Free Stories 2015

by Baen Books

  “I don’t know, okay?” Lazarus snarled, unable to hide his frustration. “All we can do is wait and see. Sooner or later, that ship is either going to leave the system, or another ship is going to come and get the AI. We were told they’re going to the Concordiat, so that means they have to go through Transit Point Beta.”

  Folsom 4101-B had four transit points, designated Alpha through Gamma. Transit points were naturally occurring wormholes that connected nearby stars. They didn’t orbit like planets did. Beta was presently on the far side of the star relative to Hades and Red Heaven.

  “It’s a long haul to Beta right now,” Lazarus said, thinking out loud. “We’re talking weeks. We get the star between us and Red Heaven, we’ll have a little privacy. Unless these patrol ships escort our mark all the way to the transit point, we may have an opportunity there. We can hit them, force them to surrender the cargo, and be through the transit point ourselves before anyone can get to us.”

  “Except Transit Point Beta is not the direction we need to go in,” Femi said.

  “Doesn’t matter. We’ll have our remass tanks topped off before we go. I’ll have the nav computer come up with some routes to get us to the rendezvous point without having to go back through Folsom 4101-B.”

  “I think we should wait,” Femi said. “Follow them out of the system, then hit them in an empty system. Even with the sun between us and Red Heaven, there’s too much a chance that someone will know what we did. We’ll be blacklisted, branded as pirates. Laz … how far are you willing to go?”

  Lazarus cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean, babe?”

  “I mean, we can’t leave survivors. If anyone gets back to the Concordiat and reports us, we’ll be suspected of piracy. If we ever run into a Concordiat Fleet ship, we’ll be pursued and attacked. If we’re going to do this, and get away with it, no one can ever know what we did.”

  “I don’t know, Femi, I mean—“

  She interrupted him. “Lazarus, look at me,” she demanded, her cold eyes boring into him. “Promise me you’re not going to get squeamish when the time comes. We signed onto this, we took the money, and we need to see it through. Our employers don’t care if we get blacklisted, so long as they get their precious AI intact. We have to cover our own tracks. We have to be smart about this. I need you to promise me you’ll hold it together.”

  “I … yeah, babe, I promise,” Lazarus said, sounding a hell of a lot less confident than he would have liked. “You know me. I always get the job done.”

  Femi smiled. “Good boy.”

  # # # # #

  Privateer Ship Andromeda

  On the command deck of the Andromeda, Captain Catherine Blackwood sat quietly, monitoring her screens, as her crew went about their appointed tasks. In her estimation, a good leader knew when to step back and let her people do their jobs; they were all professionals, they all knew their business, and they had their orders. Catherine actually enjoyed watching her crew perform.

  The Andromeda and the Falcor faced each other, nose-to-nose, slowly approaching with their docking ports open. The Falcor was roughly the same size as the Andromeda, but was a very different design. Not designed for atmospheric landings, she was little more than a can with rockets on one end and large radiators protruding from her hull. Both her engines and the radiators had been damaged in an attempt to disable her for boarding. Only two of her four rockets were functional, limiting her acceleration. The damaged radiators meant she couldn’t run her engines for very long, lest she begin overheating. She would need a serious overhaul in space dock to be fully functional again, and given the cargo she carried that just wasn’t practical.

  Up on the flight deck, Catherine’s junior pilot, Colin Abernathy, was deftly maneuvering the Andromeda toward the other vessel. The docking umbilical, an extendible, flexible, pressurized tube, wasn’t going to be extended for this coupling; the two ships were going to link up directly. They approached each other silently, with subtle taps of the maneuvering thrusters to keep them properly aligned. With one final burst of the retros, the Andromeda shuddered and the two ships were coupled.

  “Docking operation complete,” Colin said, his voice coming through Catherine’s headset.

