Parting Shadows Page 2

  A luggage bot zoomed by her feet, and she took a step back, wondering how fast SATIS would catch her if she dove into her pod and tried to fly away. “Half the people in here are wearing red.”

  “The one with the gold suitcase.”

  “Also applies to half the people here.”

  “She’s—”

  “I see her,” Astra interrupted. “OK? I recognize her.”

  SATIS never trusted her to properly prepare. But she’d studied all the files. She saw their faces in her sleep. She wouldn’t blow her cover by failing to recognize some famous person.

  “And the man buying cinnamon dough from the cart,” SATIS said. “He’s the CEO of—”

  “I know,” Astra interrupted, hating herself a little for seeking out the man who was currently scanning his wrist to pay for his food. “I studied. Can you give me a second? I’m trying to adjust here.”

  “Adjust quickly,” SATIS said.

  Astra was here on SATIS’ mission, after all. Astra’s whole life was SATIS’ mission. The AI’s voice was literally a part of her body, and if SATIS wanted her to go somewhere, she went. If SATIS wanted her to say something, she said it.

  If SATIS wanted her to kill someone? Well. Here she was.

  Astra let out a breath and stepped off the dock into the full tilt of the arrivals bay.

  “Excuse me,” someone said, whirling away before she had a chance to respond. Another person bumped into her back. Astra tried to move with the crowd, but the ebb and flow made no sense. Here, a current sped up. Simultaneously, the person in front of her slowed to consider steaming squid from a food cart. A trio of young women pulled one another through the crowd, hands locked as they wove expertly through the mass of people and luggage bots.

  Something soft brushed between Astra’s ankles, and she jumped, staring as a little dog with a mop of shaggy fur threaded its way through the crowd.

  “Sorry,” its owner said as Astra untangled her foot from the animal’s taut leash. “Mind of her own.”

  Everyone else ignored the dog, as if its presence were normal. Expected.

  They’d seen dogs before. They somehow knew how to avoid stepping on one.

  Both the dog and the owner were gone before Astra could reply.

  The smells that had annoyed her from the sidelines were now an all-out assault: perfume and boiled vegetables and coffee and cinnamon and sweat. Her throat clamped shut in protest, saliva flooding her mouth. She needed to get out of here, or risk losing her breakfast.

  But the only way out was through.

  Astra tried to breathe and missed a step. Someone kicked her heel, and when she leapt away, she stepped on someone else’s.

  “You’re going to give yourself away,” SATIS said. “Your vital signs are elevated. Calm down.”

  Flustered and trying to hide it—from the people around her, if not from SATIS—Astra moved aside. The river of people flowed on.

  The food carts gave way to a different kind of marketplace, stalls packed full of knickknacks and humidifiers, throw pillows and blankets. As though these VIPs weren’t arriving with trunks full of golden elephants or whatever the hell they used to decorate.

  And indeed, this section of the market was mostly empty of customers.

  “Stay on course,” SATIS said. “Scan the area and familiarize yourself with the environment. It will calm you, and you can—”

  “I just need a minute,” Astra interrupted.

  Ignoring SATIS’ stream of protests, she ducked into the nearest stall.

  Immediately, the sounds from the arrivals bay muffled. The only smells were of damp soil and greenery. Simple. Familiar.

  The stall was filled with plants, hundreds of them. They overflowed with blooms and bursting buds, ferns indulgently taking up entire corners of the tiny space, vines cascading over shelves. There was a miniature tree with white lights studded through the branches. They were…pretty.

  None of them even looked poisonous.

  “What are they for?” Astra said.

  Behind her, someone laughed. Astra turned to see a small woman with light brown skin looking over a shelf of purple flowers. She wore a pilot’s uniform with a gray band around the bicep to indicate her training status. “For?” she said. “They’re plants.”

  “Oh good, that explains it,” Astra said. “Thanks for your time.”

  SATIS said, “Isabelle Chagny. Hero pilot’s daughter.”

  Whatever that meant. Astra hadn’t studied up on pilot trainees, and she really didn’t care.

