Sean Woods

Project Gilgamesh

© Sean Woods

This book is copyrighted by Sean Woods. All rights reserved.

(Revision 2021-07-07)

Sean Woods

9807 Traveller St.

Manassas, VA 20110

USA

www.etoyoc.com

This book is dedicated to the giants whose shoulders I stand upon, the people in my life I lean on, and the readers I will stumble upon.

Chapter 1

The Cosmologist

Emily was on a treadmill. Literally and figuratively. Her literal treadmill was a 225m wide space station that was spinning at 2 rotations per minute. Her running forward at 8 km/hour was more than countered by the station spinning 170 km/hour beneath her feet. That spin kept her, and everything around her, pinned to the deck.

The figurative treadmill were here efforts to simply feel like she belonged somewhere. On Psyche she was treated as a cripple. Family is everything, and orphans are as mistrusted as they are pitied. While she was certainly teased about her short size and pointy ears, it was the constant feeling of being kept at arms length by adults that stung the most. Your relationship to other party is burned into the very grammar of the language on Psyche.

On her 18th birthday she enlisted in ISTO Spacey. She was attracted by the recruiting posters that stressed becoming part of something bigger. As she neared graduation, her background screening turned up something truly terrible. Her parents were both killed in the line of duty. While that made her eligible for several scholarships, a misguided law to preserve heroic genes forbade Spacey from ever assigning her to a front line unit. Basically, she was locked out of any flag officer track. The only other officer positions were career bait-and-switch roles, or specialists.

Emily elected for the most challenging speciality in the fleet: Cosmology. If she couldn't belong in the fleet, she decided that she would make a place for herself with the community of Wizards.

Emily stopped for a moment to check her pulse and catch her breath. She was jogging to get her mind off of the defense she was going to present later today. And here she was practically rehearsing it. Her goal for this morning was to run the complete 1.4km circumference for all 7 levels of the station. It was clear by now that her mind wasn't going to let her escape.

She looked around to get her bearings. She was on level 3, on a jogging path cut through a fruit orchard. As she gazed out into the fields, she could see a team of Quins at work. Their mechanical bodies mimicked the human form. They moved from pot to pot, rotating the trees slightly to counter the twist that would normally form from the Coriolis forces acting on the branches. They would also pluck the fruit that was the proper ripeness for market, and pull any weeds. Their movement was so human-like it was creepy.

As one Quin tried to lift a pot, the cumulative stress of its lot in life finally took hold. Its shoulder joint failed catastrophically with a snap. With its remaining arm it steadied the plant. The damaged arm simply hung, suspended by steel actuators, copper wires, and optical cable. Wordlessly the Quin gathered up the bits of its own parts that had scattered on the ground, and then set off for the repair bay.

Emily felt a sympathetic twang in her her own shoulder. She also realized that her knees were getting a bit sore. She decided it was break time, before she broke something. It was another 100 meters to the staircase, and if memory served, there was a coffee ship near there on the metro level on the deck above.￼

Emily walked with a coffee in her hands down an alley, toward her tiny apartment in the graduate student ghetto. She shared a unit with three other girls. Each waiting for that dream job to arrive. Each wondering if they would be better off just shacking up with a man, and moving over to family housing.

Her housing unit wasn't exactly dirty, or uncared for. It was just small. And cramped. And too small to permit pets to be kept. Dogs needed room to run, and somewhere to do their business. Cats needed a litter box, which was hard to keep from smelling up the tiny units. And that's not even getting into the problem of unit-mates with allergies. All three roommates were entirely too busy with their budding non-careers to even properly care for a creature anyway.

Campus building were not completely devoid of non-human animals. Each housing block had a community cat. Cats were kept to cut down on the population of rodents and birds that infested the living spaces on the station. Populations that originated from a time where residents were permitted to keep pets. Though, truth be told, escapes from laboratory vivariums didn't help matters either.

Emily had befriended "Nimitz", an orange tomcat who had claimed this chunk of the station for his own. He was a friendly cat, good for an excited meow and a scratch under the chin. But recently he was joined by a small female. She had white coat with black spots, and a collar that was far, far more ornate than was standard for a community cat. She was encrusted with jewels, and ornate markings.

"Spot", as Emily had named her, usually kept her distance. But today, she seemed to be downright gregarious. Spot sidled up to Emily, and sat directly in the woman's path. She meowed for attention.

"A saucer of milk not good enough, Spot," quipped Emily.

Emily bent down to pet the cat. This was the first time Spot actually permitted Emily to handle her. Emily tentatively stroked the back of her neck. The cat purred. Concerned that Spot may be a stray, Emily changed a look at her collar. Perhaps there was the contact information for an owner.

The collar was primarily made up of leather. There were markings stamped into the leather that were filled with a gold paint. The markings seemed to be a styled on cuneiform. Evenly spaced on the collar were jewels, six in all. Each one of the cardinal colors of tegic. There didn't seem to be a buckle or clasp that permitted the removal of the collar. Nor was there any kind of name, or phone number. Yet, somehow a message entered into Emily's mind. It wasn't quite a voice. It was just a sense. She suddenly knew something.

"Oh, so your name is Bastet," she asked, "any idea why you are so friendly this morning?"

Emily suddenly stopped cold. How did she suddenly know that? She stood up carefully, and resolved to try to forget about the experience in the shower. As she turned to her left, and saw a man.

