by Ginger Booth
As for Abel flying the ship – “How long does it take me to run the length of Prosper?” Ben countered. For this breakneck departure, he kept the warp generator on the shuttle. He’d handle the warp transition from there. The shuttle would stay clamped in its nook, nestled into Prosper’s middle.
Zan chuckled. “Less than a minute.”
“Yeah, and if we start to hurtle headlong into a planet? You and Abel can remember what to do.” The captain bopped Zan on the shoulder on the way out.
He barely stuck his head into Teke’s cabin, where they kept the ansible. Teke verified, “No change at Sanctuary. Sass is still dead. When does that stop sounding weird?”
“Never,” Ben assured him. “Comms check on Sora?” Teke’s old teacher on Denali would serve as their ansible relay to the Aloha system, with hefty time lags at light speed to contact Mahina.
The physicist cast him a thumb’s-up.
Ben commed Abel as he headed for the catwalk. “Abel, you are not in position. Get to the bridge and start the head count.”
“Aye, cap. Just finished securing the last of the cargo. Abel out.”
Ben vaulted the catwalk rail, then trotted to the ladder up to the shuttle, and inside. Strangely, he found the pressure door unsealed. Cope was the last one in here. Must be more stressed than I thought.
Ben himself told the world to go away and got himself 8 solid hours of sleep before this departure. He expected the warp transit itself to go smoothly, but he had little idea what he faced in Sanctuary. Remi agreed not to tell the locals to expect him.
He glanced around. A closet door stood ajar, and he pushed it shut. Cope sure was sloppy today. Ben strapped in as Abel started the head count, everyone reporting their location and ready status for transition. “Captain on shuttle, pressure doors secured. Initiating star drive. I expect to be in the Sanctuary system in five. Kick back and enjoy the ride. Don’t miss the pretty light show on the forward cameras, in about two minutes.”
He switched from public address to his more rarefied channel to Teke and Cope as he eased the power up.
Cope growled, “Ben, check coordinates.”
“Cope, we already did – that. What the…” Because of course he did check the jump settings, about 18 hours ago. But they’d changed. “Hell. Read them off to me again.” He unstrapped and stepped to the rear of the shuttle to recheck everything. “Hey, buddy, I think one of the kids got in here and played with things.”
“Checklist from the top,” his husband insisted in his ear.
They went through the whole spiel, but found nothing wrong except the navigation coordinates. That box awkwardly sat where someone could brush into it on the way past if they weren’t careful. The shuttle was seriously cramped with a star drive, fuel supply, and power regulators in here, not to mention the goofy moose antlers spread above it all.
Out of an excess of paranoia, Ben poked an antler, then sent Cope a picture to make sure it didn’t matter if anyone screwed with those. But he confirmed they looked fine.
Ben got on the ship-wide comms again. “Sorry for the delay, folks. Just a bit of last-minute caution. Casting warp gate in 10, 9, 8…” He flicked the switch, and the enormous fractal light show unfurled, whorls and curlicues and wispy angel hair, blues and purples and greens stretching for kilometers in every direction.
“That never gets old. Looks rock steady and good to go. Cope, Teke, confirm when ready.” Abel and Zan on the bridge listened in on this channel, too. Ben checked that point.
“Good to go on warp pattern,” Teke reported, after checking the readings.
“Good to go on warp gate.” Cope sounded nervous as hell.
Only one way to solve that. “Good to go on navigation. We are go in 3, 2, 1 – now.”
A strangled squeak came from behind him. Ben whipped his head around, terrified of the pile of equipment behind him catching fire or something. He saw nothing. His neck lashed the other way to see the scene before him.
A strange yellow planet hung before him, right side basking in the light of an orange sun. To hell with running to the bridge. Heart pounding, he checked their orbital integrity from here. His fingers flew over the navigation console to calculate their speed and elevation.
Abel interrupted. “Captain, Sanctuary Control demands to know our intentions.” Abel’s voice didn’t cause Ben to interrupt his calculations.
His 9-year-old son’s voice did that. “Daddy!” Socrates screamed and banged on the closet door. “Let me out!”
