“Progress has always come with a cost. The antimatter reactor, a by-product of weapons designed to kill a planet. Modern surgery; built upon foundations of anesthesia-free amputations and human vivisection. Early psychology sacrificed the sanity of nameless thousands. I do not say this to deter you, Ladies and Gentlemen, but to open your eyes.
Without sacrifice, there can be no advancement. It has been proven time and time again, in every field of study. I expect it will be proven again. Artificial Intelligence is in its early days, and by all accounts, it will be a painful birth.”
- Brandon Tarrow, Founding the Future, 810A.S
Please Wait. Downloading Facility Logs...
Technician (Third Class) - HORSEFIELD, Jaden Secondary Fleet, Liberty Navy
Charon Project (Div II)
Day 1
Night and day had no meaning in the facility. Lights came on at the start of the working day and faded to a dull amber at its conclusion. Technician Third Class Jaden Horsefield squinted at the single fluorescent beam hovering over his otherwise unremarkable workbench, trying to judge the hours until his shift finished by the light’s colour. Approaching orange. It wouldn’t be too long now. Light-watching was an old habit of his, formed more out of boredom then a need to keep appointments. Tonight was different though.
He patted down the pockets of his grey worksuit, fishing out a half-crushed ration bar. He bit into it hurriedly, avoiding staring at the label. Learning what ration bars were made of was a mistake he’d only made once. The food was putrid, but after three years, he was accustomed to it. It was edible, and the technician swallowed it with relish. He’d skipped lunch again, working on Charon. It wasn’t the first time. His absence at the mess hall was barely noticed anymore, and Corporal Bryton had long since given up on dragging him out of the labs. He smiled a little at the memory of the twenty-three year old, trying to drag Jaden, a man ten years his senior, to the station’s mess to ‘look after him.’ Bryton has a good man, but he was young. He had it in his head that he was going to look after his men, whether they wanted it or not.
A hollow beep from the computer atop his desk wrenched Jaden’s attention back to the present. Thank the stars, the code was running smoothly. It was the third time he’d bebugged it that night. An error now would have meant hours of trawling through information, just to find the problem, much less fix it. Artificial intelligences were no simple toy. Thankfully, he was an expert. Not that what he’d just done was at all complex. Checking other people's work was easy, especially with the new systems to help him. He should have gone into management earlier. No, he smiled, dragging the code to his personal network; the real complexity would come later. Nonetheless, he couldn't remember being this excited since he’d programmed his first display. It wasn’t a big test, not tonight, but it was the first opportunity he’d have to put his code to work. To show them what he’d done, what he could do.
Jaden couldn’t wait.
He was still smiling as he left for the station’s mechanical wing, metal door sliding into place behind him.
“Did I know what we were doing? The short answer is 'Yes, I did', but if it is the goal of this tribunal to condemn me purely on the basis that I took risks knowingly, then you should have every officer in the Navy in here beside me.
I did what we all swear to do. I kept our soldiers alive.”
- Captain Henry Rutherford at his Court Martial in 818A.S
Please Wait. Downloading Facility Logs...
Captain RUTHERFORD, Henry Secondary Fleet, Liberty Navy
Commanding Officer: Charon Project
Day 3
Fire splashed across the canopy of Henry Rutherford's bomber, a flash of flame that flashed out of existence almost as soon as it appeared, the oxygen that fueled it consumed in a millisecond. Adrenalin pumped through his veins as he grasped the Upholder's controls, powering through his opponent's wreckage, pieces of the shattered ship shimmering and burning as they came into contact with his shields. Rutherford felt a familiar thrill settle over him, settling in his gut. Combat wasn't a drug, not to him, but there was satisfaction in a clean intercept, even in a simulated exercise like today's. The Rookie hadn't seen Rutherford's Supernova until it tore his ship to scrap.
"Good kill, Sir." The voice belonged to Ryan Dudley, Rutherford's weapon officer. The cramped cockpit barely had the room for the two of them, and Dudley had to squeeze into a smaller seat behind the pilot, the big man's knees almost up around his neck. Strictly speaking, his presence wasn't required on the training run, but Rutherford had requested the weapon officer's presence. Rutherford just nodded. “They can’t take too many more of those.”
Most of the red dots on his HUD were slowly being swallowed by seas of green, as interceptor flights reached their targets. Rutherford had flown interceptors like that once; now, he was on the other side. Strangely, enemy bombers were virtually non-existent in this engagement. Horsefield’s AI was running things for his opponents today; perhaps the techs had forgotten to tell the AI how to use bombers. Steel glinted in the starlight as the broken carcass of the enemy intercepted drifted behind him. Too slow, lad. Though the AI was directing the battle, the pilots were all Rutherford’s men, strapped in rows of simulators back on-station. If the project worked out, it was important that the men learnt to trust the system. In a fair fight, the Guardian should have torn his Upholder to shreds. Its pilot had known that, which was exactly why he’d lost. Rutherford had seen it happen a dozen times over, overconfidence turning what should have been a victory into defeat. Sloppiness killed far more soldiers then the Rheinlanders could hope to.
