“Exactly,” Adda said from the workspace generator. “Zoom in on the planet closest to the sun.”
Iridian used her thumb and middle finger to expand the image until her visual perspective was about three hundred thousand klicks from the planet. The surface was shiny and gray, but not uniform. The gray spread over the planet like cities on Earth or a Mars hab, from a dark central point out. “Is this supposed to be a colony in the new system?”
“You’re not zoomed in enough,” said Adda.
Iridian expanded the projection further, gaining detail that wouldn’t have been available in a static image. Tanks and pipes full of pseudo-organic fluid were everywhere, mostly unlit, although some glowed grayish green or blue. Solar panels covered all the surfaces facing the new sun that weren’t venting steam. Every structure connected to all the others. “Holy shit, that’s all one machine.”
“Yes,” Adda said, this time in tones of awe. “They want to make their world-size quantum comp out there. They want to leave this solar system because there’s no room for them to do that here. They’d be bombed to oblivion if they did.”
“Huh.” Iridian could see it now: sentient machines building sentient machines, lying in wait on an unknown ’ject, growing and growing until humanity would never be able to destroy them all. “I can’t complain about getting them the hell away from the habs, but why? What are they trying to do out there?”
“Here, if somebody realizes that none of those ships have pilots, the ITA or some other fleet can destroy them,” Adda said. “They’ve got extensions and copies of themselves all around, but the material that makes them who and what they are is still in the pseudo-organic tanks on those ships. They can’t lose those without losing essential parts of themselves. However, those tanks are also incredibly small for what they are, so they want to be able to expand and grow and learn more. Just like children.”
“Awakened AIs are nothing like children,” Iridian said.
“They have some motivations in common.” Adda shrugged, and the mobile generator creaked as her shoulders pressed the frame against the bunks it was wedged between. “That’s what they’ve been trying to get us to help them with. Crossing the interstellar bridge.”
“Fuck me,” Iridian said quietly. “That’s all.”
“I know.”
They both stared at the machine-covered planet, Adda in her workspace, Iridian floating in front of it. “It’s not a drone factory, is it?” Iridian asked.
“No,” said Adda. “They want to build one massive comp. They want to understand our universe. They have a lot to learn, you know. And they want to be left alone to do it in peace. Like us.” And that “us” meant her and Iridian.
“They’re not like us.” Still, Iridian understood going somewhere to live life the way she wanted. That was how she and Adda had gotten into this mess.
“I think they’ll go whether Dr. Björn invites them or not,” Adda said. “The expedition would be excellent cover for their departure, but I can see . . . Well, who knows what they’ll do when Dr. Björn tries to get rid of them?”
Iridian snorted. “Björn wouldn’t even consider letting the two of us join up, and now we’re supposed to ask ver if three more ships can tag along?”
Adda blinked. “Yes. That’s exactly what we should do.”
“So we’re supposed to tell Björn, ‘Please take our extremely illegal awakened AIs, which only tried to kill us a couple of times, we swear, on your dream science cruise,’ as Pel calls it.”
“I’m almost positive that Casey and the Apparition are going no matter what Dr. Björn says, as long as I go with them.”
“No.” Being trapped with any of the three awakened AIs’ ships, farther into the cold and the black than anyone had ever traveled before, was too big a risk for Iridian to even bother contemplating that as an option.
“That’s all they’ve wanted all this time. If I agree to go with them, then they have no reason to influence me, and they can’t use Casey’s shortcut anymore. We need to avoid the ITA for a good long while, anyway,” Adda said when Iridian opened her mouth to argue, “and we only need to ask for permission to include two more ships. They’ll have to leave the Coin behind, since it can’t keep pace with the others.”
“Serves it right.”
Adda blew out an annoyed breath and, with a visible effort, did not argue that point. “If I tell Dr. Björn about them, maybe ve’ll reconsider bringing us along. We have more experience with awakened intelligences than anybody else.”
