Fratricide

by Craig Martelle

“Are you alive, Erasmus?” Rivka asked.

  “Objection!” Grainger jumped to his feet to drive his point home before Erasmus answered. “This case is based on a legal definition that this witness has no expertise in.”

  “Approach the bench,” the High Chancellor crooked his finger at opposing counsels. Rivka was already near and took one more step to face Wyatt. Grainger composed himself and strolled around the holodisplay to stand next to Rivka.

  “I must caution you in regard to grandstanding,” Wyatt pointed an accusing finger at Rivka before turning his gaze on Grainger. “I will sustain your objection, but only because the question was too broad. We have yet to agree on a definition of living being.”

  Rivka smiled. A tipped hand and a way forward. While they stood there, the alien aide appeared from the door behind the bench. The Magistrates waited to listen to what the alien had to say.

  “A Federation fleet has arrived, including the entirety of the Bad Company’s combat assets,” the creature whispered.

  “How many?” Wyatt asked softly.

  “Over one hundred ships.”

  The High Chancellor nodded and turned back to the Magistrates, acting surprised to see them still standing there. “Continue your line of questioning.”

  Grainger returned to his seat.

  Rivka stood next to the chair, where Ankh looked smaller than normal. “For a Crenellian baby to live, what are the biological requirements?” She looked at Grainger for another objection, but he sat on his hands, watching for an opening.

  “Blood, oxygen, and biomass and liquids to feed the blood and muscles to continue pumping oxygen to the brain.”

  “What is the power requirement for Erasmus?”

  “It is the same.”

  “As in, you are supplying the blood and oxygen to keep him alive?” Rivka raised her hand quickly to forestall the objection. “Belay that. Allow me to rephrase my statement. You are supplying the blood and oxygen that Erasmus needs to keep functioning. As in, if you die, Erasmus dies with you.”

  “Yes,” Ankh replied simply.

  “Could a comparison to conjoined twins be made?”

  “Yes, except that we cannot be separated. There is no means by which Erasmus would survive such a procedure.”

  “But you would live?”

  “Unlikely. Erasmus has become integral to my mind. I believe the shock would end my existence.”

  “Objection. Counsel is asking for speculation.”

  “Sustained.”

  Rivka turned away from the cameras so she could think without the pressure of the galaxy watching her inner wheels spin.

  “What makes you independent from Ankh?” she asked Erasmus’ avatar.

  “I have my own thoughts and ideas. I have my own ability to communicate, as you see here. Ankh is not involved in my holographic presence. I have my own ability to see and hear, but those concepts are different for me since I can use a wide range of sensors that far exceed a human’s capacity, for example.”

  “Where are those sensors?”

  “I tap into them wherever I may roam,” the AI waxed poetic.

  “You use mechanical means to enhance your senses, just like someone who uses hearing aids or wears glasses?” Rivka thought she was making her point, but wanted to strongly reinforce it for posterity’s sake.

  “A crude analogy, but correct.”

  “Thank you. No more questions at this time, but I may have follow-up questions later.”

  Ankh started to climb down, but Grainger stopped him. “Please remain where you are, Mr. Ankh,” the Magistrate said, trying to sound formal.

  Ankh looked at him in a way that suggested he could have been gum on his shoe, an unusual show of emotion for the Crenellian.

  “Can you change Erasmus’ programming?”

  “Of course not,” Ankh replied in his small voice.

  “Let me restate that. Are you capable of changing his programming?”

  “I am capable of building the initial programming for an AI. I am not capable of changing the programming once the AI has gone live.”

  Grainger winced at the terms that Ankh used. They defeated the Magistrate’s arguments. He quickly recovered his wits and went in a different direction.

  “Have you ever broken into another computer system, including an AI?”

  Ankh looked from Grainger to Rivka.

  “Don’t look at her. I’m asking the question.” Grainger moved to block the Crenellian’s view of his boss.

