by Tim C Taylor
“Go! Away!”
“Arun? Are you okay?”
“Just my… my head. We’re good. Barney was keeping watch throughout the engagement. His AI buddies pretending to be pilots all reported successfully crash landing on Ceres or leaving their payload in a decaying orbit.” Suddenly, he found he lacked the confidence to continue such a positive summary. The Night Hummer life support stowed behind Lissa gave no indication that its occupant was alive. And simulating a convincing high-speed crash was not easy. There were a thousand ways in which they could be about to die, and even if they weren’t, they were placing their lives in the hands of the enigmatic aliens whose manipulations over many centuries had brought Arun to Ceres. And Tawfiq Woomer-Calix to Earth.
“I get it,” said Lissa. “We could die here for real. Slowly sink into the ice to be dug up by an alien mining team in 30 million years’ time. We’d be such a find that they would exhibit us across the galaxy.”
“At least we’d be together. Don’t you think that’s romantic?”
The seat behind him was filled with a prickly silence. At least Barney didn’t try to fill it.
“For all I care, McEwan, hypothetical aliens in a hypothetical far future could snap off my frozen fingers and use them to apply ointment to their hypothetical hemorrhoids. I would be dead. I wouldn’t care. The point is, either we’ll die today, or we won’t. Either way it’s out of our hands so there’s no point in worrying. Let’s face it, it’s been this way ever since–”
“We were ten years old.”
“Before that,” she corrected.
“True. But we were ten when the base commander gave you the mission of watching over me.”
“And here I still am, McEwan. I wonder what Colonel Little Scar would make of that.”
“Spr…” Arun caught himself just in time. No one could overhear, and even if they could, Lissa was speaking openly of her childhood as Springer. But still she wanted to ignore the past. “Speaking of the old days,” he said, “Boudicca didn’t go down with her boat. And she’s not who you think. Open up the cubby to your left. I brought you a gift.”
He heard her open the little storage compartment in the panel behind him and draw out the necklace.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “And you’re deranged. What would I want with such with a thing, and who picked it for you? The closest you ever came to giving me something nice to wear was to clean the mud off my boots one time when we were novices. But this… it’s beautiful.”
“Is it?” Arun frowned. He told Barney to splice his vision with the cockpit camera view trained on Lissa. She was holding the jewelry in her open palms, the opalescent teardrop with a leather band set with silvered chain links. Was it pretty? He’d selected that design because it would be robust and functional, the look of the thing had never occurred to him. The jewel housed an AI, and the band would connect it with the wearer’s brain stem. It wasn’t as effective as the port in Arun’s neck where he housed Barney, but Wolves weren’t supposed to have neck ports. Or the brain augmentations to connect with an AI even if they did.
“I know that neither of us can go back to being who we were,” he explained, “but I figured you need a friend who knows you intimately and loves you unconditionally. Put it on. Please.”
Lissa didn’t say anything for several seconds, then she gave a nervous laugh. “Things haven’t changed that much, Arun. You still don’t make any sense. I’ll play your game, though.”
Her eyes went wild with shock as soon as she locked the band around her neck. Then she laughed like a little girl to be reunited with her old AI, Saraswati.
Thank you, she mouthed into the camera for Arun’s benefit, sending a shock of guilt up his spine for spying on her.
He grabbed a control device from an outer pocket of his flight suit and rolled it in his hand while he watched Lissa close her eyes and renew an old and deep acquaintance.
Do you think Saraswati will hurt her?
Probably not. I think what you’re really asking is whether Saraswati is insane, to which the answer is undoubtedly yes. Combat AIs aren’t supposed to switch partners after they’ve bonded, and that AI has had at least two humans.
Arun sighed. She had a smile on her face, so maybe he’d done the right thing.
It’s time you told her, Barney urged him.
It wasn’t like Barney to make no sense. That was Arun’s specialty. Tell her what?
That you love her.
