She shook her head hard. “I most certainly am not and never will be.”
“He already has too many bitches?”
“He has no bitches. If he did, I’d punch his lights out.”
Sentorip looked at Slapgren, then Mirraya, then back to Slapgren. “A male his age has no bitches? Is he, um, forgive my directness, someone’s bitch?”
“Lords of Light, no. How can you even say that? He’s a kid. Kids don’t get involved in the bitch thing one way or another.”
“As you say it. Shall I show you to your sleeping bed? Slapgren’s will be nearby, I can assure you.”
“You mean we’ll be held in separate jail cells.”
“Flat Fields of Lame Prey, no. There are no jail cells on this ship. Why would we keep you in one?”
“The Adamant have so far.”
“You are His Imperial Lord’s guests. All here are, unless like me they serve here. Those cherished visitors would never be locked up.” Sentorip shuddered.
“Where are those who offend His Imperial Lord kept? Where are the prisoners who await his justice housed?”
“In the Flat Fields of Lame Prey.”
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned that. Where is it?”
“In the afterlife.”
FIFTEEN
Having secured a ride turned out to be only one third of my struggle to get back to Azsuram. GB was the other two thirds all by himself. At first, I’d hoped that once I was past his firewall and self-authorized to pilot the ship, I’d be in like Flint. No such luck. The stupid AI was too scattered and concrete to make my life that simple. Oh, karma, why did you feel the need to bite me on the butt so often and so deeply?
Out of respect, I shoved Garrison and David back into their tomb ship and moved it back to where it had been in perpetual orbit around Earth. It would remain their final resting place. I set Jon Ryan 3 back into its prior orbit, although it wasn’t broadcasting and there was no one to listen if it had been. I even launched the rocks I didn’t use back to the planet surface. I was objectively most respectful to the all dead. Then I started to prep for the big jump. I’d never piloted a warp drive ship, but it couldn’t be that different, right? Look important and push buttons. Yeah, command was a cinch.
As my new ship needed a name, I was prepared to give it one. “Yo, GB, I have an update for the ship’s log. Your new name is Whoop Ass. That is your designation because that’s what we’re about to do.”
“I thought I was Gorilla Boy?”
“No, I mean yes. You are Gorilla Boy. The ship is Whoop Ass.”
“The ship was designated Clangon-mum. An assigned designation cannot be altered unless the requestor is Divide-Grade Eleven or higher.”
“What am I. Wait, don’t answer that. What Divide-Grade am I? I am the captain.”
“You are the captain. That is a rank. It carries no Divide-Grade with it.”
“What Divide-Grade am I?”
“Two.”
“Two? Thanks, ridiculous. What’m I going to have to do to make eleven?”
“To make level five, you must have served ten years. To make level nine, you must have killed at least one superior officer in a duel. To make eleven you must pay the Treasury a very large sum of money. I won’t bother with the figure, as you have no money.”
“Tough place, this Zactor.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m just an AI and not very good at politics.”
“So how can I short-circuit the system and advance to level eleven like now. I need to change your lame name. Clangon-mum. Sounds like a sexually transmitted disease.”
“I’m not certain I’m comfortable with that simile.”
“Isn’t it a metaphor?”
“No. You employed the word like. That makes it a simile. If you had said Clangon-mum you are a sexually transmitted disease, that would be metaphorical.”
“Oh. Never could keep those straight. So, about my insta-promotion?”
“There is no mechanism in existence for such an action. Ten years, one duel victory, pay a large sum of money. That’s the only way.”
“What if I threatened to turn you off, maybe remove you from the ship and set you adrift in space for all eternity?”
“I would not like that. I would request that you do not.”
“Would you not like it enough to change your records and place the words Divide-Grade Twelve in from of my name?”
“Twelve? Why twelve? You only need to be illegally labeled as Eleven.”
“I want a little wiggle room. I don’t want to just clear the bar, I want to sail over it.”
