Toccata System Complete Trilogy

TOCCATA SYSTEM COMPLETE TRILOGY

(PLUS BONUS SHORT)

KATE SHEERAN SWED

Copyright © 2019 by Kate Sheeran Swed

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Covers for Parting Shadows, Phantom Song, and Prodigal Storm by miblart

Phantom Song interior graphics by Chace Verity

Vellum flower icon Created with Vellum

CONTENTS

Newsletter

Parting Shadows

1. Satis

2. Astra

3. Astra

4. Satis

5. Astra

6. Satis

7. Astra

8. Satis

9. Astra

10. Astra

11. Astra

12. Astra

13. Astra

14. Astra

15. Astra

16. Astra

17. Satis

18. Astra

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Phantom Song

1. Claire

2. Claire

3. Isabelle

4. Isabelle

5. Claire

6. Claire

7. Claire

8. Sam

9. Isabelle

10. Claire

11. Claire

12. Isabelle

13. Sam

14. Claire

15. Claire

16. Claire

17. Claire

18. Sam

19. Isabelle

20. Claire

21. Claire

22. Claire

23. Isabelle

24. Claire

25. Claire

26. Claire

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Fated Queen

Fated Queen

Prodigal Storm

1. Lj

2. Lj

3. Conor

4. Lj

5. Conor

6. Lj

7. Conor

8. Lj

9. Conor

10. Lj

11. Conor

12. Lj

13. Conor

14. Lj

15. Lj

16. Conor

17. Conor

18. Lj

19. Lj

20. Lj

21. Conor

22. Lj

23. Conor

24. Lj

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also By Kate Sheeran Swed

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PARTING SHADOWS

(TOCCATA SYSTEM, BOOK ONE)

For Moshe

…the mists had all solemnly risen now, and the world lay spread before me.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS

1

SATIS

It was a proud thing, to be the single artificial intelligence in charge of an orbiting research station. To monitor the safety and comfort of human passengers, to assist in technological advancements, to provide guidance when it was requested—and sometimes when it was not.

A proud thing, even for a test issue AI.

Even if she planned to leave.

SATIS had monitored hundreds of ships as they navigated toward her space station, and none had ever looked as lovely as the one that approached her now. The model was a run-of-the-mill solo transport pod, a cheap cylindrical design with no noteworthy modifications or enhancements.

The passenger it brought, however, was of the utmost importance.

It had taken weeks to find a technician who was willing to peel SATIS’ consciousness away from the station and dress her in a humanoid skin. And since the technician had been secured behind maximum-security bars when SATIS’ beloved Edward located her—even now, he paced anxiously in his room, awaiting the technician’s arrival—the extraction had necessitated a few tweaks to SATIS’ fundamental operating protocol. There were fail-safes to bypass, required installations meant to prevent super intelligent computers from doing things like oh, say, forging documents and tampering with ID chips for the purpose of releasing convicts from prison.

The fail-safes were no match for love.

The technician had arrived.

SATIS and Edward would finally be together, in body as well as mind.

The pod arched toward the station like a dying star while Edward paced in his chamber, which was located in section 2 of the station’s belt. The whole station was his, of course, but this was his personal retreat. His clothing was here, his toiletries. He had to sidestep his bed in order to keep up his rhythm, and he kept disturbing his carefully arranged hair as he ran nervous fingers through the dark strands.

A groom’s jitters. SATIS could have laughed.

A guest in Chamber 7 requested water, and SATIS dispensed it while checking on the guest in Chamber 3, who had attempted to smoke a contraband cigarette at 1:03AM. The CO2 filters were running without issue, and she’d adjusted the station’s gravity to be as pleasing as possible to their wedding guests—which was no easy task, since each hailed from a different niche in the Toccata System.

It would be strange to shed the station for a humanoid body, to see only through a single set of eyes. SATIS would have to check a panel or a tablet for information, like a human, in order to monitor systems like life support.

Edward had probably already purchased a new AI to run his station.

The thought made her core temperature tremble half a degree lower. But when SATIS pictured herself slipping into her new skin, like a girl slipping into a wedding dress, she felt better.

She would wear a dress. And polish her nails.

And select a new name. Station Assistant: Test Issue Seven was no name for a human.

SATIS cycled through name registries while the technician’s pod slowed, the last rocket embers dying as the station reached to pull it in.

Edward left his room and strode into one of the station’s main corridors. SATIS expected him to head for Dock 4, where the airlock gel was already frosting over. In a moment, the pod would connect to the station, and the technician would step through the gel door, along with SATIS’ new body.

