Network Effect

by Martha Wells

  I am still reconstructing damaged archives.

  “Could SecUnit help you with that?” Amena asked, very casually, not looking at me.

  I folded my arms and glared at the side of Amena’s head.

  ART very obviously did not answer.

  Overse leaned back in her chair, not comfortable. “We need to try to put together a timeline of when things happened.”

  By the time I opened my mouth to say I had a chart, ART had said, Obviously, and threw a chart up next to the split screen. It showed the times (1) ART knew it had first arrived through the wormhole into the colony’s system, (2) when ART’s memory disruption occurred, (3) when it had reinitialized to find intruders aboard and its crew gone and an alien remnant installed on its drive, (4) the attack on the corporate supply carrier, (5) the moment the deletion occurred, and (6) the moment ART’s backup restarted. All except for Point One were estimates as ART’s onboard timekeeping had been disrupted. (Yes, it had actually left out the whole part about telling the Targets that I was a weapon they could use and bringing them to where they could attack our baseship, and using the comm code to locate me. That was fucking incredible.)

  Amena was telling the others, “Before everything got weird—weirder—Ras tried to tell me about the colony reclamation project, but Eletra cut him off and changed the subject.”

  Thiago looked at the view of the bunkroom, where Eletra was hidden under blankets. He said, “Is it possible that these people—the gray people—” He shook his head. “We know influence—terrible effects—from alien remnants are possible. Could the gray people have come from either the recent colony or the original one? Or are the corporates likely to use genetic manipulation on their colonists?”

  Undetermined, ART said, like it honestly didn’t give a crap.

  And honestly, it probably didn’t. The Targets had attacked ART’s crew. It wasn’t interested in the mystery, it just wanted its crew back.

  When no one else could answer the question, Ratthi leaned his elbows on the table. “I think the corporates would do anything they could get away with. Obviously these gray people—what do we call them?”

  “Targets,” I said.

  Thiago did a thing with his eyes that was like an eyeroll but not quite. Ratthi continued, “The Targets must have brought the alien remnant tech that was installed on the wormhole drive.”

  Overse tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. “Those implants weren’t alien remnant tech. In fact, they were old. Much older than thirty-seven years, when the corporate colony was established.”

  “Yes, there must have been usable but outdated tech left behind on the site of the earlier colony, the Pre–Corporation Rim one.” Ratthi poked absently at the food left on his plate, then slid it over to Arada so she could finish it off. “That solid-state screen interface, I’ve seen those in historical displays.”

  Amena nodded, waving a hand at me. “And you know, they called the wormhole a ‘bridge-transit.’ I’ve never heard that before.”

  Thiago seemed intrigued. “Did they speak a standard language?”

  “No, but there was a translation at first, then it stopped when SecUnit woke up and the fighting started,” Amena told him.

  Since ART didn’t have any usable video or audio, I pulled some examples and sent them into the general feed. The humans listened with puzzled expressions. Then Thiago nodded grimly to himself. “That’s a mix of at least three Pre–Corporation Rim languages.”

  “That certainly matches their tech,” Overse said.

  Thiago added, “And many of the really deadly alien contamination incidents were Pre–Corporation Rim.”

  “What sort of incidents?” Arada asked.

  Thiago said, “Preservation’s archives only have detailed information on one, that took place on a moon that was being converted into a massive base of operations for one of the early Pre-CR polities. Over seventy percent of the population was killed. The only reason anyone survived was because a recently activated central system managed to lock off the living quarters and keep it sealed until help arrived.” He glanced at me. “So they were saved by a machine intelligence.”

  I know what a central system is, Thiago. (It was more outdated tech, like a HubSystem that did everything, with no subordinate systems. I hadn’t ever encountered one that wasn’t part of a historical drama.)

  Overse leaned forward. “So how were the people killed? The ones who were affected by the contamination attacked the others?”

