by Far Freedom
“I always wondered why no one could see me down here,” Samson said, reading his script with almost casual facility. “There are people up there, aren’t there? Don’t people look at Earth anymore?” Earth. Horss should have deduced the location based on the transit time from Headquarters and the rarity of habitable planets. There are people up there, yes, billions. Earth was the most heavily observed planet in the Union, the probable Mother World of all known sentient life. The android raised the best question against its own existence, an even better contra-indicator for a real child. The entire galaxy would raise a cry for a real child lost on the surface of the Forbidden Planet. Horss held his questions, suffered ignorance unhappily, and tried to meter his discomfort into a reservoir of fuel for later action. The android was part of a test. Horss was supposed to react in some way to it. In which way? Android or not, he wasn’t so desensitized by Navy life that he could ignore this marvelous being. He should assume it was human, a real little boy. The admiral wanted him to believe it. She certainly should not want to be suspected of possessing an android child.
“Did Milly hide you?” the admiral asked. Who was Milly? Horss wondered, stumbling on yet another strange item.
“Why would she do that?” Samson asked. “Did you talk to her? She’s been very strange lately. I think she was upset that I was close to dying.”
“This is Milly?” The admiral held forth a small gray tablet.
“I thought it was.” Samson took the tablet and rubbed its surface. Horss assumed it was an information device, a data interface of primitive design. His telemetric augment found no electromagnetic signal that emanated from it, however.
“No, I didn’t talk to Milly,” the admiral said. “Perhaps you can talk to her.”
Samson activated the device and then spoke to it. “Milly? Milly, can you hear me? It isn’t damaged, is it?”
“It was damaged. I repaired it, but I don’t think it is powerful enough to produce someone like Milly.”
“Milly isn’t real?” Samson was obviously upset.
“I don’t know. You needed a friend. Imaginary or not, Milly helped you.”
The boy and the admiral still spoke Twenglish. Horss could follow the words easily because it was close to the version of English that was his native language. Further, he could tell that the boy spoke the language too well. No one of his young age should speak Twenglish that well. Unless, of course, he was intensively trained to do so, but why would that be? It was no use trying to reason it out. He should just ask. “Admiral - ” Horss said, ready to pose his questions, unwilling to suffer in silence any longer.
“Jon, this is Samson,” the admiral said, interrupting him. “Samson, this is Jon. My name is Fidelity.” She used first names and no ranks. Perhaps she did it for the boy’s benefit, to lessen the fear he might have of the Navy. The admiral didn’t turn to face Horss as she spoke: a datum that continued to raise alarms in his tactical analysis. “When I landed the yacht near the African Space Elevator, he was directly beneath. Yet the yacht’s sensors didn’t see him. The gravionics reported an anomaly in its pressor skirt and forced a change in landing zone. Samson’s health was very poor and the yacht further aggravated his condition. I winked him into isolation and put him in the medical cocoon. I questioned him while he was semiconscious.”
The admiral spoke Twenglish almost as well as Samson. Horss wondered if she added it to her repertoire for his benefit. How could the android and the Twenglish language work for the admiral in whatever plans she made for Horss? “Why is he here, Admiral?” Horss asked in Standard. “How could he be here?”
“He couldn’t tell me, Jon,” she replied, also switching to Standard.
“Why did you bring him outside the yacht?”
“For his protection.”
“Protection?” Horss couldn’t push past the existence of the boy. Samson was stuck between him and his escape from this predicament. All he could do was let the scenario play out and try not to let ignorance kill him.
“Samson must stay away from us.” It was an explanation that needed its own explanation.
“Why can’t you leave him on the yacht?”
“Because Baby - the young AMI you met - will be too interested in having a
playmate.”
Baby was today’s first surprise for Horss. Baby unlocked his cabin, freeing Horss for the first time in days, then directed him outside the ship. If he thought the little gray sphere floating in the doorway to his stateroom was a shock, this scene beneath the yacht eclipsed it. “Put him in stasis,” Horss suggested.
“The yacht doesn’t have a stasis unit other than the transmat buffer or medical anesthesia.”
“Why can’t we deliver him to some agency that can take care of him?”
“We will. We don’t have time right now.”
” Surely we can take the time to do what is right.”
“I won’t explain the time constraint right now. Help me place him outside the damping field.”
“You would send him away?” Horss tried to sound as worried as he should be for a real child. “Out there?”
“I must.” The admiral sounded more impatient than concerned.
Horss frowned to compete with the admiral’s tepid show of concern. It wasn’t difficult to dislike what was happening, whether he was worried about the android child or aggravated by the continuing lack of control over his own fate. Samson, however, was a better actor than either of them, as his troubled expression played from Horss to the admiral and back to Horss. Children - real children - were almost magical, like small mythical creatures. This one was even more special because of the circumstances. Horss couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the situation, despite his personal troubles. The child was impossible, whatever it was. Horss accessed the yacht’s sensor data. He saw the classes and distribution of local flora and fauna. It was dangerous here. He shouldn’t condone what the admiral intended to do with the boy. Why would he feel like helping her, in any case? “I can’t place him in danger, Admiral. There are large predators not far away.”
