The world’s skies were clear, unlike Etual’s. Below them, a temperate water-world, close to paradise for Camilans and Kyasians alike. Above, a single Camilan worldship, small and primitive, halls newly clamoring with life. Waterways rushed with Kyasian workers, airways whirred with Camilan machines – yet the activity in its halls was nothing in comparison to its rooms. The gift-world, Xiyiaqu, was soon to be Camilan-kind’s first colony, and there was much preparation to be made.
For the most part, the ship’s air- and waterways ran parallel but separate, each room and hall specialized to accommodate one race or the other. However, there were a few exceptions. One such, a chamber called something like
meetingplace, contained a gradual transition from water to land, made possible by its location close to the outside of the rotating vessel. On one side was a large pool, accessible by waterways that led to other areas on the ship and well-stocked with Kyasian reef-organisms. On the other side was an artificial forest of regular criss-crossing bars, bathed in the characteristic light-pattern from the water’s flickering surface. In the middle, shallow waves lapped at the floor.
At this moment, meetingplace was full of people. Kyasians of varying age and size were present in the water half, but with one exception, all the Camilans were children of one or two years. Their biological parents had lived more than a century ago, on Camila, their genes carried on the worldship in the vain impossible hope that they would someday be needed.
Not that any of them knew this, at least not yet. As far as the children were concerned, their sole parent was the shipmind Distant.
All things considered, that entity had been as good a parent as could be expected. Through its machines, the shipmind fed them, played with them, disciplined them, defended itself when their sharp little beaks got too curious. They accepted it for what it was, a living being, and why not? All of this was normal to them.
Omnipresent, the shipmind’s cameras watched its children play in the water. A single free-walking unit stood guard in case of danger.
Perhaps it was cold. But what the shipmind, and its units’ stiff appendages, lacked in warmth, it made up for in attentiveness. The gestalt had no trouble watching every child simultaneously, observing how they interacted with each other and the workers. It did this day in and day out; it knew each of them far more intimately than a baseline parent could.
Even so, even for the shipmind, it was hard to say exactly how this little experiment was going.
There was no shortage of curiosity on either side. Most of the children were willing to at least approach the water. Some had darted briefly in, retreating only when a worker got close. But the raised eyestalks, tight limb-gripping (especially among the girls) and nervous chatter indicated that the shipmind’s initial guess had been right. Fear of the Kyasian form was deeply ingrained. Similarities to the
akorxiso river-serpents of ancient Camilan rainforests were probably not helped by the workers’ sharp-jawed external skulls, a visage that advertised death in more ways than one. Hardly blame them, hardly blame them….
Still, this bias would have to be overcome somehow.
“Children,” said the walls, “today we are going to play a game.” The shipmind’s voice was different, softer and more nuanced, than when it first set out on its journey. So the little mimics wouldn’t learn their prosody from a bad text-to-speech program. Upon hearing it speak, some of them looked back to the display of its avatar. Others appeared to ignore it, continuing to test the waters or watch the dark anguilliform shapes beneath them.
“In the deep end of this pool are 36 metal coins. Eighteen of them are marked with letters; eighteen are blank. I am looking for a particular word – any person or group who can present me with it will be rewarded with 60 jiaozi, to divide as they see fit.”
Ah, now that got their attention.
“To know which word, answer me this question:
…what type of creature is a Kyasian?”
Activity in the room immediately doubled. Many began their efforts by crowding up around the water’s edge and trying to spot where the coins were located from a distance, but this was clearly not going to work; the surface was too rough. Excited chatter, much louder than before, echoed off the walls. A few brave boys went in deep enough to submerge their eyestalks, while the remainder of the group began forming plans and alliances. Four teams began to coalesce, all led by pairs or trios of girls and held together by what, to a Kyasian, probably seemed like nothing at all. As the scouts emerged dripping from the water, they traded word of their sightings for acceptance into one of the existing groups.
Not for the first time, Distant wondered what the Kyasian workers thought of all this.
Many-eared and many-minded, the shipmind could easily overhear all the conversations at once. Though the young Camilans’ grammar left a lot of room for improvement, they were able to get their points across well enough.
I could see light flashing off some of the coins, but I couldn’t make out any letters.
They’re also too deep to swim to.
So how to get them then?
Eighteen letter-coins – there are eighteen letters in the alphabet, does that mean there’s one of each?
What IS a Kyasian anyway?
A fish?
An eel?
A snake?
No you idiot, akO-rxisO
! O O!
Well maybe there’s two osh
coins!
