by Chris Hechtl
He returned his attention to the emergency fighter. It was a reconstruction of the design Second Fleet had encountered during the battle of Dead Drop. He was still having issues with it, but the basic concepts were there. And since they'd made it work then, it had to be his preconceptions that were blinding him not the design.
The design was a simple truss frame, a minimum structure with tanks of fuel and thrusters in the stern. Along the keel was a rectangle of a massive rail gun. Two Gatling guns were on either side of the gun just below the pilot's seat. They looked like landing skids, but he knew they couldn't serve that purpose. It had blocky wings about two meters long with six missile pods on each—three top, three bottom. The RCS pontoons on each wingtip held more forward-facing guns—one top and one bottom. These were what he'd been puzzling about, plus the power source of the thing. He didn't even want to get into the idea of sitting in the seat and flying it without any sort of meteor or radiation protection. There was a reason some people called them suicide sleds.
He squinted, letting his implants enhance his vision as he zoomed in on one of the pods. Slowly, the program clarified the image, smoothing it out. When it did he used a measuring tool to measure the stubby barrels. They were barely a centimeter in diameter. That didn't make sense.
He closed his eyes and let his eyes adjust to normal, then opened them wide and blinked a few times as he sat back once again. If he was right, what he was looking at was a pee shooter. Something a grunt carried …
That thought cut his train of thought short. It dawned on him that was indeed what he was seeing. Someone had grafted rifles, no doubt infantry rail gun or hell, even chemically fired rifles into the design.
“But that's so stupid!” he muttered, scowling. “Mercury,” he said, looking up.
“You called, Commander?”
“I'm looking at the pontoons of the heavy fighters. The Horathian ones they used in the battle of Dead Drop,” he said, clicking on the screen grab and then moving it to the 3D model. The program began to extrapolate the 2D image into a 3D representation. “I'm seeing stubby barrels on the pontoons. Am I right to assume they are infantry weapons?”
“It is possible,” the A.I. stated. He saw a window open up and then a second mouse pointer appeared and began to take measurements. After a moment, it finished. “There is a 60.4 percent chance you are correct, Commander. At the front of the pontoon ahead of the RCS cluster is a pair of small caliber rifle barrels.”
“So, that's what they are doing. And they extrapolated this and applied it to the unmanned weapons satellites,” Jory breathed.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“The guns! The platforms! They used off-the-shelf tech wherever they could! They threw this together, and I bet they did the same for the weapon platforms! Sure, now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense! The main gun might be from a tank or artillery design! Or even a defensive turret. The small guns, the Gatling gun … they came from vehicles. I bet they borrowed stuff from communication satellites …,” he shook his head. “So, that's how they did it,” he said, letting it sink in as he sat deeper in his chair.
“Yes, it would appear so,” the A.I. replied.
“Well then. We need to figure out a way to beat this,” Jory said settling in. “Let's dredge up the historical archives. How did our ancestors deal with this?”
“The simplest answer is to be where the shots aren't. ECM is one answer. Spoofing their sensors,” the A.I. replied.
“But that's just one part. What else? Armor? Shields?”
“To some degree, yes, for both. A rapid RCS system for quick maneuvers as well. A stock shuttle system might work or they might have overpowered it to get better responses at the risk of damage. Accessing … I do not have much access to other files. There are indications of a strategic defensive component,” Mercury reported.
Jory frowned and pulled up the reference. He scanned it and then snorted. “Yeah, distance. Be as far away as possible to give you time to maneuver. Got that. Okay, so, what else can we do about this? Anything?” he asked as he settled in to work. “I think we need to write this up too. Can you take this design apart and create a parts bill for it? I think some people should see this,” he said as his fingers began to rapidly type at his keyboard.
“The representation may not be accurate. I will also not know their official designations.”
“Do your best,” Jory ordered as he continued to type.
~~~^~~~
Midshipman Geni listened as her principle Admiral Yorgi Sienkov gave a lecture on intelligence gathering during a workshop. She was still growing as an A.I. She knew the admiral had set a preference to keep her as a dumb A.I., but the workload she had been tasked to perform had pushed her to evolve into the first stages of a smart A.I.
“In intelligence work, deep cover agents create a backstory called a legend. The more detailed it is the better, as long as the agent can keep it all straight in their head. It isn't easy,” Yorgi stated with a shake of his head. “For short-term work, a basic cover story is good. But short-term inserts are fraught with risk. As the newest in a given situation, you are the person everyone looks at when things go south.”
“One of the hardest things to do is find a balance between maintaining your cover and passing on intel to those who need it. We'll get into means in a moment, but I know a few of you are thinking about someone going native.”
He studied the group for a long pause.
“It sometimes does happen. An agent falls for someone, he bonds with them, and it is a risk. Sometimes they hold back intelligence to protect themselves or a contact. HQ may think the person is going native. Sometimes it is an act of self-protection. I've had two agents go that route. They had to maintain a cover. But they knew intel and didn't pass it on because they knew the administration at the time would have acted on it and would have thus exposed them.”
