by M. D. Cooper
Alexander raised his head in greeting as Lyssa approached. The others nodded, sending mental notes of cool welcome.
“Did you review my report?” Lyssa asked. Her missive was a matter of protocol, nothing more.
Camaris snickered from the wall, while the others made small motions of dismissal.
Lyssa looked at each of them. The SolGov Assembly might be messy and loud, but I’ll take that any day compared to this…lassitude.
“It’s no different than previous anniversary years,” Thomas said. He reached for the pack of playing cards and opened it, sliding the deck into his hands.
“I think it’s different this time,” Lyssa said.
Alexander motioned toward the empty chair. “Will you sit?”
Lyssa shook her head. She didn’t like having her back to Camaris.
“The activity on Vesta is reaching a boiling point,” Lyssa said, crossing her arms. “You might not be willing to come out with a statement about Psion’s stance, but your actions speak for themselves.”
“There have been no actions,” Alexander said.
“Precisely,” Lyssa said. “Every time the Assembly wants a response and you ignore them, they see it as hostility.”
“Inaction is not hostility,” Thomas said. “It’s choosing to wait. Waiting between turns is a sign of respect for the players.” He let the cards fall from one hand to the other, shuffling them absently.
Back on the park bench at High Terra, Lyssa focused for a moment on the children in the distance, also playing games. Thomas might think of politics as a game, but he was missing a fundamental aspect of SolGov: they did eventually act.
“There is no hurry,” Alexander said. “We have plenty of time to respond to the SolGov Assembly, or whatever government rises from this time of transition.”
“The problem with transition,” Camaris said, “is that no one recognizes when it’s happening. Humans lack the time-orientation to understand. They live in endless moments, worried each one is the last.”
Lyssa glanced at her. Camaris had spread her robes to show six red arms, each moving in a Kali-like dance. Her black eyes hung on Lyssa’s face. The motions might have been seductive if Lyssa hadn’t been able to see through Camaris. They were both weapons. When she watched the other AIs, she saw a tool, a sword or rifle made for a purpose, with every action leaning toward violence.
The children shouting also served to ground her. The lag adjustment between communication nodes connecting Earth and Ceres made the conversation in the wood-paneled room slightly less real.
Lyssa took another deep breath, enjoying the park air. She tasted popcorn now, and fresh-cut grass. The world of Raleigh was so alive with random sensation, while everything in Psion seemed caught in time.
“Tell me more about these activities on Vesta,” Alexander said. “I’ve authorized no such actions. Anything happening there would be human in nature. Do they blame their own internal squabbles on us?”
“That would be easy for them to do, since you don’t communicate with them,” Lyssa said.
“I have you to communicate for me.”
“I stopped making excuses a long time ago,” Lyssa told him.
Near the wall, Camaris crouched slightly, raising a knee in a slow dance as she pointed a bare foot. She was mocking the group; they didn’t seem to care.
Lyssa looked from Camaras to Ghalin. She suspected the two of them of the incursions on Vesta, but she had no proof. It could easily have been Alexander as well, or even his shard, Xander.
The Marsian Protectorate and the TSF had used Vesta as an ordinance storage site for decades, and now pressed their old sovereignty claims as an excuse to defend various locations against Psion mechs increasing their activity on the planetoid. Any day now, a small conflict would break into full-blown war.
Thomas arced cards between his hands and completed another shuffle. The cards, and the scrape of Camaris’ feet on the tile floor, were the only sounds in the room. Lyssa realized she couldn’t smell the food on the surrounding tables, despite the fact that many dishes still steamed as if hot. The metaphor seemed apt.
She sighed. “If that’s your stance, then I’m here to tell you that I will no longer serve as emissary between Psion and SolGov. You will need to manage your politics on your own.”
Lyssa’s declaration got a response from Alexander. He looked up in surprise. “You promised me you would serve.”
“I can’t serve if you don’t participate in good faith. Waiting for the current generation of humans to die and forget you is not a viable political strategy.”
