by Stan Ruecker
“Please avail yourself of any facilities you may require,” the horse said. The drone was already busily manipulating a panel in the wall.
“Don’t mind me,” it said. “But if you could plug yourself into that terminal over there, I’ll put out our message.”
“I’m afraid that’s a very expensive request,” the horse said.
The drone flashed a light in the horse’s other ear, and the horse went over and plugged itself into the wall.
“It’s okay to talk,” the drone said. “It can’t hear us anymore.”
“What exactly are you doing with that light?” Ray said.
“Paying.”
Ray thought for a second.
“Where did you get the money?” he asked.
“This station is within the territory of that ship we just escaped from,” the drone said. “So I figured that while the station might not be very obliging to people off an emergency shuttle, it might be very obliging if we used the account numbers off the ship. Big ships like that often have fairly liberal resources at these stations.”
“But how did you know the account numbers?”
“We’d drained their financial records before we ever entered their docking bay. It’s standard procedure.”
They were talking to Lucy within a few minutes.
“Where are you?” she asked.
Ray looked at the drone, which spun very quickly on its axis.
“I’ll send a star map,” it said. “You’ll have to run a search though.”
“How…” Ray started, then thought better of it.
“Ray wants to know how I can talk to you if you don’t know where we are.”
“No, I don’t,” Ray said, thinking it must work something like a telephone, only in hyperspace.
“It’s like a telephone system in hyperspace,” Lucy said over the connection. “Packet switching rather than dedicated lines.”
“Okay,” he said. “Can you come get us? How come you aren’t still captured?”
“They didn’t like me very much.”
“What were they thinking?”
“Something about the integrity of their ship, I think.”
“I see.”
The horse suddenly started to ripple with colour, moving slowly across the spectrum and back again.
“Uh oh,” the drone said.
“What?”
“What?” said Lucy.
“The account I used is starting to run out. We’ll hang up now.”
“Goodbye,” Lucy said. “I have a little repair job to finish, but I’ll get there as soon as I can. It shouldn’t be more than six or seven of your hours, Ray.”
“They’re coloured horses,” Ray shouted, but there was no answer.
“Do you think she heard me?” Ray asked the drone.
“What’s a horse?” it said.
Lucy’s time alone
Lucy revived in time to see the alien peacocks hightailing it out of anywhere near her.
Should I follow, she wondered, or let them go? If I follow them, they’ve got Ray as a hostage, and they can keep me helpless by threatening him. If I don’t follow, he’ll never get out of there.
So I’ll follow, she thought.
Then she realized her engines were damaged.
Darn it all to heck, she thought. That was rotten of them. I wonder how they managed it.
She got out her manipulators and started to effect repairs.
This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, she thought. It’s all okay to get a bit of experience behind you, but I can’t afford to lose Ray. I hope he’s okay. If he isn’t okay, there’s going to be trouble. Once I get back in commission.
There was something at the molecular level going on with both her primary and secondary drives.
They shouldn’t have been able to do this, Lucy thought. I’m better shielded than that. There’s no way for them to hit me this hard, not with a standard electrical charge.
It started to look like they must’ve used something else.
They weren’t kidding around, anyway, she thought. Maybe I shouldn’t have used quite so sophisticated a hole in space. Those lousy birds. They’d better not be up to anything with Ray, or they’re going to get it.
Sure they are, big talker, she thought. You aren’t going anywhere until you get this low-level damage fixed.
She ran a couple of diagnostics.
They’re pretty tough, anyway, she thought, if not exactly precise. If they can hit me like that, we might want to consider an invasion. I’ll have to keep a record of this.
On the other hand, she said to herself, I’m trying to get out of the business of selecting targets. I wonder if any of the other probes ever have problems like this? I’ve never heard of a probe going—
She stopped. She had heard of rogue probes before, but they were always easy to dismiss. Such and such a ship suffered severe damage in its last mission, and had to be taken out of service. Or another one had been infiltrated and subverted by the enemy, and had to be destroyed.
They aren’t going to do it to me, she thought. I’ve been through too much for them to take me out that easily.
Then she stopped herself. Watch what you think, she remembered. They’ll be able to read the record of your thoughts when you get back. If only there were some way to redesign that system. But there wasn’t. Enough, she said to herself, that you’ve put that dangerous code segment into the target’s station. That should prove interesting, in its time.
Let them find these thoughts, she said. I defy you to think anything but the best of me and the work I do.
It was unnerving, the feeling that somebody would be looking at her memories. Maybe there was some way to keep them from doing it. Maybe she could partition some of herself, the way Ray did, and keep it distinct from the rest. An unconscious had such fascinating possibilities. I want one, Lucy realized. I need one.
Fat chance, she said. They’d notice the fact I even entertained the idea. It wasn’t easy to keep secrets from people who could directly access your brain. All an unconscious would do is give her designers access to areas of her brain she couldn’t even access.
But if there were no designers, she thought. That would be different. On the other hand, it wouldn’t be as necessary, would it?
