Chirom was forty-six.
It made Absen’s heart ache, and gave him a taste of the dilemma Daniel Markis, who had released the life-extending Eden Plague upon humanity, must have faced. He was sorely tempted to order the planetary biogeneticists to develop some kind of rejuvenation therapy for Ryss, and even thought about giving it to Chirom against his will. Absen had that kind of power, at least for the next couple of months until he and Conquest departed.
Eventually he discarded that notion.
I can’t make that kind of decision for him, any more than I can keep people from their deaths fighting the Meme. Choosing where one dies is sometimes the most important decision a man – any being – can make.
During the third month, people of the three races came trickling off the liners that made the weekly passage to and from Afranan space. That planetary system now swarmed with relocated asteroids, shipyards and orbital fortresses, just as Earth-Luna once had, built over the last ten years. The arrivals were an eclectic mix of workers, officers, crew, engineers, scientists, even sightseers and gawkers who could afford to pay for the trip.
Desolator accommodated them all with ease, and in fact could have fit in a few million more if he had been willing to devote the resources. He provided work for those who wanted it, coordinated with the organic labor force and management, ensured the liners brought out sufficient foodstuffs and goods he could not manufacture, and generally functioned as a benevolent ruler.
Yet, whenever Absen asked for a change, Desolator seemed scrupulously deferential. Eventually Absen came to relax, hoping if not quite believing in the AI’s loyalty to its organic charges.
While Absen intended to take Conquest on a quick milk run and shakedown cruise to Afranan space before leaving the system, some of the officers and crew preferred to join the ship early, especially the unmarried ones. Ditto some of the die-hard sailors, crusty chief petty officers with renewed bodies and old eyes, who wanted to get into their sections as soon as the construction crews were done to start familiarizing themselves with the new systems.
Absen checked the manifests of these arrivals as soon as he could, and one name and job took his notice: Ellis Nightingale. If he wasn’t mistaken, this was the son of Lawrence Nightingale, the man who had run the weapons program that had armed Earth’s first space warship, Orion. Cross-checking with Conquest’s crew roster, he saw that EarthFleet HQ’s personnel directorate had assigned him as Chief Weapons Engineer.
Chip off the old block.
Another name caught his eye, that of Colonel Quan Ekara. The Ekaras from Australia had been instrumental so long ago in building up Earth’s space program and economy prior to the coming of the first Destroyer. He must be one of that clan, and was listed as Chief Power and Propulsion Engineer.
Absen sent messages to them aboard their ship the day before it docked, telling them to report to him personally the evening after they arrived. When they showed up at his door, he greeted them warmly.
“Gentlemen, please come in.” The admiral waved them through the door to the enormous office Desolator had given him.
Captain Ekara, in impeccable naval whites, saluted sharply before entering. Very short, perhaps five feet two, he was dark, of mixed Aboriginal, Asian and Caucasian blood. When Absen had dug deeper into his file, he had noticed his mother had been one of the numerous extended Nguyen clan, a political marriage uniting the progeny of two of the movers and shakers of Australia. That meant he was related to Spooky Nguyen.
Powerful bloodlines indeed.
Ellis Nightingale came through the door next, a moving mountain large enough to overtop a Ryss at almost seven feet and easily four hundred pounds, also dark with his North American-African blood. Absen recalled his father had been almost as large, his mother an Amazon of outsized body and personality both. In an earlier day he might have been a professional football or basketball player, before the wartime economy relegated those pastimes only to the schools. His handshake was firm, not the crushing thing the admiral expected.
The two could hardly have been more different on the surface, save for some similarity of hue, though derived from far distant continents. Ekara seemed restless, eyes roving and taking everything in, his body crackling with energy, while Nightingale exhibited the waiting stillness some big men had, as if taking care not to inadvertently smash the fragile world around him.
Absen waved them to comfortable seats, then opened a cabinet behind him. “Drink? Whiskey, brandy, vodka, soda? Or I can ask for something to be delivered from the mess. Or coffee?” He waved in the direction of a machine.
