The Stars Came Back

by Rolf Nelson

  Helton: (Cautiously) Yeaaaah?

  Stenson: I was more correct than I knew… This ship is unique. More than just a professional challenge. From a distance it looks like an ordinary old Meridian class transport. Then it appeared to be an Assault Transport, an ALAT Mk4A or something. Though after getting inside its systems a bit, I told you it was a modified Orion; they made a couple of hundred of those early trans-light armored assault ships when the colonies were new and folks were afraid of finding the Planet Movers around every other corner, before they went to carriers. While ancient history now, they’re famous, especially for their involvement in the first interstellar conflicts and the Corporation-Nation wars.

  Helton: So… It’s not an Orion?

  Stenson: Weeeellll… Combat losses, training losses, and crashes are expected with warships. Being lost without a trace isn’t. After a couple of Orions vanished with all hands, the military got scared because Orions were designed to go anywhere with a company of space marines, under any circumstances, take care of things, and get her crew home. Heavy armor. Multiple power sources, with extra backup auxiliary systems. Multiple power delivery paths. Redundant environmental systems. Every different weapon system known to man: conventional guns, missiles, particle beams, lasers, torpedoes, rail guns, weapons pods, inboard independent mobiles, outboard attachments, hardpoints for bolt-ons, tanks inboard and surface mounted, automatic and manned systems. Not just three main drives, but three each of both Harmon AND Sokolov drives. Redundant primary, secondary, and tertiary power. Enough sensor and computer power to cover a deep survey ship. Redundant independent control computers for each system, as well as central integrated controls and manual locals. Able to deal with any atmo or grav conditions. It had interchangeable modular internal components to make it specialized for any mission, which is why all the port hatches open forward, and starboard open aft; the modules could be fit on either side. More redundancy than a Calcutta Government department of interagency paperwork processing in the bureau of permitting division. Yet, some just… vanished.

  Helton: Hmmm… Then, if I recall correctly, one of the lost ships turned up with no one on board, and the computers wiped, totally on failsafe autopilot. A sort of Flying Dutchman. Kind of like this one.

  Stenson: Yup. Scared the crap out of people with stars on their shoulders. So, a secret and high-level program was started, the Selene project.

  Helton: (Shaking head and frowning) Never heard of it.

  Stenson: Its history was pretty well scrubbed; easy to do when everything’s electrons controlled from the center. (Dismissively) Anyway. They had been working on fully self-aware ship-integrated AI for a while. A crash program installed the first operationally fully self-aware AI on board a ship. They only made a couple of dozen of ‘em. Some were retrofits on modified Orions, but also some were brand new ships, a sort of upgraded Orion where everything was just a little bit better. They called them the Armadillo class; every can of kickass they opened was just a little extra frosty. The hull was the toughest ever built. They still had a full human crew and complement, but apparently there were some problems, because the Armadillos were all canceled, lost, converted or decommissioned, records scrubbed, and disappeared, shortly after the third Chi-Stan war… or so I thought… (looking up and around) until now.

  Helton: (Worried, looking around at the walls) So, this has a complete self-aware AI?

  Stenson: (Waving hand dismissively) Oh, God no. Aside from full AI having been outlawed long ago, shortly after the war, this particular ship has been stripped, updated, modified, bought, sold and tweaked for at least a dozen different jobs, with stuff bolted on and hacked away with abandon. But, all that redundancy has not been maintained properly, probably confused the hell out of most of its owners, and this ship is running at maybe, maybe, 30% efficiency overall. It has more systems down or out of spec than most ships this size have, yet it can still fly, because others were doing their best to take up the slack. But, it’s getting close to the breaking point. Hell, it doesn’t even have acceleration compensators anymore.

  Helton: (Defensively, confused) Yes, it does!

  Stenson: ‘Fraid not. It’s got the A-grav system pulling extra duty simulating accelacomps. Hell, I didn’t even know it was possible in theory, this ship’s doing it in practice; I’m still kind of sketchy on how, but there it is.… If they go, things will get interesting fast.

  Helton: “Interesting?”

  Stenson: Snarge.

  Helton: Snarge?

  Stenson: The gunk left on the leading edge after flying through a bird at high speed.

