by E. M. Foner
The Verlock settled onto one of the carbon fiber chairs, which deformed under his mass, but didn’t collapse. Then he emptied the box of salt cod pieces into one hand, placed it open-side down on one massive thigh, and began tapping on the bottom with a piece of dried fish.
“AI is as varied as biological life, if not more so,” the Verlock said, at something approaching an intelligible pace. “Likewise, AI can be as dangerous as biological life, if not more so. Since artificial intelligence implies a creator by its definition, it may mirror the thought processes and psychoses of the biologicals who bring it to life. My people never pursued artificial intelligence as a matter of policy, due to an early encounter with rogues.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that story, Ambassador,” Dring said. “Was this before you joined the tunnel network?”
“It was just after we achieved interplanetary space flight within our own system,” Srythlan replied. “I can’t supply much detail, but it may have resulted from an ill-conceived attempt by our ancestors to contact friendly extraterrestrial life. Our home world was invaded by AI in the form of relatively crude robots. Although they caused great damage, they were surprisingly vulnerable to our acidic rains and the airborne dust particles from the volcanoes, and eventually we fought them off with a great loss of life. Historians believe they were only a scouting expedition, or perhaps a crippled element that lost contact with a larger fleet.”
“I’d think that would put any species off of creating AI,” Bork said. “By the time we got good at it, we had joined the tunnel system, and there didn’t seem to be much point in investing the resources into playing catch-up. Besides, under the Stryx rules, any successful AI can apply to be recognized as sentient, at which point there’s nothing the creators can do to hold it, so your investment walks out the door.”
“Our scientists gave up on AI before we joined the tunnel network,” Czeros commented. “If I recall the history, we experienced a bad outbreak after an unstable lab AI chose to replicate itself throughout all of the systems capable of hosting it. I believe the damage resulted in a planetary depression, but the AI didn’t have any offensive capabilities, beyond misusing automated infrastructure. Once people figured out what was happening, they shut everything down and eliminated the AI, though it took years to get everybody’s bank balances corrected.”
“I never knew any of this stuff,” Kelly declared. “Is it common knowledge? Have the Grenouthians done it to death in documentaries?”
“Is this turning into an idea for a new show?” Stanley teased her. “AI Wars? I’ll bet the Grenouthians will put it on the commercial network rather than public access.”
“Not under my name,” Kelly retorted. “It’s just really interesting. Though if I had to watch something with ‘Wars’ in the title, anything would be better than a bunch of aliens selected from the studio audience for their bigotry throwing insults at each other.
“And knives, and food,” Donna added.
“You watch it?” Kelly asked in shock.
“Hey, I see it as professional training,” the office manager replied. “It’s helping me learn how to spot the whackos quicker. Did you think that I let everybody who shows up at the embassy walk through your door?”
“You can’t hope to compete with the Grenouthians on straight-up documentaries,” Shinka told Kelly. “And from what Bork says about their guilds, I doubt they’d broadcast one for you, even on the public access network.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start, and I imagine it would take years of full-time work,” Kelly replied, dismissing the documentary hypothesis. “But I’m not sure about the whole quiz idea now. People might think it’s just an attempt to satirize Species Wars by doing it straight.”
“Didn’t you tell me that you started your previous brainstorming session by asking everybody what they liked about Aisha’s show?” Blythe said. “Since that didn’t work out the way you expected, maybe we should try a different starting point, like what you find so interesting about these AI disaster stories.”
“Well, I always liked history, and I think that if you want to get along with people, it’s important to know where they’re coming from,” Kelly said.
“Good, make a note of it,” Blythe instructed her. “How about you, Dring?”
“I’m all in favor of a history-based theme,” the Maker replied. “Many years ago, I used to enjoy a Kasilian show that traced the provenance of historical artifacts, though the focus was more on establishing the monetary value than celebrating history. Of course, that was before your time. All of your times,” he concluded, looking a little embarrassed over bringing up the lifespan issue.
