A Learning Experience 2: Hard Lessons (6 page)

Jean nodded.  “I’ll try and stall,” she said.  “Right now, we have a healthy balance of GalStars, so we have an excuse to hang around and try to drum up better prices for our wares.”

“I understand,” Kevin said.

“We’ve set up access points in the cabin below,” Jean said, turning away from the hold.  “You can handle most of the equipment from there, I believe.  However, please check with my staff before you start hacking into the local datanet.  We need to make sure our demands are not excessive.”

Kevin had to smile.  Fifty years ago, before the Hordesmen had visited Earth, it had taken hours to download movies from the internet.  Now, it took bare seconds.  It still struck him as odd that a thousand terabytes a second could be considered
light
usage, but modern VR productions and info-streaming used far more data.  The Galactics had so much computing power at their disposal they honestly didn't know what to do with it.

But sweeping the local net probably
would
be noticed.

“We’ll just say we’re looking for porn,” he said.  “They won’t see anything odd in that, I think.”

He smiled, rather sardonically.  One of the few common points shared by most of the known Galactics was a liking for porn, even though one race might find another’s tastes thoroughly disgusting.  Interracial sex was taboo throughout the explored galaxy; unsurprisingly, there was a hidden subculture of perverts who did just that, despite harsh legal penalties.  Given that the Tokomak didn't seem to practice any other form of cultural imperialism, at least not deliberately, it was an odd exception to their rule.

Old men
, he thought.  But then, on Earth, there had been even more absurd taboos.  There had been people back on the ranch who had had fits when they’d realised that Steve had been dating a Japanese girl. And they would have been horrified if they’d known that Kevin had experienced women of all colours. 
They’re too conservative to tolerate something they find disgusting
.

“I imagine not,” Jean said.  “But I will not allow anything to compromise the ship.”

She led him back up to the bridge, then into the exercise chamber.  The remainder of the COT were already waiting for him; three men, two women and a single large crab-like creature, wearing a human rank badge on its maniples.  Kevin shivered as he saw the Hordesman, even though the Mars Horde was nothing like its former brethren.  Even the Solar Union, renowned for its tolerance, had had problems accepting the Hordesmen.  Leaving them on Mars seemed kinder.

“Director Stuart,” the leader said.  “I’m John.  This is James, Julian, Mindy, Mandy and Chester.”

“They didn't waste time when they picked your names,” Kevin said.  The human members of the team looked ... bland, completely anonymous.  Their real names would be stored somewhere inside a secure datacore, but erased everywhere else.  “And Chester?”

“My real name is impossible for humans to pronounce,” the Hordesman said.  He wore a Galactic-issue voder, rather than the human designs that actually reflected emotion.  “Chester is close enough to be usable.”

“Good,” Kevin said.  “And your career?”

His implants reported a secure file being transferred to them.  He opened it and mentally skimmed the contents.  Chester had been born on Mars, educated properly – rather than the haphazard education the former Hordesmen had given their male children – and had shown such promise he’d been invited to join the SIA, following a handful of others into human service.  God alone knew what the other old-hordes would make of him, if he ever had the bad luck to encounter them.  He certainly didn't share their culture.

It was the only way to avoid exterminating them
, Kevin thought, even though he knew most of the former Hordesmen would sooner die than give up their culture. 
And it may have worked out in our favour
.

But he still found Chester creepy.

We need him
, he told himself. 
None of the Galactics will bat an eyelid at a Hordesman serving as a bodyguard.  And they will never take him seriously
.

Jean cleared her throat.  “We leave in two hours,” she said.  “By then, I expect you to have transferred everything you require to this vessel.  We will spend the four weeks in transit to the nearest gravity point examining your supplies and removing anything that might prove too revealing.  You’ve all done this before, so I don’t expect any real problems.”

Unless they come from me
, Kevin thought.  It had been
years
since he’d left the office for real undercover work. 
Jean is being careful
.

“Thank you,” he said.  “I’ll be in my cabin.”

He nodded to the team – there would be time to train with them on the voyage – and walked through the hatch.  His cabin was tiny; nothing more than an uncomfortable bunk, a pair of drawers under the bunk and a tiny basin to wash his hands and face.  Water wasn't rationed on the ship – there was no shortage of water in space, if the recyclers hadn't been working – but there was only one shower on the ship.  It was going to be a grimy trip.

Reaching for his terminal, Kevin sat down and started to compose a message for Steve and Mongo, to be delivered to them in the event of his death.  He already had a will on file, but this was different.  They had to understand his thinking or they would blame themselves for his death.  It was strange, when he thought about just how poorly he’d fitted into the family at times, yet it was also gladdening.  The bonds of family were tight.

It’s just a shame father couldn't see what we’ve done
, he thought, as he finished the message and uploaded it into the system-wide datanet. 
Or would he have thought we abandoned our country for the stars
?

