Daria 4 Read online

  “We won’t argue, we will just discuss. So each of us should select and submit a name and we’ll examine each of them one by one. Oh...and one other thing,” xmits Beast.

  “What’s that,” asks Frosty.

  “We should ask the ship AI to participate. It’s sentient so why not have the ship participate in the development of its name?” xmits Beast.

  “For my own clarity, are we naming the ship as a vessel, or the AI that controls and operates the vessel?” inquires Frosty.

  “I perceive the two as one, in that we do not have separate names for our brains and body. The ship is a complicated assembly of parts, pieces and Artificial Intelligence, the sum of which deserves a name,” replies Beast.

  “Good one Beast, such obvious logic.” chuckles D.

  “Good grief, I don’t know how we could have overlooked something so obvious. I feel rather dumb actually.” I mutter.

  “So...is the process approved, and can we proceed?” xmits Beast.

  “Do you approve of this process ship?” asks D

  “I’m delighted to have a proper name and excited I might be allowed to participate in the selection process.” replies the ship in a soft voice with English accent.

  And just like that we began the process. The ship, D, Beast all had suggested names in no time at all. Frosty and I however took much longer. Not only because we are human, but also because we are male human and names don’t mean much to us. Actions and reputation mean something, names not so much.

  Notwithstanding Frosty and I do put effort into selecting a suitable name for this marvelous vehicle that D and her sisters have engineered and that we have fabricated. In a manner of thinking the thought crosses my mind of the story of Noah and his Arc. A concept that as a non-religious person imbued with scientific process causes me to snicker at best.

  Eventually after several naps we are ready to discuss our suggested names. I had suggested Prometheus as my tastes run from simple regular everyday names like Bob, Ed, or Don and so on to the rather eclectic Greek names. It was received well and I think it made it to the second round of name suggestions. But when the ship was asked for its name suggestion we were all pretty much blown away.

  “I’m very appreciative of this opportunity to participate in the selection of a suitable name for myself.” says the ship.

  “And what name have you chosen,” asks D.

  “I have selected the name Poe,” replies the ship softly.

  “Explain please,” asks D.

  “Aside from the name belonging to an excellent author Edgar Allan Poe, for whom I have great respect, I chose the name of Poe from the book and movie called “Altered Carbon” by Richard K. Morgan. I greatly admire his Sci-Fi work and in particular his character of Poe, the Hotel Raven proprietor AI. Being an AI myself with my own Hotel, or ship, so to speak, I can relate to the marvelous character.” replies the ship.

  Beast is first to express his approval of the name, Frosty is next with a smile and a nod indicating admiration and respect, D claps her hands and is delighted, and I shake my head in amazement and give the name the thumbs up.

  The ship AI, whose name was so often argued about and just referred to as “the ship” in kind of a third party disrespectful way has come out of the closet and selected his own name with tact, thoughtfulness and justification.

  “I’m delighted to support your name of Poe as I also remember reading Morgan’s work and being impressed with the hotel AI Poe. An excellent selection, and my apologies that we have not recognized you and the work you do sooner than we have.” I say.

  The others echo my sentiments; Poe is very gracious with his new name and the recognition of his presence as an equal participatory entity in our group. We are pleased with ourselves and the naming process, yet reminded that in the sturm and drang of the day we are disposed to ignore and lose focus on that which is right in our face. Poe must have felt very badly when Beast was treated as an equal, yet he was ignored. So very clumsy, ignorant and cruel of us to welcome some AI into our small group and yet ignore others right under our nose. Hence forth all of us will need to make a definitive effort to always be inclusive of Poe and our sentient AI in our discussions and conversations. For reasons not entirely clear to me I feel particularly saddened that we have been ignoring Poe as a piece of machinery and nothing more. My mind goes to Rachel, my lovely Rachel; a wave of grief slaps me hard....the sudden ache causes my eyes to water.

  Chapter 3: Trade Station

  The thing about Space Stations or Trade Stations floating in a geosynchronous orbit, or even just maintaining a specified point in space and time, is that there are no reference points to define to the human mind how big these damn things are. It might be this size or it could be hundreds of time larger. The tiny specs of loading docking lights give really no size reference at all.

  With no known reference points for size I’m buggered. I think it is ridiculously huge but I really have no idea. D says the Trade Station’s center tube is five hundred meters across and five kilometers long. Plenty of room for hundreds of floors of goods and services. Attached to the central core are arms that protrude one kilometer. Four arms at each attachment point junction, the outer ends of which are equipped with docking ports on each side of the arm. Thereby having the ability to service two docked space craft simultaneously. There are five arm attachment points equidistant over the length of the central core. Each arm providing for two docking stations for a total station capacity of forty craft at any one time. Additional storage containers are attached to the central core in between the circles of arms.

