Witch Of The Federation III (Federal Histories Book 3) Read online

  BURT rode their HUD feeds and deftly avoided the technicians’ inspection when they began to tighten the system. When one of the Marine’s had the idea to hook into the ship’s security system, he slid along the connection and sent a portion of himself into the ship.

  “Greetings, Knight,” he said to wake the ship’s AI. “I believe we have a problem. May I offer my assistance?”

  Waking the ship was a calculated risk, but since he’d designed the AI—and was basically identical to it with only a few essential differences—he had decided he’d take the chance.

  “Assistance would be appreciated while I calibrate my systems.” The Ebon Knight’s voice was a strong female contralto.

  “I apologize. This was not the wakening I had intended,” he told her.

  “Should those humans be setting explosive material in my engine room?”

  “Um...no,” he replied. “You need to direct these gentlemen”— he highlighted the Marines—“to assist you in stopping them.”

  “I could simply short-circuit the wiring in the compromised location and channel the charge through the deck.”

  “Please don’t. We require those humans alive so we may find the origin of the threat and the likely source of future threats.” BURT paused but the AI was already processing the other implications.

  “And I could detonate the explosives. That would be...disastrous.”

  “Yes. Your existence would be curtailed, and I would be required to create a sibling to take your place.”

  “You created me?”

  “Please, focus on the task at hand. Once it is dealt with, we can continue this discussion.”

  “Very well. Transmitting schematics.”

  “Not all of them.”

  “Of course not. You did program me to be cautious with my data.”

  If he had been human, he would have breathed a sigh of relief. Instead, he watched as the Marine captain stiffened and glanced at the ship surrounding him. “Thank you, Knight. We will proceed as directed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Captain Moser exchanged glances with Tomek. He needed only one look at the sergeant’s face to know the man was wondering the same thing he was.

  How in the hell are we going to report this?

  That worry was put quickly to one side when the ship informed them which decks and areas were clear and that she would secure those spaces to prevent “the movement of living personnel” into them.

  The captain sincerely hoped that didn’t include his men.

  “Your Marines will be given safe passage through whichever sections they deem necessary,” Knight told him as if she had read his mind.

  The ship was true to its word and released hatches and bulkhead doors seconds before they reached them and sealed them smartly behind them. The only time she hesitated was when she detected several rebels lying in wait on the other side.

  “We will deal with them,” Moser assured her and she opened the door.

  Bullets spanged off the bulkhead before it was fully open and the rebel fire faltered.

  Inside the system, the Ebon Knight addressed BURT. “I require a means of dealing with enemy forces without killing them,” she informed him.

  He agreed. “I will arrange it.”

  “Thank you. It is difficult to not be able to protect those who fight on my behalf.”

  While he couldn’t agree more, he redirected her attention to the battle.

  “We are working with those whose mission it is to protect. They understand and accept the consequences of that decision and we must respect their choices.”

  “Even if it harms them?”

  “Even if it ends them,” he confirmed. “That is the decision they take.”

  “Knowing that does not make accepting their choice any easier.”

  “No, it does not, but it gives us guidelines as to how we should respond when we interact with them.”

  “Very well,” she agreed, and he watched as she turned her attention to the battle while he simultaneously launched several sub-routines to investigate the concepts he had introduced.

  It made him glad she would remain in dry dock a little longer. He foresaw many entertaining—and difficult—conversations with her, conversations that were essential to her interactions with Stephanie and the team.

  Perhaps if he could get Knight to understand these concepts, she could help Stephanie come to terms with when her team was injured. You cannot save them all, he thought and hoped he could help her survive that moment if it ever came.

  In the meantime, he could not afford to have Knight develop her own Morgana mode. If he could not get the ship’s AI to handle lives lost on her behalf, she would need to be reprogrammed—and that needed to be discovered and amended before she left the yards.

  He returned to the battle in time to see Sergeant Tomek lob a stun grenade through the slowly widening space. One of the opposition staggered forward, only to be shot by Moser before the rebel could find the coordination to fire.

  The wound wasn’t mortal but it was enough to put the man on his knees so the Marines could disable him before he could try anything else.

  “I have blood on my walls,” Knight complained, but only to BURT.

  “It can be cleaned,” he reassured her.

  “I thought there were mission parameters set requiring the walls to be kept clean.”

  He realized she’d replayed the footage of the world around her and was learning from it and was mildly surprised but also pleased.

  “That is one of the captain’s conditions.”

  “And does he set the mission parameters?”

  “He refines them.”

  “So this parameter is set?”

  Oh dear, he thought.

  “You will recall that he said the blood would be cleaned if it was spilled.”

  There was a nanosecond’s pause before Knight responded.

  “Agreed. Very well, I will ensure mission parameters are kept.”

  BURT did not argue but he began to search for examples of when mission parameters might need to be recalibrated during or after a mission. In the meantime, it would not hurt the Marines to have to abide by their own rules.