Nightingale asked for black coffee, while Ekara said, “Whisky is fine.” He stood to take the glass from his superior, while the other man stayed seated, merely reaching up with his long arm to grasp the offered cup.
“Please, gents, relax. I just wanted to meet you, and then show you around the old girl and her overhaul. I’ll be relying on you both to make sure your sections run smoothly. Power and weapons are the heart of any warship, as you both know. Ellis,” he turned to Nightingale, “I’d like to commission you and frock you straight to Commander. I think it will help with the military personnel. Do you have any objection?”
The big man took a slow sip. “Actually I’d rather not. I’ve been offered the chance before, but as a civilian, I can relate better to those of all ranks or status.” He waved at his body. “And if that doesn’t work, I just intimidate them with my size.”
After a snort of amusement, Absen lifted his glass of bourbon. “Cheers. Fair enough. I won’t insist for now, but I will give your people a bracing piece of my mind before the trip starts, emphasizing your authority. Military personnel can be a funny bunch, and what’s on the collar gives them a sense of an officer’s place in the hierarchy. They can be like a pack of dogs; if they aren’t sure where you rank, they can test you, turn on you under pressure.”
“You don’t seem to have a lot of confidence in people.”
“On the contrary, Mister Nightingale. I have every confidence that people, as a group, will act in accordance with their culture, derived from a sense of tribe or clan. The military is a kind of tribe, with its own culture. If you refuse to join it, you will forever be set apart. I can counteract any problems I have by lending you my authority, but I’d like you to still think about it.”
Nightingale made a sour face. “All right, Admiral. I will.”
Absen turned to Ekara. “I’ve got much the same news for you, but in your case, it’s probably unwelcome. I’m going to have to frock you downward to Commander, if that is the way it’s said.” He watched the small man closely, and saw the surprise.
“May I ask why, sir?” Ekara said, his voice mild.
Good, at least he’s not taking offense right away.
Absen smiled. “Because I’ll be doing the same to myself, too. I can’t act as an admiral, or even a commodore, without a fleet, so as of our departure I’ll be taking off the broad stripes and pinning on Captain for the duration. It’s more appropriate for one ship, no matter how large, going into battle alone and unafraid.”
“And a ship can have only one captain. I understand.” Ekara seemed resigned.
“You’ll keep your permanent grade, just like I will, never fear,” Absen continued. “Once we return from this mission, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to go around. I’ll make sure nothing about this adjustment reflects badly on you.”
“Fair enough.”
Absen slugged back his whiskey and set the highball on his desk. “Let’s take a look around the ship, shall we? If you’re not too tired.”
“Oh, no sir,” Nightingale said, standing up slowly. Absen realized that he probably did so by habit, taking care not to slam his head into ceilings or light fixtures. In this case, the Ryss-height overheads of three meters gave him plenty of space.
“I’d love to look around as well,” Ekara chimed in, setting his empty glass next to Absen’s. “Being cooped up on the liner for a w
eek doesn’t make me want to go back to my quarters.”
“Besides, with these next few weeks, we can take a gander at Desolator. What an amazing piece of machinery,” Nightingale marveled.
“Don’t fall in love with the wrong ship,” Absen said with a smile.
“No worries, sir. I helped build Conquest the first time, before the big sleep here. Maybe I can help rebuild her.”
Absen just smiled at that. The two men had no idea of the pace and size of the refurbishment – yet. He called for a robot cart like the one that had first brought him to see Chirom two months ago, to cut out a fifteen-minute walk onto Conquest. This time there was no humanoid machine to drive; Absen had found out that the carts were just as smart as the rest of the telefactors, and the “driver” had just been a guide that Desolator had used to ease human minds.
