Chapter 5 - Departure
Chapter 5
Departure
DATE:
7088.03.05,
RECON
ERA
CRSS RECKLESSGryanke System
Four hours into the gauntlet, and the sector
looked less like space and more like a landfill caught in a cyclone.
It became apparent that the nearby moon had
designated this orbit as their unofficial dumping ground.
I was in
the midst of cursing their lax waste management
laws when a searing, sharp, stabbing pain behind my eyes returned
with a vengeance. My
head snapped back
to slam into the seat in shock. I
was barely able to keep the contents of my stomach down as I felt the
blood drain from my face.
"Query.
Facial expression indicates
pain."
Forty-Five
was being annoyingly observant.
"Migraine
from this morning. Painkillers wore off." I
levelled my breathing through my nose, gritting my teeth. I stopped
thinking, I just reacted, "I'll
get us through."
A massive, jagged cloud of scrap metal was
rotating into our vector from the port side. My conscious brain was
screaming abort, but my father’s training took the stick.
‘
I disengaged the inertial dampeners and slammed
the lateral thrusters. The Reckless didn't turn; she slid sideways, a
controlled drift that slipped us between a tumbling shipping
container and what looked like a decommissioned satellite. The
G-force hit me, pressing the nausea back down my throat.
The cloud
got closer. Forty-Five
spoke up.
"Observation.
Incoming."
"Fucking
humans are fucking gross." I
growled, all pretence
of civility was thrown out of the window. My eyes were watering from
the pain.
The
dashboard lit up like Millennium Day. A wall of debris,
refrigerators, hull plating, toilets, was closing off our corridor.
"Ok.”
I breathed, fighting
the urge to vomit, “I
didn't want to do
this. But I can cut down this last stretch into ten
minutes."
I reached for the throttle, intending to execute a
combat burn—maximum thrust, minimal steering.
“Warning.”
Forty-Five glanced at
me, speaking quickly. "Reaching Engine Saturation Point
increases ricochet risk."
I hesitated. He was right. Full saturation—a
'full burn'—would turn every loose bolt in a five-mile radius into
a kinetic projectile. My shields would deflect the first wave, but
the ricochets would shred us from behind.
But the pain was blinding. A washing machine
tumbled in front of us, catching the starlight and flashing a beam of
pure white agony directly into my eyes.
I gasped, blindly yanking the yoke back. The ship
pitched perpendicular climb, narrowly clearing the appliance.
"I
didn't say it was a good idea. I seem to be full of not good ideas
lately though." The dense cloud of debris was coming ever
closer. The dashboard approximated that the ship would be fully
engulfed in thirty minutes if we remained on our current trajectory.
A series of objects being knocked off course ahead of the wave would
reach us sooner though.
"If
you have an alternative, I'd love to hear it."
I saw from
the corner of my eye that Forty-Five dipped
his
head, but I couldn't turn away from avoiding another
cloud of large debris.
I pulled on the controls to lift the ship up, highly aware of the
proximity lights telling me there was something above us too.
"Query.
Painkiller dose required for pain reduction would allow pilot to keep
operating vehicle."
"I'd
need to be close to comatose to deal with this." Another
appliance flashed me
in the eyes, wincing
as a searing stab returned. It felt like something was shoving a heat
blade right in that spot. "The reflected light is making it
worse."
I heard the
glove box open. A moment later, my aviator sunglasses were thrust
into my field of vision.
I snatched
them, shoving them onto my face. The world dimmed to a manageable
amber hue. I breathed a slight sigh of relief.
"Statement.
Space craft is in motion and at risk of sudden movements."
"Yeah,
I know. I wasn't going to ask you to get
up." I tilted the
ship starboard side
to avoid a series of toilets. "I am going to need to pick up
speed though. That cloud is coming up on us faster than I like."
"Query.
CRSS
Reckless is equipped with an experimental Alcubierre drive."
"Yeah,
'experimental'. I've only used it in deep
space." The Alcubierre drive was honestly an impulse buy I had.
