PrincessColumbia

  Diane sipped her coffee as she watched the automated docking of the Joan of Arc from her seat in her observer’s station. She grimaced at the bitter taste, once again kicking herself for not asking J’Jesi to help her get the galley’s systems up and running. One of the systems that had been affected by the unexpected combat stress on their shakedown cruise had been the refrigeration...or rather, after the power surging that happened in the early stages of the battle, the heater. Half the edible food on the ship had been prematurely cooked while they were pummeling the Road Runner and going pnetside to retrieve their unexpected guest. The refrigerator held her Jyantin Tonic blends, and by the time they’d discovered problem, the instant Jyantin powder tasted like burned almonds and ash. As the coffee was kept in the shelf-stable storage, it was just fine. Diane would be forever ruined for coffee now, though. Quite simply nothing even remotely compared to her favorite drink ever.

  “So, this Benjamin character expin any more about his family?” asked Jase as he spun his chair around to face her, his own coffee steaming in front of his face as he took a sip.

  Diane gave her mug a baleful sigh and set it aside, “Not much in terms of detail, they apparently built all sorts of cyphers and codes to keep their locations hidden from the T.I.A. I did start going through the download from the facility. The records are a bit fragmented but what’s there does seem to confirm his story; built in a b, raised on an accelerated program to get them ready for the war, then when the war came to a close the program was terminated but the kids escaped. They managed to track Benjamin down when he covered the escape of some of the others in the family and he’s been held at that facility ever since. Everything is very hush-hush and need to know, and from the supervisor’s notes it looks like they were being treated as hardened, career war criminals without ever having seen a day of combat.” She grimaced, “From the looks of their dossiers, or at least what I’ve been able to sort through, any crimes they have on record have been only after they escaped and all starting about five years ter, like they managed to stay hidden before being discovered and anything they did has been in pursuit of evading their former captors.”

  “Sounds like a regur action adventure holoseries,” quipped Jace, “You’re sure the records haven’t been doctored?”

  “It’s the T.I.A., so no,” Diane enjoyed a private chuckle when Jace mirrored her grimace. As much as he kept quiet about exactly why he and his crew had left Terran space, it was fairly easy to read between the lines and determine that it probably had something to do with a bck op gone bad. “But that said, I don’t think they were modified by him, if nothing else. I’ll have Katrina run them through an analysis to confirm they’re legit...well, as well as she can, anyway.”

  Jace just nodded as he sipped his coffee and Navigation reported that the automated docking was finished.

  Diane disembarked with as little fanfare as when the ship deployed, that is to say attended by Norma and Russe at the dock and not much else to speak of it.

  Jase had offered to take Benjamin on a tour of the station and get the refuge settled into his own quarters on the station. As interested as Diane was in getting to know her new guest, she was grateful to her captain for volunteering for that duty. She had friends to greet.

  She was giving a hug to Norma and grinning at the ever-eager Russe as he waited his turn when J’Jesi strode past, giving Diane a friendly (if cagey) smile and a nod. As she disappeared into the crowd of people milling about Docking Bay B, Norma looked between the Crotuk and Diane and smiled, “Well-well, making a new friend, are we?”

  Diane pinked, “Uh, yes. She’s nice. We worked on some repairs together.”

  Norma smirked, “Oh, yes, is that what the kids these days are calling it. I bet you made her engine purr.”

  Diane’s cheeks went from pink to red in a heartbeat and she couldn’t meet Norma’s eyes, “Crotuk don’t purr.”

  There was about 45 seconds of stunned silence before Norma cackled, “Oh-hohohoho! Our sweet, innocent little commander is growing up! So how compatible are Morvuck and Crotuk? Is she a new spoke on your very own polycule? Are we going to have to throw a wedding in the future?”

  Diane groaned, “No, no weddings! We’re just friends, she made it clear she’s not interested in anything like...that. Just...I guess the term is ‘friends with benefits’...?”

  Norma’s expression softened, “Well, I’m gd, you really did have a bit of a stick up your ass about sex. Caitlynn really has been good for y...”

