Universe of the Soul (21 page)

Blair sighed. “I know. Which is why I am terribly afraid that when you leave, I'll be going with you.”

To do:

Get dressed. – new uniforms are hideous. Why can't we wear our fatigues onboard ship?

Eat breakfast. – briefing with captain over food. Hello new diet.

Bridge duty. – halve the time for the battery diagnostics. Make sure Walters is scrubbing his furry paws off. Overview with Analysis on new mission statistics. What joy.

Run training ops on VR deck. – figure out timing issue with Hanfton.

Eat dinner. – Meet up with Giselle and Riordan, the cooing lovebirds. Does the mess hall have more organic milk?

Practice Ayallan. – Giselle needs to work on those roll kicks.

Go to bed. – three hours, no less!

Attack the G.C.N. Damacene. – Too bad we can't wipe up the Oreallus. The cowards. What is Rael thinking? She's no coward. Must be the captain.

Note to self:

Its odd, I'm still somewhat depressed about those rumors. It would be strange to mourn the passing of an enemy, especially such a lethal one; but it would truly be a shame to think of the great Adrienne Rael being taken out by something so impersonal as a bomb. I would have much rather done it myself, in person. At least I still get credit for the kill.

I need to pummel Brugettiveo-Etin. He's been harping on my use of wood and carbon for my daily lists. Has he no sense of tradition?

“T
his reeks. On an olfactory scale of one to a billion point five, it's two billion!” Duane paced Gray's cabin as the security officer packed his trunk. “What could Heedman have been thinking? Does he
want
us all to die? We in no way benefit from shoving our security officer off to the ends of the universe.”

“Heedman benefits,” Gray replied, frowning down at the three socks in his hand, none of which matched each other. “He gets to move the ship as far away from the battlefront as possible, and he loses me.”

“How is losing you a good thing? As far as I can see, we're going to be limping gigos with something faster and hungrier running after us. What's to the good?”

“I think he found out that I was observing him, with the intention of bringing his behavior into question with the Court Martial system. This just provided him with an excuse to get me off the ship and significantly delay my arrival time on Halieth. Any delay is to his benefit. I'm sure he's doing proverbial cartwheels.” With a mental shrug, Gray tossed the socks into his trunk and reached for his dress uniform. “How should I fold this thing?”

“I don't understand.”

“Well, no matter how I fold the blasted thing, it always - ”

Duane waved his hand. “No, no. I don't understand the part where you're spying on Captain Heedman. What for?”

Gray looked up. “For Adri. She deserves justice.”

Stunned, Duane flopped down onto Gray's bed. “What…how will spying on Heedman get justice for the L.C.?”

“It was his cowardice that got her killed. I intend to see him burn for it.”

The flat tone of Gray's voice had Duane's hair standing on end. “Well. I can see how Heedman would be miffed by that.”

“Right. I figure he has all our transmissions read, and discovered the one I made to Halieth.” Gray ended up shoving the uniform into the trunk and hoped that there was a domesticom on the
Damacene
to remove the wrinkles if necessary. “Ergo, at the first opportunity, he's dumping me elsewhere.”

Duane shook his head numbly. “You're going up against the captain? Through the system? What, do you have a suicide wish?”

Gray chuckled mirthlessly. “No, although that is the popular opinion. Trust me when I say that by killing Adri, Heedman signed his own professional execution warrant.” Locking the combination on his trunk, Gray took a last look around at what had, for a short time, been his quarters. He wasn't sorry to leave, save for the loss of more opportunities to observe Heedman. The memories of Adri were all that tied him here, and he would take those with him. “I guess that's it. Give me a hand?”

Together, they pulled the trunk out of the room and into the hallway, where Gray was able to activate the anti-gravity modem on the bottom of the trunk and prod it lightly down to the lift. Duane was silent for the time it took to reach the lift, but while they waited for it to arrive, he couldn't contain himself any longer. “So that's it? You decide to burn Heedman, but just accept it when he kicks you out? Is there some human logic that I'm missing here?”

Gray leaned back against the lift wall and closed his eyes. “If I'm going to use the official channels to get him, I have to follow the rules. Any infractions on my part would be used as an excuse to toss my case right out the window.”

Duane rubbed his magenta chin in consideration, “So there really was some logic there. Okay. But, aren't you angry?”

Gray lifted on eyebrow and replied mildly, “Do I look angry?”

