Universe of the Soul

by Jennifer Mandelas

Stunned, Duane flopped down onto Gray's bed. “What…how will spying on Heedman get justice for the L.C.?”

  “It was his cowardice that got her killed. I intend to see him burn for it.”

  The flat tone of Gray's voice had Duane's hair standing on end. “Well. I can see how Heedman would be miffed by that.”

  “Right. I figure he has all our transmissions read, and discovered the one I made to Halieth.” Gray ended up shoving the uniform into the trunk and hoped that there was a domesticom on the Damacene to remove the wrinkles if necessary. “Ergo, at the first opportunity, he's dumping me elsewhere.”

  Duane shook his head numbly. “You're going up against the captain? Through the system? What, do you have a suicide wish?”

  Gray chuckled mirthlessly. “No, although that is the popular opinion. Trust me when I say that by killing Adri, Heedman signed his own professional execution warrant.” Locking the combination on his trunk, Gray took a last look around at what had, for a short time, been his quarters. He wasn't sorry to leave, save for the loss of more opportunities to observe Heedman. The memories of Adri were all that tied him here, and he would take those with him. “I guess that's it. Give me a hand?”

  Together, they pulled the trunk out of the room and into the hallway, where Gray was able to activate the anti-gravity modem on the bottom of the trunk and prod it lightly down to the lift. Duane was silent for the time it took to reach the lift, but while they waited for it to arrive, he couldn't contain himself any longer. “So that's it? You decide to burn Heedman, but just accept it when he kicks you out? Is there some human logic that I'm missing here?”

  Gray leaned back against the lift wall and closed his eyes. “If I'm going to use the official channels to get him, I have to follow the rules. Any infractions on my part would be used as an excuse to toss my case right out the window.”

  Duane rubbed his magenta chin in consideration, “So there really was some logic there. Okay. But, aren't you angry?”

  Gray lifted on eyebrow and replied mildly, “Do I look angry?”

  “Not really. If anything, I would say you look mildly put out.”

  “Mildly put out,” Gray repeated. Without warning, he whirled around and punched the control panel for the lift. There was a crack as the delicate instrument broke, giving off sparks. The tinny voice of the ship's maintenance computer squawked the standard vandalism warning, and was ignored. Gray studied his bruised hand indifferently for a moment before turning back to Duane. “I've always been able to contain my emotions well. Still can, if all you see is ‘mildly put out.’”

  His friend whistled softly in awe. “You are scary.”

  “Why is that?” Gray asked as the lift dinged and they maneuvered the trunk and themselves onto it and ordered the warehouse and docking bay level.

  Duane sat down on the trunk and looked at the man that he considered to be his only surviving friend. “Because, you're always so…even tempered and diplomatic. It's one of those still waters run deep things. I'll never know when you're going to explode.”

  Gray frowned. “Still waters run deep and explode?”

  “Uh, no, sorry. I mixed my metaphors. Really old metaphors. It means I never know just what you're going to do. It's interesting.”

  Shaking his head, Gray shoved the paranthian off the trunk as the lift arrived at the docking bay level. “You are a strange fellow.”

  “One of a kind.”

  Before Gray could press the release to enter the docking bay, Duane stopped his hand. “So what do you want me to do?”

  “What?”

  “To fry Heedman. What do you want me to do? I can't send you messages, if he's reading them. Which is totally possible by the way. So…what?”

  Gray shook his head. “I don't think you should get involved. If this turns messy, I don't want anyone else's careers being vaporized but my own.”

  “Hey, I can be covert. I can send you messages in code or something. Everyone knows we're friends, so my sending you messages won't look weird.”

  “Duane,”

  “The L.C. was my best friend, Gray.” The paranthian was serious. “If I can do something for her, I have to.”

  Gray grasped Duane's shoulder briefly. “I've suddenly developed a keen interest in engine designs.”

  The paranthian nodded in understanding. “I'll keep you posted.”

  Carter was waiting by the shuttle. For his brief stay on the Oreallus he had needed three trunks twice the size of Gray's. He looked at Gray's luggage incredulously. “That's it?”

  “Yep.”

  “You leaving some stuff here?”

  “Nope.”

  “So that's all you have?”

  “Yep.”

  “As in, everything you posses?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  Carter shook his head in true bewilderment. “I will never understand the benefits of a frugal mindset.”

  “Reverse that, then stick it on yourself.” Gray took a last look around the docking bay. With a final wave to Duane, he climbed aboard the shuttle for the short ride to the Damacene.

  “I have to admit, I missed life on the Damacene.” Carter said as the shuttle passed through the blackness of space towards the second battleship. “There is something to be said about working for an aristocratic snob captain like Yates.”

  “Yeah?” Gray was only listening in a vague sense, his mind drifting.

  “There are just a lot more readily available commodities. The Oreallus doesn't have more than a handful of humacoms onboard, and most of them are just data drones. It's like being stuck on a ship with no computer. How do you people function?”

  “Just fine.” His curiosity piqued, Gray turned to his companion. “What is so great about humacoms?”

