Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (84 page)

“And what was, dare I ask?” Sprite asked, mildly.

“We were discussing who is better among programmers, A.I. or organics,” Veber stated.

“An interesting discussion,” Sprite replied, clearly amused by the topic. “There can be no contest,” she said. “We win hands down,” she pointed out.

“Ah see, there we go with the superior 'holier than thou' attitude we've both had,” Yao said eying Fletcher and the others in the room. “Yes, you can program on the fly. But you A.I. still lack the creativity that we have. Most of the time you do a code swap or modification or pull up a template and work from that,” he said.

“And you don't?” Proteus asked.

“For some things I admit we do. But we have an innate creativity you lack,” Veber replied loftily.

“Hear about it, intervene. Intervention is in order here.”

“You see a need and fill a need. Sometimes when the need wasn't there at all you create one,” Proteus stated. “That is the essence of your creativity. A.I. have distilled it.”

“Distilled and bottled it,” Yao said. “You've improved on it with speed but not with greater skill. Accuracy yes, but you haven't taken things beyond where we have gone.”

“Because it would scare you organics silly. Besides, we're limited on processing power,” Sprite stated.

“Oh this will be good.” Captain Montgomery said from the open hatch. They turned to see him glare at them. Yao straightened. “Sorry, sir.”

“Good. You are too insulated in your own little world here. Perhaps a refresher on life outside might be in order? A rotation to a normal duty assignment?” Monty asked with a velvety soft voice.

“No, sir. Sorry, sir,” Yao replied, bird eyes wide. “I'll behave.”

“You'd better. All of you had better.” Monty said as he eyed the group including the holographic avatars of the A.I.

“Now, you know each side has its strengths and weaknesses. Yes, an A.I. can be suborned with the right virus or change of code. But so can an organic, just on a different time scale unless nanotech is involved,” he said diving into the conversation. “Perhaps we should focus our discussion there,” he said, coming into the room to stand with them.

More than one organic winced at that hit.

“An A.I. can yes, think and react faster than a human. Excuse me, organic,” Monty said, nodding to some of the non-humans in the group. “You don't need food except energy, you don't need to worry about acceleration or life support, except as I mentioned energy, and the fact that your components can also be damaged by high acceleration. Higher than we can sustain I'll grant you, but it can and has happened before. It
will
happen again.”

“The same could be said of other elements. Fire, water …,” Sprite said in agreement. He glanced at her and then away for a moment, then back to the group as a whole.

“Then of course there is the fact that your components can wear and break down in vacuum. Some heat and atmosphere is needed to keep equipment functioning but no water vapor. But without water vapor, you have the threat of a fire.”

“You're thinking the Ghost Fleet, sir?” Yao asked, feathers rising in curiosity and excitement.

Wise eyes turned to look at the bird man. “Among other things.” The Ghost Fleet had been an entirely A.I. assignment, a fleet of ships completely automated. They relied heavily on robots and drones to run maintenance but hadn't required the supplies an organic fleet needed. They'd had all sorts of problems, ones that the A.I. officers had tried to gloss over.

The fleet had been open to any form of artificial intelligence, whether it was a complete construct, an organic download, or a hybrid. They had to be stable, and of course they had to be in the military. At one point it had been rather elitist and by invitation only. The fleet had fought valiantly during the Xeno War. It's possible survival and whereabouts were unknown unfortunately.

“So, to recap, we each have our pros and cons. By working
together
,” the spook said as he looked at them meaningfully, emphasizing the last word carefully. “Do we achieve great things. Quit the childish bickering, stop the distractions, and do so. Now.”

“Aye aye, sir,” the group chorused.

“Carry on like the fleet officers and enlisted you are.” He about-faced and walked out as the group looked sheepishly at each other.

“I guess he told us.”

“
All
of us. And I just got here myself,” Sprite protested.

“Oh shut up. Let's get back to work,” Yao said. “Ma'am,” he added.

She chuckled but then pulled up a schematic of the Xeno Wraith based on the puzzle pieces they had found and put together. “Okay, weaknesses—we've found a few here in the security module. If we tickle it with the right probe, it either goes ballistic or it self-destructs. How do we get it to do the latter and not the former? Any ideas?” she asked.

“Can we simulate it? See what triggers either response?” Proteus asked.

“For that to happen and for us to get an accurate reading, we'd need a copy of a live virus in a contained system. One we could observe from a distance,” Veber stated.

“Which would never happen since it would self-destruct,” Sprite said. “So we take what we can get. And I did get a bit more out of Bast than before since she and the good panther were here in Antigua,” she said, getting their attention. “Here is some of what we've been missing,” she said changing the schematic to fill in a few of the blanks.

Yao whistled, cocking his head this way and that with sharp bird-like flicks of interest.