“Srythlan?” Blythe asked.
“My people are great producers and consumers of historical content, but we don’t seem to have the knack of making it work in translation,” the Verlock answered slowly. “The other species don’t find our rigorous statistics-based approach to historical analysis accessible, even though our historians can present mathematical proofs that they are correctly attributing outcomes to events with a high degree of accuracy.”
“You do make it sound exciting,” Czeros said dryly, a feat considering the amount of wine he had consumed to wet his throat. “Given the close relationship between the living Frunge and our not-entirely-departed ancestors, we also live and breathe history. Telling our children about their history is the only pleasure of the elder Frunge in their petrifaction phase. That and complaining about how everything is worse than it was when they were young shrubs.”
“Gwendolyn?” Blythe prompted the clone.
“We’re still trying to recover our past,” the Gem ambassador replied. “We knew that the history we were taught was mere propaganda, but other than finding a few old journals illegally kept by sisters, we have little to go on. Our best hope is the archeological work that’s begun on the home world.”
“Bork?” Blythe asked.
“I don’t suppose any of you will be surprised to hear that I believe history is best experienced through reenactments,” the Drazen ambassador replied. “Of course, most species produce historical dramas and documentaries, and costume design can be a very lucrative business. Some years ago I was interviewed on the Drazen diplomatic network when I was dressed as a rock wizard for the remake of ‘They Sang Their Deaths.’ I’m told that it made my presentation on the subject very effective.”
“Was that everybody?” Blythe asked. “I guess that leaves me. I think you should use your diplomatic contacts to interview the most interesting guests you can find about some important historical event for their species. Discuss the questions beforehand with Libby and the guest so that you know what you’re doing. I’d suggest one guest per show, starting with Dring.”
Everybody fell silent for a moment, munching on their food, sipping their drinks, and considering Blythe words.
“I might be biased, but I think she’s got it,” Donna said, breaking the silence.
“This is why I wanted to be in business with you,” Srythlan rumbled.
“Dring?” Kelly asked.
“I will be happy to be your first guest,” the cheerful shape shifter replied. “Will you be asking the questions yourself?”
“I may as well,” Kelly answered. “Nobody is going to watch anyway.”
Seventeen
“Remember,” Chastity told her young charges. “You can dance with Thomas or with Marcus, but if any other guys ask, you tell them you’re only thirteen and you’re not allowed.”
“How about the kicking part?” Dorothy inquired.
“It was a knee,” Mist told her.
“When Lynx showed you those moves, she was thinking about some of the rough places she went as a trader,” Chastity explained. “You won’t have any problems like that as long as you don’t leave this section of Dance Hall, so don’t kick or knee anybody without checking with me first.”
“Yes, Aunty Chastity,” the two girls chorused. They were on their best behavio
r, and wearing new dresses that Blythe had bought them from a boutique in the Little Apple as a bonus for babysitting her twins. It was Dorothy’s first trip off of Union Station without one of her parents along, though Joe and Paul would be stopping by to take the girls home after completing a pile swap for one of the Drazen ships in the mob.
“What kind of music is this?” Thomas asked, as he set a couple of fancy juice concoctions with straws in front of the girls. Chance arrived right behind him with four wine glasses, and Marcus followed her with a bottle of red and a bottle of grain alcohol.
“Horten-Vergallian fusion,” Chastity replied, glancing at the bandstand. “But the musicians are usually Dollnicks for some reason I haven’t figured out yet.”
“It’s the extra set of arms,” Marcus explained, taking his seat at the table. “If you look closely at the string instruments, you’ll see an extra bridge in the middle with a clamp. They aren’t just using two bows to be fancy, they’re actually playing Horten style with one and Vergallian style with the other.”
“It’s the first really danceable alien music I’ve heard,” Thomas said, sipping at his grain alcohol out of a wine glass. “I’m basically a tango and waltz man, you know.”
