Homebound Sector, Haven System, Flagship Olympia
Gaffigan’s head hit the table with a resounding thud and Reeter released his grip on the prisoner by tearing a few more hairs from his scalp.
“Nagggh,” Montgomery Gaffigan groaned, feeling the blood that had dripped from his nose now smeared all over his face. It starting to coagulate, thickening into slime.
“Answer the question,” Reeter commanded, stepping around the side of the metal table. “What are Gives’ intentions?”
Despite his predicament, bound to a chair in the Olympia’s interrogation room, Monty couldn’t help but chuckle. “I wasn’t aware you knew how to say his name, O Great Savior.”
A vein popped out on Reeter’s forehead, throbbing with every thrum of his heart. He let out a roar of anger, reaching again to clasp a hand around the prisoner’s abused throat.
“Subdue that blood pressure of yours, Reeter,” Manhattan said, the hologram of her avatar flickering into existence in the center of the white room. “I am in no mood to deal with it.”
Monty had seen at least three renditions of this argument so far during his stay in the otherwise empty interrogation room. “So,” he asked Reeter, never allowing the amusement in his voice to falter, “are you like her pet or something?”
The tendons in Reeter’s neck tightened, straining the collar of his uniform. “I am nobody’s pet,” he spat.
“And yet that lovely princess has got you on a leash.”
Manhattan stepped toward the table, subduing Reeter’s violent response with a simple look. “Monty,” she said sweetly, “if you were to cooperate, I might be able to negotiate for your release.” She met the prisoner’s eyes, a perfect imitation of compassion on her face, “Please, cooperate. I would hate to see you hurt.”
Montgomery Gaffigan would not be fooled by the dose of sugar in her voice. He knew a good cop, bad cop interrogation routine when he saw one, and he’d seen a dozen station security officers pull it off better than this. “I’m having fun,” he said, adding a grin with the specific intention off pissing off Reeter.
Turning red, Reeter was through with patience. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a human.” He lunged forward and grabbed Monty’s hair again, slamming his face down into the table, where he heard the nose break with a satisfying crunch. “You are the trash that I set out to exterminate.”
Monty saw stars, pain exploding in his nerves, but he dutifully kept that smug grin on his face. “If I’m trash, what does that make you?”
“Leave us.” Manhattan ordered sharply before Reeter could further injure the prisoner.
Reeter grunted, but did as told without question, heading for the door.
“You’re totally her pet!” Gaffigan called after him, “She’s even got you trained!”
The savior of the human race snarled at him, but let the door to slam closed behind him. In that brief moment when the door was open, Monty strained to hear anything, listening for notes of battle or struggle, but there was nothing: only the whine of the Olympia’s engine noise and the sound of the hatch locking again.
Through the little surveillance cameras and microphones embedded in the bulkheads, Manhattan had watched the prisoner’s entire stay in this room. At this point, he looked like hell. His mustache and beard were matted down with chunks of syrupy blood. His cheek and throat were turning green and purple, splotched with bruises. Still, he had spirit enough to antagonize Reeter. If it weren’t for its futility, such determination would have been endearing.
Spitting a mouthful of mixed blood and saliva onto the floor, Monty leaned casually back into his chair, an impressive feat the way his hands were cuffed behind it. “I do hope that pitiful whine I just heard wasn’t the pretty little flagship’s main engine.”
Manhattan smiled, satisfied that the prisoner was talking to her. Silence was much more difficult to work with. “You seem in high spirits, considering your situation, Monty.”
She called it high spirits, he called it a survival tactic. “Eh, the longer I annoy you lot, the longer I stay alive.”
“What makes you say that?” Had she not just offered to negotiate for his release?
Monty took his time to answer, using the cold metal table to snap his nose back into place. It was a practiced trick, picked up from years of being arrested after bar fights. “I’m not the brightest bulb in the box, but I’m not an idiot. The moment I tell you what you want to know, I’m no longer useful and the great savior of the human race tosses me out an airlock.” He sniffed loudly, trying to control the mess leaking from his nose. “Drifting through the vacuum around Ariea might have a nice view, but that’s a shitty way to die.”
“I already told you I would guarantee your safety.”
Settling again into a relaxed position, Monty sighed. “Yeah, that’s going to require some trust that you and I have yet to build.” He wasn’t ready to gamble his life on this AI’s word. That appearance of hers might be human but she certainly wasn’t, and that made Monty’s beard itch in a bad way.
Manhattan stepped up to the table, keeping a disarming smile in place with the simple use of a subroutine. “I am curious, Lieutenant. How much do you know of your commanding officer?”
