by Matt Verish
Lin seemed somewhat relieved. “As your maker, I ask that you allow me the authority to access your internal CPU.”
“This is ridiculous!” Forested said, aggravated. “Why will the program not allow you access?”
Lin could only shrug.
the AI explained.
Did that big green dot just correct Forester? Cole wondered. Artificial Intelligence, indeed. He looked at Lin, who gestured both hands toward him, signifying defeat. That’s right, I’m the captain.
“Seems Cain, here, only trusts his good friend Captain Cole Musgrave,” Cole said with a healthy amount of snark. “You can trust your maker.” He thumbed back at Forester. “But this guy is trouble.”
Forester gave a disgusted sigh.
Jealousy was written all over Lin’s face. The engineer opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by her creation.
This question caught everyone off guard. It was a simple question, but the complexity behind its meaning was significant. Lin’s mouth was hanging slightly agape.
“She couldn’t, Cain,” Cole answered in her silence. “She’s mute. Her method of communication was offline when she initiated your...well, you.”
There was bout of silence, and Cole could’ve sworn CAIN was pondering his words.
Lin mouthed a “thank you” to Cole. “CAIN. I wish for you to enact your protocol update and allow me access to your internal CPU.”
Cole stared, genuinely freaked out. What doesn’t Cain trust about this update? He faced both Lin and Forester. “What is this ‘protocol’?”
“A failsafe,” Lin said, and Forester nodded. “Designed for protection,” she continued, pleading her case, “in the event of a malfunction.”
“Why couldn’t you install this update to the AI construct prior to initiation?” Cole asked.
Lin seemed genuinely impressed. “It would have retarded CAIN’s ability for cognitive thinking.”
Forester glared hard at Lin and turned his back to her. Cole frowned, confused. “Will post implementation affect Cain’s ability to learn?”
“No.” There was no hesitation in her voice. “The software will assimilate the update and compile the data into its intellectual network algorithm unhindered.”
“Um... “So Cain will continue to learn unhindered,” Cole surmised.
“Correct.”
“You heard the good doctor, Cain!” Cole announced, clapping his gloves hands. “The update is safe, sound, and secure.”
There was another lengthy pause, before CAIN answered with,
Cole gestured toward the console, but smiled at Lin. “It’s all a matter of trust, Doc.”
Lin’s brow furrowed, and she looked nervously at her hands and the expectant green glow that was CAIN. She took a resolved breath and slipped into her creation’s CPU.
The rigidity in Lin’s shoulders immediately lessened. “Thank you, CAIN.”
No reply, Cole noticed with a bit of concern. “How about we initiate that launch sequence, Mister Cryorganic Artificially Intelligent Nanobiotechnology” He pretended not to notice Lin staring at him. That’s right. I studied.
Cole laughed aloud. “Sorry, buddy. Just showing off.” He looked over his shoulder at a stone-faced Forester. “Unless you want to stand the entire way the Terracom 3, Arthur, I suggest you check the closet for one of those fold out chairs I mentioned.”
Cole had not even noticed that power had returned to the S3. He looked ahead as the pushback led the ship along a lined path leading toward the lift. So far, so good...for my replacement. He gazed longingly at the retracted manual controls, wondering if he would ever actually lay a gloved hand on them.
Lin, still immersed in Ocunet, swatted away an imaginary fly and turned back toward Forester. Cole followed her gaze to where a rectangular section of the floor was separating to reveal a flattened chair which raised up and assembled beside Forester.
“I meant the basement,” Cole said to Forester, gesturing to the seat. “Not the closet.” He met the director’s gaze, which was unreadable. Corporate stiffs must get a lobotomy as part of their training, he thought, turning around and shaking his head.
The rest of the long, slow trip to the lift and then the launch bay was all business and expectedly uneventful. Sequences were dutifully announced by CAIN, a battery of complex diagnostic tests were introduced to the budding AI by both Forester and Lin. Much to their delight, they were satisfied by the swift speed and expert precision at which CAIN performed. The sole piece of cargo was confirmed to be secured, and the unnecessarily complex security system and abundant repair androids—all automated—were made operational. When “Disabled Weapons” were addressed, Cole was roused from his checklist stupor.
“I know I heard ‘weapons’,” Cole said, eyeing both Forester and Lin. “I was under the impression the seventy-one line wasn’t slated for offensive capabilities.”
“It isn’t,” Forester said, still engaged with his procedure checklist. “But this is the prototype—a very expensive prototype SolEx wishes to keep protected on this journey to Terracom 3. Live weaponry is on board, though it will be removed upon our return.”
“Wait!” Cole said, amazed by what he was hearing. “This baby’s hot?” He smacked the console for emphasis.
