The Engineer Reconditioned (7 page)

"Very true," said Chapra. "We might even be Jain."

That shut Abaron up for a long time. When he finally spoke again it was to say, "We have to learn to speak to it now. We have to learn its language."

Chapra was in thorough agreement, but even she was not sure where to start. The Jain might speak using ultrasound, pheromones, molecular messages, and it might not speak at all. Its language might have billions of words, no words, ten words, or it might ignore them because it felt depressed. Scan of its wide neural structure showed a hugely complex organ in its skull, a spinal column almost as wide as that skull, and from which branched nerve channels as thick as a human arm, leading to sub-brains in the torso that were easily as complex as human brains, then leading to each of its eight tentacles, eight interfaces.

"It's back at its machine," observed Abaron. "Will it even listen when it's there?" They watched it at work, tentacles moving here and there across the surface of its machine.

"The ends of those tentacles are interfaces and they are crammed with microscopic manipulators," said Chapra. "There must be mating plugs and microscopic controls all over the surface of that thing."

"The entire surface is perhaps one control system," said Abaron.

"The machine is expanding," Box abruptly told them. Chapra reached for her touch controls then realised she did not have to bother; they could see it now. The mouths of the tubes had been approximately forty centimetres wide and the entire structure two metres across. It was visibly growing now, in pulses.

"The machine is drawing in and circulating water," said Box. No need to confirm. They could see the movement. They watched as it drew in shrimps and water plants. Only water came out.

"It's making something quite big now," said Abaron.

"Oh really," said Chapra, her hands rattling over her console. She swore under her breath when she realised Box was still not allowing her to scan the machine, then she abruptly folded her arms and sat back.

The machine expanded until it was four metres across, the top of it out of the water, the mouths of the tubes three quarters of a metre across. In a couple of the tubes they could see flickers of light as from an undersea welder. It drew in some of the bigger crustaceans. They did not come out again.

"Looks like it's getting there," said Abaron.

The Jain reached inside one of the tubes, pulled out something bulky, a soft mollusc from its shell. It towed this object to the jetty, and with much effort heaved it up out of the water.

"Oh my God," said Abaron.

On the jetty lay a female human child of perhaps five years. At the base of her back, etched in the purples and reds of a birth mark, was the triangular interface. As they watched the child vomited water then slowly stood up. Her skin was very red.

"The heat," said Chapra.

The door to the lock opened and Judd strode into the chamber.

The Jubilan communications satellite was a confetti of bright metal wrapped around a silver ovoid half a kilometre across. Geostationary above Jubal it glittered like some huge Christmas decoration. Around it, like a swarm of silver bees, glinted shuttle craft and loaders. The dark wedge of the
Samurai
was in harsh contrast as it slid into realspace trailing streamers of red fire. From this wedge of night sped four hardly visible specks at slow relativistic speeds. Two fell on the satellite. One wavered, then was gone in a galaxy-shaped explosion. The other struck home and the bright satellite cracked open, jetting flame and human and mechanical debris. The satellite came apart in the horrible silence of vacuum. The only screams heard were over radio links, and brief.

Kellor watched the destruction with no visible sign of emotion, but he had reservations: there were always extras. He had expected no less. But this was a Polity world. The extra payment of five million was all that had swayed him. He turned his attention to the display showing the other two missiles dropping towards the planet.

"What did they use?" he asked Jurens.

Jurens glanced up from his console. "Pulsed laser. Pretty powerful. They won't have that in atmosphere and anyway, the missiles have learnt."

Kellor noted Conard's disgusted expression and dismissed it. The display showed the missiles dropping to a mountain range a hundred kilometres from their target. They'd go in ten metres above the ground. There was only one weapon that could get through their shields and armour. Kellor smiled to himself as he watched them close in like hunting wolves. Then his smile dropped away as the two missiles blinked out of existence.

One weapon
...

"Jurens! Get us out of here! Now!"

"Wait!" shouted Conard. "The runcible!"

