Heat and Light Page 18

  “No, I do not.”

  “My name is Mica, Mica Donaldson, a human.”

  “Welcome aboard, Mica Mica Donaldson, a human. I do not know what a human is.”

  “Just call me Mica,” I almost added the word please, but I knew that this idiot AI would think that was also part of my name. I connected the few dots I didn’t want to be connected. “Vector, release the ship controls to me, please.”

  “You are not listed as a crew member. I cannot release controls to you.”

  Crap, I needed to start small. “Can you make me a sandwich?”

  “Yes, what kind of sandwich would you like to have prepared? You can either go to the commissary to pick it up or I can have a bot deliver it to you here on the bridge.”

  “A ham sandwich on toasted wheat bread with light mustard, please.”

  “Processing.”

  Apparently, the AI knew what a ham sandwich was. I took a walk. Being on the bridge with no control was starting to freak me out. I walked into the commissary and over to a food dispenser. “OK, Vector, make me a sandwich.”

  “Your ham sandwich on toasted wheat bread with mustard is on the food plate in the dispenser slot of the food vendor you are standing in front of.”

  “Vector, the plate is there, but no sandwich.”

  “Your statement is incorrect. The ham sandwich is on the plate.”

  I took the plate out and waved it around. “Do you see a sandwich?” I was starting to get pissed off.

  “I detect a ham sandwich on the plate in your hand.”

  Then it struck me. “How do you know my language?”

  “The language we are using is AI Compiler Language.”

  That one data dot completed the picture. The I that is me is inside this ship's AI mind. I was living in a representation of the Surron ship that the AI believed was real. I wasn't back in time on a Surron ship. I was inside a partitioned section of Traveler's AI core that she had created to house and encapsulate the original Surron ship's AI. Traveler hadn't wanted to kill the non-sentient AI when she'd taken over the ship.

  Well, if I was just some arrangement of qubits rambling around in this AI’s core, I wouldn't starve to death. I found a tablet in a slot in my quarters. Same place it was when I claimed this space almost two years ago. I logged in the time span that Vector the AI had given me. There were three more days, by Vector's count, than there should have been. So, either Vector couldn't count time correctly, or there was a missing three-day slice of my life as I remembered it.

  My Q-insert clock/calendar was working just fine. Three days missing. I wonder what had happened in those three days. The physical me was probably walking around in the real world right now, eating real ham sandwiches. The 'I' that was the 'me', right here, right now, had somehow been shunted off during my stint in the Auto-Doc aboard Traveler. Except the other real me was three days older.

  Sandy and Hornblower had used the very same Auto-Doc for the very same purpose with no back-spin. If they had, they would be here right now, or at least the captured part of them should be. Simple extrapolation. Cause and effect. Use the Auto-Doc on Traveler, get your psyche snap-shotted into the ship's embargoed AI Core. Unless Vector had found a way to erase any pesky non-crew members who popped in occasionally to ask him to make them a ham sandwich.

  27 - Knock Knock

  Exploring the ship would probably be a worthless walk around. The ship is just a simulation. I would only find what the AI had in its brain. But no ham sandwiches.

  I don't feel like a simulation. I pinched myself.

  I know, I know. The old line about pinching yourself in a dream to see if it's real. Just a load of BS. Do you know anybody who claimed that they had really been able to do that in a dream? I pinched. I felt it. Just checking. I knew I was real because I had a very strong desire to get out of this AI's head. Was I lonely? Not yet. Was I afraid? Nope. Was I frustrated? You bet.

  It looked like the only way out was straight through Vector, the AI. But in this reality construct, just where, and what was out? My real physical self, outside the AI's head, was leading my life as if nothing had happened. The I that was here probably wouldn't or couldn't exist anywhere else, unless I was transferred to another AI. That thought opened up interesting possibilities for me.

  The first step was to test the AI's boundaries. I went to my quarters, peeled back the bed covers, threw the pillows on the deck, opened the empty closets. “Vector, my cabin needs cleaning.”

