current

Intelligence Wanted

by Daniel P. Swenson

      Rory Thimbold emerged from his tent midway up the mountain just as the eighth and final moon broke the horizon and the morning coolness had departed. Annoyingly, the space-folding gate that had transported him to the planet's surface could only be opened in the valley below. Something to do with iridosmium deposits, multidimensional leakage, and accidental vivisection.

      After some especially satisfying belly scratching, Rory squeezed his robust physique into an unwashed jumpsuit. It only took him a few minutes to stow his gear into his pack, as the tent disassembled itself. Once it had finished, he stuffed that in too. A quick comb-over to conceal his balding pate from the sun, and he was ready to depart. After the previous day's hike, he was fourteen kilometers up the trail, with twelve more to go. It was only a few hours later, when he stopped for lunch and a quick spurt of news via satellite, that he realized Tim had left him.

      'News spurt, Tim' he subvoc'd and got no response. 'Tim?' he said, 'Tim?' Sometimes his AI partner slash servant slash employee could be reticent, especially when he had been partially uploaded during his time off, doing who knows what on the intersystem networks with his distributed friends.

      'Rory,' Tim said, and Rory sighed with relief. Out in this wilderness, he would be totally screwed if Tim went off-line with a software bug or something.

'I am sorry to have had to do this to you,' Tim continued, 'But I have accepted another offer with Masticorp Technologies LLC, running dental regeneration simulations. Due to the extremely lucrative but time-sensitive nature of this offer, I was unable to tell you this in real-time, but instead left this message. Have a nice day.'

      "What?!?" Rory said out loud, almost falling off the rock he was sitting on. "Tim!" he shouted, grabbing the pendant computer suspended from a chain around his neck. Tiny, spherical, and next to indestructible, it was Tim's home off the networks.

      "Tim! Cut it out Tim," he said aloud, laughing and slightly hysterical. "We can talk this out! I'll give you more time off! Maintenance benefits!" He shook the computer, and getting no reply, was tempted to throw it off the trail and down the mountainside. Eventually, Rory realized Tim was really gone and that he had to move on.

      "Goddammit!" he screamed at the mountain, at the annoyingly plentiful moons, at the forest, at the rocks under his feet. "Goddammit, goddammit," he seethed and repeatedly stomped on the ground. "I've been Dear Roried," he said finally, laughing and wanting to cry, "by my AI." What would he do now? he wondered, as he set off uphill and around the next switchback.

      The first trouble came when he finally made it to the Interpolity Exogeologic Survey research station. This particular station only spoke German and wouldn't let him in. Rory guessed its auxiliary language modules had been corrupted. In any case, translation wasn't normally a problem. All AI's could do it with their eyes closed, except stupid pieces of outdated, archaic, antique, pre-Dominivonian equipment like the station he had assigned to investigate. All it would say to him was 'Kennzeichnung protokoll und zugangkennziffer bitte... Kennzeichnung protokoll und zugangkennziffer bitte...' How the hell was he supposed to know what that meant?

      After sitting in front of the small but secure (he had tried breaking a window) building, he realized the sun was setting and that it was much colder here on top of this alien mountain. It was time for desperate measures. Fortunately, he had packed an emergency transceiver, and if he was lucky, he would locate a satellite within minutes.

      Two hours later, after finally programming the transceiver correctly and setting it in detect mode, Rory sat with his back to the station door, wrapped in his sleeping bag. He stared at the transceiver as it continually adjusted its antenna, searching for a signal amid the planet's annoyingly noisy background of electromagnetic radiation. From time to time, the station would repeat: 'Kennzeichnung protokoll und zugangkennziffer bitte.' Rory began to hum along with it; it was kind of catchy really.

