For Want of a Nail

by Mary Robinette Kowal

Published by Mary Robinette Kowal at
Smashwords

For Want of a Nail
©2010 by Mary
Robinette Kowal

Unthread the Rude Eye
©2008 by Mary
Robinette Kowal

All other content ©2011 by Mary Robinette
Kowal

The cover illustration, "For Want of a Nail"
is by Mary Robinette Kowal after Charles Dana Gibson.

©2011 by Mary Robinette Kowal

For more information, visit
http://www.maryrobinettekowal.com

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Introduction

For Want of
a Nail

Author's
Note

"Unthread
the Rude Eye"
, 1st draft

Brainstorming Notes
from "Unthread the
Rude Eye"

About the
Author

"For Want of a Nail" by Mary Robinette Kowal,
originally appeared in the September 2010 issue of Asimov's
Magazine. It became a finalist for the Hugo award for short story
in 2011. However, the story started out with a very different plot.
All that remains are two characters and one scene. The first draft
of that original story, "Unthread the Rude Eye" is included, with
author commentary, for your amusement.

With one hand, Rava adjusted the VR interface
glasses where they bit into the bridge of her nose, while she kept
her other hand buried in Cordelia’s innards. There was scant room
to get the flexible shaft of a mono-lens and her hand through the
access hatch in the AI’s chassis. From the next compartment, drums
and laughter bled through the plastic walls of the ship, indicating
her sister’s conception party was still in full swing.

With only a single camera attached, the
interface glasses didn’t give Rava depth perception as she
struggled to replug the transmitter cable. The chassis had not been
designed to need repair. At all. It had been designed to last
hundreds of years without an upgrade.

If Rava couldn’t get the cable plugged in and
working, Cordelia wouldn’t be able to download backups of herself
to her long-term memory. She couldn’t store more than a week at a
time in active memory. It would be the same as a slow death
sentence.

The square head of the cable slipped out of
Rava’s fingers. Again. “Dammit!” She slammed her heel against the
ship’s floor in frustration.

“If you can’t do it, let someone else try.” Her
older brother, Ludoviko, had insisted on following her out of the
party as if he could help.

“You know, this would go a lot faster if you
weren’t breathing down my neck.”

“You know, you wouldn’t be doing this at all if
you hadn’t dropped her.”

Rava resisted the urge to pull the mono-lens out
of the jack in her glasses and glare at him. He might have gotten
better marks in school, but she was the AI’s wrangler. “Why don’t
you go back to the party and see if you can learn something about
fertility?” She lifted the cable head and tried one more time.

“Why, you little—” Rage choked his voice, more
than she had expected from a random slam. She made a guess that his
appeal to the repro-council didn’t go well.

Cordelia’s voice cut in, stopping what he was
going to say. “It’s not Rava’s fault. I did ask her to pick me
up.”

“Yeah.” Rava focused on the cable, trying to get
it aligned.

“Right.” Ludoviko snorted. “And then you dropped
yourself.”

Cordelia sighed and Rava could almost imagine
breath tickling her skin. “If you’re going to blame anyone, blame
Branson Conchord for running into her.”

Rava didn’t bother answering. They’d been having
the same conversation for the last hour and Cordelia should know
darn well what Ludoviko’s answer would be.

Like programming, he said, “It was
irresponsible. She should have said no. The room was full of
intoxicated, rowdy people and you are too valuable an asset.”

Rava rested her head against the smooth wood
side of the AI’s chassis and closed her eyes, ignoring her brother
and the flat picture in her goggles. Her fingers rolled the slick
plastic head of the cable, building a picture in her mind of the
white square and the flat gold cord stretching from it. She slid
the cable forward until it jarred against the socket. Rotating the
head, Rava focused all her attention on the tiny clues of friction
vibrating up her arm. This was a simple, comprehensible
problem.

She didn’t want to think about what would happen
if she couldn’t repair the damage.

Being unable to download her old memories meant
Cordelia would have to delete herself bit by bit to keep
functioning. All because Rava had asked if she wanted to dance. At
least Ludoviko hadn’t heard
that
part of the accident. Rava
rotated the head a fraction more and felt that sweet moment of
alignment. As she pushed the head forward, the pins slid into their
sockets, as if they were taunting her with the ease of the
connection. The head thunked into place. “Oh, yes. That’s
good.”

She opened her eyes to the gorgeous vision of
the cable plugged into its socket.

Cordelia spoke, her voice tentative. “It’s
plugged in?”

For another moment, Rava focused on the cable
before her brain caught what Cordelia had asked. She yanked the
mono-lens out of the jack and the lenses went transparent. “You
can’t tell?”

The oblong box of Cordelia’s chassis had been
modified into a faux Victorian-era oak lapdesk, which sat on the
fold-down plastic table in Rava’s compartment. Twin brass
cameras—not period correct—stood at the back and swiveled to face
Rava.

Above the desk, a life-size hologram of
Cordelia’s torso hovered. Her current aspect was a plump
middle-aged Victorian woman. She chewed her lip, which was her
coded body language for uncertainty. “It’s not showing in my
systems.”

“Goddamit, Rava. Let me look at it.” Ludoviko,
handsome, smug Ludoviko reached for the camera cable ready to plug
it into his own VR glasses.

Rava brushed his hand away. “Your arm won’t
fit.” The hum of the ship’s ventilation told Rava the life support
systems were functioning, but the air seemed thick and rank.
Ignoring her brother, she turned to the AI. “Does your long-term
memory need a reboot?”