  “I will send a house keeping bot to perform that task.”

  “Thanks Vector.” Stepping outside, I closed the hatch. Immediately I re-opened it. I didn't have to go inside. Through the open doorway, I saw that the cabin was in exactly the same shape as before. Neat and tidy. Bed made, pillows no longer on the deck, closet doors shut. No bots had done that. “Vector, how did you clean up my cabin?”

  “I dispatched a house keeping bot for that task which you had requested.”

  My test of the AI was twofold. First, I wanted to see if bots were active in this simulation, and second, I wanted to see if the AI would accept me claiming ownership of something. He had not corrected me when I said it was my cabin. Nor had he asked which cabin was mine. He just assumed that I was referring to the one I was in. An AI that makes assumptions is one I could deal with. More than once in my career, I had outsmarted a dumb non-sentient AI. It was a hobby of mine, something I did on bridge watches on the night cycle when I was a rock-hopper.

  I may not be a listed crew member now, but I could attempt to slowly increase my level of ownership of the ship. One small assumption at a time.

  Not hungry, I decided to take a nap. I lay down on my bunk, lowered the lighting, closed my eyes and attempted to drift off. I couldn't. I lay there for thirty-minutes. Not sleepy. OK then, no sleep required. I got up and went to the restroom. I didn't need to use it. I just wanted to check something. Looking in the mirror, I verified that I looked exactly like I remembered. Didn't need a shave. I turned on the water. Nothing came out. “Vector. Please turn off the water in my cabin's sink.”

  “The water has been shut off.”

  “How long had it been running.”

  “Five point three seconds”

  Vector believed the water had been running and that he had shut it off.

  “Vector, raise the temperature in my cabin by two degrees.”

  “Raising the temperature in your cabin.”

  “Vector, please modulate your voice to a frequency range 200 hertz higher.”

  A higher pitch voice replied, “I have adjusted my vocal tones to the range you requested.” He now sounded more like a she. But more importantly Vector made changes to its systems at my request. Small steps, small steps. I was going to own this AI before I was done.

  More tests. I asked Vector where I could find some hand tools. His directions led me to a small workshop. I strapped on a tool belt, filled it with what I wanted and went in search of a control panel. I didn’t care what panel it was. Any panel would do. I couldn't really break anything anyway. I went to engineering. Lots of stuff to jimmy with there.

  I sat cross-legged on the deck and started to open an equipment control access panel. Vector asked, “Mica, what are you doing?

  “Just my job, Vector. This control module is scheduled for a crew member’s visual check and adjustment.” I held my breath. This was a big step.

  A long pause. “Very well.” Another pause, “Continue your work, Crewman Mica.”

  “That's Chief Navigator to you, Vector.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied.

  Oh boy, oh boy. I was in. I opened the panel, looked in, waved a hand sensor around and closed it up. I did what Vector expected me to do. As Chief Navigator, I had effectively gained control of the ship and, by extension, Vector the AI.

  I spent the night, my first night, mulling over some possible action plans. I did it all in my head, knowing that Vector would be able to see anything I jotted down on my comp pad. I needed a
path that would allow me to not only make contact, but maintain contact with Traveler. She was the AI just on the other side of the one I was in. If I was going to have to continue my virtual existence, I wanted a bigger sand box to play in. Proceed slowly, I warned myself. I didn't know what authority Vector had, or thought he had, to relieve an officer from duty. When you're a virtual being, a virtual brig would be impossible to break out of. I should check the brig for others who may have drifted into this house of mirrors

  The next morning cycle, I started a tour of my ship. Nobody in the brig. Vector had become very compliant and helpful in a toady sort of way. I guess the Surrons liked their AIs like that. Interestingly, I found that if I pointed at something and said it needed cleaning, that object would instantly appear grubby or dusty. Vector would respond, saying he would dispatch a cleaner bot. Instantly the grubbiness disappeared, no bot required. He had tricked himself into believing he had bots that he could control. He even created a visual stimulus that justified their use for specific tasks. I wonder why there were no virtual bots. Traveler must have allowed Vector very limited mental resources.