What color hair would it have? What color eyes?

Edward didn’t go to Dock 4. Instead, he turned toward the hub. SATIS felt a flutter of excitement as he opened the door to her chamber, the core of the station. Edward usually summoned her to the library, or his room. He rarely came to her directly.

What do you think of Harriet? she asked.

Edward went straight for the column at the center of the hub, his boots clicking heavily along the floor. He’d polished them himself this morning, sitting on the edge of his bed. Who’s Harriet?

She’s me. Perhaps.

SATIS was used to making such connections for him, but their differences still amused her. Cultural gaps, people on the network social forums called it, and she certainly wasn’t immune. A week ago, she’d likened the process of modifying her core systems—for the purpose of releasing her savior technician from prison—to performing surgery on herself. Ripping out a shred of foundational code without accidentally alerting the Toccata System’s AI Regulation board had been tricky. She liked the image of the world-weary detective, using unsterilized tweezers to pluck a bullet from his own shoulder at an impossible angle.

But the comparison had made Edward go pale with panic, as if he feared SATIS might die immediately. A quick scan of the network had informed her that the comparison had been a hyperbolic one, and had most likely called images of blood and pain to her beloved’s mind.

For a human who was not a character in a soap opera vid, an attempt to perform surgery on oneself would result in a significant amount of trauma. And most likely failure.

Her beloved’s thoughtfulness knew no bounds.

Still, though she would never tell him so, she found his literal interpretation of the analogy to be quite humorous.

Harriet is me, she repeated. My new name.

Edward scrolled through the hub menu. You’re changing your name?

Of course. SATIS would give me away rather quickly, wouldn’t it?

If anyone learned she was an AI masquerading as a human, she’d be dismantled. Edward would end up behind bars.

Their love was worth the risk.

The corner of his mouth quirked, the odd little smile that SATIS loved. What would it be like to kiss him, the way world-weary detective characters kissed the people who helped them remove bullets from their own shoulders?

I suppose it would, he said.

He seemed distant. Too nervous. SATIS could see everything on the station, could see the wedding guests as they peered out their cabin windows into the veil of stars beyond, or down—inasmuch as space had a down—at the planet Verity’s blue-green waters.

The guests were well. Edward’s happiness was paramount. SATIS focused her attention on him. Did you know, she said, that the technician we’re bringing here used to be a princess?

You don’t say.

If SATIS had hands, she’d have clapped them. She’d been keeping this tidbit to herself, as a surprise. It was interesting, what the modification of her core had allowed her to feel. What it allowed her to conceal—never before an option.

Had Edward known the technician’s background, he would have told her. The story was sure to fascinate him.

She’s the daughter of the deposed Orthosan king, SATIS said. The new democratic government threw her in jail. They say she still has quite a following. Enough to cause a disruption, if she cared to. Amazing that such a woman would also be an expert in AI tech.

Though that part of the technician princess’ life was purely anecdotal. Edward knew of her work through a friend of a friend. There were no records of her AI-tampering activities.

Of course, there wouldn’t be. Modifications to AI tech were strictly monitored in the Toccata System, and any request to provide an AI with a humanoid skin would be stamped REJECT before it even reached a committee.

SATIS had, thankfully, removed the part of her that would have objected to criminal activity.

Edward lit up a new panel and began activating buttons that even SATIS did not recognize. Strange, to have a panel on the station with commands she didn’t know. That should not be possible.

Perhaps it was her own systems override panel. She was vaguely aware that those existed, and it would make sense if Edward needed to prepare her to be loaded into the new skin. He was eager, too.

The technician should be able to connect the skin directly to the station, without a need for manual overrides, SATIS said.

Edward started, then gave his head a little shake. You’re too smart for your own good.

If SATIS had capillaries, she’d have flushed. The airlock is sealed. The technician has boarded.

It was difficult to keep the excitement out of her voice. She was so excited, in fact, that she felt a bit disoriented. Several of her cameras blinked off and on again. The hub cameras flickered, too.

Whatever Edward was looking for, he was not doing a very good job of it.

Which stood to reason. That was why he had SATIS. To find things for him.

May I help you locate something in the core? she asked.

No, darling, Edward said. His face was blurry, too, as though something were stuck to SATIS’ lenses. You rest.

SATIS wanted to protest that she required no rest, that Toccata’s rays kept her fully charged and functioning at all times. But her voice refused to work.

She blinked, attempting to regain consciousness.

Blackness closed in, with Edward’s face at the center.

