Especially Alec Ryder, who hadn’t even been able to drag his eyes from his screen long enough to say hello at their first meeting.
“Fantastic.”
“However,” SAM-E added, “I was able to access one of the temperature controls for the room containing my node.”
It was too much to hope for, but she hoped anyway. “And?”
“In time, the room will overheat,” SAM-E said, and Cora groaned. “Which should trip an alarm that will alert the technicians. A full review of my system logs will be standard procedure in a situation like that.”
Cora shut her eyes. Not a distress signal, but still a clear signal to anyone listening.
“SAM-E, if you had a mouth, I would kiss you.”
Could a disembodied voice blush? It sounded like it when SAM-E responded, “If I had a mouth, Lieutenant, I would be honored.” His tone shifted to one of warning. “There is no guarantee anyone will notice the amended ETA, Lieutenant. The odds of detection and rescue are—”
“Oh dear God, don’t tell me.”
“—very well, Lieutenant. All of this assumes, of course, that the Audacity will not return to shoot you out of the sky.”
There was that. “I doubt Ygara will bother,” Cora said. She’d never known Ygara to be patient, and searching for one person in the vastness of space wouldn’t be worth the time, or effort. Then again, she’d once thought of Ygara as trustworthy, so what did she know?
“Most likely she’ll just figure ‘spaced’ equals ‘death.’ And she’ll probably be right.”
“Yes. I did warn you that this was ill-advised.”
“Objection noted.” Snark helped. Anything was better than panic. “But I made a calculation: certain death versus a slim chance of life. You’re a VI; that ought to make sense even to you.”
There was a pause, which Cora read as surprise. She was probably projecting. “It does seem to me,” SAM-E said, slowly, “that the q-q-quality of death matters, for those who experience it. I’ve heard references to dying in a blaze of glory, or a hail of gunfire. Would that not have been preferable to eventual suffocation when your suit’s oxygen recyclers run out of power?”
That was a good question. And it was also unusually sophisticated thinking for a VI. Cora frowned. “Huh. Ryder said you were special. How special?”
Now the VI actually sounded cagey. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the question, Lieutenant.”
“Well, that’s a very convenient incomprehension, SAM-E, considering you were contemplating the meaning of death a moment ago.”
It was all connected, she felt instinctively, though she couldn’t quite figure out how. SAM-E’s peculiar sophistication, the strange “augmentation” she’d seen on Home Away, the code package Ryder had ordered her to recover. Even Ygara’s betrayal. For a brand-new mercenary outfit, betraying a client was just bad business. Cora had paid her good money, so the Initiative would almost surely publicize the waste of its funds and the death of a staff member. That kind of reputation was nearly impossible to shake off once it was made. The only reason there could possibly be for Ygara to do this—risk the future she’d spent centuries building for herself—was that someone must have paid her enough to make the risk worthwhile.
Enough to be worth my omni-blade in her gut, some day. Cora pressed her lips together in determination, trying not to feel as if it was an empty promise to herself.
“What I don’t get,” she said, trying to think past the fear and now the fury, “is why. Whoever paid off Ygara knew about the Home Away code. Knew about me, and planted Ygara at Tamayo Point just so that I would run into her. Logically hire her when I needed help with the theft. Why not just hire Ygara to steal the code directly? Why the ruse?” That suggested more than just greed or corporate competitiveness as a motive; that suggested malice, or obfuscation. Someone who wanted to remain anonymous, but who had it in for the Andromeda Initiative. Or Ryder. Or… Cora herself?
No. Who in hell would have that much of a hate-on for a woman who’d spent four years hanging out with aliens, completely divorced from the politics and pettiness of human life? This had to be about Ryder or the Initiative, or both. Ygara, and Cora, were just collateral damage.
“What exactly was that VI code package Ryder asked me to acquire?” Cora asked. That had to be the key. “What did that code do?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer your question, Lieutenant. I have a behavioral block that prohibits me from doing so, for reasons of Initiative security and intellectual property protection. I’m sorry.”
