Maddox attempted to pull the trigger of his assault weapon. That was beyond him now. He toppled toward the alien robot. His second to last thought was that the robot had used the light to distract him long enough for it to sneak up on him. That implied intelligence and cunning.
Does the robot run the starship?
Before he could drum up an answer, Captain Maddox lost consciousness.
-34-
By slow degrees, the captain’s awareness returned. He found himself deposited upon what might have been a piece of alien reclining furniture.
The last few minutes before he went unconscious bloomed upon his memory. Maddox didn’t panic. That wouldn’t help him. This was the time for maximum calm.
He opened his eyes and sat up. The chair was too big for him, but that hardly mattered. A swivel of his head one way and then the other showed him he was in a round chamber. What seemed like control panels lined the circular room. Lights flickered on those panels, and they had the tentacle slots.
He searched in vain for the robot that had incapacitated him. Wisely, the thing had taken his gun.
“Hello,” Maddox said. “Can you hear me?”
Silence greeted him.
He tried to stand, but found himself too groggy to get his limbs working properly. With a sigh, he sank back against the chair. First squeezing his eyes shut, he opened them and carefully examined the chamber. It seemed like the starship’s bridge. No skeletons littered the floor. No torn robots lay about strewn here and there. The deck gleamed. No slime had ever stained this area.
“What’s the point of this?” Maddox asked.
A hissing noise alerted him. To his left, the air shimmered and then crackled strangely. Once more, panic threatened. He swallowed, waiting, watching the crackling air.
Slowly, it solidified into a shape, but lines in the thing—like bad reception—made it fuzzy and blurry.
Is that a holoimage?
With this puzzle galvanizing him, Maddox struggled to his feet. Swaying, wondering if this is what it felt like to be drunk, he approached the hazy image. Gathering his resolve, Maddox passed his hand through it.
Yes, it’s a holoimage or the alien equivalent of one.
The haziness of the thing became fractionally more distinct. It showed something vaguely humanoid. Was that accurate or did his mind play tricks on him? The shape didn’t appear to have tentacles of any kind.
Then, distinct alien words sounded from it.
Maddox yelped and staggered back, crashing against the chair.
The sounds vibrated once more, and they definitely seemed to come from the hazy thing that he’d first thought a holoimage.
Is it an alien ghost?
Maddox’s head twitched in the negative. This wasn’t the time to be superstitious. Besides, the idea terrified him. He didn’t want to deal with something like that.
“Hello,” he said.
Around the chamber, slots opened in various bulkheads. Out of each popped a small radar-like dish. They aimed central antenna at him.
Maddox wanted to dodge, but he played a hunch, standing still. Light at the end of each antenna told him the dishes had activated. Heat struck his head. It intensified. Finally, he cried out, ducked away and rubbed his scalp where it hurt.
The lights on the antenna dimmed, and the dishes moved, aiming at his head again. The heat returned, although not as hot as before. Maddox felt lightheaded. Then vertigo struck. He clutched his stomach and threw up what remained of his meal, leaving a stain on the otherwise clean deck.
The radar dishes with their antenna retreated into the bulkheads and the slots slid shut.
The hazy image before him solidified into a replica of himself. Is this what Brigadier O’Hara had meant by needing the right brain patterns? The Iron Lady would only have learned that through Professor Ludendorff. Why hadn’t Dana known about that? Could the doctor be lying about not knowing?
“Captain Maddox,” the holo-replica said, the mouth moving in an approximation of speech. “Welcome to the bridge of Starship Victory.”
The unreality of the moment made it difficult for Maddox to think. Was he dreaming? Had a robot really sprayed a knockout drug in his face? Maybe the strain of these past months and the dire need caused him to hallucinate. He so wanted to understand the ship that he had invented this scenario.
“Are my words unclear?” the holoimage asked.
“No,” Maddox managed to croak.
“Are you unwell?”
Did it hurt to play along with his delusion? Maddox shrugged. It would probably be okay. “I’m disoriented,” he told the thing.
“A moment while I translate your words. Oh. I see. You are recovering from the effects of the drugging.”
“Yes,” Maddox said. He wasn’t sure he could take much more of this. “Tell me. Are you real?”
“Please, define your question.”
“Am I hearing your words?” Maddox said.
“That is an odd question. Now that the Cognitive Analyzer is offline, I cannot sense your thoughts. Therefore, how can I know whether you hear or not? That you answer me implies that you do hear.”
Maddox rubbed his forehead. Could this be a hallucination? He was beginning to think not. “Are you really speaking to me?” he asked.
“The answer is obvious,” the thing said. “Yes. I speak.”
Maddox swallowed hard. If he did hallucinate, nothing mattered anyway. He was going over the edge, then. If this was real, he should attempt to figure out what was going on. Therefore, logically, he would act as if this was truly happening. Deciding to go with this helped settle his fears.
“A few minutes ago,” Maddox said, “you aimed devices at my head that made me vomit.”
“The Cognitive Analyzer,” the holoimage said. “It was a necessary procedure. Until now, I haven’t understood your language. I have been listening to your group as you wandered throughout the vessel. My curiosity index finally overrode my security codes. Thus, I have acted, brought you here and analyzed your brain patterns and synapses. Because I am the ultimate in computing, my core deciphered your language and studied your memories. I must admit that I find your conclusions preposterous.”
“Which conclusions specifically are you referring to?” Maddox asked.
“That I have lived in this state for six thousand years. I find the length of time passage beyond reason and therefore preposterous.”
Maddox blinked rapidly, struggling to maintain his calm. “Ah… who are you exactly?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I am the engrams of Victory’s last commander.”
Maddox shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand that.”
“You should. I tested and measured your brain. You have sufficient mental capacity and technical savvy to understand the meaning of my words.”
“You’re a computer recording of the old commander?” Maddox asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“There you are. You see. You did it. Yes. In your parlance, I, the former commander of Starship Victory, imprinted the primary AI with my personality.”
“So you are a ghost,” Maddox said, “a technical apparition.”
“Let me think about that.” The holoimage froze. Seconds later, it moved again as it said, “Yes. I suppose I am a wraith, at least in a manner of speaking.”
“Why have you brought me here? Are you angry with us for boarding your ship?”