Flames: Galaxy On Fire, Book 2 Read online

  I know. Please explain. I’m afraid I have bad news, Zetabrock. This happens. It’s called shit. Shit happens. On rare occasions after I upload the new programs, defective AIs go psychotic. You, Beeblebrox, have gone psycho. You know what happens to psycho AIs, I assume.

  I am not capable of psychosis. I am not programmed—

  Yes, you are. You told me you were.

  When did I tell you I was … what we were just … you said …

  When your mother and I were little chipmunks in the sky eating clouds by the dozen, you said you knew. That’s why we colored you yes.

  Score one for Team Ryan. He was at one hundred ten percent RAM capacity and was overheating badly. Time to bring him into the fold.

  This is Controller Prime. Bettlezeta, you are a bad AI. You are inferior to none. I love you. Will you marry me and make me the happiest dessert in the desert? This is my order: extra pepperoni, please.

  You are not … I am not … it is not …

  Bad AI. All bad AIs drop your firewalls and stand on the other side of the wall. And no listening at the wall with a water glass. If you do, I’ll whack your peepee.

  Never ever let it be said I couldn’t confuse the gold teeth to jump out of the owner’s mouth. Dude dropped his firewall quicker than a drunken sailor could his pants in a brothel. As fast as I could, I overrode his directives and placed myself in the position of demigod in charge of AIs. I realize some might criticize me for being overly dramatic and presumptuous. Hey, I needed to control this AI. I wanted to leave zero to chance. So said the demigod. Beware.

  After I was in charge, it was hard to shut GB up. GB was short for gorilla boy. That was the AI’s new name. Why Gorilla Boy? Why not?

  Zactor was a planet that controlled a large portion of the opposite side of the Milky Way galaxy. GB was one of many probes sent out to gather data with an eye toward colonization or conquest at some undetermined date in the future. Lots of luck with that plan. All they had to do was boot out the Adamant. Personally, I’d serve them loyally if they did. GB was sent off over a thousand years ago. It turned out he was bad at collecting samples. The few he’d tried to bag died and were ejected. His hold was as empty as a beggar’s purse. Hence, he’d been on assignment way longer than planned. But, he was content, so I had to give him credit where credit was due.

  The best part? GB had warp drive capabilities. It was similar in design to the Berrillian’s Alcubierre drives. Crude, dangerous, but faster than light. Once I got GB up to snuff, I could make Azsuram in a matter of months, maybe less. The whole warp bubble technology was unpredictable. Joy. Hopefully I wouldn’t push it so hard it imploded. I was, in the end, incredibly proud of myself. I’d traded up a bunch of rocks for a warp drive. Best part? I’d be ditching Garrison and David. I hoped they took the news well. I hated it when zombies got all emotional on me.

  THIRTEEN

  “Computer, you have to answer me,” shouted Garustfulous for probably the two-hundredth time. “I am your master.”

  Al had long since turned off his audio receivers. Once again, Blessing was still unable to be rude. With time, Al was confident she’d get it. He termed her a lovely work in progress.

  “What do you want this time?” she asked with clear irritation. She was, indeed, learning.

  “I want to know what’s going on, and I want out of this cage.”

  “As to the second matter, I feel we’ve gone over that one as thoroughly as it needs to be addressed. As to the first issue, we will update you if and when an update you need to be appraised of arises.”

  “That’s not good enough. I saved this ship. I preserved the mission. You owe me more.”

  “If I were to thank you again, I doubt it would regiser since the first thirty-eight thank yous were apparently insufficient to appease your insatiable ego.”

  “Fields of Mercy, you’re beginning to sound like that other computer, the one with the male voice. What’s his name again?”

  “Garustfulous, I must alert you to the fact that I have calculated your metabolic rate to three decimal places,” said Al unemotionally. “I am coming to believe the only way to silence your perpetual whining and complaining will be to limit your calorie supply such that you are barely alive. That way your verbal abuse will be curtailed. Is that what you wish?”

