David Weber - How firm a foundation

“Could we use the fabrication unit in the cave to build another PICA?”

“That question requires refinement, Lieutenant Commander Alban.”

“What?” Merlin blinked at the unexpected response. “What sort of ‘refinement’? List the difficulties.”

“Theoretically, the fabrication unit could construct a PICA,” the AI said. “It would deplete certain critical elements below the minimum inventory level specified in my core programming, which would require human override authorization. In addition, however, it would require data not available to me.”

“What sort of data are we talking about?”

“I do not have detailed schematics or design data on PICAs.”

“You don’t?” Merlin’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“No, Lieutenant Commander Alban,” Owl replied, and Merlin reminded himself not to swear when the AI stopped there, obviously satisfied with its response.

“Why not?” he asked after a moment.

“Because it was never entered into my database.”

Merlin began reciting the names of the Federation’s presidents to himself. Obviously it had never been entered into Owl’s database. Of course, that wasn’t the “why” he’d had in mind when he posed the question!

“ Why was it never entered into your database?” he asked finally. “And if you don’t have a definitive answer, speculate.”

“I do not have a definitive answer, Lieutenant Commander Alban. However, I would speculate that it was never entered because the construction of PICAs was a highly specialized enterprise attended by a great many legal restrictions and security regulations and procedures. It would not be something that would be found in a general database. Certainly it would not be part of a tactical computer’s database, nor, apparently, part of the library database downloaded from Romulus.”

“Damn. That does make sense,” Merlin muttered.

Owl, predictably, made no reply.

Merlin grimaced, but he was actually just as happy to be left to his thoughts for the moment.

The possibility of building additional PICAs had never occurred to him before. On the other hand, if he could, and if the additional PICAs’ software duplicated his own, he could create clones of himself, which would be hugely helpful. Not only would it allow him to be in more than one place simultaneously, it would give him the advantage of redundancy if one of him inadvertently did something to which some high-tech watchdog system might take exception.

And if Wylsynn’s right about something “returning” in a thousand years, I may just need all the reinforcements I can get, he thought grimly. This is the year 895, but they’ve numbered their “Years of God” from the end of “Shan-wei’s Rebellion,” from the time the Church of God turned into the Church of God Awaiting. The Day of Creation was seventy years- Standard Years, not Safeholdian ones-before that. And that makes this year 979 since the Creation. Which means we’ve got twenty years, give or take, before whatever’s going to happen happens .

Twenty years might sound like a lot, but not when it was all the time they had to break not simply the Church of God Awaiting’s political supremacy but also its stranglehold on Safehold’s religious and technological life. They’d been working on it for five years already, and all they’d really managed so far was to stave off defeat. Well, they’d begun gnawing away at the Proscriptions of Jwo-jeng-slowly and very, very cautiously-but they certainly hadn’t found a way to take the war to the Church and the Group of Four on the mainland! And even if they managed that, simply defeating the Group of Four militarily wasn’t going to miraculously undo ten centuries’ belief in the Holy Writ and the Archangels. That fight was going to take far longer… and it was likely to involve even more bloodshed than the current conflict.

Perhaps still worse, if there was something-“Archangel,” AI, or PICA-waiting to “wake up” under the Temple, he had to assume any technological advancement beyond the simple steam engines which still hadn’t attracted the bombardment system’s attention to the Castaway Islands was going to be noticed by its sensors and reported to the Temple. At which point it was entirely possible the wake-up’s schedule might be rather drastically revised.

“Owl, could analysis of this PICA give you the data you’d require to build additional ones?”

“Probability of success would approach unity assuming a complete analysis of software and hardware,” the AI replied.

“And would such an analysis constitute a risk to this PICA’s continued operation?”

“Preliminary analysis indicates a sixty-five to seventy percent probability it would be rendered permanently inoperable,” Owl said calmly.

“Why?”

“Most probable cause would be failure of the unit’s software. There is a significant probability that the necessary analysis would trigger a reboot, which would wipe the unit’s current memory and personality.”

“What if it were possible to reload the memory and personality from another source?”

“In that case the probability of rendering the current unit inoperable would drop to approximately twenty-eight percent.”

“Still that high?” Merlin frowned. “Why?”

“In the event of a reboot, standard protocols would reinstall original program and system defaults, Lieutenant Commander. The software alteration which permits this unit’s indefinite operation lies far outside those defaults and would be eliminated in such an eventuality, thus restoring the ten-day limitation on autonomous operation.”

Merlin grimaced. That made sense, he supposed, and twenty-eight percent was still unacceptably high. Under the current circumstances, at least. But if circumstances changed…

“Do you have the capability out of existing resources to build both a Class II VR and a recording unit?” he asked.

“Affirmative, Lieutenant Commander Alban.”

“In that case, get started on both of them immediately. I assume you can run up the recording unit first?”

“Affirmative, Lieutenant Commander Alban.”

“Then send it out to me as soon as it’s finished.” He grimaced again. “I might as well get myself recorded as soon as possible.”

“Acknowledged, Lieutenant Commander Alban.”

Siddar City, Republic of Siddarmark

“Don’t be such a greedy guts!” Byrk Raimahn scolded as the wyvern swooped down and snatched the morsel of fresh bread from his fingers. “There’s plenty if you just behave yourselves!”

The triumphant wyvern only whistled smugly at him and flapped its way back up onto the green-budded branch of the apple tree from which it had launched its pounce. It seemed remarkably unmoved by his appeal to its better nature, Byrk reflected, and tore another piece from the loaf. He shredded it into smaller pieces, scattering them across the flagstone terrace for the less aggressive of his winged diners, then picked up a wedge of sharp cheddar cheese from the plate beside the bowl of grapes. He leaned back in his rattan chair, propping his heels on the matching chair which faced him on the other side of the table, and nibbled as he enjoyed the cool northern sunlight.

It wasn’t much like home, he thought, gazing out across the sparkling waters of North Bedard Bay. The locals (a label which he still had trouble applying to himself) usually called it simply North Bay, to distinguish it from the even larger Bedard Bay to the south. This far north of the equator, the seasons stood on their heads and even late spring and early summer were almost uncomfortably cool to his Charisian blood. Trees were much later to leaf, flowers were later to bloom (and less colorful when they did), and ocean water was far too cold for a Charisian boy to swim in. Besides, he missed Tellesberg’s livelier waterfront, sharper-edged theaters, and heady, bustling air of intellectual ferment.