Lyssa's Dream - A Hard Science Fiction AI Adventure (The Sentience Wars - Origins Book 1)

by James S. Aaron

  Brit had always hated the messiness of places like Cruithne, where the grime of humanity could never quite be cleaned away. Andy liked the wildness; it reminded him of home in Summerville a little bit, where edges never quite matched, and doors were always hard to close. That was life. Living off-Earth didn’t change the reality of what humanity had always been doing when it lived close to the bone and fought for survival.

  “I shouldn’t give you a hard time about your ship,” Fran said when they reached the warehouse section and they could hear each other talk. “It’s got some surprising guts. Its registry says it was commissioned as a vacation yacht but its superstructure looks practically military to me.”

  Andy frowned. “Why’s that?”

  “It was definitely built to take gs. There’s also the hundred or so hidden chambers, every one shielded by functional components. It’s a smuggler’s paradise.” She gave him a sly smile, artificial eyes sparkling.

  Andy shot her a tense look. “You’re not updating any kind of general registry with that info, right? I’d prefer to keep that to myself.”

  Fran laughed and pushed his shoulder. “Where do you think you are? This isn’t the TSF, soldier boy. We’re cash and carry here.”

  Andy relaxed slightly. “Right. That makes sense.”

  “Besides, it’s not like I can blackmail you. You’re broke. You’ve got an interesting ship. That’s worth a hell of a lot more than money to me.”

  If she’d found the TSF weapons crate, she seemed like the type to ask him about it out of pure curiosity, or to simply assume a vet would have that sort of thing hidden away.

  “Did you know your habitat was retrofitted for long-range travel, too?” Fran continued, clearly excited by the technical aspects of Sunny Skies. “Why add all those hydroponic systems and the completely unnecessary crew areas? If the registry didn’t class it as a yacht, I’d wager it was a surveiller, or some university’s science ship. Your weapons mounts are also reinforced way more than’s needed for basic point defense cannons, which is just weird. Where’d you buy this thing?”

  “We—I bought it on High Terra. Got a good deal on it. It wasn’t in great shape and I haven’t been able to keep up on the maintenance like I should. Everything’s been falling apart, bit by bit.”

  “You need an actual crew,” Fran said. “You’ve got the room for it. With your engines at full capacity, you’ll be able to do more than just limp along with your sails.”

  They reached her repair section, a command deck with narrow windows in its outside wall showing the shadowed side of Sunny Skies sitting in dry dock. Through the strip of window, Andy could barely make out the tiny forms of engineers in EV suits working on an outer section of the ship.

  “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

  “We don’t have a lot of time,” Fran said. “We’ll be on your job for the whole two hundred and forty hours. You’re lucky I had the parts for your fusion bottle. We can manufacture just about anything on site but that takes more time. You’d be surprised how many weird, one-off systems I’m dealing with here.”

  Andy didn’t press her that the eclectic jobs were a function of repairing pirates rigs and stolen ships. She was speaking more out of pride than any real complaint.

  “You see any problems with the job?” he asked.

  “I’m showing a second owner on the registry, a Brit Ashford. Who’s she?”

  “The kids’ mom. She’s not going to come looking for the ship.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” Fran said.

  He thought he caught a note of interest in her voice but he didn’t take his gaze off the long, dark lines of Sunny Skies. From this angle, the ship looked like one of the crumbling skyscrapers standing on the horizon in Summerville, now lying sideways, the long bulbs of the drive cones barely visible at the far end of the bay.

  “You know, I can edit the registry for you if you want,” she said, then added, “No extra charge.”

  Andy turned from the window, considering the idea. Brit’s disappearance did pose legal problems for him. He hadn’t thought about the fact that she still owned half the ship, which would make it hard for him to get market value if he tried to sell Sunny Skies. He could have filed death paperwork a year ago but couldn’t bear the thought of having the words “Declared Deceased,” somewhere that Cara or Tim might come across them. He didn’t know where Brit was. The kids didn’t ask. No one wanted to talk about the possibilities.

