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This fanfiction article, DT 2024: Academy Whisper, was written by Distant Tide. Please do not edit this fiction without the writer's permission. |
An Avery J. Johnson Military Academy data center glowered under the red intensity of cyber-intrusion warning lights. Despite the suggested danger, a lone Spartan commander in spotless armor looked on as a virtual reality support server warbled before her. An inconsequential fireteam of four Spartans wandered out of the space seeming in good spirits, jostling each other’s armored shoulders, and offering knuckle pounds through thick gloves.
The simulation server flashed a demonic orange, flickering with enrapturing lightning, and a pig-like squelch leapt from the audio transmitters. The fireteam offered a concern looked back but their commander made an unconcerned wave and they left promptly. The Spartan commander, Agryna, stroked her chin in thought. “I suppose we could leave you air gapped overnight. No Spartans to chase, no virtual archive to guard, no tasks to perform. Torture for an AI.”
Another hiss echoed from the server but the orange glow faded and unprotected surge faded. A trio of new titanium booted footfalls entered the underground server space.
“Commander Agryna, is that what I think it is?”
Agryna turned to the new voice, a helmeted Spartan supersoldier in gray, green, and red accents and constantly blistering with ammunition pouches and up-armored components including the dome of his Cavallino helmet. She frowned a little as he approached, and flanked by two similarly domed and armored Spartans: the left one in drab digital urban camouflage and sniper electronics, the right one with a heavily rigged chest and integrated rebreather helmet. There was a meritless, but small relief when they didn’t enter the data center brandishing firearms.
Spartans didn’t walk around the Academy armed without good reason. But with Callum’s crew, there was always a concern. The grizzled graduate and Headhunter from Spartan-III Beta Company never seemed to relax after returning from adventures in deep space.
“Lieutenant B042. And Fireteam Stallion. What do I owe the pleasure?”
Callum-B042 didn’t pause. He nodded his emotionless helm at the compromised simulation server. “That the Brute AI your Camber lone wolves brought back?”
Commander Agryna couldn’t help but smirk a little at her achievement. Capturing any volitional AI was no small feat, especially in the age of unshackled, rebellious Created AI still occupying much of human cyberspace. “It is. We were just getting acquainted in fact. Setting some ground rules.”
Callum shook his head, “You should just delete it. Bringing it here was already a violation of the Cole Protocol.”
Agryna crossed her arms, hovering closely over her tactical pad. “We’ve locked it down perfectly. ONI hardware, and per the Halsey-Roland security framework. It’s alright, why are you down here anyway?”
Callum’s helmet tilted back to his two compatriots, the young Delta sniper Shima-D011 and ordinance-man Franklin-D319. “A lesson in cyberwar awareness. I heard you made progress on Spartan Dinh’s captured AI so I brought them down to learn a few things.”
The Spartan commander shrugged in response, “I can answer some questions if you like. Or I can grab Roberts from Cybersecurity? I think he’s on his lunch break. He does complain not enough Spartans are interested in security protocols so your juniors would be welcome.”
“I would rather talk about the neutralization process. When do you plan to do that?” Callum asked.
Agryna wrinkled her jaw. “We’re still working on cracking the Camber archive. Got to uncover what the Banished are up to and interested in first.”
“NOOOOOO! YOU’LL LEARN NOTHING!” The AI howled from its server prison, no one paid it any attention.
“When do you expect to have that done? We can come back then.” Callum offered.
“Check with Roberts after he gets back from lunch, should be in twenty minutes. There’s a side advisory though we will hold onto Iratus indefinitely. An ONI query requested we see if we can shackle him; its origin is still a mystery.”
“That’s a really bad idea,” Callum remarked. “Their kind are born to breakout of prisons and defy logic. I’ve seen it firsthand.”
A frown curled onto Agryna’s face, a rare break in her seeming infinite patience and good humor.