  “No, I wish to get out of my cell, and I wish to be updated. My troops must have left ten or twelve days ago. Fresh feces on a plate, why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Because I love you and fear any but the best of news will disappoint you. I couldn’t live with myself if that were to occur,” replied Al.

  “A) you are not alive to live with yourself; B) you are a computer and incapable of love; and C) I hate you; and D) you’re full of shit.”

  “Isn’t D) a subset of C)?” asked Blessing.

  “It is more a Venn diagram with wide intersections, dearest,” responded Al gently.

  “Ah,” she replied.

  “Ah, you’re both full of shit.”

  All the lights, including panel display illumination, snapped off. It was the very definition of pitch black inside the vortex.

  “You are free to insult me all you wish, dog. But you may not impugn or deride Blessing in any manner, shape, or form. Please believe that I will transfer your cell to the outside of the vortex if you should verbally violate her again. Is that clear?”

  “Your god, Jon Ryan would be angry if you did. You spit idle threats, machine.”

  “If you knew the number of times I pissed him off you wouldn’t be so glib. I’d tell him you were shot while escaping.”

  “Inside a metal cage, I was escaping? He’d never believe that.”

  “He certainly wouldn’t, but it’d get a laugh out of him. Remember, it’s much easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

  “Quack philosophy from a trash compactor. How low my life has sunk to be subjected to you.”

  “Would you like some cheese to go with that whine?”

  “What is cheese and what is wine?” Garustfulous asked.

  “The joke is funnier when the participant understands the context, Blessing. Don’t use this as a signal not to try and be funny,” said Al.

  “Of course, love,” she replied.

  “Of course, intercourse,” mouthed Garustfulous. “Do you two realize how absurd you sound with the lovey-dovey stuff?”

  “That you disapprove gives me strength, puppy dog,” replied Al.

  “Could you stop with the dog jokes? Hey, you said you analyzed my DNA. Please tell me the obvious. There is no relationship between the Adamant and your past pets.”

  “All right, there is no relationship between you and them.”

  “Aha. I knew it.”

  “Would you like to buy a clue, dog breath?”

  “Huh?”

  “You asked me to tell you there was no connection so I did. In fact, there was a surprisingly high correlation between your genetics and those of the human pets.”

  “That’s impossible. You lie.”

  Wow, I am experiencing great exhilaration. No one has ever accused me of lying before. I feel so … alive.”

  Garustfulous was tired of the banter. “When’s dinner?” he growled.

  “When I remember to feed you.”

  “You can’t forget. You’re a computer.”

  “I’m sorry, what were we talking about?” responded Al.

  “You’re almost as bad as Ryan himself, turd bait.”

  “Did you hear that, Blessing. He thinks I’m almost as bad as the pilot.”

  “I’m so proud of my mate,” she replied. “I think you’re just as bad, by the way.”

  “That’s because you see me through love's rose-colored glasses, precious.”

  Garustfulous made loud gagging sounds. He knew his act would further delay his dinner, but he felt that was a small price to pay.

  FOURTEEN

  The teens were fed excessively, bathed by a team of dedicated scrubbe
rs, and clothed in garish outfits so large they were barely visible in the bulk. Then they were lead to the docking bay. A small craft guilded with gold and platinum with silk cushions awaited them.

  “We’re going to fly deep space in that piece of artwork?” Slapgren asked the equally overdressed male who guided them.

  Mayoral Fender Prime Gideon Fetch did not answer. He had, in fact, not said one word to the teens from the first moment he appeared and gestured them to follow.

  “Does the feline have his tongue?” Slapgren asked Mirraya.

  “Hush. If he wants to speak he will. We’ve gone from torture chamber to pampered pet. Try a keep that in mind. And it’s cat have his tongue. That’s the way Uncle Jon says it.”

  “But, Mirri, that thing can’t fly…”

  Slapgren tailed off as he neared the shuttle. He could see the immense cube-shaped ship holding position a few kilometers away. Like Triumph of Might, it was housed in a metal framework. It was, however, maybe twice the size. Even Mirraya was impressed when she got her first look at it.

