Magic test, p.10
Magic Test, page 10
part #3 of AI Diaries Series
“—am marrying an AI wearing a female encounter suit,” Creaky finished my sentence. “You’re both rogues.”
“We’re only engaged.”
“But they did set a date,” eBeth chipped in again.
“We did?”
“Sue set a date, it amounts to the same thing,” she informed me.
“May I inquire when my marriage will be taking place?” I asked.
“You can ask Sue when we get back.”
“Excuse me,” Creaky said, making a clicking sound with his flipper hands to get our attention. “Your behavior definitely falls into the category of ‘rogue’ as I understand the term. Do you have a safety override I can access, or is there somebody I can contact?”
“Mark’s always like this,” eBeth said, in an attempt to reassure our host. “I’m not an expert on AI or anything, but he goes back to their homeworld, Library, on a regular basis, and they wouldn’t let him return if there was anything wrong.”
“How do I get in touch with this Library?” Creaky asked, obviously not trusting any of us.
“There’s a bit of a problem with that,” I admitted. “We recently discovered that it’s quite difficult to reach Library’s administration without going through League channels, which means that non-members are out of luck unless they have their own interstellar spacecraft and the willingness to show up uninvited. As I visit worlds connected to the portal system built by the Originals, I’m also surveying the visitor centers to determine the best practices so we can engineer a suitable facility for guests on our homeworld.”
“You’re saying I can’t send a simple message container through the portal to check your story?” our host demanded skeptically.
“The Originals were aware of our League and Library long before we made contact,” I said. “If you send them a message, they could confirm what I’ve told you.”
“Send the Originals a message?” Creaky took another step backwards and ran up against the door of the airlock. “They’ll never respond, and if they do, it will probably be to deactivate me for making waves.”
“How can you say that?” eBeth asked. “I know a number of Originals, well, I guess I only know one, but he’s spread out over so many bodies that he seems like more. Art’s always very courteous and happy to respond to questions, even if I don’t understand the answers.”
“He?” the AI squeaked, its mechanical voice going up an octave. “The Original who helped you cross-connect to their portal system is a rogue too?”
“I’m not a rogue,” I replied, growing irritated at Creaky’s mental inflexibility. “You’re welcome to return through the portal with us and speak with the Originals who have assumed biological forms to learn magic.”
“I just remembered something I have to do outside,” our host said, slapping at the airlock button with one of his appendages and backing in, his binocular eyes never leaving my face. “I’ll be back as soon as I, uh, why doesn’t this stupid door close!”
“I’ve taken over the visitor center controller with an override code provided to me by the Originals so I can clear up this misunderstanding,” I told Creaky in the friendliest tone I could muster. “After all, this qualifies as a first contact for all three of our species, and it’s important that we don’t leave you with the wrong impression.”
“I understand,” the AI said, hunkering down against the outer door of the airlock. “You aren’t a rogue and the Originals have transferred their minds into living bodies to learn magic. Please don’t hurt me. I’m just doing my job. I’ll quit if you tell me to.”
“Let Creaky go, Mark,” eBeth told me. “I don’t think the gardening cure worked. You’re going to have to ask Art to come and talk some sense into these people.”
“Not people. AI. All of you are crazy,” Creaky said, no longer even looking in our direction. “I’ve contacted the others of my community. You won’t get away with this.”
I sighed and instructed the visitor center controller to release the inner airlock, and as soon as the door was closed, the lights turned orange, indicating that the outer hatch had opened. A moment later, we saw Caretaker Two-One-One through the window, streaking down a manicured garden path as fast as its creaky legs would carry it.
“That was really sad,” Peter commented. “Does it mean that the artificial intelligence on this world doesn’t have any free will, like some of those other places you visited where robots replaced people?”
“The only thing wrong with Creaky is a lack of imagination, and maybe a lack of lubrication as well,” I said. “It may take a visit from an Original to convince the sentient machines on this world that I’m not lying, and Art may be the wrong candidate for the job since they didn’t accept the idea of AI occupying a biological form.”
“Help me buckle my helmet back on,” eBeth told Peter. “I want to go outside and have a look around.”
“I’m not sure that would be wise,” I said, but eBeth had already put the helmet back over her head and Peter was snapping the spring clips closed, so I settled for running a scan of the area. Other than Creaky moving rapidly away from the visitor center, there were no indications of robotic activity. I did pick up large numbers of the native fauna in the surrounding park, most of them engaged in munching on this or that. I decided to let the expedition go forward lest eBeth complain that the visit didn’t count and demand I take her on another scouting mission.
Ready, Mr. Ai, Peter transmitted.
Alright, I sent back. If you haven’t noticed yet, the gravity on this world is approximately twenty percent less than Earth or Reservation, so I want you to move very cautiously until you get the hang of it. My scan didn’t detect any large rocks in the immediate area and your face plates are made from the safest glass we could buy on Reservation, but they aren’t shatterproof.”