“There’s no need to concern yourself with thoughts of galactic warfare and heroics, Captain,” Forester said, finally meeting Cole’s gaze. “Our journey will be direct, brief, and free of pilfering pirates.”
“But you just said...” Cole turned away, grinning.
Forester hesitated before answering. “One can never be too careful on a mission as important as this.”
Lin shot Forester a quick icy glance before returning to her diagnostic deluge. Cole wondered at their bizarre interactions. There was a familiarity between the two, though the cold rift they shared was unusual.
The trio ceased their activities in time to watch as the lift slowly raised the ICV-71 up into a near-empty launch bay. Most of the other cargo vessels had already headed out of the massive hub for delivery service. The timing was done by design to bring as little attention as possible to the prototype. Cole felt as though he was about to embark on a secret mission to safely transport all five presidents of the United System.
The lift continued to raise until it doubled as a launching platform, then slowed to a gentle halt.
Cole stared out the gargantuan bay door into infinite space. This is it! Suddenly the thirteen years of rebuilding his destroyed bridge to the stars had been realized. All of the difficult years of giving the whole of himself to SolEx had been worth it. The galaxy was his celestial oyster.
They were cleared for launch, and CAIN promptly commenced start-up by regulating the proper power ratio to the fusion reactor. The ICV-71 roared to life, the thrumming engines music to Cole’s ears.
CAIN said, fully demonstrating how useless human
pilots would soon be.
Cole smiled despite his reservations. “Let’s take her out, Cain.”
The order was acknowledged, the ship rumbled as power built, and the trio braced for launch.
But nothing happened.
3
INSPECTION
At first no one did or said anything, allowing for the possibility of a delay. As the seconds ticked by, however, an uncomfortable silence filled the bridge. Something was wrong.
Cole cleared his throat. “Um, is everything alright, Cain?”
the AI answered, much to everyone’s relief.
Cole shared a look with Lin, who could not hide her concern. She immediately slipped into Ocunet and began troubleshooting. Her Rook flashed red and played a few ominous notes before hovering over the glowing green light in the panel.
“Are we ready for launch?” Cole asked.
Cole’s brow furrowed. Uh oh... “I already gave that order, Cain.”
There was a pause before CAIN answered with,
Another pause, followed by nothing. Cole turned back to Lin, who could only shrug, her face intense with concentration as she flicked, swiped, and tapped her way to a solution.
“What is the matter?” Forester asked no one in particular. His even tone could not conceal his underlying frustration with this sudden complication.
Cole spun his chair around. “Do you want the obvious answer, or a made up one?”
“We don’t have time for this!” Forester said, his youthful visage aging considerably with his anger. “We are expected.”
Lin sighed, her hands dropping onto her lap. Her Rook drifted away from the console and resumed its placed beside her. “I can find no corruptions with the CPU or its software,” she said, clearly perplexed.
“Cain,” Cole said.
“Why are we still docked?”
Cole blinked. “I already gave you the order to launch...twice.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Cole interrupted. “I—we—need you to initiate the launch. That’s an order.”
CAIN said, but the ship remained idle, the engines aching to erupt.
Understand what? Cole thought, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his chin. As he opened his mouth to try another approach, the manual controls extended from the console and folded out in front of him in an inviting manner. Huh.
“Cain,” Cole said, eagerly eyeing the controls. “Are you incapable of proceeding with the launch?”
“Display cargo hold,” Cole requested, testing a hypothesis. He was not left disappointed as a stationary shot of the solitary item of transport opened as a translucent image on the viewport screen. Well, Cain hasn’t mutinied quite yet. “Cain. Is there a particular keyword or phrase I need to utter in order for you to commence flight?”
“Then why are we still grounded?”
And artificial intelligence fails the Turing test yet again! Cole reached for the controls.
“What are you doing?” Forester asked.
“What I was asked to do in case this very situation arose,” Cole answered, grabbing the center stick. The apparatus easily adjusted to fit his needs. He familiarized himself with the controls, sliding his hands along the sleek design and committing to memory all of the necessary buttons and levers. He sniffed. “No offense, Cain, but I’m taking command of the vessel. Relinquish all controls and switch to manual flight.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Cole said, locking his seat into place and ramping up vertical thrusters. “Stay vigilant, Cain. I might need to call on you for assistance as this is my first time taking this ship out.” If you’re even capable.
The ICV-71 shuddered as it lifted from the platform. Cole smiled. “And don’t be afraid to let the good Dr. Dartmouth continue her little...inquiry. She’s here to help.”
