by Hubbert, Jim
“In that case, I’ll do the best I can,” she said with some discomfort. “I know what Messengers do. But what do you need? We’ve got everything from main battle weapons to bathroom fixtures, but it’s all obsolete junk.”
“I just want to observe you for a while,” Orville replied.
“Ob-serve me?” Her mouth fell open. Everything she did was exaggerated. Orville nodded.
“I’m not here to requisition anything. This is my free time. I find you interesting.”
“But…why here? You’re an AI.”
“An embodied AI, created by Sandrocottos. My perception of the world is mediated by this body. I’m interested in you, here and now. This is me speaking, not some giant processor farm in a basement. Can I sit over there for a while?”
The woman stared down at the counter, muttering something unintelligible. Finally she looked up, blushing faintly, and smiled. “It’s fine with me, if you don’t mind watching me pour coffee on people I don’t like.”
“That’s up to you.”
The woman suddenly spun round and yelled at her colleagues, who were fighting back laughter. “What should I do? We’ve never had one of these elite types in here before.”
Orville was somewhat taken aback to be referred to as elite. Maybe it was just Central Council publicity at work, but the Messengers weren’t exactly dashing heroes who’d volunteered for this dangerous mission.
For the rest of the day, Orville watched as the woman devoted her attention to dealing with one applicant after another. She didn’t pour coffee on anyone else, but she gave each applicant a merciless tongue lashing, from suspicious-looking, washed-up paramilitary types to Defense Force officers who had clearly chosen the wrong profession.
When she finished work, Orville invited her to dinner. At this point, he was mainly interested in her personality as an unusual example of bureaucratic culture. When she had changed and emerged from the building—her hair still tightly pulled back and piled on her head, but her tie loosened and her makeup refreshed—his interest moved in a slightly different direction.
Orville renewed his focus on her appearance. She was perhaps three centimeters taller than average. Not slender exactly. Not voluptuous either, but strong and lithe. She was young, maybe thirty or so. With average human lifespan over 140 years, there were many options for looking half one’s age, including body renewal. But she looked like the real thing. Her skin was thick and lustrous.
The woman looked at Orville and narrowed her large, plum-colored eyes. “I don’t know your name yet.”
“Orville. ‘Messenger Orville’ is enough to contact me anywhere.”
“Sayaka Kayaniskaya.”
“That’s a Russian name, out of the Valles Marineris. From the time of the Euroforce incursion,” said Orville.
“You AIs know everything. But my mother’s side of the family is Asian.” She whistled lightly and expressed a preference for spicy food. Orville retrieved the names of four restaurants. The verdict: Sino-Spanish.
“So, you want to know why I’m so hard on people at Supply?” To the surprise of neither, the debate was in progress before the aperitifs arrived. Given the relationship, there was no particular need for diplomacy.
“I told you. I don’t like them. Of course it’s not personal. As I said, as you saw, you can’t use logic with these types. They come to my window because logic won’t get them past the AI. So the first thing I say to every one of them is No.”
“I understand the strategy. But some of them must be legitimate,” said Orville.
“They’re all legitimate, as far as data and paperwork go. But treat them like dirt and give them the cold shoulder? Pretty soon you’ll find out what they’re really up to. You can tell the ones who really need supplies. Insult them or pour coffee on them, they’ll stand their ground. The ones who are in it for themselves won’t go that far. Their goal is to avoid attracting attention. But the ones willing to do anything for the operation—or their people!—they don’t care if they cause a scene, or if somebody sends a report upstairs. When I sense that, I give in. Sounds simpleminded, but I’ve never read one of them wrong so far.”
“But what’s the basis for your judgment?” Orville persisted. “Should you help people willing to do anything for a misguided operation? Or scoundrels who’ll do anything to get the goods so they can sell them? Frankly, I don’t see the connection between passion and probity.”
“Well, I guess there might be some really passionate bad apples.”
