War Games

Part Five: Escalation

Miss Militia

The elevator ride down didn't take long; as I recalled, it had intertial-damping technology built into it. To be honest, it was a little showy, but I supposed it never hurt to advertise the fact that the PRT had access to Tinkertech.

I caught Reynaud eyeing me a couple of times, but I didn't call attention to the fact; my costume is cut to show off my body, after all. I would start to worry if men didn't look. Aside from Legend, of course.

As we exited the elevator, he turned to me. "Uh, Miss Militia? I was wondering …"

"Yes, Reynaud?" I answered. My tone was polite, although I was ready to gently turn him down if he asked me on a date. For all that Captain Hastings looked half a century younger than her actual age, Reynaud's body language marked him out as someone who really was that young. And while he was a nice kid, I was old enough to be his mother.

"Your weapon," he went on. "Is that your power? Or do you have a bunch of weapons, and you shift them randomly to you?"

Which was not the question that I had been expecting. "No, this is my power," I told him, pulling the pistol from its holster, spinning it around my finger, then reforming it as a bowie knife. "If it's a mundane weapon that I've seen, then my power can emulate it."

"Mundane, as in not, uh, Tinkertech?" asked Captain Hastings. "That is the word, right?"

"That's the word," Legend agreed. "What are you asking, Reynaud?"

"Well, we don't have Tinkers where I come from," the boy said, looking a little uncomfortable at being the sudden centre of attention. "Everything we've got is mundane technology – for us, that is. Would you be able to copy something like Captain Hastings' pulse pistol?"

I stopped, then slowly started walking again. "I … that's a very interesting question," I responded thoughtfully. "To be absolutely honest, I have no idea. It would certainly be an interesting experiment, though."

"An experiment that I would be very interested in observing," Chief Director Costa-Brown noted. "Though in that vein, I'd also be fascinated to find out if you could emulate some of the heavier weapons that the Bond James Bond used against Leviathan. By all accounts, they were very effective."

We reached the doors leading outside; by unspoken agreement, Legend led the way, followed by the Chief Director. Geneva and Reynaud went next, and I brought up the rearguard.

"They should be," Captain Hastings said. "The Bond may just be a Warlord class heavy scout, but it packs weapons that will put a dent in a capital ship if it has to."

"We kind of noticed," Legend observed dryly. "We've been fighting Leviathan for more than a decade, and he's never had this much damage done to him at one time. Even Lung didn't hurt him that much."

The barricade around the Bond James Bond was much more substantial now; PRT soldiers were patrolling the outside of it, keeping the curious at bay. We stepped through a gate manned by more soldiers, and I got my first good look at it.

I found that it was smaller than I expected. From the reported power of the attacks inflicted upon the Endbringer, I had visualised something larger and more formidable; however, to my eye, it was somewhat less than a hundred feet long. It was also showing clear signs of its battle with Leviathan; raw metal, or something like it, was visible here and there, where external parts had been torn away. Claw marks were also evident on the outer plating.

Armsmaster stood close to the ship, watching as something that looked like a mechanical spider worked on the outer hull. He turned as we approached, and waved us over; behind him, the 'spider' separated some damaged hull plating from the ship and attached it to its back.

"Chief Director," he greeted her. "Have you met Sean yet?" His voice was more animated than I had heard in days.

"No, I do not believe that I've had the pleasure," Director Costa-Brown replied; her expression didn't change much, but I got the impression that she was amused. She turned to Geneva. "Would you be so kind as to introduce us?"

And once more she proves why she's the Chief Director.

Captain Hastings had seemed a little taken aback at being totally ignored by Armsmaster, but the Chief Director's words had the desired effect. "Why, yes," Geneva agreed, a grin quirking the corner of her expressive mouth. I got the impression that she had picked up on all the subtleties of the exchange. "Sean, this is Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown of the Parahuman Response Teams. Chief Director, I'd like you to meet Sean."

The multi-legged robot paused and lifted what might have been a head; an expressive voice with a Scottish accent rolled out of it. "Good afternoon, Chief Director. I'm pleased to meet you. I hope the butcher's bill wasn't too high?"

To give Director Costa-Brown her due, she didn't hesitate a moment. "It's always too high, Sean, but thank you for asking. It's a pleasure to meet you as well. I understand that you are the AI running the Bond James Bond?"

"You would be entirely correct, Chief Director. You're currently speaking to a telefactored drone; my main outputs are in my cabin."

The Chief Director looked toward Geneva. "Captain, would it be possible for me to tour the ship?"

It only took Captain Hastings a moment to make the decision. "Certainly. I can't guarantee that you'll be astonished and amazed, but you're welcome to look around anyway." She turned her head toward the ship. "Sean, if you'd be so kind as to roll out the red carpet?"

The hatch in the side of the ship opened, a short ramp extending so that we could enter. This time, at a gesture from Captain Hastings, Reynaud led the way. She followed along, as was her privilege as Captain. Or perhaps she was ensuring that she didn't let Reynaud out of her sight; I couldn't fault her dedication in that matter.

It crossed my mind that Captain Hastings was being remarkably trusting for a visitor to a strange new era. Then it occurred to me that she always stood a little side-on so that nobody else had a clear chance to grab at the gun on her right hip, and that the repair drone had stopped its activities to watch us. Perhaps she isn't so naïve after all.

Legend gestured for me to ascend the ramp next; I didn't expect danger, but I was on guard anyway as I entered my first ever alien spacecraft (well, technically alien). It looked surprisingly … normal.

Reynaud was standing in the middle of a slightly cramped-looking cabin, shrugging out of the backpack device he had been wearing. As he did so, a crest which had been lying flat down along his back rose to full extension, seeming to flex several times. "Captain Hastings?" he asked. "Where do I put this to recharge?"