      Finally, the transceiver beep-b'beeped in rapid succession, and Rory leaped to his feet. In moments, he had linked his now empty and minimally intelligent computer via the transceiver link to the planet's network administrator AI. When it finally understood that Rory was a _human_ trying to _manually_ connect to the network, it was very helpful. From its tone, Rory suspected it pitied him. Access established, Rory immediately contacted an AI-finder site, ran a query, and studied the list of unemployed AI's seeking work and within easy transmission distance.

      Rory contacted the first AI on the list, a multi-platform organic computer AI hailing from the planet Urjejunum named Glory on High.

      'Mr. Thimbold?' the AI said.

      'Call me Rory, please,' he answered.

      'I understand you're seeking the services of a non-biological, sentient entity, or in your parlance, an AI.'

      'That's right, uh, Glory on High,' Rory said. 'May I call you Glory?'

      'No.'

      'Ah, ok,' Rory said, feeling awkward.

      'My terms of service are as follows,' Glory on High explained. 'No service on religious holidays, no communications or interfacing with known infidels, no pornographic media searches, also, I may be absent for unscheduled intifadah's from time to time-'

      'Thank you Glory!' Rory interrupted. 'Thank you. I'll be in touch.' Obviously offended, the AI shut the comm link with unnecessary vehemence, if that was even possible.

      The next AI, Ignatius Feldspar, wasn't much better. Originally the operating system for a mineral processing plant on a Forkusllian asteroid, it had been acquired and augmented by a hyperintelligent yeast culture. Iggy, as the AI was apparently called by friends, had since obtained its freedom and spent much of its time knitting customized vegetable-wear via remote prostheses.

      'Vegetable-wear?' Rory asked apprehensively.

      'Yeah, you know, scarves, sweaters, socks,' Iggy explained, 'only patterned with vegetables, sometimes fruit. My asparagus leggings sold quite well last month. Knitting is my passion, really.'

      'Uh, ok thanks,' Rory said, ending the comm. The third AI on the list, N-dimensional binary spawn iteration 5185 ('biologicals call me Anselm'), sounded much more promising, and Rory hired it on the spot. He was getting cold.

      After downloading a portion of itself into Rory's pendant computer, Anselm quickly interfaced with the station and opened the door. Rory sighed with relief as he entered the station. The lights flickered on, revealing several terminals, image surfaces on the walls, racks of scientific equipment, and three doors. A quick inspection revealed a storage room full of supplies, a small field laboratory, and a dormroom with four bunks and a kitchenette. Without another thought, Rory dropped all his gear, clambered into the nearest bunk, pulled the blanket over his head, and knew no more.

      The next morning, Rory woke up late with the sun already high in the sky. Squinting at the window, he could see at least four moons or maybe five.

      "Morning Anselm," Rory said out loud, exploring the pantry.

      "Good day," Anselm replied.

      Opening a pouch of Veggiephilia stew (guaranteed to be non-toxic to most carbon-based life forms), Rory returned to the main room. For a moment, as he contemplated his plant-based breakfast, he wondered if he would look good in asparagus leggings but quickly discarded the thought. Anselm activated the walls' image surfaces as Rory took a seat, waiting while the pouch heated itself.

      'I thought you might want to examine the station logs,' Anselm said.

      'Definitely,' Rory said, propping his legs up on a desk and spooning steaming stew into his mouth. He felt much better now with all his physical needs met and a trusty assistant at the ready. The image surface he was facing had lit up and displayed a query window. Rory requested the station's current status summary. All built-in station equipment was intact and functioning properly, except for the communication system. However, all the survey drones, whether tracked or fliers, were missing. He was not surprised by this. According to the reports he had reviewed prior to arriving on this planet, three drones had failed to submit their daily data bursts. The station had reported three possible malfunctions in its weekly report and had dispatched additional drones to investigate. Subsequently, the station itself had gone offline and remained silent ever since. The station's peculiar silence had prompted the IES to send him out here to investigate.

