His vision blurred from a scalp wound on his forehead, Nicraan gripped the arms of his command chair and endured another shattering energy punch on the Saarien’s shields. In his periphery he saw sparks blow forward from some unfortunate console behind him, but he did not turn to look. Uncontainable free-roaming energy fractured the deflectors again. Nicraan tried to stay centered on the solid targets that were the source of the concussions hammering hard against the waning shields: Taurons! Red Alert flashed relentlessly; the Saarien was in total electronic panic. Racing along through space while under siege, the sturdy probeship heaved itself forward on a spatial plane, spitting and clawing its way along while its shields sparkled in destruction’s grip.
FLASH!
Running through a burning ship. No more nice clean ship with tidy corridors and a healthy crew. No safe haven. The Saarien shook briefly, a shudder from taking a blunt energy wave. Another internal explosion. Nicraan tailed behind the others with Retho at his side trying desperately to get to the hangar bays before it was too late. The pilot felt his stomach constrict. Everything was falling apart. Beneath them, the ship trembled with a violent power drain. The power core was overloading! They had to get out of there!
FLASH!
As he watched, the Saarien raced away from the Pioneer Pod Four, rushing in a swept arc toward its own angel of death – a Tauron ‘Cruiser. It dragged interstellar matter with it for a few thousand kilomets, farther and farther, smaller and smaller, until it was only a point of light in the deep distance.
Bboooooooommmmmmm!
A wash of light broke, as if chalk dust had drawn itself across a blackboard. The tail of dust turned into sparks before blooming into a circular tidal wave of debris that came rushing toward him and the survivors onboard the Pioneer Pod Four at incredible speed.
Nicraan's commpin bleeped for attention. He snapped alert to the chime. Placing the adjustment sensor aside, he tabbed the collared device, saying, "Nicraan here. Go."
The metallic-toned voice of the ship's environmental BioType syntheform echoed hollowing within the confines of the small crawlspace. "Major, I am getting feedback. Power transmission oscillation is off by only one point forty-three milliwatts," it reported.
Nicraan grinned, replying, "Precision to a fault, BeeTee. Thank you for the advice, I am making the fine-tuning at this moment."
"Standing-by."
Nicraan tabbed closed the circuit and picked up the tuning sensor. Activating its emitter, he returned to the waveguide pallet. Using the techcoder as a gauge, Nicraan glanced at the portable device's display screen and saw the graphic representation of the transmitter's power frequencies. Seeing the present readings match with stored data, Nicraan turned off the sensor and tabbed his commpin.
"BeeTee," he called. "What are the oscillation frequencies now?"
A moment.
"Re-alignment successful," it said. "Now reading uninterrupted power transmission to all utilities and auxiliary systems."
"Good. I will be with you in Engineering shortly. Nicraan, out."
Tabbing the commpin off, the pilot went about returning the transmitter's access panel. The cladding clicked into place just as Nicraan noticed a peculiar smell: like that of herbs. Reactivating the techcoder, he scanned the crawlspace for any leaks that might be emitting such a smell.
"Nothing," he whispered to himself. "Then what..." he stopped himself and tabbed his commpin. “Computer, run a level four diagnostic on all networks; I am getting a strange smell down here."
"Requested diagnostic will be performed in thirty micronodes," the automated voice of the onboard computer said. "Please stand by."
"No need for that," came on the air.
Nicraan was startled and turned as best he could to look down at his feet where the voice had originated. "Retho."
The young male sat crouched just outside the maintenance tube with a grin on his fresh face and two steaming cups in his hands. "It's just armillaria tea," he said.
"What?"
The computer's voice came on the PA net, saying, "Level four diagnostic complete. All key operating systems and subsystems nil of malfunctions. The presence of heated armillaria venticosa herb detected in sublevel maintenance tube six. There is no toxic threat."
Retho just grinned broader and gestured for the pilot to join him in the access well. Obliging, Nicraan stood trim before the scientist and accepted the proffered cup of hot herbal tea.
