by S. H. Jucha
“We’ll need participants,” Trobath pointed out.
Alex regarded the SADEs. With a lift of an eyebrow, he bypassed Miranda and Z.
Alex tapped Othello and two other SADEs to join the group. Alex and the SADEs downloaded the vid, and human and digital entities applied their own techniques to prepare their bodies for the motions.
Trobath studied the vid of the chosen dance for nearly a quarter hour. She recognized the courtesies that were employed. It fascinated her that so many Elvian courtesies were incorporated in the dance. However, the partner interactions were new, and she worked to memorize them, knowing the SADEs were ready to perform them.
When Trobath was ready, she regarded Alex and said, “We’ll need music.”
The strains of music had Trobath’s head turning. Z’s mouth hung open, and music swelled from it. She looked at Alex, who winked. Trobath didn’t know the meaning of the eye’s movement, but she returned it, as if it had been a courtesy.
Trobath arranged the group. Then she nodded at Z. With the opening chords of the music, Trobath’s hands moved. As the music grew in volume and complexity, her arms and then her body joined the intricate chords.
The SADEs and Alex were in motion as well.
Trobath was surprised by the flexibility of the SADEs, and, on cue, she extended an arm toward Othello. The SADE responded with a twirl that passed by Trobath, as she imitated his motion. The partners’ steps wove them around one another, and hands and arms described subtle images in the air.
The dance proceeded with Trobath engaging each partner until she came to Alex. Her challenge was how to dance with a partner of his size. In a moment of inspiration, she abandoned the prescribed routine.
While Alex performed the twisting, twirling actions as best he could, Trobath employed some of her favorite steps to describe a wider circle around Alex. She heard his booming laugh, when he recognized what she was doing.
Miranda monitored Alex’s device and his body’s oxygen level. The device was performing well, but Alex was exerting himself, and the machine was barely keeping up. However, the sound of Alex’s laughter elevated her emotional algorithms, and she recorded the dance for Ser.
When the strains of music died, every participant twirled on one foot, with arms above their heads. The final motions were an extension of courtesies to the female in the center.
Alex and the SADEs applauded Trobath, who was embarrassed by the adoration. She extended an elaborate courtesy and lightly twirled.
Alex didn’t feel lightheaded, but he dearly wished to take deeper breaths.
Having witnessed the SADEs’ skills, Trobath was energized, and she ran to Miranda. The SADE activated the sequence, and Trobath stuck a finger in the display and swiped at it. Miranda accelerated the vid’s speed. Again, Trobath swiped. After several dances swept past, she poked at the display to halt it. Then she smiled up at Z. “Care to dance?” she asked.
Z downloaded the sequence. It involved only two partners.
Trobath didn’t bother to study the dance. She had no intention of performing her part. With Z, she had to improvise, and her pulse quickened in anticipation.
Miranda provided the music, and the partners extended courtesies toward each other. When the music swelled, Z’s size and steps occupied a great swath of space, and Trobath spun and twirled to encompass a wider arc. In her lifetime, she hadn’t had such a challenge, and she wondered why the dances had been abandoned.
When the music finished, Trobath felt dizzy, and she stumbled.
Z caught Trobath before she hit the deck, and Alex ordered, “Into the traveler.”
The ramp was open, and Z, Miranda, and Alex bounded up the ramp. Miranda signaled the ramp closed, and the traveler’s reserve tanks flushed the interior with oxygen rich air.
Within moments, Trobath’s vision cleared. She found herself cradled in Z’s arms. “What happened?” she asked.
“A lack of oxygen,” Alex suggested, speaking for Trobath’s benefit. Simultaneously, he sent through Miranda, asking,
When Trobath heard the reason for the loss of the Elvians’ art, her head drooped.
Alex thought she was relapsing, and he eased a hand under her chin to check her.
Trobath lifted her head. Tears welled in her eyes, and she said sadly, “We’re dying.”
“Not if I can help it,” Alex cautioned. He extended his arms, and Trobath threw herself into Alex’s embrace.
Alex waited for the diminutive Elvian to emotionally recover.
When Trobath pulled away, wiping the tears from her cheeks, she apologized. Then she chuckled breathlessly. Alex had displayed an unusual courtesy. It wasn’t one that Elvians used, which made it special to Trobath.
Alex sent.
Z signaled the ramp to drop, and Trobath watched in awe as the mammoth avatar vaulted through the ramp’s narrow opening before it began closing again.
Alex could hear Miranda’s, “I told you so,” even though she never sent the words.
Alex wondered if he should inform the populace of the oxygen problem, but that announcement couldn’t come from Omnians. It had to be either Vyztram, who was restricted, or the core’s reps. He dismissed the idea soon after considering it.
The next thought that occurred to Alex was to leave some of the SADEs aboard to protect the negotiations, but he eliminated that idea even quicker.
Alex’s sending would have overwhelmed a human, and Miranda understood the reason for the vehemence. If Alex must leave with the only ship, then every Omnian must leave.