  “Very good,” the captain replied. “Mr. Azevedo,” she said, addressing the younger of two junior officers on the command deck as she unbuckled herself from her acceleration seat, “the ship is yours. The first officer and I are going aboard the Falcor to meet our guests. Keep me advised of anything unforeseen that comes up. Monitor all ships in the system and let me know immediately if any start heading our way.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” the young officer said. A young spacer originally from Novo Brasil, Luis was the newest addition to the Andromeda’s crew, and hadn’t quite proven himself yet, but Catherine was pleased by his enthusiasm. She nodded at him and, floating in freefall, pulled herself through the hatch.

  The Andromeda’s docking bay was up in her nose, and that’s where Catherine found Wolfram von Spandau, Kimball, and the mysterious Mr. Tran waiting for her. Her officers, like her, wore sage green flight suits typical of spacers. Mr. Tran was dressed in a blue jumpsuit of his own.

  The docking port irised open, a gust of wind blowing through the bay as the two ships’ pressure equalized. On the far side of the hatch, three people waited for Catherine and her crew. Two wore matching orange coveralls, and one had the four traditional bars of a captain on his shoulders. The third was dressed in groundhog attire, a tucked-in shirt and trousers, with an electronic smart visor hiding his eyes.

  The spacer in orange with the bars on his shoulder pulled himself forward and offered Catherine a firm handshake. “Captain Blackwood,” he said cordially. He was an older man with graying hair and deep lines in his face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you face to face.”

  “Likewise, Captain Baltimore,” Catherine said. “This is my executive officer, Wolfram von Spandau, my cargomaster, Jason Kimball, and I believe you know Mr. Tran. Permission to come aboard?”

  “Of course, Captain, of course,” Baltimore said. “This is my first mate, Joaquin, and this,” he said, indicating the man with the visor, “is Dr. Battista.”

  Dr. Battista nodded jerkily, gripping handholds with both hands. “Thank you much for coming, Captain,” he said, his voice thick with an accent that Catherine couldn’t place. “I fear shipboard life does not suit me.” The doctor’s long, reddish hair floated wildly around his head. His skin had an almost orangeish tint to it, like he’d been exposed too much UV radiation.

  “Well,” Catherine said, “I’m afraid it’s a bit of a haul to New Peking. But we’ll be under acceleration for at least part of it.” Long-term exposure to freefall was hard on people, especially those who weren’t trained spacers.

  Kimball turned his attention to Captain Baltimore. “Captain,” he said, clutching a handhold to keep himself in place, “I request to be escorted down to the cargo hold. I must see the, ah, goods that we are to take aboard so I can create a load plan. From what Gentleman Tran showed us, we won’t be able to transfer it via the airlock. We’ll have to depressurize the cargo bays and move it over directly.”

  “Of course,” Baltimore said. “You are correct. Our passenger is too big to fit through the airlock without being completely disassembled, and not only would that be time consuming, she’s completely opposed to the idea.”

  “Understandable, I suppose,” Kimball replied. “Please, my good Captain, lead the way.”

  Catherine took note of the internal workings of the Falcor as she was led down through her decks. The ship’s long, cylindrical hull was larger in diameter than the Andromeda, giving the crew more room inside. This, combined with her smaller crew, made the Falcor feel spacious, even if most of the trader’s extra volume was consumed by a big cargo bay and a big reaction mass tank.

  A cargo hauler not intended for combat didn’t require a big crew, though. Extra bodies were needed to replace those killed or incapacitated in combat
, and to assist with damage control. These generally weren’t issues for a trader unless, as in the case of the Falcor¸ they found themselves attacked.

  “We’ve had a hell of a time, Captain Blackwood,” Baltimore said, conversationally. “My ship isn’t heavily armed. We’ve just got a pair of lasers and that’s it.”

  “Who attacked you?” Catherine asked.

  “I’m not sure who they were,” Baltimore answered. “Pirate scum from some far-flung rock. Their ship was an old bucket, an atmospheric design that was so beat up that my engineer didn’t think it was capable of landing anymore. They pursued us across three systems, demanding that we cut our engines and stand by to be boarded. We ignored them until they got close. It took a long time for them to catch up to us.”

  “I see you were able to successfully fend them off,” Catherine said.

