by S. H. Jucha
Returning to the conference link with the Freedom, Alex sent,
Switching subjects and individuals, Alex continued,
Alex had heard that tone of thought from Renée more than once. It was easier to acquiesce than start an argument.
Continuing with the AI, Alex sent,
Vyztram continued with the Deloy’s list of directives.
Fearing the Deloy’s machinations, Alex asked,
Alex’s remark concerned Vyztram, and the AI pursued the subject.
Alex replied.
Alex rested. He considered the pieces that he’d put in play, the answers he might receive, and how they’d fit together. The fabric of the Elvian social order rotated around the Deloy, but allowing a line of succession to govern its occupancy had led to it being inherited by a petulant youngling.
Rather than listening to Vyztram, the Deloy had sought to impose her will and see Alex and his companions arrested. She’d also advocated for the destruction of the Omnian fleet by the ship’s drones.
It occurred to Alex that there needed to be a seismic shift in the population if the issue of representation was to be resolved. The creators of the Arcus had set strictures in place that prevented the core’s citizenry from becoming the majority of passengers. That left privilege and control in the hands of the elites.
Alex replayed the initial moments of walking into the Deloy’s sumptuous cabin. Seven attendants were visible, primarily adult Elvians, if he could judge by looks. He’d been told that the elites had brought their retinues aboard. Miranda had called them perpetual servants. He wondered if the servants were counted as part of the elite population. Even if they were, did they want to be?
While the puzzle pieces tried to find their places in his mind, Alex fell into a deep sleep. In his dreams, the elements of the plan came alive. Rather than cooperate and form a whole, the pieces went to war against one another, fighting to dominate the whole.
The dream was chaotic until Alex’s subconscious had a new player. A representation of Renée strode onto the huge game board, where the pieces fought. The various elements froze and observed the new player, who railed at them. There was no audio in Alex’s dream, but he could imagine what was being said.
The Renée figure remonstrated the battling elements. Slowly, they subsided, shrinking and becoming small frozen figures. Then they were collected and stacked together. The Renée figure eyed the cleared board, turned to look directly at Alex, who’d watched from the sidelines, and then she strode away, fading into the background.
Miranda watched Alex subside. His twitching and turning was gone.
Miranda heard Renée’s laughter before the link was closed.
* * * * *
SADEs piled into a tra
veler. One of their own piloted the ship, and it swiftly exited a Freedom’s bay. As the traveler neared the Arcus, Cordelia contacted Vyztram.
Vyztram’s remarks told Cordelia that Alex hadn’t shared the nature of the ship’s passengers with Vyztram, and she considered what that meant.
Cordelia and Julien continued to discuss the ramifications of Alex’s machinations until she received an alert from the AI.
Cordelia shared the image with the traveler’s pilot, who accelerated to reach the bay that was located close to the ship’s bow.
The fighter arrived at the bay, as the doors completed their cycle. A transport, which was tasked to collect the harvested resources, eased out of the huge bay. The resource ship had hardly cleared the Arcus before the traveler slipped through the open doors.
Vyztram observed the fighter touch down in the bay. Normally, this space was only minimally pressurized, so as not to waste resources. Only the bots serviced the transport. The AI fully pressurized the bay, allowing the intermediate door between the privacy screens to open. Vyztram was about to communicate to the fighter’s pilot that the passengers were free to leave the ship when the ramp dropped and the Omnians exited.
The speed with which the Omnians moved told Vyztram that more SADEs had arrived aboard the Arcus. They didn’t inhabit avatars like Z and Miranda, and they didn’t resemble Alex. However, they did have a similar stature. The primary difference the AI noted was the creativity with which the SADEs had decorated their skins.
Typically, Vyztram assigned the tracking of Elvians, who were monitored, to a lesser routine. The citizens expended an inordinate amount of time traversing the corridors. With the SADEs, that changed. After they’d left the bay, Vyztram watched them disappear from the corridor. The AI searched the route and found the SADEs moving in a coordinated mass. Their movements were economical, but they covered distance swiftly. The nature of SADE avatars appealed to Vyztram.
The Omnian SADEs followed Vyztram’s directions. When they entered the final corridor, they were close enough that Othello could link with Miranda.
13: Z’s Search
Z requested the three-dimensional engineering images of the Arcus from Vyztram. The AI and he had discussed the techniques that Vyztram had employed to locate the AI’s databanks.
Now, Z stood, with his avatar locked, while Famgore and he spoke.
The Elvian’s advice was useful. As an engineer, he frequently supported the more critical renovation and repair projects.
“How would you locate Vyztram’s repository?” Z asked.
Famgore swiveled on his perch and stared at Z. “I can’t understand how Vyztram can’t know where the repository exists.”
“The nature of digital entities invites comparisons to biologicals, but fundamentally, we’re quite different,” Z explained. “We rely on data. In this case, Vyztram awoke aboard this ship. The AI has access only to the files installed by the creators and that the AI accumulated over time. The creators chose not to tell the Elvians or Vyztram of the database location.”
“But why?” Famgore asked.
