Forerunner Page 5

  Sheila hugged her arms around her chest. “Well, I feel suddenly cold now, even with the fire.”

  “We all do,” Mark said, glancing at Jain. “We’ll have to be very careful exploring that derelict.”

  Jain nodded. “We will be.”

  5

  Jain studied the data returned by the probe. The telemetry device had attained its closest approach several hours ago and had only just exited the radiation field of the gas giant. That field had affected the probe’s communications, and for a while he hadn’t been sure whether the radiation had fried its internal sensors as well—the rad armor on a probe wasn’t designed to handle the intense emissions produced by Ol’ Faithful, like the armor of a starship.

  But the probe had finally exited the field and sent on the details.

  “I’ve found a match to the serial number the probe spotted on the hull,” Xander said. He was holding a long wooden staff in one hand today. That was Jain’s doing: he had decided it suited the Accomp, as the AI was a technological wizard, so why not make him look the part? He already had the robes, after all. “It corresponds with the Oberon, a minimally armed research vessel that had been dispatched to explore the stars in this particular region of space. There was one Mind Refurb aboard.”

  Jain activated the video the probe had taken of the Oberon. The large, rectangular ship looked completely undamaged, at least on the outside. As the feed zoomed out, Jain spotted what looked like spiraling clouds orbiting the vessel. They were spread out in a long line that stretched toward the gas giant.

  “What are those clouds?” Jain asked

  “Debris rings,” Xander replied.

  “Debris rings?” Jain pressed. “The Oberon doesn’t look damaged.”

  “No,” Xander agreed. “It’s not from the Oberon.”

  “There’s enough debris to make up two ships, the size of each of us,” Medeia said. “My Accomp thinks these were vessels sent to escort the Oberon. Maybe a Builder and a warship.”

  “A warship?” Jain said. “Xander, did the Oberon ever travel with warships?”

  “According to the minimal spaceflight logs available for the Oberon in our database,” Xander said. “No. It did have one ship in escort, however, at least when traveling to new systems. A Builder.”

  Jain nodded. “They’d want to create a return Rift Gate. Does the debris match up with what we’d expect to find from a destroyed Builder?”

  “Partially,” Xander said. “But there’s still too much of it. A Builder would only produce maybe half of what we’re seeing out there.”

  “How accurate are those spaceflight logs of yours?” Jain pressed.

  “Very accurate,” Xander said. “They weren’t damaged in the attack, if that’s what you’re wondering. And I’ve cross-referenced the results with the databases of the other Accomps, which contain copies. But remember, the logs only represent spaceflights up to our last data update: it is possible the research vessel made a stop in Andreas I after that last log date in our records to accrue a warship escort before jumping to this particular system. Though why, I’m not certain.”

  “Maybe they detected communications coming from the system,” Mark commented. “Or had some other warning that something might not be right before they made the jump. An explosion or other stellar event recorded by a deep space telescope, for example. The Oberon was minimally armed, remember. If the Mind Refurb in charge had reason to believe the jump would be unsafe, he or she wouldn’t have gone alone. Especially considering how long it takes to build a Rift Gate to return.”

  Cranston sat back and tapped his lower lip. “It’s also possible the warship or ships arrived later. Maybe they were dispatched from Andreas I to look for the Oberon. And when they finally found the research vessel, and flew to it, they were blown out of the sky.”

  “Our mission might have been to investigate what happened to all of them,” Medeia said.

  “Conjecture,” Jain said. “We have no idea what our mission is.”

  “But we can guess, based on the data presented…” Medeia said.

  “I’d prefer not to, at least until we know for sure what happened here.” Jain gazed at the tactical map, and at the distance separating the fleet from the derelict. “The only way to do that is to get our hands on the Oberon’s AI core.”

  “You think it’s intact?” Sheila asked.

  “There’s no external hull damage that I can see,” Jain replied.