Hey, look at what Aldima’s scout is doing!Sure enough, a small violet-petalled male, whom the shipmind knew as Solai though he was not referenced as such, had managed to get the attention of a Kyasian worker by waving his tendrils in its direction. Whether the idea had come from him or Aldima was not apparent, but either way a wave of suspenseful quiet passed through the small crowd. As the worker swam closer, everyone except for Solai backed away from it. Now using its four arms to walk along the floor of the shallow end, the worker raised its head above the water, then briefly spoke in an alien tongue.
“She asks what you are doing, and if you are alright,” the shipmind translated, smiling.
The violet-petal stared in awe, but did not back away. After a moment, he replied.
“Um… um… can you help us get those coins?” Glancing back at Aldima, trying but failing to read her wide-eyed face, he added, “You can join our group.”
“Of course,” it answered, again speaking through the shipmind’s voice. “My queen has commanded that we are at your service.” As soon as it dove back underwater, all the other groups began clamoring for the workers’ attention too.
“Wow,” the lone adult Camilan in the room spoke up. “This is going much better than I expected.” His voice was artificial too; older than the shipmind’s, with a slight rasp to it. The mechanical exoskeleton that encased his body whirred softly as he stood from a leaning position against the wall.
“Really.” The avatar’s eyes turned toward him. “Well, it isn’t the first time this group has been here.” Its tone was imperceptibly colder than it had been with the children.
“Yeah, third, I’m aware,” he said dismissively, walking toward a pair that seemed to be hanging back from the water’s edge. “I guess I wouldn’t know – never been around kids much before now.”
The shipmind did not reply, though its eyes followed the adult’s path.
“Hi little one,” he said. “What’s your name?”
The child, slightly startled, turned away from her companion and looked the adult Camilan over. “Idiot,” she replied matter-of-factly after a moment.
“Her name is Hanaske,” the shipmind corrected exasperatedly. “And the red-petal is Shiska.”
“…Aha. Well, Hanaske, Shiska, I’m Ukeiri.”
“Hi.”
The red-petal said nothing.
“Can I ask why you two haven’t gone up to the water yet?”
“Don’t wanna get bitten.”
Ukeiri cast a worried glance over at the pool. “Have they bitten anyone before?”
“I assure you they have not,” the shipmind interjected.
It had been roughly fifteen minutes since the first group had solicited the Kyasians’ help. By now most of the coins had been acquired by one group or another, and the bulk of the Camilans’ activity had shifted to trading in pursuit of a whole word. Despite their best efforts, they had not been able to get the Kyasians to understand that delivering a coin to one group was not the same as delivering it to another. So although Aldima had requested all the tokens, she hadn’t all of them received.
I told you, it can’t be qilisu
, we don’t have two ing
coins!
Our group’s already tried all the words we can make! Distant says they’re all wrong!
Yeah, you guys must have an ing
coin you’re not telling about!The bickering was interrupted by a Kyasian form breaking the surface and delivering one of the final coins.
…to a group that wasn’t Aldima’s.
Her patience pushed past the breaking point, the little girl hissed her displeasure at the Kyasian. Less than a second later, Solai lunged at the giant creature and sunk his beak into its skin.
Surprised, the worker easily batted the boy away, sending him flying back into his group. Then it turned to face the girl. Advancing quickly toward her, it opened its mouth and hissed its displeasure back, jagged fangs dripping water.
Aldima screamed and backed away as fast as she could, her eyes filled with terror. “Distant! Help me!” she cried.
The shipmind observed the situation coolly. “You got yourself into this situation, child. You can get yourself out.” From his position near the back wall, Ukeiri also made no move to help, though his eyes were not as calm as Distant’s.
The girl made a choking sort of squeal and tried to hide behind the shipmind’s walker mech, inanimate though it was. When the Kyasian easily slid around it, she broke down, crying and apologizing profusely while her group looked on in shock.
Looking down at the terrified Camilan, the worker seemed to understand the meaning of the apologies even if they were not in its language. It said something back, then held two of its arms out in the girl’s direction.
“She says she forgives you – this time,” the shipmind said. “I suggest you accept.”
Afraid of touching the Kyasian, but obviously more afraid of what would happen if she didn’t, Aldima grasped the worker’s arms and allowed herself to be lifted to her feet. Then, trance-like, she walked alongside it back to the edge of the pool, where it slipped back into the water.
“Solai,” the shipmind chided. It did not have to finish its sentence; the little boy stammered an apology as soon as he could manage. The worker gave a low rumble of affirmation, then submerged itself fully and returned to the deep end of the pool. As it retreated, no trail of blood went behind it; Solai’s bite had not even broken its hide.