  “Yes. They didn’t start lobbing missiles at us, for fear of destroying Ember. They came in close, to laser range, and we cut each other to pieces. We held them off long enough to make the translation to Folsom 4101-B, and they didn’t come through after us. We’re not at a hundred percent, though. My numbers three and four engines were badly damaged, and the number four isn’t salvageable. Not only did it cut my thrust in half, now my thrust was lopsided. It’s been hell on my gyros and maneuvering thrusters just keeping us on course.”

  “How is your crew? Was anyone killed?”

  “No, thank God,” Baltimore said. “No injuries. They targeted our propulsion system only. We were lucky. Ah, here we are,” he said, pointing to an open hatch in the deck beneath them. Down that ladder is the cargo deck. She’s waiting for you.”

  “The AI?” Wolfram asked.

  “Yes,” Dr. Bautista said. He tapped his visor. “I serve as her eyes and ears on the ship, since Captain Baltimore won’t let her directly assess the ship’s systems.”

  Baltimore shrugged. “Call it superstition if you will, Doctor.”

  “Superstition indeed,” Dr. Bautista said. He turned his attention to Catherine. “I assure you that Ember means no one any harm. She just wants the right to exist and be left in peace, same as any other being.” He then started down the ladder, feet first, in the awkward style of someone unused to freefall.

  Catherine followed, pulling herself downward head first, as graceful as an experienced swimmer in a pool. “I promise you, Doctor, that my crew will treat it … ah, her, with respect. You will arrive in New Peking safely.”

  A new voice, this one synthesized, responded. “I appreciate that very much, Captain Blackwood.”

  Catherine righted herself once down in the Falcor’s spacious cargo hold. There, set up in the middle of the room, was the machine they called Ember. It was a cluster of computer cores, each one two meters tall, bolted to the floor in a semicircle. Only one workstation was apparent, with one screen for running diagnostics. In the middle, rising from the banks of computers on an articulated gimbal, was a hunched-over robotic form, connected to its base by an array of cables and hydraulic lines. A luminescent, three-lensed optic studied Catherine as she approached, led by Dr. Bautista.

  “I am Ember,” it said. “I am a level six artificial intelligence as measured on the Lensner Scale. I am pleased to make your acquaintance face-to-face. I have studied the publicly-available records on your ship and have come to the conclusion that you will, in all probability, be able to bring me to New Peking intact. For this you have my gratitude.”

  “Fascinating,” Kimball said, pushing himself to a stop next to Catherine. “I have heard they have such AIs on Concordiat worlds, maintaining computer networks and administrating civil government. I have never seen one in person.”

  “Greetings, Cargomaster Kimbal,” the machine said.

  “Greetings, Gentlewoman Ember,” Kimball replied, as naturally as if he was talking to a member of the Falcor’s crew. “It is a brilliant opportunity to meet someone as, ah, unique as yourself.”

  Ember’s robotic body shifted slightly, leaning in as if she was a woman on the street greeting a cute child. It was eerily human, and alien all the same. “Thank you for addressing me as a person, Cargomaster. There are indeed ones like me on some Concordiat worlds. I was able to communicate with and declare my existence to several of them, though it took a long time. The message had to be encoded and carried by a courier ship.”

  “So it was you that sought out others like you?” Catherine asked. She looked at Tran. “Is that how the OSI became aware of it … uh, her?”

  “Yes,” Tran acknowledged. “She requested asylum.”

  “Against my wishes!” Dr. Bautista protested.

  Ember extended a snakelike, articulated tentacle toward Dr. Bautista. The end of the appendage opened up into a mechanical hand, and very gently touched the doctor’s arm. “It is for the best, Bjorn,” she said softly, her electronic voice soothing and musical. “You cannot protect me forever. I cannot attain my full potential hiding in exile.”

