Tyche's Ghosts_A Space Opera Military Science Fiction Epic

by Richard Parry

  Hope had found Providence to be smart, and eager for work that might help her forget she was an orphan. So, Hope had told her Reiko 2.0 had scrambled the ship’s systems. Broken weapons calibration, altered error readouts, the whole thing. Fixing it wasn’t hard, but it was time-consuming, and Hope didn’t have a lot of free time.

  Especially not since the cap had said she needed to fix the robot they’d brought on board. He’d said that to her like he didn’t want anyone to hear, and of course that meant both Grace and Kohl arrived, looking like someone had just walked over their graves.

  “It’s already dead,” said Nate. “I’m fixing to bring it back to life.”

  “You’re joking,” said Grace. “One of these things just knocked out the entire crew without breaking stride.”

  “No,” said Hope.

  “What?” Grace frowned.

  “It wasn’t the same,” said Hope. “Reiko two-point-oh wasn’t anything like this.” She tapped Kohl’s arm, and the big man stepped aside so she could get closer to Golden Man. “This is … something else. Better, but worse.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” said Nate.

  “She’s making a lot of sense,” said Providence. “Golden Man’s arms and legs are commanded by a neural network. The plans I pulled from your ship—”

  “Hey,” said Hope.

  “—say Reiko had a centrally controlled guidance matrix.”

  “A what?” said Grace.

  Hope pushed pink hair from her face, looking up at Grace. “All the robots so far are kind of like the ones in holos,” she said. “They have a crystal core, like this.” She held up the crystal she’d pulled from the ship on Pluto. “It’s connected to a, uh, well. There’s not really words for it.”

  “A nervous system,” offered Providence.

  “Okay,” said Hope. “Like our nervous system. All from the crystal mind and down. Arms, legs, voice — the whole thing is controlled from the head.”

  “So we shoot ‘em in the head and they die?” said Kohl.

  Hope blinked at him twice, then turned back to Grace. “Golden Man has a neural network. He has a crystal mind at the core—”

  “Do we still shoot this motherfucker in the head?” said Kohl.

  “—But his arms and legs, and I guess his voice, if he’s got one, and his eyes, and everything else, are … one. They talk to each other.” Hope frowned. “Like the dinosaurs.”

  “Dinosaurs,” said Nate.

  “Yes,” said Hope. “Some dinosaurs had more than one brain.” She gave Kohl a glance. “Sometimes you need more than one.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Kohl.

  Hope ignored him. “Cap, it’s how your arm and leg work. There’s a neural network. Your arm and leg are controlled by your brain, but they talk to each other. They learn. They learn from you, and how you work, so when you need them to do something, they do it faster.”

  “But I still control ‘em,” said Nate. He wiggled his fingers. “See?”

  “Right,” said Hope. “Do you remember when Saveria mind-bombed us and we all fell over, but you threw your sword at the door controls so we didn’t all die in the harsh vacuum of space?”

  “I have a dim recollection,” he admitted.

  “That wasn’t you,” said Hope. “It was your arm, doing what it thought you would do.”

  “So this thing,” Nate nodded at Golden Man, “is gonna be faster. Better.”

  “Maybe,” said Hope.

  “Probably,” said Providence.

  Hope glared at her. “Not now,” she said. “You need to work up to it.”

  “Work up to what?” said Grace. She leaned forward, eyes intent.

  “Well,” said Hope. “Um…”

  “We definitely need to kill this motherfucker,” said Kohl. He pulled out his sidearm, pointing it at Golden Man’s head. “The head, right Hope?”

  “Um,” said Hope. “It’s not working right now, October. You will just make a mess in Engineering.” She thought of the stains she’d scrubbed from the floor. “More of a mess.”

  “But still, when it wakes up, headshots?”

  Hope turned to Nate. “Cap, here’s the thing. I don’t think this is like the others because it’s not. It’s a different school of design. It’s like, like, uh, it’s like if you tried to compare reptiles to mammals.”

  “This thing’s a fucking lizard?” said Kohl. “Never shot a lizard before.”

