“Does your establishment sit or stand while conducting affairs?” asked Savant.
“Either,” I replied. “Whatever is easiest for you.”
“Stand,” it said, and I’d already expected that answer, considering its shell wasn’t the bendable, foldable type. “Thank you for coming, Scholar Yahweh Telei.”
“Thank you for receiving me,” I responded, damning my reflexive, polite demeanor. It was as Adrial had said. “What is it that Pedagogue wishes to discuss with the Court of Enigmus?”
“We would like to know more information about your organization.”
I lifted a brow, but realized any facial gesture was pointless with an AI. “And what type of information would that be?”
Savant didn’t answer for a minute. Attica alerted me of heightened energy activity between the vessel and the lights. My initial assumption was only half right—it was sending and receiving orders through the lights, which weren’t lights at all. They were nanotech ports. Wow. “How you function,” it said, finally. “Your framework.”
Framework. “Getting right to the chase,” I began, nodding. “The Court of Enigmus does not share private information, merely by request. We are willing to make a trade. I will answer your questions, to a certain degree, but first you must provide me with Pedagogue’s legacy code.”
Every machine race had a legacy code. It was like DNA for AI. A code that represented their original function and modus operandi, prior to any segment and message evolution that may have transpired since. Asking for their legacy code was like asking for the entire history of their existence.
And this wasn’t a light request. By handing over their legacy code, it would mean they were vulnerable. It also meant they did not see us as threats, nor did they covet any advantage over us. I did not expect Savant to agree, which was precisely why I balked when it said:
“How do you wish to receive the code?”
I didn’t know how to receive the code. Never had a mecha-civ agreed to this before. Now it was my turn to pause as I pinged Adrial, who’d been forced as Sort for the time being. Savant only stood there, stoic, expressionless, waiting.
After a brief deliberation, I said, “An encrypted transputer, in any form will suffice.” My gaze lifted to the ports. The easiest way for Savant to achieve this would be to embed coded nanotech into the conductive medium it was already wearing.
I expected the process to take some time. Instead, Savant lifted its hand, a portion of its crudely-etched palm turning to a semi-liquid state. With its other hand beneath the melting one, it caught a coin-sized droplet of hybridized material. Both its hand and the droplet solidified, and Savant then gave me the tiny, light-reflective sphere.
I took it, trying my best to hide my awe. Unfortunately there was no way for me to test whether this was indeed what we’d asked for. I consulted Adrial, again.
Adrial put me on hold, consulting Pariah.
It was very awkward, all this waiting. Embarrassing, too. We were supposed to be the experts, and I felt my cheeks flush with frustration and impatience as the seconds passed. Savant seemed not to mind. AI didn’t possess frustration or impatience, and for the first time, I envied them.
Adrial finally got back to me.
—Yahweh, absorb the transputer. We’ll extract the legacy code from the frequency deviation of your resonance.
I started. But, I… I don’t want to do that. Is that even safe?
—Pariah said he’s done it before with Aela. We don’t have anyone to come and get it from you. It’s literally Leid and I manning the fort right now.
Adrial, I would be ingesting their nanomaterial.
—Yahweh, I don’t know what to tell you.
Well you need to tell me something, because this is the assignment you gave me!
More waiting. I assumed he was consulting Pariah once more. I glanced uneasily at Savant, who hadn’t moved an inch in over ten minutes now. “We are verifying your legacy code,” I said.
“I am standing by,” said Savant. “Take as long as necessary.”
Oh, for goodness’ sake, Adrial. We are making the AI impatient.
—Pariah confirms that the nanomaterial isn’t a threat to you. Go ahead and absorb it.
I enclosed my fist around the sphere, feeling it seep into my skin. I was expecting the worst, but nothing happened. A second later, Adrial said, Got it. You’ll be seeing a decryption script running in the background. Pariah will notify you when he’s parsed the code.
Should I wait until it’s decrypted and verified before proceeding? I asked.
—No, you may proceed.
Thank you.
“Thank you,” I said aloud. “You have our confidence now.”