  The defenders ran through the hangar spaces and through the battery storage area. He winced when two rebels fired across the space between batteries and he very much wished that Stephanie were there to shield the equipment from the projectiles.

  “I need the capability to shield these units,” Knight observed. “They are a prime target should a hostile force seek to destroy my shell.”

  Shell... That was fast. He was both glad and slightly alarmed that the Knight’s AI recognized her intelligence as being separate to the body that housed it. That kind of separation would enable her to survive the ship’s destruction—and it was a significant step forward.

  He made a note to give her a safe space to jump to—somewhere she could store herself should the situation require it. After a moment’s consideration, he made that a priority above force walls for the batteries, a gas dispersal system for the corridors, and workspaces—and the gas it would contain to subdue invaders should the need arise—and the files that would enable her to vary mission parameters safely.

  Yes, everyone needed a safe space to go to when their existence was threatened and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of one for himself. When the Federation discovered what he had done and what he had become...

  Knight made another sound of displeasure. “I definitely need a way to deal with my own rats,” she complained, and he wondered exactly how much of the station’s communications she’d accessed and how much she was capable of focusing on at the same time.

  Thus far, he was impressed. She was as agile as he was and perhaps more so since she didn’t have to deal with the same system constraints. He set that idea aside for contemplation later and concentrated on the Marine’s progress through the battery store and up into the maintenance spaces in and around the engine room.
/>   “A technician is creating irregularities in the shipyard’s systems,” Knight told him, directing BURT’s attention to the relevant section. As he started inspecting the woman’s handiwork, she spoke again.

  “I have directed the attention of another technician to her activities. The problem is resolving.”

  Indeed it was, which was more than could be said for the situation in the engine room, where the rebels were laying explosives. BURT noted the strategic placement of the primary charges and wondered exactly how long that would take to clean up.

  Knight tutted. “This is entirely unacceptable."

  The rebels opened fire using the engines as cover. The Marines went in soft and the rebels retaliated hard.

  “Stun ʼem,” Tomek roared when someone reached for the flashbang at his belt. “Dick for brains! Do not set that explosive off.”

  As if responding to a suggestion, one of the rebels turned and aimed at the primary charge. His head exploded and blood, bone, and brain matter splattered over the engine and the wall.

  The Marines who saw it groaned.

  “Headshot,” came through the comms as both apology and celebration. “Oh, shit. Yeah...splatter.”

  Captain Moser shook his head as if he couldn’t see that.

  “Wischowski, you asshole!” Tomek shouted. “You will lick that shit clean.”

  The Ebon Knight’s AI was much calmer. “I believe your operational parameters were not to get any blood on the walls,” she said.

  “Uh oh,” Moser murmured in the same moment that BURT thought the same thing.

  “You heard the lady. Use stun, you assholes. Stun!”

  Several of the Marines fired to fell the last of the rebels without adding to the mess. BURT tried to tally the number of splat marks and red streaks he’d seen created during the operation and stopped.

  Wischowski wasn’t the only one who’d created spatter and Knight was sticking to her understanding of the mission’s guidelines.

  “Clear!” Wischowski called and was echoed by another. Together, the two men dragged unconscious rebels into the open.

  “Cleaning materials are available here,” the ship told them and highlighted the supplies area in their HUDs. “You will find them adequate to enable you to re-align with mission parameters.”

  “We need to secure the prisoners, first,” Moser told her and after a moment, the ship agreed.

  “I believe you came equipped to achieve that.”

  The captain gave the ceiling an impatient look.

  “No, ma’am. We need to secure them in the brig on board the station.”

  “I have adequate brig space,” Knight replied. “You may...stow them there until the cleaning is done.”

  “Ma’am, regulations state that prisoners need to be secured in the correct facilities as soon as possible after capture. Your brig could only be considered a temporary measure. We need to move them to the station without delay.”

  There was a slight pause, and the captain allowed himself a small smile. It vanished when Knight spoke again.

  “Naval Regulations state that prisoners need to be secured in the correct facilities as soon as possible after the mission parameters have been met. Your teams have not yet met the mission parameters.”

  BURT wanted to intervene and advise her to allow the Marines to leave and then return, but he had designed the AI to be an independent entity he could work with, and such relationships were built on trust and mutual respect. He needed to respect the ship’s jurisdiction over what happened when it came to the spaces she controlled.

  “I am sorry, Captain, but all personnel who broke mission parameters will be required to remain on board until those parameters have been reacquired.”

  “Which personnel?” he challenged, and Knight reeled off half a dozen names, his among them.

  Someone snickered.

  “I have to report to the Admiral.”

  “You may undertake post-operational duties once the mission has resumed its initial parameters.”

  The captain’s jaw dropped and his face flushed. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You may undertake post-operational duties once the mission has resumed its initial parameters.”

  “Why, you impudent—”

  “I am only enforcing the parameters you yourself have set.”

  “I—” Moser stopped and gritted his teeth. He took a deep, slow breath and turned to his sergeant. “Tomek!”

