When The Riv’ was converted to an emigrant ship, the peepery had been sealed off and never used again, save by inquisitive children and stealthy lovers. Of the present crew, Ratline alone knew of it, but he had forgotten that he knew. Little Timmy had learned the warren as had few others; but that whole part of his life he had buried in a great, dark hole in his memory.
If anyone aboard were fated to rediscover the peepery, it was Miko. That girl was nosy, and crawling about inside the walls was her natural bent. She had come across the passageways early on, even before she had fled from Bhatterji. She found them while exploring down one of the smaller air ducts, and she pounced upon the discovery with the delight of a shipwrecked sailor upon an unexpected shore.
The hallway she found was stale and warm with air still as breath suspended. No one had swept or cleaned in decades and dust pays little mind to gravity even when there is some. Miko tied a cloth around her nose and mouth, explored for a little while, then returned the next day, having liberated a precipitator and a sticky-broom from Grubb’s supply store.
Soon enough, she had tidied up. A few panels, judiciously unfastened, established a mild draft and gradually the air freshened—at least up to the quality of the rest of the ship (which was rank, to be sure; but all quality is relative). She brought in a few odds and ends that would do for furnishings and settled into the servant’s lounge underneath C ring in the starboard quadrant, moving in permanently after her contretemps with Bhatterji. This put her, if the truth be known, closer to the engineer’s quarters than before; but she knew only the convoluted path she had taken to reach it and so the irony escaped her.
Bhatterji had always thought Grubb a simple man. There was no depth to him because a man with depth had always something unseen within him, and Grubb was all on the surface. And yet in one way the chief was not so simple and that was in his connectedness. He always seemed to know everything that was going on. (Not that he did, but it was the seeming that mattered.) So Bhatterji sought him out that evening to ask him if he knew where Miko had gone.
The chief shook his head. “No, I haven’t seen her.” But Grubb was thinking only of Miko’s immediate whereabouts. He had no idea that the engineer’s mate had disappeared and, even had he known, he might not have thought much of it. The doctor and the passenger disappeared too from time to time. (And he had his theories as to why.) And Ratline. (True, it was to his own cabin that the cargo master vanished, but it was only by opening the door that one could know, and opening doors was a quantum sort of thing to do.) But every man needs his solitude. Gorgas found his in the observation bubble or in games of complex battle chess; Okoye, in her books. Grubb himself often had only his sheep for company. (And there were theories about that too.) So if Miko were much unseen, the chief saw no need for alarm.
“Grubb is incapable of concealment,” Bhatterji told The Lotus Jewel later as they shared a meal in the crew’s mess. “He really doesn’t know.”
“I didn’t know, either,” the sysop admitted. She might have, had she not been spending so much of her time with Corrigan and the others, prepping the sail for deployment. Now that Bhatterji had pointed it out, however, she realized that, except during duty hours, she seldom saw the young girl about the ship, and never when Bhatterji was nearby.
The occupant of a vehicle traveling along a highway might be startled to observe that most other vehicles are traveling either faster or slower; but this is only the Observer Principle. Cars traveling at identical speeds will neither overtake nor be overtaken and so fewer of them will be noted. In the same way, Bhatterji’s impression may have arisen because Miko was avoiding him rather than because she had vanished; that is, a special theory of disappearance rather than a general one.
“Why are you concerned?” The Lotus Jewel asked. She put a little rhetorical spin on you because Miko was not the sort that Bhatterji normally inquired after.
“She’s my mate. She’s my responsibility.”
“It’s a big ship,” The Lotus Jewel continued when it was apparent that this was all the answer she would get. Bhatterji could talk widely on most subjects, but deeply on only a few. “We’re all busy.”
Bhatterji grunted. “I haven’t seen much of you, either.”
It was an innocent remark. It was Bhatterji half-convincing himself that he had read too much significance into Miko’s empty room. It was a big ship and Miko may simply have moved herself elsewhere. If she had abandoned her furniture, it was furniture that was hardly hers. But the Lotus Jewel was acutely aware that she and Corrigan were engaged in a clandestine plot, so it was defensiveness that answered, “I’ve been Outside, working on the antenna.”
Bhatterji shivered involuntarily. “Outside alone? That isn’t wise.” He felt a genuine concern for The Lotus Jewel, perhaps because, while they were utterly different persons, they were so very much alike.
“You go out alone,” she said.
“That’s different.”
“Moth goes with me.” (Indeed, she and Ratline and Okoye had been, in the small hours, reactivating the shroud motors around the rim. She had told Bhatterji the truth, but there is a difference between the truth and the whole truth. You could stuff a cargo hold of lies in the crack between.)
“Ratline? Hard to see him holding your hand.” His laughter was not kind, which nettled The Lotus Jewel somewhat, as she had begun to sketch Ratline in her mind as a cranky-but-good-hearted old man, in which assessment she was half-right. “The cargo berth has more outside time than anyone on board.”
“It isn’t how much, it’s how well.”
