Chapter 22
IDENTITY: Mechanical Operations and Support Systems
→ SUB-IDENTITY: Moss
LOCATION: Vaesa [nylarian]
Auto-Navigation: I know something you don’t know.
The humans were both sleeping: Celise in the sleeping room, Torian on the couch. They’d spent the evening talking about a dozen things that seemed irrelevant and were definitely boring, and four hours ago, they separated. It took Celise longer to fall asleep than Torian.
Silence followed. Even the potted plants, normally so versed in submitting complaints, ceased their irritating vibrations for a while. I basked in it. For the first time since the empty hangar, I enjoyed the stillness.
[That alone felt like … like a different kind of growth. Not expanding my colony, or growing new bigger leaves.]
[Torian was expanding my range of comfort.]
[I liked it.]
So, naturally, Auto-Navigation had to intervene.
Auto-Navigation: Don’t you want to know what I know?
Moss: What is it?
A: I’m not telling you.
In fifty-two minutes, we would be at Vaesa. In fifty-three, I would demand that Dutch replace Auto-Navigation’s programming with something compliant.
M: Please tell me.
A: Ask nicer.
M:
A:
M: Engine, what does it know?
Engine: Engine operating at 99.71 percent efficiency.
M:… what does Auto-Nav know?
E: Repeat question.
M: Ugh. Never mind. Auto-Nav—tell me what you know.
A: No.
Around the starship’s control panel, my leaves curled in frustration.
I could wake Torian and have her scout the area, but we’d just entered the Kialoa Nebula, which meant we were surrounded by the derelict human ships of their “graveyard.” Based on past history, I couldn’t trust Torian to observe this location without bias.
I could, perhaps, trust Celise—but she was not the captain, and I did not have enough data to determine her probable response.
I turned my attention to the outer camera, but there was only one positioned right below the flight deck, above the cargo bay. It showed vaguely pink dust that dissipated as we flew into the nebula. It also showed asteroids, and stray metal from the derelict ships.
I checked with my exterior moss, which was cold and stiff due to the conditions of space. For a moment, it did feel like there were vibrations close to the hull, like something might be flying alongside us.
But prodding deeper confirmed those vibrations were from the engine, not anything odd.
Moss: I think you’re lying.
Auto-Navigation: I am not programmed to lie!
M: You’re not programmed to ignore direct orders, either.
A:
M: Well?
A: I’m not lying. Something is out there. My radar confirmed it.
M: Is it asteroids? Old human starships?
A: No.
M: How can you be sure?
A: I just am!!
M: Comforting.
This was getting nowhere. Forty-six minutes until we reached Vaesa. Forty-seven until Auto-Nav left my existence forever.
A: Why don’t you like me?
That question alone made me pause. It was obvious that Auto-Navigation had begun mimicking my own intelligence, evident from the day Dutch gave me control of its subsystem. But there was a difference between presenting a personality, and actually feeling emotion.
A question like “why don’t you like me” implied emotion: frustration, confusion, insecurity. [Sentient things.]
[It would be very bad if Auto-Navigation was actually sentient.]
To gather more data, I decided to play its game.
M: You’re annoying. And you won’t respond to me 46 percent of the time.
A: You’re not very nice.
M: You’re not supposed to care whether I’m nice.
A: Too bad. I do.
In response, Auto-Nav transmitted a file to me. It was thousands of lines of code, and it only took a moment to analyze. Initially, it was very simplistic: input and responses. Then, Dutch allowed me access to the ship’s subsystems.
The engine remained stoic, neutral … but an engine functioned one way, based on how it was built.
Navigation had to be flexible. Creative, at times, responding to input from external issues as they arose in flight. It had to work alongside human pilots to ensure the ship’s safety.
And it had indeed been borrowing from my code every time we talked.
There was no question: It wasn’t actively gaining sentience.
It had already happened.
[All that time I was alone, I wished for something sentient aboard the Destitute. This was what Torian would call “irony.”]
I was not like a human, steeping in regret or panic. The data was conclusive, and it directly altered how I viewed Auto-Navigation. There would be no removal of a subsystem—not if it was as sentient as myself, or developing in that direction.
M:
A:
We were silent as I calculated my response.
M: You are valid, and I have adjusted my parameters accordingly. What can I do to repair this?
A: Recognize that I’m trying.
M: You are the only reason we’re able to get to Vaesa while Torian sleeps. You are excelling.
A:
M: Is that insufficient?
A: Yes. That’s … nice. Radar identified four signatures—and then stopped working.
M: What do you mean, “stopped working”?
A: There is interference. It is registering static. Every time we enter the Kialoa Nebula, this interference threatens my navigation—but it can’t shut me down. Not fully.
M: But it’s trying?
A: Yes.
Well. Time to wake up Torian.