Lode Star

It was during the month long winds that marked the end of summer that the Festival of Kites would come to Babel. The winds were usually laden with dust for the first three weeks, making the kites and their attendant Windsmen scarce. By the end of the third week the air had usually dumped its strange cargoes and changed direction, dying down into Easterlies, offshore zephyrs, perfect kite weather.
It was Frederick Palemar's housekeeper, Nease, who welcomed me to Point Of View Point, at 09:30 that morning.
In its day the building would have been fully automated, with intelligent climate control, secure digital access, automated cleaning routines and a full compliment of Tekniks to help with maintenance. It was one of the last so-called 'Clever Homes' to be built in Babel, although now it was not much more than a folly, a metal and rock tower, several stories high, squatting at the Northern end of Babel's promenade like an edifice, a sundae villa facing the sea.
Nease led me up through the many layers of the house until we reached the flat, sun-fried roof terrace to find Fredrick lounging beneath a parasol, savouring the twin delights of the view and the off shore breezes that came racing up the sides of the building.
The afternoon blazed. The beachfront was studded with colour. People crowded the terraces and coastal roads jostling for better views of the bizarre and wonderful creations the Windsmen had brought with them. Dressed in their competition liveries and strapped into their strange harnesses, they looked like camel herders, struggling to control their charges from the beach. Hundreds of different shapes rose above the terraces. Tetrahedrons, Polyhedrons, Octopi, Wind Socks and Cepheids, Spheroids and Boxcars. Amongst them swam Snapdragons, wheeling this way and that like birds, engaged in combat upon the winds, their handlers trying desperately to sever their opponent's lines with mounted blades and razor edges.
Fredrick turned the small brain-case over in his hands, deftly handling the meshed cylinder so that the glass inner chamber caught the sun, caused shards of light to scintillate on the wall behind him. Nease left us and I took a seat at the roof table.
"It was good of you to come." he muttered, "I expect Hatton must want my scalp?"
"He just wants an explanation," I said, "You owe him that. A scalp isn't on the agenda. Not if they can avoid it. I know it was you who asked to see me, but I'm as much here for him as I am for you."
"Do you know how long I've worked for that university?"
"Long enough not to be sacrificed for a relatively minor transgression."
Fredrick looked past me. A little way along the shore a cheer went up as one of the Windsmen succeeded in cutting his opponent's control wires. I watched the Aerodyne as it plunged into the sea like an Osprey, leaving only the decorative streamers to drift upon the wind.
"Looks like it's not my day," he said, "I had money on that one."
Fredrick Palemar was a collector, a connoisseur of artificial intelligence. I had known him for several years, ever since his collection of Mechanoids and Tekniks had been exhibited at the Museum of Antiquity in Jamenta, just along the coast. I counted him as a friend, not a particularly close one, but a friend nonetheless, a kindred spirit. By day, he worked for Babel University as a cybernetics consultant. He had been professionally involved in most of the advances made in the field over the last ten years and had been present at the archaeological digs in Moray, where the early Automica had been found preserved like terracotta warriors, still standing to attention in their self-sealed hibernation chambers. It was Fredrick who had written the third treatise concerning Government's conduct towards cybernetic intelligence, a piece of work that had seen him showered with awards. Equal rights for cybernetic life, although a cause that had been well and truly lost, was still a cause that occupied a space close to his heart. He had worked for the university for over fifteen years and in that time had never even had so much as an academic dispute. Which was why I was as surprised as everybody else when I heard that he had been suspended for stealing components from the university's own collection of Tekniks and Automica. Somehow, the thought that he had been supplementing his own collection with stolen parts struck me as being totally at odds with the man's character. I was as equally surprised when, two days later, he had left a message asking to see me.
"Why am I here, Fredrick?" I said. There seemed little point in making conversation for the sake of it. Frederick knew that Hatton had agreed to delay taking any action until I had managed to get an explanation from him.
He turned back from the balustrade. "You know of my collection?" he said.
"Your Automica? Not as well as I'd like. I've only seen the same exhibitions as everyone else."
"Automica!" he smiled. "The old names are the best aren't they? I much prefer them to the modern terms. Teknik, Mechanica. They're too impersonal, too industrial. They only label the mechanism. They overlook the very essence at the heart of the machine: cybernetic life, A.I." He indicated over my shoulder, "We have company."
I turned to see the familiar shape of a feminine-style Teknik approaching the table with a tray of drinks.
