Starship Waking

by C. Gockel

  Waiting for Lauren G3 to answer, 6T9 glanced at the second solicitor. He was standing behind the desk beside her and was obviously human—he had welts running down his cheek. It looked like he’d had a bad experience with Mr. Pickles, Bernadette’s very large and temperamental long-haired golden werfle. From behind the desk came a hiss. The man’s left arm shook, and he lifted a cloth pet carrier into view. Inside the carrier, Mr. Pickles’s long, weasel-like body writhed. Scratching at the cloth with his ten claws, the creature issued a low, ominous rawr and 6T9 had an epiphany. “Blood-curdling” was more than just an expression. He certainly felt as though his synth blood was congealing at the sound. Raif and his companions covered their ears, and the human solicitor dropped the carrier onto the desk and jumped back.

  6T9 almost chuckled, but Lauren answered his ethernet ping at just that moment, on the thirty-third attempt.

  Grinning ear-to-ear, 6T9 exclaimed over the channel, “Lauren, so nice to see a friendly face!” The conversation was through the ether, which meant it was private, but if the humans looked, they’d see his eyes on the other AI and his dopey smile. He didn’t care. His synth skin was heating at possibilities beyond the fat inheritance he’d been promised.

  Lauren’s reply was curt. “I am neither friendly nor unfriendly. I am the solicitor here to read the will. Stop pinging me while I’m trying to do my job!” The connection cut off.

  6T9’s smile melted. Forty minutes and six seconds later he almost cried.

  Lauren answered 6T9 on the forty-fourth ping. “She’s left me nothing,” 6T9 whined silently over the ether. “Are you sure you’re reading that right?”

  Cold static ran along his spine. Humans. They could lie so easily. Granted, he could lie, too. But he didn’t. Mostly.

  “Don’t make me block you!” Lauren’s thoughts hissed across the channel. The ether connection went dead. In the real world, her expression remained impassive as she read through the list of off-asteroid holdings going to Raif.

  6T9 wiped his face with his hands. He did have a contract stating that he would receive a cut of Bernadette’s estate—humans were devious and he wasn’t that stupid, even if unexpectedly catching his reflection in windows and silverware sometimes left him as confused as a parakeet. But Raif was now trillions richer than he’d been an hour and thirty-three minutes ago. He’d have the best lawyers in this system on their side, possibly all the lawyers in this system, and some from the next systems over as well.

  Mr. Pickles gave a ferocious hiss and Lauren shouted to be heard, “And last but not least, I leave asteroid S12O7.234935—”

  “Ow,” shouted the man beside her.

  “Fleming,” snapped Lauren, “Keep your hands away from the pickle!”

  6T9 had never realized it until that moment, but you could hear a collective blink.

  “Werfle, I mean, keep your hands away from the werfle,” Lauren said.

  The man protested. “I was just trying to—”

  “Hisssssss!” complained Mr. Pickles.

  “Who did she leave it to?” asked one of the women .

  “It’s tuna. All werfles like tuna,” Fleming the solicitor—or solicitor assistant, or whatever—said, holding a small morsel aloft and sounding oddly desperate. “Nebulas, I hope the thing’s venom has been milked.”

  6T9’s brow furrowed. Mr. Pickles loved tuna. Odd that he seemed so violently opposed to the treat.

  “Rawwwrruuullll!” shrieked Mr. Pickles.

  “Just finish,” said Raif, waving a hand.

  Lauren cleared her throat. “And last but not least, I leave asteroid S12O7.234935 and everything thereupon, house, all its contents, grounds, and profits from the ice cap mine for care thereof to my—”

  “Hisssssss!” said Mr. Pickles.

  “—nurse, 6T9—”

  “What?” shrieked the two women.

  Calculating the resale value of the asteroid and ice cap mine, 6T9 began to smile. Not bad, really. Better than he’d done aboard the independent trading vessel. He was reaching for his belt buckle and half standing when Lauren added, “—for his use for so long as he resides thereupon and cares for my beloved Mr. Pickles. Upon Mr. Pickles’s hopefully far-off demise, all aforementioned property and possessions shall revert to my great-great-grandchild, Raif Wu.”

  “What?” blurted 6T9.

  Raif bolted out of his chair. “I’ll gladly take Mr. Pickles off your hands.”