“You’re basically a fuddy-duddy,” Chance told him, causing the girls to titter. She winked at them and poured back her own goblet full of grain alcohol in one shot. “I’ve been dancing around the clock since the mob arrived, and I’ve done the full circuit of Dance Hall six times. If you include all of the scheduled changes in the less popular sections, I’ve danced to the music of at least a hundred different cultures in the last cycle.”
“That’s about ninety more than I can manage, and I’ve spent half of my life in here,” Marcus said admiringly. “Is there a secret?”
“I’m a good mimic,” Chance confessed. “I start out by imitating the other dancers until I get a feel for the music, and then I just sort of lose myself in it.”
“You can lose yourself in a Verlock shuffle dance?” Chastity asked. She had made one quick round of Dance Hall herself, and was closer to Thomas than Chance in her opinion of alien dance music. “The only thing I lost was consciousness. If the two Verlocks sandwiching me in the line hadn’t held me up, I could have been trampled to death.”
“Shuffled to death,” Marcus corrected her. “Besides, I warned you.”
“Can we dance now?” Dorothy asked. As much as she wanted to pass as a grown-up, she had limited patience for adult banter. “Who’s going to teach me?”
“I’d be honored,” Thomas said, getting up and holding out his hand for Kelly’s daughter. “Remember, it’s all about the rhythm.”
“Do you want to learn faster than Dorothy?” Chance asked Mist.
“Yes, please,” the clone replied.
“Come with me, then,” Chance said, standing up. “Thomas thinks he’s all high-and-mighty because he’s an instructor at the EarthCent mixers, but you know what they say about those who teach.”
“No, I don’t,” Mist replied innocently.
“Oh, I’ve forgotten it too,” the artificial person said. “I guess it couldn’t have been important. Now, close your eyes, watch my feet, and feel the music.”
Mist compromised by closing one eye and watching Chance’s feet with the other. She rubbed the ball of her thumb across her fingertips as she moved, as if the music permeating the air could be sensed through touch. They moved off in pursuit of Thomas and Dorothy, who had entered the whirlpool pattern of the dance.
“Shall we?” Marcus turned to Chastity with an inviting smile.
“Not right now,” the girl replied. “I want to talk first.”
“Are you breaking up with me again?” Marcus asked, his smile crumpling into the pout of a little boy. It was more annoying than charming.
“No, I’m not breaking up with you, but I want you to talk seriously about the future for once,” Chastity replied. “Don’t start looking around the room like you always do, look at me. Do you want to be with me, or do you want to spend the rest of your life dancing on this tin can?”
“I want to spend the rest of my life dancing with you on this tin can,” Marcus answered, brightening at the idea. “Come on, just one time around and then we can talk more.”
“Nobody I know on the station could explain the exact timing of the coming and going of a mob,” Chastity continued, ignoring his pleading look. “I’ve even asked the Stryx, but they wouldn’t answer, claiming it was one of those competitive information things. I get the feeling it’s going to be sooner rather than later, and despite your obvious flaws, I’m not in a hurry to see you go.”
“So come with us,” Marcus replied in exasperation. “How many times do I have to invite you?”
“That’s your idea of a future?” Chastity asked coldly. “I should come along so you have a dance partner? I should tell my family, my friends and my employees that I’m taking off with the Wanderers, so I can pass my days just hanging around and have a good time?”
“That’s it!” Marcus said enthusiastically. “I knew you’d come around eventually. Maybe when I turn thirty-five we can even get married. I know I told you that most Wanderers wait for forty, but I can be flexible.”
Chastity opened her mouth to say something, and then took a sip of her wine instead. Everybody had warned her about Marcus, but she’d figured that when push came to shove, he’d choose her over the mob. Apparently, he was laboring under the misconception that he could choose both of them. No, laboring and Marcus didn’t go together, so it couldn’t be that.
“Aunty Chastity, did you see us?” Dorothy asked in a rush. “I had trouble with the steps, so Thomas let me stand on his feet until I got it. He’s a super good teacher.”
