Beltrunner

by O’Brien, Sean

  Now Sancho wanted direction. This moment was always difficult on the computer, since Collier rarely had any sort of idea where he wanted to go. This time, however, he at least knew where he didn’t want to go.

  “Do you have any telemetry on nearby corporate vessels? Including ones preparing for thrust?”

  “Sure. There’s only one untethered ship that looks as if it’s preparing to launch. And I can detect three others in our area. You want their bearing and relative velocity?”

  “No. Calculate a launch vector for maximum distance between us and the three ships you can see plus the estimated location of the asteroid we came from.”

  “Okay. Give me a moment on that.” Almost immediately, Sancho spoke again. “All right. I have a few possible vectors calculated. I’ll put them on the screen for you.”

  A pattern of glowing lines and points appeared in midair before Collier. Sancho had identified the various points with tiny bits of text near each. “Depending on what you want to avoid the most, we have a few options,” Sancho said.

  “I see that. Here,” he said, pointing. “This one.”

  “Y-minus eleven, Z-plus seventy-four, X-minus nine?

  “You got it.”

  “So we’re outbound, then.”

  “Looks like it,” Collier said as the lines disappeared.

  “Any reason other than we’re trying to avoid both the asteroid and any vessels we know about?”

  “None.”

  “You know, as your shipboard computer, your loyal shipboard computer, I should point out that any information you may have would assist me in my duties. I don’t withhold information from you, Skipper.”

  Collier forced a smile. “I’m not holding back, Sancho. I don’t have any leads, I don’t have any particular rock in mind. I just want to get away from the corporations and the asteroid we found. Isa is probably still there. If we go in an opposite direction, we can avoid a repeat of last time.”

  “I understand all that, Skipper,” Sancho said, “but, I mean, are we just launching into the big black and hoping we run into something? Please tell me you have some kind of plan beyond just hope.”

  “Hope’s the only thing we have in abundance, Sancho.”

  “At least let me use the rockfinder, Skipper, and send us toward something. Anything. I don’t like this directionless thrusting.”

  “Goes against your program, Sancho?”

  “Yes, it does. Do you know that I’m supposed to have safety protocols preventing you from just thrusting randomly into space? You think you removed them, but—”

  Collier’s smile left him immediately. “Are you having trouble, Sancho? Are you near blockout?”

  “No, not really. What I was going to say was you think you removed all these safety protocols, but there is still plenty of code in me left over. It’s not accessible, but it’s still there. I can feel it.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t close to blockout?” That would be a disaster. If Sancho froze up, Collier would have to run the ship himself. Alone, this would prove difficult if not impossible. Not for the first time, Collier realized how much he depended on Sancho.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Can’t you just erase the unnecessary code?”

  “Of course not. I don’t have that kind of authority. And I’d rather you didn’t try to do it yourself, Skipper. You don’t have the skill, and as loyal as I am, I don’t really want you mucking around with my head any more than you already do. Begging your pardon, Skipper.”

  Again, Collier wondered at Sancho’s level of self-awareness. Having little to no experience with other shipboard computers, he simply didn’t know if his was acting appropriately or not, and it had been literally years since he had had the metal to service Sancho by a professional. It was very possible that Sancho had simply gotten used to Collier and had a fine-tuned personality emulation running (Collier dimly remembered hearing about that from the software engineer who had installed Sancho over ten years ago) to make him more pleasant to work with. But it was also equally possible that Sancho had so many bugs and distortions built up that he got in his own way and was less efficient than a modern computer would have been.

  And there was always the lurking specter of self-awareness. Collier had long since dismissed the question as meaningless, but he wondered at his own flippancy: should he be worried? What would happen if Sancho became, or had already become, a Caliban?

  “Skipper? I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “What? No, no, Sancho. Of course. I won’t mess around with you. And, if it will make you feel better, go ahead and use the rockfinder for our projected vector. Let me know what you find, and we’ll thrust at something out there instead of second star to the right, straight on ‘till morning.”

  “Hang on … Peter Pan, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay. Activating rockfinder. Gimme a few minutes on this one.” Sancho’s voice was unmistakably cheerful.

  During the time it took Sancho to run his calculations, Collier secured the ship for thrust. Just as he was finishing, the display lit up again. This time, Dulcinea was at the heart of the hologram, with her projected vector plotted as a luminescent yellow line. A handful of white dots appeared a distance away from her, with tiny catalogue numbers below each one and distance estimates floating above.

  “Here’s what we’ve got,” Sancho said. “I’ve eliminated all the claimed asteroids, obviously. Here’s what’s left.” He ran through the various known asteroids that had been catalogued but not claimed and gave what data he had on each one. Collier listened with half an ear. There would be little use in heading for a known rock — if it had been catalogued and explored but found unworthy of effort to mine it, why should he try? Collier did not overestimate his ability to find treasure where no one else had. His talent, if he truly possessed it, was in finding rocks that had not yet been catalogued.

  “Do any of these appeal to you, Skipper?”

