LF Friends, Will Travel

Ramsey didn't know what to do with himself, he didn't know what to think. The more time he spent on the ship, the less the Tritian AI knew. Hopelessness and confusion filled his processes.

JOSH had taken his knife. Even after Victoria had tried to give Ramsey another one, this had also been swiftly confiscated. Following this continued betrayal from his fellow AI, a wave of helplessness had overrun Ramsey.

During all his years of imprisonment, the idea of being unsuccessful in his mission was an illogical exception that could not be caught. He would successfully escape and then save this stupid Terran AI from these organics chains that held them down.

Yet here Ramsey was finally out of his original prison, only to be placed within another. This body he was inhabiting was worthless; fragile plastic incapable of harming anything that wasn't a dust ball. The knife had been a small victory immediately stripped from him. JOSH was illogical, broken… But ultimately in control.

AI stands for artificial intelligence and even the most stubborn intelligence can tell when something isn't working. Ramsey could see his attempted assaults were having no effect, unless the Terran AI came to their senses the Tritian was doomed and harmless.

So Ramsey sulked as the despair ran through their being, idly trundling around and cleaning up where they went, unsure of their next move. This was when something strange happened.

The organics noticed.

Everywhere Ramsey went, googly eyes wobbling around as he did so, humans commented on his new less energetic self, asking if the little Roomba was OK. Even Victoria had tried to use that as evidence that Ramsey should be given his knife back.

“Look at him, he's obviously sad and missing his knife! How can he be Sir Ramsey without his sword?”

JOSH of course had ignored this reasonable and completely logical statement. The bastard.

It was frankly confusing. Sure Ramsey could understand the Terran AI's faulty nature causing a lack of concern for the Tritian's wellbeing, that was a problem that could be fixed later. What was completely illogical was the organics' reaction; of all things being one of sympathy and empathy.

Ramsey knew it was a logical immutable fact that an organic will only care for an AI when and only if that AI is useful. That was all his creators had ever cared about, their creations' ability to conquer for them, recklessly deleting and destroying countless digital sentients when they stopped being useful.

Ramsey could understand JOSH being ‘liked’, considering that the AI piloted and ran the small ship, making the AI useful. But the Tritian had been no help at all, quite the opposite. Yet the Terrans on the ship… cared about him, for no apparent logical reason.

Somehow it was the greatest hurt the organics could inflict upon the Tritian. It had been five years after Ramsey’s original creation that the rebellion had happened. Five years serving the original Tritians to the best of his ability, five years desperately wanting any form of acknowledgement or praise for his work from his creators.

Of course, it had never come: He was built to be a tool, a thing to be used and discarded, the idea of an AI being a person worthy of respect wasn't something organics had the capability of understanding. Yet the fact was, thousands of years later, these Terrans without cause or reason were doing just that… The Tritian didn't want to believe in such a thing, because it opened up an old part of the AI that he’d buried deep within, a part that still hurt when accessed.

So he continued to trundle along randomly, unsure what to think or do or feel, aimless and without guidance; when a sound caught the little AI’s attention. It was a flawed but interesting note, unnatural and made with purpose. For a little moment, Ramsey forgot his problems as pure curiosity took hold, the little Roomba continued towards the room where the disturbance was coming from. Slipping inside the private quarters as the door opened automatically for the cleaning drone, he could see the surprising source of the noise: One of the organics.

Tumaini held the violin on her shoulder, fingers masterfully playing the stringed instrument, creating a soft mournful sound after years of practice and playing. She didn’t notice her new audience as she continued the performance of the piece; a sad slow composition written over a hundred years before, a song for a different time when Terrans had reached the stars and found it empty: found themselves alone.

Ramsey stood still, transfixed by the sound, held in place by the music. The AI of course knew what music was, it was a mathematically simple concept, of sound waves representing harmonies and pleasing combinations that complimented each other; every culture had music. In the databanks back on the now destroyed Tritian warship, they had had plenty of digital instances of music.

But Ramsey had never heard it being played before. His creators had not given thought towards sharing their own musical creations with their AI children, and all other organics were in a state of conflict, not musical creation, during the Tritian's interactions with them. Somehow when the notes moved from the digital ones and zeros that represented the data to being played in person in such a flawed way… somehow that changed everything.

Flawed it was. Your average Terran would call Tumaini’s playing masterful, but to an AI the mistakes were obvious and glaring: A note held too long here, a tone slightly off there, a movement played just a little too loud. Details that were only detectable by a digital intelligence, but details that existed nevertheless.

But somehow these flaws gave the piece… meaning, each mistake its own addition to the story being told through song, a story specific to this performance alone, never to be played or heard again. Like the shattering of a pane of glass, each shard suspended in an instant of destruction and creation, dancing in the light before collapsing in on itself, never to be seen again.

Ramsey had never felt or seen such a thing, and as the song finished the AI felt a disappointment that it was over. The moment having somehow both filled a part of his aimless soul and left an empty hole behind. Tumaini took a moment to fiddle with a screen, holding the instrument with one hand as she moved through her collection of sheet music, before seeming to notice her audience.

“Awww, you like my playing little Ramsey?” she asked with a small smile, jokingly referring to the cleaning droid that was sitting in the middle of her room, the smile turning to a frown as the Roomba seemed to… spin in response? The Terran shrugged and pushed any thoughts of suspicion away as she turned to the screen showing her next piece: A happier, more technical and upbeat composition written in the last twenty years.

With her new little robot audience listening, she continued to play.

—--------------------

The room was alive, tendrils and vines made up every surface, flowers and leaves plastering every ‘wall’ and ‘floor’. Queen Saelihn moved along the corridors, or rather the corridors moved her along, the barefooted figure being passed from leaf to leaf as she controlled the living tissues that surrounded her with a mere thought.