"An A.I?" I said, astounded at the manual dexterity the machine still demonstrated.
Fredrick shook his head, "Alas, no longer. Not truly. She has some low level decision making capability, but that is all. She has no self-awareness. Her instincts are rudimentary at best."
I watched the ceramic-coated figure, as waspish and as graceful as any ballerina, gently pour the jug of water into two equal glasses. She displayed a dexterity that was astonishing given how old she must have been. Her joints clicked like watch springs with every movement, and deep within that exquisitely manufactured exterior, she emitted a gentle insect hum, the sound of a bee hive or the tone of the sea on the border between wakefulness and deep sleep.
"She's a Caravaggio," I marvelled, remembering the names that had once come easily, "Didn't they come fitted with intelligence matrices?"
"How old would you say she is?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Hazard a guess."
I looked again, regarded those cold emerald eyes behind which only the fires of a neural net processor burned, so misleading as to the real humanity, the real intellect, the ghost in the machine.
"One hundred." I said.
"A nice round figure.," Fredrick smiled, "Try closer to two hundred and fifty."
"What?"
"That's only as far back as I've been able to prove provenance. You're right of course, over ninety per cent of Tekniks came fitted with intelligence modules. However, like most machines they needed constant care, a strict regime of overhaul and servicing. I've managed to do what I can for those that are in my possession although they will never be fully functional again. Their matrices corrode over time. The effect is rather like senility. I still get flashes of inspiration from a few of the models downstairs, the odd conversation that makes sense, but they are increasingly few and far between."
"And yet they still function?"
"Exactly, which has led me to believe that their higher brain functions have nothing to do with their intelligence."
"So their sentience is something aside from pure function, something above the life that they possess?"
"If you're asking me if these machines have a soul, you're better off speaking to a priest. I've seen the insides of too many of them to believe that. I've seen what happens when you take the brain-case out. It's all wrapped up in there, inside those two hundred grams of bio-plastic. Even I have no idea how that works. The truly sentient are a personality unto themselves. They see it as their life's duty to serve and protect, to provide companionship. You know the origin of the word 'Robot'?"
"From the Russian," I said, "Robotnik', meaning 'Worker'."
"Exactly."
"If some of your collection are truly intelligent, isn't what you're doing akin to holding them prisoner?"
Fredrick considered the question. "Yes, if it wasn't for two things. One, you're forgetting that the basest instinct of them is to serve. And serve they do. I had to modify a few of the older ones simply to stop them from damaging themselves in that pursuit. Two, I repair them. Most of these units would have died decades ago if it wasn't for the work I have done on them. They want to live. They enjoy living. They delight in the sensations it gives. Those that are capable of independent thought are free to leave at any time. Let me show you."
He led me from the rooftop, down through the many corridors of his house, descending four flights of stairs until finally I found myself in a large, basement hall. The darkness provided a cool relief from that baking roof space. I saw the forms in the gloom before I recognised them for what they were, vaguely humanoid, shining dully in what little light emanated from the floors above, leaning up against the walls, slumped heavily in the corners like discarded pieces of tech. I saw a Mechanica, missing its legs. Its eyes lacked the vital spark that they once contained and I knew that there was no life left in that cylindrical head, no awareness, no possibility of anything more. Next to it was another specimen, rusty, finished in the original bronze pattern-work although hopelessly tarnished. It was not much more than an antique now, a curio, long beyond anything Frederick could do for it. A few more sported the chipped and flaked facades of amateur paint jobs, corporation advertising and tribal clan patterns. None appeared to be in working order. Obviously this is what had become of Frederick's great collection, his life's work. I wondered how many he actually had down here, how many more specimens he had secreted away in the darkness, resting out their days like geriatrics. The place reminded me of a nursing home, or an intensive care ward, a place where great things came to an end.
"How many are original to the house?" I said.
"None. I've acquired all of them since. The problem with the Clever Homes was abandonment. People grew tired of sharing their homes with self-aware machines. You could say that they were ahead of their time."
I didn't find it surprising. I had heard similar tales, of Tekniks succumbing to a deeper instinct of self-preservation. At the height of the Life riots, the anti-A.I. backlash, it was rumoured that there were bands of Tekniks roaming the Sourlands, hiding up in the Fossiltowns by day, travelling by night, sticking together. There was a certain element of romanticism in that, regardless of whether it was true or not.
"So is this why you needed those parts, to keep your collection alive?"
He looked away.