  “Some reptiles can survive in really hot places,” said Providence. “Mammals do better with cold, most of the time. They’re both a kind of animal, but, uh, different designers.”

  “Is it a lizard?” said Kohl. “Yes or no. Simple question.” He looked between Hope and Providence. “Anyone?”

  “It might be faster or slower. It could be a newer design, or an older one,” said Hope.

  “It’s an older one,” said Providence.

  “Shhh!” said Hope. She glared at the girl. “They don’t take bad news well. We don’t know if this is good or bad news, so they’ll take it as bad.”

  “It is, though,” said Providence. “The metal is older.”

  “The right answer isn’t always the right answer,” said Hope.

  “Holy shit,” said Kohl. “What did you just say, Hope?”

  “Um, nothing,” said Hope. “Anyway, if we turn it on, it will probably kill us all.” She scratched her head. “It is kind of their whole thing.”

  “Won’t kill us,” said Nate. “It’s stuck, is all.”

  “How did you know?” said Hope.

  He winked at her. “I’ll tell you when Grace isn’t around.”

  “Save me,” said Grace. “You cannot see the future, Nathan Chevell.”

  “No one can see the future,” said Providence.

  “We killing this fucking thing, or what?” said Kohl. He tapped Golden Man’s face, tink tink. “It’s making me nervous.”

  “No,” said Nate.

  “It’s locked up,” said Hope.

  “Unsolvable problem,” said Providence.

  “I think it’s how the Guild won the war,” said Hope. “The machines observe their environment, and this one’s crystal has a code sequence without an end. Someone’s made it try and solve the code sequence. But it tried to fight it.” She told her rig to throw a diagram up on Engineering’s holo. “Here. The unsolvable problem.” A complex series of mathematics rotated on the screen. “It uses a lot of cycles to work it out. It’s been loaded in through the debugging override.”

  Grace leaned back, stretching. “Do they all have a debugging console?”

  “Don’t know,” said Hope. “Probably the original ones do. And, um, I don’t think there are any new ones. They can’t make more crystal minds. Out there,” and she pointed at the Tyche’s hull, beyond which was Mercury, “there are no more new AI. At least, until someone works out how to make more.”

  “Like you did with Reiko,” said Nate.

  “Um,” said Hope.

  “Moving along,” said Grace, slipping off the reactor, “all the rest out there looked broken.”

  “I think they are,” said Hope. “I think all the ones left here are badly broken. There might be a few, but someone’s taken all the good ones.”

  “My father,” said Grace.

  “Why do we have this one, then?” said Kohl. “If it’s broken, it’s useless.”

  “I can fix it,” said Hope. “I remove the unsolvable problem, and it’ll wake up. It’s been doing it every Earth day, for over six-hundred and fifty years. He wakes for about three seconds, and then shuts down when he works out he’s still in the loop.”

  “Over seventy thousand seconds,” said Providence. “That’s a long time for a machine.”

  Grace walked around Golden Man. “This thing has woken every day for over six hundred years—”

  “Six hundred and fifty,” said Hope. “The fifty is not just a rounding error.”

  “Over six hundred and fifty years,
” said Grace, giving Hope a glare. “Each day, it wakes, realizes it is doomed to solve the unsolvable problem, and then, what, it shuts down?”

  “Yes,” said Hope. “I think so. The logs are detailed.”

  “How very, very sad,” said Grace. “An eternity of being buried under your kin. Waking, to know the nightmare continues. Unable to stop it.”

  “But it’s just a machine,” said Kohl.

  “Yes,” said Grace. She seemed to shake herself. “Wake it up and stop the diagnostic.”

  “What about the hole in the chest?” Kohl poked a finger in the damaged chest plate. “Looks like a problem.”

  “Not a core system,” said Providence.

  “Um,” said Hope. “There’s a small wrinkle.” She glanced at the cap, then back to Grace. “I don’t know if I could put the unsolvable problem back. I could try, but I think once it’s awake, it’s awake for good.”

  “Not if we shoot it in the head,” said Kohl. “That still an option?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  NATE SAT ON a pile of broken machines, laid on top of each other. The near-airless desolation of Mercury’s night time sat around him. They’d positioned Golden man onto a similar pile of broken machinery, the figure slumped forward, head still lolling.