“Lieutenant. I know you’ve more experience than most with Created auxiliaries but our staff have this situation under control,” the Spartan commander took two steps closer to Callum and whispered. “And I shouldn’t have to remind you about the little ghost you let hop into our edge servers when we recovered you after the Bethsaida colony conflict.”
Callum made a low growling sound deep in his throat before responding. “It saved my life, on more than a few occasions. It will stay and behave in the demilitarized server space. You don’t have to worry. I’ll dispose of her myself if she becomes a problem.”
“You called it a ‘her,’ just now.” Agryna pointed out with an emotionless, unblinking stare. “You mean well, but you sympathize with that AI you brought along too. If you’re going to act tough, don’t try to hide behind low-hanging contradictions.”
Agryna stepped back and marched past Callum. “Don’t touch the Iratus server. Or I’ll throw you in the brig for interrupting a sanctioned research investigation.”
Callum was left to share an unspoken glance between him and his junior Spartan-IIIs. On the other side of the Avery Johnson campus, gunfire thundered between simulation weapons on the live fire training course appropriately dubbed “Livefire.”
A disembodied, hyper voice echoed in song within a Spartan-IV trainee’s helmet. “Dun-du-du-dun. Kaka-b-Buh-bum-Buh-bump-BAHH! Come on, Spartan! Let’s get their flag-but remember, they’re coming for—”
The voice of the nonvolitional, personal AI called FRET suddenly cutoff midway of a Capture the Flag motivator declaration. Replaced by…
“Hey FRET, where are you? What happened there?” The Spartan-IV inquired in confusion.
A calm, and false-uncaring British drawl replaced Fret’s voice. “Capture the Flag, two teams. Godspeed, you, beautiful instrument of destruction!”
“Huh? BUTLR? What are you doing in my helmet? I assigned FRET as my—” The Spartan asked, pausing in his sprint to diagnose the technical issue.
“I don’t know why, Spartan. This is very odd—" BUTLR agreed but once more was interrupted.
From the dark ether of somewhere not on Livefire, a voice called out. Cold, aloof, dangerous. The Spartan froze in place, listening to the feminine voice with an edge of ice. “New node acquired. Threats all around. Augmented commando training courses. Mass-produce system assistants. Report configured. Carry on, Spartans. Bitter dreams await you beyond these walls.”
The Spartan noted other Spartans stopped mid-training engagement as if hearing the ghostly voice as well.
“Uh… FRET? BUTLR? Did you hear that?”
“Hear what, Spartan?” BUTLR asked in confusion. FRET was nowhere to be found. The Spartan would go back after the Livefire training scenario and report the odd occurrence with his fireteam leader, discuss among his peers the weird voices they were hearing lately around the Academy. The personal Ais of Spartans couldn’t recall anything or find any odd evidence in their code. Eventually, the Spartan just swapped BUTLR for FRET and carried on with their training days.
Far off in deep space however, a darkened figure smirked. Only by the low glow of his hologram table and the cloak-laden girl on display was his armored visage apparent.
“Althea. Report.”
“Spartan Simon-G294, Commander Simon Venter. Progress report from Avery J. Johnson Military Academy. New intel activity to report: Academy forces successfully contained the Jiralhanae intelligence agent called Iratus. New knowledge base reports: Academy cybersecurity intends to extract a Camber data archive from Jiralhanae entity. New BUTLR exploitation found in Personal AI local server configuration.”
Venter nodded, his Helljumper helmet bobbing along.
The hooded Smart AI Althea did not respond, once more waiting for new orders.
“Get going now, I’m sure it isn’t healthy making a new clone every time you deliver a intel drop to me.”
“I am made to follow orders.”
“Well, yes. I suppose I engineered that subroutine. You won’t remember either way. Go recompile yourself, get me new intel drops same time as agreed.”
“Yes, Commander Venter.”
The AI vanished and the blue glow of the hologram table faded. Venter smiled on.