“I guess I’ll be the judge of that,” Marcus said, taking advantage of the chance to get away from Chastity while she was being scary. He rose to his feet and whirled off with Dorothy before the next song had even started. Thomas remained standing, and when Chance guided Mist back to the table a few seconds later, he bowed graciously and requested the pleasure of the next dance. The young clone blushed and giggled, then allowed Thomas to sweep her away.
“I never thought I’d see Chastity Doogal sit out two dances in a row,” Chance admonished her friend, settling into the seat Marcus had just vacated. She reached across the table for her glass and refilled it with grain alcohol, her preferred dancing fuel, even though the new power pack the artificial person had financed through the Stryx would keep her going for decades if she didn’t abuse it. Chance claimed she was just keeping her micro-turbine in practice, but Thomas suspected it had to do with the fact that EarthCent Intelligence paid for the drinks when she was on duty.
“He’s so frustrating!” Chastity complained. “Whenever I think he’s beginning to wake up and see that there’s more to life than partying, he turns around and asks me to join the Wanderers, as if I’m the one who needs saving.”
“Thomas is always trying to save me,” Chance offered helpfully. “Guys are like that. They want to think that we need them to do our thinking for us. Wow! Look at those heels!”
Chastity looked in the direction that Chance was staring and spotted the shoes she was talking about instantly. They were worn by a gorgeous Vergallian woman who was dressed to impress, but the “S” shaped heels that added a full hand to the woman’s height stole the show. Unlike standard stilettos, they appeared to actually provide some cushioning for a long night of dancing. Even as the friends stared in envy, the Vergallian looked down at her feet and said something, causing the “S” shape to relax into a figure eight, effectively lowering the heel to redistribute her weight.
“Have you ever seen anything like that?” Chance asked. “Listen, we’re the same shoe size. Convince your sister that I need them for work and I’ll let you borrow them.”
“I recorded them on my implant,” Chastity replied. “I’ll check with Shaina and Brinda to see if anybody on the station is selling them, and if not, we’
ll find the manufacturer and corner the market. Could you tell if she was local?”
“A Wanderer, you mean?” Chance asked. “Let me watch her dance for a bit.” The two women watched the Vergallian and her partner join the fusion-inspired spiral, and saw how all of the other couples yielded the right of way. “She’s local,” the artificial person concluded. “All of the Vergallian woman can dance, but Wanderers have their own style. By the way, I haven’t been back to the station since, well, since I came out, but I hear that Aisha took in a Vergallian heiress.”
“She’s hardly an heiress,” Chastity said. “Destitute is more like it. Joe and Woojin say that her family must have lost one of those succession wars the Vergallian royalty are always fighting on one planet or another. They’re one of the biggest employers for human mercenaries. The winners normally pardon the soldiers who fight against them to keep a lid on the casualties and insurance premiums, but the losing family always gets put to death.”
“Yuck,” Chance said in reaction. “What’s the point of being beautiful and a great dancer if you get put to death? Biologicals are so weird.”
“My ears are burning,” Paul remarked, pulling out a chair and settling at the table. “Where are the girls?”
“Dancing with the boys,” Chastity replied. “Where else would they be?”
“Yeah, they beat us out,” Chance added. “I hope you aren’t here to take them back already. We’ve barely been here twenty minutes.”
“Joe sent me ahead,” Paul said. “We got the pile installed and it’s working fine, but there are a bunch of measurements that have to be recorded before they sign off. Actually, Joe doesn’t have to wait, but he likes talking with the Zarents. And he promised Aisha he’d try to recruit one of their kids for her show.”
“Have Jeeves and Clive returned yet?” Charity asked.
“No, though Jeeves sent me a message through Libby that I was missing a lot of action,” Paul said. “I wish that traveling on the Effterii didn’t affect me so badly, but I’m no use to anybody with jump sickness.”