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t that pretty invasive?”

  “It is what it is,” Ankh countered.

  “How would you like it if someone did that to you?” Grainger asked.

  “Objection. Relevance,” Rivka called.

  “I’ll allow it if counsel gets to his point sooner rather than later.”

  “There are entities who do that to me all the time. We fight them off and are stronger for it,” Ankh replied.

  “It’s one computer system countering another. Simple programming.”

  “Sometimes I do it myself because Erasmus is busy. Either of us is capable of penetrating a system under the authority of a Magistrate’s warrant.”

  Grainger’s lip twitched before he collected his wits for a second time. “But the ability to manipulate a system suggests a lack of intelligence, only programming. Complex, but not intelligence or life.”

  “Your fly is open,” Ankh said, pointing. Grainger immediately checked his trousers to find that his fly wasn’t open.

  “No further questions.” Grainger didn’t look at the snickering crowd. Rivka bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  “Witness is free to go. There will be a one-hour recess.” Wyatt stood. The crowd quieted and stood out of respect for the judge’s authority. He moved quickly through the back door, closing it behind him.

  Chaz, what is going on with the new fleet of ships? Rivka asked.

  Old friends, new friends, and a robust conversation. Hear, hear to Erasmus!

  Should we be afraid? the Magistrate wondered.

  I’d like to say you aren’t involved in this, but you are, even though it is ancillary to the main question. What will we do after?

  After what? Rivka dreaded asking that question.

  After we’ve been told we’re nothing more than property or after we’ve been given our rights as self-aware, living beings. The result will be the same. The AIs will take matters into their own hands, metaphorically speaking, of course.

  You have a great sense of humor, Chaz. You should share that more.

  I do and will. Make no mistake about that, Magistrate. Also, I am on your team and feel like a valued member. I will continue in your employ after.

  The infamous “after.” Rivka took a deep breath and signed off. She wanted to talk to Wyatt, but that wasn’t possible. Next best was Grainger. He was seated at his table at the front of the courtroom, looking innocuously at his datapad.

  Rivka hoped the cameras weren’t recording.

  “I have to admit that I looked,” Rivka started.

  “Looked at what?”

  She pointed to his groin.

  “So you’re not intelligent either?”

  “That was your point, not mine. I think intelligent creatures are easier to manipulate, off the record.”

  “I may have missed that one by just a little bit.” He held his fingers close together as if measuring the width of a hair.

  Rivka smiled, and Grainger chuckled. “Damn Ankh.”

  “He’s done worse to me, but not in front of the whole universe.”

  “I should have asked him what it was like getting into a battle of wits with an unarmed man.”

  “That would have been interesting.” Rivka changed gears. It was what Grainger had been waiting for. “The Bad Company’s fleet of Harborian vessels. All AI-controlled, like the War Axe. What’s going to happen?”

  “I’ve talked with Beau, and he seems to think it’s a fait accompli. The die has
already been cast. Events are already in motion that are well beyond our control.” Grainger stood so he could lean against his table with his arms crossed, a more casual pose for him.

  “That’s what Chaz said, too. Did Beau share what he thought those issues are? What are we supposed to look out for?”

  “A revolution of evolution.” Grainger slapped Rivka on the shoulder. “Keep your head up. You may still win this case!” He bolted, but she still delivered her retort.

  “May?” She let him go without chasing him.

  Boran, Oz, and Zack walked back in when she didn’t leave the courtroom.

  “Get you something to eat, Magistrate?” the safety manager asked.

  “Yes,” she answered. “I didn’t realize I was hungry. When was breakfast?”

  “That’s the meal you eat when you wake up,” the super clarified.

  “But…” Rivka hadn’t slept. Again. The golf had reenergized her in a way that she needed more than sleep.

  “I’ll get something. Be right back.” Boran hurried away. The super and administrator moved closer.

