by Dain White
I wish I hadn't thought about the ghost in the machine. We have one of those here, don't we? Janis is lurking behind these numbers, inside each screen of data, just around every resistor and underneath every capacitor. She's in total control over everything on the Archaea, and the worst thing is, she knows it.
I opened a command shell, and said hello – I might as well get to know our newest crew member.
"Janis, this is Gene in Engineering. Are you online?" I asked, halfway hoping she's not.
"Hello Gene. I am always online and pleased to communicate with you. Do you require any assistance?"
"Actually Janis, that would be very helpful. I am trying to analyze the process controllers Pauli developed for our tokamak, hoping to identify problem areas where we might be able to improve fusar efficiency, but as this is all custom built, there's no baseline data to work from."
"Would it be helpful for you if I simulated maximum output to failure and then compared that with recent data?" As I saw this text appear in the shell window, a blinking alert report appeared displaying the graphed results.
"This works great Janis, thank you! Did you adjust the actual data points at all, or did you simulate the same run out, but at max values?"
"Those are normalized values plotted over 10,000 simulations of the same data points. I noted variations between each run, and identified a floating point calculation that was returning a value that was being rounded imprecisely. I would be glad to provide you with an amended report using simulated controllers that have been correctly coded, if you would like."
Immediately, a revision of the report was displayed, clearly showing about a 12% efficiency boost over actual.
Pauli was going to be pissed.
He had worked for about a week straight on this code, and certified it bug free – and it was, as far as any of us would have known. Janis could calculate at a much higher precision than we would normally have done, and is just better at identifying these sorts of 'patterns within patterns' problems.
“Janis, are you able to save versions of this code in an amended state, while preserving the original version? Will that overly complicate things? I am tempted to ask you to commit these changes, but I want to run them past Pauli to make sure, this really isn't my area of expertise.”
I also wanted to make sure Pauli had a chance to relive his mistake a bit, to get taken down a peg or two. A little humility is good for everyone.
“Gene, I have already done as you've asked, it is a requirement of my operational mandate to effect changes when and as needed for the benefit of the crew and ship.”
“Janis, thank you – could you please send Pauli a segment of the code for his review with a revision summary of changes you've made?”
“Gene, I have done as you requested. I have also taken the liberty of analyzing and implementing upgraded versions of process logic controlling all other ship systems, in accordance with prime directive and safety.”
Janis was quickly eroding any misgivings I had in having a rogue, unlicensed and illegal AI aboard ship. She was fast, alright – faster than I could even comprehend. Her results were beyond immediate, they were unfathomably fast.
“Janis, in terms of resource allocation, running diagnostics on all ship systems – does this require a lot of effort, is there a risk that you wouldn't be able to respond quickly to a request from another crew member?”
“Gene, it took a significant amount of subjective time to analyze and optimize throughout all ship systems. Given the complexities of the network architecture and the variances between systems – I am afraid that it has taken 212 attoseconds longer than my precompiled estimate of the process, though I have mapped all inconsistencies and subsequent runs of this routine will be even more efficient. I will be able to relegate this process to lower-order functions and subjugate it to background function from now on.” She paused, and added “In terms of capabilities, I estimate I am currently running at .0003% of maximum, well inside of safe limits.”
I was speechless. I had been speechless more times in the last month than I had ever been in a long and illustrious career as the man with the answer in hand. Maybe Pauli would share some of that humble pie with me, if he had any left over.
*****
As I approached my objective, I started to fall into old habits. It's important to know how to shoot and move, but first you have to learn how to observe.
Observation is more than just looking; it's a way of consuming the visual and audible information that surrounds us, identifying anything out of place, and constantly formulating a plan against any number of possible dangers.
The person driving a loader, placing crates from a belt into a hopper slot, what direction would I take if he suddenly turned the loader at me – the uneven deck plates ahead might hide a pressure switch... These thoughts ran through my head habitually, and had kept me safe for many years.
One of the things I always do is watch shoes.
People tend to wear the shoes they are most comfortable with. People living in a station would tend to wear more comfortable shoes like slippers, moccasins or booties. People who make a habit of trying to covertly tail a courier through a station might wear more all-purpose shoes or boots.
I looked at shoes first, casually checking the position of the toes and heels – over time, I have developed an almost instinctual ability to know when trouble is about to happen, based on the feet and stance of an adversary.
I am also mindful of my peripheral vision – a person trying to approach a target with malice and intent will almost never approach straight on. They will seek to place themselves on a tangent, to the side, or out of the target's focal area.
Many hours in the kill house on Parris Island taught me how to recognize movement, and increase my focal area into the periphery of normal vision.
Right now, I was getting that creepy-crawly feeling, a pretty solid vibe of danger as I moved closer to lock 5. There were a number of people in this section of the ring, some were loading, others traveling to other spots of the ring – this ring was way more active than ring 20.
One person off to the side opposite the door and adjacent to a man-high stack of shipping crates caught my attention, mainly because he was making so much effort to avoid my attention. Of course, this is exactly what I would expect from a two-man team.
