by Don Foxe
“Yes, but I’m an Admiral, a wife, a mother, and soon a grandmother, so I’m no longer allowed to comment on such matters.” The smile disappeared, and a more somber Naval Officer continued. “Captain Cooper, you have two weeks to make sure the SF PT-109 is everything promised. Shake her down. Run her through every scenario you can think of. Test every system, and return her whole. You’ve been the lead test pilot on every space-worthy ship we’ve constructed over the past two decades. If you find flaws, bring her back, and let’s get them fixed. If she’s ready, bring her back, load her up, and begin on-board training of her crew. Once the ship, the crew, and the captain have proven they can handle the job, then we begin the mission. Space Fleet will have a ship able to patrol and protect our solar system, and a means to explore deep space. Hopefully, one day to make contact with other worlds.”
“I’m looking forward to my time with Kennedy,” Cooper replied, his eyes trailing over the ship from stern to forward tip. His mind ticking off the floors, levels, and compartments. He knew this ship better than any person he ever met, slept with, lived with, or loved.
She represented regeneration and reinvigoration. He had twenty-plus years as a test pilot, and the solitary life he built around his career suited him. One last test flight, then command of this ship and a full crew. Was he ready to give up his life for command of this ship? Was this his best opportunity to reach the stars?
The strawberry blonde disappeared sometime between her final observation, and during the Admiral’s comments. He had not been aware of her arrival, and did not notice her departure. He was slipping.
“Seems like your life has become one big alone, Coop,” Patterson remarked. “I can count your friends on one hand.” Holding up her left fist, she began lifting a finger with each name: “Me, Elie, Anton, Nathan,” and finally lifted the thumb adding, “Henry.”
He gave a wry smile, followed by, “You didn’t count Lt. McCormack, who runs the Officer’s Club.”
“Heidi McCormack is someone you occasionally have sex with. I would list her as friendly, but not friend.”
“Very friendly,” Coop quipped. “And Henry is everybody’s friend. The man has never met anyone he did not like or who did not like him.”
“You don’t want me to count him?”
“No, you better count Henry, else he would get upset.”
Patterson continued, “The Captain of Space Fleet’s first non-experimental ship should be a loner. Your taciturn nature will strike fear among a freshman crew.”
Facing the docked ship, not Cooper, she continued, “You will appear a stern, aloof, in total command leader. A man apart from the mundane humans who share your ship. They will see a legend. A veteran space-pilot, and an officer committed to his mission. The commander who will lead them into space. You will inspire those who serve under you.”
“And you are full of crap, Admiral . . . ma’am.”
“Crap comes with the braid,” Patterson replied. “Coop, you have been a loner for a long time. However, during the two weeks of the 109’s final shakedown cruise, not so much.”
“Not so much, what, Admiral?”
“Being alone. You’re going to have company.”
Patterson cut off more questions, objections, or comments by reminding Cooper they had a meeting in her office in ten minutes.
“We’ll discuss it then,” she told him, leaving the observation deck, and leaving no doubt the subject closed until the meeting.
Quiescent, he watched the activity around his forthcoming assignment. He had the focus of a sniper, the dedication of a Ranger, and the nerves of a test pilot. He always depended on those traits to see him through dangerous situations. He depended on himself. Depending on others became alien to him long years past.
No point in speculating about who would join him. No point in arguing against others coming aboard, whether a single person or an entire crew. There was no point in being angry or upset. Nevertheless, his jaw tightened the nearer he got to the Admiral’s deck. A shakedown flight, a test flight, was for the test pilot and the ship. These trips designed to discover each others strengths and weaknesses. He was the test pilot. PT-109 was the ship. Mano-machine the only scenario making sense.
He entered the door to the reception room for the Admiral’s office. Lt. Maria Sanchez, Patterson’s acting Flag Aide, as well as Flag Secretary, remained seated behind her desk. The loss of billions of people resulted in the combination of many positions, in the military and civilian worlds.