  Instead of turning away, Isabelle smiled. “You’re new, aren’t you? I’m in my second year and I still find the arrivals bay overwhelming. I’m Isabelle.”

  “It’s not overwhelming.” Astra picked up the closest pot without bothering to examine its contents. “I just wanted one of these.”

  “A cactus?”

  Astra looked at the plant. It was about four inches tall, with needle-like spines sticking out. Of all the lovely flowers and leafy oxygen-makers she could have grabbed, she had to pick up the ugly bastard.

  That was about right, actually. “Yeah. A cactus.”

  “And to think,” SATIS said, “that you aced the flora portion of our studies.”

  “This thing’s not poisonous,” Astra replied without bothering to hide the conversation. “I don’t see the problem. It could be a weapon with these spines. Think big.”

  Isabelle laughed. “I doubt they’d sell poisonous plants to students. Someone’s cat might get sick.”

  “You’re giving yourself away,” SATIS said. “Do I need to remove you from the situation?”

  No. No, she definitely didn’t want to be removed from Traveler. Not yet. SATIS might hold her leash, and she might never step foot on a real planet, but Astra was not about to give up the only taste of freedom she might ever get. No matter how weird it smelled.

  She could pull herself together. She had to.

  “You can pay over here,” Isabelle said. “Are you connected to the SPA? She’s Traveler’s Standard Protocol Assistant, and she can—”

  “No,” Astra interrupted.

  “No, thank you,” SATIS corrected.

  “No, thank you,” Astra said, teeth gritted. “I can pay with my tablet.”

  One AI in her head was more than enough. Even as she thought it, she could make out evidence of Traveler’s AI, announcements floating over the music in a pleasant voice. A Standard Protocol Assistant was a common model, used in transport centers, shopping malls, places with large crowds. Not that she’d ever personally come in contact with one.

  Isabelle rolled up her sleeve and scanned her wrist on the boxy payment module to pay for a weepy hanging plant. It was a perfect choice for her. Pink and flimsy. “You don’t have a wrist chip?”

  “Nope,” Astra said. Now committed, she paid for the cactus with her tablet and hurried out of the stall.

  “We can’t afford interruptions,” SATIS scolded, but Astra barely heard her. Now that she was back out in the arrivals bay, the ship’s AI surrounded her, its voice echoing from person to person as SPA gave them answers and promised to have refreshments waiting in their rooms. Whatever they required.

  Ear buds, digi-glasses, chirping watches, regular old tablets, and yeah, wrist chips. All synced up.

  Astra had not expected to find people as reliant on a computer as she was.

  They gave up their freedom like it was nothing.

  “She’s nice,” Isabelle said, and Astra was startled to find the woman still hovering at her elbow like an exuberant puppy. “SPA, that is.”

  Astra arched an eyebrow. She knew SATIS was irregular, but she didn’t think most people in the system would describe an AI like they would a favorite teacher. “Nice? An AI?”

  “I know, it sounds weird. They’re supposed to be neutral, right? But she’s got a great personality. Loves music. She’s fun.”

  “OK. Good to know. I can find my own way around.”

  “But thanks,” SATI
S said.

  Astra ignored her. She didn’t need to be nice. She wasn’t a real student.

  She just wanted to get inside, find the guy SATIS wanted her to kill for revenge or whatever, and get on with her life.

  A jolt of pain seared through her right hand, surprising her so much that she dropped the cactus. Dirt tumbled across the floor as she clutched her arm to her chest, watching helplessly as the poor plant bounced out and rolled down the passage until it bumped into a display of custom bath towels.

  Isabelle was on the floor, scooping the dirt back into the pot. Astra was slower to kneel, flexing her hand as the pain faded slowly to pins and needles. The busy arrivals bay seemed to pulse and glow around her, static roaring in her ears.

  SATIS had zapped her hand. Astra didn’t have to confirm it. She knew.

  “What was that?” she whispered.

  “You ignored two direct orders,” SATIS said. “That was a consequence.”

