Divergence

Donny tapped sourly at his console, and the FE software initialized in a bloom of peach and gold.

“Handshaking now,” he said without enthusiasm. “Okay, we’re uploading our circumstances. It will take about five minutes.”

Everyone relaxed a little. The decision had been made; now it was up to the FE software to sort out the details. A doll carrying a fairy cake walked towards Michel, stepping from the hessian carpet onto a plastic tarpaulin that for a few preposterous centimeters was part of the weave.

“Thank you, Emily,” he said, taking the cake.

“Do you think we’ll get a good deal?” asked Maurice.

“Bound to,” said Armstrong. “Its needs are greater than ours. After all, we don’t have to pick it up. We could just leave it floating towards its doom.”

“It will be nice to have the Von Neumann Machines working again,” said Maurice complacently. “I’m fed up with my tiny room. I can get myself a copy made of yours.”

“Hmm,” said Armstrong, rubbing carbon into the blade of his panga.

Now that everyone was a little calmer, Edward got up and walked across the living area to the kitchen space in the corner. He was thirsty, and he thought there might still be some apple juice in the fridge.

“Leave it,” snapped Saskia.

“What?” asked Edward, nervously dancing on felt tiles.

“The apple juice. You’ve already had more than your fair share this morning.”

“I wasn’t getting apple juice,” he lied. Edward frowned as he poured some milk into a glass. How come Saskia always seemed to know what he was thinking? Behind him, Jack’s doll turned the corner, paused as it saw Edward, and then went running back to its owner.

Edward took a big drink of milk and sat down on a glass chair that stood by the pine breakfast bar. He wiped the wetness from his upper lip and felt the roughness there. He hadn’t shaved in two days. Caroline used to remind him every morning. He looked down at his bracelet, a big balloon of misery swelling in his stomach.

Edward and the rest of the crew of the Eva Rye had grown up in the twenty-third century, where AIs worked at speeds far beyond those of human thought. The incredible slowness of FE software was frustrating to them all. Even now, after five weeks of use, it was trying their patience to wait for the twenty or thirty minutes it took the routine to complete. Add to that the sense of nervous expectation that awaited the results of the transaction, and tempers, already high on the ship, were pushed past breaking point.

It all started innocently enough.

“We’re approaching point oh five lights,” said Craig. “The resolution on the viewing field is improving already. We should be able to get a proper look at the Stranger soon enough.”

“How long until we get to it?” asked Joanne.

“About two hours.”

“Wouldn’t it be faster if we made a jump into Warp?”

“Yes, but it would take more fuel.”

“Ah, we never used to have to worry about that sort of thing,” said Joanne wistfully. “I’d never even heard of the concept of fuel until we began Fair Exchange.”

The image of the Stranger in the viewing field gradually resolved itself. It wasn’t a ship. It was a robot. But a robot like no one had ever seen before.

“Who built you?” asked Armstrong, rubbing at his panga.

“That information does not come for free,” said the Stranger. “Do you wish to trade?”

“No, thank you, I was just making conversation. I think I’ve seen something like you out in the Dawlish sector. That’s where the old Sho Heen company finished up, if I remember correctly. They used to build repair craft that look a bit like you.”