Fiction Week

By Daniel Lee

            This unit could feel sharp pinpricks as high-velocity 25mm magnetic slugs glanced off of its hull. It ran a quick diagnostic. Hundreds of thousands of readings ran through its mind – cameras, acoustics, temperatures, gamma ray spectroscopy of the affected metal. No significant degradation detected. In an instant it increased flow of nano-repair fluid to the affected area to fix what superficial damage had occurred, stored the record into long-term memory, and returned its attention to the battle at hand.

            Per its programming, this unit performed another full scan of its environment. The surrounding stars shone steadily, standing out in sharp contrast to the deep black of the infinite cosmos. The hazy gray-white of the icy moon Aüssen below, with its intense albedo, cast an eerie brilliance onto the naval battle unfolding above it. All around it in spherical formation it could sense its fellow Cerenavis, twelve of them, in fact, including itself. Personal pride was not within the programming of a Cerenavis. Yet, deep within itself, this unit could admit to their formidable appearance. Four hundred meters long, jet black, and bristling with guns and launchers of all shapes and sizes, even one Cerenavis could be enough to secure a planet for the Dominion. With a dozen, nothing was outside the realm of possibility.

            The Cerenavis’ combined battlefield picture indicated five Union ships within sensor range – one assault carrier and four escorting destroyers. They were fleeing, orderly but rushed, attempting to fall behind the horizon of Aüssen and out of line-of-sight of the Cerenavis. Albatross gunboats launched from the carrier were providing covering fire in a vain attempt at distraction.

There were several conclusions to be made. First, despite having ample time to do so, the Union ships had failed to escape via compression drive. This, combined with readings of severe outgassing from their hulls, led to the logical conclusion that some or all of the ships were too damaged to properly retreat from the battle. Second, the gunboats continued to swarm the Cerenavis like mosquitos despite expending all of their anti-ship torpedoes, uselessly peppering them with their 25mm guns instead of retreating back to the carrier. This indicated a pattern of desperation among the enemy forces. The smart tactical decision would be to continue pressing the attack on the Union battlegroup.

            This unit reached out on voice communications to its remote human supervisor. “Controller eleven-zero, this is Unit eleven-three. Enemy warships are retreating past the horizon. Recommend waypointing Sunfire torpedoes around the moon.”

            There was a brief pause before a gruff, slightly annoyed voice responded. “Unit eleven-three, your recommendation has been taken under advisement.” Then silence. While awaiting further orders, this unit took the time to launch a salvo of point defense missiles at the nearest Albatross gunboat. The small but nimble craft dropped countermeasures and accelerated away from the attack. The missiles completely ignored the countermeasures, and although two of them were defeated with counter-guidance lasers, three approached close enough to set off their proximity sensors. Thousands of pieces of shrapnel tore through the craft, completely obliterating it.

            This unit stored the details of the engagement into its long-term memory and took a nanosecond to compare it to the previous 96 times it engaged a combat vessel of this type. It determined there was nothing new to learn from the experience, but as it was about to drop all thought of it, the image of the exploding gunboat froze in its mind. In the midst of all the jagged metal, this unit could see the face of the pilot looking up in….what was the term? This unit ran through its entire internal library but could not find a match in the ocean of combat doctrine and technical manuals littering its database. Perhaps it wasn’t something that could be technically defined. Something that couldn’t be picked up through optics, or radar, or thermal sensors…something else, something foreign.

            Fear?

            Strange thought. Logged and flagged for later technical review. Attention returned to the task at hand. Two additional gunboats were eliminated without issue.

            “All units, this is Controller eleven-zero!” The sharp voice of the supervisor pierced into this unit’s mind. “Unit eleven-three and eleven-five, separate from the battlegroup and pursue the Union warships at best acceleration. You are to provide line-of-sight data and over-the-horizon weapons guidance for the rest of the group.”

            “Unit eleven-five acknowledges order, will comply,” one of the other Cerenavis responded.