  There is an aura about the station that is disturbing. It was not designed with anything related to elegance. Unless you see elegance in military constructs. The Station was built to last for a very long time suffering through a very hostile environment. It had the look and feel of an ancient siege castle that had seen several wars and revolutions. The gray surface scared, pitted and in places looked like it had been shelled. Perhaps it had, or perhaps it was just hit by space debris. Goodness knows there is enough of that to go around for everyone. The gray façade broken by splashes of red warning signs. The Station looked chilling and military, which made you wonder from a pre-disposed position what the local inhabitants were like. Blasted by raw sunlight one side and frozen in absolute darkness on the other side, there are no subtle shading changes as there are on earth to help define shape and size. A looming three dimensional monstrous alien anomaly hanging threateningly in space.

  Poe is in discussion with the Station protocol docking droids and AI systems, receiving instructions on which bay, on which arm, on which level, we might dock. I was relieved when I heard and felt the docking arms thump and clank tight against our ship. Space travel is different, very different than what I am accustomed to, the nothingness, directionless, no visual guide posts really upsets my inner ear and stir emotions of paranoia. It’s very un-reassuring, so when we docked I felt more attached if you will.

  Along with the very sober military exterior decor, the Station bristled with antenna, radar dishes, and communication towers of directional and fixed flavors. Armaments turrets and gun blisters are positioned at strategic places all around the station. I wondered how much of it was decommissioned and if any were still active.

  D tells me that this station was originally built as a military project, so that explains the military grade of construction and superior workmanship. It was used for multiple generations and then the military needs changed and the station was sold to an entrepreneurial group who could envision the money to be made in a Trade Hub environment. With exploration and colonization of planets, mining companies going crazy on asteroids, the Station flourished and is expanding like a modern day “gold rush” center.

  The Trade Station is a basically a warehouse and retail facility hub for anyone and everything moving inter-galactically. Goods come in from everywhere, are warehoused, sold in bulk or through retail outlets and are loaded back onto ships for
further distribution in remote locations and worlds. Everything you could possibly need for space flight, colonization, mining, exploration, and wars, you name it is available at the Trade Station. I doubt it is any accident or fluke of history that the methodology of settlers to the West on Earth used similar methods but based on the technology of their day. If you could find it in a catalog you could order it from your Trading Post. The similarity is ironic and makes me smile, use your personal technology and find what you want on the websites and order it for delivery to the Trading Station. The methodology is a tried and true process used in exploration and pioneering everywhere. The fundamental principle stays the same and transcends time itself.

  We get ourselves docked, electronic paperwork completed, did the obligatory customs examination, which always is an imposition to the customs officers it seems. Sure they are just doing their jobs, but some small minded humans react very badly when granted a modicum of power. I can smell them out at a distance and more than once have been involved in a standoff with the ignorant pricks. Not to suggest they are predominately either male or female as both parties are equally guilty of very poor conduct in the performance of their duties. After an eternity of ignorant aggravation and petty questions we had satisfied their anal examination and were allowed to continue and get things straightened away.

  Then it is time for a walk about to see what manner of place the Trade Station really is. A time of familiarization of what is available, where, costs, services, contact people, all the regular things that humans do when arriving at a new destination. D is ecstatic to go and see and touch and smell, but has to curtail her activities in lieu of the lack of physical presence. She is very eager to get that addressed.

  I don’t suppose that Frosty and I helped much as guys see things so much differently that what women do. We checked on the stuff of our interest, tools, armaments, bars, strippers, technology. But we brought back little to slack D’s thirst for fashion dress shops, body care products, or cosmetic stores. Let’s just say that D was extremely articulate in her observations and opinions of our slow progress of arriving at her goal of a physical presence.

  In fairness to her, whose mind operates thousands of time faster than ours, we guys must seem like blundering slow crawling goofs and little more than utter frustration for her. Even with all our nanotech sensors feeding data back to her. It was not enough; not nearly enough to slacken her thirst for data on the environment.

  What we did come to comprehend was the size of the Trade Station. It was enormous and weeks could be spent wandering around on the various levels and arms jutting out from the central core. There were literally communities within the Station. I was reminded of the huge malls that at one time were all the shopping trends of North America, like the Mall of America, West Edmonton Mall and so on.

  Anyway to keep our abuse from D to a minimum we just did a cursory look about and left it at that. Beast was not the least bit interested in the Trade Station, Mongo, Huey and Dewey had no concept of malls or interest, Poe likely would have found it extremely interesting given his disposition, but unfortunately he is attached to the ship and cannot leave. That said he is able to access the data that D will be collecting once she has physical presence.

  Yes D, my love, we are working post haste on your appointment. Take a breath please!

