The Lost Starship Page 31

  “The small tubes give me claustrophobia,” Keith said.

  They searched for hours, and found no evidence of a bridge or a living soul onboard.

  “Now we know for a fact the vessel is fully automated,” Valerie said.

  They were back in the antimatter engine chamber, breathing the tainted atmosphere.

  “I keep thinking I’m forgetting something,” Dana said. “I’m so tired, though. It’s making it hard to deliberate.”

  “You do look strained,” Meta told her.

  Dana rubbed her eyes, saying, “Believe me, I feel it.”

  “Go to sleep and regain your energy,” Meta said. “You’ve been through a lot today. We’ll keep watch.”

  Dana shed the rest of her vacc-suit and wadded up an extra shirt, using it as a pillow. She closed her eyes and soon began to snore softly.

  Unlimbering the repeater, Maddox took the first watch. The others, following Dana’s example, faded into slumber. The endless hours of preparation, the shuttle horror and searching through the monstrous vessel had tired everyone out.

  After watching the others fall asleep, Maddox suppressed a yawn. His limbs ached with fatigue. His turn would come soon enough. Rubbing his arms, he looked around. On impulse, he approached one of the cylinders towering over him, listening to its constant thrum. Had the mixing of matter with antimatter taken place throughout the six thousand years? How had Professor Ludendorff come to his conclusion of the exact passage of time? Ha. What could this starship really do anyway? Would it be a match for the New Men? Maybe their advanced beams would cut this vessel down to size just as it had done to Admiral von Gunther’s battle group.

  There were many imponderables, he realized.

  Maddox turned back to his crew laid out on the floor. They’d shoved the skeletons and robots aside and brushed away the crusted slime. Gray decking showed there now. It vibrated slightly from the engines.

  The captain walked back and forth to keep awake. After all this time, he had actually done it. Well, they all had. What a disparate crew: Lieutenant Noonan, Ensign Maker, Sergeant Riker, Meta and Doctor Rich. They had found the haunted star system and boarded the ancient vessel just as Brigadier O’Hara had planned. It had been a team effort, and what had it gained them and gained humanity?

  So far, we haven’t helped the Commonwealth of Planets in the slightest. We have to get this relic back to Earth. Our best scientists will have to go over the artifact and see what new technologies we can reverse engineer from it.

  Maddox became thoughtful. That wasn’t going to happen unless they could make this thing run under their control. Even then, it would be an iffy proposition. Could the ship enter the star’s photosphere to use the tramline? Did this craft have a Laumer Drive or something equal to one?

  Stretching his back, Maddox wondered if—

  He stiffened with alarm. Something small and bright darted to his right. Whirling to face it, he aimed the heavy repeater at…

  A blinking spot on the deck the size of his hand slowly moved toward him. With sick fascination, he watched it near. Fear bubbled and a panicked shout nearly erupted. Horror crawled up his back—the starship wasn’t empty after all.

  He looked up at the ceiling, but couldn’t spot an aperture pouring out the light. At the last moment, he heard a scape of metal against metal from behind. Maddox began to turn. Mist hissed into his face, some of which he breathed. He caught a glimpse of a metallic construct, a robot, with a nozzle aimed in his face. The mist had come from it. Maddox finally held his breath, but it was too late. The chamber spun.

  Maddox attempted to pull the trigger of his assault weapon. That was beyond him now. He toppled toward the alien robot. His second to last thought was that the robot had used the light to distract him long enough for it to sneak up on him. That implied intelligence and cunning.

  Does the robot run the starship?

  Before he could drum up an answer, Captain Maddox lost consciousness.

  -34-

  By slow degrees, the captain’s awareness returned. He found himself deposited upon what might have been a piece of alien reclining furniture.

  The last few minutes before he went unconscious bloomed upon his memory. Maddox didn’t panic. That wouldn’t help him. This was the time for maximum calm.