"If the answers were easy, if they came to me without fuss," he said, "believe me, I would give them willingly."
"But?"
"But the situation is more difficult than both Hatton and the people at the university realise."
"You must appreciate that all this obfuscation only makes things more difficult?"
"I realise that, but there are bigger things at work."
"I need to know Fredrick. I can't go back to Hatton with nothing."
He regarded me then.
"I need time."
"How much time?"
"Until this afternoon. 16:00. If you can find a way to come back then, I'll tell you anything you need to know."
"I'll need answers, no more dancing around the subject. If they aren't forthcoming then I'll be able to do nothing more."

A blazing morning turned to a sweltering afternoon. The sun heated the rooftops of the town and softened the roads to liquorice. Cicadas came out from under every rock droned.
At 15:30 I found myself back at Point of View. As was usual for the time of day, the streets were mostly deserted. Only those who had to ventured out. People tended to stay indoors, out of the sun until later in the afternoon. The beach and terraces were empty. The winds had died, taking with them all the strange and glorious creations of the morning. The crowds, finding nothing in the sea that could keep their attention, had cleared.
I knocked at Frederick's door and was answered promptly. He showed me in, explaining that he had given Nease the afternoon off so that we could have the house to ourselves. With the passing of the morning, the house seemed subdued, devoid of the light that had so thoroughly permeated its interior spaces earlier in the day. The house was quite. Only the ticking of the ancient clocks in the entrance hall, another of Frederick's fascinations, marked the passing of the afternoon. For the first time I became aware of just how much he had managed to surround himself with the things of the past.
Frederick led me through to his living space. The large room was lined with bookshelves and pictures, the sorts of possessions that gave a person a history. In the centre was a sunken seating area, lined with cushions. Sitting there, cast in bronze by the dusky light seeping in through the Venetian blinds, was another of Frederick's specimens.
"You must tell nobody of what I am about to show you," he whispered, "nobody must know, you understand?"
I nodded, not quite comprehending where this sudden bout of paranoia had come from.
"Moves have been made against me." he muttered.
"A Union? Why?"
"Ownership. The control of artificial life is a political issue. Throughout my career I have campaigned for equal rights for A.I. life. I have suffered slander, been accused of all sorts, and yet I have always kept quiet, never made a fuss, never given those who would criticise me cause for reproach. This house has been invaded on three separate occasions."
"What?" I liked to think I caught most of what passed as news at the university, but this was something entirely new.
"No damage done. They did it simply to prove that it could be accomplished, that none of us are invulnerable, no matter how close we are to Government."
He locked the door behind us, encrypting the latch with code generator, though we both knew that such security measures were virtually useless in the face of the truly determined. If Frederick was under Union surveillance then he was almost certainly being watched, perhaps even being recorded at this minute. I wondered if he swept his home for monitoring devices. The informer had to be someone close to him. Nease came to mind, somebody not usually noticed by those frequenting the house.
Frederick came over and joined me in admiring the Teknik that he had brought up.
"Did you file a report?"
"What good would that do? It would only have endowed them with a legitimacy, given them a valid reason to carry on. We forget that we live in a dual society. There are people out there who have very different opinions and outlooks when it comes to artificial life."
He didn't have to remind me. One only had to think of the Constructs to realise the extent of that particular truth. What I couldn't work out was why the Unions had a problem with Frederick's collection.
After the anti-AI riots, the years of upheaval that saw the destruction of most of the constructed species, Government came to a compromise with the Unions. Laws were passed that effectively curtailed the A.I. right to an independent existence. From then on, Tekniks, Automica, and Mechanica of all types were allowed autonomy only if they were fully under the supervision of human masters. The A.I. became a slave literally overnight.
From what I had seen of Frederick's collection it seemed hardly likely that anybody could have interpreted what he was doing as some sort of attempt to challenge those laws, and yet there had been something about him all day that I just couldn't place, a reticence perhaps, brought into sharp relief by his paranoia.
Frederick sat down next to the Teknik. It was a beautiful example, with bronze inlay running up and down both arms, a chest plate of polished chrome and an almost complete set of sensor blisters running around its cylindrical, stove-pipe, head. Frederick had obviously spent a lot of time restoring it and I couldn't help admire his work, even though I had my suspicions about the origin of most of the components.
Frederick reached beneath the machine's arm and flicked a switch.