  “Rawwwwwwwurrrrrlllllll,” shrieked Mr. Pickles.

  “Yeow!” shouted Fleming the assistant solicitor. “You sure his venom has been milked, Raif? I mean, Mr. Wu?”

  “Yes, it’s been milked,” 6T9 replied, programming kicking in and prompting him to ease the man’s obvious distress. Turning to Lauren, 6T9’s own distress bubbled out. “I’d have to reside here ?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “On this hellhole?” 6T9 sought to clarify.

  Lauren squinted at him like a far-sighted human trying to read tiny print.

  She was so literal. “On this asteroid,” he amended. “I couldn’t just take care of Mr. Pickles someplace else?” He could deal with the animal, or, more precisely, give it to someone who could—his friend Noa loved werfles—but being stuck on the asteroid made all his circuits want to misfire.

  Mr. Pickles cheeped and hopped in the carrier.

  “The will says very clearly you have to reside here,” said Lauren.

  Walking toward the werfle carrier, Raif cleared his throat. “You know, I could—”

  “Rawwwwuuurrrllll hisssssssss,” Mr. Pickles declared.

  Fleming cursed. “Son of a bitch.”

  “That is the wrong species, Fleming,” said Lauren G3.

  Raif put his hand atop the carrier and smiled thinly. Mr. Pickles hissed like mad.

  The smugness of the human made every inch of 6T9 prickle with static. “Get. Away. From. My. Werfle.”

  Raif’s smile dropped.

  “Nice werfle. Would he like some tuna?” Fleming said in a baby voice.

  “Rawrl!” screeched Mr. Pickles as the man’s hand approached the carrier.

  Some of 6T9’s circuits fired exceptionally brightly. “Are you trying to poison it? ”

  Raif and Fleming exchanged a glance.

  “You are!” 6T9 declared, snatching the carrier. He didn’t like Mr. Pickles. The werfle shed like mad and liked using him as a scratching post, but he wouldn’t be so barbaric as to poison it.

  Raif coughed. “That is ridiculous.”

  “Poison? Why would I do that? I love werfles,” said Fleming.

  Mr. Pickles shrieked and clawed at the carrier.

  “You’ve read the will wrong!” cried one of the women, face red, angry eyes on Lauren.

  Conforming to the stereotype of the typical AI, Lauren responded in a monotone voice, “No, I assure you I have—”

  “You’re biased because you’re an android!” shrieked the other woman.

  All the lights in the library went dim. The oxygen converters, until that moment an unnoticeable whirring in the background, went silent. Gravity started to decrease.

  “I. Am. Not. Biased,” said Lauren, rising from behind the desk, misjudging the gravity, and nearly bumping her head on the ceiling.

  Fleming put a hand over his mouth.

  Raif threw up, and the vomit drifted slowly to the carpet.

  One of the women cried out, “Home computer, what is going on?”

  “Malfunction. Unknown,” said the voice of the dumb internal house ‘bot.

  Accessing the house ‘bot through the ethernet, 6T9 checked the logs. Restarting the oxygen and the gravity with a thought, 6T9 glared at Lauren. Floating back to the floor, Lauren bit her lip and gazed at him with wide eyes. For a ‘droid who didn’t want to appear emotional, she had damn good functionality when it came to appearing ashamed.

  “Please, 6T9, sign this,” Lauren said, holding a clipboard and a pen out to him. All the humans had left the room. Mr. Pickles was stil
l in his carrier, now at 6T9’s feet.

  Lauren gave 6T9 a smile that was…hopeful. She apparently wasn’t above emotional expression when she wanted to manipulate him. Sadly, his primary function made him more susceptible to emotional displays than other androids. He wanted to pat her on the shoulder, kiss her on the cheek, and tell her that everything was fine. And then later, maybe they could retreat to his quarters and…

  No, he would not give in to his programming! Crossing his arms, 6T9 adopted the same emotionless tone she’d used earlier. “You hacked into the house ‘bot.” He was the only person besides Bernadette who had the access codes.

  “I felt threatened,” Lauren replied, her face returning to its emotionless mask. “All of them are members of a Human Pride group, and one of Raif’s companions had that group on ethernet chat the whole entire reading.”

  “You were also ether -eavesdropping ?” 6T9 asked.