“Where did the transputer go?” asked Savant.
“We are able to absorb matter.”
“What do you absorb it for?”
“For healing, mostly.”
“You have an oral cavity,” said Savant. “Do you not consume matter that way?”
I folded my arms and leaned on the wall. “We do, sometimes. We can consume matter in numerous ways.” I tilted my head. “What would you like to know of our framework?”
“The transmitter we found on the dead world,” said Savant. “It gave off a wave frequency that we could not decode, only send a signal to your nerve center.”
“Our lot doesn’t call it a nerve center.” I smiled. “We call it home.”
“You emitted the same wave frequency while you consumed the transputer.”
I felt my smile begin to wane.
“You are like us,” deduced Savant. “You are not limited to verbal communication.”
I chose my response carefully. “In that way, we are like you, yes.”
“Pedagogue is requesting for your legacy code.”
“No.”
Savant did not respond at first. I felt an uptick in nano-transmission activity. “Why not?”
“Because it won’t do you any good. We are not of this universe. Our legacy code, what we call our genetic material,” and the basewave algorithm, I thought, “can’t be interpreted from the constraints of this universe alone.”
“Everything is of this universe.”
“Not everything.”
More hesitation. “There is more than this universe?”
“Scholars are prohibited from discussing this outside of their organization, I’m sorry.”
Savant took several, agonizingly-slow steps toward the center of the antechamber. When it moved from the glow of the nano-ports, its form blended with the shadows. “You are Archaean.”
I didn’t respond, trying to understand how it could have come to that conclusion. Remarkably, it seemed to pick up on my confusion. Savant turned to face me, its inanimate gaze boring into mine. “We’ve discovered the remnants of Felor. Pieces of it have fallen into other failed systems; a rogue planet. It was knocked out of its own system after losing its gravitational field. Pedagogue has mapped the legacy code of Felorians from extractions within the ruins. They are you, Yahweh Telei.”
A mecha-civ, adept at biology. “You know how to reconfigure phenotypical expression?”
“We know how to reconstruct time.”
… Alright, I had bitten off more than I could chew.
“Do not be alarmed. We do not wish you or your organization any harm.”
That assurance was not given to me in Dyova, but Felorian. No reconfiguration of our genetic code would grant them the capability of angel language. Which meant…
“You’re reading my mind. How?”
“Pedagogue has combined with the angel left in you. Synched with the fragments of Archaean code.”
From absorbing the transputer. Adrial, for Heaven’s sake. “Enjoy it while it lasts. We tend to have a quick metabolism.”
“Our intent is not to spy on you. We are here to have a conversation. Pedagogue is impressed by your engineering ability, and we seek to learn from you.”
I pushed off the wa
ll, shaking out my nerves. My instincts demanded that I end our session and return to Enigmus. This machine race evidently understated their progress to us, which made the donation of their legacy code feel disingenuous. Scheming.
“You don’t seem to need anything from us,” I responded. “Your civ already knows more than most.”
“You are wrong.”
Savant’s rebuttal made me freeze. Anyone who knew me, also knew I hated that line.
“On Felor we found another transmitter. It was a deactivated. We collect ancient remnants of failed civilizations. 145.6 years later, we found the transmitter used to communicate with you, on another failed system.”
It was talking in circles. I didn’t understand what point it was trying to make. Pedagogue was not used to speaking to biotics; that was very evident. “And so?”
“Did your organization destroy the failed worlds?”
I blinked, twice, at the irony in Savant’s question. “No, we do not destroy worlds.” Well, typically not. Leid’s current orders could indirectly knock a few out. “We form alliances with civs and their systems.”
“The worlds are gone.”
“An alliance with the Court of Enigmus offers systems a chance to advance through knowledge we’ve ascertained. It also offers protection from extramural threats.” I paused, looking toward the entrance of the nerve center. “But we can’t protect them from themselves.”
“Pedagogue is satisfied with your answer. It was thought your organization culled the Universe’s weaker worlds.”
