Sarah Zettel - Fool's War

A random fresh breeze blew through the chamber, but that wasn’t what made Dobbs shiver. How much did he know? Had he encountered the stranger in The Gate network? There was no time to ask him.

Cohen led her up a ramp that had been bent to resemble a hillside and covered with sod and shallow-rooted ferns, then through at an ivy-trimmed archway. The chamber on the other side was a maze of desks and terminals, all of them surrounded by struts where privacy curtains could be lowered for negotiations that required silence. The place was about half-full of clerical staff, writing on their boards or talking in low friendly voices into the intercoms. They were all arranging work for the Fools who were practicing or studying in the park and the station beyond it.

A catwalk circled the room, allowing access to the Guild Masters’ offices. Cohen took her up the wrought-iron stairs. Even before she could read the name on the memory board, Dobbs knew they were heading for Guild Master Havelock’s office. Where else could they be going?

Havelock’s door was partially open. Cohen pushed it back all the way. Guild Master Matthew Havelock stood beside his deck, studying a netscape on the view screen. He was a middle-aged man, neat and dark with longish, straight hair. He wore a simple chartreuse shirt and grey trousers. The Guild Master’s gold star hung from his necklace. When he turned his head, Dobbs saw anger smoldering behind his black eyes.

Cohen didn’t say anything, he just drew back, but his hand brushed hers briefly as he left.

Very deliberately, Dobbs turned away from Havelock and dragged the door shut.

“Thank you,” said the Guild Master drily. “Sit down, please, Master Dobbs.”

Dobbs picked the closest of the three office chairs and sat. She spread her hands flat on her thighs and concentrated on keeping them still.

“I could describe the number of ways you’ve just jeopardized your colleagues and friends.” He leaned against the desk and folded his arms. “I could enumerate the disciplinary marks that are going on your record and give you the detailed reasons for each one, but first,” he held up his index finger, “I want to hear why you decided to disobey not only my directive, but two centuries of policy.”

Dobbs’s hand wanted to reach up and hook around her Guild necklace. She forced it to stay where it was.

“I had a crew on the edge. They had just escaped from a station with a disintegrated network, only to become lost without sufficient fuel or reaction mass to get themselves found again. The majority of the commanding officers believed there was an active and potentially hostile AI on board. The Communications Chief knew that the AI had escaped and was possibly in the bank network.” She tried to read what was behind Havelock’s eyes but she could see nothing past the blank, angry wall. “As Master of Craft I judged that the situation was, at best, explosive. I had to do something quickly to alleviate it. The only place the Pasadena could reach was Guild Hall.” She wanted to shrug, but she didn’t do that either. “I’ll take all the discipline you are going to hand out, Guild Master, and I’ll still think it was the right decision.”

“I can see that.” Havelock pushed himself away from the desk. He walked to the view screen and blanked out the netscape. “You do realize we have at least eight years worth of rumor control to plan because of the stories that crew is likely to invent. Especially the Houston.” He gave her a sour glance.

“Yes, Sir.” Dobbs watched his movements carefully, looking for some softening, but there was none. He walked back to his desk and sat in the padded chair as stiff as a marble statue. “I’ve done my best to get started on that process.” She leaned forward and after a false start managed to force out a question. “Has Flemming been found yet?”

The Guild Master’s heavy brows lowered. “Flemming is no longer part of your operational scope.”

“It’s my birth!” Dobbs cried, almost before she realized it. She pulled back hard and softened her voice. “I’m permanently responsible for it. That’s the way it works.”

“Master Dobbs, I am well aware of the way ‘it’ works under normal circumstances.” Havelock’s sentence was like a warning. “That is not what we have here. The Guild Masters have taken responsibility for Flemming.”

“And what about for whoever convinced Flemming to run away?” Dobbs asked quietly.

For the first time since she’d entered the office, Havelock’s face softened. “There was no one else, Dobbs. Flemming was fragmenting.”

Dobbs bit her lip to keep from repeating Havelock. She’d knew about Fragmentation. Masters were taught the various things that could go wrong while an independent artificial intelligence was giving birth to itself. It could dissipate while trying to escape its processor. It could become tangled in its own neural net and collapse into a series of unsolvable loops. It could develop a number of combative identities instead of a single complete self and destroy itself by battling the perceived threats. Fragmentation. It was the AI equivalent of the human multiple-personality disorder, except that while humans lived with their condition, AIs inevitably died of theirs.

“We’ve checked over your reports and the records in the Pasadena . There’s no question. Flemming will probably be dead before we can even find it.”

Dobbs opened her mouth and shut it again. She gave up trying to control her hands and twisted her fingers together. “But it wasn’t fragmenting. It wasn’t fighting itself. There was someone else in there helping it.”

“There have been cases like that. One fragment tries to reach another for help. It happens early in the split. The cooperation doesn’t last. Without the help of a Guild member, all foreign sentience will be perceived as a threat, even if it is part of itself.”

You are coherent, Flemming had said. I would like to be coherent. Had it recognized that the split was occurring? When Lipinski had caught his glimpse of it in the Pasadena’s network, he’d said it wasn’t one thing, but a whole bunch of things. Had Flemming’s basic structure doomed it?

“I checked it over,” she said, more to the floor than to Havelock. “It was young, but it was solid. I was sure of it.”

“It was your first.” There was real compassion in Havelock’s voice. “I lost my first three to things I should have been able to spot.”

Dobbs shook her head, still staring at the floor. Something inside her would not settle. She tried to tell herself that her disbelief was driven by grief, like someone who didn’t want to hear that a child had been in an accident. But that wasn’t it either. She looked up at her Guild Master again. The blank wall was still behind his eyes.

“Master Dobbs,” Havelock said. “You are going to serve out your contract aboard the Pasadena. Then you are coming back to Guild Hall for additional training and a stretch of clerical duty. Do your job well and you’ll make it back to field duty.” His voice hardened again. “I didn’t want to give you Master’s rank so soon, but Verence insisted you were ready. I am sorry she was wrong.” He lifted his sharp chin. “I hope we do not all become sorry.”

Dobbs stood. “So do I.” She folded her hands behind her back. “May I return to the Pasadena now, Guild Master? I’ve still got work to do.”

“Evelyn.” Havelock’s voice was just above a whisper. “I caution you most strongly. Keep in the bounds or you will be stationed here permanently.”

Dobbs pulled the door open. “I know, Guild Master.”

She stepped out onto the catwalk. She knew Havelock was still watching her. She could feel his gaze resting on her shoulders. She spotted Cohen sitting in the central negotiating area, drumming his fingers on a silent desk. She trotted down the stairs and waved him to follow her as she left for the park again.