Things Fall Apart: Chapter 47

Newer York, Ellis Ring, Embassy of the Tau Ceti Treaty Organization, 5-6 Tammuz 2541

Rachel had found Singer and Cadotte still sitting on the veranda, and looked to Singer's eye like she might simply join them on the bench and let dinner wait. Truth told, Singer was more tired than hungry, and she was not sure she would have minded continuing to take in the ambience. Alas, the ambassador's aide had mastered the urge and gently ushered them back inside to the dining area.

That Rachel had been weeping in the interim was clear, despite efforts she had made to wash her face and otherwise compose herself. Her complexion was simply the kind that showed the traces of recent strong emotion. Makeup might have hidden it, but she had apparently decided she did not need to hide.

This worked just fine for Singer. She preferred it, in the end, to everyone just pretending nothing was amiss.

After they'd sat down, dinner was carried out to them by human serving staff, coming through a door that clearly led to a full kitchen. This gave Singer three surprises at once. The first was that she had really not expected a kitchen. She was so used to grabbing a replicated tray of food from a slot that a sit-down dinner, in general, felt a little weird.

The second was that the pair who brought out the food and pitchers of drinks—water and what looked like more apple juice, but no wine—had the look of dirtworlders, not Spacers. It was subtle, and Singer knew looks weren't always reliable, but the third thing that surprised her cemented the impression.

They were frightened. Despite her shields, it was radiating from them so strongly that she caught it, especially from the young man who brought the last platter out and came close to Singer as he set it down.

All of this gave her something mundane to ask about and break up some of the awkwardness. "I had heard Newer York still mostly eschewed replication. I guess I hadn't thought about what the embassy would do, one way or the other!"

Rachel nodded, grabbing a roll from a basket and passing the basket to Singer. The food had been delivered to table "family style" rather than as individual servings, so they would be serving themselves and passing dishes, it seemed. The rolls smelled marvelous, and Singer had to school herself not to snatch at the basket too eagerly. Apparently, she was hungry, after all. Cadotte decided their junior status meant they didn't need to show such decorum, and made grabby hands at the basket.

While buttering her roll, with what Singer believed might be real butter, too, Rachel answered, "There was an offer way back when the embassy was established to set aside and plumb space for a replication mass holding tank, provided it could be managed without AI. Of course, replication in basic mode isn't really all that great, so it was decided to just follow local custom. Honestly, I've gotten so used to the idea that I have a hard time considering going back to replication. Finding staff for a kitchen out of the TCTO is a little tricky, but the presidium insists embassies be staffed entirely by citizens of TCTO systems."

Singer found that answer had neatly addressed all three of her observations, and was about to ask about the prohibition against using TCTO-style AIs within the embassy, instead, since the embassy would usually be considered their own sovereign territory, but Cadotte beat her to the next question, and followed a different fork in the conversational road. "I'm confused, though," they said. "I had always thought that our reclamation and recycling systems came out of technology invented here—actually predating Starfall and dating from the long journey."

Rachel nodded, dolloping out a serving-spoon full of mashed potatoes and offering the bowl to Singer next as she said, "They absolutely did. The whole trip would have been impossible without nano-reclamation, really. But when it comes to food, they feel strongly about growing it. The reclamation process yields fertilizer, and other useful materials that are used in the fields and orchards, rather than being turned directly back into food. Nobody here even tries to defend it rationally. Of course, they do take some shortcuts—the meat," at this, she forked a slice of white meat off the platter of what was either turkey or chicken, Singer thought, then passed it—"is vat-grown, but still not replicated."

Singer saw a chance to come back to her own curiosity. "All because that can be overseen by processes that don't require AI?"

"Exactly. They've got weird boundaries to our way of thinking around what they call 'arties'. You may have already noticed they don't go in for androids at all—their robots don't look like people. They also tend not to be much smarter than an H4 in autonomous mode. No sentience to them, no personality. You don't have to spoon feed them instructions, but they have no opinions or imagination. Artificial personalities capable of more breadth are almost religiously proscribed, with a very, very few exceptions. How strongly those rules are enforced comes and goes generationally, but it was already ramping up before the Incident. I've been here...five years now? Yes, five years, about one-hundred-fifty megaseconds. I can count the number of times I've talked to a local AI on the fingers of one hand."

Cadotte asked, "Is that prohibition system-wide, or just Newer York."

