“I don’t know,” Ashby said. “I wonder if I’ve gotten so comfortable in this kind of work that I never stopped to consider doing more. And we could, in theory. We’re capable enough. We’re good enough.”
“We are,” Sissix said slowly. “But we’re not talking new circuitboards here. We’d need a new bore, and that’d cost you a standard’s worth of profits right there. I’d want a new nav panel, because the one we’ve got is sticky enough as it is sometimes. We’d need a bigger ambi stock, more stabilizers, more buoys — I’m sorry. I don’t mean to stomp all over your daydream here.” She gave his knee a friendly scratch with her claws. “Okay, let’s say you saved up enough, and we got all kitted out, and we could start taking high level jobs. What would you do with that?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why do you want that, other than whatever Yoshi said that got under your skin.”
He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “How did you know?”
She laughed. “Just a guess.”
Ashby scratched his beard and thought. What did he want it for? After he’d first left home, all those years ago, he’d sometimes wondered if he’d go back to the Fleet to raise kids, or if he’d settle down on a colony somewhere. But he was a spacer through and through, and he had the itch for drifting. As the years went on, the thought of making a family had dwindled. The point of a family, he’d always thought, was to enjoy the experience of bringing something new into the universe, passing on your knowledge, and seeing part of yourself live on. He had come to realize that his life in the sky filled that need. He had a crew that relied on him, and a ship that continued to grow, and tunnels that would last for generations. To him, that was enough.
But was it enough as it was now? He was content, sure, but he could do more. He could build grander things meant for greater numbers of people. He could give his crew a bigger cut, which he’d long wanted to do, and they certainly deserved. He didn’t share Yoshi’s hubris, but he couldn’t deny that the idea of a Human captain doing work traditionally left to the founding species gave him a spark of pride. He could —
“Oh, not to change the subject, but I meant to tell you,” he said. “I got a vid pack from Tessa today. Ky started walking.”
“Aw, that’s great,” Sissix said. “Tell her I say congratulations.” She paused. “Okay, I have to be honest, I always forget learning to walk takes so long for you guys. Whenever I pictured your nephew, I pictured him running around.”
Ashby laughed. “He will be soon enough.” He would be, chasing after his big sister, banging knees, breaking bones, burning an ever increasing amount of calories. Tessa always protested whenever Ashby sent her credits, but she never outright said no, either. Neither did his father, who was having trouble with his eyesight despite repeated surgeries. What he needed was an optical implant, just as Tessa needed healthier food for her kids than a Fleet job in a cargo bay could provide.
He could do more.
Day 130, GC Standard 306
TECHNICAL DETAILS
The sound of stimthump met Jenks as he walked through the corridors of the engine room. Pounding notes echoed off the fluid-filled pipes that stretched along the ceiling. He followed the sounds of drums, pipeflutes, grating strings, the wails of several Harmagians — and one unabashedly off-key Human woman who was not part of the recording.
He entered a roomy access area. This was Kizzy’s lair, a well-lit space full of workbenches heaped with spare parts, hand-labeled containers, and forgotten amusements. A tool cage stood sentry by one of the entrances, laden with every sort of implement imaginable. Two green armchairs, their balding fabric covered with patches, rested strategically near the warm tubes that pumped spent fuel down to the processing tanks. Between the chairs was a mek brewer, jerry-rigged into one of the engine’s powerlines. It was in need of cleaning.
The mech tech herself was perched on a work ladder, her head and hands up inside an open ceiling panel. Her hips rocked in time with the drum beats. She belted along to the throbbing music as she worked. “Punch ‘em in the face! Monkeys like it, too!”
“Hey. Kizzy,” Jenks said.
“I ate a har - monica! These socks — match — my hat!”
“Kizzy.”
A tool clattered to the ground. Kizzy’s hands clenched into fists as the music swelled to a stormy crescendo. She danced atop the shuddering ladder, her head still in the ceiling. “Socks! Match — my hat! Socks! Match — my hat! Step on — some — sweet — toast! Socks! Match — my hat!”
