It appeared that a very sophisticated virus had been planted in the Thraki wreck, a scout had been infected with the corrupted programming as it ingested the ship’s AI, and passed the disease along to its superior as part of an intelligence report. Not only that, but whoever built the virus was so clever that they had imbued it with the means to fool Hoon number two’s virus hunters, and take up residence in the AI’s central processor.
Once in place, the false input took on the appearance of original programming, programming that confirmed the existence of a special breed of Thraki, a group that could and should be allowed to live. An assertion that Hoon number one knew to be false.
That being the case, the AI routed the data to a sacrificial memory module, ran a high priority scrub on its primary, secondary, and tertiary backup banks, and did the only thing that it could: lay plans to murder its twin.
The cabin was dark, intentionally dark. in keeping with the way Jepp felt. Empty ration boxes littered the normally spotless floor, clothes lay heaped where they’d been thrown, and the wouldbe messiah lay huddled beneath a none too clean blanket.
The exprospector had been in a foul mood for weeks now, ever since the visit to Fortuna, and the manner in which God’s message had been ignored.
Yes, the sentients who lived there were the dregs of the Confederacy and committed to their evil ways. Still, he had assumed one or two of them would respond and form the core of what would eventually be a galaxy-spanning religion.
But he’d been wrong, very wrong, and was depressed as a result. Nothing, not even Sam’s most entertaining antics had been sufficient to rouse the human from his emotional stupor. In the meantime, the fleet continued to travel through space, the Sheen continued to hunt Thraki. and his followers continued to attend the daily prayer meetings Humans, bored by the repetitive nature of the gatherings might have stayed away, but not the machines, who listened to Alpha’s rantings with limitless patience, and always came back for more.
In fact, had Jepp been in a better mood, he might have taken heart from the fact that more than two thousand machines routinely attended services held in the vast nano-draped launch bay where hundreds of vessels sat, waiting for their next assignment.
It was at the conclusion of one such session, as the congregation walked, rolled, and crawled to their various tasks, that a pair of recycling droids, the closest thing the Hoon had to police, took Alpha into custody.
The robot complained, but his various utterances and transmissions were to no avail. The recycling machines were not only larger than it was, but stronger and equipped with the ability to override the acolyte’s motor functions.
That being the case. Alpha could do little more than pepper some of his escorts with some of Jepp’s favorite admonitions while they conveyed him through the main lock and into a labyrinth of passageways.
“ ‘He who lives by the sword shall die by the sword.’ ‘As you sow so shall your reap.’ ‘What goes around comes around,’ “ and half a dozen more.
But the recycling droids remained unmoved and continued to chivvy their charge through the brightly lit passageways. It took less than ten minutes to reach the cabin Jepp had assigned to himself. Then, with the signal lack of courtesy typical of mechanical devices everywhere, the robots pushed their way in. The human took exception. “Alpha? Is that you? I don’t want to be disturbed. Please go away.”
In spite of the fact that the answer came via Alpha’s speech synthesizer, it sounded entirely different. It was harder, stronger, and much more insistent. “The ship belongs to me. I will do as I please. I am the Hoon.”
Jepp felt the bottom drop out of his stomach The Hoon! Coming lo him! Nothing of that sort had ever happened before. What did it mean? He swung his feet off the bunk and placed them on the hard cold deck. “Yes, of course. I apologize. Please excuse the mess.”
The Hoon processed the message, concluded that an answer would constitute a waste of time, and moved to the matter at hand: While its counterpart, Hoon number two, possessed all the same defenses that it had, the other entity shared the same vulnerabilities as well. That’s where the soft body came in. The trick was to use the biological without allowing the human to know it had been used. It might balk otherwise, or even worse, obtain more data than it was entitled to have. “There is a task that you will perform.”
Jepp noted the apparent lack of courtesy but knew there was no reason for an alien artifact to observe social niceties appropriate to human culture. Besides, the Hoon saw everything that existed within the structure of the fleet as falling within its domain, and the human was forced to agree. If the AI wanted him to do something, Jepp could either comply or face the not too pleasant consequences. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, if I can help. ..”
The Hoon seemed oblivious to the human’s words. “The unit through which I am communicating will escort you aboard vessel 179621 where you will be asked to perform a simple maintenance procedure. Once the task is complete, you will be allowed to return here.”
“You can count on me,” Jepp replied, determined to sound positive. “I have one question however... If the maintenance procedure is so simple—why can’t one of your robots take care of it?”
“You will perform a maintenance procedure,” the computer reiterated sternly. “You are leaving now.”
“Okay,” Jepp said, getting to his feet. “No need to get your processor in a knot... Allow me to get dressed, grab some toots, and we’re out of here.”
The onetime prospector hurried to pull some fairly clean overalls on, selected some of the tools salvaged from the Pelican, and stuffed them into a pack. “All right your supreme Hoonship .. lead the way.”
But the AI had more important things to do than stand around and wait while the somewhat sluggish biological wrapped itself in fabric. That being the case, it was Alpha who replied to the human’s comment. “The supreme intelligence will meet us later.”
“God is the supreme intelligence,” Jepp growled. “The Hoon is a pain in the ass. Well, come on, let’s get it over with.”
Sam, the Thraki robot, cartwheeled across the cabin, transformed itself into something that looked a lot like a spider. Then, climbing quickly, the device took its place on Jepp’s shoulder. The three of them left together—but it was Alpha who led the way.
Vessel 179621 glowed with the same shimmery force field that gave the Sheen their name. Like Hoon number one, Hoon number two could project itself to any ship in the fleet, but if its intelligence could be said to reside anywhere, it was aboard that particular ship. For it was there, within a carefully secured compartment, that its various components were located. Having been alerted to expect a biological and asked to render an opinion as to its usefulness, a very small portion of the AFs total consciousness tracked the incoming shuttle, noted its arrival, and monitored the creatures that disembarked.
There was an all-purpose unit similar to thousands on board the ship, an alien construct of no obvious value, and the biological that Hoon number one had warned of. An inquisitive creature who seemed headed for the very compartment in which number two was centered. That observation was sufficient to generate a low-level threat warning and to focus more of the computer’s attention on the visitors and their activities.
As with all Sheen vessels, 179621 was equipped with a multiplicity of surveillance devices. Some took the form of tiny silicon imaging chips that had been “painted” onto the bulkheads. The computer preferred infrared to video, however, which meant that what it “saw” looked like a bipedal green blob. It seemed intent on approaching number two’s sanctuary. Why?