Free Galaxy's Edge Magazine: Issue 7: March 2014 by Mike Resnick;C. J. Cherryh;Steve Cameron;Robert Sheckley;Martin L. Shoemaker;Mercedes Lackey;Lou J. Berger;Elizabeth Bear;Brad R. Torgersen;Robert T. Jeschonek;Alexei Panshin;Gregory Benford;Barry Malzberg;Paul Cook;L. Sprague de Camp
of the hardware. Without the inducer, Sully was as much a prisoner of the hardware as I was. She was desperately waiting for help, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I couldn’t even help myself. That I was just waiting for a chance to off myself. I would’ve laughed, if I’d been in the mood for funny. Here I was, a brain trapped in a suit walking on its own mission; and there she was, trapped in a treatment cabinet with only her head free. Weren’t we a pair?
I didn’t laugh, but I could’ve cried when Sully got on the line again. “Fitz? You’re comin’ for me, right? You can get me outa here …” She sounded weaker and more desperate.
I stalled. “I’m no pilot, 73129.”
“Easy … Like wearin’ … suit, only think bigger. You can do it …”
“We’ll see.” I closed the line. I didn’t want to lie to Sully. It looked like her number was up right along with mine. With Cap and the pilot gone, no one seemed to be in charge. Shit, I might be the most senior officer still functional. Except the suit I wore didn’t think I counted as functional.
Wait! The suit didn’t think so, but maybe the Duke hadn’t gotten the message. I changed to the command circuit. “Command Unit SV-C-12703J, this is SPC-73732.” I had to phrase this carefully. If I reached too far, the Command Unit would reject it as a cyber-attack. It might even counter attack, possibly disabling the suit I wore. That would finish me, but only when I died of thirst. I had to be vague and let the ship fill in its own details. “I am reporting for duty, and I claim all command powers and duties appropriate to my current status in the command structure.”
The Command Unit was much smarter and faster than a suit computer, of course. Even though my phrasing had been tricky, the Command Unit didn’t pause at all. “Understood. All routine command dec i sions have been delegated to Command Unit until relieved by proper authorities. Contingent decisions to be handled by best judgment in consultation with human officers as available.” Great. This entire mission was now on auto-pilot, and the auto-pilot would decide when to consult me.
Then the Command Unit added: “SPC-73732 is duly promoted to Senior Armor Officer and is given full authority to direct CMM and PBM operations.”
Great! That was all I really needed. Now the suit would have to listen to me. “Suit, this is Senior Armor Officer Fitzsimmons, Alexander. I order you to stop.”
But the suit’s decision cloud reached a different conclusion than the Command Unit had. “Negative. Senior Armor Officer Fitzsimmons, Alexander is classified disabled and unable to serve as Senior Armor Officer.”
We were at an impasse: the suit had registered my field promotion, but it still refused to recognize my authority. As the suit marched along the path to the Duke , it at least gave me something to distract me from my black thoughts: I was pissed!
***
I tried every override code I knew. I tried logic and reason. I tried screaming, but that only earned me a quick jolt of tranquilizer. Eventually I decided the suit was defective, its decision cloud damaged, and it had locked into core protocols. It had made up its “mind,” and nothing I could do would change it.
But while my head swam from the tranquilizer, a wild idea struck me: this suit saw me as disabled, but maybe the other suits would see me as Senior Armor Officer. I’d received the field promotion, the suit knew it, so the news was out on TacNet. Maybe I could make the other suits do what I couldn’t.
When my head cleared, I revisited the idea. What did I have to lose? Then I laughed. Everything. That was what I wanted, to lose everything. But I couldn’t see any obvious flaws in the plan, so I got on TacNet and called up the suit command channel. “All suits, this is Senior Armor Officer Fitzsimmons, Alexander. Pause program.” I checked the heads-up display; and I was glad that our comm systems were
I didn’t laugh, but I could’ve cried when Sully got on the line again. “Fitz? You’re comin’ for me, right? You can get me outa here …” She sounded weaker and more desperate.
I stalled. “I’m no pilot, 73129.”
“Easy … Like wearin’ … suit, only think bigger. You can do it …”
“We’ll see.” I closed the line. I didn’t want to lie to Sully. It looked like her number was up right along with mine. With Cap and the pilot gone, no one seemed to be in charge. Shit, I might be the most senior officer still functional. Except the suit I wore didn’t think I counted as functional.
Wait! The suit didn’t think so, but maybe the Duke hadn’t gotten the message. I changed to the command circuit. “Command Unit SV-C-12703J, this is SPC-73732.” I had to phrase this carefully. If I reached too far, the Command Unit would reject it as a cyber-attack. It might even counter attack, possibly disabling the suit I wore. That would finish me, but only when I died of thirst. I had to be vague and let the ship fill in its own details. “I am reporting for duty, and I claim all command powers and duties appropriate to my current status in the command structure.”
The Command Unit was much smarter and faster than a suit computer, of course. Even though my phrasing had been tricky, the Command Unit didn’t pause at all. “Understood. All routine command dec i sions have been delegated to Command Unit until relieved by proper authorities. Contingent decisions to be handled by best judgment in consultation with human officers as available.” Great. This entire mission was now on auto-pilot, and the auto-pilot would decide when to consult me.
Then the Command Unit added: “SPC-73732 is duly promoted to Senior Armor Officer and is given full authority to direct CMM and PBM operations.”
Great! That was all I really needed. Now the suit would have to listen to me. “Suit, this is Senior Armor Officer Fitzsimmons, Alexander. I order you to stop.”
But the suit’s decision cloud reached a different conclusion than the Command Unit had. “Negative. Senior Armor Officer Fitzsimmons, Alexander is classified disabled and unable to serve as Senior Armor Officer.”
We were at an impasse: the suit had registered my field promotion, but it still refused to recognize my authority. As the suit marched along the path to the Duke , it at least gave me something to distract me from my black thoughts: I was pissed!
***
I tried every override code I knew. I tried logic and reason. I tried screaming, but that only earned me a quick jolt of tranquilizer. Eventually I decided the suit was defective, its decision cloud damaged, and it had locked into core protocols. It had made up its “mind,” and nothing I could do would change it.
But while my head swam from the tranquilizer, a wild idea struck me: this suit saw me as disabled, but maybe the other suits would see me as Senior Armor Officer. I’d received the field promotion, the suit knew it, so the news was out on TacNet. Maybe I could make the other suits do what I couldn’t.
When my head cleared, I revisited the idea. What did I have to lose? Then I laughed. Everything. That was what I wanted, to lose everything. But I couldn’t see any obvious flaws in the plan, so I got on TacNet and called up the suit command channel. “All suits, this is Senior Armor Officer Fitzsimmons, Alexander. Pause program.” I checked the heads-up display; and I was glad that our comm systems were
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