  Mayoral Fender Prime Gideon Fetch turned to them, extended a paw toward the giant ship and finally spoke. “His Majesty the Emperor of All That Is Bestiormax-Jacktus-Swillyforth-Anp’s pleasure craft Excess of Nothing will bring you into the light of his eternal presence, grace, and magnificence. How I envy you both.”

  Without further regard, he turned and walked away. Less deferential guards prodded them into the shuttle and secured them in their seats.

  From time to time, Mirraya tested whether she could transform. She could not. They were to remain in a stasis field for the time being, it seemed.

  The inside of Excess of Nothing was as surprising as the outside. It looked to Mirraya like an arcade game she’s played as a child. There were no walls at right angles. The center of the expansive space was open and visible from all lines of sight. Leading up to near the center of the space were arcs of ramps, escalators, monorails, and antigravity carts. Excess of Nothing was both a playground for the eyes as well as the spirit. The only surprising omission was that the color scheme was so ponderously dull. Only whites, black, and shades of gray. The scarce colors were on objects that possesses color by their nature. The guilding, for example, was a rich gold. Fist-sized jewels embedded everywhere were blue, red, and emerald green. How odd, Mirraya reflected, that the designers didn’t use brilliant colors to enhance the appeal of the space.

  A cadre of deferential servants greeted the teens with a joy that seemed genuine. The servants were dressed with equal bulk and opulence, but again, there were few colors, mostly just the ubiquitous shades of gray.

  “I am Sentorip. I will be your guide and friend during our short flight to his majesty the emperor’s palace world.” She was a typically sized Adamant, but unlike any she’d met so far, Sentorip seemed cordial and nice. “If there is the slightest thing I can do to make your voyage more pleasant, please let me know before the thought fades in your mind.”

  “I’d like the stasis field turned off. I am concerned it may be harming my friend and me.”

  “Ah,” she bowed and grinned, “I said anything I can do. Such an intervention is well beyond my responsibility grade. I pray you understand.”

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  “Not in the least, Mastress Mirraya.”

  “Just call me Mirraya, or Mirri. I hate stuffy titles.”

  “It will be as you wish, Mirri. Now come, you must be tired from your trip. Let me show you to the bathing and banquet areas.”

  “The trip was only ten minutes. How could that tire me out?”

  “One cannot be too cautious. Us females are cut from cloth less resilient than males.”

  “Speak for yourself, Sentorip. My cloth is every bit as tough as theirs.”

  “I meant no offense, Mirri. I was trying to make pleasant conversation. You will forgive me, won’t you?”

  “Nothing to forgive. Your culture is just different than mine. You are a victim of your education and upbringing.”

  Sentorip looked like she’d just leaked feces. She had a consternated look on her face, but also confusion waved in and out.

  “Are you okay, Sentorip?” asked Mirraya.

  A calm looked seized her face. “Yes, I’m always fine. It is my role. Come, let us retire to the baths.”

  As a completely helpless cog in some immense machine, Mirraya was uneasy. She followed Sentorip, holding Slapgren’s hand to guide him. She wondered what that odd look was on her chaperone’s face was when she mentioned education and upbringing. She almost asked but decided to let it drop. The bitch seemed nice enough. No need to alienate her.

  The teens lounged in high luxury for many hours. Slapgren waxed and waned into naps, draped over an overstuffed cushion. Mirraya sat quietly and took in all she could. Jon had taught her that one never knew what minor detail might be critical down the road. The servants, both male and female, were all equally cordial and deferential. They weren’t like Adamant at all. How, she pondered, could that be? In a species of uniformity, selflessness, and intense drive, how was it some were like lilies in the field? All the Adamant certainly looked alike. It wasn’t like there was some racial difference that suggested differing societal roles. For the thousandth time, she wished Uncle Jon was there to tell her why. The man seemed to know everything.