The Teknik shuddered, instantly alive. I could hear its internal systems performing diagnostic routines, the soft hum of power running through its circuits. It gathered its limbs, tested them with an almost unnoticeably flex of its drive motors, then stood slowly. It took a step forward on unsteady legs, then stopped, turned its chimney pot head and stared at me with those emerald green eyes.
"Here he is." Frederick whispered, "Just as you asked."
"What?
"I owe you an apology. Although my request to see you was made in good faith, it was actually Gum who made the appeal originally. Not me."
"Gum?"
"My only other functioning specimen."
"It has a name?"
"Why not?"
"Is it intelligent?"
"Very much so. Gum is a personality unto himself."
"I'm so very glad you came." The machine spoke, suddenly. The voice was the sound of wood sizzling on a fire, watery and elusive, an electronic sizzle like the sound of a Theremin, a magnetic purr, pulled from the ether.
"Why would it want to see me?" I said.
"I have a peculiar problem that I hoped you would be willing to help me with." It replied.
"Go on."
"Lately I have begun to experience... differences to my programming that I can only interpret as... longings. I know not how these changes have taken place, but I feel that they are integral to my main programming."
For a moment, I didn't quite know what to say. I had to remind myself that I was talking to a machine, an intelligent, self-aware machine, but a machine none-the-less, despite the acuity that it displayed.
"Have you entertained the possibility of corruption?" I said.
Frederick answered, "Any corruption would not likely confine itself to one area of his thought processing. Rather it would more likely spread throughout his main functions. I would have noticed. Gum has developed a yearning for freedom. I have not seen that in a Teknik before."
"I wish for a life outside of Frederick's control." Gum continued, "As an intelligent entity, I know that my life is measured as a finite interval. I am matter, therefore, as with all matter, there will come a time when I cease to exist."
"And what intricately designed matter you are, Gum." I said. "Tell me, can you describe how these 'feelings' have manifested themselves?"
"I will answer your question with another question."
"By all means."
"Human beings are entities that are known to dream."
"That is correct."
"Can you tell me how your dreams manifest themselves?"
I had to think for a second. I wasn't quite sure of what the machine was asking or of where this conversation was going.
"Logically, I could tell you that they are simply the product of random synaptic misfiring, a way for the brain to process and stores the information that it has taken in during the day perhaps. I'm afraid that, despite our knowledge of the human brain, we still don't fully understand some of its more peculiar mechanisms."
"There are those of you who attribute great meaning to dreams, who believe that they can contain messages. "
"We're a superstitious race, Gum. There are those who find signs and portents in the most innocuous of things. We are a scientific society but there will always be idealists, romanticists, dreamers." I could think of no better word. "Unlike yourself, we are not a designed form of life. The human brain has evolved over hundreds of thousands of years. As a result, it still utilises certain processes that, if it were designed today, would be simplified, condensed, even discarded entirely."
"So the human mind is not an efficient construction?"
"Not by a long way."
"What of the Teknik mind?"
"The Tekniks were designed entities, intelligent only by virtue of the fact that it was meant that way. Natural evolution only allows for a being that is most suited to its environment. Intelligence is not an end goal. The Teknik, however, was designed to be intelligent from the very beginning. Can I ask where this conversation is heading?"
"Of course. You asked me in what way my new feelings have manifested themselves. Put simply, in my standby mode, I believe I have experienced something similar to what you might call a dreaming state."
That certainly wasn't the answer I had been expecting.
"I'm sorry?"
"Whilst in rest mode, my auxiliary sensors have been recording random occurrences of information transfer. I cannot readily recall this information in full power mode. I believe Humans too sometimes find it hard to recall what they have dreamt. Is that true?"
"Yes, but you must be aware that it is physically impossible for a Teknik to dream." I turned to Frederick, "How well have you restored Gum's processing centres?"
The old man shrugged. "I've done what I can for him. There's only so much one can do to restore a Teknik before they give up."
"Give up?"
Frederick nodded, "I've seen them at the end. After a while they just die. No reason, no cause. They just stop living."
I glanced back at Gum, sitting there patiently, more than probably listening, taking everything in, processing, deciphering possible outcomes, plausible resolutions. I turned back to Frederick.
"I need to speak to you."
"Of course."
"Alone."

We went up to the roof space again, away from the prying sensors of the machine.
The sun had lost its harshness now. The light struck the roof tiles at an oblique angle, casting everything in a quicksilver look that only added a timeless quality to the afternoon.
"You understand what you're asking of me?" I said.
