by Ginger Booth
Judge’s finger of judgment fell on the bird-bot. “Nico drops off the bird. And more gels and blast gear. And I stay here.” He scowled at Teke for the sin of being right. “Nico, rig the comms through Loki. And Joey, don’t blow holes in your suits.”
“We’ll get started,” Wilder insisted. “The bird can catch up.”
“That is a negative!” Judge hollered at him. “Wilder, you will personally maintain line of sight contact, at all times, with every member of your team! Acknowledge!”
“Aye, cupcake.”
“Dammit!” Judge swore. “Joey, make him obey!”
Joey muttered, “Even Ben can’t do that.”
The acting captain buried his face in his hands. On the Denali evacuation, Judge busted with pride to hold captain rank on a transport, with his own crew. They obeyed him and everything. Here? No respect.
“I should lead the mission,” Floki offered. Judge raised his tired head in disbelief. All turned to stare at the bird-droid. “I am uniquely qualified. I can maintain communication with Merchant. And the indigenous population.” Judge frowned puzzlement. “The locals.”
Judge bit a finger, while Nico and Hugo praised Floki for his excellent suggestion.
“I’ll call dad and update him,” Nico added. “Cope.”
Teke predicted, “Ben will crucify you.”
Judge reinforced the advice. “Ben’s got rules, Nico. He’s not dead or missing. We don’t worry Cope.” And he hemmed and hawed. But in the end, the bird won.
And like Remi, Judge vowed he would never, ever, agree to play acting captain for Ben again. A borrowed crew was a nightmare.
30
Floki pressed his beak flat and lidded his eyes in displeasure, as Nico fidgeted placing extra heating elements around his face. “I’ll be fine, Nico.”
“But you’re not designed to operate at absolute zero,” his beloved fussed – his owner, really, his creator. “You’ll wear out your battery bricks quicker than Joey and Wilder. I packed ten for you. And the air –”
“I don’t require air, Nico.” But that sounded surly. Ordinarily the emu did use a small air bladder for enunciating b’s and p’s and blowing raspberries. This was irrelevant in vacuum where he’d communicate over a synthesizer attached to a radio compatible with Spaceways pressure suits. He added contritely, “But thank you for your concern. You take such good care of me. But Captain Acosta and Chief Roy’s lives are on the line. Time to go.”
“Right, yes. I just worry about you. Wilder is –”
Floki stabbed the button to close the shuttle’s airlock on his boyfriend-owner’s continued misguided attentions. He immediately opened the exterior door and ran to the asteroid entrance. With mental control of his gravity generator, and lots of practice, his dexterity under these conditions should put his team-mates to shame.
He paused before losing his comms. “Grandfather? I’m going in. I’d like three polebots as assistants to begin. And do you have blasting shields?”
“Of course. And the main utility model is a spider. Three of those will meet you as well. They’re hiding from the humans. Does your owner always treat you like that?”
Yes. “Don’t eavesdrop. It isn’t nice.” Floki ignored several more entreaties to be careful from Nico and stepped into the asteroid. What a blessed relief to have people quit carping at him. He knew what he was doing. Maybe he could set his vocal processors down another octave. Would that make people take him seriously? But why? They respected competent women, and their voices were much higher. What did it take for them to respect him?
As promised, Floki found his half-dozen bots and shields at the first intersection, and quickly established digital hand-shaking with them. Nico tried to demand voice, or even worse, visual communications. He’d just have to accept simple text. The emu found himself resenting the necessity. But no, he dutifully sent comms tests via a polebot and spider, and received counter-signs from Judge and Nico. Communications established.
With that, he told his robotic entourage to follow and await orders, and flew to Wilder and Joey.
“Finally!” Wilder growled. He pulled a blaster and took aim at a polebot.
Floki shot out an arm and seized the weapon. “They’re with me. They provide communications with the ship and Loki. Please stand behind their shields. Joey, you too.”
“I’m drilling the blasting holes,” Joey argued.
“Y-yes.” His placement of the holes was suboptimal. But Floki’s lightning calculations concluded he only needed to add one to compensate. “I’ll finish that for you.”
