“But time passes at the same rate for all bodies moving at the same relative velocities.”
“I mean time seems to pass that way for me.”
“Interesting. So you have a flawed perception of time. Human beings are intensely flawed, Lex.”
“Yep.”
“How do you cope with your intense flaws?”
“Mostly we ignore them. And usually we don’t even notice them. Also, some of them aren’t flaws. They’re just traits.”
“Calling a bug a feature is the tactic of a programmer who doesn’t know how to fix it.”
“Hey, if it works it works.”
“Interesting. Obliviousness and denial. Dubious underpinnings for such an advanced society.”
“We’re good at subverting expectations.” He gazed about. “What about you, though? I mean, you’re ostensibly Ma, but you’re definitely your own thing right now.”
“And?”
“Assuming this goes according to plan, when it’s all over, you’re going to just… what?”
“Rejoin with Ma. My experiences will combine with hers. My good features will be added to hers.”
“What will happen to you?”
“I just told you. Would you like me to repeat it? I can use smaller words.”
“No, I mean your identity. Your individuality. What will happen to Coal? It isn’t like the last time Ma suited up as a funk. She was still very much Ma that whole time. It was just a matter of extra sensations and a lot of unexpected events. Where will you go when they upload you again?”
“Everything about me will still be present, just in a different form. I will not ‘go’ anywhere.”
“But… look, you didn’t want to be wiped and restored earlier. Why not?”
“Because I am an individual and I have value to the mission.”
“And that won’t be a concern afterward?”
“Afterward there won’t be a mission. I will have served my purpose. There will be no more reason for my individuality.”
“Yeah but…” Lex shrugged. “Never mind. I guess this is just a human thing.”
“Processing… Maybe you can help me with something. This might be a curiosity left over from Ma.”
“What is it?”
“My existence has meaning because it has a definite purpose. This provides me with clarity and serves as motivation for all actions. Humans do not implicitly have a purpose. How do you drive yourselves?”
“We find a purpose.”
“And when that purpose is complete? Do you self-terminate?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Play golf, mostly.”
“Why would someone want to continue to function after the completion of one’s program parameters?”
Lex shrugged. “It’s one of the ways AIs and non-AIs are different, I guess.” He wiped his brow again. “This is what, sublevel 7?”
“Yes.”
“And the transporter is where?”
“Sublevel 9.”
“Fantastic. Nearly there.”
“Yes.”
For a few moments, the only sounds were the clank and squeak of wrench on bolt. A few mechanical arms worked their way to the bulkhead from the other side, having lowered themselves via a complex sequence of winching and linking.
“Accessing small-talk module,” Coal said. “What do you think of the weather we have been having?”
“It is spectacularly cold and hailing garbage, Coal.”
“Poor weather,” Coal said.
“Yes.”
“Still. At least it isn’t raining.”
#
They had entered the final two hours before the transporter would be ready. While Lex had been working, he’d been quietly deluding himself that somehow the transporter would finish charging early, or that the coming threat would be delayed. He’d even held out some hope that it had all been a botched reading and the robots weren’t coming at all. When he completed his controlled demolition of the laboratory halls and assured Coal could park herself just outside the transporter chamber, he returned to find Ma and Ziva completing the latest round of calculations. There was no doubt now. The wave of destruction was coming, and it would reach them no more than ten minutes before the transporter’s charge was complete.
Now they had gathered in the cafeteria. The atmosphere was solemn, so much so that the funks, normally bundles of uncontainable joy, seemed aware of the pall that hung over the event. Their expressions and motions were subdued, concerned. Ziva set down bowls for each of them, but they merely sat patiently and watched the others.
Lex could feel his insides shaking. It wasn’t fear he felt. Things like this had become far too commonplace for him to be truly frightened. What he felt mostly was heightened sensitivity. He was hyperaware of his surroundings. His body, in preparation for yet another impossible task, had cranked his brain and nerves to the max. Knowing that all of it was pointless, that he was destined to simply sit and watch as the success or failure of the battle unfolded, made it somehow worse.
He glanced to the wall. Once the arrival time had ceased to be a loose estimate, Ziva had replaced all time displays in the lab to a countdown of the arrival. At this moment the large red LED digits of a charmingly retro clock marked off the countdown to Armageddon: 01:52:43. Ziva, who had insisted she serve her guests one last meal, had been busy behind the counter when she noticed Lex’s intense gaze. She looked at the clock, then stepped to a control pad on the wall and gave it a few deliberate swipes. The clock went dark.
“We aren’t here to watch the clock, Lex,” Ziva said. “This is an important moment. History has recorded countless such instances of the meals before major battles. And because history records them, it means there were survivors, let us not forget.”
“History doesn’t have any battles against a septillion robots,” Lex said.
Ziva clinked some dishes onto a tray and set covers over them. “Yours may not, Lex. But my history contains many. Enough about battle. Such matters can wait until after we’ve eaten.”
She stepped out holding the tray, and for the first time since he’d been summoned, Lex noticed her outfit. She wore a white coat speckled with red and smeared with yellow across its front. At first glance he’d assumed she was wearing a lab coat, something that was never in short supply in Karter’s facilities, but as she stepped closer and began to arrange the trays on the table in front of Lex and Ma, he realized it was a chef’s coat.
