Darklight Pirates

“Your son and Citizen Chang seem admirably suited,” Supreme Leader said. He showed the first signs of relaxation as he leaned back in the overstuffed chair behind an otherwise Spartan desk. As he reached out, a servant brought him a glass of water and a few pills. A faint smile came to his lips before he swallowed the pills and chased them with the entire glass of water. “An old man requires help getting through the day. I envy you your youth.”

“Such an admission seems out of place, Supreme Leader. You do not look that old.” Donal Tomlins searched his k-chip memories for the man’s age but failed to find any reference to a birthplace or birth date. Why he didn’t simply have genetic engineering done or install a med dispenser that monitored his metabolism and injected the drugs as needed made Donal wonder if this was theater rather than need. Supreme Leader had no reason to pretend that his world’s medical science wasn’t as advanced as Ballymore’s, yet that message came through with the sip of water and quick toss of a few pills rather than a flood of medical nanobots working their minuscule magics throughout his bloodstream.

“I am more than two hundred years old. Oh, do not look surprised. Far Kingdom’s medical science is advanced beyond that on your world, yet you could live to be a hundred-fifty.”

Donal sat straighter in his chair, wondering at this. How could swallowing pills be an improvement over any of a hundred gengineered or mechanically enhanced solutions?

“My father died at one hundred.”

“You are, what? Perhaps fifty? You have a long life ahead of you, should you choose. Do you have children other than your fine son?”

“Two daughters,” Donal said. He had not expected Supreme Leader to get into personal matters. He touched the controls on the detector he wore on his left wrist, designed to double as a watch. If Supreme Leader had cameras or other spy devices trained on him, the spy-det did not reveal them.

“You are blessed.”

“My younger daughter is being trained to take my place as Programmer General. Her expertise in computing is extraordinary. She anticipates well and pushes the computers to the optimal course to keep our society running smoothly. I have allowed her to do this on several occasions. She is more adroit than I am designing algorithms to anticipate supply problems.”

“While you are here? You left her in charge?” Supreme Leader closed his eyes and tented his fingers. He rested his chin on the bony ridge. Other than the almost imperceptible breathing, he might have been dead.

“The governing council would not permit that. My Chief Programming Officer is temporarily in charge.”

“CPO Weir, yes, we know of him. An agent approached him to come to Far Kingdom to work on our power grid a few years ago. He declined.”

“He is devoted to Burran. He oversees much of our economy.”

“But you, as Programmer General, direct all of it. What you say becomes law.”

“Not exactly law, but from your standpoint, it might be considered such. Yours is a command economy. Ours relies on a free flow of trade.”

“Guided by your computer programs.”

“I do what is best for my citizens, guided by the expertise of those on the council.”

“You think your system is best. For you, perhaps it is. I prefer that of Far Kingdom.”

“Being the sole leader must be difficult.”

“You think I am a dictator, that my whims become law.” Supreme Leader fell silent for a moment, his thoughts far from the conversation. Then he said, “I am absolute ruler. It works well for a population where everyone is equal.”

“Our heritage would never allow anyone to assume such power.”

“Yet you could quash any rebellion by a simple reprogramming of your master computer, the one that runs every aspect of your manufacturing, your government, your world.”

“Only my nation. Burran is one of many.” Donal smiled. “We jokingly call the master computer the Blarney Stone.”

“After the stone left back on Earth, yes.”

“Ballymore and Far Kingdom share much. Both worlds rely on tradition more than other human-settled worlds.”

“So many wish to deny their prior history on Earth, that is so,” Supreme Leader said. “And the alien worlds? We have little contact with them. Do you?”

Donal hesitated. Did Supreme Leader seek knowledge of possible alliances or did he know that Ballymore had scant contact, more because the alien worlds rejected human dealings than the other way around?

“We find it difficult understanding those aliens near our world and conducting trade.” That was as cautiously phrased as he dared. It hinted that there was some contact without revealing the true lack of contact.

“Which brings us to negotiating for the equipment required to keep your enemies at bay. Far Kingdom has many mouths to feed. The promise of a steady supply of cargo ships laden with food from your aqua farms would go a great way toward my authorization of off-world shipment of the weapons your son is examining as we speak.”

“Cletus was impressed with your missile cloaking.”

