“Growth lessons?”
—Pheromone stimulation is a key, unifying part of their lives. There are intricate query-and-response patterns, some voluntary, most involuntary. Despite my size, they believe I’m a juvenile or a neuter since I’m incapable of emitting healthy biochem.
“Can you talk to us without putting yourself in jeopardy?”
—Yes. I have enough capacity now that I can participate in the tribe’s ritual while I organize and repair my files. My recordings from the past four days are badly fragmented, but you’ll want to see everything.
“Thank you, Lam,” Ash said.
—I’m in your debt, Ash. I also appreciate your help, Administrator Koebsch.
“What?” Vonnie whirled to look behind her, but Koebsch hadn’t entered Lander 04. He was still in Module 01, where he’d covertly monitored their link until Lam detected his presence.
A red frame appeared on their displays, indicating an encrypted frequency. The frame opened to show Koebsch, whose square face was both stern and amused. “I told you weeks ago,” he said. “Nothing happens on our grid without my knowing it.”
“Sir, I…” Ash said.
Koebsch stopped her with a shake of his head. Then he turned to Vonnie. “You’ve been insubordinate since the beginning,” he said. “You’re reckless. You’re dangerous. You incited mutiny among your crewmates.”
Vonnie didn’t deny it. Koebsch could see Lam’s sims. He would either be intrigued or he wouldn’t.
He shrugged and said, “You’re also lucky as hell.”
She felt her eyes lighten with relief. “Is that why you didn’t stop us?”
“You’re not out of the woods yet. By now, our datastreams reached Earth. They’ll formulate an emergency response. Whatever their instructions, I’ll forward Lam’s newest files to them first. That might be worth another twenty minutes while our transmissions go back and forth, but I’m not optimistic. Dawson sent formal complaints to everyone he knows. He also notified Ribeiro, who’s communicating with his own superiors. Those generals will urge our government to get our crew under control.”
“They can’t take everyone off the mission,” Vonnie said. “If we stick together…”
“I’ll suspend you myself if they let me keep my job,” Koebsch said. “Think about it. Do you want Dawson in charge? At least I can minimize our involvement with Ribeiro. I can protect Metzler and Frerotte. Obviously they’re involved. I don’t want to remove you or Ash, but if you can’t come up with something convincing, they’ll insist on punishing you. Lam may be terminated. Then they’ll use his coordinates to go after the sunfish.”
“Shit.”
“Good luck.” Koebsch shut off his connection.
“Oh shit.” Vonnie held her fist out to Ash, who smacked their knuckles together, a wordless pact to see things through.
She would miss her career if she was sent home in disgrace, but if their mecha fought another battle with the sunfish, neither the sunfish nor humankind would recover mentally, emotionally, or spiritually. One domino followed the next. If men and sunfish caused more harm to each other, they’d never reverse course. The fighting would intensify.
The real sin was that some people wanted to continue the violence. Kill codes could take care of Lam. Lock-outs would prevent Vonnie and Ash from accessing any data/comm.
If they silence us, they win, she thought. We might have twenty minutes to save this world.
50.
“Lam, were you listening?” she said.
—Yes.
“We need your files whether they’re clean or not. Transmit now and tell us everything you can.”
—Yes.
On her display, Lam nestled with two females and another male, forming a quartet which swiftly doubled to eight, then broke again into two foursomes with different partners.
The sunfish roamed, singing and stroking. Vonnie was fascinated by the choreography, but she knew it wouldn’t persuade anyone who’d decided the sunfish were animals. At a glance, the slithering pile looked like an orgy. They looked like sex-crazed worms.
Her attention swung to Lam’s mem files as data stuttered across her display in a senseless jumble.
“Whoa,” Ash said. “What’s this?”
—During my weeks in the FNEE grid and the last four days pursuing the sunfish, then joining them, I recorded thousands of hours of data with all sensors combined. Unfortunately, I lacked sufficient memory. In my limited state, I deleted or overwrote most of my records.
“So we’re screwed,” Ash said.
His files were fragmented, duplicated, and intermixed. Audio tracks were separated from visual telemetry. Data analysis wasn’t paired with the data analyzed. Worse, most of his time stamps had suffered the same corruption. A logical program would have deleted its oldest files to make room for its newest, but he hadn’t been acting coherently.
It was useless for two people to sort through tens of thousands of randomized clips. Vonnie tried anyway. First she copied everything and passed the enormous mess to another AI for independent analysis. Then she and Ash both waded into the imagery, opening one clip after another.
The first was seven seconds long. The next lasted three, then five, then one. None showed more than ice or rock or sunfish leaping through open catacombs. There was nothing she could use.
Vonnie took a deep breath and centered herself, checking the progress of the central AI. It estimated it needed eight minutes to complete the task of organizing Lam’s files, so she asked him the same question. “How long before you can categorize these clips by subject or background?”
—I’ll have a preliminary index in ninety seconds, full reconstruction in six minutes.
“That might barely save us,” she said, looking at her clock. “Walk me through everything you recall. Are there sunfish inside the FNEE grid?”
—Unknown. My earliest records are the most fragmented.
“Tell me what you can about Tom’s group.”
—The survivors belong to Top Clan Two-Four, Pods Four, Eight, Two-Four, Two-Eight, and Six-Six. Three days ago, I delivered myself to them. ’Deliver’ is an approximation of their body shape for the process of an outsider joining a tribe. Deliver. Provide. It’s an act of demonstrating skill and health while swearing total fealty and submission.
“Show us,” she said. The first inklings of a plan were forming in her mind.
On her display, Lam created an image of a sunfish flattened against a rock surface, all arms out, muscles loose, defenseless. This wasn’t a file of his actual encounter. It was a simulation. He added a transcript as the sunfish shifted and flexed: I am alone but capable / Nameless but strong / I am lost / I deliver myself to your clan.
“How did you know what to do?”
—Trial and error. They allowed me to approach, chased me when I failed, then allowed me to approach again. I’m certain each tribe develops a unique vocabulary, but because their languages are mostly shape-based, like interpretive dance, outsiders should be able to improvise and adapt. The ability to conform was a fundamental part of the test.
“Then sunfish from different regions can talk to each other even if they’ve never met.”
—Yes. Two days ago, we proposed a treaty with this colony, which is Top Clan Eight-Six. ’Treaty’ is very different from ’Deliver,’ a joining of equals or near equals rather than the act of a refugee merging with a tribe. Negotiations were brisk. Tom’s group was communicating with the new colony at a rudimentary level in minutes. Two days later, they’re wholly fluent.