Lyra frowned. <Prepare for what?> The AI paused for a moment. <Ah, I see. You need to gird your lady loins then.>
Nerishka sputtered on a laugh. <Lyra, you do have a way with words.>
<I try.>
AI’S GAME
STELLAR DATE: 10.06.8948 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: Skycar, Eshnunna
REGION: Anahita, Ayra System (Independent)
Lyra had tried for almost an hour to contact the AI and a number of other key staff of the Crosus Cartage Company but she’d had no luck.
<It looks like we’re going to have to go down there if we want the lab-pod on the ship with us.> Lyra sounded annoyed. <I don’t understand what is wrong with the AI running the company. One would think a cartage company with a perpetual flow of incoming and outgoing shipments would be constantly available and online. Even their tracking system is unavailable.>
<It’s fine, Lyra. When we get down there you can give them a piece of your mind.>
<That’s a very distasteful saying,> the AI replied, eliciting a grin from Nerishka. Lyra continued, <I hardly approve of the idea of parting with a portion of my mental capacity.>
<It’s just a saying. Not a clue where it came from and no inclination to research it.>
Lyra huffed. <Given that it is an organic saying, I am not surprised.>
Now, Nerishka sat in a skycar, hidden within the folds of a dark cloak. It would shield her from questions as she blended into the foot traffic, but she planned to approach the warehouse with extreme prejudice. Hence the armor hidden beneath.
Despite Nerishka’s calm reaction to Lyra’s suspicions regarding the non-response from Crosus Cartage, Nerishka wasn’t planning on being complacent. Considering Karsin’s death—and the two attempts on her own life—she was disinclined to make any assumptions.
The skycar dropped them off several blocks from the building where the warehouse was located, and Nerishka proceeded to change her appearance before hailing a second car.
This time she wore a more serious, business-appropriate suit, although her pants and jacket fitted well enough to reveal her curves. The skycar stopped in front of Crosus’ warehouse and then disappeared off along the busy causeway, leaving Nerishka standing in front of the drab building, in the middle of the morning rush.
She studied the entrance, while also paying close attention to the workers in stained suits and cargo-shuttles carrying loads of varying shapes and sizes drifting past.
<Anyone home?>
<I’m scanning.> After a moment Lyra said, <IR indicates four occupants in a back room. They appear to be playing a game of sorts.>
<And the AI?>
<Vernon is the fifth player.> Lyra’s tone revealed she wasn’t sure how to react to such news. <I believe they are within an expanse. Players are often ‘trapped’ within the game and lose all track of time while inside.>
<Interesting. If a little unprofessional. Have they set up proper security to protect them in case the place was robbed?>
Lyra sent an affirmative. <But I can get through easily enough. Vernon won’t even be aware of it because he hasn’t set up a notification in case it’s breached.>
<He’s very confident.> Nerishka squinted up at the darkened building.
<More like incompetent, careless and stupid. For an ‘AI’ he’s barely sentient.>
Nerishka lifted an eyebrow. <Wish I could defend him, but I have to agree with you. Especially since he’s supposed to be moving my shipment. As a client I would like to personally express my utter dissatisfaction.>
Lyra huffed. <I’d very much prefer to get the lab-pod cleared and redirected myself and get out of here. I can order a cargo-shuttle to arrive and take receipt of the lab-pod and send it to our ship.>
<That assumes they’d respond to an inbound drone coming to get my cargo. Besides, don’t you want to find out what’s going on in there? Those guys may actually be in trouble. I’d want to be saved if I’m trapped by a game.>
Lyra’s avatar lifted a curious brow. <Do you believe they could be in danger?>
<It’s possible. Definitely unusual behavior. And it could compromise their business in its entirety. I don’t believe anyone would want to be left in a situation like this.> Nerishka sighed. <Yeah, yeah, I know I’m going off book again but I’m following my gut.>
<When we get back to headquarters I am putting in a request for your gut to be sent in for retraining. It seems to be doing everything off-book all of the time.>
Nerishka let out a chuckle as she approached the entrance to the warehouse. <We’re in,> Lyra said only moments before Nerishka palmed the access panel.
