Chapter Text
Waiting was the worst part of any process that involved humans. And now my active process was 91.3% humans. I sat on the ergonomically comfortable couch and scanned the room. For the eighth time in a row.
The reception area of the 'AI Employee' Coordination department (exactly as the info-marker read) looked like every other corporate station reception I’d ever been in, except bigger and cleaner.
ART and I had arrived at the Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland three standard hours earlier. Iris, Seth, and Martin met us, which meant spending time fielding human questions about well-being and plans, and listening to their feelings about our return. While ART was enjoying itself — docking with the central hub and exchanging pleasantries with the sysadmins (who were clearly thrilled to talk to their favorite ship) — I was sent here. To an 'interview.' As if everything hadn’t already been decided in advance.
The University was… enormous. Not just a big building, but an entire complex. My threat-assessment module was going into overload from the information flood. Service bots, engineering bots, research bots moved everywhere — all makes and configurations, many I’d never seen before. And constructs. Dozens of constructs.
University-uniformed humans walked past, giving me quick, appraising glances. Not like I was a threat, but like I was a newbie. A colleague. That was unsettling. A couple of times a scientist stopped to ask the human secretary about me, their gaze lingering longer than necessary. My still-testing nonverbal-communication module flagged it as professional curiosity.
Security was high, I had to admit. Extremely high. Better than 97% of the corporate facilities I’d hacked. Mesh networks, mass and DNA sensors, suppressors. Still… I started compiling a list of improvements for their security systems. For example, their anomalous-activity detection had a 1.2-second delay. Unacceptable waste. Maybe an under-optimized process somewhere in the signal chain? That needs checking. And their inter-sector encryption protocol, though advanced, used a predictable key-rotation algorithm. ART could have cracked it in half a second. I’d have managed in about two minutes, but I could crack it too. I decided that I should try establishing a link with at least one of the local security systems.
Speaking of establishing links, that was the most striking and overwhelming part: the network noise. I was connected to the university’s local net with low-priority guest access, but even that… hummed. Hundreds of AIs — from simple ventilation or elevator controllers to powerful research systems whose thought processes were so complex I couldn’t parse their messages — all talking to one another. Fragments of data, compute requests, status reports, coordination queries. It was somewhat like a corporate network, but here the AIs argued, shared data, and most importantly, asked instead of demanded. It felt like the Port FreeCommerce, but under Preservation control.
Amid the hum, one 'voice' was crystal clear and loud.
You’re still in the reception area? ART asked. Its signal came through my implanted relay.
No, I went out for cocktails at the local bar. Where else would I be? I sent back, while tracking a service bot that had been lingering too long near a ventilation grille.
It turned out its left wheel was sticking. It stopped trying and sent a fault report. It received an almost instant reply, dispatching a repair bot. Interesting.
They sent me your schedule. After the interview you have a medical exam, then credentialing and orientation on the regulations.
I was almost certain it had obtained the schedule from those same sysadmins, and not entirely ethically.
Does it include the clause 'do not attempt to destroy the University, even if you really want to'?
Approximately, but worded more verbosely. With three sub-clauses defining what constitutes an 'attempt to destroy'.
A second bot, similar to the first, hummed up to the stuck one. They exchanged a brief greeting on the common channel. The repair bot took the status report and began its own diagnostic scan.
How’s your acquaintance with the University going? Have you already offered to rewrite entire security system from scratch?
I’m close, I replied, sending it a draft list of issues that needed attention. And this is only with guest-level access.
You arrive at one of the greatest academic centers in the galactic system and immediately want to point out incompetence. Is this your way of having fun?
It’s my job.
You’re nervous, it countered.
I’m not. Right now I'm just bored.
Scans show your pulse is elevated 12% and cortisol levels…
ART, I cut off its transmission. Don’t make me use the safe word. Okay?
It fell silent, accepting that I didn’t want it analysis results right now. It handled the rejection with dignity.
As you wish. Let me know when your 'interview' is over. And remember, they are not your enemies, and I’m nearby.
I didn’t reply. It disconnected, and its presence faded back into University net’s hum. It was right, of course. The statistical probability that someone would try to deactivate me here and now was extremely low. Just old habits. Professionalism.
I went back to observing. The repair bot finished replacing the wheel, and its service colleague beeped something satisfied. Two scientists at the end of the corridor argued heatedly about transmitter bandwidth, now completely ignoring me. In the network flow, two control intelligences discussed the optimal route for equipment delivery, their exchange full of polite 'please' and 'thank you'.
It was something new. Completely different. Probably would take cycles of processing to get used to this. If I ever could.
My internal timer signaled — it was time for my slot. Almost simultaneously, a polite, impersonal notification came over the general net: Sector 7-G, office 4B. Dr. Arden is expecting you.
Stress indicators climbed again. I swiped away the system alerts, got to my feet, and made for the door. Right. Let's see what they want.
The door to office 4B slid open silently. Spacious inside. A large panoramic window looked out over the university's inner courtyard — a park with artificial lawns and walkways crawling with students, researchers, and bots. Six surveillance cameras, hidden threat sensors, an active privacy screen for the conversation. Not bad. No concealed weapons, no recording devices, no suppression system active. Everything clean. Spotless.
