by Devin Hanson
“Hello, Tabitha,” Ferguson said, smiling at the look on Farrell’s face. “How are you doing?”
“Anxious.” Tabitha replied shortly. “I have begun a search to locate Matriarch Alana Romaine and Matriarch Cynthia Everard. There are over ten thousand video recording devices connected to the network, and six thousand audio devices. It is highly probable that something has recorded their presence. Media data accounts for some fifteen exabytes of storage, but if it is filtered for the window of possible recordings of the missing matriarchs, that volume drops to mere petabytes.”
“When can we expect a result?”
“Unknown. At most, a little over forty-eight hours.”
“Okay. I have a list of extra crew that were working on Nova Aeria when the matriarchs were taken. Please locate them and give us an expected schedule, along with any deviations from the norm.”
“Splitting my functions will result in increased time to locate the matriarchs,” Tabitha warned.
“Understood. Continue anyway. It may give us a faster location of our matriarchs.”
“Very well. You should know, Serina has located two of the four guests, and they are on their way to vacate their rooms. They are not pleased.”
“Thank you,” Dennison said. “I’ll handle that.”
“The financial records of the guests suggest they would be receptive to monetary bribery,” Tabitha suggested cheerfully.
“That’s incredible,” Farrell said. He stared at the console in awe. “How is it even possible the AI can transmit that much data over the network?”
“It isn’t, obviously,” Ferguson shrugged. “Tabitha co-ops remote processor clusters and performs search functions on the host machine, rather than trying to move all that data and search it locally.”
“So, it… she? Just hacks into devices?”
“Oh no, that would cost far too much processor time, even for Tabitha. She has access to the central server on Nueva Angela at a root level. And Tabitha is very much a she. She passed the Turing test over a decade ago and self-identifies as female. She picked her own name.”
“But how… oh. You guys at Romaine Automations built the central servers. You left a back door.”
“It was always the intention to have an AI control the habitat systems,” Ferguson explained. “The current method is far too reliant on human operators inputting data. We estimate a twenty-percent reduction in redundant manpower once the AIs go fully on line. The central servers were designed from the ground up to cooperate with an AI. Tabitha is merely an early prototype of the planned system.”
“The guests have arrived at the front desk,” Tabitha interrupted.
“I’ll go deal with that,” Dennison said. “Why don’t you get settled in and let Tabitha finish her indexing?”
“If it’s all the same,” Farrell said, “I’d like to watch Ferguson work.”
“Suit yourself.”
Dennison left the crowded room and made his way back to the front desk. Two men, the guests, presumably, were standing at the counter, their faces dark with anger. Serina saw him coming and wilted with relief.
“Ah, sir! If you have a moment!” she called, her voice a little shrill.
Dennison turned toward the counter, a pleasant smile on his face. “Hello, Serina. What is it?”
“You’re the asshole that’s throwing us out of our rooms?” one of the men demanded, wheeling on Dennison.
Dennison smiled agreeably. “Think of it as an upgrade, on the house. You’re not being displaced, you’re being moved to better rooms.”
The angry man gaped at Dennison, the wind suddenly yanked from his sails. “Uh. Good! It better be!” he said finally.
“I do apologize for the inconvenience,” Dennison said regretfully. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement that leaves both of us happy. You’re a busy man and being pulled away from your business must have been difficult.”
The greed on the man’s face was almost comical. “I’d say so,” he huffed. “I was mid negotiations for a contract that I may not close now because of you.”
“What was the contract worth?”
Dennison could see the wheels turning in the man’s head as he tried to guess how much he could extort from Dennison without overreaching. “Five hundred credits,” he said.
“Make it a thousand, then,” Dennison said, and had to fight down a grin at the man’s look of regret that he hadn’t aimed higher. “And the same for you, as well,” Dennison continued, nodding to the second man.
It took less than a minute for the fund transfers to clear and then the two walked off to get their belongings from their rooms, looking a little dazed. Dennison leaned on the counter and watched them go, then smiled at Serina.
“Sorry about that.”
Serina boggled at Dennison. “You just gave them two thousand credits!”
“Well, yes.” Dennison’s smile broadened. “Do you think it was too much?”
“Mr. Falan’s business is selling house plants,” she said, scandalized, “his contract probably was for under a hundred credits.”
Dennison shrugged. “Perhaps you are correct. Still, it got him out of the way quickly. Do try to break the news to the remaining guests with a little more tact.”
Serina swallowed and nodded. “Of course, sir.”
“Good. Feel free to call me if you need further assistance.”
Dennison waved and headed back to the wing they had coopted. They had a lot of work to do. Tabitha would be an invaluable tool once she finished integrating with the habitat’s central computer, but he was under no illusions that she would instantly solve all his problems.
If only he could bribe the men who had abducted his mother in the same way.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Education among the children born in the habitats is universal. Every child goes through the same course of studies, bringing them up to literacy and teaching the required physics, chemistry and biology for the students to become useful members of society. Perforce, basic education wasn’t finished until usually around the age of sixteen.