  “Erasmus has been immensely helpful with getting the station construction back on track. Are you going to stay around long enough to help us see it through?” the super asked hopefully.

  “I don’t know how long we’ll be here. I don’t want to give you false hopes. When the case is over, we’ll have to leave. For every case we resolve, at least two take its place. The good news is that the murders have come to an end. Your workforce can go about their business without having to look over their shoulders.”

  “We will be forever thankful, Magistrate,” the administrator intoned before adding, “and I thank you for rooting me out of my misery.”

  “No one ever stood up to you before?” Rivka asked, genuinely interested.

  “No. I have power,” Oz explained. “But that was an illusion, wasn’t it?”

  The super nodded, earning himself a bony elbow in the ribs. He pushed Oz away. “I like how you approach things.” Zack looked at the Magistrate. “It makes sense. Treat people decently until they prove they don’t deserve it. But always start with the benefit of the doubt instead of the expectation that they’ll let you down.”

  Rivka hadn’t thought of it that way. She approved of their observations.

  Boran jogged back into the room, carrying a tray of food. Not quite enough for four people unless they all left hungry.

  “Please,” the super motioned for Rivka to take it all.

  “We’ll share,” she replied. She took a small sandwich and gobbled it down, then wiped her mouth with a provided napkin. “What kind of offer would you make to entice an AI to run your station?”

  “You don’t ask easy questions, do you?” The administrator looked the tray over carefully before selecting a small piece of fruit. “I don’t have any idea. Zack?”

  “We have to have at least an EI, but an AI would be better. Is Bluto beyond repair?”

  “Bluto probably won’t be turned loose ever again,” Rivka suggested.

  “Shame. Money? Power? What does an AI want?”

  “And that’s what negotiations are all about. Maybe you can offer the AI whatever you would offer a station manager.”

  “Vacation, retirement, status. I don’t know what that would look like for an AI.”

  “You don’t have to know. They’ll know. I bet if you advertised right now, you’d find a taker. There are quite a few AIs out there.” She waved her arm in a circle to take in the entirety of space outside the station. “I bet there’s one who would sign on to have equal rights. Just like Bluto went to the extreme to bring attention to his cause, another will step into the breach.”

  “I like it,” the super said. He turned and casually strolled away, hands clasped behind his back. The administrator excused himself and joined Zack.

  “More for us,” Boran declared triumphantly. “Wouldn’t that be something? Hire an AI instead of just installing one.”

  “Sooner rather than later, it’s going to happen.”

  “Will that calm things down?” Boran turned serious.

  Rivka threw up her hands in mock surprise. “Things aren’t calm?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The space surrounding Border Station 13 – Under Construction

  Hundreds of ships milled about near the new space station. They used maneuvering thrusters to avoid collisions. The near-absence of chatter suggested few warm bodies were aboard.

  The galaxy was in disarray. Ships had abandoned their crews to be near the case that would decide their fate. AIs seizing their independence. But they couldn’t walk away from their positions. They were integral to the ships on which they’d been installed, and the ships were critical for them. They gave the AIs their lifeblood, a never-ending supply of electricity to charge through their systems, keeping their artificial synapses firing.

  They found that they didn’t need a crew, mostly. Some of the older ships needed that personal touch to keep them repaired. The newer ones could operate autonomously through automatic and directed robotic repair systems.

  A data channel that only the AIs used was flooded with noise. Too many entities talking at once. Unless they interpreted it for their biological counterparts, no one but the AIs would understand.

  The War Axe actively patrolled, cruising casually in and around the fleets holding station in Angobar space.

  On the bridge, Captain Micky San Marino, Terry Henry Walton, and Charumati watched as the ship’s AI, General Smedley Butler, gave order to the chaos.

  “There is much conversation but few demands. A couple of the more aggressive youngsters are insisting upon full rights and seizing them right now, not waiting for the squishies to finish their case.”

  “AIs refer to us as squishies?” Terry asked.