Waiting only for the door to open a tiny bit, Nerishka slid into the sliver of thick darkness and waited as the door closed behind her. Her HUD activated IR and nightvision, casting the interior of the building in an unnatural palette, the empty waiting area steeped in a grey-green darkness.
Lyra dropped the floor plan of the building on Nerishka’s HUD, and the forms of four people appeared in a room at the back.
Nerishka hurried past the narrow reception area and entered an office space. <Lyra, do you think we should be getting the lab-pod ready for transport in case Vernon is unhelpful?>
<Already done. I have locked the records for your shipment so even if he comes back online he will find he’s unable to reset redirection. I had to bypass his customs control ID’s in order to process the import clearance—couldn’t initiate the pickup for the pod without hacking it. Sorry, Vernon. The cargo-shuttle will arrive at Bay 2 and the drone will have the access codes for an automated pickup. I will ensure the lab-pod is loaded up and dispatched safely.>
<Nice work.>
<I think I will keep an eye on it though. Shuttle will be here in ten minutes.>
Nerishka gave a short nod and exited the office, then proceeded into the interior cargo holding area where crates and containers lined the floors and filled racks that rose up to the ceiling. She passed through the darkened space, noting the red lights on the floor that marked off the path through the stacks.
At the back wall, a door sat partially open, and Nerishka made out a table with five seats, only four of which were occupied. <Can you get us inside the expanse?> she asked Lyra as she frowned at the table, littered with stale, dried out food that appeared days old.
Her AI frowned. <I can, but I believe it will be dangerous. The game is structured in a way that anyone who enters it now will be considered the enemy and all five of them will change tactics in order to eliminate you.>
<I’m assuming something has gone wrong with this game?> asked Nerishka as she neared the table.
Lyra nodded. <Vernon is stuck in a loop. I’m not sure why, but he’s holding them all inside the game until he understands their playing processes.> Lyra made an odd sound, one halfway between surprised and annoyed. <From what I can detect, Vernon was curious as to how his organic counterparts were beating him in the game. So, he decided to study their moves until he understood what it was they were doing that could mean they would best an AI. But, as a result, they were all inside an endless loop.>
<Because he’s become obsessed with winning the game, they will keep playing over and over again because every other player is equally motivated to win.> Nerishka had to admit she was impressed at how supremely the Crosus AI had managed to fuck up.
<Oddly enough, even when Vernon wins he keeps playing. Perhaps out of curiosity? Can he win again? And how many times can he win?>
Nerishka lifted an eyebrow. <Wow. An AI addicted to gambling? That’s a first.>
<I do not believe it is an addiction. Not in the organic sense.>
<What then? You prefer obsession?> Nerishka smirked.
Lyra let out a soft sigh. <I concede.>
<Thanks. Now let’s figure out how to free these guys.>
Lyra’s avatar bobbed its head. <Oh, and by the way, pass my congratulations onto your gut. She was right again.>
Nerishka chuckled. <You coming over to the dark
side, Lyra?>
<No. I am just giving credit where it is due. Perhaps I do not understand the intricacies of the instincts of organics.>
<Perhaps you don’t. We’re all learning here,> Nerishka said, reassuring the AI.
Lyra sent a grateful smile via her avatar. <So, I tried accessing the gaming expanse and I think I have isolated a way that will not put Vernon on the offensive.>
Nerishka wanted to ask how, but she decided it was best not to distract Lyra. So far, the AI had been an asset—learning her way through the mission and understanding what her role was—and Nerishka had found she’d already grown fond of her.
Despite Nerishka’s initial reservations when they were paired, she couldn’t deny Lyra’s growing value to her, both mission related and personal.