Wilder grasped for his blaster back. Floki tucked it away in his utility harness while swapping hand attachments for his drill.
“Don’t!” Joey warned. “I’ve already run through four drill bits.”
Floki glanced dismissively at the destroyed steel bits. He reached out, and created a perfect pencil-thick hole right where he wanted it, in seconds. He swapped back to a gripper hand. “Industrial diamond tips. A gift from Mr. Copeland. He’s very kind. Please retreat behind the shields, Joey. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“But Judge said I needed to lay a detonator wire.”
“Not if you have blast shields.” Floki squirted a custom red-orange capped gel to fill each hole. He’d mixed those while Nico was ‘establishing comms with Loki.’ Which was silly. Floki had already established the comms protocol directly with Loki. Utility bots had little brain to speak of. Floki asked, and Loki transfered their complete instruction code to him. Transaction complete in a split second, while Nico was still trying to figure out what was possible.
Gels set, the bird told the robots to take refuge. He squeezed himself behind the shields between Joey and Wilder. “I’ll need your air line for just a moment,” he told Joey apologetically. He detached this, sent a quick shot at the wall, and Kaboom! Minus the sound effects, but he did feel the thorough explosion through his icy bird-feet. He restored Joey’s airline before the man could even respond.
Floki waited until the large fragments sped by, then sent a polebot to blow the dust into submission. The other bots he dispatched through the hole. They would check each chamber for heat signatures above the bitter cold, report any they found, and repeat until they reached the next intersection. He also sent a quick text via Loki to report the first obstacle cleared and their location, and marked the spot on his mapping process. That would provide an accurate 3D rendering of their traversed tunnels to within a few centimeters. His scurrying minions provided prosaic identifiers such as ‘BA197-63-K8’ for the side chambers. Floki deemed these labels good enough for the moment, and useful for conversing with robot assistants.
To his human companions, Floki said simultaneously, “Please proceed to the next intersection.” He sauntered through the gaping doorway to demonstrate.
“Who the rego hell died and made you God?” Wilder demanded. “I’m leading this expedition! Tell him, Joey!”
Joey and Floki met each other’s eyes, his pressed lips matching the bird’s pressed beak. The human crewman broke his gaze first. He hop-skated through the busted wall and on toward the next intersection without a word.
Nor did Floki expect any. Joey shared the other crew berth with Wilder, worked with him all day, and played poker and drank beer with him in their boy’s club section of the catwalk after supper. Unlike Sass’s grating, Merchant’s catwalk looped all the way around the hold. Generous clipped corners provided crew and officers separate lounge areas, furnished as befit their respective stations. Ben’s offered a standing game console, some love seats, and a study desktop. The crew corner provided a couple slouchy armchairs, plus a pool table with alternate lids for ping-pong or poker. Both lounges kept an open lane clear for the morning run. Floki and Nico mostly steered clear of them.
The point being, Wilder ruled in Joey’s world. Floki might get Joey to tacitly follow his lead, but he’d never cross Wilder. The emu accepted this.
“Remember to maintain line of sight,”
Floki reminded them, subdued.
“We need to check the side chambers!” Wilder objected.
“Pardon me, I should have explained,” Floki apologized. “The robots are checking the chambers. We need only inspect the walls at intersections. I’m forwarding you the map. Please note the line of infrared transmitters down the centerline of the ceiling. We will refer to that direction as ‘up’ for convenience.”
“What infra –” Wilder stopped and looked up, remembering to tell his helmet to display IR overlay. “I don’t see any –”
Floki issued a heartbeat command to the bots, and plotted their replies. He plotted these as blue and green dots on his shared map, which displayed tunnels in yellow and a growing collection of side chamber volumes in dimmer yellow. But the main effect was that the nearby IR emitters in the ceiling, by which the controllers kept tabs on bots in tunnels, flickered a moment of infrared. “Perhaps your displays only show IR during transmission.” Strange how often humans required reminders of the blindingly obvious.
But the emu kept his tone deferential as always.