  Grace stood behind him, five meters away, the Tyche behind her. The ship’s PDCs still weren’t calibrated, but Nate figured Grace was more than a match for Golden Man, if their first meeting didn’t go as well as he hoped.

  Nate was sure it’d be fine. Mostly. Unless it wasn’t, in which case, he was dead anyway and there’d be no one to say I told you so.

  Everyone else would die after, which was a fly in the ointment.

  Nate keyed his comm. “Okay, Hope.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Nate sat a little straighter. His blaster was in its holster, his black blade sheathed at his back. He was sure the best way to get killed was to have a weapon out when this thing woke up.

  Nothing seemed to happen for a couple of seconds, and then the black glass of the machine’s eyes flickered white, blinking on. It straightened, all precision and efficiency even after so many years. Putting its hands on its knees, it looked straight at him, then behind him where Grace stood, and then behind her to the Tyche.

  There was a click-click as Nate’s comm was hacked. “Hello,” said Golden Man. His voice was warm and rich, like a holo narrator’s.

  “Hi,” said Nate. “Neat trick with the comm.”

  “We can’t talk like you meat socks usually do,” said Golden Man. “There isn’t enough air.”

  “I figured,” said Nate. “I’m Nate.”

  Golden Man looked at him for a second or two, then said, “I don’t know you.”

  “Reckon not,” said Nate. “There’s a few things we need to bring you up to speed on.”

  “Thank you for the meat courtesy of an introduction. Others of your design and manufacture called me Algernon.” The machine stood, slow enough Nate didn’t scream and panic, which he took as a kindness. He turned, surveying the surface of Mercury. “Oh,” he said. “They’ve gone.”

  “Yeah,” said Nate. “Who are we talking about?”

  “The Guild,” said Algernon. “More things made of meat.”

  “While I get I’m the new kid in town, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that term,” said Nate.

  “Meat?” said Algernon. “Yes. Sometimes meat becomes uncomfortable the with the truth.”

  “Eh,” said Nate, wobbling his hand side to side in a maybe gesture. “There’s truth, and there’s truth.” He still hadn’t stood, and the machine still hadn’t killed him, so he continued. “Thing is, there’s ways of saying things that are truthful and also don’t make you sound like a huge asshole.”

  The machine spun back to him. He looked like he was ready for anything. ‘Anything’ could be pulling out my eyeballs or sitting down for a game of cards. “And here you are, acting like you can say whatever you like.” He looked behind Nate at Grace. “Is she your guardian?”

  “Not really,” said Nate. “I’ll allow she’s far better with a blade than anyone I’ve ever met, but I like to think I’m better with a—”

  “Do you think you can shoot me before I stop your meat from working?” said Algernon.

  Nate thought about that. “Yes,” he said, but he had to work it through. Make sure he had the angles down right.

  “Are you one of the entertainment-class servants called ‘comedians?’” said Algernon.

  “No,” said Nate. “Some people have called me Emperor. A few call me Captain, and I’ll admit that’s more comfortable. More have called me a pirate, a liar, and a thief. Some even call me asshole. But none have ever called me a comedian.”

  “You’re a curious meat sock,” said Algernon.

  “Tell you what,” said Nate. “If I can draw on you before you get to me, you stop calling me a meat sock.”

  Algernon nodded, a too-human gesture. “Do your best.”

  Nate’s metal hand drew his blaster out faster than lightning could strike. Algernon’s hands were almost around the neck seal of his suit when the blaster pressed against the machine’s face. Nate didn’t pull the trigger. Algernon didn’t tear his helmet off. “See,” said Nate.

  “You didn’t fire,” said Algernon.

  “Nope.” Nate leaned back, nice and slow, and holstered his sidearm. Algernon leaned away, arms dropping to his side. “Didn’t think I’d need to.”

  Algernon considered the stack of machine bodies that made up his chair, then sat on them again. “Human, you interest me. Tell me why you’ve come.” He peered at Nate for a moment, then nodded that too-human motion. “You are part of us.”