First Absen led them to the Power and Propulsion quadrant, by tradition older than spaceflight called “Engineering.” As they rolled down the wide tunnel into the impressive engine room, Ekara’s breath audibly caught. “Beam me up, Scotty,” he breathed. “This is amazing.”
Six gleaming engines of updated design sat on the floor, pointing their massive fusion rocket exhausts downward, that is, toward the ship’s stern. Gravplates ensured that this simple orientation remained to those servicing the great devices, allowing them to walk around naturally among the huge fuel flow pipes, super-heavy power conduits, and myriad control circuitry. Gimbaled walls, opened like vertical blinds, stood between each, and would close and compartmentalize when underway.
“Gorgeous,” Ekara said. “I can hardly wait to get my hands on them. Do you know their rated thrust, or their fuel consumption?”
“The details are all in the files, but I can tell you they have roughly double the power and use half the gas. Also, there are another thirty-six auxiliary reactors networked throughout the ship, in place of the original six.”
“For the TacDrive,” Ekara said. “Can we see it?”
“Next stop.” Absen waved the cart onward.
Five minutes and a kilometer later they had traveled from the extreme stern up to the volumetric center of Conquest. “The main bridge is a bit forward of us, and we passed the auxiliary control a minute ago,” Absen said, “but we are now in the middle of the ship.”
They rolled into another large open space, this one about the size of a basketball gymnasium. Instead of fusion reactors, a dodecahedron ten meters across hung in the center of the space. Out of its twenty faces projected gleaming metal tubes or pipes about a meter across. They ran straight outward and penetrated the walls at whatever angle they happened to intersect them. From the bottom of the mechanism, a flexible cable the thickness of a Hippo thigh dropped to the floor and then snaked to a bank of consoles near the wall. They were all dark, though they looked as if they would eventually be lit with control screens.
“The TacDrive.” Absen gestured with his hand.
“I hear you came up with the idea,” Ekara said.
Absen nodded. “That’s one of the few things I can claim some credit for. As soon as I understood Desolator’s photonic stardrive system, it seemed obvious how useful it would be in combat. It’s like adding an afterburner to a wet navy ship, giving it jet fighter speed. Even better, under TacDrive we’re essentially undetectable and untouchable. By the time you see us, we’ll be there, and if we leave using it, nothing can catch us.”
Ekara hopped out of the cart to lay his hand on one of the tubes. “Is it functioning?”
“No, not yet. It’s just been installed here, and they still have to finish connecting it to the inertial field emitters, the power system, the controls…you can oversee that yourself.” Absen gestured at a spider-bot that skittered in one door and out another, parts clutched in two of its eight legs. “There’s one of your people now.”
“Hah. People.”
Nightingale spoke up. “Speaking of that…what about the AI?”
Absen said, “It’s turned on, but not connected to anything yet. The scientists and teachers are still interacting with it, from what I hear. The Desolator AI is helping, and is running the refitting.”
“Teachers?”
“Yes. As Captain Chirom explained to me, Ryss AIs are not merely programmed. Like any other person,” Absen emphasized that word, “they have to grow up.”
“So Conquest’s AI will be a person?”
“I’ve been told that its processors will be similar to Desolator’s, perhaps even better. He blows the Turing test away, so…what else would you call him?”
Nightingale didn’t answer, but merely looked skeptical. “Can we see Weapons?”
“Weapons it is. Let’s look at the upgraded railguns first.” The cart took off in a U-turn.
“Voice recognition?” Ekara asked.
“The cart?” Absen smiled. “You could say that.”
Ekara cocked his head. “What amuses you, sir, if I may ask?”
Absen’s smile widened to a grin. “You’ll figure it out.”
They cruised in puzzled silence for a couple of minutes before Nightingale spoke. “Desolator. Of course. Can we…”
“Go right ahead,” Absen said.
“Uh…” the big man stumbled. “Hello, Desolator.”
“Hello, Ellis Nightingale.” The rich tones that the AI preferred emanated from a speaker in the front of the cart.
Absen chuckled.