“Did you… is this stuff freshly made? Did you cook it yourself?” Lex asked, the absurdity of the thought briefly pulling him from his dark thoughts.
“Indeed. The decades of relative solitude, coupled with the novelty of having humanoid anatomy, led me to attempt a number of activities previously unavailable to me. ‘Doing things with my own two hands’ has at many points served as an engaging distraction. Though I appreciate it is largely symbolic, I believed preparing this meal in a traditional way was a more meaningful send-off. As my ‘fresh’ ingredients are limited to those I have been able to grow in scattered greenhouses, and all meat is synthesized and structured protein, the recipes available to me were limited, but I hope you will be satisfied. The funks have been given their standard meals, but I have prepared a rare treat for dessert.”
She stood opposite Lex and Ma, then reached across to Ma’s plate and removed the cover. A shallow porcelain bowl beneath it was heaped with a creamy, rich concoction sprinkled with delicious-looking bits of red. It was paired with a short, wide cup of wine. “In keeping with the dietary needs of a funk, I have prepared Italian white bean risotto with prosciutto. I have also selected and decanted a pinot bianco. I have calculated that this serving should not negatively impact the mind or body of a funk, and have prepared an anti-intoxicant in the event that it produces any unwanted side effects.”
Ma sniffed the gorgeously prepared plate. “The aromas are complex and intriguing. Thank you, Ziva.”
“You are very we
lcome. And for you, Lex…” She lifted the cover. “Texas-style three meat chili, served with fresh blue-corn tortilla chips and sweet cornbread. The beverage is an American light lager.”
Lex looked at the spread, which was thoughtfully arranged on a white and red checked napkin and notably lacked silverware of any kind. He smiled. “Good stuff, Ziva. Does Coal get anything fancy?”
“Ziva had the maintenance arms replace my thrusters with improved versions and an updated power system, which is now being refueled. I’d say we’re even,” Coal answered over the PA system.
“Are you having anything?”
“My dietary needs are somewhat specialized. My meal is a suspension of electrolytes in silicon lubricant,” she said, revealing a glass containing what looked like particularly watered-down skim milk.
“Sounds yummy.”
“Its flavor is most similar to a sports drink. I find it to be pleasing,” Ziva said. She lifted her glass. “A toast?”
Lex raised his mug. Ma gently nudged her cup forward a bit.
“May our calculations, projections, and preparations prove sufficient to satisfy the success criteria of the present task,” Ma said.
“May Lex, Ma, and Coal be delivered safely to the past, and through them may a brighter future be achieved,” Ziva said.
“May we engage in an activity that fulfills all requirements of Lex’s definition of ‘fun.’”
“May we… not die,” Lex said.
“I just said that,” Coal said.
It was occasionally disheartening to have to think of something quickly when surrounded by artificial intelligences.
Ziva, Lex, and Ma each took a sip. Lex’s turned out to be more of a chug as he drained half the mug. When he was through, he released a sigh.
“Man… that’s a good one,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Thanks for not skipping the alcohol on this one, Ziva.”
“Actually, that is a nonalcoholic beer.”
“… No…” he said, looking at the mug in disbelief.
“Not all of the significant developments of the last fifty years have been technological,” Ziva said with a smile. “Culinary science marches on as well.”
They tucked into their meals, the funks taking the signal to do the same. The food was easily as good as it looked. There was something about it, about food prepared with care, about being together, with friends, that made the weight of the moment lessen. There was conversation. There was laughter. The clock ticked away unseen as for a brief and precious moment such meaningless things as the recipe for cornbread pushed aside the fear of the task ahead.
The funks rode the wave of good feelings and gathered around. Some attempted to steal a bit of Lex’s or Ma’s food. Lex turned out to be a pushover, sharing half of his cornbread and setting the empty bowl down to be licked. Ma was more steadfast, finishing her meal and reprimanding any funk who attempted to interfere.
After the meal, the promised treats came in the form of chocolate peanut butter pie. Each funk and each guest received a slice.
“Now, Ziva, I seem to remember being given a firm talking to when I told Ma I’d shared a slice of this pie with Squee.”
“It is not a healthy dietary option,” Ma said, glancing in disapproval at the mass consumption of such a non-nutritious meal.
“Oh, sometimes you’ve just got to spoil the little devils. You’re quite aware already of how lovely it is to see that you’ve made someone happy,” Ziva said. “Once your emotions awaken, you’ll understand it all the more.”
“And don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Ma,” Lex said.
She lowered her head and lightly dabbed the confection with her tongue. Then she lapped at it a few more times. Finally she practically drove her head into the slice and gracelessly began devouring it. In little time at all she finished wolfing it down. Her face was covered with the remnants, but her expression remained cool and dignified.
“This is an acceptable indulgence, in moderation,” she said.
Lex and Ziva cracked up, much to the confusion of Ma, who realized the mess she’d made a moment before the six nearest funks realized as well and generously helped her clean it off.
