Chapter 1: Sunday
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Science Fiction, Humor, Space, Polygamy/Polyamory, School, Nudism, Military, .
Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1: Sunday - An AI gets curious when a young MIT student darkens the doorway of a CAP testing centre. "I hate it when an AI gets curious!" She's HOW old, again? From the files of the Office of Targeted Extractions.
"OK, what's the crisis?" The bleary-eyed Tribune glared from the monitor in front of Major James MacAllistor as the clock announced to him that it had just turned Monday, one in the morning, Eastern Standard Time. Tribune William Whitefeather was only too aware of the late hour, even as his equally sleep-deprived concubine Della handed him a cup of liquid that was vaguely coffee-flavoured. Oh, well, at least it had caffeine in it. "Have the Swarm arrived early? Has some colony decided they absolutely need a telephone sterilizer or management consultant?"
"Don't know myself. I just got the alert too, from some scoring facility in New England. All I know is that it's the closest I've ever seen to an AI having an orgasm before." The Major grew amused. "If it's to pick up an incredibly bad poet from Essex, I'd run like hell."1
"Bring your towel if you do." Tribune Whitefeather called up the red-flagged file.
To explain the crisis properly, we need to start by going back in time, about 12 hours or so, and down onto the blue marble rotating below the K'Treel class explorer ship John Cabot, flagship for the Office of Targeted Extractions of the Department of Evacuation and Colonial Operations and not incidentally, Tribune Whitefeather's temporary home.
"I don't know how I let you talk me into this," Marcie Haywood whispered as they entered the CAP scoring centre.
"Hey, look, the school says all students are supposed to have a CAP card, and you don't have one," Linda Waters whispered back. "And besides, aren't you even the teeniest bit curious about your score?"
"It never hurts to ask, and besides, we've got all afternoon."
Within the hour, the AI at the CAP scoring centre was issuing alerts to every other AI within reach, on Earth and in orbit, requesting additional processing resources.
It was now just after two in the morning, Eastern Standard Time. Director of Evacuation and Colonial Operations Miles Chandler was on Greenwich Mean Time, which meant for him it was Seven AM. Nevertheless the Director's circadian rhythm still informed him that it was far too early in the morning for cogent thought.
The Tribune was uncomfortably aware that there were others listening in on the link, not just those he nominally reported to, but directors of other arms of Central Command. This was becoming big.
"As we said, the AI got curious."
Director Chandler winced. "I hate when the AI get curious. It usually means carefully considered long-range plans are about to get rewritten very quickly."
Not that Director Chandler was exactly famous for getting terribly involved in the details of any planning, long-range or otherwise, reflected Tribune Whitefeather. He continued with his presentation. "The individual in question is a Miss Marcie Haywood." The AI posted the picture of Miss Marcie Haywood up for all to ponder.
"OK, so the AI at that CAP scoring centre is a paedophile," joked Director Chandler. "What made it so curious about this girl?"
"The school she is attending," came the smooth response from Tribune Whitefeather.
"Podunk City Junior High?"
"The Massachusetts Institute of Technology."
"Freshman?" the startled Director queried.
"Sophomore," Tribune Whitefeather assured him.
"Great Zombie Jesus." Director Chandler blinked in disbelief. "At her age? What's her major, Home Economics?"
The AI chimed in. "Miss Marcie Haywood is majoring in Physics, with minors in Space Structural Engineering and Computer Sciences. She currently holds a 4.0 grade average."
"And she's HOW old, again?"
At that same time, Marcie and Linda were tiptoeing into Marcie's family home. It was now so far beyond Marcie's curfew that both knew they were likely in much trouble. But they really couldn't help it: the AI at the CAP scoring centre had kept Marcie until the hour before.
The light in the living room was on. That was understandable, as Marcie's parents would have gone to bed fully aware their eldest daughter had not yet come home. Marcie gulped.
"I'm sorry," Linda apologized. "It's my fault you're so late."
"Is it?" asked a masculine voice from the shadows. Both girls jumped.
"Daddy," Marcie yelped, painting an all-too-obviously faux smile on her face. "You're up late."
"You're one to talk," retorted Ben Haywood. "Now, Linda. Why is it your fault?"
"I needed to get my CAP rescored, I last had it done two years ago."
"And did you pass?" he asked, his voice deceptively pleasant.
"Six point seven!" Linda related proudly. "Well, anyway, I talked them into giving Marcie a test..."
"Oh? That must have proved an interesting conversation."
"Yes, it took them about twelve hours to score her. That's why we're so late."
Ben's eyebrows rose. "And what did you score, my dear?"
Marcie gulped. "Well..."
"Eight point nine?" roared Director Chandler. "You're telling me that we have a twelve-year-old girl who is a sophomore at MIT, with a grade point average of 4.0 while taking some of the hardest courses they have to offer?" He then realized, "Wait. The marks for the CAP score aren't just for intelligence. What aren't you telling me?"
"She has a black belt in Karate, she is coxswain on the school ladies' rowing team, she's got her EMT certificate, and she's a volunteer both at a seniors' home and the local animal shelter."
"That answers aggressiveness, teamwork, leadership and empathy."
"The only thing bringing her score down at the moment are her sex scores. She's not only still a virgin, but at 12 menses have only recently started so she's still all unrealized potential. AI figures that by her fourteenth birthday she'll be scoring nine point some odd."
"Why is she scoring so high in that department anyway? Despite her tender years?"
"Parents apparently made sure she knew the facts of life from a young age, plus the family are members of a nudist resort. She's seen what boys and girls, men and women look like without their clothes on, and she knows the mechanics. She may not have actually seen much yet, but she knows about how you're supposed to Insert Tab A into Slot B."
"What do we do now? I don't want to leave someone with this high a CAP score, even if it's preliminary pending them turning legal age, on this planet a second longer. Aside from the Sa'arm, there's the worry of the Happy Meals turning her into a Big Mac." Director Chandler was clearly worried about an Earth First preemptive strike.
"And criminal gangs are continuing to try to sneak into space," added Tribune Whitefeather. "We've got a suggestion for a targeted extraction."
"We've been developing a water world as a breeding and research colony, Atlantis. Atlantisat is a Sun-like star with an Earth-like planet orbiting it. There are only a small handful of islands, most around one particular area, although there are a number of submerged plateaus. We've got 40 geofronts planned under both the islands and the sea mounds, that when finished will be capable of housing over a million inhabitants. We can also create submerged cities to increase capacity even more. The lack of land mass makes it undesirable to the Sa'arm, it's located far enough away from the Sa'arm that we have a chance of defeating them before they get anywhere near, and we can hide our presence quite effectively."
"Should we call them? Set up an extraction?"
"As far as that goes..."
Ben regarded his daughter with dark amusement. "You're lucky, young lady. I got a call from a Tribune Whitefeather about half an hour ago, apologizing on behalf of the Confederacy for making you so late." He grunted. "So you can't tell me what you scored?"
"They did something, Daddy, that makes me nauseous every time I contemplate telling someone."
"Ah. Well, you get to bed, young lady. Tomorrow's another busy day. Linda, it's late and we have a most comfortable guest bed. Can I talk you into staying here for the night?"
"If I wouldn't put you out..."
"No, not at all. And my wife has body paint to replace your current 'top'."
"Oh, THANK YOU, Mr. Haywood!"
"By the way, Marcie: Tribune Whitefeather asked us to bring your two sisters to the local CAP scoring centre tomorrow morning. We may be late getting back, but we'll have a barbecue when we do. Don't spoil your dinner."