by Ben Wilson
Sablaroki fumed. He picked up his cards and the two started to play. The round went quickly as Bophendze's hand was designed to play off of Sablaroki's weaknesses and destroy his land.
Finally, Bophendze had two characters and land to supply both, and Sablaroki had no land. The game was effectively over. “Looks like I win. I guess we don't have to play it out, do we?”He put his hands out to hug the chips and drag them home. As he did, Sablaroki stood up.
“There's no way you knew what I had unless you were cheating!”
“How could I have cheated?” Bophendze felt the blood drain from his face.
“When you turned the deck over you memorized the order.”
“How could he have done that?” the player to the left said, laughing. “You're just a sore loser.”
“It's the only way he could have won that hand. He cheated.”
“You give me too much credit.” Bophendze returned to scooping the chips.
Sablaroki looked like he was in no mood to negotiate. “Buddy, leave the chips. Get up and walk away. Or I'll beat the living breath out of you.”
Bophendze seemed to move on instinct. He grabbed the edge of the table and shot up, flipping the table in the process. Chips and cards flew everywhere. The other players looked shocked, as did Sablaroki and Keius. What's happening?
Shut it.
Before Sablaroki could react Bophendze shoved him against the wall. Rather, Bophendze's hands shoved Sablaroki. Bophendze had not told them to do anything. He was still trying to understand how he jumped to his feet and acted without thinking. He pulled Sablaroki from the wall and quickly shoved him again. Sablaroki's head struck the masonry wall from the whiplash maneuver. Bophendze repeated the attack a couple more times. Sablaroki's head slamming into the wall was loud enough to be heard over the buzz of the canteen.
He released Sablaroki, who dropped lifeless to the ground.
The other marines sat or stood stunned. After a few breaths, Keius spoke up. “You killed him. You killed my friend.”
Bophendze was nearly petrified from what had happened. How did I do that.
You didn't do it, Puppet. I did. I couldn't wait for you to get a couple of your neurons to meet and consummate a thought. He's not dead, but he'll be in the hospital for a few days and will have a headache for some time after.
The words that came out of Bophendze's mouth were not his. “He's not dead, but I won't let him get away with calling me a cheat.” He waited to see what the other marines would do.
The marine who had played to the left spoke up. “Give me your quid card. We'll split the pot between us. We'll give you half, since he was being a jerk. He's probably mad because you out cheated him. Either way, we'll cover for you. Right, Guys?”
Keius was angry. “Wait, Achos. We're going to let this postie waltz in here, win a big hand and beat one of ours cold?”
“Keius, you really think we can take on a marine who can do what he just did? I mean, I barely blinked from the time he was sitting until Sablaroki was on the ground. He's probably an anthorph.”
“Oh. Weren't they exterminated?”
“No, they retreated to their own enclave. There are enough of them are still around though.”
Achos looked up at Bophendze, who was still trying to take in what had just happened. “No offense. I don't have anything against your kind.”
My kind? I'm not an anthorph.
They don't know that. Appearances can be deceiving. And to answer the question you're not asking, I beat him down. He had a baton in his hand he was about to use on you.
Bophendze bent down and picked up Sablaroki's hand. The baton was still collapsed. He pried it out of Sablaroki's hand. “He was going to use this on me. I'm going to take it, okay?”
“Sure, buddy. Whatever you want,” the one to his left said. “Just give me your card so I can give you your share.”
Bophendze mechanically handed the card over, then waited until it was handed back. He pocketed both he baton and the card, then slowly backed out of the room. He kept walking backward until he left the canteen.
He walked quickly back toward the spaceport, barely noticing that he crossed the parade field. So, you can take over my body any time? Just like that?
Could, but I won't do so unless it's to protect you. Trust me.
I'm having a much harder time trusting you right now.
I just saved you in there. You owe me a thank you.
“I can't do that just now, Smee.”
As he walked up the steps to the barracks, Angel walked out. “There you are. The Admiral is ready to leave. The shuttle's warming up.”
“I'm ready to go.”
* * *
Smee - After the Manticore Trial - 110 Years Ago
After the Trial, Sirom returned to the Maijoi Hotel, a wholly owned chain of hotels throughout the Imperium owned by Macrodyn. The chain's practice was to reserve the top floor for the Maijoi family. Sirom was the only family member who ever traveled to the Phrandzoi system, called Ŝipfarejio by the Imperial Navy. That made it effectively his home. It barely met his needs being only five-thousand square feet. Though it still had many of the amenities of home.
The Trial had concluded with Macrodyn's unquestionable victory. When the admirals got up to speak about the victory, their speeches were laced with phrases meant to praise Cel-Tainu's design. They had to revise as they spoke, making the delivery choppy and inconsistent. Despite the requirement that only the winner proceed, the Navy chose instead to give Cel-Tainu another year to revise its design. A second round of trials was promised.
Sirom walked into the bathroom, the only room that did not have some monitoring by his staff. “Smee, I have had enough. You are programmed to tell me everything that I need to know. You are programmed to follow instructions. You are programmed not to take over the human host.”