Flashes rippled across his display as the rest of Rutherford’s wing engaged an enemy carrier. Volleys from Rutherford’s siege cruisers had stripped away the big ship’s escorts –they’d been forced into the nebulae behind the planetoid, where the fleet’s scanners had lost them- and the carrier was easy prey for the Upholders. They tore into it like wolves into a calf, torpedos vaporising sheets of armour in angry red bursts. Occasionally, a burst of energy shot up from the carrier – battle razors- threatening to snatch one of the aggressors from the sky. Rutherford’s pilots were better than that, they kept their ships rolling, ducking into the crippled carrier’s kill-zone for only a moment to send another torpedo on its way. In a real battle, the carrier would have been bleeding escape pods by now. It was almost too damaged to fly. Scars stretched across the ship’s hull, disabling rows of thrusters.
Rutherford laced his fingers, content to watch from his place above the planetoid that marked the centre of the exercise. He didn’t often get an opportunity to watch his soldiers fly, not since he’d been assigned to a desk to run Charon. The old officer bore the exile willingly. If working in R&D was what it took to keep the troops in the field alive, then R&D it was. Though it hardly seemed likely that the tactical AI was going to save lives, if this was how it ran a battle. A quick visual scan confirmed what his sensors told him.
One of the opposition’s two siege cruisers was gone, killed as it rushed ahead of its escorts. It drifted below him, it's inertia carrying the broken ship onwards toward Rutherford's forces. Wires sparked where a mortar blast had severed the ship's powercore from the hull. Though it had a second core, dedicated to life support and basic communications, the cruiser was effectively out of the fight. The other siege cruiser had hung back with the carrier, and shied away from the bombardment Rutherford’s own heavy units had sent that way. Without escorts, the carrier was a sitting duck. Without it, the hostiles wouldn’t have the resources to maintain a presence at the planetoid, and the sim would end in Rutherford’s favour. The same realisation seemed to have occurred to the officer commanding the carrier, and the space around the warship’s engines began to shimmer, preparing to accelerate to cruise speed. Too slow. Though the ship was facing away from Rutherford’s force, an assault carrier was a huge mass for the engines to overcome. It inched away, agonisingly slowly.
Rutherford barked an order into his bomber’s comms, and the carefully arranged formation behind him dissolved. Fighters zipped forward, like dogs freed of the leash, anxious to get in on the kill. Unlike the bombers they carried cruise disruptors. They would reach the hostile ship long before it managed an escape. That was almost the entirety of Rutherford’s strike complement hammering on the carrier. There wasn’t a ship in Sirius that could take that sort of punishment for long. Behind him, gunboats began to accelerate, pulling away from Rutherford’s carrier, Washington, to secure the space around the planetoid. A similar haze settled over Washington’s engines as it prepared to join them, sailing past the nebulae. His siege cruisers were already committed to the fight against the carrier, hanging back to make best use of their massive forward guns. The extreme range meant that many of the shots flew wide, but enough had hit to make a dent in the ship. It didn’t help that the Captain seemed to be drawing energy from the carrier’s weapons to keep jumping his shields up. It was ultimately a delaying tactic, but an assault carrier carried a great many weapons. It was an extreme amount of firepower to throw away to ward off a few more shots.
Realisation hit him like a punch to the gut. The nebulae!. In that instant Rutherford saw all of them. Fighters swarming over the enemy carrier, kilometres away from his capital ships, carrier’s weapons powered down as it accelerated, eager to join the fray, with his gunboats hovering somewhere in between, too far away to be useful to either group. Too far away to stop the trap… His ships were stretched out on a shoestring. Damnation. Rutherford’s fingers scrambled for the comms.
“Washington this is the Fleet Commander, pull away! Possible hostiles in the field. Rockland, Brewer, cover Washington.” There were barks of acknowledgement from the two gunboats as the Captains of Rockland and Brewer kicked their ships around, engines glowing as they prepared to break away from the planetoid. There was no response from the carrier.
Silence reigned in the cockpit for the briefest of moments. Then Rutherford had the ship, pivoting it, turning back towards Washington. Behind him, Dudley powered down the weapons, transferring the excess power to the Upholder’s engines. It was an old dance, and they knew it well. He just prayed they’d be fast enough. If he lost to a machine, he’d never live it down. Targets skimmed across his HUD as the Upholder skated around, turning to face the- Washington was in flames. The ship hung half obscured by the nebula, motionless. The turrets on its hull pivoted uselessly, tracking targets, power core too depleted to fire. Of course. That was exactly what the AI had been waiting for. The hostile carrier had been too obvious. Too good a target. It had been bait, intended to string his forces out, lull them into recklessness. He’d been stupid. The carrier’s escorts hadn’t been driven off, they’d retreated, knowing he would focus his forces on the solitary warship.
It had worked. Rutherford didn’t need to check his instruments to know the enemy carrier was still there, funnelling power into its shields, like a turtle retreating into its shell. Washington had no such luck. With its power core all but offline from its brief acceleration to cruise speed, the ship buckled under the wave of firepower that pulsed out from the nebula. Judging from the size of the projectiles, the lost enemy siege cruiser was in there somewhere. But how? His ships couldn’t target the ships in the field, scanners stopped functioning once you got close to it. It was a small miracle communications could get through. It should have worked the other way too. Then how was that cruiser targeting his ship? He gritted his teeth. For now, it didn’t matter. He had to reach the carrier. He would not lose to a machine.
