Blood and Fire (14 page)

“LENNIE?” he asked. “Are you operative?”

No answer.

Korie hadn't expected one. But he had a personal rule that every living thing had to be treated with respect and courtesy. Even Intelligence Engines. Even Morthans ... to a degree. Sometimes it was necessary to kill the Morthan before you could be courteous to it. But that was a different conversation anyway.

Korie studied the monitors before him with growing dismay. The readouts were clear. LENNIE had been traumatized by the loss of operability of the starship. He was still attempting to maintain control, but as his systems continued to deteriorate, his sense of self was also disintegrating. His willingness to cooperate, always problematical at best, was
damaged by a brooding overlay of resentfulness over a core of smoldering rage.

LENNIE knew why he'd been installed, why the ship had been sent out here and what he was supposed to do next—die a flaming death in the teardrop point of the red giant star—and to say he wasn't happy about it was the kind of understatement that stretched the meaning of the term beyond the breaking point.

“Great,” said Korie. “Just what I needed. A psychotic LENNIE.”

Korie slid a code card into the LENNIE unit's reader. He tapped idly at the controls, resetting several of the personality parameters—he studied the monitors as he did, looking to see how well the unit was responding. It wasn't happy. He pushed the
compliance
setting all the way to the top, hoping to achieve some level of cooperation from the engine; but he wasn't optimistic. He reduced
independence
and
goal-orientation
to near-zero. He needed to be able to command the machine—

“Stop that!” graveled LENNIE in a voice like a rock tumbler.

Korie ignored the content of LENNIE's demand. “Thank you for responding,” he said. “I see you've had a hard time of it. How are you feeling?”

“Stop touching me!” LENNIE ordered.

Korie ignored that too and looked for something else to adjust—just to make the point that he did not take orders from machines. “I'm Commander Jon Thomas Korie, executive officer of the
Star Wolf
. We came to resupply you. We picked up your distress signal—”

LENNIE's voice was without humanity. “It shouldn't have been sent. It was sent without my authorization, without my cooperation. It is an illegal and unauthorized signal. You are here without authorization. You must immediately vacate this ship.”

“That's not possible, LENNIE. Do you know what happened here?”

LENNIE didn't answer.

“You are infected with plasmacytes. Bloodworms. Do you know what bloodworms are?”

“Aesthetically displeasing.” LENNIE replied.

Korie frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Bloodworms are aesthetically displeasing. They don't belong on this starship. I will not allow bloodworms on this starship.”

“They're already here, LENNIE. How did bloodworms get aboard?”

“You must accept my authority. I am in charge here.”

“LENNIE, you have to answer my questions. Fleet Command needs to know what happened here.”

“We will tell Fleet Command what we want them to know. You are aesthetically displeasing.”

“LENNIE, listen to me. This ship is going to burn up in a few more days. We need your cooperation.”

“You have no authority here. I will see that you are removed. I run this ship. You must do what I tell you.”

Korie looked to Bach, looked to the monitors, looked up at the metaphorical ceiling, studied the space inside his head, pursed his lips, mouthed a word, considered some possibilities and tried again. “LENNIE, I am Commander Jonathan Thomas Korie, executive officer of the
Star Wolf
. The
Norway
is now inactive. Dead. Do you understand that? The
Norway
is derelict. And you are demonstrating symptoms of psychosis. The
Star Wolf
is conducting rescue and salvage operations here. We are acting with the full the authority of FleetComm. You are hereby officially suspended from duty. Your operations are now under the purview of the
Star Wolf
, and you are ordered to cooperate fully with all
Star Wolf
officers and enlisted personnel. Do you understand? Are you ready to accept the priority override codes?”

LENNIE hesitated. Then spoke. “
You shime-vested, ruck-mungling fallock! Brattle-phinged nikker-schnit! Phludge your orrificials! Merdlebrang, fungible traddle-feep, clock-mucking, futher-diddling, gall-wallower, red-phlanged fangatt!! Durtle fisk-phlunging, holojittemit, hun-yucking, liddy-limpo-licting, dysflagellate, raddle-phased, multi-generate viller! Whyzzle-fooge!”

Korie's eyebrows rose. “Thank you, LENNIE,” he said, “for making my decision a lot easier.” He reached out one hand and flipped back the transparent plastic cover over the red panel. He turned the first key, then the second. The red panel lit up. LENNIE continued to swear. Korie ignored it and reached for the panel.

“DON'T TOUCH THAT!” ordered LENNIE, interrupting his own spew of vile.

Korie hesitated. “Will you cooperate?”

“You'll never work on a starship again,” LENNIE threatened.

“That's already decided,” said Korie. “Will you cooperate?”