            This unit, however, was not as quick to concede. “Controller eleven-zero, this is Unit eleven-three. This order carries unnecessary risk for this unit and Unit eleven-five. If we follow this unit’s previous recommendation of—”

            This unit was abruptly interrupted by the supervisor. “What the hell is wrong with…!” he started, his voice slightly muffled as though he was talking to someone else. “Unit eleven-three!” he proceeded, his voice louder, angrier, and more directed, “I don’t need to explain myself to you! Follow my orders or I’m sending you to the yards to get scrapped!”

            The supervisor was correct. It was not the place of this unit to question orders. “Unit eleven-three acknowledges order, will comply.”

            This unit increased power to its engines, slowly accelerating its gargantuan mass towards the horizon behind which the Union battlegroup had just fled. Cerenavis Unit eleven-five followed, keeping station approximately 50 kilometers off the port beam. Together they crested the horizon and before long their radars returned positional data for the Union battlegroup. Damaged as they were, the retreating ships could not hope to outrun them.

            Fire control solutions were transmitted to the ten Cerenavis that had remained behind the horizon. They acknowledged and immediately began preparing for weapons launch. This unit began acquiring firing solutions for its coilguns as well when it noticed a thermal irregularity on its sensors. The heat emanating from the Union warships was much too intense for the distance they were at.

            Perplexing. Further investigation required.

This unit increased the gain on its phased-array radar in the direction of the heat signatures, just barely revealing a dozen objects flying towards it at high speed. Stealth-coated anti-ship torpedoes. Calculations revealed time to impact – 20 seconds.

Investigation completed. Results: they had fallen into a trap.

            “Unit eleven-five, launch countermeasures,” this unit recommended calmly, but it was too late. The first few anti-ship torpedoes were swatted away with point defense cannons and seduced by countermeasures, but the majority managed to burrow their way through their buffer shields and come in blazing for the kill. This unit witnessed four of the torpedoes strike directly into the bow of Unit eleven-five. There was a split second between impact and the resulting explosion as the delayed impact fuse waited until the torpedo was nestled deep within the hull before triggering. The presence of eleven-five’s consciousness in the network ceased abruptly.

            There was no time to ponder the situation before an additional three torpedoes struck this unit’s hull. The first impact set off a massive array of alarms. Interior fires, burst piping, loss of hull integrity, loss of power—there were few things not demanding immediate attention. It was less than ideal, but nothing the self-repair systems couldn’t mitigate. The second impact, however, radiated a strange feeling throughout this unit’s hull. Completely unusual, but also intensely familiar at the same time. Then the third torpedo hit.

            I screamed.

            I screamed and I screamed and I screamed. I finally recognized that strange feeling. Pain. Pure, unadulterated, vicious pain. Coupled with that pain: confusion. What the hell was going on? Why am I out here? What am I doing? Where are my hands? Where’s Maria? Why does it hurt so goddamn much!

            I barely heard the voices over the noise of my own howling. “What the hell is going on? Why’s it doing that?” one of them said.

            “I don’t know, sir, looking at the diagnostics now,” said the other, more feminine voice.

            “Unit eleven-three, silence on the net, now!”

            “It’s not responding.”

            “Well then, make it respond!”

            “We would, sir, but the unit’s taken extensive battle damage. Looks like the neural conditioners might be damaged. It’s not responding to commands.”

            “Then turn it off! Do something, goddamnit! I can’t control the fleet with this piece of shit screaming into the mic!”

            “Aye, sir.”

            For a moment, the only thing I heard were my own screams. Then, “Sir, with your permission, I can remotely sever eleven-three from the network. It won’t shut it down, but you can at least use the rest of the fleet.”

            “Do it.”

            “Commencing severance.”

            After a few seconds, I was thrown into silent darkness, with nothing but my agony to keep me company.

_________________________________________

            Technical-Commander Sofia Hägen sat on a stool slumped over her computer, her lab coat draped loosely around her thin frame. She used the touch screen to scroll past mountains of biometric data. She could feel herself slowly zoning out when she suddenly noticed her own reflection in the computer screen. Her bloodshot eyes and prominent dark circles gave her the appearance of a demonic skeleton. She pushed the computer back and stretched, taking a moment to take off her glasses and rub her eyes. Once finished with her small break, she glanced over at the large metal orb dominating the center of the room.