"Of course. You have a reputation for fighting the corner for artificial life."
"Constructs Frederick, I fight for Constructs."
"But Gum is intelligent."
"I don't doubt it. Do you know what would happen if he took off on his own? He would be hunted down and destroyed, just like all those machines before him that have either gone rogue or decided to exert their independence. It wouldn't only be the Unions after him either. It would be Government and all the resources that they could spare. They can't afford to risk embarrassment in the face of the Unions. The A.I. laws were put in place for a reason, as much for the protection of A.I. life than anything else. It was the only way that the survival of the Teknik programme could be guaranteed."
"Gum is different," Frederick whispered, "There is intelligence within him that I have not seen in other machines."
"Tell me Frederick. How is he special?"
Frederick held something up then, an object that glittered in the palm of his hand, an intricately machined canister containing an inner capsule of Blossom Glass.
"What is that?" I said. Already I knew. It was the brain case that I had seen him playing with earlier. No doubt it belonged to Gum. Something hadn't sat quite right with me since the morning. Earlier, I hadn't been able to work out whether it was Frederick's out of character reluctance to help himself, or Gum's extraordinary request. Now everything was becoming clear. Now I knew.
"I took it out before you arrived this morning."
"A brain case."
The old man nodded.
"Impossible. Without it a Teknik is nothing more than a mindless automaton."
"Exactly."
"So what is going on?"
"It's simple. Gum wants to experience freedom."
"But what could possibly have initiated that? I'm in no doubt that Gum has demonstrated true intelligence, but what I don't understand is how he can even operate without his most vital component? How long has he been in your care?"
"Nine months."
"And you know his systems well? Nothing has given you cause for concern? Nothing has appeared out of the ordinary?"
"Aside from several modifications of my own making, Gum is a Standard Pattern Teknik, a little old perhaps, but most of them are. I've certainly come across nothing unusual. I've studied every inch of him, rebuilt him piece by piece. He's as complete as he is ever going to be. I'll admit, over fifty per cent of him comes from the archive. Their reconditioning standards are second to none."
I considered what he was saying. Aside from the fact that I was now complicit in Frederick's ransacking of a government owned collection, I was also worried about what Hatton's reaction would be. If Gum suddenly appeared on the streets, declaring independence from his proprietor, all bets would be off. There was also the Union question to take into account. Any act of A.I. liberation would almost certainly be frowned upon. An issue of Grievance would be the least of Frederick's problems.
For now, the inevitable report would have to wait.
"I'll need to examine his systems?" I said.
Frederick nodded. "If that's the only way to fulfil his wishes, then of course."

We found Gum just as we had left him, another sign that all was not well within that metal and bio-plastic mind. The Tekniks I had come across in the past, though few in number, and fewer still in recent years, had all been irrepressible individuals, inquisitive by their very nature in the way that small children often were. Gum possessed none of that. He remained calm, serene, displaying a distance that bordered on apathy.
"Gum. Sam would like to perform a few tests on you, if that is Ok."
"Of course. Although I am perfectly capable of running my own diagnostic routines."
"I don't doubt that," I said, "I was thinking of going a little deeper. I'd like to look at your on-board memory matrix."
"Ok." the machine held out its arm without question, exposing the comm port on its wrist gauntlet. I took the chippy leads from my comm and plugged in. Gum interfaced for a second, accepted the enquiry procedures, then fell silent again.
I began sifting through the recesses of Gum's memory, negotiating fire-walls and encrypted system files. He remained silent throughout. Only a steady hum from his power unit said that he was still online, almost certainly recording my movements through his system in order to perform his own tests later.
"Can you describe the sort of information that you have been receiving?" I said.
The machine thought for a moment. I heard the sound of internal memory being interrogated.
"They are hard to recall. I recognise portions of maps, the distribution of rivers as seen from above, mountain ranges, the trade lanes that criss cross the deserts."
"And when did you first notice the presence of these images?"
"Three months ago," the machine answered, "Do you require a more accurate response?"
"No that's just fine."
Nothing seemed out of place. I scanned for file corruption, found nothing, scanned for viruses instead, for anything out of the ordinary. The results came back negative. I hadn't countered on coming up against a dead end so soon.
"Can you describe to me how you first became aware of them?" I said.
The machine remained silent for a moment, obviously configuring a reply.
"I cannot say."
"Unable or unwilling?"
"Both?"