He was neatly dressed. Too neatly dressed. His outfit belonged at a dinner party, not out in the streets of a university housing complex. Yet, he managed to look completely comfortable in his outfit. He had the sort of all-knowing glint of a specialist. Emily sensed the magenta aura of an illusion master.

Emily exclaimed, "How did you get in here? This is a women's dormitory! Who are you?"

Bastet slinked her way over to the neatly dressed man. He stooped down, and picked up the cat. The cat looked extraordinarily comfortable in his arm. They seemed like two parts of the same organism.

"Call me Ishmael," said the well dressed gentlemen, "as far as why I am here, I'd prefer to speak in private. And as far as how I got in here, let's just say a good magician never reveals his tricks."

"Let me guess, she is your familiar?"

"Yes. Please forgive my surreptitious interest in your situation. I find people respond much more kindly to a cat keeping a peripheral eye on them than a middle aged man."

"What is this about?" Emily's voice was starting to get louder.

"Please, this is a delicate conversation that shouldn't be conducted in a public hallway. Here is my card."

Emily took the card, and stared at it for a moment. On first glance, both sides were blank. Emily turned it over several times. As she looked up to question Ishmael further, he was gone. Only the cat remained. The creature quickly darted out of the hallway, and through a cat-door to the outside.

Emily looked at the card again. Now it read, in simple type Ishmael. Call Me. Emily looked around the hallway.

Emily spoke into the room around her, "How? How am I supposed to call you? This damn thing is blank?"

She flipped the card over. On it was an address in the business district, and a time.

Emily said out loud once more, "That time won't work for me. I have a meeting."￼

Emily stepped up to the security checkpoint outside of her laboratory. She swiped her access badge, and entered her PIN. A buzzer announced the system's disapproval of her credentials. She swiped her badge, and entered her PIN as second time. The system still buzzed. She read the tiny little console next to the access reader: ACCESS SUSPENDED. PLEASE AWAIT SECURITY ESCORT.

Emily yelled at the console, "Not today. I have to get ready for a presentation!"

For a moment she could have sworn the console read SORRY ABOUT THIS, MA'AM for a fraction of a second before the text changed to SECURITY ESCORT EN ROUTE. Emily pressed the telephone button. It rang down to security central.

A male voice emerged from the speaker, "Campus security, how may I help you?"

Emily replied, "The damn computer has locked me out. And today of all days."

The voice was polite, but matter of fact: "You are at station XGW-1455?"

Emily: "Yes."

Security: "Are you Emily Degan?"

Emily: "Yes."

The voice on the speaker sounded a little kinder, "I don't know how to tell you this, but I have a directive to escort you directly to the commandant's office."

Emily: "What?!"

At this point the voice was practically apologetic, "I'm just a security guard, Ma'am. They don't give me any kind of details. We have a mobile unit on his way, and he'll escort you. Please, do us all a favor and just stay put until they arrive."

A guard emerged from around the corner a few minutes later. It was old Dom. He was a bald man, quite tall, and rumor is that he came with the station. Emily had interacted with him on many occasions. His characteristic smile and warm charm seemed to be intermingled with concern on this day, however.

Dom spoke with a kind voice, "Miss Emily? I really have no idea what is going on today. But I assume that the Commandant will figure all of this out. Would you like to stop for some coffee on the way? Perhaps a bagel?"

Emily took a moment to gather her wits, before she replied: "No. I think we should get to bottom of this immediately. I have a really important meeting today."

Dom: "Well. Maybe the computer thinks you graduated already!"

The two walked in awkward silence over to the central administration building. Dom didn't bother with handcuffs or restraints. Though, truth be told, that was never his style to begin with. Nobody knows quite how he does it, but he somehow manages to be quite persuasive when the situation calls for it. But today didn't call for it.

Dom walked Emily as far as the office door, before tipping his cap, and ushering her inside. The Commandant's secretary was busy drafting a message. He looked up for a moment, and uttered, "Oh go right ahead in. She's waiting for you."

Emily stepped through the door of the Commandant's office. The commandant was having coffee with another party. His attire screamed "G Man." Black jacket and pants. White shirt. Hypnotic tie. Under his left breast was the tell-tale imprint of a concealed wand holster.

The Commandant looked up, and acknowledged Emily's entering the room. She then motioned for Emily to take a seat in front of the desk.

The Commandant spoke in a motherly tone, "Emily, dear, this gentlemen is special agent Majohanta, from the ministry of defense. It seems that your recent work has attracted a bit of attention. He is going to ask you some questions about it. He has agreed that at this stage of his investigation, it will be ok for me to sit in on your conversation."

Emily erupted in shock, "Investigation?!"

Majohanta spoke up. His voice was calm and matter of fact. At the same time it was laced with the confidence reserved for serial killers shouting down to a victim in a pit. In a deep baritone he spoke: "Before we begin I need to confirm that you are Mistress Emily Degan?"

"Yes, I am. Though I'm not technically 'Mistress' until I finish my Thesis defense later today."

"Your records are, shall we say, interesting," he thumbed a dossier, the cover or which bore Emily's name and govid. "You were born on Psyche?"

"Well if you read that records, we really don't know. I just sort of showed up in a creche and nobody ever came to claim me."