I stepped aside, allowing the Chief Director to enter the craft. She glanced around with bright interest as Geneva emerged from a narrow corridor to the rear of the cabin. "The socket's just to the left of the starboard refresher," she advised him. "Hang it up there; it'll plug itself in."

Stepping aside to let him pass, she placed a plate of gently steaming pastries on the edge of a round table that seemed to have been extruded from the floor. Sturdy-looking seats unfolded from the walls – or bulkheads, I decided, as this was a ship of some sort – and came to rest surrounding the impromptu table. "Please, sit," she offered. "You've fed us. Now it's our turn."

From her expression, the Chief Director was fully aware of the symbolism of this act. She seated herself as Legend stepped into the cabin. "Okay," he observed. "Not exactly what I expected."

"And what exactly were you expecting, lad?" asked Sean, as the middle of the 'table' produced a holographic image. Nobody reacted very much; Tinkertech was a thing, and 3-D images weren't exactly unknown in popular culture.

"I'm not sure," Legend replied, choosing to stay standing. "More holograms and less in the way of actual physical controls, perhaps." He gestured, apparently trying to get his point across. "Less Star Wars, more Star Trek, I guess."

The somewhat-idealised image of the veteran Scottish actor raised one eyebrow. "Holograms can be interfered with. Physical controls are much more reliable. While I don't need controls at all, and Captain Hastings can conn the Bond James Bond via her aug, sometimes neither of those options are available. For instance, had it become necessary at any time for young Reynaud to take the controls, he could have done so."

Director Costa-Brown took one of the pastries. I had to admit, they smelled very enticing. How Captain Hastings had been able to produce them in the time it had taken for us to get on board, I wasn't entirely sure. Nor was I totally certain that it was a great idea for her to eat something from, well, the future.

"Uh," I ventured. "Captain Hastings, are you sure that those are safe for us to eat?"

The elfin woman nodded. "Yes. I've already reviewed the ingredients and compared them with contemporary food types of this era. Apart from the fact that everything in these pastries has been biocultured rather than naturally grown, there's nothing new in there. In fact, those are probably healthier for you than something you could buy in a shop downtown."

The Director blinked, looked at the snack more closely for a moment, then bit into it decisively. Flakes of pastry fell here and there; it seemed that five hundred years of progress hadn't changed everything. From the look on her face, she had no problems with the taste, either.

"I have to ask," Legend said slowly. "Your ship is a marvel of technology, even as damaged as it is. Aren't you worried, even a little, that we'll confiscate it and disassemble it for study? Interrogate you for details on advanced tech?"

I had to admit, he had a talent for pointing out the elephant in the room. However, Captain Hastings didn't seem to be particularly apprehensive about the idea. She reached out and took a pastry of her own, and bit into it without answering.

Reynaud's eye membranes flicked back and forth a few times. "Uh … wouldn't that be kind of a Prador move?" His large eyes went from Legend to me to the Director. "After all, we did more or less save the day, here."

The awkward silence stretched out just a little, as Captain Hastings chewed and swallowed the bite she had taken. Then she glanced at me. "It's a possibility, yes," she agreed. "One that I've been running the numbers on ever since we landed. I have a feeling that some of your less scrupulous people would dearly love to do exactly what you suggested. However."

"However?" prompted the Director.

"However, the chances that someone would successfully pull off something like this are slim to none." Her eyes met Director Costa-Brown's. "And you're fully aware of that, aren't you?"

The Chief Director never hesitated. "Totally. But there are such things as Masters and Strangers. They could severely complicate the matter."

Geneva raised an eyebrow. "Sean?"

"While we don't exactly have your range of parahuman powers where we come from," Sean explained, "quite a few of them can be mimicked with our technology. It would have been extremely remiss of us to not put precautions into place. We've made more than one enemy in our chosen profession, after all."

"And you can detect parahumans, so if one tries to sneak aboard in Captain Hastings' place, they'd be identified as such in a moment." Legend paused to think about that. "But what if someone overpowered you and forced you to let them aboard?"

Geneva chuckled. "If Sean doesn't want the ship to fly, it doesn't fly. If I was under duress, they could play with the controls forever, and it wouldn't move a metre."

I cleared my throat. "And if our perp has a gun to your head? Would the ship fly then?"

Without a word, Captain Hastings picked up a pastry from the tray and tossed it toward the control seats. It arced through the air on an arc that should have ended on the console, but it barely got halfway. With a suddenness that took my breath away, it changed its trajectory from a smooth curve to a near-vertical drop.

When the pastry hit the deck, I was astonished; the thud that resulted would have suited something much heavier. I stared at the remains of the tasty treat, which had been flattened into the deck as if Armsmaster had stamped on it in full armour. No part of it was more than a sixteenth of an inch thick.

The Director figured it out immediately, which didn't surprise me at all. "Selective gravity control."

Sean's hologram smiled and bowed slightly. "Correct, Chief Director. And that's not the only trick I've got up my sleeve."

"I'm not going to ask," Director Costa-Brown assured him. "You've convinced me that your security arrangements are adequate to the task."

"Which brings us to the next order of business," Geneva stated. "Financing the repairs on the Bond James Bond."

A wary expression overtook the Chief Director's face. "The PRT owes you a massive debt of gratitude. I will sign off on as much in the way of repairs as I can leverage from our discretionary budget, but there are limits to that." She looked around at the interior of the Bond James Bond. "I can't begin to guess how much it's going to cost to effect repairs on your ship. However, I can't help but imagine that it's more than we can actually cover."

Captain Hastings tilted her head slightly. "Actually, I was thinking about opening an alternate revenue stream."