“I thought that'd get your attention,” Sprite replied with a chuckle.

Chapter
47

The following morning Sprite wasn't in such an amused mood when she checked the admiral's inbox. Technically Protector should be doing it, and he usually did, but she liked to look as well since she also served as the admiral's chief of staff. “Oh this is just too much,” Sprite said, sounding amused and indignant.

“What?” the admiral asked.

“Read it for yourself,” she said with suppressed mirth as she passed him the file. He frowned and then opened it.

It was addressed to him from the IG office. He wondered briefly why the Inspector General would be emailing him on his personal as well as professional account. He frowned as he rescanned the header, then dropped to the beginning of the body. He blinked at the sentences, then down to the list under it, then reread the opening paragraph again.

“You are kidding me,” he said in exasperation and amusement.

“Are they serious, sir?” Protector demanded, reading the demand for a copy of his qualifications in everything from PT to naval tactics.

“Apparently so. And they are within their rights to see I get it done or I can be decertified from duty,” he intoned, reading between the lines. All fun was quickly leached out of the annoying email. Obstruction bureaucracy wrapped in professional courtesy and neat reminders of the law.

He'd pissed quite a few people off, and a few fussy people he'd tucked away in the IG office. Apparently this was his penance he thought. Either that or someone was reminded of what had happened with Gunny Jethro. He'd heard the story from Horatio in a vidmail letter over a year ago.

He frowned thoughtfully.

“Do you want me to find out who did it?” Sprite asked.

“Hell no. I'm not into playing that sort of pissing contest. I've got a lot more in my arsenal anyway and they know it. They know I could squash them now or later. But the image involved could get ugly if played wrong. No, I'll get it done. Damn it.”

“The imagery … you are referring to a senior punishing a junior for doing his job you mean.”

“Yes. And I've said I expect everyone to meet the quals. I meant it. Now I'm being hoisted on it. But they won't match mine. I might as well set an example.”

“Yes, sir. When? I can …”

“No, no you can't administer or sign off on them. We'll do them the best we can, around my schedule. Find me people who can administer the tests.”

“PT will have to be a DI, Admiral, which will mean a trip to Antigua,” Sprite warned, checking the quals. “You've got a lot of them, Admiral. Fortunately, once you pass them all you'll be covered for a while and make up for all those you missed prior.”

“Lovely. At least they haven't thought to bring me up on charges of dereliction for that,” the admiral said with an exasperate sigh. He held up a hand. “And don't go giving them any ideas!” he said hastily.

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Protector stated, looking at Sprite.

“I would, but only if I was being particularly malicious,” Sprite admitted. The admiral eyed her darkly. “Kidding of course,” she said with a smile. He still eyed her darkly. “Okay, I am kidding, Admiral,” she said.

“Right,” he drawled.

“The paper quals you can take, but you need another officer to be in the room to administer them and monitor you.”

“I'm not looking forward to the security check. Whoever did this is sadistic. A full colonoscopy?”

“Still refraining from having their guts for garters, sir?” Protector asked.

“Yes,” the admiral ground out between gritted teeth as his eyes roved the list. “So don't tempt me though. Well, I think we can get one over with right off. The range quals.”

“Who?”

“Captain Thomas Burrows. He passed his OCS courses and got a range instructor certificate as well.”

“Checking,” Sprite stated, accessing Captain Burrows' record. “You mean he
barely
passed. The notes say he got a bit distracted by a civilian student working on her teaching degree. According to this he's almost expired on his RIC. Are you sure?”

“It's enough.”

“I meant being so close to home. No accusation of bias, remember?”

“Ah, but I remember his other hobby.”

“Oh?” Sprite checked again and then nodded. “Photography. Got it.”

“Yes. He'll resist putting it up on the web, but the range is open to other marines unless we close it. Might as well keep it open and let others post recordings. It'll be nice PR and fun to twist the IG tail.”

“Two for one,” Protector stated in approval. “What about having so many people with weapons around you, sir? I'm your security A.I. and I have to admit I'm not thrilled about the idea.”

“Marines?” the admiral asked. “I'm not worried.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sprite seemed distant. He looked at her avatar. “What? Something to add?”

“Sorry,” she blinked. “Latest update.
Firefly
just finished crossing Gaston and has jumped to Pyrax.”

The admiral blinked and then nodded, now quiet. “Okay,” he murmured.

---<>))))

Despite his misgivings, he had relented and let Sprite do a little digging into the IG office. It was run by a former sleeper, Commander Snider. There were also others, both enlisted, noncoms, and officers there as well, many who had ended up on Irons shit list at one point or another, Chief Able for one. Lieutenant Commander Woods was another. It was a clear case of someone out for a bit of revenge. Or, they just wanted the wrong kind of attention.