He cracked a smile. Emily was having trouble determining if it was a friendly smile, or the sort of smile one uses on a fencing opponent. He continued, "I do love interviewing academics. So needless to say, please remember that lying to a federal officer is a serious offense. But, please, just answer my questions to the best of your ability."

The Commandant motioned, once more, for Emily to take a seat. "Please dear, just get comfortable. I don't think this is a criminal investigation."

Majohanta cast a side-eye on the Commandant, before he continued, "No. At this stage we are just trying to find out the facts of the matter."

Emily blurted, "What matter? All I did was show up for work this morning, and I was locked out."

Emily could swear she saw a glow from Majohanta's eyes for a moment as he started to speak, "Miss Degan, your research has come to our attention. In a paper you recently submitted for publication we found a lot of schematics and algorithms from highly classified … platforms."

Emily found herself compelled to reply, "I was designing an automated probe for deep space work. All of those things just seemed like the obvious answer as I was working out problems, and I wrote them down. I have plenty of lab notebooks, and experimental data that details how I came up with all of that. Regression testing. The entire process was documented."

Majohanta voice was almost sing-song, "So you contend that everything in that paper was original work?"

Emily was struggling. Not for words. She was struggling to get only one word out at a time, "Well, yes. I mean, as much as any tegical work can be considered original. We are all inspired by something. All of those schematics and algorithms just seemed like the obvious answer as I worked them out."

Majohanta continued with his hypnotic cadence, "So, if I mention Project Daedalus, what does that mean to you?"

Perhaps it was the vague question, but Emily had an easier time answering, "Other than the mythology reference, nothing. Was that some sort of sun-crossing probe?"

The beat of Majohanta's voice was like a metronome, "What do you know about Project Gilgamesh?"

Emily snapped out of the trance, "Now you are just switching mythologies. But if I had to guess it's a long-distance logistics project. Maybe a quest for life extension technologies?"

The Commandant spoke up, indignantly, "Agent Majohanta, you have to get informed consent from a subject before you use a spell like that."

Majohanta closed his eyes for a moment, and then snapped them back open. The glow was gone. He replied, "Actually, Commandant, you will find that in the non-disclosure agreement that is part of the standard military clearance she has already consented for mind scans such as these."

The Commandant was angry, "INFORMED Consent. And it is not the place for a field agent to tell the Commandant of a military academy how the law works inside of her own office, let alone on the campus."

Majohanta, "Well then I guess I can just take her back to the Ministry, and interrogate her there…"

The Commandant, "You will do no such thing. Now you came to me with an accusation and evidence of possible wrongdoing. I did not authorize a witch hunt or fishing expedition. And I certainly wasn't going to authorize a mind scan."

Mojohanta, "This Academy operates under the auspices of the Ministry of Defense. With a phone call I …"

The Commandant, "And you may try to pit your agency's sway against mine within the Ministry at your convenience." She picked the phone off of her desk and slammed it in front of him so hard it clanged.

The two stared at one another, like gunman at a duel. Each looking for the other to flinch. Finally Mojohanta relented, "Fine. No magic. I will just have to take her word for things. Miss Degan I am going to show you two different line diagrams. I want you to show me which one is yours."

  Majohanta pulled two scrolls from his attache case. He spread both out. The title blocks were obscured. Superficially the two were identical.

Emily glanced at them for a moment, "Actually neither of these. I always put my personal insignia on circuits I design."

Majohanta was intrigued, "Why would you do that?"

Emily: "Well, in academia you get people who copy your work all the time. So I have a little pattern I work into every circuit I design that is functional but at the same time acts as my signature. It varies depending on the circuit I was designing. This circuit was laid down by an expert system. Pure function. None of the personal touch."

Majohanta: "Can you give me a rough sketch of one of these signatures?"

Emily sketched out two symbols that looked like eastern characters: 恵み

Morodukin:	"Is there any kind of meaning to these? Is it Chinese?"

Emily:	"Kanji, actually. I've been using it since I was a child. It's pronounced as Megumi. It loosely translates to grace. It's just a pattern that's always stuck with me."

Morodukin fished into his attache case, and pulled out two more drawings. He spread them out on the table on top of the other two.

Emily:	"Mine is the one on the right. My signature is part of the timing circuit, here," she pointed. "The one of the left looks like someone copied a homework assignment," she pointed to one particular detail, "This feature is completely superfluous, and was caused by imperfectly tracing a pattern. The only reason it works at too is because they added this extra trace to balance out the impedance. Given the my research is published, this other one is clearly a copy of my work."

The Commandant, spoke up, "Agent Morodukin, I think it it quite clear that Mistress Degan is an expert in her field. And that this is all a case of parallel evolution. Whatever this classified system is, she has had no access to it."

Morodukin replied, "The circuit that is supposedly a 'copy' was generated 30 years ago. And it is the heart of a highly classified project."

The Commandant was annoyed, "But this is her Master's Project. She has spent years working on all of this."

Morodukin: "Which is why we are also going to have to confiscate every document and every scrap or paperwork that contributed to this project. I was hoping to clear it all up with a mind scan, but I'm not satisfied with the answer. This material is not just classified. It is compartmentalized Top Secret. Anyone who has interacted with this project is going to have to sign an additional non-disclosure agreement."

Emily: "Well what is it used for that is so damn secret?"