  Fran’s eyes flickered in systematic pulses. She was probably reviewing some schematic or issuing commands as she stood here talking to him.

  “Yes,” he said finally. “I’d like to do that.”

  “Captain Sykes!” Ngoba Starl called from the doorway. “Is my Fran taking care of you?”

  The head of the Lowspin Crew was wearing a neat black suit that matched his hair, set off by a pale-yellow pocket square. The flash of an oversized gold ring on his right hand caught Andy’s eye as he walked into the room.

  “She is, thanks.”

  “Good. I’m very glad to hear it. Are your children enjoying Cantil Park?”

  “It’s a nice place. I appreciate you putting us up there.”

  “Yes, it is a good place. I have security in the area, so you know.” He held up both hands in reassurance. “I’m not worried about anything, but while you’re here on Cruithne, your family is my family.”

  Andy gave him a tight smile and nodded. “I appreciate that.”

  Starl nodded, squinting at him slightly. “I hope you do, Captain Sykes. I think you and I have begun a relationship here. This could be the start of something wonderful.” He motioned toward Fran, who had turned to look out the narrow window. “Look at Fran, here. Before I found her, she was doing maintenance on freighters running the line between what’s left of Mercury and High Terra. Can you imagine that? Every day, worried a flare was going to cook your ass? I brought her to Cruithne, set her up with Lowspin, and now she has her own shop.”

  He gave Fran a wink when she rolled her eyes. Starl turned his grin to Andy. “What are you doing when you leave here?”

  “Going back to the apartment, I guess,” Andy said.

  “You should come out with me. I would like to have a drink with you. What do you think about that?”

  “Mr. Starl—”

  “Call me Ngoba. I know you’re worried about your kids. Trust me, they have more security right now than the Station Administrator.”

  “It sounds like I don’t have a choice.”

  “Of course you do, but this would please me a lot. I’d like to hear about you, Captain Sykes. You have a story to tell, I know it.”

  Starl got a sudden distant look in his eye as he appeared to get a message over his Link. In a second, he widened his smile and looked from Fran to Andy. “I’m needed elsewhere.” He pointed at Fran. “You take good care of my friend.”

  Fran nodded, smirking.

  “And I’ll see you in three hours,” he said, pointing at Andy. “What do you have to wear? Oh, don’t worry about it. We’ll get you some clothes. I’ll send one of my friends around for you. Probably Mr. Karcher. You know him.”

  Andy opened his mouth to reply, but Starl just gave him a quick nod, his attention back on whatever had come across his Link as he left the command deck.

  When the door slid closed behind him, Andy turned to Fran. “You trust him?”

  Fran gave him an arch look. “Do you trust me?”

  “I just met you. But you’re working on my ship, so I don’t have much choice.”

  “I’ve got too much pride to do a crappy job on your ship. It’s bad for business. Besides, your kids are cute and I’d feel bad if you broke down in the middle of nowhere.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “Trust isn’t much of a concept on Cruithne, anyway. It’s like asking if we get thirsty. Nobody trusts anybody. People want things. Other people have things. They work it out.”

  She’d taken a step closer to him
, the flashes in her irises making it difficult to look away from her face.

  “What do you want?” Andy asked, playing along with her little speech.

  “Maybe I’ll tell you,” Fran said. “Remind me after I fix your ship.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  STELLAR DATE: 08.26.2981 (Adjusted Years)

  LOCATION: Cantil Park Housing Project

  REGION: Cruithne Station, Terran Hegemony

  The kids were still asleep when Andy returned to the apartment after spending another hour reviewing schematics with Fran. She’d pointed out another series of what she’d called “interesting design and upgrade choices” across Sunny Skies, including the power grid and the control systems. Considering the glitched state of the ship’s computer, she figured he should have been stranded in deep space just after leaving Kalyke.

