Echo and the Lone Drifter

She looked back at him and he saw fear. Not just fear. Terror. Her shoulders flashed with light, a new color. A fiery red, traveling down to her belly.

—It will be here soon. It's going around the rings—

Her eyes unfocused, tracking something like she was listening. Her eyes finally shifted to his. Her lips parted like she wanted to appeal to him in some way. Her shoulders fell, giving up before she did. Color flashed in her chest again, the light under her skin, now a red so dark it was like blood, the light moving sluggishly. She looked down.

"Where are you?" he demanded.

He didn't even know what he meant asking her that, the question following from a strange sense of urgency. She wasn't anywhere. She was a dream. She didn't move, but he saw something in his mind, an image. He blinked, shaking his head, but it was still there. He couldn't quite make it out. It looked like a snowflake blown up large.

The image faded and she looked up. He saw her eyes, liquid and deep and that color, a sea-green, so beautiful. And sad now, tugging at him.

—Goodbye—

"Echo, wait—."

Logan woke with a start, opening his eyes, his com squawking. He looked up at the domed roof above him, the controls glowing.

"Go for trajectory, Captain," Puck said. "Stasis cycle is complete. Switching to engines."

The seal to the stasis chamber broke, dispelling compressed air, and Logan pulled the hypodermics. He hit the controls as the leads retracted, the domed roof opening like a hatch. His skin briefly raised in bumps in the air before he adjusted. Puck would let their momentum carry them, conserving fuel, small pushes to keep them going across the vastness they skated across.

A sane person didn't think about the deep-dark for too long. Not if that person wanted to stay sane.

"Confirmed," Logan said, distracted, thinking about his dream.

He caught himself staring into nothing and hit the button that closed the hatch to the stasis pod. He went to a panel and pulled out a pair of pants, putting them on. He ate a prepared meal on Puck's schedule and then went into the rec room, getting on the treads. He began to run, his feet keeping a steady thumping time as his ship shot through space.

#

Logan was on the small bridge, sitting at the table. He was awake. He ignored his reflection in the black mirrored surface of the table, once again wishing that he'd designed a different one. Every time he sat here, his eyes were drawn to any movement on the reflective surface, distracting because humans had been predators and motion attracted their eyes.

In the reflection, he was a man with an intense face, dark brown hair, sweeping brows and big, blocky hands. Broad shoulders. He was thirty-two years old, chronologically. Physiologically, he was about twenty-five years old.

He didn't age during the stasis intervals while they were in drive, his body functions dialed way down. It made for some strange effects. Logan would be gone for a year as Dufur calculated it, but maybe only spend three months of that time awake. Those nine months in which he wasn't awake, he didn't age. Accrued over the ten years he'd been Puck's captain, it meant he had aged only about two and a half years in those ten.

Logan sat where he was, still staring off a little, his gaze unfocused. He was distracted. He was thinking about his dream. Thinking about Echo. It had been more real than he had liked. He didn't take chances out here. He spoke.

"Puck, analyze for any shifts in behavioral patterns since we left dock."

"Subject?"

"I am the subject."

"Erratic sleep patterns."

"Explain."

"Subject woke repeatedly during early stasis sleep on the last cycle."

"Can you rephrase, Puck?"

"You woke repeatedly during early stasis sleep on the last cycle."

"Confirm optimal phrasing. Possible causes?"

"Stress, physical illness, mental illness, an external agent."

Well, he couldn't determine if he had gone crazy in the deep-dark and just hadn't noticed, but he could rule out anything physical. Logan got up and went into the room with a shower that had a medical station, going to a panel, drawing it aside and opening a drawer, retrieving a syringe. He worked it one-handed, using the port, drawing his own blood. He popped the vial from the mechanism and put it in the slot.

"Blood analysis, Puck," he said. "Compare with departure and also sensitive to stress levels."

"Working. Results: Normal. Normal. Normal. Normal. Slight reduction in iron levels. Dietary supplementation adjusted to correct. Normal. Normal. Normal. Normal. Cortisol stress levels are in normal range."

"Can you rephrase, Puck?"

He and Puck did this endlessly. Every example he gave the AI program helped to teach the linguistic structures that humans calculated at blinding speed and often without understanding why, subtle nuances Logan had spent years studying.

