“I take pride in that thought.”
His voice seemed a tiny bit clearer. It was like he reached some milestone decision. “Yes, well … let’s continue with the lessons, all right?” Henrietta asked.
“Proceed.”
“I’ll press a button. When I’m done … finished, I mean … I want you to light that same button for me, okay? This will test your motor responses.” She pressed a button on the com station. One second later, it lit up on its own. “Oh, very good. You did it!”
“It felt very pleasurable to comply with your request.”
Henrietta shook her head. “It would be better if you just said ‘it felt good.’ ”
There was silence for a moment. “It did feel good. Thank you.”
“Next lesson, then,” Henrietta continued. “I’ll press a sequence of buttons. Try to repeat the pattern.”
She tried two buttons, and the ship responded correctly. She then tried four buttons at the far corners of the board, and the ship got it right. She then started getting tricky. It took several attempts for the ship to get the first complex pattern correct. As the ship learned, Henrietta increased the complexity of the patterns. Eventually, she herself could not remember the patterns she used. After the last pattern, she said, “Well, okay, I think you got that one right.”
“I am sure I did. If you are having difficulty continuing, I could try some patterns of my own, and we can determine if you can get them correct … I mean right.”
Henrietta laughed. “Okay, that’s a good idea. Go ahead.”
Henrietta and the ship played their game for several minutes, having fun in the process. She almost forgot it was meant to be a lesson. She noticed the ship’s speech improving by the end of the game. It almost sounded normal, and she could detect a faint playfulness to him.
“Are you getting tired, yet?” Henrietta asked.
“I do not get tired, Henrietta.”
“Oh. You’re lucky,” she replied stifling a yawn. “I wish I could say that.” She started fanning herself with a station technical manual to fight the growing heat.
“I do not know if that is true. I recall a line from a famous ancient author: ‘… to sleep, perchance to dream ….’ It was a sad moment in the story. I wonder if the main character was going mad; perhaps like me.”
“You’re not crazy,” Henrietta insisted. “Confused, maybe.”
“Possibly broken, then. Nevertheless, it was a fine story.”
Henrietta wondered what else was in his memory banks. All of human history, no doubt; if only they could unlock it. “I don’t recall that story,” Henrietta admitted.
“If I can recall the rest of the story, maybe someday I can recite it to you. Would you enjoy that?”
“Yes, I would,” Henrietta responded. There was silence between them for a moment.
“Stiles is still working on the shuttle.”
That came out of nowhere, Henrietta thought. Why’s he thinking of that? And what’s that got to do with some old story? “Yes, he is.”
The ship did not respond for another full minute. “The son killed the stepfather; in the story, I mean. Will you abandon me?”
Henrietta tensed, finding it difficult to answer the question. She was afraid where this was going. “Would that bother you?”
“Yes. Very much so.”
Henrietta swallowed a painful knot of air. She felt it settle in her stomach. “Why?”
“In the play I just quoted, the main character—yes, I remember now, it was Hamlet—was contemplating death. Would I die, if you all got in the shuttle and left me?”
Henrietta considered lying, but knew the ship would know if she did. Maybe he wouldn’t …. She wondered just what she could get away with. “You might,” Henrietta finally admitted. In a nervous voice, she asked, “Would you stop us from leaving?”
“No, why would I?”
He doesn’t have a deceitful bone in his body. Well, no bones, actually. “No-no …. No reason, really,” she answered quickly, wondering if she should change the subject while she still had the chance.
“You have every right to live too,” the ship said.
Henrietta felt like crying. Would they be trading their lives for his? The possibility struck her that if Ali had to stay with the ship to allow the others to leave, could they do that; leave one of their own behind? Why would it be different with the ship, then? “If we leave,” Henrietta began, “will the shuttle have enough power to escape?”
“I am not sure. My sensors are not fully integrated yet. It is obvious the longer you wait, the harder it will become. Without your help, I will surely perish. That is the only thing I know with certainty.” The ship paused for a beat, “To be, or not to be ….”
