The Book Of Schemes. Marcus Calvert
and thrusters, Raiders tended to carry swarms of fighters and boarding pods: too many for the Bismark’s guns to take out. Without fighter support and marines to fend off boarding parties, the pirates could probably take the carrier. They’d lose most of their ships and crew doing it. But they’d still win.
Urlich wondered if the AI could take out the Raiders before they launched their ships. Perhaps some fancy maneuvering and long-range shooting could trim their numerical advantage.
“So what’s the game plan?” Urlich asked. “While you’re killing off their fleet, what do you want me to do?”
“The weapons are inactive, due to a ship wide systems virus.”
“You neglected to mention that little detail,” Urlich stopped and scowled. “How bad is the bad news?”
“We’ve also lost communications and most of the other core system functions as well. Emergency power is at 49% and falling.”
“Let me guess: we can’t run away either?” Urlich asked, as he resumed his pacing about.
“Affirmative,” came the computer’s reply. “The saboteur rendered our reactor drives inoperable. With a normal contingent of engineers, it would take 8.33 hours to repair.”
Urlich headed for the door of his quarantine room, which slid open. Normally, it could only be unlocked by one of the med techs. But the computer had bypassed the safety protocols. After all, with everyone else dead who could he possibly infect?
“ETA on incoming ships?” Urlich asked as he exited into a corridor and almost tripped over a dead crewman.
“6.54 hours.”
Urlich sighed as he looked around. The corridor was littered with a sixteen uniformed bodies – all pale and with green bile on their lips. They couldn’t have been dead longer than a few hours. Urlich crossed himself as he made his way toward his quarters.
“And why did you wake me?” He asked with growing frustration. “Just blow us up.”
“Due to the virus, I cannot activate the auto-destruct.”
Urlich reached an elevator, hit a button, and waited for it to arrive. He understood what duty required him to do. He had to destroy the Bismarck before it could fall into enemy hands. There was just one problem with this: he wasn’t quite ready to die yet. In fact, he was about nine months away from retirement and his life dream of restoring vintage hovercars. The only thing he loved more than being a marine was fixing things. As far as Urlich was concerned, there was a way out of this mess. He’d just have to figure it out in time.
“What’s this AI virus do again?” Urlich asked as the elevator doors opened.
“Full-system shutdown,” the computer replied. “Including artificial gravity and life support.”
“How long until you’re completely helpless?” Urlich asked as he stepped into the elevator.
“52.5 minutes. Are you headed for Engineering or toward the fighter bays?”
“My quarters,” Urlich muttered. The elevator lights began to flicker as he pressed a button for one of the crew levels. “I’d rather die with my boots on. And turn that fucking siren off, would you?!”
“Affirmative,” the computer replied.
Exactly 10.21 minutes later, Urlich exited his quarters in full combat dress as he headed for the bridge. He couldn’t think of a single way to avoid dying. If he hit the flight bay, he could snag a heavy bomber and nuke the Bismarck. The problem with that plan was that he’d be stuck in deep space without enough fuel or air to make it to Delphi Station or any of the nearest colony worlds, which equaled a slow death.
The only bright spot Urlich could see to blowing up the reactor – from inside the ship – was that he might take a bunch of Raiders with him. Or he could rig the ship with nukes, hop a fuel shuttle, and head home. While the shuttle was slow, it had enough fuel and life support to get him somewhere civilized. The only problem was that the pirates could catch up to him with ease. And because fuel shuttles didn’t have weapons, that option sucked too.
Since escape seemed unfeasible, the only fun thing to do would be to rig the ship with nukes, proximity mines, and maybe a dead man’s switch. He could suit up in space armor, wait for the bastards to board and kill as many of them as he could – before they took him out. Once he died, the dead man switch would set off the nukes … and make the Bismark go “boom.”
A stubborn part of him refused to accept any of these options. As Urlich headed for the armor bays, he passed an open door and heard Jimmi Hendrix music blaring from within. Neo-Classical Earth music was pretty popular with the swabbies and jarheads – one of the few things they had in common. Urlich backed up and saw that one of the crewmen was slumped over his desk, halfway into a farewell letter. A portable music player – roughly the shape and size of a silver dollar – blared Purple Haze.
As Urlich listened, something happened within his infected brain. A dozen new ideas suddenly popped into his mind as the space marine bobbed his head to the music.
“Computer,” Urlich said as he left the quarters. “Don’t you have a secondary AI core? I heard they’re left uninstalled, in case of situations like this.”
“Affirmative,” came the reply. “However, the saboteur damaged it before she was killed. The engineering team managed to repair it but died before they could install the unit.”
“Could you talk me through it?” Urlich asked with sudden confidence.
“You’re unqualified to install the unit. The probability of you successfully activating – ”
“Shut up and start talking me through it!” Urlich yelled as he moved on.
The computer began to talk. At first, it made sense. But once the gunny was out of earshot of the music, it abruptly sounded like the high-level techno jargon he tended to ignore before his accident. He stopped, told the computer to pause for a moment, and then ran back into the range of the music. As he did, Urlich realized that everything the AI had said made sense again.
It had something to do with the music.
And probably that damned swamp virus as well.
Strange, Urlich thought, as he snatched up the music player and ran toward the bridge elevator.
Another dozen new ideas slipped into his brain along the way.
Another 15.3 minutes later, Urlich manned one of the bridge’s system stations and typed like a man possessed. Metallica’s Don’t Tread on Me blared in the background. Even the ship’s computer had difficulty following what he was doing. At first, it thought he was attempting to prep the secondary AI core for installation. Then, it recognized that he was going after the AI virus.
Unfortunately, the techs on the Bismarck barely had time to discover its existence before they died. Even if the crew had survived, it was unlikely that they could’ve countered the systems virus in under a week – if ever. It was so far beyond state-of-the-art that even the AI itself couldn’t begin to understand how it –
“Gotcha, bitch!” Urlich triumphantly muttered.
Were it possible, the AI would’ve scratched its proverbial head. Somehow, its primary operating systems were returning to normal.
“How you feeling?” Urlich asked the computer.
“Communications, weapons, and life support are all returning to normal,” the AI replied. “Emergency power core has stabilized and begun recharging. However, the main reactor drives are still inoperable. Activating auto-destruct –”
“Whoa!” Urlich angrily interrupted. “Anybody ever tell you that you’ve got a fuckin’ death wish?! C’mon! We don’t need to die today!”
“The ship’s engines are