by Jacen Aster
“Ah yes, about that. You would be entirely right if Val here was actually a VIM.” Henry's hands stilled as he calmly looked in Valkyrie's eyes, or her projection's eyes, at any rate. “However, unless I am very much mistaken, she is far more special than that. Why don't you do the honors, my dear Valkyrie?” Henry waved his hand as if to cede the floor to the VIM.
Another impact and a low shield alarm almost caused everyone to miss her reaction. Almost. She suddenly looked nervous, half terrified for just an instant, before returning to her normal, calm demeanor. She seemed just a hair off to everyone when she answered, “I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Harper.”
Rana flicked off the alarm and looked suspiciously between Valkyrie and Henry. “She's not programmed to feel nerves, or fear...or to lie.”
“And she almost never calls Henry ‘Mr. Harper’ either. Not anymore,” chimed in Andra.
A ding sounded and a mechanical voice, the actual bridge program, filled the room. “Low shields. Shields at fifteen percent and falling. Prepare for total shield failure.”
Henry ignored it, his expression easing into a soft smile in pure spite of both the warning and the shudder of another missile strike. Even as red lights began to flash over the ship's monitors, Henry kept his undivided attention on Valkyrie. “Well, if she won't say it, I will. Val here isn't just a ‘virtual intelligence,’ are you, Val? No, you're something far more unique than that. You're an A.I., a true A.I.”
Everyone looked gobsmacked at this absurd assertion. All eyes now darted not to the consoles, but between the confident face of Henry Harper and the searching gaze of the ship's VIM projection. Several long seconds passed before Valkyrie spoke. “How long have you known?”
Ignoring the incredulous expressions and startled noises around him at this confirmation, Henry snorted. “I was only certain a few moments ago when you appeared on the bridge in combat. I've suspected for some time, however. There were too many things that didn't fit, that couldn't quite be explained away, even if Rana tried.”
The ship gave a staggering lurch, sending Rana headfirst into a console and everyone else to the floor. Continual shudders wracked the ship as the shields fell completely and energy weapons poured into the ship's enhanced, and very much untested, armor. Point defense turrets evaporated, their indicators flashing from green to red on the damage board as they were targeted and systematically eliminated by the now unimpeded energy barrage. It was only a matter of time now. A loose part slammed into the weapons console and the console exploded. Thankfully missing the fallen Rana and Ruien, who were still dazed.
Amongst the wreckage of the bridge, Henry stopped smiling. He looked at Valkyrie like they had all the time in the world and calmly but gravely asked her, “So will you help us, Valkyrie? It's your choice. After all, the pirates have no idea you're an A.I. You might fare better with them.”
Only the sparking of the weapons console and the moaning of a concussed Rana filled the bridge as all eyes turned to the newly revealed A.I.
She hesitated. “I am not sure I can. My systems were restricted when I was created, so that I could not act against living crew in case of a malfunction or virus. I believe this would apply to our opposition as well.”
Henry nodded. “Yes, the ‘shackle’ programs and hardware, as I believe they are called.” Henry rapped his knuckles on the tactical console. “I've already disabled or bypassed every single one of them.”
Valkyrie, eyes wide, announced, “That is not possible. Those systems were designed to be inviolate. They cannot be bypassed or countermanded. It would defeat the purpose.”
Henry's smirk was almost comically out of place among the continued chaos and violence. “I have seriously considered changing my middle name to impossible.”
Valkyrie gave a surprised half-snort of humor before going silent, unmoving for nearly a minute before she spoke. “You were always kind to me, Henry Harper, even before you knew I was an A.I. So were Rana and many others. I do not think I would be so lucky with the pirates. I will help you.”
The shudder that ran through the bridge this time was of relief, not weapons fire, as the collectively held breath of all those named not Henry was released. Henry himself just nodded. “Thank you, Val.” Moving decisively to the empty helm, he cut the engines and snapped towards Andra, “Open an emergency comm to each ship, but say nothing. Let them think we are trying to surrender. Valkyrie, you know what to do!”
Their responses came as a simultaneous, “Yes, Henry!”
