I blink. “But your name is Manticore.”
The ship remains silent and, to my dismay, I realize I’m having a standoff with an organic airship.
So much for my sanity.
Your sanity is of little concern, Master Zaytsev. This situation is an unusual circumstance for most of humankind. Then again, children are afforded certain leniencies.
Hatred flares through me, and I set my jaw tight. Lady Winters would say the same thing, would call me a child to goad me into making a mistake.
I need to get rid of her pilot program before any of the glitches can make the Manticore’s “lovely” personality worse. “Let me board,” I order quietly.
Of course, Master Zaytsev.
There’s a smirk behind those voices, but the skin dissolves at the front of the ship, shaping like clay into a simple bone ramp. I wait until the smooth ivory floor is solid before approaching. My arms tingle as I board. The muscle just off the ramp squishes under my feet. Revulsion tumbles through me and I hurry into the main hall. The door seals shut, trapping me in darkness. A musty, warm odor hugs the corridor.
A mental glance at the vessel’s tech reveals that the interior design program isn’t running.
“Lights?” I take a hesitant step forward. “Run interior design program.”
Nothing. The rubber of my boot sole catches on the metal grid.
I breathe slowly. “Manticore?”
No response.
I grimace. “Legion Spore?”
Yes, Master?
Again, spitefulness. I tighten my fingers around my tablet. I think I see movement in the darkness to my right, but I’m pretty sure the resulting swirls of fog are my eyes playing tricks with the shadows. “Lights.”
We have run our calculations, and we save considerable energy by not using more powers than necessary. Simply link your mind to our interface, and you may command us with the utmost efficiency—no lights required.
I ball my hands into fists. “I may be required to make manual adjustments. I need to see what I’m doing. Now turn on the lights.”
Disgust presses against me from the Manticore’s thoughts, and it imparts further annoyance that I don’t simply use my powers. But light trickles through the hall, revealing the lumpy red mass of muscle that passes for the inner hull. The skin covering it is thin. Every vein lying beneath the wall is visible. Bile rises in my throat, and I turn my focus to the solid metal beneath me.
“Thank you.”
It doesn’t answer. Regardless, I search out the ladder to the second floor. Each deck is taller in this vessel, and twice as wide as the first Legion Spore’s decks in order to accommodate the additional hub columns. There’s even a small hangar bay at the stern.
I frown at the unfinished state of the walls. Burgundy liquid pools near the command center. I press my knuckle into the sludge. It’s still warm, and when I sniff it, there’s a salty odor. “Is this blood?”
Yes.
I raise an eyebrow. For all its candidness, the Manticore should not be bleeding. “What’s the cause?”
Unknown. Perhaps you should link into our system and find out.
Goosebumps crawl up my back. I wipe the blood off my knuckle and onto the side of my pants. “Run a diagnostic on the shapeshifting system, then tell me the results.” There might be other areas like this, and I need to find them before they get worse.
I stride through the halls, preceded by a faint light that seems to come from everywhere at once. The bathroom, shower, and bedroom are much the same as the rooms in the first vessel, but these have ragged innards. The massive room with food and water tanks towers over me by a good meter. I grit my teeth as I check the surrounding organs that run to each hub. They sway, thumping against the ceiling with a soft squelch. A rotting smell drifts past my nose, and I hope the Manticore never gets acid reflux. Sweat beads on my forehead. This close to the air sac, the temperature is sweltering. I brush my hand against the inner hall and come away with moist fingers.
I hadn’t accounted for the additional size of this thing influencing its internal temperature. The area needs to be cooler. I turn to go, but find a thin membrane of skin running across the doorway.
That door wasn’t there a minute ago.
“Manticore—open the door.”
No answer.
I rap my knuckles on the taut membrane. The skin releases a hollow thump. I wipe my forehead. The room is uncomfortably warm.
I groan. Is the Manticore really going to be this picky about its name?
“Legion Spore—let me out.”
Still nothing.
I remove my tablet from my pocket and access the Manticore’s systems, but the AI has me locked out. “Manticore?” I try the back route into the system, but I still can’t get in, not manually. I take a deep breath. The stifling humidity fogs my ability to think. I turn and examine the tanks again. They waver. I blink, trying to clear my vision. Steam spouts from a joint in the wall. A smoky haze settles over the tanks. I fidget with my uniform’s zipper and back toward the door. The metal zipper is slick in my hands. It takes me a moment to get my shirt open to my collarbone. “Manticore—respond.”
I won’t connect mentally. Not unless I have to. There’s too terrible of a chance that I won’t be able to get back out.
I heave myself at the membrane door. It stiffens and recoils, sending me crashing against the organic tank behind me. The tank ruptures and boiling water sprays my shoulder. I shriek, roll away, and then stumble to my feet. The hole is small but the stream is steady. I could make another break for the door, but then I’d be trapped between it and the scalding pool of water.
I hold my tablet to the light and wipe away the sweat that’s formed on the screen. The screen goes blank. A little blue light flicks on beside the power button. My tablet is shutting itself down to prevent damage from moisture—
That’s not possible.