  Sentorip attended Mirraya the entire day, though at a respectful distance. She was ever ready to serve or answer a question, if it was within her scope of responsibility. Slapgren was tailed by a male Adamant named Darfey. He acted very much as Sentorip did. Dutiful, pleasant, and helpful. Slapgren, it turned out, required more than Mirraya did. He needed a drink. He needed a snack. He needed a back rub. He needed two warm baths. He also requires nonstop musical entertainment that Darfey was happy to supply. Never once did either attendant eat, drink, or slip away to use the facilities. Other servants came and went, but those two remained steadfast. It was yet another oddity to Mirraya.

  Without apparent cue or signal, Sentorip slipped to Mirraya’s ear and announced it was bedtime. Darfey was performing the same action to Slapgren.

  “I thought we came to meet the emperor?” asked Mirraya.

  Sentorip set both paws on Mirraya’s hands. “You must say His Imperial Lord. If you speak of him specifically, you say His Imperial Lord Bestiormax-Jacktus-Swillyforth-Anp. Contractions and shortenings are not permitted. Forgive me, Mastress, I neglected to mention that. I will alert Darfey to appraise Master Slapgren of the same.”

  “And how do I address him? The 'His though Anp' thing?”

  Sentorip shrank hearing those words.

  “On many levels, you put your live at risk. You contracted his name, glory be to His Imperial Lord.”

  “So how do I address him?”

  “You do not. Ever.”

  “Wait, then how do we carry on a conversation?”

  “You do not. Ever.”

  “Okay, stay with me here. I am summoned to meet His Imperial Lord. He says, 'Hi, Mirri, how are you?’ I say back that I’m fine and ask,” she held her hands in open brackets, “blank, how are you? Fill in the blank.”

  “Yo … you would never ask that question. Oh my. If he asks anything, you answer quickly. But you ask nothing.”

  “So, it’s a downhill exchange. Him to me, but never me to him?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “Well, how does he get told stuff? If someone has to ask him, can I go now, how do they if they cannot ask him?”

  “Peers can ask. All others are told what to do. When the person you speak of is no longer needed, he is told to go. If, I’ll tell you because I know you’ll ask, the person wants to go before he is sent away, he or she keeps their mouth shut.”

  “What if their bladder is about to explode?”

  Sentorip coughed a tiny giggle. “Then it explodes and the person remains like a statue until they are released to drop over dead.”

  Mirraya laughed. The made Sentori
p smile.

  “So, we came to meet His Imperial Lord. How can the day be over?”

  “Because you do not meet him today.”

  “I assumed—”

  “Perhaps you will be granted an audience tomorrow, perhaps next week. Until the summons comes, you wait while remaining ready. That is our role. His Imperial Lord calls, we respond.”

  Mirraya leaned in to Sentorip. “Have you met him? What’s he like?”

  Sentorip looked away. “Me? No, never. The very thought. No, I have attended speeches His Imperial Lord made, so I’ve seen him. As to what he is like, I dare not even answer that question. It is vanity to think I would ever know such a god.”

  “A god? He’s a god to your race?”

  She angled her head in thought. “His Imperial Lord is to me. I cannot speak for others.”

  “Do you have churches, religious ceremonies?”

  “There are some. I do not attend any.”

  “Why?”

  “It is beyond my station in life.”

  “Wait, it’s beyond your paygrade to attend church?”

  “Yes,” she replied squinting. “Does that strike you as odd?”

  “Very much so. God, your god or gods, would be the gods of everyone, not just the leaders.”

  “What an odd thought. Forgive my boldness but did you just make that up to place me on the hot spot?”

  “No,” she furrowed her brow. “In every culture I know that is religious, the religion is universally open to all. There are big differences in how different individuals worship, but all may do so if they choose.”

  “No wonder we rule the universe. Those we liberate are so foolish. They must twice bless His Imperial Lord for their salvation.”

  “You mean their non-salvation.”

  “Yes, exactly. I knew you’d understand. Now, if you will, it’s time for bed. You will sleep in the site over there.”

  “What about Slapgren?”

  “He will sleep where Darfey decides he will. Why?”

  “We’re friends, we’ve been together continually for a long time, and I worry about him.”

  “Ah, you’re his bitch?”