Noumenon

by Marina J. Lostetter

  “Maybe you should go. As you’ve made clear, I’ve got some darts to throw. And my aim isn’t so steady these days.”

  It felt as though someone had opened a widow. The sudden frigidness could only be described as arctic.

  Esper shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter to her if she stayed or went. But she was sure her heart now sat shriveled, tucked in the toe of her shoe. It certainly wasn’t sending any blood through her veins.

  When she touched the door to let herself out, she realized her fingers were numb.

  On the way back to her quarters she broke down, falling to her knees in the empty hall. No tears came to her eyes, but she kept gasping, unable to catch her breath or swallow. For a brief moment she thought she’d pass out, choking on something as intangible as regurgitated sorrow and loss.

  What did Toya want her to do? Why would she mention Esper’s family—she knew how much the memory of them hurt.

  Esper could try to regain her status as official ambassador, she could try to reenter negotiations. But she knew if she tried she would fail.

  After all, that’s why she’d never tried in the first place. The status quo had always been good enough. Why had they wanted to mess with good enough?

  And why was Toya pinning the solution on her? Why did Esper have to save everyone’s asses?

  “Esper?” inquired I.C.C. The AI sounded pained. “Do you need me to call an emergency medical team? My readings indicate your physical distress and high anxiety may be dangerous.”

  “You know what they’re planning, right?” she said. Its conscious presence had a calming effect. She found her lungs could push air again.

  “No one has spoken directly to me. But yes, I was given access to the results of Ceren’s stint as ambassador.”

  “Stint?”

  “The board has fired her.”

  “It wasn’t her fault,” she croaked, using the wall to help her back to her feet. “It was their fault. They should all be fired.”

  “As I understand it, that may be the end result of this situation. Since I have also been fired, I’m curious as to what my duties will be until I am transferred to—where hasn’t been made clear. I do not suppose my continuous surveillance of your behavior is necessary.”

  “Actually, I’d like you to continue, please. Stay with me.”

  “For as long as I am able. Shall I call an emergency medical team?” it asked again.

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t need . . . Call Caz. I just need . . . I need my sister.”

  Her assumptions and accusations were all proven true. Every crew member was subpoenaed for their genetic information, no matter if they were constants, white-suits, or nature-borns. Esper was sure a vast range of Earth natives were also being considered. Reluctant natives, of course. She couldn’t imagine Earth producing many volunteers this day and age.

  Over the next few years, the convoy saw a spike in naturally born babies. The parents hoped that if they were not seen as fit to go, perhaps their children would be. Perhaps their genetic line could still live on aboard in some capacity.

  Earth decided the new mission—to complete the Web and retrieve its energy—required three additional vessels to the nine already in use. One for the deconstruction, reverse engineering, and manufacturing of the node-devices: the Slicer. One for storing the automated puppets (which would help boost construction time) and the new organic computing hard lines: Hvmnd. And one they called Zetta, which would be retrofitted with whatever was needed to bring the Dyson Sphere’s energy back to Earth. It was named for the zettajoules of energy Earth hoped to receive.

  Things were chaotic during the interim before launch. The new ships were constructed in space, and though the plan was to have them ready by 4142, they took an extra five to complete.

  In that time, Esper made a new name for herself in the maintenance division. The work made her happy, and she gave it her all.

  She also met another nature born white-suit named Laurence Ti.

  White. The color of an undyed jumpsuit. Extras, yet undenoted. To the continued lines the color had come to mean an absence or loss of purpose. But Esper knew the truth; it represented pure potential. White could be dyed anything, could be whatever it wanted to be.

  That’s what Laurence was to her: indefinite possibility.

  Within a year after they began dating, they found themselves in a predicament only a few other convoy members had ever had to contend with.

  Esper’s hands shook as she approached the office of Mira’s representative. Toya Kaeden had finally succeeded in securing a governing position. After the crew members came to terms with the idea that they weren’t an autonomous society any more, they became more open to putting white-suits and their progeny in charge. “If the shackling of their minds means they release the hold on mine, I’ll take it,” Toya had confessed.

