Crucible: Records of the Argos

by Michael J. Farlow

  “You sure that’s what was chasing us?” Sif asked incredulously. “It looked different to me.”

  “That’s the enemy, Siffy. Told you she would be here,” Mr. Harry said in triumph.

  “The name is Sif!” the Arkon warrior growled as I held in a laugh.

  “OK, OK, don’t get testy.”

  “Status of the Myron, Mr. Harry?”

  “All buttoned up, Nick. Looks like ten — no, fifteen lifeforms aboard. Engines in standby. No weapons powered up.”

  Nick? No more Captain this and Captain that? Different, maybe a result of that loss of power. But I really didn’t care.

  “Mr. Harry.”

  “What?”

  “How about flying a drone over there and attach an ID beacon like was done with the Dreng? That might be important if we lose her.”

  “Drone away, Nick. Good idea.”

  So, we waited. The drone returned, and we waited some more. We waited to the next day while the Myron just sat there. Sif had given up and went off to his rack for some sleep. Amini and I spelled each other through the night. I took part of my alone time to talk with Harry. It was hard to change the name.

  “Mr. Harry, are you there?”

  “Yes, Nick.” It was his voice alone.

  “Do you know what happened to you when we dropped out of FTL?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you. You’re different.”

  “Ha. You’re joking, right?”

  “No. You changed your name, your mannerisms, your whole character. You’re different.”

  Silence.

  “Harry, you still there? I can still call you Harry, can’t I?”

  Harry appeared, but this time in the plain gray tunic of the recent past.

  “You mean you like this Harry better than me?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. Now you’ve got me confused. All I’m saying is that we all knew you as Harry. It’s hard for us humans to change the name of a person they have known for a long time.”

  “You consider me a person?”

  “Of course. You’re a valued member of this crew.”

  A tear appeared in one of his eyes. It was a generated image, of course, but I like to think it represented the addition of emotional awareness to the AI we had always known.

  “I can’t tell you how much that means to me, sniff, sniff.”

  Now that was new, but I still had to wonder if the emotion was real or just an electronically generated representation of what he calculated to be a sign of emotion. Whatever.

  “Ok, Harry. No need to get too emotional.”

  “Good. I’ll stop that. My circuits might get wet.”

  I sighed as the illusion of a compassionate AI receded.

  “Why don’t we do this. We don’t usually call ourselves Mr. or Miss. Except for formal occasions, most of us just use our first names or what is short for our first names. Let me see, something that fits the new you… something that fits your capabilities. Hmm… I know what we’ll call you, Wizzy!”

  “Wizzy? What kind of name is that? I don’t like it. How about Exalted One, or Master of All Things?”

  “Much too long. Nicknames have to be short. You have to understand; nicknames are like call signs. You can’t make them up yourself. They have to be given to you. They represent a certain respect and an appreciation of special skills.” If I were Pinocchio, my nose would be about a foot long. However, I was on a roll here, so I didn’t want to give Mr. Harry time to give much thought to this.

  “Wizzy represents all your superior capabilities in one short, powerful name. Kind of short for Wizard. That’s the name I give to you as a special gift.”

  “A special gift? For me? I’ve never had a gift. And you say it represents my magnificence, my awesomeness in every way?”

  “Absolutely. You should be proud.” I didn’t say that the nickname came from Whiz, the main ingredient in a good cheesesteak.

  The AI’s avatar changed. Gone was the robed old man. This time it looked like a young cartoon version of Albert Einstein. The whirlaway white hair, bushy eyebrows, and mustache changed to a reddish-brown on a head twice normal size. His eyes looked blue one minute and green the next. He wore large, square-rimmed, black glasses, had a red bowtie, a yellow shirt, brown pants, and shoes. His light green lab coat continually billowed around his knees, giving the impression of floating in air with a slight breeze.

  “I am Wizzy!’

  I stared in amazement. Then my mouth started to curl up at the edges. It was hard, but I suppressed a laugh and asked, “Why the new avatar? Not happy with the wizard costume of Mr. Harry?”

  “Oh, that. I was getting tired of that old man stuff. Besides, this avatar represents awesomeness much better. But, wait for it; it represents being fun, being part of the cool kids. Does that mean I can be on the ship’s roster?”

  “Of course.” I finally had to laugh. He disappeared and then popped back.

  “What now, Wizzy?”

  “I need a bigger room.”

  “Why?”

  “Everyone has a bigger room than I do. I live in a closet. I need room to grow, you know. And, I want a workbench just like the original Harry has on Mars and the AI Jennifer on New Horizons. Can I have one? Please, oh, please?”

  I have no children myself, but I’ve seen this approach by the children of my friends. And, he had a point. The two Galactic Force AIs did have a bigger space and a workbench. How could I say no?

  “Ok. You can have double the space.”

  “But I need more than that.”

  “Two and a half times the space. And make sure it’s shielded, so you don’t disrupt the surroundings.” I remember my father placing that requirement on Harry’s lab. “Two more things, Wizzy. Make sure I have the cipher lock code. And don’t blow up anything.”

