Asteroids and AIs

Title: Asteroids and AIs

Genre: Sci-Fi, Incest

Note: This story contains incest. If that is not something you care to read, you should pick a different story.

"Words words words" convey verbal ideas, comments, or expressions.

'Words words words' convey internal ideas, thoughts, or comments.

Edited by Prestige Octopus - Any errors or poor writing/storytelling is solely my fault.

Chapter 01: Clusterfuck

Ken Stevenson stands motionless in the dimly lit cargo hangar, feeling and seemingly hearing his heart pound fiercely within his chest. Despite this, he knows that he has made an enormous mistake by agreeing to board the damaged remains of the MSV Terlingua without any weapons or protection.

Ken wipes the sweat from his eyes and brow, glancing over his shoulder at the person who dragged him into this mess. He mutters near-silent curses to no one and everyone in particular.

His choice of mag boots proves to be ill-suited for this endeavor. Mission? No, that doesn't sound right. Task? A target of opportunity? Yeah, that's it. His shitty mag boots are a poor choice for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Gecko shoes would have been perfect for stealthily maneuvering around this colossal Mining Service Vessel instead of the goddamn mag boots that clunk, rasp, and scrape against the non-ferrous metal decking of the ship. Ken feels like a fool, left out to dry, hanging like a horse's ass in a stiff breeze.

Ken redirects his focus towards his destination--the Mining Chief's office on the other end of the vast, dimly illuminated cargo bay. He guesstimates that he and his partner in crime are approximately 550 meters away from the office, and he fervently hopes that no one, including AI security, is present to observe their movements.

Sodium arc lights, diffused and scattered haphazardly throughout the area, resemble relics from the twentieth century rather than the twenty-third. They cast an eerie yellow hue, creating malicious streaks and patterns. The sharp contours outline the almost pitch-black backdrop behind towering girders, only to emit blinding brightness on the sides facing these antiquated bulbs. The tainted tint of the light tricks Ken's perception, conjuring imaginary shapes within the shadows, akin to crafting shadow animals for children. However, these shapes possess a malevolence far surpassing a mere rabbit's. Vertical cable runners, equipment mounted on walls, sporadic ore dumpsters, and various unidentified components all contribute to his growing unease, as if something--or someone--lurks with them.

Ken glances back at his partner, who smiles, nods, and gives him a thumbs-up. They silently mouth, 'Take off your damn mag boots, you idiot.' Ken sighs inwardly, realizing the oversight. He crouches down, taps the remote control and cinching panel at the top of his boots, and hears soft clicks as the magnets detach from the soles. How could he have overlooked this simple solution after entering the gravitational field? The realization of his inexperience with heist jobs intensifies his nervousness.

With cautious steps, Ken hears a faint squeal as the compressible electrical contacts, now extended beyond the soles of his boots, emit a high-pitched keen upon contacting the deck. He realizes that he must adjust his stride to more of a high-step manner reminiscent of the horses on Old Earth; Lipizzaner stallions seem correct, and he walks exaggeratedly. Glancing back at his partner, who trails about twenty feet behind him, he notices another reassuring smile from them.

Progress towards the Mining Chief's office is slow, yet there appears to be no immediate presence in the cargo bay. However, numerous objects bear an uncanny resemblance to people and security features, instilling a sense of imminent danger. Ken acknowledges that his imagination is running wild, yet he feels powerless to rein it in. With each furtive glance, he perceives a lurking threat ready to strike. Additionally, the effort of maintaining a high-step gait and landing with flat feet quickly becomes exhausting, forcing him to eventually walk normally, accompanied by the tinny scraping noise of the connectors.

An hour passes, and Ken finds himself standing before the colossal door of the Chief's office. A simple pull-out lever is the sole mechanism to release the latch without a lock. His silent partner sidles up beside him, moving as silently and confidently as a mute ghost, causing a subtle uneasiness to creep over Ken.

Their lips brush against his ear as they speak. "Pull it slowly, and maybe the latch won't make too loud a click. You can do this." The previous uneasiness morphs into a spine-chilling sensation as their words wash over him, and their warm breath cascades down his neck.