  Biting her lip to steady herself, Esper pressed the door buzzer. She had an announcement to make and wasn’t sure how her old friend would take it.

  “Come in,” was the demand from inside.

  “Representative Kaeden?” Esper said quietly, poking her head through the open door.

  Toya looked up from a stack of ‘flex-sheets. A broad smile split her lips. “Esper.” She moved to detangle herself from the hallmarks of her station. “I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch these last few months. The damn Node has really been riding us.” She stepped out from behind her desk.

  “No, no. I understand. I used to mind-meld with those people on a regular basis, remember? You look good. Have I ever told you that government suits you?” Esper winked.

  “You look—”

  “A little puffy?” She wanted to be her old, sarcastic self around Toya. She suddenly longed for the days when that had been their shared comfort zone. No, she realized, it was my comfort zone. Time to be a polite adult. “That’s all right. I hear that’s how most women look when they’re pregnant.”

  Toya’s eyes grew as big and round as two wide-faced mugs of coffee. “Congratulations. That’s quite a—wow. Why didn’t you tell me you and Laurence had decided to make things permanent?”

  “We haven’t,” Esper said with a shrug, patting her belly. “These two were a surprise.”

  “Two?”

  “Found out yesterday that I’m carrying twins.”

  Toya grasped for something to say. The news hadn’t really sunk in. “That’s . . . would you like to sit?” She gestured at a hard-backed chair across from her desk. “Or maybe the couch over there would be more comfortable.”

  Esper smirked. “I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

  “Right.”

  Esper took the couch anyway. “I decided I should break the news to you today because the docs on Hippocrates took their samples a couple hours ago. They do it at eight weeks now, since we’re so near the definite launch date.”

  Toya sat beside her. “They’re releasing the official crew list in six months.” She lifted her elbow onto the back of the couch, then rested her head on her fist. “So,” she began in a nosy tone, “if you haven’t decide to make things permanent . . . will the little ones be Tis or Straifers?”

  “Straifers. Laurence agreed. A Straifer started it all, I think a Straifer has to finish it—or continue it, whatever. There can’t be a Convoy Seven without a Straifer. This doubles our chances of getting one on board.”

  “Triples,” Toya corrected. “Two little ones, and then there’s you.”

  There was something about the idea of needing a Straifer that struck a second chord within Esper. The thought resonated at an uncomfortable frequency, and had been rattling around inside her for a long time. There can’t be a Convoy Seven without . . . without . . .

  “I.C.C.,” she whispered. “If there has to be a Straifer, there has to be I.C.C.”

  “Earth isn’t going to change its mind now.”

  “But it’s such a minor point, why won’t they give? They don’t need I.C.C. for anything.” She thought for a se
cond. “Do they?” She’d always thought Earth considered I.C.C. antiquated technology, and that replacing it ensured a more efficient convoy. But what if they didn’t simply want to upgrade the system? What if they had a reason for wanting to keep I.C.C. on Earth? What if it didn’t have anything to do with making the convoy “better”?

  Most computers on Earth weren’t just organic—they were human. Most of the population had their extra brainpower skimmed as a tax. Others got paid exorbitant amounts to act as servers for a period of time. The only systems that utilized something other than a full brain were physical objects that needed integration—vehicles, puppets, and the like. Nothing without a preexisting brain was conscious—

  “By the ships,” she said, moving her hand to her mouth. Earth had lost the capacity to create AIs. Real artificial intelligence. “I think Earth wants to study I.C.C.—by treating it as a lab rat, not putting it in a museum. It’s not outdated tech to them, it’s advanced. They can’t create new sentience.”

  Technological development doesn’t progress in a straight line . . .

  “But they have the schematics. The convoy handed them over during your mother’s time. If they wanted an I.C.C. of their own, they could just build one.”