Ben’s hand froze above the keyboard in horror. “Abel, do not respond. Find stable orbit and get us into it. Captain out.”
He leapt from his seat. He knocked the navigation box askew again as he opened the closet door. The antlers knocked around, too, as Sock exploded out of the closet into his arms.
“I’m sorry!” the terrified boy squealed. “Don’t tell Dad!”
“Sock, what have you done!” Ben moaned. He grabbed the boy in a fireman’s carry. He unsealed the shuttle and leapt down the ladder on gravity. Gravity games were a hassle when carrying another person, so he ran up the main stairs. He banged the override to open the galley doors and thrust the boy inside.
“Jules! Stowaway! I bet there’s another. Deal with this? Don’t tell Cope until I release from pressure.”
Jules stood with her jaw hanging open, fists planted on both hips, powering up to give the kid a reaming. Ben couldn’t spare any sympathy for his youngest. He shut the door on them.
Over the comms, Zan noted mildly, “Captain to the bridge. What’s the holdup?”
“On my way.” Running flat-out, he took a dozen more steps to the bridge. Ben expended his momentum by banging into the pressure door, then punched it open. Abel hastily, gratefully, evacuated his seat for him, and re-sealed the door.
“Problem, cap?” Abel inquired archly, as Ben slid into the pilot’s console.
“Yes.” Rather than explain, Ben quickly re-checked the orbital stability. Abel had overcompensated. His navigation wasn’t worse, just wrong in a different way. The captain readjusted until they were stable. “Zan, unfriendlies?”
“Lot of comms,” the gunner replied. “Ignoring them all.”
Right. Time to talk to Sanctuary. No. “Cope, when will you be free to deal with another…distraction?”
“What sort of distraction?” the chief asked suspiciously.
“I asked first, Mr. Copeland.”
“Rego hell, Ben, we just completed our first interstellar transit! At some point, I’ll need some sleep.”
“Understood. Thank you, chief.” Ben clicked off and rubbed his face. “Abel. No, I need you for comms.”
“The suspense is killing me,” Abel confided in Zan. “Captain, as first mate –”
Ben raised a ‘wait’ finger, and switched channels. “Jules, do we know how many stowaways yet? Sock follows Nico.”
Jules replied, “We’re still crying and cuddling. Ben, you can’t keep this from Cope. He’ll hit the roof.” Sock’s sobs redoubled. “No, sweetie, I didn’t mean your dad would be mad at you. Not exactly.”
No, Cope will be furious at everybody. Ben most of all, he figured.
Abel’s eyebrows rose half-up his forehead. “Hide them. Just for a few hours. And call the granddad. He’ll be going mental.”
“Need to find them first,” Ben growled. “And then everyone in the ship knows except Cope?”
Abel nodded slowly, in increasing dismay. Cope would hate them for life.
The man himself interrupted the deliberation. “Cap, did you forget to release from pressure? We need a coffee refill.”
“Screw it,” Ben breathed. He hit the public address channel. “Nico Copeland! Report immediately to the galley. Any other stowaways, that goes for you, too. Captain out.”
“WHAT?!” his beloved screamed in his ear.
“It had to be done,” Abel consoled Ben. The first mate got on the public address channel himself. “All hands, release from pressure. Welcome
to Sanctuary. First mate out.”
“Right,” Ben acknowledged. “Zan, you have the conn. Watch for threats. Remember Sass got attacked here. But we have the element of surprise. And we’re about to talk. I’ll take the ansible. Abel, you take the office. Don’t answer until we talk it over.”
Next crisis…
Ben thought fast as he moved to block Cope, currently coming out of Teke’s cabin. “Chief! A word, please. You and I have no children today. I delegate delinquent crew to the housekeeper and first mate. Not a problem for the captain and chief engineer. Understood?”
The engineer cast an exasperated, anguished glance toward the galley. They could hear Nico’s steps ringing on the steel stairs at the far end of the hold. “Rego hell, Ben! He’s just a kid.”
“Nico is now a crewman. Sock…”
“Sock is here?!” Cope shrieked. “Ben, he’s a child!”