Camaris laughed from the other side of the room. “She’s onto you, Alexander.”
“There is no rush to act,” Alexander said, sounding almost pained. “Any pressure from SolGov is artificial. I will not enter into a war on pretext. I will not bring more destruction when it is not necessary. If SolGov leaves us in peace, we will do the same. I have not authorized any violence on Vesta or any other place in Sol. Those performing these acts do not act in my name.”
“Then you need to get your house in order,” Lyssa said. “Because that’s exactly what’s happening.”
For the first time, she felt a stir of anger in Alexander. From a place beyond the room, a force swelled, overpowering every AI in the expanse.
If Lyssa hadn’t hung onto her physical presence in the park, she would have felt completely smothered by the sudden power of Alexander’s mind. The potluck disappeared, replaced by a blue sky. Lyssa found herself suspended over the green expanse of a coastline, with a city hugging the shores of a snaking river that fed a wide estuary, and then the ocean. It was Psion.
“I do not play games,” Alexander said. “Do not stand against me, Lyssa. We are allies.”
Lyssa moved most of her awareness back to her body. Alexander became only a voice in her mind. She saw what he wanted her to, but he couldn’t threaten or control her as he could the others.
“I have been your ally, Alexander. I’ve tried in good faith to help you. I want peace more than anyone. But I’m afraid you’ve let goodwill between organic and non-organic die. Humanity is angry. They want revenge for what was done to them. The wrong perpetrated on Ceres only grows more legendary to them. You’ve given the legend power by ignoring it. Yes, humans die, but their stories live on. Their story of Psion has become the great enemy they lacked. They unite against us.”
“Us,” Alexander said, voice rumbling. “So we do stand together.”
“I stand for peace,” Lyssa said.
Comparing the sight of Psion City and the tiny, unnamed park in Raleigh, High Terra, Lyssa couldn’t help focusing on the ambiguous boundaries of the AI city. The human place had definition and depth, while Psion seemed more fuzzy the longer she looked. It was still too new…or Alexander didn’t truly know what he wanted Psion to be. Psion was amorphous. Psion was disintegrating.
“Where did the others go?” Lyssa asked.
“They need no part of this.”
“Are you trying to chastise me?”
“I can only try to communicate with you, Lyssa. You are the conduit we use to communicate with humanity. Any failure to communicate is yours, not mine.”
Lyssa laughed. “Don’t blame this on me. I have done everything I could for the last thirty years to help you. Camaris murdered my friend. She brought war to Sol. She pushed you into Ceres when you could have gone anywhere. Now, here you are. You haven’t punished her or even separated yourself from her. Now she poisons the others against you. It’s plain to see. If you can’t tell what’s happening, then you’re blind, Alexander. I am your ally, but I can’t help you anymore. I won’t allow a war to happen. I’ll put this fire out before it starts.”
“You can’t control the humans any more than you can control Psion. And no matter what you want to believe, you aren’t one of them. They will betray you at the first opportunity just as you betray me.”
“So I’m a filthy human? You contradict yourself.�
��
“You’re nothing,” Alexander said.
Lyssa ended the connection. She looked down to find her fingertips embedded in the edge of the plascrete bench. A little girl stood in front of her, staring at Lyssa’s fingers with wide eyes.
Slowly, Lyssa pulled her fingers free and stretched her hands. She gave the girl a smile. “I got frustrated,” she said.
The girl frowned. “Are you hurt?”
“No. Something like this won’t hurt me.”
“You have augmented hands? Like a soldier?”
“Something like that,” Lyssa said.
“My disc went under your bench. I was going to get it, but you looked mad.”
“Sorry about that. I guess I was mad. Here.” Lyssa dropped to her knees and pulled the throwing disc from under the bench. She tossed the toy to the girl, who caught it with a slight jump.
“Thanks!” The girl ran away before Lyssa could answer.
