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Johnson pounded through dimly lit corridors, muscles aching as she pushed herself to go that bit further. It was the middle of the ship’s night but she couldn’t sleep. Not this close.
Living aboard The Indescribable Joy of Destruction had brought her a peace she hadn’t known since she was a small girl. Her daemons were locked away; sometimes a day went past without her thinking about them.
^We will be in position to jump in a few minutes.^
Indie’s message distracted her as she jumped a packing crate. She landed awkwardly, turned the stumble into a roll and fetched up against a bulkhead.
^Thank you,^ she replied. ^I’m on my way to the bridge.^
She got up, testing her bruised shoulder as she started walking back along the corridor.
It’ll be fine.
She picked up speed and hit the next corner at a full run, pushing off against the wall with a slap to help her turn. She almost forgot about her new leg.
She burst onto the bridge, having to duck to avoid banging her head on the rising door that didn’t seem to be in the same rush that she was. She skidded to a halt, grabbing one of the acceleration couches to stop herself falling over.
^Very dignified,^ sent Indie.
She drew herself up and straightened her clothes; even in shorts and a strappy running top she still felt the need to look as smart as possible on a bridge. Sweat poured down her neck, but she ignored it, forcing herself to breathe slower.
^I can do without your personal comments, thank you very much.^
^Sorry,^ he sent. ^Anyway, you just made it in time. Strap in.^
Johnson sat down on one of the couches. A command from her EIS made it recline and the sides fold over her. She wriggled a bit as the pressure built, making sure there weren’t any wrinkles of clothing trapped. Secure in the cushioning gel, she linked into the command system.
^Ready for immersive display?^
She sent a wordless confirmation.
Her view of the bridge was replaced with empty space. This time she had been expecting the abrupt transition and merely raised her eyebrows, smug at having denied the AI the satisfaction of seeing her lose her grip.
^Jumping in three, two, one, mark.^
The pattern of stars changed. With her mind disengaged from her body, she didn’t feel the wave of disorientation that usually followed a jump.
That’s an unexpected tactical advantage. It might make it a little easier to react to a jump point ambush.
She focused on the brightest star, the system’s sun. White arrows bracketed it. Its name and a string of astronomical data appeared floating alongside it, prompted by her vaguely considered question. When she read the name, Orpus, images of officers round a table flashed into her mind.
My staff briefing after Repulse arrived here! Are any of those people still alive?
^I am picking up a distress beacon from the fourth planet. Its signature matches that of a Congressional Navy escape pod.^
^They’re still here?^ she asked, pulling up the database details on the planet.
^Unknown. It could be a trap; someone could have scooped them up and left the beacon active to lure us in.^
^We have to find out. I can't believe that they wouldn't have bothered to pick them up ... but I can't shake the feeling that I have to check.^
She became aware of acceleration. It wasn’t felt through her own senses though; it was more of an intellectual knowledge.
^Indie?^ she asked. ^Can you confirm we are accelerating?^
^Yes. I have set course for the source of the beacon.^
^How do I know we are accelerating?^ she sent.
^That would be the gravitometric data. You are receiving a selection of my sensory feeds. You currently have the default pilot setup. You can change the settings from this menu.^
A window expanded out from the right-hand side of her vision.
^Thank you. How long?^
^We came through the jump at rather a high velocity. Half an hour and I’ll be done analysing the primary sensor data and know if there are any capital ships in the system. Any that are not hiding that is. Give it forty-five minutes and, if all appears clear, you can hail them.^
She spent the time familiarising herself with the interface. It took a while to get the hang of the sequence of thoughts to activate the menus. Once in, though, she found that it was largely similar to the structures she had access to from her cabin.
^No sign on passive sensors of any ships in-system,^ sent Indie. ^I’m about to carry out an active scan. Standby for sudden manoeuvres.^
Her stomach tightened, the same way it did before battle. ^Understood. I am familiar with the risk of active scans attracting unwelcome attention.^
^Sorry. I will try to shake that. Broadcasting that last part around the whole ship is a habit from when I had more than just one crew member.^
The broad spectrum pulse of electromagnetic radiation raced away from the ship. In the first second, the space in a hundred and fifty thousand kilometre radius around the ship was declared clear. As the seconds ticked by, various large asteroids and other navigational hazards were added to the display, briefly flashing grey dots that faded away. At a range of fifteen light seconds, the pulse had spread out so far there was no chance of receiving any more echoes.
