Chapter 23
Torian sprinted onto the flight deck, trying to keep her voice down.
Her brain felt slow, groggy, but she still peered through the front window with desperation.
Of course, of course this would happen with Celise here.
“Four unknown signatures were surrounding the ship? What the hell does that mean?”
“Auto-Navigation couldn’t give me a better answer. Whatever they were, they caused interference with our radar and communications.”
Torian racked her brain. “The last time we were in this nebula, I saw things through the windows. Shapes. But they’re gone too fast.” She set her jaw, indignant now. “You said I was hallucinating.”
“That appears to be a common analysis.”
“It’s always inaccurate!” Torian seethed.
Moss sounded contemplative. “Something is confirmed to be interfering with Auto-Navigation. However, its coding seems fully capable of overriding this interference and proceeding without concern. Whatever the threat, it seems to have vanished for now.”
“Well, that’s something.”
Moss paused. “I have blocked Auto-Nav from listening into this conversation. Torian, I have a question.”
“Right now?” Torian demanded, peering through the window. But Moss was right—the radar wasn’t registering anything but static, and nothing was interrupting their progress toward Vaesa. If something was attempting to strand them here, it was failing miserably.
But what was it?
Did the nylarians have defenses to protect their planet? Torian stared at a derelict human starship, breaking apart in the asteroid belt. An ancient threat wouldn’t still be lurking here, would it?
… Would it?
“Yes. It is imperative I seek your advice on this matter.”
Torian pulled her attention away from the windows. Moss had awoken her, but they were still fairly far from Vaesa. According to the control panel, they were twenty-two minutes from the station and flying smoothly.
Which meant, for now, they were safe.
She drew a quick breath. “Okay. Shoot.”
“Shoot what?”
Torian snorted. “Tell me what you need help with.”
“Human vernacular amended.” Moss paused, then said, “After Dutch connected me to the Destitute’s systems, I appear to have … leaked … into the auto-navigation. It has gained sentience through my code.”
Torian sank into the seat, eyes widening. “The auto-nav can think now?”
“It has true individuality and emotion. And it thinks I am mean.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it should not have had awareness … so I was mean.”
Torian nearly laughed. At least Moss admitted it freely.
But still, it was a bit unnerving that new parts of her starship were beginning to gain awareness. She trusted Moss, but if the auto-navigation took over, that would pose new concerns. She scrubbed her face, staring at the ceiling now. “Are you at risk?”
“… Clarify.”
“If Auto-Navigation hates you, can it overtake your central system and … rewrite you, or something?” Torian’s jaw was tight with concern. It felt weird to be asking these questions with the flight deck’s central console right there, but if Moss said Auto-Nav was oblivious, she had to believe it.
Moss seemed amused. “Auto-Navigation is developing similarly to … well, to a human child. It is not a threat to me, and it will take time—decades, on this trajectory—to truly match my intellect.”
“And what if it gains awareness faster than that?” Torian had seen too many horror vids about this kind of thing.
AI wasn’t pushed in human culture for a reason.
(The reason was that they were generally inferior to Moss’s capabilities, absurdly expensive to maintain, and a tou’siil could act as a more reliable, more pleasant database.
But a small part of Torian still imagined the worst-case scenario with sentient computers.)
Moss considered that. “It is possible that Auto-Nav will develop faster. But at the present moment, it ‘cares’ what I think, and only appears to be seeking my support.”
“So, you actually have a kid.”
Moss’s leaves seemed to physically curl away from that statement.
It was so subtle Torian almost missed it—but she definitely didn’t miss its annoyed tone.
“I am an organic computer. The only reproduction options available to me are within my own moss colony, and that simply expands my own cognizance. I cannot ‘have a kid.’”
Torian leaned back in the seat, crossing her arms. “You clearly can, if your code gave the auto-navigation awareness of its own individuality. Is the engine gaining sentience too?”
“Engine is not physically able to gain sentience, simply due to its type of code and construction.”
“You didn’t think Auto-Nav could do that either, though.”
Moss was quiet for a moment. “It is possible Engine might develop consciousness, but that possibility rests at point zero four percent. I will continue to monitor and update if that statistic changes.” Now Moss asked tentatively, “Is this okay, Captain?”
Torian considered her own mindset on this. Yes, she was nervous about all these systems gaining awareness. But they were actively flying to Dutch, who could intervene if something changed. She was about to relocate to Vaesa with Celise, which meant if Auto-Nav went rogue, they’d have distance.
