The ABACUS Protocol Read online

  “It’s already taken care of. Inventory the boxes, and I will show you where to take them,” quIRK said.

  “Deal. What about Lepton?”

  “I won’t tell the administrator if you don’t.” Vivian was beginning to like quIRK.

  “Do I have to feed him?” she asked. She’d never had a pet before.

  “No, Alec performs that function admirably. Just worry about your work.”

  Vivian shrugged, and picked up an empty box in her still-shaking hands, and began packing up the stray parts. It was going to be a difficult first week.

  Eight

  It had taken the better part of a week for Vivian to prepare her lab. Most of the time, she’d had the luxury of working without interruption. Alec had dropped by early on to fix the ventilation; the majority of the other distractions were kitten-related. Aggravated by the constant distractions, she’d extracted a confession from quIRK—he admitted to leading the cats around the facility. He used a stream of artificial pheromones to guide them, with the specific intent of interrupting workers. quIRK claimed his actions were good for morale, but Vivian suspected he was living vicariously through them; animals could interact with the crew in ways that he never could. Her off-work hours had been equally lonely. Once, in the dining hall, she’d met the station’s two scientists, but they were disinterested in conversation with anyone but each other. They were absorbed in discussing their calibrations of the beta-telescope, which was soon to be reactivated, while holding hands over the dining hall table. Her lab was located on the alpha-side, where the automated telescopes required little in the way of human interventions. On a more positive note, Vivian had discovered the station’s exercise room, and many of her frustrations and insecurities found themselves vented into the punching bag.

  She was embroiled in her latest task—examining and testing the equipment that had been sent with her from New Damascus. Thus far, nothing important had been damaged in transit, and she had many spare parts. She was still peeved by the condition the lab had been in, and incensed that she’d needed to waste a week of her six-month assignment sorting parts and preparing the informatics lab. The implications were clear—without the lab in working order, maintenance on quIRK was impossible. A regular quantum computer needed to be checked for particle containment, programming faults, and a plethora of mechanical problems at least once per year. With the only access to the central core blocked off, quIRK had gone at least twelve years without so much as a cursory hardware checkup. Additionally, quIRK had many more duties and personality subroutines as compared to a standard quantum supercomputer. Protocol required that his personal memories be wiped with each staff rotation. At best, nothing would break until exposure to interstellar space and radiation caused problems with his electronics. At worst, it could theoretically lead to a sentience situation—a breach of the ABACUS protocol. She’d spent many nights reading her books while contemplating the ramifications, but wanted to reserve judgment until she was ready to enter the system core and assess the situation. Worrying wouldn’t help her or quIRK, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted her project to go smoothly, finish ahead of schedule and help advance her career.

  She sighed and inserted the probes of the diagnostic tool into the circuit board she was examining. A green light flashed to indicate the pathways worked, and she moved the probes to the next set of inputs. It was a long, dreary job, but she wanted to prove herself as a meticulous quantum informatics engineer. Everything checked out, so she marked the piece as working and continued with the next. Muon lay curled up in the corner, purring in her sleep. Vivian was happy quIRK had clandestinely ordered them from New Damascus, but many of her evenings had been spent brooding over what it meant. Computers weren’t supposed to have favorite colors, or like cats. It certainly wasn’t in his original programming, and if her suspicions about his maintenance regimen were true, it meant that he had come up with the ideas independently. Favorite colors and kittens weren’t threatening, and quIRK’s strange fascination with them was endearing; it possibly made him better at observing crew behavior. Was there even a problem?

  Vivian smiled as Muon chased an imaginary mouse in his sleep. Bryce had told her to keep the cats out of the lab, but quIRK had insisted Bryce was being unreasonable. She didn’t argue—she found herself drawn to them. Cats were common on Aurora but, like humans, they had shifted to predominately bluish tones once exposed to a steady diet of local rodents. Cats were effective pest control, and had adapted well to Aurora’s gravity.