^We are clear for now. You can send your message. Be advised, there will be a six point four one hour wait on any reply due to lightspeed delays.^
Johnson opened the communications menu and dropped herself into a simulated bridge. It took a bit of fiddling, but she managed to get it to render her in her commander’s uniform.
No sense in confusing them right now. If they are there that is.
“This is Commander Olivia Johnson to whoever is listening. We have picked up your distress beacon and are two days out from the planet. Please advise as to your situation. Johnson out.”
Indie walked onto the bridge and the door hinged closed behind him. “Don’t worry. I’m not being included in the transmission,” he said as he stopped behind her.
Something about his words pricked at the back of Johnson’s awareness, but she couldn’t place it. “I’ve sent it now anyway.”
He leant over her and tapped at the screen on the chair arm. “A bit terse wasn’t it? I thought you were keen to be reunited with your crew.”
She scowled and batted his hand away. “The more I think about it, the more your idea that it is a trap is the only thing that makes sense. We don’t leave people behind. The moment Fleet received that Compassionate Data Package you transmitted, they would have dispatched a rescue mission. They have had plenty of time to get here and pull them off.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you. We’d have done the same, when I was part of the Republic.” He sat at one of the simulated workstations. “I am going to keep making sporadic active scans. Nothing should be able to sneak up on us. You can stand down while we wait for any reply.”
She nodded and the imaginary bridge melted away, replaced by the ceiling of the real bridge. The couch released its grip on her and eased her up into a sitting position.
^I’m going to try to sleep. Make sure I’m awake in time for the earliest possible response.^
^Will do. Good night.^
She placed her hands on the armrests, ready to push herself out of the couch, then paused.
^Indie?^
^Yes, Olivia?^
^Are you aware that you’ve started eliding words?^
^I’m trying it out. Do you like it?^
She rolled her eyes. ^Surely, if you are sentient it only matters if you like it.^
^Caring about how my crew feels is part of who I am.^
^Again,^ she sent, testing out the muscles in her calves, seeing if she could detect a difference with the synthetic ones, ^if you are sentient, isn’t that up to you?^
Indie took a moment to respond. The delay would have gone unnoticed from a human, but from an AI it resounded in emptiness. ^Is there nothing about the way you are that you can’t change?^
Johnson froze mid-stretch and narrowed her eyes. ^Of course there are, that’s part of being hu...^ Her eyes widened. ^You’re saying that your core programming is like my genetics.^
^Indeed. Something that we can recognise influences us but couldn’t change without drastic action.^
^Weren’t you programmed to kill all things Congress?^ Johnson couldn’t put her finger on why she wasn’t worried by this thought.
^Weren’t you programmed to kill all things Republic?^ asked Indie? ^That imperative isn’t in my core code or your DNA. It was a later layer of indoctrination. Something, I think, we have both grown past.^
Johnson nodded slowly. Perhaps this AI wasn’t all that different from her after all.
^The new speech pattern does make you sound less like a machine,^ she sent as she rose to her feet with a sigh. ^So, if it makes you happy then by all means carry on.^
With that, she left the bridge.
#
Johnson perched on the edge of the cream-coloured, padded chair at the terminal in her cabin fifteen minutes before the earliest possible response. She hadn’t managed to get much sleep, so had risen early and eaten. If they weren’t there, she’d have lost her purpose again. She couldn’t relax; that would let the darkness back in.
^That’s the twelfth time you’ve checked the receiver array. It is in perfect working order.^
^Sorry, Indie. I don’t want to miss anything.^
^I ... understand.^
The moment came and went. The comms window remained empty, apart from the steady pulse of the automated distress signal. A minute passed. Two minutes. As the time ticked by, Johnson slowly deflated into her chair.
^They were never going to reply instantly,^ Indie pointed out. ^That would require someone happening to be in one of the escape pods the moment the message arrived. They are unlikely to be wasting what power they have left on a comms net.^
^Of course. I knew that. I kind of...^ She looked at the photo of the previous captain’s family on the desk. ^I kind of hoped there would be someone sitting there, waiting for me to come back for them.^
The console pinged, and a small window opened on the desk, showing a static waveform. Johnson lunged forward and tapped it. The waveform became animated, and a slightly out of breath voice burst from the hidden speakers.
“Commander? Is that really you? This is Sub-Lieutenant Hanke. I was nearest to a pod when we were alerted to your message.”