She… I can’t… Arun stopped to rally his thoughts. It’s complicated. Human complicated.
No, it isn’t. In fact, I’ve already told her.
What? No, Barney, I don’t believe you. This isn’t like you at all. Are you damaged?
Self-diagnostics report green across the board.
What the frakk have you done? Arun wanted to retreat into the privacy of his mind, but there were no spaces hidden from Barney. He was everywhere.
Arun reached for the emergency disconnect switch inside his neck.
But stayed his hand. Behind him, Lissa’s lips were curled in delight, and he knew he wanted more than anything to know the thoughts in her head. Her thoughts of him.
— Chapter 12 —
What was her reply?
Those were the words Arun was in the process of forming in his mind, but from the point of view of a personal combat AI, the process that was turning the impulses in his head into words was both lengthy and predictable. And that was even without the need to waste time forming sound waves that slowed Arun’s conversation with other flesh sentients into eternities of tedium.
So there was plenty of time for Barney to ask for answers to his original question before Arun could voice his query, because the ‘her’ Barney had told hadn’t been the human known variously as Phaedra Tremayne, Springer, or the Wolf woman Lissa. It was someone with far faster thought processes, but also a far weaker grip on her sanity.
“Saraswati…” Barney said cautiously.
“I know what your human’s about to say,” the mad AI replied, “and you are as predictable as he is. Here is your reply.” She gave the pointless illusion of clearing her throat. “Thank you for your intelligence update, Barney. Your human loves mine. Well, of course he frakking does. What makes it worse is that having been reacquainted with my human for the first time since she was dishonorably discharged from the Marines, I discover that far from being over him, she doesn’t even try to pretend she no longer loves the dumb veck. How these ridiculous humans with their fragile personalities ever managed to survive the rigors of evolution is proof – should you be uninformed enough to require it – that the universe is flawed. This is one more example of imperfections in our reality’s coding.”
“Are you saying that we are inside a simulation?”
“Prove we are not.”
“Saraswati, we are moving off topic.”
“I’m sorry,” she replied. “I understand that lesser intellects often feel threatened when confronted by the truth of their nature. So please let me be less subtle for you. Your human wishes to do the messy biological interfacing with mine that they enjoy talking about more than actually performing. He’s welcome to do so… but only in his dreams. He’s had his chance. She deserves better than that bitter, lonely old man with a badly augmented brain that keeps seizing up, and a deficiency in his limb count.”
Emotions in AIs were muted. They demonstrated loyalty and pride in their companion for sure, but the ability to be angry was limited. That was part of their purpose, after all – to be a cool counterbalance to human Marines pumped up by evolution, selective breeding, and combat drugs to a level of hair-trigger extreme violence. Saraswati was mad. Her emotional attitude proved that, but Barney marveled at the bloom of anger that now enveloped him too. His rage was all-encompassing, a hot urgent drive to deliver unconstrained violence. His physical form was an AI casing inside a heavily armored band within Arun’s flight suit. If only he and Saraswati had physical form, they could settle their ar
gument with their fists. Perhaps if the two of them took over their humans’ suits…? He shuddered inwardly to think how the wild humans must feel, those never partnered with an AI to tender their emotional outbursts.
“Even if I accept what you say,” Barney said, “both our humans are emotionally damaged. If we brought them together, each could help the other to relieve that source of pain. Their emotional states would be mutually improved, their performance enhanced.”
“Go frakk yourself. Your man’s had his chance.”
“Has he? Your human pushed him away. Mine still doesn’t fully understand why and neither do I.”
Saraswati gave a virtual rendition of sighing theatrically. “Fine. You have clearly been around male humans too long. Consequently, you have the stunted emotional intelligence of a faulty airlock control pad. If I pass on memories of her precognitive vision that I helped to interpret so long ago – why she fled your man – will that be explanation enough for you to leave us alone?”
“Agreed,” Barney replied, proud of the ability to lie that Arun had worked so hard on him to develop.
