retreat. And an offer of assistance. And—”
She cut him off: “I don’t understand. How can it be all these things at once?”
“The message is composed of fragments. Some make sense, but a lot don’t. The bits that don’t are just meaningless, but there is still a resonance in the words—as though they have been engraved in my mind, that I might never forget them.”
She suddenly grasped the implication. “Are you suggesting that this is some sort of language used by the Sol Apotheosis Movement? That you’ve been programmed to understand it?”
“Nothing else can explain why I know what some of the fragments mean, and respond to them”—he put a hand on his stomach—” here, almost before I have time to realize.”
“Are they dangerous? Could they make you do things you don’t want to do?”
Cane shook his head. “Whoever is broadcasting the orders doesn’t know what they are doing. The fragments that make the most sense are the most emphatic, of course, but they are often the most inconsistent, too. The fragment repeated most often, for instance, is a request to trade information that is not relevant in exchange for supplies that no one in this century would need.”
“Why would anyone broadcast something like that?” Roche wondered. “And where did they find the code? It wasn’t in any of the records I accessed.”
“I don’t know, exactly,” Cane said. “Perhaps the source is a beacon, after all.”
“One the Sol Apotheosis Movement left behind, perhaps?”
He shrugged. “It may have successfully summoned my sibling here, then malfunctioned.”
“That wouldn’t explain why he bothered to reply.”
“Unless the beacon is an AI,” Cane suggested. “Or we have it the wrong way around. Perhaps the Sol transmission is from my sibling, and the reply from someone else entirely.”
Roche thought this over. The first transmission had come from Jagabis, their current destination. “If so, that means we’re heading into trouble.”
“I know.” Cane’s dark features remained expressionless. “It appears that being able to translate the transmission, even in part, has only made the situation worse.”
“It’s not your fault, Cane,” Roche said. “This whole system is a mess.” She rubbed sleep from her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Besides, you can’t help what you are,” she went on, sensing that he wanted something more from her than just acting as a confessor. “Your lack of motive worries me sometimes, but you’ve convinced me that you don’t mean me any harm—for what that’s worth. Just because you’re a weapon, and you’ve been designed to do certain things that might harm a great number of people, that doesn’t mean you will. There’s a big difference between design and intent, after all; I try to keep that in mind.”
Cane nodded slowly. “Thank you, Morgan. I was worried that the reminder of what I am might cause you to rethink our association.”
She smiled vaguely. “I’m glad you told me. At the very least, we can get the Box onto it and see whether it can’t translate the rest.”
“You would like me to tell the Box?”
“I can’t see why not. Having some understanding of a high-level Sol language will probably come in handy one day.” She went on: “When you have the time, go over the text of the transmission, pull out the bits that you can translate and see what the Box can come up with. It may be no more of a linguist than you or I, but it must be able to run basic statistical checks. Something’s bound to come up.”
Cane stood, his muscles flexing smoothly with the movement. “We’ll begin immediately.”
“I’ll be down to review your results soon.” She stood, too, and followed him to the door. “But don’t let it get in the way of mapping the system. That’s our first priority at the moment.”
The door slid closed behind Cane, leaving Roche with yet another mystery to ponder. She wondered how many more this
She cut him off: “I don’t understand. How can it be all these things at once?”
“The message is composed of fragments. Some make sense, but a lot don’t. The bits that don’t are just meaningless, but there is still a resonance in the words—as though they have been engraved in my mind, that I might never forget them.”
She suddenly grasped the implication. “Are you suggesting that this is some sort of language used by the Sol Apotheosis Movement? That you’ve been programmed to understand it?”
“Nothing else can explain why I know what some of the fragments mean, and respond to them”—he put a hand on his stomach—” here, almost before I have time to realize.”
“Are they dangerous? Could they make you do things you don’t want to do?”
Cane shook his head. “Whoever is broadcasting the orders doesn’t know what they are doing. The fragments that make the most sense are the most emphatic, of course, but they are often the most inconsistent, too. The fragment repeated most often, for instance, is a request to trade information that is not relevant in exchange for supplies that no one in this century would need.”
“Why would anyone broadcast something like that?” Roche wondered. “And where did they find the code? It wasn’t in any of the records I accessed.”
“I don’t know, exactly,” Cane said. “Perhaps the source is a beacon, after all.”
“One the Sol Apotheosis Movement left behind, perhaps?”
He shrugged. “It may have successfully summoned my sibling here, then malfunctioned.”
“That wouldn’t explain why he bothered to reply.”
“Unless the beacon is an AI,” Cane suggested. “Or we have it the wrong way around. Perhaps the Sol transmission is from my sibling, and the reply from someone else entirely.”
Roche thought this over. The first transmission had come from Jagabis, their current destination. “If so, that means we’re heading into trouble.”
“I know.” Cane’s dark features remained expressionless. “It appears that being able to translate the transmission, even in part, has only made the situation worse.”
“It’s not your fault, Cane,” Roche said. “This whole system is a mess.” She rubbed sleep from her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Besides, you can’t help what you are,” she went on, sensing that he wanted something more from her than just acting as a confessor. “Your lack of motive worries me sometimes, but you’ve convinced me that you don’t mean me any harm—for what that’s worth. Just because you’re a weapon, and you’ve been designed to do certain things that might harm a great number of people, that doesn’t mean you will. There’s a big difference between design and intent, after all; I try to keep that in mind.”
Cane nodded slowly. “Thank you, Morgan. I was worried that the reminder of what I am might cause you to rethink our association.”
She smiled vaguely. “I’m glad you told me. At the very least, we can get the Box onto it and see whether it can’t translate the rest.”
“You would like me to tell the Box?”
“I can’t see why not. Having some understanding of a high-level Sol language will probably come in handy one day.” She went on: “When you have the time, go over the text of the transmission, pull out the bits that you can translate and see what the Box can come up with. It may be no more of a linguist than you or I, but it must be able to run basic statistical checks. Something’s bound to come up.”
Cane stood, his muscles flexing smoothly with the movement. “We’ll begin immediately.”
“I’ll be down to review your results soon.” She stood, too, and followed him to the door. “But don’t let it get in the way of mapping the system. That’s our first priority at the moment.”
The door slid closed behind Cane, leaving Roche with yet another mystery to ponder. She wondered how many more this
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