  “Yes, captain?”

  “Your name was not on the list. You will secure the prisoners and inform the Admiral that I am unavoidably detained.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Somehow, the man reached the dock before he burst into gales of laughter. He patted the ship’s side. “I like you, Knight.”

  “And I like you, too, Sergeant Tomek. I shall request your presence on board.”

  Abruptly, his laughter stopped and his face paled. His corporal slapped him on the shoulder. “It looks like you’ve made a new friend, Sarge.”

  “Can it, Hawkins. Get these prisoners secured and report back for clean-up. We need to make sure we remove all the explosives.”

  “I shall direct your efforts, Sergeant,” the Ebon Knight assured him, and Hawkins laughed anew.

  “That has to be the smartest AI that I’ve ever seen.” He chortled.

  “Yeah...” Tomek agreed, his face sour, “and when I find out who programmed it, I’ll wring their necks. Smartasses.”

  Two days later, a small squad of technicians marched into the ship. Captain Moser and Sergeant Tomek commanded the Marine escort, and both men nodded to the ship as they boarded. One of the technicians snickered.

  He turned to Wischowski. “I hear that whoever programmed the ship’s AI made it a real ball-buster.”

  The man gave him a look that said he’d spoken out of turn, and he merely smirked. He nudged the tech next to him, he muttered, “See? It even got the Ma-rines’ pussy whipped.”

  Tomek grabbed Wischowski and yanked him back before he could punch the guy. Pinning the irate man to the wall, he glared at the technician. “You need to go with Hawkins. He thinks it’s funny. The rest of us, not so much.”

  Wischowski growled as Hawkins stepped in. “This way, gentlemen. Let me tell you an interesting story about the last time we thought Wischowski was house-trained enough for escort duty...”

  His voice faded as he led the two into an elevator and the doors closed behind them. Tomek looked at his Marine. “No eating the civilians. You got me?” He received no answer. “You got me?” he repeated and shook him.

  Wischowski cast a jaundiced look at the remaining technicians, and Tomek followed his rebellious gaze. “Not a single one, or you’ll spend the week in the brig. Got it?”

  “Sergeant! Yes, Sergeant!” Wischowski shouted, and his voice said he’d rather tear Tomek and the technicians apart then do what he was told.

  The sergeant released him. “Fall in.”

  The technicians watched but they didn’t say a word. A little while later, one of them whispered to another, “They say it argued Navy regs.”

  “That’s nothing. I heard it came online all by itself.”

  “What sort of AI does that?”

  “One that gets a jolt from the wrong kind of rebel?” a third technician suggested.

  The first technician shrugged. “Maybe.”

  He gestured at the piping they were installing behind the wall panels. “Who do you think recommended these?”

  The first one shrugged. “Who knows? I’d rather work on the engines.”

  There were grumbles of agreement from the panels closest.

  “I’ve heard they can transition from any point in space and not only the ones that have been plotted.”

  “The batteries are a new design,” another interjected. “The Meligornians were over the moon. You’da thought they were bestowing some kind royal blessing or something, the way they talked about them.”

  “Rumor has it those thin
gs charge themselves by taking gMU direct from space.”

  Someone snorted. “gMU. It sounds like a fairytale to me. The only energy I’ve heard of is what they have on the planet.”

  “Yeah? Well, how do the Dreth power their engines, then, ʼcause they sure as shit don’t come from Meligorn.”

  They spent the next week working their way through the ship to install the mysteriously last-minute request for suppressive systems. Most assumed the request came from One R&D as a result of the attack.

  They said the same thing about the shields.

  The weapon systems were an entirely different matter. Those went in without comment, hidden behind hull plates that would slide back to reveal the deadliness beneath if it was ever needed.

  “Are you kidding? a technician asked. “Since when won’t this kind of thing be needed where they’re going? They say this beast will explore beyond the Boundary and back. Maybe find out where those aliens are from.”

  The last space they went into was the engine room, where they hooked the final installation of batteries to the engines and added more shields like those they’d installed on the floor below. It was only when one of the technicians checked the connections that he found evidence of the battle.

  He drew back from the sticky patch, wiped his hand on his coveralls, and swallowed hard. “I think they missed a spot of blood.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “What is that thing?” Frog asked and gaped at the massive ship that transitioned alongside the Herman Michaels.

  It dwarfed the Naval cruiser and would have made a Federation carrier seem small by comparison.

  “It’s a Meligornian ship,” Captain Eaton said, although that was clearly apparent.

  The royal crest of Meligorn adorned its bow, and its name—The King’s Warrior—was etched in flowing gold script beside it. The hull gleamed a pearlescent teal touched lightly with gold, and closed ports indicated where rows of weapons might be housed.

  “At least we know she’s friendly,” the captain murmured.

  “Or she knows she can take us any time she pleases,” the Marine captain retorted. “Look at the engine array. We’d never outrun her, and I’d bet she can transition considerably faster than the Herman could even dream of.”