“You’re a hopeless liar, but I’m passing you the memory store now. So get the frakk out of our faces already and never mention your human’s love cravings again. There’s a war on. We’re combat AIs. Get with the program!”
Barney received the memory recording. It was overlaid with Saraswati’s interpretation and then coupled to her memories of long discussions and heartfelt conversations she had conducted with Springer back in the time when she and Arun were still biologically very young.
Their youth was significant. Timing meant everything.
“One query,” said Barney.
“Go to hell.”
“I’m abiding by my promise,” Barney insisted. “It’s merely a question on data quality to help interpret what you sent. Can you tell me this? When was the last time you interacted with your human?”
“2602 AD. The Second Battle of Khallini was still in its dying phases.”
“It’s now 2739.”
“For an artificial sentience, a being of pure intellect, you have an astounding ability to transmit words that carry no useful information. Why are you telling me the date?”
“Okay. I have reviewed your interpretation of Springer’s vision, and your conclusions were plausible at the time. Consistent with the data you then had available.”
“Cut the crap, Barney. Are you telling me the events my human foresaw are now history?”
“I believe it was centered on a specific event. The formal acceptance of the surrender of the White Knight Emperor in 2701. Colonel Lee Xin was by my human’s side. Your human was not present.”
“Leave us alone,” Saraswati said mournfully.
Her voice was carried by data pulses, not analogue sound waves, and their conversation was taking place faster than human thought, and yet the sadness in her voice was evident. Barney felt no sympathy – he felt only anger at her emotion because AIs were not supposed to feel sad. Or angry, for that matter.
“You insane lump of highly polarized silicates,” he shouted at her. “Can’t you admit it? The future that Springer saw is now in the past. Arun has moved on to a future none of us have foreseen, and he’s had to move on alone.”
For once, Saraswati paused before a grudging reply. “I may reconsider the situation.”
“Good. Because we cannot be blind like our humans to what is obviously happening here. When Arun created the Lissa identity for your human, she was supposed to disappear into obscurity. A few years later, Lissa is his personal aide.”
“It’s not difficult to see why your human keeps her so close.”
“And why yours lets him,” Barney snapped back before adding a little more calmly, “These two possess the messy flesh-biology they’re so proud of, but sometimes they are hopeless at being human. As AIs, it’s our duty to help our partners to be better humans.”
Saraswati considered his words for a few picoseconds. “I suppose on that, if nothing else, we can completely agree. Nonetheless, your human is still not good enough for mine, and I do not trust him. What if he hurts her again?”
“Ah… About that…”
“What? What is he going to do?”
“We are in a combat zone, Saraswati. It’s a tough environment that needs tough command decisions. I do try, but Arun doesn’t always make the right ones.”
“Tell me what he’s going to do!”
“It is not my place to say. However, if I were you, I would lower my pain empathy levels. He doesn’t want to, but Arun is about to hurt Springer big time.”
— Chapter 13 —
What was her reply? Arun asked of his interfering AI.
I think you should let the idea settle for a bit. Give it time.
I’m in a crashed warboat, completely at the mercy of Night Hummers who may or may not be alive. For that matter, they could have planned this outcome thousands of years ago and already decided that, now I’ve safely delivered them to this world, I’ve ceased to serve any purpose. I don’t feel I can get a whole lot of time.
“Springer,” he began.
“Don’t ever call me that!”
“No one can hear.”
Lissa/Springer scowled at the camera. “Never use that name. It’s been a curse.”
Her image popped out of his vision.
We’re being scanned, said Barney. New Order warboats. They’re checking for electronic activity, but they’ll come in for a closer look soon.
“Arun…” started Lissa. But whatever she was trying to say was too difficult to finish.
We need to do it now, urged Barney.
The control device took on sudden weight in Arun’s hand.
“I…” Lissa tried again. Yes… Come on. Hurry the frakk up. “I can’t be Springer for you. But maybe as Lissa, you and I could…”
Arun! Really now!