  Astra touched a hand to her temple. She could almost feel the bud’s tendrils reaching into her brain, though that couldn’t be possible. “How?”

  “The mission,” SATIS said.

  In other words, shut up and stop asking questions.

  Astra wiped her hands on her pants, willing them to stop shaking. SATIS could hurt her through the temple bud. And she would, too, for an infraction as minor as purchasing a plant.

  This wasn’t a taste of freedom. It was only a bitter reminder. Astra would always be trapped.

  Isabelle picked up the cactus and tucked it back into its pot, patting the dirt down around it. “Don’t worry,” she said. “They’re pretty resilient.”

  Astra almost smiled back.

  Almost.

  She hadn’t noticed quite how far they’d made it in their trek toward the escalators until she stood, cactus cradled in the crook of her elbow. The dock assigned to Astra’s pod had been as modest as they came on Traveler—which was to say that it had a private washroom that smelled like roses, full entertainment and shopping modules, and a variety of refreshment options in case anyone happened to arrive without proper sustenance. But the doors had been solidly functional. Plain titanium, probably.

  Here, though, the docks became increasingly elaborate. As if the richer and more famous of Traveler’s passengers could not deign to walk a few more steps to reach the center of the ship. Some of the doors were foiled over with metallic designs. A couple of them had red velvet carpets covering the stairs.

  Astra started walking again, slowly, with Isabelle still at her side. She was saying something about cactus care when a pair of the fancy dock doors parted to let a group of laughing young men through, their cologne overwhelming Astra’s senses anew.

  “You shouldn’t be so rude,” SATIS said, her voice all too easily distinguishable amid the mass of background noise. “You shouldn’t be noticed at all, Astra. You should—”

  Astra blinked and looked around for the cause of SATIS’ abrupt silence. SATIS might have heard something, seen something she needed to evaluate. In a moment, she would issue forth a string of information or instructions. Astra waited.

  “Are you all right?” Isabelle asked.

  Astra considered making a crack about striking up a conversation with the wrong person in the plant stand.

  SATIS remained silent.

  SATIS was never silent. Her voice was more constant than the stars, which shifted every time the station—where Astra had grown up—moved to a new hiding spot behind a new barren moon, or a new cluster of boulders among Verity’s rings. Astra often woke to find the AI talking, as though to guide even her adopted daughter’s dreams.

  The AI’s absence poured into Astra’s ears like a physical thing. Something in her chest let go. She breathed.

  She gripped her plant and tried to decide whether it was relief she felt, or fear.

  As she composed herself, the dock doors directly in front of her swung open. They were the most elaborate ones yet, engraved with a pointless design of whirls and spirals.

  The pod behind the doors hardly merited the term. It was more like a yacht, really, with an observation bubble at the top and sleek golden sides. Astra expected to see a gaggle of students, with a full complement of body guards.

  A single man strode through the open doors.

  “Oh, great,” Isabelle said, her cheerful tone finally dissolving. “Sound the trumpets. Mr. Arrogant has arrived.”

  Astra recognized him, too. She’d been studying his face for months. Handsome in a bland sort of way, with a ruffle of blond hair and a nose that looked like it’d been broken at least once. In a prep school tussle, judging by his immaculate shirt and artfully patched jeans. He carried a leather pack slung over one shoulder.

  His name was Conor Keyes, and Astra had been raised to hate him.

  3

  Astra

  Conor Keyes paused outside his pod dock, the way Astra had done when she arrived. He didn’t look overwhelmed by the noise. He looked curious, as if he were evaluating the results of a study.

  Astra did her best to tune out the tumult, to focus on the evidence, to read Conor as she read everyone she met. To read the situation, too.

  SATIS was not the only AI who’d disappeared. People still talked and laughed, but their voices echoed louder through a hall where SPA’s voice had quieted. The directional pathways had blinked out of sight. The luggage bots stalled. Even the music had faded.

  Next to Astra, a student gave his tablet a tap, as if it could be knocked into working.