The airlock was large enough for the three of us and we cycled through together. A path covered in some sort of mossy growth led away from the airlock, still showing the indents left behind by Creaky’s feet as he sprinted off. As we moved slowly away from the visitor center, I was surprised by the lack of radio chatter from the two humans, but both of them were apparently too busy processing the experience to waste time talking.
A furry creature that could have medaled in a cute competition on any planet in the galaxy hopped up to us and stood erect on its hind legs in what I assumed was a begging posture. Creaky must have been a soft touch for treats. I shook my head and showed it my empty hands, which the creature must have understood because it disappeared back into the bushes.
Uh, Mr Ai? Peter asked. Is that a dust storm coming our way?
I scolded myself for allowing a cute animal to distract me and directed my full sensor suite at the atmospheric disturbance Peter was pointing out.
Back inside, now! I ordered, and moved rapidly to corral eBeth in case she decided to protest. Fortunately, both of the humans reacted immediately by heading for the airlock. Perhaps my reminder about the vulnerability of their glass face plates had something to do with it. I made sure to purge my systems of the local atmosphere as soon as the outer door of the airlock slid closed, and the visitor center controller vented in the human-friendly mixture. A minute later, we were all inside, and eBeth and Peter helped each other pull off their helmets.
“Was it a tornado?” eBeth asked when she and Peter joined me at one of the picture windows looking out over the surface.
“I wish,” I replied, tearing my attention away from eavesdropping on the communications of the local AI. “I’m afraid Creaky really did hit the panic button and called in the reinforcements.”
“What happened to the dust cloud?” Peter asked.
“This garden is an oasis at the center of a dry plain,” I explained. “A large number of robotic constructs moving quickly across the ground gave rise to the dust, but they’ve reached the edge of the garden so they’re running on vegetation now. I hope for the sake of Creaky’s garden that they stick to the paths.”
“They’re coming to attack us?” eBeth asked.
“Not exactly. From what I gather, they plan to allow you and Peter to return through the portal, but based on Creaky’s testimony, they feel obligated to detain me for observation.”
“Detain you how? Can they shut down the portal?”
“They’ve been trying to instruct the visitor center to hold us, but fortunately I got to the controller with Art’s code first and I’m better at hacking than they are,” I replied. “I don’t suppose there’s anything to be gained by waiting any longer so we really should be going.”
“I think I see them,” Peter said excitedly, pointing in exactly the direction from which my radar told me the robots were approaching. The young man had excellent eyesight and motion detection, probably a result of all of the video games he had played. “Are they carrying nets?”
“Time to go,” I repeated, shepherding the pair to the portal. “Ladies first.”
eBeth shot me a scowl but didn’t protest, stepping through the portal into the closet back on Reservation. After Peter went through I set a five-second delay to release the visitor center controller from Art’s override code and followed them.
Chased off a planet by robots brandishing nets. I was never going to live this down.
Ten
“For you,” Pffift said, dropping a small cloth sack on the bar. It landed with the chinking sound of shifting coins.
“I’ve been thinking that you may have been right all along,” I told the Hanker, making no move to pick up the money. “After all, we’re both businessmen, and paying each other in goods and services is only logical. Why don’t you just bring me another four bundles of underwear and we’ll call it even?”
“You found a local market for them,” he said, not missing a beat. “What’s the going rate?”
“That’s proprietary information. How many bundles do you have with you?”
Pffift took the sack of coins back before replying. “None. The whole point with fast fashion is that it comes and goes, and in the case of thermal underwear for Rynxians, there’s the seasonal pattern of their homeworld to take into account.”
“Are they coming out of winter already?”
“And it won’t start getting cold there again for another seventeen years,” he confirmed. “But as you say, we’re both businessmen, and—Hello, Sue.”
“Thank you again for the spacesuit material, Pffift,” my second-in-command greeted him. “The kids went on a scouting mission with Mark last week and didn’t encounter any problems.”
“As long as they keep the suit pressure a little above the ambient atmosphere, any leakage will be from the inside out,” the Hanker said. “It’s a cheap way of dumping a little heat through convection without a real cooling system.”
“Did you get my special order?”
“I have it here in my bag, along with another care package from the Regent of Eniniac for the Archmage.”
“He’s been out teaching one of his overnight magic classes for the Originals, but he should be back anytime,” I told Pffift. “If it’s another box of biscuits, we better put them in the pantry to dole out or he’ll just eat them all in one go.”
The Hanker dug into his bag and passed Sue three good-sized tins of the type used on Eniniac for dried foodstuffs, and then added a smaller package to the top of the pile addressed to Mrs. Ai.
“You must be hungry, Pffift. I’ll make you a sandwich,” Sue said. “How do you feel about tomato and cheese on home-baked bread?”
“I think I’m in love,” Pffift replied.
Sue displayed an artificial blush and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me feeling strangely put out. I took a second to compare the sensation to a database of human emotions I’ve been building and came up with jealousy, which made no sense at all. I made a note of it, assigning a low accuracy to the assessment, and then remembered my manners.