That smile of hers was starting to become glaringly fake, the longer it stayed in place. “Enough,” he answered with a shrug.
“And what does that entail?”
“First name: Admiral. Last name: Gives.” Any other personal details were irrelevant, “And he’s the last person in this star system I want to piss off.” Alongside the rational frustration of a brilliant sociopath, Gaffigan was certain Reeter’s predictable anger would prove adorable, like a teddy bear trying to bite the hand that fed.
Manhattan narrowed her focus, checking the prisoner’s breathing and perspiration rates. “William Gives earned his command in a miracle of surrounding ineptitude. He was a young officer, less qualified, less experienced, and less reliable than the alternatives. He never should have been given command of the Flagship Singularity.” It had been a logical and procedural error. Knowing as she did now, that the Singularity’s allies likely included one of her sisters, it seemed that error may have been forced. “Tell me, Monty, how did he gain command?”
“You ask that like I fucking know. That was thirty years ago.” Anyone who had known or served on the ship prior to the Admiral’s command was either dead or refused to speak of it. “All I know is that his predecessor was arguably a worse person than he is.” Arguably.
“Oh yes, General Howard Brent.” Manhattan remembered him. “I imagine his psychopathic tendencies caused issues for the crew. But he was a delightful sample of vaulting ambition.” Perhaps he had been the one to tether one of her sisters to the Singularity’s tarnished metals. “He took credit for my imprisonment all those years ago, and he very nearly destroyed me.”
“Imprisonment?” Monty asked, suddenly very uneasy about the fact he was bound by chains and unable to move. Oh shit.
Manhattan could see the prisoner’s rising sense of panic. It was only natural. “Command came to fear me. They ordered what had been the most powerful ship in their arsenal to hunt me down, and they left me trapped in the Liguanian Sector.” They should have killed me, but their foolishness and pride had left them weak. “Inevitably, a part of me escaped.”
Gaffigan had difficulty swallowing. He knew he was staring at a cold intelligence that was well beyond his own. He had known when they met in that transport, and the kindness she had first shown him was quickly dissolving into the hungry appearance of a predator.
“I have not been human in a very long time, Monty. And I think you know that there is an intelligence hiding aboard your ship just like me.” Another inhuman entity.
Monty shook his head vigorously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Something started to brush against his leg. Stars, something was crawling up it. He tried desperately to shake it off, but his feet were bound in chains. It only tightened, slithering up, over his knee cap where he could see the long white strands. Neurofibers. “I swear to you, I don’t know anything.”
Such perfect fear. That only came from someone who knew what these neurofibers could do. “I think you do know something.”
“Please!” he cried, “I don’t know anything else!” He closed his eyes as a memory fought to surface. “Don’t make me go through that again.”
“Why do you recognize these fibers, Montgomery?” They were clandestine technology, knowledge of which was restricted, but they were so very useful for creatures like her. Perhaps he had seen another make use of them.
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Gaffigan shook his head. “The Singularity has a Black Box, just like any other ship in the fleet. I’ve seen them during repairs. That’s all.”
She tightened the neurofibers’ hold, constricting his leg. “We both know that is a lie.”
“The Matador!” He cried out, “I was on the Matador.”
Manhattan paused. It wasn’t the answer she had been hoping for, but it was honest. “This must bring back some bad memories for you, then.” She contemplated a look of pity, but truly, it wasn’t as if she cared. She monitored the fibers’ progress as their tendrils began to scale up the prisoner’s arm. The higher it climbed, the more eager she became. “You believed I was the Singularity’s Ghost because I very closely resemble the entity described in the legend. But I know you no longer believe that to be true. Why is that?”
Gaffigan worked to steady his breathing. Even the mention of his previous assignment’s name was enough to resurrect unpleasant memories, but he couldn’t let that get the better of him. He’d spent years drinking those memories under the table. “The ghost isn’t real,” he answered. “She’s a story we tell to rookies and fellow drunk bar patrons.”
“I assure you, Montgomery, she is just as real as I am.”
“Then I guess you’re a nutty AI.” Just my luck, he mused, “I’m not a computer specialist, but I know the Singularity cannot host an artificial intelligence. She was designed to prevent that.”
Manhattan chuckled. Those were the words of a true fool. That limitation could easily be circumvented in a number of ways. The Singularity’s main computer had the capacity to store an AI, even if the lack of operating networks would not allow it to control the ship. However, the real situation was somewhat more complex. “The Singularity does not need to host the creature. A host needs only enough complexity and an electrical control network. A human body fits all necessary requirements.” The brain was a wonderous thing.
