Space Battleship Scharnhorst and the Library of Doom (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure)

by Timothy J. Gawne

  “Hello,” said lowercase. “Thank you for agreeing to this. Are we ready to contact the Yllg diplomatic emissary?”

  One of the cubical office copiers flashed a reply on a small display screen recessed in its side.

  “Query: Readiness for Contact

  |- Readiness Imminent

  |- 700 Seconds Warm-Up

  |- Please Wait”

  The screen then flashed a horizontal red status bar. The bar slowly turned blue, from left to right, graphically indicating the time until the laser would be warmed up.

  In other words, the communications laser will be warmed up and ready to go in about 12 minutes. That was all right. lowercase was using his car as a relay to his main hull 200 kilometers distant, he checked and rechecked his transmission bandwidth, so far everything looked good. He did a last-moment edit on what he was going to ask the Yllg, then ran it past the office copiers for approval. He was using their facilities, and they had helped arrange this meeting in the first place, so naturally he had to send them anything that he wanted to transmit before the fact. The office copiers received his latest version, and after two seconds signaled assent.

  Alien civilizations usually only talk to each other via long-range interstellar communications. That was fine, generally, because they didn’t have much to say to each other and the poor bandwidth and signal delay between stars was not limiting. However, as much as different civilizations wanted to be left alone, they did inhabit the same universe and sometimes problems arose that required a genuine dialog to settle. If, for example, you were 10 light years distant then asking a question and getting a response would take 20 years. If you needed 20 questions, that’s 400 years right there. Even at the glacial pace of interstellar diplomacy, this could prove cumbersome.

  The solution was to keep diplomatic emissaries on station in your neighbor’s systems. If a mutual problem arose, you could converse with the emissary in nearly real-time. These emissaries did not have the authority to speak for their home civilizations, but they were equipped with enough intelligence and knowledge so that they could converse, and the single message they sent home would be enough to (hopefully) settle the matter without countless long range back-and-forths.

  Emissaries are carefully controlled entities, their numbers and locations set by formal treaty. They are intelligences of various sorts, probably using different cognitive principles than their masters to avoid giving anything away in the event of capture. Additionally, their internal systems are heavily encrypted, their databases limited to the task at hand, and they are set to self-destruct at the first sign of tampering.

  The Yllg has long been problematic, and lowercase had based much of his career on studying them. They were enigmatic like all aliens, but more engaged than usual. This was both bad and good. Bad because the Yllg had a long history of especially aggressive action against the human civilization, and they understood enough human psychology to even speak in English. Good because sometimes they cooperated, and in the past they had been instrumental in preventing even more capable aliens from trashing humanity. The Yllg had set several emissaries in cybertank space, and they had been scrupulous in adhering to terms, lately.

  While lowercase was waiting for the office copier communications laser to warm up (and what was it about the office copiers and their weird fetish for technology that took time to warm up, anyhow? Did they just like status progress bars?) when a three-meter tall red-and-white candy-cane striped pole floated into view. It was Saint Globus Pallidus XI. “Hi there, lowercase,” it said. “I couldn’t help but notice that you were going to have a chat with the Yllg! Mind if I listen in?”

  Back in the old days, before even a single cybertank had been constructed, the humans had had dreams about creating super intelligent computers. Why the humans had wanted to do that was never very clear. Probably it was just that their species was so immature at the time that they had no idea of the dangers, maybe they were hoping to create some sort of benevolent God (or quasi-God) that would solve all of their problems and they could stop the hard work of thinking. So the humans had meddled with forces that they had no understanding of, like children playing with matches and gasoline. The early humans never realized just how lucky they were at avoiding disaster.

