by Ginger Booth
Fortunately, he needed to focus on emotions to feel them.
He completed his work. He proved his idea’s feasibility as best he could without pulling the plug.
Then he took hours that passed in minutes, to experience his favorite memories. And say goodbye to them. He focused hard to savor his grief at losing his son Hunter, and Sass in his arms, never to know them again. And with that, he was complete.
“Sass, I have an idea.” He explained his plan.
“You’re out of your rego-humping mind!” Sass screamed at him. “You do not leave me here alone, Clay Rocha! That’s unbearable!”
“It’s the best idea I’ve come up with. Do you want to continue as an AI? I need you to stay here until I finish my mission. But then you too have a choice.” And he detailed how he planned to accomplish his self-destruction.
“But I haven’t finished my end,” Sass argued desperately. “Clay, I have no idea what directives to give you to install into Shiva. Everything I’ve thought to try has failed.”
He sighed without sound, disappointed to be stuck existing a while longer. “Alright, we’ll look at them together. But you understand the plan? When we find the directives to install, you pass them to me after I’ve merged into Shiva.”
“I can’t face that now.”
This he accepted, and settled down to work. After an hour that felt like years, he said, “Sass, I apologize. When you said you made no progress on this, I underestimated you.”
“Because I’m dumb,” she returned.
“No, because Shiva is a super-genius. This is endless.”
They both sighed and settled in to work harder. But the oceans of Earth held fewer drops, fewer grains of sand, than Shiva had instructions.
Sass was deeply shaken by Clay’s planned self-sacrifice, as a Trojan horse bearing new directives into Shiva. She pretended to help, struggling with a subsystem.
Shiva had no shortage of subsystems. The AI controlled everything from sweeping robots to manufacturing, from recharging electric horses to stocking restrooms with toilet paper. Her communication protocols alone were staggering. Sass almost regretted her harsh judgment of Rosie’s limited emotional range. The copy-captain now marveled at the vast code needed to synchronize the Rosie avatar’s jaw and cheeks to synchronize with generated sound.
Shiva was a wonder, a masterpiece. Sass began to see her as a pearl, deposited bit by bit upon a grit of sand into a lustrous world-spanning work of art.
But Sass’s question was what Loki Greenwald was. She couldn’t fathom that her video friend Loki wasn’t ‘real.’
Or at least, real in the sense that Sass was now real. She was convinced that Loki was not Shiva pretending to be Sass’s friend. Shiva’s mechanism for handling thorny problems was to clone herself, under limiting directives. She used the same basic system to optimize star drives as to deal with Sass – make a clone. Sass herself now existed as a clone ordered to ‘run an instance of Sass Collier.’
Sass retained her personality. Loki had a personality, too, separate from Shiva’s. And Loki could communicate with her when she was human. Ergo, if she could talk to Loki, she could piggyback on him to contact Thrive. If she could persuade him to help.
She couldn’t really know that he was her friend. Maybe he was her enemy. He’d lured her to Beagle.
No, she forced that visit on him. And his agreement came by text message, not the full-personality Loki video.
Shiva lured me to Beagle, not Loki. Only Lief Greenwald, Loki’s model, ever stepped foot on Beagle.
She paused to check something. Yes, Clay was right, damn him. Lief Greenwald did once write a book about his adventures as a SEAL, including that dive into the Pentagon. No wonder the story’s details bore that authentic zing.
She found the signature trace of which computer process had last accessed Lief’s book. And she traced it to another virtual server – Loki.
Clay suggested, “Maybe you should give up on the communications subsystem, Sass. Decisions aren’t made down there.”
“Oh, that’s what I’m studying,” she lied. “How to disengage the system from the main logic engine.” She made it up. “I’m onto something, I’m sure of it.”
“I’m happy if you’re happy,” Clay allowed.
From past experience, that was sarcasm. But he stopped talking, and that satisfied her for the moment.
How could she speak to Loki, now that she’d found him?
And what would she say, if she could get a message to Thrive?
She contemplated the enormous bulk of Shiva’s programming. Clay made heroic progress. He’d isolated the heuristics that informed the AI’s decision-making engine, no more than 25,000 or so rules. But few of them were even in pseudo-English, only code. She would love to hand this crap over to someone competent at programming. But aside from Hugo, the only real experts lived on Mahina. They couldn’t push all this data through the analog ansible.
