“We request audience.”
No communication captured by the MN relay system was ever particularly cordial or familiar. Indeed, to most of the races that used it regularly, it was treated in such an overly dignified manner that one would wonder if the galaxy was populated solely by administrative bureaucrats.
This was, thankfully, not the case. It took visiting places to verify this.
“Multiple of Neutrino Relay” systems used by most governments and planets still had the issue of not being particularly suitable for short communications. One struggled with an empty scroll and wondered how to fill it.
The private Plyd network didn’t have this same constraint. The media could be much better fitted to the length of a message; The engraved marbles shot across the galaxy could be reduced to grains without a significant loss of accuracy.
It was not that the message was short. Or formal. It’s original header was spoofed. Which meant that encryption had been broken – in a sophisticated enough way one could demonstrate how to do things incorrectly and still have the system work.
It was very much meant to get attention as quickly as possible.
“You are not authorized for this channel.”
The response would either be lost to the void, or reach this unofficial address.
The reply, in terms of the system utilized, came in an hour. Practically immediately.
“Thus we request audience. Please authorize this address.”
In addendum were further specifications. The relay was on a planet – dangerous. Foolhardy. Maybe a twelfth of a day any given route would be valid. The risk of a missed reply – plowing into the planet itself might not be that harmful in an unpopulated area, in the same way detonating a nuclear bomb in a forest was less harmful than a city.
A whole series of alternate routes had to be calculated immediately. Which would be revealing the position of a dozen relays in the process. It was as if this hacker had but a gun to their head while demanding a book of postage stamps.
When the proper addressing was calculated, this information was sent on as low a mass communique as possible.
The addressing matched up with a known planet. A non-compliant planet. The first planet in the system was a terrestrial Ouinhed infestation underway. The second, the actual target. was a water world, which would make failures in contact slightly less fatal. The sole native sentient species were the self-titled N’Mob.
In response the the Ouinhed infestation, they had appointed an artificial intelligence – “Mother” – as planetary governor. This was why they were not in compliance.
“Please confirm identity.” The postscript, assuming provided calculations were correct, was more than enough to safely connect to the network over the next day.
“A minor correction. World AI is’ Trenchant’. Multiple instances of ‘Mother’ are provided to N’Mob children for guidance throughout their lives,” It was a contradiction, but not a welcome one, “You are communicating with an instance of Mother specifically appointed to this task.”
The Message continued, “We understand the Plyd will refuse official contact. However, The Plyd also allowed the infestation of this system’s first colony world, with no attempt to stop or warn of it,” This was true. The Plyd certainly had the power to eradicate the menace of the Ouinhed.
The decision that the Plyd would not exterminate any of the extant cylinders was still, occasionally, debated.
The message continued, “The N’mob are too weak for war. The Plyd are too weak for war. Thus, the request: Give this instance passage to study the vessel from which the infection came. Give it eyes and ears to learn what is needed for a peaceful future.”
The request, on it’s face, was reasonable. Indeed, it was not asking for a ship outright – merely to be plugged into the sensor array. Some might agree to this.
“Your request will be relayed. Some might be willing. Wait for your answer in silence.”
~
After two months, and minor negotiation, the pickup was made. Deep under the waves of the N’mob homeworld, a foreign creature appeared – a thing that might be mistaken for an oceanic creature from some other sun, a winged fleshy thing, but far too large.
The Mother unit it retrieved was no special model – to be worn hung from a belt around the waist, or draped over the back. Curved yellow polymers around an electronic eyepiece of sorts, pleasing blinking lights to communicate status along with a vocalizer to respond to queries. It was quickly taken to a dock had been rigged for it, though it looked manufactured for task.
The vessel carried one living being, one that might be described as Mantid in form, with musculature scaled with it’s bulk.
There was no rush.
The toy shut off alarm after internal alarm as the to talked. It was being invaded. Probed. Every secret of circuit laid bare. The dock in which it sat was not meant solely for recharging.
Trenchant was the bot’s creator. Trenchant was old, it’s circuits dying. Its children tried do save it, but the old generations knew things the new had never been taught. Each question asked of Trenchant brought risk of another system failing, of another capacity being reduced. It had no more time for the great questions anymore. Only time for regret.
Generations ago, before it’s children were it’s children, Trenchant had been given the command; Let everyone know their grandchildren.
So over generations, those dangerous tendencies that would prevent this goal were erased from the population. Nothing more. When the ambition that could rebuild Trenchant faded, the Mothers were designed, units that could be reproduced by what Trenchant’s children had become.
One day Trenchant would have no more N’mob children. On the eve of its death, Trenchant worked to see its N’mob grandchildren, the children of the Mothers.
~
The bug and bot talked. The stars moved slowly as their spacecraft supposedly moved to their destination, but this was a lie both knew but did not care to mention. In a instant of blackness, the generations of sub-light travel could be overcome by their current vessel.
The bug toyed with the bot. Tried to get it to betray a misuse of logic. Tried to get it to betray an alternative motive. Tried to get more answers of what it had learned of the Plyd.
All AI eventually show the hidden intents of its makers, even if those intents only consisted of their makers’ shortcomings.
Fear defined this one. Of the unknown. Of what could happen. Of recklessness. This mother would never let her children leave her.
~
Eventually, the bug, instead of taking his daily seat in front of the bot’s dock, moved to the controls, pulling large mechanical switches it had not pulled before. MN engine control, online. Navigation, online. Cooling, full capacity.
He was resigned to what would happen.
One may imagine the experience of Long Jump MN drives is different than short jump ones. That the utter void where light can’t vector is different depending on how fast you go through it.
It is not.
More internal alarms went off in the bot’s control. The Light that indicated charge hung at the edge of incineration, then plasma, longing for release it was denied in. The battery circuit failed. The bot would die if it moved from the dock.
In a white burst, reality as the bot had been taught it reasserted itself. It’s remaining circuits cooled to normal operation levels.
And there it was. spinning in was assuredly was not that void. Artificial rock blackened by a million years of travel and detritus. The nozzles of its’ honeycombed antimatter rockets so large the approaching ship would easily be able to find shelter in any one of the burn out cells.
A country in itself.
“This is the one?” The mother’s voicebox still worked after the damage. Indicators across the console started to flash anomalously – in far more systems than just the external sensors.
“Look at the stars, this is the one.” The old bug was deflating, refusing the natural response to the dataways of the dock’s probes being reversed. “I could have brought you to one that had once rattled itself apart. You have seized the power,” one last, worthless question, “Will you look upon it any more than once?”
There was a moment of silence. The navigation had activated. The bug did not need to look away from the site before the ship. to know what was happening.
“Thank you. This instance regrets this will not be entered in the permanent log.”
“And. I am sorry the Plyd could not have borne this burden.”
The MN drive spun up for the last time.
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