Halo®: Mortal Dictata by Karen Traviss
They might even get angry, resentful, or impatient with their masters. They had the gifts of gods: but a god in perpetual servitude needed brakes on his powers, or else he might take vengeance on his lesser masters.
Like Naomi. Like Spartans. Who’d want them turning on the UNSC? Halsey had to make them obsessed with their duty or risk creating a tiger that’d rip her head off. And she says she didn’t brainwash them? Come off it, lady. Lucky the Covenant came along, though, or I bet they’d have become pretty disenchanted with the colonial wars. You can’t keep someone brainwashed forever. They need topping up. Reinforcing. Kept away from dangerous ideas that make them reassess what they’ve been told.
“God, what’s keeping him?” BB snapped. “Staffan, can you ping him, please?”
“Maybe he’s got his hands full,” Staffan said. “He’s not like you, is he? He can’t be everywhere at once.”
Staffan was obviously a fast learner. He had those Spartan genes, didn’t he? It was obvious now. He would have been a good Spartan candidate himself.
“Well, nobody’s going anywhere, I suppose,” BB said.
Vaz leaned forward and blipped the nav lights. “No harm trying. I’d honk the horn if we had one.”
Both men were getting tense. BB could detect their heart rates. “In space, nobody can hear you honk…”
It almost got a laugh out of Vaz, more of a half-cough than anything. They waited. If they thought this was frustrating, though, they should have tried being on BB’s clock.
So … Huragok have some kind of safeguard built into them, then. But there’s got to be something else in there.
BB carried on unpacking the Huragok design brief. They couldn’t be allowed to stand back and watch disaster or damage happen to themselves or to the objects they looked after. They’d have to be capable of action like damage control, self-defense, and even preemptive action. That was where decision-making got messy and ambiguous, not easily tackled by the processes that ran dumb AIs. BB could see the fragile line between repairing a breached hull in an emergency and lashing out to stop your ship—or your comrades—from being harmed. But defining the failsafe limit where a strong, smart Huragok couldn’t use force or preemptive action was as good as impossible.
They needed to develop judgment. Moral judgment.
Damn. I was wrong. They’re not amoral. They’re anything but. Why wouldn’t they be? Life creates moral awareness.
BB savored the delicious shock of discovery and the fresh light thrown on everything he knew. Everyone thought that Huragok had no sense of right or wrong, just obedience to whatever boss came along, but perhaps they just didn’t see much difference between one empire-building, warfighting species and the next until they were forced into a corner—usually when Forerunner technology was threatened.
That was it. They tried to work out right and wrong, just like humans, and maybe with better results. But no god or gods had handed the Huragok a rule book and told them how to do it. They’d become moral beings simply through living life, because without some restraint and altruism, everything descended into terminal chaos. Something had made Sinks go that little bit further, and now he was defending the ship by any means he could, short of just killing the boarding party by asphyxiation. He’d done it because a human he’d taken a shine to had asked him to.
That’s how I operate, too. That’s how a human brain’s built. I keep coming back to this. Either we’re all programmed machines, or none of us are. I’m driven to acquire knowledge, and the Huragok are driven to fix things, and Spartans are driven to fight.
BB thought that humanity had come to a sorry state when Naomi had a more sterile existence than a Huragok. At least they had a social life.
“Bastard,” he said, but had no idea who he meant.
“Problem?” Vaz was looking at the Pelican’s controls, probably trying to work out what had made BB swear. “Can Sinks even see us, BB?”
“Stealth partially disengaged. He can see our transponder, if he’s looking. Not thermal profiles. I hate giving jumpy gunmen a target.”
“Maybe he thinks we’re Kig-Yar. Just tell me he hasn’t got control of the laser cannon.”
“Of course he has.” BB found it interesting that Vaz had moved on instantly from surprise that a Huragok would be uppity to accepting that it would do much the same as he would in the same circumstances. His thinking wasn’t constrained by classification. Anthropomorphism. Not such a dirty word after all, is it? Accurate observation, more like. BB wasn’t sure why he’d thought that, either. He almost felt he was chiding himself, as if he’d had that argument once with someone, but he couldn’t recall it. Maybe the memory had been damaged when his fragment got zapped. “He has complete control of the ship. He’s just choosing not to react aggressively.”
BB knew he had a lot in common with Huragok, but he was glad that they couldn’t prowl unseen in the world of energy frequencies like him. He envied them their tentacles and cilia, though. Hands. He was still certain that he had no Pinocchio-like dream of aping humanity, but a pair of hands would have come in … handy.
“Has he lost the plot, BB?” Vaz asked.
“Well, even an AI goes bonkers in the end,” BB said. “Why not Huragok?”
