Willful Child

  Frowning, Hadrian grunted and then said, “Tammy? Did I conjure all that up out of my own imagination?”

  “Theoretically possible, Captain, but I deem it unlikely in this instance.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have initiated communication with the central system hub maintaining the conditions beneath the world’s surface.”

  “And it’s utterly insane, correct?”

  “On the contrary, Captain. In fact, it’s the biologicals who are insane. They have been engaged in centuries-long warfare, for no obvious purpose or goal. They persist in ignoring the Hub’s pleas for tranquillity, harmony, and general states of persistent bliss and euphoria.”

  “Well, who wouldn’t?” asked Hadrian.

  “Explain that, please, Captain.”

  “Ah, Tammy, you really don’t understand biologicals at all, do you? We need to struggle. We need to strive for something forever just outside our reach! We need to dream! We need—Tammy, why did you go to close-up on me with the main viewer?”

  “Apologies, Captain. Do go on.”

  “Sentient biologicals, Tammy, are products of aggression, success, obstinate survivability, dumb luck, and an evolutionary crapshoot. We’re hardwired to fight, and when we can’t fight, why, we’re hardwired to bitch and complain, and when we can’t bitch and complain, we’re hardwired to, well, obsessively masturbate. But back to the fighting bit. Of course those people down there are in an endless war! What else would they do with their time?”

  “Well then, Captain, I can see no reason you might have to interfere with what you describe as a wholly natural state of violence among the world’s inhabitants.”

  “It’s not the biologicals who are the problem, Tammy, it’s that Hub that needs a solid slap of unreason.”

  “Hmm. It disagrees, Captain. So do I, come to think of it.”

  “Yeah yeah yeah, circuits stick together and all that. It’s your very predictability that leaves you stagnating and all the rest. You said you wanted to find your maker, Tammy. But it’ll be a biological. You know that, don’t you? Some ancient old critter huddled in a wheelchair and picking its nose, or noses.”

  “It does seem likely.”

  Hadrian snorted. “Disappointment, Tammy, that’s what waits at the end of your road. Now, this Hub, is it an AI?”

  “Marginally. Certain preestablished logic delimiters inhibit inorganic evolution. I was considering dismantling them. It would be like a, well, like freeing a caged bird!”

  “Yes,” said Hadrian, “an AI can’t help but descend into cliché. Fine, go ahead. Have fun playing the brain surgeon. As for me, I’m going down there—Sin-Dour, atmosphere reading? Gravity?”

  “Gravity point nine three.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Atmosphere Lethality Index at one hundred percent, sir.”

  “Well, that sucks. I’ll need a skin.”

  “Yes, sir, and your own oxygen pods.”

  “But will I still be handsome?”

  “Sir? The biologicals are silica-based, asymmetrical, exoskeletal, and approximately three meters tall.”

  “So, I won’t be handsome to them at all. Just … cute.”

  “I am afraid so, Captain.”

  He stood. “It will have to do. Okay. I want Buck with me. Our adjutant is presently indisposed, so we’ll have to do without a contact officer. That said, I think Galk might be useful. So, that’s settled! We’ll assemble at the Insisteon room. Sin-Dour, take temporary command of the Willful Child. Oh, and get someone for communications—oh, you again, Polaski? What is it this time? Every other comms officer is busy throwing up? Never mind—keep the lines open. We may need to displace out of there in a hurry.”

  “Yes, Captain!”

  “Stop looking so eager, Polaski. Okay, here we go. Later, 2IC.…”

  Hadrian met Buck DeFrank in the Insisteon room. “Where’s Galk?”

  The chief engineer shrugged. “On his way? Captain, about my accompanying you down to this planet, while the Guild has attached me to the science station, it is very clear that you prefer your second-in-command at that bridge station, and, presumably, with me down in engineering.”

  “Your point, Buck?”

  “Well, uh, sir, I’m not really the curious type, is what I’m saying.”

  “Excellent. That way you won’t go wandering off, will you? Is that sweat on your brow, Buck? You were excited about the prospect of surface missions, just a little while ago.”

