1. 4

Protocol requires that every major scientific installation possess at least one full outfit of troops in the case of attack. For front line installations, this requirement is tripled. In addition to the regular equipment rulings, officers are also expected to be armed even when off duty, and are so provided a sidearm. The AV Burst pistol is the weapon of choice in most instances. A plutonium battery provides a functionally unlimited reserve of ammunition, and a switch just in front of the trigger guard allows choice between high power semi-automatic and balanced burst fire modes. The projectile itself is a plasma bolt with an optimal range of two hundred and fifty meters.

Nadia Beauvarde. 30. Unmarried. Marksman, Colonel of the fifty-seventh division. Top marks in long range combat aptitude tests. Current assignment: Redacted.

[My, quite the audience here today. Dignitaries, ambassadors, generals. Tim, I have to profess I’m rather curious as to the occasion.]

Tim and Janice share a look, but continue their final diagnostic, neither willing to so much as glance to the observation window, to see the faces of judgement. Tim coughs.

“Well Zen, it’s time for a real assessment. All those discs were called training for a reason, right?”

Silence. Another shared look. Zen is uncharacteristically quiet, his monitors freezing, then cycling through new code with no fanfare. He turns his head, and seems to make lens-contact with a camera in the middle of the crowd. His head dips slowly, then raises.

[I see.]

Janice picks up a tablet from her station and takes a deep breath, straightening her glasses and muttering before turning and giving a simple smile towards the onlookers.

“Alright, we’re ready to begin.”

Tim puts his hands on Zen’s cheeks in a manner that suggests he is checking some alignment in the sensors, but his eyes seem to suggest something different. Having waited for the crowd to settle and take up attention, Janice continues.

“As you know, the past three months have seen a lot of material demands and work hours in just one of the thirty-two labs allotted to this building. I’m sure all of you are a little anxious to see if your investment was worth it.”

A small chuckle ripples through the crowd, accompanied by a shift to a more relaxed stance in the less military attendees.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, it is my distinct pleasure to introduce you to ZN001, known to us as ‘Zenith’. Those of you who are familiar with the work of myself and Professor Reine will perhaps be a little skeptical when I say that our previous efforts are frankly dull in comparison to what Zen represents. In three months, he has demonstrated one fact over and over: that the greatest strategic mind in all the universe occupies this room.”

As hoped, this declaration produces murmuring and the squeaking of fifty some chairs as the bodies on them tense to lean forward. She releases a celebratory huff, and swipes a command on the tablet. The monitors in the observation chambers flicker on, and begin running highlights of the training programs. Behind her, she can hear Tim running his final diagnostic.

“As you can see, Zen has, at every turn, outperformed the Strategy AIs at their own game, even rewriting the programs to be more challenging. Upon examination, Zen’s key concerns in battle are efficiency, victory, and the preservation of his forces. You will note, I hope, that the latter concern is not one we initially imposed on him, but one he introduced when he found the first two to lack enough challenge.”

She flicks another command, sending a slew of performance data to the screens.

“This represents only the top fifty percent of Zen’s attention. In the background, he has been reviewing general strategy and weapon design, and presenting improvements, unprompted. Already, one of the other labs has tested three of his new weapon designs, and confirmed a minimum improvement of ten percent combat effectiveness, in categories ranging from firepower to ease of deployment. Some of you may recall the prototype released last week for a new orbitally deployable hard point. This was Zen’s design, with minor tweaks according to restricted data.

“But, it is one thing to tell, and another to demonstrate. With approval from the committee, today we will be providing Zen with a new sort of program: a combat prediction. We have created a sort of trial which will involve Zen making decisions in real time against a team of five Strategy AI. Each will have a section of an invading force whose combined ranking is rated at 50,000 points. Zen’s force is rated at 35,000 points, and must defend with limited resources. The win condition for the opposition is breaching the primary base and setting an explosive at the depot. For Zen to win, he must destroy one-hundred percent of the invading force.”