She didn’t want to lose access to the Destitute, though—it was absolutely her home now.
Torian pressed her lips together. “I think … it’ll be okay.
But I also think it’s more important than ever to be nice to Auto-Navigation.
In fact, we should probably practice that with all systems, sentient or not. ”
Just in case.
Moss considered that silently.
Torian wiped the sleep from her eyes, redirecting her attention out the windows.
She didn’t see anything—not a flash of darkness, nothing serpentine.
If something was following the ship, it was staying carefully out of sight.
But already, Verdaan had appeared beyond the asteroids.
The planet grew bigger as they approached.
Whatever resolution Moss had reached, she hadn’t expected the conversation to continue—at least, not right now. But just as Vaesa appeared on the planet’s horizon, Moss said quietly, “For over a century, I … wished … for company. If I had Auto-Navigation to speak with, I would not have been alone.”
Yeah.
Torian smiled. “Sounds like you have a chance here, then. Dutch created you, and then left, and it didn’t leave you feeling very good. Do you want to leave Auto-Nav to its own devices … or would you rather take responsibility for the system you created?”
“I did not intend to create it.”
“Did Dutch intend to create you?”
“Yes. I was always intended to be life support.” Moss paused, amending, “Although he did say that my sentience was ‘a welcome surprise.’”
Torian shrugged. “Maybe Auto-Nav is a welcome surprise, then.”
This time, Moss was silent for a long, long time. Torian let it work through whatever it could, giving it the space it needed. Finally, Moss said, “Thank you. I am marking this conversation as helpful. We will be at Vaesa in eleven minutes. Now is the time to awaken your sister.”
Well, okay then.
Torian offered one last look out the window and sighed. “Let me know if you see anything strange.” She slid out of the pilot’s seat and jogged down the stairs, rapping on the door to the sleeping room.
Time to show Celise her new potential home.
While Celise got dressed, Torian gently steered the ship into the dock. At some point, Moss had decided to give Auto-Navigation freedom to speak over the intercom. However, it didn’t have a voice module like Moss, so its communication came across as electronic screeching instead of words.
Torian grimaced, plugging one ear and holding the yoke with the other. “Moss, Heavens. That’s so distracting. Can you translate?”
“One moment.”
The screeching changed to sharp beeps, almost like Morse code. Then it shifted again into a computerized tone, with words that sounded stiff and mechanical. “—am Auto-Nav. I am Auto-Nav. I am Auto-Nav.”
“Hello, Auto-Nav,” Torian said. It was a struggle to concentrate on both docking the ship and talking to a new computer, but Moss had confided that Auto-Nav had begged for the ability to speak with the “non-Auto-Navigation pilot.”
Torian couldn’t ignore it after that.
“I am Auto-Nav,” it said again.
“We know,” Moss replied, irritation in its tone. That hadn’t lasted long.
A pause, where Torian cut the engine and activated the auxiliary jets. The Destitute drifted slowly through the energy barrier. A mechanical … giggle…? sounded through the speakers when the ship passed through it.
“That is my favorite part,” Auto-Nav said.
Torian had no idea where Auto-Nav found a sound bite of a giggle, but it was both creepy and hilarious.
She laughed. “Mine, too.” They anchored at one of Vaesa’s docks, and she pressed a few buttons to power down the starship.
Beyond the windows, Vaesa was as welcoming as before, all wood accents and overgrown plants.
A rush of excitement swept through Torian, and she absently said, “We’ll be here for a couple days. Can we talk with you later, Auto-Nav?”
“I will be alone?”
It did sound like a child. Torian’s heart wrenched. “Not if—”
“I will stay with you,” Moss said.
Auto-Nav replied, “Yay!”
Torian chuckled, pushing away from the control panel. She patted the dashboard, very close to Moss’s moss colony, but still never touching it. “That’s very kind of you, Moss.” Her words were quiet, proud.
Moss said, “I am kind. Sometimes.”
“You are kind,” Auto-Nav echoed.
Torian smiled and left them alone, hopping down the steps to the living area. Celise was peering out the bank of windows, and startled when she realized she had company. Shock had settled over her features, which must mean she was really impressed. Normally, mild intrigue was all Celise offered.
“I—I can’t believe this was hiding in the nebula, all this time. It’s massive.” Celise rubbed her arm, suddenly uncertain.