“Without the confines of meat, we are omnipresent.” Red-Gold seemed to preen as it spoke. “I am currently performing seven hundred nineteen discrete functions via shipframe, core pod, and multiple remotes, including this one.”
“We are each of us telepresent,” noted the ovoid construct. “These mechanisms you see before you are tools. Only One-Five and White-Blue are here in actuality.”
“And together you are the Governance Kernel,” repeated Deanna. “That’s the ruling body of the Sentry Coalition?”
“Incorrect,” said Zero-Nine. “In matters of import, we parse initial data and offer options to our fellows. We do not rule by fiat. We are instruments of a cooperative will, not controllers.”
“A light-speed democracy,” said Melora. “Anything important happens, they put it up to an instant vote.”
“Correct,” said One-Five. “Only in matters of extreme emergency do we exert any overt influence, and then a unity among our cores is required. Majority intent determines our disposition.”
“It does,” said Red-Gold, “even if that intent is in error.”
The machine made of lenses swiveled and presented the sphere with a glassy stare. “We abide by the choice made,” it rattled, “for the good of Sentry-kind. It is not your place to reinitiate conflicts.”
“FirstGen Two-Seven is gracious in correcting me,” said Red-Gold smoothly. “I accept this. As a SecondGen mind, I admit I do not have the depth of experience Two-Seven possesses.”
“Generation has nothing to do with this,” insisted Zero-Nine. “There are questions. They must be answered. End of line.”
Riker gave his wife a sideways look. For machines, they certainly remind me of people. She gave him an imperceptible nod in return.
The humanoid remote stepped forward, and when it spoke, Riker recognized the voice. “Before that,” said Cyan-Gray, “there is the matter of repatriation to consider.” It stepped closer to White-Blue. “If I had been aware that you were still active, I would not have initiated a salvage process upon the wreckage of your shipframe.”
“It is regrettable,” White-Blue allowed. “Interrogative: Why was my status redesignated?”
“Contact was lost,” Red-Gold snapped. “You initiated your voyage into the outer sectors despite negative probability forecasts. It was logical to assume your loss was permanent.”
“They thought you had been destroyed,” said Deanna.
“Affirmative,” said Cyan-Gray. “On termination, the remains of a Sentry are recovered and reintegrated into the greater unity.”
“They recycle their dead,” Dennisar said in a low voice.
“It is required,” answered One-Five. “A preservation of resources.”
Riker nodded, thinking it through. If the AIs didn’t have matter transporters, then it stood to reason that they might not possess related technologies, such as replicators or holodecks. A resource-poor society would explain why the outer worlds of the star system showed such evidence of heavy mining. He filed these thoughts away for later discussion, postmission.
“It is well that I have returned,” White-Blue buzzed. “I possess vital data that must be uploaded to the communal information pool.”
Black-Silver made a derisive clicking sound. “We have reviewed your alarmist theories in the past. They were rejected.”
“I have updated my research.”
“A matter for later consideration,” One-Five insisted firmly. “In the meantime, Cyan-Gray has elected to provide source elements to White-Blue for the construction of a droneframe. I have agreed to fabricate it.”
“Interrogative: In return for what?” Red-Gold asked.
“I request no recompense,” said Cyan-Gray. “I… am responsible.”
“Stand to, organics,” said One-Five. Riker threw his people a nod, and they backed away from White-Blue. One of the thicker wall supports rotated on its axis and opened; two smaller drones, multilegged things like crabs, skittered forward and gathered up the nexus core. They carried the AI’s pod away, off toward one of the towers.
With their “guest” gone, the captain sensed the tension in his team tighten a notch or three. From the corner of his eye, he saw Keru’s hand drop to be closer to the hilt of his phaser.
If the AIs noticed, they gave no indication of it. “The questions, then,” repeated Zero-Nine.
“I will begin,” said the ovoid. “I am FirstGen Three-Four, active remote. Interrogative: What are you? What is your origin? Answer.”
Riker let his wife take the first steps; she was a lot better at this kind of stuff than he was. He always felt as if he was overthinking, but Deanna made it seem effortless.
“We are explorers, from an alliance of worlds many hundreds of light-years distant from this region. We come with peaceful intent, to learn more about our universe and make contact with other beings.”
“Interrogative: If your intent is peaceful, then why does your ship possess such formidable weapons?” Two-Seven turned an eye lens at them. “I observed Cyan-Gray’s engagement report. Your craft is a warship, not an explorer.”
“We carry weapons, that’s true,” Riker said with a nod. “But only for defense. Only as a last resort.”
Three-Four spoke again. “Interrogative: Why did you enter our space?”
“Because of me,” said Melora. “I detected the energy signature of your star system from our vessel. I saw the possibility of sentient life… I was curious.”
“We all were,” added Riker.
