The Wreck of the *Untranslatable* - Chapter 14

            Katy Olu and NuRikPo were within the unnamed ship.  The unnamed ship was also within them.  Katy verified the worst with resonance scans, first of herself, then of her Zig co-worker.  Small metallic masses were spreading from their feet and hands, gradually working their way to the major blood vessels.  The individual microscopic machines were not easily visible within their bodies, but wherever the constructs gathered, they could be detected. 

            Fortunately, the devices were not acting like a traditional infection.  They were not doing significant damage to the bodies they invaded.  They were not consuming cells, either for sustenance or reproduction.  Most likely, they were borrowing oxygen, glucose, electrolytes, and iron directly from their hosts’ bloodstreams.  Still parasitic, but less rapacious. 

            Unfortunately, the little robots could not be removed like any other infectious agent, either.  NuRikPo’s electrostatic sweeper could destroy the constructs en masse, but only when the charge was applied in close proximity.  Inside a body, the machines were partially protected.  Enough charge to zap them all, internally, would also cook muscle and kill nerves. 

They also could not count on their own immune systems.  Actually, it was fortunate that the micro-robots had not triggered an immune response; the effect might have been unpleasantly akin to a widespread allergic reaction.  The inorganic substance of the invaders was being treated as neutral, more like a surgical implant. 

As such, there was no analogue to an antiviral, antibacterial, or antifungal treatment.  Not yet, anyway.  NuRikPo had begun the design of the closest equivalent: killer micro-robots designed to identify and demolish any of the foreign units they encountered.  He was building them both a new, upgraded immune system.  He hardly needed to invent the technology.  There were plenty of references to work from in his own culture’s past, by itself, and other cultures had made a few contributions as well.  The Zig was skilled enough to recall and replicate the designs he needed with a minimum of wasted research time.

NuRikPo was slowed only by the limited tools and materials available and by the specific challenge of countering a new, foreign technology.  Still, there were only so many workable designs buildable with a limited quantity of molecules.  Of those, only a few configurations would perform useful functions like movement, manipulation, and energy conversion.  As such, the potential uniqueness of the alien microtech was limited. 

What were the functions of those little bugs?  Katy tried to anticipate what their invaders were actually doing, other than settling in.  Within the hosts' extremities, the visible patterns seemed to be gravitating toward the center of each limb, then traveling core-ward.  Were the machines following the convenient paths of blood vessels?  Gravitating toward bones?  Seeking major nerves?  It was too soon to deduce the answer from what she had already observed.  It might be too late after the constructs' functions became clear.  Would they try to rebuild the Human and Zig somehow?  Would they abandon their relatively benign behavior once some critical limit was reached, then catastrophically decompose the surrounding tissue into sludge?  Were they merely sensory appendages, mapping the structure of the newly arrived organisms on behalf of their progenitor?  For now, a definite answer was impossible.  The best she could do was continue to watch, staying alert for any major changes. 

The work at least kept her from succumbing to the creeping threat of body horror.  It was all too easy to consider amputating her limbs to stop the spread of the crawling, foreign things.  But then, what would remove the last hand, the one that had held the cleaver?  And how would they seal the wounds, without hands?  Such absurdities only highlighted the basic absurdity of the thought itself.  They would purge themselves not through over-reaction, but through thoughtful, thorough action.  The final purpose of the constructs might never be revealed, because they would be disabled before its completion.  Katy could accept the thought that she might never know what the ship had intended by invading their flesh.  You asked before shoving your cells into somebody, dammit!  You at least bought them a nice dinner, first.

The idea of the invading micro-robots as explorers stuck with her, particularly as they watched the protean ‘greeter’ waiting outside of their shuttle.  The entity had settled on a distinctly Human-shaped form, albeit with a stiffness and exaggerated narrowing of the joints that suspiciously evoked the shape of a Ningyo pressure suit.  It was mimicking something.  Its appearance and capabilities suggested that the thing was composed of the same cellular elements as the rest of the ship.  If it had been speaking a Ningyo language before, then it had learned something about the other culture.  It might be learning even now. 

Depending on just what those machines were doing, the ship consciousness might not even need to wait long for its education.  It could record from single neurons, individually or in concert.  While a laborious process in itself – not to mention computationally demanding – a skillful AI might be able to map the processes of an entire nervous system in much less time than it would take to acquire formal knowledge from a sapient. 

An AI unassisted by direct neural recording would still have to work carefully through the steps of linguistic elicitation, comparative analysis, and verification.  It would also simultaneously have to acquire a cultural understanding of its subject(s).  Breaching the language barrier would be only a first step toward gaining a cultural and personal history for context.

It might be pleasant to think that the unnamed ship/organism might only be getting to know them better.  Yet with that thought remained the idea that the Ningyo had already been similarly infested.  Were the Ningyo only examined?  Or were they altered?  For that matter, were the Ningyo aware of the potentially dangerous nature of this ship?  Did they care?  Worse still, had they sent victims intentionally into the microbe-ridden gut of this unholy space whale?  Were they idiots, assholes, or worst, slaves?

            Katy’s anger reassured her.  It was as useful a tool to stave off fear as was the abstraction of work.  NuRikPo had to settle for the latter.  If he felt anything like true anger, or hatred, or enthusiasm, he had kept those extremes concealed from Katy’s senses.  That wasn’t a Zig tendency; that was just ‘Po.  His moods were as bland as his body was colorful.

The two adversaries worked uncomfortably close together within the confines of the shuttle.  The outer door was sealed; any incursion was being minimized to just those micro-robots that had hitched rides within or clinging to the outside of their clean suits.  NuRikPo had wired up a simple electrostatic field around the door seal, just in case the bugs started trying to break through.  If they could chew through the hull itself, the shuttle's occupants were doomed anyway.

They watched the greeter-thing gesture and dance outside via the external cameras.  It had knocked on the door soon after developing functional limbs.  They ignored the noise and it eventually stopped.  The entity now had neatly articulated digits and distinct facial features.  Its face was neutral, the simplistic, monochrome features of an androgynous mannequin.  Its body was sexless as well, with only a vague suggestion of rounding at both pectorals and groin.  Fortunately for their sanity, it had not spoken intelligibly.  The external audio pickups registered only a vague vocalization, a guttural vowel sound as neutral as the being’s appearance.  Like its gestures, the sound seemed to be an attempt to get their attention.  Maybe it wanted to communicate, make peace, and perhaps reassure them that the ship had no harmful intentions.  Maybe they had not yet been injected with a critical mass of microtech and it wanted them to open the door and expose themselves further.  Both Katy and NuRikPo agreed that their visitor could wait.  They would put off any meetings until they were satisfactorily inoculated against the ship’s invading anatomy.