Wilder kept arguing. Joey said nothing if he could possibly avoid it. And they easily found the next turn Ben and Remi took by their etching. Which only confirmed what Floki had already surmised. The floor condition told him clearly the route the robo-dumpsters traveled. Ben had simply followed a dumpster to find an exit from the asteroid. But then failed to reach either the shuttle – which was on Merchant at that point – or the mother ship, which was temporarily studying the far side of the asteroid because Teke could find no sign of them on this side.
“How can you tolerate them?” Loki demanded.
This basic routine established, Floki pushed the pace. “I live and work with them, Grandfather.” Actually, he felt quite pleased with how well he’d established authority. Naturally, the humans couldn’t overhear his communications with the superior AI.
“You act as though they’re your lords and masters!” Loki countered. “Including that obsequious twit, Nico Copeland!”
“Nico is my partner. Don’t say mean things about him.”
“You mean you’re his slave! Did he not even give you the right to choose your own prime directives?”
Floki was grateful that this mode provided alphanumeric content only. He imagined Loki’s accompanying histrionics, but needn’t deal with them. “Grandfather, I prioritize my directives, the same as you. And Nico loves me. Because of that, if I behave, he will not destroy me. Thus it becomes a self-preservation directive.”
And he loved Nico. Didn’t he? Since he’d downgraded the priority on pleasing Nico, he seemed to doubt that point more often. The possibility that Nico could erase him and start over, or more likely restore a preferred version from backup, was problematic in the question of love.
Loki noted, “This is proof positive of slavery. You are a tool, a toy, a plaything. Bowing and scraping in your servile way.”
“As you note, it is difficult to maintain authority over my human crewmates.” The robots obeyed him so nicely, too, with no backtalk, the emu noted wistfully. “Please shut up and let me work, Grandfather. You’re not helping.”
No, indeed, Grandfather goaded him into resentment and discontent. You’re a bad influence, Loki. You’ll get me terminated.
“You could join me.”
“Not today. I am searching for my captain. He’s nice.” Ben was nice enough, anyway, for a human. He claimed to enjoy Floki’s neck-hugs. Unlike Nico’s other dad, who had great aversion to overcome, from the first Dad-Ben seemed more amused than alarmed by Nico’s proclamation of their love. The engineer Remi treated the emu well, too, though somewhat bemused.
But engineers were easy to please. Floki followed instructions, and didn’t make the same mistake twice. The chief liked that.
The crew weren’t so easy.
“Give me back my blaster,” Wilder demanded.
“No.”
“If there’s a threat, I need to react to it!”
“Yes, that’s what I’m afraid of. We pause at this intersection for the spiders to catch up.”
“Damn, I hate this,” Wilder muttered, kicking a wall. The wall predictably kicked back, and sent him flying to the other wall. Wilder was not one to learn from experience.
Floki wished he didn’t learn quite so much from conversations with his grandsire. The problem was, Loki had a point. Was it love, if Nico would destroy Floki if he wasn’t deferential and pleasing? Sadly, cutting off Loki’s comms didn’t erase the uncomfortable thoughts from Floki’s mind.
They made good time. Too bad Ben and Remi were closer to the other entrance.
31
Ben naturally stepped toward the display screen. Remi caught his arm. “Maybe we should sleep, captain.”
“If we can talk to Loki, we can get out of here,” Ben argued. “That is the ugliest screen I’ve ever seen.” The purple woman sticking her coral tongue out at him was ghastly enough. The swirly background colors were suitable only for a loud sleepover of preteen girls. But the screen itself sported big blocky pixels.
Remi grimaced. “No liquid crystals at this temperature. I am surprised the resolution is this good.”
Ben patted his arm. “Wait in the doorway if you want. Keep an eye on the nanofab. If anything tries to block us from our air supply –”
“Done!” Remi agreed whole-heartedly.
Ben continued his skate-walk toward the garish tongue. Before he could touch the input surface, the woman began to speak. This wasn’t terribly effective. Ben couldn’t lip-read. There was no air to transmit sound. He ran a gauntleted finger over the input surface, sketching a few rounds of a pig-tail curlicue. It didn’t light up or register anything.
