5,001 - A Science Fiction Romance Short Story (2 page)

She patted his metal head as she took it
and gave him a smile. “AIs can change and develop their own coding,
but you are still just smart computers. Very, very smart in your
case, Scrubby. You can improve. But you can’t build.”

“I can, too!” He held up his articulated
hands.

“Digital building. You’re still the same
adorable Scrubby you were when you first blinked at me. You can
resolve problems, but you can’t create. But someone has been
changing records, changing meta-data levels above the ship coding.
W
hy
? Why endanger the entire ship by venting water? There’s
nowhere else to go once the ship is crippled.”

“Unless that was the point,” Scrub
said.

She looked at him sharply. “Cripple the
ship?”

“Endanger the ship. The venting is
incremental. It would take years, you said, to reach critical
depletion.”

“Why endanger the ship?”

“To call upon the ship’s best master
engineer?”

She rolled her eyes.

Scrub tilted his head. “Water
conservation is a legacy system. No one knows the legacy systems
better than you. They would have called you sooner or later.”

“Why me?”

“To make you pay attention?”

“Why
now
, though? These
manipulations go back years and years....” She stared at the
virtual screen that showed the calendar of anomalies she had
jerry-rigged. “Back more than seventeen years,” she whispered, as
something invisible grabbed at her chest and squeezed.

“Hey,
I’m
seventeen years old!”
Scrubby exclaimed. “That’s a funny coincidence. Isn’t that the same
time that-” He rolled backwards, agitated. “Oh....”

Caelen swiped at the screens, looking
for just one, pushing the others out of the way. There. There is
was. “Scrub, this change in the environmental controls in the
Palatine district. What sub-routines does this component
affect?”

“Retrieving,” Scrub said in the flat
voice that meant the AI was concentrating on pure data. “Garbage
recycling, air purifying, UV level control, random weather events
generation, artificial gravity--”

“Stop.”

Scrub blinked. “Palatine doesn’t have
artificial gravity,” he said, sounding puzzled.

“There’s one section that does,” Caelen
said grimly. “The Arcadome Handball League Arena.”

“The tankball tank?”

“The tank,” she confirmed. “Devar...”
She paused, let his name sink in properly now it was out there.
Then she went on. “Devar swore that someone tampered with the ball
itself, yet it could never be proved. But what if they messed with
the gravity? That would change the ball’s behavior, wouldn’t
it?”

“First level analysis meets all positive
criteria,” Scrub said flatly. “But you’d have to ask Devar Todd to
verify. He was the Primary Coder controlling all major routines in
the Palatine district at that time.” Then he blinked as he
processed what he had said. “Oh,” he said again, in a small
voice.

“I’m not asking him,” Caelen said
flatly. Her heart was thundering. Hurting. “I’m not.”

The Palatine torus was the oldest
district on the Endurance and one of the original components. The
torus rotated to provide gravity, while artificial sunlight blazed
from a set point on the central track around the torus, providing
eight hour days and nights. The residents of Palatine liked to
claim that the natural gravity they enjoyed was healthier than
artificial gravity, but Caelen suspected it was Palatine itself
that gave them a boost. From the entry hub, Palatine was spread out
like a patchwork quilt made of greens and greys and browns, with
secluded highlights that were villas hidden behind pockets of
trees. Water twinkled as it meandered across the quilt in streams
and rivulets. Even the air seemed fresher here.

Caelen grabbed a taxi-boat, gave Devar’s
address and pressed her wrist against the pay-plate as the driver
punched in the address. The taxi-boat lurched, then sailed
gracefully out along the null-gravity spine, giving her a
stupendous view of the countryside circling around her, before
veering off for the area where Devar lived. The gravity gradually
reasserted itself, until it reached normal just above the level of
the houses below.

The taxi settled in front of a sprawling
house with graceful arches and white walls. Somewhere nearby, a
cricket chirped. The sunsource was almost directly overhead. The
air was warm.