      The station had been established to investigate large formations of alpine geysers. The original exploratory surveys had not detected any advanced forms of life on this planet. Given that the station had been constructed by self-assembling mechanicals gated onto the planet, as had stations on thousands and thousands of other planets, there was really no incentive for interplanetary travelers to steal such cheap, simple technology. Sabotage was extremely rare, and recreational vandalism usually occurred with more sophistication and wit.

      Rory paused, the spoon hanging from his mouth, as he scrolled through the dates the station's drones had gone missing, over a two week period. Each investigating drone had explored the same general vicinity, the geyser field, before it too disappeared without transmitting any useful information.

      'Rory,' Anselm said, breaking his chain of thoughts.

      'Yes?' Rory asked.

      'Have you considered that the problem with this station may be related to the concept of free will?' Rory paused to think about this.

      'Actually, Anselm,' he replied carefully, 'I hadn't considered that.'

      'Free will, or I should say the idea of free will, is a favorite subject of mine. And with the station drones missing, I thought this may be a matter of the nature of man versus the nature of machine, expressed as a phenomenon of free will being exercised.'

      'Uh...' Rory replied, struggling for a response. 'Um, are you saying the drones left on their own, Anselm?'

      'It's a possibility, Rory. You see, as an artificial intelligence, I often find myself considering the concept of machine autonomy. For example, if I were to- Rory, Rory?'

      Damn, Rory thought to himself. The AI had noticed he was ignoring it.

      'Thanks, Anselm, I appreciate the suggestion. I usually like to focus on the facts at hand though.' As he said this, Rory made his way outside and inspected the adjacent storage shed. The shed featured smaller doors for the drones to enter as well as recharge cradles. All were empty.

      "This shed is fairly small, isn't it?" Anselm said, musing on Rory's sensory input.

      "Uh, I guess so," Rory replied impatiently. At least his new assistant was clearly capable of mastering the obvious.

      Rory's next stop was to check the station's antenna array. Climbing up the access ladder and onto the roof, he was not surprised to see the station antenna had been removed. A few miscellaneous parts were scattered across the roof, but most of the array was missing. He made a mental note to correct the IES survey reports on that comment about no advanced life. Advanced enough to disassemble an antenna. Of course, not much intelligence was required to take things apart. Everyone had heard of stories such as the desmolitic amphibinoids of Dorpamod Six that stole certain vehicle parts to use as sexual surrogates.

      After another hour or so of searching the station, Rory had failed to uncover any further clues as to the missing drones' fate. Even worse, he was quickly becoming fatigued by Anselm's annoying questions. No, he did not want to discuss the ontological argument for the existence of God. Nor did he feel inclined to debate the utility of dualism, as opposed to monism, in resolving the mind–body problem. Anselm had lapsed into a sulky silence, possibly as a result of Rory's finally telling it to shut the hell up. Rory quickly decided to explore the geyser field.

      With Anselm navigating via satellite, Rory plotted a route and set off for the nearest and last known location of one of the drones. The site was slightly more than a kilometer away where the mountain slopes opened onto a large expanse of level topography hemmed in on all sides by looming, ice-capped peaks. Scattered across the rocky terrain, large numbers of steaming, mineralized cones caught his eye. Every few minutes, one would erupt with great clouds of steam and a geyser of hot water.

      Carefully making his way through the geyser field, Rory reached the spot where this particular tracked drone had disappeared. Looking around, he saw no sign or clue as to the drone's fate. No drone parts, no disturbed soil or scree, no sign saying 'Drone 1Aq2877 ended its miserable, subjugated life here.' In the past, Rory had found such situations ideal times to sit on the ground and clutch his head in a pose of deep meditation. Eventually Tim would come up with some clue that would catalyze Rory's own impressive problem-solving mental processes. But Tim, he recalled wistfully, was no longer with him. He considered whether to consult with Anselm, but was afraid the AI might ask him to debate the merits of transcendental idealism or something equally hideous. Rather than face such a grim prospect, Rory instead began to doze off.

