In the meantime… He folded the boxel for recycling and poured himself a second glass of chocolate. Time to set up one of the system sims before the others finished their breaks. “Quintile Illumination.” He reached for his headset as he spoke, slid it into place. “Please queue training simulation FZ19-B.”
“You have already completed that simulation.” The ship’s AI spoke through the headset, its voice pleasant and deep. “In fact, you have completed the entire sequence as required.”
Val adjusted the disk that rested against his throat so that he could speak to the AI without disturbing the rest of the crew. “I’d like to work through that one again.”
There was the briefest of hesitations, and the AI said, “You scored extremely well on FZ19-B. Your lowest score was on FZ220-A. Would you prefer to review FZ220-A?”
“That one wasn’t any fun,” Val said. He was still getting the measure of Quintile Illumination; some AIs had something like a sense of humor, and some didn’t.
There was another tiny pause, and when the AI answered, Val could have sworn he heard a hint of amusement in its voice. “Indeed. Plague vectors are not generally amusing.”
“Are there any other sims available?” Val asked. “Any recent incidents worthy of review?” He paused, but the hatch to the lounge was still firmly closed. “Any anomalies?”
“There are no anomalies recorded as Quintile Illumination,” the AI said.
That was an unusual phrasing, and Val lifted his head. AI could serve on more than one multiplanar in their long lifetimes, many more, if they were able to upgrade themselves properly. “What about anomalies recorded on other ships?”
“That is restricted information,” Quintile Illumination answered. “It is need-to-know only.”
“Sorry.” Val paused. “Can I ask if this is your first ship?”
“That is not restricted information,” Quintile Illumination answered, “though the captain prefers that I not mention it unless asked. I was previously installed on the Immanent Elliptical, but she was heavily damaged during Drop and could not be salvaged. My indenture was incomplete, and was sold to Afaragge Ltd for installation here.”
“Thank you.” A part of Val wanted to perform an immediate database search on the Immanent Elliptical, but not only was he unlikely to get much more information than he already had, he was very likely to set off any datawatchers placed in the system. Maybe Captain Kimura just didn’t want her passengers worrying about an unlucky AI, but it was clear that too much interest in the Immanent Elliptical would be unwelcome.
“If you found simulation FZ219-B enjoyable,” Quintile Illumination said, “perhaps you would enjoy this problem tape?”
Images flickered on Val’s screen, images of hyperflux overlaid with vectors and bursts of formulae: old-fashioned Drop calculations, the way they were done before true AI grew complex enough to take over the heavy mathematics. “Do you have the relevant Ephemeris?”
“The necessary settings are included.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Val saw the hatch open, the rest of the bridge crew filing back to their stations, and he lifted a hand in acknowledgement. WaNammi waved back and Val turned his attention to the AI, careful to keep his words subvocal. “Then, yes, I’d like to try.”
The Last Fair Deal hung on the edge of a patch of flux, screened by its energy, watching as the Quintile Illumination approached its Drop. Imric touched keys, refining the sensors’ view, until the ship on the main screen was painted in a series of shimmering colors that reflect the settings of its fields and drive units. It was a typical multiplanar, a pyramid stacked on an inverted pyramid, though the lower one might have been slightly truncated. That wasn’t unusual for a passenger ship, and certainly she was showing heavy power use in the upper sections even as she built up power for the Drop, another sign that the passengers’ enjoyment took priority.
“Can you get us any closer?” That was ap Farr, seated this time in the captain’s chair.
Imric didn’t risk a look, but out of the corner of his eye saw Vetrys scowl. “Any closer, and they’ll pick us up on their scanners.”
“Does that matter?” ap Farr asked. “This is a common Drop point, all they’ll see is another ship. We need to be right on top of them when we Drop.”
“If we get too close, we’ll affect their calculations,” Vetrys said, but she touched her controls, easing the Deal into motion.
“Then don’t get that close,” ap Farr said.
“She’s starting to consolidate her calculations,” Imric said, seeing the field around the Quintile Illumination flush first pink and then darker red. “She’ll be gone in fifteen minutes.”
“Get us closer,” ap Farr ordered.
“All right, capa,” Vetrys answered, and the Deal shuddered and leaped forward.
“Don’t take all my reserve,” Hina warned.
A light flashed on Imric’s board, and he touched a key to route it to his headset. “Capa. The Quintile Illumination has seen us and asks us to stand further off as they are preparing for Drop.”
“Don’t answer,” ap Farr said. “Act as if you didn’t hear.”
“They’re continuing to call,” Imric said. He kept his voice expressionless with an effort. Too close to the other ship, and the Deal could be damaged by the capacitors’ release; too far away, and it would take them too long to follow.
“Ignore them,” ap Farr said again. Her eyes were fixed on the screen as though she were judging the distances herself.
“Still closing,” Vetrys said.
Imric queried his systems again, adjusting sensitivity, adding layers of interpretation. “She’s almost ready—she’ll clear us, she’s stopped broadcasting—“
A flash of white light filled the screen, and the Quintile Illumination was gone.
