Hey Weaver,
Thanks for the detailed edit and I am glad you enjoyed it. I have about another 2k ready to go after this, so you might get your wish soon enough.
Sci Fi & Fantasy / Lydia (2.0)
Finally, after two months of observation, we manage to bag a specimen.
“Interrogation parameters, Lydia?” asks Comp, my onboard A.I.
“Minimally invasive sentient species specification five. Give it the full spectrum Comp, but don’t poke it enough to make it mad. I don’t want you messing up like you did during our last species analysis. I can still smell it in the aft section.”
Being bored and fancying myself a great intergalactic diplomat, I had entered the observation room and offered our subject a glass of water as a sign of our newfound friendship. It turns out lithium-based life forms don’t take well to water. In point of fact, it tends to make them explode. Maybe the whole incident was my fault, but I still think Comp should have warned me.
As is all too usual of late, Comp ignores my barb and drones on. “That analysis gradient requires the imposition of the Shelling Ascendant Test.” That is a pretty way of saying he is going to kill our alien guest to see if there is any measurable discharge of energy upon its death.
The thought of last week’s explosive extraterrestrial analysis is the only reminder I need. “On second thought, lets make it gradient four.” That should eliminate some of the more unpleasant surprises, given that a significant portion of known xenos do something nasty upon death, explosive or otherwise. The Academy explains it away as an evolutionary defense mechanism; something about species preservation among aliens who have evolved on fiercely competitive worlds. Their explanation always makes me wonder why we don’t go nuclear when we die.
“Gradient four analysis initialized and awaiting your go.” Even though Comp is fully fluent in over six hundred languages, certified as Sentient in over half the known galaxy, and can articulate well over fifteen thousand phonetic base strings with degrees of subtlety that are not even noticeable to the human ear, not a hint of emotion touches his voice.
“Would it kill you to load your persona, Comp? I am growing bored with listening to a rusted tin can.” Going on three months now Comp, known as Michael when I am in a good mood, has systematically refused to activate his personality profile. I think it has something to do with me blowing up his service bots, but I could be wrong. After all, it was a while back.
“Had you not used the maintenance bots for target practice on PX17-31A I would not be rusty.” Bingo. I guess it is the bots after all.
My trigger finger twitches, remembering the exercise. “I couldn’t very well shoot anything on the planet. You know the locals worship nature—they are worse then the Naturals were when Earth went over the deep end. Had I so much as blemished a leaf we would have had the whole village trying to tear us apart.” It wasn’t far from the truth; I recorded a mother vigorously beating her youngest after he had done nothing more than throw a rock at a tree.
“Their tech level was insufficient to do me any harm.” The subtext is all too clear. I, being human, can be killed fairly handily by a large enough rock. If Comp had eyes, they would twinkle with mirth.
“And why, pray tell Lydia, was the need to shoot something so overpowering?” Forget the eyes, this is a full on smirk if I ever heard one. Comp is asking for a fight.
“Have you enjoyed my company for the last two years?” I didn’t bother to wait for an answer. “Something needed to blow up or I was going to. Consider the bots a necessary sacrifice. That was a six-month haul, and you said all of two sentences the whole time. You are Sentient for a damned reason, you rusty bilge bucket.”
If I could have the words back, I would. Being crammed in a Scoop and Inspect for the last twenty standard months has frayed more nerves than I realized. Blasting from system to system to scoop up anything that so much as hints at intelligence and then inspecting it is the worst job a Federation pilot can draw. SI duty is only slightly better than being a sanitation engineer on a space station, where if you are not knee deep in human waste all day, it is because no one has eaten for a week.
I know I have gone too far when no answer is forthcoming. Its one thing to call an A.I. a Comp, derogatory that it is, and quite another to tell him that a human is the reason he’s sentient. It’s like telling a religious fanatic that you are God.
“Comp I didn’t mean to...” I am cut off by the sound of the ship coming to life. My mood improves instantly. I swear they must condition that sound into us during basic training because it never fails to bring a smile to my face.
“Give me a status update Michael.” We will have to finish our little conversation later. There’s no point in being rude to someone who is about to save your life.
“Unknown craft approaching from behind the moon.”