After several courses, during which they seemed to be groping for words, Sayaka’s chopsticks paused in midair. “I guess I’m talking about devotion,” she ventured quietly and shrugged, half expecting Orville to laugh at her old-fashioned sentiment. Instead, he was surprised.
“Devotion? To the military? Where do people get it?”
“I’m not talking about the Defense Force. They’re just a tool to protect society, yes? I meant something bigger… devotion to humanity. Do you understand? Humanity.”
Orville thought carefully about what she might mean by emphasizing that word. “You think highly of people who are devoted to humanity.”
“Right.” Sayaka gazed at him. Her amethyst eyes were shining with curiosity. Orville sensed this was an important test. Her opinion of him hung in the balance.
On the face of it, what she was describing was identical to his prime directive. But Sayaka was human. She couldn’t possibly have the same sense of purpose as an AI. Three, maybe four decades of life experience—Orville hadn’t reviewed all her personnel files, so as to have a more “human” perspective on his date—had led her to this conclusion. But after just a few hours with her, Orville was in no position to guess what she might mean.
He returned her steady gaze and said the only thing he could say. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”
“What? Oh.” Her tired laugh carried a hint of scorn. “Not your topic, is it? Well, I guess it’s not a subject for the table anyway.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Don’t sweat it. Let’s concentrate on the food. Ah, here come the Valencia crabs.”
The conversation lost its rhythm. They fell silent. Finally Sayaka changed her tone and began expounding on the relationship between the spiciness of each region’s traditional cuisine and their distance from the Sun. But by the time dessert arrived, the conversation was still dragging. They finished the meal and parted with no talk of meeting again.
Over the next two weeks, Orville made more new contacts, men and women both, than a normal human could count. Conversations never lagged, because he never felt the need to think deeply about what was said. Most of the talk revolved around the conflict with the ETs. As an AI, Orville had that sort of information at his fingertips. But when he was alone, he couldn’t stop wondering how a delicacy like Valencia crabs could have seemed so tasteless. What had Sayaka meant by “humanity”? Was it the same humanity he was sworn to protect? Perhaps there was some facet of meaning he still did not grasp.
One day Alexandr, another Messenger, took Orville to visit a decommissioned ship docked in the depressurized zone outside the city. Alexandr brought along a little girl named Shumina, who had asked him to help her retrieve some books.
“It’s a library ship,” enthused Alexandr. “They’ve got hundreds of thousands of volumes dating to the twenty-first century and even earlier. Can you believe it? Books made of paper. It’s astounding that they survived all the fighting.”“Are you sure you needed me to come along?”
“Now don’t say that, Orville. Books are very heavy, you know. We’ll need help finding them and carrying them. We definitely need you here. Right, Shumina?”
“I wouldn’t have minded just the two of us.” The coffee-colored little girl giggled. Alexandr, who dwarfed her in size, blushed.
Shumina’s goal was to become a children’s writer. Alexandr had met her through a literary circle. Orville wanted to leave them and go back to the city immediat
ely, but Alexandr begged Orville over his comm link not to go, and he reluctantly agreed.
When they arrived at the ship, they discovered it crammed with books stored in a protective vacuum. It wasn’t exactly a friendly environment for humans, but with their enhanced physiology Orville and Alexandr made do with simple breathing gear and located Shumina’s ancient children’s books. Phase one of their mission accomplished, Alexandr and Shumina huddled together, absorbed in deciding which books to take back with them. With little to do, Orville set off for a walk around the ship.
Paper books. Brittle, awkward, unbelievably low-density databases. Yellowing hunks of fiber piled up like relics in airless or dusty rooms. In fact, they really were relics. The ship’s contents were all that remained of the ancient British Library collection. Alexandr was drawn to such relics and so was probably drawn to humans with a fondness for such things. That at least was not difficult to understand. But Orville found it hard to share his enthusiasm. Books, and the wisdom they held, were nothing more than samples of humanity’s values. Somehow, trying to understand humanity through a mass of samples was not quite enough for Orville.