"I thought you could use a break, and I know what a thrill you get from armillaria tea," Retho said.
Nicraan raised his cup in toast-form, saying, "Here's to the thrill."
After swallowing a mouthful of the smooth, warm liquid, Retho reached his free hand toward the pilot's face and drew it toward his. They kissed tenderly and then parted. The pleasant taste of herbs had filled their mouths; and, Retho licked his lips, as he savored not only the traces of armillaria, but also Nicraan. Taking the pilot's unoccupied hand in his, Retho led him up from the access well and onto the Engineering section of the Pod.
The main engineering section was in the heart of the propulsion hull. It housed the ship's multi-phased plasma control center for drive engine’s propulsion system. All around the duo, they spied independent modular stations that monitored the plasma extraction temperatures, power conversion and distribution, electrical power relays, deflector and shield control systems, and life-support systems.
Adjacent to the main engineering room area were banks of visual, audio, and sensory control holographic screens for monitoring every system aboard the Pioneer Pod 4. The silvery form of BeeTee stood before these engineering operations station panels. The interfaces were alive with primary status displays that told the automaton the current condition of the plasma propulsion system and related subsystems. From these panels, the syntheform was able to gain an overall understanding of the health of the spacecraft.
Walking hand-in-hand the duo approached the pre-occupied environmental controller. "How are we doing, BeeTee?" Nicraan inquired.
Turning to face the two, the terran-fashioned android replied, "Currently, power transmission for onboard systems is accomplished. Data Optical Network transmissions are uninterrupted. All crew support systems such as atmosphere, water, solid waste disposal, domestic robotics, and food service conduits are functioning within expected parameters. There is still a twenty percent deficiency in the structural integrity fields, a ten percent deficiency in concussion damping field generators, a five percent deficiency in gravity generators. Cryogenic fluid transfer is optimal as is plasma fuel transfer."
"What about reserve utilities distribution and protected utilities distribution?" Retho asked.
BeeTee consulted the appropriate station interface, and then reported, "All low-capacity, independent systems for atmosphere, power, data, and food-water distribution networks are now presently functioning within acceptable parameters. All protected distributions for critical areas of the ship are now on-line. I have run a level five diagnostic on all low-capacity super-conductive electrical power distribution cables for critical backup systems and have found no faults."
“Sounds good. Looks like I can disassemble the hydroponics’ garden after this next harvest.“ Retho glanced over at a duty station and commented, "The auxiliary fusion generators are down three percent from optimal efficiency. BeeTee, try looping the generators to the Electroplasmic System power taps system to increase energy output. Until the hyperatomic piles are regenerated, right now, the solar-powered generators are responsible for keeping the Pod functional."
"Aye," BeeTee said and began carrying out its orders.
Hitting his commpin emblem, Nicraan said, “Matasire to Commander Capel.”
“Go ahead, Major,” Perezsire’s voice sang out on the air.
“Commander, all diagnostics have been completed here in Engineering and all primary systems are up to specs. We’re ready to commence the final phase in the ship’s refit.”
There was the briefest of pauses.
“Understood,” came the commander’s reply. “Activate control regeneration program.”
“Confirmed, Commander. Engineering, Out.” Matasire then turned to his cybernetic comrade, and said, “You heard him, BeeTee. Let’s do it.”
The automaton’s slender, tapered fingers flashed out over a row of keys in front of it. Instantly, a high-pitched electronic beep signal came over the air. After bleeping three times, the onboard’s neutral, toneless voice sounded.
“Ship control regeneration program activated. Minus forty-eight nodes to completion of tasks,” it told them emotionlessly.
"Pardon me, Master Retho ---"
"Yes, BeeTee, what is it?" Retho said automatically, a little distracted.
"I was wondering, Sir, if you could tell me -- do Syntheforms meet the conditions of the intelligence test?"
"Excuse me?" Retho questioned, taken aback.
"Am I sentient, like you and the Major, or simply another collection of conduits and computer components, like the Pioneer Four?"
