Jorz

Kory Mae Boarded

The janibot emitted a long eek in response to the intruder’s kick and scurried to its docking station. The traumatized howling of the dog down the hall filled the cabin before the bridge hatch closed again with a subtle three-tone jingle.

“You think that thing will howl when we toss it out an airlock?” Trescell asked the man who walked onto the bridge. “You have any idea how to unlock this console? Nothing I’ve tried has toggled a single status indicator.”

“You need to have an IQ higher than the diode that lights them. I thought you were a pilot? Chandler’s been calling me every two minutes for a status. Haven’t you even gotten the com to work yet?”

“I’m telling you nothing works. Nothing’s responding.”

“I can’t get access to the main cargo hold either. Maybe we shouldn’t have Tasered that mouthy little captain so fast. Who would’ve figured she’d lock down the whole ship before she let us on?”

“Captain Tegaris did not modify the security level.”

The two men jumped and grabbed their sidearms.

“Damn,” Trescell hissed, after assuring himself no one had miraculously appeared beside them on the bridge. “That scared the crap out of me. The thing hasn’t said a word in the last thirty minutes.”

“If the captain didn’t lock down the ship, then why isn’t the con or any of the hatches responding?” Lindsey asked.

The voice remained quiet.

“Hey. Computer. I asked you a question.”

“My name is Kory Mae.”

“Fine,” Trescell growled. “Kory Mae. Why won’t the con, the com, or anything else on this ship respond?”

“I observed your attack upon Captain Tegaris and disengaged all manual components of the ship until Captain Tegaris instructs me thusly.”

The two men looked at each other, and laughed.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Lindsey said. “There’s someone else on this ship pulling our chain. That’s no computer interface.”

“I don’t doubt it, but none of the doors will open and our ship’s sensors won’t penetrate this one’s shields. You got any genius ideas?”

Before Lindsey could answer, the main monitor flipped from its standard external, forward camera to a ship’s diagram. Four blue dots flashed, two on the bridge, one down the corridor, and one in the small forward hold, on their own shuttle .

“There ya go, there’s someone just down the hall,” Lindsey said. He jammed an untidy finger at the screen.

“The third life-sign belongs to Molly, Captain Tegaris’ canine companion,” Kory Mae explained in a calm, very human-sounding voice. “The fourth reading is your colleague you referred to as Marciano, who remained on board your shuttle when he returned from taking the captain to your ship.”

Lindsey cursed. “That diagram’s a fake.”

“I assure you this is not a false representation of my internal sensors,” Kory Mae answered.

Big stinking ship for a single crewman.

The two men shared a side-glance at each other. Lindsey’s computer dinged. The man activated the speaker without lifting it from his hip.

“Status.”

“We haven’t been able to get access to anything yet, Major. She’s locked down tight.”

A stream of invective spewed over the connection. “Evidently an automated distress made it through our scramble. Nothing is showing up on long-range sensors yet, but at best, I’d guess you have an hour before we have to get out of here. Not like we’re not on a major shipping lane.

“We’re here to disrupt commerce, gentlemen, but if you can put some credits in our accounts with what’s in that baby’s hold, I’ll salute you.

“Otherwise, our little ruse was a lot of work for nothing. Set charges to ready her to blow. I’ll let you know if anything shows up.”

At the blip of the disconnection, the two spacers looked at each other. Lindsey stepped up to the engineering station and drew his fingers arbitrarily over the screens.

The con didn’t respond to anything. He took out his computer and plugged it into a docking station. Almost immediately it blared a warning, but too late, as Kory Mae’s attack fried the computer. The man frantically pulled it out of the port, cursing. He stood there pressing function keys, but the display remained ebony.

“Ah man. It’s all gone. Son of a bitch.”

“I didn’t think that was a good idea,” Trescell told him.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t know what else to try.” Trescell hid his smile.

“And you—ah man. You bastard.” He threw his computer against the console.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Trescell mumbled. “Security protocols usually lock out certain commands, functions. Hell, every input and stick is dead. How’s the captain supposed to reset the status when she comes back? You ever see anything like this?”

The man peered across at his accomplice and shook his head. “I just lost my life’s history and you ask me a stupid question like that?”

“Just load your backup on a new computer. No big deal.”

The man glared.