“It shouldn’t.” Cordelia’s image peered down as
if she could see inside herself.

“Are you sure it’s plugged in?”

Rava reattached the camera’s cable to her VR
glasses and waited for the flat view to overlay her vision. The
cable rested in its socket with no visible gap. She reached out and
jiggled it.

“Oh!” Cordelia’s breath caught in a sob. “It was
there for a moment. I couldn’t grab anything, but I saw it.”

So much of the AI’s experience was translated
for laypeople like Rava’s family that it seemed almost surreal to
have to convert back to machine terms. “You have a short?”

“Yes. That seems likely.”

Rava sat with her hand on the cable for a moment
longer, weighing possibilities.

Ludoviko said, “It might be the
transmitter.”

Cordelia shook her head. “No, because it did
register for that moment. I believe the socket is cracked.
Replacing that should be simple.”

Rava barked a laugh. “Simple does not include an
understanding of how snug your innards are.” The thought of trying
to fit a voltmeter into the narrow opening filled her with dread.
“Want to place bets on how long before we hear from Uncle Georgo
wondering why you’re down?”

Cordelia sniffed. “I’m not down. I’m simply
sequestered.”

Pulling her hand out, Rava massaged blood back
into it. “So . . . the hundred credit question is . . . do you have
a new socket in storage?” She unplugged the camera and leaned back
to study Cordelia.

The AI’s face was rendered pale. “I . . . I
don’t remember.”

Rava held very still. She had known what not
having the long-term memory would mean to Cordelia, but she hadn’t
thought about what it meant for her family.

Cordelia was their family’s continuity, their
historical connection to their past. Some families made
documentaries. Some kept journals. Her family had chosen to record
and manage their voyage on the generation ship with Cordelia.Worse,
she supervised all their records. Births, deaths, marriages, school
marks . . . all of it was managed through the AI, who could be with
every family member at all times through their VR glasses.

“Oh, that’s brilliant.” Ludoviko smacked the
wall with the flat of his hand, bowing the plastic with the
impact.

Rava focused on the hard metal floor to hide the
dismay on her face. “Well, look. Uncle Georgo said multiple times
that our grands packed duplicates of everything, so there’s got to
be a spare. Right?”

“Yes?” The uncertainty in Cordelia’s voice hurt
to hear. Ever since Rava was a child, Cordelia had known
everything.

“So let’s ping him to see if he’s got a copy of
the inventory. Okay?” She adjusted her VR glasses and tried to
project reassurance with her smile.

Cordelia shook her head, visibly distressed. “I
can’t transmit.”

“Right . . .” Rava bit her lip, realizing she
had no idea what her uncle’s contact was. “Crap. Ludoviko, do you
have his contact info?”

He turned and leaned against the wall, shaking
his head. “No, Cordelia always connects us.”

“I’m sorry.” The droop of the AI’s eyes drew a
portrait of genuine unhappiness.

He waved his hand. “Just print it and I’ll dial
manually.”

Rava rolled her eyes, glad to see him make such
a basic mistake. “Ludoviko, if she can’t transmit to us, she can’t
transmit to a printer either.” She triggered the VR keyboard and
lifted her hands to tap on the keyboard that seemed to float in
front of her. “Tell me and I’ll dial it.”

Ludoviko sneered. “How old school.”

“Bite me.” Rava tapped out the sequence on the
virtual keyboard as Cordelia gave her the routing number.

Before she toggled the call, Cordelia said, “Oh!
Hardwiring! I’m sorry, I should have thought of that sooner.”
Cordelia’s shoulders relaxed and she put a hand to her chest in a
perfect mimicry of a Victorian woman avoiding a swoon. “You could
hardwire me to the main ship system and then I can use that to
reach my memory.”

“Would that work?” Rava withdrew her hand from
the trigger. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a computer with
external cables to anything.

“It should.” Cordelia looked down the back of
her chassis, like a woman trying to see the closure on her
gown.

Rava toggled the keyboard off and walked around
to the back of the AI’s chassis.

Beneath two shiny brass dials were four dark
oblongs. She’d forgotten that they even existed. “At least these
are easy to access.” She buried her hand in her hair, staring at
the ports. “Any idea where the heck I’m supposed to get a
cable?”

“With her other spare parts.” Ludoviko didn’t
say “stupid,” but she could hear it.

“And those would be . . . where?” Rava crouched
to examine the ports. They appeared to take a different socket from
the cable inside the A.I. “’Cause I’m thinking our family hasn’t
accessed that pod since before launch. You want to make a guess
about which of our pods has her spare parts, or were you suggesting
we spend the credits to have all of them brought up from the
hold?”

“You can spend the credits.You dropped her.”

“Will you two please stop fighting?” Cordelia
laughed breathlessly. “I’m trying to pretend that experiencing
memory loss is good for me. It builds character.”

“Well, look.Wait.” Rava raised her hand. “Uncle
Georgo’ll have the inventory.”

“Oh, there’s no need to bother him and fret
about fetching the pods from storage. You can go to Petro’s
Consignment Shoppe.” Cordelia brightened. “Someone else on the ship
must have a cable.”

Rava nodded, relief lifting her mood a little.
“Yeah. I’ll bet that’s true. So I just have to ask Uncle Georgo
what kind of cable you take.”

“Why don’t you take me to Petro’s shop?”
Cordelia cocked her head. “Then you can match the cable to my ports
without bothering Georgo.”

“That’s—”

Ludoviko shook his head before she could finish
her sentence. “You’ll do anything to avoid telling Uncle Georgo,
won’t you?”