There were two routes for young men and women completing their basic education. The first, reserved for those who could purchase it, was a graduate school where specialist trades were learned. High-performing students could win scholarships for this second tier of education. Beyond this, extended courses could be earned or purchased, all the way up through earning a Doctorate as through an Earth college.
The second route was for newly graduated students to apply for beginning jobs and work their way up through an internship and journeyman program, mediated by the central computer, until they could join the workforce as a professional in their own right.
Leila stepped off the dirigible and walked far enough to get out of the flow of traffic, then put her back against a wall and stared. She had never been to one of the mega-habs. The number of people moving about was overwhelming. There were more people in the docking hall than lived in the entirety of New Galway.
Gradually, the number of people dwindled as the cargo from the dirigible was unloaded and the passengers left to go about what was left of their day. Leila had never felt so alone in her life. Always she had had someone to talk to. Her brothers had been busy most of the time, but never turned her away if she wanted to talk or just have someone nearby while she studied.
Now, the number of people she could greet by name could be counted on one hand with fingers left over. Millicent Nicks had seemed nice enough, if aloof, and Jackson had been friendly, but she couldn’t see herself being truly open with either of them.
By custom, she had been granted several thousand credits. It was enough to buy an education license if she desired, or enough to live on for a year or so if she was frugal. She had grown up expecting to work in the aquaponic labs with her family, and her education and practical skills were focused on that. Last year she had completed her journeyman rating and was qualified to work in any aquaponic farm on Venus.
There was no necessity for her continue down that path, if she didn’t want to, though. She could do anything she desired. Instead of feeling a sense of freedom at the thought, all she felt was overwhelmed. She couldn’t imagine starting her education over again, but at the same time, working in a farm would remind her every day of what she had lost.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since that morning. Well. She couldn’t make a good decision on an empty stomach. She got out her tablet and searched for a place to eat. New Galway had had three restaurants to serve its residents. Her eyes widened as she saw more than thirty pages of results show up.
How was she supposed to know where to eat? Some of the restaurants had expensive-sounding names, or French or German names. Those she avoided. She wanted something simple. Something that would remind her of being happy.
There was a cheap restaurant nearby that sold deep-fried fish, with reviews that were generally positive. Having a destination helped ease Leila’s mind. It was just a place to eat dinner, but it got her moving.
She got lost on the way, and it took her nearly an hour to make her way down three levels and around to a different stack, finally resorting to her tablet to guide her. Leila arrived famished. She placed an order of fish strips and tempura vegetables, and then took her meal to a table in the corner where she could sit alone.
Her first bite was everything she could have asked for. Crispy outside, tender inside. She chewed, and the flavor of the fish hit her. Disgusted, she spat the bite out into a napkin. It wasn’t fish. The smell was right, but there had been the distinct cheesy flavor of yeast. She picked apart the strip and prodded at the flaky, processed yeast with a finger.
Whoever had designed the fish replacement had done their job well. The yeast was mixed with enough fish powder to give it an authentic smell, and the individual layers flaked apart the same way proper haddock would. Even the texture was fairly accurate, though that wasn’t saying much; there wasn’t much distinction between raw yeast blocks and cooked fish.
She found the restaurant’s page on her tablet again and read it more carefully. Her heart sank as she got to the bottom of the page and read the fine print. Every protein dish served in the restaurant was yeast-based.
Leila looked around her, watching with mild disgust as the other patrons cheerfully ate their meals. The last time she had eaten yeast-based food had been on a dare when she was eight. As far as she knew, the only yeast culture vat on New Galway was for producing livestock food.
Was this how the common people lived? The fish strips she had in front of her were the same as the animal fodder used to grow out larger carnivorous fish. It was demeaning to be expected to eat the same thing. Cautiously she tried the tempura vegetables and sighed with relief. At least the vegetables were real.
She ate the rest of the vegetables but couldn’t bring herself to eat the fish strips. Was this what she had to look forward to? Yeast and vegetables? Hungry, but not hungry enough to lower her standards that far, she turned her tray into the disposal. The uneaten food would be ground up to make fish food pellets, but she couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. She was throwing away food that the others around her would consider perfectly fine.
Leila ducked out of the restaurant and wandered down the hallway outside. Now what? She had been up for nearly twenty-four hours now and she was feeling exhausted. She needed a place to sleep. There were the free community bunk rooms, but she had heard enough horror stories about those to make her discard that option.
Oh well. She had the credits to find a private room. Now she just needed to find one.
“I’m sorry, how many credits did you say it was per month?”
The harried-looking official sighed and leaned over the counter, his lip curled disdainfully. “What did you think, girl? We’d be handing them out for free?”
“Well, eight hundred credits a month is more than I would think to be reasonable for a private room,” Leila objected.