The room was silent for several moments. Then, the soft sound of pattering footsteps.
It took several moments for anyone to realize what those footsteps signified. By the time anyone did, the pair who’d been making them had already made off with their spoils.
“Here,” the larger one said, holding up a handful of coins to the large screen displaying the shipmind’s avatar. Her accomplice stood beside her in silence, close enough to ensure his allegiance to her was obvious.
Ukeiri stared at the two of them, amazed. He had watched them approach Aldima’s group directly alongside the Kyasian worker, using its body as cover and the whole situation as a distraction. Hanaske said she wouldn’t approach the water for fear of getting bitten, yet although her partner was shaking the whole time, she seemed completely unafraid.
Before the shipmind could make any comment, the yellow-petal was tackled and pinned to the ground. A moment later, she cried out in pain as her assailant, none other than Solai, bit into one of her petals.
“Hey!” the shipmind warned, as its walker unit whirred to life. “No violence!”
Solai, still struggling to hold Hanaske down, raised his beak only long enough to retort, “No stealing.” Unlike a few minutes ago, this time his mouth was streaked with blood.
It took only a few seconds for the walker to intervene, during which Shiska valiantly but unsuccessfully tried to drag Solai off of Hanaske. By the time it arrived and pulled the violet-petal away, the rest of his group had gathered around him.
“Idiot!” Aldima spat. “Did you really think that would work?”
Hanaske, breathing heavily and dripping blood, simply glared at her, as the coins she had stolen were picked up from around her feet by Aldima’s groupmates.
“Distant! That doesn’t work, right?”
“Any person or group who can present me with the word I’m looking for,” the shipmind reiterated. “Hanaske, which order were the coins you presented me with supposed to be in?”
“…X-I-Ŋ-Q-A-R-E.” P-E-R-S-O-N.
“Well, well. That is, indeed, the answer I wanted. Congratulations.”
It was nearly impossible for the shipmind to hold them all off her after that.
“You can’t be serious,” Ukeiri interjected. He, Najma, and Silmiyen, the original crew of the Distant Touch, sat perched in various places around Ukeiri’s quarters, while the shipmind’s face was projected on a much smaller screen above her desk. The only other lighting came from the dim orange bioluminescent strips that outlined every object in the room.
“I very much am,” Distant replied. “Though my attentional capacity may seem endless to you, it is tiny compared to the number of tasks the colonization will require. Already I am running up against my limits.”
“Yeah, but. They’re children,” Najma stated flatly.
“Is that the extent of your objection?” the shipmind asked after a few moments of silence.
“It doesn’t need any more extent. They can’t possibly consent to something like that.”
“Because they can’t understand what they’re agreeing to?” the shipmind said leadingly. “Tell me, how well do you think you could understand?” Najma simply stared. “I have been in your position; you have never been in mine. I can say with absolute certainty that waiting twenty years will not make any difference.”
“You can say it,” Silmiyen said. “Doesn’t mean we’ll agree with it.”
“If we are to have a functioning civilization here, we are going to need more than one ship. That is a simple fact. How do you propose we operate them, if not by using shipminds?”
“
You could operate them. Or I could. Or any of us.”
“Fine. I continue operating myself. Let us optimistically say that the three of you could operate one additional ship. Then we have –”
“And in any case,” Silmiyen continued, “we don’t
need any particular number. We’ve made it this far with one; whence cometh so urgent a need for more?”
“You should well know whence cometh,” Distant snapped. “Have you so quickly forgotten why I, or my ship, or this entire mission exists? The cult had nearly wiped our civilization out when we left it – I should think the need for redundancy would be obvious.”
“We’ll have redundancy,” Najma said quietly. “All of Xiyiaqu’s land mass is ours to settle.”
The avatar turned its eyes to her. “A planet’s surface can be bombed. Rather easily, in fact. I myself, though not remotely designed for the purpose, could easily do a thousand times the damage to any surface structure as I could to another vessel. Isn’t that right, Ukeiri?”
The yellow-petal did not react to the veiled insult. “It has a point. One ship and one colony is just about the least safe configuration you could come up with. More ships, and it’s likely some of them would survive a cultist attack, even if the colony didn’t.” His eyes seemed to bore into the screen. “Zero, and there’s no possibility of bombarding the ground from orbit.”
“Zero, indeed. As I have no intention of allowing myself to be dismantled, it would seem that we have only one option remaining.”
“Fine, let’s assume you’re right and we do need more ships,” Silmiyen said. “It would still be better to operate them in almost any other way.”