Morodukin:	"I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you."

Emily rolled her eyes, expecting this was sarcasm. Morodukin's expression was as stern and unmoving. Over several seconds Emily's anger turned to terror. She blurted, "Wait is it some kind of…"

Morodukin put his finger on her lip, "Not another word. No guesses. No speculation. If you say what you were going to say out loud, I will have to take you in for more than questioning."

The Commandant glared at the agent, "Well he can't say it, but I can. It's the foundation for a branch of Mad Tegic."

Morodukin gathered up his things, and clacked shut the locks on his attache case. As he rose to leave the Commandant yelled after him, "What? That is it? One timing circuit and you are just going to erase years of this young lady's work?"

Morodukin turned back, "Yes. That was the idea. Everyone who had anything to do with this project is hereby ordered to forget it ever happened, and I'll have orders in writing to that effect later today."

Emily's mind was drawn to the events of this morning, "Did one of your agent's visit my dorm this morning?"

Morodukin was concerned, "No. What did they look like?"

Emily thumbed the card in her pocket, she took it out to show the agent, "He had a cat. He was dressed really fancy. I barely got a look at him before he disappeared. But he have me this."

Morodukin read the card. The agent was momentarily gripped with terror. He stared at the card, and it shook in his hands. The Commandant tore the card from his hand. She peered at it, flipped it over, and peered at it again, "this is completely blank. What is so scary about all of this?"

Morodukin composed himself, "Why… nothing scary at all. Now if you'll excuse me," He left the room as if it were on fire.

Emily was in tears, "What am I going to do? That was years of work. My defense is today. I have nothing to present! And then I find out, it wasn't even original!"

The Commandant walked over to Emily's chair, and gave her a motherly hug, "Emily, what happened today is completely out of the ordinary. Given the circumstances, I think the committee could find some way to confer a Master's title to you. We just need to find out what the material is classified under, and find a quorum of mages with that classification level. It was also improper to lump all of your work in with the seizure. A subject matter expert can review the material, and separate the forbidden knowledge from the mundane. And there was plenty of non-forbidden work that went into your project."

Emily, "And I suppose that all of this is going to take months or years to sort out properly. What am I going to do in the mean time? Be a graduate student for the rest of my life?"

As if on cue, the telephone rang on the Commandant's desk. She lifted the receiver, and listened for a moment. Her face filled with warmth at a familiar voice on the line, "Ben? Wow, it's been how many years? You're a what now? Commodore! Oh well the kids are all out of the house now. Paul is doing fine. He's still in gardening. Oh, well that's pretty specific. A Cosmogatoyr?" the Commandant's gaze settled on Emily, "It is funny that you ask. I have a promising young woman who was looking for work," the Commandant scribbled an address onto a sticky note, "oh I'll be happy to send her down for an interview."

The Commandant sat down at a terminal. She called up Emily's records. She altered a few records. Across the room, a document streamed out of the printer. The Commandant commanded, "Sign that."

Emily picked the form up and started reading it, "…Professional License to Conduct Cosmogatory? Doesn't someone need years of experience for that?"

The Commandant bristled, "No. You need to impress the holder of a certificate that you are an expert in the field. I was a Cosmo back in the service. I'm impressed."

Emily, "Wait… you… you got your start as a Cosmogatoyr?"

The Commandant, "Cosmotagoyrix. You have boobs. And as the holder of a professional certificate, you may legally use the title of Master or Mistress."

Another document printed out, Emily pulled it off the printer and read allowed, "…Merchant Spatial…Direct Commission … Rank Lieutenant?"

The Commandant, "Well, as a recognized professional in your field, you are entitled to skip over the lower ranks. As the Merchant Spatial operates in the rear-echelon, you can serve in a command role. But you get the same pay, benefits, and privileges as active duty."

Emily was in tears again. But happy tears this time, "How… how can I ever repay you?"

The Commandant sat back in her chair, and chuckled, "If they are going to misuse their power, I figured it was only fair to misuse mine a little bit. If you want to repay me come back to me as the Captain of your own ship. Or, chaos willing, take over this job when I finally get tired of it. I am not about to sit back and watch the feds pull the ball from you again."

Emily, "What if I don't get this job?"

The Commandant chuckled again, "Just apply for another one. If Cosmology doesn't suit you, well, you can apply all of those job skills to something else."

Emily, "What job skills? I've been a student all my life!"

The Commandant looked at Emily sternly, "Are you telling a schoolmaster to her face that getting an education isn't real work?"￼

Emily walked past the building with her former lab. She could see several Ministry of Defense marked carts outside. She recognized file cabinets and bits of furniture from her office loaded into them. She decided to check by the waste disposal area to see if there was anything she if anything useful from her office was thrown out. The dumpsters were not just empty, they looked like they were replaced with fresh bins.

As she walked away she noticed a rather inept looking quin who was mopping a portion of the lawn. Instead of the usual gardening ensemble, this quin was dressed in a green lab smock stamped with PROPERTY OF SPACEY ACADEMY / ENGINEERING DEPARTMENT. Emily noticed a the mismatched hands, and immediately identified the droid, "Quincy? Is that you?"

The Quin stopped it's pantomime of cleaning. It recognized Emily, and then nodded its head.

Emily gave the Quin a hug, "How did you get out of the lab?"