“No. You—” Trescell cackled. “You accused me of having shit for an IQ?”

“Screw you. I’m backed up, but it ain’t exactly current. Shit. I’m gonna go get the ordnance. Time to make this thing a light show.”

A moment after the man walked off the bridge, the main monitor changed. The ship’s diagram was replaced by camera views of their shuttle in the forward hold, and of Lindsey’s progress down the corridor. The view flipped as he stepped into a stairwell.

“Ship, what’re you doing?”

“My name is Kory Mae.”

“Kay. Fine,” Trescell said. “What are you doing, Kory Mae?”

“Captain Tegaris would not appreciate it if I allowed you to harm me.”

The lights on the communications console flashed and Trescell sat to identify what was happening. The main monitor split and a new image displayed.

“Ah, you got coms to work.”

“No, Major,” Trescell mumbled. “I believe the ship initiated the call.”

She rolled her eyes. “Cut the jokes. What’s your status?”

Trescell didn’t get a chance to answer her.

“I must insist that Captain Tegaris be returned, unharmed. If you do not agree to my demand, I will be forced to take hostile action.”

“Who in the hell is talking?” Chandler asked.

“I think it’s the ship’s AI, Major.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt that.”

Another image filled one-third of the front monitor, a view of Lindsey. He had reached a landing and a hatch closed in front of him. The camera zoomed in on his startled expression. He looked around quickly, his face turning panicky. His voice came over the com, a string of curses.

“You may speak to your comrade,” Kory Mae said.

“Lindsey? What’s going on?”

The man cursed again. “The ship is venting,” he screamed. “Get to the shuttle!”

“I’m only removing the atmosphere from the forward, port stairwell,” Kory Mae answered calmly. “Your Mr. Lindsey should be comfortable for another nineteen seconds, depending upon his health. He shall proceed into distress quickly after that.

“I insist you return Captain Tegaris. Would you like me to show a countdown for you?”

“Stop,” Trescell shouted.

“Mr. Lindsey has, thirteen, seconds of comfort left.”

“Major! Get that captain back over here.”

“Trescell,” Chandler shouted. “Take your laser and blast the con.”

“What the hell good will that do?” he screamed.

“I doubt whoever is stowed away over there wants their bridge atomized,” she said.

Trescell could hardly hear her over Lindsey’s screaming. He glared at the images on the monitor for a moment, before backing away from the con. He pulled his sidearm and pointed at the controls—and screamed in pain.

A dozen janibots had turned their cleaning lasers on him, blowing a ten-centimeter hole through the middle of his hand. He dropped his weapon to the deck, bent double in agony. Squeezing his wrist against the pain, blood oozed to cover the separated shunts of a pair of metacarpals.

“What the hell happened?” the major shouted.

“The damn ship attacked me.”

“What?” she cried, before laughing.

But both of them were turning their attention to the view of Lindsey. He was no longer screaming. He was on the deck on all fours, back arching from the agony of decompression.

He emitted a sickening, wheezing sound as the last of the air sucked out of his lungs.

“Major.” Trescell shouted. “Please. Agree to return that captain. Please.”

The major wore an angry scowl, eyes and mouth pursed. It was a picture of stubbornness, not remorse for her crewman, dying in front of her.

His commander’s voice ordered someone off camera to fire, just as the monitor flashed a view of the swirling, gray image of the FTL distortion field that cocooned the ship, enabling the Kory Mae’s faster-than-light jump.

A slice of a moment later a loud snap indicated the field had collapsed. Trescell checked the navigation monitor displaying the relative positions of the Kory Mae and his own ship. Had to be a quarter-AU separating the two.

One of the split images on the main monitor displayed the dotted blackness of space for a moment, before Major Chandler reappeared. She was ranting, but Trescell had his own problems, as he struggled to rip off his sleeve to wrap his hand, as blood pooled on the deck. He looked nervously at the tiny ports the janibots had disappeared into.

“Major Chandler,” the AI said. “I am opening my forward hold. Use the shuttle docked there to return Captain Tegaris. You have five minutes.”

“Or what?” Chandler shouted.

The ship didn’t respond, but executed another jump to bring the two ships practically face-to-face.

Trescell walked toward the bridge exit, eyes on the lifeless form of Lindsey on the front monitor. He bounced off the hatch. It didn’t slide open as it should have.