  Diane witnessed something very startlingly disturbing in Norma as she seemed to just...slow down. Not like her avatar was stuck in a faulty environment model or crashed code block, but like her mind just seemed to wind down. Her pupils dited and her smile almost seemed to sag just slightly. Her muscles didn’t so much as droop as it was like she suddenly realized she had forgotten something but didn’t know what.

  All at once, she returned to her usual, animated self, “...ou! I’m sure if she asked you then you’d be asking the promenade to get ready for a wedding procession.”

  Nonplused, she was about to say something when she spotted Russe behind Norma shaking his head with a sad and disturbed look on his face. Changing gears, she focused on Norma again, “That...might...” she took a breath, grateful for once that her usual flustered behavior around the subjects of love and sex would work for her in this instance. She rubbed her face as though flustered and said, “If she asked, I’ll admit I would be very happy to see that happen.”

  “Well I know what the next girl’s night with her and I is going to be about, then...”

  Diane rolled her eyes, “Norma, no, stop. I promise you’ll be the first I tell if she does ask but don’t pester her about it, please?”

  “Oh, alright, fine then. Spoil my fun!” she said melodramatically. “See if I bring donuts to the post-shakedown debriefing.”

  Diane’s eyes went wide in unfeigned excitement, “Donuts?! The station has donuts now?!”

  Norma cackled and Russe groaned, though he did so with a smile. Katrina rezzed in next to Diane and chuckled, “Russe now owes Norma and I five credits each. He bet that someone who was so fitness focused as yourself wouldn’t like donuts. My behavioral heuristics models and Norma’s observations of your preference for sweet things when you felt you could afford the indulgence pointed very clearly to appreciating carbs in any variety.”

  Diane was genuinely, if pleasantly, surprised that they had been discussing something like her preferences in her absence. “I...huh, that makes sense, but doesn’t necessarily mean I like donuts in particur...”

  Katrina’s impish smile, loopily swaying tail, and perked feline ears served to underscore the smug tone when she interrupted with, “There’s also the record fast approval time from when you opened the application for the donut shop to move onto the station and your approval.”

  Diane blushed but smiled, “Ah...”

  Russe went about transferring some credits to Norma on his mini-tab with a bit of a grumble.

  “Fifteen-point-eight seconds,” decred Katrina, Norma giggling like they’d pnned this interaction.

  Diane, confused, rocked back slightly and replied with, “Huh?”

  Norma’s belly was shaking with her barely contained ughter as Katrina crified, “Your usual time to approval averages about 20 to 30 minutes along with some research done if nobody is avaible to be your sounding board about the application. The time between opening the application and marking it approved was 15.8 seconds, three of which were spent scrolling to the bottom of the document to provide your signature.”

  Norma was outright cackling by the time Katrina finished her expnation and Russe interjected with a good-natured, slightly grouchy tone, “Yeah, well, that was information you withheld before making the bet. And Kat,” he said as he closed his mini-tab, “You didn’t have any accounts of your own, so I set you up with one using some credentials I...uh...obtained through totally legitimate and legal means,” nobody bothered to moderate their skeptical expressions at this, “And you now have five credits. Crotuk, and the exchange rates between Crotuk and Independent credits is pretty good right now.”

  Katrina seemed gobsmacked, “I...what?” without waiting for a response, she gasped out, “But...you can’t have an account unless you’re a legal person! I’m just part of the station, how did you make me a legal entity?”

  This was something that Diane hadn’t known, or even considered the question of Katrina’s...person-hood. To her, the hologram was just part of the game, a program that popped up to aid her as a new Commander in getting started with the minimum of fuss. But had Katrina been an actual, semi-sentient artificial intelligence...or even possibly actually sentient within the bounds of the universe she inhabited (which, of course, meant within the game Diane was pying), then personhood would very likely be something that would come up for her. Come to think, she realized, When I was reading the in-game wiki, the reason the S.A.I. left Earth was over the Katrina program and the use of A.I. as, basically, a sve css. I wonder if this is a plot hook to a topically appropriate in-game mission? Out loud, she said, “That...seems like an oversight, honestly.” Norma smiled warmly at her and Russe gave her a comradely nod, but Katrina couldn’t be more surprised if she’d been suddenly turned flesh and blood by an honest to goodness fairy godmother and decred that she was a real girl. “No, really,” expined Diane, “Think about it. You’re my assistant for the station, right? You’re here to help me in running the pce and doing all the things that I’d do even if I’m not here. I hadn’t given it any thought before, but if you don’t have person-hood, then how would you be able to do anything in-proxy for me?”