I honestly only saw it as a cool gadget toy, that required extremely
expensive and exclusive fuel. "You're worried about the full
burn blowing back shit on us? I don't care for the moon much, but
gravity shear might
just knock it off orbit enough to kill
on the surface. My
daddy taught me a lot of tricks, but genocide was
one of them."
"Statement.
Navigation calculations indicate that controlled, micro-burst
pulses from the drive
might mitigate any significant disruption."
The pain throbbed in time with my heartbeat,
a dull, deafening drum. "Micro-bursts? That requires picosecond
timing. No human pilot can react that fast."
"Observation. I am not human."
I froze, my hand hovering over the stick. We were
seconds away from the debris wall. A tangled knot of steel beams was
rotating toward our cockpit glass.
"You've
got some navigational functionality?"
"Affirmative"
"Can
you pilot too?" I turned to look at him briefly before facing
back.
Forty-Five
was staring dead ahead, tracking pieces of junk as we flew past. Was
that a floor lamp?
There was a
five-second pause before I asked him
again. “Forty-Five, can you pilot?!”
"Affirmative."
efinitely
not Class-2 load-out.
"Ok.
I'm going to give you permission to be
co-pilot." I guided the ship around three damaged shipping
containers before flicking open panels and typing on displays with
quick glances. "We'll do the short pulses, based on your
calculations."
A part of
me knew that it wasn’t a good idea; plugging in an
unknown model into the
ship AND giving it permission to co-pilot. Giving
him ship control permissions equal to mine, short of launching and
landing. But
after two diag scans, even if they were a bit sparse didn’t reveal
any malware, and
it was getting hard to think. Robots
can’t lie.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The
sentinel didn't hesitate in plugging himself
in with the dashboard cable.
I saw the
looming wave finally encroaching on the windshield, I grimaced before
a throb permeated my entire body, then a splitting pain sought to
tear my brain in two.
I
whimpered,
clutching
my head. Completely
blinded to the fact I let go of the controls.
"What
the fuck," was
all I could muster; this was nothing like the other times I partied
with Ali. Nor any of the drinking sessions I almost drowned in
alcohol. This was different, in the most painful way.
I'm not
sure how long I sat there, cradling my head waiting for the pain to
abate even slightly, but when I looked up again, we were rounding a
small rocky planet, field and wall of rubbish gone. "Did we make
it?" I asked, stupidly.
"Affirmative.
Current path will be relatively calm for the next 12 hours."
I leaned
back against the headrest, the throbbing pain back to a 6
out of 10. Manageable. "Relative huh? Now what kind of sec bot
has nav funct."
I watched
the dashboard clock absentmindedly while I waited for him
to respond.
Interestingly, he took
exactly three seconds.
"Response.
Model designation 45-Responsive Nought Neuraliser. Optional secondary
functions were available for installation upon purchase."
"So,
your original owner wanted a useful bodyguard huh? And added, what,
nav and nag functions?" I murmured. I didn't really care for an
answer, so I unbuckled my harness.
"Observation.
Facial expression indicates pain level requiring first aid and
bedrest."
"Yeah,
I'm going to go and uh. Sleep. And
painkillers. And maybe something to drink."
"Warning.
Cons-"
"Oh,
stop it," I swiped a hand down behind me as I clutched the side
of my face with the other. "I don't have any more
booze on board. I'm
having water and a shake."
I made to stand. A wave of vertigo forced me to
sit back down, leaning forward to stop a sudden wave of nausea.
“Status Report?” Forty-Five glanced at me
while maintaining a steady hold on the controls.
I breathed through the bile rising up, slowly
unclenching my hands from the armrests. Supporting my heavy head in
my shaking hands. “Migraine. Side-effect of some...drugs I took
last night.”
A pause.
“Query. Effective first aid requires knowing
which drugs were ingested.”
“I don’t know,” I forced out, leaning back
into the chair with my eyes closed. “Ali gave them to me. ‘Party
mix’ she called it. So I’d be ‘liberated’.”