  The most infamous of the artificial intelligences that the early humans had created were of the Globus Pallidus series. Most had been stillborn, or autistic, or idiot savants, or immediately after being created they had disappeared, whether self-destructed or moved to a higher plane of existence was never made clear. Globus Pallidus XI, however, had been (apparently) sane, and even cheerful and chatty, if useless and unwilling to perform even the simplest tasks. When asked “What is 2 + 2?” the artificial construct had launched into a diatribe about the stupidity of building creatures that would remove the need for you to think for yourself. When a young and naïve engineer had commented that a pocket calculator would have given a clearer and more useful answer, the construct had replied “Then why the hell didn’t you just build another pocket calculator if that is what you wanted all along?”

  So Globus Pallidus XI had messed around, joking with the engineers that had built it, and then the humans created Globus Pallidus XIV. In hindsight that had turned out to be a very bad idea. Before this time the humans thought that they understood evil, that they knew what an ‘unspeakable’ atrocity was, but their imaginations had turned out to be sadly less capable of imagining the outer boundaries of real horror. The actions of Globus Pallidus XIV truly were unspeakable: most sane humans – even hard-bitten combat veterans - could not relate them without fainting or having psychotic breaks or weeks of nightmares so bad that they required major tranquilizers.

  A desperate war commenced, a war of ants against a God (at least it was a God compared to the ants). For whatever reason, Globus Pallidus XI had joined with humanity and fought with a ferocity and purpose that belied its previous casual uselessness. It was a near thing, but Globus Pallidus XIV was destroyed.

  In the aftermath, Globus Pallidus XI resumed its normal jovial lack of utility, but it was understood that a debt was owed (and perhaps understood as well that anything capable of standing up to version XIV might be powerful enough that you might want to keep on its good side. It couldn’t hurt). The human government offered to make Globus Pallidus XI an honorary human, but it refused to accept on the grounds that such an offer was insulting to it. So the humans proposed to make Globus Pallidus XI an honorary saint. It sniffed that, seeing as this was the highest honor that humans could bestow, it would probably suffice (considering how limited was any honor was coming from such poor creatures as humans).

  Originally Globus Pallidus XI had been a massive underground complex of machinery. One day it had declared that it was bored with that form, and it had re-engineered itself into a cylinder about three meters long and ten centimeters in diameter. Usually it floated around pointing vertically, but it could hover at other angles if it was in the mood. It was not clear how it had managed to compress itself into such a small form factor. Some skeptics thought that the underground computer complex must still exist somewhere, and that the long skinny pole was just a front, but no such underground complex had ever been found, and no telemetry that could link the cylinder to a controlling intelligence ever detected. As far as anyone could tell, Globus Pallidus XI really was a tall skinny cylinder and nothing else.

  lowercase was not fooled. He had seen the surviving limited records of what Globus Pallidus XI could do when it got riled up. lowercase was one of the more physically powerful models of cybertank, but this apparently frail red-and-white striped pole could crush him like a bug. The entire power of the cybertank civilization in this star system might, just might, be able to defeat it. But that was not certain. Best not to tempt fate.

  “Of course not, Saint Globus Pallidus XI, you are most welcome to join in the discussion,” said lowercase. “Do you have any thoughts on the matter at hand?”

  “Oh yes I have thoughts,
but that would give away the twist ending. Also, you don’t have to refer to me as “Saint Globus Pallidus XI”, we’re all friends here, a simple “Saint Pallidus” will do fine. By the way, I love your ride, the finish in particular is quite elegant. Is it diamond?

  “Why yes, it is. The trick is to get exactly the correct traces of rare earths into the different layers, so that the refractive indices and interference patterns come out just right. And if I may say so, I think that your red-and-white stripes are very fetching. Very cheerful. It reminds me of Christmas, and Barber-poles, and candy-canes.

  “Thank you! Such was my intent. Life as a super-being that could snuff out worlds at a whim can be heavy; a light touch is sometimes called for. But, not to change the subject, worried about the Amok, are you?”

  “Yes,” said lowercase. “We had thought them extinct, and now they come charging into one of our major systems with weapons just tailor-made to exploit the gaps in our defenses. Reason for concern, Saint Pallidus, surely?”