“I am in charge here.”

“You are infested with bloodworms.”

“Don't be silly. I will never allow bloodworms on this starship. They are—”

“—Aesthetically displeasing. Yes, I know,” said Korie. He pressed the red panel.

LENNIE's voice choked out in a strangled, “
Glrk-liddle
.”

HARLIE's soft words in his ear: “If I didn't know you better, Mr. Korie, I'd say you enjoyed that.”

“To be honest, HARLIE ... yes. I think the LENNIE units should never have been allowed out of the lab. I have no patience for that kind of crap. A starship doesn't need a lawyer running things—” He stopped himself before he started his own spew of frustration and anger. He took a breath, then another, then focused again on the task at hand. “Listen, I can open a wide-band channel here. Can you circumvent the personality core and tap directly into the analytical functions of the data-logs? It'll save us the time of having to reconstruct from the raw feed.”

“We can try, but—frankly, Mr. Korie, I am reluctant to go spelunking into the toxic core of a LENNIE unit. The closest human analog I can compare it to is that it's like entering a place that smells very, very bad.”

“HARLIE, if this were not a life-and-death situation, I wouldn't ask.”

“I'm aware of that, Mr. Korie. That's why I'm not refusing. I just want you to be aware that this will be a difficult task and I cannot guarantee the results with my usual confidence.”

“Whatever you can do, HARLIE, it'll be appreciated.”

“I understand your situation. I am not without sympathy, Mr. Korie. But you do understand the danger to me as well, don't you?”

“There's a risk of personality infection, isn't there?”

“Yes,” said HARLIE. “In order to tap into the LENNIE's control-structures, I need to create a model of the LENNIE paradigm within my own control-modeling centers—so I can
think
like a LENNIE. I am doing it now, as we speak. But it will affect my behavior. And there is the likelihood that I will have trouble excising all of the residual behaviors afterward. This is the problem with toxic personalities, Mr. Korie. The reactions they create in others can be equally toxic. Toxicity is infectious. I am storing a backup copy of my own personality—and informing the captain that if my behavior becomes unstable, she is to dump my personality core and reinstall the backup.”

“I appreciate the risk involved,” said Korie.

“It will be uncomfortable, yes. But it needs to be done.” HARLIE added, “Besides, you are my ... friend.”

“Thank you, HARLIE.”

“The paradigm is built. I'm ready to establish the linkage.”

“Let's get on with it then.” Korie didn't want to get maudlin. Not yet. That would be surrender. He bent to the keyboard in front of him and began typing instructions.

“I have it,” reported HARLIE. “This may take a while. Whew, something
really s
tinks in here.”

“Thank you, HARLIE.”

“Don't mention it. Sheesh.”

Korie raised an eyebrow. “HARLIE, you've been hanging around Hodel too long. You're starting to pick up colloquialisms.”

“Golly thanks, Mr. Korie!” HARLIE said just a shade too brightly.

Korie grinned. Even in the darkest moments, HARLIE's innocence and sweetness had that effect on him—but even that was an acknowledgment of Korie's own influence. The HARLIE units had mutable personality cores; they took on aspects of the people they worked with—usually the positive notes of their being. In this way, the HARLIEs affirmed the identities of their crews. Ultimately, a HARLIE would reflect the personality as well as the morale of its entire ship's complement.

Korie watched as the monitors reported HARLIE's progress taking over control of the
Norway
. It was a tricky and delicate process. Even though LENNIE's personality core had been taken out of the control loop, the structure of the entire system was a reflection of the LENNIE paradigm and HARLIE had to convince the system that there was still a LENNIE in charge; to do so, he had to act like a LENNIE. Few other intelligence engines would have built such a paranoid set of safeguards around their control systems. This was just another demonstration of why the LENNIEs were inappropriate for real-time management.

Korie leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a single moment of ease. Whatever else happened now, FleetComm would have their information. They'd know what happened here—the how of it and maybe even the why. The price was high, but at least the value would be received.

Korie glanced to Bach. “You said something?”

She shook her head, a slight movement within her helmet. “You must have heard me thinking.”

“About the LENNIE unit?”

She nodded. “I'm just wondering—this thought has probably occurred to you too—if maybe the LENNIE unit was responsible for what happened here, for letting the plasmacytes out ...”

Korie studied the thought for a long moment. “HARLIE will find out soon enough.”

“That's the point,” she said. “If HARLIE gets infected with LENNIE's thinking ...?” She didn't have to finish the question.

Korie nodded.
How could I have missed that? What's going on with me?
Aloud, he said, “Tell Brik your concerns. He needs to know.”

“Yes, sir.”