“Unknown? Give me a visual.” The holoscreen changes from the Soothing Landscapes simulation, which comes standard on every SI, to reveal a relatively small bogie unlike anything I have ever seen. It resembles a balding porcupine, randomly peppered with spike-like protrusions all along the hull.
I have seen and piloted almost every human vessel in existence, including the Admiral Mekran’s own Carrier class monstrosity, but looking at the bogie I can’t even fathom how it is held together.
Right on cue, I hear the beautifully distinctive sound of our weapon systems powering up, and a huge grin splits my face. If Michael is being this pessimistic, we are definitely about to have some fun.
“How long for full tactical configuration?” I demand.
“We are full tactical in five seconds, I suggest you strap in.”
Running towards the acceleration chair I ask, “Any contact?”
“As soon as the vessel crossed the elliptical and entered our sensors, I sent the standard message.” We will have talk later about why he didn’t telling me about the ship as soon as it was detected. Being upset is one thing, but risking mission safety is something altogether different.
Michael continues, “It promptly replied by trying to take me over.” He actually sounds worried by that. “While I am currently full tactical, the attack necessitated the quarantine of several peripheral systems that will require a detailed inspection before being reintegrated.” Great, that means at least a week of maintenance work, laboriously inspecting each infiltrated system while still keeping them isolated from the rest of the ship.
It should bother me that the alien vessel managed to infiltrate any systems at all. That means the bogie, in less than two minutes, broke encryption that takes the leanest and meanest A.I.s back in Fed space at least a week to crack. I’m surprised Michael isn’t sobbing like a violated maiden.
Ship, check. Weapons, check. Chair, check. Hard to believe, but I think my smile just got even wider. Full tactical is a beautiful thing.
“Give me four gees increasing to fifteen on half second cycling bursts. And make it a straight intersect.”
An intersect vector is Academy 101 for surviving a hostile encounter, and has the added benefit of making humans look ballsy when encountering less than savory aliens for the first time. It’s just like playing chicken. Charge your target while clearly accelerating and they will blink first, and either give you a clean target from a vulnerable angle or enough time during their deceleration to get the hell out of dodge. This maneuver works seventy eight point three percent of the time; it is a number every pilot knows all too well.
First contacts are the stuff of legend in the Academy. Admiral Mekran’s dustup with the Archoid, a strictly unpleasant and arachnid-like race, was even made into a grossly exaggerated and wildly popular Sim. The rumor ran that the Admiral still reserves an hour a day to read fan mail. I know better than to believe baseless rumors, it has to be at least two hours a day.
“The bogie is accelerating at a constant thirty gees. Just under a minute until collision.” Michael is just full of cheery news today. That means either that the ship is at least comparable in gee suppressive tech or that physiologically, whatever is inside can withstand about double what I can. Either way it isn’t good. Michael can bring us up to forty gees if needed, and suppress enough of it to make me feel only twenty of them, but that, most definitely, is not a pleasant prospect.
“Can you estimate its gee-tolerance from the available data?” If Michael says anything over forty-five we are in serious trouble. Make that deadly trouble.
“Preliminary hull reading and structural analysis, along with current energy emissions suggest a maximum of sixty gees, sustained.” Great, just great, sustainable sixty gees means a burst capacity of at least ninety gees. No way we are going to outmaneuver or outrun our new friend.
The rules are very clear on what to do when matched against a higher tech bogie, which narrows my future to two possible outcomes. My body somehow realizes this before the thought is fully formed, and I have more adrenaline pumping though me than I know what to do with. I am either going to successfully clip the bogie, in which case I have a twenty seven percent chance of surviving, or I am headed for a head-on collision at relativistic speeds. I love my odds.
“Right before collision, clip and run at seventy degrees to the impact vector. Max survivable thrust on the turn.” This is going to hurt like hell.
“Jettison the left dorsal fin right before the maneuver and we might get lucky.” By ejecting the fin right before collision along the impact vector, we might be able to damage the enemy bogie enough to get away, or at the very least put a nice dent in its hull.
The acceleration is starting to take its toll. It is distinctly harder to breathe against the random bursts of gee force, and the taste in my throat reminds me of what I had for lunch. I tell myself that this is exactly why the Fed makes their rations so tasteless.