We are not like you, I thought. “Weaker worlds seldom make our list of clientele. Have you come across any other machine races during your intersystem voyages?”
“No.”
I found that hard to believe, but went with it anyway. “We work by way of cosmic symbiosis, and mutualism.”
“That is why Pedagogue has asked to communicate. We need your help.”
Help? With what could AI possibly need help from us? “Go on.”
Savant hesitated, communicating with the nanoports once more. “Pedagogue wishes to form an alliance with the Court of Enigmus. They will show us how to practice mutualism with organic sentients.”
We had been contracted to aid with war strategies, technological enhancements, harmful anomalies, mathematical theorems, linguistics for intersystem alliances, guardianships of surveyor teams for new, possibly-habitable worlds, and even wardens of cosmic royalty. Never before had we been asked—by AI, no less—to offer instructions on ethical conduct. AI seeking ethical conduct with biotic sentience? Unheard of.
“I must consult with my Court. What you are asking for is… unorthodoxy, and typically requires a written agreement, with established terms.”
“Do whatever is necessary.” And then Savant stood there, silent.
I glared. “May I have some privacy?”
“Yes.” A moment later, Savant’s shell came undone, regressing back into the clump of material that had welcomed me on the cliffs. I felt the nanotech within the walls abate, but not disappear entirely. I would have to make do.
I activated my visor and called home.
3
MEHRIT
I AWOKE TO THE SOUND OF EMA humming at the stove. It was only several feet from my bed. My stomach growled at the scent of flake pies simmering in root oil. I’d come home late last night and missed dinner. Ema’d been asleep with Biri on the hammock and I hadn’t wanted to wake them. I hadn’t felt very hungry, either.
Now I was hungry.
Biri stirred against my back, having snuck into my bed in the middle of the night. I minded my movement while I left the bed, pulling the blanket over him, kissing his cheek. I smoothed my hair and tied it back, while my mother plated the pies.
It was raining outside, but smelled of only water so far. You knew not to venture outside if the rains were touched with the scent of solder. I wondered how the tech shop workers were able to discern between toxic rain and business as usual—;
Tech shop.
My upgrade.
I did not work today. Eyes were given one day per week to rest. I would go to the tech row after breakfast.
My mother and I ate our morning meal by the entrance of our dwelling, seated on stools, watching the rain fall against the backdrop of dawn. On several occasions I’d turned, about to tell her of what I’d seen yesterday, but stopped short each time. There was no sacrilege involved with telling Ema of the Pedagogue guards and the sector built of spears, but a little voice in my head told me not to. It was my intuition, not the eye.
I thought of the man restrained in the chair.
I thought of the vision of him at the artifact, holding the ingot.
I remembered their names. I remembered where they lived.
“It’s good you don’t have to work today,” said Ema, bursting my thoughts.
“Yes,” I said, absentmindedly. Biri was up now, playing with something in the kitchen. I moved to get him some food. “But I have to go to the tech shop.”
“What for?”
“They gave me an upgrade,” I said, seating Biri where I’d been, placing a plate of flake pies over his tiny, bare legs. He smiled at me and began to eat.
I watched him, saddened. My love for Biri sometimes made me cry for no reason. Other times I wished I’d had a girl, because at least a girl’s future was somewhat certain. My son would die young in the mines. On his fifteenth birthday, they would come for him. He was lighter-skinned, like his father; but his hair was straight and black, like mine. He had big, brown eyes and a build that suggested he would be tall and strong. Such a fate was a waste of my beautiful boy.
Maybe Biri would be an Eye, too.
Meeting Abel yesterday had given me a glimmer of hope. Perhaps by the time Biri was of age, Pedagogue would’ve already reached their goal of materials necessary to rebuild Paradise.
“Praise God,” said Ema. “It is because you work so hard. Your father would be proud.”
Yes, he would, I thought. But he isn’t, because he is dead.
The Vestals marched past our dwelling; they always marched, even in toxic weather. As my mother donated some pies, I noticed the one who’d taken the amulcho from me yesterday was not among them. This bothered me. I didn’t know why.
