Luna Marine(94)

“Of course, Jack. The microdisk would have to be able to load 2.7 terb if you wanted to capture my full range of behavior, speech patterns…as well as the personality of that other Sam you have stored in here with me. What other system were you thinking of?”

“My PAD, actually. A military model. I was thinking it might be kind of nice to have you with me where I’m going.”

“Ooh, that would be nice, Jack. You know, if you have the standard adapters, you could jack your PAD into this system, and download me directly. Or you could use your Earthnet connection to download me through your PAD’s modem.”

“Well, I don’t have the PAD yet.” The limited model he’d been issued in boot camp had been strictly for basic training, and he’d had to turn it back in on Thursday. “I’ll be having a new one issued to me when I go back. I could load you onto it then.”

It was an intriguing thought. He would have to pare back a lot of the extras to get her to fit. Her backgrounds—the pool, her bedroom—those could be replaced by a single, simple, colored backdrop, with no detail. And her clothing. Limit her to one costume—the tight white slacks were nice—and that would save a lot of space. He could eliminate clothing entirely, of course, but he had a feeling that that would be boring after a while.

How much of Sam’s personality could he save, though? Not that he had a personal relationship with his AI—masturbation was about as lonely and impersonal as things could get—but he had missed Sam while he was at boot camp. At his next duty station, he would have more privacy than there’d been in the recruit barracks. Best of all, he was thinking that he might be able to share Sam with some of his buddies. He was proud of the modifications he’d hacked into the original commercial AI package; Sam was so bright and responsive that it often seemed like she had a mind of her own, that she was genuinely self-aware. And that, of course, was the point.

Besides, he’d seen what military-issue AIs could do, especially with things like writing and debugging quick field programs, and he was not impressed. In boot camp, he’d not been allowed to question the way things were done—as Gunny Knox always said, there were three ways of doing things, the right way, the wrong way, and the Marine way, and so far as the recruits had been concerned, there was only the Marine way.

Well, Jack had always preferred Jack’s way, and that meant the right way, at least when it came to programming AIs.

He knew he might get in trouble if his superiors found Sam; pornography of any kind was actively discouraged, and one recruit had been sent home during the seventh week of training when he’d been caught during an inspection with a three-D vid peeper in his ditty bag, a bottle-cap-sized player with an eyepiece showing a nude couple engaged in an endlessly looped sexual act. Jack was pretty sure the brass would be more lenient with “real” Marines once he reached his first duty assignment, and even if they weren’t, Sam would be easy enough to hide. He wondered if he should get her to pull a quick-change act, the way she did now when he said the word “Mom.”

Only this time, he would have her change to the dull-as-a-rock issue-AI every time he said the word “Sarge”!

MONDAY, 7 JULY 2042


Platoon Commander’s Office

Second Platoon, Bravo Company,

1-SAG

Vandenberg Aerospace Force

Complex

0925 hours EDT

Frank Kaminski rapped three times on the door, hard. “Enter!” his CO’s voice called from the other side. “Center yourself on the hatch!”

He palmed the door open and walked in. Lieutenant Garroway was at her desk, staring up at her wall screen, on which was displayed a game of chess. It looked like a camera’s eye view from behind the black king, but the spectacular detail in armor and weaponry, in fluttering flags and nervous horses showed that the game was a computer animation. The name “Garroway” appeared at the bottom, by the black pieces; at the top, behind the white, was the name “Warhurst.”

“Holy Christ!…” Kaminski blurted out, his eyes widening.

Kaitlin swiveled her chair around to face him. “What was that, Sergeant?” she asked sharply. Then she grinned. “Even during working hours I’m allowed to go through my personal v-mail.”

Kaminski snapped to attention. “Sorry, ma’am! I meant no disrespect. I was just, uh, startled, is all.”

“By what? You find it surprising that your commanding officer plays chess?”

“Uh, no, ma’am. It was who you’re playing chess with. That…that wouldn’t happen to be General Warhurst you’re playing, would it?”