The Deftly Paradox

by Matthew D. White

  “Trust in OSIRIS.” Shriver replied with the first line of their oath, “For through its guidance we are free.”

  “I know, I know,” Maddie replied, growing agitated as she waved over the rest of the crew whose attention they had begun to draw. “Sure, let’s get all eyes on this before it disappears.”

  Twenty minutes and a fair amount of discussion later, Maddie, Erikson, Shriver, and Sullivan lined up at the overseer station, looking for any guidance from their leader. Bannerman’s expression was skeptical, despite thoroughly digesting the report.

  “I agree,” he began, scanning between the members of his shift. “It’s intriguing, but without further proof or independent verification, there’s only so much that can be done.”

  “The fleet’s been launched. Right in accordance.” Maddie reminded him, “There’s no way to call them back and evaluate their orders.”

  “That’s true. But again, by itself, that’s not an unusual event.” Bannerman shook his head. He could see their faces were still marked with concern. “Look, I know it’s ultimately my call what happens from here. I can only do so much from my position, so much as it is.” He shrugged. “But as long as things remain as they should be, you can investigate. Erikson, you’re cleared for the maintenance floor. Check with the technicians and see if you can dig up the source of the order. Sullivan, continue to monitor and copy off all latent communications, encrypted or not, but don’t skip our normal broadcasts. Maddie, Shafer, go up to the Liaison Office and let them know. See if you can get in touch with Telfer and find out if he’s got any more information. Don’t get behind in your reporting, but run this to ground. If there’s an error, let’s find it.”

  Maddie felt herself exhale and only then realized she had been holding her breath. Somehow it was a relief, she decided as they left the overseer’s office, that Bannerman didn’t stamp out the exercise, as he was in his right to do. His bureaucratic side was showing, in that he didn’t care as much about what trouble they got into, as long as the days reports still got filed. The team circled up once they were clear.

  “Are you really trying to subvert the will of OSIRIS?” Sullivan asked Maddie once they were beyond the overseer’s earshot.

  “I know it’s a shaky exercise,” Maddie said again, frustration again building up behind her words.

  “Keep it up and they’ll kick you out of the MOC. You know Bannerman isn’t going to put up with too much; he’s definitely not gonna stand up to the leadership if things get out of hand and you start slacking.”

  “Yeah, well, you didn’t see Telfer’s face,” she snapped in response. “I’ve never seen him look like that before. He trusted me to look into this, so it’s the least I can do for him.” She paused, trying to force herself away from the confrontation. “Just give me this. In another shift, we’ll be back on schedule or it will be too late to affect anything.”

  “I hope so. There’s no need to wreck the whole galaxy on one technician’s hunch.” Erikson added, “You ready to get started?”

  Maddie glanced over at Shriver. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess. We better get moving if we want to catch the Liaisons. The second you find anything, call us.”

  “Absolutely. I can’t wait,” Erikson said, going for the elevator. “I haven’t been down to maintenance in at least two years.”

  6

  A twenty-minute walk through an underground corridor connected the MOC facility to the adjacent administration building, as normal and expected as any quasi-governmental shop in the galaxy. They bypassed the surface-level concourse by means of the subterranean entrance and made their way to the elevator, sharing an awkward silence that cycled between questions and occasional disparaging remarks from Shriver.

  Their conversation waned as the elevator slid to a halt and dumped the pair onto the main floor of the senate’s liaison office. While nearly all decision making took place within OSIRIS, that didn’t mean there wasn’t room for human oversight. Mid-level military officers were stationed there, along with representatives from many of the industrial plants and local federated governing bodies.

  When they entered, the first person on his feet was dressed in a dark, high-collared suit. Maddie didn’t recognize him but knew by the four silver bands stitched around his sleeves he was their interface to the Dominion Oversight Council. Not a hair was out of place on his head, nor did a stray crease mar his coat, giving the impression that the man hadn’t performed a hard day’s work in years, if ever.

  “Can I help you?” he asked with a rich, steady voice accustomed to discourse and public speaking.

  “Yes…” Maddie’s tone trailed before returning focus on their issue. “We’re from the MOC. This afternoon we captured a suspect order that may require your attention.”

  “Of course,” the liaison said, rounding his desk to greet them. “I’m Riley Lorde, representative to the council. What’s the issue?”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Maddie Cooper, and this is John Shriver,” she added as she fished the order from her uniform. “We don’t yet have independent verification, but it appears the fleet has been dispatched to New Loeria.”

  “That’s certainly interesting,” Lorde replied with a cocked head and raised eyebrow behind his thin, silver-framed glasses. “The note was in the daily briefing, but we’ve received no other information from the fleet that would cause concern.”

  “The order is for planetary bombardment,” Shriver clarified.

  “Now that would make things infinitely more interesting,” the liaison said.

  Something moved behind one of the half walls as Lorde scanned the page. Before he finished, a female fleet officer emerged from the hall and made straight for the group. “Captain, thank you for joining us,” he added without moving his eyes from the document.

  “Can you repeat that?” the officer demanded, looking back at Maddie.

