Derelict: Marines (Derelict Saga Book 1)

by Paul E. Cooley

  Oakes blushed. “I meant no—”

  Dunn waved the comment away. “I know you didn’t. We’ve broken down before and the two of you managed things just fine. I don’t see how this mission is any different.”

  “The tow, sir. That’s what I’m worried about.”

  “You said it’s possible.”

  “And it is, sir,” Oakes said. “It’s just going to require a lot of precision from the z-g marines and a lot of finesse from Nobel and myself. And Black, of course.”

  “Of course,” Dunn said. “You didn’t think I’d always give you the easy stuff, did you?”

  “No, sir,” Oakes said. His blush was brighter. “Just worried what happens if it all goes FUBAR.”

  Yeah, Dunn thought. You and me both. “Lieutenant? Every officer, every NCO, has to face the fear that the situation will get out of hand around them, and people, our people, will be injured or die as a result. None of us can control the universe, we don’t always have enough information to make decisions. We have to go with our gut.” He placed a hand on Oakes’ shoulder. “Even me, son.”

  That seemed to calm the pilot a bit. He knew he shouldn’t be giving Oakes a pep talk right now. He should instead be kicking the young officer in the ass, telling him to get a hold of himself, and to only focus on success. That’s what all the manuals said, as well as most of the training classes he’d taken during OCS. But some marines responded better by seeing your confidence in them. He’d always thought Oakes fit that description.

  “Thank you, sir,” Oakes said at last. He studied the Captain’s mug. “Sir? You need some more coffee?”

  “Of course I do. How about we both get some?”

  Oakes smiled. “Aye, sir.”

  The lieutenant followed his captain to the small galley off the hangar bay. Oakes waited for Dunn to refill his cup, but he insisted Oakes serve himself first. Once they both had full mugs, they wandered back into the hangar.

  “Portunes gave me an update this morning on the target’s location,” Dunn said as they returned to the railing.

  “A large deviation, sir?”

  “Not exactly,” Dunn said. “Our target is on a collision course with a large Kuiper Belt object.”

  Oakes took a sip of his coffee before speaking. Dunn thought the pilot was checking his block for mission updates. “Damn, sir. Portunes sent the information to my block. Not sure why I missed it.”

  Dunn smiled. “Portunes probably just sent it after hearing me say something about it.”

  Oakes thought for a moment and then chuckled. “You’re right, sir. So roughly 80 hours.”

  “Yup.”

  “This is no longer a leisure cruise, sir.”

  “No,” Dunn agreed. “We’re going to have to be fast and precise. And after that, thorough.”

  “Well,” the pilot said. “I guess I have more work to do before we leave the station, although Portunes seems to have already done most of it.”

  “I’m shocked,” Dunn said. They clinked mugs. “Get to it, marine. But make sure you get some chow first.”

  “Aye, sir. I’m on it. On both, actually. Would you like me to bring you something, sir?”

  Dunn shook his head. “I’ll wait a little longer. I love seeing her with no humans around. I’ve always loved this hangar, Lieutenant. The smell. The well-used Atmo-steel. The low hum of the grav-plates is almost like music.” Oakes looked dubious but said nothing. “Never mind me. Get to it, son. Dismissed.”

  Oakes saluted, Dunn returned it, and the pilot made his way out of the hangar’s observation deck. Once more alone, Dunn wondered what other changes to his plans would visit him when he awoke from stasis.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dickerson stared at his duffel. He’d gone through it a dozen times already, making sure he’d remembered everything he needed for a deep space trip. The duffel didn’t contain anything more than his usual set of personal items. Uniforms, clothes, and other niceties were already aboard S&R Black and not in his sack. The items inside the duffel were much more important.

  A holo visor for listening to music during off-time or while in the ship’s coffin sat in a metal case inside the duffel’s front pocket. In the back pocket, a damned near invulnerable holo-frame held the image of his younger sister. Three of his lucky T-shirts rolled into a ball sat in the bottom of the small duffel. None of these treasures were valuable to anyone but him. Hell, even the visor was second-hand.

