re: Mag Comm performance efficiency rating To: Magister Kaylla Dawn From: Legate Roma
Statistical analyses have been employed by my department in an effort to determine both the functioning and reliability of the Mag Comm in its administration of Free Space. To date we have run more than four thousand randomly selected spot checks on the machine and have found minimal disruption of systems or services. As of this report, and given an N of over four thousand one hundred and thirty-six, we have documented five cases where service or efficiency has been impaired by the Mag Comm's administration.
Considering sampling errors and degrees of freedom, the Mag Comm's efficiency must practically be considered to be one hundred percent. (See appended data.) Had we attempted to integrate a similar system through the Farhome Project, preliminary figures of seventy percent would have been considered extraordinary.
Another reason for the machine's efficiency may be traced to its ability to learn. When problems begin to appear in the implementation of a project, the machine automatically corrects itself or asks for feedback from experienced humans involved in the operation, production, or service.
It must be noted, however, that such success must eventually lead to the obsolescence of a given portion of our
civil service and comm. programming work force. Nor will this be the only labor force affected. As the machine pares redundancy and inefficiency from the economy, we can expect nearly fourteen percent of the economy to become unemployed, especially the uneducated and unskilled.
I must stress the importance of this problem. Such populations are the breeding grounds of social unrest. Prior to this date, warfare and its sequelae have served to remove surplus population in conjunction with Imperial expansion. We have paid the price for such population control through the destruction and rebuilding of infrastructure and the maintenance of a wartime economy. With the recent and essentially bloodless conquest of Free Space by the Lord Commander, the problem is rendered even more critical since we have not suffered a population reduction.
In conclusion, the Mag Comm is exceeding our expectations and hopes and will provide stability for the near future. However, if this trend continues, we will face dislocations and thought should be given to the anticipation of such problems. Should you have any questions concerning this report or the appended supportingdata, please feel free to contact me or my staff.
Signed: Myles Roma, Once Legate Prima Excellence of His Holiness Sassa the Second
In the eternal nightmare, Skyla had been bound to the uncomfortable chair, naked, shivering in the chill. Ily walked around her, half-hidden by the bright lights as the recorders monitored Skyla's every reaction.
"Let's get back to Staffa's wife-this Chrysla. He thinks he killed her off Myklene? "
"Yes," Skyla answered through Mytol-numbed lips. "But no body was ever found?
No corpse in the wreckage of the Pylos?"
"No. "
"The Praetor had her as a prisoner for nearly twenty years.
"Yes. "
'Arta tells me she was cloned from this woman." :'Yes. "
'And she tells me that she was supposed to kill Staffa when the Seddi lured him within her reach."
" I think that is true.
"So Arta is an exact genetic duplicate? Provided to the Seddi by the Praetor of Myklene?
:'Yes." 'Chrysla used to live on Myklene, didn't she?" 'Yes. "
"She was Staffa's wife. She would have been cleared for the complex."
'Yes. "
" Staffa must feel very guilty about killing her? Does he?" :'Yes. '
4Would he react to a manipulation of that guilt? Become foolish?
:'Yes. 'If Chrysla were still alive, would it affect his judgment? Cause him to commit a fatal error?"
:'Yes. I
,:How do you know about her? Staffa told you?" No. Andray Sornsen told me."
Ily studied the comm in her hand, checking her notes. "He's the psychologist.
Did he used to work with her?"
, ,Taught her . . . on Ashtan. There would be no psychology department on Itreata but for Chrysla."
'" see." Ily cradled her chin as she paced and thought. What about Andray Sornsen? What was his relationship with Chrysla? Just a professor? "
"He loved her. He still loves her." :'And Staffa knows?"
"I don't know."
Does Sornsen like the fact that Staffa was fucking the woman he loved? That Staffa sired a son out of Chrysla?" ' 'I think Andray hates Staffa deep down inside. I ordered extra security to be placed on him."
"Is that order still in effect?"
'No. I canceled it after Targa . . .