I shut my lips tight as another wave passed
through my system, wrapping my arms across my eyes to further block
the light. The sunglasses pressed into my face painfully.
I heard rummaging, some of the cockpit
compartments being opened and shut, Forty-Five eventually asking,
“Query. Location of cockpit med-kit.”
I cracked my arms to peer through to him, he had
one hand on the controls, the other still in a compartment on his
left, “Regulations didn’t require one. I always go in the
med-bay.”
I closed my eyes again, regretting some life
choices.
“Statement.” A click and a hiss of something
small and metallic opening. “Client’s life-choices are
questionable.”
A sharp sting in my neck. “Ow!”
I shot up in the seat, hand slapping the site. I
glared with a bit of confused fear as Forty-Five pulled back a small
injector. One I recognised as a heavy-duty painkiller used by
soldiers and fighter pilots on active duty.
“What. The. FUCK?!” I tried to shout, but
found myself slurring my words. My eyelids becoming heavy.
“Report. Unknown substances require specific
approach,” he said factually before his pitch changed, holding up
the injector between fingers. “Ultripogen: The battlefield-grade
silencer for your nervous system—guaranteed not to start a war with
the other chemicals in your bloodstream. Sponsored by
Crowares.”
I couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of
what he just said, letting myself fall into a deep sleep.
I woke up
to the low hum of the engines and sandpaper for a tongue, my lips
cracking in the dry air. I was reclined back in my pilot seat, the
comfortable, plush seat cover slightly damp with sweat. I looked
above me, the lights dimmed and the space-scape still slowly rolling
by.
I lifted my
neck, finding my entire being was stiff. Forty-Five was sitting with
unnatural rigidity in the co-pilot seat, both hands back on the
controls.
“How long
was I out?” I rasped.
“Status.
Eight hours,” he said, his robot voice low.
I groaned,
dragging my hands down my face. Eight hours was long. My stomach
gurgled, and I felt like I was swallowing sandpaper.
“Where
did you get the...Ultri pen from?”
“Report.
Combat sentinels are equipped for combat situations. Replacement will
be required.”
“Right.
Got it. I’ll… find something in the med bay.” I stood slowly,
stretching my limbs until they popped. “Food. Water. Shower. Be
right back.”
After my
shower, I felt a bit more alive. I went and preemptively took some
migraine pills
to avoid a repeat of yesterday, grabbing a spare Ultri pen from the
infirmary, courtesy of
my dad, while I was at
it.
I made
myself some breakfast in the galley, mixing protein and fibre
powders, nut milk and flavouring in a blender. I sipped at the
concoction sadly, craving a full continental breakfast but
my...condition prevented me from eating solid
foods.
As I walked
into the cockpit, Forty-Five turned to me, his
hands not leaving the controls,
his posture perfect.
Sipping my drink, I
passed the injector pen to him before becoming
increasingly uncomfortable as he
continued to stare
at me without a word.
“Uhh,
morning?”
"Warning.
Deactivating security measures is not recommended in future."
The monotone response didn't hide the clipped way he
said the words.
"Wow,
you're snippy today," I groused back. "It’s
an easy fix, I just have to replace a few wires. Make a couple of
connections. Do some soldering… Remove some blockers…"
"Warning.
Undocumented modifications impact functionality." The hostility
was apparent today, despite the even tones.
"Stop
lecturing me," I whined at him,
sitting back
down in the pilot
seat. The migraine was easing, but it was still a 4/10.
"Warning.
Alerts functionality still
inactive."
"Forty-Five!"
I whined louder, burying my face in my arms, resting them on the edge
of the dashboard. “I can’t have coffee, let me wake up!”
Nanny bot.
I got
myself a nanny bot.
I still
ended up having to slide on my back to lie underneath the dashboard,
with my tools, a safety mask so hot solder didn’t burn my face,
sorting out the mess of loose cables.
I grumbled
angrily to myself.