Z and Othello followed the engineering plans to locate the vast space that housed much of the ship’s service facilities — water and waste recycling, air purification, and hydroponics.
When the SADEs arrived, they found engineers and techs at work throughout the cavernous location.
Vyztram had given Z the name of an Elvian. The AI also communicated to the engineer to quietly show the SADEs the extent of the problem.
“Jerfem?” Z inquired, when an engineer hurried to meet them.
Jerfem nodded and said quietly, “This way.” He led Z and Othello on a tour of the hydroponics, and the SADEs examined the extent of oxygen production that was captured.
“Why is this insufficient for the ship’s population?” Othello asked.
“It isn’t,” Jerfem replied. “This isn’t the problem. It’s our air processing system.”
“Show us,” Z directed.
Jerfem led them to an area that encompassed huge ductwork, filtration systems, and control systems.
“Our monitoring stations are connected to the filtration systems,” Jerfem explained, pointing out the various parts. “Unfortunately, the filtration units don’t produce the feedback the stations expect. That’s because all the original filtration units have been exhausted, and our replacements don’t communicate properly with the control systems. Like the filters, the control systems were made by a unique process that we can’t replicate. Therefore, we’re forced to constantly test the output and make manual adjustments.”
“Augment the control systems to work with your filters,” Z suggested.
“We’ve been trying to do that,” Jerfem replied. “It’s a massive project, and we require some special metals. Vyztram notified us that the asteroids in this system contain the ores we need.”
“Then you’ll be able to repair the air filtration systems for the population,” Othello suggested.
“No,” Jerfem replied. His eyes were sad. “The gases we’re expecting to mine, and the repairs we’re hoping to make, will allow the Arcus population about forty more Elvian annuals.”
“Data is missing from your explanation, Jerfem,” Z pointed out. “Everything you’ve told us indicates that you’ll adequately repair the systems in time with substitute filters and control systems.”
“It’s the Arcus,” Jerfem replied, waving a slender arm around in a broad semicircle. “It was never meant to be in space this long. The creators built many ships like this and launched them as quickly as they could.”
“Then services infrastructure is failing,” Z said.
“Yes,” Jerfem replied. “My patriarch used to perform repairs about half the time. Now, my generation is forced to make repairs nearly every moment of our cycle’s duty. We can’t keep up.”
“And now you haven’t time to train attendant families to support you,” Othello hypothesized.
“True, but it wouldn’t matter if we did,” Jerfem replied. “The elites wouldn’t forgo the services of their attendants.”
“Even if they knew it would extend the life of the ship?” Z inquired.
“You have to speak with elites to understand their thinking,” Jerfem said. “Sometimes, I think they’re aliens, not Elvians at all.”
“Thank you for your time, Jerfem,” Z said, and Othello and he left the facilities space to return to the traveler.
When the two SADEs arrived within comm distance of the traveler, they were cued by Miranda about the problem with air filtration.
Quite political of you, Alex thought.
Alex suggested.
Vyztram allowed.
Alex knew the moment he mentioned Julien that the AI would find the idea of a temporary human avatar desirable.
After Miranda closed the link to Vyztram, she sent,
Alex could hear Tatia, who often asked the same question.
18: Reset
The Deloy dismissed the attendants from her sleeping quarters and used her slate to close the double doors. She’d always hated the room’s motif. Her matriarch had lovingly decorated the bulkheads with murals of softly muted colors. She preferred bold tones and strident images.
A key around the Deloy’s neck accessed a small hidden door in an innocuous place above the bed. She moved the copious pillows, knelt at the head, and inserted the slender piece of metal in a tiny slit in the mural. It was artfully hidden within a figure’s shoulder strap.
The key’s chip signaled a hidden door, which tilted up, recessed, and was replaced with a small control panel. There were several functions displayed on the panel, and the Deloy studied her choices.
Nearly ten annuals ago, the Deloy was shown this panel by her patriarch. She was warned never to access it without him present. Then he’d proceeded to explain the various functions.
The young Deloy was fascinated by the power inherent in the panel’s capabilities, and she coveted those functions. That was when the idea of becoming the new Deloy was born in her warped thoughts. It had taken her an annual and a half to invent what she considered the perfect scenario.
Only one aspect of the Deloy’s plan had given her any pause. For the idea to work, her elder sibling would have to succumb to the supposed illness too. She didn’t like or dislike him, but if he had lived, he would have become the new Deloy.
The third menu item on the panel said reset. A slender youthful digit was extended to touch the selection. A small window opened. It was blank, with no indication of what was required. Every menu selection responded this way.
The blank window was what had taken the Deloy so long to perfect her plan. It had required innumerable conversations and questions with her patriarch to discover that a code was required. To her dismay, she’d learned that her patriarch’s codes couldn’t be used by her.
Then one fateful cycle, the patriarch had explained to his female offspring that upon his death the key would pass to the elder sibling, and the new Deloy would be issued a set of codes. When the young female learned that, she had all the pieces to her plot. Several cycles later, she activated it, and her family members fell mysteriously ill.