  “That doesn’t mean the insides aren’t damaged,” Gavin said over the comm. He still refused to physically partake in the shared VR environment.

  “I take it you don’t want to approach,” Jain said.

  “Not particularly, no,” Gavin said.

  “You know, here’s something you haven’t considered,” Sheila said. “And that’s: what if the debris belonged to members of our own fleet…”

  “No,” Xander said. “I remember the first few days after arrival. There were only eight of us before the attack, and six after. If those were our ships next to the Oberon, we would have had to enter the system with ten vessels. Besides, we never spotted that derelict. Well, at least before my memories failed.”

  Jain nodded. “All right. When repairs are complete, we’re going to set a course for the Oberon. We have an AI core to retrieve.”

  The telemetry probe took an extra day to return because of the added Delta Vs necessary to escape the gravitational pull of the gas giant; when it arrived, Jain immediately sent the probe to the repair hangar—the craft had suffered from some minor circuitry damage caused by the giant’s intense radiation.

  Jain and the others remained in orbit for the next month as repairs continued. The team continued to meet in custom VR environments once a day to focus on relaxing and bonding.

  “We’re going to need a name,” Sheila said during one such session in an old western saloon / bawdyhouse environment. A live band played in one corner, and the whores du jour lined the rails of the upper floor. Some of the latter were male.

  “A name?” Mark said. “What, for our fleet?”

  “That’s right,” Sheila said.

  “Six ships?” Cranston said. “I’d hardly call that a fleet. A flotilla, maybe.”

  “We’re a fleet,” Sheila insisted.

  “How about Gavin’s Tigers,” Gavin said. He had finally begun to regularly join the off-hour VR sessions with his avatar, even when not hosting, but Gavin still refused to physically participate in the bridge environment, opting for voice-only interaction during the official workday.

  “Har,” Medeia said. “Medeia’s Bitches would be more suitable.”

  “Except we’re not your bitches,” Mark said.

  Medeia raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

  Mark laughed. “Uh, no.”

  “How about The Undead Fleet,” Cranston said. “Since that’s what we are, essentially.”

  “Undead?” Jain said. “But we’re not reanimated rotting corpses…”

  “We might as well be,” Cranston said. “Drop the rotting part, but leave the reanimated, and you have us.”

  Xander shook his head. The Accomp was able to multitask: he kept an eye on the ship with his subprocesses while his avatar came here to play. “I don’t know why the military thought it was a good idea to stuff human minds into the AI cores of starships. Oh wait, I do: the military is run by humans!”

  “You think the military would be better run by AIs?” Medeia asked.

  “Of course,” Xander replied.

  “Well, good luck getting the humans to change their laws,” Medeia said. “For the longest time AIs weren’t even allowed to fire weapons. I don’t think they’ll ever let robots run for public office, or to be eligible for the higher officer positions.”

  “They let Mind Refurbs run starships…” Xander said.

  “Yeah, but we’re Mind Refurbs,” Cranston said. “Former humans.”

  “That’s a good point,” Xander said. “There’s no hope for us AIs.”<
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  “Accomps are not even true AIs, considering you’re jammed into a partition of our own neural networks,” Mark said.

  “No, we’re true AIs,” Xander said. “We could exist in the AI core without you. And we were never based on human minds.”

  “Well you were designed by a human,” Gavin said. “Or humans. So try not to sound too ungrateful or anything.”

  “Oh, I am grateful,” Xander said. “I just think true AIs should have more opportunities, such as piloting starships.”

  “Not going to happen,” Gavin said. “Not when there are a ton of humans volunteering for these missions. Even if those humans don’t really know what they’re getting themselves into.”

  “Getting back on the topic at hand… how about The AI Fleet?” Mark asked.

  “Too generic,” Sheila said.

  Gavin nodded. “Sounds like the name some second-rate sci-fi author would come up with for a book series.”

  “I kind of like The Six Horsemen,” Medeia said.