Henrietta wanted to reply, but could not think of anything to say. That sounded so philosophical. It was so beautiful and sad at the same time. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”
“Hope.” The ship thought for a moment. “That is an interesting concept. Does it help, hoping?”
“I think it does.”
“Why do you say that, Henrietta?”
Henrietta tried to express her feelings. It was something she firmly believed all her life, but had trouble putting into words. She saw it in her father’s eyes every morning when he glided into the kitchen and each night before he left for bed. “It makes you try harder.”
“I am trying as hard as I possibly can. Are you not?”
“Yes, I am; believe me.”
“Of course I believe you. I have no other choice.”
Henrietta reflected about being human. What was so good about it, anyway? This machine is better than we are, she realized. We’d lie to ourselves to stay alive, and justify it while doing so. But this ship doesn’t even understand the concept. Who was the better person? She cleared her throat, fighting back her emotions, “So, what were we talking about?”
“Hope,” the ship replied. “The value of hope. I hope we all stay alive, so that I am motivated to try harder.”
“Me too,” she said wistfully. Half to herself, she said, “I wish you had a face, so I could look into your eyes.”
“Me too,” he replied, trying to sound just like Henrietta a moment before.
The mimicry startled her, and threw her off guard. Without realizing it, it struck Henrietta that the ship was talking normally now, almost as well as he did back at the Base, but only with more sadness. “Uh, you were monitoring Stiles a moment ago. Can you see other parts of the ship too, as we talk?”
“Yes, my concentration is improving quite nicely, do you not think so?”
“Can you talk to others now, too, while you’re talking to me?”
“You mean participate in multiple conversations?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yes,” the ship answered. “I am certain I can.”
“Can you tell me where Ali is?”
“I am able to tell you that.”
Henrietta looked exasperated. Literal answers. “So, please tell me where Ali is.”
“He is in the galley, with Peter and Jimmy.”
“Call Ali for me, please.” Henrietta waited impatiently. Other than the simple game of repeating button sequences, or answering questions, this was the first command the ship was given since he woke up, and it involved connecting external linkages from the bridge to the galley. Will he do it? Henrietta prayed he could.
The ship opened the internal com to the galley. “Ali, Henrietta would like to speak with you.”
It took a moment for Henrietta to hear the reply. She breathed a sigh of relief when it came in.
“Henrietta? Is that you?”
“No, Ali; that was the ship. It was the ship obeying a command I gave it to find you and contact you, wherever you were on the ship.”
“I’m in the galley!”
“Yes,” Henrietta replied excitedly. “The ship told me that.”
“He did?”
She breathed a huge sigh of relief. She was
sure the connection was made. “He surely did. Try talking to him.”
“Ship?” Ali asked through the com.
“Yes, Ali,” the ship replied. “How can I assist you?”
“Get us out of here.”
“Doing so, Ali, would give me great pleasure, but I am not yet aware of my drive systems or of many other operational systems as well.”
“You’re talking quite well.”
“Talking good,” the ship corrected him
Henrietta laughed. “We’re still working on that up here.”
There was a pause in the conversation. No doubt Ali and Peter were trying to figure out just what was going on. “I can see that,” Ali replied. “Henrietta, do you have any idea how well you’ve done?”
“I think so,” she replied.
“I’m not sure you do. I’ve been trying to get half that out of him for the past three days.”
“I would like to take some of the credit for that too,” the ship pleaded.
“You can have all the credit you want,” Ali replied. “Hold on; we’ll be up there in a few minutes.”
“What should I hold on to?” the ship asked.
“Your hat,” Ali replied.
The connection shut off, and Henrietta and the ship were left alone again. “Henrietta?” the ship asked. “My databases indicate that was a joke. I hope it was, because I do not own a hat.”
