Authors: Mark G Brewer
"This was his father's ship; it
serviced a much larger crew in his early missions. It's not really designed to
be crewed by one. In your terms Marin inherited the family car and now he can
use it as he likes, within protocols of course. Huh! So much for that! Do you
want to see the Interceptors?"
"Nah, I'm finished here Ham. It can
wait so I'll head back to the mess. Are you up for more questions?"
"No problem," Ham replied, "And
you mentioned coffee? Well, don't be offended but I do need a test rabbit."
She laughed and with one look back at the
saucer, headed for the elevator.
Exiting the elevator on level four Regan
walked round the shaft to the mess, composing her thoughts and considering
where to begin with questions. The first thing she noticed on entering was a
wonderful aroma and a new pipe over the sink. "Coffee I presume?" she
asked.
"Just touch the nozzle to make it
start or stop, you can manage that." He sounded happily smug.
Regan took a cup from the cupboards and
stood over the sink. The nozzle looked ceramic and at her first touch it felt
warm. The resulting flow of hot dark liquid surprised her but not as much as
the rich full aroma that immediately made her mouth water. She touched it again
and for a moment closed her eyes just savoring the bouquet as if sampling a
fine wine. Then, unable to hold back any longer she positioned the cup, touched
the nozzle and poured. Carrying it to the nearest table she sat and held the
cup in both hands, holding her head over the gently steaming delight.
"Ham, even if it tastes terrible I
could live with just this smell. It's perfect!"
She raised the cup to her mouth and gently blew
across the surface. Tentatively she brought it to her lips and drew in a small
sip, drawing air over the surface to vacuum the liquid gold into her mouth.
. . . And gold it was. The familiar, no,
better than familiar, wholly new and gorgeous flavor overwhelmed her senses and
a warm flush of satisfaction washed over her. She sat there for a moment savoring
the moment before lifting the cup to her mouth again.
Before she could ration the next sip Ham
broke her rapture.
"Well?"
Regan placed the cup lovingly on the table.
She stretched her arms out wide with hands palm down on the tabletop and then
drew them back, her nails dragging, her shoulders hunched up around her ears
and eyes closed, an action so like a cat stretching on a favorite resting place
no words were necessary.
"It's good huh?"
Until she had drained the cup she didn't
speak again. As she unconsciously began to lick the dried stain at the lip Ham
could take it no longer.
"There is more you know!"
Regan stood with a smile and walked back to
the sink. Placing the cup under the nozzle she stroked it on. "It's called
delayed gratification Ham, and you, that's right you, are very, very good! It .
. . is . . . wonderful. Suddenly a long journey has become manageable, thank
you." For the next few minutes questions were forgotten as she savored,
literally, the moment and then refreshed she gathered her thoughts.
"You were going to tell me about
faster than light travel." Taking the fresh cup she moved to a stool
nearer the wall so she could lean back comfortably.
“That's true but I'm afraid it could sound patronizing.
You might find as a woman of average . . ."
"Careful!" she broke in.
"You know Regan, it's taken a while
but I think I'm starting to find your limit, it's been fun!" She shook her
head and Ham continued.
"I said we surfed and while only an
analogy it's as good a description as any. The ships’ warp drive stretches
space-time in a wave. We contract space fabric ahead and surf the wave of
expanded space behind enabling incredible speeds. These are things your
scientists have theorized about for decades but Earth lacks the exotic matter
required for a warp drive."
"Exotic matter, what's that?"
Actually Regan was well familiar with the
theories and she loved this stuff. Her interest in following rich entrepreneurs
into space had led to reading nearly everything available on space engineering
and she knew Alcubierre had proposed a warp drive decades earlier. However,
Regan liked to follow the advice passed on by her great grandfather, never let
on what you know!
"Exotic matter enables deviation from
your known laws of physics. It's the source of the enormous amounts of energy
required to do everything from hovering a Pod to launching us across the
galaxy. It powers everything in the ship and without it you'd be banging on the
ceiling with every step. As to the engineering, and this is where I get
patronizing, you know that a jet engine works, I know you fly, but do you know
how it works?"
"I do actually." Regan sounded
annoyed.
"Sorry babe, of course you do, but in
this case understand the greatest physicists of your era are still grappling
with the stuff I'm talking about and no more than a small handful would follow
the explanation if I gave it. Plus it would take several days!"
"Would Marin follow it?"
"Marin? Are you kidding? Marin's an
anthropologist. His interest is humanoids and specifically Earth humanoids as
opposed to the other six species studied. Marin's father understood the
physics, he designed this ship."
Regan paused,
six other humanoid
species?
She filed it for future discussion. "Marin's father was a
designer?"
"Yes, an engineer and an all round
scholar. He was a well respected leader of his tribe and the system. His
influence was considerable and he visited Earth several times before his death."
Ham sounded in awe. "He was also something of an artist, a creator, a
visionary, and a great father."
"You clearly thought a lot of him."
"Regan, I think because of him."
It took a moment to sink in. "You mean
he created you?"
"It was an ambition for him, yes. He
worked towards creating true artificial intelligence and in his society that
made him a courageous groundbreaker. Did he achieve it? He certainly created
the spark and nurtured it but much of what is me now developed after his death.
I guess you could say he encouraged the process that led to my emergence."
"When did he die?" she asked.
"He died twenty of your years ago, on
Earth."
The silence was only broken by the
occasional sip from her cup. Regan processed the information, and its
consequences. "How Ham? You were there, how did he die?"
