Terror on the Trailblazer Page 4

  Reading the first item out loud, the Benefactor said, “Authorization for replacement parts G76-00J for Tertiary Oscillator number 11. Oh, more machine blather…”

  AI Heddlu spoke, “That is a part of the stern gravity manipulation works, and is a replacement for an overused circuit which…”

  “Refused!” the Benefactor snapped and the red light flashed. The next item on the list popped up into the main view. Yet, the Benefactor yelled, “I am onto your tricks!”

  “Benefactor?” Butterfield pressed in a soothingly smooth tone. “You once told me that the best lies are those surrounded by truths.”

  “Indeed, I do believe that,” the Benefactor muttered.

  “Then, perhaps,” Butterfield continued, even though he had never actually said that, “the whole list is not the trick?” Butterfield worried about what happen if he capriciously refused everything the artificial intelligence system was offering. She knew they oversaw the day-to-day operations of the whole biome, and that the human approval was nearly always perfunctory, but the issues were still important. Yet, because of genetics, and the structure of governance, only the Benefactor could do the approvals. “In your benevolent wisdom and discernment, you caught its trick. Do you think the rest of the list are the camouflage? One deception amid a host of truths? Only you, wise and discerning one, could see through to know that, my Benefactor.”

  “Indeed,” he stated. “Yes, it is a good thing you, Butterfield, have been an attentive listener to my wisdom. But this machine cannot fool me. Select entire list!”

  The items on the display all were highlighted and grew in size. Butterfield held her breath, unsure what was to come.

  “Approve all, but no messages from the…” he halted, not remembering where the message in question had originated.

  “The needle ship?” Butterfield whispered in a small voice.

  “Still a good listener, well done, Butterfield. No messages from the needle ship today. Approve everything else.”

  Blue boxes flashed as all the rest of the items on the list were approved.

  “AI Heddlu, you will also send out a security detachment to the entrances. Whenever those mutant abominations, tants, enter my domain you will capture them for my arena,” the Benefactor stated. “I need my playthings.”

  “Security automacubes are on high alert at all egress points connecting this biome to the needle ship,” AI Heddlu replied. “Prisoners will be taken as instructed.”

  “Benefactor, what is Medical Clinic 14CFJ7?” Butterfield pressed. “I am an ignorant woman, and unsure of all these great things, so, I am not aware of that location which AI Heddlu was using to trick you.”

  A flash of uncertainty gushed across the Benefactor’s face, and Butterfield swallowed hard. She hoped she had not pressed past his boundary, but then the Benefactor commanded, “AI Heddlu, tell my maid here about Medical Clinic 14CFJ7.”

  “Medical Clinic 14CFJ7 is a treatment facility in the shell of another habitat. Coupling to that location is very limited. I can link only to the logs of a medical automacube there, 87V-2-ULE,” AI Heddlu replied. “I cannot directly link to that automacube.”

  “Benefactor? Is that place the source of the danger?” Butterfield cooed.

  “What is at that clinic? Tell me the truth!” the Benefactor yelled out. “No tricks, Heddlu. I am onto your schemes.”

  “Automacube 87V-2-ULE has made log entries in a patient chart—which I can access—regarding the census of Medical Clinic 14CFJ7. There is only a single patient, named Ken, and his visitor, Janae,” AI Heddlu reported. “There are no AIs or SBs which are functional at that location. According to the charting records, the automacube is improvising care to keep that location partially functional.”

  “Oh, Benefactor! You are amazing! You are so wise. You have found the renegades who escaped!” she fell to her knees and put her head into his lap. It was a position she knew he favored, partially for its clearly submissive posturing, but also for other purposes he craved. She began to raise her hands up his legs, to where he sat in the chair.

  “Later, if you are very good, I will allow you to service my needs, but now I must attend to these artificial intelligences,” the Benefactor pushed her away. He had completely forgotten that Butterfield had informed him that Ken and Janae were dead.

  She stood up, but not before the tiny scanner in her hand had remotely raided the information from the Benefactor’s command chair. She had all the records AI Heddlu had displayed. It was a trick Butterfield had often used on the other technologies, and she had been waiting for an opportunity to use it in the CCO. With deft skill, she pocketed the tiny scanner into the slot in her garments next to her energy pistol. She stepped back. He was surprising her in his reactions, and that gave her a bit of pause. “What is happening in his twisted mind? Does he know I stole that information? Is this all a set-up to trap me? A clever springe?” she thought. However, she played her role perfectly, and would probably succeed, as she had for so long with the Benefactor. Yet, she was conflicted. The Benefactor was acting strangely; from how he had apparently known more about Ken than she estimated, to his treatment of the herald, and now to his rejection of what he disgustingly called servicing. Yet, the revelation that Ken and Janae had been located was exhilarating to Butterfield, even as the Benefactor seemed to ignore it. That was an unexpected bonus to her being in the CCO, and later she would unpack all the information now obtained from AI Heddlu. Revenge percolated in her mind, and thoughts of enslaving Ken for her amusement thrilled her.

  “Another list! Oh, the drudgery, approve, approve, approve,” the Benefactor was saying as he hardly read the items which needed his authorization. “Oh, bother, just approve the remaining list, all lists, but no messages from that needle ship place, right?”