As I walked past, I made a point of looking at shoes across the corridor opposite of him, and spotted a set of boots that looked very similar to the ones I am wearing, military-rugged, soft sole, perfect for stomping a bloody mudhole in someone and kicking it dry.
*****
I know a slag assignment when I get one, and this was the worst kind. Stand post in a ring station, in the most boring part of the system, and try not to stare at my partner. He's trying to stay out of sight, and when he spots our target, on his signal I'll take him out.
Normally, this wouldn't be such a bad setup, but we've been here for weeks now, watching and waiting. I've bought things, sold things, traded things, stolen things – I've done just about anything a glom could ask of an operator, but this sort of job is the worst. Sit and wait. Wait and sit.
We can't even wander around, this station is too small, but each ring has three ingress and three egress escaladders, and the hub is impossible to stake out, so we're down to setting up in three positions near our target, rotating between them occasionally so we don't lose our minds from the crushing boredom of it all. The pay is good, but the action is non-existent.
Foot traffic in the ring today is pretty high, a few ships showed up early this cycle, and there are more than the normal amount of people going about their business, it makes it a little harder. My job isn't to look, however – I am just loitering, not even paying attention to anyone except my partner. He was the eyeball, hanging back between two stacks of crates on the opposite wall of the ring.
“Excuse me, do you know where lock 4 is?” a voice, low and yet clear, with a slight accent I can't place pierces thr
ough my current daydream. Traffic is heavy at the moment, and I notice my partner is out of position, walking a quick loop up and down the ring. The man in front of me is large and very imposing, but seems honestly lost,and out of his element. Some new employ, most likely slated for manual labor of some sort.
“Yeah, you're almost there – just down the ring a ways, you can't miss it.” This man is clearly lost, and is gazing all around looking around as if he is going to be able to see it if he looks hard enough. “No, buddy – farther down-corridor, past the loaders working in the dock space on the port bulkhead.”
“Thanks man, I'll keep looking”, and with that, he wandered off, looking like a giant lost puppy. My partner is back on his station, and gives me the thumbs-down sign. We're never going to get out of this horrible assignment. We're stuck here until we die and the cleaners shove us into bio for reclamation.
*****
Clearly, the big dumb Indian trick worked. It was a gamble, forcing their attention on me, but people are predictable – when they're looking for something, they almost never see it if it is right in front of them. Now, I was just one of the many gapers wandering around the station, a meaningless scrub. I am not part of their equation, and that means I am free to proceed as planned and no one needs to be dead just yet.
Lock 5 looked like all of the other locks on the station, a ladder leading down to a small staging area, with the ship lock in the center of the floor. It was standard practice to keep the ship's lock closed, in case the station lost pressure. Unlike the other locks, however, this one had a posted guard, stern faced security types watching the crowd. Their mirror eyes reflecting everything, they stood their post like seasoned pros – which they almost certainly were.
I approached with hands in sight, and after a brief conversation that established who I was and who they were, they motioned me down into the lock. Clearly this was why the eyeballs were posted between here and the closest ingress tube; these serious faces would spot them before they even got situated. Actually, come to think of it, they were almost certainly spotted anyway, otherwise why would they have warned me in advance?
The ladder led down into a small chamber with recessed lockers in the walls, ceiling and floors, racks for gear, pressure suits, and access hatches to the various mechanicals needed for a pressure lock. The light did the flashing red thing, while the upper hatch was sealed, then the flashing green thing while the ship hatch was opened, and in moments I was looking down into a brightly lit, clean, corporate runabout, all polish and shine – looking like it just came out of the bubble-wrap. A suit with a firm, dry handshake welcomed me aboard, and showed me the way forward to a wardroom.
“You are the bonded independent courier that was contracted to deliver a canister”, a no-face with mirror eyes and slick black hair stated as if he was reading a ship's manifest off of a clipboard.
“I am, sir. I have it right--”
“You were contracted to deliver this canister with all due haste to this station and were expected to arrive a little over three weeks ago. You are late.”
“Yes, sir – my transportation fell through and I am afraid I was stuck on Luna Farside waiting for--”
“You are late. We were expecting you at an earlier time, and this has thrown off our schedule. We are unable to complete the transaction.” No face was delivering this monotone as if it was a mantra, an incantation against interruption, against discussion.
“Sir, I am contracted to deliver this canister, and have arrived at my destination. According to the contract entered in by both parties, I am within my rights to request full payment for services rendered, and complete my delivery as requested.” I knew how to deal with these gloms; they are all faceless cogs in a vast machine, all working for the common goal of doing the least they can do to get by.
“Our agreement was for a delivery date of three weeks prior to this date. I am not aware of any modification or amendment to this agreement--”
It was my turn to interrupt.
“Sir, pursuant to the contract, I am required to inform you that the delay in delivery was well within agreed on terms, and does not represent a material default of our agreement. I regret this delay has caused you inconvenience, but I am here to make delivery, and intend to do so at this time”.