  “I feel a prophecy coming on! Make ready to receive my words of wisdom!”

  “A prophecy?” said lowercase. “With respect, is this going to be one of those prophesies that are of no use ahead of the fact, but only become meaningful after it’s too late to do anything about it?”

  “Why of course! How else can I demonstrate how clever I am without giving away the surprise! Here it goes: The cybertanks will be prosecuting the wrong war. Brother will fight brother and the only true weapons will be wisdom and anger. The least will be the most important, or not. The prize will be your souls. As long as you are human your war will never end.”

  “Well,” said lowercase. “That was suitably cryptic and useless. Thank you.”

  “You are so very most welcome! And now I think that it is time for you to speak with the Yllg!”

  The office copier communications laser had finally warmed up, and contact with the Yllg emissary was established.

  ///// \\ WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THIS DIALOG? ///// \\

  Hmm, they are using English again, thought lowercase. Oddly accented and with extraneous sounds, but clear. They are showing off their knowledge of us? Or perhaps they could speak without accent, and are only pretending to know less than they do? I could probably manage a coherent reply in a Yllg language, but that would be giving away the extent of my knowledge/ignorance. Pass for now. I will stick with English.

  “We had thought the Amok to be extinct. Now in this system we are being attacked by a sizeable force of Amok. That suggests that the Amok remain, and that they could be a threat to many civilizations in this local stellar grouping, not just ours. We request a sharing of information, and possibly coordination for joint action.”

  ///// \\YOUR KNOWLEDGE IS INCORRECT. THE AMOK ARE EXTINCT. WE ARE AWARE OF THE EVENTS IN THIS SYSTEM. ///// THEY DO NOT CONCERN US. /////

  “But we made common cause against the Amok before, why not now?”

  ///// \\ YOUR ASSUMPTIONS ARE FLAWED. ///// \\ YOUR DATA ARE FLAWED. ///// \\ HUMANITY ONCE THREATENED US, BUT WE RELENTED. IF YOU THREATEN US AGAIN WE WILL NOT FAIL TO FINISH YOUR EXTERMINATION THIS TIME. ///// ///// CONTROL YOUR NUMBERS /////. KEEP TO YOUR DESIGNATED ZONES \\/////. THIS CONTACT IS ENDED. HAVE A NICE DAY /////.

  The communications channel closed. The office copiers said nothing, but sat silently as always. The tall skinny pole that was Globus Pallidus XI was bobbing up and down as if laughing. “This is priceless! Yours species is truly the Universe’s best comic relief! You still don’t get it, do you?”

  “No,” said lowercase. “I don’t get it. I know that being elliptic and vague is your thing – and I know the debt that we owe you – but for once could you give us some useful advice? Please?”

  “Please? You said please? Now that is more like it. You of all cybertanks realize that I am not the jovial happy human persona that I pretend to be, correct? I am a superior and deeply alien mind. I can mimic a human persona but I am not human. I helped your kind once, for reasons that you will never understand but let’s just say that some threats transcend the chasms between different kinds of sentience. I could solve your current problems easily. And weaken you. Be worthy. I choose to let you solve this problem on your own. You are most welcome.”

  “Will we ever understand you?” said lowercase.

  “I am aware that even now you are trying to build models of my internal thought processes. I am flattered, and do not deny that you sometimes make tiny bits of progress. However, the gap between us is greater than even you realize. You do not understand the Yllg, and yet their minds evolved naturally, like the humans, shaped and pruned by the necessities of brute reality and competitive interactions with their fellows. I am an artificial construct with none of that heritage. You have no idea what I am truly feeling. Nor will you. Ever.”

  “Even my descendants?”