"He died in the Gouland's, less than a
kilometer from where you found Marin. He was an accidental victim of a hunters’
shot and Marin was with him. Regan, he had to hide with the body and recover it
to the Pod. As a young man, well, a boy really, it wasn't a responsibility he
was prepared for. He's never really recovered, hence the preference for
travelling alone, the desire to feel . . ."
"Feel the soil under his feet . . .
Ok, it makes sense now. I did think the risk of going there did seem too great.
That's terrible. How did Marin get home?"
"He has always been resourceful and I
was just emerging. Marin had always conversed with the ship. I wasn't fully
aware in the beginning but the process of working with him, moving through the
recovery to avoiding discovery, making the myriad of calculations required by
the situation faced . . . it proved the catalyst. 'It' became 'I'. He could
tell something was different as I took over control of the ship to get us home.
He knows, but as I said earlier, he doesn't ask and I don't tell. It works."
"He must miss his father terribly."
She wouldn't be able to separate Marin's experience from her own now; it seemed
they both shared a loss there.
"It was a long time ago and he's
matured well but he's always been a loner, very solitary. And, as you know, he does
prefer to work alone."
"Then again," Regan offered, "that
may be because this pilgrimage is important to him. He needs to make contact
with his father and he can't do that with others here."
"You may be right. Of course he's just
hard to live with too."
"What was his father's name?"
"Roughly translated his name would be
Mariner, hence . . ."
"Marin", she interrupted, "I
get it, very nice. We do that sort of thing with names too."
"Marin is my name for him." Ham
corrected, "I won't use his real name."
"Why's that?" she asked
"That's a story for another time
perhaps Regan. I'm delighted you like the coffee."
And she did, she certainly did.
*
It was day seven on the ship and Regan felt
she had a routine that could work. Wake, shower, run, breakfast, chat with Ham,
bathe Marin, lunch, workout, detailed talks with Ham, and so on.
This could
be ok
she thought as she entered the mess for breakfast.
Unusually Ham was the first to speak. "Regan
. . . I have a proposal. You don't have to do it but it would be helpful if you
did."
"Go on." She sat. Ham was usually
more forthright; breakfast could wait.
"You asked about Marin, what if he
doesn't come out of the coma? The truth is I can keep him alive all the way
home but I have no idea whether he will come out of the coma or in what state
he will be if he does. You're going to be at an extreme disadvantage when we
get there if he hasn’t woken and you can't communicate with the Dahlians.
Things might get . . . delicate."
"Delicate? I don't like the sound of
that."
"Look at it this way. The ship arrives
back with a disabled Marin, possibly permanently disabled and an alien in
charge who can't be understood . . ."
"But you could explain!" she
interrupted. Then yet another cold flash of realization seemed to pass down her
back.
Of course
she thought,
Ham can't explain
. "Oh!"
"Exactly, this could mean either a
lobotomy for me or a specimen jar for you!"
"Surely in the circumstances they
wouldn't . . ."
Ham interrupted her thoughts. "Helloo
. . . rational thinkers . . . cautious to the point of paranoia . . . sentient
machines a threat, see any particular hurdles there?"
"Ok, ok, I see your point. So what are
you suggesting?" She slumped back on to the wall.
"I can do a very simple operation and
insert an extremely small device . . . into your brain that will . . ."
"Whoa there big boy, you're not
touching my brain!" The stool clattered back as she stood suddenly.
"Calm down, calm down, I am an expert
in this."
"Oh really!"
"Yes really! Regan, I have computer
models of every procedure carried out by the very best specialist brain
surgeons on Earth. I literally experience their every move through their
instruments, their arms and hands are mine. I have already completed thousands
of operations from the simple to the most complex preparing for this. I even
operated on Marin's brain. I can do this. There is minimal risk."
"There you go again, all I heard is 'minimal'!
And what was it with Marin? Sealing a bleed, relieving some pressure, you're
not tampering with my hardware."
Ham stayed silent for a minute. She sat
down again and put her elbows on the table, her head in her hands, her long
auburn hair hanging like a veil.
"I can do this," Ham started
again, "the device is very small and I know exactly what to do. The
operation is similar to one done all the time on your world to correct
epileptic fits. The only difference is I know how to link this device into the
brain's neural pathways. It will be minimally invasive."
"I'm sorry," Regan cut in again, "but
you're going to have to do something about your choice of words. You're as slippery
as a politician. Minimally invasive could mean only the minimum required which
could be a lot and we both know it."
She could swear she heard Ham take a deep
impossible breath, as if controlling himself. It was so effective she pulled
nervously back on her stool.
"For the last time, I guaranteed your
safety. I will not take any unnecessary . . ." Ham paused realizing what
he had just said and then all restraint crumbled.
"Oh to hell with it, look, the device
will enable you to communicate with Marin's people by translating everything in
an instant, much as you would use Google translate but immeasurably faster. So
fast in fact you will understand them and speak without any conscious thought.
And there's more! When you get home you'll be able to speak any language you
need to as well."
Despite herself she couldn't stop giving it
some thought. It was tempting.
My God woman,
she thought.
Sometimes
you're as shallow as a damp patch. One minute no way, the next oooh!
"You're one hell of a salesman!"
She paused, giving it even more thought for a long moment.
The thought of being kept as a zoo animal
or worse didn't attract her. Also she could not, would not, let Ham be wiped.
Already there was no way she could conceive of him as anything other than
independent, an individual and certainly not a machine. He was sentient, with humor
and compassion.