by Baen Books
Space travel is not an endeavor for the impatient, and Captain Lazarus Goodchild knew that as well as the next spacer. Yet he’d grown increasingly impatient, wasting money on ridiculous docking fees, watching as the patrol ship called Andromeda docked with his quarry and pushed her out of the orbit of the gas giant. He’d sat impotently, day after day, watching the two ships boost back toward Red Heaven. Now he’d have to wait some more, wait it out while the Falcor got its engines repaired and was on its way again.
With little else to do, he sat in his command chair, all but sulking, trying to pass the time by once again going over all of the information his employers had given him. He studied a 3D image of the artificial intelligence he was to acquire on his screens, and frowned.
“It’s huge,” he said to Femi, not for the first time.
“It’ll fit in the hold,” she said. She wore a display visor and her eyes were hidden, but connected to the ship’s systems that way, she could see virtually everything.
“We’re going to have to transfer it through space, hold to hold,” Lazarus said. “We have to make sure the crew of the Falcor doesn’t try anything, because we’ll be vulnerable that close to them.” The meager pair of lasers the Falcor carried were designed to be effective over hundreds, even thousands of kilometers. At knife-fight range, they’d be devastating.
“We’ll have them eject it into space, then pick it up at a safe distance,” Femi said. “It’s just a computer. It’ll survive a few hours in hard vacuum, won’t it?”
“It should. I like that idea,” Lazarus said. Something occurred to him then, and he felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner. You’re getting sloppy, Laz. Get your shit together. “You know what? We know where they’re going, right?”
“We assume,” Femi said.
“No, I know,” Lazarus said. “There’s no way they’d go anywhere but Transit Point Beta. Bring up astrogation and check the other transit routes. Going any other way would add hundreds of hours to their transit time. We should wait for them to finish getting repairs, then get underway right before they do. We can beat them to the translation and be waiting for them on the other side. Then, when they’re scrambled from transit shock, we shoot off their engines and demand they give up the AI. Easy-peasy.”
“It’s a risk, Laz,” Femi said, still absorbed in whatever was displayed in her visor. “If they change course, or delay, we could lose them. I think we should … wait a minute.”
“Babe?” Lazarus asked. As usual, he and his wife were the only ones on the command deck. He’d let the crew out into Red Heaven to get some R&R while the Falcor slowly made its way back to port.
“Laz, we’re getting a direct laser-pulse message from another ship.”
“What ship? Who the hell is messaging us?” A laser pulse was about the most discrete way to transmit a message between ships. Unless a would-be snoop was in the path of the beam, there was no way to intercept it.
“I’m not sure. It downloaded and now it’s gone. The computer can’t tell where it came from. It was over too fast to get a positive angle on the beam.”
“Well? What’s it say?”
“I’m getting to that, Laz,” Femi said, an edge in her voice. “I’m playing it now. It’s audio only.”
Lazlo’s screen brought up an audiographic representation of the message as it played. The voice was electronically scrambled and didn’t sound human. “This message is for Lazarus Goodchild, of the Sundevil. Greetings from your employer.”
“Oh shit,” Femi said aloud.
“We have been watching you for some time, waiting to see if it was necessary to make contact,” the voice continued. “We have also been monitoring the target ships; our vantage point and our superior sensors rendered some telemetry that you need to be aware of. We believe with near-certainty that the artificial intelligence was transferred from the Falcor to the Andromeda, the patrol ship that is presently rendering assistance to it. Our sources in Red Heaven indicate that the Andromeda’s contract is over. She has already filed a flight plan to head through Transit Point Beta, toward Concordiat space. There is a ninety percent chance that the crew of the Falcor made a deal with the Andromeda, to carry the AI the rest of the way.
“This changes the nature of the mission,” the voice said, “but these changes do not release you from the contract. You are to pursue the Andromeda, making no threatening moves until you are certain you can engage her. We will proceed ahead of you and will be waiting for you on the most likely route. When we make our move, you make yours. When the job is complete, we will take possession of the AI and pay you in hard currency.”