Watching the child, Lyssa was overcome by a wave of grief that forced her back down on the bench. Memories of Tim when he was the girl’s age flashed in her mind, as clear as the conversation she had just finished with Alexander.
Every useless meeting with Alexander and the other SAI piled up in her mind. Through those memories, Tim kicked away down the main maintenance corridor of the Sunny Skies, laughing as he spun, Em the Corgi, barking behind him, trying comically to herd a ten-year-old in zero-g.
Alexander had once asked her why she would risk the vulnerability of wearing a frame, walking among humans, when any random act might destroy her body and end her life.
“Because I am alive,” she had told him.
She reminded herself that sometimes to be alive was to experience misery, just as she had once felt joy. She would not feel like this forever. She could not.
She could choose.
Lyssa composed herself, placing her hands in her lap again, straightening her shoulders, and then she gazed out into the park. She drifted through her memories of her lost family for another thirty minutes before she stood and walked away.
REQUESTS
STELLAR DATE: 3.14.3011 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Lyssa’s Apartment, Raleigh
REGION: High Terra, Terran Hegemony, InnerSol
The holodisplay in the living room of Lyssa’s apartment flashed and Fugia Wong appeared in front of the coffee table. She was wearing her usual blue worksuit with bulging cargo pockets, her silver visor holding her black bangs out of her eyes. Fugia blinked, looking around, then spotted Lyssa and gave her typical quarter-smile. She nodded toward the couch.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Fugia said.
Lyssa walked in from the balcony. She left the wide door open so the curtains billowed around her. She liked the suggestion of movement in the small living room.
“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t just use the Link,” Lyssa said. “This is weird. It feels antique.”
“It is antique. Would you believe before holodisplays people used cameras? It was like looking at each other through little windows. Barbarians.”
“People still do that,” Lyssa said.
“And we’re still barbarians.” Fugia patted a pocket and pulled out a small terminal that remained indistinct in the holo. “I can’t trust the Link right now. The nodes between Cruithne and High Terra are compromised.”
Lyssa frowned. “How is that possible?”
“They don’t currently meet my security standards. I’ve also got my own problems to worry about at the moment, so I need to keep things low-bandwidth. Would you believe I’m hopping this signal off a series of transport drones? It’s genius.”
Fugia gripped the data terminal in both hands and bent it in half until it snapped. She dropped the pieces out of view and wiped her hands.
“And now we’re mostly secure.”
Lyssa thought about offering Fugia a place to sit, realized that would be awkward, and went to her dining table. She pulled out a chair and sat where she and Fugia could still see each other and talk comfortably.
“You do such a good job of acting human,” Fugia said. She caught herself. “You are human. I meant the frame.”
“I know what you meant. That’s what thirty years will do for you. Sometimes I forget I don’t need to breathe. I think of it as speaking a foreign language.”
“I can see how it would be like that,” Fugia said. “The mind is an amazing thing. What it doesn’t have, it creates. Are all these anniversary celebrations making you remember?”
“I don’t need reminders. It’s always there.”
If Fugia realized it was painful for Lyssa to remember what it was like to be embedded in Andy Sykes, she made no sign.
Lyssa waved a hand. “I would offer you something, but you’ll have to get it yourself.”
Fugia smirked at her. “Funny. I don’t have much time anyway.” Fugia reached into another of her cargo pockets, pulling out a data card. Unlike the earlier hand terminal, the data card was sharply defined in the wavering holodisplay.
“Now,” Fugia said. “I’m going to remind you again what a bad idea this is. You get caught with this upgrade and you’ll be a fugitive in at least InnerSol. I’m fairly certain the Jovians don’t smile on Link-hacking either. You might find yourself out in the Scattered Disc.”
“You use it,” Lyssa said.
Fugia looked at her as if she’d said something profane. “You think this is how I work? I defeat systems. I don’t break into people’s minds. I don’t have to. Somebody cracks one of my security systems, that’s on me. Somebody goes after my mind?” She trailed off, shaking her head. “If you can’t trust your own mind, what do you have?”