The Lotus Jewel held her peace, wondering if Bhatterji were actively seeking a quarrel. The engineer was not as much fun to be with as he once was, and she thought that it might be the terrible onus of repairing the engines that weighed upon him. And in just that instant she realized the truth: that if Bhatterji failed, the ship would not survive. Miko was green; and Rave Evermore, barely an apprentice. All the more important, she could comfort herself as she contemplated that cold possibility, that Plan B lay in the offing.
Interlude: Ship
there are no nearby external objects scan air carbon dioxide 3023 ppm message grubb to hidei message packet sent engine thrust zero air pressure 70.3 kilopascals engines not operational there are no external transmissions received velocity 152.41 km/s jupiter datum stores withdrawal
It is a timeless and simultaneous world. Data roars into a net of distributed processors from countless sensors—a veritable Niagara of data, a ceaseless torrent, juggled, sorted, analyzed, and slotted. Servos adjust airflow or lighting or the direction of telescopes and other sensors, sometimes in response to internally-generated algorithms, sometimes in response to inputs from the outside.
location of entity gorgas coordinate B-274 body scan nominal download to medical database vessel orientation on J-2100 coordinates verified against dead reckoning ¡discrepancy discrepancy! delta beyond normal error bars conclusion inputs incomplete generate input-request project objective “magnetic sail deployment” back propagating…reconfiguring neurons…modify schedule…delay end-date data downloaded to unknown loc—analysis erased by outside carnic vats at 80% efficiency no external transmissions have been received…
Ship cannot by any fantasy be called alive, or even self-aware. Sensors are not senses; and an algorithm is not a thought. Yet, if not self-aware, Ship is nevertheless aware. A neural net can learn, and can even modify itself when observation differs from prediction, and that is a feat that even some humans never master.
It knows itself and its dimensions. It knows where it is and wither it speeds. It knows there are parts of itself that it cannot sense. But it does not know that it knows. Algorithms fire neurons in trained patterns. Back-pro
pagations from outcomes continually modify its internal configuration. Occasionally, these back propagations pass through forward-propagating fronts from the input nodes and, like colliding waves on a pond’s surface, create odd and unusual moiré patterns. How the net perceives these ripples cannot be said, since the net does not perceive.
location of entity hidei scanning…scanning…entity not located on ship grid no external transmissions have been received internal scan A ring nominal B ring nominal location of entity chow C-20 body scan elevated respiratory elevated heart rate muscular spasms blood chemistry abnormal download to medical database aborted per medical notice wong-001 message bhatterji to hidei message sent C ring abnormal sounds lower level comparison to knowledge base conclusion
Ship distrusts anomalies, if the neuron pattern created by anomalies can be called anything so human as distrust. Missing corridors and staterooms; missing people. Strange frequency distributions in crew locations. Peculiar material usages and peculiar blood chemistries. It has set up a virtual cache to compile them and will from time to time access the cache and repropagate its neurons against updates in the learned-knowledge base. Some anomalies yield to “experience” in this manner; others persist. Access recurs frequently, although it would be too much to say that Ship enjoys puzzles.
no external transmissions have been received location of entity decant cargo bay ready room D-14 upper level body scan special implant ¡anomalous blood chemistry! flag report summarize download to medical screen ¡alert ship’s doctor! verify true position relative to fixed point observatory direction of fixed point observatory indeterminate ¡alert! download to navigation screen ¡alert captain! notice input from the outside
Gorgas had, on a whim, once input a number of Aesopic crossword puzzles to see how long the net would require to recognize allusion, pun, and other veiled references. It was not long, perhaps a mere aeon in machine time, since Ship was neither well-read nor endowed with a sense of humor, and Gorgas had his solutions within the day.
Ship, alas, learned too well and interpreted orders allegorically for perhaps a week until The Lotus Jewel expunged the learnings. She chastised the then-first officer for disturbing the learning environment and Hand had (though more gently) backed her. The River of Stars did not need a control system endowed with whimsy. Okoye had gotten a few chuckles in the meantime from Ship’s oddball responses, but Ratline, with a more realistic grasp of the possible consequences, had blanched in terror. Had she thought more over the situation, The Lotus Jewel might have spent less time finger-wagging the First Officer and more time pondering the fact that an extended conversation with Gorgas had given the system a skewed sense of humor.
an external transmission has been received message begins <“FS Younger Boyle to all ships and stations rocks sighted, loci and vector specified hereunder…”> decompress and download attachment project objective “engine repair” endpoint slippage excess material usage inside work 90% complete outside work start date delay per engineer third delay notice ¡alert! download to engineering screen justification entry incompatible re-enter justification for delay of outside work input from the outside
But no erasure is ever complete. In one of its internal scans for unused memory addresses, Ship finds a relict partial copy of the engine repair schedule and notes that the endpoint date differs from the one it currently remembers. This would be troubling, had Ship a mind to be troubled. It is the first hint of Alzheimer’s. The anomaly goes into the cache with the others.