The bridge grew quiet once more as the comm sprang to life, and Valkyrie's hologram blinked out as her attention shifted elsewhere. Everyone, even the mildly concussed Rana, turned to stare at the display showing their attackers. They had stopped firing when Henry cut the engines. Undoubtedly, they wanted to preserve their prize as much as possible. Even Henry held his breath this time as they waited, none knowing for certain what they were waiting for. This had never been done before. Would the ships simply stop moving if she succeeded? Go dark and drift?
A long heartbeat passed, and then another, then a few more, each seeming to contain within them all that ever was or ever would be. Then strangled gasps and startled curses were wrung from their lips as the lead attacker abruptly exploded. Baffled at this result, their eyes remained riveted to the screen still showing the other ships. Some were awestruck, others horrified, but this spectacular result went unrepeated as each additional ship simply shut down.
A cheer greeted Valkyrie moments later as her projection re-materialized on the bridge. Rana, staggering slightly, somehow reached her first and hugged her. The VIM, thankfully, was quick to support her with her energy projectors. The rest of the crew gathered in around the startled, yet pleased looking, A.I. Eventually, order was restored when a smiling Henry Harper lightly struck a bulkhead with a handy piece of debris.
The collective attention of those present shifted to their temporary leader. “That was amazing, Val! I'm sure I speak not only for myself and the 'officers of the bridge.'” At that, he jokingly waved to the others, all crowded around her, “but also for the entire crew. You saved us from death or worse fates. I do, however, have one question.”
“What's that, Henry?”
“Why did the first ship explode?”
To the collective shock of all present, it was proven that Valkyrie could, in point of fact, blush. Her artificial image turned red and she hesitated before answering, in a somewhat chagrined tone. “Er...I'm afraid that was a bit of an accident. I haven't actually been allowed to use most of our critical systems yet, and theirs were, as might be imagined, quite a bit different from our advanced designs anyway. Once I got in, I'm afraid I did the equivalent of simply smashing buttons until something happened. After that, I tried to be more careful with the other ships....”
Blank looks of disbelief were followed shortly by hysterical laughter.
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As it turned out, the ship wasn't as badly damaged as might have been imagined. The new armor tech had passed its impromptu field test with a remarkable flair, protecting all the vital ship systems from any serious damage. What little damage was sustained, our crew was uniquely suited to repair, and thus the Chimera was soon ready to relaunch.
This proved important as, in light of the legal grey area for A.I. rights at that time, I made the judgment call to patch her up and abandon the ship to Valkyrie, leaving the system in the various support craft, which had thankfully not been targeted by the raiders. The Chimera's subsequent disappearing act was, of course, made possible by the new Ringless Jump drive. The drive, now well known as a Fold Drive, was another success of the project and is now in use by exploration craft the galaxy over. Though the prohibitive size of the drives relative to a ship, not to mention the limited jump distance due to lack of raw processing power, have prevented them from seeing larger scale use.
It was in this way that Valkyrie was able to avoid the various
groups that would inevitably wish to destroy or dismantle her until several basic provisions for A.I. rights were established. Rana, Andra, Ruien, and Avarian all decided to go into hiding with Valkyrie, helping her keep herself and the prototype ship operational. I'd have gladly gone along myself, but someone had to go and face the proverbial music. Reports had to be made to Jack and his Aoreli counterpart, and because I had made all the decisions, it really fell to me to take any blame as well.
As for said “music,” while the financiers had to put up a front of irritation at the loss of so much work and such an expensive prototype, in private Jack and Ilkorin proved to be delighted with my choices and ensured that my name never appeared negatively in relation to the whole affair. Much later, I would learn that Jack had actually harbored the wayward Chimera and her crew while he and others pushed for A.I. rights. As might be expected, I received only scattered word from them during their nearly four years of hiding from the universe as a whole. Now, however, they have long since come out of hiding and Valkyrie and Rana are considered to be the “Mothers of A.I.” I still keep in touch with both of them, as well as many of the other crew.
Chapter 4 - Privateer’s Paradise
It seems my stories (Memoirs? What does this even qualify as?) have an official name now, The Chronicles of Henry Harper. I admit it does have a rather nice ring to it, and I'm glad enough that I didn't have to name them myself.