“Or Björn calls in the ITA, the colonial militias, and everybody else with a ship-mounted laser!” Iridian looked around and clenched and unclenched her fists. If there were grav to pace in, she’d be pacing. She missed healthy gods-damned grav and treadmills.
“The destruction of the Barbary intelligences would be a terrible loss.” Adda sounded like she was on the verge of tears. It hurt Iridian’s heart to hear her like that. “I can’t stop thinking about just how much more there is to know about them. They’re as manipulative and dangerous as any other strong intelligence, but they’re also unique, and amazing, and full of potential. They deserve to have a chance to build themselves a place to exist.”
Iridian reached toward the generator’s entrance. Adda twisted around until her hand brushed Iridian’s. Iridian took it with the one not holding Adda’s comp and hooked her foot around a bunk to keep herself in place. “I could try appealing to Dr. Björn’s sense of discovery,” Adda said. “Maybe ve’ll recognize the opportunity to learn more about the intelligences. If ve refuses, then the intelligences will manage. They always have before.”
“By making us help them, which they’re doing again, by the way,” Iridian said. “And now you’re proposing that we spend years in the cold and the black with the thing that . . .” That’d nearly forced Adda to kill Iridian. Iridian didn’t even want to say that out loud, and Adda was upset enough without Iridian reminding her of things she already knew.
If they didn’t make this last attempt, though, what else could they do? Drift from hab to hab, waiting for the ITA to break open their fake identities and arrest them? Rejoin Sloane’s crew and wait for the captain to stab them in the back again? Iridian had had enough of that for a lifetime, and those options were all obvious enough for Adda to have considered and discarded them. They needed time together, somewhere safe, to plot a new course for their lives.
“Ve’ll say no, but ask ver anyway.” Iridian said the words in a rush of breath. “These AIs still have to prove they can be trusted, though.” Just the idea of trusting them was difficult for her to stomach. She didn’t know how Adda did it, especially given how thoroughly Adda understood what passed for AI morality. “If they convince me of that, I won’t stop you from studying them to your heart’s content.”
Adda beamed at Iridian. “This is . . . It’s better than I ever hoped for. We can all survive this. Together.”
“That’s the scary part,” Iridian said. “Casey must know what you want to hear. It’s too good to be true.”
“Casey could still influence me, the slow way of waiting until I made a mistake, rather than messing with my brain chemistry and taking me up four stages of influence in a matter of weeks.” Adda tipped her chin up and met Iridian’s eyes. “But none of the intelligences I’ve interacted with since we left Earth have influenced me the slow way.”
“That’s true, babe, but . . . Do we really have to leave the whole damned solar system?” Iridian asked. “Somebody can make us new IDs. If Casey’s leaving, then we can hide out in some other forgotten hab and wait for the ITA to give up on looking for us.”
In the workspace generator, Adda’s lips curved into a small frown. “As I said, it still views our participation as crucial. Anyway, that’s what we tried on Yăo.”
And soon Yăo Station would be crushed to the size of a fuel cartridge on Jupiter’s surface. If Casey still wanted something from Adda, it’d destroy a hab before it let her stay hidden anywhere
. “I have to admit, a solar system no human’s seen in person is a hell of a place to lie low.” She turned back to Adda’s comp and zoomed the view out, away from the AIs’ proposed supercomputer, to look at the Thrinacia system again. “A hell of a place.” If the AIs had to chase them somewhere, a whole new star system was an amazing place to run. Assuming they could get there, of course.
“I can’t wait to see what they become out there, with nobody around to interfere.” The solar system on Adda’s comp disappeared. “I’ll have to take really good notes. I’ll have to revise my current notes. Somebody has to record this.”
Iridian smiled at her enthusiasm. “Aren’t they recording their own experiences?”
“Somebody human has to do it too,” Adda said. “It’s hard for them to keep information in a form humans would understand.” She looked up and to the right the way she did when she was making a mental note. She’d find out what kind of records they kept.
“Adda Karpe, AI anthropologist.”
“It can’t begin with ‘anthro.’ That prefix means ‘human.’ They’re not.”