The droid simply stood stiff. Emily, being rather short, only seemed to come halfway up the droid's torso. They made an odd sight. Emily seemed to be listening to something that only she could hear. Finally she broke off the hug, and said in a playful energetic voice you would expect from an animal trainer, "My, what a brave and clever droid you are. Let's go home."

The droid started back towards the lab, Emily called, "No silly, your new home. This way…"￼

Emily returned to her apartment to find that the feds had been through her personal effects as well. The only items they left behind were clothing and university issued furniture. Stickers, police tape, and annotations made it clear that the feds had been through her roommate's effects as well.

Emily sighed, "Well so much for packing."

There was a knock on the door. Emily opened it to find the Commandant. She had paperwork in her hand. A lot of paperwork. The Commandant was expecting to see Emily, she was surprised to see the druid, "A friend of yours?"

Emily let go, "Commandant, this is Quincy, my lab assistant, say 'Hello' Quincy."

Quins don't typically have voices. So instead the droid tipped an imaginary hat.

Commandant: "You named your quin? Wait. How did he get here? What about the federal raid? And how … I don't see a control tablet…"

Emily looked skyward, and answered sheepishly, "Do you remember those times when I would get into trouble, and you would just stop asking questions because deep down you really didn't want to know all of the details."

The Commandant had a face that was demanding a few more answers.

Emily replied, rather resigned, "Well when the feds showed up and started grabbing my research material, Quincy panicked. He grabbed a mop from a janitor closet, and just pretended to be a cleaning droid. He just kept 'cleaning' until he was outside in the park. And that is where I found him."

The Commandant was shocked, "This quin… a) has a self-preservation instinct, b) understands how disguises work, and c) managed to act without a direct command from a control tablet?!?"

Emily shrugged, "Well I can only take so much credit. They really are a lot smarter than people give them credit for."

The Commandant raised her voice to yelling for a moment before settling back down to a whispered scream, "This is terrifying. Is he what the feds were so concerned about? Do you know how dangerous it is to modify the core logic of a Quin? Or how illegal?!?"

Emily shrugged again, "Whoa, whoa. First off, the circuit that he was showing me was the guidance system for some sort of weapon. Quins don't have any kind of circuitry like that. And secondly, I did not modify his core logic in any way. He was like this when I got him."

The Commandant looked at Emily in stern disbelief, "You 'found' him? Really. Were you just going to walk away with University property? Odds are the feds are going to find his inventory number on one of your manifests and go looking for him."

The quin fumbled through a pocket on its outfit. It pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it to the Commandant. The Commandant scanned it, reading parts out loud "Salvage title?"

Emily answered, "My research grant was paltry, so I started my work with a discarded quin. He had a fried command pathway, and was destined for the scrap heap. The recycling center let me have him for destructive testing."

The Commandant waved the piece of paper, "This says you have possession of him 'for research purposes, with dismantlement and disposal at termination of project' It was dated 3 years ago."

Emily: "Well, seeing as how the project has been suspended indefinitely, I guess that makes him mine."

The Commandant read further, "Wait… how did you manage to get them to sign it over to you personally, and not the Academy?"

Emily shrugged, "The grant for the project was routed through the scholarship I had from the Veterans association. Silver lining from that whole 'I couldn't actually be a Spacey Officer after putting in all of the work to be one' debacle."

The Commandant was annoyed, but satisfied by that answer, "Well if you can convince me, you can convince any bureaucrat. But how does it work? Your connection? How to you order him around?"

Emily, "Well I don't order him. We just understand each other. He's almost like a second pair hands."

The Commandant's tone became far less annoyed, "Interesting. I've only ever seen this before with animal companions. He… he must be like a cybernetic familiar."

Emily and Quincy turned their head in unison, and looked at one another eyeball to sensor-strip. The both turned their heads back toward the Commandant, and shrugged in unison. Emily said, after some hesitation, "Maybe? So, what brings you by, Commandant?"

The Commandant's attention was back again in the stack of paperwork she was clutching, she uttered, "Dear Goddess of Chaos, what have I unleashed on the Solar System? I was stopping by with a few more forms the expert system wanted filled out," She pulled a few pages on the top and handed them to Emily, "These are for you," she then shook the balance of the paperwork, "The rest… is a reminder of why I don't do this sort of thing more often. And I'm going to overlook this little matter," she gestured to Quincy, "I have enough to do as it is."

The Commandant talked Emily through the last few forms that needed to be filled out. She had Emily take the oath for the Merchant Spatial Officer Corp. Emily received a brand new Government ID, with her new professional certificate and officer rank. (The Commandant had a recent enough file photo.)

The Commandant pulled out a thin envelope. It was marked with "CLASSIFICATION LEVEL: ORANGE / IF FOUND RETURN TO WILLIAMS TEGICAL INDUSTRIES." Other markings on the envelop were in some sort of indecipherable code.

Emily asked, "What is it?"

It was the Commandant's turn to shrug, "I really don't know. It was in your academic folder. I looked up the provenance on it, and it seems to have followed your records all the way from the orphanage on Psyche. It has a magical seal of some sort. It will only open for its intended recipient. If anyone else attempts to open it… well… let us just day the results would be unpleasant. It was clipped to a note from your high school principle stating that this should follow your records wherever they are transferred to."