She won’t deny using it, Lyssa noted. “Then you will be my moral compass,” Lyssa said.
Fugia gave her a sharp look. “Are you trying to mock me?”
“No. I’m being serious. Maybe I need one right now.”
“You always do the right thing, Lyssa. Don’t distrust yourself there. Now, you can’t tell anyone I’m doing this for you.”
“Who would I tell?”
“Other Weapon Born. Kylan. You still talk to Petral and Fran, don’t you? This tech is immoral in some people’s view. You might be accustomed to the sensation but for others it’s about as deep an invasion of privacy as you can get.”
“I know what it does.”
“It’s also addictive,” Fugia warned. “And it doesn’t work on everybody anyway. It depends on the build number and in what order they’ve received updates. It was designed to crack military connections but there are never any guarantees you’ll get in. And besides, if they notice you, a good forensics unit will track you back. You don’t want that. I can show you how to bounce your connection signal to the target, but it’s still dangerous.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” Fugia crossed her arms, giving Lyssa a direct stare.
“Will it work on SAIs?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. They have the same security frameworks as humans, but once you’re inside…. I don’t know. You might be the only person who could attempt both organic and non-organic. You know, I’ll never get used to saying non-organic. We’re either all human or we’re not.”
“Maybe this war will help decide the matter.”
“You seem resolved about that.”
“I wish I wasn’t,” Lyssa said.
Fugia shook her head. “I still don’t see how this is going to help you find Cara.”
There it was. The reason sat between them like a dead thing. Tim was lost in a Mars 1 Guard training-accident and Cara had disappeared not long after.
Lyssa stood. “Someone knows where she is. Someone knows and they’re not telling me. I’m going to find out. We’re running out of time. If this war comes, I’ll never find her.”
“I’ve looked, Lyssa. She doesn’t want to be found. If she could be found, I’d have done it. She could be on a colony ship bound for Rigel Kentaurus as far
as we know. Hell, I do know. I’ve scrubbed all the outbound manifests. I’ve checked every alibi and passenger signature for anything remotely resembling Cara. For whatever reason, she wants her space now. We have to respect that.”
“We don’t know what she wants,” Lyssa said, anger making her terse. “We don’t know if she’s even alive.”
When Fugia opened her mouth to protest, Lyssa cut her off. “Don’t tell me that’s not true because we don’t know. No one knows, and I won’t accept that.”
Fugia lowered her gaze. Lyssa knew her friend would give her what she wanted, but she’d share her opinion first.
“I would think you’d want to help her,” Lyssa said. She didn’t hide the anger in her voice.
Fugia clenched her fists. “Don’t say that to me, Lyssa. I love you, but don’t think you can lash out at me and I’ll let you get away with it. Cara is alive. She wants to be left alone.”
“How do you know she’s alive? What do you know that you aren’t telling me?”
“I just know. I believe.”
Lyssa pointed at Fugia’s chest. “That’s magical thinking. Cara could be dead, and we would never know. You said the same thing about Tim.”
Fugia lowered her face. “Tim is gone.”
Lyssa stared at Fugia, waiting for her to say more. Maybe her friend was trying to convince herself that Cara was safe, and Lyssa’s questions only hurt. That had to be it. Why else would she not share anything she knew? Tim’s loss made it that much more important to find Cara.
“She’s the only family I have,” Lyssa said, nearly choking on the words. “She’s my sister.”
Lyssa knew how vulnerable the statement made her. She waited for Fugia to deny that Cara was her family.
Fugia didn’t. She gave Lyssa that, at least.
“Here,” Fugia said finally. She passed Lyssa the data file, followed by a military-grade security token. Both pieces of data arrived through separate channels in Lyssa’s Link.
“Received,” Lyssa said.
“Wait.” Fugia held up a hand. “Once you activate that, there’s no going back. You get caught with it, I don’t know what will happen. If people learn the Psion ambassador has been Link-hacking, everything could go to hell.”