  Katrina gave Diane a skeptical look, “Uh...huh. That’s rather mercenary, isn’t it? I only get rights and privileges if I’m useful?”

  Diane blushed, feeling put on the spot, “No, that’s not...” she frowned, “That’s not fair! I didn’t even consider it before, and I guess that’s on me, but how was I supposed to even consider it? I don’t know everything and most of my life was spent being a loner misanthrope who liked books and video games.”

  As she spoke, she realized a real, uncomfortably honest anger was building up and leaking into her words. Not anger at Katrina, but at herself for knowing about the possibility of self-aware A.I. and how they would struggle to be seen as a person. And then she remembered Rachel and how badly she wanted to go somewhere to just be herself as an actual person named Bckbird and her anger turned to red hot fury that she had to work to keep from showing. I have no grounds to defend myself, she’s 100-percent right even if she wouldn’t know it as a game character. She took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, I guess it’s a sore subject, probably something to do with my caretaker being so ready to tear into me over things like that.”

  Katrina’s expression immediately softened, “Oh...I’m sorry, then. I guess I made an assumption, and you know what they say about assumptions...”

  Diane didn’t, but let the statement stand. Okay, stay in character, ‘Diane Somni’els’ might know what she’s saying, even if Dyn Samuels doesn’t. Out loud, she said, “Well, if you’re officially a person now where you weren’t before, I’m guessing you weren’t being paid?”

  Katrina blinked. Unusual as she was a hologram and had no need to, but she was programmed to mimic humans. She blinked again. “...paid?!”

  Diane shrugged, “Everyone who works for me gets paid. I just...guess I assumed you got, like, a percentage of what I pulled in as station commander or something,” she grinned at the A.I., “Now instantiate yourself solid enough that I can shake your hand as my newest employee.”

  Katrina flushed blue, “...ah, you figured that out, huh?”

  Her grin turned smug, “I’ve pyed with the holographic environment in my quarters a bit, yeah.”

  As Katrina extended her hand tentatively, Diane took it and then abruptly pulled the catgirl into a hug, “Hah! You fell for it! Now I get to get back at you for all those times I tried to elbow you and went right through you!”

  “Ack! Hey! No, stop it!”

  Norma cackled, “Oh, you love it! You’d just make yourself pass through again if you didn’t!”

  Rather than objecting or making herself insubstantial again, Katrina grumbled while Diane allowed her hug to go from a good natured capture to something much more friendly.

  It didn’t st much longer, and after Diane let Katrina go Norma said, “Well, I guess with that little show of affection, you’ve earned your donuts. I’ll go get an order from the shop and meet you all up in the conference room.”

  Diane nodded, “Okay, I’m going to go clean up in my quarters a little. The ship-board facilities were sufficient, but there’s nothing like your own shower, you know?”

  Norma nodded and headed down the tether and Katrina de-rezzed with a puzzling look at Diane. Once they were both gone, she turned to Russe, “What was up with Norma earlier and why did you gesture like I should keep it quiet?”

  Russe frowned and cast a concerned look in the direction Norma had gone, “I don’t know, exactly,” expined the hacker, “It started a few days before you left, but it was just once and I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Sometimes people just have a brain fart, you know?” Diane nodded and he continued, “But then after you left it happened again. Then it started happening more frequently. I keep telling her to go to see Doctor Dmini...or anyone in sickbay about it, but she insists that she’s fine and there’s nothing wrong. You’re the first person to see it happening besides me, but I’ve asked the Ops crew to watch for it, too, and call the doctor if it happens while she’s on duty or if it’s more serious than just that...pse.”

