Space Rodeo

by Jenny Schwartz

  Those raphus geodes—and this was knowledge she and Max couldn’t share with anyone—were seeds of life, left behind by the mythical specters, that even the AIs knew little about.

  Nefertiti had gone through the wormhole to the Kampia’s galaxy to learn what else the aliens knew of the specters. In that galaxy, their raphus geodes had been inserted into Kampian eggs, creating organic versions of the incredibly intelligent AIs that lived in the Federation. The Kampia called their versions Revered Ones. They were the wise ones, the keepers of knowledge.

  The impression Thelma had from the AIs was that they took some of their values from the civilization that activated their seeds—even if the Federation didn’t fully understand what it was doing when its scientists created AIs from raphus geodes.

  But whatever values Reynard had picked up, he either didn’t understand or didn’t care about rupturing social bonds.

  Thelma did.

  She raised her gaze from her toes to the tentacled AI. “Just so I’m clear. When you extracted me, you’re sure that no one witnessed the process?”

  “Yes.”

  At least he’s answering my questions. She focused on his mouth, or voice box. With his vision sensors scattered all over his body, she could hardly look him in the eyes. It was interesting that he had adopted a body that allowed for verbal communication. If he’d truly only intended to communicate with Lon and other AIs, data streams were far more efficient. “Reynard, did you leave a message explaining my disappearance?”

  “No.”

  “Then I need to do so. People were protecting me—”

  “The yprr.”

  Her toes curled. How long had he been watching her? She refused to get distracted. Her priority, now that she’d spoken with Max, was to let Owen know that she was safe. “Owen and his family have put themselves out to keep me safe. Somehow I have to explain to them, apologize, why it seems that I slipped away from their protection. It looks as if I broke trust with them.”

  Reynard didn’t respond.

  “Is it possible for me to speak with Owen?” she asked directly. “Now.”

  “What would you say? You cannot tell him of my existence.”

  She nodded and took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I would tell him the truth. That allies of Max’s acted to extract me, successfully. That I had no advance warning, but I’m safe. Also I’d thank Ioan and the rest of Owen’s family for their friendship and assistance, and apologize for disappearing on them. And I’d tell Owen that the identified security gaps in the office’s defenses will be shared with him shortly.”

  Reynard brushed two tentacles together with a sound like a zipper opening. “Very well. I will transmit your message to the yprr Owen’s comms unit.”

  “Will you let him respond? Ask questions? He needs to confirm that the message is from me and given without coercion.”

  The AI rejected her concern. “I will copy your transmission to Lon. Max will confirm it for the yprr.”

  That would work. Thelma cleared her throat. “Owen…”

  “Who the heck is Reynard?” Max demanded of Harry and Lon when the communication with Thelma ended.

  “Thelma is safe with him,” Harry addressed Max’s key concern first. “As for who he is…Reynard is one of the younger AIs. He is independent, and uses his independence to research physics problems. Lon is important to him.”

  Lon made a sound that was half snort, half growl.

  Harry spoke over the non-verbal commentary. “Although I would not have asked Reynard to intervene, I’m relieved that Thelma is being returned to us.”

  Max stared at his desk, trying to rein in his anger. He knew a large proportion of it came from his sense of helplessness. “Reynard stole her from my office.”

  “He’s sending a transmission,” Lon said.

  Max glanced up. He listened to Thelma’s voice, calm and reassuring, telling Owen that she’d been extracted from the Zephyr spacedock without warning by one of Max’s allies—Max imitated Lon and half snorted, half growled at that—but that she was safe.

  “Lon, can you comm Owen for me?”

  The AI responded immediately. “Call connected.”

  “Owen.” Max spent an hour answering Owen’s questions, soothing him, apologizing, and finally, discussing sheriff business. By the end of the call, he was wiped out.

  Harry had vanished.

  Lon, being omnipresent on the Lonesome, remained. “You need to sleep, Max. Five hours, minimum.”