“No, he wasn’t. Neither were you.” Supreme Leader tented his fingers and rested his chin on the tips. “He is touring a factory where armaments are built that will impress him and which will give you complete protection from any belligerent on Ballymore--or off.”

“In principle, such trade between our worlds is mutually beneficial.” Donal knew better than to use his personal comlink with his son. Disturbing him would be a sign he did not trust him to make decisions on his own. Moreover, Supreme Leader would listen to every word said. Better to wait, speak directly with Cletus and find what Far Kingdom had to offer. From intelligence reports accumulated over the past year by both human informants and electronic devices, the offering would be considerable.

“To mutually beneficial trade, then.” Supreme Leader made a vague gesture.

A servant entered silently and placed a pair of goblets on the desk between them, then poured the viscous amber wine displaying maddening patience.

He lifted the glass in salute, took a drink and tried not to gag. Sipping vinegar would have been more palatable. Supreme Leader saw his reaction and laughed.

“This is our finest vintage, and it is terrible, isn’t it? Tell me of your wines. A few cargo ships filled with decent wine would go a great way toward paying for exos and warbots.”

Donal had no idea what a warbot was but didn’t show his ignorance. Cletus could brief him later. Moving deliberately, he tried to erase the aftertaste with a dragon-shaped cracker dragon placed on a plate in front of him. That suited his taste far more than the wine, even if it left a chalky film on his tongue.

They began a more comprehensive talk about delivery schedules and products, even as Donal wondered what the hell a warbot was and if it merited the price Supreme Leader suggested. If not, other clever devices could be substituted. Far Kingdom needed food more than Burran needed new ways to kill guerrillas sneaking over the borders.

#

“It’s a miniature world,” Leanne Chang said. She twisted about and moved to the entry port in the warbot, allowing Cletus to explore the interior unobstructed. “It is completely encapsulated. If the arms and legs are blown off, the portion where we are in mid-chest will break free, eject and carry the pilot away.”

“How far?” Cletus marveled at how compact everything was. Heads-up displays were commonplace, but the Far Kingdom designers had taken the technology to a new high. With the controller fastened to his forehead in place of his glasses, he could look outside the warbot as if a broad window stretched in front of him. Turning his head changed the view so he could even look behind. A simple click revealed the next layer of HUD, showing how the warbot powered up in preparation for movement. Even more readouts appeared as he drilled down to individual systems.

“You can customize the display. If you want to monitor the right foot while looking ahead using your ranging and firing controls, you can.”

“A blink of my eye launches missiles?”

“If you prefer. My choice is more tactile.” Leanne held up a hand covered in what looked like pure sapphire. She flexed her fingers to show it was not crystalline. “A haptic glove allows me to reach out and feel the virtual controls. If you like a hair trigger, it can be set up that way. I prefer that the controls--they look like knurled knobs in my HUD--resist enough so I don’t accidentally commit when I wanted something less.”

“All your weapons are set up with the haptic glove?” Cletus liked this idea. Much of a spaceship’s heads up display responded to virtual touch and warbot controls matching what he had already learned would be useful. He realized controlling the warbot presented challenges matching that of a captain in the command chair of a dreadnought.

She nodded. Scooting about the tight space, she pointed. A tiny red beam issued from the ring on her index finger to a virtual control panel only ten centimeters square.

“The setup. I see that now.” Cletus bobbed his head about to take in the layers and multitudes of controls. “Can I set the warbot to automatic? If the pilot is injured, that might be useful to either assure retreat to medical facilities or to press an attack.”

“Should a pilot become unconscious, the computer will choose the optimal course. Is preserving the pilot’s life paramount or should the mission be completed? That priority can be set either by the pilot or a superior officer before the warbot goes into the field. There is an added feature that is better than that, however.”

“Better?”

“If more than one warbot is in the field, a QED link allows one pilot to control multiple units.” She saw him frown. “The QED is a quantum entanglement device that links previously established photons to interact as one.”

“That works reliably?” Cletus tried to keep up with research and had been told by Burran scientists that the entanglement failed more often than it succeeded. And that was in the laboratory under ideal conditions. In combat, the situation was never ideal.

“Reliably enough. Both pilots have to create the link. It cannot be imposed from outside, even by mission commanders.” She lifted her finger and sent another red beam dancing out to indicate a buried virtual control panel.

“The learning curve for a pilot must be steep.”

