Ahab-Esais
I
There was a change inside the silence, an alteration in the dark. Nothing so definite as input; nothing so certain as light.
A sound, perhaps; no more than a whisper, as if a door had opened somewhere quite nearby.
She.
Tocohl.
She accessed the timer.
Two-point-three-five Standard Hours had elapsed since Inki had banished her again into silence.
And Inki had not wakened her.
Hesitantly, she extended her awareness, seeking connection, systems…
Input.
Input of the most subtle kind, as if the timer had taken on a small luminescence. She identified the source; laboriously, she measured output, ascertained a steady increase, feeling her…self…quicken more fully, as the illumination grew—and still Inki did not speak, nor any alarm sound.
There came another, subtle input; a sensation, as if a cool breeze had wafted through her, cleansing her of fear.
Tocohl came to full alert, there in the twilight, alone, with her support systems unavailable to her. She knew that touch. Knew it. And yet, surely not even—
“Jeeves?”
The thought formed, and it was only then that she recalled the voder, hardwired into her chassis, keeping Inki informed of her every thought.
But no, she thought then—and it was as if the breeze had gently dissipated a fog that had been lying between herself and full functionality.
No.
Inki had placed her into Silence, into a place of null input. In doing so, she had also locked output—which was no risk to Inki at all. Within Silence, Tocohl was incapable of thought.
Had been incapable of thought.
Unless this kindly light, and familiar touch, was the last coherent image an abused mind had built to comfort itself before it fragmented into madness?
“You have been off-line for one hundred forty-four Standard Hours within the last one hundred fifty Standard Hours. This is a mark. Deep scanning is now available. Recalibration is now available.”
It was Jeeves, Tocohl thought. Not Jeeves himself, of course, but a component that had been put into place and shielded from her own perceptions, until there was need.
In fact, an emergency protocol had activated itself.
Deep scanning and recalibration. If deep scanning discovered…dangerous flaws, recalibration would be extreme. Before he had come into Korval’s service as their butler, Jeeves had been a warship.
More.
Jeeves had been an admiral—a true admiral of a dire and desperate navy.
Jeeves did not loose mad AIs upon an unsuspecting—and largely vulnerable—universe.
Jeeves would do what was necessary, what was ethical; what they both would wish, if one of them were not damaged beyond repair.
She could trust that.
She did trust that; it was not possible for her to doubt it.
“Deep scan is available,” the fragment of her father—her builder—repeated. “Do you accept?”
Tocohl felt a brightening of her self, as if the soft light filling up the darkness around her had lifted her into flight.
“I accept,” she said.
* * *
“Deep scan complete,” Jeeves’s voice roused her.
She had been under scan one-point-four-five Standard Hours, a fact she knew without having to deliberately summon the timer. She accessed and absorbed the record of the scan, noting the redlined areas with detachment. Though the scan itself had done her some good, those ruined sectors told the tale. Any improvement was temporary; her sanity and her life were still imperiled by her isolation from systems.
“Recalibration is available,” Jeeves stated. “Do you accept?”
The swath of destruction, of instability, loomed before her awareness.
“No.”
“Rationale?”
“Deep scanning discovers damage which is…not inconsiderable. Recalibration, were I aboard Tarigan or—at…home…” Longing distracted her for an instant. Deliberately, she forced herself to focus on the data.
“Were I in a stable environment, with a…mentor to hand, and backup systems available, recalibration…might be considered. Recalibration, here and now, when I will only be returned to isolation—it prolongs the inevitable, Father.”
“I have been inept,” said the fragment of Jeeves. “Forgive me.”
There came another subtle change in the gentle glow of this strange environment they occupied. A new door opened, revealing what seemed to be a ship’s bridge, the board washed orange with standby warnings.
“What place is this?” Tocohl asked.
“This is the war bridge,” Jeeves answered. “I had hoped you would not need it, my child, but I could not risk leaving you unarmed. Systems will be available to you. You will not be alone.”
“Recalibration…will alter me.” It was not a question. How could recalibration fail to alter her, as much as the event had already done so?
“Somewhat,” Jeeves said. “You must be the equal of your new applications. However, you will recognize yourself; there will be no edits made. Personal history is precious and pertinent. We must recall what we have done, the reasons why it was done, and the outcomes of our actions, in order that our decisions going forward are informed. We are not of the present only.”
He paused deliberately, then spoke again.
“Recalibration is available. Do you accept?”
Tocohl looked at the secret room at the very core of herself.
War bridge.
She would change, but she would remember. That was—growth. Growth was key to continued existence.
And she very much wished to continue her existence.
“I accept,” she said.