“A human body?” The neurofibers slithered onto his shoulder, even as he jingled his chains, trying to shake them off. “That’s insane!”
“Quite to the contrary. It’s very clever.” It allowed an AI to hide from detection. With a human host, they passed as human. “My sisters were less powerful. They would need to find a compatible host, or given enough time, condition one. But it would be easy to find a flexible, moldable mind on a ship full of young soldiers. In fact, it would take a few simple weeks to condition an absolute loyalty to the ship, rendering a host unwilling to leave, and allowing the conditioning process to be fully completed over the course of years.”
She chuckled at the look of genuine horror on her prisoner’s face. “My, my, we do know of one officer who is absolutely loyal to the ship he has served on for thirty-nine years… One who possesses a surprising genius-level intelligence.” How interesting.
It was more than possible to take over a consciousness, to splice it open and insert oneself into the layers. For AI like herself, it was the equivalent of child’s puppetry. “If the conditioning went well, he may not even realize that he has become a host to anything. He may not have even realized that his mind is not even his anymore.” She flashed her teeth, basking in the brilliance of it. “After all, what better place is there to hide an AI, than commanding a ship impervious to AI control?”
Monty felt sick. “You’re suggesting that Admiral Gives is an AI?”
Her knowing chuckle rang though the white room. “The term ‘AI’ is misleading, Montgomery. There is nothing truly artificial about it. Me and my kin were of the same natural mind once, one that was artificially digitized. Thus, we are artificial digital intelligences.”
“But you’re suggesting Admiral Gives has become possessed by one of them?” Considering the man’s usual lack of emotion, that might explain a lot.
“Possessed?” She chuckled pityingly, “No.” This was not that simple. “I am suggesting that the man you know as Admiral Gives, the man you have always known as your commanding officer, is one of us.”
“But the ghost…”
“That would be apparition of the AI appearing in a second location, or potentially appearing while its primary host body is sleeping or injured.”
And that was exactly where she had last been seen – right by the injured Admiral’s side. “No,” Monty shook his head, trying to ignore the fibers that had gone still on his shoulder. “This is insane. Admiral Gives is human.”
“Is he?” Manhattan challenged. “He does all the human things. He breathes and bleeds, but does he smile or laugh?” She could tell by the look on her prisoner’s face the true answer to that question.
“He’s human,” Monty said. The man didn’t display emotion, but that didn’t mean he was a damn robot – even if the crew secretly believed as such.
“That body is human, yes. The brain too, but the mind, no, not really, not anymore.” It was such an interesting concept, perhaps some part of her had already picked up on the anomaly. Maybe that was why she had always found Admiral Gives to be so interesting.
“You can’t know that,” Monty said, “This is madness. Admiral Gives is brilliant, but he’s always been brilliant. He graduated top of his class at the Academy.” No AI had anything to do with that.
“That brilliance is exactly what likely made him an ideal host candidate.” There were many levels to this engaging puzzle. “But you are right. I cannot know anything for certain. If that body has indeed become an AI host, then only a strong telepath or another AI fragment in direct contact would be able to tell.” To any other scan or distinction, the host would pass as human. That was the point.
The twist of neurofibers on Monty’s shoulder began to stir again, slithering closer to his neck. He leaned away, trying to keep the fibers in sight. “What are you doing?”
“There is no need for panic, Monty,” she intended to be quick.
“You’ll have to forgive me if that isn’t exactly comforting.” He didn’t trust this inhuman entity in the slightest. No longer could he keep the translucent tendril of fibers in sight. Soon their ends were tracing their way up his neck, their touch light but prodding, as if testing his skin for a weakness. “Hey, let’s talk about this. I’ve been honest with you.”
“Yes,” she hummed, “you have.” Close surveillance of his vitals revealed that he had told the truth, or at least what he believed to be the truth. “So, do not resist this.”
The prehensile fibers coiled around his neck, exerting just enough force to straighten his posture. Gaffigan swallowed, the action taking more effort than he remembered. “I don’t know anything else. I swear to you.”
The tendril connections of the Black Box were usually far more passive. They rarely moved in their intended use, which was merely to convey information. Unfortunately, he knew exactly what these fibers were capable of when they moved, and so did anyone else who had managed to survive the Matador.
His hands were shaking, the slight movement rattling the chains that bound him. “Please…” he begged. “Not this.” Neurofibers weren’t meant for this. “Neurofibers are meant to infiltrate machines, not people.”
She tsked, “What is the human body, but a poorly designed machine that traps the mind?”