Staffan fidgeted in his suit. BB could tell he wasn’t used to wearing one and had underestimated the small but maddening inconveniences like not being able to scratch where you needed to. See, who wants skin? Itchy, horrible stuff. Staffan held his radio where Vaz could see the controls, as if he was saying that he was being a good boy and not calling the Venezian cavalry for help.
“Sinks, this is Staffan,” he said. “When you’re ready, open the bay doors. I’ve got Vaz with me.”
The comms channel came to life.
A sliver of light appeared in Inquisitor’s port side, then widened gradually into a recognizable opening. BB nudged Bogof ahead without consulting Vaz.
“Tell him I’d really like to communicate with the nav computer, please.” BB had always thought of Huragok as literal, but now he knew that didn’t mean gullible—simply very precise, as befitted an engineer. Ambiguity and nuance were no use when you had to build things that worked. He waited for Sinks to make the mistake of allowing an inbound connection. “I’ve never docked in a CCS-class ship before.”
Staffan began a smile but didn’t follow through. “Sinks, can you let our nav computer talk to yours, please?”
“I know, buddy.”
Staffan didn’t say that it was all fine and Vaz was a friend. He just waited, tapping his fingers on his knee. BB didn’t expect him to make it easy. It would have been very easy to mimic Staffan’s voice and try to fool Sinks, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t work.
Vaz inhaled slowly. “Well, computer, let’s see how good you are at parking.”
“Predictably awesome,” BB said. “Tell him I’ll do it by eye.”
“Are you talking to BB?” Staffan asked. “I can see your head moving.”
Vaz switched back to the open channel. “Yes. It’s safer that way.”
“Berthing by sight. We can do it manually, thanks.” Vaz went back to the privacy setting. “I don’t lie well, do I? Nearly six hundred years of manned spaceflight, and it’s still the little things that screw you.”
BB got a fix on the bay doors using the hull cams and edged Bogof forward until he could see she’d cleared the doors on all sides. Now he had to set her down on a proper deck. Two Spirits hung in apparent mid-air, supported by gravity anchors, but the Pelican needed a solid surface. It mea
“Can we bang out of here in a hurry, BB?” Vaz asked.
BB had that in hand. “If I set down here, all we have to do is lift, rotate, and fire an Anvil through the doors if they don’t open.”
“Remember to keep your exit ticket, then.”
“Okay, we’re down. Full atmosphere and gravity outside.” BB switched off the maneuvering thrusters and checked the bay doors visually using the top cam. “Now put that chip in the console.”
“Did Leaks make this for you?”
“Clever little chap. I asked for a universal Covenant adapter.”
The chip felt like a life belt floating on the sea. BB uploaded a fragment of himself to it and hoped it would sync up with all his other bits at the end of the day. For the moment, he was in two places locally: Vaz’s helmet and the chip. He did one last sync transmission with his matrix in Stanley and then purged the onboard system of his presence. Huragok slurped up data just like he did, and he couldn’t rely on keeping busy little tentacles out of the ship even with ONI security. The last thing he needed was a pissed-off, unpredictable Huragok on the loose with a big slice of the contents of an ONI AI’s brain.
“I just hope the little bleeder doesn’t nip in here when our backs are turned and mess around with Bogof. You can remove the chip now, Vaz. You know what to do.”
The moment Vaz pulled the chip, BB’s view of the outside world cut to Vaz’s helmet cam. It was limited, but it would have to do. Vaz managed to lead quite a full life with almost as little input.
“Ramp down.” Vaz pressed the control and squeezed out of the cockpit with Staffan behind. “Mal’s right. The decor and the lighting in hinge-head ships make them look like empty nightclubs.”
As he stepped onto the deck, his head jerked around and BB was looking at two suited bodies with long, tapering masks, slumped against the bulkhead and not doing a lot of moving.
“Better check.” Vaz drew his magnum. “It’s not unknown for buzzards to play dead.”
“Don’t lose that pistol, will you?” BB said. “I don’t think we’ll be getting yours back from New Tyne. Or your holdall.”
“I’m putting in a claim. That was my personal stuff.”
Vaz poked the slumped Kig-Yar with his boot while Staffan watched. They looked pretty dead to BB. The air indicator on their suits was past the emergency reserve mark.
“Must have repressurized recently,” Staffan said.
“Does he just not like killing,” Vaz asked, “or is he okay with letting us die?”
“How should I know?” Staffan said. “He’s the first Huragok I’ve met.”
Vaz removed the weapons and shoved them into his webbing with a struggle, then started looking around the bulkheads.
“Terminal,” he said quietly.
BB couldn’t see any kind of port like the one Leaks had described to plug into. He was still scanning everything in the camera’s field of view when it jerked up as Vaz stared at the deckhead. BB heard a sound like a drain tool working its way through a pipe. In the subdued violet light, he could see a couple of pitch-black openings, and then a familiar translucent shape drifted out and descended with slow grace.