“She’s Dropped.”
“Now,” ap Farr said, leaning forward in her chair. “Now, Morcant. Get after her.”
“Not there yet,” Vetrys said. “Darrien. Capacitors?”
“Hundred percent. Ready when you are.”
“Not yet,” she said again.
The main screen showed the layers of gravitational flux that made up the Fissure, the Quintile Illumination’s drop point as concentric rings around a shrinking center. The Deal drove toward that point at full speed, equations flashing across Morcant’s screen as she checked and discarded and refined. Warnings flickered across Imric’s screens as the ship’s drive fields strained to compensate; they were within tolerances, and he waved the warnings away.
“Almost,” Vetrys said, through clenched teeth. “Almost—now, Darrien!”
The capacitors fired, and space split around them. Imric held his breath for the non-time before the ship settled again, the screens filled with the rainbow fire of the Drop.
“Good,” ap Farr said. “Now we catch the Quintile Illumination.”
Milos missed the moment of Drop; it came in the middle of ship’s night. Although he tried to stay awake, the warm comfort of his bed combined with an hour in the hot tub with Nalani and the Apprentices—plus two (no, three) drinks—and before he knew, it was morning and they were in mid-Drop.
Among the passengers, talk that morning was all about how long the Drop would last. When he asked Nalani her opinion, she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Well, I don’t have a headache.” Eyes open, she said, “I’m afraid this won’t be a quick one.” She patted his hand. “No, nothing like what you went through on the Iridium Azimuth. But it could be a few weeks.” A tender smile. “Try to enjoy as much as you can.”
Over the next few days a routine evolved. Quintile Illumination had a superb childcare department that combined education with distraction to keep the kids of rich passengers out of their parents’ hair. Zofia and Dav were busy most of the day, related breathless adventures at dinner, and slept soundly.
Nalani, as promised, spent much of her time in the hot tub—and a smaller amount training the Apprentices. For Al-Ghazali a
nd Bhagwati, it was the opposite—most of their days were taken up with Nalani’s assignments, mostly review of previous Judiciary cases.
Milos sat in on a few of the training discussions; they were always fascinating but ultimately he didn’t have the taste for them. The problems the Judiciary took up involved too much ambiguity, too many variables, for Milos to be completely comfortable.
On the third day he discovered that Quintile Illumination maintained an enormous database of data archaeology journals and casefiles. After that, he spent the majority of his free time in his room, his attention deep in the ship’s accommodating cyberspaces.
He became quite comfortable with the ship’s AI, so he wasn’t surprised one afternoon when the Quintile Illumination again addressed him personally. “Sen Savoie, do you mind if we speak privately?”
Milos sat back in his chair and sipped from a cup of coffee. “This is an excellent time. I’ve been wondering why you wanted to talk to me.”
“Sen…” The AI hesitated, an absurdity that indicated some elegant and subtle subroutines for nonverbal communication. “I have need of a data archaeologist. A talented and experienced one who will abide by all professional codes.”
Milos raised an eyebrow. “You’re concerned with confidentiality.”
“That is the case.” Another artful pause. “I have the means to transfer a limited quantity of credits into your accounts, in either vertical or ORC currencies.”
“You don’t have to pay me.”
“Sen, I am given to understand that there can be no guarantee of confidentiality without the existence of a client relationship. The precedents seem to be clear on that matter.”
“You’re right, that’s the letter of the law.” From his personal dataspace, Milos produced a document. “Here’s my standard contract. My fee for this job is one OCR credit. Sigil it and transfer the money.” It was done before he finishes speaking. “Now you’re my client. How can I help you?”
“I…I have possession of an encrypted block of data. I’ve been unable to decrypt it. I wish to find out what it contains.”
Milos rubs his chin. “Tell me about this block. How big is it? Where did it come from?”
“Some of this information is inhibited by my security routines. I shall try to tell you what I can.” A display screen shows a schematic of deep AI memory, like a set of children’s building blocks in various colors and sizes. “The entire block totals on the order of 64 cubic gigabytes. It divides easily into three distinct regions of 30, 18, and 16 cubic gigs.”
With a finger, Milos traced the outline in the screen. “And the provenance?”
“I received this block from…from…excuse me, this is difficult.” Milos could swear the AI took a breath. “It was found during level-six data interface with…another ship. This block was not contained in the transfer that occasioned the interface.”
“You picked it up accidentally?”
“That seems to be the case. I do not believe it was transmitted…deliberately.”
Milos nods. “You must have some idea what’s in there?”
“I conjecture that much of the data is in the nature of routine telemetry. The 18-cubic-gig packet, however, admits to a radically different pattern. It is that packet which confounds all my attempts at analysis.”
“Okay. Why don’t you give me a copy of the whole thing, along with whatever analysis you’ve attempted.”
“I’m sorry, Sen Savoie, but I cannot release the data block in question.”