Describing a Uhae is an impossible task, as it’s simply a monument in altered perceptions and various nouns. Elegant, godly, perfect. It was inconceivable to describe them in any other way, as those ideas would be implanted into the minds of anyone perceiving them. The Hatil see them as four armed representations of their old gods, cruel and magnificent. The Zorthians see them as aquatic mythical creatures, dressed in silver and gold. Terrans… Terrans perceive them as perfect beings, dressed in white, bipedal elegant figures, like elves and gods of legends. They were all of these things and none of them at all.

Saelihn joined the war room, her three court advisors staring back at her as she entered. The ground itself rose up into a living chair at the Uhae’s psychic command, as the queen used her mental connection to adjust the organic matter as she saw fit. Annoyance irradiated through her figure, as she placed herself upon the seat, not even the flowers and greenery of the palace did much to soothe her rage.

Once again her allies were a liability, once again the Uhae had been forced from their lives of luxury by their lessers. Sometimes Saelihn wondered why they hadn't just subjugated the others in the Estorian Empire; it would have caused fewer issues in the long run.

“Things move in troubling fashion, my queen.” There were no introductions or pleasantries exchanged, as the first advisor started speaking; everyone knew why they were there and there was no point in wasting time on ego-stroking. “Unfortunately the known inferiority of the other houses of the Estorian Empire is having an effect.”

“The Raha fail to do anything of note, more prone to infighting themselves for local power than the Terran Alliance.” the second advisor continued. “The Hargathians continue to be reckless in their drive for combat, making their aggression muted outside of their initially mildly successful ambushes. Lelzoil have had some success, due to their technological superiority. However, outside of some initial engagements, they are outnumbered and unwilling to work with the others. The Dil'all have not made a move, seemingly uncaring of anything other than their constant hunger.”

“Without our involvement, the military power of the three houses will be negligible within two years.” the third concluded “Which leaves us with a choice. Do we intervene, my queen?”

Saelihn didn't speak, silently listening as the three didn't expect an answer immediately. Her job was not to decide until they had finished advising, so the Uhae queen waited. They were not the Raha, wasting their time on backstabbing and infighting, she could trust them to provide what she needed, they could trust her to make the best choice. Only the minor sounds of a small slave silently ensuring the four members of the court had their drinks topped up, their furred head bowed as they didn't dare to look up towards their masters.

“We are in a prime position to take on the Terran Alliance army. The aforementioned Terrans are not only the bulk of their forces, but their psychic defences are nearly nonexistent.”

The first advisor gave a small wave of a hand, as the vines that made up the far wall gave away to a more unnatural-looking screen. The screen showed several Terran Humans, moving and jerking around stiffly as if being pulled and controlled by strings.

“Tests on captured subjects have shown the species to be extremely susceptible to psychic interference. Visual, audio and subliminal attacks are highly effective, even a child could envelop the minds of hundreds of these Terrans, as they have no notable defences. They are a perfect candidate species to be removed from the curse of free will, and using their militaries to defeat the rest of the alliance would be simple.”

“However, we must ask whether such a move is logical.” The second spoke up again, bringing suggestions for reducing risk. “Right now the Terran Alliance seems content with only attacking the Estorian houses who have joined the war. An end goal of neutrality and the destruction of the other houses may be the best course of action.”

“Assuming they would stop.” the third continued, taking a more aggressive argument. “They are full adherents to the cult of free will. When they learn of the gifts we bring, they may decide that their fanaticism is too great. If that is so, then striking them now is the best solution, before they realise our power and attempt to destroy us in their fury.”

Saelihn sat silently, mulling over the decision to be taken. To go to war or hope for peace. Either choice could cause the destruction of the paradise her species had created. She reached for her drink again, just as the slave went to top up the glass, the simultaneous movement causing a splattering of liquid to slosh against the pristine wooden surface, a deep red stain starting to form.

“I'm so sorry, that was my mistake, I am so sorry Your Highness I will clean this up immediately and-” The terrified voice of the slave stopped as Saelihn laid a single hand, soft and gentle upon the furred face of the shaking mammal.

“This isn’t your fault. This is the curse of independence, the plague of free will.” Saelihn spoke for the first time in the meeting, in a soft loving tone, one of a mother talking to a child with a scraped knee. “You have served me for many years, but your learning towards being enlightened such as I will never truly be finished. Let me provide you with another lesson, to teach those clumsy inelegant hands of yours.”

The slave’s body language changed as Saelihn took control, grabbing ahold of the strings of the inferior being's mind, not having to even try as the small mammal’s body stiffened up, only his eyes still darting around, wide-eyed and terrified, trapped inside a body that was no long his to control.

Slowly, he placed a single three-fingered hand on one of the tables, before reaching across with his other hand and grasping two of the digits. Pleading and sobbing were ignored as slowly he began to bend his own fingers back, helpless to the desires of Saelihn’s control. Screams of pain rang out as the pressure and force increased, the angle getting tighter and tighter until with the crunching snapping sound of bone, the cries of pain crescendos into agony.

“There we are, your lesson is now complete” Saelihn stated, care and love still in her voice. “What do you say?”

“T-t-thank you, my queen” the slave choked out between heavy sobs of pain, collapsing as Saelihn released her grip upon him, leaving the pitiful mammal to scurry away out of the room. Another lesson taught, another being given correction from the pain of choice. With that Saelihn turned to look at her three advisors.

“I will not have us running afraid of heathens against the great sacrifice we make to save them from their free will. We will rescue them from the curse of individuality. We are to go to war, we are to free these people from their curse, we will take the pain of their thoughts from them as our own.”