“Who said anything about private? You want private, that’s double. All the private rooms were designed to be shared. There’s no such thing as a single-bed room, not on Nueva Angela.”
Sixteen hundred credits, just to escape the population of community bunking? The demand must be enormous! She had seen the bunk rooms on the way to the housing offices. They were sleeping three dozen to a room, in hammocks stacked three high, in three shifts. One hundred and eighty people assigned to every room, with personal lockers only large enough to hang an extra jumpsuit in.
No wonder they had to fall back on a yeast-based diet. There was no way the aquaponics sector could carry the burden of feeding so many people.
Sharing a room with one other person was a luxury in comparison. “Fine. Do I have a choice over who my roommate is?”
The man gave her a long-suffering look. “What do you think? You take what you get and be glad for it. If you get married, we can re-arrange the rooms to accommodate that. Anything else is preferential treatment and out of the question. If you want a specific roommate, you can rent the whole room yourself and have your friend pay you their half of the rent.”
Leila swallowed. She had no say over who her roommate was? What if it was a man? “Oh. Do you have an opening now?”
“I do. You have the credits for a room?” he asked suspiciously. “What do you do for a living?”
“Aquaponics,” she answered automatically. She realized that she had made up her mind at some point during her travels around the habitat. There was no way she could be a student and live in the community bunks while she studied.
The man grunted. “There’s credits to be had there,” he admitted. “If you miss a payment, you’ll be evicted. There’s no room for freeloaders.”
He handed her a tablet and she started filling out the forms. Out of habit, she filled in her named as Leila Everard, then deleted the last name. She wasn’t an Everard any longer and had no right to use that name. Tears burned in her eyes and she rubbed them away, hoping the official wouldn’t notice.
What was she supposed to call herself? She hadn’t put any thought into it yet. Who did she want to be? She thought of the movies she enjoyed watching. If she was remaking herself, she wanted to be someone strong and self-reliant. Someone who didn’t need family or friends in order to survive.
“Leila Ripley,” she said quietly as she filled out the field. It had a nice ring to it, she thought.
“What’s taking so long?” the man asked irritably. “It’s just an identity form, you’re not signing away your first born.”
Leila swallowed the lump in her throat and hurried through the rest of the fields, then handed the tablet back. “Sorry.”
“Whatever. Okay, payment is charged. Enjoy your new room. Next!”
She felt her tablet vibrate with the payment notification and made way for the next person in line. She got her tablet out and checked the payment just to make sure it was correct. Her new home was on Stack C, Level 16. She asked her tablet to find her the route and set off, following the suggested path.
With the tablet to guide her, she reached her destination quickly. Now that she had arrived, she felt suddenly nervous. She almost turned away, and then forced herself to reach out and touch the door panel. It slid open and she stepped inside.
Her new home was two rooms, each one three meters square, with a low wall dividing the two rooms. There was no private bathroom or shower, just a sleeping area and a cramped living area with minimal food preparation facilities built into one wall. In total, the two rooms were less than half the floor space of her bedroom on New Galway, to say nothing of her study or spacious bathroom and shower. There were no windows, only a vent in the ceiling to push fresh air into the room.
“Hello?” she called.
“Who’s there?” a man’s voice asked from the sleeping area.
She swallowed back her rising dread. She had to bunk with a man? “Uh, I guess I’m your new roommate?”
A tousle
d head appeared over the low wall. “Leila?”
Leila gaped. She knew him! “Jackson?”
“Ha!” Jackson stood up and pulled a shirt on over his bare chest. “What are the odds? I just requested a room to go with my new job.”
Vaguely, Leila remembered Jackson telling her that he had only just recently started working as an extra. “Oh. Um, congratulations.”
“Thanks. I’m a little overwhelmed. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep with all this space and quiet.”
Space? Quiet? Leila could hear the footsteps going by outside the door, the muffled voices of their neighbors, the whoosh of the ventilation. This was quiet? “You used to sleep in the community bunks,” she realized aloud.
“For years,” Jackson admitted sheepishly. “I have an actual mattress now, and shelves!” He gestured around the room, his arms wide. “Not that I have anything to put on them yet. And I suppose we’ll need furniture. And we can buy foodstuff so we can make meals here if we don’t want to eat out.”
Leila let Jackson rattle on, tuning him out as she took a turn around the cramped quarters. In the sleeping area, there were two murphy beds, one of which was stored in the wall, with a collapsible desk and folding chair deployed. Jackson’s bed was turned down, with a bare foam mattress.
“Here, let me show you how it works,” he offered.
She let him go through the motions of lifting his bed up into the wall and opening up the desk. It was a reasonably clever design that made the most of the limited floor space. She opened her own bed and found her mattress was bare as well.
“We need sheets,” she commented.
“What now?” Jackson asked.
“Sheets. To go on the mattress. You weren’t going to just sleep straight on the foam, were you?”
Jackson shrugged. “Um, yeah, I guess?”