“Not really. If anything, I would say you look mildly put out.”

“Mildly put out,” Gray repeated. Without warning, he whirled around and punched the control panel for the lift. There was a crack as the delicate instrument broke, giving off sparks. The tinny voice of the ship's maintenance computer squawked the standard vandalism warning, and was ignored. Gray studied his bruised hand indifferently for a moment before turning back to Duane. “I've always been able to contain my emotions well. Still can, if all you see is ‘mildly put out.'”

His friend whistled softly in awe. “You are scary.”

“Why is that?” Gray asked as the lift dinged and they maneuvered the trunk and themselves onto it and ordered the warehouse and docking bay level.

Duane sat down on the trunk and looked at the man that he considered to be his only surviving friend. “Because, you're always so…even tempered and diplomatic. It's one of those still waters run deep things. I'll never know when you're going to explode.”

Gray frowned. “Still waters run deep and explode?”

“Uh, no, sorry. I mixed my metaphors. Really old metaphors. It means I never know just what you're going to do. It's interesting.”

Shaking his head, Gray shoved the paranthian off the trunk as the lift arrived at the docking bay level. “You are a strange fellow.”

“One of a kind.”

Before Gray could press the release to enter the docking bay, Duane stopped his hand. “So what do you want me to do?”

“What?”

“To fry Heedman. What do you want me to do? I can't send you messages, if he's reading them. Which is totally possible by the way. So…what?”

Gray shook his head. “I don't think you should get involved. If this turns messy, I don't want anyone else's careers being vaporized but my own.”

“Hey, I can be covert. I can send you messages in code or something. Everyone knows we're friends, so my sending you messages won't look weird.”

“Duane,”

“The L.C. was my best friend, Gray.” The paranthian was serious. “If I can do something for her, I have to.”

Gray grasped Duane's shoulder briefly. “I've suddenly developed a keen interest in engine designs.”

The paranthian nodded in understanding. “I'll keep you posted.”

Carter was waiting by the shuttle. For his brief stay on the
Oreallus
he had needed three trunks twice the size of Gray's. He looked at Gray's luggage incredulously. “That's it?”

“Yep.”

“You leaving some stuff here?”

“Nope.”

“So that's all you have?”

“Yep.”

“As in, everything you posses?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Carter shook his head in true bewilderment. “I will never understand the benefits of a frugal mindset.”

“Reverse that, then stick it on yourself.” Gray took a last look around the docking bay. With a final wave to Duane, he climbed aboard the shuttle for the short ride to the
Damacene
.

“I have to admit, I missed life on the
Damacene
.” Carter said as the shuttle passed through the blackness of space towards the second battleship. “There is something to be said about working for an aristocratic snob captain like Yates.”

“Yeah?” Gray was only listening in a vague sense, his mind drifting.

“There are just a lot more readily available commodities. The
Oreallus
doesn't have more than a handful of humacoms onboard, and most of them are just data drones. It's like being stuck on a ship with no computer. How do you people function?”

“Just fine.” His curiosity piqued, Gray turned to his companion. “What is so great about humacoms?”

“Well, the convenience, for one,” Carter replied. “Humacoms have become so advanced within the last decade that the military has been considering creating an all-AI battalion, to see how it could affect warfare. Could you imagine? An all-AI army fighting another all-AI army while we sit back?”

Gray shook his head immediately. “Too expensive. It's far more costly to the government to replace a humacom than to hire a human. And when you think about it, using humacoms in place of humans would jack the unemployment rate through the stratosphere. How many hundreds of millions of beings are hired by the Galactic Commonwealth Navy alone? Not to mention the Advance Force, the StarPilots, the Army and the millions of mechanical, intelligence and clerical departments. It would be an economical disaster.”

He looked over to see Carter staring at him, eyes wide. “You think too much.”

Gray shrugged. “Sorry, thinking is just one of those bad habits of mine.”

Carter shook his head. “How can you enjoy life with so many serious thoughts swirling around in your head?”

“I manage to smile now and again.”

“Do you really have such a negative opinion about humacoms?”

“Only when it comes to the big picture. I know they are considered an indispensable necessity to our culture now, a hybrid between man and computer, but…”

“But what?”