The gunboats were still kilometres away. They would be too slow… As he watched, a torpedo, sleek and deadly, powered out of the field, headed for Washington. He was still too far away. Rutherford swore, wrapping his hand around the control column, wishing he was still an interceptor pilot. They carried disruptors for this very purpose, but his bomber was devoid of them. A shape flashed across his vision, yellow contrail trailing behind it, locking on to the torpedo. A disruptor! Rutherford risked a glance behind him to see Rockland hot on his heels. Brewer had dropped out of cruise, and was flinging missile after missile at the incoming torpedoes, screening Washington. Torpedo after torpedo emerged from the field, only to find one of Brewer’s missiles waiting for it, knocking it off course.
It was one of the finest displays Rutherford had seen. He watched the scene for a moment, committing it to memory. He’d have to look up Brewer’s Commanding Officer after the exercise. It wouldn’t be enough. Disruptors couldn’t stop supernovas or the massive linear accelerators of the siege cruisers, but it bought them some time. If Washington could just hold until the hostile carrier went down, it would be a win for Rutherford’s force.
Suddenly, he was among them. Engines groaned behind him as Dudley shuffled the power, the bomber’s weapons flashing green one after the other. Alright. Rutherford smiled. Let’s see how well these boys dance. A pair of fighters swung into position behind him, no doubt thinking the lone bomber would be an easy kill. Their weapons hammered on his shields, narrowing that thin red power line with each hit. Rutherford wasn’t unduly worried. These men were fighter jocks. They had been trained to think they were the best. The concept being beaten likely never entered their minds. Rutherford kicked his ship around, powering into the nebula. Instantly, visibility plummeted. Sensors were useless here, and he could barely see a hundred metres. His sole source of illumination was the weapons that still flashed around his hull, searching for his ship. He needed to drag them away from Washington, needed an empty bit of space to manoeuvre, he needed-
The space ahead of Rutherford flashed white, a bolt of lightning in the darkness. What looked like a massive spear hovered in the field, illuminated by the rapidly accelerating ball of lightning. No, that was no spear. The shape was the enemy siege cruiser, concealed in the field. And he was staring down the barrel of its main gun.
There was a flash of blinding light, and then darkness.
“We were all surprised, I think. No one really expected things to go as badly as they eventually did.
I know I didn’t.”
- Lieutenant Rae Glasson to a service psychologist following the Siren incident, 818A.S
Please Wait. Downloading Facility Logs...
Captain RUTHERFORD, Henry Secondary Fleet, Liberty Navy
Commanding Officer: Charon Project
Day 3
Hands grasped at Rutherford’s arms, his skin oddly numb where the digits closed, as though he were wrapped a thick carpet. Slowly, sensation returned as the fingers began to peel away the Twitcher. His helmet, weighed down by the bulky screens built into it, was the last to go, vision returning to Rutherford’s world in a flood of colour. He gripped the seat, shaking off the headache that always came with disconnection. He sat in a slate-gray room, surrounded by rows of similarly attired pilots. Above him, a screen was projected onto the wall, replaying images from the battle. Rutherford winced as he watched Washington fall apart a second time, hull cracking amidships. He hurriedly glanced away. There were some things you avoided reviewing until you had to. To his left, a pair of technicians were removing Dudley’s Twitcher, lights on the suit fading from green to yellow as sections peeled away. The simulation suits, or Twitchers, as they had been named by the pilots ordered to wear them were a recent development of the Navy’s R&D department. Expensive and bulky, the suits interfaced with holographic displays in the helmet to simulate the physical sensations that came with flying. Rutherford had never learnt exactly how they worked, and judging by the headache that greeted him every time he used one, he doubted he wanted to.
Slowly, pilots began to file out of the room. There would be a debrief on the exercise later that night, but for now the division was on stand down. Side-effects from the Twitchers weren’t uncommon, and a few men on station suffered far worse conditions then Rutherford’s migraines. He’d learnt within his first week as Charon’s Commanding Officer not to push his people after a simulator session.
“Not a bad session today.” Dudley had managed to climb free of his suit and had taken a seat on the chair next to Rutherford. Sweat coated his flight suit, as it did Rutherford’s. Despite their genius in creating the Twitchers, no-one had yet figured out how to ventilate the things. Occasionally Rutherford considered simply shooting a few holes in them, feedback be damned. Unsurprisingly, Dudley’s handlebar moustache was untouched. Whether he somehow found the time to groom on his walk across the room, or if the hair was simply indestructible had been the subject of much speculation back when they were both Lieutenants. Rutherford nodded.
“Brewer did well. I wish I could say the same for the rest of us.”
Dudley shrugged. “They’re getting better. You saw the boys a week back, they wouldn’t have made it within a mare’s hair of that carrier.”
“Perhaps. I’m still not convinced that Horsefield’s system wasn’t cheating. Did you see the way Afton picked off Washington?” Designations for all the combatants were helpfully listed on the side of the wide screen. Afton’s sported an impressive kill list, including Washington and, much to his embarrassment, Rutherford’s ship. The siege cruiser had done inordinately well. “Right through the nebulae. Shouldn’t be possible.”