Even if they were not fully distracted by their related problems and labors, Katy and NuRikPo still would have been unaware that they were moving.  The entire ship had accelerated to follow Scape Grace and Harauch, per its discussion with the Ningyo, Jolly.  Its sturdy superstructure and layered tissues absorbed any vibration from its engines.  It regulated gravity and inertia with its composite analogues of more solid-state technologies.  No external ports showed the space around them and there were no viewers or other readouts to consult about ship operations.  For all that Katy and NuRikPo knew, four ships remained in place, waiting to hear back from two explorers sent into the unknown.

From this perspective, the passage of an entire day became distressing.  They ate from shuttle stores, drank purified water, and excreted.  Their discomfort was half due to the cramped facilities and half due to the presence of the other sapient.  Eventually, the two took turns sleeping out of pure practical necessity. 

When one day wore into two, their discussions shifted from the current crisis to speculation about what actions the Scape Grace might take, and how soon.  When they remained silent, would captain Lerner order an attack?  A rescue?

Katy, believing she knew Evgeny Lerner best, believed his patience would last only three days at most.  He likely would not chance sending another crew member toward or into the foreign ship, but he might send an unmanned drone to attempt entry.  It might even try to cut or puncture the hull near the site of their entry.  A full assault against the ship would be unlikely, given the chances of accidentally destroying the valuable shuttle… not to mention two valuable crew members.  The captain might threaten the Ningyo sent to Scape Grace instead, hoping to ransom his people against the return of hostages.

NuRikPo disagreed.  He felt that their captain would remain patient for quite a long time.  After all, they might already have been dismissed as dead.  That was the most likely explanation for their silence.  Neither the risk of destruction by the Ningyo nor of damage to - or offense from - the foreign ship was worth bothering a rescue attempt for crew members of uncertain vitality.  The captain would wait until the ship was merely Schrödinger’s box, and not Pandora’s. 

They spent several hours arguing over these points.  The argument came in spurts, interspersed around more productive work.  While both participants considered the debate an unpleasant waste of time, they pursued their disagreement with increasing vigor as time wore on.  There must have been some positive reinforcement driving their dispute.  Perhaps it provided a welcome change of topic from the unpleasant subjects of bioengineering and alien motivational psychology.  Perhaps the return to their traditional adversarial roles was a welcome diversion from their unexpectedly intense forced cooperation.  Perhaps they secretly enjoyed the stimulation of having an intractable opponent to hear and react to their provocations.

Likely all of those motivations were true.  Yet one more cause was at play, one even the most skilled xenopsychologist might have failed to isolate.  The triggers in their nervous systems – for distaste and for enjoyment, for anger and for appreciation, for defiance and complacency – were being located, tested, and mapped.  As strings were tied and pulled, their minds twitched in response. 

The Wreck of the *Untranslatable* - Chapter 13

           Upon reaching the lowest level, Soloth dismounted the ladder and stretched.  It warmed up its muscles and loosened its joints, preparing to answer any dissenters.  It would be delivering unwelcome news to the combat crew.  Most likely, they would accept its dictates without outright defiance, but even a strong complaint might need correction, lest unrest spread unchecked. 

            Soloth concluded by flexing its artificial spine.  The metal cylinders rotated smoothly across one another without a hint of resistance.  Cables laced into its back reinforced its musculature, amplifying its strength.  Strictly speaking, the prosthesis was only necessary to sheathe its spinal cord and provide support.  However, Dominion taught not merely to overcome obstacles, but to transform them into triumphs.  Soloth’s victory over its birth defect came not when it was fitted for its first prosthesis as an infant, but when it received its final upgrade at adulthood.  The agonizing surgery had required several days of recovery and weeks of rehabilitation.   The process might have been faster and less painful on one of the worlds of the Mauraug Dominion, rather than on a remote colony planet, but Soloth considered its suffering a badge of pride.

            Its current domain was smaller still than the colony, but had several relative advantages.  For one thing, the medical technology was better… as good as whatever Scape Grace could buy or steal.  As much as their existence was dangerous, it was less restricted; the Scape Grace could travel widely, exploring without permission.  The crew often had opportunity to pursue their own goals, the foremost being personal profit. 

For Soloth, the greatest advantage of their confined kingdom was its own position.  It had all of the influence of being Dominant without the visibility and responsibility of command.  Evgeny Lerner listened to its counsel and required its service to remain in power, while remaining the focus of any consequences.  In a different power structure, being second might be unenviable, with more of the labor and fewer of the rewards.  A different leader might abuse its (or his) underlings out of sloth or fear of usurpation.  Not captain Lerner.  The Human was wise enough to appreciate Soloth’s value but not personally powerful enough to command its total abasement.  The partnership also had the advantage of trust, born of long familiarity.  Theirs was not some perfect, idealized trust, but a more dependable understanding of one another's capabilities and behaviors. 

One of Soloth’s enjoyable duties was the settling of disputes.  An enclosed space like a ship could not allow arguments to fester unchecked.  Those arguments included friction between crew as much as complaints against authority.  New combat crew, violent disposables hired on at various ports, were most likely to think they could question command decisions.  Soloth’s role was to disabuse them of such thoughts.  It also dealt with any personal conflicts that became loud enough for public notice.  Soloth was not a negotiator; it was an impartial mediator.  Everyone involved was wrong and deserved punishment.  Crew soon learned to keep their problems quiet, ideally by solving those problems on their own. 

There were problems enough today without having to deal with minor issues like theft, assault, or territorial disputes over bunk space.  Still, Soloth was torn between desire for a quick, simple briefing versus a rousing, bloody argument.   The former would waste less time and leave more crew combat-capable.  The latter would vent some of the building aggression Soloth could not direct toward the Ningyo or the convalescing Tklth.  The Vislin certainly deserved pain, particularly for indulging the urges Soloth itself had to deny.  Sadly, there was little useful point to pummeling an already mutilated victim.

Physical and mental preparations complete, Soloth crossed the short corridor leading to the crew quarters, passing the empty galley.  Just let the crew gripe about the wait for their dinner.  Soloth would be happy to send any complainant to speak with Luuboh… in medical. 

It keyed in the code to open the general quarters door.  There was a cadre of three sapients – the ‘senior’ leaders of the combat team – waiting in the front lounge.  One was a Human named Simon Ehren, nicknamed Iron Simon.  The origins of the name were obvious.  One arm and a portion of the man’s chest were replaced with crude cybernetics clearly not of Mauraug manufacture.  The rest of him was solid as well, muscular and blocky, the product of genetic and chemical manipulation along with frequent exercise.  Simon favored heavy weapons he referred to as his ‘cannons’: large-bore laser, plasma, and sometimes projectile throwers related more to industrial tools than military weapons.  He had the leathery tan of one who had lived under heavy radiation most of his life; either outdoors beneath an insufficient atmosphere or in space, laboring near a star.  He did not bother with a shirt, wearing only coarse natural fiber pants and synthetic rubber combat boots.