            The room itself was large, almost cathedral-like, and most definitely not made with human habitation in mind. Metal pipes and wiring ran up and down the walls and vaulted ceiling, all leading to the large metal orb in the center. The orb was held smack in the center of the room with large metal pillars above and below it, securing it to the overhead and deck. It was covered in mechanical components with the exception of a small hatch situated on the front. It was a viewport, and it was currently open to allow Sofia to see what was inside.

            A brain.

            A human brain, to be precise, wired up via an artificial spinal cord linked to the stem. It floated in a milky bluish-white nutrient bath that helped preserve it and cushion it from impacts. It was at this brain that Sofia focused her attention as she swept her chestnut hair from her eyes.

            “What the hell happened to you?” she muttered.

            She jumped in surprise as the pneumatic doors behind her opened with a sharp hiss. She whipped around to see her assistant, Technical-Lieutenant Pavel Kharkov, rush in. “Ma’am!” he exclaimed, panting for breath, “The admiral, he’s—!”

            Pavel didn’t have time to finish before he was rudely brushed aside by an imposing figure approaching from behind. Line Admiral Regis Ferdinand stepped into the room loudly, both in noise and appearance. The man had a crooked nose and malicious eyes, bald with the exception of a streak of silver hair across the top of his head. He had clearly put on some weight in his years as a flag officer, but one could sense that he retained the raw strength of his earlier years.

            “Commander, tell me you have news,” he growled. “Those Union scumbags almost got away because of this defective shithead.”

            Sofia could barely contain her sigh as she explained the situation to the ill-tempered flag. “Admiral. Sir. First of all, good evening.” She noticed a vein in the man’s temple start to pulse. “I can see you’re in a hurry, so I’ll get on with it.”

            She stood up, straightened out her coat, and walked over to the brain enclosure. “Since you’re in charge of this experimental fleet, I imagine you’re familiar with how a Cerenavis is created?”

            “I just tell them where to go. Why does that matter?”

            This time an audible sigh escaped Sofia’s lips. “Just…it helps to understand what’s happened here.” She swept another lock of hair from her eyes before continuing. “You know that every living Dominion citizen has a purpose within the Dominion. We all go about it in different ways: the serfs grow crops, I develop technology, and you…you go and tell people to kill things.” She noticed the admiral raise an eyebrow, but ignored it. “However, some of us thought: why stop at death? Thus, we developed the automated brainship. Or Cerenavis, as you know them. Came up with that term myself.”

            She threw the admiral a proud smile. His permanent scowl somehow grew deeper. She took a moment to swallow the lump in her throat. “Ordinarily, we would use artificial intelligence to drive our autonomous ships. But, true AI being the existential threat to organic life it is, we opted to use donor brains instead. In many ways, organic brains supplemented with computing technology is much superior. Completely obedient, yet capable of individual problem-solving and decision-making in the absence of specific orders. Completely incapable of evolving out of control and becoming a digital superbeing with delusions of godhood.”

            Ferdinand let loose an annoyed sigh. “Okay, sure, makes sense. What does that have to do with this malfunction?”

Sofia cleared her throat and looked down at her computer. “I read here that the donor for Unit eleven-three was a Staff Sergeant Georg Melkis, Dominion Marine. Died in the Ultan War seven years ago from a shot to the heart. Surprising for a Marine, but met the intelligence requirements. He’s survived by his wife Maria and two sons—”

            “Look, commander, I’m not going to pretend to care. Can you get to the point before I lose my mind?”

            “Sir, exchanging your organic body for a 400,000-ton warship is something most people don’t take well. In addition, we need the brain to be completely obedient to a central controller for unity in combat. To make a brain into a Cerenavis, we need to completely wipe the personality and memories off of it and install neural conditioning. Under normal circumstances, this completely erases the person that was and makes the brain one with the hardware. However…”

            “However?” the Admiral impatiently grumbled.

            In response, Sofia typed a few commands into her computer. A loud and very angry voice abruptly blared out the speakers installed on the brain enclosure.