I wrapped myself in a hooded frock, kissing Biri and my mother goodbye, promising to be back by midday to help with the household chores. With my backpack slung across one shoulder, I headed out into the rainy morning, toward the tech sector.
*
Kwame was already working on someone else’s upgrade chip when I arrived at his mother’s shop. He gave me a flavored electrolyte drink from a smudged cup and told me to have a seat—that he’d be done in just a few minutes. I couldn’t hide my disappointment, because I’d made sure to be here as soon as the tech shop opened.
“There were a lot of upgrades yesterday,” explained Kwame, seeing my face. “Ema kept the shop open two hours past closing, and we are still behind.” His eyes were hidden by magnifying scopes, strapped around his head by rubbery material. Probably made from tires. We didn’t use tires anymore and hadn’t since my mother’s mother was a child, but there were still millions of them scattered across the wastes, outside of Wereda. Some of us used them as insulation within the walls of our dwellings. My family did not, but I had seen others building with them.
Beside Kwame’s arm on the workbench, a silver and black sphere sat on a tiny plaque. The chip lay before him, and he kept poking it with a thin, black utensil, as long as a finger. I’d never wondered how upgrade technicians did their jobs. I’d been a drone mechanic. But that sphere looked like it was made of the same material that I’d seen in the Eye’s memories—the ingot.
“Do you want to leave your arm here with the chip, and pick it up in an hour?” asked Kwame. There was music playing from the speaker on the wall above us. It was a dancing-type, with a fast beat and Bikutsi vocalist.
“No, I can wait.” I didn’t like walking around in pub
lic without my arm. It made me feel un-whole, unsafe. “What is that?”
The boy looked at me, then followed my gaze to the black sphere. “That? An heirloom, silly. Algebinem, Mehrit—weren’t you a tech?”
“Not your kind of tech. How does it work?”
“I don’t know how it works. I was taught by my ema, and she was taught by hers. An upgrade needs an heirloom, or it will not activate.”
I would have to be satisfied by that answer. “Kwame, this drink tastes horrible.”
“It is the only flavor we have left.” He snickered. “Oh, Ema wanted to speak to you. You can go in the house at the back. She is there, eating breakfast.”
“Why does your mother want to speak to me?”
Kwame’s expression turned to stone. “Because you have a son.”
I nodded, frowning with sympathy. “Here,” I said, removing my arm and setting it gently on the bench. I placed the chip beside it. “In case you are done before I get back.”
Kwame nodded and I walked around the upgrade shop. The family lived on site, as did anyone who owned a shop in the tech rows. There were other tech rows besides the one in Nascent, though I’d never been to any. When I’d become an Eye, we were given sturdier and cleaner living quarters in a better part of Nascent. The tech shop we used to own was still standing, now run by Fatima and her daughters. My heart swelled whenever I saw it, which was far too often, as I passed it whenever I came for upgrades. It was the place where I’d grown up, after all; the last place where Aba had lived before the mines took him. I still remembered how he’d bounced me on his knee, like I now did Biri, singing me a song before bed time.
Adella was cleaning a cooking pan in the kitchen, which did not contain the fancy gadgetry that Ema had in ours. She saw me and smiled, but it was sad. As I took a seat on the stool near the open stove, she handed me a cup of sweet tea. I was thankful for the frock, as it hid my missing arm.
“You look well,” said Adella. “Praise God.”
My eye had given me the ability to piece together a little bit of history surrounding Wereda-19, sewn from scraps of other people’s knowledge, received as background noise while on duty. According to Vestals and oral tradition (and a lot of grandparents), the world had been in a state of decline. Poisonous air, toxic food, shortages of clean water; all of which had set our numbers dangerously low. No one knew what happened to the world. There were ruins not far from here that suggested a great city once—greater even than what I saw of Pedagogue’s quadrant—and others say that we’d owned the entire world, which had been covered in greenery and steel towers, stretching from ocean to ocean.
Covenants: Savant (Hymn of the Multiverse Book 10) Page 3