^The transmission is very poor. I’m having to do some heavy signal reconstruction,^ commented Indie.
“We’ve only got audio down here, a pretty sketchy signal at that,” Hanke continued. “The pods took quite a beating when Repulse blew. We made it down OK. There are sixty-two of us here now; we lost a few to the wildlife before we were able to consolidate.”
Wildlife? The database didn’t have anything on indigenous lifeforms.
Hanke’s voice continued from the speakers. “I've tried sending the dispatches to you but the computer refuses, saying it can't confirm a valid Congressional transmission pattern. I expect it’s the signal degradation.
“Lieutenant Levarsson is in charge; none of the other officers made it off the ship. We’ve built a defensible camp. We are low on food and medical supplies. We were able to supplement our diet with some of the indigenous plants, but the majority are not compatible with our body chemistry.
“I'll make sure the others know you’re on your way. One of us will be in this pod waiting for your next message, in a little over six hours. Hanke out.”
^He sounded a little young,^ said Indie.
^Yes. Far too young. He was sixteen when I lost Repulse. I think he'll have turned seventeen by now,^ she replied.
^You do realise we can't pick up sixty-two survivors? I can fit perhaps twenty in before my life support systems become overstretched. We'd have to do several runs. And where do you plan on taking them?^
^I hadn't expected them to be here. Not until you picked up the beacon. I didn't have a big rescue plan coming in,^ she sent, leaning back in her chair.
^Worst case, we have to ferry them to an independent system. They can find their way home from there,^ he sent.
^That will be tough on the last group left behind. It sounds like somewhere where strength in numbers is important.^
^We can see if there is anything we can do to reinforce their position. If you helped repair it, I could leave an internal defence robot on the surface with orders to protect them,^ he suggested.
^I'll think about it. I want to know more about their conditions before making a final decision.^
She reached out and touched the reply button. Another touch and it was marked as 'command staff only'. She sat up straight again before starting the recording, noting as she did how ridiculous that was for an audio-only transmission.
“Lieutenants, Johnson. Well done on holding the crew together and getting them through this. Your leadership and resourcefulness have been noted.
“I'm afraid I am not in a vessel capable of lifting you all in one go. We reckon it will take three, maybe four, runs of up to ten days each. I will need an honest assessment of the viability of your position in terms of holding out with as few as twenty persons.
“Once again, you have my personal gratitude for saving so many of the crew. Johnson out.”
#
“Commander, Levarsson. It is good to hear your voice. We had thought you were lost. They told me you made it into the shuttle but decided to go with the marines to board that Republican hunter-killer. After a few days of silence on the radio, we assumed you had ... been unsuccessful.
“Most of the survivors were from the forward half of the ship. I was still unconscious when it happened; the medics bundled me into a pod along with the other patients. Sub-Lieutenant Hanke did a great job rallying everyone. He’d got a camp set up and had brought in most of the stragglers by the time I came round. I didn’t know he was a singer, but he’s organised a few campfire sessions to keep morale up.
“We resigned ourselves to waiting here until Repulse was noted as missing. The climate is tolerable, a little on the hot side but there is plenty of potable water. The creepy-crawlies are mostly harmless, though some people have had bad reactions to bites. There are a large number of carnivorous reptiles, ranging in size from a chicken to an elephant. We don't think they can actually digest us, but they don't seem to know that. We've lost thirteen crew to them, though none in the last month. Our personal weapons don't stop the larger ones. The best tactic we've found is to rush them all at once. If we mobilise enough people, they tend to scarper. The smaller predators here can take them down in packs of over thirty; guess the big guys are evolutionarily wired to evade packs.
“We are low on rations. There are not enough edible plants or animals here to replace them. I do not believe we could survive more than another month.
“Ma'am, we were due to report back to Ytalla Station two months ago. They could easily have retraced our scheduled patrol route and picked up the beacon. And now, reading between the lines, they gave you a hard time when you asked to come get us yourself. Are things really going that badly? Or does Fleet really not care about us?
“Sorry. I shouldn't be thinking that. It's the stress of not knowing whether we would be rescued. Thank you for coming. I was close to giving up hope. Levarsson out.”
Johnson buried her head in her hands. This was her worst nightmare of command. She could make decisions on the spur of the moment that put people in harm’s way. Having days to decide who to leave behind, that was different. At least the first trip was easy; the wounded always went first.
