defined as the receiving intelligence, sampled the inflow at; intervals frequent enough to ensure that its counterpart had been operating within the specified parameters.
Everything was fine at first. The incoming data was not only acceptable, but judging from equally spaced nibbles, made an excellent meal. It seemed that Hoon number two had journeyed far, fed off many civilizations, but failed to turn up anything more than some Thraki splinter groups. But it was then, while number two reported on one such encounter, that number one spotted the potential problem.
Careful to conceal its activities, lest the other AI realize that an investigation was under way, number one diverted part of the data feed to a parallel processor where it could be dissected without interrupting the main flow.
The essence of the discrepancy had to do with the outcome of that particular contact report. Having located a breakaway colony, Hoon number two had allowed itself to be drawn into a twoway conversation, and even worse, had been convinced to spare that particular group. Something that should have been impossible.
Worried lest it be contaminated by some sort of virus—
Hoon number one ran an in-depth review of the facts: Have identified a Thraki debris trail consisting of a wrecked in ship, a hastily mined asteroid, and a spent fuel core, his opposite number had given chase. So far so good.
Fleet number two followed the soft bodies, discovered that approximately three hundred Thraki had established themselves on a class two planet, and prepared to destroy them. That’s when a command override was received. Somehow, someway, one or more of the Thraki had come up with a way to spoof the Hoon.
It appeared that a very sophisticated virus had been planted in the Thraki wreck, a scout had been infected with the corrupted programming as it ingested the ship’s AI, and passed the disease along to its superior as part of an intelligence report. Not only that, but whoever built the virus was so clever that they had imbued it with the means to fool Hoon number two’s virus hunters, and take up residence in the AI’s central processor.
Once in place, the false input took on the appearance of original programming, programming that confirmed the existence of a special breed of Thraki, a group that could and should be allowed to live. An assertion that Hoon number one knew to be false.
That being the case, the AI routed the data to a sacrificial memory module, ran a high priority scrub on its primary, secondary, and tertiary backup banks, and did the only thing that it could: lay plans to murder its twin.
The cabin was dark, intentionally dark. in keeping with the way Jepp felt. Empty ration boxes littered the normally spotless floor, clothes lay heaped where they’d been thrown, and the wouldbe messiah lay huddled beneath a none too clean blanket.
The exprospector had been in a foul mood for weeks now, ever since the visit to Fortuna, and the manner in which God’s message had been ignored.
Yes, the sentients who lived there were the dregs of the Confederacy and committed to their evil ways. Still, he had assumed one or two of them would respond and form the core of what would eventually be a galaxy-spanning religion.
But he’d been wrong, very wrong, and was depressed as a result. Nothing, not even Sam’s most entertaining antics had been sufficient to rouse the human from his emotional stupor.
In the meantime, the fleet continued to travel through space, the Sheen continued to hunt Thraki. and his followers continued to attend the daily prayer meetings Humans, bored by the repetitive nature of the gatherings might have stayed away, but not the machines, who listened to Alpha’s rantings with limitless patience, and always came back for more.
In fact, had Jepp been in a better mood, he might have taken heart from the fact that more than two thousand machines routinely attended services held in the vast nanodraped launch bay where
Everything was fine at first. The incoming data was not only acceptable, but judging from equally spaced nibbles, made an excellent meal. It seemed that Hoon number two had journeyed far, fed off many civilizations, but failed to turn up anything more than some Thraki splinter groups. But it was then, while number two reported on one such encounter, that number one spotted the potential problem.
Careful to conceal its activities, lest the other AI realize that an investigation was under way, number one diverted part of the data feed to a parallel processor where it could be dissected without interrupting the main flow.
The essence of the discrepancy had to do with the outcome of that particular contact report. Having located a breakaway colony, Hoon number two had allowed itself to be drawn into a twoway conversation, and even worse, had been convinced to spare that particular group. Something that should have been impossible.
Worried lest it be contaminated by some sort of virus—
Hoon number one ran an in-depth review of the facts: Have identified a Thraki debris trail consisting of a wrecked in ship, a hastily mined asteroid, and a spent fuel core, his opposite number had given chase. So far so good.
Fleet number two followed the soft bodies, discovered that approximately three hundred Thraki had established themselves on a class two planet, and prepared to destroy them. That’s when a command override was received. Somehow, someway, one or more of the Thraki had come up with a way to spoof the Hoon.
It appeared that a very sophisticated virus had been planted in the Thraki wreck, a scout had been infected with the corrupted programming as it ingested the ship’s AI, and passed the disease along to its superior as part of an intelligence report. Not only that, but whoever built the virus was so clever that they had imbued it with the means to fool Hoon number two’s virus hunters, and take up residence in the AI’s central processor.
Once in place, the false input took on the appearance of original programming, programming that confirmed the existence of a special breed of Thraki, a group that could and should be allowed to live. An assertion that Hoon number one knew to be false.
That being the case, the AI routed the data to a sacrificial memory module, ran a high priority scrub on its primary, secondary, and tertiary backup banks, and did the only thing that it could: lay plans to murder its twin.
The cabin was dark, intentionally dark. in keeping with the way Jepp felt. Empty ration boxes littered the normally spotless floor, clothes lay heaped where they’d been thrown, and the wouldbe messiah lay huddled beneath a none too clean blanket.
The exprospector had been in a foul mood for weeks now, ever since the visit to Fortuna, and the manner in which God’s message had been ignored.
Yes, the sentients who lived there were the dregs of the Confederacy and committed to their evil ways. Still, he had assumed one or two of them would respond and form the core of what would eventually be a galaxy-spanning religion.
But he’d been wrong, very wrong, and was depressed as a result. Nothing, not even Sam’s most entertaining antics had been sufficient to rouse the human from his emotional stupor.
In the meantime, the fleet continued to travel through space, the Sheen continued to hunt Thraki. and his followers continued to attend the daily prayer meetings Humans, bored by the repetitive nature of the gatherings might have stayed away, but not the machines, who listened to Alpha’s rantings with limitless patience, and always came back for more.
In fact, had Jepp been in a better mood, he might have taken heart from the fact that more than two thousand machines routinely attended services held in the vast nanodraped launch bay where
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