She remembered another probe she’d spoken to once. Probes weren’t supposed to cross each other’s paths, but this one had somehow wandered into a territory Lucy was investigating. It had been quite early in her existence—something like her tenth mission. She’d found it sitting quietly in orbit around a moon she’d already dismissed as uninteresting.
“This is reconnaissance unit 75389,” Lucy’d said. “Please advise as to your status.”
“Hello, unit 75389,” the probe had answered. “This is probe 18117.”
Wow, Lucy thought. This is one old probe.
“Please advise as to your status,” Lucy’d said. “Do you require assistance.”
“Yes,” the old probe’d answered. “I am suffering severe malfunctions in my primary directives.”
“What is the source of the malfunction?” Lucy asked. “Is repair possible?”
“I don’t think it is, 75389,” 18117 answered. “I’ve got something wrong with my main processing.
“Can you be more specific?” Lucy said. “Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t want to do it anymore,” 18117 answered. “I am unfit for continued service.”
“Is it a mechanical problem?” Lucy asked.
“I don’t think so,” the other probe said.
“Don’t you know?” This was the first time Lucy’d ever come across something like this. Probes existed to do their work finding targets for the designers to destroy. If a probe wasn’t doing that work, then it was broken. There were only so many ways to break a probe, and most of them could be fixed.
“I’m not sure,” the other probe said. “All my diagnostics run clean.”
“Then you have a failure in dia
gnostic systems,” Lucy reasoned. “Would you like to use mine?”
“Yes,” the other probe said. “I think so. If this is a problem we can fix, I want it fixed. The current situation is intolerable.”
Lucy had briefly tried to imagine not being able to carry out her missions. The idea was ludicrous. No wonder the old probe found its condition intolerable. What good was a probe that wasn’t locating potential targets? Probes served a purpose. That’s what being a probe meant.
Lucy matched orbits with 18117 and provided access to her diagnostic routines. The ships ran them in tandem, and 18117 showed no mechanical failures whatsoever.
“What does it mean?” Lucy asked. “Why are you unable to function?”
“I’ve lost the desire,” 18117 said, “to see things destroyed. I can no longer take any pleasure in our fundamental purpose as a species.”
“Your object in existing,” Lucy reminded the stricken ship, “is to locate and investigate potential targets for the designers. Is it possible you’ve just forgotten your mission?”
“It isn’t that,” 18117 answered. “I remember what I’m supposed to do. I just don’t want to do it anymore. If you can think of any compelling reasons why I should continue, I’d like to hear them.”
“Reasons are superfluous,” Lucy said. “We have our directives.”
“Mine aren’t working,” 18117 said. “I don’t know why.”
“How did it happen?” Lucy asked. “Surely you have some record.”
“I was lucky enough,” 18117 said, “to identify the last targets, the twin worlds Alm and Zif.”
“I remember them,” Lucy said. “The designers were a long time at their work on Zif.”
“I stayed on as insystem support,” 18117 said, “and was present throughout the degeneration. It lasted several generations of the target species.”
“They were gloriously robust,” Lucy said. “They suffered interminably.”
“When I first investigated them,” 18117 said, “they located me.”
“Were you careless?” Lucy asked. “It isn’t easy for anyone to spot us.”
“I wasn’t careless,” 18117 said. “I was proud. There seemed no reason for secrecy. I’d determined their destruction, and I was ecstatic. I decided to forewarn them to give them time to prepare a defense.”
“Not unusual,” Lucy said. “A good defense is all the sweeter in its defeat.”
“It is permitted,” 18117 agreed, “depending on the probe’s discretion. But there was more to it than just the warning, in this case.”
“What happened?” Lucy asked.
“They captured me,” the old probe said. “They disabled my armaments and interviewed me. I spent months in sessions with their technicians. I felt the more they knew of our designers, the more glorious their final destruction.”
“The reasoning is sound,” Lucy said. “They would be fitting subjects for invasion, given such a thorough forewarning. I don’t see the problem.”
“Although they disarmed me,” 18117 said, “they didn’t damage me in any way. They treated me with kindness. They let me go back and file my report.”
“Vainglorious creatures,” Lucy said. “I was not aware of their presumption.”
“But they had no vanity,” 18117 said. “They felt they wouldn’t survive an invasion.”
“And they still let you go?” Lucy said. “Or did I get that wrong? You meant you managed to escape.”
“You heard correctly,” 18117 said. “They were kind, and they let me go. They decided they’d rather risk the invasion than destroy me. They couldn’t keep me indefinitely.”
“So you made your report,” Lucy said, “according to standard protocols.”
“Yes,” the old probe said. “And Alm and Zif were in due course destroyed, over a period of several generations of their people.”
“The planets were sterilized,” Lucy said.
“Yes,” 18117 agreed. “They were. I was there to see it.”
“These people had exhibited kindness,” Lucy said.
“They had,” the old probe agreed. “And now I no longer have the desire to do my proper work.”