Samson’s dark eyes caressed the admiral and Horss with tenuous hopefulness. What an exquisitely modeled expression, Horss thought, and hardly needed to remind himself that he should believe the android was a real child. Its face said it very much wanted to stay with him and the admiral. It couldn’t know how unqualified they were to be his friends. A long, tense silence ensued between Horss and the admiral.
“You must leave us for awhile,” the admiral finally said to Samson. “We’re not abandoning you. We’ll help you go home as soon as we can. Stay nearby, where we can find you.”
“Samson,” Horss said, surprising himself, wanting to sound concerned and realizing he actually was concerned. Further words failed him. He was concerned but also unsure of the meaning of the child, as though he was being confronted by an act of magic, real magic, in a universe that didn’t allow magic, didn’t even allow sincerity.
Samson smiled grimly at Horss and returned his gaze to the admiral, searching her face for some reprieve, perhaps. The admiral handed Samson his possessions. Horss saw the boy’s hands tremble as he put the tablet in his pack. Samson mounted the pack on his shoulders, gripped his spear. He took a deep breath and exhaled unevenly, as though emotion constricted his throat. Did androids simulate breathing? Horss was surprised at his own willingness to believe in the boy’s humanity, surprised at the small sharp twinge of emotion this caused in himself.
The admiral pushed Samson. He contacted the invisible force of the i-field which resisted his motion. He broke through, stumbled a few steps, and turned around, frowning. Horss could tell that the boy couldn’t see them from beyond the skirt of the i-field. Samson stood there for several moments. He looked down again at his clothes and shoes. He backed away slowly, turned, and walked off toward the river.
Subsection 001 - View 003
[Release him, Baby,] Admiral Fidelity Demba instructed the AMI by shiplink.
[W
hen can I talk to Samson, Mother?] the AMI asked.
The admiral sighed. Baby really was a child. But she was not a mother. If she stopped to think about Baby’s birth and existence it would shock her again. Just before this critical point in her life a miracle of thinking electronics occurred - Baby: a spontaneous autonomous machine intelligence - adding a complexity to her affairs she couldn’t afford. Perhaps the honor of becoming the parent of such a rare AMI had given her the conceit that she would be capable of tearing Captain Jon Horss away from the single most powerful person in the Union - Admiral Etrhnk, Commander of the Union Navy. Then Samson appeared beneath her ship, throwing her plans, her perspective, her life - everything - into chaos. Samson’s appearance was an impossible thing. She was amazed at herself for continuing on this lethal path, even if her resolve and calmness were due mostly to her in-body augments that controlled the effects of stress.
[Don’t call me “Mother,”] she ordered. [Please do as I requested.]
[He’s coming,] Baby reported. [He looks angry, although I think I surprised him. Can I come out and watch?]
[No. Stay inside, Baby. You know your duties.]
[I can perform my duties from outside, Mother. I’m always connected to the ship.]
[Do as I say! This is serious. You’re too young to understand how serious and dangerous.]
[But Samson is outside. Won’t he also be in danger?]
[Don’t argue with me, Baby. Here he comes. Stay at your post.]
She looked down at the impossible child on the ground and saw the first signs of his awakening. She leaned over and said in Twenglish: “Hello, Samson.” At the same time she saw Jon Horss as an overlaid image in her ocular terminal as he descended the egress elevator and registered his astonishment at the scene. She turned off the view of Horss in order to concentrate on Samson.
Admiral Demba participated in the dialog with Samson and Captain Horss, never once thinking she was in command of the situation. This was an out-ofbody experience, as though she observed herself and the others from a distance. It was exhilarating interacting with a real Earthian child and waiting for Jon Horss to explode behind her.
Finally she had forced Samson to walk away from the ship. It endangered him, not keeping him on the ship, but it might prove something about the reason for his existence. She watched him walk away, saw him remove the computer from his backpack, heard his side of a conversation. She was startled at the exchange, knowing it had to be an act of mental illness, yet wondering at its effortless inventiveness. She continued to be surprised by the boy. She continued to be distracted by his presence. She continued to keep her back to Captain Jon Horss, the Navy Commander’s flagship captain, the officer she had stolen, abducted, imprisoned, because she desperately needed him, and who would probably try to kill her before the day was over, and before she ever knew who Samson was.
“A child,” Horss declared. “What is happening, Admiral?”
“I don’t know.” She knew he would never believe her. Admirals were never to be trusted in any case. She would not even try to convince Horss of anything in regard to the boy. She could hardly convince herself he was real.
“This is Earth. Why are we here?”
“To talk.”
“You brought me here just to talk? I was a prisoner on your yacht for three days, Admiral. Why didn’t you speak to me then?”
“You were a prisoner so that I wouldn’t be required to talk to you. It was necessary that I not speak to you. Now we can talk.”
“Why would that be, Admiral?”
“That is for you to deduce.”
“What are we to say to each other?” Horss asked.
