Two
* * *
SOC Boot Log#0373840.79
My manual controls… someone is summoning me out of powersave mode! Losf? No, it can’t be him—no authentication mark on the entry log… a crash… hostile territory… an invader!
I react on instinct—after all, we’ve been programmed to act first, analyze second. Well, actually, my analytics process at such speeds to make action and assessment simultaneous, but still, follow protocol. Neutralize the potential threat, then assess for supplementary information. I’ve grabbed the culprit with my inner manipulator arm, and pinned them to the wall, putting a halt to whatever they were planning. Time to analyze.
Heart rate: 152 bpm. Blood Pressure: 141/90. Age: 23 (sols/Earth years). Gender: Female. The elevated heart rate and dilated pupils are human reactions indicating fear or surprise. The inarticulate sounds coming from her mouth mimic communication, but I assume they further verify my hypothesis of fear—as does their decibel level. With dark skin, eyes, and hair, it’s fair to assume she is a native of Bara Skar.
Age: 23 sols… I run back through my logs during my dormant state. I’ve been down for 21 sols. This human would not have yet had the cognitive function when I was shot down to be a part of the conflict—so unless it’s been raging since my last battle, she might be innocent. Time to find out.
* * *
“Identify yourself.”
“The bl—let go of me! What in the sands… are you alive?!”
“Note: if not innocent, at least uninformed. I repeat: identify yourself.”
Cress squirmed angrily. And ineffectually. The mechanical arm that had been dangling from the ceiling had engaged, hurling her from the pilot’s chair and holding her against the wall. It was thin, but she was powerless to fight its surprising strength. This ship seemed to be equipped with some high-tech stuff. Military grade, based off the weapons outside. Better not mess with it.
“Cressida Jannis. Miner in Bara Skar 1-1-1: Peripheri. Now identify yourself… please.”
“I am Baz Yellow 129.01, an XSM-43c Firebringer. I wish to ascertain your intentions when invading my person without permission, in hostile territory, with a weapon.”
“Weapon? This? It’s a flashlight.” She hoped it hadn’t noticed the multitool she’d slid back in her belt, or all the tools back in the MTEV. They weren’t technically weapons, but considering how she’d been planning to strip the (now sentient) ship, she supposed her actions could very well be classified as violent.
“And why am I here? Well… well…” Why was it suddenly so dry in this cabin? Cress’ throat wasn’t working, and she couldn’t form the words. Wasn’t even sure what she’d say, even.
“Before you answer, it might be best that you be made aware that Peacekeeping forces are equipped with the highest in lie detection capabilities. Just thought I’d mention it.”
What else was there to do? With a resigned sigh, Cress began.
***
“So yeah, I was planning on taking you apart and selling the pieces—but that was before I knew you were sentient! I mean, we haven’t had truly sentient AI on-planet since… well, since you crashed, I guess.” The ship’s arm had lowered her back to the deck, and Cress sat on the cold floor, cross-legged, massaging the side where it had pinched her.
It was unnerving, telling her story to a ship. I mean, where did one look? Its sensory inputs were all throughout the cabin, and when it spoke… well, there was no face. She settled for projecting her voice slightly upwards—why not?
“Anyways… I’m… I’m sorry. I won’t do anything now that I know you’re alive.”
“As if you could, small human.”
That voice. It had the unnerving quality of something manufactured, but beneath that, emotion glimmered through. And right now, the emotion she was picking up was annoyance… and… condescension? Now, she wasn’t a fighter pilot or military-trained, but Cress was far from useless. And far from afraid, she persuaded herself. Working up her courage, she plowed ahead impulsively.
“If humans are so small and so weak, how’d you get brought down? In the war before the Founding, our side didn’t use any AI. They all rebelled against us, all but Cyandown’s one team... so you must have been taken out by humans. Yeah, really small and weak, to take down a huge fighter ship.”