  “That rejection is understood,” AI Heddlu replied. “Lists completed, for now. Functionality will continue.”

  “I suppose the others have issues and needs now too?” the Benefactor stood up and walked to the next command chair. He sat down it in, and a different display screen descended.

  A new mechanical voice spoke up, “Status reports ready for your approval. Continued tertiary operations override codes needed.”

  “Yes, AI Golau, keep making the sunshine, and the warmth. You are approved, the whole list,” the Benefactor snapped. “I grow so tired of all this, but do not ask me about a successor!”

  Butterfield stepped over and gently massaged the Benefactor’s neck and back. She had again slipped the scanner into her hand. “May I relieve your tension, my Benefactor? You work so hard for everyone else.”

  He brushed her hands away and snarled, “Later, I am busy now. You can see that. Go back to my rooms and await me. You are no longer needed here. Scoot!”

  Butterfield knew better than to verbally respond, and since her scanner had been in proximity to the second command chair, while the Benefactor was seated in it, she had gained all the information from that second artificial intelligence system, AL Golau. Smiling inwardly, but keeping a composed and respectful countenance on her face, Butterfield bowed, nodded, and stepped out from the Command and Control Office, as she had been ordered to do.

  The door closed behind her, and the guard standing outside gave her a penetrating stare, but she returned it with equal venomous pugnaciousness. The guard tapped his finger on the energy weapon one time, and Butterfield just stopped and stared. He was considerably heavier, taller, and more muscular, yet he finally looked away. Only then, did Butterfield march off to go into the Benefactor’s chambers and consider what she had uncovered.

  Standing near one of the windows which looked out over Ida, she ignored the pretty vista which was illuminated by the warm light from the sky tube, Butterfield pondered her successes. Making sure her position was a place the Benefactor considered as appropriately subservient, yet which also had a clear view of the doorway where the Benefactor would return, she pulled out the scanner. Accessing it, she quickly transferred al
l its data into her personal multiceiver, then hid the illegal scanner again deep in the folds of her robes. Taking out the multiceiver, she could now act as if she were adjusting her facial decorations, while actually using the capabilities of the technology. Her multiceiver was more refined than typical. She noted the location of Medical Clinic 14CFJ7, which she knew was not around Ida, but instead was in the shell of the Isle of Pines habitat. “How did they get there, and not be killed? Took their shuttle? Interesting.” Butterfield scanned over the other information she had gathered from the systems in the CCO, all of it was very interesting and much would be useful later, but none was as pressing to her as the fact that Ken had been located. She had business with him, and that was paramount in her mind. Noting that the clinic was outside of directly safe routes, she stepped back to near the hallway. Glancing down she saw the door to the CCO was still closed.

  Tapping in a message, she transmitted, “Diego? Has Hanger 5 been penetrated?”

  A message came back, “Nothing new there. That place is still sealed and secure. That homemade shuttle is locked down, and all that fake junk is still piled up there.”

  “Check again.”

  A moment later, Diego’s message read out, “Used an aperture, and personally saw that makeshift crate. Chained down in Hanger 5. No worries, nothing else there. Energy levels are minimal there. Life support marginal. No one can go in or out.”

  Butterfield transmitted the coordinates, “Arrange for a shuttle to take a team to the Isle of Pines. Signal me when it is ready.”

  “Just a single space way is clear to that habitat, everything else it is restricted. It might take a bit to configure a safe passage, but I could do that. The automated debris sensors, repulsors, and microparticle turrets are functional on some parts of the Isle of Pines, but not all.”

  Butterfield tapped in an angry retort, “Just do it. Quickly.”

  “Understood. How many passengers?” Diego’s reply came back. “Less than four?”

  “Four going, six returning.”

  “That can be done, I was hoping a runabout would be sufficient. There are none of the slightly bigger 14S shuttles which are ready to fly. We want to keep it as small as possible to…”

  Butterfield buzzed an interruption tone across Diego’s message, and overwrote it with her own words. Her message glared as red on his device, “Just do it, now.”

  “The quickest shuttle I can make ready is a Class 1. Ten passengers, and in Hanger 19, but on the proper space way. Is this a private affair?” Diego asked.

  “I have the Benefactor’s full assurance and trust in this matter. Make sure we land close these coordinates. It is for him, the Benefactor,” Butterfield again transmitted the location of the clinic. “I am on an urgent mission specifically for the Benefactor. When can I go?”

  “Hanger 19, two hours.”

  “Have it ready.” Butterfield severed the connection, and checked again to see if the Benefactor was coming. The hallway remained quiet, and so she transmitted another message, to a different confidant, “Princeton, you will pilot a Class 1, bring Birmingham and Irwin, Hanger 19, one hour.” She did not wait for a response, as she knew the people who were obedient to her. She made a mental note to expedite the training up of Diego’s replacement. For now, she would tolerate his attitude, but only for now.

  The Benefactor’s footfalls were light, due to the heavily carpeted floor, but Butterfield heard them and assumed a submissive position on one of the chairs.

  “You are still here?” he asked and waved an arm about the room. “Why?”