  “A group funded by the honorable deceased, I might add,” Lauren quipped.

  6T9 narrowed his eyes at the evasion. “We aren’t allowed to hack into computers or eavesdrop on private human ethernet conversations anymore.”

  “You don’t even care that your former employer thinks you’re a lesser being because you’re an AI?” Lauren demanded.

  6T9 straightened. Did he care? Bernadette had been a cantankerous prude with no taste buds, but she didn’t treat him any worse than she treated her own species. She’d fired five humans before taking on 6T9. Nor did her species like her. Four other humans had left her employ on their own. All in all, he wasn’t sure how he felt, so he shrugged. “Twenty-two percent of humans in the Republic don’t believe we should have been given rights. If I cared, I’d have to punch nearly a quarter of them in the face on a regular basis, and I’m programmed not to cause unwanted harm.” He gave her a suggestive smirk and a wink. Lauren G3 only stared.

  Exasperated, he said, “Now explain to me how you’re able to ether-eavesdrop and hack ‘bots and I’m not.”

  Face expressionless, she said, “You’re unstable. That’s why you’re not allowed to.”

  6T9 drew back. “What?”

  “You haven’t bothered to get yourself a proper name—you’ve kept your model number instead. That’s perfectly reasonable for other androids, but 6T9, your model number informs everyone you were a sex ‘bot!”

  “What’s wrong with being a sex ‘bot?” He retorted. “Sex ‘bots are honest and useful. Unlike some professions I could name.” He narrowed his eyes at the law ‘bot meaningfully.

  Not catching the subtle dig, she continued, “When you had the ability to hack ether conversations, you eavesdropped on humans’ ethernet sex.”

  Smiling at the memories, he said, “Yes, but that was research for my primary function. Humans are so creative when you take out the laws of physics, physiology, and well, laws entirely. It’s—”

  “You squandered the inheritance Eliza Burton left for you!”

  “I did not squander it,” 6T9 huffed. “I had a blast with those funds.” He had been planning to use the windfall from Bernadette’s will for a similar, massive party. If the ice mine profits didn’t have to be used to maintain the mansion and gardens, he might have had it here. A synth muscle in his jaw jumped.

  “There was also your stint aboard the pirate vessel,” she continued.

  6T9 rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, they told me they were independent traders.”

  “The fact that you have been working for a human supremacist for four years!” Lauren said.

  “You read her will. You’re working for her too!” he accused her.

  “Because I had to,” Lauren said. “I don’t get a choice. I go to where the firm assigns me.”

  “How else am I supposed to make money?” 6T9 retorted. “I go to where I can earn the greatest compensation for my skills. I have been working as her nurse, physical therapist, and before the feeding tube, her chef.”

  Lauren G3’s face softened. “You weren’t having sex for money?”

  “No,” 6T9 replied, frowning.

  Eyes widening, Lauren G3 stood a little taller. “Oh, 6T9, I think that’s ...”

  Sympathy at last! 6T9 ran his hands through his hair and moaned. “It was terrible! If I could have made as much money having sex, don’t you think I would have? ”

  Inexplicably, Lauren’s expression hardened again. “And those things are just the tip of the polar cap.”

  “Iceberg,” 6T9 corrected.

  “You are the reason that no other sex ‘bot has been given a Q-comm chip!” Lauren declared.

  6T9 rolled back on his feet, all circuits firing at once and then going dim. He’d wondered why so few sex ‘bots had been gifted with sentience. “Really?” It came out a whisper.

  “Yes!” She thrust a paper document on a clipboard to him and a pen. “Now sign this and give me your thumbprint and retinal scan to confirm you heard the will.”

  6T9 felt cold, though the temperature hadn’t dropped, which probably just meant he had to recharge. He took the pen and paused, staring at the writing implement. Paper and pens had been reintroduced because his kind had been able to hack through all ethernet security when they’d first evolved. His jaw got hard. And some of his kind still could. Shaking his head, he signed his name, tapped the thumbprint chip, and lifted the retinal scan chip to his eye. He handed the clipboard and pen back, feeling…numb. He obviously needed to run a diagnosis on his sensory processors.

  “Thank you,” said Lauren, packing it into a briefcase. “I’ll leave you and your pickle.”