  “Too apocalyptic,” Gavin said.

  “How about… The Space Machinists,” Jain said.

  “The Space Machinists?” Cranston asked. “Hm. I’m mixed. On the one hand, it sounds kind of cool. On the other, it’s a bit too low-tech. Conjures up images of steam-power starships and whatnot.”

  “I disagree,” Jain said. “A machinist is someone who operates a machine. Anyone, really. The word still has the same meaning in the modern age, at least according to my dictionary. So unless we’re running different databases, we’re all really just machinists of sorts, except the machines we operate are in space.”

  “You know, I kind of like it,” Sheila said. “It doesn’t make me think of steampunk at all.”

  “Well I don’t like it,” Gavin said.

  “Well of course not,” Sheila said. “You have to oppose whatever idea Jain comes up with, because you don’t like him in general.”

  Gavin pursed his lips and nodded. “That’s true.”

  “Well at least you admit it,” Cranston said.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Gavin told him. “I was never one to hide my feelings.”

  “Space Machinists actually works for me,” Mark said.

  “All right, look, it’s not just because I don’t like Jain that the name doesn’t work for me,” Gavin said. “Though I admit my personal feelings play a factor. But just listen to the words: Space Machinist. Does that really evoke the feeling of awe and terror you’d expect from a battle group of our nature? Watch out everyone, the Space Machinist fleet is coming into your system! Run for your lives!”

  “You’re assuming we’re a battle group,” Medeia said. “But that’s not how I think of us at all. We don’t want to evoke awe and terror, I think… myself, I’d rather evoke a sense of peace, and trust.”

  “Well, I got news for you, the name doesn’t do that, either,” Gavin said.

  “All in favor of calling our fleet the Space Machinists, say aye,” Jain told the team.

  A chorus of ayes came back at him. Everyone except Gavin spoke.

  “Nay,” Gavin said when they were done.

  “It’s settled then,” Jain said. “The Space Machinists we are.”

  Gavin folded his hands tightly around his chest and gave Jain a dark look. “I can’t believe how much you all suck up to him.”

  Gavin shook his head and turned around before anyone could respond, as if the band playing in the corner of the saloon was the most interesting thing in the galaxy at the moment.

  The weeks went by. Jain was the first to complete repairs, and he redirected his repair swarm to help with the most damaged ships in the fleet: Sheila’s Wheelbarrow and Gavin’s Hippogriff. This involved flying alongside each vessel and allowing the drones to crossover to the respective hulls.

  Since both of the damaged ships had built up a stock of repair minerals, there was enough inventory for Jain’s drones to work with, so he let most of his mining units continue to roam the surface. When the miners filled up his two transports, the latter craft returned the ore to the Talos for refining, and the processed ore was redirected to the appropriate storage areas by metal, with the slag going to the railgun ammunition.

  Soon Jain had replenished his inventory entirely, and he began lending the miners to the other fleet members. One by one the other ships finished repairs, and they, too, offered their drones to the starships that needed them most. They also replenished their own inventories so that soon the fleet was waiting only on the Wheelbarrow and Hippogriff.

  “We’re going to leave you two behind,” Jain told Medeia and Gavin that same day. “While the rest of us proceed to the derelict.”

  “Is that wise?” Gavin asked.

  “I’d rather not risk all of our ships,” Jain said. “Besides, I also want Sheila to start building a Rift Gate out of here, and she’s going to need access to a lot of metals for that.” He glanced at her avatar. “As soon as you’re done with your repairs, you’re to begin work on that gate.”

  “All right,” Sheila said.

  “You know, in our cloud archives, it describes alien weapons that could create wormholes in addition to black holes,” Cranston said. “It’s too bad that Gavin’s black hole weapon can’t do that. Then we could transport out of here right away.”