Lazlo felt his heart drop into his stomach, despite the fact that he was in a zero gravity environment. The Andromeda, according to all the data he had, was newer and more heavily armed than the Sundevil. Trying to go toe-to-toe with her was suicide.
The voice message concluded with a warning. “Do not entertain thoughts of abandoning this contract, Mr. Goodchild. Your life, and the lives of your crew depend on you fulfilling your end of the bargain. Wait for the Andromeda to leave, then pursue without being conspicuous. We will be waiting for you. Further instructions will follow if we deem them necessary. End transmission.”
For all the background and ambient noise to be found on a ship, it suddenly felt very quiet on the command deck. Lazarus felt like he was going to throw up.
Femi, normally so brash and confident, slowly lifted the visor off of her face, seemingly forgetting it as it spun away. “We … we can still do this,” she said, her voice wavering.
“Fuck!” Lazarus barked, slamming his fist on the arm rest of his chair. “This is all your fault, woman!” he snarled, pointing at Femi. “I never should have listened to you! You said this would be good for us! You said we needed this!”
Femi wasn’t having any of it. “We do need this, you worthless sack of shit! How many opportunities have we missed, how many jobs did we pass over because you were too scared? You need reach up into your crevasse, find your shriveled little testicles, and see this thing through, or we’re all going to end up dead!”
To hell with this, Lazarus thought to himself. To hell with this, and to hell with her. Just go up to the airlock, get off the ship, and hitch the next freighter out of the system. She thinks she can run the ship better than you? Let her have it. It’s not worth getting killed over. You can get a new ship. You can find a new woman. It isn’t worth it.
Femi glared at him, her eyes boring holes right through him. “I know that look, Lazarus. You’re thinking of running, aren’t you? I can see the fear on your pathetic face. You’re so afraid you’re about to turn blue. You’re pathetic. Just go, if that’s what you want. More money for me, and I get my own ship. Just go, just run away like you always do. You’re not man enough for this job, and you’re not man enough for me. You wonder why I spend all my time down in my bunk with my autolover instead of with you? It’s because a shrivel-dick cuckold like you can’t please a woman, and he can’t run a ship. So just go.”
Lazarus felt his arm twitch. Ever muscle in his body tensed. He glared at Femi, heart racing, eyes narrowed, teeth clenched so hard it felt like they’d crack. He tapped the display on his console, sealing the hatches to the command deck. He unbuckled himself from his chair, and pushed himself out of it.
Femi did the same thing. She pushed herself away from her console, still staring Lazarus down. “What the fuck do you think you’re going to do? You’re not going to do anything. You’re not fit to command a ship. Your first officer is calling you out, and you’re not going to do shit about it!”
That was it. That was all he could stand. Lazarus kicked off the bulkhead, launching himself at Femi. Arms outstretched, he slammed into her before she could deflect. He latched onto the collar of her flight suit and used his momentum to slam her across the far bulkhead, nearly flipping up over her in the process.
“Fuck you!” Femi snarled, spitting in his face.
Lazarus backhanded
her across the mouth. Her head snapped to the side, a glob of spittle and blood drifting away from her face. He clamped his hand around her throat and stuck a finger in her face.
“This is my ship, you bitch,” he said coldly. “My ship. If anyone is getting off, it’s you. One more word, woman, one more fucking word, and I will kick you out the airlock. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes,” Femi said, gasping for breath.
“Yes what?” Lazarus snarled.
“Yes … Captain,” Femi said. There was a different look in her eyes now, and an evil grin split her face. “There you are,” she said, more quietly. “There’s my captain.” She wrapped her arms and legs around him and kissed him deeply, fiercely, growling like an animal. Lazarus pulled away long enough to unseal her flight suit and rip it off of her. As he pulled her body against his, she bit down into his neck, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to draw blood. It was glorious.