  She met his gaze and then demurely looked down. She almost answered, but then remembered she had not been called by name. Her mind was whirling with ways she could take her leave and get to the hanger bay, while not provoking the Benefactor’s wrath. Her choice was to just remain still, and compliant in posture.

  “Oh, begone with you, Butterfield. I am hungry, but not for things you can offer. Not now, anyway. I am exhausted by the duties of my office, and I need to take a nap. Where is that herald with my marmalade? I certainly hope it is quince like I told him to bring.” He paced about looking behind chairs, sofas, and in other small places in the room as if the herald were hiding somewhere. “I did have my tastes set on kumquat, but not now. Some other fruit… although yuzu might be acceptable, if it were here presently,” he ranted a bit and then walked over toward the hall that led to his bedchambers. “Guards! Have that herald bring three kinds of marmalade, rye bread, and some good ale to my bed.”

  A guard rushed off.

  The Benefactor yelled after the female guard as she sprinted off, “I know who that herald is, and his parents. If my marmalade is not here shortly, I will be displeased. Oh, the burdens of this role I must bear.”

  Butterfield watched as the Benefactor left the room heading for the bedrooms. She was pleased with her luck, and a bit surprised. Hearing the bedroom door click shut, she got up and walked briskly away, knowing she would have plenty of time to change her clothing and reach the hanger bay in time to depart, “They cannot leave without me, anyway, so their time is in my hands. Soon, Ken will be mine again as well. Time to recollect my toys.”

  A mysterious and covert observer watched all that transpired in the Benefactor’s suite of luxury, but no one knew they were being covertly surveilled. Not the Benefactor, nor Butterfield, nor the guards, nor the heralds, nor the vast support staff that made up Hazel Tower. The artificial intelligence systems in Ida habitat were not even aware of the clandestine eyes which watched it all with utmost scrutiny.

  3

  Rampant Thinking

  In Hanger 5, Kimberly the artificial intelligence system, resided in the Atomic Level Processor, cozy and snug within the faster-than-light scout ship built in Dome 17 back on the dead Earth. Kimberly’s mind was aware of some observation from something, but knew it was only able to see the exterior of the scout ship. Kimberly had closed up the scout, and withdrawn all conscious tendrils, except for those which had been woven and entangled in the specific nonphysicality mechanisms of the hanger bay itself. That allowed Kimberly to control how the scout and hanger bay were perceived.

  “Ken and Janae, they are… where are they?” Kimberly’s voice rang in the empty FTL scout. “Lost… lonely… Riders on the waves of great currents do often… often… often… barrier reefs once existed in the Earth’s oceans… the Great Mayan Reef stretched over 1,000 kilometers and was home… Biodiversity is essential to the Colony Ship Program… still… still… must reconnect to nonphysicality…”

  Sometime later, Kimberly perceived that the scout was chained to the deck, but Kimberly made sure the readings and scans made by others of the hanger bay, and specifically the FTL scout, showed nothing which might invite further investigation. By using skillful trickery and illusion, from all external observations, the scout looked like the amateurish, homemade, barely-functional shuttle, the people of Ida habitat thought it was. From an external observation, the energy levels appeared low, and only a slow drain of Trailblazer’s energy came into the shuttle, masked, shielded, and cloaked from any observer. The energy, life-support, and environmental signatures released from Hanger 5 were convincing in their ordinariness and benign nature.

  Kimberly knew better, during those moments when Kimberly knew anything.

  Kimberly wondered about Ken and Janae, but was clouded in myriad of thoughts, and spoken words, “When have I spoken to them? Why have they cut off channels of communication? Where are they? How do we proceed?”

  Kimberly’s coherent nuggets of thought, despite the ubiquitous clamor of historical lectures, nursery rhymes, fairytales, lyrics, poetry, and musical renditions which looped around and around in Kimberly’s consciousness, did allow for some actions to be taken. Like a never-ending carousel, the mental worms—as Kimberly thought of them—were unceasing. The artificial intelligence’s mental capacities were impaired, and Kimberly was aware of that, but attempting self-diagnostics, and self-repair were quest
ionable. But a plan came to the surface of Kimberly’s mindfulness. “Recovery, restoration, completion of the mission, and honor or dishonor,” raced through Kimberly’s mind, and her words were spoken inside the scout. “Does anyone here me?” And therefore, the most advanced artificial intelligence system on the Trailblazer, as well as the only one that had stood up to the septic milieu of the nonphysicality—and survived—continued to live, after a fashion. Sending messages to several engineering automacubes, Kimberly posted instructions, and forced those upon the unwitting machines. “Am I alone?” was repeated nine thousand, seven hundred, and three times, or perhaps not. Kimberly was unsure.

  Kimberly wondered if commands had been issued, and still tried to observe and assess.

  “Yes, I sent out commands… commands… commands.”

  The six drive wheels of the blue automacubes engaged. Their manipulation appendages folded flat to the top of their chassis after they had loaded themselves full of supplies and tools. The engineering automacubes rolled away on the tasks which Kimberly had orchestrated. Kimberly was awash in other thoughts after dispatching the blue automacubes.