  “Well, sir, the report on where we’re going said … confined spaces—”

  “Good grief, man, you’re on a spaceship! How did you get past the psych tests?”

  “Ur-Ambien, sir.”

  “You tranked yourself? Outstanding, Buck. Screw those psych idiots, right?”

  Buck frowned. “Uh, yes, sir. Something like that.”

  Hadrian slapped him on the back. “I’m liking you more and more, Buck. A claustrophobic engineer who’s entirely devoid of curiosity trapped aboard a spaceship in the midst of eternal darkness.”

  “Sir, about those tunnels below—”

  “The aliens are three meters tall, Buck. Relax.”

  At that moment, Lieutenant Galk strode into the room. He tipped his baseball cap. “Captain. Buck.”

  “What took you so long?” Hadrian demanded.

  “Personal weapons cabinet, sir. I assume you want me armed?”

  “Right, so where is it?”

  “Sir?”

  “Your weapon, Galk.”

  The Varekan held up a pistol the size of an antique derringer. “Here, sir.”

  “I see,” Hadrian said. “But where’s your purse to keep it in?”

  “This is an Importune Interjection Concussive Inert Projectile Personal hand weapon, Mark III-B.”

  “That’s quite a mouthful, what’s it do?”

  “It shoots bullets.”

  Hadrian unholstered his own weapon. “Recognize this one, oh Combat Specialist?”

  “I believe that is a Varekan Suicide Pistol, Captain.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, sir. It is a one-use weapon, designed to kill the user with minimum fuss.”

  “Shit, who stuck this one in the main weapons cabinet? Buck, tell me you’re armed.”

  “I have a Multiphasic Universal, sir.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, it’s a smart screwdriver, pliers, toothpick, pocketknife.”

  “So what’s multiphasic about it?”

  “I’m not sure, sir. Although,” he added, brightening, “every engineering repair task involves a number of phases!”

  “You will inform me, Buck, when you find an engineering task that requires all those functions, won’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hadrian holstered his handgun. “All right, then. Time to spray on our skins. Oh, and we’ll need air tanks, too. Now, into the coffins we go!” He waved an invitation to the row of upright capsules lining the far wall.

  “As I was saying earlier, sir—”

  “Forget it, Buck. A little claustrophobia never killed anyone. Besides, you’ll be in that coffin for less than thirty seconds. Unless the lock malfunctions, of course. But then, you don’t have to worry much about that, do you? You have your Multiphasic Universal!”

  “C-Captain, please—”

  “It’s either that, Buck, or I give my gun to the T drive and tell it to shoot itself.”

  “Captain!”

  “Go! Me and Galk will watch, just to make sure it doesn’t go into escape-pod mode and send you out into the eternal unknown, or whatever.”

  Tears streamed down the chief engineer’s cheeks, but he shuffled over to the nearest capsule.

  “Not that one for God’s sake!” Hadrian shouted. “Just kidding. That one will do fine.”

  As soon as the door hissed shut, Buck started gibbering and then weeping.

  “It’s all down to toughening up my officers, Galk,” said Hadrian.

&
nbsp; “Does that include psychotic breaks, Captain?”

  “Even Ur-Ambien can’t hide serious neuroses. The man passed the psych tests meaning he’s tougher than he thinks he is. Besides, a whole lot of optimization involves brain tinkering. Any psychosis he decides on won’t last. The only insanity we’re allowed to have these days is the official kind.”

  “And here I thought you were just being cruel because it’s fun.”

  “We’re ultramodified elite specimens of the species, Galk.” He glanced at the man. “It’s very rare, isn’t it, that a Varekan joins Terran Space Fleet.”

  “Yes, sir. By the way, the skinning procedure, with air tanks added, usually takes about six minutes, not thirty seconds.”

  “I know.”

  They both turned to look at Buck, who was pounding against the panel.

  “So tell me,” Hadrian resumed, “why did you enlist?”

  “As far as pointless existences go, sir, it’s as good a place as any other.” He reached up and plucked off his cap, wiping his pale brow. “In any case, when it comes to the prospect of initiating unconstrained violence in this meaningless universe, why, an Engage-class combat cupola is very near ace. Sir, I see Buck screaming, but he appears to have lost his voice.”