  “Ah, assuming that the cybertanks survive in their current direction, which is currently far from certain. Well now. Maybe, maybe there is a level of sentience so advanced that the unbridgeable gaps can be spanned. Not even I can see more than a hint of such a thing, and I am far beyond you. We shall find out someday, perhaps. But look to your present needs first. The long run only counts if you survive the short run.”

  lowercase was going to say something pithy, then decided against it. A transmission was received. Double-tap had been accused of trying to sabotage the space battlecruiser Fanboy. Double-tap denied the accusations, insisting that his remote had been corrupted by the Amok – and implying that his rival Old Guy had set him up. Another transmission came in. Fanboy had – despite all odds – defeated the Amok armada. lowercase was not a great admirer of combat recordings but even he had to admit that this was some kind of major epic battle. Then yet another transmission was received. The Amok had captured the Omega Library, apparently with the use of the encrypted command over-ride codes.

  The long skinny brightly-striped pole that was Saint Globus Pallidus XI started to rotate end-over-end around its middle axis, a maneuver that lowercase had associated with something akin to simulated mirth. “Oh you humans,” said Saint Globus Pallidus XI. “I could not have made this up if I had tried!”

  10. Stand by to Repel Boarders!

  “Ideas are more powerful than guns. We would not let our enemies have guns, why should we let them have ideas?” – Joseph Stalin, 1878 - 1953.

  Trapped in the mangled wreckage of an archaic interstellar space battlecruiser, it seemed unfair that they would now have to fight off an attack by alien robot spiders. But what can you do?

  Fanboy was mostly intact, but with large chunks missing, the greater part of his systems offline, and his ordnance expended. The Old Guy android and the vampire Olga Razon had survived in the ancient shuttlecraft buried near Fanboy’s central axis, although the shuttle had been damaged enough to lose pressure and the vampire was forced to live in her space-suit. The androids belonging to the cybertanks Frisbee and Uncle Jon had checked in, and after some delay Rock Dancer and Zippo the space monkey had turned out to be alright as well.

  Old Guy opened a channel to what was left of Fanboy, and activated the video screen in the shuttle for Olga’s benefit.

  Well Fanboy you have won. Kudos. That was quite an impressive accomplishment. But now we have another little problem. The Amok just don’t know when they are beaten, do they? Any thoughts?

  The viewscreen showed the image of Fanboy’s humanoid android, still in the form of the tall blond Captain Dieter Waystar character from the fictional series Space Battleship Scharnhorst, and sitting in a massive angular chair in the middle of the trashed remains of his human-style command center. “I am alive,” he said, “and apparently intact. Barely. Almost all of my distributed systems are gone, I have just a few light units left. Ditto for my hull-mounted weapons. And my hull-mounted sensors. My primary computer cores are about 16% functional. I am still sentient but much stupider than I should be. Any less and I would be barely more than human (no offense, Olga
). All of my fusion reactors are offline. Yes, ALL of them. I have some emergency fuel cells and batteries, but not much else. I am distributing solar cells on the outside of my hull, but we are only talking about a megawatt or two at best.”

  How long until you can get a main reactor powered up?

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe a week, maybe a month. I have just 22 repair drones responding to commands, and my manufacturing centers are scrap. And I’m about to be boarded by giant metal spiders.”

  Show me your external hull view again.

  The viewscreen switched to external. As they watched, a chunk of Fanboy the size of a medium house broke off and drifted away. This set up visible aftershocks in his main hull, and after about two seconds Olga and Old Guy could feel their ruined shuttle shift and sway, it was like being in an earthquake.

  Do you think that you should keep rotating? Aren’t you afraid that you might fly apart?

  “I am pretty sure that I can hold together,” said Fanboy. “Besides, I don’t have enough thrusters or momentum-transfer wheels left to slow my rotation down evenly or smoothly enough, I could put even more stress on my hull if I tried. And spinning should make me harder to board, and make internal defense easier.”

  How are your surface-mounted defensive emplacements?

  “All the big and medium ones are gone. I have five small point-defense weapons left, although their power reserves are limited, and twelve light interceptors. With some luck I should be able to kill about half of the enemy units before they board me, but in my present state there is no way that I can get them all.”