“Uh-huh.” If nothing else, pondering this mess was making Cora focus and calm down. There was nothing to do but wait, after all, and hope that someone noticed the ETA addendum’s strangeness, then sent a ship to investigate, all before Cora’s life support ran out. “Home Away was using augmentations that require integration with an artificial intelligence to work. I just stole—and had stolen from me—a massive code package. Something much more complex than a VI. SAM-E… is the Initiative playing around with artificial intelligence?”
SAM-E sounded distinctly uncomfortable. “I wish you wouldn’t ask me questions like that, Lieutenant.”
And then there was the way Cora’s “personal VI” hedged, snarked, and otherwise didn’t act like a VI at all. It wouldn’t be the first VI to have been designed with sophisticated natural language and behavior emulators; high-end VIs often had simulated “personalities” which were really just elaborate response protocols. The VIs in question weren’t thinking or feeling any more than Cora’s omni-tool.
Still… SAM-E felt different. And Cora was beginning to develop a nasty suspicion as to why.
“I’m beginning to wish I’d never left asari space,” she replied. “We don’t all get what we want, SAM-E. Answer the question.”
“I’m afraid I can’t, Lieutenant,” SAM-E began. “I have a behavioral block—”
“Right, right, I get the idea.” Abruptly Cora was tired. It had been a very long day, and now that she’d calmed down, it was surprisingly relaxing to just drift like this. She fell silent for a while, contemplating the field of stars and wondering if this was a good time for her to practice meditation, since Nisira had always said that would improve her biotic focus. Cora wasn’t much for self-reflection, but there had never been a better time to start.
“SAM-E?”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“You were wrong. This is how I’d rather go.” She decided that she wouldn’t wait to suffocate. Better to just detach the suit helmet and let the vacuum take her. She liked the idea of having that much choice in the matter. “It’s peaceful. I like the quiet.”
“You are unused to quiet?” SAM-E seemed to consider, or maybe he was consulting her service records. “Ah; you enlisted in the Alliance military at quite a young age—”
“No, no, that was quiet, for me. No engine noise in the barracks.” Cora shrugged, though she didn’t know if SAM-E had any way of detecting the gesture, or knowing what it meant. “I grew up on a cargo freighter. Just me and my parents, but there’s no privacy on a family ship. I used to go hide in crawlspaces and in the cargo hold, just so I could feel alone for a while, or maybe so I could try and get a handle on what was happening as I realized I was a biotic. That was dangerous. If I’d lost control, if the cargo shifted, some of that stuff was heavy enough to crush me into paste. But I got lucky, I guess.” She blinked. “Shit. I’m rambling.”
“I see. Th-th-then the circumstances of a life dictate one’s preferred death?”
How had they ended up in this conversation? “Hell if I know. I’ve only had the one life to consider. And this is the first chance I’ve ever had to choose a possible death.” Probable death. But she couldn’t bring herself to give up optimism. “This is a little much to deal with right now, SAM-E, and I’ve been full-amping it all day on the biotic front. I need a nap. Wake me if imminent death, or rescue, approaches.”
“Very well, Lieutenant.”
“A
nd SAM-E?”
“Yes?”
Cora shut her eyes, willing herself to relax. It was surprisingly easy to do so. “I’m, uh, glad you’re here with me. So I’m… you know. Not alone.” It felt foolish to say. Embarrassing. But it was the truth. “I haven’t had a lot of people in my life that I could… well. Just wanted to say that.”
There was another pause, so lengthy this time that Cora thought SAM-E might not answer. Which was an irrational thought, really; if SAM-E was just a VI, then Cora was actually talking to herself. But Cora was willing to bet her last hour of oxygen that SAM-E was more than just a VI.
And finally, very softly, SAM-E replied,
“I am honored to accompany you, Lieutenant. Please rest well.”