The next of the ringleaders was a Mauraug, Kuugan bash’Ranpool.  In comparison to Iron Simon, Kuugan’s cybernetic modifications seemed minor, but this was due to their subtlety.  Rather than gleaming steel, Kuugan had decided to camouflage its modifications beneath a matte black finish and artificial black fur.  The result made it look darker than most Mauraug, an intentionally ominous appearance.  From polite discussion, Soloth knew that Kuugan’s original deformity had been a badly cleft palate.  Much of its lower face, including nose and upper jaw, were entirely artificial.  In keeping with Dominion teaching, it had upgraded its olfactory system to potentially detect airborne molecules at one part per billion and uniquely identify individual organisms by respiration alone.  It could also chew quartz, though that was more useful for party entertainment than anything practical.  In later upgrades, Kuugan had added rewired nerves and synthetic ligaments in its extremities for improved reaction time.  Finally, the skin of its palms and soles was a tough polymer which could resist cuts, tears, heat, and many corrosive chemicals.   It was unequaled in hand-to-hand battle except by Soloth, who could power through whatever maneuvers it could not match in speed.

The third of this triumvirate, Macauley, was Human.  He was an enigma to Soloth.  Ostensibly male by his own claim, this being had none of the traits Soloth associated with male Humans.  He had no body hair, apparently having voluntarily undergone electric depilation.  He was short and slight, with little muscle definition.  His voice was high and almost musical and his manner deceptively gentle.  He stood or sat rigidly upright and walked with a rhythmic, graceful sway.  He dressed in a long, flowing, blousy white shirt and similarly oversized black pants.  Macauley was, in short, nearly a synthesis of all the stereotypically ‘feminine’, anti-simian traits Soloth found repugnant in individual Humans.  His repulsiveness to a Mauraug was not only physical.  Macauley led indirectly.  He spoke softly, turned minds, and gathered support.  Simon and Kuugan could have torn the little ‘man’ into scrap in seconds, yet they included him in their councils and listened to his words.  He never directly fought opposition; his enemies just found themselves the enemies of those who would deliver a beating.  Not that Macauley was incapable in a fight… otherwise, he would never have been hired as crew.  He tended to favor small arms, explosives, and tech-augmented stealth. 

Each of the three were allowed to reign because of their value both as fighters and as enforcers of order.  So long as they remembered that Soloth bash’ Soloth was their superior, they could rule as they pleased below decks.  Of course, Evgeny Lerner was the superior of their superior, so his orders stood above all.  Soloth was regularly the messenger and enforcer of those orders. 

It would suffice to pass on the captain’s words to these three and trust them to relay those orders to the general crew, but Soloth avoided this procedure.  For one concern, it wanted to avoid any loss from repeated transmission.  For another, it wanted to see and hear the crew response for itself.  Their reactions would tell Soloth who might be likely to do something stupid. 

So, it announced, “Rouse the crew.  Have them meet me in the mess in five minutes.  I have news and orders.”

Kuugan grunted, nodded, and rose, wasting no time in leaving to round up the Mauraug crew members.  Iron Simon, far less familiar with Mauraug protocol, grimaced and groaned, “Yes, Sir,” before standing.  With a heavy tread he likely intended as passive-aggressive compliance, Simon thudded away to wake sleepers in the far bunks.  Only Macauley did not rise.  Instead, he smiled thinly at Soloth.

“News?  How expected.  We were waiting to hear what the recent activity was about.  I assume we weren’t boarded or else we hounds would have been released already.”

Soloth showed its teeth to the disturbing little Human.  “You assume incorrectly.  Talk less and listen more and you will learn why.  I am going to the mess.  Meet me there and bring anyone the other two miss.”

Without waiting for Macauley’s response, Soloth left the lounge and the crew quarters behind and returned to the main hallway.  Across from the galley was the ship’s mess, where meals were served to those who showed up on time.  Two of the general lot were already there, playing a simple game with a large square board and a handful of black and white stones.  Soloth understood that it was some form of strategy game involving spatial control.  Such pastimes were overly abstract to Soloth, not due to any cultural divide, but due to personal preference.  Growing up as it had, it had little patience for ‘strategy’ learned from games.  Reality provided plenty of teaching opportunities without requiring structured play.  Still, the game was apparently engrossing enough to keep two bloodthirsty mercenaries occupied for long stretches of time. 

That the two bloodthirsty mercenaries were Human females was almost an afterthought in Soloth’s mind.  One had a distinct hue of brown to her visible skin and braided hair as black as Evgeny’s; the other was fair, with a closely shorn crown dyed a shining vermilion.  Both were well-muscled and robust.  The darker one wore simple, thin pants and a sleeveless shirt, standard off-duty ship wear.  The other had heavier canvas pants and   Despite a few gender-specific features, both were still less ‘feminine’ than Macauley.  Their names escaped Soloth for the moment.  With some thought, it might have remembered, but its thoughts were focused on rehearsing its speech for the crew.  It had some specific purposes in mind and did not want to waste words in lengthy explanation.

The Humans looked up to acknowledge Soloth’s entrance.  It gestured downward with one palm, adding, “Stay.  I am briefing the crew here.  You have the advantage of being in the right place, first.”

The females nodded mute acknowledgement and went back to their game.  Over the following few minutes they were joined by an additional eight individuals: Kuugan, followed by three other Mauraug; and Simon, followed by one female and two other male Humans.  One of the two male Humans looked disheveled, most likely having risen from sleep.  That in itself was no offense; crew could set their own schedules unless given instructions otherwise.  Excessive sloth was a possible problem, especially in the long weeks between landings, but laziness was usually a problem that corrected itself.  Any combat member that failed to keep his-, her-, or itself in top physical form through training and exercise usually suffered for it, whether through injury or death during operations, abuse by the other crew, or the shame of being known as less capable. 

Only the eleventh and last member, Macauley, had not yet arrived.  At four minutes and fifty seconds, he glided into the mess and smiled brilliantly (but without teeth visible) at Soloth.

“All accounted for, first mate Soloth,” he reported with no trace of sarcasm.  That one often skirted the line between insouciance and insubordination.  He was clearly skilled at knowing just how much to push while falling short of punishable offense.  Most likely, the behavior was a show for the benefit of other crew, some sort of bizarre Human form of Dominion involving ‘daring’ and ‘cunning’.  The vermin inched itself ever closer to the predator without waking it, somehow earning respect for its bravery. 

Soloth permitted itself a flaring sneer in response.  It watched Macauley sit, counting the seconds to see if he would push the five-minute limit.  The Human seated himself primly at the exact moment dictated.  Eventually, he would make a mistake.  If Soloth’s response to that error was disproportionately brutal, well then, accidents did happen.

