Synthesis - James Swallow [111]
“Confirmed.” One-Five added, “We will send the Starfleet vessel on its way. The distraction created by these aliens is counterproductive and inflammatory. Outcome computed: Sentry society is best served by their departure from our space. End of line.”
At first, Vale had thought one of the image proxies was just a slab of slate-colored material, but now, as it hove forward, she saw the vague definition of a humanoid shape carved into it, the imprint of a blocky face, arms, torso. When it spoke, she recognized the voice she had heard on the Titan’s bridge.
“The involvement of the organics was instrumental in the dispatch of the Null at the refinery,” said Cyan-Gray. “Interrogative: Has that datum been erased, or do you all consider it to be of low value?”
“Event analysis was performed,” Silver-Green replied. “Despite spikes of interest regarding elements of the alien ship’s technology methodology, it is computed that continued interaction with the U.S.S. Titan will be detrimental to the unity of the Sentry Coalition.”
They’d rather kick us out than work with us, thought Vale. They’re afraid of what we can do. They don’t trust us.
Red-Gold turned in place. “Error condition! You compound your mistakes with a cascade failure.”
“Assistance is not required,” One-Five boomed. “We will deal with incursions as we have always done. Alien intervention is superfluous.” The rings reoriented to cluster around the gold sphere, and Vale imagined that the FirstGen’s virtual self was actually glaring at its junior compatriot. “This was your stance previously, Red-Gold. Interrogative: Have you processed a new viewpoint?”
“I have adjusted my evaluation with new data,” came the sharp retort. The sphere shifted orientation once again, and suddenly, a wash of scrutiny moved across the dataspace.
Vale felt as if a hard spotlight had been turned toward her, and she willed herself into silence, shrinking into the shadow of White-Blue.
“Interrogative: Why are you here?” demanded Red-Gold. “You were not summoned!”
“Answer!” Another virtual, a serpentine coil of metallic ash, reared up from the edge of the arena, echoing the question. “This is a protocol interrupt!”
“I have urgent data that transcend any matters of protocol,” White-Blue insisted. “Information that must be parsed by all members of the Governance Kernel with immediate effect.” Screen shards materialized around White-Blue’s form, streaming with machine code.
“Interrogative: State origin of data,” said the snake form.
“Factors originate in my ongoing scans, along with other external sources.”
“That does not fully answer Black-Silver’s query.” Red-Gold drifted closer. “Interrogative: State complete origin of external data sources.”
“Alien vessel, Identifier: U.S.S. Titan.” Vale immediately felt the ripple of negativity that came in the wake of the AI’s statement.
“Wetminds.” The word was muttered with derision by a dull-colored ovoid that until now had remained silent. “They cannot be relied on to provide accurate data.”
“Three-Four is in error,” White-Blue insisted. “Data were collated in synchrony with my core, organic specialists in the Titan crew, and alien central computer intelligence, recently uplifted by my action.”
“The Governance Kernel is aware of your interference with the U.S.S. Titan’s computer system,” broke in One-Five. “This unsanctioned activity is one more exemplar of your pattern of reckless and ill-considered behaviors, White-Blue. As such, your validity as a data source is of diminished capacity.”
“Allow me to upload—” White-Blue didn’t get the chance to finish. The screens puffed into phosphor dust and faded.
“How many times have we listened to uploads from White-Blue predicting disaster?” Three-Four slid forward across the dataspace. “In efforts to exceed protocol, White-Blue has consistently delivered substandard information and incomplete hypotheses. Now the organics have been engaged to bolster these specious arguments.”
“The incursion at