  “Actually, if you delve deeper into the archives, you’ll see that the wormholes created by those weapons were too small for ships of our size,” Medeia said. “They were fine for transporting smaller objects, such as mechs or nuclear warheads, but anything larger would be crushed because of the forces involved. Also, the destination couldn’t be easily changed, once programmed. Hence the need for rifts.”

  “So, we’re making a gate…” Mark gazed off into the distance, as if pondering, then looked at Jain. “Maybe you should wait until we have the gate done before we head out to the derelict, so we can flee if the shit hits the plasma inductor fan.”

  “That’s an option I considered,” Jain said. “But if there are really aliens lying in wait behind that gas giant, I suspect they would have attacked us weeks ago. They wouldn’t have let us make our way to this moon, nor initiate repairs.”

  “You can’t be sure of that,” Gavin said. “Aliens don’t think the same way humans do.”

  “No,” Jain said. “But some things ascend human and alien thinking. Like common sense. No, we won’t be attacked.”

  “Look at him, so cocksure,” Gavin commented. “Risking the lives of us all. This is what happens when you let a frogman lead you.”

  Jain smiled patiently. Gavin probably couldn’t see it, thanks to his voice-only connection. Then again, he could have been piggybacking off the virtual feed of someone else.

  “Gavin, I’d like to see you alone in my VR,” Jain said.

  Jain switched his environment to that of a small room with a desk. He’d modeled it after an office in the pentagon, with a window overlooking the main government compound.

  He sat behind that desk.

  Gavin appeared, looking angry.

  Jain beckoned toward the visitor’s chair across from him.

  Gavin looked at the chair, then shook his head. “I’d rather stand.”

  Jain bit his lower lip, fighting the outburst that threatened to erupt at any moment. He considered amping down his emotions, but decided he’d let his feelings give his words that extra oomph.

  “Never again are you to challenge me like that in front of the other captains,” Jain said. “I’ve put up with your offhand comments for too long. It’s time they stopped.”

  “But all I said—”

  “You said I was cocksure,” Jain said. “And that ‘this is what happens when you let a frogman lead you.’ That’s insubordination, as far as I’m concerned. You have agreed to follow me as commander of this fleet. And you will follow me. If you have some disagreement with me, you are to take it up with me in private, going forward. Your comments are only causing the others to doubt my command ability and emboldening them
to display similar contempt. If this keeps up, I’ll barely be able to keep control of the team. My orders will be questioned constantly. To put it simply: you’re undermining my authority.

  “If I could, I’d threaten to have your mind deactivated. I’d threaten to turn over control of your ship to your Accomp. But I can’t do either, since I don’t have command access to your AI core. The worst I can do is banish you. And that’s my threat to you: if you keep questioning my orders in front of everyone else, you’re on your own. Is that clear?”

  “You can’t do that,” Gavin said. “The others will never let you banish me.”

  “Actually, I can,” Jain said. “And they will. Would you like to test this?”

  Gavin opened his mouth, his expression full of rage, but then he clamped down his jaw. He stared daggers at Jain, but then finally shook his head fiercely. “No.”

  “Good,” Jain said. “Will I have to endure further derogatory comments in public from you, going forward?”

  Gavin shook his head once again, far more weakly. “No,” he said quietly.

  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” Jain said. “You can call me all the names you want in private, but in front of the team you are to show me absolute respect.”

  “I understand.” Gavin kept his eyes on the floor. He took a deep breath, then met Jain’s gaze. “I would like to go with you to the derelict, if possible. Leave another ship to guard the Wheelbarrow.”

  “Ah, that’s why you made the original comment,” Jain said. “You were building up to confronting me about this in front of the crew.”

  “Yes,” Gavin said. “But I’m doing it in private, now, as you asked. Any other ship is a better match for the Wheelbarrow. Medeia’s Arcane for example. She has a cloaking device and could ambush any enemies that try to attack Sheila’s vessel. Or Mark’s Grunt. He has a black hole weapon, after all. It’s the perfect choice to defend the Wheelbarrow.”