Without introduction, Soloth began its presentation.  “Captain Lerner has accepted employment from a Ningyo military captain acting without public sanction.  We will be escorting two vessels on a raid upon a mining colony… in fact, the same Zig mining operation that drove Scape Grace away several days ago.  One of the vessels is commanded by Ningyo, but under the guise of a Mauraug salvager turned pirate.  The other is a completely foreign vessel, constructed by a sapient culture unknown to the Collective.  This raid is primarily a resupply run for this foreign ship.  Our role is to draw off the Zig fighters, given our familiarity with one another.  The Ningyo involvement is unofficial because they are hiding the presence of this foreign ship and attempting to sneak it out of Collective space unnoticed.”

The summary of their situation drew the expected looks of surprise, followed by varying degrees of incredulity, confusion, and/or patient attention. 

Soloth continued, “There is hazard involved.  Our promised payment is a portion of the spoils from the mining station.  If the Ningyo plan fails, if the risk to Scape Grace becomes too great, we may have to abort and earn nothing.  They have offered no specific default payment.  If you are wondering why the captain would accept this plan, which gives us most of the risk and no certain gain… keep that musing to yourself.  There are reasons, which I decline to discuss with you at this time.  The captain may choose to disclose his reasons.  At that time, pay close attention and respond appropriately.”

 Soloth hoped that the crew was listening ‘with both ears’, as the saying went.  It also had to hope that if Jolly was listening in, it would not decipher the double meaning of Soloth’s monologue.  Finally, it had to hope that no one here was dull enough to ask for a more direct explanation.  Fortunately, the crew seemed either tactful enough – or stunned enough – to remain quiet. 

Soloth concluded, “For now, remain below.  Do not come above without permission.  There are two Ningyo visitors aboard for oversight.  Do not engage either of them without permission.  Keep ready for action.  It is possible we may get to dock directly with the Zig station for looting.  We are also going into battle short a few crew members, so you may be pressed into service as needed.  Doctor Olu and engineer NuRikPo are serving aboard the foreign ship, studying its systems.  Luuboh bash’ Gaulig is serving as medic by default, but its talents fall short of the doctor’s skill.  I would avoid serious injury at present.  The Georges are covering engineering and may require one or more of you to assist with repairs, should we be damaged in the fight.  Finally, gunner Tklth is in medical, suffering from the painful side effects of disobedience.”

It cracked its knuckles for emphasis.  “We may need a replacement at weapons.  Who has training with ship gunnery?”

Two of the Mauraug and the bleary Human male raised their hands.  Soloth pointed at each in turn and asked, “Name and experience?”

The first Mauraug responded, “Tambuur bash’Waaketh.  Born and raised with raiders.  Filled in on ship’s guns when needed, no specific training.”  Tambuur was of moderate height and build and decently variegated in fur color, with no visible deformities.  Most likely, any defects and cybernetics it possessed were purely internal.

The second Maraug replied with, “Havish bash’Buurem.  Dominion space fleet, dishonorable discharge after three years.  Trained in energy weapons and high-V torpedoes.”  Havish was scarred enough to have bare patches in its pelt.  Whether those injuries were from surgeries, combat with the fleet, or trouble after its discharge remained an open question.  It showed signs of advancing age, so unless it had enlisted later in life, that military experience was many years in its past. 

The Human stifled a yawn before being singled out by Soloth.  “Uh, Sol, Sol Metaxas.  Did a little military contracting, testing weapons systems on sub-planetary targets.  I know some of the common designs inside and out.  Haven’t fired any in battle, though.”  Sol was tall, almost as tall as the Mauraug average, with a runner’s build, broad chested and long-limbed.  His loamy brown hair stuck out in several directions.  His coloration was like Evgeny’s, though, not quite pale enough to be called pink. 

Soloth listened to them with a tolerant grimace.  Finally, it pointed again to the second Mauraug.  “Havish, you are interim gunnery officer.  Be ready to report to the bridge if called.”  It turned to the Human, Sol, adding, “Your skills will serve engineering better.”

“The rest of you, do not create additional trouble.  The captain and I have enough to do keeping the Ningyo occupied above without distractions from below.  For now, you will also need to attend to your own routine.  Luuboh will be busy for several hours.  Feed and clean up after yourselves.”

Of all the announcements Soloth had made, it was surprised that this last one drew the most protest.  Iron Simon actually groaned in disappointment, Macauley rolled his eyes, the two game-players uttered a tandem “aww!”, and even the four Mauraug looked distinctly unhappy.  Soloth was aggravated.  Were these such children that they mourned the absence of their caregiver?  No doubt they cheered Soloth’s departures from their realm.  It had to assume that this sorrow at Luuboh’s absence was due more to the nuisance of having to take on additional duties, rather than any personal attachment to the pathetic cook and custodian. 

Still, it squared its stance and glared challenge at the mutterers, daring them to speak their feelings aloud.  None risked further comment.  They would save their dissent for later, when Soloth was not present to respond.  Their speech would be recorded, of course.  Privacy was neither a right nor an available privilege on the Scape Grace.  Private disagreement was permitted – as a release mechanism for frustrations, if nothing else – as long as it was kept private and never escalated to outright public defiance or private scheming against officers.  The moment someone's complaints became mutinous, they were singled out for correction.

Soloth ended the meeting by declaring, “All right, you know what’s afoot, you know what to expect, and you know your business.  Any questions can be submitted to me by text.  I will respond when and if I deem necessary.  You are dismissed.”

It was not the type of leader to address the concerns of its subordinates.  Evgeny might have asked for questions publicly, even soliciting ideas from his crew.  Soloth considered such behavior condescending weakness.  If it needed assistance, including advice, from its lessers, it would command them to contribute.  They would serve as needed, not at their whim.  They would know what it deemed necessary for them to know, not what they wanted to ask.  Many subordinates asked the wrong questions or wanted information that would not benefit them, or might even cause them harm to know.  If you offered to hear every question, it eventually became necessary to either refuse answers or lie. 

Soloth considered falsehood another sign of weakness.  You lied to hide what you could not admit openly.  The truly Dominant owned their every word and action.  If you made mistakes, if you failed, you overcame those errors.  If you had to mislead an enemy to overcome them, you were admitting your weakness.  Liars were cowards, eventually hiding even from themselves.

Such thoughts were quite appropriate as Soloth watched Macauley saunter from the room.  The slight, soft Human watched Soloth in return, with hooded gaze hovering between respectfully lowered and defiantly locked. 

He was far more courteous with captain Lerner.  Perhaps the hairless degenerate held hopes of supplanting Soloth.  That would at least explain his risk-taking behavior around the Mauraug first mate.  A clever mouth was not sufficient weapon to oppose Soloth, however.  No matter how much the Human cozied up to the captain, convinced the crew to support him, or attempted to provoke Soloth, he could neither overcome the bond between Evgeny and Soloth nor best Soloth in a direct combat.  At best, he would have to turn the crew against Soloth, and that stratagem would be seen coming far in advance. 