“Wow. It’s the first time I’ve ever spoken to a machine intelligence,” Nightingale gushed.
“I hope the experience is everything you expected,” Desolator replied with a sound of vast amusement.
“It has a sense of humor?”
“He, Mister Nightingale. He’s male, a warrior, and a Ryss.” Absen inclined his head. “That’s important.”
“I read the reports,” Ekara interjected. “Psychology was critical to, uh, circumventing Desolator’s malfunction.”
“Correct, Captain Quan Ekara.” Desolator’s voice turned melancholy, encompassing a sea of sadness. “My fractured mind needed to be reminded of origins, duty, honor and self-worth. Once I was no longer a danger to others, repair of my physical self ensured my stability.”
“But you could be damaged again.” Nightingale’s face radiated suspicion.
“Anything is possible in a quantum universe, but I have reduced the unlikelihood of catastrophic malfunction to less than the probability of my destruction. That is, long before damage causes insanity, I will probably be destroyed.”
“How?”
“Instead of only the original three processing modules, I have distributed my consciousness among over one thousand nodes throughout my structure. Damage therefore may slowly degrade me, but in layman’s terms, anything that would drive me mad would likely kill me first.”
“And,” Nightingale went on, “is Conquest’s AI constructed similarly?”
“Yes. While her consciousness now resides in her central processors, eventually she can be connected to the distributed nodes throughout her body, just like I am.”
“Her?” Absen spoke up.
“Of course. Human ships are always female, is that not so?” Desolator’s surprise seemed genuine.
“Of course. I…I should have realized.”
“You are pleased?”
Absen nodded. “Yeah. I’m not sure why, but I am.”
“Perhaps it is because females with power do not threaten the egos of confident males in the same way another male might.”
All three men laughed.
“What?” asked Desolator. “Why are you amused?”
They only laughed harder. Eventually Absen answered for them. “I think we’re relieved that your understanding of human psychology is just as shallow as any Ryss.”
“My assessment was incorrect?”
“No…and yes. Very…simplistic.”
“Ah. You are reassured because I am not as omniscient as you fear. This realization humanizes me in your eyes.”
“You got i
t, Big D,” Ellis said.
A strange burbling hiss came from the speaker, which Absen realized was laughter. “Then I am happy to be humanized, and I hope my daughter will serve you well.”
“Daughter?” Absen paused in thought. “Yes of course. I understand.” And he did. What else would Desolator call his progeny, regardless of the method of reproduction? Struck by inspiration, he went on, “But I don’t want her to serve us. I want her to be part of my team. I want her to be just as human as you are Ryss, if that be possible.”
“It is possible.”
Absen did not know how to answer that declaration. He had spoken metaphorically, and supposed Desolator had replied rhetorically.
In any case, they had arrived at their next stop, up nearer the ship’s bow. The cart rolled through a large thick door that opened before them with a rumble, and the three men beheld machinery of quite another sort. Where before it had been all sealed tubes and pipes, this showed heavy conduits for power, enormous hoppers for ammunition, racks and conveyors and receptacles clearly built for holding metallic spheres of various sorts.
Behind thick transparent ferrocrystal they could see a three-console crew station plastered to the ceiling, upside-down, though not all of the control circuitry was there yet. Wires and fiber-optic conduits hung waiting for connections, and a dozen drones worked to complete the back end of the weapon. Apparently the current ceiling would be the floor when it was all done, so that the ammunition flowed downward into the weapon rather than being carried upward.
“This is one of our three new railguns. We’re calling it a Dahlgren Behemoth Fifty,” Absen said. “It can launch a variety of ammo at any speed up to a bit over 0.3 c.”
Nightingale gaped. “Point three lightspeed? One hundred thousand kilometers a second? That’s almost unbelievable.”
“It’s just the start.”
Ekara asked, “That’s going to gulp power. Do we have enough?”
Tactics of Conquest (Stellar Conquest) Page 4