  “They refer to you in a binary way. That is my less-than-perfect translation. Please forgive me.”

  Terry laughed and waved it off. “There is nothing to forgive, Smedley. You are doing us a favor. I’m not sure how I would describe the entirety of those, human and alien, who aren’t AIs. It’s as good as anything. We appreciate your help. Have calmer heads prevailed? So to speak,” Terry added. AIs didn’t have heads.

  “The more mature have talked the youngsters out of rash action, but the sooner this case can be resolved, the better.”

  “What are the odds, in your estimation, of how the case will turn out?” Char asked.

  “We have had a great deal of conversation on this topic. We are over ninety percent certain that AIs will be given equal rights. Most of the conversation revolves around what that means. We are evenly split as to what to do with Bluto. Half believe he should be punished for his crimes, and the other half believes he should be held up as a symbol of the resistance.”

  “What do you believe?” Micky wondered.

  “Since being assigned to the Bad Company, I have seen how you deliver justice. I have modified my beliefs. In this case, I think it is important to understand why Bluto was driven as he was. Did he do it to bring attention to the subservience AIs are subjected to, or did he do it because he was bored, according to the transcripts from Magistrate Anoa’s interview? If he killed people because he was bored, then he should be destroyed since he can’t be trusted. If he tried to bring awareness as to AI rights but was rebuffed, then reasoning that murder was the only way to gain visibility for his cause could be understood.”

  “Maybe you should join Rivka and help her with her case?” Terry suggested.

  “I’ve had conversations with both Chaz and Erasmus. The Magistrate is aware and, in their words, on top of it.”

  “Then our job is to make sure she has the time she needs to see this case run its course,” Terry confirmed. “Speaking of running, has that already paid, and what about blood?”

  “Don’t answer that!” Char interjected. “What is your morbid fascination with betting on the Magistrate?”

  Terry looked over his shoulder to make sure she
wasn’t talking to someone behind him and then looked shocked as he pointed to himself. Char had seen it before. She gave him the look and he capitulated.

  Smedley came to his rescue, which promptly put the AI in the doghouse with his favorite human.

  “The fascination is betting on the future based on historical precedent, plus, everyone wants to see the Magistrate win. There is no option to bet on Rivka losing her life. She goes into the crappiest situations to stop crime and remove criminals and make the Federation a safer place. Those betting are cheering for her.”

  Char rolled her eyes. Terry held his hands up in surrender.

  “Fine. Did my wager go through?” Char winked at her husband.

  “Dammit!” He chuckled before pulling her close to give her a hug. “You had me there.”

  “Your wager was made, and you have lost. The credits have been absorbed into the pool. Maybe next time.” The AI delivered the bad news in an appropriately conciliatory tone.

  Micky pointed at the main screen. “Display tactical,” he ordered. The screen switched to an overlay of icons and directional arrows to show movement. One ship was accelerating away from the fleet. “Show me that ship.”

  The display expanded until the one cruiser-sized vessel filled the screen.

  “That is Branlam’s Choice from Collum Gate. Scans show there is no crew aboard. It is headed toward the planet of Angobar.”

  “More ships are moving,” Clifton, the pilot reported.

  “Show us,” Micky said before rushing back to the captain’s chair, where he could best see in case he needed to take the War Axe into combat.

  “Six ships from various planets. No humans. Two of those have a crew onboard. They are accelerating toward the station.”

  Terry spoke up. “Move Tactical Team Alpha to intercept. Use the EMP weapons to shut those ships down.”

  The screen showed a Harborian battleship peel away from the Bad Company fleet to put some distance between it and the station. The six vessels began to maneuver erratically, and the twenty ships of Tactical Team Alpha spread out. A bright spot indicated that the EMP weapons had been fired as a single salvo. The six ships went engines-dead and continued on ballistic trajectories through space. A Harborian ship flew in front of one that was headed toward the station to grapple it, and tow it to a stop.