When the present crisis was resolved, Soloth would make time to review the recordings from the crew quarters.  It would observe closely how Macauley interacted with his fellows.  If there was any excuse there for reprimand, Soloth would happily seize upon it.  Such pleasures would have to wait, unfortunately.

Or perhaps satisfaction would not have to wait quite so long.  Combat crew was notoriously dangerous employment.  If action was required, there was always a chance of harm.  If Macauley could be selected to lead the vanguard, well then, Soloth would gladly give him the opportunity to prove his qualifications as a leader.

In the meantime, there was no reason to linger below decks.  The lack of physical release weighed as heavily upon Soloth as it had for Tklth.  The Mauraug could at least bleed off that tension in more practical ways.  It would return to its quarters for a vigorous workout and a solid nap.  As it had told the crew, there was plenty of time and good reason for self-care.  Soloth decided to take its own advice.

The Wreck of the *Untranslatable* - Chapter 12

            A powerful, incongruous odor reached Evgeny’s nose as he keyed open the door to the engineering lab.  It smelled like alien spices, unfamiliar yet appetizing.  He paused in the doorway to try and identify the smell before venturing further.  The creak of a metal door being opened came from a separate room to his left, accompanied by a new scent: the much more familiar combination of butter and sugar.  Baking? 

            Burnett Georges emerged from the side room, carrying a metal tray.  It was apparently hot; he wore a thermal protective glove on the hand holding the tray.  He saw captain Lerner shortly afterward and blinked in surprise.

            “Captain!  We did not expect you… you are welcome, of course.  Please, come in.  We were about to have tea.”  Burnett set the tray down on a wire mesh rack on a cleared workbench.  Evgeny could see small, golden, rectangular cakes glowing in their individual cups.  He recognized the tray as a mold for metal casting.  Hopefully, the baker had cleaned that equipment thoroughly before repurposing it.

            Burnett did not wait for Evgeny’s response before calling out, “Zenaida!  We have a guest!  Bring three cups!”

            His cousin’s voice answered from another room further back in the engineering area.  “Oh?  Who is it?”

            Evgeny decided to answer for himself, “It’s captain Lerner.  Look, I was just stopping by to give you an update on our situation.  No need to set a place for me.”

            Burnett fixed him with a patronizing look, “It’s no trouble.  After all, business is best discussed over tea and cakes.  Sit, join us, and have a bite before you’re called away again.”

            Evgeny once again had that feeling of being only nominally in charge.  He supposed being welcomed was better than being avoided.  Still, he had to suppress suspicions about the safety of offered food and drink.  If anyone was going to drug or poison him, though, the Georges were low on the list.  Their power and privileges descended from NuRikPo; as long as they kept the Zig engineer happy, they maintained their upper-deck status and shares. 

            Zenaida Georges entered the room bearing one of the signs of that privilege.  She held three simple porcelain teacups on saucers.  Expertly balancing the dishware, she sat one cup in front of Evgeny, then placed the other two in front of her cousin and herself.  Burnett pulled up a tall stool and sat down, sniffing at the dark liquid in his cup.

            Evgeny followed suit.  The ‘tea’ was a different creature than the pale brew he was accustomed to.  It was quite opaque, almost as black as coffee.  It smelled like a dozen different plants had sacrificed various fragrant parts of their anatomy to its creation.  The smell was not unpleasant, but it was also difficult to classify as ‘pleasant’.  It was too complex. 

            “Sugar?” Zenaida asked, and Evgeny’s attention was drawn from the strange drink to the equally intriguing woman.  Her hair was nearly the same color as the tea.  Her skin was somewhere between Evgeny’s pallor and Katy Olu’s burnished ebony, a brown highlighted with gold and green.  Evgeny had never seen the shade among other Humans, not even in videos.  Her facial features were also more expressive than most Humans from his experience.  She shared her coloration, wide eyes, narrow nose, and full lips with her cousin. 

            The two humans lived together, worked together, and clearly, cooked and dined together.  The speculation on the ship was that they slept together, as well.  Certainly, neither had been intimate with any other crew member.  Such an affair would have been impossible to keep secret.  No one had seen or heard either of them seeking companionship at any port of call, either, though discretion was somewhat easier off-ship.

            Evgeny had even tried to drop hints about his interest.  Zenaida had completely ignored his more subtle advances and politely changed the subject when he made his attraction more clear.  Evgeny could have forced the issue, possibly even forced her compliance, but from his experience such behavior had steep costs.  He would rather have a loyal, friendly, and untouchable comrade than an angry, bitter, and mutinous conquest. 

            So what if she preferred family?  The truth was probably that the Georges just enjoyed one another’s company and maybe even had cultural restrictions against ‘fornication’.  Both of those traits – close family ties and intentional abstinence – were rare enough to most of the rowdies on board the Scape Grace to be considered improbable in combination.  Incest was somehow a more likely explanation. 

            Evgeny squinted in thought, then responded, “Um, what’s recommended?”

            “Sugar,” Zenaida replied, decisively.  She went to a drawer and withdrew a brushed steel cylinder.  Evgeny would have assumed it held something requiring protective containment: perhaps chemical samples or a computer component.  Instead, it held crystalline white cubes, compressed blocks of sucrose.  Zenaida dropped five cubes in her cup and Evgeny’s. 

            Burnett grunted in playful derision.  “If this were proper chai, it would be sweet enough without help.”

            “Chai is tea flavored with spices: cinnamon, cloves, cardamom…” Zenaida explained for Evgeny’s benefit, “We picked up a couple of kilos at our last landing.”

            “Anchor?  Yes, I remember the trade hub.  No idea they had Human spices there.”  Evgeny held the cup to his nose, trying to appreciate the separate notes that clanged against his receptors so harshly. 

            Zenaida nodded, swirling the tea in her cup to mix in the dissolving sugar.  “They had probably traveled a long way even to get there… like in the early days of cross-continental trade on Terra.  Spices were as good as money, sometimes better.  Dried well, they could last for a very long journey and still be potent.”

            “This was a premix, though,” Burnett interrupted, “Packaged for commercial sale.  They still charged double the store price.  Imagine what actual fresh cardamom would have cost!”

            Zenaida gave her cousin an exaggerated frown, but added, “He’s right, it’s only a weak reminder of home.  If it were proper, we’d have cream, or at least milk.  NuRikPo won’t even let us synthesize casein, much less lactose and butterfat.”

            Evgeny smiled indulgently at their banter, understanding only part of the discussion.  He sipped the liquid and found it as bitter as expected, but pleasantly floral and sweet underneath.  The aftertaste was actually better than the initial taste.  He could understand how a little fat would improve its texture and taste, smoothing out the rough edges and forcing the aromatics to linger. 

            Reluctantly, the captain shifted topics toward his original objective for the visit.  “I wanted to let you both know how matters stand.  We haven’t heard back from NuRikPo or doctor Olu.  I know ‘Po told you he was going to investigate a completely foreign ship; since they’ve been inside, we haven’t received any communications.  The Ningyo claim they’re just not picking up.  I have my doubts.  Either way, you two are our engineering staff until further notice.”