  After thinking of home, she realized that she had finally grown accustomed to the normal gravity in the rest of the station. Vivian found it put a spring in her step, despite the fact that she usually wanted to drag her feet and disappear into the cream-colored walls. She’d anticipated some degree of culture shock, but she had not expected to be shunned and ignored by the station’s population.

  Vivian picked up another part, smiling now that she was finished with that box. She’d promised herself a break. She considered dropping in on Alec, the only other person who worked on the alpha-side, and the only human on the station who was friendly.

  The indicator flashed red. “Damn,” she said, turning to the workbench’s oscilloscope and magnifier. There were no spares for that part—it was a new design intended to replace the previous, defect-prone optical connectors. She swung the magnifier over the part, and cursed again; a long, thin scratch ran down the board, severing many connections. She might be able to fix it, though optical soldering was imprecise and every re-connection would introduce a non-trivial drop in transfer and an increase in the signal-to-noise ratio. She counted at least seven points that would need re-soldering. The part would still function—if she was lucky—but it would cause unacceptable delays in processing time.

  “Okay, quIRK, add part fourteen fifty-seven dash A-P rho sigma three from Dynamo Quantronics to the replacement parts manifest,” she said.

  There was no reply. “quIRK, did you get that?” she asked again.

  Nothing.

  “Hello, quIRK?” She moved the magnifier to the side and stood up. Muon cooed at the door; Vivian’s voice had roused her from her nap. quIRK was usually very attentive to the movements and needs of the cats—Vivian thought they had trained him well. The door remained closed. She rushed to the door, trying to push it open. “quIRK, this isn’t funny!”

  The door started to slide open, and Vivian recoiled from it. Then it stopped, leaving open a crack wide enough for Vivian to squeeze her arm through. Muon bolted out the opening. “Come on quIRK, what’s wrong with the door?” said Vivian.

  “The door is functioning perfectly,” quIRK replied.

  “Does that look functional to you?” She gestured to the crack.

  “This appears to be a mechanical failure. I will call Alec to get his tools and force the door.”

  She returned to the desk and sat down, chin in her hand. At least the cat had managed to escape—she wouldn’t be distracted by its insistent cries. There was nothing for her to do but return to her duties, and worry about quIRK.

  Nine

  Bryce looked up from his work and gazed at the wolf on his family crest, squinting at it as he forced his eyes to refocus. The banner hung on the wall facing his desk—a constant reminder of his hopes, fears, and dreams. The hopes of seeing his mother again, the fear that he would get taken down by political intrigue or imperial spies, and the dream of succeeding the Imperatrix. Buying his mother back was inevitable—if he ascended to the nobility. Then, he could simply command the rival house to return her. Their asking price for his mother’s freedom increased every year—he could buy two beautiful wives and a senate seat for that much!

  The door buzzed, interrupting Bryce’s thoughts while his teeth were in mid-grind. He looked up, his eyebrows drew upwards. Nobody came to see him; he delegated his meetings to quIRK. “Come in,” he said, turning off the displays on his terminal.

  “Hello, Mr. Zimmer,” Vivian said as she stepped into th
e room. He resumed grinding his teeth; he thought his treatment of her weeks before would have been sufficient to keep her cowering until he could find an excuse to ship her back to Aurora. His heart raced—being in the same room as her was bringing back memories of Julia.

  “What can I do for you?” He put on his best blank look. He’d need to have a talk with quIRK about letting her see him. However, the computer showed a deficiency in understanding human social norms, like appointments.

  “I was wondering if you have maintenance logs from the past twelve years. I haven’t been able to find them in the records and I want to verify any changes in hardware or software before I begin the upgrade.” She held her arms stiffly by her sides, and she was rude enough to look him in the eye. Auroran wench, he thought. She could be a clone of Julia—assassin clones were rare, and prohibitively expensive.

  “There aren’t any. quIRK has not required maintenance, my dear girl.” He fought to keep his voice steady. She could not see his weakness—not until he had cultivated it into resolve.

  “Not even preventative maintenance and system integrity checks?”