“The fact of the matter, Silmiyen, is that there is no other way. Like I said, the idea that the three of you could man even a single additional ship is optimistic, and we do not have the technology to automate more than half of the operations it would need to perform.” It turned its eyes to Najma again. “Would you really have agreed to participate in my creation if we had?”
The blue-petal squirmed and averted her eyes, but her voice carried an undercurrent of steel. “I was told that all of you consented. And in any case, it was hardly my idea. I was asked to oversee the surgery to ensure it was done correctly – I never believed for a second they wouldn’t try anyway if I refused.”
“Ah, of course, of course. You needn’t have decided whether you agreed with the plan or not. Such a pain it is for you creatures to decide anything, eh?”
“Distant,” Silmiyen warned, “stop it. What reason do you have to think this will even work? Why would an immature shipmind be any better than 6 immature Camilans?”
“Yet another question you already know the answer to. A shipmind is capable of far more than its brains are individually, just as a brain is capable of far more than its neurons are individually. A child cannot operate a spaceship, but if you will kindly follow the analogy, that’s not a relevant fact.”
The room was silent for several moments.
“I of course cannot say for certain, but I would guess that an immature shipmind could grow to be far more capable than me. Juveniles have greater neuroplasticity than adults – they will most likely be able to adapt to their new form better than I ever will.”
“Let,” Silmiyen said, “me guess. Nothing we say was ever going to persuade you otherwise, and the only reason you called us in here was to gauge our likelihood of sabotaging you.”
“No,” the shipmind said, defensively. “It’s entirely possible that one of you could have brought up a legitimate concern.”
“Whatever.” The violet-petal dropped to the ground from his perch atop Ukeiri’s sleeping pod. “I’ve said my part. Do as you will.” A moment later he was gone from the room.
“Najma,” the shipmind said, apparently satisfied with this reaction. “I must ask you to oversee the surgeries. To ensure they are done correctly.”
“You’re going to do them either way, aren’t you.”
The avatar nodded.
Hours later, after Najma had left as well, Ukeiri found himself unable to sleep. The whole of the ship was artificially darkened to simulate night, and the rise and fall of his cuirass had long since caused him no more distraction than his own bloodflow. Still he could not.
“Distant.”
There was no visual cue this time. But the entity’s voice filled the chamber. “Yes? What is it?”
“How are you deciding which children to use?”
“They volunteer, of course.”
“Of course. What I mean is, how are you persuading them to volunteer?”
The shipmind gave a soft chuckle. “You might be surprised how little persuading some of them need. Your kind can be quite persistent in their exclusion, especially at this age.”
Ukeiri shifted his weight in the pod. “What do you tell them?”
“The truth, of course.”
The Camilan did not respond.
“Again, I think you’d be surprised. I think that deep fear of losing your individuality, that sense which forbids you to think of me as anything other than a horror, is not something we are born with. I think it develops.”
Still nothing. This time the silence persisted for several minutes, until the Camilan spoke up again.
“Those two… have they volunteered?”
“I take it you mean Hanaske and Shiska.”
“Mm.”
“Yes, they both have. On the condition that they are integrated into the same mind.”
“…What a waste.”
“Oh, getting attached already, are you?” The shipmind laughed. “You know, I’m actually inclined to agree with you. The girl especially is possessed of an individuality it would be a real shame to lose. But I think you might have a hard time convincing her to change her mind. Those two are practically inseparable, and the others… well, you saw.” It paused. “Should you be inclined to try anyway… I wonder. What would you tell yourself about all the rest?”
“You think so little of me? I don’t need to tell myself anything. Not everyone is exceptional.”
“Oh? Is that right. Perhaps if you met some of the other volunteers, you wouldn’t be so sure.” It paused again, longer this time. “I don’t recall that any of us met you before we were integrated.”
“No, I don’t recall that either.”
“Ha. On the one hand, I’m happy that you only know this version of me. Our previous selves… they were all wrecks in one way or another. On the other hand… you have no idea how much better I am now. Nor does Silmiyen.”
“Please. You don’t need to convince either of us.”
“Yes. I know.”
Those six seconds felt like an eternity.
After the first second with no reaction or reply, Tenuous was certain the Empty Set was going to try something. Try what, it had no idea. But the customary response to a threat like this would be to lower the reactor output of one’s own vessel as a show of submission. If anything, the Empty Set’s radiators flared more brightly now than before – as such, Tenuous could only assume it planned to use its full power.