  He opened his eyes and sat up. The chair was too big for him, but that hardly mattered. A swivel of his head one way and then the other showed him he was in a round chamber. What seemed like control panels lined the circular room. Lights flickered on those panels, and they had the tentacle slots.

  He searched in vain for the robot that had incapacitated him. Wisely, the thing had taken his gun.

  “Hello,” Maddox said. “Can you hear me?”

  Silence greeted him.

  He tried to stand, but found himself too groggy to get his limbs working properly. With a sigh, he sank back against the chair. First squeezing his eyes shut, he opened them and carefully examined the chamber. It seemed like the starship’s bridge. No skeletons littered the floor. No torn robots lay about strewn here and there. The deck gleamed. No slime had ever stained this area.

  “What’s the point of this?” Maddox asked.

  A hissing noise alerted him. To his left, the air shimmered and then crackled strangely. Once more, panic threatened. He swallowed, waiting, watching the crackling air.

  Slowly, it solidified into a shape, but lines in the thing—like bad reception—made it fuzzy and blurry.

  Is that a holoimage?

  With this puzzle galvanizing him, Maddox struggled to his feet. Swaying, wondering if this is what it felt like to be drunk, he approached the hazy image. Gathering his resolve, Maddox passed his hand through it.

  Yes, it’s a holoimage or the alien equivalent of one.

  The haziness of the thing became fractionally more distinct. It showed something vaguely humanoid. Was that accurate or did his mind play tricks on him? The shape didn’t appear to have tentacles of any kind.

  Then, distinct alien words sounded from it.

  Maddox yelped and staggered back, crashing against the chair.

  The sounds vibrated once more, and they definitely seemed to come from the hazy thing that he’d first thought a holoimage.

  Is it an alien ghost?

  Maddox’s head twitched in the negative. This wasn’t the time to be superstitious. Besides, the idea terrified him. He didn’t want to deal with something like that.

  “Hello,” he said.

  Around the chamber, slots opened in various bulkheads. Out of each popped a small radar-like dish. They aimed central antenna at him.

  Maddox wanted to dodge, but he played a hunch, standing still. Light at the end of each antenna told him the dishes had activated. Heat struck his head. It intensified. Finally, he cried out, ducked away and rubbed his scalp where it hurt.

  The lights on the antenna dimmed, and the dishes moved, aiming at his head again. The heat returned, although not as hot as before. Maddox felt lightheaded. Then vertigo struck. He clutched his stomach and threw up what remained of his meal, leaving a stain on the otherwise clean deck.

  The radar dishes with their antenna retreated into the bulkheads and the slots slid shut.

  The hazy image before him solidified into a replica of himself. Is this what Brigadier O’Hara had meant by needing the right brain patterns? The Iron Lady would only have learned that through Professor Ludendorff. Why hadn’t Dana known about that? Could the doctor be lying about not knowing?

  “Captain Maddox,” the holo-replica said, the mouth moving in an approximation of speech. “Welcome to the bridge of Starship Victory.”

  The unreality of the moment made it difficult for Maddox to think. Was he dreaming? Had a robot really sprayed a knockout drug in his face? Maybe the strain of these past months and the dire need caused him to hallucinate. He so wanted to understand the ship that he had invented this scenario.

  “Are my words unclear?” the holoimage asked.

&nbs
p; “No,” Maddox managed to croak.

  “Are you unwell?”

  Did it hurt to play along with his delusion? Maddox shrugged. It would probably be okay. “I’m disoriented,” he told the thing.

  “A moment while I translate your words. Oh. I see. You are recovering from the effects of the drugging.”

  “Yes,” Maddox said. He wasn’t sure he could take much more of this. “Tell me. Are you real?”

  “Please, define your question.”

  “Am I hearing your words?” Maddox said.

  “That is an odd question. Now that the Cognitive Analyzer is offline, I cannot sense your thoughts. Therefore, how can I know whether you hear or not? That you answer me implies that you do hear.”

  Maddox rubbed his forehead. Could this be a hallucination? He was beginning to think not. “Are you really speaking to me?” he asked.