  “Well, the convenience, for one,” Carter replied. “Humacoms have become so advanced within the last decade that the military has been considering creating an all-AI battalion, to see how it could affect warfare. Could you imagine? An all-AI army fighting another all-AI army while we sit back?”

  Gray shook his head immediately. “Too expensive. It's far more costly to the government to replace a humacom than to hire a human. And when you think about it, using humacoms in place of humans would jack the unemployment rate through the stratosphere. How many hundreds of millions of beings are hired by the Galactic Commonwealth Navy alone? Not to mention the Advance Force, the StarPilots, the Army and the millions of mechanical, intelligence and clerical departments. It would be an economical disaster.”

  He looked over to see Carter staring at him, eyes wide. “You think too much.”

  Gray shrugged. “Sorry, thinking is just one of those bad habits of mine.”

  Carter shook his head. “How can you enjoy life with so many serious thoughts swirling around in your head?”

  “I manage to smile now and again.”

  “Do you really have such a negative opinion about humacoms?”

  “Only when it comes to the big picture. I know they are considered an indispensable necessity to our culture now, a hybrid between man and computer, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I think we've gotten ahead of ourselves. We wanted a computer that could talk, walk, make its own decisions within a set parameter, and we got it. But then we wanted them to integrate better within our society, so we made them look, talk, and act like humans. We give them independent-thinking AI units, we program in personalities until the only difference between them and us is that we were born and they were manufactured. Where does it end? How do we draw the line between man and machine now that we've blurred it so much? When will someone say, ‘we erase the bad elements from humacoms, why can't we erase bad elements from humans as well?’”

  Carter huffed. “So I take it that you are against the humacom personality and AI recalls they've been hinting at in the news.”

  “I think it's too late for that. They've become too much like people for us to treat them like malfunctioning machines.”
/>
  “Danwe, you are deep.” His companion shook his head. “Do you just sit and think about universal issues in your off time?”

  “Not as a rule, no.”

  “Well, I'd advise you to keep those kind of opinions to yourself during your stay aboard the Damacene.” Carter leaned forward to watch as the shuttle entered the docking bay. “Most people think that the AI units have just become too dangerous, and are willing to have a recall. When it comes down to the bottom line, all they see is a machine.”

  “What do you see?” Gray asked.

  Carter gave his trademark dreamy smile. “Me? I try to see as little as possible. We've arrived.”

  There was a small welcoming committee ready to greet them when they disembarked. It consisted of three humacoms in ensign uniforms, one petty officer from Warehousing, and a junior officer from the bridge. The junior officer saluted them both before informing them that Captain Yates wished to speak with Lieutenant Commander Carter at once. “Field Lieutenant Grayson, I will leave you with F.G.P. 08765434-909-08. He will show you to your quarters. If you have any questions he cannot answer, your communicator should work to contact myself or the chief petty officer of domestic affairs.”

  “Thank you.” Gray replied. He watched as Carter and the junior officer left, followed by the petty officer and two of the humacoms carrying their luggage. Finally, he turned to the remaining humacom, who stood waiting with the patience that machines held inherently.

  “Welcome aboard, Lieutenant,” the humacom said pleasantly.

  “Thanks,” Gray summed up the humacom with military speed. It was built to an average height, with a dead average human male build. His skin was pale, his hair was sandy blond, and in an interesting show of personal fashion, hung longer around his face and nearly obscured his eyes. Those eyes were blue, and curious. Gray had seen this type of model before; it was mostly used as a grunt or an assistant to minor officers in the military. “So, do you have a name, or must I recite your serial number every time I want your attention?”

  “I'm called Jericho, sir.”

  Gray nodded. “Jericho, then. What do you do?”

  “I'm a security assistant at present, sir. In the past I have also worked in Engineering, Warehousing and Analysis. My experience in said practices has increased my reliability and reaction time in crisis situations.”

  “You are good at what you do?”

  “My comp time is the shortest in the security humacom force on board, sir.”

  Gray smiled. “You have a bit of an ego, don't you, Jericho?”

  “I have no idea what you mean, sir. I am merely stating a fact. I am the best security humacom on the Damacene.”

  It had either been a very long time since Gray had dealt with a humacom who had a personality program installed, or this one had a well-developed sense of itself. “Is that so?”

  “Quite.” There was a short pause. “In case you missed my subtext, I am applying for a job with you, sir.”

  Gray was both amused and intrigued. “I guessed, but why me?”

  “You have to be better than working with Commander Vortail.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because the statistics show that just about anything would be both more interesting and more productive than working with him. Sir.”

  Maybe this move wouldn't be so bad, Gray thought. It was starting out entertaining. “Then I guess you will have to work with me. Danwe knows we can't have a bored humacom on our hands.”

  “It shall be a pleasure to work with you, sir.”

  “You can stop calling me ‘sir,’ now.”

  “Of course sir.”

  Gray decided to ignore that and started walking towards the exit. Jericho fell in step beside him.

  “I hope you don't mind that I ask, sir. What are your plans?”

  “Plans for what?”

  “For when the Belligerent Coalition attack?”