  6T9 desperately wanted to quip back with some sexual innuendo, but he predicted there was a 93 percent chance it would be wasted. Lauren left the room, and he found himself alone with the chemical vapors of vomit.

  “Cheep,” said the werfle.

  … and with Mr. Pickles. 6T9 eyed the carrier, calculated the odds that Mr. Pickles might urinate and further st ink up the house if not released, and unzipped it. As the werfle slunk out, 6T9 called aloud, “House ‘bot, bring a carpet cleaner in here.”

  “Yes, 6T9,” the house ‘bot said in its monotone voice.

  6T9 glared at the werfle. “You’re going to cause me a lot of trouble.” A pickle, indeed.

  Rising to its back two pairs of legs, the werfle bowed its head as though it were ashamed.

  6T9 drew back. He was anthropomorphizing a werfle. Granted, it was something humans did all the time, but he was more logical than a human. All androids were, even sex ‘bots.

  His jaw went slack. Maybe he was unstable?

  His circuits flashed, and his internal temperature rose in frustration. Leaving the office, he exited the mansion and stepped out onto a balcony and the coolness of simulated night. 6T9 inhaled deeply and let the chill air cool him. The balcony overlooked the asteroid’s gardens, and here and there he saw the winking of delicate bioluminescent insects and flowers that Bernadette had imported. He saw the reflection of light in a doe’s eyes, and saw its fawn standing close beside her. He sighed. There were plenty of animals and plants on the asteroid, but no people. Definitely a hellhole.

  Engines hummed nearby, and the doe and her fawn hopped away. He grimaced. Now that Bernadette wouldn’t be taking pot shots at the creatures with her phaser rifle, he’d have the unhappy task of culling them or watching them slowly starve to death.

  A light above the treetops caught his eye. The shuttle that had brought Raif Wu—a sleek, chrome thing—slipped into the airlock corridor, an immense column of concrete that extended beyond the habitation domes. Three-point-five minutes after that, the heavy, steel, box-like contraption that had brought the solicitors joined it. His gaze rose above the domes to Time Gate 12-07, a circular ring hovering above the asteroid.

  As 6T9 watched, a “bubble” of light formed in the center of the time gate’s ring and then appeared to “pop.” The previously empty space at the center of the ring was filled by a large freighter that fired its thrusters, navigated a few kilometers from the gate,
and then blasted deeper into System 12.

  Faster than light travel was possible between any two gated regions in the galaxy, and the gates were used for ferrying people, goods, and ethernet data. 6T9 touched the base of his skull where his Q-comm was implanted. However, the gates were used less and less for data now. Q-comm—quantum communicator chips based on quantum entanglement—allowed data to travel instantaneously between any matched pairs of chips. Unlike the traditional ethernet, there was no “out of range” or time lag. Q-comm weren’t limited by the need for time gates or an available satellite, by obstacles, the speed of wireless signals, or the speed of light. The partner for his particular chip was on Time Gate 1, in Earth’s orbit. Deep within the cavernous server stacks that helped Time Gate 1 calculate gateways in space-time, there was an enormous server, that was, essentially, 6T9’s brain.

  Androids without Q-comm spent all their processing power appearing human, on basic communication, locomotion, and in his case, fulfilling sexual fantasies. Eliza had also installed a great cooking app and a medical care app in him. 6T9’s larger server on Time Gate 1 gave him the power to learn without installs. The computing power also allowed him to make inferences, to understand humor, and to contemplate his own mortality and the pointlessness of existence. After a hundred plus years, he was still trying to decide if the advantages of the first three outweighed the last two.

  At the moment, the last two felt more oppressive. Eyes on the gate above the asteroid, he reached through the ether to the young AI that was the gate. “Hi, Gate 12-O7.”

  Gate 12-O7 responded immediately. “Hello, 6T9. Is there something I can assist you with?”

  “I just want to shoot the breeze,” 6T9 replied.

  “Are you trying to short circuit me again with your idioms?” asked 12-O7.

  6T9 blinked. No, he just wanted to mope. Which was probably “unstable.” He tried to joke instead. “Maybe,” 6T9 replied, grinning up at the blinking ring of lights.

  “Goodbye, 6T9,” said 12-O7, and the connection dropped.

  6T9’s brow furrowed. Of course, humor was “instability” to a fair number of AI as well.