“The warbot is a complex system. Did you learn to pilot your flagship dreadnought in a single sitting?”

“How did you know I’m a qualified pilot? That’s never been recorded.”

“If I may speak frankly, your father is not a fool. Captain Sorrel and he clash on many small points. That can only mean there could be a greater conflict that goes unseen by outsiders. The Programmer General would want a backup should the Shillelagh’s captain balk at obeying an order. Your captain makes no secret of his disdain for those of us on Far Kingdom.”

“Captain Sorrel is a loyal Burran officer.”

“And the Programmer General is his superior who must command complete obedience. I am sure my understanding of your politics is flawed. Forgive me.” Leanne bowed deeply. Donal almost laughed at the way she contorted herself in the cramped space inside the warbot’s chest.

He wished he could see her expression. She hid her thoughts well, but even a hint about this would give him a better understanding how those on Far Kingdom viewed him, his father and Burran. Leanne’s information was accurate about Sorrel and his contempt for off-worlders.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said. When she bowed even more deeply, he knew this hadn’t been the proper response. “Please continue with your explanation of the warbot.”

“Of course.” She straightened and quickly completed her cursory explanation.

Cletus hardly noticed since what remained was only a refinement of the warriorobot’s mission and not necessary for understanding its basic functions.

“I am impressed. A pair of these could defend Burran’s entire border with Eire. From what I see in the specifications, the warbot can withstand anything short of a nuclear landmine.”

“Its mass protects the pilot from lesser kinetic weapons, even if the liquid armor does not. Nano assemblers can repair the unit in the field, while it is in combat. This can never replace a fully equipped shop, but often such a temporary fix guarantees mission success. The most dangerous situation for a pilot is having the STF vessel breached. This leaves a very thin layer of armor that protects against handheld weapons but nothing heavier.”

Cletus stepped around her and leaned back against the pilot’s couch. He tried to move away when soft fabric clamps wrapped around his wrists and ankles.

“I didn’t mean to activate the damned thing.” He turned his head and saw that systems powered up all around. The HUD glowed when he drilled down to it with a few rapid blinks. A frantic search for the controls to power down eluded him.

“Would you like to take it out for a trial run?”

“I’d be a danger to anything around the warbot.” He didn’t add and to the unit, too. “I need considerable training. This is a new system for me.”

“I showed you what you need for basic movement. If you prefer, we can link using the QED.”

Cletus’s heart raced. He barely trusted himself to speak. Being in such a mobile weapons system thrilled him. To take it out onto a test range exceeded his wildest dream. He nodded and immediately regretted it. Displays throughout the cockpit burst into full colorful bloom.

“Familiarize yourself with the movement controls while I power up the other unit.” Leanne reached over and put her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll catch on fast. I know it.”

She slipped away, her body brushing his, leaving him to study the HUD. He blinked a few controls, to be certain the eye scanner worked. He wondered what using the haptic glove would be like, then pushed the notion aside. Blink commands worked so that much of the Shillelagh could be controlled entirely that way, though this was done in case of depressurization robbing voice commands of their usefulness. The only trouble he saw with the warbot was activating a weapons system by accident.

“You cannot. There are interlocks.”

Cletus jumped guiltily.

“Is there a telepathic reader built into this machine?”

Leanne laughed, the sound of a small child enjoying a new toy.

“Nothing of the sort. You are no different from any other pilot. I had the same worry and had practiced in a trainer for weeks. If you will permit the QED link, I can take control. Yes, that does it. Let me steer both units from the hangar onto the practice field.”

Cletus tried to relax and enjoy being chauffeured about. His ears buzzed with alerts and lights flashed constantly, showing system status. A few tentative efforts to concentrate on the terrain gave him confidence to expand his HUD. By the time a grassy field pockmarked with shell craters appeared in his display, he had found the controls needed to maintain the warbot’s easy gait.

“We can walk. Check your gyroscope to bring it into alignment with your travel vector.” Leanne’s voice came from all around him.

“I don’t see a gyro readout.”

Using the QED link, she brought up the proper readouts for him to examine. “The Sagnac effect fiber optic is lighter than a mechanical gyro.”

Cletus searched his k-chip for any hint what that might be. Nothing came up, nor did he expect it to. The brain held only so much information at any one time, and he had insisted on the knowledge chip with as much information about Far Kingdom as possible. The technical k-chip he had implanted months earlier when deciding on what armaments to investigate had dissolved, leaving only faint echoes of information he now found important--and missing. He needed a larger brain bandwidth to accommodate multiple k-chips.