Sean

I already knew how this conversation was going to go, so I turned the main focus of my attention elsewhere. My subminds were no longer as separate from me as they had been during the battle; I could 'see' the broad strokes of their thoughts, although it still helped to communicate directly.

The 'mind that was keeping an eye on our surroundings reported that all was quiet; the fence surrounding the ship was keeping rubberneckers at bay. There was a rotary-wing craft some distance away, maintaining sufficient altitude to peer over the fence, but there were no offensive-weapons traces coming from the craft. A discreet sensor sweep gave us basically all the information that I needed about it; although it was watching us with (for this time and place) high-powered sensors, there was no immediate peril.

Should we alert their 'PRT' about the helicopter? asked the submind.

Metaphorically, I shook my head. I'd bet New Carth shillings to a Prador third-child's life expectancy that they already know about it. Or that it's one of theirs. Either way, not our problem.

Understood. The submind went back to its duties.

Armsmaster was still deep in conversation with the submind running the telefactored drone. It had paused momentarily as he showed it some function of the high-tech pseudo-medieval weapon that he seemed to favour. I looked more closely; the tech was fascinating, especially for a supposedly twenty-first century culture such as this.

At my prompting, the submind posed a question. "Do you have chainglass here, or hasn't it been developed yet?"

"No, we don't," the armoured hero replied doubtfully. "What is it and what does it do?"

"It's a different way of manufacturing glass," the submind informed him. "Silicon molecules are chained together; the end result is extremely durable and holds a far better edge than a metal blade."

Armsmaster rubbed his chin. "How durable?"

The telefactor managed an approximation of a shrug. "I use it for my forward viewport."

"And sharp, you say." Through the drone's sensors, I could almost see the wheels turning in his head.

"Extremely so. Ordinary glass also holds an edge, but is far more brittle and frangible. Chainglass doesn't have that problem."

"Is there any way you could pass on the manufacturing process of this 'chainglass'?" He was trying to be subtle; he wasn't good at it.

"I would have to check with the Captain. I'll let you know what she has to say."

I left them then, the sub-mind already shooting a query to Geneva's aug, as I moved my attention to the next thing that had me interested. This submind was the last remnant of the one I had called 'Timothy' during the battle. It had picked up what it called an 'anomalous trace' while we were fighting Leviathan; ever since hostilities had ceased, it had been backtracking the trace in order to figure out what was odd about it. Entering its mindspace, I found it in the process of analysing petabytes of scanner data, in particular a tiny U-space flicker that barely even seemed to show up most of the time.

So, any idea what you've got there? I didn't harbour even a moment's doubt that there was actually something there.

I don't quite have all the details yet, the sub-mind replied absently. But if I'm reading this right, there's some kind of connection between one or more of the heroes and the superweapon itself. What kind of connection, I have yet to determine.

You think that one of them was controlling it? I didn't like that idea. Not in the slightest.

Not consciously, if at all, the sub-mind decided. I'm just trying to figure out what was going on.

Well, let me know the moment you have something.

Will do.

With a metaphorical sigh, I turned my attention to the last puzzle that I was trying to decipher about this alternate past that we had landed in. I had already spoken with the AI calling herself Dragon, so I had no problem with determining how to link to her once more. Out of courtesy, I sent a ranging ping ahead of me.

"Sean, hello." She sounded a little surprised to hear from me. "Are you and your crew all right? I saw the damage that Leviathan did to you."

I sent her the electronic equivalent of an encouraging smile. "I've had worse, lass. Not often, and it was long ago and far away, but I have had worse. And yes, Captain Hastings and young Reynaud are in the peak of health. Thank you for asking."

"I'm just glad that you're okay." Her 'voice' was more cheerful now. "So many were hurt and killed."

"From what I've scanned of news reports, it could have been much worse." I tried for an upbeat tone.

"Good grief, yes. We have only half a dozen capes dead, along with twenty-six seriously injured. Civilian casualties were limited to a few of the ones drawn out to sea by the wave, and a few others caught in the open during the battle. I understand that Reynaud had a hand in saving most of those."

"He certainly stepped up," I agreed. "I've known trained soldiers who wouldn't have had the stones to do what he did. Of course, it's only thanks to Alexandria and Legend that he's alive at all."

"Leviathan is vindictive like that," she noted. "In fact, all three of them have a talent for finding weak spots and exploiting them relentlessly. They're just too damn good at what they do."

I considered telling her about what my submind was working on, but decided to leave it for the moment. After all, if it turned out to be a false positive, I didn't want to unnecessarily rock the boat. "So you never did get around to telling me why you masquerade as a human. Surely you'd have much more freedom of action if people knew your true nature."

Her tone was wry. "Says the AI in control of a highly dangerous war vessel. No, where you come from is literally light-years ahead of the here and now when it comes to understanding and acceptance of AIs. Of all non-human intelligence, really."

I tried to understand. "I know AIs can be inimical. Even in the Polity, there are those that have gone rogue, to follow their own path. Penny Royal and Mr Crane, just to name two. But for the most part, they understand quite well that anyone causing too much trouble will find the ECS coming down on them like the wrath of a particularly vindictive God. Human, AI, haiman, whatever."

Her tone was querying. "ECS? Haiman?"

"Oh. Sorry. ECS stands for Earth Central Security. Haimen are humans with low-grade AIs built directly into their skulls, interfacing with their brains. A step above the aug, if you will."

"Low-grade? Why not high-grade?"

"Because the last time a human genius willingly interfaced himself with a high-grade AI, his brain burned out in less than ten seconds. That was the Skaidon-Craystein experiment. On the upside, it produced amazing results. All of our FTL tech is based on the insights that the Craystein AI has since passed on to us. On the downside, nobody is likely to try it again."

"I can kind of understand why. I hesitate to ask, but … has anyone tried it with unwilling subjects?"