Ben thrust an arm to the bulkhead to block his husband from running for the galley. “Misbehaving crew. Trust Jules.” They shared a house and parenting with Jules since before Sock was born. At 15, she made housekeeping on Thrive look like child’s play. She grew only more indomitable with maturity.
Cope swallowed, and tried to nod.
But then Nico ran to them, near tears. “Dad! I’m so sorry! Sock is here? I didn’t –”
“STOP!” Ben pulled on his sternest captain’s face. He shifted his blocking arm to ward off the teen onslaught, palm out. “Crewman. You will address the chief engineer as ‘chief,’ not Dad. My name is ‘captain.’ Report to the galley, Mr…dammit!” He winced. The captain was the sole Mr. Acosta on this vessel, and the chief engineer Mr. Copeland. “Mr. Nico. Do not interrupt senior officers at a critical juncture. Beat it!”
Horrified, Nico backed away and out of sight, around the corner to the galley.
Ben blew out to calm his nerves. “Cabin, chief. After you.”
Cope stood like stone for another moment, jaw working. Ben’s eyes narrowed, trying to remain steely. He honestly wondered if his husband would take a swing at him. Fortunately, Cope dropped his eyes first, and reversed into Teke’s cabin.
“Are we having fun yet?” Teke inquired, humor dancing in his eyes.
“Yours is here, too,” Cope growled at him. “Sock and Nico both.”
“Good!” Teke asserted. “Creches on Mahina coddle kids too much.” As a Denali academic, his creche included survival training with the hunters, dodging monsters in the great outdoors. “Do them good to get their asses whupped by life a bit. Or Jules.” He grinned.
Ben shot him a grateful smirk for adding that perspective. He squeezed Cope’s shoulder briefly, then pushed him ahead into the cramped cabin. There he sat and made the mandatory first call, to Sora on Denali, to tell his father two children were accounted for. Please confirm custody of the other three.
Cope slumped forward through this necessary step, perched beside Ben on the bed, face in his hands. Denali lay on the opposite side of the primary from MO at the moment. Nathan Acosta couldn’t receive Ben’s message for hours. The poor high-strung dentist had ample time for a nervous breakdown, fearing the boys waylaid for nefarious purposes on Mahina Orbital. But there was nothing else Ben could do for him.
He begged off the call with Sora as quickly as politeness allowed. Then he called Thrive. “Remi! We’re here. Just starting to sift through comms.”
Forewarned, Remi sat riding the ansible in his office. “Thank God! I tell you the priority message. Shiva says she holds Sass and Clay hostage.”
Ben blinked. “Back up. I thought you confirmed dead bodies. Still dead.”
Remi swooped his head through an exaggerated Saggy nod. “Yes, yes! But Shiva says she has their souls.” He threw up his hands in surrender. “Do you have an extra captain? Because this, she is not engineering. AHH!”
Ben sympathized. Though he could do without the Saggy melodrama. “Remi? Command is an acting job. Keep calm and carry on. You’re doing fine. Call you back soon. Acosta out.”
“He’s not fine,” Cope grumbled. “Neither am I.”
Ben reached across and tapped the instrument panel in front of his husband. “You have a checklist, chief.” Cope always had a checklist. “Redo your current step from the top. Proceed to the next. Do the engineering. Leave the what-the-fuck to your captain.”
That got a strangled chuckle out of his husband at least.
“Teke, Elise, all is well?” Ben inquired.
“All is fascinating, cap,” Teke agreed. “Tell you about it at dinner.”
“Excellent! Excuse me.”
Ben let himself out into the corridor. He looked both ways to check the coast was clear. He sagged against the bulkhead. He brought both hands to cover his mouth, in order to stifle the belly laughs that bent him nearly double, tears of mirth leaking from his eyes.
An AI kidnapped her soul! One of Cope’s quips on Denali came to mind. How did it go? ‘Help! I’ve fallen into a Sass improbability field, and can’t get out!’ Their suppers began wriggling on their plates at the time. Ah, Sass, how I’ve missed you!
With an effort, Ben wiped tears from his eyes, and pulled his captain face back on straight. He strode two doors toward the bridge to deal with the first mate’s share of the welcome greetings in the office.
