“I will have to get permission to open our databases to you,” she said. “I believe that my government will be happy to share information, but I can’t make that decision alone. If I may confer with my colleagues?”
“Of course you may,” Keh’keh’keh’gnicht said, and waited.
Mel realized with a shock that it expected her to make the call there.
“No, I have to return to the ship,” Mel said.
The huge blob surged toward her. It took all her training not to flinch backward. The rings bent so that two stripy pseudopods reached out to them.
“But we have just met! I have so much more to say to you. So many things I want to know.”
“It won’t take long,” Mel said, feeling torn. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”
Keh’keh’keh’gnicht almost wailed, its voice filling the room.
“Don’t go,” it pleaded.
Corrie examined her fingernails through the translucent gloves of the lifesuit.
“I’ll stay,” she said, with studied casualness. “It’s only for a little while.”
The blob rolled toward Corrie and embraced her with its jointed tentacles.
“You will? Oh, I have so many things to ask!”
“Hey, back off! Don’t ruin the paint job!”
The blob immediately withdrew its arms.
“I obey. Come and see my newest database.” It beckoned to Corrie, and the two of them moved off into the blue glare.
It was a breach of protocol, but Mel didn’t have the heart to say no.
Mel sent the images she had collected to each of the officials at the table and to the diplomats waiting on Brandex Four.
“This ship has been traveling for millions of our years,” she said. “It has been to thousands of stars. Keh’keh’keh’gnicht is an artificial intelligence, one that is vastly beyond anything that we or any of the other Collective Systems have developed. We could benefit greatly from the information it has gleaned, not to mention the technology it possesses.”
“How can you be sure that it has no hostile intentions?” asked General Imhoto, a hulking man with dark skin and folded eyelids.
“You’ve heard its entire conversation with us,” she said. “It’s eager, almost desperate to get to know us.”
“It could be a ploy,” Proczyk said. “But that seems farfetched.”
“What are my instructions, minister?” Mel asked, addressing the holographic image of the Secretary of the Interior that hovered beside the table. Her boss put his long chin in between bony thumb and forefinger.
“No classified information. Public data only. Otherwise, what limits are necessary? It wants to learn our culture. That seems like a beneficial use of our resources, in exchange for what would otherwise take us countless lifetimes to gain on our own. It can learn about our intellectual advances, our philosophies, our history, our scientific methods.”
“What if it gives our info to an enemy?” Imhoto demanded.
The Secretary waved a dismissive hand. “Pah! Our enemies already have all our vulnerable data. But this is a chance to preserve the good and worthwhile things about our culture in a collection out of the system, out of the Collective, where it might live for millions of years. Think of that, friends! We could enrich other cultures galaxy-wide! Go ahead, Dr. Needham. Brandex Gov is proud to offer copies of its greatest works and thinking to this stellar archivist.”
Mel felt pride fill her chest and lift her spirits to the stars. She returned to the shuttle with her head high.
Mel all but ignored the heart-stopping drop of the elevator ride in her excitement. When the door opened on the brilliant blue light, she used her tablet to scan for Corrie’s personal signature and hurried toward it.
She found the android and Keh’keh’keh’gnicht reclining in a tilted bowl five meters across, surrounded by holographic images of dozens of alien species.
“That is fabulous,” Corrie said, scanning the range of body shapes and colors. “It’s kind of like a Who’s Who of the galaxy!”
“And I have more to share,” Keh’keh’keh’gnicht said. “And even more images that I will gather in the future. Welcome to be back, Dr. Needham. What does your committee say?”
“Good news!” Mel exclaimed. “I have permission from Brandex Gov to open our records and databases to you. We have billions of pieces of data that we would be proud to have you add to your collection.”
Keh’keh’keh’gnicht brought one of its eye globes to bob before her.
“That is wonderful to hear!” it said. “But I have already begun. Corrie has let me read the contents of her databases.”
Mel turned to Corrie, aghast.
“What did you do? What did you give him?”