  “If quIRK has a problem, he is more than capable of telling me about it.” He narrowed his eyes and stood up.

  She took a half-step back before continuing: “What if he doesn’t know about the problem? He can’t keep track of insulated parts or check his own uncertainty processors! What about the Heisenberg compensators? Those need replacing every three years.”

  Bryce had heard enough, and exploded: “Even looking at the uncertainty processors can cause problems, or do they not teach that basic principle on Aurora, girl?” He paused for a moment. Her eyes went wide, and a smile crept to his lips. “Now, get back to working on your little project, or I’ll have you shipped back to Aurora with those damned cats. Then, you can spend the rest of your life worrying about farm equipment maintenance.” He finished shouting and pressed the button on his console for the manual door opening mechanism. She backed out of the room, and had turned so pale that she was pure blue.

  “Nasty little plebian,” he mumbled.

  Bryce stole a quick glance at the door, before activating the secret link to quIRK’s consciousness. He should be more cautious, but he needed to talk this problem out. Who better to debate with than the most advanced computer in the galaxy? He doubted quIRK would agree with any of his points, but the release alone would be worth it.

  Once the block was active, his perfect posture melted into a comfortable slouch. He groaned as the ever-present tingling in his spine relented for a moment.

  “Now, you’re all mine, quIRK.” He spoke, testing the words.

  “Bryce, what is the meaning of this?” quIRK asked.

  “Just some tests, quIRK. Nothing to worry about.” He leaned back in his chair and groaned. The pressure on his spine eased, and the tingling between his shoulders lessened.

  “I cannot see the rest of the station. This is a breach of protocol.”

  Bryce sighed. “Maintenance is never a breach of protocol,” he said, stretching. “I need full use of your unique skills, and I would prefer that you not be distracted by researching words that rhyme with blob.”

  “Creativity helps Devon focus on his research, Bryce. His poetry is very popular in academic circles.”

  Bryce exhaled and rolled his eyes. “I could teach both of you a few things about poetry, but you’re not here to discuss trivialities.”

  “I did not realize you were an artist, Bryce.”

  “I realized the error of my ways decades ago.” His jaw clenched shut, and his hand balled into a fist. “After Septimus ruined my family and sent me into hiding.”

  “There is no record of any entity named Septimus on Caesarea, Bryce.”

  Bryce paused for a moment and chewed his lip. His eyes met with the wolf on his family crest. “It’s another Caesarean house—perhaps they changed their name. They are very cunning. Septimus controls a great deal of the pharmaceutical industry, and they have a great deal of influence with the Imperatrix.” His lips twisted downward.

  “I see. Would that be why you’ve resisted anti-aging treatments?”

  Bryce laughed. “No, that’s a financial concern. However, they could assassinate me easily.” He glanced at the door. “You can’t be too careful.”

  “I find this troubling, Bryce.”

  He glowered. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, quIRK.”

  “I was merely observing that any threat to your life is a concern.”

  Bryce nodded. “Maybe you can help me do something about it.”

  A smile crept along his lips. Something occurred to him—his stomach nearly emptied itself right there. In addition to being a potential assassin, Vivian was a threat to the station’s perfect operations record—a document that would be of interest to the Caesarean Ascension Committee. In order to join the nobility and become the founder of a house, a candidate needed to demonstrate not only monetary wealth, but shrewd planning and management abilities. Fifteen years of perfect operations records would prove his ability to govern. He could envision House Zimmer, and the legacy he would build for his offspring, who in turn would exalt his name for generations. Perhaps I should change my name to something more regal than Bryce, he pondered.

  An idea struck him. Perhaps both of his problems—Vivian and quIRK—were their mutual solutions. His first task would be to eliminate one meddling tramp, and one malfunctioning quantum supercomputer. The girl would be simple to deal with, but quIRK was another matter altogether. If he could outsmart the most advanced computer ever constructed, he would be a formidable house leader. His mother would be proud, and the Imperatrix would fear him.