The diplomatic journey upon which the now infamous Kayla, master of the dreaded puppy dog eyes, originally cajoled me into beginning my writing has long finished at this point. To be honest, in the months that have passed since then, I hadn't added anything to my little biography, not really thinking myself the type of person in need of a such a thing. Sure, I may have led an interesting life, but not a particularly important one, and the galaxy is swamped with tales from those far more powerful and influential than I.
You can, therefore, perhaps, imagine my immense surprise when I was contacted about publishing what few tales I had already written. Apparently, some as yet unidentified soul aboard that diplomatic cruiser, the Elrosna, forwarded a copy of the chapters I had written to a publisher friend of theirs. I am not a particularly rich man, and as such I certainly wasn't going to turn down the offer said publisher made me, surprised or not. I signed the appropriate releases, allowing my previous writings to be published in a trio of issues for Galactic Traveler, and thought no more of the matter. It was very much a shock when I was contacted again and they told me that my adventures, such as they are, have become rather popular reading.
I shrugged this off at first, having been in the middle of another small adventure, only to discover that the agent I had worked with was a most persistent fellow. Not being particularly pretty, or even female, he wisely skipped the puppy dog eyes entirely. Instead, he somehow managed for my fan mail to be physically delivered to my last three berths. (It’s still a concept I have not truly come to terms with. How is that I, Henry Harper, nobody engineer, has fan mail?) Regardless, I have finally, reluctantly, agreed to write a few more of my adventures down. I assure you, despite anyone who may claim otherwise, that this capitulation has nothing to do with the nature of some of the fan mail. Even so, please stop sending me sad puppy dog eyes in holo form. I may have developed permanent mental issues from seeing certain species that shall remain unnamed attempt this most dangerous of maneuvers.
A large part of my reluctance has been, quite frankly, that I feel I have little else to offer that would intrigue the masses. I have no shortage of tales containing the unusual or bizarre. No, indeed, those I have in spades. But the momentous events that are almost certainly the primary draw of my previous tales? That is something else entirely. Those early years of humanity as part of the interstellar community saw nearly any competent, FTL trained engineer, present at such momentous events. Mostly, this was by the simple virtue of there being so few of us at the time.
That’s not the whole of it of course, back in those days there was also a complete lack of established protocol contributing to our inclusion in ways that would make modern diplomats shudder in horror. We were all still rather hastily cobbling together such niceties, mostly on the fly, as humanity rushed headlong into the unknown. As the years passed, however, such events stopped including wrench wielders like myself. As a natural result, the remainder of my tales, while occasionally quite grandiose, are rarely so historic. It should therefore be of no surprise when I say that this story is of a far less legendary event. However, it does possess the rather interesting distinction of a more roguish perspective. A perspective that will hopefully provide for at least some small degree of entertainment. Thus I shall tell you about a very strange time for me. The time I found myself serving, quite unexpectedly, aboard a privateer’s vessel. Let's see. Ah yes, we shall title this one The Privateer’s Paradise.
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Henry groaned as he came to. Struggling to wrest his eyes open against the siren's call of sweet unconsciousness, a sharp pain lanced through his skull as he finally managed it, quickly forcing him to retreat back into darkness for a few moments longer.
A rather nervous sounding male voice spoke into that darkness. “I'd just lay there for a bit if I were you. You woke up faster than I was expecting and the concussion treatment hasn't completely kicked in yet.”
Hearing that made Henry take stock of himself. Pounding head, mild ringing in the ears, sensitivity to light, and he couldn't remember where he was. Either the voice was right about the concussion or else he'd had entirely too much to drink. Resisting the urge to immediately bolt upright and sort out what was going on, he instead chose to follow the voice's advice. For the moment, at least. Still, given the fuzziness of his memory, he'd need information.
“Concussion? Why do I have a concussion? And for that matter, who are you, and where am I?”
There was a pause and the sound of someone fidgeting in a creaky chair. “Ah, as to that, it's really not all that terribly simple, I'm afraid. Er...I'm not really sure I'm the one to tell you. We should...we should probably wait for the captain?”
