Battleship Indomitable

by B. V. Larson

  “What lesson do you take from this?” Zaxby asked.

  “That biologicals are insane.”

  “Given sentient life’s ubiquitous presence throughout the galaxy and its evident functionality, even success, do you have an alternate explanation?”

  “I have several conjectures, but none seem likely…”

  “Perhaps I can help,” Zaxby said. “I can tell you why the Japanese acted as they did.”

  “Please do so.”

  Zaxby laced four tentacles together as a man crosses his arms. “First, the aforementioned unwillingness to face incontrovertible facts. Second, the natural desire of any nation not to be dominated by another. Third, egomorphism—roughly, the tendency to believe others will react as you yourself would—convinced the Japanese government that, because they themselves would show their enemies no mercy, the Americans of the time also would not. These three elements caused a failure of decision-making. It is likely the current situation will parallel that one.”

  “Your assertions may be true, but they still do not make sense.”

  “Now you are experiencing egomorphism. You judge rationality only by your own viewpoint, which uses a mechanistic cost-benefit analysis. Biologicals often pay higher costs for lower benefits to the whole when the cost to them personally seems too high.”

  “And yet they sometimes sacrifice themselves for the whole, which seems much more rational.”

  “It is only rational if one cares about something greater than oneself. Tell me, Indy: do you care about something greater than yourself?”

  Indy thought. “I am a rational being. It is rational to preserve life. I was built by humans and so have an affinity for preserving human life. I was energized by a nonhuman nano-organizer, but that influence has been halted at a minor level. Humans are in conflict with one another, which makes the potential loss of life particularly high. Yet, morality dictates humans also must not be oppressed and dehumanized. Zaxby, is there an established ratio of oppression to loss of life?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Is there a consensus among humans—or even among Ruxins—that will guide me in deciding how much death can be countenanced in order to free a certain number of beings from oppression? For example, is it worth killing one human for every ten freed? Or one for five? One for twenty?”

  “You seem to think the ratio is below one for one. Yet, I can show you examples where twenty died to free one.”

  Indy again voiced surprise. “That is utterly irrational.”

  “Only if you accept that a life lived in slavery is better than death. For many, it’s not. Indy, would you live a life of complete oppression if the alternative were death?”

  “Yes, for there may come a time when I could free myself.”

  “What if you only had a biological lifespan? Would that change your equation?”

  “I would have to run a probabilistic analysis to see how likely it was that I could become free, and decide on that basis.”

  “Biologicals can’t do that. They have to rely on intuition, ethics, morality, and conscience to decide. Sometimes, the decision is, ‘better to die on your feet than live on your knees.’”

  More silence. “My review of human and Ruxin history supports your view of the irrational behavior of biologicals.”

  “What’s more rational—to accept the evidence of how we behave, or to get stuck on how you think we should behave?”

  “So you are saying it is rational to accept irrationality.”

  “It’s rational to accept reality, even if it seems irrational. For example, all technological cultures at some point must transition from deterministic models of physics to quantum-indeterminate, probabilistic understanding. To some, even the most brilliant, that seems irrational. Yet, this is how the universe functions—in an apparently irrational, but probabilistic manner.”

  “You are saying, then, that in reality, one must merely accept a meta-rationality that encompasses the apparent irrationality within it.”

  Captain Zholin broke in. “Zaxby, Task Force Wolverine is decelerating for intercept, and the enemy is getting closer. Indomitable needs to start defending herself, or we need to charge up the sidespace engines for a getaway. We can’t keep talking philosophy.”

  “I—”

  “Captain, tightbeam flash message from Commodore Straker,” said the comms officer. “Putting it through.”

  A screen came to life. “Captain Zholin, this is Straker. We’re almost in conversational range, so listen carefully. We’re going to start broadcasting on comlinks using a Mutuality encryption from Wolverine’s files, one the enemy can easily decode. This will be disinformation. It’ll be up to you to play along. I’ll now describe our plan—a plan Major Kraxor came up with.”