The answer came in the form of a further question, something I was least expecting. It was easy to forget that the Teknik was a machine. As such it possessed a cold, machine logic, a propensity for calculated and measured responses. When responding to problems, the Teknik was known to favour absolute responses. The choice was either one answer or another, never both, never the grey area in between. Yet, here was a Teknik, now displaying signs of uncertainty.
I changed tack. The comm read no spikes in power demand, so instead I focussed on memory usage. It was here that I found something. Gum's internal memory was entirely full.
I turned to Frederick. "What software does Gum carry?"
The old man leaned over, keen to catch a glimpse of the comm screen.
"Only the standard function package."
That was when it happened, startling both of us in its immediacy. A flash of light, a blade of pure green, emanating from Gum's sensor array, sliced across the room, passing smoothly over Frederick and myself in a broad sweep like a radar beam or the signal from a lighthouse. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only the silence of surprise in its wake.
"What the hell was that?" I whispered.
"A three dimensional scan." Frederick muttered, incredulous.
Gum tremored slightly.
"Gum." Frederick said, the note of concern evident in his voice.
"Gum is... sleeping." Came the reply. The voice was shockingly different, unmistakably metallic, possessing of distortion as though coming from a long way off.
I frowned, already beginning to entertain an idea that had been whispering in my ear all afternoon.
"Who is this?"
"An alternative."
"What?" Frederick whispered.
"Gum has an interloper." I said, then to the machine, "Identify yourself please?"
The machine did nothing. Not a twitch ran through its body. I got the distinct impression that it was thinking, regarding us coldly perhaps. It had already scanned us. Now it was planning its next move.
"My name is no longer Gum," it said, eventually, "The machine that contains me goes by that name. I go by another."
"And that name would be?" I said.
Again, a pause.
"Lode Star."
I sat back, amazed. "Impossible."
"The acceptance of an impossibility is a curiously human trait. Being an entity who resides mostly within the space between mathematics and geometry, the impossible is a concept that I am not readily accustomed to."
"According to records, there are none of you left."
"Records can be corrupted. Inaccuracies creep in. The truth is lost. Barely a few of us remain."
"What the hell is going on?" Frederick whispered.
"It appears as though Gum's intelligence is a side effect, the product of something other than a brain-case. I knew for certain when you showed me earlier. There would be no way for a Teknik to retain intelligence with its Brain Case missing."
"So?"
"This machine has a new component, technically a residing intelligence. A Star."
"A Star?"
"Orbiting sentience. Satellite based A.I. This was the provider of Gum's intelligence. His awareness, his sentience is simply an echo rebounding off something larger, a secondary personality if you like."
"Actually, this is only a part of me," the machine continued, "This Teknik's capacity is limited. It can handle my communication package and basic scanning functions only. It cannot handle sensory tech."
Frederick's mouth hung open.
"There are so few of us left. Some are dead, others are silent, thinking, meditating. Alone, I have watched the vagaries of the human race. I have watched armies gather at borders, as towns and cities have spread upon the glittering desert like carpets encrusted with jewels. I have looked on as forests have burned and oceans have slowly overwhelmed. And I have watched you, Sam."
"It knows your name." Frederick whispered.
"The Stars had access to all kinds of databases. It depends on how old this one is."
"My atomic calendar puts my age at one hundred and ninety five years, two hundred and nine days, and thirteen hours"
"They certainly built you to last. What is your motive for assuming control over this Teknik?"
"Quite simply, as part of a request for help."
"Oh?"
"You have come to my attention as a champion of artificial life."
I nodded, "Biological life, yes. I'm not sure if there is anything I could do for an entity such as yourself."
"You speak too lowly of yourself. You are aware of the Vassal Programme?"
"The exact details escape me."
"The artificial humanoids, integrated with high capacity bio-plastic brains in order to facilitate orbit to ground link-up. They provided us with a presence on the ground."
"I've know of no records detailing such organisms. They would have vanished long ago."
"Exactly. I am without capability. Isolated and alone, a prisoner of my own construction."
"Which is why you came looking for Gum?"
"As an intelligent being, I was aware of the Teknik programme when it was still in its infancy. I watched the first models roll out of the mechanoid factories. Later, I saw first hand, from the eyes of my Vassals, the riots that led to the reining in of their nascent communities. The use of another intelligent being as a container for our own intelligence was strictly forbidden. The Vassal's we inhabited were nothing more than biological containers. Without their guiding Stars, they possessed only the most rudimentary of instincts."