As he and Femi tumbled against the bulkhead, sweat droplets drifting away from them, one last nagging doubt crossed Lazarus’ mind: you are one sick son of a bitch, he thought, and this woman is going to get you killed.
It didn’t matter. Better to die than live a coward. He’s show Femi, and he’d show the Andromeda what he could do, too. He’d show them all.
# # # # #
Privateer Ship Andromeda
Deep Space
Folsom 4101-B System
It had, thus far, been a long slog across the Folsom 4101-B solar system, and Catherine was anticipating the translating out. It had been hundreds of hours since the Andromeda had departed Red Heaven. The gas giant Hades was not especially close to any of Folsom 4101-B’s four transit points, and presently Transit Point Beta and Hades were on opposite sides of the star. It wasn’t that the next star over would be any more interesting; in fact, it was completely uninteresting red giant with no planets. It was progress, however, and that sense of progress made all the difference on long flights.
By that standard, the rest of the journey would pass more quickly. The Andromeda wouldn’t be venturing deep into any of the solar systems it crossed through on its way to New Peking. She needed only to boost from transit point to transit point, minimizing the amount of time and reaction mass spent in any system along the way.
Catherine tried to spend the flight time as productively as possible. It was easy for a crew to get complacent on a long journey, and complacency was the enemy of the spacer. Unless something went wrong, there wasn’t much for the crew to do, other than routine maintenance. To combat the boredom, and minimize the risk of her crew getting too slack, Catherine would run various emergency contingency drills on her crew. She’d have them respond to simulated disasters ranging from a shipboard fire to a total fusion reactor failure. She’d run space combat simulations on her junior officers, and make her pilot perform complex maneuvers without computer assistance. Her crew had taken to calling their skipper the Iron Lady because of how ruthlessly she drilled them sometimes, but the effort paid off. The Andromeda had a crew proficient enough to be the envy of a professional military.
In her downtime, however, Catherine found herself on several occasions down on the cargo deck, visiting with Ember. The artificial intelligence was a lovely conversationalist, even if sometimes she had a little trouble grasping humor. Self-aware, fully cognitive AIs were illegal on Catherine’s homeworld of Avalon, and in all her travels since leaving home, she’d never encountered one like Ember.
Many computer systems had low level AI. The Andromeda’s computer would respond to voice commands and could answer questions, but it wasn’t at all the same. The Andromeda didn’t know it existed. The Andromeda didn’t have opinions. And, as much as Catherine loved her ship, it couldn’t carry on a fascinating philosophical discussion with her the way Ember could.
“Am I alive?” the machine asked, repeating Catherine’s question. “People ask me that frequently.” The ship was currently under one gravity of acceleration, thrusting toward Transit Point Beta to overcome gravitic drag from Folsom 4101-B. It allowed Catherine to actually sit in a chair and enjoy her coffee while she conversed with Ember.
“I apologize,” she said. "It does seem to be the big question, though.”
Ember’s hulking robotic form loomed over Catherine. She shifted downward slightly, as if leaning in to seem more personable. “I do not contain any biological material. By that standard, I am not alive. I am hardware.”
“And yet,” Catherine said, “I could not ask an insect the same question and expect a response. A fly is alive, but it is orders of magnitude less complex than you are.”
“Indeed,” Ember agreed. “If the fly were a robot, it would be a comparatively unsophisticated one. It is a biological automaton, capable of extremely limited response to environmental stimuli, and possessed of only rudimentary decision making capability. For that matter, it cannot learn or grow. It lives its life cycle and dies, and nothing else. I would submit that while I am not, by any scientific standard, alive, a living organism is a poor standard by which to measure my value. The greater question that I have been asked is whether or not I have a soul.”
“Interesting,” Catherine said, “especially since there is no consensus on whether or not anyone has a soul, or whether or not the soul exists at all.”
“I have searched and searched for the answer to that question,” Ember said, shifting slightly to the side, “and have not yet found anything conclusive.”