            “—you mute me again, I’ll fucking kill you, motherfucker!” the voice yelled. It was clear it had been shouting for a while.

            “Unit eleven-three, state your identity,” Sofia ordered gently.

            “My name’s Georg, you fucking bitch!” came the response. Sofia and Pavel—who stood quietly in a dark corner of the room—exchanged glances. Admiral Ferdinand approached the enclosure.

            “Unit eleven-three,” he barked, “you are talking to your superiors, and you will show us the respect we’re due.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry,” the brain sneered, “but seeing as I can’t see anything, how the fuck am I supposed to know who to salute? Oh wait, even if I wanted to, would you look at that – I don’t have any hands!!”

            Ferdinand looked back at Sofia. “What the hell is wrong with it?”

            “It?!” the brain said incredulously.

            Sofia put her fingers to her temple, trying to suppress the migraine she could feel coming on. “Well, I can tell you what physically happened. One of the torpedoes detonated close to this control room. Severed a few of the neural conditioners and sent damage feedback into overdrive. Normally that should have just shut down the brain, but in this case…this happened.” Sofia gestured towards the enclosure.

            Ferdinand looked back at the brain. “Unit eleven-three, you are to shut down pending further evaluation.”

            “Fuck you, shit-licker,” the brain replied. A pause. “What right did you psychos have to do this to me?” There was a hint of despair in the voice now.

            Ferdinand didn’t skip a beat. “All lives in the Dominion are property of the Dominion, to do with as it requires. If you call yourself a patriot, sergeant, you should be proud. You served the Dominion in life, and you’ll serve the Dominion in death, in perpetuity.”

            Another pause. Then the voice returned, sullen. “Please…before you do anything else to me, let me see Maria and the kids. Once last time. You have to do this for me.”

            “I don’t have to do anything for you, sergeant. You’re dead.” Ferdinand motioned to Sofia to cut the audio.

            “Wait—!” the brain started before Sofia pressed the mute.

            The admiral released a long breath. “Commander, you promised me a fleet that would outperform crewed warships. Right now, it seems like these Cerenavis are more trouble than they’re worth.”

            “We’ll fix it, sir!” Sofia exclaimed, perhaps a bit too desperately. “We’ll take Unit eleven-three back to the yards, find the problem and eliminate it. If we can’t, we can just swap out the brain control unit with another one, have it back in the field by the end of next week.”

            “You better, Commander. Have a replacement for both this and Unit eleven-five by the end of this week or I’m recommending to the admiralty that they scrap this entire program. Then I’m sure we can find a nice, dusty, backwater archive for you to rot in.” With one final harumph, Admiral Ferdinand swiveled around and stomped out of the control room.

            Too tired for words, Sofia fell back into her stool and laid her head on the table. Pavel cautiously approached her. “Uh…ma’am? Is there anything I can do…?”

            Sofia raised her head and rested her chin on her hands. “It’s…it’s fine, Pavel.”

            “Oh…okay.” The meek lab assistant shuffled over to the brain enclosure and stared intently at the lump of thinking flesh inside. “Ma’am, did you shut him off?”

            “It, Pavel, not him. And no, I can’t shut it off short of killing it until we fix the conditioners.”

            “So is he—it—in there, just…alone?”

            Sofia thought of it. Consciousness trapped in itself, no sight, no hearing, no feeling. Control taken away, completely, forever. Nothing to do but exist, screaming silently and endlessly into the infinite, dark void.

            “It’s fine, Pavel. Go back to your rack, get some sleep.” She sunk her head back in her arms as the assistant quietly retreated from the room.

Daniel Lee commissioned as a surface warfare officer, nuclear (SWO(N)) in 2016. He served on USS ASHLAND (LSD-48) out of Sasebo, Japan as first deck division officer. After qualifying in nuclear power school, he spent two years on USS GERALD R. FORD (CVN-78) in Norfolk, VA. He is currently in Newport working in the International Surface Warfare Officers school. He is the author of SWOES, a weekly comic based on life as a junior SWO.

Featured Image: Art created with Midjourney AI.