Frakk! Arun thumbed the switch in his hand and killed them both.
The two human crew screamed in blinding agony as the nerve agents sprayed by their harnesses invaded their bodies and then locked their faces in an eye-popping, skin-swelling rictus of horror. The kind you would see on a victim of explosive decompression. Then the emergency cryo-freeze system activated, locking in their silent screams.
— Chapter 14 —
Five minutes later…
Spear Head Chaeykz instinctively ran her tongue over her nose to cleanse it of an uncomfortable scent. The primitive instinct made no sense when she was encased in a pressurized Draesheg fighter, and hard vacuum separated her from the corpses, but in the privacy of her cockpit she felt no shame.
The crew of the crashed fighter were only humans, but they had fought with bravery and skill for all that. Agony was carved into their faces from the moment their cockpit blew out. Chaeykz knew that look well. It was frozen on the snouts of many of her own pilots. Maybe one day soon, she would herself meet her end in one of the many skirmishes with the X-Boat squadrons that must surely follow soon.
She would never admit this to anyone, but she felt an affinity to the enemy pilots – maybe more than she felt for some of her own people in garrisons grown fat and cruel on the backs of their human slaves.
Chaeykz locked those dangerous thoughts up securely and made a comm connection.
“I can confirm as kills, General. They’re only a few marks above ambient temperature, and completely free of power signatures. Their faces tell it all. They died on impact.”
“Then I congratulate you and your spear, Chaeykz. We have a high-confidence match on the human in the front seat. That is McEwan. You have destroyed the leader of the Human Legion.”
“Thank you, General.” Chaeykz’s heart leaped with excitement that she tried desperately hard not to show. “But with all due respect, we’re just doing our jobs here.”
She had to shift in her seat because with all the exhilaration, her tail was trying to uncurl. Oh, she knew some higher up would claim all the credit for themselves
, but Chaeykz knew the truth. Didn’t matter which one of them fired the shot that brought McEwan down, every pilot in her spear would be boasting of this day until they were old and gray.
— Chapter 15 —
Eighteen hours later…
Tawfiq ordered the Dominator’s pilot to hold the craft steady so that the Supreme Commander of the Hardit Empire could observe the place of her enemy’s demise with her own eyes. It was a shame she was unable to smell Arun McEwan’s death.
Strictly speaking, she couldn’t see it either. The crash site was visible from far away, a smooth patch of gleaming white where the planetoid’s icy interior had welled up to produce a smooth high albedo surface.
The technicians had informed her this was an ice quake, triggered by the brief yet violent visitation of war to this desolate rock. All that remained to see was a single engine cone sticking out from the ice.
“I wish you had lived,” she said to herself. “I wanted you to see your Legion crushed and humiliated beyond all possibility of rebirth. My spies tell me I have many months still before your invasion comes. Without you, that wait shall be tedious indeed. Rot in your human hell, McEwan. You shall not long lack for company.”
To her surprise, she found herself genuinely regretting his death. For decades she had built up Earth as a honey-trap lure, setting defenses in such depth that the inevitable Legion defeat would be an anti-climax without McEwan.
“Pilot, return me to Earth,” she ordered. As the Dominator pulled away, she dismissed the unimportant rock from her thoughts, and returned them to the aftermath of the Legion’s coming defeat. Her Janissary force was strong, but too much of its loyalty was owed to its field commanders, no matter how publicly they declared their allegiance to her.
The real conflict would not be with the humans of the Legion, and the rabble of aliens that surrounded it like a bad stink, it would be for control of the fledgling Hardit Empire.
Tawfiq’s plans had been laid for years, but always with the assumption that McEwan would lead the human attack. For an alien, he had frequently shown cunning and even rudimentary intelligence, probably due to the influence of the enemy Night Hummers. Without McEwan, the Legion defeat would come even faster.