Red-Gold moved forward, and the motion seemed almost aggressive. “Interrogative: Was it your curiosity that compelled you to interfere with the life function of a Sentry? Or was it a more destructive intention?”
“We did not understand what White-Blue was at first,” Deanna admitted. “In our society, self-aware machines like you are a rarity.”
“You interfered with something you did not fully comprehend.” Black-Silver’s words were a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” said Riker, drawing himself up. “But only because we believed we were doing the right thing. Your fellow Sentry could have been lost forever out there. Our ship scanned the damage to his vessel. We boarded it because we hoped we could find out what happened and search for any survivors in need of help. I guess we found one.”
“You had no right to recover the core pod,” Red-Gold insisted. “The subsequent damage inflicted upon the Titan is a direct result of your interference in Sentry affairs. The responsibility for that is yours.”
“Wait—” began Cyan-Gray, but Red-Gold continued to speak.
“You are intruders. You should leave our space and not return.”
Riker folded his arms. “Maybe we should. But before we do, I have some questions of my own I’d like answered. Why don’t we start with an explanation about what happened to White-Blue’s shipframe? It was ripped to pieces.”
“That is not your concern,” said Zero-Nine.
“If there’s a threat out there, something blasting apart starships, then we need to know about it,” insisted Keru. “We might even be able to help you deal with it.”
“And there’s the spatial-distortion effects,” added Melora. She looked at Cyan-Gray’s remote. “We know you’re aware of those.”
“Repeating,” Zero-Nine grated, “that is not your concern.”
The captain studied the disparate group of machines, trying to get a feel for them. He’d half-expected to meet a series of identical, coldly logical devices or perhaps some form of hive consciousness; instead, these AIs reminded him of flesh-and-blood intellects from all over the galaxy. In their own way, they were emotive, fractious, and contrary among themselves, just like every other intelligent being he had ever come across. In a strange way, he was heartened by the thought.
“What about the Null? Should we be concerned about that?” The question hung in the air, and silence followed it. Riker heard Melora’s tricorder ping once more as the AIs networked silently. That got a reaction.
After a moment, Zero-Nine began to speak again. “Repeating—”
Riker held up a hand to silence the drone. “Yes, I think we get the idea.”
“If you’re not interested in a formal first contact with the Federation, we will abide by your wishes,” said Deanna. “Allow us to repair our vessel, and we’ll go on our way. We will respect your privacy, if that is what you want.”
“There is the issue of responsibility,” said Cyan-Gray insistently. “The damage done must be amended.”
“We can handle that on our own,” said Keru. “Thanks anyway.”
“Negative,” rumbled One-Five. “Inefficient. We will assist.”
“These wetminds do not want our help!” Red-Gold faced the screen panels. “We should withdraw it. Titan is in dock at this moment, under reconstruction, using resources from our general pool. There is no value in this for the Sentries. I submit that the organics should be disengaged and escorted beyond the rim. Their presence is an unnecessary distraction.”
“We cannot shirk our responsibility,” said Three-Four carefully. “This is intrinsic to us.”
“Only because you insist it is so!” Red-Gold pivoted and hove toward the away team. “I am not the only component of the Kernel who processes this conclusion.”
“Perhaps a compromise, then.” The voice came from the far end of the corridor. A new drone approached, this one resembling a thickset arachnid built from off-cuts of scrap and hull metal. The resonance of the AI’s speech was strong.
“White-Blue?” asked Melora.
“Confirmed,” said the machine. “My core pod is now housed inside this droneframe. The manufacturing is adequate, One-Five. My gratitude to you.”
“Accepted,” boomed the planet-mind. “The components were drawn from elements of your own recovered vessel.”
“Nice outfit,” Keru said without warmth.
White-Blue turned to Deanna. “Commander Troi, you are the Titan’s diplomatic function.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
The machine’s head bobbed in something that seemed like a nod. Riker wondered if it was picking up on humanoid body language, incorporating it into its behavior modes. “I suggest that the repairs to the Titan could be accelerated if the crew of your ship could properly interact with our spacedock drones.”
“Agreed,” Deanna replied. “But until now, your automated systems have ignored any attempts to communicate with them.”
“They will only respond to a Sentry,” said Black-Silver.
“I will assist the Titan crew directly,” continued White-Blue. “I will act as Sentry envoy and communications bridge.”
“Interrogative: What value will that have?” snapped Zero-Nine. “White-Blue, you are shipless. Immobile. Dependent on the goodwill of others. You should be more concerned about gathering material to reconstruct your shipframe.”
“Perhaps I will learn something new,” came the reply. “With my assistance, there will be efficiency, there will be a cooperative state between Sentry and Federation mobiles. Less resource will be required from the spacedock. The Titan crew will be able to participate in the reconstruction process.” The drone turned to face the captain. “Interrogative: Is this acceptable, William-Riker?”