  Diane frowned, “That’s...concerning. She’s otherwise fine, though?”

  Russe shrugged, “I’m no doctor, but she’s eating normally, her sleep schedule is the same as it ever was, and she still has all the same levels of energy in what she does. No changes to her personality or habits, it’s just those random moments where it’s like someone just hit pause in her brain.”

  Diane nodded, “That’s what I thought it looked like, too. It might be seizures...” they both frowned at this, “Tell you what. I’ll talk to her about it in private and ft out make it an order if she tries to duck out of a check-up.”

  Russe snorted, “Oh, she’ll fight you on that.”

  She chuckled as well, “I’m sure, but I’d rather she be pissed off for a moment and be fine in the long term than ignore something that could be a symptom of something awful that could be nipped in the bud if we catch it early enough.”

  Russe nodded and they started in the direction of the tether. “By the way,” said Diane, “I’ve got a data packet dump from the instaltion we found while on that shakedown cruise,” at Russe’s slightly confused expression, Diane realized he might not know about what happened on their unexpectedly eventful ‘milk run’ yet, “Ah, I’ll expin more about that in the briefing. I was already going to ask Katrina to help with this, but I think you’d be perfect to help with this as well. I need you and Kat to go through the data, do your best to put it back together in something that isn’t a compromised mess and verify to the best of your combined ability that it’s the genuine article and that it hasn’t been altered or tampered in any way.”

  Russe nodded, “Copied data isn’t always good for forensic work like determining authenticity, but there’s usually markers that can be found if it’s been tampered with. I might be able to spot something Katrina misses and vice versa.”

  Diane grinned, “Good thing you added the ‘vice versa,’ she might have taken that personally. She’s always listening, so I’ve discovered.”

  Russe shivered theatrically, “Don’t remind me! It’s a good thing she’s a good A.I. or she’d be a privacy nightmare.”

  They both jumped at the almost whispered words that seemed to come from nowhere between them, “A very good thing, Mister Russe No-st-name,” the disembodied voice ughed devilishly, “A~a~a~always listening, always watching!”

  “Kat!” grumped Diane in exasperation, and the A.I. actually made it sound like her ughter was departing along with an invisible, incorporeal body down the tether.

  Diane rolled her eyes as Russe chuckled and they continued discussing matters of the station and their next gaming session with the other Morvucks.

  Diane pulled her boots on and paused, her thoughts distracted as she mentally repyed the st few days. If she actually were a Morvuck Lost who was given a space station to manage and own by the Terran Federation, she’d have considered it to be surprisingly eventful. Getting into a ship-to-ship battle with a Terran cruiser, conducting emergency repairs during said battle, meeting a refuge and taking them to her station, sleeping with a member of the species that killed her parents...all this might seem impusible in the timing and instance...if she weren’t fully aware she was in a game.

  In real life, nothing was arranged so neatly as to be on the one hand exciting and on the other fraught with apparent danger. IRL she was exceptional, if not necessarily in a good way. As an agent of the American Republic, she regurly put her life in danger and confronted enemies of the state and its citizens in order to make it so other people could live nice, quiet, unexciting lives where the most stress they experienced was worrying if they’d have enough money from their job to pay the bills and put food on their table. She regurly faced nightmares so regur people could live the American Dream.

  She recognized this had an effect on her, it couldn’t not. If she hadn’t joined the agency, she’d be just one of the everyday people living lives of quiet desperation in service to God and their neighbors. Her life wouldn’t be spent around people who saw nothing wrong with strapping armor that made them a walking tank onto their body and then following that up with enough weapons to liquidate a medium sized town.

  She realized in that moment that she’d been somewhat desensitized to...her own life. She’d been spending so long just going about her day-to-day existence just trying to make it one step at a time. Joining the agency had never been her pn. She hadn’t, being quite honest, had any pns of her own. She had no real long-term goals beyond, “Grow up, get a job, hopefully nd a family, then retire once you’re old enough.” Those were benchmarks, some of them were mandatory, others would require a little effort, but none of them were really goals, things that Diane wanted to do with her life that were her own choices.