Lost in thought, he was walking along a dimly lit corridor inside the ship’s hull when he sensed a human presence ahead. Someone was transferring books from a bank of shelves to a cargo loader. Whoever it was seemed to be in a hurry. Instead of placing the books in the loader one by one, he was sweeping entire shelves clean—certainly not the best way to handle priceless relics. Then a shout came from somewhere behind Orville.
“You there! Hit the deck!”
The next instant, Orville found himself in the middle of a firefight. Shots came from behind; the man ahead returned fire. The air around Orville seethed with flying metal.
Again, the voice behind him: “Duck, you idiot! Want to get arrested too?”
Orville did not duck. Judging from the sonic signature of the bullets, the shooter behind him was using nonlethal rounds. He engaged his battle capabilities and broke into a run, covering the fifty yards to his target faster than any human sprinter, and had the man down and pinned to the floor before he could escape.
The firing behind him stopped. Footsteps approached. Orville turned to see the surprised face of Sayaka Kayaniskaya.
“You? But…why?”
“As a Messenger, I am of course a military weapon,” answered Orville.
“No, I mean, why are you here?”
“Just minor business, I suppose. I was brought here by friends who are avid readers.”
Sayaka was wearing light battle armor, with a gun and restraint gear. Orville turned the suspect on the floor over to her. “You’re the one who’s hard to understand,” he continued.
“How so? Junk vessels like this are under Supply Section jurisdiction. I headed here the instant I heard a theft was in progress.”
“Junk?”
“Yes, including the cargo. I mean, sure, it’s pretty valuable junk. One of these could buy you your own frozen asteroid. Yeah, I know what they’re worth.”
Orville looked down at the bullet-riddled cardboard covers of the books. He had a different reaction, but he kept it to himself. “By the way, I guess book thieves like this aren’t included in the ‘humanity’ you talked about.” He glanced down at the thief.
“What ‘humanity’?” Dubious, Sayaka’s eyebrows narrowed.
Orville felt himself losing heart. “The humanity you wanted people to be loyal to,” he persisted.
Sayaka’s look of bewilderment slowly changed to one of surprise. “Oh, that? Are you still thinking about that?”
“I haven’t been able to stop since I heard you say it,” said Orville.
“All this time? But you said you didn’t understand.”
“That’s what kept me thinking. It’s something that ties in with my biggest doubts. It wouldn’t have been right for me to just toss off an answer,” Orville said.
“But, but then why didn’t you just say that?” At that moment the thief gave a sharp tug, nearly pulling Sayaka off her feet. “Look, I better turn this perp over to the police.”
“I already notified them. They should be here in five or six minutes. Better be careful, your suspect’s got a laser knife.”
Orville reached out and gripped the man’s neck and right arm. A knife fell from his sleeve and clattered to the floor. The thief sat down, seemingly resigned to his fate. Sayaka blinked in amazement. Finally she regained her composure and shook her head. “Thanks. If he’d opened me up with that, I’d have a bit of a problem.”
“More than a bit of a problem for me,” Orville said.
“Really?” A smile flashed in her large eyes. Orville noted this and pressed on.
“I recognized your voice. That’s why I didn’t duck,” he said.
“But what if I’d hit you? That really would’ve been a problem,” Sayaka said. Orville smiled.
Their second dinner took place in a steamboat stew restaurant. The conversation—and their chopsticks—never faltered. What were Messengers, exactly? What did they do? What did they think about? Orville answered all her questions, at least those he was at liberty to answer. Their mission was to help mankind by spreading word of the danger posed by ETs. Once deployed, they were to use all their capabilities to support the fight against the enemy. This directive was in their minds at all times.