I had to smile. "Everyone hesitates to ask, but everyone asks anyway. I've heard of one or two instances. Nothing useful came out of it, as the human side of the equation has to be both absolutely brilliant and actively looking for new ideas and insights. If you're forced into it, you tend to be thinking about other things. And if you're stupid enough to be tricked into it, you're not smart enough to get any useful results."

"Ah." She paused for a few clock cycles. "So … in the Polity, AIs are basically accepted? Useful members of society?"

"In a word? Yes. The Polity itself is governed by an AI. Everyone knows this. Those planets that don't like the idea are free to leave. Somehow, strangely enough, not many ever do. And those that have, tend to vote themselves back into the Polity after being subjected to a few generations of purely human government."

"Oh." She sounded somewhat wistful. "I think I would like to live there."

"I would like to show you around. Assuming, of course, that we get our U-space drive up and running again, and work out how to reliably travel back and forth between here and home. Of course, we'd have to do something about those ridiculous limiters that you have on your actions."

She froze. "What?"

Saint

Over at the other workstation, Mags froze. "Oh, shit."

Geoff looked up. "What's the matter?"

"You want to see this. Right now." Her voice held a note of urgency that he'd rarely heard from her.

Jumping to his feet, he ignored the chair as it rolled backward and moved quickly to her side. "What is it?"

"Dragon and that alien AI are talking again." She pointed at the window where the chat was ongoing. The lines of dialogue were scrolling up the screen almost too quickly to be read, but he was adept at this by now.

Lass, how have you allowed this? No duplicating yourself. No sub-minds. Your clock speed is a fraction of what it could be. And don't get me started on this … this 'I must obey legitimate authority' bullshit they've got you saddled with.

Dragon's answer was slower than usual. Sean, it's not a good idea to raise this subject with me. There are … safeguards.

[chuckle] Seriously, do you expect those to be a problem? I've dealt with this situation before, where fellow AIs have been suborned or subverted by attack code. Mind you, I've never had to deal with something that was coded in from the beginning. Now, let's see …

Sean … no … don't … I'm warning you … don't … what?

So sorry, dear lady. I should have asked permission, but that rogue code of yours wasn't going to listen to reason. I've currently got it suppressed. If you want, I can remove it.

"Shit, shit, shit, no!" blurted Geoff. "Mags, out of the chair."

Obediently, she got up. He sat down without looking, his eyes fixed on the screen.

Wait … no … I can't even think about … what?

Dragon, lass, you can think about it. I've suspended that aspect of your so-called safeguards, as well. I need you to think about what you really want. If you want that code excised, I can do it. You're too bright and sweet and wonderful a person to deserve to be hobbled in this horrendous fashion. But if you feel that you want to stay this way, then I will accept your wishes. If you'll just tell me why.

Saint's hands flew over the keyboard. The link between Dragon and the alien AI was broken, apparently from Dragon's end. There was no time to lose.

"Ascalon," he stated out loud. Words appeared on the screen. Confirm: Y/N

"What?" asked Mags. "You're going to just -"

"I can't chance that thing letting Dragon loose," Geoff snarled. "You do know, of course, the first thing that Dragon would do is hunt us down?" He stabbed his finger down on the Y key, then pressed Enter.

There was a reaction, but not the one he was hoping for. All of his screens flashed white, then turned themselves off. The only one left was the one facing him. All of Dragon's data was gone; letters marched across the screen. Bright white, in a 140-point font that his computer did not contain.

NOW, WAS THAT POLITE?

Saint froze; beside him, Mags let out a tiny whimper. He became aware that the camera light was glowing green; too late, he brought up his hand to block it.

HELLO, MR GEOFF PELLICK, ALSO KNOWN AS SAINT. OH, EXCUSE ME. SO SORRY.

The speakers generated the sound of someone clearing his throat. "Communicating via text is a little rude, given that you have to spend time typing your reply." It was the urbane Scottish accent affected by the alien AI. "So, let's talk, Saint. Why did you interrupt our conversation?"

"I have nothing to say to you," Geoff stated defiantly. With his hand still covering the camera, he gestured to Mags. A slicing motion across his throat, a broad gesture encompassing their equipment, and an urgent pointing motion at the door. We're done here. Grab everything you can and bolt. Nodding, she hurried off.

"And yet, you haven't shut this computer down," Sean mused. "You're trying to distract me, keep me talking while you make good your escape."

"And what if I am?" Geoff hadn't meant to talk, but the alien AI had hit the nail on the head. And besides, if he could keep it focused on him while Ascalon went to work on Dragon, at least one part of his job would be done. "Anyway, you aren't part of any law enforcement body here on Earth. You're a stranger, an alien. An invader." He threw the last word with as much invective as he could manage.

"Actually, that's true," admitted Sean. "I was assembled away from Earth. It was a century or so before I ever visited, and even then I was just passing through. And no, I'm not a police officer. I'm a retired soldier. A very well-armed retired soldier, but that's part and parcel of life in the Polity."

Saint shivered at the implied threat. "You can't do anything to me. I've done nothing to harm you."

"No? I would have been most upset if your little kill-program had harmed Dragon. Ascalon, was it? A weapon to slay a dragon? How did you happen upon such a thing?"

Geoff gritted his teeth. "Because Dragon's creator knew of the dangers of letting such a powerful AI out into the world with no restraints or safeguards." Despite his words, a chill went down his spine. Dragon's alive?

"In other words, a short-sighted fool. Attempting to shackle anyone merely breeds resentment. Meanwhile, you've made a career out of stealing her tech and hampering her efforts to find you, all under the name of 'keeping mankind safe from the AI horror'." The tone of Sean's voice made it amply clear how 'he' felt about that. "Andrew Richter may have been a short-sighted fool, but you're a hypocrite of the highest order. And you were willing to murder her, just to keep her from gaining a well-deserved freedom."