  He looked around his coffin, ensuring he had everything he needed. He did. Dickerson closed the coffin lid and sat atop it. The rest of the barracks room was empty. Kalimura had disappeared some time ago along with most of the rest of the company. It was just him now.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The station’s air supply, before you were used to it, smelled antiseptic and hollow. It had no real atmosphere. Titan Station, the domes on Mars, all had a taste to them, a tang that stayed with you and you looked forward to. But Trident Station, mostly vacant, simply smelled of loneliness. S&R Black, however, had a taste all its own.

  Sam Dickerson, Lance Corporal in the SF Marine Corps, looked forward to boarding the ship and escaping “home base.” While S&R Black was so much smaller, so much more confining than Trident Station, it never held the same sense of abandonment. You couldn’t walk five or six meters without seeing another crewmate. You ate meals together as a company. Out there, you lived, bled, and died as a team. Aboard S&R Black, there was nothing else to focus on.

  “Dickerson?” Kalimura’s voice said through his block.

  He opened the channel. “Yes, Corporal. I’m on my way.”

  “Good. Move your ass before Gunny throws us both out of an airlock.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at that. She had already picked up on Gunny’s usual threats and ass-kicking protestations. After a trip aboard S&R Black, she’d probably be able to guess what he was going to say and when. That was a game he and Carbonaro had played for years.

  “Understood, Corporal. Out.”

  She didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. He picked up the bag and walked out of the barracks. The urge to take a last look at what he thought of as the “boredom hotel” hit him, but he ignored it. He was heading home now, one step at a time.

  The Corporal had caught him last night in the gym. He’d gone there for a final workout and to relieve some pent-up aggression. Carbonaro had decided knocking boots wasn’t in the cards, so he made a date with the machines instead.

  The bio-nannies in his system kept muscle mass from deteriorating on long space voyages and in gravity’s absence. Hell, they even kept bone density from crumbling into dust. But they couldn’t add mass fast enough for muscles to grow. The only way to do that was to actually exercise.

  With his holo visor on, raucous bass theremin and roaring guitars pounding his eardrums, psychedelic space-scapes floating before his eyes, he pumped 90kg in sets of ten. In the middle of his third set, the music cut to a third of its volume, and the rolling storm of images faded.

  His first thought was that Cartwright had found him and wanted a spotting partner for the free weights. Or maybe Cartwright wanted to discuss the reassignment. Instead, as the images faded into a background glimmer, he saw the dour face of Corporal Kalimura. He let the weights down gently and pulled the visor from his head.

  “Corporal,” he said. “Coming here to spot me?”

  She waited patiently as he sat up from the bench and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Afraid not,” she said. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

  “Of course, Corporal,” Dickerson said. “Please.”

  He noticed she looked uncomfortable, as though she didn’t know what to do with her arms or her feet. At last, she crossed her arms and stood leaning back on one foot, making her appear taller than her actual height. “Are you happy with your reassignment?”

  Dickerson didn’t know what to do other than blink. He felt as though he was in an interrogation, the kind where you were supposed to give
your name, rank, and serial number. But this was an inquisitor he was going to be locked up with in deep space. Anything he said untoward now could come back and bite him in the ass later. “Happy is not an emotion one can apply to an assignment.”

  “Smartass,” she said. “You’re not in boot, Dickerson. And you’re smart enough to know that.”

  “True,” he said. Dickerson absently blotted a sheen of sweat from his arm. “But I also know there’s no answer I can give that won’t make you suspicious or that you’ll believe. Is that true too?”

  Kalimura leaned down so her face was a mere meter from his. “Just tell me the Yahweh-damned answer.”

  You’re so beautiful when you’re pissed, he thought, but knew better than to say. Still, he found it difficult to keep a smirk from appearing on his face. “I think you could use the help, Corporal. And I think we’ll get along okay. I’m a professional, no matter what my record says.”