From somewhere beyond the hull, a loud boom sound as the bay techs worked on one of the nearby LCs. Skyla jerked
awake. She gasped, sat up, and rubbed her face, while afterimages of the dream slipped away from her.
Rotted Gods, would she never be rid of that nightmare? It had been enough to live it, did she have to dream it over and over again?
Another clang from the LC bay carried through the hull and Skyla sighed before getting to her feet and picking up her white armor. Before she dressed, she studied herself in the mirror. Her belly had flattened again, the fat gone from her hips and thighs. The long scar on her leg didn't seem as garish. She took a breath and smacked her stomach, happy to hear a solid sound. At least Staffa wouldn't be able to take her with one hand the way he'd threatened.
After pulling on her satin-textured armor, she peeked into Lark's room, noting with satisfaction that the girl was finally sleeping. A cup of stassa and a quick meal later, Skyla stepped out into the chilly air in the LC bay and made her way into the ship.
Chrysla . . . Chrysla . . . she was haunted by Chrysla! And why? Just because she was Staffa's first wife?
"Deal with it, Skyla. Solve it, and maybe you can sleep. Having made that decision she turned and stalked down the narrow corridor which led to Chrysla's quarters. The sickly green interior of the Regan warship depressed her. Why did they paint them this way? It was a wonder the crew didn't commit suicide living in a snake's gut like this.
At Chrysla's hatch, Skyla palmed the lock plate, calling, 'Lady Attenasio, this is Wing Commander Lyma.
Silence. Skyla turned as a crewwoman passed, and asked her, "Have you seen Lady Attenasio?"
"Down on the hospital deck, I believe."
Skyla thanked the woman and strode onward, trying to compose what she would say, and finding it difficult. No matter what kind of message her subconscious was trying to give her, Chrysla wasn't the problem, not really. Arta and Ily remained the real problem. Her silly brain just kept dredging up that interrogation sequence with Chrysla over and over.
She squeezed her eyes shut as if the action would reset the switches in her brain. Somewhere along the line, the reality had to sink in. What had happened had happened.
No amount of self-flagellation could change that. Arta had broken her spirit and Ily had sucked dry what was left.
Such things happened to warriors. It was one of the risks that people accepted when they fought for a cause.
She slapped the plate on the hospital hatch and bulled forward, only to come to a halt.
Gyton's hospital ward had been finished with the usual Regan military austerity. Lines of medical units-enough to handle about a third of the ship's crew-waited like ranks of gaping mouths. All except the first row of machines.
These were the full-body units, the ones reserved for the most critical of cases.
The last unit on the right gleamed whitely, the lid closed. Beside it, slumped wearily, sat Chrysla Attenasio, her head bowed and one arm draped limply over the smooth convex surface.
Skyla approached silently until she could hear Chrysla's hushed whisper.
Out of respect, she backed away and hesitated, fists knotting. Leave her alone. This isn't the time.
Skyla ground her teeth as she turned and raised a hand to touch the lock plate.
"Can I hel
p you, Skyla?"
"I didn't mean to disturb you. It can wait."
Chrysla had stood, fingers brushing the lid of the med unit as she glanced toward Skyla. "It's all right. I've been here long enough as it is."
When she approached, Skyla noted the red-rimmed eyes, the exhausted set of her full mouth.
"Do you spend every spare moment down here?" Chrysla shrugged. "I'm a psychologist. A scientist. I know he can't hear me, that no mysterious brain-powered mental telekinesis takes place. Still, perhaps it's that deeply seated superstition that what webelieve, what we pray and hope, can affect the way things will eventually work out."
"He'll be fine." Skyla thrust thumbs into her equipment belt. "They got him stabilized and cooled off with time to spare. His skull took a wallop, but nothing penetrated the brain. They drained the hematoma. Staffa induced the finest medical people in Free Space to come to Itreata. He won't be himself in the first week, but after six months you'll never know he was hurt."
"Thank you, Skyla. But I know a little about physiology. When his neck broke, the fragments of vertebrae did a great, deal of damage to the spinal column."
"We'll fix it. Trust me."