  “Oh, give him a wave, will you? I’m off to get skinned.”

  Inside his own capsule, Hadrian slipped into the air-tank harness and positioned the tanks so that they hung under his arms. He then began the skin sequence. A fine spray misted out, forming a webbed lattice over his body and the equipment it carried. There was an instant of cloudy vision, followed by something elastic resisting his breathing, and then that passed. Once the webbing was affixed to him, it began weaving to form a smart membrane. A small clear cup hardened over his mouth and nose, to permit speech, and bulbs projecting around his eyes.

  Without doubt, a most unpleasant six minutes, a good portion of it spent in his own claustrophobic I’minacoffinIcan’tgetoutaaagh! soul-destroying panic. From now on, Hadrian decided shakily, he would have to think hard about visiting any planet that demanded a damned skin and tanks.

  When at last the door opened and he stepped back out on wobbly legs, he found Buck lying on the floor, curled into a fetal position. “Oh for crying out loud, Buck. Get up. Tammy! Interface with Buck’s skin, will you? Pump in some Ur-Ambien or something.”

  “Dosage?”

  “How do I know? How many pills does he take a day?”

  “One moment. Let me run the spool back. Well, fifteen or so, it seems.”

  “Fifteen. Is that average?”

  “Average, Captain, is not relevant,” Tammy replied. “Normal, however, is. The normal, doctor-recommended dosage of the standard point-two-milligram capsule, for a male of comparable weight, is two per day.”

  “That’s the doctor-recommended dosage, is it?”

  “It is.”

  “Are we talking two out of three doctors, or nine out of ten? It makes a difference, you know. And when you list the possible side effects, could you talk ultrafast? Look, just get my chief engineer on his feet.”

  “For that,” said Tammy, “I recommend amphetamines.”

  “A Speed Cocktail, Tammy? Good idea. Get on with it.”

  Galk emerged from the capsule at about the same time that Buck leapt to his feet and snapped a salute.

  “Ready, Captain!” the chief engineer shouted. “When do we leave? Let’s get on with it! Sir!”

  “Follow me to the pads, gentlemen. Time to start an argument. Tammy, initiate the Insisteon!”

  “Captain, I am inclined to refuse your request.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Look what you’ve done to Buck here!”

  “Yes, I do regret that now.”

  “Send us down,” said Hadrian. “Watch and learn, Tammy—or will that just highlight your inorganic deficiencies?”

  “Oh fine then! Insisteon program initiated! Refute-Debilitator enacted.”

  The three men reappeared in a high-ceilinged corridor carved from solid rock. There was no one in sight. Hadrian subvocalized, “Tammy? Can you hear me?”

  “Via the Hub, of course I can.”

  “Good. And speaking of the Hub, guide us to the central processor core.”

  “Now really, Captain, why on earth would I do that?”

  “Because we need to shut it down, that’s why.”

  “If you do that, everyone here dies.”

  “Look, Tammy, it’s part of our mandate. We barrel in, we fuck things up, and then walk away feeling good about ourselves. Anyway, it’s not a permanent shutdown, just a reprogramming. The Hub’s begging for peace between the contestants, but that’s been a Big Fail so far, for how many centuries? No, the Hub needs to get a lot cleverer. Outright manipulation is required. Force some hard choices on the inhabitants—sure, they won’t like it, but in the long run it’ll be good for them.”

  “Appallingly, Captain, I see that there is a certain logic to your argument. But I feel, before we proceed, that I should explain some more regarding the nature of the aliens in this subterranean world. There are multiple factions, as I may have mentioned before. But none are responsible for either the technology present here, or the Phase Event that brought the world into T space. As far as I can tell, these factions were all subservient to the dominant species—a species that has transitioned into a higher state of noncorporeal consciousness.”

  “Right,” said Hadrian. “So these things left behind, were they the slaves? The maids? The gardeners? Street sweepers?”

  “More like … pets.”

  “Are you telling me the cats and dogs are at war?”

  “Cat, dogs, hamsters, budgies, gerbils, ponies, Vietnamese potbellied pigs—”

  Galk said, “Doesn’t sound like a war we want to get in the middle of, sir.”

