Ryan stood. Stretching his arms over his head his fingertips almost touched the overhead bulkhead. Then, shaking the tension from his arms and legs he followed up with a series of circular head/neck rolls. His eyes caught sight of a splash of color. On the deck lay the crumpled, bright-colored bow atop his gift from Two-ton—the AI-Pac.
To even contemplate doing what he was considering was crazy. An infraction that could not only get him fired—it could get him killed. Piloting rule number one: Don’t fuck with your onboard AI while traveling across the cosmos at nearly the speed of light.
Checking the time again he noted all of four minutes had passed, and rechecking the display, he saw the tanker was still following his course. An unbearable couple of days lay ahead.
Ryan sat down, casually turned in his chair and looked at the plug and play device. He reached over and touched the crudely made bow, wondering where Two-ton had found the ribbon.
At that moment, Ryan was very conscious of Bella’s presence. She was watching him—his movements—even analyzing his micro-facial expressions. Does she suspect what I’m contemplating? he wondered. He brought his attention forward and gazed out at the countless stars before him.
“I’m putting you in slumber mode,” he said aloud, before he had time to think about it—talk himself out of it.
Bella’s voice answered with measured and firm resolve. “Placing a Consignment Freight vessel’s AI into slumber mode while traversing space is a violation of CF protocol.”
Ryan waited for the expected … Driver of 412, but it didn’t come.
“You’ve been damaged. First in that impact with the tanker then by the debris exploding off Van 211,” Ryan said, getting to his feet. Standing, hands on hips, he looked at the tall rack of system components. “You need a cold reboot, Bella. You’re damaged and don’t even know it. Do you want to be responsible for endangering my life—the life of the pilot of this spacecraft?”
“Placing a Consignment Freight vessel’s AI into slumber mode while traversing space is a violation of CF protocol.”
Ryan said, “What is protocol when a CF Van’s AI is functioning erratically?”
“Driver of 412, you must bring the vehicle to a complete stop, engage RTM gyros, and conduct a complete systems diagnostic.”
“Uh huh … are you even aware we are being chased, Bella?”
Ryan waited for her to respond. She didn’t. “Are you aware that the refurbished Paotow Tanker was responsible for the destruction of Van 211, and the driver killed its pilot? Is that what you want to happen to us too, Bella?”
“Driver of 412, you must bring the vehicle to a complete stop, engage RTM gyros, and conduct a complete systems diagnostic.”
“Okay … that’s fine, Bella. Please log my protest. Van 412’s AI is obviously malfunctioning. The AI has recommended that I totally ignore the fucking murderer now chasing us … that I stop this CF van in the middle of nowhere … and start conducting a series of ridiculous tests. Do you have the protest logged, Bella?”
“What are your alternatives, Driver of 412?”
For the first time, Bella was sounding … almost human. Ryan snatched up the AI-Pac from Two-ton. “I have a backup.”
The ensuing silence was consistent with an AI processing complex information having life or death ramifications—billions, maybe trillions, of variables being considered. There were inherent self-preservation sub-routines built into all AIs, which were understandable and necessary. A completely altruistic AI would be dangerous dealing with the near-constant perils of space. Right now Ryan strongly suspected Bella was coming face-to-face with her need to survive versus her first directive to keep her pilot breathing. Did he present a strong enough case that she’d been damaged? And being damaged, she was capable of making that determination?
“Driver of 412, proceed with the insertion of the auxiliary AI-Pac. I will configure it for an in-parallel configuration.”
Ryan thought about that for a moment. Bella continued, “I will need to determine the validity of the replacement AI-Pac … that it has not been modified from factory presets and is fully compliant with Consignment Freight programming protocols.”
“Yeah … well that’s not going to work, Bella. Based on the way you are processing information … all the nonsensical things you are saying … you shouldn’t be involved in any decision-making. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t know that since you are obviously damaged. You probably don’t even realize what you’re saying half the time. We’ll get you reinitialized later, after we’ve reached a station within the Kuiper Belt. I’m sure you’ll be repaired … be as good as new in no time.”