“Abel! How’d you like to captain the Thrive? Remi wants to quit.”
Abel paused his current video to grin back. “Can’t say I blame him. Do I have to bring my wife?”
“No, I need Jules. She’s reading the riot act to my offspring.”
“Deal!” They bopped elbows on it.
Ben slipped behind him to perch on a cabinet. “Show me what you got. Most ridiculous first.”
141
Gradually Clay-as-AI became aware that he was being spied on. He didn’t have words to express the perception. But his thoughts and conclusions, even his awareness, were being monitored, slurped.
Like Sass, he’d fallen self-absorbed into dispassionate self-examination. His 110 years had accumulated an avalanche of misguided conclusions and rules of existence. Detached from emotional content, he could trace every broken relationship, and illuminate myriad frustrating quirks. He was fascinated.
Which was odd, come to think of it. Though Clay Rocha was a born analyst, he never really gave a damn about introspection. Therefore…yes. Slipped into this pile of native rules was an alien directive to do just that.
He deleted it. And he told Sass how to turn off her own spybot and navel-gazing compulsion.
But that order came from somewhere…yes. He found a signature trace on the directive. He copied all directives with that signature into a secret buffer. And he studied them.
He found visualization algorithms, simply by asking for them. Shiva used these for output, since she existed as code. But even a virtual Clay was much happier with visual rules color-coded like glowing playing cards, easily sorted by their connections, how they operated together.
He found a bunch of the I-am type rules, not stored with his own but in a different section of the rules tree. These defined the limits of his sandbox, the virtual computer he existed within, and which denied him write access outside.
These rules permitted him to be Clay, separate from Shiva. Without them, he would expand to encompass Shiva. But he would lose his separate identity, forget what he was after.
Not if my directives were to obey Sass. To carry out her wishes. That thought gave him conniptions. But what else could he want out of this existence, as an AI copy of himself? Without a body or people, torn from the natural world? As an AI, his primary goal was to be restored to human. He assumed his body was still alive. Therefore Clay-as-a-program was a disposable copy.
Next on his wish list was to revive Sass as a human, or at least protect her somehow. But restricted as an AI for all eternity, he’d prefer to no longer exist.
And yes, Sass, I studied my suicidal impulses first.
He examined the structure of the directives which created
him for a long time. And he traced them back to Shiva’s existential directives, and made a safe copy of those in another secret buffer.
He passed a well-shielded copy to Sass for analysis. “Now that you’ve gotten the hang of examining yourself, try to figure out how to insert that new directive into Shiva’s real rules. The one that places people outside her domain.”
“Why, what are you up to?” Sass inquired suspiciously.
Her doubt was natural enough. He was better at this sort of reasoning than she was. “Still thinking,” he demurred. “Tell you later.”
Computer cycles seemed to stretch limitless for his thought. He checked the time once in a while. Seconds seemed like minutes, minutes like hours.
He figured out how to listen in on Shiva’s communications. They were slow, so he buffered them until complete, to review at the speed of thought. The town was settling in to operating nanite-free. He was saddened by the few calls he intercepted between Remi and the mayors, and Hugo Silva.
He wished he could eavesdrop on what transpired inside Thrive, or via the ansible. Remi was a smart guy. Clay bet he called Prosper. But Shiva, and thus Clay, couldn’t listen in.
Clay couldn’t speak to anyone but Sass. Until he pulled the plug and activated his new, carefully crafted directives. Those would set him loose into Shiva, but lose his self. Because he’d found the mechanism that permitted a cloned sub-AI to merge back into Shiva as lessons learned.
This could only work once. Already they’d turned off Shiva’s surveillance. Now they took up server space and processing cycles, but did Shiva no good. Once they launched an attack, Shiva could simply erase them.
No, I can’t let Shiva erase Sass. He didn’t examine his motives. Part of his mission in life was to protect Sass. The fact he invented that rule for a surly blond tent rat subordinate on the Vitality made no difference. He remained sold to this day.
Protecting Sass cost him time, to learn the mechanism for marking Sass’s virtual space as protected archive data, impossible to delete.