Chapter 12

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Pinball huddled in the cockpit of his modified Trojan long-range recon craft, at this moment the most technologically-advanced starfighter in existence, and wished very much that he had the balls to take his sidearm and unload it into the console. At first he’d been honored to be the one chosen to test-pilot the Saras package. He’d figured he’d be a little piece of history being made, and all day from the time he’d been given the news to the time he’d launched, he’d been on top of the world. Finally his name would be attached to something big. His promotion prospects could improve.

Two hours later it finally sank in. It was history all right. He’d been spending all day bouncing through the paces of a combat patrol, training this damn computer how to do his job. The entire function of this exercise was to feed Saras live data on spaceflight and the flight capabilities of the Trojan craft.

Most of the spaceflight process was automated already by the onboard computer. This was nothing unusual; it had been this way for a long time. Passenger jets and space transports flew almost exclusively by computer control since the 20^th century, but there was always someone behind the stick in case something went wrong. When things were routine a monkey could do his job: wait for computer cues and push a button. Pinball had just finished coming to terms with his role as a “redundancy.” He still had a larger part to play, particularly when things weren’t routine. No autopilot could handle a dogfight. He was far from useless, and the attack at the foldpoint a couple of days ago had reminded him of that.

But now the brass wanted to run Saras through wargames. They wanted to teach it how to fight as well as U.S.S.F pilots. Or better. Without the limitations of human pilots like blackouts or redouts, stress, fatigue, and reaction time, drone fighters under Saras’ control could revolutionize warfare at no risk to human pilots. That did not comfort him much, and he didn’t care if it was selfish to think so. All he’d ever wanted to do was fly. He had been given the prestigious task of putting himself and the entire U.S.S.F. out of a job.

Pinball idly wondered if he shouldn’t just spin the ship to the side and auger this son of a bitch into an asteroid. Nah. Too easy to recover the black box. They’d probably show the tape to his mom.

He was busy wondering if the Nacho King on Callisto is hiring when the computer signaled their proximity to the Jupiter foldpoint. He grunted like a gorilla and masheed the proper button with his knuckle to engage the retrofire and slow the ship down for its arrival. The computer did the rest.

“Excuse me?” the A.I.’s voice chirped through his helmet comm. Pinball couldn’t answer, too busy being pinned back in his seat by the thrusters and relishing the near-blackout feeling before the intertial system in his suit kicked in.

“Lieutenant Troy?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you.”

“It was just a noise, Saras. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Silence for a moment. Saras was confused. “But what was the noise? I continue to experience trouble fully understanding the individual phonemes of speakers whose patterns have not been assimilated in my database. This problem is compounded by your imprecise diction and varied use of tropes. I have a brief training exercise prepared if you would care to spend a short time reading several paragraphs of text so that I can analyze your speech patterns--”

“I don’t want to talk right now, Saras. I’d prefer it if we could focus on the exercise.” Pinball wishes that he could get this day over with quickly so he can get back to the barracks and start bashing out his résumé.

“I understand.”

That was easier than he thought. Now if he could avoid making any more animal noises he might be able to get through this without hearing any more about his imprecise phonemes. Now he could stew over his own obsolescence in silence again. Pretty soon they wouldn’t even need him to do the monkey’s job anymore. Maybe Nero could put in a good word for him in the Marines. No shame in that. No computer was going to replace an elite ground-pounder. Saras couldn’t hold a rifle. Unless the Synapse Corporation decided to build robots or something…

Pinball keyed in Corporal Nero’s comm on the Magnum transport at his starboard side, only to get an error signal. He tried again. Strange, she was on the flight roster for this exercise.

“Corporal Nero is not currently aboard Magnum flight.”

“She was on the roster,” Troy said, “What’s the problem?”

“All I know is that she failed to report for duty this morning. Corporal Witt is in operational command of Magnum flight. Shall I open a link to him?”

“What do you mean she failed to report for duty? Where is she?”

“I don’t have that information.”

Pinball blinked and stammered in incredulity for a moment. “Saras, the first thing they did with you was hook you into the surveillance network. She has a locator like everyone else. Give it a ping.”

“I tried the moment you tried to open a link with her. There is no response. Her commanding officer has been informed of this problem.”

The computer’s apparent calm was maddening. “You don’t find this unusual at all? How is it even possible you can’t find her in Sisyphus-1?”

“There are many possible explanations. It’s possible her locator was damaged or faulty. There are also several areas of Sisyphus-1’s security net that are still being upgraded to the new IT infrastructure. These areas are effectively offline until installation and testing is complete. There is also the possibility that she has left the colony.”

“Left the colony?”

“It is only a possibility. I apologize. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“No…” Troy breathed, still turning over this new unexpected problem in his sluggish mind. “No, you haven’t. It’s just…I’m not so much interested in where she is, but why she’s not here.”

“I don’t have that information.”

“Well where did you last track her location?”

“That information is classified.”

Pinball made an irritated sound, one that Saras was seemingly able to interpret.

“I can tell you’re concerned. The matter is under investigation. I will inform you of any developments.”

“Yeah, thanks. We’re coming up on the foldpoint. Are you ready for the exercise?”

“Yes.”

Troy keyed in the open comm. “Cavalier and Magnum wings, this is Cav-Alpha-1. Check in.”

“Repeat: Cav-Alpha-1, Cavaliers check in.”

“Hello? Can anyone hear me?”

“Anyone?”