Retho looked away from the synthetic lifeform's waiting faceplate as he groped for an answer. "Well -- BeeTee, you know, most Syntheforms are built to have self-aware artificial intelligence. Especially Bee-Nine types like you."
"But is that something different than sentience?" BeeTee asked.
"Yes, it is something different," Retho replied, as gently as he could. "Artificial intelligence is programming. If you wipe a Syntheform's memory, it disappears. You then can replace that memory with different programming and an astrological mechanical is turned into a diplomatic translator, or a habitat servant becomes a medical assistant."
"I understand, Sir," said BeeTee; it was silent for a long, uncomfortable moment. "Then can you tell me how it feels to be sentient? How is it different from what I feel?"
"I'm not sure that I can say," Retho replied slowly.
"Perhaps it is a thing that you just know," Nicraan chimed in. "Something that is born within when you are an organic and not a machine."
"Perhaps if I were sentient, I would not need to ask you these questions. I would know who I was," BeeTee surmised.
"What do you think, BeeTee?" Retho asked at last, after saying nothing for a time.
"I do not know, Master Retho," the Syntheform said. "But I have noticed that when someone speaks of memory wipes, I am overcome by an inexplicable heightened awareness similar to what you might call panic."
"I don't find that inexplicable," Retho commented with a winsome grin.
"Really, Sir?"
"Self-preservation is a fundamental part of self-awareness, BeeTee, even artificial self-awareness. It's the part of us that feels that awareness which matters to us," explained Retho. "I expect you would give up almost anything to keep your programming intact. As I would, to preserve my consciousness."
"I do not recall having these thought processes when I was assembled, Sir," BeeTee confessed. "Why now?"
Retho and Nicraan mused on their response for a while. "Perhaps out of curiosity, BeeTee," the pilot ventured. "Have you thought about asking other artificial intelligences what they think about all of this?"
"To whom would I propose such a question in our present marooned situation? I am the only BioType Nine Syntheform within the reaches of our present technology."
"What about the Main OnBoard Computer?" Retho volunteered.
"Yes, Master Retho," BeeTee said. "An excellent idea. One I have already tried. But the Main Computer seems not to understand the question."
Retho sighed. "I don't have any answers for you, BeeTee. All I can say is that the questions would seem to be worth revisiting when some time has passed. Perhaps you should re-evaluate your relationship with our computer system. You might try to program some of your personality into the mainframe's database for a sympathetic ear once and awhile."
"Thank you, Master Retho, Major Nicraan," said BeeTee. "I will do so."
Nicraan found himself marveling at Retho; found himself enjoying the sight of him trim in his duty regulation uniform of purple and black; savoring the scent of his being in such close proximity. In that instant, Nicraan had a rush of memory, catapulting himself back in time to when the two first had met back on Aidennia at the Spacecorps Academy. Retho had been so much younger then, so naive and innocent. A tender youth bursting into adulthood, so eager to learn and grow. Those qualities still made up the scientist's demeanor without the freshness of youth. Yet, there was still a boyish quality. It sent a rush of passion to jet through him.
Moving Retho away from the engineering duty stations, Nicraan raised a chiseled eyebrow and fashioned one of his famous lopsided grins.
"What?" Retho blushed.
"You've been studying," Nicraan said.
Retho nodded, look suddenly saddened. "Yes. Since Lunon's gone, we all have to be able to compensate for the loss. I am just trying to do my part. I am still trying to figure out how the plasma is extracted from ionized nuclei in electrons in the hafnium carbide reactor chamber." He paused and gave a weak grin. Squaring his shoulders, Retho tried to look brave and said, "When we finally launch, someone's going to have to help with the engineering duties. BeeTee cannot do its job with environmental services while overseeing engineering. My duties in agriculture won't be needed during our take off, so I figured I'd..."
Nicraan did not allow his lover to finish, placing his lips over the other's he kissed him passionately.
"You're a marvel," the pilot sighed as they parted. "Did I ever tell you that?"