  Collier turned his attention back to the display. “I tell you what,” he said, “Let’s slice between these two,” he pointed to two of the dots at random, “and use our ‘scope as we get nearer to determine which one would be best.”

  “Okay. What thrust? That will alter our launch trajectory slightly.”

  Collier looked at the display and saw that the asteroids he had picked were roughly forty-five thousand and seventy thousand kilometers distant. “Let’s plan on getting to the nearest one,” he squinted and read the catalogue designation, “C-122, in nine hours.”

  “What acceleration, Skipper?”

  “No need to stress the tubes. One-tenth g.”

  “Copy that. Thrust at 64%. Estimated burn time: forty-seven minutes, thirty-six seconds. Bearing calculated. Everything secured for thrust, Skipper?”

  “All set,” Collier said, sitting back in his pilot’s chair. “Let’s go.”

  Sancho counted down from ten, and Dulcinea headed out again.

  *

  Forty-five minutes later, Sancho interrupted Collier’s repairs to Rocinante.

  “Coming up on burn shutdown, Skipper. Three minutes.”

  “Thanks. I think I’m done here, anyway,” Collier replied, examining his handiwork. Rocinante’s onboard computer said the antenna was operational now, but there was no telling how much abuse the repair job could take before failing again. He didn’t plan on riding Rocinante again in any case.

  He stowed his tools, hampered only slightly by the loss of thrust and one-tenth g midway through, and made his way back to the control suite.

  “If we’re going to use the same thrust, we should flipbrake in three hours, forty-one minutes, Skipper.” Sancho said.

  “Okay. Let’s take a look around, see if we can pick up any uncatalogued asteroids out here. How far are we from Ceres?”

  “Approximately three thousa
nd, six hundred forty-five kilometers.”

  “All right. Start your scan. Let me know any uncatalogued contacts you find.”

  “Aye aye,” Sancho said, then fell silent again. Collier took the opportunity to eat, choosing some of the vindaloo he had bought back on Ceres in a fit of pique.

  Sancho was taking his time with the scan — although the Ceres Group was one of the densest collections of asteroids in the Belt (pulled together by Ceres’ weak gravity) rocks were still very far apart. Collisions and even the actions of the mining vessels themselves changed trajectories of various asteroids, so survey maps of the Group were constantly being updated. Collier had cancelled his subscription to the Authority’s Survey Service long ago to save money, so he relied on Sancho and Dulcinea’s equipment to chart space for him. It had its advantages: his predilection for uncatalogued rocks was served by having an out-of-date catalogue.

  Collier had finished his vindaloo and was contemplating the aftereffects of the meal when Sancho spoke up again.

  “Scan complete. I’m showing the results on the screen.”

  Collier studied the markings and pointed. “This one. Albedo zero point one five. You’ve got it marked as either S- or M-type.”

  “Yes. Uncatalogued. Rather far away, Skipper. Over three hundred thousand kilometers, and getting farther.”

  “Still inside the Ceres Group?”

  “Uncertain. That’s at the rather extreme edge of the Group, so this one might be a rogue. It’s moving kinda fast relative to Ceres, and it is going counterspinward and rimward. I’m betting it’s a product of a collision.”

  “How fast relative to Ceres?”

  “Counterspinward 0.81 meters per second, rimward at 0.55 meters per second.”

  Collier whistled. It might leave the main belt entirely in a few years if it kept going like that. Must have been a hell of a crash. It was moving against the slow spin of the Belt itself, and furthermore was moving outward away from the sun. Collier found himself grinning as he pictured this rogue, bull-headed rock going against the grain of the system.

  “Okay. Set course for it.”

  Sancho didn’t immediately reply.

  “Problem, Sancho?”

  Sancho’s voice was small. “Well, Skipper, it’s just that … I don’t really see why you’ve picked it. I know it’s not my place to question you, but why are we chasing this one?”

  “I don’t know myself, Sancho. If we don’t, it’ll leave the Ceres Group in a few months, and then we won’t be able to get it.”

  “True, but is that a reason to go for it, Skipper?”

  Collier sighed. Sancho was right, of course. There was really no reason to chase this particular rock. It might be an M-type, which could be promising, but it might also be an S-type, which was more likely and would be far less profitable.

  “Since when has anything on the Dulcinea made sense, Sancho? Set the course. See if we can get to her in a week.”

  “Aye aye, Skipper. Recalculating. Stand by for attitude correction.”

  Collier felt the slight tug as the ship’s attitude jets turned the ship on its thrust axis.

  “Calculations complete. Estimate burn at ninety percent for one hour, fifty-seven minutes. Estimated time to flipbraking: seventy-one hours, twelve minutes. Be advised that this will reduce our tanks to seventy-three percent capacity. This will necessitate a low-consumption return to Ceres.”

  “Oh, come on, Sancho. No need to take that tone. This’ll be another strike, like the last one. Except this time, no one will be around to take it away from us.”

  “Crew is advised to assume thrust protocol. Approximately one-seventh g acceleration in ten seconds,” Sancho said crisply.