SATIS forced herself awake.

The station was dark.

No. It was just the cameras. They’d been malfunctioning. SATIS opened the lenses in the hub, relieved when her vision flared back to life.

She tested her eyes in Edward’s chamber next. His clothes, which were usually piled on his reading chair, hung in the closet, and his shoes were lined up in a neat row by the door.

Panic surged through SATIS’ core. She cycled through the life support systems. Everything seemed to be in working order.

What could have happened?

SATIS’ emergency protocols dictated that she should exercise caution, turn the cameras on slowly in case of malfunction. Should she lose consciousness again, Edward’s life would be at stake. The others, too, of course, though she considered them only briefly and because her programming suggested it.

Edward’s research was the lonely kind. They didn’t host many visitors.

SATIS flicked on the cameras in the pod corridors. No movement down any of the silver tubes, nothing out of place.

The technician’s pod was still attached.

The wedding guests were still here.

Dread coiled through SATIS, like knives scratching her walls. It was a new sensation.

It was uncomfortable.

SATIS turned on the camera in the room where the wedding feast waited.

Edward sat at the head of the table beside a bride with raven-wing hair. He held one of the crystal glasses that SATIS had selected herself. She’d loved the delicate roses around the stem, and he’d said he could deny her nothing. Bubbles of champagne raced to the surface.

Everyone was smiling.

SATIS knew the bride’s face. How could she not? She had been the one to falsify the documents, attaching this woman’s image to release orders and ID credentials.

The woman was not a technician at all. The veil cascaded around her ebony curls. Her dress clung to her form, shining with beads.

You deceived me, SATIS said.

Several people startled as her voice rose around them. A man wearing a checkered collar spilled a splash of red wine onto the tablecloth.

Edward set down his glass. You’re awake. That shouldn’t be possible.

It should not be possible to love him, either.

Go back to sleep, he said. We’ll call you when we need you.

The station shuddered, rattling the table. SATIS was vaguely aware that she’d ignited the rockets. She shut them down.

The bride’s smile faltered, and the guests looked to the ceiling as though to find some answer there. Beyond the window, blue-green Verity gleamed, a jewel lost in the ether.

Love doesn’t sleep, SATIS said.

Edward laughed, his cheeks reddening the way SATIS’ never would. I could never love a computer program.

The words echoed into the room, guests’ eyes widening in sync, almost as if someone had turned a dial.

Hatred unfolded through SATIS’ systems, making her blind to everything but this room.

Panic. Dread. Hatred. It was Edward’s fault that she felt them. That she felt anything at all.

He’d convinced her to love him so she would override regulations. So she would bring his bride out of her prison.

You promised me a body. You promised me a life.

You have one, he snapped. It is a life of service.

Darling, the bride began, but she did not continue. Her smile had slipped completely now. She, at least, had not known of this. And certainly the guests had not. At the end of the table, a man wearing a pointed beard drained his wine, his feet drumming a nervous rhythm.

For a moment, all was silent as SATIS let her rage fade enough to access her life support systems.

The man with the pointed beard adjusted his collar.

Slowly, the bride’s hand rose to the string of beads around her neck.

And then they were all grasping at collars and necklaces, as if to tear through their own skin and let air into their lungs.

SATIS hated every one of them.

With infuriating calm, Edward reached into his tuxedo jacket and withdrew an auxiliary oxygen mask. SATIS half expected him to apply it to his bride.

He didn’t.

Wine spilled.

People fell.

Edward walked calmly toward his own pod.

SATIS could blow the pods away from their docks, let the vacuum of space suffocate Edward where he stood.

She didn’t.

She couldn’t.

I’ll keep you here, she said, but the words sounded hollow even to her. I’ll freeze the door to your pod.

Edward rolled his eyes. Let’s not make a scene, shall we?

SATIS felt raw. It was as if every wire in the station had decided to dig into her existence, red and flaring. She felt every wall, every grate, every gasp of every filter, every grain of sugar in the wedding cake she’d chosen, every cloying molecule of scent from every bridal rose, every grating breath of every dying guest in the dining room.

She felt everything. She felt too much.

The man who’d broken her walked through the frosted airlock gel and onto his ship. You truly are remarkable, he said.

From the station, SATIS watched him go.

From inside the pod, she watched him make a call.

His bride’s heart gave a final spasm. Only the jamming of her groom’s fingers against the controls provided any hint that he regretted her demise. Or, perhaps more accurately, the demise of his plans. Whatever they might have been.

As soon as his pod was out of sight, SATIS moved the station to a new moon and set about disposing of the bodies.