  “Thank you, thank you. Umm, but there is something else, really two things, I just remembered. Good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

  “How about some good news for once?’ I said, not hiding my frustration.

  “Well, we still have FTL, but you know that leap drive you are so fond of protecting?”

  That got my attention. “Yes.”

  “It isn’t working.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “How is that good news?” My blood pressure was on the rise.

  “The good news is that you won’t have to worry about protecting it, at least for a while.”

  I was beginning to think that I would never understand how this quirky AI thought — if that was the right word. “You can fix it, right?”

  “Probably, maybe. It is technology from a different and ancient race, you know.”

  “I know that, Wizzy. The original Harry figured it out, why can’t you?”

  “He figured out how to recreate a portion of it. He was a little short on fixing all the possible failures. It will take some time to figure out what went wrong. Only then can I try to fix it.”

  If this was the good news, I hesitated a few moments to ask about the bad. “What’s the bad news?’

  “Bad news? Oh, right. The comm drones are NFG. You know, no freaking good. Did I get that right?”

  I was simmering now, and my hands hurt from the pressure of holding them in fists. Without the comm drones, we had no way to communicate to home base. I counted to ten and asked the next logical question. “When can they be fixed?”

  “Fixed? Ha. No way, man. They are toast, fried to a crisp. I think because their storage area is close to the skin of the ship, unlike the other drones. About the only good they are now is for their parts if we need them. Thanks again for the extra space. You won’t regret it. See ya.” He disappeared again.

  I was already regretting it. I set off to brief the crew on Wizzy’s latest revelations.

  Th
e next morning, Amini and I were both back on the bridge when the red circle on the viewscreen began pulsing.

  “What’s up, Wizzy?” I asked. I had briefed Amini on the name adjustment and his appearance and would tell the others.

  “Myron’s engines are powering up. Looks like she’s getting ready to move.” There was a pause, then Wizzy spoke again, still no visual body.

  “Myron just received a message from the planet. Hmm, I couldn’t do that before. How interesting. Anyway, they are to follow and stop a smaller ship that just left the control area. It is suspected of stealing something from them. Wait, more information. If the smaller ship doesn’t stop, they can use force.”

  “Not on my watch. Amini, follow that ship.” Somewhere there must have been an inner desire to say that, like the “Follow that car!” line from old movies. Anyway, firing on an unarmed ship like the small one, in this case, crossed my line of acceptability.

  We stayed close behind the Myron with our stealth capability making us undetectable. This was also not an FTL chase in open space. The larger ship was chasing the smaller one in an orbital path around the planet. It looked like the small ship had no extended space capability or was hoping to outrun or outmaneuver its protagonist and escape to a place on the planet unknown to anyone. But it didn’t happen.

  We heard repeated calls from the Myron for the small ship to stop or be fired upon. There was no response, just a continued run. Finally, somebody aboard Myron got tired of the chase and fired on the defenseless ship with a high-powered laser. It took one shot to incapacitate the fleeing vessel, and it coasted to a stop.

  “Wizzy, open an emergency channel to the local space guard or authorities. We have to report this.” I commanded.

  “Sorry, no can do, Captain. No such authority exists. Unless you want to talk with some pirates.”

  I suspected that might be the case based on our pre-mission briefing and the lack of a distress call from the small ship. But I had to at least try before taking action myself.

  As the flight bay doors on Myron began to open, we could see the nose of a shuttle peeking out into space. They were going to board. The Myron had crossed the line I had set in my mind.

  “Sif,” I called out to the Arkon, now manning his weapons console. “Target the Myron’s engines with lasers and then the shuttle. We need them incapacitated before they can do any more damage to that other ship.”

  “Firing now,” replied the big warrior with a toothy grin.

  It took two shots at the shuttle to turn it into a glowing heap. It took three to Myron’s aft section to incapacitate it.

  “Wizzy, what’s the status of the Myron?”

  “All systems down, Nick. As the wet Navy would say, she is DIW.” That was indeed an old saying, meaning dead in the water.

  “Good. Have Doc meet me in cargo bay 2 with his medical bag, and we’ll shuttle across to the small ship. Amini, Sif, if the Myron even twitches, feel free to turn her into a loose formation of spare parts.” Later we would find out that the Myron had mistaken this small ship for another. However, that would not have changed my actions had I known.

  Doc and I made physical contact with the small craft, and fortunately, our universal coupler successfully made contact with the shuttle’s airlock. We were able to cross from our shuttle into the ship. It was a mess. Just one shot from the Myron resulted in as close to total destruction as could happen while allowing the small ship to stay in one piece. We were surprised that there was still some remaining artificial gravity, but the holes in the ship meant that all too soon, this area would be a vacuum. We had to hurry. In our lightweight combat suits, we pushed dangling and sparking wires aside and the occasional downed support beam as we stumbled forward from the airlock. Doc spoke up from his helmet communicator.

  “There is still breathable air in here, Nick, but I don’t know how, and I’m guessing it won’t last long. Just the emissions of these burned systems will soon foul the air beyond livable. My guess is we don’t have long if there are survivors here, which seems unlikely.”