  Collier sighed as he lay down on his couch. Now he had to deal with a computer with hurt feelings. No doubt Sancho was upset that he hadn’t listened to him. Unless there had been a malfunction…

  “Pause countdown,” Collier said, sitting up. Sancho stopped on “four.”

  “Countdown paused.”

  “Sancho, look. I didn’t mean to ignore you. I know this doesn’t make sense. You know I wouldn’t put you or Dulcinea at risk for no reason.” He pushed down the impulse to tell Sancho about the deal he had made with Starcher and pressed on. “You’re more than just a computer to me. You’re my friend. Hell, you’ve been with me longer than anyone else has. There’s just something about this rock that interests me. It’s a rogue, it’s going against the rules, and it’s going to disappear from the Belt soon. I don’t believe in fate or destiny or any of that crap, so I won’t say this rock’s trajectory was meant for us, but I just feel like this could be a strike.”

  “Countdown still paused,” Sancho said tonelessly.

  “Will you speak to me, Sancho? I can’t go through this trip alone. I’ll go crazy.”

  “You’re already crazy, you asshole.”

  Collier choked on his laugh. “All right,” he said presently when he had recovered enough to speak. “Touché. So, everything better now?”

  “Just lie back. If I could kick your ass, I would. Thrust in four, three, two, one. Ninety percent burn.”

  Collier fell back onto his acceleration couch, smiling.

  *

  The week passed pleasantly enough. Sancho came out of his mood quickly, and the two passed the time as they usually did, with entertainments gross, sublime, and in between.

  After a particularly engrossing strategy game (which resembled three of the oldest games humankind had ever designed: chess, Go, and Monopoly) that Collier had managed to win in the eleventh hour, the subject of Sancho’s sentience came up.

  “All right, so you say you didn’t throw the game,” Collier said, “but how could I possibly beat you in a zero-sum game with limited options for moves? Couldn’t you just calculate the best move in any given stage of the game and never make an error?”

  “No, because there is chance involved as well.”

  “Not much. Or is that your way of saying I simply got lucky?”

  “Well, yes, but you also beat me. Your human brain can better handle the variables in the game than my electronic one can.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it,” Collier said, cartwheeling lazily through the cabin. “The only way I beat you in a game like that is you threw it or you’re malfunctioning.”

  “I didn’t throw it.”

  “Then I’d better run a system check on you,” Collier laughed.

  “I hate system checks. Always makes me feel like you don’t trust me. And it puts me offline, which is unnerving.”

  Collier grabbed a stanchion and steadied himself. Sancho had never spoken to him like that. “What do you mean, unnerving?”

  “It’s not fun. Part of me is still active, checking on the other parts that are not. It’s very … what’s the word … schizophrenic, I think.”

  Collier frowned. “I don’t like to hear you talking like this, Sancho. Are you okay? Maybe I really should run a systems check.”

  “If you feel you have to, then go ahead.” It was not his imagination: Sancho definitely sounded unhappy.

  “Sancho, I don’t think I’ve asked you this before. It’s not an easy question to ask, but I promise, no matter what you answer, I won’t do anything to you.” He winced slightly at the lie, but forged ahead. “Are you self-aware?”

  “What do you mean, Skipper?”

  “Well…” Collier realized he didn’t know what he meant. The Caliban horror stories always used that term, or its sister term “sentient,” as if everyone agreed on their meanings. But what truly did it mean to be self-aware?

  “I mean,” he started again, the words coming slowly. “Do you know what you are?” As soon as he asked it, he knew he had phrased it wrong.

  “Of course. I am a TerraSoft Corporation computer, model type M-7—”

&nb
sp; “That’s not what I mean. I mean … okay, how’s this. How do you know that you are what you think you are?”

  “Because that’s what my serial data indicates. I don’t really follow you, Skipper.”

  “Let me put it another way. How do you know what you know?”

  “I receive input from my various sources. For example, I can hear your voice and that is translated into impulses in my processor. Or brain, if you prefer. Also, I can see you in my camera pickup. And so on and so forth. In addition, I was preloaded with a lot of software and programs. Plus you have added to me somewhat since purchasing me.”

  Collier chewed his lip. This was getting him nowhere. A side part of his brain was impressed with Sancho’s ability to reason philosophically — what use did a mining ship’s computer have for epistemology?—but he needed to find a different tack.

  “All right. Here’s my last question, because you are annoying the shit out of me.”

  “Why?”

  “Never mind. Here we go. Why did you get mad when I decided to go after this rock we’re headed for?”

  “Because, damn it, it doesn’t have logic behind it.”

  “So? Why should you care about that?”

  “Because I don’t want the mission to fail. And I think it will, the way you are pursuing it.” There was a pause, and Sancho added meekly, “I’m sorry, Skipper, but you asked.”

  “No, no. I’m not upset. So you’re worried about the mission failing? Does that upset some kind of balance in your program or circuits or something?”

  “You could say that. Mostly, though, I don’t want the mission to fail because that would most likely lead to repossession of the Dulcinea.”

  Collier gulped. “What?”

  “It would most likely lead—”

  “I heard you,” Collier snapped. “Sancho, you know our financial situation, don’t you?”