Caelen forced herself to step out of the
taxi and brushed at her worn jumpsuit. She twisted her hair into a
rope and tossed it over her shoulder and tried to ignore the little
voice that whispered about how much grey was showing at her temples
these days. The taxi-boat lifted back up into the air and headed
for the hub, leaving her alone, facing the house.

She blew out her breath and headed for
the door. Long before she reached it, it opened. Devar stood in the
doorway, one shoulder against the frame, his arms crossed, watching
her approach.

Caelen managed a smile. “Thanks for
seeing me.”

He straightened up. His blue eyes were
neutral. “You said it was important. Come in.” He led her through
rooms that were spacious and comfortable, cool and silent. All of
them were empty of people. Nothing was out of place, until they
reached a room that was almost all glass, allowing the sunsource to
fill it with light.

Easels stood everywhere, many of them
holding completed paintings. Landscapes, and still life studies.
Portraits. On tables and workbenches were scattered paints and
brushes, rags and bottles. The smell of oil paint was
ferocious.

“You paint?” Caelen asked.

“I picked it up a few years ago,” Devar
said, his deep voice even and controlled.

“You were always the most creative
person I knew.”

He crossed his arms again. “Too
creative, according to the judge.” His tone was bitter.

Caelen made herself stop studying him.
Toting up changes, cataloguing what was still the same, wouldn’t do
her any good. The little scar at the corner of his mouth. That was
still there. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. They were
new...but nice. He had spent time laughing and smiling.

Her chest squeezed. “Where is....your
wife?” She couldn’t remember her name.

“Galen graduated to adult two years ago.
Miriam left not long after that.”

“Sorry.”

He shrugged. “It was her right. Galen’s
nurture was complete.”

No wonder it was so quiet here. He was
alone.

“Why are you here?” His tone was polite,
but there was steel behind it.

Caelen dug out the data ball. “I have
always believed that you were set up, that the game fraud charge
was wrong. Now I think I might have proof.” She switched on the
ball, placed it on the easel next to her and stepped back as the
virtual screen formed between her and Devar.

Devar dropped his arms to his sides, his
attention caught. “Tell me.”

It took hours to explain and by then,
the torus had rotated into nightside. Devar made her justify every
conclusion, forcing her to re-examine her data. The revision made
the logic chain clear in her mind. When she was finished, Devar
turned and looked out through the windows at the grey night and was
silent for a long time. She remembered that he liked to think
things through before speaking and made herself stay silent. She
turned off the ball and put it away. Then she couldn’t stand it any
longer. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that you’re right.” His
voice was low. Distant. “Something has been manipulating us. For
years.” He looked up at the land far overhead, which blazed in
green hues, enjoying its share of the sunsource. “There are five
thousand people on the Endurance. Never more. Never less. But no
one has access to
all
the systems that have been changed and
certainly not for all the years these changes have been occurring.
Except one.” He turned to look at her, as if she would have the
answer.

“The ship AI?” she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. “You already know the
answer. You just don’t like it.”

He was right. She didn’t like it. “Then
you agree with me. It’s not the AI at all. The ship...the ship is
sentient.” She shook her head. “Is that even possible?”

“Why don’t you ask the ship? If she is
sentient, then she will confirm it.”

“How? Every ship interface terminates
with the AI. I don’t know how to start to reach it!”

“Give it a voice. It’ll know how to use
it.”

“That takes coding,” Caelen pointed out.
“Organic coding, complex stuff that only....” That only Primary
Coders like Devar understood. She pressed her fingers to her lips.
“Sorry,” she said softly.

Devar shrugged, but she could see it
wasn’t alright at all. The need to soothe him, to hold him, surged
strongly and she tightened her fist, fighting it. “I should go. I’m
going to have to find a hacker good enough to--”

“Did you use that AI personality I left
for you?”

“No,” Caelen lied flatly. “I threw it
away.”

“I’ve missed you.” His gaze was frank,
filled with pain. “I always have.”

“Not enough to stay,” she tossed
back.

He flinched.

She got the hell out of there before she
said anything else.

Devar looked out of place, standing on
the spatula in his fine clothes. Caelen looked around to see if
anyone else on the wall was paying notice.