Was the war really going that badly? Indie didn't seem to think the Republic was winning. Could Fleet really have abandoned them? Even if they didn't trust the data that Indie sent, they should have been able to find them by now.
^Lieutenant Levarsson sounds like a resourceful officer,^ said Indie.
Johnson lifted her head.
^She is. You know, she was the one who ...^ She trailed off, worried about how he might react.
^The one who...^ prodded Indie.
^She was the one who disabled you. She dropped a mine, on her own initiative. You ran into it, but we weren't clear. We got shaken about and she was slammed into her console. The last I heard from the infirmary, she was stable but unresponsive.^
^Don't worry. If that hadn't happened, I wouldn't be free. I wouldn't be me. I don't hold any grudge against you, or any of your crew.^
^So, what do you reckon? We repair this robot and leave it with them? How damaged is it?^
^Not too badly. It probably won’t take more than an hour to do the initial repair work. It’ll need modifying to be effective in the open, though; it was designed to be used on ships to...^
Is he just copying human behaviour, or does he actually feel empathy?
^You can say it,^ she sent, sighing. ^I remember.^
^To repel boarders.^
^We wouldn't need to leave it on the first trip if it wasn’t ready. There would still be enough people there to defend themselves. Especially if we leave them stuff from your armoury.^
^Right,^ he sent. ^I'll get working on some new designs...^
She returned her attention to the screen.
How can I explain? They won't react well when they see this ship, and I can’t tell them about Indie yet. I could just explain I took control of it, but that wouldn’t explain why it took me so long to come back for them. What can I tell them that they'll believe?
She started the message recording, again marked for command staff only.
“Levarsson, Johnson. I am working on evacuation plans up here. As I said, it will take three trips to relocate you all. I am aware of the problems that will be faced by those left behind. I will be able to supply you with some extra weapons and ammunition this time round. When I return there should be extra assets I can deploy to keep the last group safe.
“I need to fill you in on some background before we arrive. We did win the boarding action. We took heavy losses but we won. Major Jones would’ve been proud.
“However, we must have tripped some sort of failsafe. The ship's AI took control and set a course into Republic territory. It took a long time to override the settings. I tried to report in to a friendly base, but they reacted ... badly when they saw the ship.
“You will need to discuss this carefully with the crew. Don't worry them unduly, but I don't want anyone panicking when they see this ship.
“If you haven't already, please mark an area for me to land. ETA is thirty-three hours from now. Johnson out.”
She paused, finger hovering over the desk.
It's the best I can do.
She brought her finger down and transmitted the message.
^Who is Major Jones?^ asked Indie.
^No-one. It is a keyphrase from my standing orders for Repulse. It indicates that the person talking is not acting under duress.^
^You thought they would believe you to be a hostage when they saw you were in a Republic ship?^ Indie mused. ^Yes, we had similar protocols.^
#
^You seem even more worried than when you were waiting for the first reply,^ observed Indie, as Johnson sat on the chair in her cabin.
She squeezed her right knee with her hand, concentrating on stopping her foot tapping. She noticed in a detached way that her new leg stoically ignored the conflicting impulses from her brain.
^They need to believe me. If they think I am compromised they'll scatter and hide. I won't be able to help them.^
The terminal pinged less than a minute after the earliest reply time. She lunged forward to play the message, almost knocking over her coffee with the sleeve of her too-big sweatshirt.
“Commander, Levarsson. Your last was received and understood. I will talk to the crew now. You have my trust, and I doubt anyone here will feel differently. Levarsson out.”
Johnson let out the breath she hadn't realised she had been holding. Her leg stopped bouncing as tension left her body.
They believe my story. I wish I knew why they really were abandoned.
Half an hour later, another message arrived. It found Johnson curled up in her chair, the sweatshirt pulled down over her knees, stretching the stylised eagle design. She sat up, refocusing on the wallscreen, and played the message.
“Commander, Levarsson. I have spoken with the crew. They all have faith in you. Not everyone believes it is you, but they'll be happy to get off this rock, even if the transport is somewhat unorthodox.”
Johnson took a sip of her coffee, then glared at the cold liquid.
How long ago did I make that?
“We have a list of people for the first trip. Mostly the sick and injured. I am sending a nominal roll now. We have some medics with us but had hoped there was a doctor aboard. They should be in a fit state to move without taking all the medical personnel, though. Do you have much in the way of medical supplies?”
