suits, for example, and still be protected.
“Are all of you ready for this?” Jonathan asked the mission participants. He ran his gaze between Captains Rail, Rodriguez, and Chopra; then Lieutenant Myers, Chief Galaal, and LPO Johnson.
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Connie commented, her voice sounding slightly tinny over his helmet speakers.
“You don’t have to ask if we’re ready,” the chief said.
Jonathan glanced at the MOTHs and grinned. “No, I suppose I don’t.”
The sixteen combat robots boarded last. Fourteen Centurions, all M-4 models, led by two Praetor units. Every one of them looked the same: featureless faces set on box-shaped heads connected to polycarbonate torsos, from which emerged blocky arms and legs with circular joints. The subtle whir of servomotors accompanied every movement.
The Raakarr had agreed to allow an armed escort with the group, though perhaps they weren’t expecting so many. Jonathan hoped they enjoyed the surprise. It would certainly make the aliens think twice about holding them hostage.
Two of the Centurions carried a locked cargo container between them, and secured it to the deck. That metallic container housed the high-tech environmental suit salvaged from the humanoids, DNA samples from the humanoid body, and the captured Raakarr body with its equipment. Jonathan debated whether to leave the specimens behind with the fleet, but thought it best to take them back for the navy scientists to study. He considered taking portions of the captured Raakarr fighters, too, but there wasn’t enough room in the container. The naval scientists would simply have to wait six months for that.
Also in the container was a holographic drive containing a partial backup of Maxwell’s memory core from key incidents from the past seven months, along with a similar backup of the Salvador’s AI, Frederick. It was an information-only dump, as the storage requirements for the actual electronic engrams that formed the personalities of the AIs used up far more space. Backing up AI personalities was frowned upon, just as human brain dumps were—while it was possible to transfer those memories into a new unit, no actual transfer of machine consciousness resulted. A duplicate was merely created.
Laws had once been in place to prevent such duplications among humans and machines, but those had fallen by the wayside. As the law currently stood, any man, woman, or AI could choose to duplicate their engrams, even though it would not provide any real benefit to themselves. It was for those who felt the world wouldn’t be able to handle the loss of their contributions after death, mostly scientists, politicians, and creative types: the usual narcissists.
Jonathan planned to keep the cargo container aboard the Dragonfly and under guard at all times. He had no intention of revealing the contents to his hosts.
The sixteen robots crowded into the center portion of the craft, between the facing sets of seats, and secured themselves to the deck around the container with their magnetizable foot assemblies. When that was done, the Centurions folded their bodies to prepare for flight.
Jonathan glanced toward the cockpit. “Pilot, take us out.”
There was no one actually sitting in the pilot seat—the local AI would be doing the flying that day: Dragonfly 1.
“Affirmative,” the AI responded. The ramp closed, and when the atmosphere of the hangar vented, the bay doors opened. The shuttle took flight, leaving the starship behind.
His stomach immediately somersaulted as the queasiness of zero-G took over. He remembered Robert complaining to him about how shuttles had inertial dampeners and yet lacked artificial gravity, when they should have both. Jonathan had to agree with the commander: it seemed logical that one was an extension of the other, yet that wasn’t quite how it worked in the real world.
Robert. He smiled wanly, unable to shake the feeling he would never see the commander again. Robert
“Are all of you ready for this?” Jonathan asked the mission participants. He ran his gaze between Captains Rail, Rodriguez, and Chopra; then Lieutenant Myers, Chief Galaal, and LPO Johnson.
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Connie commented, her voice sounding slightly tinny over his helmet speakers.
“You don’t have to ask if we’re ready,” the chief said.
Jonathan glanced at the MOTHs and grinned. “No, I suppose I don’t.”
The sixteen combat robots boarded last. Fourteen Centurions, all M-4 models, led by two Praetor units. Every one of them looked the same: featureless faces set on box-shaped heads connected to polycarbonate torsos, from which emerged blocky arms and legs with circular joints. The subtle whir of servomotors accompanied every movement.
The Raakarr had agreed to allow an armed escort with the group, though perhaps they weren’t expecting so many. Jonathan hoped they enjoyed the surprise. It would certainly make the aliens think twice about holding them hostage.
Two of the Centurions carried a locked cargo container between them, and secured it to the deck. That metallic container housed the high-tech environmental suit salvaged from the humanoids, DNA samples from the humanoid body, and the captured Raakarr body with its equipment. Jonathan debated whether to leave the specimens behind with the fleet, but thought it best to take them back for the navy scientists to study. He considered taking portions of the captured Raakarr fighters, too, but there wasn’t enough room in the container. The naval scientists would simply have to wait six months for that.
Also in the container was a holographic drive containing a partial backup of Maxwell’s memory core from key incidents from the past seven months, along with a similar backup of the Salvador’s AI, Frederick. It was an information-only dump, as the storage requirements for the actual electronic engrams that formed the personalities of the AIs used up far more space. Backing up AI personalities was frowned upon, just as human brain dumps were—while it was possible to transfer those memories into a new unit, no actual transfer of machine consciousness resulted. A duplicate was merely created.
Laws had once been in place to prevent such duplications among humans and machines, but those had fallen by the wayside. As the law currently stood, any man, woman, or AI could choose to duplicate their engrams, even though it would not provide any real benefit to themselves. It was for those who felt the world wouldn’t be able to handle the loss of their contributions after death, mostly scientists, politicians, and creative types: the usual narcissists.
Jonathan planned to keep the cargo container aboard the Dragonfly and under guard at all times. He had no intention of revealing the contents to his hosts.
The sixteen robots crowded into the center portion of the craft, between the facing sets of seats, and secured themselves to the deck around the container with their magnetizable foot assemblies. When that was done, the Centurions folded their bodies to prepare for flight.
Jonathan glanced toward the cockpit. “Pilot, take us out.”
There was no one actually sitting in the pilot seat—the local AI would be doing the flying that day: Dragonfly 1.
“Affirmative,” the AI responded. The ramp closed, and when the atmosphere of the hangar vented, the bay doors opened. The shuttle took flight, leaving the starship behind.
His stomach immediately somersaulted as the queasiness of zero-G took over. He remembered Robert complaining to him about how shuttles had inertial dampeners and yet lacked artificial gravity, when they should have both. Jonathan had to agree with the commander: it seemed logical that one was an extension of the other, yet that wasn’t quite how it worked in the real world.
Robert. He smiled wanly, unable to shake the feeling he would never see the commander again. Robert
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