“Lieutenant, Captain Cooper reporting as ordered,” he announced, coming to a halt in front of Sanchez.
“They’re expecting you, Coop. Go right in,” she said, and added a smile.
THEY proved to be Admiral Patterson, two males, and, surprise (not), the young woman from the observation deck. The Admiral held court from behind a two-hundred-years-old walnut and maple desk. Behind her, a spectacular view of Earth through a shielded porthole. To his left (her right), seated in three simple brown chairs, the two men (one he knew), and the other female in the room.
The men sat at ease before the Rear Admiral. The woman sat upright, hands in her lap, and eyes on the blue planet through the looking glass.
“Please take a seat,” Patterson said, directing him to a fourth chair on his right. He settled across from her, at an angle, so he could easily see the Admiral and her other guests.
“Captain Cooper, you know Dr. Trent.” Admiral Patterson indicated the gentleman seated closest to him. Dr. Nathan Trent, a civilian, directed Space Fleet’s Science Division. Between Trent’s Space Fleet responsibilities, and his privately held firms, he led development of virtually every software,and hardware system used aboard the space-worthy ships Cooper had test-flown the previous two decade. For the last five years they worked together closely while Trent and his teams created the ship that would become the John F. Kennedy. Trent was responsible for design and construction plans of the physical ship, as well as the artificial intelligence (AI) program, which acted as the heart and operational brains of the SFPT-109.
The AI embodied a smart program capable of operating every system on board, including construction of alternative pathways, and creating fresh methods or actions based on information it received while operational. The AI could self-diagnose problems, and, short of actual hands-on repairs, create down-line fixes. It was aware. It had the potential of becoming self-aware.
Trent met Coop twenty-five-years earlier. The two worked on several projects which usually ended with Coop test flying a space ship with exotic versions of engines and systems developed by Trent’s scientists, technicians, and engineers.
He considered Trent as near a friend as he allowed. Trent showed no sign of surprise being there, though he never mentioned to Coop he was to be part of the meeting.
Trent took the ball from the Admiral, waiting only until Cooper settled into his chair.
“Captain Cooper, you are aware of the capabilities of the AI program, as well as other ancillary systems installed on PT-109. You are also aware of my concerns regarding the well-being of the AI, once PT-109 became operational. I am apprehensive a ‘thinking’ computer, one capable of intellectual growth, comes with the potential for psychological damage. With that in mind, I would like to introduce you to Dr. Herman Reinhardt. Dr. Reinhardt is a geneticist, and a psychiatric physician.”
Dr. Reinhardt, who sat on the other side of the woman, whose gaze remained on the porthole, stood to approach Cooper, who stood in response. The doctor held out his hand, and it was taken in return. “It is a pleasure, and an honor to meet you, Captain Cooper. I was a young student assistant during the Space Ranger Project. I never had the opportunity to actually meet any of the participants. I have followed your progress and successes over the last thirty years with interest, and, I admit, pride. Again, it is an honor.”
The doctor returned to his seat, leaving Coop to settle onto his. Reinhardt appeared early to mid-sixties. He had white hair, the required goatee of psychiatrists, also white, an
d hazel eyes. Less than six feet, and more than two-hundred pounds.
He compared the man’s stature to Trent, now in his mid-sixties, also under six feet, but a lean one-seventy. Trent’s hair gray; his face clean-shaven. The scientist-engineer stayed fit, in part, because he worked out once or twice a week with Cooper, when time and location allowed. Not at Coop’s level, but still pretty hard for a man his age.
The girl remained inanimate, even when Reinhardt crossed in front of her. Her profile was strong, and her posture straight. Coop’s ability to visually appraise and make quality judgements quickly was an essential tool for a sniper, and career military operative. The psychiatrist presented a low threat threshold.
This woman defied evaluation. Physically he could see her clearly. But was she younger than her eyes, or older than her freckled face? She dressed like a teenager, but her posture cried self-assured adult.
Dr. Reinhardt took over the meeting, while Admiral Patterson and Dr. Trent watched the Captain to see how he processed the information about to be revealed.
