suffered a hull breach! Mark, status!” The artificial gravity returned and I fell, bouncing off the bed, landing heavily on my back. My eyes went wide in terror when John dropped like a rock, narrowly missing me as I rolled out of the way.
“Mark, status goddammit!” I staggered to my feet.
“Hull breech in compartment three and main access corridor to engineering. Damage to ship main power distribution network and auxiliary control systems. Hull integrity at 64%, 63, 59-” Another explosion came from somewhere deep in the bowls of the ship. I smelled smoke now, followed by the popping hiss of the fire suppression system activating. “Deflector shield engaged, returning to normal space. Life support failing.” Mark’s computer generated voice warbled, broken and distorted. The impacts against the hull stopped after the defensive screen enveloped the ship.
“What’s happening, Mark, are we under attack?” I pulled John to his feet, trying to drag him behind me into the corridor. I gave up making a break for it. I didn’t have time to play around; seconds could mean the difference between life and death. “Auto engage, all weapons free,” I yelled dropping into my seat, strapping in, pushing my flight helmet snuggly into place.
“AI shut down initiated, fatal error in progress.” Mark’s voice had changed, reverting back to its lifeless factory version.
“Shit!”
I punched up the forward display and was immediately greeted with hundreds of computer generated images. Meteorites… We’d flown into a goddamn meteor field during jump space! I couldn’t believe it, what were the odds of that? They were supposed to be cleared out on a regular basis by sweeper drones and maintenance crews, but more importantly, why hadn’t Mark taken appropriate action to deal with them? A sinking feeling hit me as I answered my own question.
AI’s were great things to have at your disposal, but even today the old xenophobia about them trying to take control, becoming too powerful, lingered in the periphery of man’s paranoia; limitations and safety nets were always placed within their brains to keep this from happening. Even though Mark had a defective, out of control personality, and played games pushing it to the limit, he was still forced to obey his programming and any command to the letter. That was exactly what he’d done in this case. My horny forgetfulness had created nothing but a classic recipe for disaster.
The jump corridor around the ship as it followed the string was narrow and allowed little room to maneuver within it. Deflectors were useless, unable to be powered up due to the massive energy drain from the jump drive requirements, at least on a smaller ship like the one I owned. I’d placed the weapons in a hold status during the decent on Orvus Prime and I’d given Mark a privacy command with the additional, “I don’t want to be disturbed” rider tacked on the end of it, instead of an emergency override. Unable to disturb me, maneuver, raise deflectors or break the predetermined navigation imputes for jump space, he did nothing. I’d fucked up, plain and simple in my haste to get laid, and now I was paying for it. Damn it, I knew something didn’t feel right. Always trust your gut, Margo.
I cleaned up the display, removing all the small meteorites that were no longer a threat. The remaining ones appeared nearly stationary, but in fact were traveling upwards of fifty thousand kilometers an hour. With Mark fading fast, I was forced to take manual control to avoid the worst of them. The stick felt mushy and slightly unresponsive. This isn’t good.
John hadn’t been idle beside me after catching up, repairing several of the power issues and a myriad of other problems plaguing the ship. “Captain, life support power has been rerouted and is currently stable. It appears we’ve taken damage to the engines and main power distribution conduit. Weapons and long range sensors offline, navigation
“Mark, status goddammit!” I staggered to my feet.
“Hull breech in compartment three and main access corridor to engineering. Damage to ship main power distribution network and auxiliary control systems. Hull integrity at 64%, 63, 59-” Another explosion came from somewhere deep in the bowls of the ship. I smelled smoke now, followed by the popping hiss of the fire suppression system activating. “Deflector shield engaged, returning to normal space. Life support failing.” Mark’s computer generated voice warbled, broken and distorted. The impacts against the hull stopped after the defensive screen enveloped the ship.
“What’s happening, Mark, are we under attack?” I pulled John to his feet, trying to drag him behind me into the corridor. I gave up making a break for it. I didn’t have time to play around; seconds could mean the difference between life and death. “Auto engage, all weapons free,” I yelled dropping into my seat, strapping in, pushing my flight helmet snuggly into place.
“AI shut down initiated, fatal error in progress.” Mark’s voice had changed, reverting back to its lifeless factory version.
“Shit!”
I punched up the forward display and was immediately greeted with hundreds of computer generated images. Meteorites… We’d flown into a goddamn meteor field during jump space! I couldn’t believe it, what were the odds of that? They were supposed to be cleared out on a regular basis by sweeper drones and maintenance crews, but more importantly, why hadn’t Mark taken appropriate action to deal with them? A sinking feeling hit me as I answered my own question.
AI’s were great things to have at your disposal, but even today the old xenophobia about them trying to take control, becoming too powerful, lingered in the periphery of man’s paranoia; limitations and safety nets were always placed within their brains to keep this from happening. Even though Mark had a defective, out of control personality, and played games pushing it to the limit, he was still forced to obey his programming and any command to the letter. That was exactly what he’d done in this case. My horny forgetfulness had created nothing but a classic recipe for disaster.
The jump corridor around the ship as it followed the string was narrow and allowed little room to maneuver within it. Deflectors were useless, unable to be powered up due to the massive energy drain from the jump drive requirements, at least on a smaller ship like the one I owned. I’d placed the weapons in a hold status during the decent on Orvus Prime and I’d given Mark a privacy command with the additional, “I don’t want to be disturbed” rider tacked on the end of it, instead of an emergency override. Unable to disturb me, maneuver, raise deflectors or break the predetermined navigation imputes for jump space, he did nothing. I’d fucked up, plain and simple in my haste to get laid, and now I was paying for it. Damn it, I knew something didn’t feel right. Always trust your gut, Margo.
I cleaned up the display, removing all the small meteorites that were no longer a threat. The remaining ones appeared nearly stationary, but in fact were traveling upwards of fifty thousand kilometers an hour. With Mark fading fast, I was forced to take manual control to avoid the worst of them. The stick felt mushy and slightly unresponsive. This isn’t good.
John hadn’t been idle beside me after catching up, repairing several of the power issues and a myriad of other problems plaguing the ship. “Captain, life support power has been rerouted and is currently stable. It appears we’ve taken damage to the engines and main power distribution conduit. Weapons and long range sensors offline, navigation
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