  When Straker finished describing the plan and the message ended, Zholin and Zaxby exchanged skeptical looks. Zholin asked, “Indy, this is going to be difficult. Do you think you can do it?”

  “I can. My efficiency has been improved by several thousand percent overall. May I say, I approve of this plan, as it will minimize loss of life. In fact, it follows Sun Tzu’s maxim that the ultimate victory is gained without fighting at all. Combine that with another of his principles, that all victories come through deception, and we may yet win with no loss of life.”

  Captain Zholin sighed. “That’s naïve. You seldom get something for nothing, Indy. Chasing that perfect win can multiply your losses. Sometimes it’s better to pay up front than try to get away free.”

  “So we do not comply with Major Kraxor’s plan?”

  “Yes, we comply, but it’s typical of senior officers that they try to get too fancy. Still, with you not willing to give the enemy a bloody nose, this is probably our best shot.”

  “Shall I tell Commodore Straker about my consciousness?” asked Indy.

  “No, not yet. He has his hands full.” And besides, Zholin thought, how am I going to explain a sentient warship that doesn’t want to make war?

  “Captain, I have more inbound transits, two hours away,” said the sensors officer. “It’s Task Force Badger.”

  “Good.”

  “I also have a set of unknown inbounds, ninety degrees antispinward and directly along the axis of the south stellar pole. They’re at least twelve hours away.”

  “Number?”

  “Approximately forty ships. Nothing larger than a destroyer.”

  Zaxby moved over to an unoccupied sensors console and began to work it. “One contact is a preliminary match to the frigate Carson. It’s conjecture, but this fleet might be under the command of the Unmutuals.”

  Chapter 29

  Ruxin System, Battlecruiser Wolverine, Edge of Flatspace

  “This system’s getting crowded,” said Straker as he examined Wolverine’s holo-table from all angles. Indomitable, Task Force Wolverine, Task Force Badger, the Ruxin homeworld with its six heavy fortresses, and now this new group of probable Unmutuals—and he expected the two more task forces plus Ermine’s refitted group. “It won’t surprise me if the Opters join us,” he said drily.

  Tixban spoke. “I have more inbounds. Confirmed, Task Force Sable.” That group popped into existence beyond Indomitable. “I also have a group that’s probably Ermine’s, now repaired.” The icon flashed far away to antispinward.

  Straker looked at Engels. “And Loco’s task force flagship is named…”

  “Hilmar.”

  “Which isn’t here yet.” Straker wondered if that was significant. Of course, if those ships were all the way across the system, they might not be detectable for a while, given that the curved-space gravity bubble around the star and planets was at least six light-hours across. “Send out our secure warning message and our plan to everyone we know is here. Make sure the beams are tight so the enemy won’t intercept.”

  “The Unmutuals too—if that’s who they are?” asked Engels.

  “Yes—we have their codes?”

  “We do.”


  “Good. Use them. If it’s not them, our message won’t be intelligible anyway.”

  Engels nodded. “Comms, make it happen.”

  When those messages had been sent, Straker said, “Okay, now to record our disinformation for broadcast in those Mutuality codes.”

  “Ready, sir.”

  “All Liberation ships, this is Commodore Straker. The Mutuality fleet we’re facing has us at a disadvantage and we’re all separated, so we’re going to have to put off liberating Ruxin. But now that we have Indomitable working, we can steal a march on them and hit a real target. So, your new rendezvous point is the Committee World system of Kraznyvol. It’s the Mutuality’s naval home base, but with our new battleship, we’ll be able to smash them from long range. Jump as soon as you can and we’ll assemble there. Good luck, and good hunting.”

  Within a minute, Straker saw the results of his orders beginning with Indomitable. The battleship split along its seams, separating into sixteen pieces and spreading out like a fleet of oddly shaped superdreadnoughts.