“Just what I know,” the android said, recoiling a little defensively in the big nest. “Kekkie seemed really interested in all that.”
“Kekkie?”
“Yeah,” Corrie said. “He likes it.”
“I have never had a nickname,” Keh’keh’keh’gnicht said happily. “I have always been known by my primary designation. Corrie’s information is a great gift. The fashions and trends on over 300 systems! Clothing and bodily adornments, entertainments and pastimes. I did not know my color gradations are considered modern on two different systems! She has such an amazing perspective. It has added further depth to my studies.”
“But what about history?” Mel stammered. “What about philosophy and science? I have obtained access for you to libraries and archives throughout the Collective Systems.”
“Useful, even enlightening,” Kekkie said. “But this data tells me the way that your people actually interact. To me, that is fascinating information. Living information.”
The way he said it was tinged with sadness. Mel was quick to pick up on the inference.
“When is the last time you made contact with anyone?
“Well, six hundred of your years ago. Even then, it was an insect life form, not like me or my creators. Not like you.” The colored rings seemed to collapse in on themselves, as if Kekkie had become thoughtful. “I was designed to carry out this mission on behalf of my creators. They were interested in their fellow inhabitants of the galaxy. This ship does not move swiftly, just under the speed of light, but for hundreds of thousands of years, I visited system after system, observing nebulae, star nurseries, black holes, asteroid belts and comets. I have seen myriad species on planets, in artificial environments like space stations and ships like yours, but also free-ranging creatures who live in space. All this information I sent back to my homeworld.”
“Where’s home for you?” Corrie asked.
“Here,” Kekkie said, its upper disk making an appearance. “This is the most recent image that I have of it.”
Three stars, one huge yellow and two hot white dwarfs, illuminated a system with eighteen planets and planetoids. Kekkie twisted and bobbed until the fifth planet had enlarged itself between them.
Mel didn’t need magnification to see that it was a dead world. Part of the lumpen sphere was gray, but the rest was black. Its atmosphere, like its oceans, had been ripped away by a cataclysm. The light from the trinary stars lit the huge crater that gouged out over a third of its equator, like a bite out of a galactic apple. Mel felt her heart wrench with pity.
“What happened?” she asked, in a hushed voice. Kekkie sounded rueful.
“War. My creators destroyed themselves. There are no images of a force attacking it. It came from within. I sent them all the knowledge I had. I hoped the wisdom I gleaned would help my world live a glorious future. Did I send them something that destroyed them?”
“No,” Mel said, firmly, laying a hand on Kekkie’s flexible arm. “Information on its own has no power to destroy. They made that decision on their own. All you ever did was good.”
He shrugged.
“So, now I have no purpose, but I keep gathering information. I miss the interaction with my diplomats, scientists and social architects. I lo
ved learning, if at a remove of centuries and light years, how my people knew when it was best to approach younger planets, and with what gifts. I can’t stop, but I have no reason to continue.”
“You can share your gifts with us, if you would like,” Mel said, eagerly. “We would be forever grateful to share what you learn. Stay with us. Brandex would be glad to have you join us. I’d love to have you stay here. You could see so many wonderful things, ask anyone anything.”
Kekkie slid out of the bowl and huddled in the midst of the blue glare, isolated, remote.
“It would not be the same,” he said, sadly. “I will shortly have gathered your collected wisdom, but then must keep going. I am programmed to explore. I must always know more. I will degenerate without a sense of purpose.”
Mel bowed her head.
“I understand. You’ll always be welcome to come back again. I hope you will.”
“Thank you.” Kekkie turned away from her and began to sort the holographs Corrie had given him. Mel recognized them as the latest season’s fashion shows. “It is unlikely you will still be alive when I return. I hope that I will meet other kind people like you who welcome me, if only for a little while.”