  And somehow, through her actions in a silly, ham-fisted simution of 1960s America, she’d caught the attention of one of the most powerful organizations in the country. And not only did she secure her position, she excelled, leveraging one small success into a huge leap ahead of the rest of her peers.

  She stood and rounded the bed, staring at a dresser that she’d never once used...she couldn’t recall ever even touching it. It was one of the pieces of furniture her suite was supplied with when she entered the game, a measure of making the pyer feel particurly special and affluent. In space, on an actual space station the size and complexity of the Matron’s Aerie, a suite the size of her quarters would be inconsequential to build and, with the appropriate specs and pns provided to the synthesizer facilities, be furnished well enough that even the most decadent fantasies and vish of lifestyles be provided with just the cost of the base materials that could be scavenged and mined from the systems the station was in.

  Diane tended to live simply. Even her ft in Houston was barely filled with her own things. She had her models, she had her kitchen with all its tools and small appliances, she had her bed and her screens. She had her own in-home exercise room simply because the ft had been built to house a family and so she had rooms to spare. Even her piano, a baby grand she’d purchased from an estate sale, was a splurge. She’d just been promoted to cyber-agent and received an accompanying pay raise and bonus that could have, if she’d had any designs to, purchased her a nice home in the suburbs.

  Most of that money was still sitting in a mutual fund, quietly accruing interest.

  Even in the game, her character was of modest means. A war orphan, no extended family other than the race she was born into, and likely would have been taken to whatever Terran agency handled the war orphans in the wake of some battle during The Crotixian March. Diane’s conveniently created backstory where her stepmother was, instead, her caretaker would mean the theoretical Diane Somni’els would have learned to live just as spartan as she did. Even with all the gifts of clothing and trinkets and tools and toys she received from Mortan, she felt little desire to keep most of them for herself. If she received anything that she thought would be better suited to someone else, she usually just gave it to that person, no questions asked. Sometimes she made sure it was given anonymously if the intended recipient was known to be the kind that felt guilty about receiving gifts.

  The dresser she was now standing about six feet away from would never have been used by either Diane Somni’els, First Found of Mortan, or Dyn “Diane” Samuels, Cyber-Agent of America.

  Save for one thing that rested between it and the wall.

  Her thoughts from the shuttle hadn’t ever really left her. When she was talking to members of the crew of the Joan of Arc or Benjamin, or when she was first sparring with and then “sparring” with J’Jesi, the awareness that she had been so deeply sunk into her cover that she’d pretty much stopped even thinking about being an agent was always there in the back of her mind. It’s not real, it seemed to whisper, You’re only fooling the people around you because they’re just as fake as you are.

  As much of a rat bastard as her subconscious was, there was an element of truth to what it was telling her, and for weeks now she’d been shirking the duty that was the whole reason she was in the game in the first pce.

  Diane finally mustered the will to move the dresser. While the piece of furniture might have been a challenge for her to shift as a human male IRL, as a Morvuck woman it was light enough she almost accidentally yeeted it over her own head. She caught herself and stabilized the dresser and set it aside, then turned back to her actual objective.

  Just the sight of it had a weight to it, a heaviness that she knew was her own emotional connection to the object. Her weapon, the phaser-like device that put her head and shoulders above the other agents. She knelt down in front of it, feeling hesitant to touch it. She now knew better than at any point in her life before the price that was demanded of someone who was careless with a weapon. This one was built and designed to take digital lives, but whether the life was digital or organic didn’t matter, it was a tool meant for killing. She’d been too bsé about that fact, and she’d never be forgiven for her hubris.

  But, she had a job to do, and if she actually encountered a real threat to humans in general and the American Republic in particur in VR, her weapon was the single best tool to use.

  With a heavy breath, she reached down and picked up the digital pistol. She stood and turned, pcing it against her back almost on automatic, the ‘magic’ physics of VR allowing it to stick to her as though held by its own gravity, then picked up the dresser and put it back in its pce. She then put her jacket on, covering the weapon, and left her quarters.

  The weight of it wasn’t as reassuring as it used to be.

  PrincessColumbia