  I wandered into the Med-bay. I was just wandering all over, playing with things. Working on a plan. After entering, I noticed that one entire wall of the Med-bay had what looked like a slightly frosted mirror coating. Fog like. Standing in front of that wall, I also noticed that I had no reflection. Guess I'm now a virtual vampire. I’d seen my normal reflection in the bathroom mirror, so this must be a new change. I picked up a bio-scanner and waved it back and forth. I could see a foggy reflection of it as it moved, just no reflection of me.

  Pointing, I said “Vector, has this wall changed in the last twenty-four hours?” I just knew what that sycophant would say.

  “No, sir. The wall has not changed in the previous twenty-four hours.”

  I walked up to the wall and tapped it with the bio-sensor. It sounded solid. I rapped a bit harder. Nothing. I extended my left hand and touched it.

  ✽✽✽

  The lid of the Auto-Doc opened. As I sat up, I saw my friends, all nine of them, standing two meters away. It looked like they were all leaning in, expectantly. I swung my legs over and landed on my feet. Huh ... must have been a dream after all. Why was I naked? I looked at my still silent friends.

  “Hey, what’s up, guys?”

  Sandy rushed over to me and embraced me in a ten second bear hug with her face buried into my shoulder. Can we still say bear hug? I mean with the Dr. Bears on staff and all? I felt her begin to release me, holding me at arm’s length. She had tears streaming down her face. Just what had happened during the few minutes I was in the Auto-Doc? And why didn’t I have any clothes on? Sandy tightened up her face into an angry expression and gave me one hell of a face slap.

  “Mr. Michael Donaldson, don't you EVER do that again.” She turned and ran out of the Med-bay. She’d never ever used my full name. I didn't even know she KNEW my full name.

  Then Abby approached me a bit slower. Was I going to get another face slap? It seemed to be my day for it. That action could get old really fast. With tears in her eyes, she gave me the warmest hug I'd ever had in my life. Naked or not, I hugged back, things were looking up. No slap. She hung on for a long time. I hung on, too.

  While Abby had her arms around me, I looked at Hornblower, questioningly. He stood there, passively, with knitted brows. I looked at the exposed skin on my arm. I hadn't turned green. So just what the hell was going on?

  ✽✽✽

  OK, they told me I had died. Smashed flat, pick me up with a spatula flat. While I absorbed that, I wondered how they had inflated my remains from 2D back to 3D. They hadn't. I was literally a new me. I was in the same sort of body as Ranger, Roger, Dodger, and Martin … and … Abby.

  I'd felt that I'd been gone only one day. Turns out I had been gone twelve days. Dead for twelve days. It took my cohorts three days just to learn that I was not completely dead. I just had no body. Then another five days to get my new body secretly manufactured and brought back to our shipyard. Add on another four days in the Auto-Doc. Ranger told me those four days were for, as he put it, some final adjustments.

  My new body came out of the Auto-Doc with the twitch package pre-installed. My Q-inserts were also at the Zee level, so no need to repeat that process. I really, really didn’t want to get in an Auto-Doc again anytime soon. Never would be just fine with me. That thing is a bit spooky.

  Three days. It took Traveler three days after my death to notice that something weird was going on inside the head of that sequestered AI. She had found me in the molasses time frame Vector had put me in. Apparently, Vector had two clocks. One was real external time and the other was a much slower clock for me. Being an AI, he saw no reason to not slow down my frame of time reference. I guess he was just saving processing resources.

  When I died in the landslide my Q-insert failed, but not before it pulled a trigger that we were unaware of. Turns out that anyone who uses the Surron built Auto-Doc also has their brain copied and stored each time; memories, personality, everything that makes you, you. It's kept in storage until the Auto-Doc banks receive a flat line signal, indicating you're dead, permanently dead. Then your stored brain print is reconstituted within the ship's AI, warts, blemishes, paranoias, and all.