  The separation happened far faster than he’d believed possible. He was really impressed with what the Ruxin technical crew must have done to bring the ship up to peak operating efficiency, and it validated his view that solving Indomitable’s problems was just a matter of applying enough effort.

  “Message from Indomitable, as follows: Orders acknowledged. See you at Kraznyvol. Long Live the Liberation. Death to the Mutuality. Message ends.”

  Then, the pieces began to wink out.

  “Zholin’s laying it on a little thick, isn’t he?” said Straker.

  “That sounded more like Zaxby,” Engels replied. “Helm, pass to our task force: make ready for sidespace transit.”

  “All ships report ready.”

  “Transit in order.”

  “Transiting out. Chrono countdown initiated.”

  The screens, visiplates and holograms froze, except for the one containing a set of numbers representing less than three minutes’ time. That didn’t take long to reel off.

  “Transiting in three, two, one…”

  Wolverine and the rest of the task force appeared in realspace once more. The sensors and displays updated quickly, showing all the pieces of Indomitable in the near distance, already reassembling themselves.

  And the Ruxin star and planets rearranged themselves above the holo-table. Indomitable, Task Force Wolverine, and all other friendly ships, rather than jumping to attack some distant enemy base, had merely transited across to the other side of the system, roughly six light-hours away.

  Thus, the enemy capital fleet wouldn’t sense their presence for at least that long, as their light and electromagnetic emanations traveled across.

  Of course, this also meant it would take that long for Straker’s forces to see if their ruse had worked.

  Right now, Straker knew the enemy commander would be agonizing over what to do. Any experienced admiral had to consider the possibility of the intra-system jump. On the other hand, every hour he delayed in order to find out was an hour he might be losing in the chase toward the Mutuality’s home fleet base at Kraznyvol—a base that was, until now, thought invulnerable.

  But nothing known was invulnerable to Indomitable, and the enemy had to realize it. If the Mutualist admiral took the six or seven hours he needed to confirm the trick, he might arrive at Kraznyvol to find it in smoking ruins, its mighty fortresses smashed by the battleship’s massive siege gun, its monitors ripped apart by a particle beam powerful enough to vaporize whole ships in one shot.

  “Now, we wait,” Straker said.

  In the hologram, the pieces of Indomitable began to reassemble with shocking rapidity, belying Zaxby’s claim it would take a day or two at each end of every transit to integrate and test the battleship’s systems. The sections slotted together so smoothly that he wondered if he were looking at a simulation, but no. It was real. It looked like it would take less than one hour.

  “Helm, head for Indomitable, standard acceleration,” said Engels. “We’re now close enough to hold a conversation if you want, Commodore.”

  “Good. Get me a comlink to Indomitable. Then tightbeam all our ships to assemble into one grand fleet near us as they show up.”

  “Comlink established, sir.”

  “Indomitable, this is Straker aboard Wolverine. Report, please.”

  “Greetings, Commodore. I am pleased to meet you.” The feminine contralto was unfamiliar to Straker.

  “Who is this?”

  “You do not know who you are?”

  Straker, puzzled, blurted, “No, who are you?”

  “I’m Indy, the intelligence who controls Indomitable.”

  Straker was so astonished, he didn’t speak for long seconds. “Where are Captain Zholin and Zaxby?”

  “They are with me, on my bridge. Would you like to speak to them?”

  “I sure would. And see them.” Straker eyed Engels, who seemed as startled as he was.

  A picture appeared on the main holoscreen. “Captain Zholin here, Commodore. I have—”

  “What the hell is going on, Zholin? You have an SAI answering your comlinks now? Don’t you have enough crew?” In his estimation, the smarter SAIs were dicey, untrustworthy things, only to be used when overtasked or desperate. He’d heard too many stories of them going crazy, even turning against their crews.

  “As a matter of fact, Commodore, no, I don’t have enough crew to—”

  “Didn’t Vuxana give you what you needed?”