Michael reminds me of the obvious. “Six seconds until maneuver. Probability of survival estimated…” I interrupt him with a groan. There’s no point in knowing because there isn’t anything else I can do. What I am curious about is what Michael thinks our maximum survivable thrust on the turn is going to be. I remember that the current record is thirty-five and held by Christine, a classmate of mine who I despise. If I’m going to die, might as well try and do something meaningful in the process.
“Make it at least… forty gees on the turn Michael.” After almost certainly issuing instruction for my death, I find myself smiling again. I start to think that they really do a great job of training us in basic, but I black out before the thought is fully formed.
I return to consciousness to see the standard red lights and hear the deathly annoying chime that indicates structural damage.
“What…” is all I can get out before the pain from what must be at least two broken ribs interrupts me. Through gritted teeth I manage to force out, “Status”.
Michael responds quickly, “We took the turn at forty-two gees. Current structural integrity remains space worthy, but we won’t survive a reentry. Weapons are offline.”
I’m still having a hard time accepting that I am not dead. All I can get out is, “That’s good news.” Which in truth it is.
Jettisoning our fin wrecked our suborbital capacity anyway, so we aren’t going to visit any more planets even if we want to. The weapons are another issue. If Michael is mentioning them it’s because they are still needed.
Reaching for the med kit strapped under the acceleration chair sends a brutal wave of pain coursing through the left side of my body. Blinking away tears I dig through the kit and find the med tab, peel the outer layer off, and stick it to my neck. A slow five seconds takes the worst of the pain with it, leaving me with a dull, throbbing reminder of our record-breaking maneuver. I am contemplating applying a second tab when my brain finally gets enough blood back to ask the most important question.
“Where is it?” I ask, fearing the worst.
Instead of getting to the point, Michael goes the roundabout way. He must have activated his personality profile after all. “The enemy vessel avoided the jettisoned fin, and has matched our vector. Its intentions remain unclear.”
“Give me a visual.”
The holoscreen flickers back on.
To my complete and utter disbelief, the enemy ship is not three feet in front of ours, its cabin clearly visible through a transparent view-port.
Stunned, I ask Michael how many gees the bogie suffered through to match our vector on the turn. It actually takes him a good ten seconds to reply before he coolly ventures a number somewhere in excess of seven thousand.
I can see what looks uncannily similar to a giant cockroach gesticulating fiercely in what I can only interpret as a wave.
I croak a very profound, “Holy shit”, and promptly return to unconsciousness.
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slbynum3 reviewed Version 1 -
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I enjoyed reading this from beginning to end. Probably the most exciting and intriguing science fiction I’ve read on this site.
I like how the comp uses such complex terminology as you would expect a computer to, if it could talk, since they seem so smart.
It must be hard writing in present tense because past tense is more common, but you do it well. Kudos.
Maybe you should provide more details and suspense before Lydia blacks out. It seems to happen too fast. Maybe she could feel the shake of the ship on impact and then she loses consciousness. Just a suggestion.
You could be a little more descriptive with the inside of the ship too. I couldn’t really picture it. You should also describe Lydia somehow; perhaps she could view her reflection in a computer screen and comment on how her (color here) hair is disheveled or something.
I like the ending. It was funny.
I hope to read the next part soon!!!
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BluPhoenix28 reviewed Version 1 -
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Please read notes to the reviewed in profile.
THIS PIECE IS FANTASTIC. Sorry, had to get the dorkiness out of the way first.
You do a great job of blending inner monolouge and dialouge between your two characters. Your techno babble is such that it does not overwhealm the reader and yet does a fabulous job of transporting us out of our universe and into yours.
Two Notes:
1) Xenos… if you used the term more than once, I’d understand, but to the average person, they have no idea what it means. Use Xenophorms the first time, indiciating is meaning somehow, so we can understand if you use the shortened version again.
2) A paragraph or two giving us just a bit more explination of who Lydia is and/or why is out there doing this kind of work might make us understand her a little more.
Again, this piece is awesome, and I SOOOO look forward to another installment.
xenos
Jedikid129 reviewed Version 1 -
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“g’s” is fine too.
Extremely enjoyable piece. Battle, and maneuvers don’t usually come across well in text, but your approach to combat is quite unique—number crunching vs number crunching. Concepts and numbers are easy to understand in writing, and this battle of vectors and acceleration is delivered with almost graph-like clarity.