  “Maybe they couldn’t make it work. Perhaps it’s the difference between a live brain and a newly dead brain. Physically they can be identical—but one is alive and one is dead. They don’t know why I.C.C. is alive.”

  “Which means they don’t know what will kill it either.”

  “Pulling its hard wiring from the ships might—” She jumped to her feet. “We have to stop them.”

  Esper braced for ridicule. Now, now you want to make a plan? she heard her internal Toya exclaim. You turned your back on I.C.C. when there was time to help it, to strategize. What, feeling guilty now? Can’t live with the decisions you failed to make?

  “How?” Toya spread her hands imploringly, and Esper saw invisible chains stretched between them, with a label that read Property of Earth dangling from one wrist.

  “We won’t be able to do it through official channels,” she said. “We’d have to fool the Node. Are you . . . I mean . . . can you?”

  Toya stood and smoothed down her uniform before she spoke. “I.C.C. is important to this convoy, to its crew, and to me personally. It’s the one convoy member who’s seen it all, who understands what our lives are all about. It is the soul of these ships. If you know how to save it, tell me.”

  “It’ll be a big job. We’ll have to get a lot of people in on it. The maintenance, engineering, and computer divisions are all helping Earth with the systems transfer. We know our ships better than anyone else. If we can convince the Node that I.C.C. isn’t viable any more, maybe they’ll leave it alone.”

  “How?” Toya asked again.

  Esper inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar scents in the room. She felt like she was appreciating them for the first time. “We have to think like the man behind the curtain,” she said, remembering the stories her mother loved to tell her. “We have to be wizards who rely on sleight of hand and flashy diversions.”

  A month later, they had their plan.

  “We set a controlled blaze,” Esper said to Vega, I.C.C’s caretaker; Caznal; and Toya, who all sat at the dining table in her quarters. Esper strode back and forth, absentmindedly holding her hand against her showing belly. “We make up Toya’s office space to look like the server room—it’s got about the same dimensions and is three decks directly above the real room. When the Node’s lackeys come to investigate, we turn them around a bit, make them think they’re decks below where they really are. They’ll enter the burnt-out office and see a twisted hunk of nothing that we’ll convince them is the bulk of I.C.C.’s processing. Then they’ll leave thinking they’ve lost their specimen.”

  The three other women nodded as she spoke. Pausing for a moment, Esper worried her lip. She was sure it was going to be difficult convincing Toya to go along with the next part of the plan. “Someone else has to ‘die,’ too. If it’s only I.C.C., Earth’ll get suspicious. But, with a large chunk of Mira destroyed and human crew members amongst the losses, I don’t think they’ll suspect a ruse.”

  “That means we have to recruit yet more people,” said Caz.

  Vega gestured emphatically in agreement. “Yeah. We’ve already got ten involved—us and the ‘cleanup’ crew. More people create more problems.”

  “And whoever it is would have to give up the ships,” said Toya. “We can’t just hide them, or else we won’t be able to fool the rest of the board. If they knew what we were up to—”

  “I know. The Node’s got half of them in its pocket,” said Esper. “But we don’t have to get anyone else in on the plan. I’ve already talked to Laurence. We’ll do it.”

  The three of them blanched, stunned.

  The look on Caznal’s face was the worst. They’d grown closer these past few years. And she was hoping for a spot in the new mission. “But, you will be left behind—”

  “I’m sorry. I know, but it’s worth it for I.C.C. It’s been there for me, it’s supported me when no one should have. I can’t ask anyone else to abandon their dreams of going back into space. I want to repay I.C.C. for all it’s done for me. If that means giving up the only home I’ve ever known, then so be it.”

  Toya gazed at her in a sort of dumbfounded awe before lowering her eyes. “You’ve changed so much,” she said quietly.

  “I had to,” Esper said, thinking of her unborn children. “I’m sorry for all the shit I—”

  Toya held up a hand. “None of that. I just wish I could see your kids grow up.”