  Thiago wasn’t nearly as annoying when he was being smart like this. He said, “Yes, though that sort of violent reaction to remnant contamination appears to be rare. But since so many of these incidents, historical and contemporary, are suppressed, we don’t actually know whether it is or not.”

  Ratthi nodded agreement. “With the corporates being so secretive, it’s hard to tell.”

  Overse said, “The only laws they all seem to recognize are about alien remnant discovery and interdiction, and the licensing restrictions for use of strange synthetics.”

  “But why would alien remnants affect people like that?” Amena asked. “Is it intentional? Is it something that’s protecting the site, where the aliens didn’t want anybody else to take what was there?”

  Ratthi took a breath, then let it out again. “I never thought so. I think it’s the same as if an alien person who had never seen anything like a terraforming matrix accidentally touched one and was poisoned. There’s no intentionality. Sometimes the contamination effects are as if different priorities are loaded into the affected person’s brain, like alien software running on human hardware. The result is chaos.” He gestured with a utensil. “But do we think the Targets are from the Adamantine colony? Or descendants of the Pre-CR colony? Or could they have come from outside this system?”

  All indications suggest they came from within this system, ART said.

  I said, “You’re having memory archive issues, how do you know who was or wasn’t onboard you? There could have been hundreds of corporate salvage groups and raiders and colonists and aliens—”

  “SecUnit—” Arada started at the same time as Ratthi said, “I don’t think—”

  ART interrupted, SecUnit’s earlier statement that I “lie a lot” was untrue. I obviously cannot reveal information against the interests of my crew unless circumstances warrant.

  Arada nodded. “Right. We understand. I think SecUnit is looking out for our interests—”

  ART said, I want an apology.

  I made an obscene gesture at the ceiling with both hands. (I know ART isn’t the ceiling but the humans kept looking up there like it was.)

  ART said, That was unnecessary.

  In a low voice, Ratthi commented to Overse, “Anyone who thinks machine intelligences don’t have emotions needs to be in this very uncomfortable room right now.”

  ART was suddenly in my feed, on a private channel. I did what I had to do. You should understand that.

  I said aloud, “I’m not talking to you on the feed! You’re not my client and you’re not my—” I couldn’t say it, not anymore.

  All the humans were staring at me. I wanted to face the wall but that felt like giving in.

  I suddenly had views all over the ship. ART had given me access to its cameras. I snarled, “Stop being nice to me!”

  Then Amena said aloud, “I think you need to give SecUnit some time.”

  Right, that’s all this situation needed. I asked her, “Is it talking to you on a private channel?”

  Amena winced. “Yes, but—”

  I yelled, “ART, stop talking to my human behind my back!”

  You know that thing humans do where they think they’re being completely logical and they absolutely are not being logical at all, and on some level they know that, but can’t stop? Apparently it can happen to SecUnits, too.

  Arada got up from the table and held up her hands. “Hey, now, let’s stop this. It’s unproductive. Perihelion, you need to stop pressuring SecUn
it. I know you’re upset about your crew and being deleted and this has all been terrible and confusing. But SecUnit is upset, too. Yelling at each other isn’t going to help.”

  ART said, I was not yelling.

  “Of course you weren’t,” Arada agreed, in the same reasonable tone Mensah’s marital partners Farai and Tano used when they talked to their younger kids. She faced the others. “We need to work this situation. Perihelion, if you could give us access to any other information your crew had on this colony, we’d really appreciate that. In the meantime, Overse and I are going to start collecting data on this alien thing that was on Perihelion’s drive and see if we can’t help get the normal-space drive online any faster. Ratthi and Thiago, I want you to check out the deceased Targets and do some pathology scans. We also need a translation of what they were saying in SecUnit’s recordings. If we can confirm they’re descended from one of the two groups of human colonists, I think—Well, I think we’ll be able to make more effective plans. Amena, I’d like you to try to talk to Eletra again, see if you can get any more information out of her. I think it’s clear she’s been holding back, and now that she knows about the implants, she might be more forthcoming. SecUnit, maybe you could figure out what caused Perihelion’s first reinitialization and how the Targets got aboard? I think we can all agree that having mysterious intruders invade Perihelion again is something we really need to avoid. Is everyone good with that? Perihelion, are you all right with this plan?”