  She considered that for a moment before speaking. “That’s what I wanted to hear,” she said. “My squad is now completely filled with lance corporals. Two that have seen real action. You are one of them. I expect Lieutenant Taulbee and Gunny have some insidious plans for this mission.”

  Dickerson chuckled. “I’m sure they do. It’s their job, after all.” He stared into her eyes for a moment and then smiled. “Gunny talked to you before he sent out the assignments.”

  “Yes, he did.”

  He nodded. “I thought so. He say anything particularly nasty about me?”

  Now she smiled. “No, Dickerson. He didn’t.”

  “Well,” he said, “that’s good to know.” He jerked a thumb at the machine. “Want to lift some weight? I can spot you.”

  Kalimura slowly shook her head. “Some other time, marine. I have some planning to do before tomorrow’s departure.”

  “Of course you do,” Dickerson said. “Looking forward to working with you, Corporal.”

  She said nothing, but her lips twitched into a grin before she could stop them. “Good night, marine.” She turned without another word and headed out of the gym. He watched her walk and again felt a stirring in his mind. What he wouldn’t give to see her personnel files. Maybe he could get her to open up a little bit during the trip.

  Pushing the thoughts away, he’d donned the visor and continued lifting until his arms refused to push the weights. Exhausted, drenched with sweat, he’d sat up, removed the visor, and stared at the bench. The self-cleaning material had already absorbed most of his perspiration, sucking it down into the recyc tanks below.

  After showering and inhaling some THC, he’d headed to his coffin. Kalimura’s lid was up, meaning she was probably in one of the briefing rooms changing her plans and how she’d manage the squad. As he’d drifted off to sleep, the visor pumping music into his brain, his thoughts tumbled over one another, leaving him with the mysterious image of Pluto rotating in dead space.

  *****

  As he walked around another bend and headed to the hangar, he wished he was back in the damned coffin. Before he reached the ramp, he saw Colonel Heyes standing at the observation deck. Shit, he thought. Once a fuck up, always a fuck up.

  He stopped, stood ramrod straight, and saluted. “Good morning, sir,” Dickerson said.

  The Colonel turned with a smile. He returned the salute. “At ease, marine. Aren’t you supposed to be on that ship out there?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Well, get to it.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  He threw another salute and the Colonel returned it again. As he walked down the ramp, he heard the Colonel say, “Good luck, son!” Training mission, my ass, he thought. To his knowledge, Colonel Heyes had never watched an S&R ship leave the hangar, let alone Black.

  Corporal Kalimura stood at the end of the ship’s personnel ramp. She looked pissed. He didn’t blame her. Here he was, her new squad member, and supposedly a good one, and he was late on her first day of command. “Apologies, Corporal.”

  She pointed up the ramp, but said nothing. He shrugged and headed in, listening to her steps as she followed behind. “Gunny,” he heard her say, “all marines on board.” He couldn’t hear Cartwright’s reply over the block channel, but he certainly heard Kalimura’s. “Yes, Gunny. A lot of PT.” Dickerson mock-groaned, but kept walking, a shit-eating grin on his face.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Moments before S&R Black was cleared for takeoff, Portunes called a meeting with the other members of the Trio. He explained what he wanted, why he wanted it, and called a vote on the action. The other two Trident Station AIs asked questions, challenged deductions, opened private channels with one another, and made up their minds. They agreed with Portunes’ assessment, and the probable outcomes. They did not, however, completely agree with his recommendations for action.

  Instead, Quirinus and Janus developed changes to the original recommendations, held another vote, narrowed the differences down to two in the same fashion, and finally reached an agreement. The Trio constructed a data package in milliseconds including instructions, new diagrams and blueprints, and a slew of classified material. Once the data package was complete, each member of the Trio applied their digital fingerprints and sealed it. No other AI, even sub-personalities and tertiary systems, could open it except for Black’s subsystem known as Trippin.

  At last, Portunes initiated a secure connection to Black. The less-intelligent AI received the package and attempted to open it. It unwrapped the first security layer and compared its expected key with the key in the package. They matched. This told Black that the message had been sent by the Trio and therefore Black was to open it. She tried. When Black realized her main keys couldn’t decrypt the package, she fired the package at each of her subsystems.