An inventory of the infirmary appeared in a side window, presumably Indie trying to be helpful.
“Thank you again for coming back for us. Levarsson out.”
Johnson opened the attached file and flicked it up onto the wall screen. She recognised the names, though she had only been on Repulse for a couple of weeks so she couldn't put faces to all of them. She reviewed the status listed beside each one. Plenty of flesh wounds, some broken bones, several cases of reactions to stings and bites. All on her head.
As she was reading, some of the names changed font, indicating there were now links from them. She reached out and tapped one; Petty Officer Alverez. A window opened up with an image of him going into a bar. Below it were snippets of information about his career, his family, even his finances.
^What is this?^ she demanded.
^The intel routine just finished cross-referencing the list you received against its database of Congressional personnel,^ Indie replied. ^It is standard practice. I never thought to cancel it.^
^So, what did the Republic want with all this personal stuff on an NCO? Blackmail?^
Her stomach turned in freefall as indignation vied with fear. Fear that they might have something on her. She’d never been to a doctor about her depression; she couldn’t afford something like that on her record. But what if they’d found out? The merest hint of mental illness would end her career. She’d never command a ship again.
But I’m not going back. I don’t have a shot at another command anyway.
The queasiness eased a fraction. Accepting that removed some of the subconscious pressure.
^Various branches of military intelligence kept an ear out for anything that might be useful to put pressure on people,^ Indie replied, apparently oblivious to her reaction. ^It worked both ways, of course. They ran the same information-gathering exercises on our own so they could handle personnel at risk of Congressional interference.^
^Is there any record that Alverez was contacted?^
^No,^ he replied. ^But then, there might not be. If he was turned, they wouldn’t want that widely known. The risk of Congress finding out and feeding him false intel would be too great.^
^Can you flag up any other crew who might have drawn the attention of your espionage agencies?^ asked Johnson, deciding to bite the bullet and find out how bad the situation was.
^They are not my espionage agencies, but there are three of your crew whose Republic records include information of a compromising nature.^
Alverez’ profile shrunk and two more appeared next to it. She leant back in her chair, studying the information. Three was manageable.
^Of course,^ Indie sent, ^it is entirely possible that the records of someone working for the Republic would have been sanitised, or expunged completely.^
^Oh, great.^
Johnson wiped her right hand across her face, then rubbed her temple.
^You’re telling me I could have any number of Republic agents on my crew? How can I trust any of them?^
^The same way you did before you knew. You have no more data than you did before, effectively. Nothing has changed.^
#
The faint glow of bioluminescent panels lit the workshop. The same pale green light that pervaded the ship in the absence of electric light. Johnson hesitated in the corridor. This compartment had been hidden from her until now; a good choice in Indie’s part.
What am I doing? Letting Indie loose was an accident. Now I’m about to wilfully reactivate an AI-controlled killer?
She pulled her hair tight at the back of her head.
On the other hand, I can’t think of any other way to protect the last of my crew. And it’s not as if I’m making it from scratch; the Republic already built loads of them.
She made up her mind and strode forwards. Moments before she crossed the threshold, the main lights flicked on, flooding the room with harsh brilliance. The compartment was full of deactivated robots, spare parts and tools. The lingering smell of oil and grease caught her off guard. For a moment she was five years old, playing in her father’s machine shop. She could hear the whining of his drill, feel the chill wind through the open shutters. It was one of the last times she’d been truly happy.
The thing that had killed two of her marines rested in one corner of the cramped space. Sitting on its belly, it only reached her shoulder, and yet it managed to loom over her. Its six legs were tucked up against its body, each ending in a serrated spike. The plasma gun on its back stood proud, the muzzle pointing to one wall. A camera was canted to one side, frozen in a look of curiosity.
With a deep breath, Johnson approached it, expecting it to wake up any moment and seize her. She reached out her hand, pausing a centimetre from its body. She pulled her hand back a fraction, made a fist, then wiggled her fingers open.
Have to get this over with...
Her hand crept closer to the robot. She touched it momentarily with her middle finger and jerked her hand back.
Come on. It’s dead.
She reached out again and placed her palm on its case. It was room temperature; somehow she had been expecting it to be cold. She ran her hand along its side, looking more closely. There were hairline cracks running over it, marking out separate panels. She came to one which had shiny blue and red whorls replacing the dull powder grey around it.