  Helton: …So, can you fix her?

  Stenson: (Sigh) At an Earth Fleet Primary Space Maintenance Depot with an unlimited budget, yes. Mostly. Eventually. If it were legal, which due to the AI prohibition laws it isn’t. Out here, with a lot of time, more money than we’ve got, good luck on parts procurement, and some seriously brilliant help, I can get it to fly again mostly safely, but never to full original spec. We’ve made a lot of progress getting things smoothed out after our test flight and have a better handle on what we need the most next. Here’s a list of the most important items I just can’t get here in this backwater, or even track down at the Eridani bone yard. Maybe get them made at a Geminorum custom shop or something. With those, we can do a lot more. For now, though, I’m afraid to say it, but after centuries and untold abuse…

  Helton: But… not dead, quite yet?

  Stenson: No… she’s not quite dead yet, and seems to be getting better.

  DISSOLVE TO

  INT - NIGHT - Allonia’s cabin

  Allonia sits at her work table sewing something with fancy brocade cloth, appearing intent on her work. A chime calls for her attention. She ignores it and keeps sewing. She stops a moment to make an adjustment and the chime sounds again. She sits up, stretches her shoulders and back a moment, then replies to the ship’s computer.

  Allonia: Yes?

  Ship AI: (OC, calm, quiet female voice) As directed by captain Strom, I have been monitoring the health of all on board.

  Allonia: And…?

  Ship AI: (OC, asking an honest question) Did you know you are illegal?

  Allonia’s face turns quizzical.

  Allonia: Illegal?

  Ship AI: (OC) Yes.

  Allonia: (Confused) What do you mean, “illegal?”

  Ship AI: (OC) You are not legal.

  Allonia shakes her head in confusion.

  Allonia: I know what “illegal” means. I don’t know what you mean by me “being illegal.”

  Ship AI: (OC) Your existence is in violation of the law.

  Allonia inhales sharply.

  Allonia: WHAT? HOW? And what does that have to do with monitoring my health?

  Ship AI: (OC) You are engineered. Not legal.

  Allonia: I’m not an engineer! And engineers are legal!

  Ship AI: (OC) Not an engineer. Genetically engineered.

  Allonia: No I’m not!

  Ship AI: (OC) Yes. You are. Or your immediate lineage was.

  Allonia: Of course they weren’t!

  Ship AI: (OC) Do you look like your parents?

  Allonia: Not really, but they said I was the spitting image of… my… aunt…

  Ship AI: (OC) You have very few markers for a predisposition to any genetic disease. You have a number of extremely rare genetic mutations that tend to express as moderately enhanced strength, endurance, reflexes, pain tolerance, vision, coordination, bone structure, oxygen utilization and carrying capacity, stress tolerance, intelligence, and disease resistance. You have several gene sequences that I have no record of having occurred naturally, which I’m not equipped to properly analyze.

  Allonia: But-but-but-

  Ship AI: (OC) Those are hallmarks of the prohibited engineered soldiers from the 22nd century Corporate-National war debacle.

  Allonia: I… What?… How?...

  Ship AI: (OC) All crew and passengers are fast-screened for dietary or common genet
ic problems as a matter of routine meat-space safety and maintenance.

  Allonia: So how does that make me illegal?

  Ship AI: (OC) On some planets, including this one, such highly engineered people are explicitly illegal and officially subject to summary execution upon identification. On most of the rest they are subject to immediate sterilization, imprisonment, and/or close monitoring.

  Allonia looks dazed, and stares at the wall, slumping back a bit into her chair.

  Allonia: So… What do I do?

  Ship AI: (OC) Be yourself. Avoid genetic scans from anywhere off ship.

  Allonia: That’s it?

  Ship AI: (OC) You do not appear to be a threat to the crew or ship. Quite the contrary, you appear to be a valuable asset. The laws were intended to safeguard against excessive genetic engineering that might pose a species threat. You do not fit that profile. The history of irrational fear, bigotry, and hatred of those perceived as “other” or “potentially dangerous” is well documented. No one will be informed if there is no need. You are being informed so you may avoid unnecessary exposure.