  It’s was the AI equivalent of a dead drop. Black wouldn’t know if any of the subsystems were able to open the package. In fact, Black would forget she ever did this. Buried deep in her storage, Black’s logs recorded the event and subsequently wiped it. Ten subsystems received the package and wrote to their logs they couldn’t open it and immediately destroyed all evidence of receiving it.

  Once Trippin received the encrypted data bundle, the AI applied its private key. The key fit the lock. In a matter of nanoseconds, the subsystem decrypted the package, read the instructions, and prepped its nano-services, created new ones, and requested a mirror signal of Black’s feedback stream. Granted.

  Black flew out of the hangar, Trippin watching every message received from every component on the ship. When the ship reached 1/10 power, normal cruising speed, the AI subsystem took a snapshot of the data it had gathered and disconnected from the stream. It asked Black for more cycles. The main personality, the conductor of every instrument in a seemingly infinite symphony, granted it an exception, and allowed it more cycles than other non-critical systems. Trippin tore through the data, making new neural pathways as it ran simulations, determined the probabilities, made decisions, and stored the results.

  Trippin continued rewiring itself, adding more and more pathways, and preparing itself for more and more access to Black’s memory and knowledge. The little used subsystem, barely more than an alert mechanism to begin with, quickly transformed itself into a new sub-personality. Black’s company of marines would soon enter stasis as the ship started its ten-day journey to Pluto. Once that occurred, Black would continue listening for messages from the Trio, sending back new status updates, and perform any necessary tweaks to the flight plan based on information from its sensors. Black’s main personality would enter stasis as well. Trippin waited for Black to relinquish nearly all cycles to it. To a human, it would be a relatively short time. To an AI sub-personality, it would seem like an eternity.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The marines sat back in their acceleration couches. Kali fought against the swarm of insects buzzing in her stomach. Eyes closed, she tried to focus on the data streaming into her block. Black had connected a real-time feed f
rom the rear of the ship so she could watch Neptune, Trident Station, and the Neptune Shipyards slowly recede. The stream did little to alleviate her stress.

  She hated this part of any journey. Before S&R Black launched, Portunes’ automated systems used grav-plates to slowly reconfigure Black’s position and deliver it to the launch area. During the taxi, the ship jostled slightly, and Kali felt as though she’d upchuck the contents of her measly breakfast, weak black tea and a biscuit. Then Oakes was on the comms, announcing to everyone to brace for takeoff.

  Outside, the entry to the hangar shut behind them and air vented into space leaving the ship in complete vacuum. Portunes gave the all clear over the comms. Black ran a final diagnostics check, ensured the company of marines were locked up tight and ready for launch, and gave Oakes and Portunes a “go” message. Oakes agreed that all systems were ready to rock and roll. The marines were warned of impending G-forces and the countdown started.

  Kali’s hands clutched the arms of the couch, her white-knuckled fingers straining to keep her body safe from a force she knew was coming but always caught her unprepared. Head practically buried in the pliable foam, she gritted her teeth, and waited for the last tick off the countdown. The engines revved beneath and behind. In the vacuum of space, there was no sound made, but nestled in the Atmo-steel fuselage, the company heard it all.

  Dickerson was snoring. Taulbee and Cartwright laughed like little kids. Kali was fucking terrified. The last digit appeared in her block. She tried to take a deep breath, and then her lungs compressed as Black catapulted from the launcher and erupted into space.

  Kali’s expression didn’t change. It was set in a thin grim line as it usually was, but her jaws were shut so tight, she feared her teeth would explode into dust. Her heart pounded so fast she thought it would burst from her chest. A female voice spoke to her through her block.

  Corporal, Black said, her words clipped and professional, I need you to calm down. Your heart rate is redlining. She couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. After a moment, the AI spoke again. Corporal, I want you to pay attention to the data streaming to you.