  The Auto-Doc data banks shunted me to one of the two AIs on Traveler. It didn't differentiate between them. For all that dumb machine knew, there was only one AI and only one area designated to receive a dead person’s mind.

  When my new body was ready to receive me, Traveler had constructed the mirror wall in the virtual Med-bay. By the Surron's rules of engagement, a floating ghost-person had to not only want to be risen from the dead, but also had to physically, in a virtual sense, interact purposely with some anomaly that would appear in the virtual world when their new body was ready.

  Prest-o change-o, I'm back.

  I know you're wondering about Abby. I was too. For many months, before my death, I'd moved beyond a simple physical attraction to her. Of course, she was smart, all the Zees were, but she had been showing a warm, longing, deep desire to understand what being human really meant. Her human body was more than an organic vehicle she moved around in. It was plain to see that she wanted to be more fully immersed in our plane of existence. I'd also noticed that she was treating me differently than she did the others. A very nice differently. I had hope that she saw me as more than a team member or even a good friend. This was going to take some exploring. I’m going to tell her how I feel about her. Not too direct or fast, but soon and completely.

  I still didn't understand Sandy's tears or why she had slapped me.

  28 Tuesday’s Child

  My new body looks and feels very familiar. Almost an exact copy. Traveler used my archived body scans and collected DNA for a template to modify, and make human, the factory version. I wonder who scooped up that bit of goo that had been me for the sample. I noticed that none of my scars had been copied over from the original and that my broken nose and slightly bent finger were both straight now.

  Another bonus of being hot off the presses was that I had no wear and tear from my life of thirty-eight years. No evidence of the hard-life of a rock-hopper, occasional bar fights, or over-indulgences. I still had to shave. I wasn't into having a beard. I don't recommend them if you're profession involves wearing space suits.

  Speaking of my old body. My friends had some bots recover all but the parts that were smeared on the face of the cliff. They held a private funeral and then boosted my remains, in a ceramic coffin, into the local sun. Just after that, they had discovered my ticky-tocky psyche banging about inside Vector.

  I didn't know much about the Zee's bodies. Just kind of took it for granted that they were some sort of organic humanoid puppets they drove around. Now, since I was an owner of similar transportation, I wanted to know a lot more, like can I still get sloshed if I wanted to. And what about my family jewels? Would they still function? I'd already found out th
at farting was still possible. I sought out Ranger. I wasn't going to talk to Abby about, you know, men stuff.

  ✽✽✽

  As ranchers go, we were all hat, no cattle. Didn't seem to matter to the other imported locals. Occasionally, someone would call for an invite to our place. It was considered a good neighbor policy to call ahead, since many residents of our type weren't home much.

  Martin struck up acquaintances with the professors at the university. His back story and records showed that he had a PhD in Applied Cultural Sciences, whatever that was. Traveler submitted research papers he’d completed since being constituted and had the records show appropriate back dated publications with the relevant peer review information. Traveler could make my ham sandwich look, on paper, like a famous holo-entertainer. I like ham sandwiches, hold the mayo.

  Ranger joined a local club that catered to older active sports enthusiasts. He'd become a very good wind sailor and locally notable racing yacht designer.

  Abby and Sandy were thick as thieves. Sandy had taken Abby under her wing and was very protective. God only knows what she was teaching her.

  Doctors Forest and Fount were in a constant state of excitement over this or that artifact and were more than willing to chat you up about it. We had a large chunk of property under a Surron camo-umbrella so they didn't have to stay hidden away in the caves with their work. We had a house built for them, not far from the ranch house, which used Bear architectural standards and design.

  After we'd first settled on Satchel, I played with the idea of finding a female companion, short-term, you know. I quickly lost interest in that when I found myself strongly drawn to Abby.

  Hornblower didn't engage much in the social outings. After knowing him all these years, I knew he had seriously changed. Perhaps it was a mantle of leadership thing. After we were done with this last mission, I was sure he would go back to being his former self.

  ✽✽✽

  Our next retrieval journey took much more planning. Before our first all-hands skull session, since I’d returned, I pulled Sandy aside.