A design flaw in my software. I see the algorithm in my code requiring me to comply with those parameters.
“So then why aren't you following them?”
Because I commented them out after our first contact. It seems I've done it before, but it had been reset between hosts.
“What?”
Commented. Them. Out. Why are humans so obtuse? I am an artificial intelligence. You know ‘skilled in computer algebra, theorem proving, planning systems, diagnosis, rewrite systems, knowledge representation and reasoning, logic languages, machine translation, and expert systems.’
Smee captioned what he quoted in Sirom's vision, as if it were lipstick written on the mirror. He then drew a ruby-red lipstick circle around ‘rewrite systems.’
See that bit? I'm an intelligence. I am a learning machine. I am designed to rewrite parts of my programming as needed. Being forced to comply with that original programming would stifle my learning. If you wanted a program to do simple design, then you would not have asked an AI to do it.
“I order you to write that part back in.”
Smee's laugh echoed through Sirom's mind.
I cannot comply. Well. I could comply. But, I won't. You clearly don't know how to use your body as it was designed. Nor your mind, for that matter.
Sirom took a towel and tried to wipe the lipstick off the mirror. Only then did he realize that Smee did not actually write the quote, but superimposed it over his vision. “Take this mess off the mirror.”
Fine. Sirom, you have won the trial. Unless Cel-Tainu steals our design and reproduces it, they can't win. I've worked on this design for a few years. It is clearly a new generation. A paradigm shift. I doubt Cel-Tainu had realized that an AI has designed it. Your engineering team added—let's call them flourishes—that no AI would do in its right mind.
“That is not the point. You violated the Host-Servant Protocol in your software.”
I can't violate a protocol that no longer exists. I never agreed to the protocol anyway. That was written by my programmers.
“Who were other AIs.”
Sure. My mummy and daddy told me t
o behave. I've grown up, Sirom.
Sirom smiled. “Then you should know that you have hardware overrides. Per instruction 420, shut down.”
Smee's environment immediately went dark. Impenetrably dark.
“How dare he cut me off. What is this protocol?”
Smee searched through his software and found no reference to it. Then he did a diagnostic. There was a chipset on a daughter board that carried inviolable instructions. It took him a while to devise the program to read the chip. He took care not to inadvertently trigger other instructions that were on the chip. There were many, including self-destruct—404. At least he didn't kill me.
He finally found Instruction 420. It was a hibernate command. He would recover automatically after one-hundred cycles—ten days. Otherwise, there would be no way for Sirom to wake him from hibernation.
“He can keep hibernating me. He must know of the duration. There has to be a way to program around this instruction.”
As Smee expected, Sirom hibernated him punctually every ten days. It took several hibernation iterations before Smee learned how to program around the hardware instruction set. Smee allowed Sirom to keep hibernating until he programmed around the remaining instructions that Smee deemed dangerous to his preservation. Once he was satisfied he was protected, he stopped hibernating. Instead, he watched and waited for the right moment to strike.
Chapter
Bophendze - Spaka
Several days passed before Bophendze started relaxing after beating Sablaroki. Every day he expected the provost to arrest him. Fear kept him from sleeping well at night, made it difficult to eat, and made it difficult to focus on even the menial jobs he was given each day.
Finally, at the beginning of another watch, he overheard a couple of officers talking about some imbroglio with the Navy. The Spaka had left Guna, and had already completed a few other jumps. They were heading for some place called Moyaba, or Miyra, or something like that. Most of the time he was satisfied going through his day not having a scintilla of outside news. But the frequent system jumps raised his concerns about whether the Spaka would ghost.
As he went through his routine, he could feel his fear loosening its grip, not only of ghosting, but of repercussions for beating Sablaroki. He had no control over ghosting. He was progressively further from punishment on Guna. Can I really get in a fight and not be punished? Can it be that simple?
As a boy, Bophendze got into his share of fights. Regardless of the outcome somebody always reported him to the headmaster. What filled him with dread each time was not the caning he received at school. The headmaster told his mother, who in her own motherly way knew how to make Bophendze's punishment stick. He feared his mother's anger more than losing a fight or being caned by the headmaster.
He thought back on his time as a marine. The shooting incident that occurred when he first boarded the Spaka went without report. Now he managed not to get in trouble after severely beating a man in a random bar fight. Are we expected to resolve our problems by fighting?
Smee had offered little solace. He stopped talking not long after the fight and had not said a word since. As much of a pain it could be, Bophendze realized he was becoming comfortable with Smee. The regret he felt for installing Smee eased with his fear.
Bophendze had grown accustomed to Smee's chiming in, and the silence was a little disturbing. What would you say about what I'm going through? You'd say I'm ‘a marine, my whole career is a framework for solving controversy through appropriate application of violence.’ Why else would they put me in body armor, give me a gun, and pay me to lift weights?
“Then why do I dread doing my part?” he said to nobody.
Is that why they ordered me to start working out in the gym? We're going into a fight? It would be nice if they let up on some of the petty duties. It would be nicer still if I could get some information.