  Allonia: Uh, thanks, I guess.

  Ship AI: (OC) You are welcome.

  Allonia: (Looking a bit more thoughtful) Why tell me now?

  Ship AI: (OC) There were inquiries about genetic compatibility with you, so a full genetic screen was done.

  Allonia: Who asked?!

  Ship AI: (OC) It would be impolite to say.

  Allonia: Who?

  Ship AI: (OC) Perhaps “privileged information” would be a better term. They will not be informed of anything or identified to you, unless you appear to be potentially interested in reproducing with them. It should be noted that you would be an extremely good genetic match for any of them, illegality on most planets aside. On those planets where you are legal, demand for your reproductive services could command a very high price; more than enough to live comfortably.

  Allonia: Uh, wow. I, uh, guess that would be, um…

  Ship AI: (OC) Good night.

  Allonia: Mmmm… not sure how well I’ll sleep. But, g’night.

  FADE TO BLACK

  First Mission

  FADE IN

  INT - NIGHT - Lag’s office in Building 1701

  Lag is seated at his desk reading a built-in screen. A beep sounds from his door.

  Lag: Come in!

  Helton opens the door and walks in, flops in a seat.

  Helton: What a week!

  Lag: Ready to fly again?

  Helton: Not right this moment, but Stenson says soon.

  Lag: What’s Bipasha say?

  Helton: We go broke no matter what we do. We need a paying customer yesterday or we get both fuel and shore power cut in a couple of days, but she’s having fun getting ready to take a job she’s sure we’ll lose money on. She’s searching hard for jobs, but between the unions and Seymore (shrug).

  Lag: Kwon?

  Helton: Other than a few Navy flashbacks, he’s ready for anything up to a week buttoned up, with current recruits and crew.

  Lag: Hmmm… Ready to transport about a hundred injured soldiers and some military equipment from the far side out to Transfer Station Two?

  Helton: You found us a job? Really?

  Lag: Haven’t signed anything for you yet. Been some fighting on the far side. Things are busy and they’re short on transport. A brigade took heavy casualties, they have a company-sized number that are stable but need off-planet R&R, re-gen therapy, PT, prosthetics, and things that are not readily available here. They also have some equipment they need to send back for repair, and transporting military hardware can be… problematic. Several civilian craft have been shot at; seemed a natural job for you to put in a bid on the transport contract to the transfer station.

  Helton: YES!

  Lag: Are you sure?

  Helton: Well, sure I’m sure! Sounds like a milk run; fly in and load up, hit the transfer station, hand them over, and come home to fix whatever broke.

  Lag: Do you know what the exact terms of the contract are?

  Helton: Uh… good point. But I’m sure you’d-

  Lag: Run the number past Bipasha?

  Helton: …That sounds… fun.

  Lag: There are a few things I expect you’ll need to lay in before you lift… I’ll forward the list to you and your crew to look over.

  Helton: Great, that’ll be great. Looks like I’ve got more work to do. Thanks. Thanks for everything.

  Lag: (Quietly) You can thank me when the contract is signed, paid, and done. If you still think you should.

  Helton nods thoughtfully, turns and heads out the door, closing it behind him.

  FADE TO BLACK

  FADE IN

  INT - DAY - Officers’ Mess

  Helton, Allonia, Kwon, Bipasha, and Harbin are reading screens on various places on the walls, looking over the contract and related details.

  Bipasha: OK, the medical support supplies I understand, but it’s way too much food. For a hundred guys on a two day run more than a thousand kilos is ridiculous!

  Kwon: The average adult eats about a half kilo a day, dry weight, young men more. We have no emergency or reserve stocks if things go wrong. If it goes sideways we might wish we had twice that.

  Bipasha: But it’s much more than what we’ll need.

  Kwon: Hmmm… wellll… For just this trip, if nothing goes wrong. I’m betting he lowballed the guess; brass always does. I’ll check the details, but for now triple the prep-packs, extra fresh, and at least 400 more cases of E-rats.

  Bipasha: (Incredulous) More? 400 cases? That’s crazy!

  Helton: We’re near a war zone with no formal supply lines, and a few locals don’t like us. I personally kinda like eating… Lay it in, if you can find it.