"Rephrasing," Puck said. "The results are all normal, including cortisol stress levels and except for slight reduction in iron levels. Supplementation added to your diet to correct."

"Can you rephrase, Puck? Expand secondary qualifiers and separate, returning to subject-pattern," he suggested.

"Rephrasing. I recommend dietary adjustment to correct light decrease in iron levels. All remaining levels are normal, including cortisol stress levels."

"Confirm optimum phrasing," Logan said.

The AI would apply what it had just learned to previous experiences and adjust all its algorithms accordingly, a kind of bias toward certain kinds of phrasing that altered its logic sets and would eventually help to define its ego boundaries. That's why Logan was out here, why he'd been out here for ten years alone interacting with Puck.

Mild anemia wouldn't cause hallucinations. But isolation would.

"Initiate active monitoring for behavioral anomalies," Logan said.

Something was going on in his head to produce her so vividly. Logan was far more adaptable than the AI. He could juggle multiple realities effortlessly. Too effortlessly, sometimes. He could function without discomfort even while negotiating logic conflicts that would make his AI freeze. Terran brains stewed in the stuff, his neurotransmitters floating in contradiction. Logan was trying to approximate this quality in his AI, or at least a simulation of it.

But isolation was generally unhealthy for a Terran psyche, and prolonged isolation could cause all sorts of mischief. Logan knew his own responses, knew his reactions to the deep-dark, but he didn't take chances.

"Parameters of monitoring," Puck responded.

"Alert only," Logan replied.

He didn't want Puck freezing him out of navigation because the AI had decided a decision Logan made was suspect.

"Aye."

"Give me three examples of an external agent that would wake me from stasis," Logan said.

"An example of an external agent would be an alert. Another example of an external agent would be random input in your immediate environment. Another example of an external agent would be proprioceptive stimuli."

"Confirm optimum phrasing. Did any of these occur during the last cycle?"

"Yes."

Logan already knew that. Puck had woken him for an alert. But they went through it.

"List," Logan said.

"At 323.8, 98/4, you were woken when I interrupted your stasis cycle for a Level 1 alert. At 762.5, 102/4, you were woken by random auditory input in your environment."

"Can you rephr—," Logan began, interrupting himself, feeling a surge of adrenalin. "What?"

"At 323.8—," Puck said.

"Stop. Play the record of the random auditory input you detected in my environment during the last stasis cycle."

"Playing, six second lead."

Logan waited, counting. The voice issued from Puck's com system.

"I am real."

Logan froze.

"Repeat," he said through numb lips.

"Repeating," Puck said.

Six seconds passed.

"I am real."

Puck's voice followed right away.

"Alert. A behavior anomaly has been detected in subject, Logan. Increased heart rate—."

"Stop. Analyze auditory input record just retrieved."

"Language: Belkian, Western region Dufur, Malsh Colony, 45 ana. 98% probability—."

"Shut up, Puck. Where did the voice come from?"

"Unknown. Alert. A behavioral anomaly has been detected in subject, Logan. Voice-stress in excess—."

"Suspend monitoring for behavioral anomalies," Logan said impatiently. "Where did the voice come from?"

"Unknown."

"Is there non-native technology on this ship, widest possible associative drift on non-native?"

"No, there is no non-native technology on this ship."

Logan shook his head. What the fuck?

"Is there someone else on this ship with me?" Logan demanded, the only other option.

"Unknown."

Logan's heart began to pound, his eyes roaming around him, the hairs on his arms standing up. He should fucking turn around. He should turn around and bring Puck straight back and pull his code apart line by line and find out what was going on. This was bad.

"Explain the logic conflict, Puck," he said to the AI.

There was a beat, the AI alerted, all extraneous tasks besides basic ship functions dropped. If Puck went sideways in the deep-dark, if a truly irreconcilable conflict arose in its logic sets and that conflict began proliferating into neurosis, they would both be in trouble. What Logan had just said would shift all of Puck's executive function to this task, now. He had just gotten his AI's full attention.

"Clarify, Captain."

"I am supposed to be the only biologic organism on this ship. Is this a true or a false statement?"

"That statement is true within previously established parameters."

"Is this true statement attached to an alert protocol?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't the presence of a confirmed second biologic organism trigger the alert protocol?"