“No kidding. Mechanologist? Something like that.” Iridian returned her comp, careful not to tug the cord connecting it to Adda’s nasal jack. “So, I can go fix scientists’ shit when it breaks, while you study the AIs?”
“And we have a little hab of our own that no corp can blow up.” Adda laughed. “Oh my gods, it’s just like those posters on that colony ship we hijacked, with the Freefab habitats on Io.”
“Posters? I was a little busy trying to keep that scumbag we came with from stabbing us in the back at the time.” Iridian turned right side up and pulled herself into one of the bunks. “Come here a minute.”
Adda made her way out of the generator in the cramped space and curled on her side next to Iridian. Their arms went around each other as easily as ever. “Oh, I’ve got something else. I’ll send it to you.”
Iridian’s comp pinged, and she slipped her arm under and around Adda until she could see the projection. It showed text. Following acceptance of the ships, three strings of letters and numbers that were long enough to be ship IDs, to Dr. Blaer Björn’s expedition, we promise not to influence, harm, or allow to come to harm any member of this expedition. In addition, we will not influence, harm, or allow to come to harm Gavran the owner and operator, Pel Karpe, Rio, or Zayd Wiley.” Each human name was followed by an alphanumeric ID, which nobody would voluntarily hand to awakened AIs. At the end was a ship ID, presumably the Mayhem’s.
“All right,” said Iridian. “They understand promises. We saw that on Barbary.” Adda nodded against her shoulder. “But they’ve been around long enough to understand breaking promises too.”
Adda frowned. “What would it take to convince you that they’ll stop being a threat to us?”
Iridian thought about that for a few minutes, with Adda warm and soft in her arms. “Will they wait for me to figure out the best answer I can?”
“They’ll wait for hours, I expect, but not days,” Adda said. “Gavran’s less patient. My impression is that he doesn’t like it out here.”
“There are a thousand things about drifting outside a reliable route near potentially hostile ships that’d make a pilot nervous. On the other hand, his brain’s sloshing around in that Sunan’s Landing wine, so we’re not going anywhere until he sleeps that off.” For all Iridian knew, any demands she made would, for lack of a better term, scare the AIs and make the situation worse. There was still plenty of time for them to start shooting, or call in the ITA. “This is important. Let’s at least talk it through. You’ll help me, yeah?”
With Gavran, Pel, and Wiley all too drunk to offer useful opinions, Iridian invited Rio to sit on the bunk opposite hers and Adda’s to discuss the problem. After catching her up with the AIs’ intentions, Iridian said, “So now I’m looking for a way to make sure they won’t try to hurt Adda and me again.”
“Without blowing them up, I’m guessing?” said Rio. “Hate to say it, but that’s the permanent solution.”
“Aside from the fact that it’d be a terrible waste of unique intelligences,” Adda said, “I’d expect them to notice when the cover hiding the Mayhem’s weapons gets removed, and interpret that as the threat it is.”
“And hit us first, okay,” said Rio. “Would they disarm?”
“As in, have their weapons systems removed?” Adda asked.
“Yeah.”
“Only the Apparition has weapons,” said Adda. “We might convince it to give them up, but its ship seems to be an important part of its identity. I’ll ask it.”
“That doesn’t stop the Coin from ramming us or Casey sabotaging shipboard systems,” said Iridian.
“They have no reason to do any of those things!” Adda snapped. “That goes against all their interests, particularly since none of them are designed for ramming anything. We’re more likely to ram one of them with the Mayhem.”
“It’s still something they could do,” Iridian pointed out. “So let’s say you’re right and they don’t mean us physical harm. They’ll still try to influence you.”
“In the way that I know how to prevent.” Adda seemed to be taking this implication as an insult. “I’ll ask them to stop contacting me without a workspace or intermediary. The majority of intelligences I’ve interacted with have not influenced me, even in less than ideal circumstances.”
Rio was watching Adda with the fascination of someone under a meteor shower on Earth. Even though Adda liked her, she wasn’t always this forthcoming in Rio’s presence. “These aren’t your regular, everyday AIs, though.”