“Explain, please.”

He caught his breath as the warbot picked up speed, galloping across the choppy field at fifty kilometers per hour. From the speedometer he saw that the max topped out at close to two hundred. What amazed him was the power usage ran only a small fraction of redlining. The warbot could outrun any of the MBTs it would face along the Burran-Eire border.

“FOG,” Leanne said. “Fiber Optic Gyroscope. Light interference on the foptic cable correlates to mechanical rotation, then sends a correcting signal to the motors driving the warbot.”

“Thanks,” he said. Knowing which readouts were important gave him greater confidence. He mimicked the moves she made by remote control but tried to slow when the warbot raced up into rocky foothills.

“There is no danger. The unit is constructed to thrive in such terrain.”

“Let me have a bit of control. Can you do that?”

“You are the master of your own destiny.”

He laughed, then sobered when he wondered how she meant that. All his thoughts turned to control when he found himself busy with keeping the gigantic robot on a path he chose. After a few minutes, he passed through a narrow crevice and onto a broad meadow. Towering mountains formed a deep bowl, giving a little privacy for the excursion. Any satellite looking down could record every misstep he made, but he reminded himself that Far Kingdom was ruled by a unitary government. What he did--right or wrong--would be known by everyone simply by asking Leanne. A quick sweep of his instruments warned him her opinion wasn’t even necessary. Everything he did was relayed for later study.

“Let’s play tag. You do know the game?”

“Of course, I do,” he said. “All children know it. But--”

“Tag! You’re it!” Leanne’s warbot dealt his a blow that staggered the huge machine. Bits of armor from the left arm flew off as if an explosive shell had struck, forcing him to run a repair check. Nano assemblers already hurried to fix the slight damage.

“You can’t get away with that!” Cletus brought his warbot to a lumbering trot, got better control and sprinted. Reaching out one mechanical arm he grabbed and yanked back hard. A large segment of Leanne’s robot pulled free. Her unit sagged to its knees. “Surrender!”

“Never,” she said. Her warbot exploded in flame as its jump rocket ignited, sending her straight up into the air.

Cletus judged distances and came to the same conclusion as his tracking computer. Without hesitation, he fired his own rocket. Remembering Leanne’s warning about duration saved him from shooting too high, then falling back to the ground powerless. His metal arms widened as if he intended to flap them to stay aloft, then snapped shut around her. Together they plummeted downward.

“Let me go. We’ll both crash!”

He expended the rest of his fuel at the last possible moment. The two warbots smashed with impressive force into the ground, but neither sustained any damage. They stood in an embrace as if they were lovers until Leanne reached between and punched just above the central fusion plant. The shock caused Cletus’ teeth to clack. Instinctively he raised his left arm. A corona formed around his fist, a nimbus of death as the aurora gun built its charge.

“How do I stop it!”

At the last possible instant his warbot shuddered and the aurora gun discharged harmlessly. Leanne had used their battle linkage to save herself.

“I’m sorry. It was reflex, and then I didn’t know how to stop the charging cycle.”

“It’s all right.” Her voice came soft and intense. “You learn quickly. In combat against another warbot, you would have triumphed.” In an even lower voice he barely heard, she added, “You would have destroyed me.”

“Mark it up to inexperience.” Cletus felt a pang of guilt even as he flexed the metallic hand and gained new mastery. Driving such a war machine heightened his senses, as if he became one with the sensors festooning the warbot’s hull.

“Your quickness in learning shows that you are a natural.”

He hesitated to broach the subject, but with the HUD filling his eyes and brain with incredible data, it came more easily to his lips.

“What would Far Kingdom charge for a pair of warbots?”

The price staggered him.

“Agreed.”

He had no idea how Burran could pay for these two juggernauts, but with them his country could repel any attack, launched from either low or high. More than paying for the warriorobots, he knew Captain Sorrel would never allow them to be loaded onto the Shillelagh.

As if she read his mind, Leanne said, “It will not be difficult to load a few more crates of farm machinery. The warbots disassemble quickly and easily for interworld transport.”

She had an answer for his every objection. He found himself wondering if she would reverse roles and object if he got personal with her.