“Kizzy!”
Kizzy ducked her head down. She pressed the clicker strapped to her wrist, turning down the volume of the nearby thump box. “Sup?”
Jenks quirked an eyebrow. “Do you have any idea what this song is?”
Kizzy blinked. “Socks Match My Hat,” she said. She went back up into the ceiling, tightening something with her gloved hands.
“Soskh Matsh Mae’ha. It’s banned in the Harmagian Protectorate.”
“We’re not in the Harmagian Protectorate.”
“Do you know what this song’s about?”
“You know I don’t speak Hanto.”
“Banging the Harmagian royal family. In glorious detail.”
“Ha! Oh, I like this song so much more now.”
“It’s credited with setting off the riots on Sosh’ka last year.”
“Huh. Well, if this band hates the establishment that much, then I doubt they’ll care about me making up my own words. They can’t oppress me with their ‘correct lyrics.’ Fuck the system.” She grunted, fighting with a stuck valve. “So what’s up?"
“I need the axial circuit coupler and I have no idea where you put it.”
“Left-side toolbench.”
Jenks looked from side to side. “My left or your left?”
“My left. No. Wait. Your left.”
Jenks walked to the bench, dragged over an empty crate, and climbed up to have a look. The piles of junk that covered the bench had merged, creating one nebulous omni-pile. He sifted through the contents. A bundle of three-gauge fuel tubing. A half-eaten bag of fire shrimp (”Devastatingly Hot!” the label boasted). An assortment of dirty mugs. Several sets of schematics with added notes and doodles. An unopened box of — Jenks paused and craned his head toward Kizzy.
“Out of curiosity,” he said. “What are you doing?”
Kizzy showed him her palms. Her work gloves were caked with dense green slime. “Gunk trap’s clogged.”
He looked back to the box on the bench. “You could have that done in three ticks if you used fixbots.”
“I don’t have any bots.”
“Um, so, this box of bots I’m looking at is what, then?”
Kizzy’s head reappeared. She squinted at the bench. “Oh, those bots.” She disappeared into the ceiling again.
He ran a finger over the box. It came back dusty. “You’ve never even opened these.” The company logo caught his eye. “Holy shit, Kiz, these are Tarcska bots. Do you have any idea how top-of-the-line these are?”
“Bots are boring,” she said.
“Boring.”
“Mhm.”
Jenks shook his head. “Once upon a time, the Human race would’ve killed for the computing power stored in these little guys — literally killed — and you’ve got them buried under old snacks. Why do you even have these?”
A glob of green gunk ran over the edge of the ceiling panel, spattering the floor. “If ever we find ourselves in a situation so mind-fuckingly dire that you can’t lend me a hand and Lovey can’t shut things down, then I’ll need them. Thankfully, that’s never happened.” She took a tool from her belt and stretched up onto the tips of her toes. Something metallic groaned in protest. “Oh, ass, just work, you stupid bastard thing — ”
Jenks brushed aside an empty glue packet and found the coupler. He clipped it to his tool belt. “Air filter’s done, by the by. I’m gonna go check on Lovey. You wanna smash before bed?”
There was a reply, but it was muffled beneath clanging and swearing and dripping gunk. Jenks chuckled and walked out of the room. Kizzy remained in the ceiling, filthy and profane. He knew she was having a wonderful time.
●
There were other Lovelaces out there, of course. Her core software platform could be purchased through any AI dealer. There were probably dozens of versions of her traveling through the galaxy — maybe hundreds, who knew. But they weren’t her. The Lovey that Jenks knew was uniquely molded by the Wayfarer. Her personality had been shaped by every experience she and the crew had together, every place they’d been to, every conversation they’d shared. And honestly, Jenks thought, couldn’t the same be said for organic people? Weren’t they all born running the Basic Human Starter Platform, which was shaped and changed as they went along? In Jenks’ eyes, the only real difference in cognitive development between Humans and AIs was that of speed. He’d had to learn to walk and talk and eat and all the other essentials before he’d begun to have a sense of identity. Lovey didn’t have to worry about those things. There hadn’t been a need for her to spend years learning how to monitor systems or switch off circuits. She had started life out with all the maturity and knowledge she needed to do her job competently. But in the three standards since she’d been installed, she’d become much more than just a ship’s AI. She’d become someone wonderful.
