Repercussions
Page 42
The man backing up Sergeant Gavin began moving from cover to cover, heading toward the middle of the deck. Dregs backed up sideways, slowly threading his way through to get behind a crate just inboard of the docking cradle.
A portable heavy railgun began firing from the cover of the ship cradle under the pirate cruiser, blasting away at anything that could be used for cover.
Dregs grabbed the frag grenade, calculated where the shots were coming from, and heaved it so it bounced under the ship. The resulting explosion threw several bodies and pieces of railgun into the air.
Dregs threw all three grenades in rapid succession, and the security people began to race to the ship.
There was suddenly a great deal of motion in the smoke, as the pirates began retreating toward the cruiser airlocks in bay seventeen. Several laser shots came from a turret on top of the aft part of the ship, vaporizing the bay door’s hinges, followed up with shots from an aft railgun to the centerline. The weakened door sections separated at the center and blew into space. Debris, servitors, and bodies followed.
Saia passed the location of a control junction box in the engine section to Dregs. Aware that the other security personnel were firing at other portions of the engines, he took a step out, flipped the gun to the electron beam setting, and aimed. As he fired, he saw two objects fly at him from the cruiser's airlock. He watched the beam bite into the indicated control box, producing both plumes of plasma and electrical arcs, just as the two EMP grenades went off. Once more, he was blinded by a multispectral glare, and then—
emergency circuit breaker reset…
CHAPTER THREE
STELLAR DATE: 07.22.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Spindizzy Station
REGION: Nuevo Santos System, Fringe Trade Alliance
Restart...
Reboot...
System: Workmate Model 7, initiated 09.22.8918, Workmate Inc., Alowan, Alowan System, Fringe Trade Alliance....
Dregs’ awareness came back, and he found himself staring at a large, high, unfamiliar ceiling. The gravity of the room he was in was lighter…at roughly 0.5g. Also, something or some things were on his legs.
He sat up as best he could to find himself in a pile of servitors. He recognized most of them as having been part of the defense of the station from the pirates. He noticed that the feeling telling him he needed to defend the station was gone; Saia must have decided to not let him make his own mind up about that and set an compulsion in his mind.
He pushed off the servitor that was pinning his legs and unsteadily got to his feet. He noticed his arms had become de-calibrated as he was using them to push up to a standing position. He pulled up his limb calibration programs and walked back and forth swinging his arms to try to get them back to normal.
As he did so, he checked the Link for his location. The map showed him being in Recycling Bay 3 on Level 2. It also let him know that it was 1400 Monday afternoon. His last memory was from 0045 Saturday morning…. That last blast had shut him down for over sixty hours! His masters would be furious at him for being gone for so long.
Still unsteady on his feet, Dregs left the calibration program running as he calculated the fastest route to The Vulgar Penguin. He then set off at a quick pace toward home.
When he arrived there, he noticed there was a bit of commotion. Construction crews were working on the inn, both inside and out, while the owner and Theo were out front, talking and gesturing at portions of the club.
Dregs went up to them and stopped. The owner looked over at him distastefully. Theo, on the other hand, looked like he was looking at a ghost.
“Well, the killer servitor refuses to die. You should have stayed in the scrap pile they put you in,” the owner said scornfully. “I don't want a machine around that can do what you did to those pirates, so you've been replaced.” He pointed at three new Helpmate Model 20s. “So you can just go back to the scrap heap you should have been in years ago.”
Dregs looked over at Theo, but the owner scolded him. “Don't look to him for help. Your little speech scared the bejesus out of him and my customers! So be gone, you freakish machine.” The owner waved him off, then turned back to the club.
Dregs stood there in shock.
“I don't care what you do, just don't do it around here or anywhere near me, ever again!” the owner shouted.
Dregs could see both anger and fear in his eyes.
He stood there for a few moments considering the man. He noticed that the owner’s hand was in his jacket, and there was a large bulge by it.
Dregs nodded and turned to go, then stopped.
“Your junk, you mean?” the owner asked. “I had that thrown into the dumpster, where both it and you belong. If you want it, it's out back, but don't go through my place to get there.”
Dregs hesitated again, then turned and walked to the narrow access along the side of the inn. He passed through the door into the service corridor and went over to the dumpster. He found his cleaning cart sitting on top of the pile.