  ART said, For now.

  10

  Well, this was just great.

  The humans started to disperse, Arada and Overse toward engineering, Ratthi going back to Medical to get the pathology suite ready. Amena helped Thiago clear the meal trays off the table. He touched her shoulder. “My daughter, are you sure you’re all right to speak to this corporate?”

  “I’m fine, Uncle.” She was exasperated and did this shrugging shoulders-flopping arms thing that illustrated that very well. “I don’t think Eletra would try to hurt me. And she knows SecUnit is here. And ART.” She glanced at me, guiltily. “It said I could call it ART.”

  Of course it did. I felt the hinge of my jaw grind.

  Thiago squeezed Amena’s shoulder. “Just be careful.”

  “I will,” Amena told him, already heading back into the prep area where the nearest recycler was. “I’m going to get her some fresh clothes, it’ll give me an excuse to go in there.”

  Thiago looked at me and I looked at the wall. He said, “I want to thank you for everything you did for Amena.”

  Was it grudging or was I just in a terrible mood? I don’t know, I have no idea, so I didn’t respond.

  Amena came out with a packet of clothing from the recycler and I followed her down the corridor toward Eletra’s bunkroom. From ART’s camera view, Eletra had gotten up to get another container of water from the bathroom, so it was a good time for Amena to casually stroll in and offer the clothes.

  Then ART secured a private channel with me and said, I don’t need your help.

  That’s not what you thought when you kidnapped me, I told it.

  I meant, you don’t have to speak to me if you don’t want to.

  Fine, whatever, I don’t care. I said, Do you want the fucking help or not?

  ART dumped its archive on me and I was immediately drowning in the giant mound of data that comprised its second-by-second status checks. Fortunately, after keeping track of the company’s shit-tons of mined data, I knew how to deal with it. I started by defining what the gap in ART’s memory archive might look like, which I was guessing would be a giant interruption in the constant incoming reports from subsystems like life support, navigation, etc. It was tricky, because for ART these were not like discrete reports from connected systems, but more like the sensory input I would get from the pads on the tips of my fingers. It was a lot more complicated than the way my own archives stored data. But once I had an idea of what I was looking for, I constructed a query.

  I stopped at the top of the bunkroom corridor and let Amena go on alone. I didn’t want Eletra to see me or to realize I was lurking out here, since I thought that might impede Amena’s ability to get her to talk. Amena reached the hatch and sent Eletra a note on the feed: Hello, I brought you some spare clothes, can I come in?

  While Eletra opened the hatch with the feed control and they sorted through the clothes, I checked my inputs for the others: Arada and Overse had stopped in the corridor that went toward the engineering module. Arada hugged Overse, and Overse kissed her and said into her ear, “You can do this, babe. You’re a bulkhead.”

  “I’m a wibbly bulkhead,” Arada muttered.

  (The wibbliness was why I trusted Arada. Overconfident humans who don’t listen to anybody else scare the hell out of me.)

  Arada stepped back and smiled at Overse. “Got to get to work.”

  ART had dispatched the medical gurney earlier and it had been moving methodically around the ship picking up messy dead Targets. Now it floated into Medical where Ratthi waited, Thiago following it in. There was a lot of congealing blood and fluids. “Oh, this is not going to be fun,” Ratthi muttered.

  “No,” Thiago agreed grimly. “I’ll get the biohazard gear.”

  ART added to its action list: Repair and reactivate drones. Collect targetDrones for examination and destruction.

  In the bunkroom, Amena was asking, “How are you feeling?”