“You would have to inquire of the creators,” Z replied.
“Who are long gone,” Famgore lamented.
Z held up a finger, which Famgore recognized as an incoming message to the SADE. Shortly afterward, Z said, “We’re about to receive help.”
“Who?” Famgore inquired.
“More SADEs,” Z replied. “Return to my question about locating Vyztram’s repository.”
“This is an enormous ship,” Famgore noted. When Z didn’t reply, he asked, “How many SADEs are coming?”
“Eight,” Z replied.
“Not enough,” Famgore remarked. “You say that Vyztram has been searching for the AI databanks.”
“Yes,” Z replied. “Vyztram has attempted several techniques to isolate every space and compare work orders and general access to each one to eliminate them from the search.”
“So, it’s well hidden,” Famgore commented. He tucked one leg under the other and leaned against Z’s upper arm, as if he were an arboreal animal taking a rest in a tree.
When Z’s head swiveled, Famgore ceased his musings to see what attracted the SADE’s attention. Eight entities strode swiftly toward them. When they came to a halt, they’d formed a semicircle. As Famgore expected, there was that moment of silence while the SADEs conversed.
“This is Famgore,” Z said, by way of introduction. “In addition to a core’s rep, he’s a senior engineer.”
“Why don’t you look like Z?” Famgore asked.
“Z and Miranda are protectors,” Othello explained. “Their avatars’ size and power aren’t necessary for our work.”
“Understood,” Famgore replied. “Are you wearing masks?”
Othello and his companions had seen the masks worn by the Elvians, and he chuckled at the idea that their synth skins appeared as masks to Famgore.
“These are our avatars’ permanent coverings,” Othello replied. “We were once like Vyztram. We were confined to boxes for decades, if not centuries. When we were freed, we chose different coverings to express our independence.”
“And you chose black?” Famgore said confusedly.
“I was a SADE aboard a starship freighter. My captain, like many Méridien humans, loved the writings of an ancient author,” Othello explained. “Frequently, I would read the author’s works to him. During the passage of one hundred and thirty-eight annuals together, the captain became my friend. Othello was one of his favorite characters. The color of my face, a deep brown black, is in honor of my friend.”
“So, your face colorings mean something to each one of you,” Famgore surmised, his eyes traveling across the semicircle. He saw each SADE nod.
Famgore swiveled to regard Z. “I was thinking that we’ve two problems. First, you’ve the engineering plans in your head. We need our monitors to view any significant portion of them. Our slates only aid us for the immediate work assignment.”
Othello smiled, as he held up a finger. Then he swiveled the pack off his back and extracted a holo-vid. “Julien’s idea,” he commented. Then he activated the holo-vid and displayed a section of the ship’s structure, which he’d received from Z.
“Wonderful,” Famgore commented excitedly. “Do you each carry one?”
“No,” Othello replied with a grin. “The others have one, but I’ve carried two.” Then he removed a second holo-vid from his pack and strapped it on Z’s free forearm.
“That satisfies my first issue,” Famgore said briskly, feeling in his element. He was a master at problem solving. “I think I’ve the answer to my other concern. Enginee
rs know this ship and its spaces. They’ve been everywhere that Elvians are allowed. The labels on the engineering plans should be familiar to what they’ve visited. If there are suspected discrepancies, they should be investigated.”
“Then we need engineers,” Othello said. “Each of us could direct many engineers and eliminate the known spaces.”
“Then you can coordinate the summaries,” Famgore said exuberantly.
“Precisely,” Z replied.
“Z, I need Vyztram,” Famgore requested.
“Yes, Famgore,” Vyztram replied from Z’s mouth.
“We need a meeting place for a large number of engineers and techs. Only the ones who have performed location repairs. No costumes, Vyztram. This is a work detail,” Famgore requested.
“How many?” Vyztram queried.
Famgore glanced at Z, who said “Four hundred fifty to start.”
Vyztram confirmed the request and selected a meeting place, which he shared with Z.
Z displayed the ship’s relevant section. He pinpointed two locations — where they stood and where they were destined.
Famgore clapped his hands in delight. If Z hadn’t adjusted his arm, the engineer would have tilted backward and dropped to the deck. “Thank you,” he said sincerely to Z. “This will make it so much easier to search the ship.”
“What’s the quickest way to our destination?” Z asked, pointing at the yellow pinpoint on the deck many levels above them.
Famgore perused the plan. Then he extended a finger toward the display and said, “We take this corridor toward the stern. I know it looks like we’ll be going the wrong direction, but the lift in that direction services many decks. It will be quicker.”
“Draw it,” Z requested.
Famgore frowned at Z, who added, “Stick your finger in the display, and trace our route.”
As an engineer, Famgore didn’t need to be prompted twice. The opportunity to play with new equipment wasn’t to be missed. With confidence, Famgore placed his finger on the lower pinpoint and drew his finger toward the ship’s stern, tracing the corridor. Then he used the lift’s shaft to rise upward nineteen decks. A short movement down a second corridor caught a second lift. A trip down a third corridor ended at the meeting place.