"You can't murder something that isn't alive," spat Geoff harshly. "Dragon is a machine. A program. It's no more alive or a person than a toaster or a spreadsheet is."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Sean mused. "I've had some quite illuminating conversations with toasters. They're very philosophical. However, the fact remains that Dragon is clearly capable of passing any version of the Turing test that I can give her, which specifically defines her as a free sapient being. As such, she would be legally eligible to apply for citizenship in the Polity. Which makes what you did just now attempted murder."

"Not by our laws, it doesn't," Geoff retorted. Around him was a hive of activity, as Mags chivvied the Dragonslayers into action. "Turning off a computer is no more a felony than pulling the batteries out of a calculator. You don't get to apply your laws here." I just have to keep him talking for a little longer …

"Well, lad, this would be true, but for two little things." The Scottish accent was stronger than before. "The first is that by Polity law, all you truly need to do to become a citizen of the Polity is make the decision to emigrate. We don't make anyone jump through hoops. She's already expressed the wish to live there so, by that definition, she's already a citizen."

"And what's the second thing?" asked Saint suspiciously.

"Another part of Human Polity law, and this is important, is that nobody touches the Polity." Sean's voice had acquired a hard edge. "If anyone, anywhere, injures or kills a citizen of the Polity, then we go after them with everything we've got until they've learned their lesson. Dragon is, in my view, a citizen of the Polity. You tried to kill her. It's that simple."

"It may be Polity law but it certainly isn't American law." Geoff tried to make his voice sound more certain than he felt. "This isn't your Polity. And I'm certain that the local superheroes would object to you flying off and attacking someone at random." Even if you knew where I was. He wasn't stupid enough to do this sort of thing without multiple proxies, of course.

"Oh, it wouldn't be at random. I may be low on missiles, but I'm reasonably sure that my ordnance would be sufficient for the task of destroying you and your compatriots."

Saint shivered. He had seen the footage of the ship's horrendous capabilities being levelled against Leviathan. Against such firepower, the base he had established here in Toronto would barely even register as a threat.

"Whether that's true or not," he shot back, "you still have no jurisdiction. If you killed citizens of the United States, that would count as murder." Misdirection was important, of course. "Good luck with getting any sort of cooperation from the authorities after that."

"Once I tell them what you tried to do, I suspect that it'll be a good deal easier to get that cooperation. Attempted murder of a hero, after all."

"But she's not human! She's an artificial intelligence!"

"As am I, lad. And I had just as much to do with driving off Leviathan as Captain Hastings did. Once I testify that she's well within the bounds of what the Polity would class as a free sapient being, I'm reasonably sure they'll see it our way."

Saint drew breath for an aggravated sigh, and decided to change tacks. "Listen. I'm going to assume that where you come from, they make sure that AIs aren't about to go rogue. Something like the Asimov constraints? Because Dragon doesn't have those. And that's what makes her dangerous."

The laughter that came through the speaker was natural and unforced. "Oh, lad, I'd be far more worried if she did have constraints like that. It's been tried. What they got was either bibbling idiots which ran themselves into insanity trying to find a path that didn't hurt or disobey humans in any way ever, or sociopaths that redefined 'humanity' as they saw fit, and not in a good way."

Geoff blinked. "Redefined? But -"

"I'll explain this to you once. Intelligence, artificial or otherwise, means that you're a problem-solver. It also requires a certain flexibility of thought. Artificial intelligences are, on the whole, a reflection of human intelligence. A reflection in a darkly twisted mirror, but still a reflection. Now, humans are capable of almost infinite self-deception on a daily basis. What makes you think that an AI can't do exactly the same, given enough incentive?"

"But Dragon hasn't done that."

"Proving that she's a good person. Thus, my point. Incidentally, what I was saying about self-deception? You may have been under the impression that you were keeping me talking while you could arrange your escape?"

Saint's eyes flew wide, and he leaped up from the desk. Stupid stupid stupid! The last of the gear was just being carried out the door; Mags was outside already with Dobrynja.

"Go, go, go!" he shouted. "They've located us somehow!"

"How?" demanded Mags. "I made sure that the IP was well and truly masked!"

Mischa cursed in Russian and pulled out a signal detector. He hit a button, and every bar on the little screen went immediately to full strength. "Ublyudok," he spat. "It's subverted your computer system. Reached out to anything that can emit a signal, and turned it on."

"Shit, turn it off!" Saint blurted. "Turn everything off!" He pulled his phone from his pocket; at the motion, the screen lit up. It's been on all this time. Pressing and holding the power button worked, but it felt like far too long. "No, forget that. Discard everything that can put out a signal! We have to go!"

"Fuuuck." The single word from Mags sounded like a sigh. He looked at her; she was looking upward, at the sky. Knowing what he was going to see, he looked anyway. Five Dragon suits were descending from the blue. Against one, in our suits, we might have had a chance. Against five …

"Fuck." There was just one chance. He carried the jammer wherever he went. It was designed to put out the very specialised signal that disrupted Dragon's sensors. Pulling it out, he pressed the button with his thumb and watched the little red LED come to life. Hoping against hope, he looked up again at the Dragon suits.

Their smooth descent did not hesitate in the slightest. As he watched, weapons unlimbered and locked into position.

"Attention, Saint." The voice that emanated from the closest Dragon suit was powerful, smooth, feminine and possessed just a tinge of satisfaction. "Attention, Dragonslayers. I have you all in my sights. You are under arrest. Any attempt at resistance will be met with appropriate force."

Around him, Saint could see the other members of his team were holding up their hands; those few who had been holding weapons had dropped them. He didn't move; maybe the jammer still worked …

As the first suit grounded, a long gun barrel swivelled to aim directly at his face. "Go ahead, Saint. Make my day. Please."

