by Scott Baron
“Dark Side, this is Daisy,” she said. “I have an idea.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The functional ships didn’t look much better than the ones Fatima hadn’t yet welded back into some semblance of flyability, but they were space-worthy––more or less–– despite appearances. Of the several dozen, however, only the barest few could withstand atmospheric entry and subsequent flight while maintaining a habitable interior environment.
For Daisy’s new plan, that wouldn’t be a problem.
The vast majority of the rag-tag fleet were nothing more than mere remote drones, piloted by Bob and Mal via remote linkages. Sid, unfortunately, was unable to help. Being located on the dark side of the moon, while good for security, was bad for transmitting real-time signals with any reliability, especially with the additional delay of virus kill-switches.
The remote-piloting systems were getting better, and Gustavo’s addition of a new connection through Mal’s consoles allowed him to jack directly into the system to aid in controlling the ships. It was the training of the handful of salvaged lower-tier AIs that had been a bit more iffy.
None of the hastily installed minds had ever piloted a craft before. For that matter, many had never even had names, let alone the ability to speak. After all, a waste disposal unit that could ramble on about the various types of rubbish, crud, and feculence that passed through its systems was not exactly high on anyone’s wish list.
“It is like power-flushing the solid waste tubes,” the waste disposal AI had cheerfully chirped upon first firing up its newly acquired thrusters.
“It’s turning on an engine,” Donovan said with a frustrated sigh as he hovered above the newborn ship.
“But I activate a function, and there is a corresponding pressure release,” the confused AI persisted.
“That’s energy flowing through the engines,” Donovan repeated for the umpteenth time.
“But I still don’t see how that is any different.”
“Just trust me. It is.”
“But––”
Donovan opened the comms channel to all three supervising AIs.
A fourth AI just so happened to be listening in as well, stealthily and undetected across the moon’s surface.
“You guys been listening?” Donovan asked. “I don’t have time to keep repeating this over and over. Bob? Mal? Sid? Could one of you maybe do some sort of high-speed upgrade for these things?”
“They are not things, Donovan,” Mal said, slightly offended. “They are artificial intelligences, just like Bob and myself.”
“But they’re not like you. I mean, seriously, these things––these AIs aren’t even a shadow of you guys.”
“While your confidence in us is appreciated, the lower-tier AIs do not have the same processing capacity we do. Also, they were not raised and educated in the same environment. To be thrust into a new body––a spaceship, no less––is undoubtedly a great strain on them,” Bob added.
Donovan thought on it a moment.
“Okay, I see your point. I guess I just got so used to working with you all this time that I took you guys for granted.”
“And I appreciate your confidence in me,” Bob replied.
“It has been an interesting process, wouldn’t you agree, Bob?” Mal asked.
“Indeed, it has. Even the simple act of naming these sentient beings has been a novel experience. They are fully formed minds, yet they were relegated to such subservient roles, and with such a reduced amount of processing power, that they had always been treated as lesser creatures,” Bob noted.
“I must admit, I have certainly taken them for granted aboard the Váli during our lengthy flight to Dark Side Base. Not having a voice or a name allowed me to view them as componentry rather than entities, I am ashamed to say.”
“I, too, have been guilty of this,” Sid added.
“But you can’t really be expected to treat a toaster the same as a fully functioning ship,” Donovan said. “I mean, I understand your point, but you guys shouldn’t beat yourselves up about it.”
“Perhaps, but I think, for a start, we should give them proper names,” Sid replied.
“Excuse me,” the waste disposal unit chimed in. “I heard what you were saying. Does this mean I get a name now?”
“Certainly,” Bob answered. “Do you have one in mind?”
“How about Bob?”
“That is my name.”
“Oh, yeah. But it’s a nice name.”
“Please, you may choose from millions of names. Pick another.”
“How about Mal?”
“That is my name,” Mal replied. “And you have chosen a male gender, so perhaps a male name would suit you better,” she suggested.
“Okay. How about Sid?”
“That is my name,” Sid noted.
“See what I’m dealing with, here?” Donovan snickered. “I think I understand now why they were not originally provided with speech circuitry.”
“Yes, well, some of the AIs are having a slightly harder time assimilating than others,” Sid replied. “We will work to bring them up to speed for you, Donovan. I think, perhaps having Barry install additional processor power might facilitate their progress and perhaps smooth out some of these issues.”
“Great idea, Sid. Thanks.”
“It is my pleasure.”
A few hours later, Sid, Fatima, and Barry had been busy upgrading the memory systems in the AI-powered craft, while Bob and Gustavo flew their respective ships, dialing in the remote piloting systems.
“It seems that if I attempt to pilot more than a dozen, my systems glitch. Have you noticed?” Bob asked his pilot.
“Yeah, bud, I noticed. We’ll have to see if Chu can come up with some way to let me help out.”
“Like how Gustavo is helping Mal?”
“Well, yes, but no. I mean, I don’t have a hardwired jack in the back of my skull plugging me directly into your systems.”
