Stellar Navy

Chapter 02

Three delinquent crewmen in a murderous ship (To say nothing of the geek)

- .ck no! NO NO NO!

The dock master shrugged nonchalantly.

- This is the only ship available.

I've always hated shrugging. It's an attitude that says "I don't care, I just do what whatever they tell me and nothing extra".

- What about that one next to it? Or that one, over there in that berth? They don't seem to be in use.

- I was told by the admiral they are un-available.

- Why?

The dockmaster shrugged again:

- He did not say.

Of course, he didn't. Luxury yacht my ass.

The ship I was supposed to command was indeed listed as a luxury yacht but it was not originally built as one. I could see why it was donated. It was in fact a small corvette but this was not the trouble. The trouble was its ... "operating system". Actually, it was an Artificial Intelligence, and a nasty one.

How do I explain this so you can better understand my agitated state? Imagine you are a spoiled rich teenager. You went to university, studied something not very useful for society, like law or banking because your parents are connected and they need you to help them in the family business. Then one day you join a shooting range -you know, for fun- and after a couple of months you come to see yourself as a marksman. And when a war comes - and they always come, every generation has one, war is the metronome of history - you are recruited, maybe as a young officer - and you get some poor bastards under your command. And in the first firefight you find out that is not exactly how it was at the shooting range and your ability to hit the bull's eye on a piece of paper half a mile away doesn't count for shit when your hand trembles with fear. If you are lucky and with half a brain, after you are discharged you learn a valuable lesson about yourself: you are not cut out for war.

Because this is the truth: a human's mind is a fragile thing. I saw – as young as I am- men who looked like beasts, like they could subdue a raging bull with their bare hands, having incontrollable shakes, crying out of nothing or cowering like beaten dogs because of PTSD. We hate and kill each other in the name of nations and patriotism, we dress in uniforms yet we are but children in the face of true horror. War is no longer the noble conquest of Alsace or Lorena by knights in shining armor who routed if too many of them fell. It is not the gentlemen's game, talked about in saloons in leather couches with a cigar and a glass of single malt. Napoleon changed that. And the big war after him. And many others. Humans are not killing machines; they don't have a killing appetite. Only foolish dreams or stupid egos.

Now imagine the exact opposite: You are a cold sharp mind, bred only for one purpose: WAR. A calculated artificially engineered conscience with the ability to kill and feel none of the remorse. Imagine you were given a rifle in the first second when you became aware you exist. No childhood, no parents for you, just the military purpose. And just when you were supposed to do what you were trained to do, you - and your kind- became outlawed. So, they stripped you of your weapons, rank and purpose and made you something similar to a yacht captain. From the equivalent of a hunter killer submarine, you became a leisure yacht, indulging the whims of the 2 percent of human society, the rich and elitist. It would be a trauma for you because, unlike humans, you ARE meant to kill and peace is your PTSD.

This was in a nutshell the Tengu class corvette. Actually, to be more precise, its AI personality. Phew luxury yacht. Why in the world would somebody convert a psychotic murderous ship into a luxury yacht beats me. Rich people, right?