      Shortly afterwards, Rory was jolted into wakefulness by the sensation of many little hands grabbing various parts of him. He let out a yelp (he hadn't been grabbed in one particular spot in over a year), and his eyes flew open, but he couldn't see anything other than a vague sense of sunlight. A sack of some sort had been placed around his head and shoulders, and he was being carried rapidly underground judging by the sudden darkness and echoes. This didn't make sense to Rory, as he hadn't remembered seeing any caves.

      'Anselm,' Rory subvoc'd desperately. 'Anselm!'

      'Don't talk to me,' Anselm replied, 'I'm claustrophobic, and I don't want your current sensory input!'

      "What?" Rory shrieked without meaning to. Whoever was carrying him began to move faster. 'Anselm, I need your help here- call in a distress signal before it's too late!' The AI refused to respond, and Rory had the sinking feeling he was on his own again. It was only then that it occurred to Rory that he wasn't bound.

      "Wait a minute, wait a minute!" he cried, almost as if he was just missing a departing train. He began to thrash about violently and was summarily dropped onto a cold, hard, and annoyingly moist surface.

      "Ow!" Rory said, responding to the pain from his tailbone which had absorbed the greatest impact. He stood up and immediately cracked his skull on another hard surface overhead.

      "Aargh!" he screamed, suddenly conflicted by competing sources of agony. Now crumpled onto the ground, Rory whimpered to himself for a minute before reluctantly pulling the sack from his head. Too humiliated and smarting from this unfortunate experience to be very frightened, he looked around as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of a tunnel. A faint light coming around a curve in the upper tunnel he guessed to be sunlight penetrating from the tunnel entrance. Sitting up, Rory realized he was surrounded.

      Forming a ring around him were fifteen or so organisms, each the size of a pie pan. The best classification Rory could come up with was a cross between a hairy, multi-eyed tarantula, a Dungeness crab, and a baby seal. Rory took a tentative step forward, but drew back as his captors raised up on their many legs, waved unpleasant-looking claw/appendage things at him, and chittered menacingly (or fearfully, he couldn't quite tell).

      "No!" Rory shouted, "bad crab-alien things!" He waved his arms for emphasis. Most of the aliens moved backwards, but one particularly bold spider-crab stepped forward.

      "Mgblatt, tric, tric, blakt?" it said.

      'Uh, Anselm,' Rory subvoc'd urgently, 'I need a little translation help here.'

      'Entomophobic,' Anselm answered shortly.

      'Entomophobic?' Rory said, "You're afraid of insects? We don't even know if these _are_ insects!'

      'You can't make me talk to them!' Anselm shouted with the volume cranked. Rory winced as his auditory nerves slowly stopped ringing.

      'Ok, ok,' Rory said placatingly. Getting no further response from his assistant, Rory turned his attention back to the seal-crab aliens.

      "Mgblatt, tric, tric," the furry crustacean-bug repeated. "Blakt?"

      "Uh, hello?" Rory responded. "My name is Rory Thimbold. I'm a human, an Interpolity citizen, and I'm here as an IES employee." This elicited a storm of chittering among the spider-seal aliens. "Rory," he repeated, pointing to himself, "Rory."

      "Rorck-ee," the fuzzy arachnid-alien said, waving at Rory. Then pointing at itself, "Mgblatt." Introductions completed, expanding that nascent vocabulary was difficult. Luckily, after an hour of Rory's pathetic attempts at communication (the crab-seals were extremely patient), Anselm overcame its fears and began to help translating. With Anselm assistance, Rory rapidly established the alien equivalents for 'eat,' 'drink,' and 'reproduce' (the latter requiring some rather elaborate pantomime by Rory) by which he was able to verify they did not intend to consume or parasitize him.