  “Better.” Eletra folded a jacket in her lap. “I know you’re going to ask, but we didn’t know those implant things were in us. I don’t remember that at all.”

  Interesting, ART said.

  I was still mad, right? But it was interesting. I said, Because you have a gap in your memory archive?

  Yes. It can’t be the same cause, of course, but it’s the same operational approach. Take a prisoner, cause a memory disruption.

  I hate it when ART is right. It was the same operational approach and we really needed to find out if the Targets had used alien remnant tech to cause the memory disruptions or not. I said, The mix of outdated human technology and alien remnant could mean the stupid Pre–Corporation Rim humans established a colony on an interdicted alien remnant site.

  Not necessarily, ART said. Before I could argue, it added, The site might have been undiscovered, not interdicted.

  ART had a lot stricter standards about what constituted evidence than humans did. It was always wanting to prove things actually existed before it would make plans for what to do about them. (Yes, it was annoying.)

  ART said, It’s possible to theorize that something from the original Pre-CR colony may have remained on the site when the Corporate colonists arrived. But it seems strange that the later colonists would preserve and use outdated tech.

  I didn’t want to admit it, but ART wasn’t wrong about that, either. This tech wasn’t useless, but I’d taken targetControlSystem down with an attack that was practically from ancient history. (That’s how I’d known about it, from watching historical dramas.) So the facts we know are: that there was a human site in existence before the corporate colony. And that somebody found alien remnants at some point.

  ART created a feed graphic (yes, another one) labeled Perihelion and SecUnit’s Initial Suppositions with an access list that included all the humans except Eletra. The first bullet point was: Fact (1) Corporate colony was established on an early Pre–Corporation Rim human occupation site. Questions: Are alien remnants present? If yes, were they original to the site or introduced later? Was the Pre-CR site established because of the presence of alien remnants? Was the corporate colony established because of the presence of alien remnants?

  The humans all paused to read it. Amena, listening to Eletra talk about her family, covered her moment of distraction with a cough. (Eletra’s family was in a hereditary indenture to Barish-Estranza and was trying to build up enough employment credit to get her and her siblings and cousins transferred into management training. I knew Amena well enough by now to recognize she was
feigning polite interest to disguise horrified interest.)

  My queries on ART’s status data started returning results, and I backburnered everything to check them.

  Huh.

  ART had said it had one forced shutdown and reinitialize, when its crew disappeared and the Targets showed up. Then a second forced shutdown when the targetControlSystem had deleted it. So when had targetControlSystem been loaded into ART’s systems? Presumably its invasion of ART’s systems had caused that first forced shutdown.

  Except there were more gaps than that.

  I wished Pin-Lee was here. And, though I hated to admit it, I wished Gurathin was here, too. Both were analysts, and while I was way better at it than they were, at least I could have shown them what I was looking at.

  I said, ART, look at this.

  I was aware enough of ART to know that it was doing several things at once: helping Arada and Overse collect scans from what was left of the alien remnant on its drive, directing the MedSystem’s pathology unit for Ratthi, working on the translation of the Targets’ language with Thiago, guiding the reinitialization and diagnostics of its damaged propulsion systems, plus monitoring all its other ongoing processes. But I suddenly had 86.3 percent of its attention. (For ART, that was a lot.)

  It examined my query results. A human in this situation would have said, “That’s not possible.”

  ART said, Intriguing.

  I needed to put these in a timeline. I looked for major events like wormhole entrances and exits and navigation changes so I would know what they looked like in the status data. ART pulled generic examples for me and I started another query set.

  In the bunkroom, Amena had been cautiously working around to the subject of the colony. With a serious expression, she said slowly, “Look, I know you don’t want to reveal things that your … corporate supervisors or whoever don’t want you to, but we really need to know about this lost colony.”

  Eletra bit her lip. “It’s proprietary information.”

  For fuck’s sake. On our private feed connection, Amena sent, I’m not sure what she means by this. Somebody owns the information?