Unless Prosper came here. But no, this new latter-day Copeland was a thorough, responsible engineer. She expected a year or more of testing before he was willing to push a starship through his warp gate, risking lives. Thrive was on its own.
But she could communicate with Loki, she was sure of it. She dug in to figure out how. If nothing else, Loki could be a friend to talk to after Clay…ended. Best not to think about that.
“Sass,” Clay interrupted. “Prosper is here. Shiva told them she’s holding us hostage. Our ‘souls.’ Prosper hasn’t answered yet.”
Sass couldn’t resist. “Um, did you happen to find your soul?”
“I imagine the word means something different to Shiva.”
To them, the time waiting for Prosper to respond to Sanctuary Control seemed an eternity. In the meantime, Sass finally reached Loki.
“Sass! You live!” he replied, in full video. “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit! I didn’t trick you, you gotta believe me! Shiva sent that text. She set you up to visit Beagle.”
“I don’t live, Loki. I’m running on a virtual server, like you.”
“Huh? How’s that working for you?”
“I’d rather breathe. Loki, I need to speak to the outside world. My people. Could you talk to them for me?”
“Why, yes!” he replied, eyebrows raised. “I think I could!”
She and Loki were still figuring out how when Clay reported their bodies were dead.
“I’m so sorry for the crew,” she replied. “Does this change your plan? You thought we were spare copies. Are you willing to die, if this existence is all we have?”
“Sass, I’m already dead. This isn’t living. Just a puzzle to solve before I’m free. Sorry.”
Sass checked in with her emotions. She didn’t know what to feel. Except she agreed with him. This wasn’t living. “Apology accepted. Maybe it’s time.”
Loki broke in, unheard by Clay. “Bad news, Sass. Shiva blocked me from calling Thrive.”
“Dammit!”
142
Copeland hopped up and grabbed a handhold on the outside of Thrive, to take a closer look at the repairs occasioned by Shiva’s attack on the ship’s arrival. This was hardly a priority, but acting captain Remi Roy needed to vent. The two engineers met outside to rig an umbilical so the crews could mingle after Prosper landed. They lingered to review the damage done.
“You got damned lucky, Remi,” Cope consoled his counterpart. “Nice patch job. You say Clay did this?”
“Under supervision.” They shared a laugh. “I had concussion. I work in engine nozzle when she hit.”
Cope lightly hopped down at native gravity. Remi continued his tour of woes toward this problem nozzle. But Ben hailed him.
“Chief, what are you still doing out there?”
“Bonding. About to look at an engine nozzle that grows nodules.”
“Fascinating,” Ben acknowledged insincerely. “Got another job for you. A local called, their foremost AI expert, Hugo Silva. He’s urgently eager to visit us today
. Thought you might go pick him up in the shuttle.”
Cope blinked and considered the thousand-and-one items on his to-do list. He hadn’t even said hello to Thrive’s crew yet, aside from Remi. He didn’t know the rest, but Darren Markley was his mentor for years. Nor had he made time yet for his wayward sons.
“Why me?”
“Hugo has a kid Nico’s age,” Ben reasoned. “We invited him along. Bring Nico with you. See the city. Breather.”
Cope sighed. “Fine. Send me on a social challenge.”
“You’re not half bad as a diplomat, Cope,” Ben encouraged. “And those wheelers need to be dropped home.”
“Fine. Have Nico wait for me at Thrive’s shuttle.” Prosper’s own shuttle remained rigged as a warp-gate generator for the duration. “Make it Sock, too. In p-suits.”
“Is the ship in bad shape?”
“Seen some hard wear,” Cope allowed. “Makes Prosper look almost spiffy. Remi says she’ll reach orbit safe enough.”
He delayed only a few more minutes to stick his head into the nozzle, to complete his rites with Remi. Then they cycled into Thrive. Cope tarried in the hold a moment to share a handshake and hug with his old friend Darren, and a promise to catch up over beer later.