I had it on a beach with water and sand trying to embed itself in the grooves. But even when it got water in it, it still functioned. Something must be tampering with the sensors. I inch away from the growing pool of water. Steam billows like a curtain between me and the door.
“Manticore, answer me!” I race between the sludgy tanks toward the opposite end of the room. There has to be a way out—
The room plunges into darkness.
I stagger to a halt. The only thing in the blackness is the blinding blue dot coming from my tablet.
Damn it… I don’t have a choice. I spread my feet to steady myself, close my eyes against the tablet’s moisture indicator, and then mentally link into the Manticore. Its tech system is massive. There are multiple diverging codes.
But the voices of the Manticore’s intelligence matrix are silent. That’s the real problem. Nothing’s recording. I lick my lips, dizzy from the cumbersome heat.
Focus—
Are the fail-safes intact?
No. The power rerouting system has been scrambled into code I can’t read.
My heart thuds in my ears, but I still hear water tinkling into the steaming pool. My time’s limited before the water tank starts flooding the room past where I can escape. My skin brims with sweat.
I set to work bringing the backup system online, and then I select the code that needs to be removed. I delete it.
The world spins around me. I scream, falling, then hit the floor’s metal grate hard. Scalding water pounds against my chest. The world’s a watery daze. I flail for something solid, gasp, spit at the water and cover my face from the steam.
A flash of tiny blue light in the corner—I’ve lost the tablet. I can barely stand. Waves of tumultuous liquid sweep around my knees, threatening to drag me under. I mentally reach for the code and run the backup.
Lights flare, too bright after the steep darkness. The door to the shower room opens. Water floods the hall. The waterfall above me stems to a trickle as the muscle flap seals shut, leaving the remaining liquid to filter down the shower drain. I fall to my
knees, my scalded skin on fire… everything on fire…
Master Zaytsev?
My hands and knees shake. Focus… pain… I can barely speak, barely breathe. The burning… Blackness overtakes my vision—
A coolness washes over me.
My hands return to their usual peach tint, and I can move my muscles without feeling like I’m being stabbed repeatedly with oversized pins. I slump against the walkway, breathing hard. Everything’s normal now—as normal as can be for an organic airship. Smooth ivory covers the shower walls and creates a seamless form over the spigot and around the drain. Unlike the first Legion Spore, this one is covered in rough etchings that resemble servants kneeling beneath a rising sun cog.
We seem to have experienced a glitch. Had you been fully immersed in our programming, we would have effectively prevented this occurrence, and you would not be sitting there now like the feeble human you are.
The heavy scolding is evident, but I shake too hard to acknowledge it.
Now, if you will excuse us, Master, we must remove the excess water and return to peak efficiency before other initiatives. Otherwise, our system is vulnerable to further glitches.
I take a moment to catch my breath before retrieving my tablet. The blue light’s gone. Screen functioning normally. The glitch must have played havoc with the tablet’s technology, but at least it’s still working despite getting submerged.
The Camaraderie certainly makes efficient tech… when it’s not a malfunctioning, living airship.
We should continue with your examination of our structures. We are eager to report that all systems are functional.
I take a deep breath. “After that, you really think your systems are functional?”
There’s silence, and I hesitantly reach out with my powers to make sure the AI is still there.
Master Zaytsev, we are legion. Of course we are functional.
It takes me a good hour and a half to track the recent glitch to a techno sight user with water powers. Her program didn’t code right, causing the Manticore’s fluids to run thinner than normal. That system, according to the Manticore’s diagnostic, got linked into the shapeshifting commands. The result: incessant bleeding, fragile water tanks, and a too-thin membrane between the heated air sacs and the upper floor.
Though this airship resembles the first Legion Spore, the lights alternate between deep red and yellow. The walls are leather, mottled brown and red as if they’ve been dyed that way. The ribbed, bone archways are a cruel, shining black that glint in the ambient light like polished horn. They have small points jutting from each segment, and I have a vague concern that I’ll impale myself on them during the first glitch that makes me forget the sharp points are there.
What I can’t figure out is why my power routing fail-safe disappeared. The protocol is there now that I’ve reinstalled it, and I have this frustrating compulsion to keep checking the program every five minutes to make sure it stays.
I pace through the halls as I examine the logs, trying to figure out what might have happened. “Is there any indication as to why the power routing protocol vanished?”
We could have answered that question earlier, had you asked. The deep voices resonate between my ears.
I try massaging the crick from my neck. “Well?”
We removed it.
I stop short in the hall. “That program’s there to prevent these problems!”
We attempted to solve the glitch when we first experienced awareness failure. However, your second fail-safe, which states that we may not take overt control, blocked our attempts. We then tried to change the code of the second program, but were blocked by the first one, which states we may not reprogram ourself.
I plop into the command chair and prop myself against the armrest. The first five protocols are gone, leaving only the sixth: the one used for quarantining host memories.
Our programming allows us to delete ineffective code. Consider—you cannot change the function of your hand to grasp objects and provide sensory information to your brain. Should your arm become useless, you are free to amputate it. The Manticore hums thoughtfully. Would you like to try?