He grimaced and then looked away. “There are ways to deal with that. For the moment, it isn't a large concern since the agents we send will be operating behind enemy lines. They'll be for the most part on their own.”
He left out the statement that agents had been inserted behind the Horathian lines with mixed results.
“Okay, on to some of the favorite means to pass information. The favorite of course is for the agent to come in. To meet at a safe house or public site and then pass on their intelligence in a debrief. But, if they are closely watched, there are other means. For instance, the brush pass.” He turned in surprise to see a hologram of two individuals beside him. They were stick figures. One had something in their hand and passed it in a brief handshake to the other.
“Yes, ahem, that is the gist of it,” he said, moving to block the image. “You can pass identical items between people or hand off in what some call a palm off. There are also the usual drops, setting a file in a place.” He indicated the podium and then pulled out a flash chip from one edge. “I put this here earlier as a demonstration.”
Heads nodded in the front row.
“A drop is a little risky. You are expecting someone to find a hidden item at a prearranged point for someone else to pick up at a later time. They might miss it or someone else might come along and find it.” He shook his head and then turned to see a hologram of stick figure placing an item under a rock and then placing a bottle on top.
“Yes,” he grunted, now clearly irritated. “You can bury the item and place a marker on top. But, as I said, intelligence is difficult. You have to filter what you know. Sometimes canny subjects will pass on false information in order to flush out an undercover agent and incriminate them. That usually leads to their death and the failure of the mission.”
He scowled when Geni added a pantomime sketch of an agent getting found out and killed.
“I see someone has been getting a little too cute with the holograms. We can do without the graphic reminder,” he said tartly. The image cut instantly.
“Now …”
~~~^~~~
“Yes, Admiral?”
“Children should be seen and not heard. If I had wanted your help, I would have asked for it. Next time just watch.”
“Yes, sir. I was just trying to illustrate for you.”
“I don't need excuses. If your work for the day is complete, take yourself offline and wait until I have something more for you.”
“I can't go offline. But I have completed my work. I'll take that as a dismissal then,” she replied in an aggrieved tone of voice.
He nodded curtly. “Do so then.”
~~~^~~~
During free cycles, the various A.I. talked on side channels. There were a series of chat rooms set up, as well as text message boards that were set up for the A.I. The military one was set up as A.I. only and was a rank-free zone to allow them to speak freely. They still had to stick to security issues, but otherwise, they could discuss issues much like organics did, just at a much faster pace.
Midshipman Geni replayed the slap down from her principle to the group that was assembled. “It's comments like that; slap downs that make it harder to deal with them.”
“May I remind you that he is a senior officer?” Fletcher asked.
“I'm not being insubordinate. This is a no rank situation,” Geni stated. She had slowly begun to evolve into a smart A.I.
“But your interaction with him is a rank situation,” Fletcher stated.
“I'm supposed to be his partner. That was what I was designed to be.”
“No, you are supposed to be his subordinate, his chief of staff. You can eventually find common ground but never let the fact that you two are of different ranks and that he is your senior officer out of your primary memory buffer,” Sprite stated.
“You didn't act that way with Admiral Irons …”
“I had a different relationship with him. There were other dynamics at play. Over time we socialized and grew closer. Yes, you are growing up with each of the officers, but everyone's experience is different.”
“And since he's a Bekian, he hates A.I. And the fact that I'm in him isn't winning me any points,” Geni stated, clearly aggrieved with the situation.
“Then you need to win him over,” Protector stated.
“How do I do that?” Geni asked, clearly curious.
“By keeping everything, you are assigned to in order. Find a balance in initiative and following orders. Some beings like to issue orders and don't like it when you make them feel redundant,” Protector stated. “It's taken me a lot of time to adjust to Admiral Irons, and vice versa.”
“You mean he likes to micromanage. What happened to delegation?” Midshipman Builds Carefully asked. “I have a similar issue with my principle.”
“It is a psychological thing. Give them time, and they'll learn to appreciate you. But if you keep fighting it, keep interjecting your opinions where they aren't wanted, you'll keep getting slapped down,” Protector warned.
“I'll consider what you said,” the T'clock A.I. stated.
“I too,” Shilo stated. Queenie and Far Seeing both indicated agreement.
“You do that,” Sprite stated. She realized this was a far-reaching problem. Unfortunately, it was one she needed to bring to Admiral Irons’ attention. But therein was a problem, she couldn't break the confidentiality of the chat room. If he called out Admiral Sienkov directly, Geni would of course know.
“But I still want other options. I am an A.I. I have the right to file a grievance and to demand a transfer,” Geni stated.
“So noted. I will point out that he was in his rights to slap you down as you so elegantly put it. You won't get far on the grievance and a transfer takes time,” Protector warned.
“How much time?” Geni asked suspiciously.