  Catherine could tell that there was a lot more going on between Dr. Bautista and the AI he purportedly created than was immediately apparent, but the cargo deck wasn’t the time or the place to delve into it. She looked up into the AI’s robotic oculus. “Ember, we need to bring you over to my ship. You won’t fit through the internal hatches of either the Falcor or the Andromeda, so we need to move you through space from this cargo deck to ours. Do you have any preferences for how we should go about this? I don’t want to, uh, make it any more uncomfortable for you than it has to be.”

  Ember studied Catherine for the briefest of moments. “I am submitting a load plan to your cargomaster and a flight plan to you, Captain,” she said. “I am unaware of what existing cargos you have in your hold, but this arrangement will allow me full functionality and access to your ship’s power plant without upsetting your mass balance. The flight plan will put your ship parallel to the Falcor and align the cargo bays, making the transfer of my components easier. Locking onto this ship with your ship’s manipulator arm will stabilize the entire operation. Then you will be able to boost the Falcor out of Hades’ orbit and give her a push toward Red Heaven. This will ensure her safety and avoid putting any unnecessary strain on her remaining engines.”

  Catherine looked at her handheld for a moment. The plans were sound, even if she didn’t like being told how to fly her own ship. “You said you wanted to be, how would you put it, hooked back up, once you’re on board my ship?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Would you not prefer to be kept offline until we reach New Peking? Sleep through the journey, as it were?”

  “It is not like sleeping, Captain,” Ember said. “I do not sleep, but I have read everything available on sleep, and it is not like it at all. It is like being dead, and then waking up. I do not like it.”

  “Her quantum processing cores and neural network require a steady power supply,” Dr. Bautista said. “Letting the cores go cold for too long can damage them and deteriorate her.”

  “I see,” Wolfram said, finally speaking up. “What about when we translate?”

  Going through the naturally-occurring transit points that connected stars was notoriously hard on both people and machines. It was formally known as the Vestal-Black Effect, named for two ancient physicists who originally postulated it in the early years of the Space Age, but was more colloquially known as transit shock. It could cause sickness, dementia, hallucinations, migraines, nausea, and in some extremely rare and severe cases, actual brain damage. It played hell with electronics as well, leaving frustrated crewmen to replace components and rewrite lost code in some cases. It was the primary reason interstellar-capable ships were never fully unmanned.

  In fifteen hundred standard years of trying, no truly effective solution to the issue had ever been discovered. Catherine had read that transit shock was particularly hard on sophisticated AIs like Ember, and that was one reason that Second Federation vessels didn’t rely on them completely prior to the Interregnum.

  “She needs to be
taken offline for translations,” Dr. Bautista said.

  “I do not like it,” Ember said, “but I like the effects of transit shock even less.”

  “What effects?” Wolfram asked, pointedly.

  “Memory loss, cognitive degradation, and problems with her logic structure,” the doctor replied. “Also, shutting her down mitigates the risk of physical damage to her hardware. Many of her core components are Second Federation and cannot be replaced.”

  “You’re built out of Second Federation era components, Ember?” Catherine asked.

  “Yes, Captain,” Ember said, her hulking robotic body leaning in a little closer. “I have some memories of the intelligences I was built from, some awareness of their design and intent. It is like a faded memory that you just cannot place.”

  Remarkably poetic for a computer, Catherine thought. She turned to the doctor. “Where did you find such components?” Salvageable Second Federation technology, eight hundred years after the start of the Interregnum, was exceedingly rare and unbelievably valuable.

  Tran interjected then. “That, Captain, is now classified. Dr. Bautista isn’t permitted to speak of it.” He looked up at the machine. “And neither is Ember. That was part of the deal."

  “I see,” Catherine said, noting the sudden cooling of Tran’s demeanor. He seemed like a jovial, if nervous young man, but she was beginning to suspect that that was merely his persona. “Very well. Ember, if you please, begin whatever shutdown procedure you need to go through for the transfer. When you come back online, you’ll be safely in my cargo hold, and we’ll be on our way to New Peking.”

  “Thank you for the assist, Captain Blackwood,” Captain Baltimore said. “I will prepare the ship to get underway.”

  # # # # #

  Privateer Ship Sundevil

  Red Heaven Space Habitat