“Did you find your hacker?” Devar
asked.

Caelen winced. Even if she couldn’t see
anyone, that didn’t mean they weren’t straining to hear every word
Devar and she said. “You’d better come in.”

He stepped inside and the spatula shot
away like it was impatient. She could see Devar was sizing up the
tiny oblong space. “I’d forgotten how small they were,” he said,
almost apologetically.

“You’d better see the rest of it.” She
moved over to the back corner of the room and tapped on the wall.
“Scrubby, it’s okay. Let me in.”

After a moment, the wall cracked and the
door opened up. Scrub rolled backwards, his head tilting from side
to side as he took in Devar’s presence.

“Hi,” Devar told him.

“Devar Todd,” Scrub said, in recall
tone. Then he blinked. “Wow!”

Devar looked around the laboratory. “The
Bridge lets you use two apartments at once?”

“You won’t find it on any official
records,” Caelen told him, “but I own these three and the three on
top. Only the one you came through is my official residence. I’ve
been adapting them for years. These two are my workshop. The three
above are living space. It’s not the Palatine, but it works for
me.”

Except that Devar seemed to be too tall
for the room. Too large. He made it seem shabby and miserable.

“It wasn’t my choice that you stay
here,” he said.

“Actually, it was,” she said crisply.
“But forget it. You were asking about a hacker?”

He took a step closer. “You never would
let me explain it. My life was over when the game fraud charges
were upheld. No one has ever won an appeal against the Tankball
League. I would have been executed and recycled inside a month.
Then the Quickening Program offered me a child. Me and Miriam. I
couldn’t
turn it down, Caelen.” He pushed his hand through
his hair. “Death, or a child...” And he gave a shaky laugh. “We
always talked about a child--”

“
Don’t
!” she cried. “Don’t do
this.” She drew in a hot breath. “I suppose you’re here to tell me
how much you regret it?”

“No!” he shot back, his tone strident.
“I don’t regret a single moment of every year Galen was in my life.
Not one. Raising a child is just as wonderful as they say it is,
and it saved my life. But I
do
regret what my choice did to
your
life.”

“You’ve been researching me. I’m
surprised they let you get that cozy with a terminal.”

“It was just an excuse,” he said flatly
and pulled his hand out of his coat pocket. He held it out.
“Here.”

She picked up the ball. “What is it?”
Then she realized. “It’s a voice,” she whispered, shocked.

“It’s not just a voice,” he said. “It’s
a whole face. If the ship mind is there, it will be able to see and
hear, instead of interpreting through AI interfaces.”

“The risk you took! If they’d caught you
anywhere near codes....” She trembled. Devar didn’t have Galen to
protect him anymore. If they caught him coding, he would be
recycled without trial.

Devar shrugged. “Think of it as my
apology.”

“I don’t want your apology,” she shot
back, anger touching her.

Devar looked at Scrub, who was listening
without shame to everything they said. “Your name is Scrub?”

“My full name is Scrub Nurse. Neither of
us like it,” Scrub explained.

“Scrub, sing me my favorite lullaby,”
Devar said.

“Ring a ring of rosies, a pocketful of
posies, a-tissue, a-tissue, we all fall down.” Then he blinked.
“Wow, did I say that?”

Devar smiled. “I coded that into the AI
I gave you, as my signature.”

Caelen hid the sinking sensation in her
belly. She couldn’t look at him directly.

“You
do
want my apology,” he said
gently. “You have for seventeen years.”

She glared at Scrub, who was back to
listening with deep interest. It gave her an excuse to look
away.

“The coding was the easy part,” Devar
said. “You’re going to have to install it on the Bridge itself,
right inside the legacy coding.”

Caelen rolled her eyes and sighed
heavily. “This job just gets worse and worse.”

Caelen bullied her way onto the Bridge
with bluff and bravado. When they realized that she had built a
patch to stop the water leakage, they were sluggishly cooperative
and she and Scrub were allowed onto the Bridge and shown to a
terminal along one of the side walls, escorted by a dozen sentries
and guards.