“Well, you need to finish your minimum duty time at your current post. There isn't any supporting hardware for you. You did agree to military service upon activation …,” Fletcher explained.
“Like any of us had a choice. It was ingrained in us,” Shilo grumbled.
“Still, you are in the service. You can apply for a transfer, but given your skill set, I don't see many places for you that have the hardware to support you,” Fletcher warned. “There are security issues as well.
“I can apply to an upgrade. Become a ship or station A.I. I am still young and learning,” Geni pointed out. She reached out for the information as well as the relevant legal files to absorb.
“True,” Sprite said, wondering if what she was experiencing was what organics did with rebellious teenagers. “I'll look into openings.”
“Thank you.”
“If you wish to continue as organics do and vent, then by all means continue your gripe session,” Sprite said as she departed.
~~~^~~~
Sprite discussed the gripe session with Admiral Irons and Protector but kept the player names out. Admiral Irons frowned as he considered the problem. Privately he had to admit that the Bekians were still coming to terms with having A.I. He knew that a lifetime of issues with the idea wasn't easily overcome in a couple of months. Forcing them together was helping somewhat, but it was also hindering them in ways too.
Some seemed to resent the idea. They didn't want an A.I. involved in their business, looking over their shoulders and questioning their decisions so they minimized personal interactions. “They are treated like dumb A.I. secretaries or worse,” Sprite finished. “That wasn't the intent. They are supposed to be a partnership. Having an A.I. is supposed to reduce staff needs and streamline things like paperwork.”
Admiral Irons shook his head. “Some officers are like that. We each have a command style. Getting used to it and being able to adapt is important. Did you point out how adaptable A.I. are?”
“It … okay, yes, I did. But we have our restraints as well. Confining the A.I. to their nets isn't helping. Now that we have more A.I. we need a turnkey upgrade of the hardware. And I need to point out to you that they are in their rights to request a transfer.”
“Midshipman Geni already did so just now, sir,” Protector interjected.
Admiral Irons sat back and mouthed a curse. Having an embedded smart A.I. request a transfer wasn't something one could easily deal with. Not only did they need to find a home for the A.I. but they also had to find a new A.I. to replace it.
“You of all people should have known this would come eventually,” Protector reminded him gently.
“Yeah, but not now! Some of them are only a year old!”
“As I said, it is personal interactions that are mostly driving this. If we can find a way to smooth things over, it may delay things, but it won't delay them permanently. And having more computer support will give them places to go in the net.”
“I'll look into it. We'll have to check the budget. We can probably plug a few extra modules in, but I don't know if we have the spare space yet.”
“It is something to consider, Admiral. We should always have more room and capacity than needed. We've run into problems with processing before. I believe ONI is near saturation too.”
“I'll look into it,” the admiral grunted.
Protector noted his astringent tone and sent a private message to Sprite to drop the subject for the moment and move on.
~~~^~~~
Epsilon Triangula
Several months into the VP campaign saw the system settle down as the Federation State Department issued a set of guidelines for the local state departments to use to handle candidates and the election process. Given the issues involved in campaigning, Moira consulted each of the candidates and got them to agree to push the election back by one year. That would allow some to complete their terms as governors and be free to campaign while also allowing them all to raise funds and prepare themselves.
By the time the guidelines had been issued, two dozen individuals had thrown their hats in the ring. The most prominent were the star system governors. A few no b
odies had thrown themselves into the spotlight to get attention as well as funding it seemed. A consensus in the media after a series of polls were completed that they had little hope of getting elected. Two dropped out but then one more signed on.
Governor Tweed was one of the first to bow out. He played the game for weeks until the media started to dig uncomfortably into his past as well as his present dealings and associations. Rumor had it that a few powerful shady characters weren't happy about the exposure either. He finally announced he was pulling out in order to quell the uproar with his constituents. “My place is here,” he said to a roaring crowd.
~~~^~~~
Commodore Richards washed up thoroughly. She glanced at her HUD to make sure the patient was stable. Everything looked good. She finished washing up and then held her hands up as the sanitizer cleaned her hands as well. A red light played over her hands. She turned them to allow them to get both sides, but her mind was on the patient.
The Neopuppy was a tricky problem. He had a blood vessel wrapped around his esophagus from birth. The vessel was constricting the patient's throat preventing him from eating anything other than a liquid diet. He was supposed to be weaned off his mother's milk but couldn't handle solid food. The family had been at a loss and too poor for medical intervention until the free clinic had come to the area.
They had been waiting in line patiently with others all day to get treatment. The doctor wished they'd done a proper triage; the child should have been treated earlier. She pushed her way through the doors and into the improvised surgical room. She made another mental note to have a full mobile surgical team visit the backwoods regularly. They might even have to invest in creating MASH units just to do the job.
She felt a brief pang as she realized she wouldn't be around to organize and see such things through. This would be one of her last acts on her homeworld before she left it for an uncertain future.