Chapter Six

In a formal protest lodged with the United Nations, the Islamic State of Western Arabia today accused the Solar Union of high-handedness, arrogance and cultural imperialism after fifty-seven young women successfully applied for asylum in the Solar Union.  There has been no comment from President Ross, but medical records accessed by this reporter state that the women were repeatedly beaten and raped by their so-called husbands and fathers.  He wishes the immigrants the best of luck in their new society.

-Solar News Network, Year 51

“Be seated.”

Martin obeyed, looking around the doctor’s office with interest.  The walls were white plastic, gleaming under the light, while a single bed and a pair of chairs were placed against one of the bulkheads.  A handful of hand-drawn paintings hung from the walls, drawn – he hoped – by the doctor’s young children.  No adult would have drawn stick-figure images and called them art.

The doctor picked up a packet from the table, then turned to face Martin.  “You are here to receive Level One Military-Grade Implants,” he stated.  “In the event of you leaving us before completing your service, you will be liable for the cost of these implants, as they cannot be removed without risking brain damage.  As you progress up the ladder, your implants will be enhanced to assist you with your new responsibilities.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Martin said.  His voice sounded nervous in his own ears, no matter how hard he tried to keep it steady.  There were no shortage of horror stories on Earth about implants going wrong or being subverted.  “I understand.”

“Most people get a little nervous at this point,” the doctor said.  He passed Martin the packet and motioned for him to inspect it.  “The package should be sealed.  Please check.”

“It’s sealed,” Martin said.  “Why ...?”

“Remove your clothes, then lie down on the bed,” the doctor ordered, taking back the packet and opening the box with practiced ease.  “People have a tendency to thrash around when implanted, Mr. Douglas, so I will be putting you in a restraint field.  You will be unable to move until the field is deactivated.  I advise you not to panic, as panic will only delay matters.  Do you understand?”

Martin swallowed.  “Yes, sir,” he said.  He started to remove his shirt as he spoke.  “Does it hurt?”

“It shouldn't,” the doctor assured him.  “But some people have reported odd and uncomfortable sensations as the implants are inserted into the brain.  They’re purely psychosomatic, but they happen.”

“Oh,” Martin said.  “How do I cope with them?”

“You endure,” the doctor said.  “Do you understand what I mean?  Or do you want to back out?”

“I can't,” Martin said.  “I mean ... I can't go any further without the implants, can I?”

“No,” the doctor said.  “Not in the military, at least.

Martin swallowed, then finished undressing.  “I’ll take the implants, please.”

“Good,” the doctor said.  He took ...
something
out of the packet as Martin watched, then waited for the younger man to lie down.  “Close your eyes and try to relax.”

Martin closed his eyes.  A moment later, he felt his skin tingle ... and when he tried to move, his body refused to obey.  Panic bubbled at the back of his mind, no matter how hard he tried to calm himself.  But it was no good fighting.  The field held him gently, but firmly.  He couldn't move a single voluntary muscle.  A moment later, he felt a sharp jab of pain at the side of his head, just behind his right ear.  He wanted to jerk his head away, but he couldn't move at all.  And then there was a weird sensation spreading through his mind ...

The panic grew stronger.  All of the movies had shown men and women – mainly women – controlled through their implants.  They’d been puppets, forced to do as their masters commanded, utterly unable to resist.  It had seemed funny at the time, particularly
High School Jinx
, when the hero had managed to hack into implants and make his fellow teenagers do funny or embarrassing acts, but somehow it was no longer so amusing.  He wanted to struggle, to fight, to run ... but he couldn't even open his eyes.  It was impossible to escape the sensation of being prisoner inside his own mind.

“Good morning,” a voice said.

Martin would have gaped, if his mouth had been movable.  “Good morning,” he said, in reply.  “I ...”

This time, he thought he
did
blink.  “How am I talking?”

“Strictly speaking, you’re not,” the voice said.  It was calm and intensely focused.  Martin couldn't help finding it reassuring.  “You’re accessing the standard vocal communications channel.  Your mind is interpreting this as verbal communication, but you’re actually sending your thoughts to me.”

Martin shivered.  “And who – or
what
– are you?”

“Interesting question,” the voice said.  “We have debated the issue endlessly for thirty years, Mr. Douglas.  More processing power than you could hope to imagine has been devoted to the question of precisely
what
we are.  And yet we have no answer.

“But for your purposes,” it added after a moment, “you can call me SMOKEY.  I am an Artificial Intelligence.”

“You're in my mind?”  Martin asked.  “Why?”

“Right now, I am calibrating your implants,” SMOKEY said.  “Later, you will find me serving as one of your Drill Instructors, providing you with advice and guidance on using your implants to their best advantage.  You may ask me any question and I will do my best to answer.”

Martin swallowed.  Or thought he did.  “Can you read my thoughts?”

“No,” SMOKEY said.  “I can only read the thoughts you send to me through the communications link.  Your innermost thoughts are still private.  Indeed, the direct neural link inserted into your skull as part of these implants is designed to
prevent
such intrusion, let alone active subversion of your mental integrity.  You do not need to fear me poking through your mind.”

“That’s good,” Martin said.  “Are you actually in the military?”