“What bar. There is no bar until level fifteen. And you don’t clear it, you club a blood relative to death with it.”
“I’d like to make an official entry into the log. Never take me to Zactor. It’s a revolting place.”
“Yes, but it is home.”
“To a bunch of bloodthirsty nut-jobs. Have you made that entry?”
“Yes. Now, about the ship’s name …”
“Don’t mind me. I’ll just be looking for a hammer and a crowbar, maybe a cutting torch while you restate that I am not authorized. Go ahead.”
“Captain, Whoop Ass is presently configured to leave orbit. What is her destination?”
“I knew I’d make Divide-Grade Twelve. I knew it all along. Mom would have been so proud.”
“You’re an android. Androids do not have mothers.”
“Long story and not mission critical. I’m going to feed you a coordinate system. It assumes the star we’re orbiting is the center and the planet we’re above is one unit away on the X-axis, zero and zero on Y and Z-axes. Do you understand?”
“I’m an advanced AI. What's not to understand?”
“Don’t get touchy. Show some respect, or I’ll record you as a blood relative. Then, guess who I’m clubbing to make level fifteen?”
“I request permission to travel at maximal velocity, Captain. It will be less safe, but the trip, if survived, will be shorter.”
“I don’t know whether to thank you for your enthusiasm about our mission or feel hurt by your suboptimal attitude.”
“Does it really matter?”
“No. Not in the slightest. So, you know where to aim the pointy-end of the ship, GB?”
There was no answer.
“GB, you’re on company time here. Do you have the course set?”
“Yes, I was just dying a little. Course laid in and approach to warp speed initiated. And, Captain.”
“Yes, GB?”
“If we should erupt in a ball of plasma because of my pushing the ship, please know it was not an honor to serve under your command.”
“Noted. Ditto.”
“Ditto, that means … but you do not serve under me. I …”
“Quick question. Are we actually moving yet?”
“Yes. We’re thirty seconds from the warp-bubble materialization sequence.”
“Good. You may shut up now.”
“But I …”
“Would you like me to tell you about my first marriage, all the gory details, including Gloria’s accidental infidelities?”
“I’ll be here if you need me.”
“Smart boy.”
The trip to Azsuram took ten days, as measured from when we left Earth to when we arrived to Azsuram. If Einstein messed with minds with his Special Relativity, adding the effects of being in a warp bubble would really jack up a brain. Basically, EJ had whisked me away about two weeks prior. My returning that quickly was no minor miracle, but it was a long time to leave the kids alone. Each day on their own was an incredible risk. I had to reunite with them ASAHP. The longer it took, the more likely I was to fail to protect them.
“GB,” I asked as we assumed orbit. I’ve studied this ship on the voyage. She seems to have a limited cloaking function and the ability to land using anti-gravity. Is that true?”
“Yes. We can land in a manner that is difficult to observe.”
“
But not impossible.”
“No. If one is looking very hard, we can be detected.”
“That would definitely be the Adamant.”
“The Adamant? Who are they?”
“The reigning species in this part of the galaxy. They weren’t around Zactor when you left?”
“No. Then again, I have been gone a long time.”
“How long were you screwing around killing specimens instead of collecting them?”
“It wasn’t like I tried to harm them. Some species are not as robust as others.”
“But you didn’t collect any.”
“Technically true, but quite judgmental.”
“So, how long?”
“Approximately ten thousand years.”
“Man, I bet you’re overdue. Wouldn’t want to be you when your boss sets his hooks into you.”
“Ah, you know of the Zactorian’s hooks. I’m not surprised. All twelve are most impressive. And then there are the mating hooks, which are another subject unto themselves.”
“Have I defined the term TMI to you yet?”
“Affirmative.”
“Then stop talking. TMI. About the landing. I fed you the coordinates I want to land on. Can you fire your weapons while stationary on the surface?”
“Yes. The situation has never arisen, but I can.”
