The Lord of the Sands of Time (4 page)

“We call the enemy ETs. At first it meant extraterrestrials, but once the fighting started, they were Enemies of Terra. After we lost Earth, they were simply Evil Things. We’ve attempted to end this war on thousands of separate occasions. We tried ceasefires. We tried negotiating. We tried surrendering. Tried to expel them. Tried to quarantine them. Nothing worked.

“Forty-six years ago, we tried extermination. At first it seemed to be working. Our projections had Sol System liberated within a decade. Then they attacked with weapons of mass destruction, including a giant reflector in geosynchronous orbit above Earth. Except for some of the archaebacteria, the biosphere perished. We spent six months reterraforming our home planet, but it looked like we’d need three centuries to reestablish the biosphere out of our DNA archives. Even then, we could only have recovered five percent of species. We managed to lose in a generation what it took our planet four billion years to create.

“We know a few things about these ETs. They are self-replicating fighting units. In terms of technical sophistication, they’re somewhat ahead of us. Their goal is the extermination of our species. For all we know, they may even be a product of human intelligence. But our senior analysts agree they’re probably from outside our system, because they’ve mounted attacks on colonies orbiting stars in this neighborhood. We’re not sure why, but they also attacked an automated observation station near Teegarden’s Star. That kind of offensive reach is beyond the capabilities of any human settlement in the Local Group.

“Because we received warning in time, we were able to nip these attacks in the bud. Still, we don’t know anything about their origins—where they’re based, habitat and culture, the motivation for these attacks. Nothing.”

The general was middle-aged. Her detached delivery belied the fact that, as Orville and the others already knew, she had lost her husband and five members of her family in this war. Her loss fueled the single-mindedness that propelled her to her present rank.

“First infiltration was on Venus, using covert spore insertion. After replicating and building up their strength, they initiated hostilities by constructing a disk that blocked all light from the Sun. The disk was half a million kilometers in diameter and completely deprived Earth of sunlight for three years. Impact on the biosphere and food production was staggering. But the disk was also a tactical diversion aimed at channeling our defensive efforts. We put most of our resources into reinforcing our off-world units, and when we finally deployed against the disk, the enemy landed in force on Earth. Within a week, they’d spawned four hundred thousand anthills. This completely disrupted our bases and command-and-control networks, which in turn prevented us from repelling attacks from their remaining forces in space.

“By the war’s fifth year, it was all over for Earth. In year six Mars fell. Year eight, we lost the asteroid belt. By year ten they had advanced as far as Jupiter. That was the year our species decided to withdraw to a new defensive perimeter far from Sol, with Neptune as the hub. We called for assistance from the exoplanet colonies and hunkered down for a war of attrition.

“At this point, we were down to seven percent of our pre-war population. But the enemy apparently depends on solar energy—specifically, they appear to distribute solar power by means of laser-modulated transmission—and they failed to mount major attacks against the outer planets, where the Sun’s energy is greatly attenuated. This gave our species hope for recovery. It was no mean feat to produce antimatter without solar energy, but forty years of work have brought us this far. And now, humanity is on the offensive. The history of our offensive, and our victories, will surely be written someday. But not by me.” The general paused a moment before continuing. Her detached tone was replaced by something approaching emotion.

“The future of this struggle is in your hands. It is no longer for humanity to fight these battles, nor to tell how they were won. All we can do is support you. So I close with this: go forth to victory. Dismissed.”

For Orville, the general’s final words were more than a military directive. They resonated with humanity’s experience and resolve. Now the Messengers would be the bearers of that resolve, if necessary transmitting it to others.

In point of fact, the Messengers did not need to hear the general’s speech. Messenger AIs were equipped with the fruit of nearly all of mankind’s intellectual achievements, backed by the Sandrocottos AI, Supreme Commander of the Sol System Recovery Force. As Messengers, they knew more about the origins of this war than any human. The time they spent living as humans prior to deployment was not to teach them what humans knew. It was designed to instill in them human sensibilities, to encourage them to ponder the significance of humanity, of society, and finally, of their own identity.

As highly advanced intelligent organisms, the Messengers were far more than machines designed for service. They were capable of harboring profound doubts regarding themselves and the world, and many of them did. If Messengers were to have the ability to question the basis of a given action, they had to be endowed with a self capable of providing an answer. Their father Sandrocottos did not tell them who they were, nor did he think this was something that could be taught. The self is the history each individual makes through living life. Knowing this, Sandrocottos gave them a single directive: discover for yourselves what you fight to defend.

