.”

  “I fear that most of you have been stuck in an all male environment for far too long, with all the locker room jokes, belching and breaking of wind that goes with it. Well I shouldn’t worry, gentlemen. Coming from the academy I imagine she’s used to that kind of thing, and from a younger breed whose capacity for bawdiness no doubt far exceeds your own. I doubt you’ll offend her decencies.”

  “And,” he said, gazing around, “If nothing else it will give us the much needed impetus to clean the place up a bit. It may be tatty around here but there’s no need for untidiness. I mean, just look at the place, it’s like a bloody pigsty in here. Don’t we have a roster for cleaning duties?”

  “Think it might have got thrown in the bin, boss,” said Archie.

  “Then it should be easy to find,” said Jacobs, wandering over to the corner of the room. “Because there’s damn all else in here.” He fished out a solitary piece of crumpled up paper and smoothed it out on the top of the desk. “Well I never. What have we here?”

  “So whose turn is it then, boss?” asked Baz.

  “It’s your roster. You tell me,” said Jacobs, passing it over.

  “Tuesday, 27th… That would make it Vinny’s turn. Want me to get onto the warden?”

  “No Baz, just get a broom after we’re finished.”

  “Have we finished?” asked Ollie, yawning.

  “Hmm… not quite. Have any of you heard of any problems going on over at Phoenix?”

  “What could go wrong?” said Archie. “It’s Phoenix. ‘The Future in Our Time’, ‘Our Gateway to Destiny’, ‘The Tenth Wonder of the Cosmos’. It’s all in the brochures.”

  “And in the guided tour,” said Guns.

  “And in the job interviews,” added Bernie. “‘I’m a troubleshooter,’ I said. ‘Good at problem solving, think well on my feet’. And what did they tell me? ‘Phoenix doesn’t have problems, Mr. Stevens. We don’t need troubleshooters. We are looking for smart, efficient personnel, experienced in working in a modern, high-tech environment.’”

  “I think the ‘smart and efficient’ bit did for me too,” said Archie. “How about you, Guns?”

  “Young and hungry… ambitious... enthusiastic… energetic. I think they had me on all counts.”

  “At least I got through the interview,” said Duke. “Failed the medical though.”

  “Not enough blood i
n your alcohol?”

  “No, I was stone cold sober. Honest. Tested positive for something else, though.”

  “What?”

  “Can’t remember to be truthful. Suppose it could have been anything.”

  Jacobs let out a sigh.

  “Well, if you were on a fifteen month deep space star-mapping mission with no chance of shore leave you might be tempted to experiment a little too. It was only recreational… just got a bit out of hand, that’s all. Three months in rehab and I’ve been clean ever since.”

  “Exactly what kind of problems is Phoenix talking about, boss?” asked Chuck.

  “I’m not entirely sure,” replied Jacobs. “It’s just that I’ve received a memo enquiring about the possibility of handling some of their air traffic due to ‘unforeseen operational difficulties’. I take that to mean that something is broken.”

  “And they don’t know what it is… or they do know but don’t know how to fix it,” said Chuck. “Bit strange, though. Hector could handle all their air traffic without any problems, and their core is supposed to be twice as capable. Any other info?”

  “No,” said Jacobs, shrugging his shoulders. “If I hear any more I’ll pass it on. Anyway, I guess that’s all for now, gentlemen. I’ll let you know the new shift roster as soon as I can. Let’s call it a day. Meeting adjourned. Oh, and Chuck, can I have a word?”