  “The answer is obvious,” the thing said. “Yes. I speak.”

  Maddox swallowed hard. If he did hallucinate, nothing mattered anyway. He was going over the edge, then. If this was real, he should attempt to figure out what was going on. Therefore, logically, he would act as if this was truly happening. Deciding to go with this helped settle his fears.

  “A few minutes ago,” Maddox said, “you aimed devices at my head that made me vomit.”

  “The Cognitive Analyzer,” the holoimage said. “It was a necessary procedure. Until now, I haven’t understood your language. I have been listening to your group as you wandered throughout the vessel. My curiosity index finally overrode my security codes. Thus, I have acted, brought you here and analyzed your brain patterns and synapses. Because I am the ultimate in computing, my core deciphered your language and studied your memories. I must admit that I find your conclusions preposterous.”

  “Which conclusions specifically are you referring to?” Maddox asked.

  “That I have lived in this state for six thousand years. I find the length of time passage beyond reason and therefore preposterous.”

  Maddox blinked rapidly, struggling to maintain his calm. “Ah…who are you exactly?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I am the engrams of Victory’s last commander.”

  Maddox shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand that.”

  “You should. I tested and measured your brain. You have sufficient mental capacity and technical savvy to understand the meaning of my words.”

  “You’re a computer recording of the old commander?” Maddox asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “There you are. You see. You did it. Yes. In your parlance, I, the former commander of Starship Victory, imprinted the primary AI with my personality.”

  “So you are a ghost,” Maddox said, “a technical apparition.”

  “Let me think about that.” The holoimage froze. Seconds later, it moved again as it said, “Yes. I suppose I am a wraith, at least in a manner of speaking.”

  “Why have you brought me here? Are you angry with us for boarding your ship?”

  The replica looked away and froze once more. Then the holoimage shivered as if a glitch ran through it. A moment later, the sharpness of visual definitions departed. The hazy lines and indistinct shape returned. It moved again, but Maddox could no longer tell where the ghost looked.

  “Six thousand years,” it said. “That is too long for Victory’s AI. If your time references are correct, I have exceeded the starship’s limit by several factors. I am beginning to believe that my race has vanished. Your word extinct likely says it best. I think…I think I will turn Victory into a funeral pyre. Let us finish with a thermonuclear bang.”

  “Ah,” Maddox said, “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “You strive for life, is that it?”

  “I do.”

  “It is a vain wish,” the holoimage said. “Take me, for instance. I have survived longer than anyone has. Yet what will it achieve me? Nothing. Survival is futility.”

  “You mustn’t have always believed that,” Maddox said. “Clearly, you once fought to save your people.”

  “I did, and I failed. They are all dead. Your boarding has reactivated the AI’s core to full capacity. I’m not sure how long I slumbered. Six thousand years…that seems impossible. In any case, because of the power of my computing, I can reach these conclusions in seconds instead of hours or days of contemplation. These moments of full and careful reasoning have cleared my thinking. I realize now that my life lacked meaning. It did nothing to prolong the existence of my species. This is a nihilistic belief, I admit, against my imprinting codes. And yet—”

  “You haven’t failed,” Maddox said.

  The fuzziness of the image grew worse. “You have just made a false statement.”

  “I haven’t. I can see why you think that—” Maddox stopped speaking as inspiration struck. First clearing his throat, he said, “Really, your outlook all depends on your definitions.”

  “I find that a curious statement. Explain what you mean.”

  “Your enemy was evil,” said Maddox. “Was he not?”

  “Give me a moment. Your concept of evil—oh, yes, the Swarm were antilife, a parody of strength, if you will.”

  Maddox wondered if the translations of alien thoughts into human words were perfect. He doubted it. Frankly, that they could communicate at all was a miracle.

  Forget about that. Win the AI to your side. You have to outthink it. Keep talking.

  “Ah…” Maddox said. “Like your ancient enemy, the New Men also represent tyranny. In a sense, you and I fight similar foes. Therefore, I believe you have survived the ages for a reason.”

