Christopher Nuttall: A Learning Experience

“What are you?” He asked, touching the headband. “And what’s happening to me?”

“This unit is a direct neural interface linked to the current starship’s computer nodes,” the voice said. “The interface has currently linked into your mind, providing direct access to the computer systems.”

Steve blinked. “What?”

“This unit is a direct neural interface linked to the current starship’s computer nodes,” the voice repeated. There was no hint of patience or impatience, merely… a complete lack of emotion. “The interface has currently linked into your mind, providing direct access to the computer systems.”

“I see, I think,” Steve said. “Why did the link interface with me?”

“You donned the neural link,” the voice said. “The link activated automatically.”

“I felt compelled to put it on,” Steve said. There was no response. For a moment, that alarmed him, then he realised he hadn’t asked a question. “Why was I compelled to wear the neural link?”

“The device is designed to attract attention from cleared users,” the voice informed him. It was an alarmingly vague answer — how was the attention actually attracted ? — but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to get much more out of the system. “You were the closest to the neural interface when it separated itself from the previous user.”

“Wait a second,” Steve said. “ I’m a cleared user?”

“There is no specified list of cleared users,” the voice stated. “All compatible mentalities may claim full access to the control systems, should they don the link.”

Steve fought down an insane urge to giggle. All of a sudden, it made sense. “They didn’t build this ship, did they?”

“Clarify,” the voice ordered.

“The aliens who kidnapped us,” Steve said, more carefully. “They didn’t build this ship or their weapons, did they?”

“Affirmative,” the voice said. “This starship was constructed by the Tokomak and passed though seven successive owners before finally being purchased by the Horde.”

Steve shuddered. The Horde . Even the name conjured up bad impressions.

The deck shook, snapping him back to reality. He was dimly aware of the neural interface retreating into the back of his mind as he looked around and realised that the next group of aliens charging at them were proving smarter. They were hurling grenade-like objects down the corridor ahead of their charge. He lifted the alien weapon, found the firing stud and pushed it, hard. The weapon had no recoil, just flashes of deadly light. He couldn’t help wondering just what operating principles it used as he fired. Plasma? Laser? Directed energy? Or something unimagined by humans?

He shook his head. There was no way to know.

Or was there? He had the neural interface.

“We’re going to have to fall back,” Charles shouted. An alien howled further down the corridor, then fell flat on his face. One of his fellows shot him in the back, then kept charging towards the human position. “We can’t stay here!”

“No, we can’t,” Steve agreed. But they had nowhere to go. Once they were back in the shuttlebay, they would be trapped… “Unless…”

He accessed the interface again, watching with some alarm as the real world started to gray out around him. “What sort of access do I have?”

“Complete,” the voice said.

“All right,” Steve said. “Are there any measures we can take against life forms on this ship?”

There was a pause. “All direct measures will exterminate all life forms,” the voice warned. “It would not be advisable.”

Steve swore, mentally. “How can we remove the non-human life forms from this ship?”

“Teleporters can remove non-human life forms from this ship,” the voice informed him. “Do you wish to use them?”

“They have teleporters?” Steve said, out loud. “Why didn’t they just beam us up from Earth?”

“Unknown,” the voice stated.

Steve gathered himself. Whatever he was talking to, it sounded more like a glorified user interface than a genuine AI. The wrong orders could easily get them killed along with their alien enemies. And he wasn’t sure if the whole system was actually what it claimed to be too. What sort of idiot let a direct link to their computer nodes fall into enemy hands? But it wouldn’t be the first time a primitive civilisation had purchased something without ever quite knowing how to use it.

“I want you to teleport all non-human life forms into open space,” he ordered. He couldn’t resist the next word. “Energise.”

“Teleport safety protocols need to be disengaged,” the voice informed him.

“Disengage them,” Steve snapped.

“Teleport safety protocols disengaged,” the voice said. “Teleport sequence activating… now.”

Steve looked up, just in time to see the horde of charging aliens dissolve into silver light and vanish. He felt his mouth drop open as he realised just what had happened… and just how simple it had been to remove all of the aliens. And easy…

“The world just changed,” Charles said. He sounded as shocked as Steve felt. “What happened?”

“One moment,” Steve said. He linked back into the neural interface. “Have all of the aliens been removed?”

“Negative,” the voice said. “One alien remains.”

“Then point us to his position,” Steve ordered.

Cn!lss had had bare seconds to react when the teleporters had activated. He’d grabbed the terminal that was his badge of rank — and his curse, when the warriors were sharing lies about their glorious exploits — and activated its transmitter, praying desperately that the starship’s designers had been as paranoid about safety as they usually were. The signal had disrupted the teleport lock, preventing the teleporters from snatching him off the bridge and depositing him… somewhere. None of the others on the bridge had been so lucky. The Subhorde Commander had been the first to vanish in silver light.

What a shame , part of Cn!lss’s mind insisted. He’d hated his commander, even though he knew it could easily have been worse. But the human intruders, the humans who were clearly born warriors where the Hordesmen were brawlers, had not only managed to take control of the ship, they’d wiped out all but one of her crew. Would they be worse than the Hordesmen? Or would they see the value in keeping Cn!lss alive?

He carefully pranced away from his console and waited, in the centre of the bridge. It took longer than he’d expected for the humans to appear, stepping through the hatch weapons in hand. Cn!lss couldn’t help noticing that they held the captured weapons as if they knew how to use them, even though they wouldn’t have even seen them until bare hours ago. The humans were true warriors, he realised now; they’d adapted far quicker than any of the Horde when they’d first been confronted with advanced technology.

They were staggeringly ugly creatures, he decided, as the humans closed in on him. Two legs, soft pale skin, tiny little eyes… and yet they’d managed to overwhelm seven Hordesmen in unarmed combat. Carefully, he raised his maniples, hoping they were civilised enough to take prisoners. The Horde rarely took prisoners. It was one of the reasons they were utterly unwelcome on most civilised worlds.

One of the humans growled at him. It was several seconds before the translator provided a translation. “Keep your hands where we can see them.”

Cn!lss obeyed, shaking. Human hands poked at his carapace — they were stronger than he’d realised — and carefully removed everything from his terminal to his badge of rank, such as it was. For a moment, he was convinced they were actually going to pull his shell apart, but they relaxed and let it go when they realised it was actually part of his body. The humans, it seemed, wore protective clothing at all times. But what else would one expect from born warriors?