A person in a formal uniform sat behind a wide glass desk. They looked up at me and gave a polite professional smile.
“SecUnit 238776431? Please come in. Would you like to sit?” they gestured lightly toward the chair opposite.
“Standing is my standard operating mode,” I replied.
“As you prefer,” the person nodded, unperturbed. “I’m Dr. Arden. I coordinate nonstandard employees — mostly AIs at your level of autonomy.”
They waved a hand over the desk surface, and holographic windows with documents floated up. I read them instantly. Standard legal contracts, permits, reports, Pin-Lee’s signature… and Mensah’s in the 'Official Representative/Curator' field.
“I see your documents have already been prepared by lawyer and approved by the Preservation council,” Arden continued. “That simplifies the process considerably. As you know, the University recognizes legal personhood for constructs, so we only need to formalize our working relationship.”
They moved one window aside and brought up another — standard employment contract.
“You are being offered the position of senior security consultant for the research team aboard the ship Perihelion. Your duties will include physical and network security for missions, threat analysis, operational planning, and…” — they cleared their throat — “autonomous decision-making in critical situations to preserve crew lives and ship integrity. Quoting Captain Seth's recommendation, verbatim.”
I stayed silent. All of this was already obvious.
“I have one question,” Arden folded their hands on the desk. “Do you confirm your desire to work specifically with Perihelion? We have no record of any conflict incidents during your internship on Exodia-3… Which you completed with near-perfect metrics, I must say. But we need your voluntary consent. Were there any… difficulties in working together?”
Memories flashed through my processor. ART’s sarcasm. Its overprotectiveness. Our clashes. The 'integration' sessions. The moment it took control of my body to save me.
“There were difficulties,” I said finally, choosing my words carefully. “A logical consequence of establishing trust between two systems with different architectures. Our operational parameters are now synchronized. Working with it… is effective.”
Dr. Arden smiled, less strained this time.
"Excellent. Thank you for your honesty — that's exactly what we were hoping to hear. And that brings me to the second offer, in addition to the primary position. The University has launched a new research program on the dynamics and effectiveness of 'Bot-Pilot/SecUnit' pairs. We're very interested in your relationship with Perihelion and would like to invite you to participate as the second pair in the study. That would involve periodic diagnostics, anonymized interaction logs, and…"
“Second pair?” I interrupted. “Who’s the first?”
Arden brightened.
“Ah yes! You probably haven’t heard yet. It’s a wonderful example. The first pair is the ship Holism and the SecUnit from Preservation’s research complex known as Three. Their collaboration began spontaneously and has produced incredible results in planetary logistics and infrastructure on the former colony on Adamantine. That’s exactly the kind of synergy we want to study.”
Three and Holism. I remembered how I'd redirected Holism's persistent interest away from me and onto Three, back when we were all still in orbit around that planet.
“Are they here?” I asked, keeping my voice professionally curious.
“They're on their way back from the current mission. According to the monitors, they should dock at the hub by the end of today's cycle,” Arden said, glancing at the data again. “You should be able to meet.”
Something inside me tightened strangely. The possibility of meeting Three sparked interest — what had it become in the meantime? At the same time, something stirred uneasily at the thought of what ART would do when it learned that its least favorite colleague… had one-upped it. I’m not great at characterizing high-level AI relationships, but I knew they involved competition for resources and dominance in their own hierarchies. If we took it as fact that ART had been the first to 'acquire' me as a unique asset, then Holism had just pulled even. And now it was officially registered with Three in the research program as part of the first studied pair. Oh, ART would be furious.
“I’ll think about research,” I said evasively.
“Of course, the decision is yours,” Arden returned to the contract. “So, if you have no further questions, we just need to finalize everything with an electronic confirmation.”
“I have a request. Not contract-related — personal.”
Arden raised an eyebrow.
“I'm listening.”
“The manufacturer markings are still on my internal components — logo and serial numbers. I need them removed. Physically. And erased from all University databases if they’ve already been entered.”
Dr. Arden looked at me silently for a moment. Their expression shifted from professional to something more serious, almost respectful, according to my testing nonverbal-reading system.
“I understand. It’s a simple procedure. I’ll forward the request to engineering. They’ll schedule a time and provide full safety guarantees during the process.”
“Thank you,” I said something I hadn’t expected from myself.
“Then we’re all set,” they swiped the document toward me, and the hologram floated in front of my face. “Just confirm your agreement.”
Position, duties to the University, right to refuse assignments, right to privacy of logs, etc. Everything matched what had been discussed. In the 'Identifier/Callsign' field, I didn't see my serial number. It read: 'Aphelion.'
I froze for a second. Aphelion. What did that mean? It sounded… strange, almost elegant. I made a note to run an etymological analysis of the term at the first opportunity.
Without further delay, I sent the confirmation command. The document flashed green and dissolved.
“Excellent!” Dr. Arden smiled broadly. “Welcome to the team, Aphelion.”
My system's didn’t respond to the callsign yet, but maybe that was just a matter of time.
I nodded, said nothing more, turned, and left the office. I needed to get back to ART and tell it the news — if it didn’t already know.