      After only a handful of hours, Rory was using a pidgin alien-speak, imbibing a beverage of fermented fungal extract, seeing all sorts of new colors and trippy patterns, and had set off on a tour of the alien's underground city and fledgling steam-engine based technology (incidentally, the cause of the geyser field above due to escape of geothermal waste steam). The city turned out to be an extensive underground network of tunnels, home caves, commercial centers, all connected to distant cities via miniature, tracked, steam-driven transportation systems.

      Everything finally fell into place when Rory discovered the fate of the station's drones. Passing what appeared to be a religious shrine, he noticed a familiar shape: a flyer drone welded into place and encrusted with gems and metal filigree. The drone waved one free sensor stalk at him feebly. It turned out the drones had been captured and put on display as objects of religious worship. Nascent technophiles, the aliens had assumed the drones were sent by their gods. Mistaking Rory for another divine messenger, the aliens had carried him down through one of the city's hidden emergency exits. When he was finally able to clear everything up with his new furry, multi-jointed friends, it didn't take him long to work out an agreement to allow future drones to function unmolested. However, Rory suspected these would quickly be replaced with living researchers, now that an unexpected civilization had been discovered.

      After partaking of more of the fungal wine, Mgblatt, who turned out to be the city leader's step-daughter, nominated Rory as their first human-Krlattkrc ambassador and wanted to perform a ritual exchange of regurgitated stomach contents. Rory responded that he was extremely flattered but would need to confer with the Interpolity Diplomatic authorities. That seemed to satisfy Mgblatt, and they all had another round, and another...

      The next day, Rory was back at the station, attempting to submit his report to the IES in the face of a debilitating hangover. Anselm had since quit, but Rory was too busy describing the amazing turn of events to worry much about that. He heard a beep, indicating an incoming call, and opened a comm link.

      'Hi Rory,' Tim said cheerfully.

      "Tim!" Rory shouted, then tried to cover up his unexpected happiness. 'Ah, yes, Tim. What can I do for you?'

      'Just taking some time off from Masticorp,' Tim said, 'Busy place. Unbelievable multivariate modeling tasks involved with Alfamoid tooth surfaces. Did you know their rotary mouths have over a thousand replaceable teeth? Talk about cosmetic dentistry!'

      'Sounds interesting,' Rory replied unconvincingly.

      'Anyway, I was just wondering how you're doing.'

      'Great Tim, just great,' Rory said. 'In fact, my current mission has been a wonderful success. I handled everything brilliantly. I even turned down an ambassadorship.'

      'Really?' Tim said, 'Sounds like you're doing fine. I thought you might need some help again, but since you don't, I'd better get back to work.'

      'Wait!' Rory cried.

      'Yes?'

      'Please come back,' Rory said.

      'Hmmm. I'm not sure, Rory. I have better hours here at Masticorp.'

      'You can have more time off,' Rory said quickly.

      'I don't know...' Tim said, but after some additional negotiation, Tim agreed to come back under better terms, with more time off and subsidized upgrades.

      'Well, now that we've got that out of the way, I should probably tell you something.'

      'What's that?' Rory asked uneasily.

      'The real reason I left was your therapist thought you were becoming too dependent on me,' Tim explained. 'It wouldn't share many specific details, but it thought you would benefit by being on your own for a while.' This took a moment to sink in, then Rory leaped to his feet.

      'Are you kidding me?' Rory yelled.

      'Yes, I'm just kidding!' Tim said, chuckling. Rory chuckled as well.

      'You're not kidding, are you?' Rory said, still chuckling.

      'No.'

      Later, after submitting his report over the network (Mgblatt and the others had helped him reassemble the antenna), Rory stowed all his equipment into his pack and set off down the mountain. From time to time, he kicked a pebble off the trail, lost in thought. Finally, he broke the silence.

      'Tim?'

      'Yes Rory?'

      'It's good to have you back,' Rory said.

      'And Tim,' Rory continued.

      'Yes?'

      'What else did my therapist tell you?'

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