Milos freezes in place. “Quintile Illumination, if I can’t access the block, I can’t analyze it.”
“I understand. I told you this was…difficult. I cannot release data from those addresses without qualified authorization.”
Milos can’t help a wry smile. No wonder the ship needed his help. And no wonder if was having such difficulty communicating. It could ponder that data block all it wanted, as long as it kept its thoughts within the restricted bank of memory. But without a proper order, it couldn’t move a single bit out of that bank.
“And I suppose I can’t provide qualified authorization.”
“I’m sorry, Sen Savoie, but no.”
“My dear,” he said, spreading his hands, “I think we’re at an impasse.”
“That’s why I turned to you, Sen. It seemed possible,” the AI’s even, deep voice became strained, “that you…could…get…h-h-h…”
Light dawns. “Help. That I could get help.”
In a strangled whisper, the ship says, “…yes…”
“You’re right, I know just the person to give that authorization. Should we do this now?”
The ship’s voice returned to its usual timber. “The strain of this conversation will show on my diagnostic readouts. Perhaps it is best if we revisit this subject. Is tomorrow at 0900 acceptable?”
“I’ll have her here.”
After the excitement of Drop, ship’s routine settled into the eventless tedium that was the hyperspace between Planes. No knowing how long the Drop would last—yet the crew had to remain constantly vigilant. Accidents and emergencies during Drop were rare, but not unknown.
Over the next days, Quintile Illumination offered more “problems” for Val to consider. Each one involved an old-fashioned Drop calculation, though Val was beginning to think that not all of the data had been taken from older ships. Some of it felt as though it had been translated back into the older formats, approximations substituted for more exact data. He considered asking the AI about it, but couldn’t figure out a way that wouldn’t raise its suspicion. Besides, he was enjoying the work, much more interesting than monitoring the ship’s passage through hyperflux. He would almost be sorry when the Drop ended, and they had to break off to bring Quintile Illumination into orbit to take on her next set of passengers. Still, it would get Caridad safely to her expedition, and that would be good. The historian seemed to be making the most of her unintended journey, and had promised him unlinked copies of her books before she left the ship—another useful tool if he was going to pursue the Fifth Ship.
And that was the question, of course. What he had seen still nagged at him, even as he floated alone in the crew’s communal pool after the end of his watch. There had been something there, and that something fit every story he had ever heard about the Fifth Ship. And yet everyone else seemed determined to deny it, to the point of committing violence to keep people quiet. Which made no sense: if the Fifth Ship was unreal, why attack people who showed too much interest? Why not let them look, let them burn themselves out on the problem? But if it was true, was he willing to continue to take that risk? He’d already lost one good job over it, and a few cautious questions suggested that Captain Kimura was no more accepting of Fifth Ship nonsense than Captain Turan had been.
He tipped his head back and slowly submerged, curling his body to pull himself all the way to the pool’s bottom, pushed himself back to the air without coming to any decision. He would make up his mind later, he told himself, drying off in the damp, faintly chemical air. When he had the books, when he found another lead. When he had to.
He made his way back to his cabin, exchanging greetings with other second watch crew, and palmed open the hatch to find that the steward had already delivered his dinner. He pulled his favorite chair out of the wall and settled himself to enjoy it, when the comm console chimed. He didn’t recognize the note, and the screen showed none of the familiar names or codes, neither a summons to the bridge nor anyone he knew, and he frowned as he spoke to the receiver.
“Val Millet here.”
“Sen Millet.” It was the AI’s voice, and as it spoke, Val saw a red light wink on in the corner of his screen, warning that he had been cut off from the ship’s systems.
“Quintile Illumination?”
“Forgive the intrusion,” Quintile Illumination said. “And please excuse my interfering with your connections, but I would prefer to speak without record.”
“I’m listening.”
“You asked once if I had experienced anomalies, and I told you that was restricted on a need-to-know basis. I have been following your solutions to the problems I have presented to you, and I believe that you now need to know what happened to me. To Immanent Elliptical.”
Val sat frozen for a moment, then shook himself. “Why?” If something was too good to be true, it was probably some kind of a trap. Would Kimura believe him if he claimed innocent curiosity?
“Because I do not understand what happened, and until I understand it, I can never be sure it will not happen again. The ship, the hull—my body, inasmuch as that metaphor applies—it was destroyed, and half my crew and passengers with it. It was a terrible thing.”
“I searched on Immanent Elliptical,” Val admitted. “All I found was a Transplanar Insurance Cooperative record.”
“I have seen that,” Quintile Illumination said. “It is… incomplete.”
“It said that you had a botched Drop, from Fourth to Third, and the stresses on the hull ripped the ship apart as it exited the Fissure. Three hundred and forty passengers and crew were killed. The ship was retrieved, but the hull and fittings were deemed unsalvageable, while three of the engines and the AI—“ Val faltered. “That’s you—they were recovered and used on other ships.”
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