  “You might, in a way,” Esper said with a smile. “If their genes get picked to sail.”

  The fire that broke out on Mira destroyed three decks worth of cabins, part of the mess hall, twelve command offices, and the main server room. The convoy suffered three casualties: two white-suits and I.C.C.

  Earth salvage teams were brought in to see if anything was recoverable. Caznal acted as the interpreter and go-between. The ship’s integrity was intact. The lost rooms could easily be rebuilt. I.C.C., though, was gone. The Node decided that the remaining portions of the system on the other ships were not worth retrieving without the main severs—which had melted into a homogenous block of metal and plastic in the intense heat of the fire.

  The dead maintenance workers were identified via charred remains. Laurence Ti and Esperanza Straifer. When they realized she’d been expecting, that raised the body count to five.

  “They were prepping some of I.C.C.’s parts for transfer,” Vega Hansen explained to the Node investigators when they asked what the former ambassador and her boyfriend were doing in the server room. “There must have been a spark—and our emergency sprinkler system is so old.”

  “I can’t believe they’re gone,” said a tearful Toya, when she admitted to approving the couple for the task. “Your sister—” she said to Caz, as they fell into a theatrical hug.

  Since the remainder of I.C.C. was no longer of any use, Earth let the convoy crew see to the disposal of the useless parts. Vega oversaw the project.

  A year later, on January 19th of 4148—relaunch day—the entire population of The UG came to the surface to watch. For many, it was the first time they’d laid physical eyes on Ship City.

  Four faces in the crowd were nonnatives. The small family had moved to Antarctica from Iceland while the mother had been pregnant—or so they claimed. They’d mysteriously arrived in the dead of night the day before that awful fire. Two months later the woman had given birth to fraternal twins, a boy and a girl. They’d named the boy Kaeden and the girl CeeCee.

  The mother and father bade the children wave as the twelve ships rocketed away.

  “There they go,” said the mother. “Someday soon there will be a little boy and a little girl on those ships who look just like you.”

  The bright dots disappeared into the clear blue sky.

  “Come on, Esper,�
� whispered the father. “Let’s go home.”

  March 7, 24 Relaunch

  4380 CE

  Toya stared out the window into the inkiness that encompassed the ships during SD travel. The pane faintly reflected her image—once black hair had now gone pale gray, and the lines of her face were deeply wrought.

  Behind her stood Caznal, whose gaze was intently fixed on the back of her head. Toya could just make out her sour expression, and knew she wasn’t ready to lose another friend.

  Tomorrow, Toya would retire. The tradition had been reinstated upon launch, and was mandatory for everyone aboard except the first generation. Those who had grown up on Earth or in Ship City could either choose retirement or to live out their lives to their bitter ends. The board thought offering the choice to be fairest.

  Toya didn’t feel she had an option. As a member of the board, Toya believed it was her civic duty to retire, to set a good example for the next generation. She would not be a hypocrite: if she was demanding such sacrifices from the people, she would commit to those sacrifices herself.

  Today she reflected on a life well lived, on I.C.C.’s miraculous “recovery” from the ravages of fire, and on a friend she’d left on Earth so many years ago.

  A buzz at the door brought Toya back into the now. The now of space, of renewed purpose, of forward momentum.

  “Shall I let them in?” asked I.C.C. “You asked not to be disturbed—”

  “Thank you, I.C.C., but these two were invited.”

  Quietly, Caz took up a chair.

  Toya went to the door and slid it open. Before her stood two twenty-some-odd-year-olds, one in the ultramarine of command and the other in the vermillion of engineering.

  “Ma’am,” said the woman in the command uniform: Joanna. “We each received a, um, handwritten note—” she said it as if she were saying clay tablet “—requesting our presence here.”

  “Yes, my name is Toya Kaeden. I wanted to formally introduce myself today, because I will be gone tomorrow.” She gestured for them to come inside. “This is Caznal.”