Synthesis - James Swallow [44]
“A machine intellect the size of a continent.” Vale blew out a breath. “I have to say that out loud just to get my head around it.”
Tuvok nodded. “It would seem feasible, Commander. To create a thinking mechanism using preduotronic technology would indeed require a structure of comparable mass to these satellites.”
“No organic life,” Riker reiterated. “Machine starships, thinking moons. These… Sentries are a culture made up entirely of intelligent computers.”
“So the question has to be asked,” Troi began. “Who created them?”
“Some believe we created ourselves.” White-Blue’s answer was immediate and insistent. “Our existence, our definition. All that we are and will be.” There was a buzzing pause. “Who created you, Deanna-Troi?”
For the moment, the questions would go unanswered. An alert tone sounded on Lieutenant Rager’s console. “Captain? I have a proximity warning. One of the smaller platforms in a lower orbit is moving up on an intercept course. It’s reconfiguring as it goes.”
“Let’s take a look,” said Riker. “Tuvok? Stand ready at Yellow Alert.”
“Aye, sir,” came the reply.
The screen shifted to show a swath of the Demon planet’s atmosphere and rising over it a drum-shaped construct that was fanning open even as they watched. Another shipframe, a collection of tubes similar in aspect to Cyan-Gray’s vessel, detached from the inside of the platform and pulled away on a plume of thrust, heading away toward the day side. The dimensions of the construct continued to grow and widen as it approached the Titan. Riker glimpsed a forest of manipulators unfolding all along the inner surfaces of the drum.
“Looks like the big brother of those drones we encountered on the wreck,” said Vale.
“It’s still closing,” Rager reported. “Slowing now. Coming to off the bow.”
“Shall I back us off, sir?” asked Lavena.
Riker shook his head. “Hold us here, Aili.”
The construct moved to a halt directly in front of the Titan. Its expansion complete, it now resembled a short length of tube with an oval cross-section. The manipulators within were extended, waiting. Riker was reminded of brushes held in the hand of a painter before the first stroke over a canvas.
“Proceed inside, Captain William-Riker,” said White-Blue. “This drone facility will initiate repairs to the Titan immediately.”
“I’m getting a signal from the platform,” Rager added. “It… it says it wants to help us.”
On the small tactical monitor display on the arm of his chair, the captain saw the pattern of AI ships in the area around the Titan. None of them was in threatening posture, but there were no gaps in the coverage between them, either. He wondered how they would react if he ordered Lavena to do something random, to bolt suddenly at full impulse. After a moment, Riker folded his arms across his chest and glanced at Vale. “Number One. Secure all exterior hatches. Collapse deflectors. Double the security teams at all hull breaches and airlocks.”
“Aye, sir.” Her reply was crisp.
“And when you’re done with that, take us in. Let’s go look this gift horse in the mouth.”
Ra-Havreii stepped to the rectangular window and frowned, placing a hand on the transparent aluminum portal. Beyond it, he could see the curve of the ship’s starboard pylon and the ruin that was the warp nacelle. He hadn’t been inside the torn structure yet, but he had viewed the vid feed from the helmet camera of Ensign Crandall as the crewman undertook an EVA survey of the damage.
His other hand tightened into a ball. On some level, he knew it was a childish conceit to take the damage to the Titan personally, to anthropomorphize the vessel he served on, as some engineers of his acquaintance did; but it was hard to shake off the sharp dart of resentment he was feeling toward these so-called Sentry AIs. It wasn’t enough that one of their kind had blown holes in the ship,