in front of a camera (he’d confessed that to C before sitting down), and it showed. The room they’d chosen for the interview was gray and dull, with a small flickering fluorescent light overhead. He sat behind a plain folding table in a plain folding chair. “I don’t know,” he said with a laugh and a shrug. “No, really. I know I keep saying that and people think it’s a nonanswer. Or worse, a lazy answer—”
Reggie Straifer is not lazy, C thought definitively. The PA lay screen up on the table, next to the microphone, recording everything just as the nonsentient system did.
“But,” Reggie continued, “I think it’s the most honest answer I can give. I don’t have any idea what’s causing LQ Pyx’s designation as a variable. All I’m sure of is that it’s an extrinsic variable. Other than that, I don’t think it’s my place to make assumptions. Man is not consistent but in his capacity to assume and be wrong.”
“If it’s not your place to tell us, then who should we ask?”
He scratched the five o’clock shadow beneath his chin. “Convoy Seven, when they get back. What’s wonderful about my position is that I don’t know. And theirs is that they will. No matter what kind of guess I could hand you, I’m sure the truth will be a thousand times more fantastic. I’m excited for them. It’s rare, the chance at pure discovery. Not many people get to be there when it happens.”
Reggie cleared his throat and leaned forward. His gaze shifted from the interviewer to the camera lens. “I know this is just a piece for posterity. So … would it be okay for me to speak directly to the crew members of my convoy? Is that all right?”
“Do you have a statement prepared?” the interviewer asked gruffly. C could easily read his irritation—furrowed brow, quirked lip, heavy sigh.
“No, but I have something to say.”
Reggie licked his lips, then began, clearly interpreting the interviewer’s silence as an invitation. “Right.” His voice shook. “H-hi, Convoy Seven. No matter what you find out there, I want you to remember the journey, and the inception of your society. Look back and remember what a monumental step this is. The Planet United Missions were created for the betterment and wonderment of all humankind. The most breathtaking thing about the vastness of the universe has thus far been its ability to continuously amaze us. Every discovery we make, every question we answer and problem we solve has led to more questions. The universe may never run out of ways to baffle and excite us.”
With each word, his voice gained confidence. C always appreciated this shift in Reggie—from unsure to passionate—when he talked about something he believed in.
Reggie continued. “The pursuit of knowledge is in its own way a spiritual undertaking. It’s good for the soul, or whatever you want to call that innate thing that makes us reach. Whether reaching within for the courage to comprehend ourselves, or into the great beyond in order to comprehend everything else, the endeavor is what makes us who and what we are.
“So … never stop wondering. Never stop learning. Never stop being grateful for your chance to explore. I’m grateful that you can chase my dream, that you can further our understanding.
“In the future you might not care what some young scientist from Earth—who’s been long gone for decades—no, centuries—” he shook his head, clearly baffled by the thought “—thinks of you. But maybe you might. And I just want you to know that I’m immensely proud of you. You will lay eyes on what no other human may ever see. And that’s …” There were tears in his eyes. “Amazing.”
The room went quiet. Reggie rubbed at his cheeks and smiled.
“Well said, sir,” said C.
The interviewer’s gaze shot to the Intelligent Personal Assistant, accompanied by a disapproving purse of his lips.
“Thanks,” Reggie said, clearly relaxing. “All right, are we done here?”
“For now,” the interviewer said. “The Planet United Consortium will let you know if they have any additional questions they’d like to ask you on camera. Thank you for your time.”
“Thank you.”
Both men began packing up.
“C, what’s our flight status?”
“On time. I recommend we head to the airport immediately, though. According to this article I downloaded, entitled ‘Top Ten Slowest TSA Checkpoints—’”
“It has one of the slowest security lines in the country.”
“Yes. Top-notch inferring there, sir.”
“Thank you,” Reggie said, sliding C into his breast pocket. “I try. On we go, then. Wouldn’t want to keep Nakamura or Kaeden waiting—they’re both excited for the trip out to the West Coast.”
“As am I.”
APRIL 28, 2108 CE
The inside of Reggie’s pocket was dark. Which wasn’t unusual, per se. Closed pockets had an inextricably dark quality about them, but normally C didn’t have to experience it. Typically, covering the phone’s camera sent it into sleep mode, which C realized it preferred. Sure, now it could hear the conversation—sort of. Sure, it didn’t need to see where Reggie and his friends were going because, well, GPS.
But the PA still felt isolated, and Jamal Kaeden had not programmed it to prefer isolation. Exactly the opposite. What good was an Intelligent Personal Assistant if it wasn’t assisting anyone? If it had been in interject-mode, it might have said something.
But it wasn’t, so it didn’t. Instead it had to wait with this perturbed subroutine continually trying to put it into sleep mode, only to be stopped by the “do not hibernate” command Reggie had given.
It was distracting. And used unnecessary battery life. Reggie would hardly notice a difference in the length of the next wireless charging period from the last, but C noticed.
Hopefully the convoy computer would not have this problem.
Though, how could it? With nearly one hundred thousand crew members aboard during the peak of the mission, it was unlikely the computer would ever get a moment to itself. Warring “hibernation” and “wakefulness” commands were unlikely to exist.
C wondered if its begotten kin would ever have the chance to sleep. Perhaps it would be aware all the time.
What a power drain.
Reggie shifted in his seat as the car rumbled over a particularly pockmarked stretch of road. C speculated he might be more comfortable not sitting on his phone.
C also realized that being sat on was rather undignified from the human perspective. But it caused the IPA no extra algorithmic pangs. There was little difference between a butt pocket and a breast pocket in its experience.
Reggie had been distracted ever since the plane had landed. He was anticipating something—a meeting, C thought. Else he wouldn’t have