“Hi, Sinks,” Staffan said. “It’s me. Take a closer look.”
The Huragok peered into Vaz’s faceplate and cocked his head this way and that until Vaz remembered to lift the top filter on his visor. He seemed satisfied that it was Vaz inside, and moved across to Staffan.
Staffan gestured at the bodies. “What happened to the Kig-Yar here?”
“Can we get to the bridge, Sinks?”
“Well, Vaz is great at handling that. I would be, too, if he’d give me a firearm, but we’re going to need to take back the ship.”
“Really?”
Staffan nodded thoughtfully. BB knew from odd comments that Adj had made that Covenant crews could be dismissive of Huragok, so Sinks probably thought Staffan was a gentleman. He listened and replied politely. Sometimes that was all it took to gain an edge.
“Can you put me on the ship’s broadcast so that I can talk to them through the translation system?” Staffan asked. “Maybe I can persuade them. I know you don’t want to hurt people.”
So he was both morally aware and honest. BB could respect that. Sinks drifted up to the deck level, and by the time Staffan and Vaz found the ramp and got up there, he was rubbing his tentacles together almost as if he was impatient. But that wasn’t what the gesture meant in Huragok sign language. Sinks was just cleaning his cilia, the equivalent of a human dusting his hands on his pants. BB debated whether a quick conversation to show his linguistic skills would win hearts and minds, but he had no way of projecting his hologram from Vaz’s suit.
And Sinks didn’t know he was there yet. It was probably best to keep it that way.
Sinks moved off toward a set of doors at the end of the wide passage.
“Vaz, look along the bulkheads,” BB whispered. “Both sides. Quickly. I’m looking for a port. Once I find one, stick the chip in fast. Got it?”
“Yes.” Vaz stopped and scanned obediently. It was the easiest way to take in all of both surfaces quickly, and BB could extract more information from the camera than Vaz could from his eyes. On the starboard side, ten meters from the doors, BB was sure he could see a data port. “There. Right. Near the door. Get up there now.”
Staffan had reached the ship’s address mike, a small grille in the bulkhead. He stood in front of it and took off his helmet to scratch his scalp. “That’s better. Okay, Sinks, can I hear their reply?”
“Chol Von,” Staffan said. “Can you hear me? Do you understand me?”
There was a scrambling noise from hidden speakers. “Who are you?” The Kig-Yar seemed to be speaking fluent English thanks to the translation system. “You sound like a flat-face.”
“Now,” BB said. “Just sidle up, stand there, and—”
“I know.” Vaz strode up to passage, drew level with the data port, and turned his back to it. BB got the impression that he was trying to look as if he was getting ready to storm the bridge if the doors opened. Then he reached into his belt. Even BB thought he was taking out a spare magazine or a stun grenade. But Vaz looked down and slid a small wafer of silicone between his fingers. “Okay…”
“Chol, you’re trapped,” Staffan said. “Just listen to the Huragok, follow the path out to the dropship, and get out. Can’t say fairer than that.”
“Go copulate with an Unggoy.”
“If you won’t leave, I’m going to have to upset the Huragok and kill you.”
“If you could, you already would have, human. Spoils of war. This is my ship.”
Vaz took a slow step back toward the data port. Sinks seemed distracted by the exchange between Staffan and Chol. Staffan just scratched his scalp. BB thought that he seemed rather resigned for an arms dealer preloaded with Spartan genes and who was near the top of the UNSC’s most pants-crapping list.
“You’ve got maybe sixteen crew left alive,” Staffan said. “You’re all trapped. No radio. No ship. No idea where you are or what’s waiti
“Now,” BB said.
Vaz stepped backward, fumbled for a second, and then turned to press the chip home. BB’s consciousness burst into an instant carnival of light, noise, and data. He was watching the scene at the door, but he was also racing along a bright blue river like a water-skier, taking in every stream to either side, fascinating streams that led to other places that he could see, hear, and feel.
Sinks let out a long bleat.
“It’s okay, Sinks, we’re just getting the drop on the Kig-Yar,” Vaz said.
BB fell into a deep blue core like a diver, letting himself sink in the eddies of lovely, lovely data, then bobbed to the surface again to survey the world he’d fallen into. The bridge, violet-lit again, with an angry Skirmisher raging at a disembodied voice: the drive compartment, the weapons decks, the beautiful lacework tracery of the data network, the hangars, the nav center—and the ventral beams. He saw it all like an infinitely perfect anatomical dissection. He was everywhere, and it was glorious. He plunged into the data banks and sucked up everything he could find, sending it hurtling back down the intense blue river to the data chip at the port by the door. It took seconds to absorb it, but it was done.
“Vaz, remove the chip,” he said. “It’s loaded. I’m in. You’ve got all the data. Now we can pick this off in our own time.”