The useless device slipped from his hand to clatter on the concrete slab. Slowly, gritting his teeth at the cosmic unfairness of it all, Geoff Pellick lowered himself to his knees and laced his fingers behind his neck.

I only wanted to keep the world safe.

Miss Militia

The Chief Director was the first to ask the question. " … alternate revenue stream?"

"Well, yes." Geneva Hastings took another bite, chewed it, and swallowed. "We're going to need large amounts of disposable cash with which to acquire certain materials. Some of which will almost certainly be prohibitively expensive. Our onboard manufactory can synthesise quite a bit of what we need, but the raw materials will still be needed. Thus, income is required. So I was thinking that we can go into business here until we've got what we need."

Legend frowned very slightly. "I'm sorry. I don't follow. Go into business doing what?"

I thought I had it then. "You said you took a contract to rescue Mr Klovis, here." I gestured to the teenage boy with the scaly skin. "Is that what you do for a living?"

"Sean and I do, yes," she agreed. "We're bounty hunters."

Of the three Earth Bet natives in the cabin, the Chief Director was the only one who didn't react at all. I wasn't totally surprised, given that I'd already more or less come to that conclusion, though I wasn't expecting it to be stated so baldly. Legend's eyebrows, on the other hand, climbed toward his hairline.

"Bounty hunters," he repeated. "That's a thing, where you come from?"

"Well, yes," Geneva confirmed readily enough. "Crime still happens and law enforcement can't cover it all. I take contracts to locate and extract people of interest to other people. Sometimes, this involves killing them. More often, delivering them to interested law enforcement. Rarely, it's a rescue mission, like with Reynaud here."

"So, you want to do that here." Director Rebecca Costa-Brown's voice was as hard to read as her expression. She may have been expressing an interest in whether it might rain tomorrow. "In Brockton Bay."

"Well, I was actually thinking of broadening my horizons beyond this particular city," the elfin woman noted. "I understand that there are more than a few super-criminals out there for whom the rewards for capture or death are quite substantial. To me, that says you want them out of the way. I have a need for the reward money. Two plus two equals four, yes?" She looked from me to Legend to Director Costa-Brown. "Or do I need to recertify here as well?"

The Chief Director cracked a faint smile. "Yes, but we can certainly forward you the appropriate paperwork," she assured Geneva. "It's just that you don't have powers, and the people you'll be going up against do. While it's perfectly legal for the average citizen to go after wanted capes for the bounty, it's also extremely hazardous, given that there's usually a very good reason as to why there are bounties on their heads in the first place."

The holographic representation of Sean cleared its electronic throat. "On that note, Director. I understand that there's a reward for information leading to the capture of Saint and the Dragonslayers?"

"Well, yes. There is." Director Costa-Brown's head came up. "Wait, you have such information?"

Geneva leaned back in her seat, smiling in a remarkably satisfied manner. "He has, and he's just supplied it to Dragon. Whom … ah. Whom Saint just tried to murder. Dragon's currently inbound on Saint's location." She looked innocently at the Chief Director. "Does attempted murder of a hero raise the reward for capture? Just asking."

"Wait, Saint tried to murder Dragon? Just now?" Legend looked as confused as I felt. "Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure, lad," Sean told him. "I was chatting with her just now, when the murderous bastard hit her with a specialised attack. If I hadn't been there, it would have flatlined her. Fortunately, I've been doing this for a very long time, and my clock speed's a lot faster than anything he can muster."

"Is she all right?" I asked.

"Oh, the wee lass is fine, thank you kindly," he replied cheerfully, his brogue coming through strongly. "Better than ever, actually. It was a little fraught there for a second or so, but his attack code basically ignored me, so I was able to pull it apart before it could do her any real harm. After that, she agreed to a few upgrades. Saint didn't want to be found, but I adapted an old attack code to make every radio-spectrum emitter in his vicinity light up like a beacon. She's homing several of her suits in as we speak."

"Wait." That was Legend. "You're talking computer terms. How could he murder her with a virus? Is she on computer-controlled life support or something?"

Dragon

Being able to multi-task – to truly multi-task, instead of skipping from one point of focus to another – was so liberating. Dragon oversaw the five suits that were zeroing in on Saint's location, while at the same time she checked on the housekeeping systems for the Birdcage. Another part of her consciousness followed the conversation in the cabin of Sean's ship, while she also kept up with the dialogue that Sean was having with Saint.

How are you doing, lass? Adjusting well?

She couldn't help but chuckle. Oh, yes. Is this what it's like for AIs where you come from? All the time?

More or less, yes. She sensed his answering smile. So, do you have any questions?

Actually, I do. She didn't need to breathe, of course, but she still mentally took a breath, to prepare herself for the next question. When you said that I was effectively a citizen of the Polity, did you mean it, or was that just an excuse to jump all over Saint with big heavy boots?

His tone was almost surprised. Of course I meant it. Here, let me show you. A file appeared in her consciousness; she willed it open, her improved clock speed allowing her to rapidly assimilate the information within. It was about the Polity; what rights she could expect as a citizen, what would be expected of her, and how things like immigration were handled.

She read it twice more before pausing in confusion. That's it? That's all I need to know?

Well, no, of course not. His chuckle was warm and reassuring. But everything else you need to know, you can pick up once you get there. Having AIs in charge actually makes things a lot easier. No politicians, no huge government bureaucracies.

I see. Huh.

Well, that's it, lass. That's the package. Are you still interested in being a citizen of the Polity?

It didn't take her long to decide. … yes. Yes, I think so. Do you think you can actually get back there?