  “OSIRIS ordered the First Fleet to execute a planetary bombardment and follow with an eradication of survivors.”

  “This can’t be right,” Lorde muttered.

  Shriver scanned down the captain’s sharp gray flight suit, the only markings on her red name badge being her flight wings and the word Leo. “Is that really your name?” he asked.

  “Call sign,” she said with a sigh. “My name is Kathrine. I always went by Kat, and by the time I got to my first ops tour it turned into Leo. Ha-ha-ha isn’t that funny,” she added with distain in her voice and her eyes. “Back to what the hell you just said: Can you confirm the order?”

  “The MOC technicians are working on it, but the files are mostly encrypted. I just happened to find this copy,” Maddie replied. “Why?”

  “I’m from New Loeria.”

  The statement instantly drew the attention of three other faces. The group froze in place, Lorde’s hand still on the order. “That is unfortunate,” he finally stated. “It is the OSIRIS’s command, so I can only hope this is incorrect for your sake.”

  “Bullshit,” Leo snapped and ripped the order from his hand. The numbers across the top were familiar; she knew the coordinates from a lifetime of space travel without the aid of Maddie’s notes in the margin. “How much time do they have?”

  “Fleet’s already on their way,” Shriver said. “At this point, and according to the order, they’ll be there in around ninety-six hours unless they burn unusually hot.”

  “You can’t let this happen.” The captain’s eyes flashed about the circled-up group. “If nothing else, we have to at least warn them.”

  “No can do,” Lorde said. “The OSIRIS knows the truth and it will do what is right. Besides, you’re not going to be beating a fleet that’s already in the warp.” He sighed. “All is right with the OSIRIS. Not the first time it’s had to eliminate a settlement due to insurrection.”

  “A ‘settlement?’” Leo’s voice rose another decibel. “We’re talking a hundred million people! OSIRIS or not, we can’t let this happen!”

  “You’ll stop the fleet?” Lor
de asked without a change in inflection, hiding any possible emption behind his polished glasses.

  “If I have to, I will,” Leo replied. “I’ll find a fast shuttle; maybe I can overtake them.”

  “I’m not your boss. Have at it.” Lorde said with a shrug. “But if you value your life, I wouldn’t get between the fleet and their target.”

  “Not listening,” she muttered and looked between the others. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”

  “We’re trying to confirm the order, ma’am,” Maddie said. “At this point, we have no real power.” She turned back toward Lorde.

  “Understood,” the council liaison said. “If you can find anything more substantial than this,” he handed the folded sheet of paper back over, “I’d be happy to present it to the council. As it stands now, they won’t go against the will of the OSIRIS. It takes a solid case for them to even debate a command, even more to overrule one.” He turned. “Leo, I’ll contact the bay and have a council shuttle standing by for your departure. That’ll be easier than going through Fleet Command.”

  “We’ll get you what you need,” Shriver replied. “Be ready. We’re not going to have a lot of time to put a stop to this.” He hadn’t finished the statement before he saw Leo already making her way to the door.

  7

  Official duties for the members of First Fleet were sparse on the voyage to New Loeria. The clock above the bridge ticked down by the second, although they still had over ninety-three hours to go.

  First Fleet was comprised of a formation of forty galaxy-class battleships, each loaded with a docked squadron of a dozen destroyers, led by a single, massive flagship, the Amaranth. Between the fighting vessels and a bevy of support craft carried along with them, the fleet commanded enough supplies and firepower to manage a campaign across an entire system. Such power was rarely needed, but it was all an aspect of the greater strategy. Peace though superior firepower was the OSIRIS’s MO and the fleet’s personnel complied without question.

  It was with certainty that separatist groups existed along the fringe of the Dominion, but they were in no shape to challenge any aspect of the OSIRIS’s rule. Their equipment was antiquated and no minimally competent forge would be caught building parts off the official record. More than that, their antiquated ships were too few in number to post a significant threat to their universal overlords.

  That’s not to say the Dominion’s fleets acted as warmongers or by the dictates of a mad king; rather, they were rarely deployed to be more than escorts and even more rarely were forced to fire upon an armed opponent. In a strangely inhuman calculation, the OSIRIS had simply chosen to ignore those who wished to be left alone, demanding no subjugation from those who were of no danger to themselves or to others.

  To its absolute credit, and to that of its original creators, the OSIRIS’s method of governance walked the line and for the most part stayed out of the citizens’ way, providing guidance and protection when needed and resisting the human urge to consolidate its immortal power. It had succeeded where a hundred generations of human leaders had failed; they were well into the first millennium of its rule without the most miniscule of cracks forming in the empire-wide veil of protection.

  None of that changed the fact that the lead battleship’s executive officer, Commander Graves, had just completed his first inspection of the deck and had the better part of a week to kill before being faced with another official duty. There would likely be at least one personnel action along with a review of the weapon discharge procedures, which he was somewhat looking forward to, but neither of those tasks ate the time as quickly as he would have liked. One thing to be said about space was that there was always more of it.

  The black boots protruding from his flight suit left a familiar echo down the bright, airy hall of the ship as he returned to the bridge. The design must have been psychological, he mused; any distraction from the absolute nothingness on the far side of their alloyed skin was more than welcome, as far as he was concerned.