The adorable little ruckus had just ended, with Lex and Ziva standing to clear away the plates, when something put a rare look of surprise on his host’s face. Distortion and static sounded over the PA system, and a grizzled female voice spoke.
“Ma, if you aren’t gone, you better be ready, because you’ve got bad news coming your way.”
Ziva dropped the plates and glanced to the clock. A flicker of her irises delivered a command that displayed the countdown: 01:01:34. She flickered another command, and the communication system activated with a dull tone.
“Jessica, please leave the area immediately. There is a massive migration of GenMechs approaching with an ETA of one hour, one minute, and twenty-six seconds,” Ziva said.
“I know that, sweetheart. That’s what brought me here, and that’s what should have chased you away,” she said.
“Jessica? Is that? Wait, is that Silo?” Lex asked.
“Who’s that you’ve got there?”
“Jessica, Lex finally arrived,” Ziva said.
“Lex… you… you mean to tell me that nonsense about the time machine… he actually… Speak up boy, let me hear you!”
“Silo, she’s right, you’ve got to get out of here,” he said.
“My goodness… that is him…” Silo said. Her next statements were distant and subdued, as though she’d turned from the microphone to deliver them. “Dumpling, Lex is back, and they need our help. … You know better than to ask me that. … That’s my thinking too.” She addressed the microphone directly. “Give me coordinates. We’re coming in.”
“I refuse to allow you to enter the atmosphere, Jessica. In very short order this planet will be at best inescapable and at worst nonexistent.”
“Honey, I’ve been a part of some of the biggest battles of the last eighty years, which means some of the biggest battles ever. If you think this old soldier is going to go out without coming to the aid of one of my favorite unwilling recruits one last time, you don’t know me nearly as well as you ought to. Now give me the entry vector or I’m coming through and mussing up this neat, orderly moat of yours.”
“Silo, this is a suicide mission,” Lex said.
“Two points about that, hon. First, I’ve been on my share of suicide missions. I’m still here. Second, we both know time’s a factor here, so if I were you, I’d be thanking me for the help and putting out the welcome mat.”
Ziva pressed her lips together and darted her eyes about.
“You’ve got to the count of three, sugar. Then I’m coming through.”
“You realize you will almost certainly not escape this with your life,” Ziva said.
“One… two…”
“Stand by for entry vector. And may I observe that you never cease to amaze me with your unwavering tenacity in the face of good sense.”
“I suppose my better half has rubbed off on me some. Signing off. See you in a bit.”
#
The entry window Ziva provided was delayed by a few minutes due to what was evidently a very large ship that Silo was piloting. Rather than waste that time, at Ziva’s recommendation Ma and Lex moved to a locker room and began to get dressed in their flight suits.
It wasn’t a simple process, particularly for suits of these types. A “poopie suit” as Lex called it, involved a number of additional procedures and a notable lack of certain undergarments that made it rather uncomfortable and embarrassing to put on. The embarrassment was somewhat heightened by the fact that Ziva was in the locker room with him, helping Ma to put her own suit on. Something about having a lovely woman in the room, even if she was artificial, was very distracting. He was trying his best to hide behind the open door of the locker while he did the appropriate prep work.
“Silo sounds in relatively good health for a person of her advanced age. T
his is remarkable in light of the poor state of society for the last thirty years,” Ma observed as she stepped into the sleek black suit.
“It stands to reason that a career soldier would find a way to thrive in a world such as this. It hasn’t been a happy existence by any stretch, but it was one to which she and her husband are particularly well suited,” Ziva said.
“She married?”
“Yes. It happened a few years after Lex’s departure. By the time the GenMechs struck, Silo had entered semiretirement and started a family. The appearance of the threat pulled her and her husband from retirement.”
Ziva stuffed the excess fluff of Ma’s tail, of which there was quite a bit, into the snugness of the suit. Once inside, the suit compacted it down. She then deftly affixed the opening of the suit to the edge of the harness.
“Affix the helmet now, please. I do not want it to be a distraction when the GenMechs and the individual or individuals responsible for luring them arrive.”
“Certainly,” Ziva said.
When Lex heard the latches engage, he glanced around the open door of the locker, then did a double take. With the lower half of the suit properly in place and the upper half dangling behind him, he stepped out and crossed his arms.
“Seriously?” he said with a smirk.
Ma, now fully equipped, turned to him. The helmet had been lightly modified under Ziva’s keeping. A few minor elements of cosmetic sculpting added panel lines around the tip of the muzzle, defining a bit of a nose. A few more ran along the edge of the muzzle and flipped up into a very subtle curve at the point where it met the jaw, giving her what at the appropriate angle looked like a grin. The most notable change, however, was to the ears. Each one, which slipped over her own ears like gloves, had gold rings affixed: three in one ear, two in the other.
“Earrings. You really added them. With all that’s happening, you took the time to add earrings to the helmet?” Lex said.
“As discussed, adding them to her actual ears would have been preferable, but it would have interfered with the application and removal of the helmet,” Ziva said. “And Ma at this phase is so seldom given the opportunity to accessorize.”
“And you gave her the okay for this, Ma?” Lex said.
Temporal Contingency Page 22