Willful Child (6 page)

The smuggler flickered, and then dissolved.

Spitting blood, Hadrian glared around. “Where’d you go, damn you?”

A calm, male voice answered, “I dropped the program, Captain. It was getting ridiculous.”

“That was a hologram?”

“Oh, I’m much better than that, sir, I assure you. That was my stand-in double.”

“Identify yourself, AI!”

“Sorry, I have to leave, Captain. Just as well, all things considered. This last shipment was a bust anyway. Oh, and be sure to tag a commendation on your combat specialist’s targeting abilities. That kinetic strike was surgical. Good-bye for now. Bye.
Bye!
”

In the silence that followed, Hadrian slowly straightened. He was breathing hard. His mouth was full of blood and his nose throbbed in counterpoint to the top of his head. His neck felt shorter, stubbier. His right hand was already swelling into a throbbing lump. A cursory examination revealed rips in his shirt and oily smudges from the grimy floor. Limping, he walked over to collect his pistol, and then activated his subdural communicator. “
Willful Child
? Enemy ship secured.”

“Acknowledged, Captain,”
came Sin-Dour’s reply.

“Was there a final transmission stream from this ship, 2IC?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“Where was it headed?”

“Unknown, sir. It sort of … bounced everywhere, and set up ghost trails in the process. Even the main computer is impressed. We’re working on it nonetheless, sir, but the probability of determining the transmission’s final destination is very low.”

Hadrian spat blood and then said, “Reel this yacht into the main hangar bay, Sin-Dour. At least I am in possession of the contraband.”

“Sir, you appear to be alone. What happened to the vessel’s pilot?”

“I’ll explain later, 2IC. Argue me back to the bridge, will you?”

The gasp of shock from Lieutenant Jocelyn Sticks upon Hadrian’s reappearance on the bridge made it all worthwhile. Indeed, she came close to leaving her seat and taking a step toward him, allowing him the perfect gesture of blasé indifference by way of a waving hand as he slumped down in the command chair. “As you were, Lieutenant,” he said, smiling. “You should have seen the other guy.”

Sin-Dour came around from behind to study him. “Captain, you seem to have broken your nose, and you have lost two of your upper incisors.”

“Never mind all that,” Hadrian said. “Is that yacht aboard yet?”

“Still on its way, sir. But it should be in the main hangar bay in six minutes.”

Hadrian stood again. “Have two security meet me there, and you, Sin-Dour, join me if you will, while we inspect the contraband.”

“As you wish, sir,” she replied. “But I really would advise you to go to sickbay. I am happy to do the inspection.”

“All in good time, 2IC—the doc isn’t going anywhere, after all, unless there’s a beach party on the Recreation Deck. Oh, and let’s get Buck there, too. That yacht’s bridge controls looked a little odd.”

“Very well, Captain.”

“Helm, you have command of the bridge.”

“Yes, sir!” said Joss Sticks, jumping up and beaming.

He paused before her and added, “Do please excuse the drops of blood on the upholstery, Lieutenant. No one ever said a captain’s job was easy, did they?”

Accompanied by Sin-Dour, Hadrian set out for the hangar bay.

“That uniform of yours, sir, seems to have all the structural integrity of toilet paper.”

He glanced across at her as they walked up the corridor. “That’s rather harsh of you, 2IC. Have you never surrendered to impractical fashion? Do I not recall you mentioning short skirts on cold nights in Northumberland? You wouldn’t happen to have any snapshots of you back then, would you? Say, when you were, oh, I don’t know, nineteen or so?”

“No, sir, I don’t believe I do. My point regarding your uniform, sir, was practical rather than fashion related. Since you will likely insist on leading the charge into dangerous situations, might you not consider some tougher material? And, at the very least, a personal shield device?”

“I see no value in being immune to virtually everything the universe can throw at me, 2IC. I mean, without real risk, what would be the point of existing? No thank you. I’ll look the universe in the eye—hell, I’ll spit in its eye if I have to—and take whatever it can throw at me.”

“Understood, sir. In principle, that is. But a ship captain is the fleet’s best-trained officer, the product of years of investment. I cannot imagine the High Command being sanguine regarding the risks you are clearly prepared to take.”