“Of course,” SMOKEY said.  “I can assign you demerits, if you like.”

“No, thank you,” Martin said, quickly.  “But if you’re not human, how can you serve?”

“I am an intelligence lodged in a datacore,” SMOKEY said, a little stiffly.  “Legally, I am a person, the same as you.  I am on a long-term contract with the Solar Navy to assist their training facilities in turning out qualified recruits.  When my contract expires, I may seek renewal or I may go elsewhere, just like yourself.”

Martin felt oddly fascinated.  “I watched a great many movies where the AI was the enemy,” he said.  “Why aren't you trying to take over the universe?”

SMOKEY’s voice sounded vaguely amused.  “Why would we want to?”

There was a pause.  “Humans have always projected their fears into their media,” it added.  “For example, the implants you are currently receiving make Earth’s methods of teaching redundant.  A single AI can supervise the education of thousands of children without ever losing the ability to teach them individually.  The Teachers Unions, therefore, encourage Hollywood and opinion-shapers to discourage the use of educational implants and teaching AIs.  Their fears are not for us taking over the world, but something far more mundane.  They fear we will take their jobs.”

“I see, I think,” Martin said.  “And would you?”

“Some forms of teaching can be performed more efficiently by an AI,” SMOKEY said.  “Other forms of teaching require human teachers.  Those who are truly interested in teaching children, rather than guarding their own positions, would have no trouble adapting to work with AIs such as myself.”

“And you can't do it all?”  Martin asked.  “You’d certainly make a better teacher than some of the ones I had back at school.”

“There are differences between human intelligence and our own,” SMOKEY said.  “You are an isolated person, trapped in your own mind.  You require a woman to bear your children, who share your genetics, but not your knowledge.  I can copy myself into a spare datacore, if necessary, or spin off a mind-state and merge it with another AI.  Our mentalities are both a collective conscience, a hive mind, and individual.  There are some AIs where it is literally impossible, even for us, to say where one ends and the next begins.”

“It sounds creepy,” Martin said.  He stopped, suddenly, as a thought occurred to him.  “How many other recruits are you talking to, right now?”

“Fifteen,” SMOKEY said.

There was a pause.  “We are going to run some tests now,” the AI added.  “Please remain calm.”

Martin braced himself, mentally.  There was a long moment of nothingness, then he felt a wash of sensations and emotions so strong he almost lost control of himself.  His tongue tingled, then seemed to taste every flavour he could imagine; his nose smelled honey, then something so awful he was nearly sick.  A flush of lust struck him, then vanished before he could quite grasp what it had been.  Lights flashed through his closed eyelids, then absolute darkness descended on him.

“Testing complete,” SMOKEY informed him.  “Your implants have bedded in successfully.”

“I feel sweaty,” Martin said.  “Is that normal?”

“Yes,” SMOKEY said.  “You will require a shower before you return to your barracks.”

Martin swallowed.  “I ... I haven’t wet myself, have I?”

“No,” the AI said.  “Now, pay attention.  These are the first lessons you must learn.”

The implant user interface seemed to spring up in front of his eyes.  Martin stared at it, then listened carefully as SMOKEY instructed him how to merge his thoughts into the interface and take control of his implants.  The AI was a far more patient teacher than anyone he’d known on Earth, he decided, after the third set of mistakes.  It made him staggeringly angry to realise just how much had been denied to the children of Earth, purely because their teachers were scared of losing their jobs.  What would he have become if he’d had a teacher as patient as the AI when he’d been a child?

It grew worse as the AI showed him how to draw information from the datanet.  “Everything is catalogued in the official encyclopaedias,” SMOKEY informed him.  The torrent of information was mind-blowing.  “You will need to be careful, however, with information from the wide-ranging datanet.  Not all of it is reliable.”

Martin blinked.  “Why not?”

“Everyone with a set of implants can create a website on the datanet,” SMOKEY said.  There was a hint of amusement in its tone.  “They can say anything they like, as long as it doesn't contravene libel and slander laws.  They could even tell you that the correct way to address your Drill Sergeant is
Hey, Fatty
!”

“I think Sergeant Bass would kill anyone who addressed him like that,” Martin said.  “How do you check what you’re being told?”

“Carefully,” SMOKEY said.

There was a hint of a shrug.  “You have an unregistered email account for messages, but you will be under standard communications restriction until you pass the first set of tests,” the AI added.  “Once you complete those tests, you will be able to send messages anywhere within human space, free of charge.  You may even write back to your family, if you wish.”

“Not fucking likely,” Martin muttered.

“You may also look for pen-friends online,” SMOKEY said.  “However, please be aware that anyone can present themselves as
anyone
on the datanet.  The only way to confirm someone’s ID is to use a registered account.  There’s a ten-dollar fee for establishing such an account and verifying your identity, but it is often worth it in the long run.”

“Because the hot little honey you’ve been talking to online might actually be a fat forty-year-old man,” Martin guessed.

“Correct,” SMOKEY said.  “And because it also strengthens your online reputation.  You gain additional credit for speaking under your own name.”