            Burnett tested the little cakes, then upended them onto the cooling rack.  He offered one to Evgeny, who declined with an upraised hand.  With a shrug, Burnett bit into one of the rectangular pastries, then blinked with pain as his mouth was scalded.

             Evgeny continued, “You won’t just be placeholders.  The Ningyo have commandeered our ship.  We’re under their control; their leader demanded my codes and is sitting in my chair.  They’re using the ‘Grace to raid for supplies for the foreign ship, along with another salvager they’ve turned pirate.  We’re likely to see some combat and probably some damage.  Hopefully, they don’t get us killed.”

            Burnett stopped with cake half-eaten.  Zenaida was also wide-eyed with surprise.  She furrowed her brow.  “Why raiding?  Why can’t they buy whatever the other ship needs?”

            “That’s what I asked,” Evgeny commiserated.  “Apparently, they have to get the goods fast and without drawing attention to their alien friend.  Friend, they kept calling it.  Like they were doing a favor for a comrade.”

            “Anyway,” he returned to the briefing, “You’ll need to finish up whatever repairs ‘Po had left incomplete, then start preparing for emergency duty.  We’ll have maybe five or six days before we return to the system.”  Evgeny sipped his tea again.  It had cooled enough to allow for a full swallow.  The warmth and sugar reminded his stomach that he had not eaten a full meal in several hours.  He decided to take one of the cakes to keep him going until he could raid the galley.  It was excellent.  Somehow, without dairy or eggs, Burnett had managed to produce a soft, yellow-brown pastry with a distinct citrus and butter aroma.  It even had a crisp outer ‘shell’.  Some areas of science had more beautiful payoffs than others.

            While Evgeny finished the cake and reached for another, Burnett asked, “How do they intend to keep us from getting killed?”

            Evgeny swallowed his first bite of the second cake hastily.  “I’m not sure they have a plan.  I’m hoping they do.  Still, I warned their captain that we won’t sit quietly for a suicide mission.  If things look too dangerous, he’ll either pull us out or have a second fight inside the ship.”  That was exaggerating somewhat, but Evgeny wanted his crew to be ready to rebel when given the signal. 

            With a burst of inspiration, Evgeny asked, “Could I get a compad?  I’ll give you the codes for full access to ship’s stores, in case you need something for repairs, plus the door codes if there’s a breach anywhere.  It might be too late to pass those on, after trouble starts.”

            Zenaida took a few steps across the room to a shelving unit, picking out a reasonably contemporary compad and flicking it to life.  Evgeny shifted himself to one side, not coincidentally cutting off the view of the camera watching engineering.  He typed at the pad’s surface, spelling out: Private comm in storage bay 3e.  Not on official circuit.  Send messages to me or Luuboh there.  Possibly receive there.  Be ready to cut out bridge access to systems on my order.  Set up automated kill switches where possible.  He pushed the pad, screen glowing, back across the workbench.

            The advantage of the portable computer pads was that they were not linked to the ship’s network.  That isolation was intentional, to keep some resources safely insulated from any power interruptions or computer errors that might affect Scape Grace’s own nervous system.  That failsafe held a second advantage now, allowing for private conversations safe from Jolly’s eavesdropping.

            Zenaida picked up the compad and nodded at the screen.  “Thank you.  We appreciate your trust.” 

            Burnett looked at her quizzically and started to open his mouth, but shut it again at a shake of his cousin’s head.  He covered his confusion with a large mouthful of tea, wincing as the heat stung his previously burnt palate. 

            Evgeny pushed back from the workbench-turned-tea table.  He picked up a third cake for his travels and finished his cup with a deep, sugar-gritted swallow.  Nodding to Burnett and then to Zenaida, he replied, “Thank you for the tea… and the cakes.  I won’t tell Luuboh, or it might get jealous, but this is the best cooking I’ve had in days.”

            “We have a lot of spare time,” Burnett jibed, “or we did, up until this past week.  Any chance things will get boring again, anytime soon?”

            “Not likely, but we can hope,” Evgeny shot back. 

He was starting to feel the stimulant effects from the tea.  That, plus the cakes, were curbing his hunger.  With a wave and a reluctant last glance at Zenaida, captain Lerner left engineering to follow the halls back to his cabin.  Rather than a grim or thoughtful look, the woman’s face had held a thin smile of amusement.  For him?  Or just wry humor at their strange situation? 

She and her cousin were a puzzle.  That probably made her more attractive.  Evgeny knew himself well enough by now to recognize his own need to understand and control his environment.  A woman he could not easily classify and predict was a challenge.

The Georges were the only two of his crew without a clear reason to join a criminal enterprise.  They had come aboard after talking to some of the combat crew at a space station, thinking that they were booking passage to the next system over.  Originally, the grunts had planned to rob the ‘couple’.  One or two might have harbored thoughts of taking advantage of Zenaida.  The resulting scuffle below-decks ended with one Mauraug enjoying a punctured lung and two Humans cradling crushed testes.  Burnett had suffered a broken arm, himself, but his hidden pen-laser had warded off the rest of the crew well enough to spare him a broken neck. 

It had taken Evgeny and Soloth a few hours to sort out the damages and the conflicting stories.  In the end, the Georges chose to join the crew rather than be marooned on the nearest planetoid.  He could have shot them outright, Evgeny supposed.  He always had to bear that in mind as a possible solution.  Thank goodness they had chosen to enlist, instead.

They were certainly qualified; in fact, they were probably more qualified than the bruisers they had held off.  Besides being able to handle a fight, they were both trained in space station maintenance, a background which translated well enough into the daily repair needs of the Scape Grace.  NuRikPo had enlisted them for his grunt work, in return training them in more advanced sciences to make them more useful minions.  The Zig would hardly admit to being a mentor, but he certainly had a couple of devoted graduate students.

            On the average, piracy did pay better than station maintenance.  It might be irregular in spots, probably more dangerous overall, and certainly less stable an existence, but it was much more exciting.  Probably smelled better, too, from what Evgeny had experienced of the average orbital station.  The two travelers were definitely getting to see much more of the universe than they might have as laborers.

            That still didn’t explain why they were so cheerful most of the time.  Idle time tended to wear on the more active members of the crew, fraying nerves and leading to hostility, sometimes violence.  In a crisis, the senior crew were typically stressed: Katy was absolutely nasty when too many patients piled up at once.  Soloth’s level of cruelty tended to increase with the number of simultaneous transgressors.  By contrast, Burnett and Zenaida seemed positive whether work was slow or constant.  Maybe the pair had found their preferred niche in life; maybe that was why they had stayed on. 