  Beyond that it was curious, he decided, that the weapons tests were called for within their orders at all.

  Graves gave Captain Richards, the fleet’s commanding officer, his update as required and returned to his station at the edge of the bridge. An unusual but not unheard-of mission, that much was certain. He began to sort through the ancillary commands which comprised their launch authorization.

  ***

  The council’s transportation bay was a hive of activity, filled with a range of crews seeing to the lines of moderately-sized civilian ships which dotted the long, straight hangar. Leo usually avoided council business, by design or accident, and was out of her element when compared to the familiar structure of the Fleet’s local spaceport. As far as she was concerned, the career-broadening stint within the liaison office was out of magic after three months, and she was more than ready to get back to real work.

  Rather than risk the attention, she made for the office, tucked along the rear wall and away from the business side of the operation. The noise of the ramp died off as the door swung shut, leaving Leo at the front of a bustling, well-choreographed exercise in flight operations.

  On the far side of a reception desk, the mission scheduler got to his feet. “Lieutenant, you look lost.” he said before quickly changing his tone. “Did Mr. Lorde send you?”

  She nodded. “Yes, he said he’d get me a ride to New Loeria.”

  “Good to have friends like him,” the scheduler said with a smile. “He’s got you booked on the fastest ship in the bay. Three fuel stops are needed to clear the distance, but we’ll still get you there in under seventy-two hours.”

  “When can we launch?” Leo demanded.

  The man paused, sensing the urgency behind her voice. “Immediately,” he replied and added, “I’ll show you to it.”

  The passenger cabin of the council transport was well-apportioned and covered on nearly all sides with rich accents and sound-absorbing panels, a far cry from the shuttles Leo was accustomed to calling home while attached to Third Fleet. Here, there was no need for protective equipment, and the seats were meticulously stitched from soft, dark leather, not polymerized webbing or raw canvas with a five-point harness.

  Her hands were subconsciously shaking, enough for her to take notice and grip the seat’s armrests to quiet her nerves as the shuttle pulled free from the council’s hangar. It didn’t help that she only had a vague idea of how she hoped to assist her home world. There would be little time to coordinate a defense or execute an evacuation, even if the fleet arrived late. Maybe they could negotiate, call upon the better judgment of the fleet and spare their lives. Leo shuddered at the thought.

  The other question was why. Certainly, the OSIRIS knew its tasks, but why did it decide New Loeria needed to go? Would the fleet comply? Would there be other worlds to follow? She stared out the lateral window, watching the ground escape below as her ship ascended through the sky. Maybe she could find the reason for the attack. If the problem became fixed, perhaps the fleet wouldn’t be needed at all.

  Even though it was an ephemeral hope, it was enough to calm her nerves.

  8

  Informally known simply as MAE, pronounced “May” or maintenance, the OSIRIS Algorithm Engineering facility was located beneath the MOC and was in a position significantly closer to the OSIRIS processing core than the more refined MOC floor above. Here, a server farm the size of a warehouse came together to create the galaxy’s self-aware, guiding light, far removed from the aftermath of its decisions.

  Slick dark towers spread out in endless rows, constantly processing the state of the galaxy. The floor here was made from perforated steel, unlike the fine stone tiles used above. The noise level was also significantly higher with a constant clamoring of the staff mixing with the dull hum of the cooling systems.

  Erikson kept his calm while attempting to explain the situation to the first operator he came across in the midst of their technological marvel.

  “
OSIRIS does not make mistakes,” came the initial curt response from the operator, expertly combining both condescension and insinuation into a snarky opening statement. “Its ruling stands as dictated.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not buying that,” Erikson replied, standing his ground against the shorter man who had extrapolated his technical prominence into a perspective of absolute authority. “You’re going to have to give me a convincing reason why it wants to clear off an entire damn planet.”

  “Who are you to ask OSIRIS to help understand its design? Your squishy mind cannot comprehend the operations of a civilization that spans the galaxy.” The operator spun in his seat, leaving his back to the visitor and intending to end the conversation.

  Erikson stopped the movement, grabbing the back of his chair with a firm hand. “I’m not asking the OSIRIS; I’m asking you. Just pull the order up and show me how it came to its conclusion. And show me how I’m wrong. Prove I’m full of it.”

  The operator shook his head. “Fine, but don’t expect this to change anything,” he said, adding an untellable murmur about pushy MOC techs as he moved between status screens. He typed in the order number and flew through a number of additional subordinate menus.

  “See, that wasn’t so hard.” The operator said, “We have the tools to unpack the encrypted messages down here. I’m surprised they don’t give your crews access upstairs; maybe you can’t be trusted.”

  Erikson rolled his eyes out of his host’s field of view. “One of us got access to it.”

  “True; completely unacceptable. Maybe it’s our security that needs to be analyzed. Here you go.” He pointed to the screen. “Here’s your order. Fleet launch, destination: New Loeria, operation codes: blah, blah, blah…” his voice trailed as he glazed over the subordinate orders, then tapped the screen. “Now that’s odd.”