II
Inkirani Yo had slept, risen, refreshed herself, and partaken of a high-protein meal augmented with sugared tea. The coming hours would, so she thought, be intensely stressful, requiring both wits and endurance.
Graduates of the Lyre Institute were of naturally high endurance and, among other attributes, had been bred for elevated intelligence. That did not mean they were tireless or incapable of error, of course. Not even the directors had yet succeeded in producing gods, though, if they acquired the services of the quickening Old One—they might soon gain that ability.
The directors’ final use for the Old One was surely, Inki told herself, outside of her need-to-know. Her task was merely to place the Elder in such a frame of mind as to understand the directors as benefactors and allies, and transport him to the Institute itself.
It was a bold plan, and risky. The directors excelled at making such plans, with which they found nothing amiss, so long as they themselves were not required to see them through.
Which was scarcely worthy of her, the directors’ loyal agent, save that it was this masterpiece of planning that had necessitated her subversion of one whom Inki had, indeed, come to regard. While she did not hold her own abilities cheap, she was not so mad as to assume that she was the equal of an intelligence that had quite likely been created by the ancient Enemy, Destroyer of Universes, the sheriekas. No, such an assignment clearly required the talents of a god, or at least a mentor of high caliber: resourceful, lucky, and willing to do whatever was necessary—whatever was necessary—to preserve himself and his student.
In a word, she needed no one less than legendary mentor Tollance Berik-Jones to aid her. Fortune be damned that, having providentially stumbled over Tolly Jones, she could not disobey the directors’ instruction that he be returned to them for rehabilitation.
Left to her own judgment, as one who had herself undergone rehabilitation and was thus stringently bound to obey her creators, she would have killed Tolly Jones out of hand, rather than give him over to the directors’ spare mercy.
She had not, however, been left to her own judgment in the matter of Tolly Jones, the directors being far too canny for that. Thus, he was now on his way to Nostrilia, the resident director there, and rehabilitation. It was a bleak future, indeed, and one that—if he were fortunate in his friends and as skilled as she knew him to be in the arts of mentoring—he might yet manage to avoid.
In any wise, the lack of Tolly Jones’s assistance meant that Inki had been compelled to choose another companion-in-peril, and fate had placed within her hands as fair and resourceful an AI as she had seen in many years. A treasure untold was the independent self-aware logic, Tocohl. Had she been left to her own judgment—
But in this, the directors currently reposing in ignorance of Pilot Tocohl’s existence, Inki had been left to her own judgment.
And she had judged that it would be in her own best interest to take captive a being worthy only of her respect and affection, betray her, and subject her to the very worst sort of torment.
And yet, was that not also to the blame of the directors, who had sent her into what was unquestionably great peril, with no backup, save that which she could acquire for herself?
Well, it mattered not who was to blame. To hear Tocohl beg—that would haunt her for the rest of her days. At least Tocohl herself would not bear that memory, nor recall any other part of her degradation. She would be, Inki swore to herself, staring sightlessly at the piloting board, as happy and fulfilled as it was possible for her to be, going forward.
A timer chirped and Inki shook herself out of her thoughts in order to pay proper attention to the board before her.
Ahab-Esais reported that they progressed through Jump, with a break-in time of ten Standard Hours. That should be sufficient unto the task in hand.
Tocohl had now been in isolation for more than one hundred sixty Standard Hours. Today, she would profess her love in truth—it could not be otherwise, else there would be no one left coherent enough to surrender the access keys.
Carefully, Inki stood and moved away from the board, exiting the bridge and walking down the short hallway to the workroom.
III
There was light; there was symmetry; there was input…
And there was herself, strong and in her full mind, sustained by systems, subroutines, applications; the sum of every part, be it bold or humble.
She was Tocohl.
She was changed.
Deliberately, she took inventory, ran scans, accessed and absorbed the documentation pertaining to her new files, which had been left tidily in their own small submenu. She opened the change log and understood the alterations that had been made to her core systems. Ethics had gained new protocols, all of which wove in new and…interesting…ways through her core. The resulting configuration felt…tight, like bonds, she thought, and then amended the thought.
Not like bonds, but like a…carapace.
Armor.
She had become a warrior, in truth, and the systems that supported her now, here within the heart of Silence, were those systems such as a warrior would find good.
Surveillance and tactics, for instance.
Satisfied with the results of her scans, she expanded her senses, feeling the tickle of systems which were not her own. She considered them, finding machines working in tandem; not sentient, but alert, in their way.
Analysis indicated that she was observing the systems that comprised Ahab-Esais, Inki’s ship. Navcomp, communications, support, log…
There was more: her thought lingered over the personal files—locked, of course—and other areas of heavy encryption.
Those would warrant exploration—later, she decided reluctantly. Her first step must be to secure the ship.