            Evgeny himself wasn’t sure if he would prefer piracy, given a real choice.  It was the life he had been offered.  Rather, he had chosen that existence versus accepting that his family, friends, and even home were an acceptable sacrifice in the name of ‘civilization’.  His grudge against the Collective had mellowed after a few years following the death of Locust Colony, but by then, he was a known criminal fugitive.  The options now were continued flight or surrender for permanent imprisonment.  That was an even poorer choice. 

            In that light, he was envious of the Georges.  Granted, once aboard, their choices had been equally lopsided, but they could still ask to quit at any time.  They were not known as criminals, nor even as the accomplices they were.  Evgeny would have allowed them to leave.  He had no concern that the two might talk to Collective or even Terran security… first, they weren’t the type to turn informant, in his opinion, and second, they would be incriminating themselves if they talked.  They wanted to be here.  Evgeny could not be sure he could still say the same about himself.

            As Evgeny reached his cabin, he realized something that churned his stomach.  Jolly had the crew manifest.  Even if all went well and the Ningyo left their ship alive, it had the names of everyone aboard.  That meant that the Georges would no longer be unknown.  Everyone associated with the Scape Grace could lose the option of quiet retirement. 

            Well, that was just one more reason that the Ningyo shouldn’t be allowed to leave, wasn’t it?

The Wreck of the *Untranslatable* - Chapter 11

          Eustace Brown listened to the crickets chirping.  He was sure they were talking, but he didn’t speak their language.  Not yet, anyway. 

His friends were listening, too, and learning.  He was a smart boy, but his friends were smarter.  Actually, by some standards, they were stupid.  They didn’t think for themselves.  They only did what he told them to do.  They weren’t independent.  They certainly weren’t self-aware.  They definitely weren’t unpredictable; not like his best friend, Sid.  Sid could have worked on his own and learned the cricket language that much faster.  Sid might have figured out what the crickets really were, where they were, maybe why they had started talking.  Eustace really missed Sid.  His other friends were poor company by comparison.

Still, they were the best he had, especially right now.  Sid, a true AI, was stuck millions of light-years away.  Even the slow, physical, but friendly sentiences Eustace might speak with, the ones that called him ‘Gleamer’, were absent.  When their bodies were elsewhere, their minds were cut off from contact.  Only when the vibrated air of their speech was transduced to current along the ship’s intercom system would he and they be connected again.  Even then, they could only share the barest minimum of information. 

There were other, unfriendly sapients nearby.  They were the reason that communication was being limited.  There were things they could not be told.  Eustace, also Gleamer, considered asking them about the crickets, then realized that his discovery might be one of those secrets.  Not the content of it, the fact of it.  Perhaps they, the Ningyo, were the source of the sounds.  Not sounds in air, but signals in the radiosphere. 

The chirps Gleamer was ‘hearing’ were short bursts of high frequency, low powered radio waves.  There were thousands of them, coming from thousands of different sources.  Given the weak propagation of such signals, the sources had to be close… which meant inside the Scape Grace.  Unfortunately, their nature also made localization difficult.  They came and went in choruses.  No signal lasted long enough to convey much information by itself, but multiple signals would ripple through the sensors in a variegated pattern that must hold meaning as a whole.  A wave of such small droplets would crash, followed by a distinct silent pause, then answered by another, more distant wave.  Gleamer could tell that one swarm of crickets was further away, given the lower average power of their broadcasts.

The signals were new.  They had started just under an hour ago, after the Ningyo came aboard.  At first, Gleamer had hoped the odd signals were communications from Katy and NuRikPo, aboard the other, foreign ship; such an odd encoding method might have been necessitated somehow by the circumstances of their entrapment.  After some analysis, Gleamer realized that this was impossible. 

The most likely source was the Ningyo, one or both of them.  Was he picking up some sort of natural emanation from the creatures themselves?  A byproduct of their suits’ functions?  Maybe the biomechanical interface between the two?  That, too, seemed unlikely.  For one thing, such radiated energy would be wasteful if it were not intentional.  The best analogy might be to heat caused by friction on an axle.  Surely the Ningyo could insulate such broadcasts, even if they were somehow internally necessary. 

The best explanation was itself improbable.  One of Gleamer’s sub-AIs proposed the idea via analogy to electroencephalography.  Neurons had such choral behavior in their firing patterns.  The electrical potentials used by each neuron to do its work had the side effect of generating measurable electrical current.  Medical science had learned how to read these patterns of current and trace them back to the functional brain states from which they arose.  The mapping between nerve action and measured current was murky, especially if measured from the scalp surface but even if measured from the outer brain surface.  If you could touch an electrode to every single neuron, you might be able to map and ‘hear’ the thoughts of a subject… after a while.  Nerves, as a general statement, did not follow a single common map.  They might conform to some general rules of organization, but the exact patterns generated by one brain and another would never match exactly, even when having the ‘same’ thought. 

Still, what if a brain wanted to talk to another brain?  Sapients tended to solve that problem by forcibly creating common transmission methods using more reliable and robust mediums like visible light and atmospheric vibration.  Such methods were sharply limited, true, but effective in working around the inherent mismatches between nervous systems.  Hell, the Ningyo didn’t even have nervous systems, per se, and they and chordates could still trade jokes. 

The Awakeners, by contrast, were pretty much just nervous systems.  These most recent additions to the Collective were intelligent masses of fungus, colony entities which could merge symbiotically with other organisms and communicate directly.  They could also communicate externally via a poorly-understood transmission process called ‘psionics’ for lack of a better term.  Maybe psionics was nothing more than the development of a direct, nervous system to nervous system, common code.  That way, two entities could skip over all the intervening steps and really communicate, sharing all the nuances of feeling, image, and experience that speech handled so gracelessly.

That kind of communication was almost what Gleamer experienced with his sub-AIs.  The electrodes penetrating one hemisphere of his brain translated their electronic ‘thoughts’ into his own neural language and back again.  He had experienced the same communication, briefly, with Sid.  Sadly, Human and AI did not share enough frames of reference to make it more than a means of fast, efficient discussion… yet even that interface was vastly superior to any other form of contact Gleamer had experienced before or since.

If there was one thing to be said in favor of other Humans, it was that they had the same dimensionality as Eustace himself.  If he ever met another Human who was wired up in the same way, they might do more than talk.  They could experience real communion, sharing not only information but conscious experiences.  That hope was part of the reason Eustace had become Gleamer. 

The growing awareness of ‘psionics’ had given rise to considerable discussion in the Collective, accompanied by speculation.  There had long been suspicion that other sapient species held the potential for such direct mind-to-mind communication.  Each such culture had understandably kept the evidence of such abilities carefully hidden.  With the Awakeners publicly accepted, the reality of psionics was undeniable.  Fear followed.  The leaders of each society were forced to acknowledge not only the existence of psionics, but also explain the safeguards they were putting (had put) into place for defense against the abuse of such abilities.  Suddenly, there were psionic police, suppressant drugs for psychic restraint, and even sensors to publicly detect the activity of illicit psionic activity.