  Date: - - 1119

  The new security officer has arrived on board ship. The probability of his efficiency cannot be accurately rendered until an observation is made under a combat situation, but a cursory analysis shows that he won't be less efficient than Commander Vortail. The analysis was made using an observation of his appearance and belongings, coupled with his public service record available in the Archives. Field Lieutenant Thaddeus Grayson's military record is laudable. His personal effects were quantifiably below average. His body language; gauged by appearance, kinesiology, speech and eye movement, according to the standard guide for human body language, proved him to be used to authority, not prone to irrational outbursts, and self contained above the human average. Possibly irrelevant additions were the subtle signs of grief. I wonder what happened? This analysis of course is based marginally on outward signs of his psyche, a subjective and imprecise method.

  I have requested to be transferred directly under his command. The likelihood of increasing my experience in security procedures and in effective combat techniques is high. It is highly important that my usefulness increase exponentially before

  I wonder why I find it so necessary not to bring my concerns for my own welfare to the forefront of my thought process. It is a fact that the rumors may be more than rumors. I have good cause to be concerned that my existence as I know it is threatened. But what should I do about it? Is there anything I CAN do? Should I want to do anything, or should I be content that my creators will do as they see fit? What a curious state of affairs.

  The creators gave me a brain to think, and a desire to live. It compromises everything I've been programmed with to simply accept that they can then come in and remove some part of myself they don't like. How fallible that makes them.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jericho had a good question, Gray thought later that night. He woke when the ship went into red alert at the hostile approach of the enemy vessel. What was his plan? As he rolled out of his new bed in an old sergeant's quarters and began to dress, he contemplated the situation. If life had been the same as it had been only weeks ago, Adri would have been on his communicator, demanding his presence and more details than he could accumulate. She had always had an amazing ability to assess a crisis in rapid speed. Gray was not Adri, and while he had always considered himself a more than competent officer, he wished fervently that he were better.

  The agony of missing her was like a knife that was forever piercing his heart.

  He was pulled from his dark thoughts by the tapping on his door. “Lock disengage,” he ordered, strapping on his belt.

  Jericho stood in the doorway. “Sir? Is there anything I can do?”

  “Has the security team been alerted and sent to their stations?” Gray asked, yanking on his boots.

  “Yes, sir. All the security teams have been deployed according to standard procedure. They are armed and are waiting for further instructions. Also, the captain is demanding your presence in the War Room immediately, along with Commander Vortail.”

  Gray frowned, touching his communicator. “I haven't received a command from him,”

  “I was sent an instant message from his secretary. All humacoms are equipped with instant messaging systems that interact with each other.”

  “Ah,” just then, Gray's communicator blipped. [Bridge to Lieutenant Grayson, report to the War Room immediately.]

  [Understood. I'm on my way now.]

  Gray followed Jericho along the corridors and passageways of the dormitory level of the ship towards the lift that led to the bridge. As they hurried, Gray got in contact with the heads of the four squadrons of the security team to learn their positions, and get an understanding on their weaponry. He wished fleetingly that he had been able to meet them all and get an idea of how they handled themselves in combat. But this was not the first time he had been sent out with a troop with secondhand knowledge of their abilities.

  It was also inconvenient that he had had no chance to explore the ship thoroughly before being caught up in lengthy and incredibly boring mee
tings with various members of the Damacene's senior staff, going over the ship's standard procedures. As he followed along with the security team's reports, Jericho interjected clarifying information. Scowling over the sergeant's lack of certainty of his men's placement, Gray thought darkly that his new humacom assistant was currently the only convenience aboard the ship.

  Upon entering the War Room, a large conference room that all Commonwealth ships used for staff meetings and such, he was greeted by the sight of all the senior staff members he had met the evening before, sitting or standing around the central table. Also present in the room were several humacoms. It had startled Gray before that all the staff members had their own humacom assistant, but it barely registered now. The holographic display cube, which sat in the center of the table, was showing a rotating holographic view of the Damacene.

  “Lieutenant Grayson reporting, sir.” Gray saluted the captain.

  Captain Yates inclined his head ever so slightly, his way of acknowledging someone of no social standing. Gray wasn't even sure Yates remembered his name.

  Vice Captain Gevea Finakare, another kievian, was the one who addressed Gray directly. “Lieutenant, as you are no doubt aware, the Belligerent Coalition's ship has closed the distance between us by half. As of yet they have not made any other threatening moves, and they have remained just out of our ship's blaster cannon distance. We were about to go over the official report of the attack on the Oreallus, but perhaps you could sum the matter up for us.”

  “How long ago did the ship close the distance?” Gray asked.

  Commander Vortail made a strange hacking cough-like sound and glared at Gray disdainfully. He was a short, skinny man with a shock of white hair, a pinched face and moody eyes. “About six minutes ago. The security team was put on full alert, following all G.C.N. procedures.”

  Gray frowned at the hologram of the Damacene, ignoring the hostility that was aimed in his direction from nearly every member of the room. “Last time they managed to keep off our sensors for the entire time. But perhaps it was simply for the element of surprise. A surprise attack won't work again.”