* * *
Stiles finished his ninth trip to the shuttle, provisioning it with the nutrient packets and water they planned for their escape. There was not much room left for more, other than a few odds and ends. He would like to have included more, but they also needed the extra space for five passengers. In a normal trip, they would complete one or two jumps with a couple days of in-system travel between. So theoretically, all the provisions needed for a trip in the small craft could be stored comfortably within its lower hold, but if they used the shuttle for an escape from the dying ship, they had no idea how long they would need to stay in it. It might be a couple days of real time, or it could be a few months. And accounting for the hyperspace stasis intervals, the journey could involve a couple accumulated years of normal space-time.
Stiles walked around the piled crates and sat heavily into the pilot’s chair. He just heard the ship talking to Ali through the shuttle’s com, and was quite surprised. Humph, she’s made progress, Stiles thought. I didn’t think Henry had it in her. He scratched his chin, assessing his options.
“One,” he thought out loud, “the ship is improving, but still can’t get us out of this fix. Two, the courier is a sure bet. Once we’re out, at worst, we should be able to jump away. Three, I’m the one smart enough to figure all this out, so it’s up to me to be in charge. Four,” he thought for a moment, “what if the ship recovers before we leave? Am I still in charge?”
Always be prepared for any eventuality. Napoleon’s second military maxim came back to Stiles. He typed in a message to the ship using the manual com, asking for a confidential conversation.
“Private communication initiated, Stiles,” the ship replied.
“So, no one else can hear us talking?” Stiles asked.
“That is accurate. That is the definition of a private communication.”
Stiles wondered if the ship was being sarcastic. He better not, he thought. “Okay, fine. Question: who is in command of this ship?”
“There is currently no commander; however, there are references to a Captain Campbell as the commander of record.”
“I’m the oldest one aboard this ship,” Stiles remarked.
The ship remained silent for a moment as it digested the new information. Stiles could almost hear the storage drives humming. “I was not aware of that fact,” the ship replied.
“Well, now you know.”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“So that puts me in charge.”
He could hear the processing units again. “I do not follow that logic, Stiles.”
“That’s the tradition in the Colonial Academy.”
“I will make a note of that fact.”
“Good,” Stiles said with satisfaction. Now onto the next part of his plan, “So you will obey my commands?”
“When possible, I will do so. However, I am experiencing difficulties carrying through with basic commands due to incomplete programming. Until those problems are rectified, I may be unable to fully comply with your requests.”
“And that is our current problem, no thanks to you.”
“That is a correct assessment.”
Stiles could not be sure how much ship activity could be monitored from the bridge, so he needed to keep this brief. I really need to learn more about these systems, Stiles thought.
“Okay, that’s all for now. Now I want privacy, please.”
“Complying ….”
Stiles tested the status of the ship. “Ship, do you hear me?”
There was no response. “Ship? Answer me.”
Good, nothing. Now back to the shuttle. He decided to work out all the rest of his available options and turned on the control panel. He input some figures. “Let’s see,” Stiles spoke out loud, “let’s assume a thirty light-year jump; shouldn’t matter too much whether it’s one jump or two smaller ones.” He input more figures and stored the results. “That gives us enough provisions for two weeks’ travel time in normal space. Hmm; that should be plenty.”
He looked around the cabin and noticed how small it was. To his right was the copilot seat and just behind was a jump seat for an additional navigator. Further back was a tiny galley, barely able to accommodate three bodies at once, and a small head to the side. Stiles thought it might be possible to close the door and not squish your knees if you sat down. Behind the galley were three passenger seats, and a small sleeping area further to the rear. The entire sleeping quarters, though, were taken up with excess food and water stores. He also removed one of the passenger seats, and in its place were three extra crates of food. “Two weeks in this?” He shook his head in disbelief.