Jurens ignored Conard, hit the ionic boosters, then poised his hand over the controls for the U-space engines. The
Samurai
was at a quarter C but it needed just a little more. Kellor slammed his hand down on Juren's hand, and the ship dropped into U-space. It was a slow drag, the ship straining and the sounds of distorting metal reaching them on the bridge. Over one of the coms someone began screaming as they saw through an incomplete field into the infinite. Kellor felt something dragging at him, at the ship, and it was not the result of a too-quick entry into U-space. When the drag ceased, he allowed himself a grimace at the sweat he felt on his top lip and turned to face Conard's raging. The General was severely pissed-off. He was glaring and unconsciously clenching and unclenching his hands. His two aides stood quiet in the background. A surreptitious scan had showed them both to be heavily armed. Automatics in the bridge covered them, and Jurens and Speck had weapons to hand. If the General started anything Kellor would finish it. There was no way the man could call on his other forces here. They were all sitting in their gunships which, with an order, Kellor could dump into deep space.

"They did not seem to me the smartest of missiles," hissed the General.

"Get to the point."

"You should have used a human team. AIs are not reliable."

The sheer idiocy of that comment left Kellor without any reply. How could you argue with that?

Conard went on, "Humans are chosen of God and are the only ones with the right to sentience!" Oh dear, it got worse and worse. Kellor considered killing him right then and there. It seemed the only kind thing to do. The problem was that Conard had a source of information. Kellor wanted that source before he killed the man.

"The missile did not strike home because the facility was protected by ground-based singuns. Your entire force would not have got through and if I had taken the
Samurai
in any closer, they would have gutted it."

Conard stood there still clenching and unclenching his hands. After an embarrassingly long time he seemed to get control of himself. He turned and strode out of the bridge.
That's it
, thought Kellor, go
and kick shit out of one of your subordinates
,

The sifting machine had, in strips, methodically sifted a tenth of the desert's surface to a depth of one metre. At a pace of two kilometres per hour it sucked up the sand, passed it through various grids and sieves, and spat it out behind filling the trench it had made. The sand left behind the machine was level. This would last until the next earthquake or storm. One of either usually came along each day. The process was crude and frowned upon by many archaeologists who claimed that valuable artefacts could be damaged or destroyed. Alexion Smith took the view that anything surviving five million years in that desert would not be damaged by the sifter. His robust approach to archaeology was greatly disliked. But he got results.

Smith checked the sifter every planetary day — about four solstan days — and made a find on average once every solstan year. Mostly he came to empty out strange-shaped stones and package artefacts from more recent ages for transmission to associates. On this occasion he had a find. In the red light of the giant sun the coralline material was the colour of old blood. Under the lamps it would be pink and Smith knew where he had seen its like before. The excitement he might have felt before was lacking now. Years of research and now, out there, a real living Jain. Smith glanced up at the red sun and the psuedobirds. A shape was coming towards him and it wasn't a bird. The crab drone landed on the cowling of the sifter with a clattering and scrabbling and once it got its balance it peered at him with stalked eyes.

"Who are you then?" asked Smith.

"I am the
Cable Hogue
," said the drone in a gravelly voice.

"Interesting name."

"I am a ship AI speaking to you through this drone. The drone is called CH143 though it sometimes calls itself Spider."

"It has an independent mind then?"

"Yes."

"Well ... what do you want of me?"

"Your expertise."

"Go on."

"To advise on matters Jain."

Smith dropped the fragment of ancient Jain technology back into the collection box of the sifter.

"I'll come," he said.

The drone rose from the cowling.

"You have four hours to get to the runcible here. Go to the Vorstra moon for short range transference to the
Cable Hogue
."

The voice was somehow different this time.

"I take it Spider speaks now."

"Spider spoke then. Only Spider speaks now."

Smith nodded and smiled to himself, then returned his attention to what he was being told.

"By shuttle?" he asked.

"By runcible," said the drone.