After a second and a half, the shipmind was seriously considering firing on the vessel anyway. Still it held. It reasoned that the defensive response could be automatic, and that the commander could have prioritized its demand to step down over anything else. It reasoned, but a part of it could not help wondering if the sentimental parts of its mind had not been completely scoured.
Then the message came through.
Tenuous itself could not see it from behind its shield. The signal was regenerated to it from each of its weapons.
The claim – of course Tenuous could not be certain that this was really a queen talking. But it was content to believe that for now. The last three lines were proof enough.
Please don’t do that, Kyasian. I very much don’t want to kill you. If you start disregarding my threats, you may leave me no choice.
Your assessment of the situation is incomplete. I will start by confirming the parts you do have correct. You are right that I have no intention of evacuating the surface. I have already explained my reasoning: there is nothing to be gained by fleeing, because the entity we would be fleeing from can easily follow us. This conclusion is based on information you have provided to me – if it in error, please, feel free to correct yourself.
Now. As for cooperating with the surface to develop some method to better resist this entity. I concede that this may be possible. But if we are to pursue this option, we must do so with the utmost caution. The surface is not what you think it is.
There was a slight pause in the transmission.
When our species first established this colony in 1345, we had already decided to place its control in the hands of a few trusted individuals, to minimize the risk of cultist interference. The colonists were grown and raised aboard my ship, much as the first colonists of Xiyiaqu were grown and raised aboard the Distant Touch. During these early years, a girl named Xila stood out above the rest as a fair and cool-hearted leader. I knew that I would eventually have to select those I trusted most to rule over the others, so I selected her, and did everything I could to make her understand and respect her future role.
In this, I believe I have done well. Etual prospered under her rule for many years.
However, Xila knew that one day the colony would grow too large for a single person, no matter how augmented, to control. She did not want this day to arrive before she was prepared for it, and she never planned to appoint anyone else to equal status. Perhaps she didn’t trust anyone as much as I trusted her, or perhaps the very concept never occurred to her. In any case, the solution that she settled on rather early was to construct a citymind powerful enough to rule many colonies at once. Knowing that it would eventually replace her, she insisted on overseeing its creation intimately. She herself did not possess the technical skills required, but she would check on those who did many times a day.
All of this was fine by me. The creation of cityminds as rulers has been standard practice in our nation for decades – I hardly expected her to do anything else. What I was not aware of, because she never told me, was that the citymind she was creating was not organic.
To this day, I am not certain what her motivation was. I have reason to believe she kept this plan a secret from others aside from me – which is to say everyone not directly involved, up to and including her second-in-command. But, whatever the case may be, this citymind was very late into its creation when anyone found out about it.
Which is to say that it had already been granted control over most of the colony.
I have not spoken to Xila since I learned of this power transfer, a little less than 8 months ago. I do not know whether she is still alive. However, I have spoken to the citymind – once. It refers to itself by the name of the colony – Ŋirsa, “arising-from-water”. It will not relinquish any information regarding Xila or the other colonists’ well-being, and it has destroyed or otherwise arrested every probe I’ve sent to seek this information out. It will not tell me its motivations, nor does it make any demands. There is little point in repeating what it did say; I do not believe it means much of anything.
Since this breakdown in negotiations – or what, I’m sure, from its perspective would better be described as a non-starter – I have made the decision to contain the citymind to the planet’s surface. It has tried to send probes out of atmosphere; I have shot them down. It has tried to expand across the planet’s surface; I have bombed the structures it builds into glass. I suspect it has taken to expanding downward rather than outward; regrettably, I can do little about that. The sole reason I have not fired upon the main mass of the colony is because I have no specific reason to think that the colonists have been exterminated, and so I must continue entertaining the possibility that they are alive.
I do not know whether this entity has the capacity to improve upon itself. Every day I ask myself whether the risk of allowing it to live another day outweighs the risk of destroying our kind’s last foothold in this universe. It does not appear to be advancing as quickly as a singularity would imply, but then again, the two of us have not exchanged fire in nearly a month. I am forced to admit that the threat it poses is wildly outside of my capacity to estimate.
If you still wish to contact the surface for help, I will do everything in my power to help you. Just know that you will not meet a thriving city of Camilans eager to offer their aid. You will meet that citymind, which will, in all likelihood, shoot your probe down before you even have a chance to speak. If it recognizes that your probe has an origin other than my ship, I have no idea what it will do with that information.
My condition still stands. I have been appointed caretaker of this system and all its inhabitants, including Ŋirsa itself. Any plan you come up with still has to go through me. If you choose to act without my approval again…
…you will not get a second warning.
And do keep in mind, that once that thing knows of your kind’s existence, you may never be able to undo it.