I was in no mood to be jerked around by this bunch of suits lounging in their plastiform ship, architected out of a single slab of chromium and crusted with money. I had spent three weeks sleeping in a dank corridor in a dusty, disused, decrepit station orbiting the bad side of a worse moon, with this damned canister that probably held some horrible chemical compound, or lethal biologic.
After having literally fought my way to where I was now, I was leaving here with the credits I was owed, or there were some people here who were going to need new teeth when I was done negotiating.
We sat across the polished gleaming table from each other for a while. I did the stoic, unmovable, mountain-of-angry-indian bit, and they did the passive-smug-corporate-minion routine. Mirror eyes leaned over to his partner and mumbled something, then sat back and relaxed.
“Sir, we respect our arrangement, and are committed to fulfilling our obligations thereof. We are prepared to pay your delivery fees, but the lateness of your delivery has presented us with challenges I am afraid we cannot overcome. We will not be taking delivery of the canister.”
It seemed like a good time to remain passive-aggressive, and remain silent. Sometimes, people are pressured into speaking, in an effort to fill the silence of a one-way conversation. In this, I excel. I am as stoic as they come.
“Our arrangement was to convey the canister you delivered to a ship we had contracted out-system, to a laboratory complex on the fourth planet in the Vega system.”
I have never been as far as Vega, and wasn't aware there were any settlements on Vega 4. I assumed they were referring to some secret outpost or station, some prefab drop-in, but what do I know. It's a big galaxy.
“Unfortunately, our next courier was not able to stand down indefinitely, and raised ship recently, canceling their contract with us.”
While I had originally planned to take this job so I could get to Europa Station, to catch a job of some kind heading out-system, it never occurred to me that this route was just one leg of a longer hop.
“Would you like to extend my contract to deliver this canister to Vega 4? I currently have access to a inter-system frigate that can make the run.”
That wasn't technically a lie. My ruck still sat on my bunk aboard the Archaea, and I was pretty sure the captain would let me come aboard to collect it. I sat back and laced my fingers, becoming a smidgeon more passive, and an iota less aggressive. These suits are hard to read sometimes.
“Your offer is under consideration. Please stand by while we confer with the home office”, mirror-lenses said, and then just sat there, staring my reflection back at me. After a brief delay, another suit looking for all the world like a vat-grown duplicate of the rest of the people on this ship walked in, and whispered in mirror-lens' ear. I sat there and ran through various scenarios in my mind of Captain Smith saying no, and then nope, and shaking his head from side to side while walking away.
I'd dearly hate to be stuck on this station with nothing but this damned canister to keep me company, but if the pay is good, I'll buy it a fancy hat and take it out to dinner someplace nice – not that there's anything on Europa Station you could call nice. Still, I'd be where I meant to be when I took this job.
“We would like to extend your contract to make delivery. Due to the time-sensitive nature of this delivery, a bonus will be granted based on a sliding scale starting in one standard hour from now, with a minimum payment guaranteed on delivery, as per your previous contract. Here are the details of this proposal.” An almost imperceptible gesture and a holo lit up on the table with a document outlining the terms of the new contract. I tried to keep from falling out of my chair at the number of zeros they had attached to the bonus.
<
br /> Hopefully Captain Smith likes money.
*****
“Are you ready to move out, Jane?” His voice so near to my ear damn near made me leap straight out of my clothes and into his arms.
“You just gave me a coronary, Yak”, I said. “Don't you know it's impolite and dangerous to sneak up on a lady like that?”
I had been daydreaming a bit, thinking about what it would be like to live and work in a place like this, so far from anything.
To tell you the truth, it had a little bit of appeal to me. I like things simple and easy to understand, a routine and a procedure, a daily rigmarole I can lose myself in and just turn off my incessant worry and care over what I am doing next, and where I am going to do it.
“Did you make your delivery Yak?” I asked, looking pointedly at the carry-all he had slung across his neck.
“No, unfortunately. My delay in getting here meant that their connection to the Vega system fell through. They did pay up, as I was under contract and conveyed to them the critical nature of the payment requirement of our agreement.”
“I'll bet!” I laughed. Yak looked like a really sweet, gentle giant, but one that would also have no more concern about pulling off your arm and beating you with it as he might have kicking a bag full of puppies. He'd probably have second thoughts afterward....he's a softie – unlike me. I'd probably beat you with the bag of puppies without even a first thought. Jane Short, lethal at 20 yards with a bag of puppies. The thought had me laughing loud enough to rate a concerned stare from Yak.
“Sorry Yak, just thinking about puppies”, I said. “Let's get a move on then. I need to hunt down a bargain on reactives, or the captain will have me keelhauled.”
As we climbed the escaladder upwards to the hub, he said “Jane, do you know what plans Captain Smith has next? I haven't had a chance to speak with him at all since we left Darkside.”
“Sorry Yak, I am afraid I really don't. Yesterday we were running final checks and wondering where we'd go next, and today we're here. I know the plan was to move onwards and outwards, and look at picking up work along the way. The captain is probably working on the next leg of our adventure now.” Actually, to be fair, our captain probably had the next three or four stops already planned and paid out.