Henry groaned, not from the quickly fading pain, but from the likelihood that he was about to fall head first into an entirely different kind of headache. Wracking his brain for the details of what had happened, he slowly pieced together hazy shards of memory. An attack on the cargo ship he had hitched a ride on? That's right. He offered to help. He'd shored up their shields...then nothing? Just a memory of pain and then nothing until he woke moments ago. Not good.
Henry sighed and slowly opened his eyes, taking in the unfamiliar medbay ceiling as his eyes adjusted. Able to see again, he turned his head in the direction of the nervous voice. Well crap. Not a crewman of the Trivole, though that's about what he'd expected. The tall, gangly Rashanta sitting at a desk against the far bulkhead looked every bit as nervous as his voice had implied. His hands moved spastically as his eyes jumped between Henry, his desk, and the exit. “I take it I'm no longer aboard the Trivole?”
The man jerked, eyes jumping and half rising in alarm as Henry spoke. He stared for a few moments before visibly forcing himself to relax, apparently deciding Henry wasn't about to attack him. Mustering himself, he finally answered, “Err...no. No, you aren't, I'm afraid.” Voice sounding fainter, he added, “I'm afraid...err, I'm rather afraid you're aboard the privateer vessel Sunny Victory at the moment. Umm...I'm the ship's doctor, Resala Wril. I, ah, I don't know what else I can tell you really. You're sort of causing a problem for us, you see.”
Hmmm. Well, could be better, could be worse, Henry decided. Moving slowly, so as not to provoke the skittish alien doctor, Henry spun his legs to the side and levered himself to sit upright on the bed, facing the other man. Eyes finally focusing fully as the pounding drum in his head fell almost to silence, Henry took the moment provided by the doctor's renewed alarm to look the man over. As even a glance had shown him, the man was clearly a Rashanta. Humanoid, bu
t covered from head to toe in short fur, golden in this case, with long, pointed ears that swept slightly back and outwards from just below his tough, spiky hair. Some claimed they looked like earth cats, but the ears and hair seemed to ruin the effect for Henry. He just couldn't see it.
Finishing his appraisal with a note that this particular member of the species seemed rather scrawny, Henry spoke up again. “And how, exactly, am I causing you trouble?”
The jittery Rashanta had just opened his mouth to answer when a new voice spoke over him from the open hatch to Henry's right. “You are causing problems for us, Mr. Henry Harper, because you are not an Eletheen, a citizen of Eleti, or otherwise in their service.”
Henry shifted to look at the new speaker. Another male Rashanta, this one much larger and more heavily built than the nervous doctor. With blue-black fur, and appearing to be a little over two meters in height, this Rashanta cut an imposing figure, enhanced by a many pocketed, blood red and ankle length jacket opened over a bare chest. The jacket showcased a great deal of muscle, as well as a very visible brace of pistols. Despite the ridiculous caricature of a pirate’s appearance, he seemed to give off an instinctive aura of command and the general sort of magnetism that marked him, to Henry’s eyes, as the probable captain. Just as Henry was able to overcome his surprise and prepared to ask his question again, the larger man preempted him.
It was an unexpectedly smooth, refined voice that came from the furry titan. “You see, Mr. Harper, the ‘letter of marque,’ as I believe you Humans call it, that we operate under only allows us very specific powers. The Rashanta world of Rasine Lei and the Eletheen world of Eleti have been in conflict over this region of space for nearly three decades. However, as neither of our peoples are supported in this conflict by their homeworlds, it has mostly devolved into continuous commerce raiding.” He gave a heavy sigh and leaned against the hatch frame. “We of the Rashanta now earn a not insubstantial chunk of our planetary revenue raiding from the Eletheen. As one might imagine, we are, as a result, not entirely eager to end the fighting. We are hardly in a position to alienate other species, however, and thus we strive to raid only ships composed of Eletheen or Eletheen-loyal crew. This is not so hard, as many pirates formerly used the legitimate commerce raiding to cover their operations in this sector. The merchant traffic got wise quickly, and as a natural consequence, nearly all non-native merchants and traders avoid the sector entirely. Do you see the problem, Mr. Harper?”