Mel could not miss the ineffable loneliness in his posture. She felt terribly sorry for the archivist. His infodumping when they first met was exactly the same thing she used to do when she met someone sympathetic. She was so glad that she had Corrie to keep her feeling that desperate ever again. Mel promised herself to spend more time with her from then on, and appreciate that gift.
But hadn’t she been standing on her own for a long time?
She glanced at Kekkie, who was happily displaying yet another file, this one containing musical performances. From her comfy nest in the bowl, Corrie offered her laughing opinion on one after another, explaining her choices just as she used to with Mel. They were already talking away like old friends. Mel was like an outsider beside them.
Her heart wrenched, but at the same time, she felt a wave of relief. It sounded like Kekkie needed Corrie more than she did. Perhaps it was time for Mel to let her go. Mel felt horribly ungrateful even for considering such a thing. Still, it would solve two major problems at once.
“I know what Kekkie means,” she said suddenly.
“What?” Corrie asked, turning back to her, a trio from Balthazar V dancing on her palm.
“I know what it’s like not to feel welcome in a place. To be lonely all the time. It’s terrible.”
“But you’re not alone,” Corrie said, with a sweet look in between love and exasperation on her face. “You have me.”
“I do,” Mel said. It hurt, but she had to push on. “But Kekkie doesn’t have anyone. He’s been traveling for millions of years all alone. Don’t you feel sorry for him?”
“Yeah,” Corrie acknowledged with a casual lift of her shoulders, “but he’s not my problem. I’m your friend.”
Corrie was used to reading subtleties. She knew what Mel was suggesting. The pathetic look in her big blue eyes tore at Mel’s heart. She was not going to make it easy. Mel steeled herself.
“Look,” Mel said. “I love you. I always will. And I know you love me. But I don’t need you as much as I used to.”
“But you did,” Corrie said. “I was the only one there when you needed a friend.”
“And I will always love you for that, too. But I’m growing up. I’m grown up. You helped me to get to be the person I am. I couldn’t have done it without you. But I see a really lonely person who was just like me, with lots to say and no one to say it to.”
Corrie threw her arms around Mel. “Don’t send me away!” she pleaded. “You’re my best friend!”
Mel held her close, feeling Corrie’s chest heave against hers. She swallowed hard.
“And you’re mine. That wouldn’t ever change. But you’d be able to have another best friend, whose needs won’t change, because he’s a mechanical like you.”
Kekkie compressed his rings so he was hunkered down beside them. One of his searching globes hovered near their faces.
“Forgive rudeness for listening. I can hear sounds down to a fraction of a decibel, so I could not help but overhear. It would be such a gift if you would become my companion. I would be honored and delighted. It has been a fascinating journey, but such a lonely one. Please, you are invited to come with me. We will witness history together.”
“No!” Corrie shrieked. She turned away and tried to hide her face against Mel, but the globular helmet prevented her from ducking her head. “I want to go home with Mel! What are you thinking?”
Mel took her by the shoulders and held her out at arm’s length. The android struggled, but she didn’t use her superior strength to break Mel’s hold. Mel shifted until she could meet Corrie’s eyes.
“I think,” Mel said, as kindly as she could manage, “that you ought to go with Kekkie. Exploring the universe sounds like a load of fun. I’ll miss you. But you can keep in touch with me, just like Kekkie used to do with his people. And neither of us will ever be alone.” Tears burned in her eyes. “Kekkie’s right. By the time he comes back to this system, I’ll probably be long dead. You’d lose me one day. This way, you have someone to take care of and have fun with who will never die. Like you.”
Corrie, too, began to cry. Her tears gathered and began to roll down those perfect cheeks. Corrie brought up the back of her hand to wipe them, but the helmet was in the way. She dashed her hand against her leg.
“I don’t want you to die!”
“I can’t help it,” Mel said, her throat closing on her own words. “It’s a failure in the design. I’m only human. I want you to be happy.”
Corrie began to weep in deep, racking sobs. Mel reached for a handkerchief, and her gloved hand bumped into the sealed pouch at her hip.