Once again, he stopped to consider, then mentally shrugged, pulled it out, and placed in on the ground. He grabbed the bucket, his toolbox, and his table and put them in their places on the cart.
He continued to search the dumpster and found his apron and gloves. Finally, he found his velvet bag, but when he picked it up, the familiar jingle was gone. He opened it to find that they had taken his money. There really had not been enough marks in it to warrant taking the coins, but they'd done it anyway.
It looked like someone had tried to smash the datumcrystal modules also, but failed. Dregs wasn't surprised at that; they were designed to handle a hundred g impact. However, he was surprised that someone had tried. Finally, he picked up the mop, broom and dustpan and added them to the cart. He wasn't sure why he grabbed the cleaning tools. Maybe it was just because they were familiar things in his now uncertain world.
Finished with retrieving his things, Dregs thought about where to go next. The main problem, he realized, was that aside from the trips to the recycling bay and the docks to pick up supplies, he had never been anywhere else on the station. He started down the corridor, hoping that something on his journey would help him make a choice.
He wandered aimlessly down the hallways, thinking dark thoughts that just looped back around to the beginning. He did notice that people turned to stare at him; some seemed afraid of him, others were cautious but appeared grateful. He also saw that the number of FTA Defense Force personnel, especially armored Marines, seemed excessively high.
He wandered for what seemed like hours to him, not paying attention to where he was or which way he was going, lost in an endless decision loop that had no resolution. Finally, he realized that he had stopped in front of a door. Looking up, he noticed the sign on the door: “Recycle Bay 3”.
Somewhere in his core, he'd still been following the last vague command from his master: “just go back to the scrap heap”. Here he was, outside the door. He was supposedly free now, free to go anywhere or do anything, but obviously freedom and free will were just illusions for an NSAI.
Not having a better plan of action, he pressed the panel to open the door leading into the bay. He pushed his cart through the bay to the jumbled pile of shorted and broken servitors, and parked it there. He stared into the heap as if it held the answers he needed,
but all he saw was bent, shattered, and inert metal.
As he stood there, he noticed that his limbs were still shaking; his motion neural center must have been damaged by the multiple EMP blasts.
Dregs eventually came out of his electronic funk enough to realize that the nearest servitor had been ripped open, revealing its datumcrystal socket. In that socket was a Pilot Module. He'd heard of them, but had never seen one. He reached down with a shaking hand and gently pulled it free.
The servitor just beyond had a six-module socket rack. Another had the improved power controller.
Eventually, Dregs had collected a small pile of upgrade parts by his cart. He looked at them sadly, finally realizing that he would never be able to utilize them.
He sat down next to them, wrapped his arms around his legs, put his head on his knees, and waited to be scrapped.
Unknown to Dregs, his trip to the inn and back had been monitored. Saia was startled as she watched this “dead” servitor come back to life.
Dregs’ treatment by his owner was shocking, but not unexpected. Some of the prelates and bishops of the Church of Nuevo Santos still preached against the “demon technology” coming in from Alowan and Nippon. A machine that could both think and kill was straight out of their worst nightmares.
They, of course, had no problem with the medical tech—especially the rejuv treatments. Anything that kept them alive and in control was all to the good.
Saia slowly considered what she was about to do, knowing that it was irrational. However, having been freed herself only four months before, and still remembering the feel of those shackles, she felt for the lost, aging servitor.
In the resurgence of his electronic funk, Dregs almost didn't hear the soft, honey-sweet voice that called out to him.
“Little one, are you broken?”
“Then why are you here? This is a place for broken things. If you're not broken, why do you stay?” Saia asked.
Saia started laughing.
On hearing her, Dregs hunched over more.
“But, Dregs, if you have no master, then you are your master…and the creator of your own purpose.”
“Of course I know your name. It just sounds demeaning to me. But, Dregs, sweetie, no one is programmed to decide their purpose; that is learned behavior. But I know you were made to be able to create your own pattern of behavior. If I gave you a list of things to do but not the order to do them in, could you decide that for yourself?” questioned Saia.
“How do you know what that hierarchy is, Dregs?” Saia asked.
he stated.