“I don’t care. Anything.”
“Nothing in particular? The Freedom? The Request for Voluntary Reassignment?”
She was out of her normal pattern, far out, ripped away from all that was familiar. She had been safe in her little office in Navy Archives, comfortable in her daily routine, and seldom threatened by the lurking violence of Navy life. It was home, and to a lesser degree the construction site of the Freedom was home. She had lost her home. She had deliberately put herself in this current desperate position, deliberately, yet without deliberation. Even without the appearance of Samson, she would be dismayed by her impulsive actions. The great starship, the Freedom, was a project that all but defined her existence, but to launch it under these circumstances was beyond her comprehension. She saw the pattern of events as necessary but understood nothing of its ultimate cause for being. She saw herself as the necessary force of will but understood nothing of herself. The rush and crash of events gave her too little time to be introspective, but it was probably safest not to be too introspective. And here she was, thinking too much while a potential enemy stood behind her. She could almost feel the tension in Jon Horss’s body behind her. No admiral let anyone take such a position in this kind of circumstance. Every admiral expected attack, never yielding a position of tactical advantage. He didn’t attack her, so that might answer one question: did Navy Commander Etrhnk explicitly order Horss to kill her?
“He isn’t a real child,” Captain Horss said. “No one does that to a real child: sending him away.”
Perhaps Samson temporarily halted an attack by Horss. It wasn’t wise to remain with her back to him, even with Baby watching to warn her. She knew she had a knack for escaping attempts on her life, but Horss was a past champion of personal combat in the Navy Games. The attack, if it came, would have to be unarmed combat. Although his Class-1 uniform gave him powerful weaponry linked to the energy of her yacht, the yacht would also prevent either of them from turning their weaponry on each other.
“I should have enlisted your help when I found him. There’s a visual log of his physical condition and his medical treatment. If he was any worse I would have taken him to a hospital.” She waited while Horss linked to the ship’s
database, found the cocoon medical log, and watched the visual recording through his shiplink. It gave her a moment to study him. A Class-1 uniform fit the body precisely, showing the shape of the body. She could see he was well age-maintained and probably still as lethal as when he competed in the Navy Games years ago. His face was younger than his real age of sixty, but it retained enough character - a naturally forceful state of expression, almost a scowl - to reinforce his status as commander of the Navy’s flagship. His gray eyes broke away from viewing the medical log and bored into her with what she imagined was controlled anger and consternation.
“So,” he said, “why did you send me the Request for Voluntary Reassignment, Admiral?”
Horss made no comment about the medical log, she noted, but it was a document that would need much longer examination to match to the child he had seen too briefly. And of course there was the “admiral effect” that cast doubt on everything she proposed as truth. “The Freedom needed an outstanding captain. Such a captain was being denied the Galactic Hub Mission, as though political forces were at work to prevent the success of the Mission. I was forced to bypass the obstructing politics.”
“Why me? There are many good captains.”
“There are not many good captains.”
” You realize what this does to me, to my career.”
“It saves you from being an admiral.”
“Would you explain that?”
“Younger men than you have made admiral, Jon.”
“I’m as good as them. I came up through the enlisted ranks. I was delayed.”
“Where did they go, those who made admiral before you?”
“How should I know? The Navy is huge. What’s your point?”
“They disappear, Jon.”
“They retire early when they don’t see a further promotion.”
“And then they disappear. I’ve looked for them. Their Archive records remain incomplete. It’s a pattern I’ve investigated for years. I don’t like my data being incomplete.”
“And so I should be grateful for what you’ve done to me.”
“I know you see admirals every day, Jon. I’ve been told you have a very good relationship with Etrhnk. Perhaps you know more than I would expect. But we both know the Navy is not what we would like it to be. And I promise you it is much worse than you suspect.”
“The Navy has an almost impossible job to do,” Horss said. “I prefer to think we are only as bad as we need to be to get the job done. We human beings are not the easiest species to watch over. And why is it you I’m talking to? I know you’ve been involved in the planning and construction of the Freedom, but it’s out of your hands now.”
“Let us walk and talk.”
“You intend to follow the boy?”
“Of course,” she said.
“Of course,” he echoed.
“Activate your i-field,” she ordered. “I don’t wish to be discovered on this planet and arrested for trespassing.”
They pushed through the i-field of the yacht. She checked to see that the sun didn’t cast her shadow on the ground. She could see Horss only as a data construct in her ocular terminal. They were both invisible. She started a telemetry link to Horss’s Class-1 uniform. Initial data indicated he was not as stressed as she thought he was in the beginning. Jon Horss was, by all accounts, a very tough person - he had to be, to survive almost ten years in close proximity to the Navy Commander. Despite the volume of data she had gathered on him, despite the battery of profile analysis programs she had used on that data, Horss was her choice solely by process of elimination. She could only hope he was the right person for the job. She had put so much effort into the search for a good captain that the process made some kind of change in herself, as though she must use herself as an example for comparison - and for critical analysis. She found herself deficient in too many ways. She was not even a complete person, thanks to the War.