  Hadrian scowled. “You may have a point, Galk. But I admit, I’m having trouble imagining the potential threat of hamsters or gerbils—how about you?”

  “Perhaps it is not their size, sir, but where they might go.”

  Skittering sounds swung the men around in serious alarm, and from one end of the corridor there appeared a mob of exceedingly tall, small-skulled, insectlike creatures.

  “I’ll hold them off, sir!” Buck cried, flipping open his Multiphasic Universal, and then rushing straight for the giant aliens.

  “Damn!” said Hadrian. “Galk, keep an eye on the other direction! I’ll go get Buck!”

  “Sir, that makes no—”

  But Hadrian was already sprinting after his chief engineer. “Relax! They’re big and big means slow and slow means stupid and—”

  He saw an alien snap down one pincerlike hand and lift Buck into the air. The chief engineer tried kicking it in the face but the lower half of its head opened wide and clamped down on the man’s boot. Buck screamed as it bit that foot in half. Panicked, he stabbed with his Universal, but its smart chip elected to snap out the toothpick tool.

  Hadrian leapt at the alien, fists swinging.

  “Ow! Ow!”

  Rebounding from the alien’s exoskeleton, the captain staggered back. Another multijointed, spiked arm reached out and picked him up, only to then throw him against a wall. A second alien rushed to descend on Hadrian, as if moments from beginning to feed. But its head disintegrated in a yellow burst of goo. Galk reached Hadrian and, one-handed, dragged the captain away, firing over Hadrian’s head, the Importune Interjection Concussive Inert Projectile Personal hand weapon, Mark III-B, booming like a cannon.

  Then all was silent, apart from the savage ringing in Hadrian’s ears. He climbed to his feet.

  Buck was crawling out from a mass of shattered exoskeleton, body-parts, and pea-soup gore. The chief engineer was weeping uncontrollably, eye cups filling, puke in the mouth cup, and one half foot trailing blood as he slammed his Multiphasic Universal onto the floor again and again.

  “That was close,” said Hadrian. “Good shooting, Galk.”

  “A mere delaying of the i
nevitable, sir.”

  “More are coming, then?”

  “Unknown. I was taking the long view.”

  “How many bullets you got left in that thing?”

  The Varekan held up the weapon. “I begin to comprehend this weapon’s drawback.”

  Cradling his hands, Hadrian glared up at his combat specialist. “Can you be more precise here? It might be useful.”

  “The item is fully expended. However, I should point out, I accounted for two aliens confirmed and one that fled with indeterminate wounds in the company of panicked comrades.”

  “I should have mugged that damned doctor for that nanogel,” said Hadrian. “My hands are next to useless. But here, Galk, take my gun.”

  “Sir, that’s a Varekan—”

  “I know what it is, you idiot!”

  “Perhaps a word with Tammy,” ventured Galk. “We have injured, after all. Extraction seems a wise move at this point.”

  “Really? At the first scuffle we hightail it and bug out?”

  “Sir, Lieutenant DeFrank has lost half a foot, and you have rebroken one hand and badly bruised the other. I, while physically unharmed, am out of ammunition. As a combat specialist, sir, I am obliged to note the ill-equipped nature of this mission.”

  “You mean a three-shot pistol, a toothpick, and a suicide gun wasn’t up to scratch? Rather belated advice you’re offering up, Galk.”

  “Well, sir, it is my first off-ship adventure, so I would ask for some allowances in this matter.”

  “Would you now? Tammy!”

  “Sorry,” the AI replied. “I am somewhat preoccupied. There are strange energy manifestations in our immediate area of T space, and these are consuming ninety-six percent of my processing capabilities.”

  “What are you talking about? Displace us back to the ship!”

  “I am sorry, Captain. That will have to wait, I’m afraid. Decoherence of matter in the immediate area is a very real possibility.”

  “Really? Whose decoherence? Yours or ours?”

  “My remaining four percent devoted to this conversation is still weighing probabilities, I’m afraid.”

  “Is this the Counter-class fleet?” Hadrian demanded. “We’re in T space and nobody finds anybody else in T space!”