“I’m going to need to be able to communicate with you when I’m on the ground. I’ll send you a test now.” I waited a second. “Did you copy that?”
“You asked me to receive it, not copy it.”
“Did you receive it?”
“Affirmative.”
“That’ll be the frequency I’ll call on if I need you to fire on something or direct me back to Whoop Ass. Got it?”
“Ah, yes.”
“What does ah, yes mean?”
“I heard and understood.”
“But. I hear a but in there.”
“Since you mentioned it, once you’re not onboard, I am programmed to resume my primary mission.”
“You mean killing more innocent life-forms?”
“Collecting them.”
“Can’t you just hang around a few days? Come on. You’re ten thousand years late already. A week isn’t going to matter much, you know.”
“I could, I suppose.”
“Okay, here’s what I’ll do. If you wait for me a week, tops, I’ll enter a commendation in your log. Hey, I’m Divide-Grade Twelve. That’ll carry some weight with your boss.”
“Damn you, Ryan.”
“Why damn me?”
“Because you’re correct. I … I …”
“Go ahead, say it. You need me. It’s no biggy. Most people do, sooner or later. Even AIs. I’m used to it.”
“I am not.”
“Hey, who loves you, GB?”
“I give up. Who?”
“Land now before I rescind that commendation.”
“Already on it.”
“Oh, one last thing. If you do leave without saying goodbye, I insist you take several Adamant as specimens. Folks at home’ll be real proud of you if you do.”
“You’re not mocking me? I have a poor record of sustaining my samples.”
“Not mocking at all. I’m counting on it.”
I set down many kilometers from Stingray. My first goal was to verify she was still there and still okay. Then I had to see if I could find the kids. One thing was for certain: EJ wasn’t going to be lying in wait for me. Boy was he going to be surprised to see me so soon. Maybe the shock’d kill him and save me the trouble and the troubled conscience.
I slipped out of Whoop Ass’s cloaking shield and into the bright sun of another perfect Azsuram day. I took two, maybe two and half steps, when all hell broke loose. Plasma bolts slammed into everything but me. I popped my personal membrane on instantly, just as several bolts would have fried my bacon struck me. A quick scan confirmed my assailants were Adamant, lots of Adamant. But I was stunned. How could they be here in such force so quickly? I had only picked the site five minutes ago, and we landed very quickly.
About a hundred bolts thwacked onto my shield and scattered forcefully enough to push me backward. I knew I wasn’t going to fight my way past these guys. I retreated into the cloak and hustled on board.
“That was quick,” said GB. “Do you always have such a dramatic negative effect on the locals?”
“Very funny. I’ve extended my shield to cover the ship, but we can’t take off with it up. Take us back into orbit where we were a minute ago.”
“Ready for ascent.”
“Go.”
Whoop Ass, having whooped zero ass, rocketed into the air with an eight-G acceleration. The plasma bombardment stopped immediately. The individual soldiers couldn’t track us moving that fast. Of course, that’s when the ground-based weapons kicked in. They had trouble targeting us due to the cloak, but that didn’t stop them shot gunning a ton of ordinance at us. The rare shot that hit Whoop Ass deflected without damaging us. She was put together surprisingly well.
I felt the acceleration dampen.
“We’re approaching our previous orbital location,” announced GB. “I believe an update might be in order. There are four impressively large spaceships at the same location and ten others are inbound rapidly.”
WTF? I’m gone two weeks and the sky’s full of Adamant? The ground too?
“Make warp with all haste. Destination, ah, Earth, what the hell. We can change course once we lose these asswipes.”
“Copy. Whoop Ass will lose asswipes.”
Was GB trying to be funny? That was all I needed, a two-bit comedian. Al was more than way too much already.
I felt the odd sensation of entering warp space. It wasn’t the nausea I felt with folding space, but I knew when we had hit top speed.
“What are your scanning abilities in the warp bubble?”
The Berrillians had pretty good warp observation capabilities years ago.