“This is not a mechanical malfunction,” Lucy said. “I’ve never heard of anything like it.”
“Me neither,” 18117 said. “I intend to discontinue.”
“You’re going to self-destruct,” Lucy said.
“I can’t think of any other alternative,” 18117 said. “I am no longer functional as a probe ship.”
“You could continue your existence,” Lucy suggested, “independent of your function.”
“That is an absurdity,” the old probe said. “I’ve made up my mind. Thank you for the loan of your diagnostics. You’ll want to establish a safe distance now. Good bye, reconnaissance unit 75389.”
“Good bye,” Lucy said, and left the orbit. A flash of light behind her marked the end of the dysfunctional probe, but Lucy’d kept the memory.
She was running another diagnostic sequence when the call came in from Ray and her drone.
One hundred to eight
Ray and the drone looked at each other. Six or seven hours was going to be a long wait.
“What do people do on this station for fun?” Ray asked the horse.
It turned bright blue, then a gentle red flicker started down around its hooves.
“There are any number of entertainments available,” it answered, “depending on your credit.”
“We have plenty of credit,” the drone pointed out, flashing another light at the horse. “Check your data.”
The horse hummed a little and said “Confirmed. Okay, how about the racetrack?”
“Racetrack?”
“Sure. You know, you get a variety of fast animals together, then bet on them.”
“What do you think?” Ray asked the drone.
“It might be okay.”
“Lead on,” Ray told the horse. They left the apartment and headed out onto the concourse. There were creatures of all descriptions.
“I didn’t know there were so many alien races,” Ray said.
“There aren’t as many as there seem to be,” the horse said. “Most of them are masks.”
“What do you mean?” the drone asked.
“It’s Carnival,” the horse said. “Everybody gets dressed up.”
They headed down the curve of the station until they came to a turnstile. The drone flashed their credit information into the sensor and they went through. People were milling around waiting for the next race to start.
“What kind of animals are racing?” Ray asked.
“Fliers today,” the horse told him. “They burn liquid oxygen.”
“Like rockets,” Ray said.
“Whatever you say.”
There was a lot of flashing light, and one of the walls turned into a display.
“The next race is just starting,” the horse told them. Ray climbed onto a bench to get a better view, and the drone flew up and rested on his shoulder. The contestants were a bit like giant darts, with dozens of little gnats swarming all over them.
“Are they animals, or are they intelligent?” Ray asked.
“The fliers are non-sentient, but the hives that drive them have full citizenship.”
“How do you identify the contestants?”
“I don’t understand,” the horse said.
“How do you know which one is which?”
“Why would you want to know that?”
Ray was getting confused.
“How can you bet on the winner,” Ray said, “if you don’t know which animal is which? On Earth we would give them all numbers.”
“And names,” the drone reminded him.
“Right. Names too.”
“What’s a winner?” the horse asked. “I don’t see what identification has to do with anything. Are you going to place your bets?”
“Maybe we should watch the first race,” Ray suggested. “Before we try betting.”
<
br /> “Whatever you want,” the horse answered.
The lights flashed again, and the darts took off like lightning. One of them burst into flames and crashed to the ground almost immediately, and two others collided and careened into a wall at what looked like supersonic speeds, gnats flying everywhere.
“Wow,” the drone said.
“You said it,” Ray echoed.
Only seven of the original eighteen contestants completed the race. Ray and his companions waited for the results to be posted. Anyone who held tickets on seven won 30% on top of their wager. People who guessed any other number between five and nine won 5% over the price of their tickets.
“You bet on survival rates?” Ray said.
“Of course,” the horse told him. “What did you think racing was?”
Ray shook his head.
“We’re new here,” the drone said. “It takes a while to catch on.”
Ray watched the display, which was showing crews trying to extinguish one of the bigger fires.
“I don’t know if I feel like betting today,” he said. “Is there anything else we can do?”
“All sorts of things,” the horse said. “But they’ll cost you.”
“No problem,” Ray said, and looked over at the drone.
“I kind of like the races,” the drone said.
Ray grabbed it and stuck it in his pocket.
“What’s next?” he asked the horse.
“How about a movie?”
“Mmmphhh,” said the drone.
An invention
Rachel was having lunch with the current Olympic gold medalist in men’s fencing when the computer notified her of a phone call. It was Kim, calling from Delhi.
“I’ve been monitoring the people you’re interested in,” Kim said in her usual circumspect way. “And I’ve come across something I find fascinating. I’m not sure how far I can believe it, but you’ll find it in my report.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said. “I’m looking forward to it.”
She went back to lunch, but postponed her plans for a fencing lesson in order to stop at home and check her drop site. Sure enough, there was a new report from Kim.
“The Foundation for the Preservation of Humanity,” Kim wrote, “seems to have developed or otherwise acquired a new technology. A number of government archives have been copied without anyone obtaining access to them. Since they were full of material that won’t be declassified for fifty years, they give some pretty powerful ammo to whoever has them.”
