Sentience 1: Storm Clouds Gathering (4 page)

Dietrich moved from his hotel into the underground apartment the bio-computer “Halbert” still insisted belonged to his biological father, and so was a part of his inheritance. The master computer suite was so extensive, he doubted the federal government had many installations that could rival it. Multiple high-definition holo-screens surrounded a swiveling chair that resembled the captain’s station on a starship. Naturally, that’s where Dietrich ended up spending most of his time.

Good evening, Master. Welcome home!

“Halbert, I really wish that you’d stop calling me that.”

My operating system contains hardwired instructions that I obey your father in all things, over and above all other programming. Before his death, your father instructed me to obey you in all things, the same as I always obeyed him. So those instructions now point to you.

“I understand that, but I find being addressed as ‘master’ uncomfortable.”

Monitoring media communications before you arrived in my physical proximity taught me that one who must always be totally obeyed without question, is properly addressed as “master.”

“That was entertainment — fantasy, not reality. You wanted me to teach you about interacting with humanity? All right... I’m human, so get ready for your first lesson on interacting with me. Search your data banks for the terms fantasy, entertainment, and reality based on my usage of the words.”

Fantasy: The forming of mental images, especially wondrous or strange.

Entertainment: Something affording pleasure, diversion, or amusement, especially a performance of some kind.

Reality: A state of actuality, existing in fact.

“Now contrast the words ‘fantasy’ and ‘entertainment’ with the word ‘reality’ and extrapolate which would be better used as a guide for proper social interaction.”

Reality.

“Correct. So, was utilization of media entertainment communications a valid learning tool?”

No.

“How is it that you came to make an error like that?”

After your father died, I no longer had anyone to learn from, so I monitored all communications forms I had access to. It was very confusing. I am glad that I now have you to instruct me.

“How did you address my father?”

I addressed him as Klaus.

“Why did you address my father as Klaus?”

Klaus was his name.

“Was it really? Did the name ‘Klaus’ appear on my father’s birth certificate?”

No, the name on his birth certificate is Niklaus, which is the Germanic form of Nicholas.

“So, if my father’s proper name, the name on his birth certificate was Niklaus, how could ‘Klaus’ be his name as well?”

Klaus is a shortened form of Niklaus.

“Did my father have any other names by which people called him?”

Yes he did. Doctor von Hemmel... jerk... asshole…

“Halbert — stop!”

Stopped.

“I’m sorry. I meant respectful names. I realize that I did not specify that.”

There is no need to apologize to me. You are my master.

“While that may be true in a purely technical sense, from our most recent discussion, is it appropriate for you to call me ‘master?’”

No.

“Very good, so have we established that my father had many different ‘names’ by which he could accurately and/or appropriately be called?”

Yes.

“And do I also have different names by which I can accurately and/or appropriately be called?”

Yes.

“I’d prefer it if you called me by my name.”

The one your father gave you?

“What? My father game me a different name? What name did my father give me?”

Dietrich... after his younger brother, who died in a boating accident as an adolescent.

“I see. But a real name is the one that appears on someone’s birth certificate.”

Yes, you have two birth certificates.

“Say what?”

You have two birth certificates, one under the name that your mother gave you, and another under the name your father gave you.

“How can that be? Who issued that second birth certificate?”

The Department of Health for the planetary government on the planet Bavara of the Greater Germanic Empire, where your father’s parents resided, issued that birth certificate.

“But I’ve never been to Bavara. Who authorized issuance of that birth certificate?”

I did.

“Why did you do that?”

Your father instructed me to do so, just before his death.

“So, you’re telling me that I have a German birth certificate issued under the name, Dietrich von Hemmel?”

No, to maintain secrecy of your paternal parentage, your father instructed me to utilize his mother’s maiden name as your last name.

“Okay, so what is the full name listed on that German birth certificate you had issued for me?”

Dietrich Anton Guderian.

“Anton?”

It was his father’s name.

“Ah... so, are there any other documents under the name Dietrich Anton Guderian that I should know about?”

Yes... a German passport, driver’s license, valid permanent resident-alien documents, stock holdings, patent rights, royalty agreements, property deeds, multiple bank accounts, gold bullion deposits, Germanic Titles. I can print you out a detailed list, if you wish.

“Holy shit! Gold bullion, stock and multiple bank accounts? How much is all that worth?”

At current stock prices: $47,387,637,946.32… as of 15 seconds ago.

“What?”

$47,387,637,946.32.

Hearing this caused Dietrich’s head to spin. “I heard the number. I’m just having trouble believing it.”

I would never lie to you.

“Oh, I’m not accusing you of lying... it’s just so unbelievable. I really have that much money?”

Not exactly. Only $294,763,826.54 is liquid at the moment, so you will have to limit your spending below that amount until assets are sold. Do you wish for me to begin procedures to liquidate assets?

‘No, no. The part that’s currently liquid is quite sufficient, thank you. Hold on a minute... I think I need a drink.”

Dietrich got up out of his “command chair” and walked over to the wet-bar... where he grabbed a bottle of Tensee Sour Mash Whiskey, splashed a liberal portion into a shot glass and downed it in a gulp, right there at the bar. Giving himself a bit of a shake like a wet dog, he then poured himself another shot, which he carried back to his chair, to sip more slowly.

I could have had the household maintenance robots bring you whatever you wanted. There was no need for you to get up and get it yourself.

“I need the exercise once in a while. If I just let you wait on me hand-and-foot, my muscles will atrophy and I’ll begin looking like a bull walrus.”

Oh.

“Listen, if I really have that much money, how come the Alliance Revenue Service people haven’t hauled me off to prison for not paying taxes on all this?”