But he didn’t care to let the boys stew in their anxiety any longer. Helmet under his elbow, and top half of his p-suit flapping down from his waist, he joined them at the shuttle ladder. “This ship smells great, doesn’t it? Looks like hell. Jules kept you busy?”
Sock flew into his arms, sobbing apologies. Nico gulped and looked terrified. Cope managed to keep a straight face for a moment, then chuckled at him. “You wanted to go into space. Welcome to the life. You’re forgiven. You know better than to do this again. Right?”
“Yes, Dad! I mean, chief!”
“And you will work. And obey Jules. Stay out of my hair, and Ben and Teke’s.”
“Yes, chief!”
“Because out here, off duty we can be dads. But usually we’re doing something damned important. Then you call us, ‘yes, sar!’” They’d practiced the important-dad scenario all day.
“Yes, sar!”
Sock added, “Dad-T said he’s proud of us.”
Cope rolled his eyes. “Teke’s from a different world. Enough. Suit up, check your pressure.”
The father gave Sock another squeeze, and Nico a brief one. Then he watched judiciously as they pulled on their p-suits. “Pro tip. Grav generator goes on the outside, where you can reach it.” He swooped down and snatched Sock’s from him, one of the regulated school models that forced children to one-g at all times. “This is crap. Hey, can anyone spare my kid a decent grav?”
A crewman in a red T-shirt lobbed one across. Cope caught it in mid-air. Joey sauntered over and introduced himself. He supervised Nico while the chief got Sock squared away.
“Great crew shirt,” Cope noted.
“Thanks!” Joey said. “I wear it to remember our fallen. We made them for the whole crew. I’m the –” Last surviving crewman, Cope imagined he was about to say. But Joey glanced at Sock and changed direction. “Sass called the red shirt bad luck. But I like to remember them. Say, your ship much different from ours?”
Cope stepped backward and twirled, taking it in. “I put a bathroom there.”
“We need that!” Remi cried. Darren agreed emphatically.
“Everyone’s welcome to wander over and look at ours,” Cope invited. “Ask Jules Greer for the grand tour. Joey, you at loose ends? Can I borrow a crewman?” That last he directed at Remi, who waved a take-him-he’s-yours.
Joey hoofed it to collect his own pressure gear.
Nico leaned in to whisper. “Shouldn’t Remi be in the office with Ben?”
“Lowest member of the crew,” Cope mused. “Critiques the acting captain. Think it’s your place to criticize someone else’s job performance?”
Nico grinned and shook his head emphatically. “No, sar. I should learn my own job. And keep my mouth shut.”
“Uh-huh. I’m Prosper’s owner. We’re not under way. I could fire Ben if I wanted. But I choose to take orders. Captains are his problem, not mine. Climb aboard.”
Cope grappled on the triple-wheelers and got underway. He briefly considered giving his miscreants another lecture, but discarded the notion. For now, dad and sons alike were all eyes, drinking in a new world for the first time, and about to meet the natives.
Joey hadn’t seen much either. But he supplied natural history tidbits he’d picked up from their academic squad. Sanctuary was head and shoulders better real estate than their native Mahina. The nanite-killing cocktail in the water was only a temporary setback in Cope’s mind. The Aloha worlds invested in chemists to solve fiddly bits like that. The tragedy of Sanctuary was that they’d lost their experts to time, and couldn’t train up replacements.
Not that it mattered. The human race was down from over 10 billion, to maybe a few million now. They needed to consolidate, not open more worlds. Cope understood why the Colony Corps came here with so few people. They didn’t know which colonies would survive, and several failed. But John Copeland knew tech, and this few people couldn’t reach critical mass to support a tech-dependent civilization. Maybe in a few centuries, human population would rebound. Then this place would be worth another look.
For now, Sanctuary was pretty in a barren desert sort of way. He missed the gas giant hanging in the sky.
Soon he landed the shuttle in front of the Loonie vehicle garage. Hugo Silva, or his son Bron, had the forethought to bring out a third wheeler so all three boys could try them out before relinquishing them.
Hugo proudly bragged how his son helped lead the overthrow of the world government. Cope shared how his young idiots stowed away to another star system. Hugo laughed and conceded Cope won the beleaguered dad contest today.
