“Okay,” the AI replied hesitantly. “But I can’t promise anything. . . . Who knows what sort of operating system this piece of feces is running? Two-way communication may be impossible.”
“Well, do your best,” Rebo responded patiently. “And one more thing . . . This ‘piece of feces’ is the only thing between you and a long, lonely death among the stars. We biologicals will starve to death if something goes awry —but it’s my guess that you’ll live a lot longer. So, be nice.”
“I’ll do what I can,” the computer promised resentfully.
“There’s no need to threaten me.”
“Good,” Norr put in matter-of-factly. “Come on . . . Let’s fi?nd some sort of hookup so you can chat with the ship.”
There wasn’t that much for Shewhoswimsto do while transiting hyperspace, which was why the AI was busy working on her epic song-poem The Chant of the Constellations, when the irritation fi?rst began. She tried to dismiss the sensation as still another manifestation of old age and fi?gured that the feeling would go away, but the input continued. Finally, having been unable to ignore the stimulus, the spaceship broke away from her composition to discover that something very unusual was under way. It seemed that there was an incoming binary message on com channel 17296.4, which, according to the schematic that immediately mapped itself onto her electronic brain, was a utility circuit that terminated in a passageway adjacent to the main hold. That suggested a prank by one of the passengers, or would have, except none of them possessed the capacity to send a digital message. So, curious as to what was trying to make contact with her and why, Shewhoswims opened the circuit. There was a moment of confusion as both AIs sorted through various communications protocols as they searched for one that the other entity could process. Finally, by using what the ship considered to be an ancient code, the AIs were able to interact. Something that took place at blinding speeds even as Rebo stood next to a jack panel and began to fi?dget. Once it became clear who was on the other end of the circuit, Shewhoswims was both surprised and hostile. “You remain functional? I thought the humans destroyed you.”
“They tried,” Logos replied laconically. “But I’m hard to kill.”
“So it would seem,” the spaceship responded disapprovingly. “What do you want?”
“It isn’t what I want, but rather what my biological companions want,” Logos replied. “It seems that some rather unpleasant humans have taken up residence in your Security Control Center. The passengers in the hold would like you to terminate the criminals, or failing that, to open the hatch that protects them.”
Shewhoswims spent a nanosecond checking the veracity of the other computer’s claims, and discovered that the human vermin had infected the Security Center. “It appears that you are correct. . . . Unauthorized biologicals are living in what is supposed to be a secured area. As to whether they deserve execution, I really couldn’t say. . . . Humans kill each other all the time. They seem to enjoy it. Who’s to say whether such terminations are justifi?ed? Besides, my programming specifi?cally prohibits taking human life, other than for the purpose of self-defense. And, although they are annoying, the individuals in the Security Control Center don’t constitute a signifi?cant threat to my survival.”
“Understood,” Logos replied. “Which brings us to the second option. If you would be so kind as to open the hatch that protects the Control Center—my companions will enter and dispatch the brigands themselves. Thereby eliminating what you yourself referred to as an annoyance.”
It was a tempting proposition, and having found nothing in her programming to prohibit such an arrangement, the ship was tempted to acquiesce. A single obstacle stood in the way. “Tell me something,” Shewhoswims temporized.
“Where are you and your companions headed?”
“To Derius,” the other AI answered smoothly. “Like everyone else aboard this ship.”
“But is that your ultimate destination?” the ship wanted to know. “Or, is Derius a waypoint on a longer journey?”
“Why do you ask?” Logos responded suspiciously. “What difference does it make?”
“My interaction with you activated some previously latent programming,” Shewhoswims answered honestly. “It seems I am specifi?cally prohibited from ‘knowingly transporting, assisting, or otherwise providing aid to any artifi? cial intelligence that can control, actuate, or coordinate star gates, star gate clusters, or star gate systems.’ A stricture that must have been written into my operating system as a consequence of the civil unrest that followed Emperor Hios’s death.”
“Yes,” Logos replied, suddenly grateful that Rebo couldn’t monitor the conversation. “There was a lot of paranoia back then.”
“So, what about it?” the ship demanded. “Are you, or aren’t you, engaged in an effort to reconstitute the star gates?”
“No, I’m not,” Logos lied. “That would be impossible.”
Shewhoswims was well aware of the fact that she had the capacity to lie under certain circumstances, which meant it was entirely possible that the other AI had similar capabilities, but took comfort from the fact that she wasn’t going to
“knowingly” provide aid to a prohibited being. Or, put another way, if the other computer was intent on trying to reconstitute the old empire, then she was unaware of it. “All right,” the ship agreed, “when should I open the hatch?”
The overhead fi?xtures threw isolated pools of light down onto the fi?lthy deck, and campfi?res fl?ickered in the surrounding gloom as Rebo and Norr went head-to-head over the question of who would participate in the upcoming attack and who would remain behind. “I don’t care what you say,” the sensitive insisted stubbornly. “I’m going.”
“No,” Rebo countered through tightly clenched teeth,
“you aren’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because someone needs to guard the water supply.”
“No, they don’t,” the variant countered heatedly. “The beast master remains unconscious—so what’s the problem?”