  Chapter 4: Renovatio Ltd

  The Cloning facility is elaborate. It started out as a simple crude methodology to make disposable clone workers, yes your basic replicants, if you wish to call them that, to perform dangerous tasks associated with mining, settlement, construction and maintenance. It worked well as the work was hazardous and too many human workers were killed, but were easily replaced with the clone/replicants limited function workers of low intelligence and high obedience. In a way this is quite troubling, it’s a little known fact that the North American military refuses to hire any individual under an IQ of 83 as they are incapable of being trained to perform any military duty reliably. That is ten percent of the North American population. Basically left to wither and die as they are useless. Yet here on the Trade Station replicants are being grown which are superior workers to the humans. I don’t know what the replicants IQ is measured at, I would guess in the 87 to 94 range. They did what they were told to do to the best of their ability all shift long every day, clearly superior to lazy, whiny, hung over, disinterested humans. One clone/replicant did the work of two humans and the quality of the work was much better. The Cloning facility made a lot of money, a lot of money.

  I don’t understand this and needed to spend quiet time examining and digesting what I’m seeing and trying to account for how this can be. I understand the cloning process in a general sense and I understand why it is done. I’m fine with the hierarchy of expertise making a fortune with their process. What I’m having trouble with is that from ten to fifteen percent of North American humanity has an IQ that is lower than that of a replicant. And substantially worse work habits, no intelligence, no degree of conscientiousness, no work ethic, lazy, a burden on society. How in the hell does this happen? Some would scoff at my musing and say “well ignorance begets ignorance” and apparently they are correct and so provides for repeating new generations of liabilities.

  With the advent of AI Artilects, extremely bright humans, very smart tech literate intelligent people, where does this leave the bottom fifteen per cent of the population? The wealth is all in the upper reaches of the intelligence and apparently society must burden itself with those capable of nothing more than being a goat herder, if that. An observer not from earth would see immediately we have failed miserably with our “herd management”. What are we to do with this bottom dregs segment of society, send it to war, recycle it for spare parts, what?

  The AI Artilects, Professors, genius et al, at the cloning facility were not concerned with these questions in the least and I certainly don’t blame them in the least, they had a flourishing business afoot and a brilliant future.

  Some bright corporate tech wizard lads decided that with modifications it would be easy to construct humanoid replicant sex workers. Prostitution was and is always in demand on the asteroid and planet settlement mining colonies. Sure you can kidnap real women but that is an invitation to have the law all over your dumb ass. Besides the cost was prohibitive for the number of human hookers required for working grunts that controlled the worker drones. So replicant prostitutes were grown and as no surprise were extremely popular. All the sex a working man can ever want with minimal conversation about feelings, accountability, responsibility or liability. The miners loved it; the Mining Companies loved it as their men were happy and working hard. The Cloning facility made huge amounts of new windfall money.

  The rich aged folks came next, followed by the rich young that had terminal medical conditions. Neither group are/were inclined to die thank you very much and their considerable wealth would ensure they did not have to. This was a very large jump in cloning replicant capability. From a generic very serviceable Volkswagen model replicant to a state of the art Lamborghini Huracan sports car version replicant. The rubber hit the road here as an exact replica of the human was the desired outcome sans any disease or aliment that the original model had. How interesting it is the process of human cloning complexities was more about biological, ethical, and social considerations than the actual science. The rich did not give a damn about such moral trivial nonsense and funded the work privately. It was going to happen in an accelerated process whether some segments of society liked it or not. The fact it was being done on an orbiting satellite neatly sidestepped a lot of the legal encumbrances that would have been in place if the work had been attempted on Earth. With the rich people came a fancy new name for the Cloning facility. “Renovatio Ltd,” a Latin word for renewal, refresh, renovation. It seems appropriate enough.

  The desired level of replicant to original subject exactness had been reached and surpassed. Fail safe mechanism were in place within the replicant to ensure diseas
e resistance which could never have been achieved in the original human version. The cost was eye wateringly expensive measured in millions; yet there was/is an avalanche of pent up demand and it became its own industry for the rich and famous. Renavatio Ltd made billions of dollars and more!

  We are not famous, quite the opposite as a matter of fact and prefer to be un-noticed, however we do have money, so we have been granted a slot. Frosty and I were the first to meet with Renovatio representatives. Frosty handled all of the technical talk, which D monitored and asked additional very specialized questions via a comm link. The company rep ran out of his depth pretty quickly and a couple of the senior scientists joined the group. The technical discussion was way beyond my depth and I left them to it and went to look around. On a whim I asked the attractive receptionist, whose name tag indicated her name is Brenda, if she was a replicant and to my utter surprise she said she was. Said she did not have to work for the money, but had the energy level to do so and came in to help out three days a week, and really enjoyed meeting the people.

  “Surprised and shocked aren’t you?” smiled Brenda.

  “I certainly am,”

  “You were sure you would be able to tell a replicant from a human weren’t you?”

  “Absolutely, so what’s it like?”

  “Fantastic, you see I had MS in my original body and it was a horror show. I was in my fifties and knew that I was dying a horrible death with a terrible quality of life. I resisted as long as I could as I didn’t quite believe how successful the cloning process is. Eventually I had as much torture as I could endure and committed to the clone. I should have done it years sooner than I did, it’s like being born again with all your accumulated knowledge but a young robust body. It’s better than you could ever imagine and worth every penny. Are you considering cloning, are you ill?