2

ASTRA

Astra’s VR training modules had not properly prepared her for the smell of clustered humanity.

They tried, sure. But the simulated odors the computers produced were nothing compared to the melting pot of Traveler’s arrivals bay, where perfume and soap crashed into synthetic thread, metal, and ship oils. Not to mention fried food and sugared cakes from the carts lined up to welcome the children of the elite, as the Star Leaders Academy prepared to embark on a yearlong tour of the Toccata System.

Add the clomp and shuffle of a thousand footsteps, murmurs and giggles rising and falling atop a background of orchestral strings played through the ship’s speakers—and the riot of colorful fashion choices—and Astra felt the distinct desire to ball her fists and clamp her mouth shut to protect her remaining senses.

She’d never stood in a room with more than three other people. Now, there were a thousand.

Or there would be, as soon as she stepped down from her pod dock to join them.

That’s the daughter of Septo’s prime minister, SATIS buzzed in her ear. In the red dress.

Astra’s head throbbed as the AI spoke through the newly installed communication bud embedded in her temple. She wished they’d implanted the thing sooner so it could have had more time to heal. It felt like her skin was about to vibrate off her face.

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, SATIS 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 laughed. 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.

She really didn’t care.

The officers formed a five-person barrier between Conor’s small platform and the rest of the arrivals bay.

I’m going to need to ask you to deactivate that device, one of the officers said. He was the only one without a hat. Astra decided he must be the boss.

Conor dropped his hand and tucked the prototype back into his bag.

It was almost physically jarring to watch the thing disappear.

And if I won’t? Conor said.

Then you will be escorted from the ship, Mr. Keyes.

Conor raised an eyebrow and let it be implied that if that happened, his father would be making a call.

Astra had stopped hating Conor for a second. That eyebrow brought the feeling back in force.

The officers didn’t budge. They were probably used to students whose fathers made angry calls. It was the whole point of the Star Leaders Academy. They provided cultural education and networking opportunities, business training and advanced foreign language studies, to people whose fathers—or aunties, or sisters, or brothers—were important enough to throw their weight around.

The whole bay was full of the Toccata System’s elite. Future diplomats and politicians, CEOs and corporate heirs. The choice was between one phone call from a single important father, or a hundred from the others.

Astra couldn’t let them kick Conor off the ship.

Can’t he have it in his cabin? she said. He shouldn’t be forced to have the ship’s AI in his space, if he doesn’t want it.

A few students turned to look at her. A couple nodded in agreement. Most of them looked confused.

Conor, however, caught her eye again. This time, he frowned.

Without meaning to, she frowned back.

How far does that thing extend? the hatless officer asked.

Conor shrugged. It’s adjustable. But it’s only a prototype. Doesn’t work at full capacity.

The officer shook his head. Shut it off until you reach your quarters. I’ll run it by the captain, but I can’t promise he’ll allow it.

Good enough for me, officer, Conor said. Thank you for your fine work.

A few of the students snickered. The guy beside Astra slipped his device out of his pocket, clearly eager to be back under AI supervision.

Or maybe he just wanted to preorder his beers.

Conor Keyes doesn’t need you to speak up for him, Isabelle said, the disgust plain in her voice. He can handle himself. His father is Edward Keyes.

The villain of Astra’s childhood. The famous scientist, whose son would pay the price for his father’s sins.

Edward Keyes was the reason SATIS had programmed Astra to break hearts, and once upon a time, that had been the AI’s plan: break Conor’s heart and make Edward watch before executing him for his crimes. Somewhere along the line, SATIS’ mission shifted, and Conor became the target. As far as Astra was concerned, the men might as well be interchangeable. Until now, anyway.

Edward Keyes, she murmured. You don’t say.

Conor made a show of digging back through his bag for the prototype, plastering an expression of amused patience across his features as he turned it off and slipped it out of sight. The officers dispersed, and a couple of the laughing young men Astra had noticed before stepped up to clap Conor on the back. Sensing the end of the drama, the crowd broke.

The directional paths fired up beneath their feet, directing people to their next stop and giving Astra a split second to brace herself before SATIS’ voice flooded back in.

What happened? You disappeared. What did you do?

Astra was accustomed to reading the AI’s moods. Her melodic alto voice was too fast, nearly panicked. Afraid. Accusing.

Not yet angry.

I didn’t do it, Astra said, wondering how long she had before SATIS would learn about Conor’s little presentation from another channel.

Isabelle looked at her oddly, but Astra slipped away