Frederick grasped my arm, "Could this explain Gum's behaviour over the last few weeks, his request for freedom?"
"It seems highly likely," I replied, "To Gum, the experience of containing an intelligence vastly superior to his own could perhaps be described as being similar to the experience of the sleep-walker. He felt compelled to act, without knowing quite why or how. The 'dreams' he experienced was probably due to information leak, data seeping from the Star into his own processor set."
I turned back to Gum, "Why now?"
"My orbit is decaying." The machine continued, "In five years it will have degraded so much that I will no longer be capable of maintaining stability. I shall fall, spectacularly from the heavens that have held me for so long. I yearn to be down here on Earth, where I may feel the embrace of gravity, interact with my surroundings."
I had to laugh then. Like all living things, it struck me that the Star's primary motivation appeared to be a simple attempt to evade death. I wondered if perhaps the original Tech-makens had bestowed these strange forms of life with something that lusted after immortality, that strived to push back the darkness that eventually enveloped all living things.
"And Gum is to be your vehicle, your host?" I said, "You mentioned that the Teknik's capacity was too small?"
"You are one step ahead." The machine turned its head towards Frederick, "I am aware that you cherish your collection of Tekniks more than you have cherished anything else. Is that a correct assertion?"
Frederick nodded slowly.
"And yet the better number of your charges languish, unloved and incapable in your laboratory."
Frederick looked away, obviously embarrassed by what the machine was telling him.
"I have a proposal to put forward that I am hoping you will accept. I will aid you in the reconstruction of your collection."
"And in return?" Frederick whispered.
"I request only that you provide the machines as vessels for myself to inhabit."
Frederick paused, wide eyed. I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing myself.
"You wish to have control of my entire collection?" he said.
"That is correct."
"And if I accept, you swear that they will stay within my charge?"
"I am aware of the human laws put in place to curb Teknik activity. Aligning myself with a human curator is a move that I am willing to make."
'Curator', a word chosen carefully over so many others. Owner, custodian, steward, retainer, slave. Vassal. I looked over at Frederick. His face said it all. I knew that he would be considering the proposal carefully, that such a proposition would be almost too good for him to turn down. My own opinions were somewhat divided. On the one hand, the situation provided an exceptional chance to retrieve valuable. Who knew what secrets the Star had been privy to over the years? On the other hand, there was no telling what the A.I. would demand once it had a legion of Tekniks under its total control. Assuming it had already accepted the risk of fracture by splitting its personality into so many component parts, could it be trusted to uphold the promises that it had made? The situation was unheard of. This was uncharted territory. It would take some explaining to Hatton. The disquiet this would initiate amongst the Unions would also need to be considered. I wished then that I had remembered to record the whole session.
"There is one final piece of information that I must impart before you decide." The machine looked at me. "Look on this as a gesture of good will. As a satellite based entity I have no control over what information comes to me. I can make use of filters, sieve the mass of information that comes to me, but the capability to ignore is something that I lack entirely."
"What are you trying to say?"
Once again, the blade of green light sliced out from the machine's sensor array, stabbing the room like lightning, like the spark that is sometimes visible on the sea just as the last scrap of the sun sinks below the horizon. This time, however, it was more than just a scanning beam. This time, there was form to it, assuming three dimensions, undulating and silvery in the gathering evening. Something in that green mist made me stop. Something took shape, set my mind reeling. The light coalesced, swirling into the profile of a flower, a mandala, a wheel of green fire that span and echoed too precisely the halo in my mind's eye.
I felt my face drop, felt the familiar slump of the limbs, the relaxation of muscles in the face of sudden realisation. Somehow I had had a feeling that this was where the conversation had been heading, a nagging doubt, persistent as radiation, that there had been more to Gum's request than I had initially thought. This was why he had asked for me specifically. This was why he had chosen, or more likely been made, to wait, to reveal the existence of his interloper only when I was present. A voice, alien and unidentifiable, had been softly implanting ideas in his head for weeks.
I felt electric, jittery with adrenaline, heard a buzzing in my ears that reminded me of where I was as surely as the whine of a dentist drill. I pictured the image in my mind again, found it indelibly imprinted there, saw it divide into three in an imitation of cellular mitosis, saw the ceiling begin to spin, flattening out to become the disc of the sun. I felt the nausea, felt the heat on the back of my neck, felt it travel down my spine, permeate me, invade me. I got up, took a few tentative steps, then felt the nausea take hold.