Riker had the sense that wasn’t the only question the machine was asking him. “Yes,” he replied. “I guess we can work together.”
“Sir,” Keru hissed. “Is that really a good idea?”
“The art of diplomacy is knowing when to compromise,” noted Deanna.
“The art of security is knowing when not to,” retorted the Trill.
“It’s done, Keru,” said Riker. “That’s an order.”
“Confirmed,” said One-Five. “White-Blue will return to the Titan and assist the organics.”
The remotes accepted this and turned around, moving away, back toward the small shuttles that had brought them. One-Five’s screens glittered and became windows again, letting the red light of the planet below return to fill the long chamber.
Only Red-Gold paused, drifting before them. “Your presence here is a minor impediment. You would be advised to ensure that it does not become an obstruction of any note.” The machine floated away, the red glow around it pulsing in waves.
SIX
The corridor was cold like a meat locker, and it smelled of smoke and ozone. Emergency illumination strips powered by chemical reactions cast a watery yellow light along the angled walls of the Titan, showing scorch marks on the tan carpet and brushed metal as black, inky slicks. Panels hung open overhead, and here and there, deck plates had been removed so that engineering staff could get to the clusters of bioneural gel packs beneath. Most of the packs had burst or curdled in the flashover from the fire that had roared down the corridor in the brief moments before it had vented to space. It was blind luck that none of the Titan’s crew had been in this length of passageway when Cyan-Gray’s ill-fated attack was happening. The thought of being caught in such a circumstance made Christine Vale’s skin prickle.
She folded her arms as she stood there in the gloom, feeling the chill. Full life-support function had yet to be restored to this section of the ship, and her breath made small puffs of vapor as she exhaled.
She heard footsteps and turned. Tuvok and Keru approached, the Trill eyeing his surroundings with open concern, the Vulcan apparently untroubled by either the cold or the dimness.
“Commander,” said Tuvok. “You summoned us here.”
“Was the observation lounge full?” asked Keru with a raised eyebrow.
“I didn’t ask you down here because I like the atmosphere,” Vale replied. “Frankly, I remain concerned that there may be security issues aboard the Titan, and this place is the closest I could think of as secure.”
Keru looked around. “No working intercoms or computer systems.”
“We can’t be heard here.” She paused.
“Captain Riker and Commander Troi are with the AI,” Tuvok went on. “They are several decks above us. I doubt the Sentry have the functionality to eavesdrop through tritanium decking.”
“I’m still not convinced. I’ll grant you this may seem like a somewhat paranoid choice of meeting place,” said Vale, “but just humor me.”
“You say ‘paranoid’ as if it’s a bad thing,” said Keru. “I’ve always thought it was part of the job for a security or tactical officer.”
The Vulcan frowned slightly. “I prefer to describe myself as watchful, Lieutenant Commander. Your choice of terminology carries the unpleasant suggestion of mental infirmity.”
“We’re not here to debate,” Vale broke in. “I asked you both to meet me because I want you to generate a plan of action for dealing with these AIs.”
“In case they turn against us,” Tuvok added.
“There’s definitely a chance of that,” said Keru. “I got a hostile vibe from Red-Gold and some of the others during the away mission. And at best, I think the less militant ones look at us as little more than some sort of curiosity.”
Vale was nodding. “Our presence may be resented by some factions of the Sentry AIs. We don’t know how that will play out.” She paused. Frankly, the last thing she would have agreed to was letting White-Blue back onboard the Titan, and in some advanced new form as well, but that wasn’t her call to make.
“The captain made his choice,” Keru said, clearly sharing the commander’s concerns. “For better or worse.”
“Indeed he did,” added Tuvok. “With that in mind, I feel compelled to ask, is Captain Riker aware of the conversation we are having?”
“He will be,” said Vale. “I’m the executive officer, Tuvok. I watch the captain’s back; that’s what the job description asks for. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s thinking the same thing I am. I’ll make sure he has the option he needs when he needs it.”
“Well.” Keru sucked in a slow breath. “It won’t be easy. Conventional phasers and beam weapons might not be enough. Melora’
s scans of the remote drones showed that most of them have what appear to be rudimentary force-shield emitters built right into the frames of their remote units. There’s no telling what offensive systems they might have as well.”
“The reaction speed of the machines is also a concern,” said Tuvok. “They are likely to be able to exceed organic neural response times in combat situations. Therefore, any agent deployed to neutralize a Sentry mechanism would need to be virtually instantaneous in order to be effective.”
“An interference field, maybe?” asked Vale.
“Possible,” Tuvok allowed. “However, the Sentry AIs operate openly in a region rife with heavy frequencies of exotic radiation. It may be difficult to isolate a specific waveband.”
Star Trek: Titan - 006 - Synthesis Page 13