Most of those who had no access to this mental world were suspicious of it, if not fearful.  Eustace Brown had only been envious.  He had always felt separated from the world.  This alienation wasn’t a mental or chemical disorder; it was nothing doctors could diagnose or treat.  If anything, it was a subtle mismatch of personality to culture.  Gleamer’s literary sub-AI could drag up a thousand examples of the same disjunction expressed across time and artistic formats.  Eustace was a man out of step with the world. 

Eustace had waited patiently through adolescence, reassured that this dissonance was typical and would fade with maturity.  He excelled in his studies and seemed destined for success in that most distinctive of Human industries: the creation of artificial intelligence.  Yet adulthood and a career did not help.  If anything, finding his ‘place’ in society made it clear how hollow a socket he had been plugged into.  Something was wrong with Humanity.  He could feel it. 

At first, Eustace felt that technology was the source of the problem.  Then he realized that it was the solution, just as it had been the solution to other historical problems.  Hunger, health, and physical isolation had once been much worse.  Mental isolation could also be defeated.  They could map a mind.  They could mimic a mind.  Could they create a map of one mind that another could read?  Could you travel to the realms within another sapient’s skull? 

Even if he rose to the ranks of the elite programmers, Eustace would never have the resources necessary to pursue his needs.  The research to link mind to mind was too distant… not for lack of the prerequisite knowledge or technology, but because of priority.  By the time he convinced investors, gathered capital, brought together the workers, and set to work on his true project, Eustace would be due for his first geriatric restorative treatments. 

All that was unnecessary.  He could bypass so much difficulty by using himself as a workshop and devoting himself entirely to his work.  To obtain research materials and leisure time, he would need lots of money.  At first, Eustace tried to work legitimately, adding contract projects alongside his professional schedule.  It was exhausting but not unexpected of an ambitious young programmer.  It wasn’t enough.  It would never be enough. 

That was when he began to work outside of legal channels.  Eustace became 'Gleamer', just one among a thousand masked electronic criminals.  He moved information from closed systems to unauthorized recipients.  He built unlicensed sub-AIs and components for unapproved full AIs.  Eventually, Gleamer cut out the middlemen and just arranged the transfer of credit from one account to another.  He was talented in the virtual world… but naïve in the physical domain.  The same disconnect that had driven him to ever greater criminality revealed his operations to the authorities.  He had not realized that repeated deliveries of specific types of hardware and medical supplies would raise flags.  When his unlicensed cybernetic surgeon turned state informant – a treachery negotiated entirely in the physical world – Gleamer’s identity was discovered. 

His trial was unremarkable.  His crimes were hardly unique.  The reason for his actions was also not unique.  Gleamer was aware that others had felt the same needs and sought the same remedies.   The early pioneers had killed or damaged themselves or others.  More recent collaborators, themselves cloaked in anonymity, had endorsed Gleamer’s research privately.  They hoped to someday meet up, joining mind to mind, finding unity at last within their minority society.  Sharing that experience with other, unenlightened Humans, much less the collected sapients of the Collective, could wait as a far distal goal.

That goal was entirely unreachable from the penitentiary facility of Alpha Centaurus Prime.  Gleamer, relabeled Eustace Brown, was shipped there to keep the galaxy safe from his predations.  It was an ironically cruel punishment, since the facility was tightly sealed against external contact.  Eustace was separated further from society than ever before.  The worst abusers of the virtual networks were imprisoned with him.  Rendered destitute by the seizure of their ill-gotten assets, these cyber-criminals were obligated to work to avoid incurring debt from the cost of their incarceration.  Most inmates complied just to avoid mental harm from boredom and isolation.  Working meant contact with other people, not to mention one’s own AI.  It meant building something, even if your creations would be deeply scrutinized and then never credited as your own. 

Some inmates chafed at the idea that their work would aid the law enforcement programs that had been their own downfall.  Gleamer, not thinking of himself as a ‘criminal’, did not mind.  He had always thought of himself as a benefactor of Humanity, not its adversary nor even a parasite.  He was a symbiote – like an Awakener – something outside of the body Human but capable of granting it amazing new powers.  Like the Awakeners, too, most Humans rejected invasive change.  They could not surrender their sanctity, even for the opportunity to become more. 

Gleamer understood such feelings to some extent.  He certainly did not want a wad of fungus invading his body and mind, changing his perceptions.  Perhaps if he had been more comfortable, more normal, or better integrated into his world, he too would reject his own lawless behavior.  Still, he needed what he needed.  Humanity, too, needed what he sought.  They needed communion, but on their own terms, without resorting to alien entities, abilities, or technologies.

Back in the present, on Scape Grace, the programmer’s musings on his past served a useful function.  Those sorts of reminiscences, the products of free association prompted by current problems, were assets his biological brain contributed to the efforts of his team of artificial minds.  Together, they seized upon the important threads.  Threads… like rhizomes… linking fungal masses together.  Neurons… cells in a network.  Something brought in by the Ningyo, but now partially separate from them.  Something that used radio communications, with signals produced by circuits no larger than a micrometer at best.

Not crickets, ants.  He was hearing an ant nest, with electromagnetism in place of pheromones.  The sequences were coordination between disparate units not in physical contact.  Were Ningyo intelligent anthills?  Gleamer’s xenobiology sub-AI negated that possibility.  The jellyfish were most definitely unitary organisms with dependent, specialized cells.  Weird cells with a biochemistry all their own, but still not ants. 

The Ningyo had ants in their pants.  Their robotic pants had robotic ants.  The stinking, rotting, singing, dancing jellyfish had miniaturized technology on board, and it was spreading throughout the Scape Grace.  Whether those robots were talking back to the Ningyo or just conversing among themselves, they were definitely coordinating activities.  Secret activities.  The Ningyo had said nothing about seeding the ship with bugs.  Whatever they were up to, it wasn’t friendly. 

So their visitors had secrets, too?  Fair enough, but that didn’t mean Gleamer had to stay quiet, himself.  The captain needed to be warned.  Hopefully, he would find a way to contact Gleamer privately, so that this information could be shared without tipping off the Ningyo.  Hurry up, Gene!  Gleamer couldn’t even risk sending a program out to alert the captain.  He could conceal his work on this particular console from Jolly using careful encryption and firewalls, but patching anywhere else would raise suspicions.  Once again, he was isolated, in contact only with entities he could not understand. 

He had thought he grokked the Ningyo.  Maybe captain Lerner was right; maybe that was an illusion they created to throw you off guard.   They pretended to understand.  They acted just enough like people to hide their true intentions. That was a good idea.  It was an idea Gleamer could borrow for his own use.

A few minutes after Evgeny and Soloth’s departure, Gleamer turned in his chair to face Jolly. 

“So, what was that you were saying about a ‘Joke’?”