Network Effect

Unless somebody had managed to get aboard after I left and do something to ART, and blamed me for it.

One big problem with that scenario, no wait, two: 1) getting aboard without ART’s cooperation and 2) doing something to ART without getting violently murdered. (I knew of forty-seven ways that ART could kill a human, augmented human, or bot intruder, and the only reason I didn’t know more is because I got bored and stopped counting.)

And where the hell was ART? Where was its feed, its drones, its comm, its humans? Why wouldn’t it answer my pings?

I didn’t forget that I had one of ART’s comms tucked into the pocket under my ribs. (Okay, I did forget until three minutes and forty-seven seconds ago, but it wasn’t like I’d needed to access the information until now.) The comm had been deactivated and inert since I left ART on RaviHyral’s transit ring. If ART wanted to call me, it could have used it as soon as we were in range. But that was assuming that ART was still in control of itself. Was something else—bot or human or augmented human—controlling ART’s ship-body?

I was starting to panic. I didn’t want ART to be hurt, and anything that could hurt ART could destroy me and Amena.

This wasn’t helping. Start with the assumption that ART was still here, intact but under some sort of constraint I didn’t have time to speculate about but would anyway.

Had ART been able to use the deactivated comm to track me after our survey ship arrived through the wormhole? Yes, probably. But why? Why come to Preservation space after me? ART loved its crew, like, a lot. It would do anything to help them.

Including betray me? Was something forcing ART to do this? Did it want the facility, or was that collateral damage? As soon as it had me and Amena in its tractor, it had increased acceleration toward the wormhole. We had to be in the wormhole by now, heading away from Preservation. The responders wouldn’t be able to track us.

At least that meant that Overse and whoever was with her in the safepod could be picked up by the baseship.

I needed to get rid of my EVAC suit. In gravity they made movement cumbersome, and could be hacked if I wasn’t careful, and I wasn’t sure how much protection the suit would give Amena from projectiles or other weapon fire. It wasn’t like it would be a good idea to go outside now, and freedom of movement was more important.

I got the EVAC suit to open its helmet and released my drones. I told two to take up guard positions at the entrance to the corridor and sent the others to make a cautious sweep through the ship … through ART. Then I opened my suit and stepped out. Amena said, “Is that a good idea?”

I really didn’t need to be second-guessed by an adolescent human right now. “Do you have any other suggestions?”

“I guess we can’t stay in these things forever,” she muttered, and opened her suit.

I waited for her to climb out. She was shaking a little, and sweating, and favoring her injured leg. I needed to get access to the medical suite. Whatever was going on here, it would be easier to deal with if Amena wasn’t hurt.

I moved toward the corridor, gesturing Amena to stay behind me. My scan still picked up nothing but background interference from ART’s systems. My drones were seeing empty corridors, closed hatches. I directed them toward the control deck, specifically the crew meeting area under the bridge. Somebody had to be here, bot or human or augmented human. This time I pinged the comm system.

The ship’s comm chimed, an automatic response. Amena flinched at the sound. Keeping my voice low, I told her, “That was me.”

“Why?” She managed to whisper this in a way that sounded very demanding. Then she grimaced in frustration. “Right. I guess they know we’re here, since they kidnapped us.”

So far my drones hadn’t detected any crew. There was no response to the comm, and I moved toward the corridor. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. Maybe go up to ART’s bridge and bang on the shield over its control core?

This was one of the corridors I had walked up and down, working on my pretending-to-be-a-human code, where ART had critiqued my performance. Maybe that made me less cautious. That and the fact that my drones had just passed through here seconds ago. As I stepped into the corridor, something moved in my peripheral vision.

This is why we have drones. Unfortunately, whatever this was, my guard drone hadn’t registered its presence. I didn’t see it until it moved, and that was too late.

I took the hit right in the side of my head and got body-slammed against the bulkhead.

Performance reliability catastrophic drop.

Shutdown.

Restart.

I was lying in a heap on the deck, a broken fragment of something grinding into my cheek. I knew I’d had an emergency shutdown. (I miss my armor all the time, but particularly at times like this.)