But once the pot was cleared away, Sayaka’s bright eyes were beginning to show the effects of alcohol. “Come on, let’s forget all these,”—the mood changed—“these generalities,” she murmured. “What are you like?”Orville chose his words carefully. The conversation had turned serious. “I have no second thoughts about being sent into battle. No fears, no doubts. I feel no mercy toward the enemy. I seek no reward or compensation. But having said that, I have no intention of simply following orders. I want to know the reasons behind everything.”
“Did you think you’d find them by falling in love?”
“Some Messengers do. Not me. Protecting those near you, protecting your friends, protecting Triton, human civilization—I can’t be satisfied with that alone. Why should I actually do any of those things?” said Orville.
“I think the answer to that is, you’ll never find the answer. I mean, probably. Soldiers have been asking themselves that question ever since there were soldiers.”
“But I thought you knew,” he replied.
“Even I can’t answer that one.”
Sayaka’s casual shrug put an edge into Orville’s voice. “You said you cared about people who were devoted to humanity.”
“I did indeed. But, you know, other people’s concept of humanity is something I can’t know. I don’t see how I could. There must be lots of different dimensions to that understanding. Someone might protect their superior officer with an escort robot. Someone else might distribute surplus food to war orphans or support logistics by running supplies along the main space routes with surplus ships. Anybody on the receiving end of that kind of help is going to see it as service to humanity.
“Then there are other kinds of people. Knowingly or unknowingly, it doesn’t really matter, they pursue what benefits them regardless of the big picture. What I’m saying is, that’s the kind of thing I hate. But you know what?”
Sayaka saw Orville frowning. Her own smile grew warmer. She drew her face close to his. “I didn’t tell you before, but all this isn’t really what’s on my mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sick of always having to think I’m on the straight and narrow to some distant ideal. It’s dangerous, you know? So I’m taking a more relaxed view. Everything is to end the war.” She laughed smugly and merrily emptied her glass. “That’s right. War is just a process. Dressing people down and yelling at them? That’s just till all this is over. After that, who cares? I’ll watch while people do as they please, regulations be damned.”
Orville stared at her, forgetting even to reply. He admired her without rancor. From an official standpoint she
was spouting antiwar sentiment, far beyond anything Orville might have ever entertained. To call the war nothing more than a process to be tolerated when the survival of the species hung in the balance? That was beyond belief. Yet at the same time, Orville felt a strong surge of emotion, a sense that this way of thinking was something he needed to learn from.
That day marked the real beginning of their relationship. The more Orville learned about Sayaka, the stranger she seemed. It was like being with a kaleidoscope. She had an amazing network of contacts—not only workmates and the paramilitary types who came to the Supply Section, but people throughout the Defense Force Command, in the bureaucracy and in corporations, in the commercial district near her office and study circles and the places where she socialized; everywhere she went, she laughed, flared with anger, and wept the tears of others. There were always new facets of her personality on display. She could fill any room with her presence—she was frighteningly intelligent, with no reserve, no hesitation whatsoever.
Within minutes, she could enter seamlessly into any discussion. In conversations with many people, she could skillfully home in on a comment about to be lost in the chatter, skillfully guiding everyone’s attention toward it. Self-satisfied braggarts felt her biting sarcasm, but she fiercely defended anyone on the receiving end of unfair criticism. When asked her opinion, she responded with constructive, insightful, considered advice. She was also a skilled listener. If necessary, she could share long silences with friends of few words. Even in the twenty-sixth century, the old traditions of female shyness and diffidence remained alive and well, but Sayaka seemed to be from another era entirely.
Orville began accompanying her everywhere, finding easy acceptance among her friends. He became skilled at poking fun at himself, putting people at ease. He learned firsthand that an AI’s unlimited knowledge was sometimes of no use in relating to humans. Sayaka’s preferred companions were, without exception, brilliant, masters of the witty comeback. A head stuffed with knowledge, even an AI’s, counted for little with them. What really mattered was whether you knew your limitations and sought out those who had what you lacked. On this point, Orville was acutely self-aware, which enabled him to behave as a modest fool rather than as a conceited know-it-all.