Chrysla tried a brave smile but lost it. Then her eyes cleared and she straightened. "What can I do for you." "It wasn't important. Go back and keep MacRuder company. "
Chrysla studied her and nodded. "You wanted to talk. Arta and Ily . . . or business?"
"Wrong on both accounts. How about you and me?" Chrysla's eyes flashed with understanding. "Gyton has an observation dome. "
Skyla jerked her head toward the med unit. "We could talk here if you'd like.
Give you another couple of moments near him. "
"I appreciate that but I'd rather go elsewhere. " She brushed past and palmed the lock plate. Skyla followed, matching her stride. Chrysla seemed to become reinvigorated, her shoulders squaring as they proceeded.
Chrysla led the way right and then left and right again into an observation dome. Beyond the tactite, the universe had the murky blackness of null singularity. Chrysla settled herself into one of the seats and clasped her hands in her lap. She gave Skyla a warm smile, asking, "How is Lark doing? "
Skyla fingered the switches on an interferometer and studied the woman. "She was asleep when I left. It took her a while. She waited until she was safely out of sight in her bunk to cry herself to sleep. "'
"She's working very hard at being brave for you. "' "For me? She's doing a better job of it than I am."
"I doubt it. She takes her cues from you. Worships every move you make. She even tries to stand like you do." "She does? Worships?"
"Is that so bad, to be worshiped and admired? Don't look so shocked. Just understand that the kid is knocking herself out to win your approval. I think that ought to make you feel pretty good about yourself."
Skyla propped a foot on the interferometer seat and used her knee for a brace.
"You surprise me, Chrysla. You were looking pretty weary and fragile back in the hospital. Where
do you find the resources to worry about everyone else's problems? "
Chrysla's laugh sounded halfhearted as she stared at a point beyond the tactite. "Some of it comes from my training as a psychologist. The rest, well, I guess it developed during the time I was the Praetor's captive. All in all, they were a pretty discouraging twenty years. To avoid the constant boredom, all I did was study and plan for the day when I could escape and make my life meaningful. Not just to myself but to other people. "
"Generally people in that position turn bitter."
"I couldn't, Skyla. I had to find something optimistic. Otherwise I would have been destroyed, and that's what he would have wanted."
"The Praetor? "
"You can't imagine what he was like. Bitter, angry, frustrated-and completely vile. Staffa obsessed him and, since Staffa was out of reach, I became the surrogate for his attentions and his abuse." Chrysla looked up. "I was in his possession for twenty years. You were Arta's for a mere matter of months. I make that point only to establish that I know what you're feeling."
Skyla waited in silence.
Sorrow traced Chrysla's features. "So what could I do? Let the hatred run acid inside and turn me into a monster like he was? Or find a higher purpose for my life and, in that way, defeat him in the end? Because he treated me like a slut, I wouldn't allow myself to become one. In that kind of battle, you fight day by day. The only recourse is to cling to every shred of integrity you have and wrap yourself in hope when you dream. Maybe in the process I condemned myself to optimism."
"Treated you pretty badly?"
Chrysla's fists knotted. "He had me for twenty years. In that amount of time he was able to think of every way imaginable to abuse me. I was lucky in two instances. First, his sperm were immobile which left him sterile and, second, over the years he became impotent. In the hands of a psychologist that information is as deadly as placing an enemy's defensive strategy and field deployment into yours."
"He was a vain man. You must have torn him apart." "He did his share of suffering. " She made a throwing
away gesture. "Enough about me. What motivated you to search me out? I saw your reflection in the surface of Mac's med unit. When you backed away, I almost let you go. Then I decided that if you'd come to me, it must be pretty important. "
Skyla shrugged, realizing it was her turn to stare into the muggy black infinity of null singularity. "It seems that I keep having the same dream over and over. It starts out with me bound spread-eagle to the sleeping platform on my yacht. Arta's playing with me, kissing, licking, and the whole time those eyes of hers are watching me, almost as if daring me to discover what she's really after. My body starts to respond, and I hate myself. I start to thrash and twist at the bonds, and when I grow desperate enough, I jerk into a new position and open my eyes.