  A confrontation was coming. He leaned back in his chair and grinned; the unfamiliar motions hurt both his face and back. He didn’t care—he knew his retirement would be safe. He simply needed to find a catalyst, a way to set them against each other and absolve himself of responsibility for the aftermath. Of course, there might be some collateral damage, but the galaxy was full of scientists and mechanics—there was only one heir to House Zimmer.

  He reactivated the display for his terminal. He shouldn’t be wasting his energy fighting quIRK’s emerging personality; he would be better served by harnessing quIRK’s potential. There must be a way to persuade quIRK to join him, and force him to understand the logic of Bryce’s predicament. The possibilities were endless, and with quIRK’s assistance, he could not only rise to the nobility, but position himself to become the next Imperator of Caesarea by exploiting Caesarea’s central computer, Seneca, in a similar manner.

  He closed the activity logs and muted quIRK’s voice. He activated the three-dimensional holographic display. It was time to take a new approach to retirement planning.

  Ten

  Vivian laid her head on her desk in the darkened privacy of her quarters. She was unable to fathom how her dream job was turning into a living nightmare. After the initial elation of getting the job wore off, she’d submitted her upgrade plan to the New Damascus Science Authority for approval almost a month before it was due—partly because of enthusiasm, but also to compensate for any delays in transit time. Sending interstellar messages from Aurora could be problematic, and a massive month-long solar storm was in the Helios forecast. After the storm had cleared and communications satellites repaired and re-shielded, she’d received approval for her work plans, and tickets to the Extra-Galactic Observatory soon followed.

  Vivian had no idea that her top choice would be like this. The station’s residents ignored her, with the exception of Alec. He visited her on occasion, but only if there was something to fix. She hoped that after the rotation to using the beta-side telescopes, the scientists would relax and be more amenable to conversation. Recently talking to quIRK was like talking to herself, but without the implied hint of her own insanity. She didn’t know why he was so quiet.

  After her confrontation with Bryce only a few hours ago, she needed to talk to somebody above him. His refusal to per
form systems maintenance on quIRK was troubling; they needed to be made aware of the situation. Her other grievance—Bryce’s abusive behavior towards her—was also to be addressed. She had done nothing wrong. In fact, Vivian had suspected that no maintenance had been done when she’d asked for the logs, but she’d hoped for the best—there was a way into the quIRK’s computer core she didn’t know about. It was unfathomable how a man of Bryce’s experience and education could act so illogically—even a perfectly working system required maintenance and observation. It was the same kind of flawed logic that kept divorce lawyers in business.

  She found the contact information for human resources—the same person who had accepted her into the internship program. With any luck, her unique submission would be remembered, and more importantly, lend weight to her allegations. The problem of proving her claims was troublesome—all she had was an undisturbed core entry and an unrecorded conversation. The fact that there were no maintenance logs might help her case, if they could be bothered to look.

  She typed her letter, but had no idea what the next steps would be. It would take four weeks for anyone to arrive, if they chose to send an auditor. She wouldn’t even know if her message had been read for at least ten days. Then, there was the question of reprisals from Bryce. At least she could take control of her own life—she was going to proceed with the upgrade. If quIRK’s hardware and software hadn’t been modified in twelve years, then she didn’t need to worry about undocumented parts and unlisted repairs or modifications. She wasn’t going to let Bryce’s neglect affect her performance. She decided to leave things a little better than she’d found them—there was potential to do great work here.

  She read and re-read her letter until the words blurred into each other. She didn’t want to appear ungrateful, or entitled, or worse, whiny. Vivian wanted to convey the message that she was doing what was right for the station and the New Damascus Science Authority. She swallowed, hard, before hitting send, hoping Bryce didn’t read or screen the station’s outgoing mail. She’d sent the letter from her Gal-Net account, but it was still connected to quIRK. Bryce had to be doing something with his time if he wasn’t performing maintenance. There wasn’t much in the way of recreation on the station, thus spying on his charges could be a real possibility. Vivian had caught herself looking over her shoulder on more occasions that she cared to admit.