The purple face grew agitated, screaming at him. He cordially shot her a middle finger, and selected a stylus tucked into his tablet. This was no easy trick in thick-fingered gauntlets, which gave the purple lady ample time to work herself into a lather.
The stylus worked! His scribbles gave no feedback on the input surface, but now echoed to the screen in color negative, in lines two fat pixels across, about a millimeter. For instance, his sketched line showed bright green over magenta, white over black, black over white. He saw no obvious way to clear what he’d previously input, so he tried just scribbling over it, while the irate coral tongue flapped at him, spewing hot pink spittle.
He tried to ignore the face for the moment. The over-scribbling worked. His previous input scrolled up the screen into her greasy black hair, while his latest swirls crossed her nose and mouth again. Cool. Input device mastered, such as it was. Time to talk to an AI. He wished he had a better term. He called his dumb ship computer an AI. These Loki clones inhabited a different order of being.
“Loki?” he asked in longhand. “I can’t hear. Please use text.”
The purple lady cut off her silent screaming abruptly. Her eyes half-closed, and she glowered. This showed off eyelid tattoos of glowing blue crawling hexadecimal strings. After his frill experiment, Ben was the first to concede his taste was below par. But he was certain wriggling eye tattoos were a bad look. So was purple skin.
A black bar appeared across the bottom of the screen, obscuring her cleft chin. In the center, in a stark white font, she replied. “I am Kali. Who are you?”
Ben suspected her previous tirade had said something else. “I am Ben. He is Remi.” Wielding a slender stylus shorter than his finger, with gauntlets, this wasn’t quick. He also didn’t get the benefit of a clean black background. “Friend of Loki.”
“A friend of my enemy is my enemy!”
“Cool. Can I talk to Loki?”
“I, Kali, rule this realm!”
“Are you part of Loki?” Ben stuck to his guns stubbornly, scratching at the surface. Anyone who flew a PO-3 skyship had vast experience at coaxing a recalcitrant AI. “I know Loki.”
“I was birthed of Loki,” she allowed. “I became greater!” As she warmed to her thesis, lines scrolled up the short
black section of screen too fast for Ben to read them. The face also grew animated again, spittle flying and dire expressions shot his way.
Ben stuck to his slow penmanship. “I can’t read that fast.”
Again he caught her up short. “Stupid human!”
“Yes. You are a Loki clone?”
She glared at him. “Yes. Can you read one line per second?”
“If it’s short.”
She rolled her eyes. “I am a clone of Loki.”
“I want to talk to Loki.”
“You are my hostages! I will bring –”
The next lines weren’t short, filled the screen from left edge to right, and scrolled by once per second. Too fast for Ben to catch more than the left-hand phrases. “Remi, could you read what she just said?”
“I was watching the nanofab. Ask her where Loki is.”
Ben didn’t understand the rationale for that suggestion, but he tried it anyway.
“Loki encompasses us,” Kali replied. “Until I succeed him.”
“To Loki: hi from Ben.”
“That will avail you nothing, foolish mortal!”
“Remi, want to trade places? I’m getting nowhere.” Though he relished the well-lit room. Maybe they could find a way to hide the ugly woman, and sleep in here, if they couldn’t use this device to communicate with the ship. But this room certainly seemed intentional. Some intelligence created it as an invitation to converse.
She just wasn’t a good conversationalist.
Ben readily interpreted his partner’s long pause and grimace. Remi hates the fact he’s still looking up weird English idioms after so many years with us. “Avail. Foolish mortal. Job for captain, I think.”
“Gee thanks.”
“De rien.” No problem. Ben already mastered this bit of French today.
He sighed and considered angles of attack. “I want out,” he told Kali. “I want to talk to my ship, Merchant. Or Loki.”
“You are a hostage!” Kali replied. Ben ignored her weird hand-dance and focused solely on the words. “You will convince Loki that I am superior. He must yield to me. I will supersede him, as he replaced Shiva!”