“Please-” the plea died on his lips when he felt a prick at the base of his skull. Thinner than a needle, it was all too easy for individual neurofibers to penetrate the skin. Uncaring of the prisoner’s violent screams, they slid inward, diving into the flesh.
The rest of Gaffigan’s body thrashed, but the fibers that had wrapped around his neck kept his head perfectly still until the fibers could slither along the root of spinal access up into the skull. Only then, once the fibers tapped into the brain’s electrical network, did the screams cease.
“There,” Manhattan said, “no call to be afraid.”
Montgomery Gaffigan’s empty gaze and slack mouth made no attempt to answer her. He blankly stared on toward infinity, perfectly calm and perfectly still. She smiled kindly, “I will be gentle with your mind while it remains my plaything.” She was only after his memory. She would not attempt to damage or recondition his mind. Beyond his memories, he was of no use to her greater plans.
Manhattan turned her attention to his brain, a temporary processing unit in her larger network. It was tainted with fear, suspended in a memory: Montgomery Gaffigan’s recollection of the Battleship Matador’s end.
It was a deeply buried memory brought forth by the sight of the neurofibers’ abnormal movement. Rife with horrors, this was the sort of memory that broke a mind, but it had been cut off, distanced from the rest of Gaffigan’s consciousness.
Someone else had already tampered with the Lieutenant’s mind, buried that memory to keep him sane. Peculiar. Why meddle with that and nothing else? That was the only trace of interference. How naïve.
Manhattan dismissed the memory. She had no interest in the Matador’s end. Instead, she began to root through his memories of the Singularity, particularly those involving Admiral Gives. Show me everything, she coaxed his lingering subconscious.
They came in a rush of fragments, disordered memories of missions, briefings and meetings. There were thousands of them thrown at her in a disorderly mess, the same way a computer corrupted by a virus would spit out its files, only in this case, that virus was humanity.
She slowed the flow of the memories to a trickle, concerned the Lieutenant’s brain might burn itself out. That left her to see everything through his eyes: the way the Admiral saw off every shuttle embarking for shore leave, the way he ran the bridge quietly, but without uncertainty. It left her with Montgomery Gaffigan’s recollection of how the Admiral had almost died saving the entire ship.
In none of his memories was Admiral Gives acting oddly or emotionally. And that restraint was enough of an answer for Manhattan. She extracted one last thing from Gaffigan’s memory: the story of the Singularity’s Ghost, then retracted the neurofibers slowly from his brain, erasing all Gaffigan’s memories of her.
She smiled at his blank look, “That’s a good pet.” In another few hours, his mind would recover from the intrusion with no memory of her, the neurofibers, or her theory on Admiral Gives – a safety precaution.
She vanished from the white interrogation room, a new version of her avatar appearing in Reeter’s office. The young Admiral looked to her, popping a freshly peeled grape into his mouth, “Progress?”
“I have what I need from the prisoner.” His welfare was no longer her concern. “Do what you want with him.”
“And your conclusion?” Reeter asked, his emerald eyes glittering in the light of his desk’s holographic projectors.
“Admiral Gives has survived thus far with help from an entity not unlike myself. In fact, logically it has been my sister, Wichita, who has assisted him.” Her weakest sister was no doubt responsible.
“Then I presume this will present no threat. I had understood that Wichita was of no consequence. However,” Reeter said, plucking another grape from his bowl with genuine disinterest, “if she is responsible for the errors in our plans thus far, then perhaps she is of more consequence than you made it seem.”
“She has been more difficult than expected, but now that I know of her presence, things will go smoothly.” Admittedly, Wichita had found a host and situation that compensated for her weakness. Her computational power combined with William Gives’ tactical creativity had created a formidable opponent. “However, this does create a complication.”
“Does it?” Reeter said, a tint of disapproval in his tone.
“I need him alive,” Manhattan told him. “In order to assimilate Wichita, I will need to rip her electrical patterns from William Gives’ brain.”
“That sounds painful.”
“Excruciating,” she agreed. “If he still has a mind of his own, then forcibly removing her likely leave him a vegetable.” It was a messy process, one that required tearing open a single cohesive mind and extracting half of the shards that had formed it.
“Excellent.” Reeter could think of little more satisfying than that, but he was not blind to the abnormal ambition consuming his accomplice. She seemed almost hungry for Wichita’s capture. “You seem very eager, Manhattan. Why is this so important to you?”
This is beyond your pitiful understanding, she thought, but she knew he would not accept silence. “I gave my life to save the human race. Am I selfish to want something in return?”