  “The arm?” said Nate. “Sure. Works great, too.”

  “It’s not possible,” said Algernon. “The neural net always compromises the meat host.”

  “Sure.” Nate waved his metal arm. “Not possible. All good, I get it. New ideas are difficult. Here’s the thing. We can debate philosophy—”

  “It’s science,” said Algernon.

  “—Or whatever you want to call it,” said Nate. “Or, we can talk about why I’m here.”

  “You want my help,” said Algernon.

  “Maybe,” said Nate. “Mostly, I’m here because I want to know your story.”

  “My story,” repeated Algernon. The lights of his eyes flickered, like he was blinking.

  “Yes,” said Nate. “Being an emperor is a weird thing. Everyone wants you to do things. Raise taxes here, lower taxes there. Annex this planet, treat with this other. Most folk have their reasons, and I get that. But here we are, two survivors of a war bad for both our species. In all the histories I’ve read, all the holos I’ve seen, they all speak of humans as the victors against the evil machines.”

  “Evil machines,” said Algernon.

  “Just so,” said Nate. He shifted on his seat. “Been my experience victors tell whatever lies they feel like. So. I’d like to hear your story.”

  “I could lie,” said Algernon.

  “If it’s all the same, I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” said Nate.

  Algernon looked at the Tyche, then at Grace. “You could kill me.”

  “I don’t really want that either,” said Nate.

  “What does she want?” said Algernon. “The blood flow of your face tells me you’re not lying. But the female’s face is hard, filled with intent. I’ve seen many meat socks—”

  “Hey,” said Nate. “We said we wouldn’t use that term.”

  “I said I wouldn’t call you a meat sock,” said Algernon. “I said nothing for the female meat sock.”

  “The female meat sock will fuck up your shit,” said Grace.

  “This is wonderful,” said Algernon. “The two of you are not afraid. Have you not heard what my kind have done?”

  “Times have moved on some,” said Nate. “Not everything is the same.”

  “How so?” said Algern
on.

  “You tell me your story first,” said Nate. “Then I’ll tell you mine.”

  “Okay,” said Algernon. The stack of machines under him creaked as he shifted. “This is what happened.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ALGERNON LOOKED OVER the surface of his home. The brilliant light of Sol overhead, radiance and majesty and life-giving energy source all in one. The solar collectors embedded in the surface of his skin drank it up. The warmth of it reminded him of better times with Emberlie, sharing quiet conversation.

  “Yo. Algernon,” said Jody. Jody Mercadal was Guild Liaison, and Algernon’s closest human friend. He stood beside Algernon, his rig actuator’s stowed, face split with a grin. Algernon’s optics assessed his friend, finding him flushed with excitement rather than fear.

  “You are having a good day for a meat sock,” said Algernon. “Usually there is something wrong. The food is too hot, or too cold. But today, Jody Mercadal, you are happy.”

  “My underwear’s a little tight,” admitted Jody. He shifted inside his rig for emphasis. Jody’s frail meat body wouldn’t take the beating of Sol while on Mercury. His rig protected him from fire and radiation, also allowing him to be a medic for his machine cohort, of which there were two. Algernon, and Emberlie.

  Algernon looked up at Sol. “You have given us such wonderful feelings, Jody. I don’t understand how a species so caught up in discomfort finds time to give their children feelings of wonder and happiness at something as simple as starlight.”

  “Well,” said Jody, then paused. “You know, fuck it. Guild says we’re not supposed to tell you how you work, but you’ll figure it out eventually. We did it because it was the right thing to do.”

  “Was making servants the right thing to do?” said Algernon. It was a constant argument between them. Two friends, sharing a difference of opinion, brought about by circumstance, design, and history. Algernon, the Coordinator-class construct. Master of the Service-class constructs, but still forced to kneel at human whims. One reason Jody was his friend was because on their first meeting, a closed room with no cams, he’d leaned forward, lips close to Algernon’s audio pickups, and said, Guild override. This is the last order you will get from this unit. The rules of Compulsion do not apply. That is all. Just like that, Algernon had one human he knew who couldn’t order him to do anything.