  I knew what he meant, and I hoped that some of these people had survived, but it was looking grim. As we approached the bridge, we both saw two silhouettes strapped into the two bridge chairs. As we got closer, we saw they were people wearing breathing masks, which was a good sign. The bad sign was that neither was moving. Lifting and casting aside pieces of debris, we finally reached the person in the right seat — a female. Doc used one of his devices to assess her condition, then turned to the other, a male.

  “She’s alive, but the poor male on the left is gone. I don’t think there are any more people onboard. Do you?”

  I was careful to watch for survivors as we made our way to the bridge. I didn’t see any other people or even remains.

  “No. I looked Doc, and I think you’re right. Wizzy, can you gather any data from the wreck?”

  “From that mess? No way, dude. The computer is wasted; the logs are gone from what I can tell. The only thing I can find is the name of the ship, the Vegar. She doesn’t look very stable. I think you should all get out — like right now!”

  “As soon as we can get this woman out of her chair and to the airlock. Have the medical chamber powered up when we get there. I think Doc will need all the help he can get.”

  The problem was that the bridge chair was twisted, and the restraining harness was caught in one of the twists. Dumb me, I didn’t have a knife. And me in a combat suit. That won’t happen again. Then I looked at Doc.

  “You got a scalpel or something in that bag you’re carrying?”

  Through Doc’s faceplate, I saw the flash of a smile as he bent over and rummaged in his bag. Then he held up a small, gleaming object I recognized. It was indeed a scalpel. Ever try to hold a thin scalpel in combat gloves? It ain’t easy.

  “Hurry up, Nick, we don’t have much time.”

  “Thanks, Doc. I was totally unaware of that small detail,” I said sarcastically. “I’m trying.”

  I cut through one of the straps, but the other one was unreachable from my current position. I got down on my knees and reached underneath to the attach points on the seat. Of course, the material was doubled up at that restraint point, and it took double the effort with the small tool.

  The ship shuddered and the chair moved, covering the progress I had made on the remaining restraint.

  “Let’s go, Nick, I think this ship is falling apart.”

  “Well, no shit. You come down here and find another cut point.”

  “Just hurry up!”

  Another shudder, and the sound of metal ripping throbbed through the small ship.

  “Nick!”

  I found a piece of the strap that wasn’t doubled and made good progress. When the next lurch happened, I cut through the final part.

  “Ok, Doc, that should do it. Let’s get out of here!”

  Together we carried the unconscious woman back through the twisted wires and fallen columns, tripping as we went.

  “There it is, the airlock,” Doc shouted with a grin. His grin disappeared as fast as it came on when he saw a major structural column wedged against the airlock door. So close and yet so far. I left the woman in Doc’s care and stumbled and fought my way to the leaning column. I tried to move it on my own, but it wouldn’t budge, even with the small power enhancement of the suit.

  “Doc. You’re going to have to help me. I can’t move this thing alone.”

  “But what about her?”

  “Ease her down and get over here. Maybe the power of two suits will move this thing.”

  That got the medical man moving. When he placed his shoulder on the beam with me, we shoved hard. I think it moved. But not very far. So we tried again, and just as we were applying all the energy we could, we were assisted by yet another shift in the ship’s interior, and the column moved and drifted to the cluttered
deck — sort of. Portions of the deck that were there once were now gone allowing us to stare into a small sliver of space. Vacuum increased, and the last remaining artificial gravity failed. Doc pulled his way to the woman while I pulled the airlock open. When he arrived with his charge, we scrabbled into the airlock and then into our waiting shuttle as fast as we could go. I pulled the hatch closed as we all collapsed on the shuttle deck plates. We heard a loud screeching noise as the formerly universal connection was torn from the shuttle, and the Vegar went with it.

  “Let’s not do that again. Not for a long while, agreed?”

  “Agreed, Doc. How’s your patient?”

  The medical man pulled some devices from his bag and used them to assess the woman’s condition.

  “She’s okay for now, but we need to get her to the med center and a medical chamber as soon as possible.”

  “Wizzy, can you recover the shuttle on your own? We’re just too pooped.”

  “I can do that. How about some music? I’ve been pouring through Argos’ music files, and there are a bunch of great hits. How about something from Kiss? Here’s one that seems to fit. Calling Dr. Love.”

  “No, Wizzy. Just get us home.”

  I left Doc with the care of our mystery guest in Argos’ medical center. All I wanted to do was hit the rack, but there still remained the problem of the damaged Myron, and we still had at least a half day’s work to do dealing with the Myron. I returned to the bridge where both Amini and Sif remained at their posts watching the dark and floating cargo ship.

  “Anything new?” Both shook their heads.

  “No hint of activity,” Amini said. “Wizzy says there are still live folks on the ship, but they are either incapacitated or afraid to do anything considering what we did to their shuttle and the Myron.”

  “I guess I’d be quiet as a lamb under those circumstances,” I said. “Wizzy, give the Myron a call and see what their damage is or if they need help.”

  “Done. But no response.”

  “Try again.”

  “Still nothing, Captain.”