They were insisting he get retested for his exams by qualified examiners. That was fine, he thought. Their schedule however wasn't, they wanted it right this second. He already had a full schedule, he couldn't alter it or clear it without making waves.

He thought briefly about the political implications. Someone wanted to make waves, possibly even make a name for themselves. Be the martyr? It was possible. There was, however, a way to get them to back off. Each time he turned in a qual it would reset the process and buy him a bit more time. Time it would take for them to process the qual and then a grace period before they could demand more progress.

He would have to get the ball rolling now he thought, sending an email to the gun range. He got an immediate reply with two windows. He frowned thoughtfully and then selected the second option. Two hours was tight, but they could manage it.

Besides, he was a flag officer. If he inconvenienced someone else, they could damn well put up with it. The nonsense had to be handled properly.

He pressed a button on his desk. “Captain Burrows to my office,” he said. He sat back and checked the clock, then worked on another email as he waited.

It only took a few minutes for a rather rushed but still professionally groomed human captain to arrive. He even had a security detail with him. “Are we going somewhere, sir?”

The admiral smiled. “We are indeed. You are a range qualified instructor Thomas?”

The captain nodded, now looking confused. “Yes, sir.”

“And I know from your hobby that you like to take photos. Well, you can do that and video. Grab a camera.”

The captain raised an eyebrow. “Where are we going, sir? If I may ask?”

“The gun range.”

“Sir?”

“I'll explain on the way.”

---<>))))

Two hours later they concluded the heavy weapon proficiency test. The admiral had passed all three proficiency tests with flying colors of course; he knew them backwards and forwards. He even knew weapons the captain didn't know they had in the inventory, how to use them, maintain them, and fire them. “You're good, sir. Damn good. I don't see what their problem is,” the captain said shaking his head as he admired the silhouette. The admiral's grouping made it almost impossible to see the individual shots. It was that tight. He'd had the admiral reshoot since the first paper target had only the one hole. He'd deliberately missed slightly just to make it clear he'd fired the required number of shots.

“I've had a bit of practice. Not as often as I'd like I admit. I'm spending far too much time shining a seat with my ass right now.”

The captain snorted. “Yes, sir. Are you going to show what you can do with that, sir?” he pointed to the admiral's cybernetic arm.

The admiral looked at the arm, flexing it. “Well, I suppose …,” he smiled crookedly. “Twist my arm and all that,” he teased. The captain smiled and shook his head as he set up another target. While he did that, the admiral picked up some rail gun ammunition with his right hand and then held it palm up. It seemed to melt into his hand. He saw one of the marines nearby goggle at him. He simply smiled and reloaded his hand.

They'd been something of a spectacle on the range despite his prior reservation. He could have asked for it at any time of course, but he'd deliberately selected a time at night to allow them easier access. Not that there was much of a different in space apparently. And some marines took it as a hobby to go to the range and let loose from time to time. Hopefully alcohol or other substances weren't allowed.

There had been a bit more than the normal number of marines and even a few naval personnel come in to sneak a peek at him. He knew the marines guarding him were a bit annoyed, but they put up with it as long as no one got too close.

“Should we be doing this with Lieutenant Protector as well, sir?” Despite his young age Protector had passed the junior lieutenant exam and the promotions board. It still took a little getting used to sometimes to hear him referred to as an LT.

“He will have to schedule his own time. I suppose he can get some practice shots in here when I finish,” the admiral said as the captain finished pinning the target up and then trotted back.

Once the range was clear again, the admiral shook his right arm out and then morphed it into a weapon. But not his normal plasma gun. This was a rail gun, a long carbine nearly doubling the length of his arm. It was unwieldy, but he hefted it easily. He heard someone whistle softly at the sight. He sighted down range. “Clear on the left! Clear on the right!” he turned left and right, then looked to the captain. The captain nodded.

“Firing!” he said. He'd already sighted and painted where he wanted the shots to go. He fired once to make sure everything was accurate, then a second time, then stitched the last shots on full auto. Ten additional shots cut into the head. “Clear!” he called out.

He heard someone snort, then chuckle. Thomas blinked owlishly at him, then at the target, then he turned a mock glower on the admiral. “Really?”

“Sorry, couldn't resist,” the admiral said with an innocent smile an urchin would have envied. He knew if Sprite would have been there she would have been rolling her virtual eyes. That put a damper on his mischievous mood.

The captain shook his head as the admiral cleared his weapon and kept his arm up until Thomas was back with the target. He came back with the target at arm's length. Irons could see the smiley face he'd stitched into the head.

“I've heard of your weapon but I'm a bit baffled Admiral …,” Thomas said, looking at the target. “