I should have unloaded the ayatanas, I know. But I was too tired, and I was going to need them again tomorrow.
I was pushing my way through a badly written extract when I was interrupted by the small throat-clearing beep our shipmind uses when she’s about to enter a conversation and doesn’t want to startle anybody.
“Llyn, go to sleep,” Sally said. “Or I will make you.”
“I was sleeping,” I said.
“You were reading.”
“I was reading myself to—oh, never mind.” I’d wake up groggy if I used my fox to send myself to sleep, but it wasn’t worth fighting with the shipmind over. I tuned up the relevant hormones, and was gone before I had to listen to her rejoinder.
Tsosie was right: we did get a lot more popular with Helen once we retrieved her people from the bottomless waste of space. She wasn’t as happy when Sally immediately put them into her own storage rather than bringing them back to Big Rock Candy Mountain, or so Sally told us after our rest cycle.
Helen didn’t say anything about it to Tsosie or me—or the rest of the crew—because Sally kept her out of our way. The peripheral sat quietly in a corner of the ambulance, cabled to a bulkhead, sharing Sally’s sensorium. It’s always hazardous to assign human emotions to nonhuman sentiences, but Helen was modeled on a human psyche. And it seemed to me that her body language became less and less reactive and more composed as more and more of her people were moved on board Sally. And the more Sally let her experience the natural environment of space the same way Sally did.
I was sure she still wasn’t happy. Nor would I be, in her place, with most of my crew left behind. Nor was I, standing in my own shoes, with so many people left unrescued.
You can always get one more out.
Until you can’t. And it’s not easy to know where the line between “saving one more” and “dying yourself” is.
We could have left once we had a full load of patients. Could have—Helen wasn’t capable of stopping us as long as Sally had her in restraint. But we waited for the additional relief ships to arrive, because to do otherwise would have amounted to the extremest mental cruelty to Helen and to the machine.
And we were all curious, and wanted a look at that docked, silent methane ship. Even though she wasn’t answering our hails, there might be people on board her, also. It was such a huge rescue job that we couldn’t do everything at once and had to prioritize. Triage.
With Helen’s help and Sally’s override, part of the microbot machine was packed up in boxes and loaded in external holds; Sally told us that its personality core was both integrated with Helen’s and distinct from her. It was quite nonhuman in its construction, and while Sally didn’t seem to have any problem communicating with it, she also didn’t seem to be able to easily translate its concepts and logical processes for us meat types.
She did say we’d gotten enough of its processing power to preserve its personality core. If anything should happen to the rest of it, it would be able to reconstruct itself.
What can I say? AI medicine is weird.
The human patients were going to have to stay frozen for the time being. Though I wanted to thaw them out. And Hhayazh really wanted to thaw them out.
But all we needed was a virulent influenza from six hundred ans ago that nobody has any immunity to anymore, or something similar. I know we all have diar when we’re tempted to take definitive action… but wiping out humanity with a primitive plague wasn’t on our agenda. Neither was killing a lot of ice people because we couldn’t wait to defrost them until we got someplace with the most advanced medical technology in the galaxy.
The pods were decontaminated, and they would wait to be opened until we got back to Core.
Rhym tried to argue me into letting them do the EV to the methane ship, since we had no patients suitable for them to operate on. They maintained that Tsosie and I still needed rest. I pointed out that I still had the ayatanas loaded. We could have been caught in a stalemate for a standard month, but Sally pulled up the drone surveys and showed us a ship interior more suitable for long lanky types than squat broad-circumferenced ones, thereby resolving the argument in my favor.
She did insist that I eat and let my exo and hardsuit both finish full maintenance cycles before I went out, though. The exo was nearly done, and Camphvis, good to her word, had set up the hardsuit. But I suspected that Sally had conveniently not remembered to trigger the disassembly and reprint, in order to keep me indoors for another few hours.
I mean, sure, it’s supposed to be on my checklist. But she’s the AI.
I was halfway through breakfast—no coffee, drop it all down the Well, because coffee smells terrible to most syster species, so I was making do with tea—before I remembered to ask her what had gone wrong the previous dia. “Sally. When you lost contact with us. You said you would explain later. What happened?”
Sally paused, which is a thing AIs do when they’re communicating with humans, because it makes us more comfortable if they operate at our speed. Then she said, “I’m not precisely sure.”
“But you fixed it. I mean, you got back in touch with us.”
“I routed around it,” she said. “With Loese’s help. And then I forgot about