“Driver of 412, you must run a full diagnostics package on the auxiliary AI-Pac. Ensure it fully conforms to standards.”
“I’ll do that. Now release the software blocks you’ve placed on the temporary replacement Pac. You’re taking way too long to act on something that should have already been done.”
“Driver of 412, software blocks have been suspended. You may proceed with the temporary component swap.”
Ryan tore the ribbon off the unit and inserted it into the slot directly to the right of the other AI-Pac—Bella’s AI-Pac. He felt it click into place, seated snugly into its motherboard slot. Immediately, the new AI-Pac’s green access indicator LED began to flash, then it stayed brightly on. Without a second thought, he yanked Bella’s AI-Pac from her positioned slot and placed it on down the deck. “And adios to you, Bella.”
Ryan stood back and looked about the small cockpit. He’d just completed an emergency AI-Pac swap. Dangerous and probably stupid. Again, he contemplated on the dismissal offenses he was racking up. Checking the status LEDs on all the other rack components, he found everything operational. Only then did he consider several potentially negative repercussions. One, Two-ton may not have completed the necessary reprogramming of this AI unit. Two, it may be a joke.
Two-ton was a habitual prankster—one of the things Ryan liked most about him. But this would not be funny; not when a properly functioning AI-Pac corresponded directly to his very survival. No, Two-ton was a lot of things, but dangerous, treacherous, wasn’t one of them.
Ryan’s left foot began to tap nervously as he chewed the inside of his cheek. By now, Bella would have barked off any number of observations or complaints about his actions. Shit! Something must be wrong.
Only by chance did he happen to glance toward the helm console and the small display panel. A shiver ran down his spine. That’s impossible! The Paotow Tanker was almost upon his van.
CHAPTER 8
Three days later …
Originating from the worlds of the Mazzett—a cruel war-mongering race destroyed by the Craing seventy-five years earlier—the Goliath, with its dramatic, angled-back downward curvature wings and its swooping, boomerang-shaped nose, had become the Jumelle pilot’s most preferred shuttlecraft. The craft’s cockpit sat four comfortably and had a separate forward entrance. The vessel also possessed expanded rear cabin space, an advanced defense system and weaponry, and—most importantly—incredible speed and maneuverability. The Goliath basically was a badass hotrod shuttlecraft, outfitted with the ability to phase-shift as well as to call up an interchange wormhole.
The three sat inside the Goliath’s cockpit—Jason, at the controls, was enjoying the opportunity to pilot again. As a Star Watch captain, navigating small crafts—such as fighters or shuttles—typically wasn’t part of the job description, but then Jason was hardly a typical Star Watch officer. He loved the hands-on level of control that piloting such crafts afforded, and since Sergeant Major Stone was currently in the rear cabin—catching up with Rizzo—Jason had gladly volunteered for the job. They had one other quick stop to make before continuing on to Tennessee.
Madam President Nan Reynolds, the former acting President of the United States of America, and Jason’s ex-wife, now resided in Franktown, Colorado, within a sprawling, tree-studded but hilly compound of twenty acres. The nearest neighbor w
as two miles to the south and that was a seventy-five-year-old rancher who’d been fully vetted years earlier.
The trip from Greenwich, Connecticut to Franktown, Colorado would normally take the shuttle about ten minutes, but Rizzo had personally asked Jason to ease up some, stay light on the throttle. He’d taken a more scenic route, dragging the voyage out to twenty minutes instead.
“We’re coming up to the compound,” Jason announced.
Bristol used a fist to hammer on the cockpit’s rear bulkhead: “Time’s up, love birds!” he yelled.
Jason and Billy exchanged a glance. Billy pulled the stogie from his mouth and said, “I remember those days … young and wild; life was all about getting naked with someone special.”
“Yeah,” Bristol said, “too bad you blew it with Gunny Orion. Heard she’s into the new captain of the Pisces. What’s his name? Baxtor? Jack Baxtor?”