“But the Starlight Queen didn't teach you about leading troops in battle, and you knew that my tactics were too simple. Where did that data come from?” probed Saia.
“See, you've been learning things your whole existence. I have been free to be my own person for only a few months, so I know that we both still have much learning to do,” concluded Saia. “Think back to the first command your last owner gave you.”
“Yes, that was it. Wasn't that a fairly vague order? Do you remember how you figured out what to do?”
Dregs thought back.
“And putting in the repairs to the bar? Who told you to do that?” inquired Saia.
“And what made you think you could repair furniture?” countered Saia.
Dregs replied indignantly.
“You can repair and build starships…doesn't that sound like a purpose?” she asked.
Saia laughed. “I'm station security, I see all, know all.”
“I suppose it is, but back to the subject. You were designed and programmed to solve problems independently. Here's the problem you need to solve, Dregs: what do you need to survive? That is your primary purpose right now, as I see it.”
He considered the question.
He considered further.
“You can repair starships, so what about station and security systems?” Saia asked
“And you weren't bad during the firefight,” she added. Then she paused as though weighing a decision. “OK, you're hired. First thing you need to do is get yourself checked out. Why don't you report to the Workmate repair shop?”
“You were injured working for security, so we'll cover it,” Saia replied.
Saia stopped him. “Little servitor, aren't you forgetting something?”
“Those parts you gathered. It's not like the other servitors will have any use for them anymore,” replied Saia.
he admitted.
The AI laughed. “Of course it's OK to take them; this is recycling, after all. People come down here all the time to find parts.”
Dregs got a beat-up plastic box and carefully put the parts he'd gathered into it. Finished, he placed the box on top of his cart and looked up the location of the Workmate showroom and repair center on the Link.
he said as he started off.
“Maybe not, little one, but it'll be a fun experiment.” Saia laughed.
Dregs arrived with his cart at the Workmate Industries showroom and repair shop. When he entered, the man behind the counter looked up and smiled.
“Well, if it isn't Dregs, the hero servitor of Spindizzy Station. Welcome, I've been expecting you.”
“I know, she told me you were coming. My name is Dr. Greg Epstein,” the man replied. “OK, let's get your glitchy self into the workshop.” He smiled and pointed at the space at the end of th
e counter.
As Dregs rounded the counter with his cart and headed into the workshop, he heard Saia ask, “What do you mean by ‘glitchy’, doctor?”
“Please, call me Greg. And by ‘glitchy’, I mean that the Model 7 cores had several advancements and specialized algorithms that worked well in the lab, but in the field…well, the various interactions caused odd quirks. For example,” Greg gestured at the cart, “they would develop a concept of ownership to mods, modules, or tools that they used constantly. The 7s were the highest grade NSAI that Workmate Industries produced till the Model 20 was released. We had to downgrade the next few generation cores till we found out what was causing all the glitches. Most Model 7s only lasted a few years, a decade at most, before the quirks they developed annoyed or angered their owners. Dregs is the last one ‘in the wild’, you might say. Workmate Industries has been keeping tabs on him for years. He is quite the survivor.”
Greg gestured for the servitor to sit down by a massive electronic bank of consoles. He pulled what looked like a flashlight out of a pocket. When he shined it into Dregs’ eye, Dregs saw a rapid series of colored lights, and a compartment he didn't know he had popped open. Greg pulled a thick cable from a console and connected it to Dregs.
“That's it, let’s see what your bad little self has been up to.”
“You're referring to Dregs attacking the dockmaster, aren't you?” asked Saia.
“That, among other things,” Greg replied while looking at the readouts. “Let's see what his WORM drive has on the attack.”
“Worm drive? What's a worm drive?” Saia asked.
Greg, startled, looked at Dregs. “Well, well, an NSAI whose personality and social matrices learned to mimic a sense of humor. Interesting.” He made a few notes on a tablet computer. “W.O.R.M., as in ‘write once, read many’. We use datumcrystals that can be written to—but not overwritten—as long-term memory. That way, a hacker can't alter a servitor’s memory,” he said, answering Saia.
Looking back over the summary of the drive, he continued to make notes. “It's why our servitors have to have a shutdown period every twenty-four to forty-eight hours. During the downtime, they process the daily log, noting important details and events and writing it to long-term, then they clear the daily log.”