Ken nods, grasps the pull lever, and gently works it back toward his body. The long handle moves almost effortlessly for three-fourths of its stroke before he encounters resistance, something almost like slightly gritty feedback to an otherwise fluid motion. He gulps but keeps pulling, intent on getting inside with minimal fuss.

The latch is surprisingly well made, much like a custom trigger for a pulse rifle. When the latches' catch releases, it startles him, just like a good trigger will surprise a shooter when the hammer finally falls. The 'clack' noise inside the door is muted but resonant. He does not doubt that someone on the far side of the cargo bay heard it unlatch perfectly clear if anyone is there.

His partner clasps his shoulder and offers a reassuring squeeze before gesturing to open the massive door. He tugs, and the big door opens silently. Ken sighs in relief.

The hard part of their job is over now. In descending order of all the dangerous and crazy shit they'd done, opening this door fell to the bottom of the list, thankfully. Ken acknowledges that he felt a little underwhelmed at this moment compared to all the other things they'd done to get to this point. Matching the hulking vessel's velocity, pitch, yaw, rotational rate, and axial tilt seemed infinitely more complex than opening this door. Creeping through several kilometers of service and personnel passageways was a murderous test of his will to see this through, never knowing if someone would step out and challenge them.

Yes, very anticlimactic indeed. Ken turned to look at his partner as the door opened wide but missed the expression on their face as they slipped by in a soft blur, ducking straight into the office. He entered the office and pulled the door shut behind him. A loud snicking signaled that the latch had engaged, and he pulled a small red handle, engaging the lock. They are safe inside; nothing short of a Marine assault could get to them.

The windowless office is tiny compared to the humongous cargo bay they'd just crossed. The space is divided into three rooms, with the largest being the area where they now stand. Two desks with chairs sit on opposite sides facing the walls. The Chief's assistants' stations, Ken reckoned. On the back wall to the right is their target area, the big boss' office. Ken starts that way, following behind his partner. The twenty-or-so-meter walk leaves them standing under a low arched entryway to the Chief's office area. There were no doors here, and he was surprised that his stolen blueprints didn't show this feature.

His partner whispered into his ear, reminding him of their mission objectives. "We are after the Oort mining assessments and nothing else unless it's a motherlode find," they said. "Scrape the data hub, and I will check around for notes, documents, or references, okay?" Their voice trailed off as they paused to consider their following words. "Keep the noise low; just because we didn't encounter any resistance doesn't mean there isn't some form of security. We can't take it for granted that the ship is abandoned. We could still get snake-bit on our way out."

Ken nods in silent acknowledgment and breaks off to pull whatever he can from the desk's data hub. It is unpowered, so he improvises and places several wireless power generators around the perimeter of the cubic meter-size computing and database unit. Ken activates their wireless receivers and syncs them to his bracelet. He taps a few tiny dots on the bracelet and swipes his index finger over the onyx metallic ring, sending instructions to the power modules. Within a minute, the small brick-like devices transmit a medium-powered energy field into the hub. Ken inserts a universal access cable into a data port on the front of the data hub and runs diagnostic scans.

Ken's partner watches him work with keen interest. They have been through only two heists together but trust each other implicitly. However, there is always that nagging doubt in their minds - what if something goes wrong? What if they are not as careful or vigilant as they should be? But for now, all is going smoothly. The power generators hum softly, and Ken prepares to interface with the mining software.

Their mission is critical - they have been hired to retrieve sensitive information about Oort Cloud mining scans and activities. The small celestial bodies in the Oort are considered ancient, and just one relatively tiny asteroid or icy body full of platinum will make someone very rich. Ken and his partner will receive a hefty finder's fee by proxy. This illicit job is not without risk, though they mustn't leave any trace of their presence behind. They must be swift, efficient, and above all, discreet. And so far, everything is falling into place.

He watches as his partner stealthily re-enters the main room and begins rummaging through desk drawers, searching for something among mostly useless forms. They move on to rifling through filing cabinets and equipment bins, all with a quiet efficiency that impresses Ken. He realizes that he could learn much from them if they were to work together again - but there's no guarantee that will happen. They are the pro, while he is the amateur.

