Five minutes later, a sobered up commander stepped onto the outpost’s command-control deck. The centrally placed deck was no larger than Alec’s own quarters. The CC was empty save for a console, a chair and a half dome hovering above the chair, suspended by a thin support tube. A sub dermal needle embedded just beneath Alec’s right ear erased his intoxication. But, until Alec had taken his seat and inserted his head into the dome, he still felt groggy. The dome cleared the fog away, and the commander found himself swimming in perfect visual clarity. His awareness encompassed the sheer vastness of a space station three times the size of a UE warship. He saw through the ‘eyes’ of every automated defense ringing the outpost. He saw through the ‘eyes’ of 1,000 avatars. He was even linked into the compu-aid’s own all-seeing perspective, such that human and computer were virtually one.
“Alright, Co-aid. Let’s bring up Exercise Program Beta.”
Engaging.
Alec’s view changed drastically. Computer-generated images of hostile ships appeared around the outpost. For the next hour, Alec and Co-aid coordinated tactical scenarios as they battled simulations on the outside. On the inside, Alec shifted combat avatars from section to section in close quarter exercises.
When it was over, the commander slipped his head from beneath the dome and exhaled a long breath. “Good job, Co-aid. The only glitches were missile batteries 2 through 7 and the northwest plasma turret. You need to fine tune the response times.”
Immediately, Commander.
“In fact,” Alec rose from his seat and grabbed his tool pouch from off the console. “I’ll do it. It’s been a while since I worked on weapons.”
Commander, I think you should let an avatar perform that task. During the exercise, I received a priority update from an outlying probe.
Alec let out an annoyed sigh. “Priority update? What is it, another imminent attack? That’s nothing new.”
Commander…
“Alright, alright.” Alec stepped to the console and stood over one of the display screens. He activated the screen, read the text, and studied the accompanying graphics. He frowned at what he saw: a still image of a greenish face with reptilian features. Fur or some kind of feathery trim sprouted from the side of the creature’s head like unkempt sideburns. “Who the hell are the Jepthala?”
Accessing United Empire Species Databank… The Jepthala are the dominant species in an alliance of worlds located in Astro-Grid 321. They were first encountered by a UE patrol 1,764 Standard years ago. It was a hostile encounter. 500 Jepthala warships were destroyed. Two UE flank cruisers were lost and one capitol ship was heavily damaged in an exchange that lasted one hour twenty two minutes.
Alec leaned on the console with both hands, digesting the information with a thoughtful grimace. “Astro-grid 321 is so remote from the UE it almost qualifies as an uncharted zone.” He read further.
From all indications of current military assets in place, the Jepthala were amassing for a full-scale invasion of UE space. They had already been active in UE space within the past three years, attacking other outposts, raiding colony worlds. But those attacks were more probes than concerted efforts at conquest. In effect, the Jepthala were wary scavengers, poking the hide of the great predator to see how much life, if any, was left in the beast. Knowing for certain that the UE beast was no more had emboldened the Jepthala, propelling them out of their isolation onto a path of ambition and vengeance.
Strategic extrapolation predicts a 99.8 percent probability that the main Jepthala incursion will be launched from this point…
A star chart of a UE boundary region displaced the text on the console display.
…here.
Alec followed a red line of progression across the chart. He noted how that line, cutting like a razor, had halted at an icon of the outpost.
“So. They’re coming after us. How many ships?”
120,000.
The commander could not pinpoint a specific emotion upon hearing that exorbitant figure. He wasn’t frightened. But he wasn’t unafraid, either. A numbness that both calmed and excited fell over him. His mind was all over the place, yet at the same time, a knot of focus congealed in the back of his brain. “120,000 ships.”
Alec finished his second bottle of spirits and tossed it in the lounge dispenser five feet away. He leaned back in the reclining lounge chair and allowed himself to drift on a wave of intoxication. He was supposed to be repairing an auto-door in Storage Facility 4. Maybe later, he told himself. He shook his head in a scathing self-critique. You idiot. What does an auto-door have to do with the defense of this outpost? Alec grinned off the question and signaled for an anthropomorphic avatar to bring him another bottle.
Commander, I do not recommend your course of action.
“And to what course of action do you refer my computerized muse?” Alec waved a hand in a poetic gesture.
Defense of this outpost in concert with the reinforcing presence of UE warships is logical. Defending this outpost when no such reinforcements are available for the foreseeable future is suicide.
“Are you getting emotional on me, Co-aid?” Alec took a pull of the bottle the avatar just handed him. “I mean, suicide is a strong word.”
Given your state of mind, suicide, is a most appropriate word.
A pained look crossed Alec’s face. “Co-aid, your aspersion trivializes my strategy.”
Your strategy?
“Yes, my strategy. The Jepthala are coming here with the strongest force they can muster with the intent of wiping this outpost off the map. I say we give them a fight, weaken them. The more of their ships we destroy, the less ships they’ll have to terrorize UE territory.”
Even through his drunken haze, Alec realized that he had just offered an argument to which the compu-aid had no rebuttal. Who could dispute the validity of crippling an enemy force through attrition? Who could argue against defending UE population centers, even when there was the strong likelihood that such population centers no longer existed?
It was within the parameters of a compu-aid to remove an officer from duty if that officer exhibited behavior that called into question his or her mental stability. The compu-aid may have suspected its human commander of having a death wish, but the AI could not prove it, and Alec knew it.
Alec’s strategy may have anticipated the final outcome he desired, but the compu-aid could not prove that suicide factored into the planning.
Alec stood and stretched, the smugness in his demeanor obvious to another human, not so to an AI. “Co-aid, I’ll be in my quarters if you need me. I need to prepare myself mentally for the battle to come.”
Of course, Commander. That is your prerogative.
The commander paused. Sarcasm? He chuckled and took very careful steps out of the lounge with bottle firmly in hand.
The Jepthala armada was due to arrive at the outpost in six days. Alec spent three of those days sequestered in his quarters. He reminisced about better times, when the UE was strong. When he had a family, friends. When the chaos that swept through the UE, bringing about its all-too-rapid-dissolution was but a product of a doomsday prophet’s dark imaginings. And then Alec remembered that during his lifetime, the UE was never as strong as he fancied it to be. A rot had formed beneath the UE’s façade of strength and prosperity. A rot that ate away at the polity’s institutions, its values, its prestige. A rot of corruption and vice and apathy and growing inefficiency. A rot of separatism and factionalism and extremism.
When those kinds of memories bubbled to the fore of Alec’s recollection, he took measures to drown them in drink.
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