“Crap.” He waved his good hand over the manual release. Nothing. He walked back to the front of the bridge cradling his hand, trailing blood. “I don’t think Marciano or I will get off this thing alive if you don’t agree to return her, Major.”

Chandler didn’t look happy, but hissed an acknowledgment. The two video slices of her and Lindsey disappeared from the monitor. The minutes slipped away agonizingly slow as he watched the shuttle glide to and from its mother ship. The camera view followed it as it docked. Its hatch opened and half a dozen commandos stormed off the shuttle, combustion-based assault rifles held up to their shoulders.

The blue lights indicating the ship was jumping flashed for an instant. The six men faded into a blur. The loud snap of the collapsing distortion field indicated the end of the jump. Trescell leaned forward to empty his lunch on the deck.

Recovering, he jacked his eyes back at the monitor. Matted clothes and equipment were crumpled, imbedded against the bulkhead, which showed the perfect indentation of the six soldiers.

There was nothing left of them but evaporating steam and pulverized mush that flowed across the deck.

“My, god.” He stared at the monitor. “K—Kory M—Mae?”

“How may I assist?” the AI answered.

“You—you—”

The communication connection was reestablished, and the image of Major Chandler split the main monitor.

“I brought down inertial dampeners around them before I went to FTL,” the ship’s AI answered unnecessarily.

Trescell stared at the dual-sliced monitor, his commander’s ashen face, and what was left of comrades.

The first law of robotics, not to injure or allow harm to a human—

“Are you seeing this, Major?” After he asked he realized he didn’t have to. Her expression was enough.

“Kory Mae.” The major’s voice rasped over the com. “Release my shuttle and I’ll give you your precious captain.”

“If you do not comply this time, Major Chandler,” the ship’s AI said, “I’ll have only one recourse.”

“What is that?”

“I will ram you. Please consider my displacement is considerably greater than yours. I might not have the hull your battle-craft has, but my shielding is more than enough to crush you. There won’t be much left of your vessel.”

“I believe— Acknowledged.”

The panel accompanying the communication faded as the major drew her finger across her throat, and the remaining image expanded to fill the plasma sheet.

After the ship jumped again, Trescell felt he watched a video re-run as the shuttle exited the smaller, forward hold. Camera views changed to follow it. After a few moments the view split again, and an internal camera followed the progress of the hold’s cleanup.

Trescell’s stomach lurched. Dozens of janibots worked to vaporize the remains of the six soldiers. Trescell couldn’t help but wonder why the ship felt it was appropriate to display that.

A not-so subtle message—maybe.

An announcing tone behind him made Trescell twist around. A door on a nearby food-gen had opened.

The AI said, “The analgesic is rather strong, but should not hinder you from walking to your ship, if your commander has made the proper decision.”

Trescell shook his head. “You killed seven of my fellow crewmen, shot me, and now you offer me a painkiller?”

“What kind of treatment would Captain Tegaris have faced?” the calm voice challenged him. “Would she not have been tortured until she agreed to turn me and my cargo over to you if I hadn’t acted? Would she not have been ejected from an air lock if she refused?”

Trescell didn’t reply. He stood watching the monitor, hoping the next person that rushed off the shuttle when it returned was the tiny little captain who commanded the mean-ass Kory Mae.

“You have a point, Ms. Mae.”

“I actually prefer simply, Kory. Do you like that designation?”

“I guess it’s okay,” Trescell said, scrunching one side of his face up at the odd question—for an AI.

“I find it spiritually gratifying, myself,” the AI said. “Would you like water, or perhaps some sweet iced tea to wash down the analgesic?”

Trescell walked over to the food-gen.

“Water would be fine. If the major pulls something again, you’ll kill me, won’t you?”

“Captain Tegaris would find that fitting I believe, especially considering you planned to harm Molly.”

Trescell faced the con, as though he needed to have eye contact of-sorts with the ship’s persona. “No. No. I never would have done that. Never. I love dogs.”

A mechanical wheezing answered him. Trescell assumed it was intended to be a laugh. Odd. For an advanced AI, it hadn’t been programmed to demonstrate humor?

It’s creator must be a no-nonsense crab too.

© R. Mac Wheeler 2017