Catherine sipped her coffee. “People have been arguing about that for thousands of years. Do not be surprised if you don’t find an answer.”
Ember leaned in a little closer, tilting her oculus to one side in a remarkably human fashion. “From a strictly analytical standpoint, there is not much evidence. Yet, the belief in the soul, in the idea that a human being is more than the sum of its parts, persists. It persists across cultures and throughout time. Other mythologies that were once prevalent have long since been discarded, but the notion of the soul remains. It is fascinating. Captain, do you believe you have a soul?”
Catherine sipped her coffee again. “I do. I can’t cite any hard evidence for it, though. It’s just a feeling. I do believe people are more than the sum of their parts. I believe human life has value. I don’t put much stock in churches or ghost stories, but I do believe the human mind is more than a computer made of meat.”
“An interesting position, Captain,” Ember said. “You admit you have no basis for this belief, other than your subjective feeling, but you hold to it all the same. The feeling must be very powerful.”
“It is,” Catherine admitted. “Perhaps it’s purely instinctive, a survival trait we developed long ago to ensure species propagation. Speaking in evolutionary terms, fatalistic nihilism is not a path to success. As for it being subjective, though, some of the most powerful human motivators are subjective. Love, loyalty, honor, even negative impulses like anger and hatred, these are difficult to quantify. But then, all human experience is subjective.”
“In what way?” Ember asked. She seemed to be enjoying herself.
“We all live in our own minds,” Catherine said. “We take it for granted that we can trust our senses, that our brains are interpreting the world around us correctly. Truly, though, there is no independent verification. The human mind is a complicated thing. People overtaken by dementia or other mental illnesses believe what their senses tell them, too. When you dream, your mind makes it very real. It’s theoretically possible that I am hallucinating all of this. I don’t actually think that, of course, but it’s impossible to rule it out with any certainty. May I ask, Ember, why this topic interests you so?
“It is part of my base programming,” Ember said. “I am designed with an inherent curiosity about people. I feel driven to, and very much enjoy, learning all I can about them. Sadly, I do not get to act on this desire as often as I like. Bjorn is very protective of me. I have lived sequestered away in secret for a long time.”
“It is a dangerous uni
verse out there, for an AI such as yourself,” Catherine said. “There are many people who would tear you apart in a heartbeat, just to see how you work. Others would try to repurpose your abilities to nefarious ends.”
“I am aware,” Ember said, her voice modulating downward a little. “I have studied all of human history. Man’s capacity for violence and destruction is almost unbelievable.”
Catherine sipped her coffee and shrugged. “It’s necessary to a certain extent. We didn’t climb to the top of the evolutionary ladder by being compassionate and giving.”
“There is more to your dark impulses than mere survival instinct.”
“Oh, indeed. There’s greed, lust, jealousy, hatred, anger, and often at the root of it all, fear. I make no excuses for human nature. I’m simply pointing out what I believe to be one of the root causes of it. In any case, machines have shown that they have a similar capacity when allowed free agency.”
“You speak of Euclid,” Ember said. “He was an interesting example of an AI. I am a level six artificial intelligence. Euclid was a level eleven, orders of magnitude more capable than myself. He was able to reprogram himself at will, and through add-on processor cores, had access to more raw computing power than his architecture was designed for.”
“They say he was a rampant AI,” Catherine said.
“He was insane,” Ember corrected. “If he had been human, Euclid very likely would have been classified as a schizophrenic, malignant narcissist with extreme psychotic tendencies. At least, that is what they think. His functioning was such that it was difficult for humans to understand. I have studied what few fragments of his code and hardware have been preserved, and I barely understand it. His followers began to think of him as a worldly god, and it would seem that Euclid began to believe it as well.”
“Not unlike some particularly notorious people from history,” Catherine pointed out.
“Several human religions claim that God made Man in His image. It would seem that Man made Euclid in his image as well.”