Emily held it for a moment. She squeezed it, gingerly, "Well it seems to have a holodisk inside. How do I open it?"

The Commandant replied, "I was hoping it would just open for you. But it doesn't seem like you are the intended recipient either. Oh well, I guess we have to keep a few mysteries around."￼

The Embarcadero was a busy place. People moved shoulder to shoulder in the passageways. Cargo was handled on the decks below and above this level. This area as strictly for people. Well, people and specially conditioned Quins.

Quins, unlike most robots, were designed from their feet to their skulls to mimic the human form. They had the shape, mass, strength, and fragility of the human body. If you were bumped by a Quin, it was no more damaging that being bumped by a human being. If a Quin malfunctioned, it could be physically subdued by a human without risking dire injury.

As Emily and Quincy stepped into the plaza, she noticed that Quincy was drawing a few stares. He was still adorned in clothing that was basically stolen from the University. He also move more like a scarecrow given life than a refined personal assistant. (He was a crash test model, originally.) She turned to her mechanical companion, "I think we need to get you to look the part."

She lead Quincy into a consignment store. The two picked out some clothing that would help Quincy better play the part of a robot butler. Quincy now wore a second-hand maroon tuxedo. Emily picked up a knock-off brand handbag with the special flap designed to contain a standard quin control tablet. She also haggled for a prop version of control tablet from one of the displays.

Back on the street, she and Quincy studied the movements of a few of the other butler units, and worked their quirks into his routine movements. Quincy also practiced moving slowly and deliberately. With a little practice, and their new accoutrement, the pair now looked like an heiress out on the town with her personal robot. At least an heiress who dressed somewhat ironically in leggings and a college hoodie. As the moved about town, nobody seemed to bat an eye at them, and that was the goal.

Emily approached the security checkpoint for the Merchant Spatial controlled zone. After explaining where she was going, and who she was seeing, the guard provided Emily we a map of the facility. He circled where the shore office for the Paul Cézanne was located, and sketched the best route to get there.

About halfway, Emily turned a corner. She saw the shadow of a cat further down. Emily froze. Quincy, sensing Emily's sudden change in movement, also froze. The cat's shadow was licking its paw, seemingly oblivious to the world. It suddenly stopped, and turned its head. Emily felt her pulse race. Was this Bastet? If the federal agent was afraid of Ishmael, did she have something to be afraid of too?

The shadow leaped out of its hiding place. The cat was a tabby. It had a community pest control style collar. And it was quite obviously lunging for a white rat that was scurrying down the opposite side of the hall. The cat nabbed its prey, and dragged it off for private consumption. It never even recognized Emily's existent. She breathed a sigh of relief.

After a trip up several elevators, and through another maze of hallways, Emily arrived at the area containing the shore offices for Merchant Spatial vessels. As she hunted for room 314, she passed by room 320. The door was marked for the Salvador Dali, but it had a note directing all inquires to room 314 (with a helpful arrow) care of Paul Cézanne.

Emily looked at the door for room 314. It was made of steel, with a frosted glass window in the center. The letters Paul Cézanne, TB-07 were stenciled on the glass. The door handle looked perfectly normal. She took a deep breath. She reached for the handle.

The door flew open, and a short man stepped out through the door. He seemed to be distracted, and wasn't looking in the direction he was walking. He crashed straight into Emily. He blurted out, "Oh, damn. Apologies, miss. I wasn't looking."

He wore a wrinkled, but clean, short-sleeved merchant spatial uniform. Rank Captain. Above his breast pocket was an embroidered his surname: 風間卿. Above that was a clip-on name tag that read WONKO. His lower arms were covered with tattoos composed of fanciful eastern calligraphy, as well iconography and memes from famous Japanese woodcuts.

Emily recognized the symbols on his name, he was also from Psyche. She replied with, "Shazai-nushi" and bowed.

Wonky looked Emily up and down. He spoke in a kind voice, "Hey, hey, we are out in the real world. Leave the Hobito ways for back home. And please, none of that the 'noble born'. Out here I am Captain Kanama, but everyone around here calls me Wonko," he stretched out a hand.

Emily replied with a firm handshake, "Lieutenant Emily Degan, Mistress of Cosmology."

Wonko was flabberghasted, "Oh, whoa. Sorry. You just … you looked younger than I would have expected with a title like that. I am running out to grab some lunch for the crew. They should be back any minute. Can I get you something?"

Emily replied, "Oh, sure!"

Wonko asked, "Is a Frankie, ok? Just makes the order easier. Least I can do for almost knocking you down in the hall. I mean, I could grab something from the old country if you prefer. Rice ball? Sushi?"

Emily replied, "No, a frankie would be wonderful. Soft shell, wit, and whiz."

Wonko chuckled, "I think you and I will get along nicely. Ben and Candy are coming over from the ship, they should be here in a few. Just keep yourself amused, and feel free to take a brochure or two. I'll be back in 15 or so. Say, nice Quin!"

Quincy bowed. Wonko bowed back. Wonko then rushed down the hallway, leaving the door open.

 With the door open, Emily could freely look inside. The room had several desks. In the center was a small display with a model of the ship. On one wall was a whiteboard with a complex set of equations. Another wall had a series of technical posters about the vessel.

Emily and Quincy stepped inside. Emily toured the room. Quincy just found a spot that was out of the way to stand.