Cole was too engrossed to recognize CAIN’s lack of response. He sent confirmation to Command of their departure, and the launch signal was displayed. Cole cracked his neck. “Don’t worry, Arthur,” he said, gripping both the yoke and throttle. “I’ll get us to Terracom 3 in one piece and with time to spare. We wouldn’t want to keep Caliber and his cronies waiting.”
“And how shall I explain our little software error once we arrive?” Forester asked.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something. That’s what SolEx pays you the big credits for.”
The ship lurched, and they were rocketing into space. The ICV-71 broke the threshold of the launch bay and it immediately banked left. SolEx Space Station appearing in their field of vision, looming beneath them like a small metallic moon. Despite its sheer enormity, S3 was dwarfed by the former red goliath: Mars. The shimmering points of light on its ever-flourishing surface indicated the success of Terracom’s first true terraformation of an exoplanet. Cole looked disgustedly away from his “home” planet and focused ahead toward the cold black reaches of the unknown. He set a course toward their jump point, checked the impact detector, and locked in the coordinates.
“It’s gonna to be a bit before we make the transition,” Cole said, unlocking and rotating his chair in between his two passengers “Mankind: One. Automaton: Zero.”
“We have a serious problem with which to contend,” Forester said, directing his words toward Lin. “Dr. Dartmouth?”
Lin slipped out of Ocunet, her haptic hands falling limp, defeated. “I’m at a loss,” she said, exasperated. She breathed a frustrated sigh and hooked stray strands behind her flushed ears. “I cannot locate the source of the complication. In fact,” she began, briefly meeting Forester and Cole’s gaze, “there is no sign of corruption.”
Forester took a breath and straightened in his seat. “So the software initiation was a success.”
Lin’s face screwed up, her eyes searching for a proper response. She seemed to find solace in the neon glow on the console. “CAIN has only just become self-aware. I can only theorize that full cognition has yet to be established.”
“You’re welcome,” Cole said, holding out both hands, palms up. “Gratitude is acceptable, but I prefer gratuity. You can send donations to—”
“How long until we reach the Gateway for jump?” Forester interrupted.
“A few minutes,” Cole said, clasping his hands together and facing the flustered engineer. “Just enough time for me to acknowledge the asteroid in the room.”
“You’re referring to CAIN,” Lin said.
“No,” Cole said flatly. “Your ‘protocol update’.” He added air quotes with his fingers.
“A necessary company regulation implement designed to assist CAIN’s learning focus,” came her technical answer.
“Or impede it.”
“Captain Musgrave,” Lin said, her voice icy through her Rook. “Are you accusing me of sabotaging my own creation?”
“Of course not,” Cole said, eyes widening. “Did you design the update, or were you instructed to install it post ‘nascent conception’ by your superiors?”
Lin did not respond.
Thought so.
“Engineering is none of your concern, Musgrave,” Forester said, taking command of the discussion. “Neither is troubleshooting artificial intelligence.”
“Hey!” Cole said, feigning insult. “I was only trying to help. Cain’s ‘Maker’ is at a loss, so I thought I’d provide an outsider’s perspective.”
“Regardless,” Lin said, “CAIN processed the protocol update with no visible corruption. The problem must stem from a design flaw in the AI soft
ware.”
Cole shrugged. This conversation was above him, but something about CAIN’s response to the update troubled him. “Is it possible he’s purposely disobeying?”
“Nonsense,” Forester said, clearly annoyed with the continuation of the conversation.
“Why?” Cole asked. “Doc said it herself; Cain’s self-aware.”
CAIN concurred.
Cole gestured toward the console as though the AI’s comment validated his claim.
“There’s a wide gap between stating and showcasing,” Forester said, unimpressed.
All eyes faced the main viewport and gazed upon the approaching station. The Interstellar Gateway was a massive ring-like hub, capable of encircling all manner and sizes of vessels. It was the final border checkpoint before ships could jump legally. An inspection was imminent for the ICV-71 and her precious cargo.
They docked with the hub, and Cole returned automation back to CAIN. He knew any company inspectors sweeping the ship would check to make sure that all was structurally sound, cargo was appropriately listed, and navigation controls were free of corruption. He gambled that Lin’s scan of CAIN’s software would list as clear. He also hoped that the corporate bigwigs notified the gateway to go easy on this particular run.
“Dammit,” Cole said, slouching in his chair. So much for smooth sailing.
“Did you actually believe SolEx would overlook us because of the nature of our trip?” Forester asked, reading Cole’s mind exactly. He continued without waiting for an answer. “We will abide by all codes of conduct.”
“You must’ve had a really dull childhood, Arthur,” Cole said, staring up at the ceiling. When he did not receive a response, he looked back to see the director smiling, a hint of a mischief in his cold gray eyes. He raised his brow and turned to Lin, but she was staring at her hands folded in her lap.