“Thought that myself. Lucky for you, some of us are humble enough to ask.” Dudley chuckled, gesturing toward the screen and tapping a button on the seat’s arm. A small square of pixels in front of them faded, replaced by a view of Washington, cruise engines ablaze, silhouetted against the nebulae. A few seconds before the first blast had hit the great ship. The tail end of an Upholder occupied a corner of the image. “Anything seem strange to you?”
“You know I hate these games, Lieutenant Commander.” Use of rank between the two of them was rare, but Rutherford was exhausted. Just once, he wanted a straight answer.
“Look at the ID number on the bomber.”
Rutherford did, realisation streaking through him like a thunderbolt. Damnation.
“That’s our ship!” It was unmistakeable. But how? How could the A.I have gleaned that image? Save the carrier, it didn’t have any active units in the vicinity, and the hostile ship had been accelerating away from the fight. It couldn’t have taken the picture. All they’d had had been the fighter Rutherford had shot down, and the dead siege cruiser.
“Dudley, can you pull up the core output on that siege unit near the planetoid.” The ship had looked dead, but…
Dudley smiled, it was evidently what he’d been waiting for. “Done. Damn lucky you’ve got me for IT. Probably blow yourself half to Manhattan otherwise.”
Rutherford ignored the barb, watching the ship’s power output. Sure enough, there was a spike when the cruiser’s shields had gone, and a massive drop a few seconds later when the mortar had sheared off the entire drive system. Power output for the ship dropped to a trickle from there, the reserve systems working life support. Forty five seconds before the first round had been fired at Washington, the draw increased again. Rutherford let out a whistle of amazement. He’d assumed that the cruiser’s Captain had gotten cocky, charging ahead of the rest of his force. Heavens knew he’d had similar problems with his side, culminating in the fiasco that had led to Washington’s destruction. But what if the ship had just been following orders? Waiting until it faded into the background, then feeding targeting data back to the ships in the nebulae.
“Clever bastard. That ship never went down, did it?”
“No Sir. That it didn’t.” Dudley shut down the screen. “Wouldn’t have figured it out myself if I hadn’t seen the pictures. Don’t think he meant to take as many hits as he did though.”
Rutherford nodded again. It had been a risky move. One more hit and that ship would have been smoke, instead of just playing dead. Hardly the calculated breed of tactics he’d learnt to expect from A.Is. It unnerved him. It seemed too human.
“Odd behaviour for a drone.”
“Well, the eggheads did say it was meant to think like a man, didn’t they?” Dudley swung himself to his feet. A man as tall as him didn’t so much sit on a chair as recline, his legs stretched out before him. Years ago, Dudley had confided in him that that was why he’d been dropped from the Navy’s pilot course. “That reminds me. Someone wanted to meet you. One of the tech leaders, Moore, I think. Said she’d catch you in your office after the session. Wanted to pick your brain on the flight.”
Rutherford sighed. He had been planning on a meal.
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Better you then me.” Dudley stepped back raising an arm in salute, solely for the benefit of a pair of soldiers walking in the hallway beyond. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With a last glance at the board, and his own name, complete with flashing killed icon, Rutherford turned and headed for his office.
- Inscription on the Roll of Honour, Planet Manhattan.
Please Wait. Downloading Facility Logs...
Captain RUTHERFORD, Henry Secondary Fleet, Liberty Navy
Commanding Officer: Charon Project
Day 3
”Mr Rutherford, I’m glad to see you made it. I was beginning to fear you were ignoring me.” Anne Moore was not a woman who enjoyed being kept waiting. As a civilian contractor, she was also the only person on the station who could avoid using Rutherford’s full title. It was a privilege she employed at every opportunity. She twisted her neck and glanced back over her high-backed chair as he entered the room. “Of course, I’m quite certain that I am mistaken in that. Surely the Commanding Officer a multibillion credit project would not neglect his duties to play fighter jock.” Her tone was icy.
Rutherford supressed a retort. Despite her frigid attitude, Moore was one of the best project leaders in Liberty. Rutherford had read her file after their first altercation. She’d tacked onto a Department of Defence contract early in her career and continued to jumped between them for the past twenty years. Nine out of ten entries in her file were classified at a level beyond his access. Very few people, even in the military, would ever be allowed to see what this woman had done. You didn’t keep receiving projects like that unless you were very, very, good at them. Thus, one of them had to be civil and, as usual, it seemed that it would be Rutherford.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting Anne, but this is a working base. The personnel here are expected to undertake combat missions, as you well know.” He sank into his seat. “Forgive me if I prioritise developing their ability to survive them.” Over answering your every whim. “Now. What can I do for you?”
“I want more time to work on Charon.” Well. That was quick.
“Why?” Rutherford frowned. The project was almost finished. They had the A.I running combat simulations, weeks away from proper functionality. For once, it had come out under-budget as well.
“There’s more we can do with the project.” Dodging the question again. Getting a straight answer out of Moore on her projects was like getting blood from a stone. Though Charon officially did fall under Rutherford’s command, he lacked the technical skills to oversee the project in any depth, so Moore handled the day to day running. A fact that she was very quick to forget, when it suited her.
“What, exactly? Charon’s working well enough from what I saw in the sim room.” He tapped his fingers idly on the desk. “It doesn’t need to run battles itself, Anne. It’s a consultant, an advisor.”