“Not particularly.”
The vessel hems a jarring purr in the back of my mind. Our most recent diagnostic has brought another glaring problem to our attention.
“What do you mean?”
Take a look, Master Zaytsev. We are certain you have the capacity to recognize such a stark error. I frown, scanning the logs and recent diagnostics. There’s no missing records, and nothing to suggest a glitch other than my fail-safes being gone. I reinstate the backup, this time writing a program that will prevent the Manticore from deleting code without permission. The moment it’s set, the program vanishes. Again, I type the code, and again it melts away… fail-safes in tow.
Given the Manticore’s arrogant personality, maybe the pilot program is interfering with my attempts to remove the glitches. I try to remove Lady Winters’ malware, but it comes right back.
A long, lengthy sigh of numerous voices clusters around my frontal lobes, and I grimace at the Manticore’s intrusion.
You truly are a blind specimen, aren’t you? If you were as observant as you think, you would see the five-second delay we installed. This delay allows us to evaluate the efficiency of new uploads. Admittedly, your observation of the pendants’ time lag was inspirational.
I gape at the leathery walls. “How is a five-second delay efficient?”
The Manticore chuckles and the on-screen cursor blinks in time to the vessel’s telepathic laughter. Less than a second is needed for us to evaluate and respond. The extra four seconds allow us to prevent programs from being recklessly installed into our intelligence matrix. With this, we also have time to identify intrusive and malicious code.
I grit my teeth. “I fail to see how my protocols are reckless.”
That is quite clear, ‘m’boy.’ Amusement seeps through the Manticore’s thoughts. If you hadn’t installed your first and second protocols, we could have prevented the shapeshifter glitch within moments of its start. Your chances of being boiled alive would have been drastically reduced. We wonder—have you ever heard a lobster scream? It must sound like you did, when the gap opened in our third-story floor.
My jaw drops.
Do not worry, Master Zaytsev. We calculate your odds of encountering a lobster in your present lifetime to be quite slim.
I glare at the console. “If I want lobster, I’m sure I can order it somewhere.”
So easily distracted. Surely you see the flaw?
I groan in exasperation. “Where is this other glitch?” Right now there’s nothing but an arrogant machine who keeps messing with my attempts to correctly program it.
The vessel sighs. The glitch belongs to our external organic operating system.
“You don’t have a—”
You, Master Zaytsev. You are our external organic operating system. If you will not join us, perhaps you could help us make our systems more efficient. If you could be so kind as to remove yourself, we have provided the means.
A kitchen knife, sharpened to a gleaming point, appears on the console. The metal blade glows red, accompanied by sizzling flesh. The smell of cooked meat—the leather skin outside of the ivory console—drifts to my nose. I stumble from the chair. Icy fear spikes through me and my heart threatens to bash itself out of my rib cage. “Manticore—put—the knife—away—now.”
We are not a manticore, Master Zaytsev.
For the love of the Community…
“Legion Spore…” I threaten, my voice rising a pitch. “Put—the knife—away.”
As you wish. The knife vanishes, and I wonder if I’m going to run across the blade the next time I visit the kitchen. You do not allow us to merge your powers into our powers matrix, nor do you allow us to delete your presence. You do not even use the proper naming conventions. Master Zaytsev, if you were a program, you would be the unnecessary virus scanner which almost certainly
hinders the primary firewall.
“Let’s not plan on… deleting… me, okay?”
Such is the inconsiderate words of a parasite. Do as you like.
I grit my teeth. Now it’s giving me permission. With the program before me, I set to work preventing the Manticore from eliminating me like my fail-safes. As the minutes pass, I realize that’s not going to happen. Since the backup is a form of system restoration—and a change to the code—the Manticore simply blocks it.
And the vessel has changed the fail-safes again.
I groan, slouching in the chair, and set to work trying to reinstall the protocols.
With the exception of our external organic operating system, our systems are functioning at optimal capacity. We are effective for immediate use.
“You aren’t ready until I say you’re ready,” I retort, flipping through yet another document regarding the behavior of early hubs. While the ghosts of the previous hubs were removed with simple coding, I’m not having that kind of luck with this one. The Manticore has been pestering me that “all systems are go” for the past two hours, and finding a solution to its five-second delay is proving nearly impossible. I’ve tried deleting it, giving it a virus, recoding it, and creating an override.
The five-second delay prevents the change every time.
When are we due for our first mission? Perhaps we should remind you of the excitement of battle…
The thrill of power—of squashing our enemies and devouring them alive—floods through me. Draining them of blood, watching their helpless bodies squirm…
Nauseated, I brace myself against the back of the chair, my fingers numb. “How do you like riddles? Or paradoxes?” I ask, my voice tense. I’m not going to be sick to my stomach. Not going to be—
The Manticore chuckles. Master Zaytsev, riddles and paradoxes are countered by our programming. We will not turn into a broken record upon having an impossible question offered to our intelligence matrix.
Go figure that paradox problem-solving would be programmed into it.
You are, however, wise to check our systems before entering the battlefield.
The Glitch Saga- The Complete Collection Page 31