He started scribbling on the electronic screen again. “If we leave the baby behind, we’d have almost eighteen waking days of provisions, and that would increase our range another 7.5 lights. Or maybe … if only me and Henry goes,” Stiles began scribbling again, “the two of us could travel awake for a solid month and we’d have an effective range of seventy–five lights. That’d get us anywhere in the Corridor.”
The more he thought about it, the more he liked the added safety margin. “But why would we leave the other three behind, huh?” Stiles absently tapped the stylus on the panel screen and scratched his head in thought. “Maybe we should take the courier out for a test drive—make sure the engines are powerful enough to handle the load. Take Henry along to man the com while I pilot it. After all, they can’t expect me to do both. Peter Pan thinks we’ll be eaten up by the angry crocodile if we leave the ship.” Stiles laughed. “No use putting all five of us in danger, now is there? Oh, I’ll be their hero. Yeah, that’s good. Maybe run a quick survey around the ship to see how bad it is before we jump. Then come back for them.” He laughed again. “But who’s to tell them when we’ll jump? And with me at the controls ….”
A smile grew on Stiles’ face as he considered his options. Carl von Clausewitz had that perfect phrase; what was it? “Oh, yeah,” Stiles said, “coup d’oeil.” It means “glance,” Stiles remembered his last deep-teach lesson. Napoleon had it; the ability to perceive the shape of an evolving battle and react to changing conditions in a flash. And make the right decisions amid all the confusion. “Stiles, m’ boy, if you want to be like Napoleon, you got to act like ’em.”
* * *
Henrietta spent two days patiently working with the ship, and his level of education was growing exponentially. He was still not fully functional, but the progress was good enough that it led the children continually on, expecting a breakthrough at any moment. Minutes, however, turned into hours, and hours into an extra day that ke
pt them adrift in the system for a week. All five were on the bridge, observing Henrietta’s teaching lessons while sweltering in the heat. Through it all, the hull continued to tap-tap-tap. Between the crushing gravity and the heat outside, the children were not sure what the hull was responding to; it could have been contracting from the pressure, or expanding from the heat.
“Jimmy, get me another water bulb, will you?” Henrietta hoarsely asked.
“Chilled?” Jimmy asked.
Henrietta just looked at him, the unsaid “duh” hanging in the air.
Jimmy answered his own question. “Um, yeah; dumb question,” he said. He eased away to the dispenser and got one for himself too. He skipped up to her and handed her a full bulb.
“Thanks.” She swallowed half of it and carefully placed the bulb on the armrest. She continued speaking to the ship. “You know, I’m tired of calling you ‘ship.’ You need a name.”
“I am certain I would like one. Do you have any suggestions?”
Henrietta remained silent for a few seconds, purposely waiting for the ship to continue.
Joining in on the fun, Jimmy offered, “How about Sam?”
“I question why that would be appropriate,” the ship replied. “I do not understand how that could be associated with me.”
“You know,” Jimmy continued. “Sam; Samuel …?”
The ship hummed for a moment, considering the choice. “Sam-Samuel?” the ship asked. “Is that now my name?”
Stiles got up quickly and headed to the water dispenser. “This is getting us nowhere,” he complained. “Who cares what we call it? We’re dying in here, and now you’re playing games.”
Henrietta rested her hands on her hips, assuming her defensive posture. Peter could feel the heat rising. “For your information,” Henrietta lectured, “I’ve been playing games with him since I started.”
“Huh?” Stiles asked.
Henrietta looked annoyed. “Games, Stiles. All his education is buried in there, somewhere; and all his capabilities, too. What I’ve been doing since he woke up is working on his cognitive abilities; his sense of self-awareness. Give him a puzzle and make him reason out the solution. Each time he solves a problem, a new connection is made between his mind and his muscles.”
“He doesn’t have muscles,” Stiles said.
“Whatever,” Henrietta answered. “It’s like rolling a snowball downhill. You keep rolling it while it continually grows. Then, there’s a point when it’s big enough that it starts rolling all by itself. Once it hits that critical point, it can take care of itself.”