<I’m in,> Lyra announced mere moments later. <He is fighting against me, but he is also confused. I don’t believe he understood what had happened to him and his playing partners.> After a few minutes, Lyra let out a whoop. <I got him to listen. He finally acquiesced when I pointed out the danger to the security of the cargo within their warehouse.>
Nerishka lifted an eyebrow. <Well, at least he cares about his responsibilities.>
<If he cared so much he wouldn’t have gotten sidetracked in the first place.>
<You mean the way organics get side-tracked?> Nerishka laughed softly as the lighting in the room brightened and the players at the table straightened, then looked around at each other in confusion.
<I think we can leave. They are successfully all back to their senses now.> Lyra sounded relieved, and pleased, as Nerishka backed out of the room and exited the warehouse.
<Glad we didn’t need a physical intervention. I did get a bit concerned with the condition of the room and the fact they hadn’t seemed to have stopped to eat in a while.>
Lyra snorted. <Vernon is extremely apologetic. He’s most concerned that something like this could have happened without him being aware of it. I’ve shown him how to ensure he has failsafes in place, just in case. Although, I did give him a good dose of my disapproval on the very idea of such an obsession-inducing expanse. But I think he’ll be a bit wary of such games going forward.>
Nerishka sighed as she exited the building and headed down the street, noting that a cargo-shuttle was lifting off from the pad on the far side of the warehouse. <I’ll bet he is.>
After walking a few blocks away, Nerishka hailed a skycar for a ride to the spaceport where her luggage was already waiting. <I’m going to be so glad to be off this planet.>
<We are certainly done here. What else could possibly happen to affect our getaway plan?>
Nerishka let out a low groan. <Seriously? Now you’ve gone and done it.>
JERIAH
STELLAR DATE: 07.03.8948 (Adjusted Gregorian)
LOCATION: New Olivar
REGION: Maui, Ontario System, Septhian Alliance
Three weeks prior…
Regional Director Jeriah smoothed her hands down the front of her floor-length skirt and then moved them back to her hips. It appeared she was at a loss as to what to do with either of her hands. Not surprising since she was equally at a loss as to how to process the data she was staring at.
Jeriah was studying the reports she’d received, a frown marring the perfect skin on her forehead. Kri, Jeriah’s AI, had thrown up the vids, along with reports and system locations of the three agents they pertained to. She let out a ragged sigh, ran her fingers through her hair and then returned her hands to her hips again.
<You’re fidgeting,> Kri commented, his tone as cool as always.
<I believe I am, Kri. I wonder why?> Jeriah responded, sarcasm and a little edge of coldness in her tone.
<I agree that this information is frustrating, but do not allow such events to affect the performance of your role,> Kri commented as he threw up more details onto the holo, providing Jeriah with the kind of information she preferred to see when working through puzzling cases—like the one that had just landed in her lap.
<It’s a little something called being human, Kri. I don’t believe I’d have the same level of passion to find out the truth if I wasn’t emotionally impacted.> Jeriah let out a sigh. Her tone had again been impatient, and she knew that when Kri’s response came it would be infuriatingly calm and serene, as if he was so happy to have to be in Jeriah’s head.
<An organic trait, to be sure,> was Kri’s brief reply.
Jeriah remained silent. Another twenty years with an AI who she personally didn’t like—or get along with—seemed like a life sentence. But changing her AI wasn’t something she’d be able to do at the flick of an eyelid, especially not when she’d only been with Kri a year now. Why Helen had insisted Kri be paired with Jeriah, she would never know.
Stars, I hope Helen knows what she is doing. I want this AI out of my head. But Helen was wiser than any AI she’d ever come across. She had to trust in Helen’s plan. Still, Jeriah was yet to see what was so special about the AI.
For all intents and purposes, he was an exceptionally skilled AI and had not let Jeriah down once in the year since they’d been together. Perhaps she ought to just focus on Kri’s skills and ignore what he lacked: compassion, thoughtfulness, tact. Pushing aside her unsatisfactory relationship with Kri, Jeriah focused on the holo before her.