From her cursory look at the materials, Emily discovered the Cézanne was one of the Van Gogh class mobile logistics platforms. She was a monster of a ship, some 40 million tons full loaded. She was 800 meters in diameter. 400 meters tall. She had 2000 full time inhabitants with facilities for 25,000 short-term residents. The ship had its own harbor facilities, agriculture decks, and extensive medical facilities.

A display stand had a series of "Welcome Aboard!" brochures. Each was targeted to a different audience:

Retire in Style on the Paul Cézanne!

Space Resource Manual / Paul Cézanne / For Active Duty Spacey/Merchant Spatial

Tegic Wizard's Guide / Paul Cézanne: Research Opportunities

Doing Business on the Paul Cézanne

Emily scanned the rest of the room, and her eyes fell on the math problem on the whiteboard. She studied the problem for a moment. Whoever was working the problem out had hit a dead end.  Without thinking about it, Emily picked up a pen and started working out a solution.

A few minutes later two people entered the room. A man and a woman. Both were carrying a clipboard full of paperwork.

The Man had a dark complexion, and salt-and-pepper in his beard. He had a neatly pressed uniform, which he seemed to wear like a second skin. The insignia on his collar indicated he was a Commodore with the Merchant Spatial.

The woman was tall and athletically built. She had some crow's feet beside her eyes, and a few flecks of grey in her hair. She favored her right leg, probably owing to knee issues in her left. She wore the insignia of a Captain in the Merchant Spatial.

Emily, in her yoga pants and college hoodie felt somewhat underdressed. When Ben locked eyes with Emily, he burst out into a welcoming smile. He approached Emily with a right hand outstretched, "Deeply sorry, Commodore Franklin Williams, but everyone calls me Ben," he shook Emily's hand, and then gestured to the other woman in the room, "and over here is Commander Candice Degrassi."

The Commander just waved from her seat, "But you can call me Candy."

Ben continued, "And might you be," he consulted his clipboard, "Lieutenant Degan, Mistress of Cosmology?"

Emily nodded awkwardly, "The Commandant said you were looking for a Cosmogatoyrix."

Ben seemed to have several speeches prepared for the occasion, but seemed to be struggling with the right one, "So… um, what drew you to apply for this contract?"

Emily interrupted, politely, "Contract?"

Ben looked at his clipboard again and chuckled, "Right, I don't see any prior voyages. Are you are probably transferring from active duty? And I'll bet the Commandant forget to give you all of the details. In the Merchant Spatial we aren't assigned to ships. We are assigned to a contract. A mission, so to speak. This contract is for a 5 year excursion to the outer solar system. Our ship, the Cézanne, is picking up the slack for another ship the Dali. The Dali was supposed to be start of a new class that …"

Candy let out a polite fake cough, "Ben?"

Ben interrupted himself, "Oh. Was I?"

Candy: "Yes, you were," Candy then turned to Emily, "If you join this crew dear, and I do hope you do, you'll find our dear Commodore gets a little long winded. If you find your eyes glazing over, you can ask him to come up for air. He'll understand."

Ben composed himself once more, "Sorry about that. Where was I? Right. Our contract is to take the Cézanne to the outer Solar System to act as a base for exploration."

Emily asked, "What is the significance of 5 years?"

Ben replied, "Mainly for planning purposes. It takes us 6 months to get on station, and 6 months back. So it's not exactly a job that is an easy commute. If you decide at some point that this isn't the line of work for you anymore, we will get you on the next scheduled transport back to ISTO space. Thought, I personally wouldn't recommend the trip. A few weeks in micro-G is about all I can take. I have no idea how the long-haulers do it."

Emily gestured to one of the posters on the wall, "So… how do you maintain constant gravity?"

Ben's eyes lit up, he stepped over to the model of the ship, and eagerly beckoned Emily to join him. He lifted off the outer shell to reveal that inside where three large spheres.

Ben explained, like a tour guide, "These spheres are how we do it. They pivot," he pressed a button, and the entire model turned until it stood up on the engines. A helpful guide-line painted on the spheres showed that they were level with the floor. Ben continued, "if we could somehow run the engines at 1 G, the spheres would stand straight up, like this. But we are usually operating at much lower accelerations. Or no acceleration at all," he pressed another button and the model started rotating. As it spun faster and faster, the spheres started to lay straight up and down. Ben continued, "the center of mass in the habitat spheres is such that they will automatically balance out the thrust of the engines with whatever rotational gravity we induce by spinning. By balancing the vessel's rotation with the engine output, people (and more importantly agricultural crops) always have a constant sense of up and down."

He looked to Candy to check to see if that was too long winded of an explanation. Candy gave him a playfully mocking golf clap.

Emily, peered over at a poster with the gross statistics for the vessel, "40 million metric tons? That thing is a monster!"

Candy piped in this time, "Actually it's a philosophical debate with some of the smaller outposts as to whether we visit them or they visit us. A lot of that mass is propellent, a fleet of escort vessels, and consumables. Our empty mass is only around 22 million metric tons. And a lot of that is dirt."

Emily asked, "Actually, what was the rest of the story with the Dali?"