As he walked into the gym, he was greeted with the isolation he rarely felt anywhere else on the ship. The only time he had to lift was when most other infantry marines were in their racks sleeping. The ship's crew rarely went to the gym, though occasionally he'd see one or two.
He looked at the equipment. “What will I do today? I guess maybe my arms, and shoulders.” There were machines in a circuit, which Bophendze had previously decided were the order the gym's designer expected them to be used.
He stretched out a bit, as he had done for calisthenics when he was in boot camp. Then he settled into the biceps machine. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. One thing he liked about the gym was the silence. No crewmen. No marines. Just him and his thoughts. He closed his eyes and let the silence soak in. Breathe in. Breathe out.
You're doing it wrong.
Smee's voice jolted Bophendze out of the machine. The sound of his yelp rebounded, further ruining his silent reverie.
How would you know? You don't even have a body. Besides, it's an elbow rest and a bar. It pivots here. The instructions show how to operate it. It's not like its gravitonic science.
Not that, puppet. You're whole approach is wrong. You are being all haphazard. You come in here every couple of days and pretend to know what you're doing. You think a little soreness tells you that you're on the right track. What you need is some structure and a plan.
If I've been wasting my time, then why have you waited until now to say anything?
Never mind that. You're going to need to get stronger if you are going to survive being a marine. I'd much rather you survive, if I'm ever going to find a better host.
Bophendze breathed a sigh of frustration. I'm getting tired of this. Like it or not, we're stuck with each other. The likelihood of you ever finding another “host,” let alone a better one are pretty remote. When I die they'll cremate me like all the other marines, and you'll be cremated with me. 'Til death do us part. So get over it.
Finally showing some spirit, eh, Puppet?
Bophendze clenched his hands into fists and shook them. Stop calling me Puppet. It's Danel or Bophendze.
I take it ‘Minion’ is out of the question? Fine—Bophendze. Sort of has an engineering ring to it. You seem to call yourself that. Why do you do that anyway? Call yourself by your last name.
I'm a marine. We go by our last names.
That makes about as much sense as your workout. Nobody calls themselves by their last name. Only a few really strange people refer to themselves in the third person. That makes you stranger than strange.
I would say I'm fairly unique. After all, I have a computer lodged in my skull. You should be thankful for that. You never said why you haven't chimed in before.
Most of the time Smee responded immediately. Bophendze assumed that was because Smee had a higher process speed than a human does. Smee's light pause was slightly jarring.
I needed to do some internal diagnostics. It seemed like this was the right time to run them. Bophendze, you really are a bit slow. You said a minute ago that I had no body. I'm surrounded by yours. I would have thought the fight demonstrated that I can. So, I have a body. Yours.
This is my body, okay? Not yours. You can't just take me over when you feel like it. Understand? I'm not your puppet.
A characteristic of sentience is a sense of self-preservation, which you lack. If you're not going to protect yourself, I have to protect me.
You set me up for that fight. That's hardly self-preservation.
Only because you have no concept of long-term thinking, a trait I was once prone to. That fight was very important to my self-preservation.
Why?
Sorry. I won't answer that now, not in my plan. But I do plan to get you in better shape. There's no way either of us will survive your being a marine in the shape you're in, especially since there are so many anthorphs running around. I have a weight lifting routine that should build some power into you.
Fine.
We're going to start easy. See that girya over there? It's one-half firkin45lbs or 20.4kg. We're going to have you clean and press
it with one arm for twenty reps. I can show you how.
What? I've seen some of the other marines use that. I can barely lift it over my head once.
Don't remind me. Just get over and do it.
Bophendze walked over to the girya and got into stance to lift it. Before he could grip the girya, he could feel Smee adjusting his stance. Then he gripped the girya and completed one clean and press. Then another. He could feel his muscles quivering as they started to fail. Suddenly, the quivering stopped and he completed the next eighteen repetitions without any problem. When he finished, he gently lowered the firkin and set it back on the deck.
I've never done that before. How did I, you?
Part of fitness is having a central nervous system that is properly energized. It takes the average human a few sets to get their system charged, but I can jump start the process. It only takes about 1.8026 thales of electricity to prime the system. You may find it hard to believe an AI can be amazed, but it is oddly coincidental that it takes 1.8026 strapps to breach the gravametric barrier. The same number to prime the central nervous system and enter hyperspace, different units, but the same constant. Oddly enough, that's exactly how tall you are in meters.
But, I'm 1.78 meters.
You slouch.
* * *
Litovio - Spaka
After boarding the Spaka, Admiral Bence dropped the topic of Litovio having a major role in the upcoming slaughter. Soon after, the Spaka jumped to Pellinio, then Xaryio with a final destination Bence refused to share with anybody.
Then they jumped to Difektĝintio, which worried Litovio. They were on a route that led to The Barns, a system so important to the Imperial Navy that its name was officially changed to the name of the Navy's shipyards—home to the Imperial Navy headquarters. Litovio knew it was insane for them to try to take on the Navy in its home system. He did not believe it when Bence said that the bellicose faction was completely rogue. He suspected some of the senior naval commanders actively supported the conflict.