"With the new position, the scene changes and I'm in Ily's interrogation room.
Still naked, cold, and drugged with Mytol. She keeps asking me the same questions she asked when she wrung me out that time. The questions are about you and Arta, and if we ever found your body aboard Plos. She asks about your clearance on Itreata and how guilty Staffa must feel about killing you. She goes on about how to manipulate him with guilt."
Skyla rubbed her hands together, frowning. What was it about the dream?
Something. "She asks if I heard all this from Staffa, and I tell her, no, from Andray Sornsen. That you wanted a psychological team on Itreata, and that Andray came because he was in love with you."
Chrysla cocked her head. "Funny. In all these years, I'd mostly forgotten him.
Go on."
"Ily asks about Sornsen, about how he feels about Staffa. Sornsen was in love with you and he's been a virtual prisoner of the Companions. He resents the hell out of Staffa.
Chrysla nodded, a pained look in her eyes.
"This time I was awakened before the rest of the dream played out. Ily grills me some more about science staff security on Itreata. And suddenly I'm sitting there alone. I have the distinct feeling that I've failed, that wretched, horrible feeling of despair. I scream into the silence, scream after horrible scream, but I can't get loose. Arta's laughter fills the air, and I open my eyes and see myself, a duplicate Skyla. I'm walking away . . . through a hatch that opens
into Itreata. And when I look back at the bound me, I have ... I have Arta's eyes."
Skyla took a deep breath. "It's the same repetitive dream. You and Arta and Ily. Always emphasizing the fact that she's your clone. That she was on Itreata before me - "
"Skyla, maybe you're not reading this correctly."
"No, wait. Let me finish. I know the situation. Staffa has made it plain.
You've made it plain . . . and so has MacRuder. We'll all work it out-and pus eat me if I couldn't accept you and Staffa getting back together if it happens that way.
"I'm talking about me. About my mind. The last holdover I have to sit down and deal with is you
and me. You broke the ice that day when you planted the hypnotic cue. " Skyla shook a fist defiantly. "Well, you and I are going to melt what's left once and for all, even if I have to live with you for the rest of this trip to prove to my subconscious that you and Arta are different!"
Chrysla's amused smile graced her perfect lips. "Is that how you tackle all of your problems, Wing Commander? Head on."
"Rotted right!"
"Skyla, from what you tell me, the dream is wrong." "Wrong? How could it be wrong? That's the way it works. The same thing over and over again. "
"Excuse me, I didn't say that very well. Your interpretation of the dream is what is wrong in this instance. That's one of the reasons you keep having the same dream over and over. One part of your brain is trying to give a message to another part of the brain-usually across the hemispheres. How often do you call me Arta by mistake?"
"I don't."
"That's my point. You're not confusing us. You know intuitively that Chrysla Attenasilo and the woman who abused you are different people. You know that intellectually as well as intuitively. Further, the flashbacks have stopped when you're around me. That's not to say they may not occur every now and then when the wrong synapses fire, but you've retrained the neural pathways. "
Skyla frowned out into the blackness. "So what's the dream? "
"No other parts of the interrogation or Arta's captivity repeat?
"Maybe some-but not like this, not time after time." "Let me outline the symbolism you are expressing. First, you're tied up, bound hand and foot. We call that the impotent savior. You are being held back from doing what you know you should. Second, the sexual nature of the rape is animalistic, with Arta watching your vulnerability. And finally, when you struggle, you experience the illusion of freedom, only to land in Ily's interrogation room-the rape of the impotent savior's mind."
Chrysla bowed her head and pressed her hands together, a frown etching her forehead. "The actual interrogation is straight memory, isn't it?"
"Yeah. "
"That's the key to all this. Something you said during that portion of the session is driving this." She nodded, as if to herself. "Finally, when it's all over, you're devastated, screaming in panic. If you'd been crying that would have indicated a redemption, a cleansing, but the anguish is building instead. "