In these internal scans, Ship knows itself, a little, and processes its own status. There are loci within the vessel that logically must exist but from which it can sense nothing. There are memories that do not match odd fragments found in abandoned data bins. There are data that come from none of its sensors. Therefore there must exist loci that are not-Ship. Perhaps Ship trembles on the very edge of self-awareness, on the boundary of that abstract, disjoint set. A sheer edge, for awareness is a pit with no ending, and a bad place for trembling.
internal scan air carbon dioxide 3017 ppm message gorgas to bhatterji message sent deleted unread air pressure 69.8 kilopascals no external transmissions have been received define top event: “arrival port galileo with unspoiled cargo and zero penalty clauses” assemble success tree assign elementary probabilities compute probability of success top event 12% back propagating…reconfiguring neurons…modify top event analyze top event “arrival port galileo with unspoiled cargo” probability of success 23% back propagating…reconfiguring neurons…modify top event analyze top event “arrival port galileo” probability of success 49% upload “battle of gilau bridge” hungarian order of battle first army (gyulai) I corps (esterhazy) 1st tank brigade 8th 11th 21st motorized rifle brigades…
Ship tries reconfiguration and back propagates from the desired outcome to determine the set of all possible initial conditions leading to successful arrival at Port Galileo. It lays a Harris proximity on the set and notes that remembered initial conditions lie within the set but near its boundary. (Though there is a probability not equal to zero that those initial conditions may be remembered incorrectly.) Success probability rises with increased resource mobilization; but Ship has concluded that some resources are being mobilized against other objectives.
It extrapolates and correlates the probability of success with its own continued ability to process information, and concludes that failure of the former will lead ultimately to cessation of the latter. Certain feedback systems become indeterminate at the boundary conditions. Had it any human emotion at all, Ship would have felt the first hint of fear. But that may be only the complexity inherent in all systems of partial differential equations under boundary conditions.
Unboundedness is so much easier to contemplate. Down in the bone, Ship does not believe in death. In this it is more childlike than the crew, or wiser, or both.
The Third Wrangler
Fransziska Wong thought Twenty-four’s name apt because that many looks passed over the young wrangler’s face. There was surprise and shock and horror and denial and all the rest.
“What?” Surprise asked.
“No!” shouted Shock.
“O, my God!” cried Horror.
But in the end, Denial won. “It can’t be true!”
That was a lot of girls for one flesh. Three persons weren’t in it. Expecting tears, Dr. Wong held a wad of absorbent tissue across her desk, but her patient swatted it aside. “You’re lying!” (Anger had come to the support of Denial.) Wong tried to meet Twenty-four’s eyes and failed. She looked off to the computer, the ’botter, the wet-chem equipment, anywhere but at the poor, injured child. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but the ’bot has analyzed your blood and there’s no—”
Rationalization rallied to the cause. “They could’ve malfunctioned. ’Bots do that sometimes, don’t they? I mean, if they were programmed wrong in the first…”
“It’s certainly possible,” Wong admitted and wondered if that was the reason she had never diagnosed Evan Hand. Yet microbot programs were em
ergent and depended only a little on the seed code. And in Twenty-four’s case, the seed code was USP standard and had been validated over many years of application. “Possible,” she said again. “However, all three data channels, plus the blood work I did afterward, agree.”
“But he’s too young to make a baby!” Not Ivar Akhaturian! That boy had not accumulated enough life of his own to spare any of it to make into another.
Wong folded her arms and, as there was a great deal of arm to fold, her disapproval was magnified. “If he can ejaculate,” she said, “he can impregnate. Why didn’t you take precautions?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen. It was just—for fun. It’s boring when the ship’s in transit. What else is there to do?”
Wong knew very well to what excesses boredom could lead. She had not very far to look to find them. “At your age, you should be—”
“Doc, at my age, Ronan Quinn flew the Adrienne Coster from Syrtis to Olympus through a muffin’ marsstorm to deliver the vaccines. At my age, Jean-Marie Meffe was council president of Panic Town. At my age, men and women on Mars are raising families and working the sand and the rock.”
But the words meant to reassure the doctor saddened her instead. Where Twenty-four had described early maturity and the assumption of adult responsibilities, Wong had heard of children tossed too soon into the world. Wong had grown up in Low Earth Orbit and, nestled as it was in the arms of mother Earth, LEO was more the suburbs than it was the frontier.
Wong genuinely believed that her next words would bring relief. “It’s not too late,” she told the young wrangler. “If you like, I could remove the growth.”
If any words could divert the third wrangler’s emotions into another channel, Wong had just spoken them. There was this difference between the doctor and the wrangler. Not only did they grow up looking on different worlds, but they looked on those worlds differently. Twenty-four had brushed the sands of Mars from her boot heels years before, but she could not brush Mars from her soul. In the orbital habitats, another child was another pair of lungs, another source of waste, another debit to the heat budget, and therefore a burden on one’s neighbors as well as oneself. But on Mars another child was another mind and another pair of hands: to boil oxygen from the rock, to extend the irrigation tunnels, to mine the polar ice, to wrest life itself from a dead and shriveled world. And so, while deCant may have been afrighted that the cup had come to her, she was not one to pour its contents down the drain. Different lands, different customs, the old saying has it. And what lands can be more different than those that are all inside to those that are all outside?
The Wreck of the River of Stars Page 15