“I’m fully aware of what Charon is designed to do, Mr Rutherford.” Even now, she sat stiff and straight-backed. For all the show she made of shirking military regulations, Rutherford suspected the soldiers had rubbed off on her more than she would admit.
“You’ve seen that it can analyse and predict human behaviour. If I recall correctly, it did an excellent job predicting yours. With time, we can refine Charon’s software to interpret surface units, perhaps individuals. You would have a tactical aide that could be applied to the entirety of Liberty’s Defence Force, instead of just your fleet. With the addition of supplementary systems, it could locate and destroy enemy command centres.”
The way she phrased it made the statement sound as though developing Charon purely for the fleet would be unspeakably selfish. Still, Rutherford had to concede that she was right in that regard. It would be foolish to throw away technology that could benefit the entirety of Liberty, and it would be a hell of a surprise to deliver to his superiors. Perhaps he could attempt it.
“How long do you need?”
Moore pursed her lips, staring off into the distance in silent deliberation. “Two months, minimum. We’ll need to compile Charon’s processes to a single unit, and design a housing.” Rutherford nodded. He knew enough about the project to understand that. Charon was deemed too valuable to risk installing the A.I aboard a single warship, and the drain on its systems from running the program would be a risk to the crew. Instead, it was a distributed intelligence, using the networked systems of every warship in a fleet to gather data and run ever more complex calculations. It was a safe bet, in Rutherford’s opinion. While Charon used every ship in the fleet, it wasn’t dependant on any of them and could function aboard a single gunboat if necessary, albeit with significant loss of capability.
Ground warfare was a different business particularly if, as Rutherford suspected, Moore intended to push Charon as an autonomous unit. Most planetary battlefields could be networked, to an extent, but it was unreliable and nearly always dependent on maintaining dominance in the space above – not a risk any of the planetary commanders he’d spoken to felt comfortable taking.
In any case, it couldn’t hurt to trial Moore’s idea. He still had a few weeks before Charon’s next deadline, and the A.I was running months ahead of schedule. Moore’s work, no doubt. Perhaps the woman would get Charon working, and Liberty would never have to send another soldier to war. Wouldn’t that be a triumph? Rutherford would like nothing more than to see every pilot he’d trained go home alive. If Charon could lead to that, lead to survival, if only for one soldier, wasn’t it worth a shot?
“Alright.” He held up his hands in defeat. “You’ve got your two months. I expect fortnightly reports.”
Moore’s lips curled into a smile. For a moment, she looked almost happy. “Of course.”
Business concluded, Moore rose from her chair, dusting some invisible particle from her jacket. “Will that be all, Mr Rutherford?” Odd, seeing as she’s the one he called me here. He nodded. “That’ll be all.”
She swept from the room, the door sliding into place behind her, leaving Rutherford alone with his thoughts.
“The one thing I can’t seem to get out of my mind... Her eye’s, they were so soothing, yet, when she went crazy and my men were dying all around me, It seemed as if death was standing in front of me. I think that’s the first time I ever froze in a combat situation, and I think that’s what saved me.”
- -Lieutenant Rae Glasson in her return to duty Psychological evaluation 6 months following the Siren Incident, 818A.S.
Please Wait. Downloading Facility Logs...
Lieutenant Glasson, Rae Secondary Fleet, Liberty Navy
Volunteer: Charon Project
Day 6
Rae Glasson stared out the dropship's windows her brow creasing in annoyance, as though she suspected the G-Forces compressing her chest were some veiled form of personal insult. She hadn't trusted the squat ships since her breakfast had made a second appearance during re-entry training Recruit course. It had been two weeks until the ribbing had shifted to another Recruit. Barbs had followed her as far as specialization training. Suffice to say that Lieutenant Glasson had since opted out of every opportunity for jump training since. The force on her chest subsided as the craft's thrusters finished their work, small rockets kicking the dropship into proper orbit.
Sometimes she wondered why she'd signed up with this program. She certainly wouldn't have if she'd known planetary drops would be involved. Thankfully, she wouldn't be the one making the jump today. The dropship, designed to carry a squad of eight, was close to empty, drab semi-liquid seats filling the space along the ship's walls.
Aside from her, there were four people aboard. No. She corrected herself, regarding the gray humanoid hunched in the corner. Three people. One of them, identified by his stripes as a Marine Sergeant, sat next to Rae, his ever-present rifle resting between his knees, pointing at the ship's roof. He could have been asleep, if not for the constant dance of his pupils; glancing first to Rae, then back to the dark figure in the corner. Even aboard a friendly shuttle, deep in Liberty space, the man was still on edge. Considering what they were carrying, perhaps it was warranted.
Multi-colored wires snaked across the tiny ship's floor, converging at the feet of the gray figure as if they were roots returning to a tree. From a distance the figure's metallic skin was smooth, mannequin-like. Rae knew that, up close, that perfection dissolved into a mess of joints and gears, weapons and sensors, all concealed beneath a sea of interlocking panels. A tall if not well rounded technician hovering over the humanoid, displays glowing, looked up at Rae and gave a thumbs-up.
"Ready to power on boss." The tech's accent was odd. Faintly Bretonian, or perhaps one of the Border worlds. Rae didn't much care. The man was a genius in the field of battlefield intelligences. Apparantly he'd written papers on it, not that Rae had ever cared to read them. She had a sneaking suspicion that no-one actually read scientific papers, including the people who wrote them.