Retho blushed again and brushed the back of his cup-carrying hand across Nicraan's angular jaw; his eyes sparkling, the strong aroma of armillaria filled the pilot's nostrils. Smiling, Retho said, "Let's finish our tea in the gymnasium. We could work on more sparring routines; it would help me refine my combat skills."
Nicraan replied by taking a firmer grip on Retho's held hand and led the way through the bulkhead. “Won’t your siress mind,” he inquired as they walked, “if you do not show up in the galley to help with the Kwanzaa preparations?”
“All the symbols needed for this week have been procured or fabricated. The mazao, the fruits and vegetables of the recent harvest are already on the celebration table, the mkeka, the placemat on which they are arranged, Moela made, and the kinara, the seven-branched candlestick that holds the red, black, and green candles, the mishumaa saba, Dara actually programmed the fabricator and artisan it herself.”
“What of the muhindi?”
Retho smiled. “The ears of corn that represents each child still remaining at home?”
“Yes.”
“They along with the communal chalice from which the ceremonial libation is poured and the zawadi, the gifts, are also ready. All that is left is for sunsdown for the celebration to commence.”
“Is your Sire reading the Seven Principles and leading the meditation on the principle of the rotate?”
Retho nodded, then frowned. “And since Lunon has passed on, that leaves me as the youngest child to light one of the candles.”
Nicraan sighed, then squeezed the hand of Retho’s that he held in his. “Remember, Kwanzaa is a joyous time of anticipation and festivity.”
Retho’s only reply was a weak grin and sorrowful nod.
“So, tell me about what happened at the geologic site.”
“The continental shelf split right where one of the planet’s biggest aquifers was located.”
“Was?”
Retho nodded, saying, “Yes. About three million cubic retems of water. It’s pumping itself out at a flow rate of about a hundred thousand cubic retems per node.”
“So, in thirty rotates, no more aquifer?”
“Right. Something is causing the continental plates suddenly to shift. Before long, the entire face of this planet will be rearranged.”
“When might this happen?”
“Maybe in a hundred cycles, maybe in a thousand. Maybe next week, for all I know.”
“How big of a shift did that basin shelf make?”
>
“Well,” Retho said calmly, “the chunk of desert that moved over that aquifer was about 1,214 square mets.”
“I’d say that was quite a sensational amount of real estate…”
The couple was half way to the workout facility when Nicraan's commpin bleeped for attention. Tabbing the small device pinned to his collar, the pilot acknowledged the call.
Moela's voice for the first time in a long time held a thrill of excitement tinged with controlled bewilderment. "Major, sensors are picking up fluctuations in the sensory droid at the Pylon Crater's post-blast distribution net."
Moving to auxiliary control located in the bow of the lower utility deck, Nicraan and Retho disposed of their cups and called up real-time data on the science station's holosets. The background speakers crackled with a burst of static, a whisper that seemed unnatural. Matasire discerned sounds that were indisputably beyond normal background radiation. Startled, he strained his ears. “What’s that?”
The static roared again, faded, and then cleared. Replaced by a deep, somber-sounding wavelength. Nicraan raced to the speaker command panels and sent instructions to pull together other signals from the apex blister’s observation array. By combining the outputs of the three dishes, he hoped to strengthen the faint signal, perhaps even find an optical counterpart. Retho and he both stared as a display formed on one of the holographic condensers, then sharpened to show a glyph of data.
The Aidennian pilot rechecked the panels and reacted with frank amazement. "There appears to be an increase in the neutron count. As a matter of fact," Nicraan continued, with the authority of experience, "there are several changes going on in that crater. Tectonic for one."
Retho raised a brow and repressed a gasp. "Temblors?"
"Perhaps." Nicraan's voice became that of a young male again; he sat down at the console and keyed up more data. Figures began scrolling on the 3-D screen. "I've been able to confirm that at least five minor tremors have occurred within the last three rotates in the crater."
Sidereal Quest Page 4