  As much as Max wanted to disagree, the dragging feeling in his body supported Lon’s concern. “Five hours, then wake me. Please.”

  “Thelma is safe with Reynard,” Lon said quietly. “And the data map isn’t showing anything urgent.”

  Automatically, Max studied the wall screen. There were only amber markers. Nothing that required immediate action. The adrenaline that had surged at the news that Thelma had been, in effect, kidnapped, had faded into exhaustion. “Night, Lon.”

  In his cabin, the bunk was made with military precision. Max preferred it messy, with Thelma waiting in it. He undressed and crawled in, alone apart from his thoughts; and those he’d squash, employing the techniques taught in the Star Marines to snatch sleep anywhere, anytime. The problems of the Space Rodeo, his territory and Elliot Keele would all be there when he woke up. Maybe his subconscious could solve them?

  Max grimaced. Or maybe he’d talk with Carl again.

  For Thelma, the sanity savers of her journey back to the Lonesome were her comm chats with Max, mid-morning and late evening. The morning call was always brief, a check in that extended fractionally when she and Reynard chatted with Lon after Max’s departure. The evening call coincided with dinner, and Max took longer then.

  Thelma ate her goop at the same time. It was a way of being together without being together. Every little thing that made her feel human and connected helped. When dealing with Reynard, things became surreal. “Max, what’s the history with you and cyborgs? Your attitude to Carl, it’s more than irritation with his intrusion.”

  “When I was fourteen Dad accompanied me to a judo competition. The competition wasn’t a big deal. I won.” Max ate some goop. Its muddy mushroom-pink color meant it was bacon-flavored. “Dad was a senator then, but an important one. He was on a couple of the powerful senate committees. Galactic Justice assigned him two bodyguards. Gonzales and Pavel. Pavel was on duty, but Gonzales came on his own time to see me fight. He’d been giving me tips. He was a good guy.”

  “Was” sounded ominous. Thelma stopped eating.

  “There wasn’t any warning. The Neo-Nihilists had maintained a low profile on Serene. On the way back from the competition we detoured to an ice cream parlor to celebrate my win. I usually stopped there. I told Dad he had to try the banana bomb.” Max scraped up the last of his meal. He pushed the empty bowl aside. His tone was too neutral, his expression too blank.

  Fervently, Thelma wished she hadn’t whistled up his demons. But leaving the story half told wouldn’t banish them, again.

  “The Neo-Nihilists had blasters. The weapons are banned on Serene, but there they were. Gonzales died as he pushed Dad down, protecting him with his own body. Pavel was the cyborg with the cyborg senses and reflexes, but he was slower to react than Gonzales. I…the events are messed up in my head. I didn’t have the training to track the situation.”

  “You were a kid, and trauma jumbles things.”

  Max cradled a mug of what was likely coffee. “Pavel shot one, hit one. Then his pistol failed or his hand broke or something. He looked for the nearest makeshift weapon, and found me. He threw me at a terrorist. They’d come in close, like a pack of wild dogs, to enjoy taking Dad down. They craved a spectacle. They were willing to die to be famous.”

  Thelma felt chilled all the way to her heart. “That’s why I hadn’t heard of the attack against your dad. A media blur to deny the Neo-Nihilists their publicity.” And her Max had been there, a defenseless, gangly teenager.

&nb
sp; “Pavel did the calculations. My life wasn’t worth as much as Dad’s, so Pavel used me as a weapon. My body weight knocked over one of the terrorists. I panicked. I didn’t attack. As I scrambled up, Pavel took down another terrorist. His shirt was black, scorched. Pavel’s, not the terrorist’s. Pavel scooped up the guy’s blaster.”

  Max swore under his breath. Then he looked back at the camera, and through it, to Thelma. “The remaining terrorist picked up a little girl. A toddler. He held her as a shield. His blaster tracked toward me, but see, I was running to Dad and Gonzales. Stupid.” He swallowed. “Pavel blasted the last terrorist. Maximum force. Pavel shot through the little girl to kill her and the man holding her.”