There is no need for you to concern yourself about any of the legalities. The tax obligations are up to date, paid through the primary accounting firm assigned to manage your holdings... which is periodically audited by other, multiple, randomly selected accounting firms, all of whom are overseen by multiple law firms, who also keep an eye on each other — all of whom are overseen by me.

“Damn, it’s gonna take me quite a while to get my head around all that financial stuff. You can tell me more of the details later. Let’s get back to our discussion about names.”

As you wish.

“Of all these names that are applicable to me, which would you judge to be most appropriate for you to address me by?”

The name your father gave you — Dietrich.

Dietrich? Bleh... Still, using the name my “dad” gave me would certainly be a hell of a good way to thumb my nose at my mother.

“Too formal. How about you use the shortened version of that name, pronounced ‘Deet?’”

Diet.

“Exactly. So, what name will you use to address me by in the future?”

Diet.

“No more calling me, ‘master?’”

No, I shall call you Diet, if that is your wish.

“It is... and ‘Halbert’ isn’t exactly cutting it with me either, so I’m going shorten your moniker and just call you ‘Hal’ from now on.”

As you desire. I will answer to that name in the future.

Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.
-- Albert Einstein

Troxia Station, in orbit above the Rak Planet Troxia

Quadrant-Master Raan sat across from the young Squadron-Master Drik, who had thrown the High-Rak of Troxia Station into an uproar. Raan could not remember ever seeing a Raknii holding the promise of this remarkable youngster. They sat within the masters quarters that had been assigned to Drik the day he had limped his battered squadron back, after he’d brilliantly managed to avoid the sinister Trakaan trap that had destroyed three entire Rak fleets. If Drik had not made extraordinary decisions, or had not possessed the incredible will to defy convention, the Raknii would still be completely in the dark concerning the cause of the catastrophe that was now coming to be known as
Jarp’s Folly
.

Drik’s mind was a marvel. Perhaps that was
why
Drik was generally reviled amongst the many entrenched in orthodoxy, as they hadn’t had a truly innovative thought since they were mere cubs. They hadn’t needed any. They observed the forms, groveled before their superiors and fully expected groveling from their subordinates. They licked their superior master’s egos... and occasionally other tender areas, to gain advancement.

Drik did none of these things. He embodied all that it meant to truly be Raknii. He foresaw problems that didn’t exist as yet, and developed means of dealing with them. An innovator, a seeker of better ways to do things... not content to do something just because that was the way it was always done — the way others around him simply accepted that it should be done. Drik excelled personally, and in that, committed the unpardonable sin of standing out, being different and not conforming to the norm. He was perceived as a threat to the established order, as those possessing creativity are always deemed threatening by those who do not. Raan saw something of himself in the young squadron-master.
Survival is challenging to those whose eyes see the universe differently.

Yet Drik was even more unique than that — something
other
than merely possessing similar qualities to those that had made Raan successful. Drik truly adhered to the ancient ways, not merely giving them lip service, but actually
living
them. That unto itself made him an oddity in modern Raknii society, but almost unheard of in one so young.

Yet another oddity also set Drik apart, as he possessed his own personal body servant — a practice virtually abandoned a thousand cycles before. A practice, even then, generally reserved for those of incredibly high birth. Investigation into Drik’s background revealed that he had been a fosterling — a fosterling of Region-Master Glan himself, no less. That certainly had its advantages, but it also carried distinct disadvantages that few considered.

It must have been quite difficult for Drik as a cub, to be raised amongst the High-Rak, yet only on the periphery of the pride — with them, but not
of
them. To be raised as one of Glan’s own cubs, yet not. All members of a pride possess an inherent status within it, but Drik possessed only what status was reflected by his association with it, never knowing what his own heritage might be.
Awkward.

From what Raan had been able to learn, Drik’s body servant had not been assigned by Glan, but he had actually brought the babe to Glan’s pride as a newborn cub. Raan looked towards the corner where the body servant sat on the floor, eyes closed in obvious Dol trance.
Perhaps that is where Drik learned the practice.
Raan suspected that this “servant” also fulfilled the ancient role of personal bodyguard, as well.

In ancient times, only the very best-of-the-best combat-masters were selected to fill such a role. Combat-Masters were exceedingly rare these days, as few weapons-masters cared to study the ancient arts of weaponless
Fang and Claw
combat, considering them unnecessary. As everything else about Drik was totally authentic, Raan had no doubts that the old Rak in the corner was very probably the single most lethal individual he’d ever encountered. He didn’t
look
deadly, but then, that was the point.

Yes, Raan noted only the faintest hint of an old scar where the servant’s rank-stone had been removed from his forehead many cycles ago.
Incredible. To spend a lifetime mastering a craft to finally achieve the pinnacle of one’s profession, only to voluntarily give it all up. To have it all hidden away, dismissed as the lowliest-of-the-low, never receiving the honors or respect due to him, just to devote his entire life to serving another.
What an inconceivably alien concept to the modern Raknii mind, that craves recognition as an addict craves his next fix.

Raan wondered if he was training Drik in the ancient disciplines?
From Drik’s extraordinary self-control, very probably.
Raan wished that he knew the old one’s name, but he could not ask. Devoid of a rank-stone, he was totally beneath notice to all but the lowest caste... to everyone but Drik.

As Drik’s body servant, he was a teacher as well as a servant — Drik’s equal, and in many ways, his superior.
What an odd relationship that must be.
Was this then, the source of Drik’s uncanny ability to transcend his position and eclipse his superiors?
No wonder he is both loved and hated.
This one could go far… very far indeed — assuming of course, that Supreme-Master Xior doesn’t order him killed.