Billy, refusing to acknowledge Bristol’s comment, kept staring out the forward observation window.
“John,” Jason said.
Billy looked at Jason, his brow raised.
“Not Jack … it’s John. John Baxtor. And Bristol … maybe it’s best if you keep ship gossip down to a minimum.”
Banking the craft, Jason circled the sprawling compound below, while looking out the side window. There was the main living structure—a modern, ten-thousand-square-foot timber lodge—along with eight or ten smaller structures situated elsewhere around the grounds. At the bottom of the property was a large, freshly painted white barn. Alongside it was a corral, holding several grazing horses. Their heads came up as the Goliath passed by overhead.
“I count twelve secret service agents, and that’s only those in plain sight,” Billy said.
“Having the title of former madam president comes with its share of encumbrances, I suppose,” Jason said.
“You’re being waved over to that plateau over there.”
Jason followed Billy’s outstretched finger and saw two agents dramatically gesturing for them to head in a certain direction, toward the flattened, and cleared, hillside beyond them. He slowed the craft—positioning the Goliath over a painted white X—and engaged the landing thrusters.
* * *
With the rear gangway extended out, they hurried down the ramp—except for Stone. Jason looked back over his shoulder, and said, “Stone … need you to stay with the Goliath.”
Away teams typically don’t leave their crafts unattended. A relatively new regulation, which judging by Sergeant Major Stone’s glum expression was not sitting well with her. She looked at Rizzo with an expectant expression—one urging him to dispute the order—but Rizzo only smiled at her affectionately and shrugged. Stone’s blank expression back at him appeared far chillier. She engaged the closing of the hatch with a loud slap and turned away.
A six-seater ATV pulled up, carrying two agents. Both the driver and the agent riding shotgun wore green camos and protective vests, and carried a side arm; the one who rode shotgun held a familiar-looking multi-gun rifle.
No sooner had Jason, Billy, and Bristol piled into the ATV’s back seats than the driver gunned the little engine, causing dirt and small rocks to spray out from under all four wheels.
“What the fuck, dude … where’s the fire?” Bristol yelled, nearly catapulted from his seat.
Jason looked intently at the driver—holding similar sentiments.
“Former President Reynolds has requested no dilly-dallying … there’s a young man’s life at stake and too much time’s been wasted already.”
Billy spat something out the side of his mouth. About to say something, Jason beat him to the punch: “You’re secret service, right? What is your name?”
“That’s right … originally from the Marines. I’m Pope … Colonel Stephen Pope. Everyone calls me Pope.”
“Well, Colonel, if you can … do your best to get us there in one piece, will you?”
“Oh … sorry!” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” The second agent snickered.
Billy’s head spun toward the colonel, his face already turning red. Jason didn’t like the guy either, but he didn’t want to go to war with the asshole. He shook his head at Billy, pointing a finger instead at the now nearing structure. “Nice place.”
* * *
Nan, walking out through the ten-foot-tall double front doors as they pulled up, carried a military-issue duffle bag over one shoulder. She wore snug-fitting faded Levi’s, which hugged her slim curves, and a button-down, faded, red plaid flannel shirt—the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her once auburn-colored hair, now dyed black, was tied back into a long ponytail. She’d aged well since their divorce and, thanks to MediPod technology, she’d never look a day older the rest of her life.
The colonel jumped out of the ATV and hurried over to her. They were talking in low tones as Jason got out and walked toward her. When she looked up she half-smiled and Pope took a step backwards.
“Damn it, Jason … you’re late!”
“Sorry, got a little held up. We’ll make up the time.”
“You’re right … we will!” She brushed past him and assumed the driver’s seat of the ATV. The agent, sitting shotgun, got up and let the colonel take his seat.
Both Nan and the colonel looked up at Jason expectantly.
Jason said, “Um … I’d like to see Michael. Haven’t seen my son for a few weeks.”