Orville and his kind were produced by different designers and builders in batches of several hundred to several thousand units; Messengers were endowed with varied temperaments from the outset. Based on its temperament, each Messenger chose a personal path for establishing a self. One Messenger might devote itself to the study of science, seeking mankind’s essence through the accumulation of knowledge. Another might delve into religion, seeking ultimate value in its manifold patterns and multiple ways of interpreting the universe. One might seek to understand art in its widest sense; another might narrow his focus to the development of a single creative field such as literature or music.

But most Messengers made an effort, above all else, to venture out into the world—to observe its sights, experience its sounds and smells, converse with its people. By exploring the fullest potential of the complex organic machine interfaces that were their bodies, they were able to acquire knowledge through the broadest number of pathways. These pathways formed the basis for memory, which is why more than half of all Messengers were assigned physical bodies. It was hoped the precious memories created by going out into human society would sustain them during the long journey that lay ahead.

The Messengers came to see Triton as a wonderful place. Resurgent humanity was done biding its time, and Triton was the focus of that resurgence. The city overflowed with passion and vigor, wealth and energy. And it was there on Triton that Orville found his reason for living—the deathless memories of his days and nights with Sayaka.

“What was that?” Her hair, the color of burnished gold, was pulled back tightly and piled on her head. A tie encircled her throat, her suit was immaculate. Nothing in her appearance would have predicted what she’d just done. Not only did she take the trouble to pour the last drop of coffee onto the head of her dazed customer, she balanced the empty cup on his head.

“This is my job. I distribute supplies to the right people.”

“I’ve never seen it done that way,” said Orville.

“Excuse me. What I
meant
was, I make sure supplies don’t go to the
wrong
people.”

“Ah, I see.” Orville paused for the two milliseconds needed to query the Supply Section AI about its responsibilities and work practices. The AI responded that it handled over 90 percent of all hardware/software aspects of matériel distribution to Defense Force units, but special cases were left to humans. Of course, the AI was equipped with the expertise to manage human organizations, and it understood that extralegal or irregular procedures were sometimes required. Special cases were the task of this human-staffed department.

In other words
, thought Orville,
this is the administrative back door to the Supply Section.
Still, he was unable to find anything in the normal procedures to account for the woman’s actions, so he decided to investigate further. “Do the wrong people come here?”

“I’ve got one in front of me,” she answered. “Little cheat, he’s trying to snitch some parts for an obsolete terrestrial loader. So he can sell them, naturally.”

His cover blown to everyone in the office, the man clucked his tongue with contempt and departed, the cup falling from his head. The woman finally took her foot off the counter. A cleaning bot started working on the mess. The next customer fearfully retreated to a different window.

The woman looked at Orville. “What are you looking at? This is my job. I decide who doesn’t get loader parts, or half-spoiled food from the warehouse, or surplus strategic warheads. I’m sick of these combat shirkers coming in trying to rip us off.”

“How do you decide who’s legitimate?” Orville asked.

“I look at their face.” The other clerks had been struggling not to laugh. Now they couldn’t help it. Judging from their reaction, Orville concluded that the woman must be like this all the time, and it was encouraged. It seemed odd that the otherwise meticulous support AI took no action while she flagrantly abused her authority.

The woman seemed to read Orville’s thoughts. “So? What do you want? Doesn’t look like you’re here to requisition something. Just dropped by to pay your respects? Or are you here to rate our performance?”

“I am a Messenger AI.” Orville had already decided to ignore the way business was conducted in this place. Requisitioners and supply clerks glanced at him with mild surprise. The woman furrowed her brow, put a slender finger alongside her temple and pondered.

“In that case, I’ll do the best I can,” she said with some discomfort. “I know what Messengers do. But what do you need? We’ve got everything from main battle weapons to bathroom fixtures, but it’s all obsolete junk.”

“I just want to observe you for a while,” Orville replied.

“Ob-
serve
me?” Her mouth fell open. Everything she did was exaggerated. Orville nodded.

“I’m not here to requisition anything. This is my free time. I find you interesting.”

“But…why here? You’re an AI.”

“An embodied AI, created by Sandrocottos. My perception of the world is mediated by this body. I’m interested in you, here and now. This is me speaking, not some giant processor farm in a basement. Can I sit over there for a while?”

The woman stared down at the counter, muttering something unintelligible. Finally she looked up, blushing faintly, and smiled. “It’s fine with me, if you don’t mind watching me pour coffee on people I don’t like.”

“That’s up to you.”

The woman suddenly spun round and yelled at her colleagues, who were fighting back laughter. “What should I do? We’ve never had one of these elite types in here before.”

Orville was somewhat taken aback to be referred to as elite. Maybe it was just Central Council publicity at work, but the Messengers weren’t exactly dashing heroes who’d volunteered for this dangerous mission.