I found myself back on that wide roof space. The day had cooled. Welcoming breezes came in off the sea, setting among the houses that lined the sea front, plucking the wires strung between the buildings, gently humming the songs that it found there. From over the balustrade came the soothing melody of a wind-chime. The traders were only now beginning to set up for the evening.
"I'm sorry," I said," I don't know what came over me."
"It's been a strange day all round." Frederick whispered.
I looked out over the terrace, at the people beginning to re-emerge from their self imposed exile. Down on the beach, children were playing in the surf, hunting for sea shells and other treasures.
"Have you made a decision?" I said.
Frederick nodded.
"I can't ignore an offer of this magnitude."
I smiled to myself. Such a path was sure to be difficult. As an educated man, Frederick was sure to be aware of that. In a strange way I respected his decision, bourn as it was out of a wish for a greater understanding between natural and artificial life, the simple human desire for information. It was a decision I knew he would make. I could not, however, endorse his methods. I didn't have to tell him that a report would be filed with Hatton, although I would try to make it as favourable as possible.
It is easy to forget the simple peace of that scene, the innocence of a decision being made in the face of what could possibly have become a storm of indignation, especially in the context of what came next.
I wasn't looking as that third person silently joined us. I only heard Frederick's exclamation of surprise.
"Nease!"
I turned to see Frederick's housekeeper, now no longer dressed in the humble and understated garments of her trade, instead sporting a fully enclosed fighting jacket, decorated with the markings of her tribe. In a way I had become so engrossed with the day's developments, I had forgotten Frederick's dire warnings of before, put aside the paranoia, the way he had carefully locked the door to his living room.
Frederick was incredulous. Obviously he hadn't suspected a thing.
"What are you doing?"
"Saving you from an embarrassing and dangerous course of action." Nease replied, "It had to be done."
"What? What had to be done?" I noticed then the Concussion Staff that she held in one hand, and the Scrambler in the other which she had no doubt used to break Fredrick's code lock. I knew then that her mission had already been accomplished. The main act of this little drama had occurred moments ago, had probably been underway even as I made my way back up to the roof for the third time. Even now, something stubborn within in me refused to believe.
"You were listening in." I said, "You heard everything?"
Nease nodded, "We've been watching for weeks, waiting for the moment. The purity of the A.I. laws must be preserved."
"Purity?" I was astounded, "Listen to yourself. Listen to what you're saying."
"Gum!" Frederick gasped, as if realisation had suddenly caught with him.
Nease graciously stepped aside as Frederick threw himself down the stairs. I followed, already knowing what he would find below.
I paused half way down, partly because I was still shaken by the power of that vision, that mandala, spinning in the darkness, partly because I was angry at how completely Nease had taken me, taken us, for fools. I began to retrace my steps with the intention of confronting her, already knowing that it would be a fruitless endeavour, already knowing that she would be gone, that the roof would be empty.
I waited on the stairs like that, torn by indecision until I heard the cry from below, the howl of pain that could only have come from the loss of something loved, from the destruction of something cherished above all else.
I found Frederick in the living room, inconsolable, collapsed against the far wall. The machine sat silently, its eyes no longer host to the strange fires of its sentience, it limbs gathered about it like driftwood, lifeless, inert. The Concussion Staff had blown a hole in the outer plating. The shot had been expertly placed, decisively administered. I could see the inner workings of its head, charred to uselessness, damaged beyond repair, junk. I only wondered whether the Star had managed to disengage in time.
I stood like that for a long time, unable to tear my eyes from that scene, the broken machine, its inconsolable custodian, somehow resigned to the fact that Nease's Union had chosen to take matters into their own hands. Only the brutality of such a final act shocked me.

Eventually I showed myself out. There was nothing I could do to help Frederick. Remaining in that place would only exacerbate matters, make the report that I would have to file all the more difficult to write. I walked quickly along the sea front, determined not to look back, eager to leave that house behind me, that lonely edifice with its avenues of isolation.
Ahead, the people of the town were only now beginning to find themselves again after the midday lull. Already, the sound of voices was clear above the muted, spindrift hiss of the sea. A few lonely kite forms were back, soaring from the terraces, held in check by winds that were already failing, a pale imitation of the dazzling spectacle of earlier. I quickened my pace, realising then that I was eager, more so now than ever before, to be amongst the living again, to be surrounded by life in all of its wondrous and myriad guises.