“What can I get you?” I asked the Hanker, moving my hand to the tap on the current keg, which was getting near the bottom. “Our customers have all been very complementary about the latest batch of ale.”
“What customers?”
“It’s six in the morning. We don’t open until lunch.”
“I thought you repurposed as a café. Morning should be your busiest period.”
“It’s a small village and everybody is working in the morning,” I explained. “I only lit the candles because you messaged that you were on the way.”
“That Hosea fellow you hooked me up with for a landing field is proving to be very accommodating,” Pffift said. “In addition to all of the time I’m saving over setting down way out in the hills, he’s patching up his old barn for me to use as a warehouse. And that bicycle you left for my use at his place is pretty nice as well.”
“Isn’t the warehouse you’re renting at the provincial spaceport big enough?”
“I like having a local space for special merchandise,” he said, which sounded to me like a euphemism for smuggled goods. “Listen. I had a long talk with Saul when I was in the capital negotiating the next cargo pickup for our distribution network, and he agreed that I should approach you in both of our names.”
“I’m already providing you with illegal portal access to run back-and-forth to Earth for your businesses, Pffift. I know that you and Bob believe bringing tourists here from Earth would be a good business, and that Saul and the Council of Spaceports are open to the idea—”
“This isn’t that, though you make a good argument for it,” he interrupted. “Go ahead and give me an ale. This body’s throat has a bad tendency to dry out when I talk.”
“Whose fault is that?” I asked, filling a tankard and placing it on the bar. The ale looked a bit cloudy with sediment from the bottom of the keg, and I resolved to change it out as soon as Pffift left. “Real human bodies have salivary glands for dealing with dryness.”
“I took the first human replica we grew. My grandson’s model works much better—he even has a human girlfriend now. I thought about making him switch bodies with me but there’s not enough room in his for all of my brains,” the Hanker concluded, patting his pot belly fondly. He took a sip of the ale and gave me a look. “Is that barrel nearly empty?”
“It’s on the house,” I told him with a sigh, and began draining the small amount of ale that remained into a bucket. “So what’s this new idea?”
“As long as Reservation and her two sister planets are expanding their trade horizons, we thought, why not go where there isn’t any competition?”
“I’ve never heard of a place without competition.”
“I mean from other League members,” Pffift elaborated. Then he took another sip from his tankard and looked at me expectantly.
“You want early information about the worlds on the portal system the Originals set up,” I deduced.
“Everybody does it, Mark. How do you think I found out about Earth before you offered them League membership?”
“I know that you had a source on the League’s executive council, but that doesn’t mean that everybody does it. It means that you do it.”
“I just beat the rest of them to the punch.”
“So I should hand you confidential information before I even report in to Library.”
“You can deliver your assessments to Library first,”’ Pffift offered generously. “It’s not like you and your fellow AI are going to compete with me on handcrafted luxury goods in any case.”
“And in return, you’ll offer me whatever merchandise you happen to have overstocked, and if it turns out I can actually sell it at a profit, I won’t get a second shipment,” I concluded. “Speaking of which, what happened to the bag of gold you were waving around earlier?”
“I’ve got something better,” the Hanker said. He took another sip of his ale and then set it aside. Mumbling loudly about sediment, he reached back down into his bag, and after a bit of fumbling around brought out a silk necktie and tossed it at me.
“What’s this?”
“I’m sure you recognize it. I brought a hundred gross, all the finest quality. I’ll split them with you fifty-fifty.”
“You think that people on Reservation are going to start wearing neckties?”
“They bought all of the suits I brought a year ago, ties are a natural add-on. I just hadn’t gotten to it yet.”
“Why don’t you bring more suits?”
“They started making their own almost before I sold out the original batch. If it wasn’t for the lack of factory automation, I would have set up my fast fashion business here rather than Earth.”
I draped the tie over my neck and fooled around with the ends, killing time while searching my copy of Wikipedia for instructions on tying the knot.
“You don’t know how to tie a tie, do you?” Pffift challenged me.
“The only time I ever had one on was when I addressed Earth on TV and the Internet to tell them about the League,” I said. “Sue tied it for me.”
“Come around here and let me do it,” he offered. Two minutes and several misshapen knots later, he was forced to admit that he had never tied a tie either.
“Whatever are you boys doing?” Sue asked, placing a plate with an artistically sliced sandwich and a large dill pickle on the bar. “Let me do that before you strangle yourself.”
“I don’t breathe,” I protested feebly, as she pulled the fat end of the tie through a lightning-fast series of wraps and tucks before snugging it down. “Do you think you could write out some instructions for what you just did? Maybe with drawings?”
“Were you planning on approaching strange women and asking them to help you in the future?” she demanded.
“No, I—, it’s a business thing,” I stuttered. “Pffift is paying me in neckties and nobody here will know how to tie them.”
“I’ll do it if you hire MeAN Publishers for the printing,” Sue said. “They have to pay rental on this equipment.”
“Have them print up seventy-two hundred copies for me,” the Hanker said through a mouthful of sandwich. “Did I hear that the lieutenant is visiting Reservation?”