“And whose fault is that?” Nan answered sharply. “Anyway … he’s at summer camp. We need to go. Get in.”
Jason stared back at her, “He’s five … isn’t that a little young for camp?”
He looked at Billy, Bristol and Rizzo, still sitting in the backseat.
Nan shrugged. “Michael’s fine … you can see him after we complete our mission.”
Billy mouthed the word mission and made a face.
“Fine … let’s go,” Jason said, climbing in beside them.
Nan glanced back. “Hi, guys.” She got the ATV underway and drove even faster than Pope had. Looking behind him, Jason noticed there were two duffels in the cargo bed—Nan’s and the colonel’s.
Nan spoke over the high whine of the ATV’s engine. “Pope can go over the mission parameters once we’re in the air.”
“Why is he coming along?” Billy asked. The same question Jason was about to ask her.
“Madam President doesn’t go anywhere without a trained secret service agent present.”
Bristol said, “And you’re a colossal ass clown! I don’t even know you, and I can tell that.”
It was worth bringing Bristol along if only for that one comment. “Look,” Jason said, “I understand you want to protect Nan—”
“Madam President,” Pope corrected.
“No, I meant Nan, and correct me like that again and I’ll throw you …”
Nan quickly looked over her shoulder. “Jason! Stop with the machismo bullshit! And Pope, he’s my damn ex-husband … he can call me whatever he wants.”
As the Goliath came into view up ahead, Jason instructed Stone, via his NanoCom, to fire up the shuttle’s drive and open the rear hatch.
Only then did he notice Pope’s arm, so casually draped around Nan’s seat back. Shit … there was something going on between the two. Why should I even care? I’m married … he questioned himself.
CHAPTER 9
Ryan stood at the helm console and tried to figure a way to eke out an increase of speed from the van’s ridiculously low-powered propulsion system. “Come on!” he said, stomping a foot down onto the deck. He watched the ever-present, significantly larger, display icon steadily gaining on his current coordinates.
A familiar voice said, “You’re an idiot!”
Staring straight ahead Ryan froze. That’s not possible. Ryan looked at the comms section of the board in front of him. The Communications Transmission Beacon, the CTB, was still demolished—no signal present. Then how?
“Two-ton?” Ryan said tentatively—his voice barely audible.
&nbs
p; “Don’t be stupid, kid … I’m an AI … nothing more … nothing less.”
Ryan stared down at the the newly inserted plug n’ play component. Ryan smiled and then, just as quickly, felt the tears welling up in his eyes. Two-ton was dead and hearing this voice only compounded the sadness he’d been trying to shelve over the last few hours.
“Hey … if you want … you can always plug Bella back in. Ain’t going to hurt my feelings … I’m an AI.”
“No! I was just taken by surprise … hearing your voice.”
“Uh huh.”
“Two-ton … are you aware that …”
“That my namesake is toast? Yup … I’ve processed that information … by accessing the van’s memory module. Not sure how I feel about that …”
“Really?” Ryan asked.
“No … I don’t feel emotions. I’m an AI.”
That brought a smile to Ryan’s lips. Well, the AI certainly captured its namesake’s smart ass personality. Ryan knew Two-ton had been an amazing coder but he didn’t think this level of humanness in an AI was possible.
“Are you also aware of the situation with the pursuing tanker?”
“I am.”
“And?” Ryan said.
“And the Paotow Tanker Retro Fit is a fast mother … I calculate it will be upon us within the next three hours. To make things worse, we won’t reach the asteroid belt for another couple of days.”
“Any options?”
“I’m working on it,” the AI said. “There’s only so much I’ll be able to do at a systems’ level. There’ll need to be hardware modifications made. Much the same as were made to Two-ton’s van.”
“Whatever I need to do … just tell me,” Ryan said feeling a glimmer of hope.
“Right off the bat I can see the van’s spare parts bin hasn’t been refilled in like forever … you know you’re supposed to check that and have it maintained every so often.”
Space Chase (Star Watch Book 5) Page 4