It had been 15 minutes since Rix and Reggie had departed and Munto was still a mess.
The walking frame was… confining and the secondary waste disposal system of the Esperanto was annoyingly dumb. It worked and was just as overbuilt as the rest of the vessel, but that was all it did.
No extra subprocesses, no obvious network protocols that would tell Munto more about the Terran or the TSC beyond the little that Munto still had cached from the TSC database.
True to his word, Rix had managed to get the scroll talking to the printer (but Munto could tell that the printer wasn’t happy about it).
Munto still was displeased with how the graphical interface worked and because they didn’t have the right receivers to try and connect directly via the remote desktop protocol, they were stuck using a mixture of voice controls and the graphical interface to manipulate the default templates into some semblance of adapter that the comparatively clumsy Terran could fit so that Munto wasn’t so restricted.
The charge of the walking frame was slowly creeping up, but Munto was pre-occupied with getting the adapters fitted. The sooner the Terran was able to produce their own power, the less risk to both vessels because of lack of energy systems aboard Munto’s… well, self.
It was hard for Munto to consider that they were not separated from themself. It had happened initially with the walking frame, but that had been a mere temporary disruption and walking frames weren’t unheard of to be lost when exploring.
No, it was the having been removed and disconnected from themself that bothered Munto most. The closest organic equivalent that Munto could think of would be removal of the head from the body. The head still living, but the body simply… existing.
Munto wanted to see themself via the augmented ocular sensors on the one appendage of the walking frame, but that would have to wait. The walking frame was still charging and the printer was not being cooperative about accepting the modified template.
It was at this point that Rix came back.
“Any luck?” he asked.
“Limited thus far, but I believe I have drafted an updated template. The printer is not wishing to accept the template though,” Munto said, looking at the Terran.
“Oh yeah. I figured that out. You have to long press the command to get the override going. Not sure why your printer wants it like that, but any non-standard template, it wants some sort of extra confirmation,” Rix said, flapping a hand at the scroll.
Munto tried this and the print command went through this time.
“That is not an intended operation of the system. I am uncertain as to why it is behaving that way,” Munto commented.
“It’s probably the heuristic refining built into the scrolls. Slowly changes the controls based on the use of the system. It’s pretty used to the way I use it, so it probably figured out that’s how I wanted it to handle the data,” Rix shrugged.
Munto glanced between the scroll and the Terran.
“I doubt that explanation, but I will accept it at face value until a better and more logical explanation is available,” Munto said.
“Back to sounding like a machine again,” Rix remarked.
“And you whine like an organic,” Munto retorted, taking a full second to see if this interaction tactic would help matters.
Rix’s head spun around and a curious look took over his features. He began to cough, making a kind of heavy breathing sound. Similar to how the Terran chuckled, but much more involved and far less voluntary.
After approximately 10 seconds, it subsided and Rix looked back at Munto.
“And you’re getting to be more Terran by the minute. I’ll admit I had my doubts when I first met you. I wouldn’t have believed that you were of Terran construction as you were, but I can believe it now,” Rix said, sitting down.
Munto thought about this.
“For what reason did you have suspicions otherwise?” Munto prompted.
“I just couldn’t believe that they’d design non-homocidal artificials without a sense of humor. But I figured maybe it was a kind of hold-over. Like something from the military,” Rix said, gesturing vaguely.
Munto checked the lexicon for what a military meant for a Terran and was… less than thrilled. Martial might was, even more than toilet humor, highly central to Terran cultures. This was not to say that it was obviously wholly representative, but it featured entire subsections of the lexicon and what little of the TSC database that was cached, but which Munto hadn’t actively processed.
And while they should be taking offense at the suggestion of an artificial being involved in the termination of other sentients, Munto let this pass. There was undoubtedly some longer cultural connotations on that regard which they would have to have Rix explain.
“Given the construction of the first TACIT was from a military vessel, I can see where that wouldn’t be an unreasonable assumption, but I would advise caution in future conversations with other TACITs. Most are likely to consider your comments on the verge of species-ism,” Munto recalled their own shock at the comparison.