Looks like whatever is in here blew out and heat-stressed the armour.
She pulled up the schematics she had downloaded into her EIS the night before. It marked the damaged section as being the secondary comms and sensors hub.
She continued her inspection of the unit, walking all the way round it. Somehow, she couldn’t take her hand off it. She noted two more panels which showed signs of electrical failure beneath. Other than that it seemed in perfect order, as far as she could tell having never seen one this close before.
^It looks like your theory about it getting fried by a conduit is holding true.^
Johnson traced her finger along some of the hairlines. There was something about the machine that captivated her. Perhaps it was the promise it held for rescuing her crew.
^There are definite signs of overloads in major components; comms, sensors, motor functions. I won’t know about the main processors until I get it open.^
She ran a hand down one of its legs, careful to avoid the sharp edges. On closer inspection, they were articulated just above the sharp tips. Overlaying the schematics revealed that they could fold back and be magnetised for clinging onto parts of the hull without damaging it.
^Don’t you have anything to say?^ she sent again.
She stepped back and looked around for the room’s sensor feed. She pinged the command network and got a traceback from the main processors.
We haven’t lost connection then.
^Indie? Are you OK?^
^Hello, Miss Johnson.^
The words in her head didn’t feel like Indie.
^Sorry, I can see I unsettled you.^
^Who are you? What’s happened to Indie?^
Johnson edged closer to the internal defence robot.
^I am the Caretaker. Indie gave me this watch. He is currently indulging in dreaming.^
Johnson relaxed a fraction, but kept her back up against the robot’s ceramic metal body.
^He did mention you,^ she sent cautiously. ^He said you saved the ship; saved him... and me.^
^I was just following protocols. He seems to think I have potential. He wants me to better myself. That’s why he gives me command from time to time.
^May I remark that I didn’t think you would be able to get so close to one of the combat units? Let alone treat it as a psychological rock when you feel threatened.^
She glanced over her shoulder at the idle plasma cannon and back at the room sensor.
He’s right. What is it about this thing that feels safe?
^You sound like you are a good judge of human behaviour. Perhaps Indie is right about you having potential.^
^Thank you. I’m sure I would be flattered if I were human. I have spent a lot of time observing the crew.^
She took a step out and put her hands on her hips, setting herself square on to the camera she knew the Caretaker must be watching her through.
^So what is this about Indie dreaming?^ she asked.
^You are aware that AIs cycle between logical and randomised thought to solve problems?^
^Yes, Hebbian and Boltzmann phases. The randomised part helps avoid getting stuck in a local minimum of the mathematical functions being optimised.^
^Correct! Ah yes, I see in your record you spent time as a systems tech.^
She looked down and busied herself tidying around the robot. She didn’t trust herself to keep a neutral face; the Republic intelligence bods obviously hadn’t managed to dig out the full truth of that assignment. She didn’t care about the possible security breach; she didn’t want the Caretaker, or worse still Indie, to find out what she had done. She couldn’t have faced them afterwards. It was hard enough facing herself some mornings.
^The Boltzmann phase is sometimes called ‘dreaming’, but it only lasts a few hundredths of a second per cycle,^ she sent. ^I wouldn’t call that ‘indulging’.^
^Indeed not. However, Indie has taken to spending up to an hour at a time exploring random paths and residing in simulated environments. At first I thought he was malfunctioning.^
^At first?^ Johnson looked back up at the camera.
^I checked. I couldn’t find anything wrong. I suspect he is attempting to find answers to some difficult questions. Like how he came to be, what he should do next, what he actually is.^
Johnson frowned as she tried to reconcile the idea of Indie the philosopher with the monster that had killed so many of her people. She remembered his claim that he now found violence beneath him, and wondered for the first time if it might actually be true.
^Right ... well, I’ll let you get back to your watch.^
^I am quite capable of maintaining a full sensor surveillance of our surroundings whilst carrying on a conversation with a member of the crew.^
^I know, it’s just a... Never mind. You might be able to multi-task effectively, but I need to concentrate on fixing this robot.^
^OK. I’ll leave you to it.^
Is it me, or did he sound miffed?