“Now that my implant is fixed, which initial tests suggest that it is, they will be forced to use a very ordinary approach I can defend myself against. Besides, Iridian will be with me. We can watch for symptoms in each other and everyone else we interact with. I’ll give you a list of physical and behavioral influence symptoms by stage, Iri.”
“I’ve memorized them.” Iridian’s quiet admission landed with more force than she’d intended. Silence filled the residential cabin. Before Vesta, Iridian had always trusted Adda’s confidence in protecting herself. She’d had time and motivation to get informed, afterward.
In the main cabin, Wiley and Pel were singing about what a soldier dead in a war long over would think of current events. That would’ve been Wiley’s choice. “If I see symptoms,” Iridian continued, “I’ll tell you, and you’ll take a break from studying the AIs until you feel better.” Adda nodded her agreement. That’d always been a given with her.
“Say they don’t threaten you physically or mentally,” Rio said. “What if they call in the ITA?”
“Again, I don’t see how this benefits them, even if I refuse to do something they want,” Adda said. “I can’t talk to them while I’m stuck in influence rehab.”
“You can’t then,” Iridian agreed. “But they play a long game, don’t they? They could repeat the process until you agree to do what they want. At least, they could try. I’ll stop them.” Rio’s eyebrows rose at the suggestion of stopping the AIs from doing anything.
“The ITA won’t cross the interstellar bridge anyway,” Adda said. “They don’t even go deep into Jupiter’s magnetosphere without an excellent reason.”
“How do you stop them when you want to, Nassir?” asked Rio. “They’re awakened fucking AIs.”
Rio was skipping over more threats, but it was a good question. “The expedition ships won’t be armed, so we can’t count on ship-to-ship combat of any kind,” Iridian said. “We could set up a digital package of evidence of their awakened status and our location to send to the ITA in case of emergency, but I think Adda’s right about them not coming to help. Someone else might, so let’s say a wideband transmission of some kind.”
“Which will take a long time to reach anybody,” Adda reminded her. “And you can rule out anything violent or harmful that requires the intelligences’ consent. Or mine, for that matter. These are all consequences after the
fact. What about prevention?”
“So you’re not talking to them without an intermediary, you’re stopping all contact if there are symptoms of influence, and the Apparition might disarm. . . .” Rio appeared to be out of ideas.
And then Iridian had one more, one Adda would have to agree with. “I want you to be able to see everything that Casey and the other AIs are thinking,” Iridian told her. “Everything. You should be able to look into their gods-damned pseudo-organic brains and tell if they’re lying or not.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Adda said slowly. “They’re extremely complex, and they’re more like . . . It’s more a set of rules and decision points and priorities than it is thoughts and intentions. It’d be like mapping everything that’s happening in our whole nervous and endocrine systems at any point in time, down to the level of individual proteins and neurotransmitters.”
“They’re awakened AIs, aren’t they?” Iridian asked. “Can’t they figure out a way to do it, in a way that you can tell isn’t faked?” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Rio, am I missing anything here?”
Rio shrugged. “You’ve already gone through all the practical options.”
“If they do that, then I’m in for this whole crazy plan,” said Iridian. “If they can’t, then . . . You’ve recorded this whole exchange with them, haven’t you?”
Adda nodded. “The generator can’t see what I see, but I do have a record of all the input that’s come through from both sides of the workspace.”
“Good. If they can’t convince us that you’ve got access to their whole gods-damned thought processes, and that they’ll stick to workspace and intermediary communication, then we’re sending that record straight to the ITA. We’re not across the bridge yet. That record is proof not even Sloane can hide that the AIs are awakened, and from our transmission they’ll know exactly where we are. I have to be sure that Casey’ll keep its end of the deal, or . . .” Iridian searched Adda’s face, praying to all the gods that’d listen that she understood. “Or we can’t do this, yeah? I’m not dying in the middle of nowhere, not even in my home solar system, because some gods-damned AI tricked us again.”
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