Rachel waggled her free hand while she finished washing down a fork-full of food with some water. "New Anaheim's a little more permissive. The Institute's based there, so that sort of goes hand-in-hand. Even there, though, arties are a lot less common than they are on TCTO stations." She stopped, then, looking down at her plate and trying to keep composure, but saying, "Well...were."

They all just focused on their food for a few moments before Rachel resumed, "Even where they're more common, I'm told they're structured very differently. I'm not really sure how to describe the differences, myself—I'm definitely not a computer scientist—but one big one is that they don't feel any need to appear human. One of the few I met liked to just display a purple dot on some screen in a room she was 'present' in. I'm told that kind of presence indicator is a common convention for them. But they don't...anthropomorphize. I think that's the right word."

At this point, there was a chime from a tablet Rachel had set down next to her place. She glanced at it, and said, "Excuse me, please. It's the governor-general, so I should probably take the call."

"By all means," Singer responded.

Apparently, Rachel decided that meant she didn't have to treat it as a private call, either. Singer privately hoped the governor felt the same. Either way, Rachel gestured at the tablet, and the call shifted up to a screen set in one wall, which they all could see. "Ah, Miss O'Halloran, Commander, Lieutenant!" She displayed no surprise at the ambassador's absence. "Apologies for disturbing you all at table, but I thought you would want to know. Apparently, we were anticipated. The president of Revi'i was already on her way upwell, and had been for some time, when I tried to call her to invite her. She had just been about to call to ask for clearance and quarters—they don't keep a permanent embassy." That last had clearly been for Singer and Cadotte's benefit. "They're burning hard and expect to be here in time to meet tomorrow, if that will work for you."

Singer recalled that the question of time had been left in their court. She ought, in theory, to defer to the ambassador, but Ellison remained absent, and clearly had deferred the call to them. She glanced at Rachel to see if she had an opinion, and got a nod. So, Singer took point. "Governor, as I understand it, local custom means everyone will be unavailable the day after tomorrow, yes?"

"That's so. We still take Shabbat very seriously here, even though only maybe a quarter of the population really identifies as a believer. A skeleton crew continues to operate the station, deferring their observance one day—an accommodation that goes all the way back to the launching of the ship—but otherwise, no serious business will be conducted."

Singer nodded, appreciating the explanation. "Then by all means, let us meet tomorrow. I suspect we will need more than one day's worth of meeting, but I also believe that everyone will be happier if they get an extra day between the first meeting and the rest."

The governor was not stupid. "But Commander, you won't have an extra day between retellings."

Singer allowed her face to show some grimness, but said, simply, "Needs must, Governor Silverman."

The governor held her gaze, and despite not being in the same room, Singer had the distinct impression Silverman was contemplating fussing at her about her own mental health. Singer owned that maybe someone fussing at her would not come amiss, but she was also pretty sure she'd had enough time to come to terms with everything that had happened that she could stand to tell the story again, if the ambassador truly proved unable, tomorrow.

Finally, the governor relented. "Very well, Commander. Miss O'Halloran, does noon at Briefing One work for the ambassador's schedule?"

That, Singer thought, was a polite way of asking Rachel if she thought Ellison was likely to be recovered from her private bender. Which was interesting, because there was no reason for the governor to know about it. Unless, as Singer feared, it was a habit.

At any rate, Rachel replied, "Yes, Governor, that should be fine." There was a determined undertone both to O'Halloran's voice and the tenor of her thought. Singer thought to herself, Rachel has decided to make it fine. If the ambassador is not fit to be seen, we'll just go without her.

Singer was not without sympathy for the ambassador, but agreed with that determination.

"Then I'll see you all then," the governor replied. "Good evening to you all!"

The call went dark. Singer looked at O'Halloran and asked, "Are we going to get into trouble, not waiting to ask the ambassador?"

The determination had not left Rachel, however. "Commander, I have a great deal of respect, in the general sense, for my boss, but honestly? If she didn't want to defer to our judgement, she should have taken that call herself and then come and told us what she decided."

And not, Singer finished silently, bounced the call to them and stayed in her quarters rotting away her liver.

"Happens I agree," Singer replied, "but I don't want to cause you difficulties."

But Rachel had clearly been giving this some thought. "You heard her, ma'am. She's all but resigned already. Whether that makes me the next ambassador by default or another refugee, either way, she's not really my boss any more."

Singer found herself giving Rachel a look not unlike the one the governor had tried on Singer. She met about the same result, and finally said, "As long as you're sure, then that's the end of the matter. So, that being the case, let me pick your brain a bit about what to expect..."