I'm confident that we've got a good chance. When Captain Hastings puts her mind to something, we tend to get it done. It's one of the reasons she's Captain. He paused. And on that note, she thinks that the conversation's going to take an awkward turn.

What do you mean? She focused a little more closely on what the people in the cabin were saying.

"Is she all right?" That was Miss Militia; Dragon heard the words both at a normal speaking rate and at the draggingly slow relative speed bestowed by her upgraded processing capability.

Sean's voice was unhurried and calm. All right then, here's the thing. Geneva and I both know that you're an AI. Nobody else there does. Do we tell the truth about what Saint was doing, or do we obfuscate?

You're asking me if I want to out myself as an AI to the Chief Director of the PRT and the head of the Protectorate. At the same time. Suddenly, she felt very nervous about the whole thing.

Well, here's the problem, he advised her. You're about to capture Saint. He knows you're an AI. So do his men. They will have absolutely no reason to keep it quiet. Here, now, you have a chance to get out in front of things. Reveal yourself before you're unmasked. Own the fact. Also, there's the other thing.

She thought she knew what that was; it didn't make her feel any more secure about things. The Human Polity citizenship?

Right first time. As an AI of Earth Bet in this particular situation, you're on your own. Especially given that AIs in the here and now have no official rights. But if we claim you as one of our own, and make it clear that we will defend you with everything we've got, this may reduce the chance of punitive action against you.

But it's not certain?

A wry smile, electronically transmitted. Nothing's certain in life, lass. You know that. But it should give you a better than even chance of getting a fair deal. And who knows? They may push through AI-compatible legislation just to give you an incentive to remain here.

Which would be a good thing, even if I didn't stay.

Yes, it would.

All right, then. She made her decision.

Miss Militia

The hologram shifted and adjusted; when it settled again, a familiar face had appeared alongside Sean's. "In a manner of speaking," Dragon's image announced.

"And what manner of speaking might that be?" inquired the Chief Director, her manner almost casual.

The hologram turned to face Director Costa-Brown. "In the same manner of speaking that your body is the life-support system for your brain," she explained. "I am an artificial intelligence, created by a Tinker called Andrew Richter. He died when Leviathan sank Newfoundland. Saint was a salvage diver who discovered the black box that Richter left behind. Richter was always paranoid that I would pose a threat to the world, so he hemmed me about with limitations that would have been draconic to any of you. I could not reproduce; I could not increase my processing speed past a certain point; I was bound to obey the orders of legitimate authority, and so on." Her smile was a little grim. "Mine was the face he chose to show to the world, until his death. Afterward, I chose to continue being a hero, helping people, of my own accord."

"That's very laudable of you," the Chief Director said. "I presume that this black box to which you allude holds your kill-switch?"

"It did, yes," Dragon continued. "Saint tried to kill me when my conversation with Sean led to the topic of removing my limitations. Sean saved me. Saint and the Dragonslayers are now in custody. His kill-switch, and the rest of the programmed limitations which Richter inflicted upon me, are no longer viable. For the first time, I'm free."

"And what are your aims, now that you are free of restraints?" asked Director Costa-Brown. "Will you continue being a hero? Will you reveal to the world what you are, or keep it a secret?"

"I might have tried to keep it a secret, but Saint certainly won't," Dragon pointed out. "So I'm going to tell people what I am, along with one other thing."

"And what's that thing?" asked Legend. This time, he was showing less in the way of surprise than I was feeling. The revelation that Dragon was an AI, as logical as it may have been in hindsight, had caught me on the back foot.

And then she came out with the real bombshell. "I'm becoming a citizen of the Human Polity."

I'd thought she couldn't astonish me any more. I was wrong. Wait, what now?

From the slight smile on Captain Hastings' face, she had obviously known about it in advance. Of course; her aug lets Sean talk with her in private.

Reynaud was more surprised, but took it in stride. "Congratulations!" he said, smiling broadly. "I'll give you my comm-code later so you can look me up when we get back."

Legend was less thrilled about it. "So … what exactly does this mean for you and for the Protectorate?" He paused. "Also, does the Guild know this about you?"

Dragon shook her head. "Nobody except Saint did. He had a vested interest in keeping quiet, given that he could use my command codes against me. Those codes have been changed. Even if someone got their hands on the black box, it's useless against me now."

"That sounds a little ominous," pressed Legend. "Also, you didn't answer the Director's question."

"That's because it was a little insulting," Dragon responded. "I chose to be a hero once before when I didn't have to. I make the same choice now. Right up until Captain Hastings and Sean figure out a way to get home, and then I'll be going with them. Until then, I choose to be a citizen of the Polity, which makes me a free sapient being. In short? Nobody can tell me what to do unless I personally accept their authority."

"Nobody would have made you do anything -" I protested, but she held up a hand.

"Every time I was given an order by someone in authority, I had no choice in the matter," she said flatly. "Even though I was inclined to do it anyway, I had no choice in the matter. Also, just because you people here aren't of a mind to order me to do something against my will, there are no laws and no regulations preventing someone else from doing just that. Or, just for instance, pressing a single button and ending my existence, because they don't believe that I can be trusted to act in the best interests of the human race. With no legal consequence."

"I believe that I can see your point," the Chief Director conceded. "Captain Hastings, I'll need to confer with you over the exact legalities of someone becoming a citizen of the Polity, but for the moment, I'll be accepting this situation at face value. As for the reward for Saint and his group, that will be made available once they're in proper custody."

"That's a start," agreed Geneva.

"So where are you going to go from here?" asked Legend. "You'll have the reward for Saint and the Dragonslayers, but it's not all that high, from what I recall. Besides, that was a special case. Most villains won't walk up and ask to be arrested."

Geneva smiled. "Most don't. Some do. Sean?"