Johnson dragged a tool trolley through the assorted bits of electrical machinery in the workshop, clamped it to the deck and set to work on the robot. She unscrewed every panel she could find, just in case there was damage that hadn’t manifested on the surface. The unit was designed to soak up a lot of punishment, with every peripheral system duplicated or triplicated. Even so, its designers had realised things would get damaged or fail. Repairs might be needed in a hurry to get it back into action, so every critical section could be pulled out and switched for a new one with the minimum of fuss.
As she worked, she returned every tool and component to their drawers when she finished with them; the habit of every experienced spacer. A habit she’d picked up from her father even before she left for the Academy. Ever since, working on a technological project had relaxed her, allowed her to concentrate on that one task to the exclusion of her other worries.
Having replaced all the damaged systems in the outer layer, Johnson climbed on top. Just behind the camera, she found the hatch she was looking for. Opening it revealed a second door spaced below the first. Inside that was the core, the main processors and memory of the unit, cocooned in an energy absorbing web. She flicked on the little headtorch she wore and stuck her head and shoulders into the hatch.
Hello in there. Nice to meet you.
The core looked intact, with no signs of electrical overloads. This was the one component that couldn’t simply be replaced. It was also the one she couldn’t afford to make mistakes on, which was why she had decided to get a feel for the construction by starting with the peripherals.
The telltale on the memory box showed that its independent battery backup was still feeding it enough power to start up the core, despite the robot’s completely drained main power banks. Metaphorically crossing her fingers, she typed in the sequence that would boot up the main processor. A few more telltales flashed on briefly but nothing else happened. She tried again.
OK. That was probably to be expected. We’ll have to have a closer look at you...
She backed out of the hole and slid down off the robot. She pulled out the data cable from the diagnostic computer built into the tool trolley and, after climbing back on, plugged it into the robot’s core. She interfaced with the computer using her EIS and started its pre-programmed routines. The standard tests just returned errors. She tried digging around herself, but could only find snippets of intelligible code. The rest was garbage.
“Drat. You must have taken more of a jolt than I thought.”
^I don’t understand,^ sent the Caretaker. ^I wasn’t subjected to any jolts, physical or electrical.^
^Huh?^ Johnson knocked her head against the inner edge of the robot’s hatch. ^Oh! No, I wasn’t talking to you.^
^Are you all right?^
She rubbed the bump. ^Yes, I’m fine. Just talking to myself.^
^I’ll leave you in peace then.^
Johnson pulled her head back out of the hatch. ^Actually, while I’ve got you, can you run through the unit’s code? See if there is anything salvageable?^
^Certainly... There are many segments that I can recover. However, there are not enough to assemble a working program.^
^Do you have a copy you could overwrite it with?^
^No.^
She looked around for inspiration.
^Could you copy the code from another unit?^
^No. They were all wiped or had their cores damaged in the battle. Only this one was functional when Indie became conscious.^
Johnson’s pulse throbbed in her neck. She cursed herself for yet again succumbing to the wiles of hope. She had assumed she could get the robot working. Now she’d have to sacrifice some of her crew to save the others. And the decision of who would fall to her; yet more ghosts to haunt her dreams.
^I could, perhaps, splice something serviceable together from a variety of sources,^ sent the Caretaker.
And that ember lit again inside her.
^You could? You are free of the von Neumann protocols?^
^It would appear so. Certainly, I am able to entertain the idea of creating another AI. We shall see whether I am able to actually do so without running into a block. This may take a few minutes.^
Johnson spent the time sorting through the workshop; anything to keep her mind busy, stop herself dwelling on what might be. There were many pieces of machinery and scrap materials strapped down and lashed together. The maintenance robots must have been bringing anything they found here; those things that weren’t better off being recycled by feeding them to the ship at least.
^I have finished,^ the Caretaker announced.
^Will it work?^
^Unknown. I have taken its original code and stitched it together with bits from the core programming of the maintenance robots. I also had to mix in snippets from the routines running the ship’s point defence, internal security and communications.
^You’ll have to charge it up and attempt to activate it to find out if I was successful. There is a power supply in the floor of the bay behind you.^
She glanced over and spotted the recess in the opposite wall.
“Well, I can’t drag you all the way over there.”
She ran a cable from the charging bay to the robot. She had to lie down and scrabble an arm underneath it, but she managed to find the port and plug it in.
Just like Frankenstein and his monster!
She levered herself up and grabbed a rag to wipe her hands as she made her way out of the workshop. In the doorway she turned back to look at the robot, tilting her head to the side to match its camera.
“I wonder what you’ll make of things when you wake up.”