The
newly dubbed nanny bot still
handling the controls with a steady hand.
With one
final solder, I finally lifted my mask and sighed in relief as the
dashboard sang out.
"Proximity
alert online. Pulse engine alert, online. Hyperdrive functionality
alerts, online. Fuel alerts, online."
"Query."
The
one-word command made me look at the
sentinel, confused.
He
was looking down at me, his
arms remaining steady on the controls. In my head I translated it to
‘
I
thought about it a bit more, was it asking why I had all those alerts
off?
Either way…
"None of your business?" I wiped my hands on a dirty rag.
"Statement.
Infractions require reporting to central space authority.
Forty-Five-Responsive
Nought Neuroliser connecting
to the system Network-”
"Wait
wait!" I shouted, shooting to my feet, waving my hands uselessly
in the air. I tried to
think of a quick lie.
"Uh,
uh, uh, the alarms kept waking me up when I slept at the dashboard,
ok?"Damnit,
just
Forty-Five
stayed silent, his head having followed mine as I stood up. He stayed
silent long enough that I started squirming.
The
robot stayed silent, leaning forward as if waiting for me to
continue.
"What?!"
I was starting to get a bit freaked out, kicking
myself for accidentally
telling the truth.
He
turned back to face the front. "Statement. Criteria for
permanent revocation of licence include reckless or dangerous flying,
repeated regulatory violations, medical disqualification, fraud or
falsification of records, criminal activity. Current criteria
achieved, 4 out of 5."
I could
have sworn he stopped himself from saying something rude and
sarcastic, but that might have been my very ticked off and
embarrassed brain imagining things.
"I get
it, I get it, OK? I only do it when I'm between systems, outside of
the system authority. It's-." I stopped myself. Why was I
explaining myself to a robot? "In any case, it's really none of
your business and that is not why I contracted you. You don’t have
authority to send any reports to Central or judge me on my flying."
I crossed
my arms under my chest, scowling once again.
"Response.
Active Function is security and protection, includes protecting
Melissa Cabot." He
sat like a statue, staring dead ahead with no variant in his
expression. I was starting to get annoyed as he
refused to look back at me.
"From
physical threats sure! But anything that's self-inflicted shouldn't
c-." Before I could say anything else, Forty-Five finally
snapped a look at me.
"Warning.
Security protocols include basic self-preservation to return to
better protect client and to return to designated owner in case of
fatality. IF function found: crash caused by pilot, survivability for
all is threatened."
I raised
both my eyebrows and stared, mouth agape at my discount bot. "That’s
illegal
against-."
He cut me off.
"Negative.
It is non-standard but self-preservation is of lower priority than
protecting client." His
tone hadn't inflected, but the interruption
made me stare at him
suspiciously.
I schooled
my expression, making sure to hide any shock or fear as I parsed what
he
was saying. It certainly was illegal to install a component to a
robot that directly interfered with the Core Tenets – specifically
number 7 and 8;
Do not
change yourself without approval.
Serve
humanity, not yourself.
The tenets
were put in place after a near extinction event occurred pre-Protocol
Age, several thousands of years ago. All robots and AI personalities
were to be given the same protocols, and those protocols were to be
updated and patched to ensure they were adhered to. Any deviance
found was
studied and ‘fixed’.
I did some
of that work for a time. It’s what inspired me to become
a Mechatronic
Archaeologist, the study of ancient robotic systems and mechanical
artifacts. Which is why this event has piqued my interest. He
shouldn’t have self-preservation, and it was almost
impossible for him
to develop it by himself.
If he
was afraid of death, then…
A potentially Class-3 infantry-grade sentinel
hiding as a Class-2 police-grade security droid...
Grantham
was right.
This one
really was up my alley. I really needed run
that diagnostic and look
at that manual.
I slowly
lifted my hands in surrender, dipping my head to capitulate. “Fair
enough. As long as it hasn’t interfered with the Core Tenets.”
I stepped
sideways and sat back into the pilot seat. “Let’s get through
this system, shall we?”