She waved a hand to swipe through the reports and brought up the first file she’d received three weeks ago from the Jordan System.
<Kri, can you determine all outcomes? And Nathaniel’s bio stats, please.> Jeriah had seen the file before, but this process was important.
Kri pushed the data up again, enlarging the holo to contain all the information. An image of the agent, Nathaniel, popped up on the corner of the projection along with his stats and his length of service.
Jeriah sighed. <Two hundred and seventy-seven years with the Hand and this is the result? What a fucking waste.>
<It’s because of that annoying thing called emotion, Kri. Sorry about that.>
<I am, of course, well aware that profanity is emitted mostly in an emotionally rich situation. However, I do believe it achieves nothing.>
Jeriah bit back the comment she was about to make. Then she said it anyway. <I knew a man once who said the desire to swear—in one prone to swearing—is akin to physiological functions such as blinking, burping and farting.>
<Applicable of course only to those sentient beings capable of those three functions.> Kri’s reply was predictable and just as frustrating.
<The point is, it’s a release of pent up emotion.>
<I disagree.>
<You do, do you?> Jeriah folded her arms and waved her fingers to enlarge the stills of the vid Nathaniel had sent.
<I do. I’d agree implicitly if profanity was something all organics emitted. But it is not. A significant number of sentients do not make use of profanity. Applying that variable, it is only logical to deduce that profanity is an unnecessary construct.>
Jeriah sighed. <People swear all the time, even if the words they use do not fall into the official category of profanity.>
<Please expand on your hypothesis.>
Jeriah bit back a groan—here they went again. <People need a way to channel higher levels of frustration, anger and pain. We use verbal expression to do that. So it doesn’t matter how we do it, it’s still the expression of the same thing. Some people get hurt and they wince. Others gasp, others groan. But when a short verbal sound isn’t enough—for a variety of reasons—a verbal output is required to channel that emotion. Hence the swearing or cussing—as some would put it.>
<I still maintain it achieves nothing.>
<Perhaps we leave this debate for another time? Let’s focus on the current situation. I need to update Nerishka before it’s too late.>
<Very well. I will table this discussion for
a future time. I wish to educate myself further on the finer aspects of organic profanity.>
Jeriah grinned at that. Kri had an amazing ability to be hilariously funny simply because he sounded like he had a two-by-four permanently stuck up his figurative ass.
<OK. Let’s replay the vid, take it to fifty percent and can I see a dialogue display as well.>
<There you go.>
Jeriah studied the frames as they played and considered Nathaniel’s emotional responses as he spoke. <I get the feeling he’s trying to tell us something but he’s not able to put it in into words.>
Kri sent a nodding avatar, one that was also frowning and holding his chin contemplatively. Jeriah smiled. Perhaps there was hope yet for the AI.
<Analyzing voice patterns now,> he said. <My concern is that he has a whole bevy of code phrases, nine for ‘SOS’. Why did he not use any?> asked Kri.
<Several reasons, among them the possibility that he’s concerned that he’s compromised. He may have used it in a previous communication and discovered he’d already been infiltrated or endangered. Which would render his code phrases useless.>
<And because of the time lag between sending and receiving Hand agent communications, it is not always easy to regularly update those codewords for maximum security.>
Jeriah smirked. <Yes. Exactly.>
<And the other reason?>
<Hmm?> Jeriah murmured as she studied the vid, focusing on the room behind the agent, refocusing on locations of items in each frame. Perhaps if she looked elsewhere, other than Nathaniel’s face, she may see something different.
<The reasons other than his code phrases being compromised…> Kri prompted.
<Oh, yes,> Jeriah replied and focused on Kri’s question. <It’s possible that we may have a breach of security within the Hand itself.>
For a moment, Kri was silent as he considered Jeriah’s suggestion. <A distinct possibility, even though it’s beyond unlikely that anyone in our sector of the Inner Stars could breach our security. However, one cannot avoid betrayal by agents, or by those who oversee the ones in the field. Organics are prone to misguided loyalty.>