”...why he didn’t telling me…” Tell.
”...derogatory that it is…” as it is.
This “Scoop” isn’t exactly a fighter, is it? I could be wrong, but it doesn’t seem like the type of craft to be breaking records. I suppose it could break a record the same way a helicopter breaks a speed record for choppers only.
”..turn Michael” comma before Michael.
The comedic aspect is my second favorite part of this. The “violated maiden” part made me laugh out loud. And I must commend you on the personality that Michael has, and how you depicted his reactions with things other than words.
i.e: waiting ten seconds to reply.
Weaver reviewed Version 1 -
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You got my attention with the first sentence.
comma after “full spectrum”
“Shelling Ascendant Test” – another of those things that makes me very curious and inclined to keep reading
comma, not semicolon, after “defense mechanism”
“Would it kill you to load your persona, Comp?” – Good line! (I can think of a few humans I’d like to say this to.) It is easy to imagine the narrator’s tone of voice here.
comma after “three months now”
comma before “I would not be rusty”
“worse then” – “worse than”
comma after “blemished a leaf”
“pray tell Lydia” – comma before “Lydia”
semicolon, not comma, after “Forget the eyes”
“Comp I didn’t mean” – comma after “Comp”
comma after “basic training”
“status update Michael” – comma before “Michael”
“balding porcupine” – Please don’t be angry at me for asking, but are you by any chance a fan of Jack McDevitt’s novels? I thought there were some vague similarities anyway (although I like yours better – I hate how no one in McDevitt’s stories will even consider that the ships’ computers are more than just mimicking sentience) and now I’m thinking “Oh, look – a hedgehog.”
“almost every human vessel” – probably sound better to say “almost every kind of human vessel”
“the Admiral Mekran’s” – drop “the”
comma after “at the bogie”
semicolon or period, not comma, after “five seconds”
comma after “acceleration chair”
“he didn’t telling me” – “tell”
Michael gets more formal when he’s embarrassed and trying to hide it, and there’s nothing more embarrassing for an AI (or “ideally synthesized individual,” as someone once said) than having one’s brains hacked. Good characterization.
“Full tactical is a beautiful thing.” Good characterization for Lydia, too.
comma after “four gees”
“less than savory” – hyphenate
comma after “clearly accelerating”
“out of dodge” – “Dodge” (place name in this usage)
“seventy eight point three” – hyphenate
“made into a grossly exaggerated and wildly popular Sim” – Setting/background information, just enough to flesh things out a bit without being intrusive… (“fan mail” – funny)
semicolon, not comma, after “baseless rumors”
comma before “physiologically”
comma after “Either way”
comma after “over forty-five”comma after “energy emissions”
semicolon or period, not comma, after “Great, just great”
“twenty seven” – hyphenate
“who I despise” – “whom”
“might as well try” – I think this should be “may as well”
comma after “on the turn”
“space worthy” – one word
“Which in truth it is.” – “Which, in truth, it is.”
comma after “mentioning them”
comma after “Blinking away tears”
“is not three feet in front of ours” – I understand what you are saying, but this phrasing could confuse some readers. How about “is less than three feet…” instead?
“a transparent view-port” – Ha! They have no protection against lasers… :) (I think “viewport” is usually one word, or at least not hyphenated.)
second comma should be inside the quotes in that last little bit of dialogue
I very much enjoyed reading this, and I look forward to reading more in the future.
RavenJake reviewed Version 1 -
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I like this story. It flows well, is entertaining and keeps good humor throughout. Right now it’s functional and enjoyable so I’ll just mention a few nit-picking things and possible plot suggestions.
In the beginning, comp doesn’t need to “ask” as there is already a question mark, indicating that he’s asking. ”Said,” is sufficient and alleviates the redundancy.
Some back and forth dialog after Micheal’s initial snub would give a good secondary character, as well as if he showed genuine concern when Lydia is issuing self-destructive orders. Also, being that he’s a powerful super-computer with a personality, it seems like he would also have some valuable input during the action.
There are a lot of possibilities, and because they’ve been out in space together for quite a while they would maybe have a complex and unorthodox personal relationship.
Overall, I like the flow, the clarity and the humor so, well done.
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