ARMALI CHILDREN’S ALMANAC, ENTRY FOR DECEMBER 31ST, 2184
Don’t be surprised if your human friends spontaneously become jubilant and start singing at midnight! For half of the planet Earth, this date represents the end of one year and is celebrated as a time of renewal. For offworld humans and the other half of Earth, the date is irrelevant and the new year comes at a completely different time. Oh, those humans!
FUN TIME: Before midnight, guess whether your human friends will burst into screams or not!
CHAPTER FIVE
The beeping inside Cora’s helmet was going to drive her crazy, if SAM-E’s insistent voice didn’t do it first. “Lieutenant Harper. Please wake up. Lieutenant Harper.”
Her head hurt. Cora recognized the feeling immediately—biotic amp feedback and static buildup. With a groan that made her head hurt worse, she struggled fully awake, though she didn’t bother to open her eyes.
“Imminent death, SAM-E, pretty sure that’s what I said.”
“Or rescue, Lieutenant. A shuttle is approaching.”
That made her take notice. Opening her eyes and looking around, Cora caught her breath at the sight of a small long-range shuttle curving toward her from out of the sunward blackness. She’d never seen anything more beautiful.
“Okay, we need to find a way to make this kiss happen, SAM-E.”
His simulated voice was wry. “As I’m sure you are aware, Lieutenant, virtual intelligences are v-v-virtual. There’s nothing of me to kiss.”
Cora lifted her arms to wave to the shuttle, although this was completely unnecessary. The thing had her on its long-range sensors; it just felt good to do it. “Was that a smart remark? Are you being a smartass? Because I didn’t think VIs were supposed to do that, either.”
“No, Lieutenant. It was simply a statement of fact.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I’m gonna find a way to kiss you, now,” she promised, grinning fiercely. “Mark my words.”
* * *
Twelve hours, thirty million miles, and two relay jumps later, Cora paced back and forth within a holo projector, in front of a shimmering image of Alec Ryder.
“SAM-E says you need more rest, Lieutenant,” Ryder said. His image stood stock-still, in contrast to her restlessness. She felt that this might somehow be a symbolic commentary on their working relationship thus far, but she was too tired and angry to figure out what. “You’re in caloric deficit, sleep deficit, and you’re drowning in stress neurotoxins. We can debrief after you’ve recovered.”
“I’ll sleep—and eat—when I’m dead,” Cora snapped. Then she paused and made herself take a deep breath. He was right, of course. Her fraying self-control was the proof of how tired she was. “Sorry.”
Ryder shook his head. “I assume you had some reason for reporting in now. I already read your report on what happened at Home Away. Your VI confirmed your account.”
Good old SAM-E, tattling on her while she’d napped on the shuttle—after eating every energy bar the Initiative crew had had on them. Now she was back where she’d begun: Tamayo Point, where she’d used Initiative funds to buy a secure half hour on the station’s direct line to the system comm buoy. It wasn’t quite as good as using a quantum entanglement communicator—or so Cora had heard, not like she’d ever had money or rank enough to use one—but VIs adjusted the visuals and audio enough to emulate realtime communication. So when Cora stopped and folded her arms to face him, it felt properly confrontational. Good.
“I need to know what I’m really involved in,” she said. “What kind of VI that could be so damn valuable, and who wants it.”
Ryder shifted a little. It was hard to read his face when it was etched in blue-white light instead of flesh and blood, but Cora thought he looked uneasy. “Do you really need to know this?”
What kind of question was that? Cora set her jaw. “If I’d known that half the galaxy would be after this ‘code package,’ I might not have involved a mercenary group. I’d have figured out a way to do it by myself.”
“Then you probably wouldn’t have succeeded. The mercs were the right choice, Harper. You’re actually angry because Menoris betrayed you, and you think there’s some way you could’ve prevented it.”
Damn straight she was angry about that. And he was trying the armchair psychiatrist bit to distract her. “There’s also the resistance I encountered on Home Away,” she said. “A woman ran across the ceiling to shoot at me. If I’m fighting an AI, I’d like to know.”
“You aren’t fighting an AI.”
Cora narrowed her eyes in frank disbelief.