  Bipasha: But that’s an extra three tons at least!

  Helton: As you keep pointing out, we’re already packin’ thousands of extra tons. Three more… (he shrugs and shakes his head)

  Allonia: What about this? Why would the Colonel suggest rubber sheets? Sounds… weird.

  Helton: What, specifically?

  Bipasha: “200 berth sheets, rubber, type BB5L”? We have linens for the bunks.

  Harbin: We’ll be carrying injured people, and may soon be transporting refugees.

  Bipasha looks questioningly at him, not understanding his point.

  Kwon: They sanitize easily. Don’t leak.

  Bipasha: Oh.

  Harbin: “BB.”They double as body bags.

  Allonia: Oh.

  Fade to

  INT - NIGHT - Officers’ Mess

  They are still around the mess table, but in different positions. Coffee mugs and a carafe are on the table.

  Bipasha: Well, if we can get these items at the listed prices, then we just slightly more that break even, assuming nothing goes wrong, and Stenson’s fuel estimates are right.

  Helton: Told you it would work out.

  Bipasha: If the only way to barely break even is to fly into a war zone on a high-risk mission, you may have a serious problem with your so-called business plan, if it also includes either “get rich” or “die of old age.”

  Allonia: The injured soldiers need our help. I vote we take it.

  Kwon: If we stay, I cook. If we go, I cook. Meh.

  Harbin: I wouldn’t call this “high risk.” But it would help establish your name, and perhaps give us some first-hand intelligence.

  Helton: Anyone firmly opposed, with a specific reason?

  Everyone looks around at the others, or just closes their eyes and rest them.

  Helton: No? OK, then. We go. Kwon, get the food laid in. Bipasha, get the contract signed up, with the mods we agreed on. Allonia, get the rest of the supplies. Harbin, be your normal badass self, and get the recruits to get everything on the cargo deck cleared away… Are they staying here, or coming with us?

  Harbin: It would be a good training opportunity for them. They can assist with cargo and injured personnel. Go with, unless the Colonel
has other plans for them.

  Helton: Then pick up anything extra you think they might need: training gear, space suits, whatever… Looks like we have a plan. Look alive, everyone!

  They all nod agreement/understanding, stand up, and head for the door.

  FADE TO BLACK

  Loading

  FADE IN

  EXT - NIGHT - Cargo bay loading ramp

  A dark and rainy evening. A heavily damaged APC with a machine gun mounted on top is being loaded into Tajemnica. One crewman drives, another ground guides it, stopping it just inside the cargo bay door. The driver climbs out and helps the ground guide with tie-downs to secure it. In the background, there are several more damaged vehicles and cargo containers chained to the deck. Some have guns, all have obvious damage. From the side of the entryway, between the cargo-bay doors and the ramp, a multi-joint articulated arm silently unfolds from a long, narrow hatch. It has wires, hoses, and an ammo-belt feed tray mounted on it. It snakes out and reaches for the top of the APC.

  View changes to looking upward at the crewmen working to secure the tie-downs. The mechanical arm is extending silently over their heads as they work and discuss how to make sure the tie-down is tight. The arm retracts back over their heads and folds into its storage bay with the machine gun affixed to the end, like a gun in a hand. The narrow hatch closes silently, concealing the arm and gun from view.

  The crewmen finish securing the APC and stand up. One of them looks up to the top of the APC, cocks his head to the side curiously, starts to say something. He turns to his partner and sees him walking away, glances back at it, shrugs his shoulders, and turns to complete some other task.

  DISSOLVE TO

  Cargo ramp, later that night

  Injured troops move slowly up the ramp into the loaded cargo bay. Some are missing legs or arms, some have simple prosthetics, and some are in wheelchairs being pushed by fit soldiers. They are filing in, past the tied down vehicles, and up the stairs or elevator. Bipasha watches them mechanically, checking their names on her manifest as they board and telling them where to bunk. Allonia watches them from the background looking on the verge of tears. Some of the soldiers look happy, some have grim expressions. Kaushik, Kaminski, and some of the recruits are carrying several duffel bags for the soldiers. Their faces are blank, revealing no emotion.