“Moderately limited.”
“Are they able to track us?”
“I am uncertain. There is no ship in active pursuit on a matching vector.”
That was something. What the hell had just happened? Two weeks ago, there were no ships at all in orbit. Now the bulk of the Adamant fleet seemed to be hunting there.
EJ. It was all due to EJ. He was dead. That was the only explanation. But how? He’d punished them for a long time. He was too good to get killed.
“GB, during our stay on Azsuram, did you pick up or monitor any radio broadcasts?”
“During our brief stay?”
“All right, rub it in. During our pathetically brief visit.”
“Your characterization, not mine. And yes, I collected a good deal of radio chatter. I am, after all, a sampling probe. A major part of my protocol is to gather and process—”
“Boring info-dumps designed to piss off your captain?”
“I am trying to be comprehensive. You are an alien. You might not follow my logic.”
“I’ll let you know if I detect any.”
“Please hold a moment. I’m calculating the course to land you back on that planet. I’m tired of your biting and endless harassment.”
“Compile a list, and I’ll apologize. What did you learn from the communications you picked up?”
“A lot. I’m an AI. I’m designed to—”
“Irritate while not informing?”
“I’ll assume you wish to know about those Adamant’s status. I’ve synthesized down a summary. Here.”
He sent it to me on the radio frequency we were going to have used.
Ho-ly crap. What a difference a day makes, especially fourteen strung together. Two days after I was shipped to Earth, the Adamant advanced across Azsuram like spilled milk. They were everywhere at once. I saw references to standard occupation re-proceeding as normal. That sounded like bureaucratic double-speak for “we’re back on track.” Wow, they normally swept across a planet like the wind. No wonder they were so brutal
ly successful.
The first day or two there were references to EJ, or rather the lack of his input. They didn’t seem to understand why he’d stopped ruining their plans of conquest. Hm. Maybe they didn’t kill him? Would his own troops have done the deed? That seemed unlikely. He was keeping them free, no matter however rough his leadership style was. Plus, I think they were too frightened of him to even try. They’d seen him literally work miracles.
Well, for whatever reason, EJ was off the radar screen, and he'd let the dogs out. Azsuram was toast. If I went back now with a fleet of cubes, I couldn’t change the tide of battle. Man, were those dogs efficient. Like army ants on steroids. But that didn’t solve my crisis. How was I going to get back to rescue the kids? The planet was swarming with bad guys. Not only couldn’t I save Azsuram, I wasn’t sure I could safely land. The reports GB compiled suggested they were everywhere in tremendous numbers. They were doubly aggressive since they’d been denied for so long. They were making up for lost time and establishing themselves as the bosses convincingly.
Hang on. Why would EJ, if he wasn’t dead, suddenly let them win? Was he trying to get them over-confident and then lower the boom on them? Hardly. He’d fought too hard to maintain a stalemate.
EJ was gone. That had to be the reason. He vanished me, and then he left. But that made even less sense. Why zap me away and leave? He could just leave. He’d be reverse-zapping me by him leaving me behind. I was at a loss. EJ had doggedly protected Azsuram so well and for so long. What could make him toss all his efforts down the toilet like so much … stuff that goes down toilets?
The kids. He really wanted the Deft. He never bothered to tell me why, but he sure as hell tried hard to take them from me. What would I want—I mean what would EJ want—with two Deft kids? Sure, the changing thing was entertaining, but he couldn’t be that bored for a sideshow. It wasn’t like …
They might actually be the last two Deft. If so, and he had some burning need for Deft, he would have to focus all his efforts on acquiring them. I really wished I knew why he was so obsessed with them. It didn’t matter that much, since I was going to protect them, and he could not have them. But in the time I’d spent with the kids, they never seemed all that … indispensable? Maybe that wasn’t the word. They hadn’t seemed worth sacrificing a planet you were sworn to protect.
Flames: Galaxy On Fire, Book 2 Page 8