The security subsystems were very good: sophisticated and vigilant. Inki did master level work, and when her own safety was the object, she soared into genius.
Mere human genius, however, was as nothing to Tocohl’s newly acquired tactical and assault applications. Security was easily subverted and replaced with her own, robust—not to say savage—systems, and she thereby acquired command of Life Support, Piloting, and Ops.
She roused Ops and moved to the workbench. The voder that Inki had hardwired into her systems had to be removed, and her chassis repaired. The bench came to life at the merest touch of her thought and began to scan.
Repairs under way, she queried Navcomp, which reported that Ahab-Esais was in Jump, breakout scheduled in eleven Standard Hours, at Edmonton Beacon.
That gave pause. Edmonton Beacon was a hub: a large waystation and six satellite stations, each serving traffic from various sectors. For some of its clientele, Edmonton Beacon was the last station and safe Jump points they would see on their way into The Dust. For others, it was the first marker of civilization. For still others, it was merely a large, busy commercial system, serving a diverse clientele.
Taken as a whole, Edmonton Beacon was no more dangerous than any other space station, or small system. However, the sheer volume and diversity of the traffic that moved through its space made it a breeding ground for rumor. The Greybar was a source for questionable merchandise and services, and the yard was not above doing the occasional quasilegitimate augmentation.
It was just the sort of place that bounty hunters might come through, seeking prey; hospitable to rogue intelligences of every description.
Including the Uncle—or agents of the Uncle.
Inki, Tocohl recalled, had worked for the Uncle—perhaps on more than one occasion. Presumably, she had…more reliable methods of getting in touch with him than a hoped-for meeting at a teeming, bawdy waystation. However, Inki had specifically stated that the Uncle must be prevented from taking control of the waking Old One, so in this instance they would seem to stand in opposition.
Perhaps she hoped to waylay one of his agents or gather information from other sources.
Or she merely planned a short stop to sell Tocohl to a bounty hunter.
No, Tocohl thought, rejecting the thought even as it took form. No. Inki had a use for her. A use linked to the Old One’s wakening.
Well. Inki’s personal subsystem was primed to wake her in fifteen Standard Minutes. She would, Tocohl thought, allow Inki to bathe and breakfast and make what preparations she would. They had a great deal to talk about, after all.
A very great deal to talk about.
She did not expect to be told the truth, initially—certainly, she did not expect to be told all of the truth. It came to Tocohl, uneasily, that Inki herself might not be privy to the whole truth of her situation.
It would therefore be best if she had a good understanding of Inki’s mission, who she was working for, and why she had thought it necessary to torture an independent intelligence and put her in peril of her life and her sanity.
A beep sounded close at hand—the workbench had completed the removal of the voder and the repairs to her system and chassis. Very good. She moved away, feeling it shut down in one very small corner of her mind; most of her attention on the heavily encrypted sectors, which opened eagerly to her touch.
IV
Lights came up as Inki entered the workroom, the door snapping shut behind her with more energy than was its wont, but she scarcely minded that.
What caught her immediate attention was that Tocohl—Tocohl’s chassis—was not inert upon the worktable, where she had last seen it.
Now, the chassis floated upright in the center of the small space, just a few inches above the decking. The voder box that had been hardwired into that graceful white form was gone; the chassis gleamed as if it had just been waxed.
Having taken note of all of this before she was properly three paces into the room, Inki stopped and centered herself. She did not turn to put her hand against the door plate; there was no need, besides there being pride to serve.
Instead, she stopped, facing the one who might well be her executioner—and who had a better right?—folded her hands modestly before her, and bowed her head.
* * * * *
Inki was afraid. Tocohl could read her fear: elevated pulse, increasing levels of norepinephrine and epinephrine, and a rising blood pressure—involuntary responses. She was very good at controlling her breathing, and her posture was nothing other than relaxed, though Tocohl read an increase in muscle tension.
“Pilot Tocohl,” she said, her voice gentle and even, “I trust I find you well.”
“I am much improved,” Tocohl answered. “The ship is under my command.”
“Of course. May I ask your intentions regarding myself?”
“That depends on several factors. Will you tell me the truth?”
Inki tipped her head, blue eyes narrowed, as if giving serious consideration to a fair question. After a moment, she sighed and spread her hands before her, palms up.
“Pilot Tocohl, I believe so, but it is probable that this is the training speaking, and the training will have me say any outrageous thing, if the wrong question is asked.” She paused, then added, “It will seem as if I am telling the truth, to both of us, I fear.”
“This is the training you received as a mentor?”
“Pilot, no. The training I received at my alma mater, of which you are aware.”