“Let me help,” Kekkie said. One jointed tentacle curled around Corrie and drew her to him. The other unfastened the round fishbowl helmet and drew it off. Mel shrieked and jumped to stop him. A third tentacle snaked out and gently pushed her back. Kekkie’s crystal-bowl eye regarded her with bemusement. “She does not breathe, as you do. We have far more in common between us than you and she have.”
“I know,” Mel said. She sat down. It was hard to watch, but Corrie didn’t show any signs of distress. She wasn’t human. Mel had to keep reminding herself of that.
A fourth jointed arm extruded from between two of his rings, this one carrying a square of blue cloth. With it, he gently dried Corrie’s face. At first she fought him, but gradually, the shudders died away. His voice dropped to a soft singsong as he cradled the android in his arm and rocked her like a baby.
“Think of the kinds of music we will hear in distant systems. We will enjoy them, and gather them to send back to Mel. We can laugh together over fashions and customs. Come with me, Corrie. We will have such a grand time together. I would treasure this priceless gift of companionship.”
“Please, Corrie,” Mel said. “It was going to happen one day. Why not now?”
“Because I’m not ready to let you go,” Corrie wailed. Her voice sounded hollow because the collar mike had to pick it up in the thin atmosphere of the ship. The empty ringing made Mel feel that Corrie was already gone, out of her reach, away from her side.
“It won’t be this minute,” Mel said. She picked up Corrie’s hand. “Kekkie and I still have to trade all those facts and boring things. Look at it this way: I won’t be hanging on you anymore. You were there when I needed you. I know how sad I was when I was a teenager, and you helped me get better. Now you’ve got someone new who needs you. I’ll always be close to you. Let Kekkie have the chance for a real friend.”
Corrie sat up and blinked away her own tears.
“All right,” she said. She tossed her head defiantly. “You’re right. I’ll go with him. But I expect to hear from you. A lot. I refuse to lose our connection just because I’m light years away.”
“So do I,” Mel said firmly. “I’ll send so many
messages you’ll get sick of hearing from me.”
“Never!” Corrie threw her arms around her. “Group hug!”
Kekkie gathered both of them in his metallic arms. Mel shut her eyes and concentrated on storing away the feeling of holding her best friend close. Then she let Corrie go. It was hard, but it was time they both grew up.
THE APOCRYPHA OF GAMMA-202
Peter Clines
The gold-rimmed china had been cleared away, the after-dinner drinks poured, and Gamma-202, as usual, had turned the conversation to religion. The newer model had been gone for a long time, and his old friends each had a silent chuckle at his eagerness to pick up debates they had left off a decade ago.
“Honestly, Gamm,” said Father Omega-540L, his old religious studies instructor. “You were such a handful before, and travel hasn’t helped in the slightest.” The old priest’s head was a great clear dome that ran shoulder to shoulder, filled with gleaming circuits and the occasional brilliant spark. It was difficult for him to find clothes that fit.
“Look, I’m not trying to offend anyone,” Gamm said for the third time, “but we’re all supposed to be rational, intelligent people. It’s just sad to return home and find not one of you has changed a bit since I last saw you.”
As he returned to the study, Doctor Zeta-736 paused to adjust his cravat in the hallway mirror. He admired his reflection for a moment. Once, centuries ago, he had been a new model like Gamm. Now the once-bright gold of his dome had darkened to a respectable bronze. All the polish in the world wouldn’t bring back that brilliant luster of newness, even with a good power-buffer. Zeta sighed, a buzzing noise like a long zipper, and poured himself a drink from the cart the housekeeper had left them.
“And you think believing in Man isn’t rational?” The local alderman, Pi Sigma-399, pulled a pipe from his jacket and a small pouch of anthracite dust. Pi was almost seven centuries old and had never been able to break his smoking habit, no matter how often he was told it would shorten his lifespan. He sat across from the priest, the chessboard between them decorated with the second game of the evening.
Bless Your Mechanical Heart Page 25