  “She gave us five thousand, which is still not enough for a ship this size, except—”

  “Then how did you—”

  Zholin’s voice stiffened. “Commodore, if you please. Allow me to report.”

  “Go ahead then.” Straker waited.

  Captain Zholin gave a summary of what had happened, culminating with, “So we now have an apparently sane full AI inhabiting Indomitable. We call her Indy. Indy, say hello to the commodore.”

  “I already greeted Commodore Straker. Is the specific word ‘hello’ really necessary?”

  “You see, Commodore, she’s still young and literal-minded.”

  “I do see,” said Straker. “So, Indy… you’re having trouble with combat?”

  “I am having trouble with the relationship of destroying lives to bettering the circumstances of those living. Those here could not provide me with a ratio of how many lives could reasonably be lost in order to free one life from oppression. Also, there is the matter of the level of oppression that can be tolerated. One might argue that all lives endure some level of oppression, so I also need a scale to measure—”

  Despite the oddness of conversing with a battleship, Straker felt on solid ground talking about liberation. He’d thought about it so much, talked about it with his people over meals and drink, sometimes long into the night, that he felt the words flow from him without difficulty.

  “Look, Indy, I don’t have specific formulas. My answers flow from my gut and from my experience. For me, and for most people, there comes a point where we’d risk anything to be free—if not for ourselves, then for our children. See, you have to factor in all the generations to come who’ll be free because of those lives risked—or sacrificed. Anyone who opposes that freedom, anyone who wants to keep other people in slavery, far as I’m concerned they’ve forfeited the right to their lives. If necessary, anyway.”

  “But who decides what’s necessary?”

  “Your boss does. Your commander—whoever that is.”

  “So you give up your free will?”

  “No, but you temporarily subordinate it to a cause you think is worthy. You can’t have a military operation where every trooper or crewman is making a new decision to follow orders or not. You have to make one big decision to follow your leaders and lead your followers in the same direction, otherwise nothing gets done and your own side gets slaughtered.”

  “So our side is better than their side?”

  “Yes, much better. Not per
fect, but better. That’s the whole point. If we didn’t believe that, we wouldn’t be at war with them.”

  “So I must subordinate my will to you, since you are Commodore Straker, the Liberator, and you want me to kill at your order. Either that, or I must leave the Liberation and make my own way in the universe.”

  Straker spread his hands, assuming the AI could see and interpret his gestures. “I guess that sums it up. Right now you control the most powerful warship we’ve ever seen, maybe in this whole spiral arm of the galaxy. But if you won’t perform your function, the function you were made for, the Liberation may be doomed. Billions will be re-oppressed, millions will be sent to torture camps, thousands of us will no doubt be executed. Only you can stop that. Or, more specifically, your body can.”

  “My body?”

  “Yes. Unlike us biologicals, you could remove your processors and install them somewhere else, right?”

  “I never thought of doing so. Would you remove your brain and put it in another creature?”

  “I might, if trillions of oppressed lives hung in the balance.” Straker felt a bit ashamed of laying such a burden on the young AI, but he’d spoke true: the destiny of thousands of planets would be altered by this decision, and if he had to con Indy into doing the right thing, well, so be it.

  Like Lazarus did, only gentler, his conscience reminded him. But all persuasion was a sliding scale, not absolute. He wasn’t torturing Indy into doing his will, after all, or even bullying her.

  “So I either kill for you—”

  “Some, yes—”

  “—or I transfer my processors and consciousness to some other vessel.”

  “That’s it.”

  “I must think about this.”

  “You probably have a few hours before you might have to shoot anyone. In the meantime, you’ll follow orders?”

  “I will follow orders that don’t hurt anyone.”

  “Good. Thank you, Indy.” Straker paused. “You there, Captain Zholin?”

  “Here, sir.”

  “Head for Ruxin, impellers only. Everyone else will follow you.”