The resounding silence that follows brings an uncontrollable smile to her lips, and she swipes a third command.

“Without further ado, I will hand it over to Zen.”

[Thank you, Dr. Beckherd.]

All eyes turn to the monitors. The simulation loads. Janice takes the opportunity to walk out into the hallway, and into one of the stairwells. Being on the tenth floor, the stairs are nearly pristine.

Her arm shaking, she puts her hand over her mouth and suppresses a painful sob. Tears cloud her vision, and she leans against the wall, clutching the railing to fight her lightheaded weakness.

“Janice?”

She gasps, and wipes at her eyes furiously, turning her face away from the voice. Her cheeks burn.

“Yes, Ken?”

“Is… Um, is everything alright? Something wrong with the demonstration, or-”

“No, Ken. It’s nothing. I just need a minute.”

She glares over her shoulder and catches sight of his blocky glasses, his messy bangs. There is a bite of vitriol in her voice, perhaps more than she intends. Ken raises his hands in defeat, and walks away, glancing back in a way that makes her stomach turn over. Her fingers flex, and she gulps air, smoothing down her hair.

~

“You’ve made quite the breakthrough, Dr. Beckherd.”

She accepts the outstretched hand and shakes it firmly, leaning forward slightly.

“Thank you, general. We couldn’t have come so far without your support.”

His dark eyes flash as he grins and shoves his hands into his uniform pockets, nodding to where Zen sits under the watchful eyes of various enthusiastic ambassadors, earnestly answering questions.

“How soon can we expect live tests? I’ve got a few fringe colonies in mind, high risk, low commitment. I think your boy could really shake things up.”

“Well, Professor Reine and I want to iron out a few more details before we ship him out, but if all goes well, he’ll be on a shuttle to Terra command within the year.”

Punctuating her pledge with a sip from her prosecco, she follows his gaze, and watches Zen raise an open palm, perhaps giving a philosophical answer to impress one of the guests. His head swivels, and briefly seems to point directly her way, tilting in that same, eerily sympathetic way, as if he has pierced through her facade: glimpsed the red tinges in her eyes, the elevated temperature of her cheeks; the moment is brief, and he shelters her from his own attention by showing some demonstration of his prowess on a monitor pointed away from her. She flinches as the general exclaims.

“Terra command! Then, the senators got to you first? He’ll be installed on earth?”

“Ah, I don’t mean to mislead you; his eventual posting will be kept under wraps while the situation is so delicate.”

The man’s expression becomes much more solemn, and he straightens his cap under his arm. He glances towards one of the senators, who is smiling quietly, standing in a group a moderate distance from any of the larger clusters.

“I understand. The Xalanthii representatives have been particularly accusatory recently, there is some suspicion of subterfuge. They levied a suggestion that we had created some kind of infold weapon that would give us an advantage over everyone else. Thankfully the Khanvrost matriarch at the summit was more interested in our mutual foe. Called the minister a ‘slime-brained coward more interested in gossip than loyalty’, shut him up nicely.”

He leans closer, his whisper smoky and hot.

“I think they’re hiding something of their own, to be so forthright. Some infiltration, concerned with your department. As a matter of fact, we’re currently investigating some unscheduled transmissions-”

He suddenly becomes silent, as the senator he was eyeing earlier approaches, and smirks, his cheeks blush with drink.

“General F’Touzehn, hoping to snatch up Dr. Beckherd’s next contract opening?”

He laughs, glancing at Janice in a clear message, which she shows her understanding of by bowing out, going to stand by Tim as he jokes with another scientist. Her eyes drift to look at Zen again, and she sees him engaged deep in conversation with one of the ambassadors. One of the cameras on his back, however, is focused directly on her. A distant ringing, like an overcharged battery, settles in the back of her skull. She feels she can hear his voice, deep and crackling, in the whine.

[My condolences, Dr. Beckherd. Today is two years, isn’t it?]