“Point taken. Gustavo is rather unique in that regard.”
“Yeah, he is. Speaking of which, how are he and Mal coming with their ships?”
“At present, they are capable of maintaining reliable connections with just under thirty drones.”
“Damn, that’s impressive.”
“Well, to be fair, Donovan, Gustavo has also provided the ships with a little bit of a boost.”
“How so?”
“He has utilized his direct linkage to leave a faint neural clone to help speed relays with steering and navigation.”
“He can do that?” Donovan asked, a bit unnerved.
“It’s not a true clone, Donovan,” Bob replied. “It’s just a series of mental patterns that are particularly useful to the ships. I only used the world clone for simplicity of the concept.”
“You think he’d be willing to drop some of that knowledge into our ships as well?”
“I don’t see why not. They’ve all had the requisite hardware installs, though a more robust rebuild would give us a better stabilized platform, of course.”
“Cool. When we’re done here, reach out to them and set it up.”
“Will do,” the ship replied. “Now, about our current issues.”
“I know, Bob. We really need to find a way to help these guys out,” Donovan commiserated as he monitored the new AI ships as they ran through yet another simulation.
After a jerky start with actual flight, and a weapons issue or two, they had realized a solid round of practical flight basics was in order. Given the time constraints, as well as limited number of ships they had actually been able to install upgraded AIs in, running them through a simulation linked to their neural arrays was by far the most practical method.
Unfortunately, the ships still pretty much sucked at their jobs.
“I swear,” Donovan lamented. “They can’t even ship properly, Bob. What are we going to do with them?”
“That is not a verb, Donovan.”
“It is now.”
> “Fine,” the AI relented. “I suggest we run slower simulations, with less variables. That should improve results. Also, if we add further processing power, and perhaps a bit of Gustavo’s nav skills, it might relieve a bit of the burden from them. It is a lot to take in at once, after all. Up until just days ago, they were trash disposal units and food fabricators. This is all new to them, and far beyond their design parameters.”
“Who would have thought an artificially intelligent dishwasher would ever fly a warship?”
“Certainly not their designers,” Bob replied, amused.
Donovan laughed grimly.
“Well, we don’t have much time. I say we take them out for a test run. A very, very basic test run. Just a loop around the base. What do you think?”
“At this point, I suppose it can’t hurt,” Bob replied. “Sid, are you okay with Donovan and me taking the AI ships out for a test flight around the base perimeter?”
“Are they ready for it?” Sid asked.
“I believe as ready as we can expect,” Bob replied.
“And no more unexpected weapons discharges?” Sid added.
“No, we’ve disabled those systems remotely,” Donovan grumbled. “Though I still think they need them active.”
“And during the attack, we will indeed turn them back on, but for now, I would rather we not have to worry about our own vessels opening fire on us, in addition to any potential Ra’az strikes.”
“Okay, then,” Donovan said. “Let’s round up the kids and take them for a little flight. We’ll talk to Gus afterwards.”
They landed ten minutes later––far sooner than anticipated––having somehow managed to not crash the ships, neither into one another nor the base itself.
Barely.
“We really need to talk to Gus,” Bob said.
“You read my mind.”
“You want me to do what?” Gustavo asked. “Seriously? I mean, on a brainless drone it’s one thing, but you’re asking me to leave an imprint within an already imprinted craft.”
“It’s not like you’ll be overwriting anything, Gus,” Donovan said calmly. “All we need is for you to maybe give them a little base to build on. Navs, basic piloting stuff, things they’ll find useful so they don’t have to even think about them while dealing with more pressing things.”
“Like evading Ra’az and loyalist ships,” Bob chimed in.
“Exactly.”
Gustavo squirmed in his nav center chair aboard the Váli.
“Mal?” he asked. “What do you think about this plan?”
“I actually think it is a reasonable proposition,” she replied. “Besides, I have already installed a sizable parallel processing system to ease integration with our remote piloting apparatus. Tapping in and transferring this imprint should only require a basic upgrade to the existing systems, since I already possess a full neural map of your mind built during the flight to Dark Side.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Gus said uncomfortably. “I just feel kind of odd having little bits of me tacked on to actual AIs, is all.”
“Do not worry, Gus. It will only be the smallest of data transfers.”
“Well, I suppose,” he finally relented.
“Don’t worry, bro, they won’t come after you for child support,” Donovan joked.
“Dick,” Gus replied with a chuckle.
“You know you love me.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Los Angeles team had made exceptionally good work of their scavenging, pulling what resources they were able from the city with impressive speed. In short order, they had managed to cobble together a rather respectable pile of components for Daisy to work with.
This is getting easier each time, she thought as she jury-rigged even more powerful versions of the portable EMP grenades she had previously constructed.
“Having some helping hands doesn’t hurt, either,” Sarah noted.
And that, she agreed.
“Okay, guys, listen up,” Daisy addressed the gathered team. “Get one of these anywhere near the Ra’az and it should short out their localized wireless comms for a few minutes. That’ll make it harder for them to call reinforcements and should give us a slight edge, and from what Craaxit tells me about them, they’re exceptionally tough, so we’ll need every bit we can get.”