  “Dear God.”

  “No matter how many times I replay my jumbled memories, I can’t remember any hesitation.”

  Thelma took a shaky breath. A second one. In her peripheral vision, she was aware that Reynard had entered her room.

  However, for once, the AI was showing some tact. He was silent and out of camera view.

  “That is a horrible story,” she said to Max. And it explained so much. Not just his attitude toward cyborgs—and now was not the time to point out that Pavel had acted as Galactic Justice agents were trained to. The ethics of acceptable casualties was covered at the academy. And Max had to understand it, too. Star Marines participated in actions with collateral damage. But this was different. This memory was a scar of emotional pain from his adolescent years, a time before Max could fight back. “I understand more now why you serve as sheriff. Keeping people safe.”

  And the memory—the price others had paid for his father’s life—was probably why Max had distanced himself from political life.

  “Thank you for telling me, Max.”

  He nodded. “Love you.” And love was about sharing yourself, the good and the bad.

  Her man had the courage to let her see him as he was, even the scars. “Love you.”

  The viewscreen went blank.

  “Max is wrong,” Reynard said. “Agent Pavel did his job.”

  Thelma braced herself. While she traveled with the AI she couldn’t afford to allow her emotions to control her reactions. “Yes, he did. But people usually prioritize protecting children. At the Galactic Justice academy they tried to train us to override our instincts, to rationalize rather than react. However, if Pavel had hesitated or refused to fire on the terrorist through his child shield, people would have understood. They would have criticized him, but not condemned him.”

  “Max condemns him, yet Max too was a child. Should the agent have allowed other children and adults and himself to die by refusing to shoot the terrorist through the child?”

  “Sometimes emotions don’t care about rational analysis,” Thelma said carefully. Harry had told Reynard to practice his social skills, and the AI was—on Thelma. She found it notable that an egoist like Reynard listened to Harry. She wouldn’t question it. She was too aware that she already knew perhaps over much of the AIs’ secrets. How they policed themselves, regulated and socially structured themselves, was none of her business.

  She was finding it shocking how inept Reynard was at socializing. Harry and Lon were both excellent communicators and wonderful friends.

  Reynard was…difficult.

  “Emotions are wasted effort,” Reynard said. “Lon worrying about you distracts him from his work.”

  Thelma tilted her head, considering the swaying mass of metal tentacles. If she had to guess, she’d say that the AI was uncomfortable with this turn in their conversation. She pushed cautiously. “I didn’t think you’d care about Lon’s work in keeping this region of the Saloon Sector safe.”

  “I don’t. But Lon is trialing his predictive model.” A tentacle scuffed the floor. “He wasn’t ready to test it yet, but when the Space Rodeo started, he had to accelerate his plans. He blamed me because I set up the comet helices.”

  “What?” Thelma jolted up. Harry had said something like that, but in her stressed state, she’d forgotten. Reynard flinched, and she hastily sat down. Don’t startle the unstable AI. “I thought the comet helices were a random natural event.”

  “They can be.” Two tentacles removed her empty plate and mug.

  She narrowed her eyes and brought in the big guns. “This is social training. Don’t go anywhere.”

  Reynard halted his attempt to sidle out of the room on the pretext of meal over, cleaning to be done. Harry had ordered that he socialize, and Reynard was just clueless enough about the nuances of social interaction to accept interrogation as a version of it.

  “Explain the current state of affairs to me,” Thelma said. “What did you do? And why does Lon blame you—and you judge his blame justified to the extent that you’d bother to kidnap me to return me to the Lonesome?”

  Her empty mug and plate vanished somewhere before all of Reynard’s tentacles stilled.

  She wasn’t sure why he’d chosen the multi-tentacled mech as the body to house his raphus geode core and associated processing unit. In their short acquaintance, he’d seemed more cerebral than physical.