"Tell me, what manner of vessel is this
Hogue
?"

"A dreadnought."

Smith felt a slight shiver of excitement. It would have to be one hell of a ship to warrant having a runcible aboard. He was about to ask what classification of dreadnought it was when the drone accelerated away with a sonic crack. After a pause he headed for his AGC, his desert boots kicking up plumes of the red sand. The sifter went on sifting.

"Initially she was your clone. That she is a she, is the least of her alterations," said Chapra. The girl lay on the examination couch in medlab, her blue eyes wide open, her body motionless. She just stared at the ceiling.

"There's the interface in her back," said Abaron. "What else?"

"A lot. She wasn't burned in there even though she was in water that is nearly at boiling point. She can withstand temperatures that would kill a normal human. Very tough. Also her brain is human, but there are sub-brains branching all down her spine. In that sense she is nearly an amalgam of Jain and human."

"Normal DNA?"

"Not trihelical, no — "

Chapra paused. The girl was sitting upright.

"Not trihelical, no — " said the girl.

"She can speak," said Abaron.

"She can speak," said the girl. Only when she heard the girl repeating Abaron's words did Chapra realise that she had used exactly his voice, as she had spoken with exactly Chapra's voice before.

"She is learning, I think," said Chapra, and listened as the girl repeated it. "We'll have to give her the meanings of words. She'll have to be taught."

The girl repeated everything she said, then smiled. Chapra did not recollect smiling. She stepped up by the couch and took the girl's hand, brushed stringy blond hair from her face.

"Come with me," she said, and gave a gentle tug. The girl got off the couch. She did not repeat the words. Chapra felt a cold shiver. The girl had recognised the instruction. That was fast. That was AI fast.

"Let's go and get you some clothes and something to eat."

"Clothes and something to eat," said the girl.

Chapra felt that shiver again. It wasn't fear. It was awe. And her awe increased when in the eating area the girl learned how to use the eating utensils in moments. All the time Chapra and Abaron kept up a running dialogue, some of which the girl repeated and some of which she ignored.

"I believe the educative process can be speeded," said Box, out of the blue. The girl tilted her head. "Hello," she said.

The AI turned on the single screen in the eating area and ran the upper and lower case English alphabet, reciting them as they scrolled past. On the second run through the girl recited. Box did the same with the Chinese alphabet, but at twice the speed. The girl recited. The AI ran the Russian alphabet even faster. The girl recited. After that neither Chapra nor Abaron could tell what was being run as the screen was a liminal blur and Box's and the girl's voices a babble. Abruptly the screen flickered and divided and Box began to teach a word at a time: sea, seaweed, water, human, hand, eye. Chapra noted the AI presented huge amounts of information with each word. Beside seaweed, Box opened a frame to display many different kinds of seaweed, nanoscopic pictures of genetic helices, cladograms and other graphical information. She and Abaron sat back and watched in fascination. After an hour Judd came in with a touch console and ran its fibre-optic cable to a wall socket. He laid it in the girl's lap. Shortly after that the screen became a liminal blur once again and the girl's fingers were moving across the console faster than even Chapra's. At that point the two humans left. For some it is a comfort to believe there are entities far superior to themselves. For some it is a comfort to know this. For others both views are merely depressing.

"What do you think it will want?" asked Abaron, as he poured vodka into Chapra's glass.

"You mean after it has downloaded everything the girl has learnt?"

"Yeah."

They were sprawled in form-fitting loungers in Abaron's quarters. This was the first time Chapra had been in there. She noted that the only ornaments were old paper books arrayed on a shelf. A glance at one had shown it to be very old, dating from the twenty-first century before the Reliteration. The language in them was fragmented, almost impossible to understand.

"I don't know. What would we want? What would you want if you were woken five million years hence by aliens?"

Abaron thought about that for a moment then said, "I would want to find out what happened to my own kind. I'd want to get in contact with them. But then that is me. We don't know how the Jain associate. They may be rabid individualists."