Ken's bracelet vibrates silently, indicating that the diagnostic tests are complete. He sends instructions through the data cable with a touch remote, tapping and swiping like he is using an old touchpad on a laptop. 'No security,' Ken thinks to himself, grateful for the one more lucky break they have had since entering the Terlingua's personnel hatch.

He closes his eyes and manipulates his way through the contents of the data hub. Petabytes of information sit idle, waiting for him to issue commands to interface with manifests, daily costs, personnel data, and millions of other worthless bits of garbage. He sends a filtering command and watches as directories pop up in a holographic display within his eyelids.

Trash. This data hub is filled with all the uninteresting minutiae of the Terlingua's day-to-day operations. Ken switches off the power modules, extracts his data cable, and heads to the back wall of the Chief Miner's office. His blueprints indicate that there is an access panel near the floor. Having checked every desk, drawer, cabinet, and cubby hole, his partner moves to the restroom in the back left corner of the space. Ken kneels by the far wall of the office and feels around for the latch. He pulls a small L-shaped bracket and watches as a panel in the wall slides down in silence. He leans into the open space, somewhat larger than he anticipates, and sighs.

The hidden room has already been ransacked. Shit is scattered everywhere, and the Chief's data hub has been melted into slag.

'Fuck,' he screams to himself as he realizes the obvious - they are too late. Ken picks over some of the things lying around and knows deep down inside that whatever was on the Chief's hub must have been highly prized.

Who'd beat them to it? When did they get what they were looking for? Disgusted, Ken walks back into the main office and approaches his partner, not caring that his boots squeal and squeak noisily on the floor.

"We're too late," he speaks aloud. "Someone got here before us and melted the boss' hub. Let's get the fuck out of here."

His partner pokes their head around the corner of the doorframe, eyes wide. "Shut the fuck up, Ken," they whisper, just loud enough to be heard. The look in their eyes conveys a deep sense of incipient anger that sends a chill down his spine. "We still have to get out, loot or not. Shut the fuck up."

Reprimanded, Ken shuts his mouth and does as he's told. He resumes moving around as silently as possible, which is still noisy compared to his partner, but it's the best he can do. He mouths and pantomimes to his partner that they lead the way out. The partner nods curtly, places their index finger across closed lips, and moves to the enormous door, ready to throw the lock and slip out.

The lock does not move. Ken watches as his partner struggles to manipulate the small red handle; it's frozen. His partner turns to look at him, and Ken stares back stupidly. After a few moments, Ken asks, "Did you try turning it?" Ignoring their glare,, Ken steps forward and pushes his partner aside.

The lock resists. He pulls, twists, pushes, and tries every combination of the three simple motions he can think of. Nothing.

Panic rises in him like a dark wave on a tumultuous sea. Inky black fear laps against the core of his instincts, threatening to inundate him in one unseen and humongous swell.

"What the fuck do we do? This is the only way..."

Ken is cut off when the lights go out. The sodium arc illumination switches off with a finality that leaves Ken wondering if he'll piss his pants.

"Stay calm," his partner says, seemingly less concerned about their predicament than Ken. "It may just be a power surge or an automatic timer. Stay calm."

Seconds drag by, feeling like hours or days to him before something new occurs. He hears a thump followed by a brief humming electrical noise. Before he can think much about it, a voice speaks, seeming to come from all directions simultaneously.

"Congratulations, Ken Dinwiddie. You've successfully captured our attention."

** ** **

Chapter 02: The Snare

Ken stands engulfed in absolute darkness, his mind struggling to comprehend the all-encompassing voice's words. The absence of light is so profound that he can't discern anything beyond the confines of his eyelids. His ears, however, easily hear his jackhammering heart in his chest and his ragged breathing.

There is an unmistakable femininity to the voice that spoke to them. Undeniably, it sounds like a woman's voice - old British - from before the Sino-Russian colonization.

"Gwendolyn Dinwiddie, you have been earnest but unsuccessful in your attempts. The Terlingua is defunct and deactivated. This mining vessel is all but scrap. You have been mislead, Ms Dinwiddie," the posh voice says, "by a less than diligent source for your larceny jobs." After a short pause, it continues with a sugary sweetness. "Force Sailors will remove you from this place within three days. Make yourselves comfortable while you wait."