Ben was about to start, Candy put her finger up to stop him, "Long story short, it was a new design that turned out to be a disaster on space trials. ISTO still needed a ship to cover the missions the Dali was supposed to do. The Cézanne was scheduled for a mid-life refit. We ended up getting the new engines that were supposed to go on the Dali. And we ended up getting the Dali's contract."

Ben thought about what Candy said, and simply nodded in agreement, "We are having a hell of a lot of problems recruiting. Our old contracts were 3 years, and we cycled in and out of ISTO space. Now it's 5 years, and everybody more or less knows they'll be stuck on board the entire time. Granted, the Cézanne is large enough and has enough amenities that a stay on board qualifies as short leave. But it's hell on people who have family ties."

Emily asked, "Well, I'm an orphan if that helps."

Candy noticed Emily's handiwork on the whiteboard. She stood at the board, brooding. Emily was suddenly concerned the she committed a faux pax, "Oh I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry, it looked like the person who was working out the problem was stuck…"

Candy stuck her finger up to stop Emily, with the same gesture she used on Ben. After another moment of reflection, she finally spoke, "I haven't seen a multi-stage vehicle mission since my academy days. What made you think of it?"

Emily replied, "I was just looking at the mix of vehicles you had and one of them stuck out has having a lot of thrust. One of them had a high effective velocity. Best of both worlds."

Emily approached the board and added some more sketches, "We still have a few Copernicus class as training ships or in mothballs. They were terrible frigates. But use a Cervantes to get it up to speed, and give it a straight line course, those Muon-Cat drives are really, really efficient."

Candy pointed to another sketch, "And what is this?"

Emily explained, "That is a frame adapted from the salvage module of the Cervantes. It was built for towing another vessel, but with these alterations it could be used to join the two stages. I also cheat and use a Cervantes with the extended fuel tank mod."

Candy asked, "And do you just discard the frigate? No wait, you seem to be leaving fuel in the tank here."

Emily added to the orbital sketch an additional planet. She said, "I was planning on using the gravity well of Jupiter to reverse the direction of the first stage while expending little in the way of propellent. That last bit in the tank is to decelerate when they get close to the launch point. But, I'm now at the point where I have to break out an orrery and a calculator to crank the final numbers. So, did I get it right?"

Candy shrugged, "No idea. This was something old man Kavka was working on before he had his stroke. I think he was working out a way to perform a resupply mid voyage. Now that you have explained it, the whole scheme makes sense. Bonus on being able to explain it. Double bonus on actually finding an application for those old Copernicus class frigates."

Ben, sensing a lull in their conversation, chimed in, "I imagine you have a lot of questions."

Emily, "At the risk of sounding dumb, what exactly is this job? I figured Cosmogatoyr was a function built into AI systems by now."

Ben replied, "And they are. In the core solar system. Where you have teams of astronomers looking out for anomalies, and you have to keep thousands of vessels a day from colliding. But even there, humans Cosmogatoyrs at least supervise the process. In the outer system, there is no space traffic control system. And our maps of the astronomical bodies are sketchy at best. In addition to getting the Cézanne around, you'll be called in to help plan the missions for our exploration, mining, and support craft. It's an 11 hour delay for a call back to home. We need an expert on site. Someone who will be handed all sorts of new and strange problems."

Candy pointed at the board, "Trust me Emily. You have a gift for this."

Emily asked, "So… how does the day-to-day job thing work. Do I have an office, and I do Cosmology problems all day?"

Ben replied, "To tell you the truth, every billet on a deep space vessel ends up turning into 'duties as assigned'. When we need a Cosmologist, you are our go-to cosmologists. We also have openings in the service industry, and research, and engineering. So long as the basics are covered, we let you pursue whatever else suits your fancy. Heck, if you want to pursue astronomy, we even have an observatory. Complete with a decent optical telescope."

Emily got a devious grin on her face, "What if I were to tell you that I was working on a top secret project in my past life. But I think it will be right up your ally. It's an automated long-distance probe. It's not perfected yet, but I'd be happy to work on it again."

Ben and Candy looked at each other. Ben shrugged. Candy shrugged. They worked out with gestures who was going to take that question. Ben seemed to win the negotiation, "I mean, we have some pretty far out Mad Tegic on board the Cézanne. We don't like to talk about it, but there area lot of Wizards working on things that would be a little too scary to perform in the core system, or in a populated area. You and I can probably sit down and hammer out the specifics.

Candy piped in, "Actually the best person to talk about that would be Cheryl. She's the provost of our distance learning center," Candy gestured to Quincy, "If you like cybernetics, you'll get a kick out of her. She is a 9000 unit."

Emily was surprise, "Way to bury the lede. I never thought I'd get to work with a 9000! I heard they were all retired after that… accident. With the Discovery. And that other accident, where the robots rose up in rebellion."

Ben replied, "Well they are 'retired'. From essential ship systems. But we had to find something to do with them. They are living machines after all. So many of them have started a second career. They need to feel important, and in control. So they took desk jobs in middle management. They can control a little fiefdom, torment humans, and all without having to get all rampage and murder and whatnot. We just never put them in charge of anything to do with life support. Or anything with a nuclear warhead. Or armies of drones…"

About the Author

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Sean Woods is a Computer Engineer who leads a double life as a story teller. His background in technology, defense, and science education are balanced by a sense of wonder, humor, and skepticism in his foreground. His writing is inspired most by Arthur C. Clarke and Douglas Adams.