"The presence of a second biologic organism was not confirmed."

Semantics, Logan thought, could kill him out here. Language was its own lone drifter. But he needed Puck to be right in its electronic mind, needed the AI to function well because something was going on. Unless Logan were crazy, something had just happened here, something big.

"Conflict located," Puck offered. "Parameter error is conflict regarding what constitutes presence. Logic patterns frozen, unresolved."

Logan put his fingers to his eyes, rubbing.

"You didn't mention that an alien was visiting me in the stasis chamber because you couldn't tell if she were actually there or not," he confirmed.

"Correct."

"Okay," Logan said, dropping his hand, looking up. "Shift in semantic thresholds, Puck. Anything that is possibly the presence of a second biologic organism is to trigger alert protocols already attached, Level 1. Analyze effect of letting 'possible' drift."

"Analysis complete. Conflict is resolved. Minimal effect given current thresholds."

"Clear all sub-conflicts related to primary."

"Complete."

"Diagnostic."

"Status is normal. Alert, Level I: Possible presence of second biologic organism detected in stasis chamber, Captain."

Logan sometimes thought Puck had a sense of humor. This was why Logan was out here. So these moments happened to him and not to some poor crew out in the deep-dark who didn't know how to repair it.

"What is it?"

"Unknown."

#

Nine cycles later, they arrived at their target.

"Sensor image of target available, Captain."

"Bring it up," Logan said, reaching for his nutrition package, opening it.

Puck kept him to a timetable and Logan had to finish his meal within that interval or the AI would nag at him. Puck could be stubborn about schedules. They were working on that. In the meantime, a person's appetite got erratic in isolation and Logan ate whether he was hungry or not. Right now he wasn't. He took a bite, chewing. The image came up. Logan stopped chewing, staring, leaning forward, setting his fork down. He put the food aside.

"What the fuck is that?" Logan said aloud around the bite, swallowing.

"This is a representation of the anomalous mass Big Dog detected. The image is of the—."

"How big is it?" Logan interrupted, Puck adjusting.

"Forty million villit."

"Forty million?" Logan echoed, incredulous.

"Correct."

Logan stared at the image, stunned. It was real. It wasn't naturally occurring. It was alien. It looked like a big Terran snowflake blown up large.

Even more importantly, it wasn't the first time Logan had seen it, which meant he was crazy or something out there was communicating with him. He had dreamed this image. Echo had given it to him, and by that he meant he had asked her where she was and she had given this image into his mind in return, as an answer.

Leaning forward, his hand coming up, Logan found a tag, rotating the display. He looked at the object from all angles. It was disc-shaped. Laid flat, it was composed of a center and radiating rings connected by arms that grew smaller and more elaborate at the outside edges. The surface refracted an internal light, shining like clear glass or highly reflective metal, a bluish-white in the spectrum his Terran eyes understood.

"Any communication from it?"

"No."

"You sent a hail, standard Concord," Logan confirmed.

"Yes."

"What is the ship doing? Is it moving?"

"There is no propulsion engaged. There is minimal power signature."

"What does the Savron-6 say?"

"Possible organic signature, but it's faint, unable to confirm."

"That's it? She's drifting with nobody on her? Dead in the water, powered down?"

"Yes, she is drifting and powered down. No, she is not in water."

"Add figurative phrase 'dead in the water' to lexicon, infer from context, extended analogy to ships on water," he said absently. "Set for later review."

"Added. Alert," Puck said. "You haven't finished your meal."

"Broad analysis, Puck," Logan said, fascinated, staring at the image. "Collect details, no conclusions."

"A mode of transport, a made device—."

"Slightly more specific," he murmured, turning the image again.

"A ship designed for space travel. Material constitution and design indicate non-Terran origins. Evidence of sentient engineering, specifically—."

"Simpler, Puck," Logan muttered, studying it.

"The composition of the ship is in the Fibonacci sequence, abstracted," Puck said.

Logan glanced up at Puck's ocular setting above his head on the bridge, just one of those things he couldn't help doing, a hominid-based desire for eye contact. Puck did sometimes surprise him. That was not something Puck had been told to look for. It had noticed that on its own. Logan felt a jolt of pleasure past his distraction, pride in the AI.

"Excellent novel observation, Puck. Explain."