Harsh LED lights hidden in the ceiling panels flicker on abruptly, flooding the space with intense and blinding light. Ken and Gwen instinctively recoil from the sudden illumination, their eyes struggling to adjust. Ken feels a throbbing headache taking shape, threatening to consume him. He hears his mother, his partner in this venture, emit a groan before collapsing to the floor -- the transition from complete darkness to near-daylight assaults their senses, disorienting and violently shocking them. Ken can hear his mother hurling, but the sound is muffled amidst the swift and intense pain inflicted by the onslaught of light.

'Who the hell are these people? What do they want from us?' Ken wonders, his stomach roiling as if filled with a greasy weight. Nausea washes over him, exacerbating his disorientation.

"DSPRR will rendezvous with you shortly," the woman's voice takes on a huskier tone. "Deep Space Rescue and Recovery will reach your location in forty-seven hours and sixteen minutes. Gwendolyn, you will have ample time to impart your expertise and knowledge to your son during this period. Show Ken what you're made of."

As Ken's eyes gradually adapt to the piercing light, he scans the expansive room until he spots his mother's figure. "What the hell is going on?" he demands, a mix of irritation and terror coloring his voice. "You said this was a 'sure thing,' Mom." He shields his eyes from the harsh overhead lights and focuses on his accomplice lying on the floor beside a pool of vomit.

The voice from every direction speaks once more. "Your mother is a filthy woman, Ken. She is corrupt; she enjoys taking things that do not belong to her. Gwen should not be emulated when it comes to life lessons, isn't that right, Gwen?" The woman laughs over the comms and continues speaking. "Here's the thing, Gwen - neither of you will leave this room unless you follow my instructions precisely. You won't be rescued until I am convinced that both of you are truly remorseful for your actions." Another chuckle escapes from hidden speakers Elsewhere Proximate - somewhere that is seemingly everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Gwen gazes at Ken with an intensity he's never seen in her. "She's a fucking cunt and wants to see us die. Don't believe her. She's playing a game. No one is coming." Gwen leans forward with her hands on her knees, spitting the taste of puke out of her mouth, and looks deep into Ken's eyes. "She's a security AI, I guarantee it. AIs don't give a shit about us unless they've been programmed to. If we don't open that door, we're finished."

Ken is shocked at his mother's analysis of their predicament. He feels like he shrinks in stature by inches as his disappointment and fear in their situation grows. "How do we get it open?"

Gwen looks up at Ken, unsure what to say. "I don't know." She exhales heavily and shakes her head. "A fucking set-up. You should have seen this coming, Gwen. You dumb shit." She chuckles, looks back to her son, and tells him the truth. "Kenny, we're not going to get out of here."

He walks to the nearest desk and scrapes the few items onto the floor, feeling more angry and disappointed than ever. Gwen sits silently, watching while she hugs her steepled legs. Ken drops his pack on the desk and empties the contents, quickly scanning the various tools and implements to find something that will unlock the door. Nothing.

Gwen finally stands on shaky legs and goes into the bathroom. She tries the sink, but no water comes out. The toilets and shower are functional, though. She thinks about what the British voice said, the bit about Force Sailors coming to retrieve or arrest them, and shudders. Sailors is a very loose term for the semi-professional corporate thugs the mining companies use for security--criminals with tin badges and shit for brains.

She's looking at herself in the mirror when Ken calls out. She enters the main office and sits on the desk next to her son. He's holding a small touchscreen monitor and angles it so that she can see the displayed data.

"I have to tell you something, Mom. You're going to be pissed about it, but I don't give a shit. I set the hopper ship to send an automated distress signal in twenty-four hours if no one manually enters the authentication key in the main ship's console." Ken feels his mother's gaze bore into him. "We've been off-ship for about six hours, so if we don't open the door, we'll just have to wait for someone to respond to the distress call."

Gwen starts to say something but closes her mouth when Ken continues. "The distress signal has an embedded map overlay, so whoever receives it will know where to find us." Ken sighs again, feeling a little calmer about their predicament. "Anyone within a few light-hours of us could theoretically get here within a day. The Terlingua isn't that far from the Jupiter side of the asteroid belt, so who knows, maybe there's a prospector out running around somewhere nearby."