“Five years ago, Dr. Trent came to me regarding his concerns about the AI which would regulate your ship. After a lot of research, we decided the AI needed to have an alter ego which could bridge the void between intellect and the restraints of a computer’s environment. The AI exists in a two-dimensional environment, but it operates in three, possible four dimensions. If it could not experience more of the world as its self-awareness developed, eventually it would, for want of a better term, go insane.”
The earnest physician sat tilted and angled to give and get Coop’s full attention.
“We began a program to create an avatar for PT-109. A human embodiment able to communicate with the AI on a deeper level. The AI could then experience a tactile representation of the real world. The world beyond software and hardware.
“Our team designed a genetically enhanced human. We monitored the manipulated genetic codes from pre-embryonic creation, through accelerated growth, and into final development. At pre-determined intervals, we implanted technology to enable the human and the AI to co-develop. The AI could now evolve an ego to match its intellect. The computer would experience our world through an alter ego.”
The discord in character traits Coop perceived with the female vanished. She possessed both no unique personal character and multiple characters at the same time.
“And you choose a female because?” he interrupted.
“We did not,” Reinhardt replied. “We had several subjects. Genna emerged as the one who meshed with the AI in a way both technically compatible and psychologically healthy. She was the best match.”
“Genna?” Cooper asked.
On hearing her name, the girl took her eyes from the viewing port. She looked directly at Coop for the first time. Her eyes blue, but a darker blue, which seemed odd considering her light complexion. Not especially striking in appearance, but simply a pretty young woman.
“Genetically Engineered Neural Network Avatar. G . E . N. N. A. Genna.” Dr. Reinhardt seemed pleased with himself for having created her name. Perhaps as much as having created the woman.
“How many did you sacrifice to get Genna?” Coop could sense his anger rising, and fought to keep it controlled. Something he had years of practice doing.
“No one died, Captain Cooper,” Reinhardt said, sounding abashed.
“How many embryos, babies, and infants did you run through, until you found one who actually worked the way you wanted?” This time the anger showed.
“Captain Cooper.” Patterson broke into the conversation to defuse Cooper’s growing outrage. “You lived through a genetic-altering project. One of the twelve survivors out of two-hundred-and-twenty volunteers. We know your history, and we understand your pain . . . even your anger. The avatar program had to be created, or we could never send ships into deep space, and expect them to safely return. Sacrifices were made. Scientists like Dr. Reinhardt received a mandate, and they acted as humanely as possible. Dr. Trent and I were overseers of the project. We made sure everything which could be done to protect lives — ALL LIVES — was done. And before you get pissed at Trent, or me, we were under orders from the United Earth Council’s Board of Governors to keep this classified. Period. If it failed, then we would find another way to introduce an AI, or AI-like program into the Kennedy. If it succeeded, then, and only then, would you be read in. Do you understand, Captain?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Coop slid back in his chair, realizing he had moved forward as his body became stressed, searching for something, or someone to attack.
With Cooper’s attention back on the subject, Patterson continued. “In eight-hours and twenty-two minutes, you will take SFPT-109, the John F. Kennedy, out of dockage and into space for a fourteen-day shakedown. You are to test as many systems as you can. You are to strain this ship to, but not past any breaking points you can imagine. You are to learn how to interact with the on-board AI, and, as such, the Kennedy’s avatar, Genna. You will observe how Genna and the AI act, and interact. If there appears to be any obvious, subtle, or from your gut concerns regarding both, or either, you will report those to me in two weeks.
“If the test flight proves Kennedy worthy, including every aspect of her operational functionality, then four weeks after that you will take her, and her crew on an extended patrol of our solar system. You will command her in her primary function as a Patrol Torpedo ship, designed to warn, and protect the earth, and its inhabitants from extraterrestrial attack.
“IF, after that, I am convinced the ship, crew, AI, avatar, and the Captain worthy, the John F. Kennedy will be tasked with an even more extended expedition. A voyage beyond the solar system, in an attempt to discover if there are worlds with sentient life. Or any form of life.”