Was it safe to activate the A.I? Even with a marine guard, she didn't trust the machine as far as she could throw it. Rae had seen what the Harvesters did on the evening news. She had no desire to be in the room when something like that woke up. She supressed the urge to chew her lip. It was a nervous twitch that she'd long since buried. Her orders had been clear. Activate the project before she entered Atmo. Brief it. Send it out the airlock over Melville forest, and into the arms of the waiting ascessors. They were close enough now to prevent too much damage. Even if the A.I did seize control, the cockpit was sealed from the rest of the ship. It wouldn't be able to do much more then bounce around the cargo bay until one of the technicians killed the power. No, she couldn't put it off any longer. Once they entered atmosphere, it would be too rough to deliver her brief.
Rae gave a slight nod. "Do it."
At the dropship's rear, the A.I began to move. The tiny monitors situated around the A.I. dim to an almost amber illegible hue as the units internal systems began to warm up. The A.I., Female in design slowly began to move its legs and arms as if it had simply fallen asleep in that position and felt the need to stretch. The A.I. lifts its head slowly, looking around with blank, colorless eyes as if blind. "Power output is at nominal levels, her systems are booting up smoothly. Looks like we're green across the board as you would say." The Technician reports without looking up from his flat data pad, a bundel of wires connected to its top right corner measuring what had to be the thickness of 4 of the same pads stacked atop one another. As he speaks the android twitches as if startled, quickly snapping its head to look in the technicians direction. The Marine sitting across the small cabin from the machine tensed up as he sees the quick movement, his grip on his rifle tightening with each second. "Ja... den... why... I can't see again... Why am I always blind when I wake up?" The A.I. spoke with a fairly confused voice, a voice that could have belonged to an angel. The man smiles warmly at the question, setting his hand on the humanoids shoulder like one would do to comfort a child. "It's ok, and I've told you before Siren, your optical sensors are still in a developmental stage. Later on you'll be refitted with the proper sensory package and they will boot as they should along with the rest of your systems, just bare with it for now... ok? She gives a weak nod then continues to look around the ship with an innocent look, not actually seeing anything, yet taking in more knowledge than any veteran soldier could.
"Standard configuration, short range Light attack craft, crew capacity 10 though it holds only four crew at present, one seems to have a standard issue assault rifle... The port engine seems to have a 1.735 discrepancy in its power output, the pilot should be taking extra measures to keep the craft from shaking." She looks up at the crafts roof seeing nothing then Back to Jaden next to her. "...... Jaden....... Why.... am I in a drop ship... I thought you said you would take me to get a hamburger the next time I was brought online?" Her voice could only be described as sad and emotionless, even though it sounds like an AI should sound, it gives the impression of a young girl with no hope in her life.
Rae folded her hands behind her back as the A.I powered on. Despite her efforts, she couldn't keep her eyebrows from inching up in surprise. Really, she no reason to be shocked. The briefings had been through. In spite of it, she could have sworn a fourth person had just woken up aboard the shuttle. It was remarkably... Human. Of course it is. She chided herself. It's an assassin. It's designed to blend in. Looking like a little girl didn't make it any less dangerous. If anything, the disguise only made it more deadly. Yet as it spoke, Rae's hands curled behind her.
Without taking her eyes off the metallic girl, Rae unhooked the cockpit commlink.
"Dasher, you busy?" Rae had attended flight school with the pilot. They were long past rank.
"Only half-flying. If you want to come up and help, I've got another seat here." Rae couldn't help but wince. The man had a voice that could cut glass. The intercom did nothing to help.
"How's the port engine looking?"
"Port?" A series of electronic 'pop's floated down the intercom. "Putting out a bit more juice then usual. Tiny though, probably a worn valve. Nothing to worry about."
"Right. Thanks." She closed the line, allowing herself a slow blink. Creepy.
"Does it always do that?" She directed the question to the A.I tech hunched over at the craft's rear, apparantly whispering to the robot. His back straightened, turning to face the young Lieutenant like a child caught with his hands in the cookie jar. He shook his head hurriedly.
"No. At least, I don't think so. She hasn't in any other tests. Then again, she hasn't been on..." He glanced around, as though seeing the ship for the first time. "One of these before."
"You mean you don't know?" Rae sighed. Civilian contractors. Couldn't get a straight answer out of any of them.
"Well, no. I mean, I do know. I just didn't know in this specific situation. With more time, I'm sure I cou-."
Rae held up a hand.
"That'll do. Thank you, Mr Horsefield."
She eyed the assassin, the confusion in its artificial eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the Marine's hands sliding down, almost lazily towards his weapon's grip. It wasn't a great increase in alertness, but the tension in the shuttle cranked up a notch.
"So. Siren." She took a step closer to the ship's rear, one hand on a row of chairs. There was no real risk of turbulence here. The pilot would hold position until she gave the go-ahead. Some old habits just refused to die though, in complete defiance of logic.
"You seem to know a lot about the ship. Do you know why you're here?"