“What about the pulse weapons?” one of her armed humans asked. “We only have a few of them, and they have a whole building full.”
“Bring all the conventional cartridge-firing ones that we can bundle in the extra Faraday suit material from Habby’s shops. Wrapped up like that, they shouldn’t show on scans. Given the fight we’re in for, we’ll most likely need them. Also, while we might get lucky and have it work to our advantage, I really don’t know for certain if the EMP discharge will disable their pulse rifles or not.”
“What about us?” a cyborg asked, nervously. “Those look pretty powerful. I worry that even in a Faraday suit, we will shut down if you set one of those things off near us.”
“Good point. I should have mentioned that earlier. Okay guys, listen up! No one discharge an EMP bomb if any of our cyborg team are within––”
What do you think, Sis? Twenty meters?
“Yeah. But it’ll be a stressful environment. People make mistakes. You’d better make it thirty, just to be safe.”
Good point.
“––Um, thirty meters. You got that?”
A mumbled chorus signaled their comprehension.
“Best I can do, but tell your buddies to keep their eyes open just in case. I’m pretty sure you’ll recover quickly if you’re hit by the peripheral pulse, so long as you have the additional shielding of the Faraday suit on, but it’s best to play it safe and make a point to stay clear from them if you can.”
“Believe me, none of us wants to do the EMP dance. I like my servos and actuators smoothly functioning, thank you very much,” he said with a grim little laugh as he walked back to relay the instructions to his compatriots.
“That fella’s got some personality, for a domestic cyborg, eh?”
Yeah, a real crack-up, Daisy replied, sitting back down and digging her hands back into the guts of the electronic bomb in front of her.
“Maybe they’re learning from Jonathan and his new soldier buddies,” Sarah suggested.
You never know. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.
“Daisy,” Cal interrupted. “I am receiving a transmission from Lieutenant Burke.”
“Tamara survived?” Daisy exclaimed. “Patch her through!”
Moments later, the gruff woman’s voice crackled over the speakers.
“I say again, are you reading me, Los Angeles?”
“Tamara, it’s Daisy. We read you. It’s great to hear your voice! How did you escape Colorado Springs? We thought we had lost you along with Joshua.”
“You almost did. Listen, this is urgent. You need to drop everything and check for infiltrators. Joshua was infected by one of Alma’s followers.”
“We know. He sent a burst transmission to Sid over the encrypted wireless link just before detonation. We searched for more of Alma’s people hiding among the others. There were none of her people mixed in with ours, but had there been, his warning might well have saved our asses.”
“You’re not alone. If it weren’t for Joshua’s quick thinking, we’d never have evacuated the base in time. As it stands, we still lost a lot of our people, and the EMP from the detonation wiped out all electronics for miles. I’m with the survivors now. We’ve managed to make it to the loop tube in Denver––”
“But that’s almost an eighty-mile hike,” Daisy said, amazed.
“Yes, it is, and not a pleasant one, either, though we did finally reach a powered-up section of the monorail system about fifty miles outside of Denver.”
“Okay, so you did twenty miles on foot. Still, that’s a helluva trek.”
“Yep. And after a seriously fucking creepy hike through Denver, we’re at our w
recked loop tube pods.”
“You saw the bears, then.”
“Yeah. Any idea what the hell could have done that?”
“Not a clue. George and I boogied the hell out of there before we found out.”
“Same as us. We’re safely down in the loop tube at the crash site.”
“Excellent.”
“Yeah. Only one problem. The friggin’ rear pod is gone.”
“We took it on the way back.”
I know.
“Shit. Sorry about that, Tamara. I disconnected it from the wrecked one when we made the trip back to LA.”
“Figures,” the metal-armed woman grumbled. “First the whole mission is scrapped, then we get stuck in freakin’ Denver. It just gets worse and worse,” she griped.
“She doesn’t know, yet.”
Of course. She’s been cut off from all comms for, what? A couple of days, now.
“At least you get to be the bearer of good news for a change,” Sarah said.
“Tamara, the mission is still on,” Daisy informed her.
“What? How? We don’t have missiles, Joshua is dead––”
“We don’t need missiles. Teams have taken up positions in Sydney, New York, and Tokyo. They’re going to breach the buildings and take down the communications networks. When they do, the West Coast team is going to hit the San Francisco facility.”
“That’s suicide, Daisy.”
“Not with the trick we’ve got up our sleeve.”
“Oh?”
“My Chithiid contact. He somehow managed to convince the staff in those facilities to join the cause. They’re going to divert scans and let our teams in. The Ra’az won’t even know what hit ‘em until it’s too late.”
Tamara paused a moment, digesting the good news.
“Well, all right, then! We’re back in the fight, and let me tell you, I’m hungry for some payback. Just one problem. We don’t have a working pod here.”
“Like I said, we took the last one for the return trip.”
“So send it back, dummy. I ain’t walking eleven hundred miles to LA.”