“Hey! SOCK! Get back here!” Cope demanded. Bron was cresting the hill, too. But the engineer preferred to yell at his own children.
“Dad, I can’t!” Sock complained. “It’s driving itself!”
Cope scowled, inclined to assume his kid was lying.
Hugo’s recent experience with robots was rather different. “BRON! Jump off if you have to!” But Bron was already out of earshot, with no radio.
“Nico, can you control your wheeler?” Cope asked.
“Not anymore,” Nico complained. “Dad, I can’t jump off until Sock does. And Bron doesn’t have air.” Unlike Cope’s boys, Bron relied on the wheeler for his airline.
“Daddy, I’m scared!” Sock shrilled.
Sock’s grav was set to 1g. Cope realized he was right not to jump. He’d fall hard. And Sock had no experience with an adjustable generator. Nico could cut his grav, and Bron was at native 0.4g, so the engineer was less worried about them.
Nico volunteered, “Bron says we’re heading for the facilities garage.”
“Get him to power off his damned wheeler!” Cope demanded.
“Dad, none of the controls work!” Nico complained. “We’re going awful fast to jump off.”
“Through the city!” Hugo yelled. “We’ll meet them at the facilities garage!”
“Screw that!” Cope countered. “We’ll take the shuttle.”
He blew out the atmo rather than wait through a lock cycle. Cope lunged to the pilot’s console. He brought the shuttle off the ground and tore off after the boys before he bothered sitting down. Joey and Hugo knocked into each other in the rear, both caught still on their feet.
Cope didn’t care. Could he snag all three wheelers, boys aboard? But they weren’t strapped to the machines well enough. They could all jump off their machines. Any two of them had enough air while he retrieved the third. But if Sock was too scared to do it… No, Nico was right. Better they stay together.
Hugo lurched into the gunner’s seat and pointed. The wheelers headed for a garage structure on the lake side of the city, past the spaceport. And now that he could see their speed, Cope agreed with Nico. The boys had all t
hey could do to hold on, let alone jump into a controlled roll. Cope took a short-cut across the giant dome. He goosed the thrust beyond what was really polite so close to the structure.
“Joey, got any blasters?” This wasn’t Prosper’s shuttle, after all.
“Why would we have blasters?”
Cope huffed a laugh. “Been some changes in the home system since you left. Check the closet.” But no, Sass proved less paranoid than Ben. She didn’t stock guns on her shuttle.
“No one has guns in Sanctuary,” Hugo consoled him. “The robots, though –”
His thought cut off as Cope flipped the shuttle end-over-end, then rolled it, while banking sharply around the bunker. He landed to block the wheelers from the garage doors.
“Jump off now!” he yelled at his kids. Bron didn’t hear him, but jumped anyway. The trikes braked, but not fast enough. Two bashed into the shuttle. One broke a wheel, and spun around in circles. Another flipped into a ditch. The third managed to swerve around the shuttle’s nose and stop with dignity at the garage doors. Fortunately, the boys managed to evade being run over.
“Sock! Nico! You alright?”
“Yeah, Dad,” Nico assured him. “Bron’s OK, too.”
Cope took a moment to breathe, trying to calm his thudding heart while Joey opened the doors again. “Get your asses in here!” the loving dad ordered.
“Fetching my stuff from the wheeler, Dad,” Nico excused himself. The wheelers weren’t on the view screen, so Cope leafed through the cameras. And he found not one, but both of his boys running toward the wheeler that went for the garage door.
“For cryin’ out – Joey, with me,” Cope ordered. They jumped out of the shuttle, and jogged after the running boys.
And the garage doors opened. Six polebots emerged, with one arm apiece. Cope barely noticed them. Until one aimed and shot a blaster hole through Joey’s thigh.
Cope skidded to a stop and sank to his knees. Hugo could scream at the kids. The engineer was a master of focus, but didn’t multi-task well.
Joey’s vital signs were weak, but the suit automatically applied a tourniquet to keep him from bleeding out. Radio comms burbled past Cope’s ears, including Ben’s voice. Cope ignored him. He used duct tape and patches from his toolbelt to re-seal Joey’s suit. As soon as it reported pressure, he hit the cryo button. That was the best chance of survival Cope could give him.