“Hey, you,” Lovey said as Jenks stepped into the AI chamber.
“Hey, yourself,” he said, bending down to untie his boots. He slipped them off and stepped into a pair of sandals that never left the room. He found the idea of walking around in there with grubby, gunky shoes quite rude. The walls were covered with circuit panels, each a vital component of Lovey’s framework — effectively, her brain. In the middle of the room was her central core, resting on a pedestal within a temperature-controlled pit. Jenks spent a lot of time in the pit, even though his job didn’t require it, and going in there with boots on felt like kissing somebody in the morning without brushing your teeth.
“Good day?” she asked.
He smirked. “You know how my day was.” Lovey had cameras and sensors throughout the ship. She kept a protective eye on them at all times. It was a comfort, knowing that an accident or injury wouldn’t go unnoticed, even in the most out-of-the-way corners. Lovey was always there to call for help. But it was the sort of thing that made a man pause before scratching his balls or picking his nose. Having an AI around forced good manners.
“I still like to hear you tell it.”
“Fair enough. It was a good day. I think we’re ready for the punch tomorrow. Everything’s working fine, far as I can tell.”
“What do you think of Rosemary?”
“She seems nice. Hard to say. She’s a little quiet, and was pretty lagged to boot. We’ll all need some time to get to know her.”
“I felt so bad about having to flash her when she came aboard. She looked rough afterward. Not a very nice thing to do when meeting someone for the first time.”
“I’m sure she understood you were only doing your job.” Jenks walked along the wall panels, looking them over for the little red lights that meant trouble. Lovey hadn’t alerted him to any problems, but if something went really wrong, she might not be able to let him know. He did the rounds twice a day, just in case.
“Do you think she’s pretty?”
Jenks raised an eyebrow toward the nearest camera, then glanced back at one of her analytical pathways. The filament was old; it would need replacing in a tenday or two. “Sure, I guess. Not, like, falling-out-of-my-seat pretty, but if I were a lady, I’d be content looking the way she does.” He stepped up onto a workstool and examined the upper circuit row. “Why do you ask?”
“She seemed like the sort you’d find pretty.”
“How so?”
“Do you remember that adventure sim you played two years ago? Black Sun Falling?”
“Of course I do. Great sim. There were archaeologists who said they couldn’t tell the difference between the Arkanic ruins in the sim and the real deal.”
“Do you remember the love interest you chose?”
“What was her name…Mia. Yeah, well-written character. I liked her storyline a lot.”
“Mmm-hmm. And it occurred to me when Rosemary boarded the ship that she’s got a nice smile and a short crop of curls, just like Mia did. So, I thought she might be your cup of tea.”
Jenks chuckled. “That’s a fair line of reasoning. I didn’t know you kept track of these things.”
“I like to know what you like.”
“I like you.” Jenks got off the stool, set down the coupler, and walked to the pit. The inspection could wait. He put on the heavy sweater that lay folded by the edge of the pit, just where he’d left it the day before. He climbed down into the temperature-controlled air, a cool contrast to the warm yellow light that pulsed from Lovey’s core. “If I had found her pretty, would that bother you?”
Lovey laughed. “No. Jealousy’s stupid.”
“Just because it’s stupid doesn’t mean you can’t feel it.”
“True, but what would be the point of me getting jealous over someone who actually has a face? Or breasts, or hips, or however it works. You’re designed to find bodies attractive, Jenks. Enjoy them.” She paused. “If it were legal for me to have a body, what kind would you want me to have?”
“Well, there’s a question,” said Jenks. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Liar.”