“I think we've gotten ahead of ourselves. We wanted a computer that could talk, walk, make its own decisions within a set parameter, and we got it. But then we wanted them to integrate better within our society, so we made them look, talk, and act like humans. We give them independent-thinking AI units, we program in personalities until the only difference between them and us is that we were born and they were manufactured. Where does it end? How do we draw the line between man and machine now that we've blurred it so much? When will someone say, ‘we erase the bad elements from humacoms, why can't we erase bad elements from humans as well?'”

Carter huffed. “So I take it that you are against the humacom personality and AI recalls they've been hinting at in the news.”

“I think it's too late for that. They've become too much like people for us to treat them like malfunctioning machines.”

“Danwe, you are deep.” His companion shook his head. “Do you just sit and think about universal issues in your off time?”

“Not as a rule, no.”

“Well, I'd advise you to keep those kind of opinions to yourself during your stay aboard the
Damacene
.” Carter leaned forward to watch as the shuttle entered the docking bay. “Most people think that the AI units have just become too dangerous, and are willing to have a recall. When it comes down to the bottom line, all they see is a machine.”

“What do you see?” Gray asked.

Carter gave his trademark dreamy smile. “Me? I try to see as little as possible. We've arrived.”

There was a small welcoming committee ready to greet them when they disembarked. It consisted of three humacoms in ensign uniforms, one petty officer from Warehousing, and a junior officer from the bridge. The junior officer saluted them both before informing them that Captain Yates wished to speak with Lieutenant Commander Carter at once. “Field Lieutenant Grayson, I will leave you with F.G.P. 08765434-909-08. He will show you to your quarters. If you have any questions he cannot answer, your communicator should work to contact myself or the chief petty officer of domestic affairs.”

“Thank you.” Gray replied. He watched as Carter and the junior officer left, followed by the petty officer and two of the humacoms carrying their luggage. Finally, he turned to the remaining humacom, who stood waiting with the patience that machines held inherently.

“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant,” the humacom said pleasantly.

“Thanks,” Gray summed up the humacom with military speed. It was built to an average height, with a dead average human male build. His skin was pale, his hair was sandy blond, and in an interesting show of personal fashion, hung longer around his face and nearly obscured his eyes. Those eyes were blue, and curious. Gray had seen this type of model before; it was mostly used as a grunt or an assistant to minor officers in the military. “So, do you have a name, or must I recite your serial number every time I want your attention?”

“I'm called Jericho, sir.”

Gray nodded. “Jericho, then. What do you do?”

“I'm a security assistant at present, sir. In the past I have also worked in Engineering, Warehousing and Analysis. My experience in said practices has increased my reliability and reaction time in crisis situations.”

“You are good at what you do?”

“My comp time is the shortest in the security humacom force on board, sir.”

Gray smiled. “You have a bit of an ego, don't you, Jericho?”

“I have no idea what you mean, sir. I am merely stating a fact. I am the best security humacom on the
Damacene
.”

It had either been a very long time since Gray had dealt with a humacom who had a personality program installed, or this one had a well-developed sense of itself. “Is that so?”

“Quite.” There was a short pause. “In case you missed my subtext, I am applying for a job with you, sir.”

Gray was both amused and intrigued. “I guessed, but why me?”

“You have to be better than working with Commander Vortail.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the statistics show that just about anything would be both more interesting and more productive than working with him. Sir.”

Maybe this move wouldn't be so bad, Gray thought. It was starting out entertaining. “Then I guess you will have to work with me. Danwe knows we can't have a bored humacom on our hands.”

“It shall be a pleasure to work with you, sir.”

“You can stop calling me ‘sir,' now.”

“Of course sir.”

Gray decided to ignore that and started walking towards the exit. Jericho fell in step beside him.

“I hope you don't mind that I ask, sir. What are your plans?”

“Plans for what?”

“For when the Belligerent Coalition attack?”

Date: - - 1119

The new security officer has arrived on board ship. The probability of his efficiency cannot be accurately rendered until an observation is made under a combat situation, but a cursory analysis shows that he won't be less efficient than Commander Vortail. The analysis was made using an observation of his appearance and belongings, coupled with his public service record available in the Archives. Field Lieutenant Thaddeus Grayson's military record is laudable. His personal effects were quantifiably below average. His body language; gauged by appearance, kinesiology, speech and eye movement, according to the standard guide for human body language, proved him to be used to authority, not prone to irrational outbursts, and self contained above the human average. Possibly irrelevant additions were the subtle signs of grief.
I wonder what happened?
This analysis of course is based marginally on outward signs of his psyche, a subjective and imprecise method.