Everyone sat quietly, having heard the Admiral’s clear, and concise recount of the goals of the newly commissioned, first true interstellar space ship from Earth.
“If you cannot deal with any of this, Captain Cooper, make it known now. I would rather lose the five years of prep, and the experience and dedication you bring to the table as Captain of this venture, than have you out there doubting the mission.”
Cooper took a deep breath, and relaxed. His head came up slightly, fixing the Admiral squarely eye-to-eye.
“I have no doubts as to the mission. I have reservations as to how the Captain - AI - Avatar communications, and relationship will develop, or dissolve. I accept there is only one way to know, which is to test the relationship the same way I would test any advanced ship. I will go into this flight with an open mind, if I can get one answer?”
“Ask me what you want,” Patterson replied, not sure what to expect.
“Not you, Admiral.” Cooper turned to look at Genna, his ship’s human embodiment. “Do you want to do this?” he asked.
The girl, woman, Genna, tilted her head to one side, as if seeing Cooper from an odd angle would provide more insight. She turned in her chair, to better face him, and said, “I have been an adult, mentally and physically, for two years. I have been tested, examined, and analyzed by scientists, doctors, nurses, and technicians. Not once has anyone asked me what I wanted.”
“And?”
“Yes, I want to do this.”
“Why?”
This stopped her. While she delayed, considering her response, no one interrupted, realizing something important was happening in this room, for this woman.
“Because I am the PT-109. As much as the artificial intelligence, the computers, relays, conduits, technical, and mechanical structures within the ship. I belong with the ship more than any other person alive. And the PT-109 belongs in space. I want to do this. I have to do this. I was born to do this, and, frankly, I am looking forward to the experience.”
“You will be alone, with me, on the ship for two weeks,” Cooper reminded her, looking for a reaction to the statement.
“I’m never alone on that ship, Captain. However, I have never had my own space as a person. Someo
ne has always been there, to monitor me, or test me, or tweak me. Having a chance at freedom, even if it is shared with you, is chocolate. If you are concerned with being a male, you might not be able to control yourself, myself being a female, please do not worry. The genetic engineering included improving me physically. I am many times stronger and faster than I appear. I have received training in hand-to-hand combat.”
Cooper smiled, and for the first time felt a bit more comfortable with his assigned crew-member. “That wasn’t my concern, Miss. I am not an overly social person, and thought two weeks alone with me a boring journey for you.”
“Yes, I see. Thank you for the consideration, Captain. I shall stay out from under-foot, and we both shall have plenty of time to ourselves. Do you approve my coming along?”
“I don’t have any say in the matter, Miss. But, yes, I approve.”
Cooper turned from Genna to Dr. Trent. “Nathan, you and I need time alone.”
Dr. Trent looked suitably nervous about the prospect of being alone with Cooper after having kept him in the dark about the avatar program.
“In my office?’’ Trent asked.
“On board Kennedy,” Coop corrected. “In, say, one hour.” Turning to Patterson; “Am I excused? I have duties prior to disembarkation.”
“Dismissed, Captain. And God’s speed.” The farewell given to sailors setting off for uncharted waters for centuries.
Chapter 2
Captain Daniel Marcel Cooper stood alone on the bridge of SFPT-109. For operational safety, the bridge sat amidships. Floor-to-ceiling super high definition (SHD) screens provided windows to the world outside. Exterior mounted cameras relayed a view, as if his bridge sat atop the ship, the way command centers had been designed on sea-fairing vessels for centuries. The screens could also display video communications, or data when desired.
He dressed in Space Grays; white collard shirt, with his Captain’s bars, under a light grey v-neck sweater with the Space Fleet globe-and-circling-comet patch on his left shoulder. Name patch, COOPER, on his right chest, SPACE FLEET on his left chest, and charcoal grey slacks. Soft-sole, matte-black shoes. On a foggy night in London, he would have disappeared.