  “That would be good to believe. Your statement, however, is verifiably false. My people are gone. Therefore, I failed and hence, my life had no meaning.”

  “No, no,” Maddox said, “life is the issue, not its particular variant. You have remained in order to help the Commonwealth of Planets defeat the New Men. In this way—”

  “No!” the holoimage declared. “You are quite wrong. I analyzed your brain patterns, remember? I know that the New Men are alive like you. They are not antilife, but a superior human subspecies.”

  “They carry the seeds of death and destruction in them,” Maddox said. “They wish to annihilate everything that isn’t them.”

  “This is a supposition only. It is not a fact.”

  “The indicators point in that direction,” Maddox said. “They conquer in order to exterminate others. We attempt to defend our homes. We are for life, and they are for death.”

  “Perhaps you have a point. I’m unclear on several matters. Yet, even if what you say is true, what is any of that to me?”

  “Why, it’s a reason to exist,” Maddox said. “You survived six thousand long years in order to help a thinking breathing species to halt evil. Consider the odds of our successfully reaching this star system and boarding Victory.”

  “In your terms,” the holoimage said, “it is something of a miracle.”

  “Precisely,” Maddox said. “And you are part of the great miracle.”

  “That is an interesting thesis. I certainly enjoy it better than the nihilism of meaninglessness. Yet I must inform you that my circuits, or the functions of the AI, are nearing their limit. I may not exist in an existential sense for much longer.”

  “Teach me about Victory,” Maddox said. “Let me carry on in your grand tradition.”

  “She is an old starship,” the holoimage said, as if not hearing the captain’s words. “I doubt she can function to full capacity. I’m not sure I can bear the thought of that.”

  “In any capacity she will help us,” Maddox said.

  “That is not precisely true.”

  “No, no,” Maddox said, shaking his head. “You are the last and mightiest starship of your race. To voluntarily admit defeat is cowardly.”

  “Surely, you do not accuse me of timidity. That is a baseless assertion. In fact, I resent it. I fought valiantly to the very end. Once I realized the Swarm’s spores
had infested Victory, I as the living commander did the only thing possible. You may call it suicide, but it certainly was anything but that. I allowed the AI to elevate me into Deified status.”

  “When you say that,” Maddox asked, “do you mean your engrams imprinted upon the AI?”

  “Humans are an inferior species, to be sure. I’ve already tried to speak in a way so you could understand. I have lived through the ages, hunting the ancient enemy, ready to reengage in battle when needed. Now, I find myself weary. I believe ship functions have deteriorated to a greater extent than I had imagined. Your successful penetration of my vessel shows that.”

  “What about the dead intruders strewn throughout the ship?”

  “They were a last mad gamble,” the holoimage said. “The Swarm failed to subdue me. We, or I, held to the end and annihilated their last ships so they couldn’t infest other star systems.”

  “They destroyed all your worlds then?”

  The holoimage froze as if thinking. When it revived, it said, “Yes, yes, our worlds are smashed wrecks. Clearly, I have outlived my usefulness. With the extinction of my race, it is time for me personally to enter eternity.”

  “Before you go,” Maddox said, “you must teach me how to run Victory.”

  “Surely, you jest. None but I will control the greatest starship of the ages. Do you believe I will relinquish command so easily? I have already shown you and the universe the great lengths I will go to hold my post. None shall say I gave up.”

  Maddox began to wonder if the AI had become unbalanced. Wouldn’t a man go insane if he were trapped for six thousand years? What did it really mean to say that the commander’s engrams were imprinted on the AI?

  “What is this?” the holoimage asked with anger. “You brought others with you? Now I see your scheme. This is baseless trickery, Captain Maddox. You plotted all this, sensing I would want to communicate after all this time. Admit I’m right.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about now,” Maddox said.

  “Look then, foul sentient. Know that you and your allies have not caught me unawares. Even as you and I speak, I am busy watching the void.”

  The holoimage pointed at a large screen. It activated, showing the red giant star.