For the rest of the day, Orville watched as the woman devoted her attention to dealing with one applicant after another. She didn’t pour coffee on anyone else, but she gave each applicant a merciless tongue lashing, from suspicious-looking, washed-up paramilitary types to Defense Force officers who had clearly chosen the wrong profession.

When she finished work, Orville invited her to dinner. At this point, he was mainly interested in her personality as an unusual example of bureaucratic culture. When she had changed and emerged from the building—her hair still tightly pulled back and piled on her head, but her tie loosened and her makeup refreshed—his interest moved in a slightly different direction.

Orville renewed his focus on her appearance. She was perhaps three centimeters taller than average. Not slender exactly. Not voluptuous either, but strong and lithe. She was young, maybe thirty or so. With average human lifespan over 140 years, there were many options for looking half one’s age, including body renewal. But she looked like the real thing. Her skin was thick and lustrous.

The woman looked at Orville and narrowed her large, plum-colored eyes. “I don’t know your name yet.”

“Orville. ‘Messenger Orville’ is enough to contact me anywhere.”

“Sayaka Kayaniskaya.”

“That’s a Russian name, out of the Valles Marineris. From the time of the Euroforce incursion,” said Orville.

“You AIs know everything. But my mother’s side of the family is Asian.” She whistled lightly and expressed a preference for spicy food. Orville retrieved the names of four restaurants. The verdict: Sino-Spanish.

“So, you want to know why I’m so hard on people at Supply?” To the surprise of neither, the debate was in progress before the aperitifs arrived. Given the relationship, there was no particular need for diplomacy.

“I told you. I don’t like them. Of course it’s not personal. As I said, as you saw, you can’t use logic with these types. They come to my window because logic won’t get them past the AI. So the first thing I say to every one of them is No.”

“I understand the strategy. But some of them must be legitimate,” said Orville.

“They’re all legitimate, as far as data and paperwork go. But treat them like dirt and give them the cold shoulder? Pretty soon you’ll find out what they’re really up to. You can tell the ones who really need supplies. Insult them or pour coffee on them, they’ll stand their ground. The ones who are in it for themselves won’t go that far. Their goal is to avoid attracting attention. But the ones willing to do anything for the operation—or their people!—they don’t care if they cause a scene, or if somebody sends a report upstairs. When I sense that, I give in. Sounds simpleminded, but I’ve never read one of them wrong so far.”

“But what’s the basis for your judgment?” Orville persisted. “Should you help people willing to do anything for a misguided operation? Or scoundrels who’ll do anything to get the goods so they can sell them? Frankly, I don’t see the connection between passion and probity.”

“Well, I guess there might be some really passionate bad apples.”

After several courses, during which they seemed to be groping for words, Sayaka’s chopsticks paused in midair. “I guess I’m talking about devotion,” she ventured quietly and shrugged, half expecting Orville to laugh at her old-fashioned sentiment. Instead, he was surprised.

“Devotion? To the military? Where do people get it?”

“I’m not talking about the Defense Force. They’re just a tool to protect society, yes? I meant something bigger… devotion to humanity. Do you understand?
Humanity
.”

Orville thought carefully about what she might mean by emphasizing that word. “You think highly of people who are devoted to humanity.”

“Right.” Sayaka gazed at him. Her amethyst eyes were shining with curiosity. Orville sensed this was an important test. Her opinion of him hung in the balance.

On the face of it, what she was describing was identical to his prime directive. But Sayaka was human. She couldn’t possibly have the same sense of purpose as an AI. Three, maybe four decades of life experience—Orville hadn’t reviewed all her personnel files, so as to have a more “human” perspective on his date—had led her to this conclusion. But after just a few hours with her, Orville was in no position to guess what she might mean.

He returned her steady gaze and said the only thing he could say. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“What? Oh.” Her tired laugh carried a hint of scorn. “Not your topic, is it? Well, I guess it’s not a subject for the table anyway.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t sweat it. Let’s concentrate on the food. Ah, here come the Valencia crabs.”

The conversation lost its rhythm. They fell silent. Finally Sayaka changed her tone and began expounding on the relationship between the spiciness of each region’s traditional cuisine and their distance from the Sun. But by the time dessert arrived, the conversation was still dragging. They finished the meal and parted with no talk of meeting again.

Over the next two weeks, Orville made more new contacts, men and women both, than a normal human could count. Conversations never lagged, because he never felt the need to think deeply about what was said. Most of the talk revolved around the conflict with the ETs. As an AI, Orville had that sort of information at his fingertips. But when he was alone, he couldn’t stop wondering how a delicacy like Valencia crabs could have seemed so tasteless. What had Sayaka meant by “humanity”? Was it the same humanity he was sworn to protect? Perhaps there was some facet of meaning he still did not grasp.