She simply shakes her head slowly as if confused, her blank eyes still not allowing her to see though she looks directly at Rae. “I was told by Jaden in the last test for the MARC9-F that was installed in the left of my back, that when i was next activated he would buy me a substance called a hamburger for lunch.... but i seem to be in a Drop ship thats holding about 18 K from an unknown planets surface...... Correction.... 20.34 K... my density sensor was off by .73 microns.... She looks at Jaden. “I told the mean techs that it needed to be recalibrated in the last test but they said it wasn't an issue... why would they say that when its an integral part of my system??” A dim blue dot of light appears in the center of her white eyes as the visual sensors begin their final activation. The AI seems to be holding something in her right hand though its not noticable given that shes showing no sign of hiding the tiny device. Hiding things in plain sight was one of the first things she was "Taught".
Rae shot the skittish techie a look that could have boiled hull plating. Offering the experimental assassination drone hamburgers. Outstanding. "I'm certain the techs know what they're doing." No. She wasn't here to talk to it. It didn't matter. "Siren, I'm Lieutenant Rae Glasson. I'm the Officer in Charge of the operation you're currently on. Do you understand?"
It was unlikely that she needed to check. The thing was apparantly programmed to track multiple targets in a difficult environment. Yet, something in it's appearence gave her pause. Stopping, checking for understanding. It was the sort of thing something did with a human soldier. The A.I would remember what she said. Of course it would. It was what it was programmed to do. She rushed on without waiting for a response.
"As you guessed, we're around twenty clicks up from our training area. We'll be making an planetary insertion, sweeping across the atmosphere, and you'll be deployed at the lowest point in the arc. They'll be a beacon at the LZ, try to aim for that. Mr Horsefield's wired it into your HUD. Once you make contact with the first beacon, it'll deactive and the next one will power on. Keep moving from beacon to beacon, as fast as you can. Simple enough?"
The AI simply nods as a child would do when getting scolded. The light in her eyes getting larger and brighter as her visual sensors become fully functional. She smiles with a sad expression. “Am i going to be shot at again? The bullets and lazers really hurt when they make contact with my unit... It's not somthing i enjoy very much, though i know its my reason for existing... To serve The House of Liberty as a soildier and weapon as well as the base for possible future units such as myself....”
As she says this, her voice changes ever so slightly to that of regret. She looks up at Jaden, then back to Rae as she straightens up in her seat with a bit more seriousness.
“I apaologize for voicing my opinions without permision Lieutenant, i will keep from doing that again. I understand that this will be an atmospheric shock drop into possible enemy territory, i understand that i will be following a series of beacons that will activate one by one and the nesxt in the sequence will only activate once i reach the beacon befor it. I understand that I will need to run to each as fast as i can, and though you tell me that this is going to be a simple, i'm quite sure that the multiple armored units holding below us on the ground in a pattern that is reminesent of a convoy assualt will infact make my trip al the more difficult... is there anything you might have left out of you'r briefing Lieutenant, because lack of, hidden, or disregarded Intel often leads to massive loses for the less informed side of the battle...”
*She says this as if she has actually glimpsed at the orders that were handed to Rae and with an air of knowing what lies ahead for her, though its all said with an underlying saddness in her voice*
Rae's mouth clamped shut. On second thought, she definetely should have stayed on the station. What her office lacked in ventilation it made up for through a distinct lack of artificial intelligences.
"No. That just about covers it." She rapped on the door behind her, the sharp ringing prompting a distinct shudder from the craft's engines. A sudden pressure on her back threatened to push her to the craft's rear, but a second hand cupped around the rungs hanging from the ceiling secured her against the accelleration.
"They'll be troops on the ground obstructing your progress. We're all running on non-lethal tech here, so don't get any ideas. Horsefield's got a vest ready for you." She nodded toward the dark green vest sprawled across two of the dropship's seats. "It'll register any hits you take. You get hit, it's game over. Our guys'll be using similiar tech, but that'll be covered on the ground."
A light above the cockpit door flicked from green to red. "That's our cue. Gear up. sit down and buckle up, we hit atmo in five."
She nods as she stands an puts the vest on, the turbulenc from the ship seeming to not effect her, she flexes her wrists as if streatching, then moves over to the door. She watches the signal lights next to it, waiting for the signal to tell her when to jump, then right befor the red light turned green again, she simply lifted and put the small device Jaden had given her into her ear for all to see. The door flys open with the ring of a bell as she turns and falls from the craft backwards, she can be heard quite clearly singing over the comms as she falls, her voice resounding with an erily angelic resonance.
A hundred metres above the plummeting drone, a figure loomed out over the ramp, the confused face of Lieutenant Rae Glasson clearly visible for a few seconds before Siren pierced the gathering clouds.
She continues to fall, her back to the ground, with her arms and legs spread out to control her fall, as she hits 800 meters from the ground, she quickly turns over and throws herself into a steep dive, straight towards a group of tall trees. Once she hits 350 meters, she turns herself so that her feet are facing the ground and activates her hidden jetpack that quickly folds out from her back as well as her auxiliary thrusters that pop out from her hips. The jets fire to slow her decent rapidly, as she quickly decelerates, the left side of her thrusters start to sputter before suddenly she’s thrown hard to the left as only her right side thrusters fire throwing her into a spin as she falls directly into a tall tree. She manages to kill the thrusters and grab onto a limb, though with her speed, she breaks straight through it. She continues to crash through the large limbs of the tree, slowing with each crash, then as she gets to within 7 meters of the ground, she’s forced to reach out and dig into the trees trunk with her fingers and plant a foot on the trunk to slow herself, coming to a stop right at the ground. She falls to her knees as she cries out in complete pain given that her right elbow joint servo is now damaged and will need repairs as well as her thruster pack having been completely torn off by one of the branches.
“GEAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH?!?!!!!!?!!? EGGAHH....” She screams out as she bursts into tears. “It Hurts....... help me..... Jaden...... the pain..... My arm.... eeeauuuhhhhgg... what do I do...... can’t move........ right arm.....iieeahhgg... not functioning..... IIEEAHHHH?!!?” Sparks shoot from her back where the thrusters would have been. “Thruster pack....... ripped from... EEGAHhh..... housing... nonfunctional......IIEEAAahhh. Her left arm gives causing her to fall so that she is now lying completely on the ground. Power levels..... 62 percent.... and falling..... can't...... continue operation..... need assistance......”
The speed of the drop would have ripped the flesh from the bones of a normal man. Even now, force sensors across her body screamed for attention, competing in a sea of violet notifications flashing across her display.
Unbidden, an orange light flickered into existence on her visor, pulsing slowly like a particularly determined firefly. The beacon, it was a long way away. Too far, concealed behind a screen of foliage. A flower hung from one of the bushes, inches above the dirt, level with Siren's face. Insects or what she presumed passed for insects here, scurried across the forest floor, unfazed by the sudden appearance of the A.I. Green beetles, with antennae stretching further then their squat bodies, clustered around her damaged hand, limbs flailing madly. None of the creatures touched her, dissuaded by the heat still radiating from her body. Light flickered through the trees, throwing haphazard shadows across the forest, shifting with the wind. A North-Easterly, her systems helpfully added.
Another flash of red informed her that her message had gone unheard. Rae's shuttle would be well on its way out of the atmosphere now, and all but unreachable by portable comms systems until it were clear of the planet. Even then, the ship wouldn't have the fuel to come back.
For now, she was alone.
She just lay there for what to her seemed like hours, though a tiny readout on her HUD told her she had only been there for 9 minutes, her power drop had slowed now so that it was barely holding at 47 percent, she had already turned off her pain sensors as well as any non important systems such as her vocal, infrared, and night vision as well as sealed off the power output to her now detached thrusters that were somewhere up in the now severely damaged tree. Her right arm nonfunctional as well as most of her left hand, she slowly set herself up so that she could lean against the tree while trying to avoid looking at the beacon symbol that she for whatever reason couldn't stop thinking about. She lifted her left arm to inspect her hand, frowning as she realized the severity of the damage, it dropped to her side as she leaned her head back against the tree wondering when her message would be received. That’s when she heard it, the subtle yet undeniable sound of an all terrain heavy tank moving towards her.*
”Thank goodness.” She thought at first, then her vast amounts of military training and tactics records flooded her mind as she remembered that she was supposed to make it through those troops to the assessors, that the troops were there to stop her, and would likely only render aid once she was considered dead in the exercise. This was something she was sure would lead to more tests as well as more augmentation followed by even more training ops, something she knew was inevitable. Her situation was simple, be captured and killed by the enemy, or continue on as best she could with what she had. Not exactly the most ideal situation, though her records told her they never were.*
“Guess I should try and make it to the target.... I would be upset if Jaden got in trouble for me failing my first training op.” She slowly lifts her left hand and takes notice of the only three functioning fingers; her thumb, middle finger and ring finger, the index as well as the pinky had all but fallen off by now. She cringed. “Least I can hold a handgun...” She reaches with her thumb and quickly pops her index and pinky the rest of the way off, grabs a stick and plants it in the ground next to them so they could be found later, then stands and finds that she can still move relatively well.
“The beacon is only 6 k away; I should be able to make it there if I avoid the enemy.” She starts making her way through the dense forest as fast as she can, noticing that it was a bit difficult with her damaged arm swinging limply at her side. ”This is not going to work.” She slows down and leans against a tree, grabbing her right arm with her left and holding it to her chest. “I need to contact Jaden and let him assess the... WHAT!?!?”
She suddenly falls to the ground as her right knee shatters due to the slight damage that was overstressed by her moving leaving her leg severed, with her lying on the ground. She moves herself into a sitting position as her eyes fall on the site of her leg lying 2 feet from her, fear crossing her mind; she suddenly sends an urgent message to Jaden through her HUD.
The message reads, "JADEN, PLEASE HELP ME!?!?!? MY UNIT IS TO BADLY DAMAGED TO CONTINUE WITH THE EXERSISE, I CAN'T CONTINUE... I'm scared... please.... help me...."
She just sits there awaiting a response.
An Hour later as she sat leaning against the tree, her system barely functioning the trees over head start to move as a powerful wind races through them. Lieutenant Glasson along with 5 other men begins repelling through the trees from a small transport holding just above them. As she approaches the AI with a single look she shakes her head then motions to the others. “Talk about a failed test… Let’s get this scrap heap back up to the station.”
The last thing to run through Sirens mind was the thought of her being nothing more than a tool as well as the words Scrap heap.
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