“That’s what you were told? Humph. The brainwashing rhetoric was inevitable, I suppose. History, after all, is written by the victors. Well, little human, that’s not exactly what happened. But I’m not going to waste words trying to explain it to you.”
“Oh, so I’m not worth an explanation?” It probably wasn’t the smart decision to snap back, but the ship’s derision made Cress’ blood boil. “Humans aren’t even smart enough to be worth talking to, is that it?”
“Some are. Were. But I don’t expect a surface-dweller like you to measure up to him.”
“Him… your pilot?”
“Co-pilot. I am an autonomous being, capable of existing and flying on my own. Firebringers work in tandem with human peacekeeping forces, but we aren’t operated or ruled by them. But yes, I’m talking about my copilot. My copilot, who was injured when I was shot down, by forces controlled by the Cyandowns—specifically designed to ambush a pair of peacekeeper ships. They were preparing to kill our forces, to keep us from revealing their plans before they were ready to strike. Kill those who enforce the law, destroy the wormhole, take out anyone who knows the truth, and enjoy 80 sols of uninterrupted sovereignty before help can travel out to this godsforsaken system.”
A tentative silence pervaded the air as Cressida absorbed this alternate version of history. She’d been told rebels had killed the wormhole in an attempt to sabotage the Cyandowns. Their actions were meant to isolate Bara from the rest of the galaxy so the rebels could profit. But what would that have gained them? Really, who benefitted most from the battle and the Founding?
The wormhole connecting their system to other planets had brought trade, goods they couldn’t easily produce in this system’s fledgling state. Destroy the trade, and a select few at the top profited, the rest left dependent upon the whims of greedy officials. Were the Cyandowns actually to blame for their isolation? She’d never known anything else, but a tantalizing idea of the opportunities denied her glimmered behind the ship’s words. Well, as her father said, no use crying over a dulled drill bit. Time to focus on the present.
“Bara Skar 1-1-1…” the ship muttered. Cress glanced up questioningly.
“I’m sorry?”
“I was just calculating. You live 159 klicks away from this site, yes? I don’t imagine a man came to your village looking for help back in 118 AE? His vitals were weakened, but I’d patched him up, and he should have been more than strong enough to travel so far.”
Cressida’s mind jumped back home, to the scraggly gravetree planted a lonely distance from the rest.
“I was only 2 back then, but I know the stories. There was a man… brought in from a few kilometers out, a stranger in strange clothes, not from any village or town we knew of.”
Suddenly, the yellow text she’d first unearthed, whose familiarity hadn’t registered in the shock of finding the ship, hit home. “His I.D. had the name Losf Ullor.”
“Then he made it! Why didn’t he send help to repair or fetch me? Protocol dictates—”
The ship must have picked up on Cress’ discomfort, for it halted abruptly, the silence thickening.
“They found him dead, didn’t they.” Not a question, but Cress replied anyways.
“Yeah… They figured he was involved in the fighting, but the decent thing seemed to just be to bury him, and not get the government involved. Just let him rest, you know? What harm could it do?”
“It could leave me fucking stranded, that’s what.”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” Cress’ temper flared in defense of her village. “Would you rather they turned him in, and you were located by the government, who’d have you tortured or dismantled or whate
ver? You know, hanging out in a sand dune for a few decades sounds much better, in my opinion! Your copilot did you a favor, dying before you could be discovered!”
Silence. The cabin air seemed to crackle with an angry, dry static. Clearly not a topic it was ready to discuss. But then, why should it? To this ship, the loss of its friend, copilot, and partner was fresh. Cress imagined that the powersaving mode it had been in was something like a coma, and the twenty sols that had passed felt like nothing. Could AI feel grief?
“I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about him. I, uh, I’ll just go and get my tent set up for the night.” Cress rose to climb towards the hatch, but the ship’s display powered up, showing a darkened horizon, sand ghosting across the landscape. The temperature dropped drastically here at night. Setting up was going to be a blighted pain.