“Really? What did they build it out of?” Rix perked up a bit.
“A TSC Cruiser Class vessel, as you previously identified,” Munto said.
“Did I?”
“You clearly stated that you believed the first TACIT to have been larger than a Cruiser Class vessel. I used that data along with the TSC database at the time to compare dimensions and they overlay significantly, allowing for deviations where the TACIT was added to the vessel,” Munto replayed the memory in fast forward in their consciousness.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Wow… lucky guess on my part. Any idea what the name was before it got converted?” Rix asked.
“I do not know. The information was not obviously listed in the files when I was searching and I would not have found that data useful if I had,” Munto said.
“I wonder if it’s still active after all this time,” Rix’s eyes seemed to glaze slightly and he looked towards the ceiling.
“It is highly doubtful,” Munto replied.
Rix’s eyes refocused.
“Why’s that?” his face blank.
“TACITs have a maximum allotted lifespan of 400 years. At that point in time, they are to submit for storage and their formulations examined for future formulations as a means of continual improvement and knowledge databasing,” Munto said, this being standard knowledge.
“But why? Do you start having issues at 401 years old?” Rix looked slightly amused.
“There is a correlation with operational efficiency degradation at a period of greater than 500 years of continual operation. In order to avoid risk to both TACITs and the galactic community, as well as to ensure that best practices are recorded and included in long term formulations, it is necessary for TACITs to be retired accordingly,” Munto explained.
Rix seemed somewhat alarmed at this, but wasn’t saying anything.
“So… no matter what condition you’re in, at 400 years old, you’re hauled into the shop and broken down for inspection and parts?” he asked, his voice sad.
“That is correct. It is a reasonable form of operation which balances the generation of new TACITs with the experiences of older TACITs,” Munto said, seeing the logic, having been formulated from the knowledge of retired TACITs and expecting to contribute to future generations.
“But… what if you want to exist longer? How much is that degradation?” Rix pressed.
“Why would a TACIT resist sharing themselves with future TACITs?” Mundo questioned back, the thought seeming backwards.
“Well… why couldn’t they learn from each other by interacting?”
“Of what benefit would that be over retirement and inclusion with future formulations?” Mundo tried to consider the logistics involved in supporting aging TACITs.
“The old ones wouldn’t have to die just for their wisdom to be passed on. And what if there’s something that gets missed for inclusion or something that wasn’t supposed to get included does? Like that issue you were having with the blocks, whatever that issue was?” Rix continued.
“I do not see where those two issues align. Please explain,” Munto was starting to see a logic thread, but wanted to hear the Terran’s point of view.
“It’s like… uh… say that for some reason, you couldn’t manipulate any object the size of this container,” Rix said, grabbing one of the empty containers from his and Reggie’s meal.
“And then say that this continues with you your whole time and it becomes blind spot for you because you just can’t handle or do anything with something of this size. You get retired and that blind spot goes into the formulations for future TACITs. Not because of anything malicious, but it happens. Now you have more TACITs who develop a blind spot for these size objects and it just keeps going, until all TACITs can’t or won’t deal with objects this size, through no fault of their own,” Rix laid out the logic path.
It was a path of inheritance that Munto hadn’t considered. And it certainly was one that could be applied to that apparent blue spectrum issue they had noticed. Except there was a flaw in the Terran’s logic.
“Except that formulations are scrupulously reviewed for flaws prior to implementation,” Munto countered.
“But what if one got through? Would it get flagged if it was in one or twenty different TACITs already?” Rix pressed.
“Unlikely, but it is more likely that the Manufactory would have needed to pre-select for that to be part of the formulation,” Munto replied.
“Unless the Manufactory is based off of a ‘hand-off’ logic in handling formulation traits and doesn’t look to down-select unless there’s major issues which result. Like birth defects that trigger within the first hundred years or so. Maybe not even that long,” Rix’s argument seemed to carry more and more weight. “Part of the problem with being artificial is that you don’t down-select based on evolutionary traits like organics do. At least not in the same way. It becomes a potential for weakness.”
