But What Will The Gods Eat Tomorrow?

"Maybe it’s because I used to have a body. Maybe it’s some interaction between the FEDs programming and my own matrix. But the truth is, I don’t know why or how it’s happening."

"Never thought I’d see the day," I muttered.

I didn’t mutter it low enough. "See if I share this kind of news with you again," Tempest replied indignantly. "I hope this programming glitch does ends up killing you somehow…No I don–Yes I do!" The whirring within the console faded to a low hum.

If disembodied artificial intelligences could bang their heads against walls, then I imagine Tempest would be doing just that about now.

I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. I could imagine how he felt. Someone messing with your brain, trying to impose their will over your own, being forced to fight to maintain your individuality. I could sympathize. Hell, I was a pilot in the Stellar Fleet, wasn’t I? High Command had been trying to brainwash me for years!

I considered apologizing, but then remembered who I was talking to. After all he’d put me through, it would be a cold day in hell before I apologized to Tempest for hurting his feelings. Besides, he was sulking now, and the respite from his endless jibes and comments was refreshing.

I still had a few minutes before Tempest could identify the ships, and since he was pouting, I decided to enjoy the silence. I put the chair back half-way and hooked my hands behind my head. Taking long, slow breaths, I tried to enjoy what might be the last few minutes of my life.

"These are the ships we’ve been waiting for," Tempest said, interrupting my nap. "Are you sleeping again, Jonny? No? Good. I can’t tell what their cargo is, but they match the specifications Fleet Intel gave us."

"Great," I replied wryly. "That means there’s at least a ten percent chance these are the right ships."

A strange sound came from the console. It took a while before I realized that Tempest was chuckling. "I think I’m starting to rub off on you, Jonny."

"Don’t count on it, Toolbox! I was a sarcastic bastard long before we met."

The convoy was getting closer. Suddenly, a warning bell started ringing. "This ‘minimally defended convoy,’" Tempest said, quoting the intelligence report, "has a heavily armed capital ship with it!"

I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my temples. "What kind of capital ship?" I asked, afraid I already knew the answer.

"An Aardvark (8)."

I slammed my hand into the arm of my chair, accidentally hitting the controls. My seat flew upright with astonishing speed, slamming into the back of my head. "Ow!" I cried, forgetting, for just an instant, the new threat before us. Then I remembered. "Why did it have to be an Aardvark? The Dragon’s good. She’s the best ship I’ve ever flown, but I don’t think she can take on an Aardvark."

"Then you’re not a complete idiot, Jonny," Tempest told me, perhaps thinking it was a compliment. "Should I bring the energy fields up? Back up further into the asteroid belt?"

"No." An idea was beginning to form. It was foolish, and stupid, but it might just work. "Keep the fields down for now, and plot a course to the point in the asteroid belt closest to where the convoy will pass."

"You’re not seriously considering continuing this mission, are you?"

"We have our orders."

"Yeah? Here’s an order for you. Don’t get us killed!"

"We’re in the Stellar Fleet. We have a duty–" I couldn’t believe I was spouting Fleet propaganda. Maybe their brainwashing had been more effective than I thought.