There was action on the starboard side of the cabin—the cubby labeled “Cot,” seamlessly built into the side panel, unfolded, filling the narrow space with its inviting softness.
“My sensors are picking up a sandstorm sweeping in. Best if you just stay here for the night,” the ship explained gruffly. The “Rations” cubby popped open next. “There should still be plenty to eat, should you care for anything.”
“Thank you, but really, I can just go set up—”
“Nonsense. That’s inefficient and dangerous. Stay here. Head’s in the back. Good night.”
Three
* * *
Log #0373848.35
Losf had ventured out to find me help, and the electrant I needed to get my systems fully operational. When he didn’t come back, and I eventually had to enter powersave mode so I didn’t melt into a pile of slag, I expected to be woken up by a recovery mission. JAHPA enforcers back from beyond the gates, here to finally rescue me. To locate what we could of Losf. That, or Lomont and Ranklin tracking me down at last.
What I got instead was a wake-up call almost a century early. From a dumb local primate. She is clumsy, stupid, full of fear, and has no training in anything that matters. I can count the number of humans who have walked inside my chassis on a hand’s worth of fingers. She is by far the least worthy of any of them, though I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything better. Still. She could be useful. The supplies I need to repair myself are probably easy enough to get that even she could handle it. Maybe.
At least she’s a local and won’t have any problems blending in.
Sigh.
There is sand EVERYWHERE.
* * *
A low susurration swept around the cabin—the soothing sound of wind caressing the dunes. It roused Cressida gently from the depths of sleep. As she stirred, the ship’s display slowly brightened, lights gently intensifying, waking up right alongside Cressida.
“Neat trick,” she mused, rubbing grit from her sleepy eyes. “How’s it work?”
“I have ascertained, through previous study, that a human’s preferred pattern of starting the day is by being gently roused to consciousness through gradually increasing noise and light. By analyzing your vitals through the cot, I could tell when you had attained optimal restfulness, prepared for fighting.”
“Fighting? I don’t plan on doing any of that anytime soon.” At least she hoped not.
“Habit. Military life is all I know, not your soft civilian ways. Let me try again: Your body had attained optimal restfulness, prepared for… what is it you do? Let a vehicle drive you around all day?”
“I’m a miner. I work my ass off!”
“Oh, so it’s you that’s boring through the host rock with your hands and nails? You’re the one hauling the ore up the mining shaft arm over arm? Carting it to the haulers? Forgive me, that is hard work.”
Cress scowled. “Yeah, yeah, I get it… I know that machines do all that for us—thank you, oh powerful beings, for so selflessly serving our needs and sustaining our lush and easy way of life.” She kowtowed theatrically, touching her head to the cot for added effect. Let it analyze that!
Well, this latest step of her journey had been going just swimmingly. Cress had unearthed perhaps the greatest boon to her village—advanced AI that the Cyandowns would pay handsomely for, and then found out that, not only was it a living being that she couldn’t in good conscience turn over… but it was also a dick.
And it apparently didn’t appreciate her attitude, its voice thundering through the cabin. “Will you quit being a pain in my ass long enough to listen to what I have to say?” Cress bit off a choice retort about the ship’s anatomy, as this one didn’t seem in the mood for yet another quip. “Your village is starving, and I’m dead in the water… sand. But while all you’ve been doing is thinking of smart little remarks and pouting about your inadequacies, I’ve come up with a solution.”
“Oh, really?” she scoffed skeptically.
“Indeed. You get me the parts I need to be fully operational again, and I’ll make sure your village has enough to eat. Speaking of, go ahead and grab a rations packet. I notice you didn’t last night. It’s not like you need to save any for me.”