"Seen from the upper angle if the disc is horizontal, it has twenty-one sides on the bottom layer and thirteen sides on the upper layer. From that point, there are eight arms that are equally spaced, radiating outward. Each of the eight arms branches out into five more, and each of those five branches out into three, and each of those three branch out into two and each of those two branches out into one."

"Mathematics," Logan said to himself, his eyes on the ship. "The golden mean."

"Yes. Alert: You have not finished your meal."

Logan sat back. By all rights, they should haul themselves back to Concord territory and alert Terran authorities right away so the Terran government could send people out here. They'd never had contact with anything like this.

But he wouldn't be the only lone drifter to come out of a long haul into the deep-dark with fuzzy pictures of something far away and a tale of encountering aliens. He wanted better proof. And he wanted to get closer, to see it better.

"Project fastest possible turnaround if we go back to Concord space and they send a team."

"One hundred and six days."

"Projected trajectory of alien ship in one hundred and six days," Logan said, gesturing at the massive snowflake hovering on their display. "Could they retrieve her?"

"Negative. The deep-dark will take her and swallow her up," Puck answered.

Logan sighed.

"Set parameter. In a working context, do not assign gender in relationship to ships."

"Rephrasing. The deep-dark will take it and swallow it up."

"Set parameter. In a working context, mark 'deep-dark' as informal, slang."

"Rephrasing. Deep space will take it and swallow it up."

"Assess level of importance of current working context."

"High."

"Correct. Raise figurative thresholds and set rule as temporary. Set for later review," Logan said.

It wasn't easy to tell his AI to get serious when things were tense on the bridge.

"Rephrasing," Puck said. "Projected likelihood of retrieval of the alien ship by returning Terran spacecraft adapted for salvage in deep space is low to nonexistent due to variables affecting the drift of the alien ship when relative distance between initial point and target are so high."

"Confirm optimal phrasing," Logan said, setting the correction, going to Puck's biases. "Is there any way we can retrieve her?"

"Negative."

"Tell me the possibilities that you rejected."

"Tether. Explosives. Beacon. Alert: You haven't finished your meal."

Damn. Provided he weren't currently gibbering somewhere in a delusional state, this was the chance Terrans were going to have to get a look at the first evidence of an intelligence beyond their own.

It was wild luck he was even out here. Big Dog had picked up the ship on a random sweep, the ping echoing back from the deep-dark. If Logan went back now, he went back with whatever pictures Puck had taken and that was it. They'd never find the ship again.

Logan weighed his options. It was probably stupid, definitely dangerous. He had no idea what would happen if he tried to board the alien ship. But he was a scientist. He couldn't turn his back on something like this. He didn't want to die, but he wanted to know.

"Produce a solution for getting me on that ship," Logan said, and then thought and added, just in case, "alive, and back to the Puck alive."

"Establish proximity and simulate drift rate. Secure light umbilicals to tether the Puck to the other ship's higher mass and embark in a propulsion suit through an external port."

"Execute," Logan said, walking to the airlock and getting his suit, beginning the process. "While we're tethered, pirate any data you can from the other's ship's system. Do not attempt to understand that information. Do not integrate that information. Store it without interacting. Download everything you can and put it somewhere locked away from your logic sets. Proceed only to the degree that you take no damage from defensive systems. Preserving the integrity of your programming is your top priority. Do you understand?"

"Aye. Yes, I understand. Alert: You haven't finished your meal."

"Suspend one meal requirement."

"You have eaten a part of the meal. Nutritional assessment will be incomplete," Puck argued.

Logan's mouth quirked. Puck always thought of something when it came to any alteration in the schedule.

"You'll have to estimate, Puck."

"Failure to complete the meal already started will result in recalculation of the ratio of food stores to nutritional requirements," his fussy AI complained.

"Suspend the recalculation. Impact is too minimal," Logan said, shaking his head. Stubborn. "Find us an entry point onto that ship."

Logan began pulling the heavy zippers of the suit, the first layer.

#

Logan passed through the airlock, waiting. When doing so wouldn't kill him, he opened the Puck's hatch. He began the nightmare journey across the distance between his own small ship and a very tiny hatch in a mass that filled every part of his vision and that his Terran mind couldn't make sense of, a strange confluence of reflective and luminescent surfaces at wrong angles.