Page 28 of Cloverleaf Station

Elenus opened the hangar door before Kieron could continue his conversation with himself. “And here … she is,” he said, rolling Kieron into the cool, open space. The lights were dimmed as they entered, but the song was so much louder—it was effortlessly joyous, and Kieron found himself wishing he had the ability to join in with it because if just listening put a smile on his face, how much better would it be if he could sing along as well?

There was a pause in the song, and then all of a sudden, the pitch trilled up so high that he actually lost his ability to hear it for a moment. The lights came up, and the ship sitting in the middle of the hangar glowed, externally and internally. Kieron got his first really clear look at Catalina, whose exterior was rippling with color again, vivid and bursting with blotches here and there, like she just couldn’t help herself.

“Someone is very happy to see you,” Elenus said and pushed him to a stop about five feet away from the hull. “I told her not to access your implant until you gave her permission. She’s hooked into the station’s system, so if you want to let her in, that’s the bandwidth where you’ll find her.”

“She can speak to me?” Kieron asked quietly. His fingers itched to get closer to her, to touch the hull again the way he had in space, only without the thick, clumsy greenie suit between them this time.

“She can babble at you for hours if you let her. She goes in and out of numeric code and sound wavelengths and actual recognizable speech, for us, but it’s close enough to get the gist.”

“Ah.” Kieron briefly touched where his implant should have been at the back of his spine. “It’s—fine. But I can’t—I don’t have an implant right now.”

Elenus came around and sat on the arm of his chair. “True,” he said, “but you have a tab that’s keyed into the same user settings that your implant was. We can put another one in whenever you like, but I think your brain might benefit from a few more days of settling. In the meantime, do you want to try talking to her via tab?”

“Yes. It’s—” Where had he left his tab?

“In the control room. I’ll go get it for you.”

“Thank you.” Elenus left, and Kieron stared at Catalina. She had no eyes, no face. There was nothing about her that should have seemed lifelike, other than her shifting surface, and yet … “I like the chair,” he said. “It’s very kind of you to make it for me.”

The colors went from light pink and orange to a deep, rosy glow all over, and her harmonics hit that super-high pitch again. Kieron found himself grinning hard enough to make his cheeks hurt, without really knowing why.

“You’re just like your daddy,” he said. “A little flattery and you go all soft.” Catalina made a noise that could have been assent. “Can I—can you make this chair come closer to you?” He couldn’t, not unless he got out and pushed or used his feet to pull himself across the floor, which—there was no chance.

Another trill, and then the chair was moving. Catalina positioned him right outside her port door, not far from where he’d first touched her in the asteroid field. Kieron leaned in and touched his fingertips to her hull, then pulled back as the first vibrations ran through them. Catalina’s glow dimmed a little. “Sorry, it just surprised me.” He reached out again, and this time …

It really was like a purr. “There you are,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Catalina glowed bright enough to blind him.

***

Kieron wasn’t used to children. He liked Zakari’s kids, but he’d never spent any time with them without one or all of their parents nearby. Sometimes ships brought kids to the station, but he never had anything to do with them either, apart from making sure they didn’t break anything. Obviously, he’d been a kid himself once upon a time, but he didn’t remember actually doing any childish things in his childhood. He’d never played games that weren’t war games, never shared affection without an ulterior motive, never laughed and sung and generally been loud just for the sake of it.

With all of that in his past, being around Catalina was very … interesting.

Elenus was right about her speech abilities; only about one in three words was clearly intelligible, but the rest of it was pretty easy to understand in context. She wanted to show off everything—her construction capability, her speakers, the way she could make her lights dance. She seemed very proud of that in particular.

“How old would you say she is?” Kieron asked.

“Interesting question.” Elenus stroked his chin as he looked adoringly at his ship. “Her central processor was in development for five years before I installed it into the ship’s core. That happened two years ago. It’s not a one-to-one correlation with human aging, of course, but I’d still put her somewhere in the six-to-seven-year range. With a side helping of advanced AI,” he added. “If she were a person, she’d either be the most brilliant child in the history of the universe or its most childish adult genius.”

“I think you’ve got that title nailed down.”

Elenus laughed. “You are feeling better if you’re able to give being witty a go. And it might even be true.” He shrugged. “I may be childish, but what I’ve made with her … you understand why I couldn’t let her stay in Deysan’s hands. Catalina is constantly learning, absorbing not just knowledge and experience but the personality traits of those she spends the most time with. If he didn’t break her mind, she might have become a true threat to those around her.”

“Kind of makes you feel like she should be an only child, huh?”

Catalina’s song took a low turn, clearly displeased by the suggestion, and a series of “Nomeannowantnono” trailed across the screen of Kieron’s tab. Elenus seemed to be considering the question seriously, though.

“You might be right. Ethically, selling a ship like Catalina would be akin to dealing in slavery. Handing over minds sheathed in some of the best technology on any planet to be molded by whoever could afford them … it’s dangerous, and that’s not even getting into the repercussions if one of the ships was stolen, like Catalina was.” Elenus turned a curious look on Kieron. “I didn’t take you for a philosopher.”

“It’s not a philosophical issue,” Kieron replied. “There’s nothing theoretical about her sentience although I’m sure there are people out there who’d disagree.”

“Too many.” Elenus made a face. “Some of them would buy a ship like her just for the pleasure of taking her apart.”

“And given her sentience, taking into consideration both her strengths and her vulnerabilities, leaving her as a one of a kind seems to be the best path forward.” Kieron tilted his head as he looked at Catalina. “Until she decides she wants to create another ship like her on her own someday, in which case another argument could be made for her right to procreation—”

“Ah! La-la-la-la-la!” Elenus actually stuck his fingers in his ears. “No, nope, I’m not listening to you talk about my baby being capable of reproduction. Nope, nope, nope.”