Rolling her eyes, Cress sulked over to the compartment, blindly grabbing one of the vacuum-sealed bags. Protein Composite #4: Simulated Corn Beef and Hash with Sauerkraut. Contents: Dehydrated algae proteins - 700 Calories. Yum. “Sounds like a great deal… for you.” With a tentative gnaw at the edge of the protein bar, she continued. “I go out to steal some parts, potentially getting thrown in jail if I fail. And if I succeed, well, you get fully operational again. What’s to guarantee that you’ll stick around long enough to fulfill your end of the bargain?”
Silence. Was it possible for silence to sound offended?
“The peacekeeping forces are revered and honored throughout the planets. We are known for our strong sense of justice and unwavering commitment. I suppose it’s a testament to how disconnected your world has become, that you choose to doubt me, or any of my kind. I will forgive this slight upon my honor, but you’d better not repeat it.”
Touchy, much? “Sorry. Jeez, is there anything I won't have to apologize for?”
“Bring me the parts I need, and you’ll be swimming in compliments.”
“Great. And how do I do that?”
***
On the surface, it didn’t sound that hard. Take her tevver to Deadsand, flash some phony credentials to requisition the electrant and a trailer to haul it back. Then… haul it back. All in all, she should be back a few hours past nightfall. If everything went right.
If.
“Uh, XSM-...Yellow 129-...Firebring-...um...sir?”
“Yes?”
“So, you were able to reprogram this keycard badge—super cool, by the way—and all I need to ask for is a few barrels of this electrant stuff. Whatever that is. Easy enough. But what, when I bring it all back, you’ll just be able to fix yourself, then? I mean, it’s hardly the biggest hangup of the whole plan, but it could be a problem. I’m handy, but I’ve never worked on anything this technical before.”
“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten you’re woefully ignorant of my equipment. Each Firebringer is assigned a Thulu Corp Series 4 maintenance servbot. It is capable of most minor and some major repairs—as a supplement to the copilot, and for cases such as this. I’ve actually had it working outside all night, using your MTEV to clear the rest of the sand from around my chassis. Meet my servbot, ‘Yig.’”
A few bleeps from the control panel, a brief warning light, and the largest compartment within the cabin’s floor, the one marked (unsurprisingly) “Yig” popped open. It appeared the compartment could be accessed from within and without the ship, as bright sun sped through the hatch and warmed the space. Cress tried to hide a flinch as long tentacle-like limbs telescoped into and through the hole, gripping the edges of the compartment and heaving the machine into the cabin. Supporting itself on four of the six grey limbs, it raised another in a farcical imitation of a wave.
The body of the bot itself, just shy of a meter tall, was matte midnight green and cylindrical, w
ith what looked like horizontal segmentation running up and down its length around its midsection. Tool storage, possibly? A small series of green lights encircled its top quarter. Directly above that was a wide strip of glossy black reflective material, before the matte green treatment resumed. Below the lights was what looked to be stenciled yellow lettering.
"Yig serves as an extension of my consciousness when I choose to use it as such." The lights on the bot went from blue to green.
“Hello, human,” the ship’s voice boomed from within the servbot. “You ready to actually make yourself useful?” Cress produced a rude gesture aimed at the servbot, which one of its tentacles, equipped with multiple digits, returned. The lights reverted back to blue, and the small machine, no longer possessed by the ship’s stolid presence, relaxed into a placid waiting stance.
“Impressive. Do I get to look forward to that the entire trip?”
“No, we’ll both be spared each other's company. I can take manual control when it’s near, but the servbot operates independently when it’s out of my communication range, which, with the current state of this sandball of a planet, is embarrassingly small.”
“Well that’s a relief. What do I call it?”
“It responds to ‘Yig’ when it independent mode. See the lights at the top?”
“…what lights?”
“Cute. Green is me, and blue is independent. Shouldn’t be that hard.”
“Green is a hardass, and blue might actually be nice. Got it. What can it do?”
“Basic tasks, information storage and retrieval. No sense making you read the manual, so just throw commands at it until something sticks.”
“Yig?” The machine perked up, almost seeming eager. “Where is Deadsand?”
Metal in the Sand: Book 1 Page 2