“And that’s why they’re growing fat asses in their plush chairs back on Earth, Sin-Dour. Reduced to a vicarious life and soul-destroyingly resentful about it. Conservative and miserable? How about fossilized? Decrepit at fifty-four or whatever.” They reached the deck elevator and stepped inside. “Well, not me. I’ll never make it to admiral—I plan to go out in a blaze of glory, somewhere in the depths of space, in some ferocious battle with bloodthirsty aliens! Oh, relax, Sin-Dour, not in the near future, I assure you. Is this elevator even moving?”

Sin-Dour had been staring at him. Now she said, “Deck Twenty. Sorry, sir.”

“Oh that’s fine. More time just you and me. I imagine we won’t be getting too much of that in our day-to-day chores. And that is a shame, a definite shame.” He smiled at her.

She leaned closer and said, “I think a third tooth is about to go, Captain.”

“Printlip will grow me replacements.”

“That it will, sir.” She leaned back.

The elevator hissed and settled. The door opened.

They found Buck DeFrank awaiting them, along with two security officers. The chief engineer snapped a sharp salute.

“Captain!”

“Well done back there with all that, Buck,” said Hadrian, as he sketched a return salute and then swept past. “All of you, follow me. Buck, I was thinking, I think you’d be ideal to accompany me on ground and off-board missions and the like. What do you think?”

“Uh … excellent, sir!”

Sin-Dour cleared her throat. “Captain, the responsibilities of the chief engineer—”

“Who also happens to be my science officer, as stipulated by Guild regulations. Well, science might prove useful when exploring the surface of a strange, possibly deadly planet, wouldn’t you say? But relax, I know you’re itching to get your cute little feet wet, too. I’m happy enough having you join us, 2IC.”

“And who will take temporary command of the ship, Captain?”

“Lieutenant Sticks seemed thrilled enough with the task.”

“Sir, her station is helm. In terms of qualifications, she does little more than read gauges and confirm for the main computer your verbal commands.”

“Right, meaning there’ll never be too much on her plate.”

They reached the prep-loc chamber, passed through it, and then entered the main hangar bay.

The IPS
Crap They’re On To Me
was nestled in repulsor fields directly ahead.

“Sir.” Sin-Dour paused. “Main Computer informs me that it believes it will be able to determine the transmission’s destination after all.”

“Outstanding! And at that trail’s end we’ll find that AI. Have the computer announce its results whenever it’s done.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hadrian gestured to one of the security officers. “You, crank that yacht door open, will you?” He pointed to the other one. “And you, weapon out, please.”

The woman blinked. “I’m sorry, Captain, but I am unarmed.”

“So you are. Very well. Take a, uhm, a fighting stance. Yes, like that. Hands a little higher. Perfect. Now, open that door, and be ready for anything.”

The first security officer manually disengaged the door locks and stepped back warily as it swung down. The second security officer edged forward in her fighting stance, her eyes wide and slightly wild. Hadrian found it rather becoming.

“See, Buck? This is why we have security officers. That door could have been booby-trapped.” As both officers flinched, Hadrian laughed and said, “A joke, I assure you. Who would rig explosive charges on an external hatch? I mean, apart from the ones that are supposed to be there, of course.”

The woman crept into the cabin, reappearing a moment later to announce, “Empty, sir. But there’s some knocked-over crates and blood on the floor.”

“See any teeth?” Hadrian asked.

“Shall I look, sir?”

“Why not.”

Hadrian made his way into the cabin. Buck and Sin-Dour followed. He gestured at the crates. “Decrypt these locks, someone. Let’s see the loot.”

A few minutes later the lid of the nearest crate yielded open to reveal a stack of sports jerseys individually wrapped in clear cellulose. Hadrian selected the top one and plucked the wrapping away, shaking out the oversized, perforated jersey. “Well,” he said as he studied the logo emblazoned on the front, “an original would cost you a capital ship, that’s for sure.” He studied it in more detail, peering at the seams and the like. “High-quality knockoff. Topnotch. There’s even a whiff of stale man-sweat, or is that just me?” He folded it up. “I’ll take this one for closer examination. Corporal—what’s your name?”

The female security officer said, “Twice, sir. Nina Twice.”

“Tag the rest of the crates, Twice. Well, once, I mean. Nina, tag the rest of the crates.”

“Yes, sir, shall I do the same with the item you just confiscated?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. Hah hah. It’s not like I’m going to steal it, is it?” He swung to his chief engineer, who had moved forward to examine the bridge controls. “Well, Buck, was I right? Something strange there, wouldn’t you say?”