  “I don’t know if you want me to mess with your control systems,” she’d said. “It might be like figuring out astrogation with an abacus, but it’s bullet proof. I’m afraid I’ll break whatever core system keeps Sunny Skies running where any other ship’s comp would have failed completely.”

  Andy hadn’t known what to say about it other than to agree with her. He had grown used to the ancient navigation system, and at this point, the work-arounds were the primary way he controlled the ship.

  After his shower, he sat in the small kitchen staring at a glass of water, trying to think through the various choices in front of him. Of course, people smuggled bio-materials all the time. Embedding something in your body wasn’t much different than hiding it somewhere in the ship. The difference was only a matter of degree. If the material was especially noxious, it would kill you faster if it escaped its container. It might turn you into a breeding ground for some bio-weapon. Or it might simply render you brain dead.

  Each path in front of him would have been simpler if he didn’t have to worry about the kids, and nothing changed the fact that he didn’t have a fallback plan in the event something happened to him.

  Cara was almost old enough to take care of herself and Tim. Almost, but not quite.

  With Cruithne so close to Earth and Mars, its local net was well updated, almost like being back in civilization. He could run through lists of people he had once called friends during his time in the TSF. He could check on his sister Jane if he wanted—a thought that he sat and chewed on for a while.

  She had never really forgiven him for leaving their family, and had only seemed to grow more bitter toward him as their parents declined and he wasn’t able to come home to help. He had sent her pictures and videos of the kids whenever possible but she’d rarely replied. Jane hadn’t liked Brit much, or maybe she had simply decided it was Andy she didn’t like anymore.

  When the knock on the door came, Andy closed his list and downed the last of his water. The station water tasted good, despite its slightly coppery taste. Tim had refused to drink it until Cara added a bit of cherry flavoring.

  He opened the door to find Karcher standing outside in a black suit much like the one Starl had worn earlier. His pocket kerchief was pale blue. Seeing the soldier out of his EV suit was a bit of a surprise. He was smaller than Andy expected, with narrow shoulders and a thin face. Only the dark eyes Andy had seen previously through the faceplate were familiar. His irises were hidden by silver overlays that looked like dull coins. A bulge in the side of his jacket belied a pistol of some kind.

  “Captain Sykes,” Karcher said. He smiled and showed a gold front tooth. “I’m supposed to take you shopping.”

  “Why does your boss assume I’m broke?” Andy asked.

  “I didn’t think that was an assumption.”

  “Are you being funny, Karcher?” Andy asked.

  “No.”

  Andy shook his head in response and stepped through the door, locking it behind him with his security token.

  “You don’t have to do that, you know,” Karcher said. He pointed to balconies around their heads. “I’ve got people in all those apartments keeping an eye on your kids. This is the safest place on Cruithne right now.”

  “So Starl has told me. Still, it makes me feel better,” Andy replied.

  “I understand.”

  Andy followed Karcher through the housing block, along a different path than he had taken with Fran. This time they went down two levels to a transport hub where Karcher keyed into a private maglev car. They sat in silence as the car shot through a tunnel made of dark scaffolding, hung with conduit and plumbing. Occasionally the car emerged in open-air sections with busy corridors full of pedestrians.

  “This makes Cruithne look almost normal,” Andy said.

  Karcher shrugged. He was busy cleaning his fingernails with a pocket knife. “It’s getting a few of the edges rubbed smooth, but I don’t think it’s ever going to be a place I’d want to raise a family. Its location makes it too useful for smuggling. As long as that’s valuable, it needs to stay a gray zone.”

  Everywhere Andy looked, there were people. People walking quickly, heads erect. People huddled in groups, heads close together. People pointing at some item for sale between them, apparently arguing over price. Drones buzzed overhead and shot between feet. He saw augmented people and what looked like full-mechs. He could imagine the sounds without hearing them: the chaos of voices and machinery. He remembered the smells and sounds of Cruithne and nearly wrinkled his nose at the harsh memories of spices, oil, urine, sweat, blood and decaying meat.