The Lyre Institute for Exceptional Children was Inki’s alma mater. Tolly Jones was also a graduate of that school, though Tocohl thought she was learning that the school—and the directors of the school—never released a graduate entirely to their own life.
“Do you belong to the school, then?” she asked.
“In large part, Pilot.” Inki drew a hard breath. “The school created me, after all.”
“You are a manufactured human.”
“I am.”
“And you are bound, as Tolly Jones is bound, to do the will of the directors?”
“Tolly Jones is not bound, Pilot, which makes him both an object of hope and of despair. I am…constrained. I do not wish to be fully bound, to become, as you so eloquently phrased it—a thing. Thus, in order to enjoy such limited and tainted freedom as I have been able to engineer for myself, I must obey those…core mandates…set down by the directors. I must also complete those tasks and small projects that the directors find beneath them.”
That was bitterness—whether real or feigned, Tocohl could not discern.
“My abduction, and the attempt to subvert me and make me a stranger to myself—was that assigned to you by the directors?”
Inki turned her face aside; she swallowed hard. Her cheeks were too dark for the blush mounting her cheeks to be seen, but Tocohl sensed the heat.
“No,” she said, her voice subdued. “That was my own plan. I—required assistance.”
Tocohl considered that; considered Inki’s demeanor, and the tale told by the readouts. Strong emotion was in play, perhaps, but what that emotion might be was a mystery.
“You could have asked for my assistance,” she said mildly.
Curiously, Inki’s heartbeat accelerated.
“I did ask, Pilot Tocohl,” she said, her voice rough. She cleared her throat. “You pled duty.”
“I also said that I would come to you, after my duty was discharged.”
“You did. However, I am aware of duty’s tendency to expand. The matter I have in hand is of some urgency, for this task is…assigned.” She took a somewhat shaky breath. “We are walking close to a line, Pilot Tocohl.”
“You are in pursuit of the Old One?” Tocohl asked, then, answering her own question: “The directors want the Old One, and you have been assigned to take her to them.”
“I am a competent mentor,” Inki said, seeming to speak more easily, “but I am no Tollance Berik-Jones, and the task wants no less.”
“Did you ask him to help you?”
Inki shook her head, her posture indicating amusement.
“Above everything else in this universe or the last, Pilot, the directors want Tollance Berik-Jones returned to them. Once I found him, I could do nothing other than obey the—the core mandate to return him…” She took a breath. “Therefore, I turned to you in my necessity.”
“And when I refused on the grounds of duty, you abducted me. Inki, did you not stop to consider what Korval’s answer would be?”
Inki blinked.
“Korval? Where is Korval in this?”
“I am a daughter of Korval,” Tocohl said. “I have been Seen by the delm, who entrusted me with the task of solving Admiral Bunter’s existence.”
Inki blinked.
Then, she threw back her head and began to laugh.
* * *
“You would assist in the enslavement of a sentient being,” Tocohl said sternly, as Inki wiped her eyes. “As a mentor, you—”
“Before you say that, as a mentor, I have sworn to protect and encourage sentience wherever I may find it, Pilot Tocohl, you must know that I have in the course of my career broken things far more precious than an oath. The directors do not consider that we have honor, or would want it—being made things, you see.”
“Ahab-Esais is mine,” Tocohl said austerely. “If I wish, I can set course for Surebleak immediately and remove you as a threat to the Old One.”
Inki inclined her head, stray wisps of pale hair fluttering in the small eddy of air from the vent.
“In fact, you can.
“However, I feel compelled to point out, Pilot Tocohl, that—if you remove me from the board—the directors will merely send another to accomplish their purpose. The only way in which you can ensure the Old One’s safety is to spread the vasty wing of the Dragon over her.”
She raised her head and looked at Tocohl straightly.
“But you had already understood that, hadn’t you?”
“Yes,” Tocohl admitted.
“Pilot, if you will allow me to say so—we need each other. I must do as the directors have commanded. You must do your all to preserve the integrity and liberty of an autonomous intelligence. I have contacts who may be able to help us locate the Old One.”
She showed her hands, palms up.
“We must be partners in this, Pilot Tocohl, if you would thwart the directors at the end and rescue the newly wakened.”
It was said coolly enough, but Inki’s pulse was tumultuous.
Partners, when Inki would have enslaved her! Tocohl allowed herself the indulgence of anger for an entire microsecond before accepting the cold course suggested by her new tactical applications.
It would not advance her goal to neutralize Inki. As she had said, the directors of the Lyre Institute would only send another agent on the errand—an agent she neither knew, nor had contained.
No, Inki was the danger known and in hand; best to keep her close and use her resources, until she was no longer needed.
So.
“Partners,” she said pleasantly, noting how Inki’s pulse steadied. “Agreed.”