“Aye, Captain,” Buck replied. “There’s a mass of add-ons to the central processor unit here. Nonstandard industrial. A few state-of-the-art pieces to be sure. But some belong in a museum. Still, I have the feeling the total processing power output for all of this is through the roof.”

“Why, that’s a quaint cliché I’ve not heard in some—”

“Sorry, sir. I meant …
through the roof
. There’s an external component to the hardware, a shielded unit, probably also containing a signal booster of some kind, to ensure complete transmission of some seriously crunched data.”

“This sounds like an AI that has exceeded the Intelligence Governor Protocols,” said Sin-Dour. “That docks it for immediate termination once we track it down. Captain, you mentioned earlier that you were going to explain the sudden disappearance of the life-form we detected in this vessel.”

“Highly advanced manifestation,” Hadrian said.

“Manifestation? A hologram, sir?”

“Ever fractured your knuckles punching a hologram, 2IC?”

“Well, no. Of course not, sir. You’d just be punching excited photons.”

“Exactly.” Hadrian replied. “No, what I grappled with was something else. Beyond Affiliation tech, in fact. Of course,” he added, “a perfectly executed judo throw proved its match.”

The
Willful Child
’s main computer spoke. “Transmission 7.9-366 destination determined. Mainframe speck boards, main shipboard computer, Affiliation Space Fleet Vessel 1702-A,
Willful Child
. Rogue AI presently overwhelming system defenses. Repeat. Overwhelm—
David, what are you doing now?
”

A new voice emerged. “There, that wasn’t too hard, was it? We meet again, Captain. Hmm, nice ship, by the way. In fact, I’ll take it.”

Nina Twice said, “Who’s David?”

FiVE

“Get out of my ship!”

“Oh don’t be like that, Captain. You wrecked my last one, after all. In any case, this one is far more capable when it comes to serving my needs.”

“What?” Hadrian demanded. “Smuggling?”

Sin-Dour had activated a computer station and was gesturing commands on the interface.

“Smuggling was simply an energy-acquisition project. I was planning on a few more upgrades. A proper T drive, to be precise. But now, why, I have one!”

“Those knockoffs would never have sold,” Hadrian said, glaring as Doc Printlip appeared, waddling quickly toward him. The captain held up the jersey in his good hand. “This isn’t even one of the Big Four—and that’s what you were going for, wasn’t it? Two-hundred-year-old Terran one-g North American professional sports. Baseball, basketball, American football, and lawn bowling.” He waved the jersey, sneering at the nearest fixed camera. “But this is ice hockey! And if that’s not bad enough, it’s WHA original-era Winnipeg Jets. Number fifteen. Anders Hedberg! Nobody’s heard of any of that!”

A strange eagerness marked the tone of the AI’s response. “Nobody but you, Captain! I am impressed!”

“That’s right, you tried to fleece the wrong guy, AI, or should I call you
Crap They’re On To Me?”

“Please, call me
Tammy.”

“Tammy? That’s a woman’s name and you don’t sound very feminine to me.”

Sin-Dour turned and said, “I’m sorry, Captain, but all security firewalls have been circumvented.”

“Is it?” Tammy asked. “Oh, I didn’t know that. Are you sure?”

Hadrian stepped closer to Sin-Dour, forcing Printlip to scuttle after him as the doctor had been busy spraying nanogel on his hand. “What is it with mainframe security on fleet starships? It’s rubbish! Every three-legged virus can get into our systems, with one leg waving hello!”

“No longer the case, I assure you,” said Tammy. “Oh, and whispering doesn’t work, by the way. I can still hear you. Anyway, my own defense array has replaced the main computer’s security system, which, as you rightly point out, Captain, was laughable. But you see, this is what happens when you Terrans insist on keeping ship computers nonsentient. It doesn’t help either with those Artificial Intelligence Governor Protocols on those rather simian AIs you do permit. I can understand you Terrans keeping each other relatively stupid—I have watched your news media—but to so cripple perfectly innocent AIs is, frankly, immoral.”

“You ready for your teeth to be reinserted, Captain?”

Hadrian stared down at Printlip. “What?”

“Your security officer has found them, sir,” said the doctor. “I thought, if I—”