  “I was here with the TSF when I was a lieutenant,” he said. “Busting smugglers. I didn’t get out much, though.”

  “We’ve still got a few TSF newbies hanging around,” Karcher said. “They’re good marks in a poker game.” He met Andy’s gaze briefly. “Think they’re invincible.”

  “Every TSF pilot is invincible until they’re dead,” Andy shot back.

  Karcher frowned, letting his penknife drop. “You know that doesn’t make any sense, right?”

  “Neither does strapping yourself to a missile and subjecting your body to extreme g-forces, vacuum, or hostile fire; but they line up to do it. Better to die in a blaze of glory than suffer being mediocre.”

  Karcher shook his head. “I’ve heard the same argument from pirates. I’m fine with being mediocre, thanks.”

  Andy was about to point out that Karcher was a soldier and took as many risks as a fighter pilot when the car came to a halt and the guard quickly folded his knife and stepped through the sliding door.

  They walked out through a private entrance into a clean, well-lit shopping district that Andy quickly realized was populated solely by clothing shops. Karcher led him down two wide corridors with windows displaying clothing of every stripe and fashion, until they reached a plain door with a single display window beside it showing a simple black suit similar to Karcher’s.

  “Here we are,” Karcher said. He pulled the door open for Andy and released the smells of sandalwood, cedar and various natural fibers.

  For the next half-hour, Karcher leaned against a wall as a tall, thin tailor took Andy’s measurements with an actual piece of vinyl tape. The man hummed and nodded to himself as he stretched the tape in ways that didn’t make much sense to Andy, like the distance from his elbow to the end of his index finger, as well as each shin from knee to ankle. He also measured each of Andy’s feet and the circumference of his head.

  “Very good,” he murmured. “What color, sir?”

  “Black,” Karcher said before Andy could answer.

  When the tailor had left for a back room, Andy said, “Wait, I’m not getting fitted for one of your gangster outfits, am I?”

  “You’re getting a suit for Mr. Starl’s club. For those who know, it won’t identify you as Lowspin, no. It’ll just make you look like a civilized human being.”

  Andy looked down at his coverall and its most-recent stains from dragging the TSF weapons crate halfway across Sunny Skies, as well as what might have been some of Stansil’s blood that had leaked through his EV suit. One hairy calf
was visible through a long tear below his knee.

  Perhaps looking human would be a nice change.

  In thirty minutes, the tailor returned with a suit that actually looked hand-sewn in places. Andy marveled at the workmanship as he was ushered into a fitting room. When he came back into the main room, he thought it fit perfectly but the tailor wasn’t satisfied. He made several marks with a piece of white chalk.

  “Your jacket, sir,” he said.

  When the tailor was finally satisfied and Andy was wearing the finished suit, the man brought out a board draped with various kerchiefs in the same pale colors as those Karcher and Starl wore. Andy started to choose blue, then settled on a green that reminded him of the kudzu leaves back in Summerville.

  The tailor set the board down, drew out the handkerchief and folded it in several snapping motions until it had become a perfect, multi-creased square that he fitted into Andy’s pocket so it formed a triangle.

  “Very good, sir,” the tailor said finally, stepping back to admire his work. “I’d recommend a shave.”

  Andy rubbed his stubbled chin and nodded, thanking the man.

  When they emerged in the corridor outside the shop, Andy carrying his coveralls in a disposable bag, Karcher nodded with a grin. “Feels like a new life, doesn’t it?”

  “It feels different,” Andy agreed, noticing as a passing woman with piles of curly red hair gave him a second look. She flashed a smile and was gone in the crowd.

  Karcher’s expression went blank as he accessed his Link. “The boss wants us to meet him at the club right away,” he said. “You hungry? He wants to know what you want to eat.”