  All the while, Conor stood on his red-velvet entranceway and scanned the bay. A man like that ought to be as unnerved as the rest of the VIP brats. These were people who were accustomed to obtaining their every whim with the push of a button, Conor no less than anyone else. Perhaps more, given what Astra knew of his father.

  If anything, he looked pleased.

  And in a rush of breath, Astra understood why.

  Conor Keyes had silenced Traveler’s AI, and SATIS, too.

  It shouldn’t be possible. If such a tool existed, it would be rigorously controlled—if not illegal. But Astra had some experience with “rigorously controlled” technology, and she could see the truth.

  Conor Keyes had an AI jammer.

  Oh, life support systems still thrummed along, and the pod dock doors opened and closed. All the essential components of the ship seemed to be operational.

  For the first time in her life, Astra’s heartbeat skipped ahead without someone chiming into her ear to inquire after the shift in her vital signs. Heat spread across her cheeks, and no one checked her temperature.

  For the first time in her life, Astra was completely unmonitored.

  Conor raised his hands, like a preacher calling for attention from his congregation. He smiled, revealing a dimple in his cheek.

  “You don’t have to be under constant surveillance,” he said. He might have been speaking directly to her. Without meaning to, Astra stepped forward as the crowd coalesced around him, pulsing with annoyed murmurs and whispered interest.

  Conor slipped a hand into his leather bag and lifted a small silver box above his head. Astra half expected him to begin a slide presentation, complete with graphs and charts. “This is only a prototype, but it represents a new reality.”

  A possible future bloomed in Astra’s mind, one with soft soil beneath her feet and Verity’s rings stretching like a rainbow across a turquoise sky. Or Marya’s suite of moons, perhaps, dancing above like coins. Or Landry’s glittering blanket of satellites.

  Wherever she went, SATIS would find her.

  Unless.

  “Are you doing this?” Astra heard herself ask. Heads turned in her direction. Swiveled back to Conor. “Did you shut down the SPA?”

  Conor met her gaze and smiled. “This is the future. If we’ll allow it.”

  “Your future’s medieval, Keyes,” someone said.

  “How will you find the whisky without SPA?” from another.

  A few people la
ughed. Some looked at Conor with interest, though that could have been the dimple.

  “Our society is unbalanced,” Conor said, unaffected by their heckling. He’d come prepared for that, Astra could see. He didn’t care. “Artificial intelligence is outstripping humanity. We need a way to restrain it, before it’s too late.”

  There were fail-safes in place already, of course. Regulations.

  Astra knew firsthand how useless those things could be.

  “If I got up there with that speech, they’d throw fried squid at me,” Isabelle said.

  Astra had almost forgotten about her. Isabelle had her arms crossed, lips twisted in annoyance. When Astra looked at her, she shrugged. “It’s true. They’re only listening because his family’s so powerful.”

  “Isn’t that true of everyone here?”

  “Some more than others.” Isabelle glanced toward the ceiling. “I hope SPA is OK.”

  Characters in fiction vids always looked at the ceiling to talk to their AIs, too. Did they look up because real people tended to, or did people tend to look up because vid characters did? Either way, it was silly.

  Astra hadn’t spent much time with other humans, but she gathered that it was irregular for a person to be so concerned with an AI’s feelings or even its fate.

  Astra, on the other hand, didn’t care about SPA, or Isabelle, or the fate of the AI-riddled system.

  She cared about the silver box that Conor Keyes still held above his head like a trophy, while everyone giggled at him, while uniformed security officers bounded down the escalators and hurried in his direction. She cared about the blessed silence that flourished in her mind.

  The crowd rippled aside as the security officers made their way to Conor’s dock. This was the Star Leaders Academy, which meant the officers were not armed—or even particularly intimidating. They wore smart crimson uniforms with gold buttons and fringed caps that made them look like porters.

  Which was probably the point.

  Still, the students moved aside to allow them access to Conor, plenty of them still grumbling about the inconvenience of losing contact with SPA. They couldn’t be without AI assistance for ten seconds. How Conor hoped to re-regulate the Toccata System’s AI functionality, Astra couldn’t begin to guess.