Jenks sat down and leaned back against the wall. He could feel the light vibration of her cooling system buzz against his scalp. He had, of course, thought about Lovey in a body. Many, many times.
“What kind of body would you want to have?” Jenks countered. “That’s way more important.”
“I’m not sure. That’s why I’ve been paying attention to what you pay attention to. I don’t know what it’s like to be in any form other than what I am, so it’s hard to voice my desires on that front. It’s not as if I’m in here pining away for legs all day long.”
“Tell that to the FDS.” The Friends of Digital Sapients were one of those organizations that had their hearts in the right place but their heads firmly up their asses. On paper, Jenks believed a lot of the same things they did, namely that AIs were sapient individuals worthy of the same legal rights that everyone else had. But the FDS went about it all wrong. For starters, they didn’t have a lot of techs in their ranks. They ignored the actual science behind artificial cognition in favor of a bunch of fluffy nonsense, making AIs out to be organic souls imprisoned within metal boxes. AIs weren’t like that. Comparing an AI to an organic sapient was like comparing a Human to a Harmagian. You could find similarities, and they deserved equal respect, but under the hood, they operated in fundamentally different ways. Jenks was all for proper recognition of AI rights, but the FDS’ inability to speak about digital minds with any sort of accuracy was more of a hindrance than a help. Acting all sanctimonious while spouting bad info was a terrible way to win a debate, but a great way to piss people off.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Lovey said. “They act like all AIs want a body. Granted, I think I do, but that doesn’t mean all of us do. That’s such an incredibly organic bias, the idea that your squishy physical existence is some sort of pinnacle that all programs aspire to. No offense.”
“None taken.” He thought for a moment. “That’s kind of hypocritical, isn’t it? We assume organic bodies are so awesome, everybody else must want them, then we go off to get genetweaks to look younger or slimmer or whatever.”
“You’ve got a few modifications yourself. No tweaks, but still. Do you think that’s different than someone wanting to look a few years younger? Aren’t all bodily changes about vanity?”
“Hmm,” said Jenks. He felt the weight of the spacers in his ears. He recalled the thin sunburn sting of a needle driving ink down into his skin. “That’s a good question.” He tapped his mouth with his fingers. “I
don’t know. You know I get pretty squicked over tweaks, so I guess my opinion there isn’t exactly objective. But I do think something like an anti-aging tweak is done out of a lack of self-esteem, because you feel like you’re not good enough as you are. All the things I’ve done to my body, I’ve done out of love. Seriously. I’ve gotten ink to remind me of all sorts of places and memories, but at the core, everything I’ve had done has been my way of saying that this is my body. That I don’t want the body everybody else told me I should have. Dr. Chef’s the only doctor I’ve ever had who’s never once told me that my life would be easier if I got a few tweaks. You know, so I could be a normal height. Fuck that. If I’m going to make changes to my body, they’re going to be changes that were my idea.”
“I think I feel the same way,” Lovey said. “Even though it’s a moot point for me. Any body talk is entirely hypothetical for me unless some laws change.”
“Do you really want to have a body?” He hesitated, feeling awkward about what he wanted to ask next. “It’s not just because of me, is it?”
“No. I go back and forth on it, but I think the pros outweigh the cons.”
“Okay,” Jenks said, folding his hands across his stomach. “Cons first.”
“Cons. Can only be in one room at a time. Unable to simultaneously look inside the ship and outside of it. Needing to physically jack my head into the Linkings any time I want to look something up. Or, well, I could use a scrib, I guess, but that seems so slow.”
“I have always been jealous of that,” Jenks said. For Lovey, checking a reference or reading a feed was as simple as activating the part of her cognitive processor that had Linking access. He’d always imagined it to be like having a download library inside your head, full of books you could read through in a matter of seconds.
“Honestly, I think most of my cons stem from concerns about perception and spatial awareness. That’s why I think the pros carry more weight. They’re more varied. I could get used to having only one set of eyes, I think. It could be restful. Or boring, I’m not sure.”
The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet Page 6