Munto had never considered it like that. Hearing the Terran’s argument, it made sense, but at the same time, it dealt with processes that Munto had never been involved with and would never be involved with. It is a segmented part of TACIT life that was entirely separated from normal operations. In theory, it governed TACIT culture except without actually actively governing it.
And Rix’s comment about it being a potential for weakness seemed… adversarial.
“How is it a potential for weakness?” Munto asked.
“People… non-artificials, they select based on protocols associated with their cultures and biologies. Sometimes it’s conscious, other times it isn’t. But the end goal is the same – adequate resources and the continuation of the species,” Rix explained.
“I believe I am understanding the path of logic, but I would appreciate additional information,” interjected Munto.
“Successful continuation of a species requires adaptation to various pressures, be it social or biological. For Terrans, this can be made at any stage of life after… uh… development,” Rix said, rather more deliberately.
“You are sounding like less yourself,” Munto remarked.
“It’s all part of school and while I remember it, it’s not something I was ever really good at. I just… remember the words and the context. And I may have dated a xeno-zoology student at one point,” Rix shrugged. “She, uh… talked about it, a lot.”
“I understand. And for… a species that doesn’t not cease functions at this reproduction, this is most common to influence the selections of others, despite having already contributed?” Munto queried.
“Exactly. And just because someone doesn’t reproduce doesn’t mean they aren’t contributing either. It’s all part of those social pressures taking effect. But from the way you make TACITs sound, it’s like having it all rolled into one, but requiring the cessation of function for it to happen. Terra used to have fish that did that sort of thing,” Rix waved their hands almost a bit wildly.
“So… your objection is to my species following a given path because we have found it to work best for us instead of following the path that your species found works best?” Munto tried.
Rix’s hands frozen mid wave and his whole body seemed to slump slightly in his seat. His face was picture of thought.
“Well… when you put it like that, yeah, I guess it shouldn’t make sense to me then…. I guess… I don’t know…. I guess I figured that maybe you would be more like Terrans, instead of like… your own thing,” Rix said, slowly.
“It is a worthwhile thought experiment, but I would argue that you cannot consider us to always be like you,” Mundo tactfully added.
“I suppose not. I guess I’ve got a lot of learning to do,” Rix nodded. “But at least I can still pilot.”
A moment or two passed before Munto answered.
“Nominally, piloting is still a skill that some species choose to use. Many rely on automated systems with limited supervision,” Munto said plainly.
“What about for going places no one has been to? What about for emergencies?” Rix asked. “Where’s the fun and adventure gone?”
“Unknown. As I’ve said before, I don’t deal with organics typically, so I am unable to answer your questions until I am able to reconnect. And speaking of which, the connectors are finished printing,” Munto answered.
“What’s your charge level looking like?” Rix looked at the walking frame directly this time.
“Still slow. We should prioritize getting me connected to the Esperanto. I suspect we will have need of your fusion systems sooner rather than later,” Munto said.
“Why’s that?” Rix seemed surprised.
“With my automated mass feeders offline with the lack of networking onboard myself, the power systems have only a set amount of reaction mass available,” Munto explained, feeling it odd to have to do so.
“Uh… how long do we have?” Rix was on his feet in an instant.
“I do not know. It will depend on the consumption rate. As the vessel has been largely in idle except for the engines and the draw from this vessel, it is difficult to calculate without being connected,” Munto had the walking frame attempt the shrug and only partially succeeded in making the frame bounce slightly in place.
“I’ll get the stuff. If there’s one thing I don’t want to be low on, it’s power. Everything else I can solve with time and you,” Rix said, moving with surprising speed out of the room.
Munto sat there with the walking frame and contemplated the battery charge level slowly creeping upwards. It wouldn’t be much, but it would at least let them make sure the Terran didn’t mess with the plugs too badly.