Ryder shifted again. Yeah, that was definitely discomfort. “You aren’t, because Home Away’s VI has a static reasoning matrix. It’s… an AI emulator, basically—a fake AI, if you want to think of it that way. Capable of managing some tasks the way an AI would, but collapsing if it’s overtaxed.” He sniffed a little, radiating contempt. “Barnes always did suck at ontologics. Never would’ve passed the class without my help.”
Cora began to pace again, more slowly this time as she considered everything she’d seen and learned. Home Away’s “fake AI.” The separation of the servers that had contained the code package, as if the Home Away tech staff had been afraid of whatever was inside. Cora was no engineer; she’d taken the usual recommended coursework for an Alliance officer, and she’d gotten decent scores in computer science on her home schooling exams, but that was all. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together, however.
“That was SAM-E’s code,” she said, facing him again. It wasn’t a guess. There was nothing else that it could be. “SAM-E isn’t fake. He’s the real deal.”
“I think you’re mistaken, Lieutenant.”
Cora sighed. “You don’t lie often, do you? Take it from someone who just got stabbed in the back by a master liar: if you want other people to think something is true, you need to believe what you’re saying. Even if only for a minute.”
Despite the poor holo image quality, she could see a muscle flex in Ryder’s jaw. “What you’re talking about is illegal throughout Council space, Lieutenant.” Meaning he would neither confirm nor deny it—or maybe meaning that the line wasn’t as secure as Cora hoped. Ryder might not be military anymore, but he still played the “cover your ass” game as well as any officer.
Fine; two could play that game. “But you’re not staying in Council space, are you? You’re off to another galaxy… where there are no laws to break.”
To Cora’s surprise, Ryder suddenly smiled. “Also a reasonable conjecture.”
Well, that answered her first two questions. What she’d recovered: the codebase of a living, functional artificial intelligence. Why it was valuable: a true AI was capable of performing cybernetic miracles—high-speed complex calculations for cyberwarfare, adaptive system defense, replacing entire cities’ worth of inefficient, mindless software. An AI could rob every bank on Earth, seamlessly cover its tracks, and fly the getaway frigate.
“Until it turns on you,” Cora murmured aloud. “Until it wipes out billions, and humankind ends up as homeless as the quarians.”
“All tools are dangerous, used incorrectly,” Ryder said. “And you might want to remember that the one you’re worried about right now just saved your life.”
Ouch. Cora faltered, silent in consternation.
Then Ryder added, “As for who might want the code package enough to sabotage your mission… Ygara Menoris’ ship registry was just logged at Nos Astra port. Illium.”
Cora caught her breath. Illium: the asari trading world where, it was rumored, absolutely anything was attainable… for the right price. With deliberately lax laws and quaint primitive customs like slavery—not chattel slavery, perish the thought, just a bit of indentured servitude and debt bondage, nothing serious, and just thinking about it was making Cora ill—it was as close to the wild, wild West as asari worlds ever got.
You could legally buy anything there, from deadly narcotics to experimental mods… and now, artificial intelligence components.
“I need a shuttle,” she said, her mind racing. Ygara had said she was planning to go to Illium, hadn’t she, when they’d met on Tamayo? Cora had decided that was a lie, but maybe not. Did that mean she had a buyer lined up already? Probably; someone had paid her to stalk and betray Cora, after all. And there were a number of synthetics-research corporations headquartered on Illium. “Or a budget allocation so I can hire a ship of my own,” she continued. But after her last disastrous attempt to hire help… “I’d prefer an Initiative shuttle.”
“What concerns me,” Ryder said, as if they’d been having an entirely different conversation, “is that you’re angry right now, Harper. Menoris was a teammate and you trusted her; I get that. Everyone’s been stabbed in the back at some point or another. But are you going to Illium to complete the mission, or to get revenge?”
“This isn’t about revenge. It’s about finishing the mission, sir.”
Ryder looked like he was considering something. “That’s very dutiful of you. Is it the only thing that’s driving you?”