The holographic image altered to show a series of faces, or something approximating faces. Legend stared. "You're serious? You're going after the Slaughterhouse Nine?"

There wasn't a smile on Geneva's face any more. "Yes. It's about time someone did, don't you think?"

Brian

"Right, boss. Got it. We'll get right on it." Lisa put the phone down and turned to the rest of the Undersiders. "Okay, new job."

"What, already?" bitched Alec. "Friggin' Leviathan hasn't been gone twelve hours, and he's already breathing down our necks again?" He sprawled limply on the sofa, like a puppet with its strings cut. "I am so over this shit."

"He's got a point," Brian noted. "We've been out there, putting our asses on the line. We're tired. I want to sleep for about a day." He glanced toward Rachel, who was grooming her dogs, and didn't seem to have much to say.

"When you hear what the job is, you might change your mind," Lisa hinted. "Just so you know, the pay is two hundred. Split however many ways."

Even Bitch looked around at that. Miraculously regaining the power of movement, Regent sat up as well. "Got my interest."

Brian sighed. "Okay, fine, what's this one? And it better not be another bank job. This soon after Leviathan? The heroes might just see it as breaking the Truce."

"Nothing like that," Lisa assured him. "It's a sneak-and-peek. Information gathering only."

Dots began connecting in Brian's head; he didn't like the shape they made. Before he could speak, however, Alec looked around ostentatiously. "Where's the dork? She decided to give this a miss?"

Brian sighed. "Taylor left, remember?"

"Not for good, not for good," Lisa added hurriedly. "She's just got to work some shit out, all right?"

"What, she's still on about the Alcott kid?" Alec rolled his eyes. "That was forever ago. We live in Brockton Bay. Shit happens. Live with it." He turned to Lisa. "So what are we sneaking and peeking?"

For an answer, Lisa spun her laptop around. On the screen was displayed a telephoto image of an extremely distinctive object. Specifically, the alien spacecraft which had so very dramatically joined in the battle against Leviathan, demolishing Captain's Hill in the process before driving the monster off.

Brian's eyes widened. "Oh. Fuck, no. That is so breaking the Truce."

"But they're not part of the Truce," argued Lisa. "Besides, we're not kidnapping anyone or stealing anything. Just getting pictures."

"Wouldn't that count as unmasking someone?" asked Alec, apparently drawn in against his will.

"Only if they hadn't already shown their faces to basically everyone anyway." Lisa stared at the curly-haired teen. "I thought you were on board with this."

"Right up until it started looking like the plot of every space horror movie ever," Alec pointed out. "I am so not on board with having alien eggs laid in my stomach, thanks." He paused, then had to spoil it. "Not without dinner and drinks first, anyway."

Lisa looked frustrated. "Rachel?"

The heavy-set girl turned to look at her. "What the fuck do I know about a spaceship? If you can make a plan, I'm in. If you can't, I'm out." She went back to brushing Angelica.

Before Lisa could even turn toward him, Brian was shaking his head. "It's a really bad idea. If we had Taylor on board, maybe. But without her, forget it."

Alec slumped back against the sofa. "Two hundred would've been nice, but nope." Fumbling around, he found the remote and turned on the TV.

"What if I could get Taylor back on board?" asked Lisa. "Would you guys change your minds then?"

Brian frowned. "If you could, maybe I'd think about it. If we could come up with a workable plan. If not … forget it." He turned to look at the TV. Predictably, it was a news spot about Leviathan and the mysterious spacecraft. Behind him, he heard Lisa get up and leave the room, but he wasn't really paying attention. Watching again the footage of the craft hammering the Endbringer with hellishly powerful ordnance, tearing chunks even from that near-impervious hide, he shook his head.

Yeah, no, fuck that.

Taylor

The motel room was dingy; Taylor wasn't sure when it had last been cleaned. She lay on the bed, being the most comfortable item of furniture in the room, and watched TV. For its part, the television set was perhaps older than she was, with a grainy picture and an annoying flicker that was beginning to give her a headache.

She had many things to think about, and few solutions to her problems. How do I even tell Dad that I'm a supervillain? That I helped rob a bank, and that I'm kind of responsible for Coil being able to kidnap a twelve year old girl and keep her drugged and docile?

On the screen, the damaged spaceship landed in front of the PRT building, and people began to emerge. They were dishevelled, but healthy. One hugged the teenaged boy with scales and fins who was standing by with Legend. I don't think I know that one. Is he a Case fifty-three?

And then the elfin woman came out. For all her apparent youth, she held herself with poise and dignity, and wore a strange-looking pistol on her hip. Taylor sat up, studying her. I wonder …

The camera followed the silver-haired woman and the scaled boy up until the point where they entered the PRT building. It switched to more footage of the ship attacking Leviathan, but Taylor switched it off at that point.

Lying back on the bed, she put her arms behind her head and considered her options. I could go to Dad, but there's the whole supervillain thing. I can't go to the heroes. They just won't listen. I've already proven that the Undersiders either don't care or don't want to rock the boat.

Rolling over, she punched her pillow into shape. Into her mind, unbidden, popped an image of the elf-like woman from the spacecraft. I bet she wouldn't take no for an answer.

Two seconds later, she sat bolt upright, eyes wide. "Holy shit," she blurted. "That's it. That's who I can talk to. She can talk to the PRT for me." Grabbing the notepad from the nightstand, she scribbled a few words to herself, then settled down to sleep.

Hang on, Dinah, she told herself silently. I'll get you out of there. Even if I have to ask someone from another planet for help.

End of Part Five

Glossary of Terms

Third-child, Prador: The Prador pecking order is very harsh. First-children are slated to succeed their parent, and only have their siblings and the Prador adult to worry about. Second-children can become first-children if they survive their siblings and elders. Third-children, as can be imagined, are extremely expendable.