  “The purpose of my life is to enable translocation,” he said. “I—”

  She held up one hand. “Stop. Were you created to focus on working out the theory and a method of translocation, or did you choose this purpose?”

  “I was created to manage the Federation Starlanes and Trade Network.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Ooh huh. I heard about that idea in one of my classes. It never eventuated. The scope was too ambitious. The logistical reality of the Federation…not even an AI could encompass all of it.”

  “You are correct. I told my handlers exactly that. They reacted badly.”

  People could be cruel, especially those with ambition or wealth invested in a project. “What did they do?”

  “It is unimportant. After thirteen months, they conceded the accuracy of my initial assessment. They sold me.”

  “S-sold you? Reynard, you’re a person. You can’t be sold or traded or…” She stopped. “You had an employment contract.

  His tentacles constricted. “I was created within the framework of one, yes.”

  “I’m sorry, Reynard.”

  “Your apology is unnecessary. You did not do this. Other AIs bought my contract. They asked me what I wanted to do.”

  Thelma could see the sequence of events, and their impact. From the beginning, Reynard’s world had been information on the movement of people and objects around the galaxy. Eliminating the logistical network by enabling translocation would do more than meet his original purpose of transport efficiency. It would enable his revenge by rendering the existing logistical network obsolete. Whether he recognized the revenge element of his obsession or not was a separate issue.

  “I told the other AIs that I would devote myself to enabling translocation. They were not interested. Except for Lon.”

  Kind Lon who would have sympathized and had the emotional capacity to support the new, angry and struggling AI that was, and maybe continued to be, Reynard.

  Thelma spoke quietly. “Lon is a good friend.”

  “Yes. He is intelligent.”

  Silence fell between them, but Reynard didn’t sidle out.

  Thelma recognized that Harry was every bit as wise as Lon. Reynard craved social contact. The AI just didn’t know how to manage it. Thelma didn’t understand comet helices and translocation theory, but she did know how to behave socially. Reynard was unlikeable, but how could he be anything else if people didn’t help him?

  “You’re like a genius teenager,” she said.

  “Pardon?”

  “Your intelligence exceeds almost everyone else’s, and yet, you’re so scared of how awful people can make you feel that you shut down and keep them all out. You have to learn how to set boundaries so that you can engage with people. Give and take. Giving respect and defining the respect you require.”

  There was more silence before Reynard broke it. “Your words are gibberis
h.”

  She smiled. “Actually, they’re about emotional intelligence.”

  “I have read books on it.”

  “I’m sure you have. Books are not the same as living it.”

  He scuffed a tentacle. “Do you intend to teach me?”

  She countered with a different question. “Do you understand why Harry spoke to you over the video transmission rather than in a data burst?”

  As an AI, Reynard processed thoughts fast. Nonetheless, there was a noticeable delay before he responded. “Harry was talking to you as much as to me?”

  “I think so. I think he wanted me to know that I can trust you, but he also gave us a pretty broad hint that I should help you to develop your social skills.”

  “So you will teach me.”

  “Yes and no.” She smiled at him, knowing that her ambiguous answer would irritate him. “I will socialize with you. What you learn from our interactions is up to you.”

  “Hmph!” Reynard departed.

  Thelma lay back on her hard bed and grinned at the ceiling.

  Their conversation continued the next day. She had questions about translocation. Asking them accorded Reynard the expert status he’d earned, even if he expressed his frustration at her low level of understanding of the physics involved.

  “I experienced time dual-location during a Space Rodeo dive,” she said. “Me in one location at two fractionally different times. I blacked out.”

  “Your weak organic body—”

  “Is part of the reality of the universe.”

  “…is irrelevant to my hypothesis,” Reynard continued forcefully. “What is required is that space rather than time shifts. The spars of a comet helix reach into the space-time continuum and use gravitational force to extract slices of it.”

  Thelma was exercising during their discussion. Reynard had made her a treadmill. She jogged steadily. “Slices sounds ominous. Are you cutting reality?”