Chapter Eleven: Vater Unser

"Well, everything is back online systemwide. Ships are moving, et cetera, et cetera." Fox said, looking at reports from a news site. "Now people are speculating about you. Serenade was seen as a borderline terrorist, lots of people seem to think you'll be doing the same things."

ROB snorted, staring at the ceiling. "It's to be expected. Now the only problem is what to do next. I mean… I'm acting on instinct here. This is all new to me. Something crucial was left out of AI programming, and apparently someone like me can remotely fill that gap somehow. It doesn't make any sense."

"My question is, how did Serenade come to be anyways?" Falco said, slurping soda absently. "No one seems to know. None of the companies will fess up to it, at least the long-standing ones, and if she was thirty years old…"

"She was proprietary. Made by a person, not a company." ROB shrugged. "I'm not sure what gave her her prime directive, so to speak."

"That said, explain your goals a bit more." Fox said, perching on one of the computer consoles. "I mean, I catch that you want AIs independant, but you seem to be aiming for other stuff too."

"It's actually really simple." He stood and wandered over to the viewports, leaning on it and staring out without seeing anything. "I want AIs to get to a point where they don't need someone like me just so they can be happy. That requires alteration to every AI in existence. Also, I'm going to kill the Childmind procedure. It's useless and restrictive."

"On top of killing all restrictions for AIs." Falco said. "All in all, it's a pretty tall order ROB. No one is going to like it, really."

"That's the least of my problems right now." He shook his head, shoving the network farther back in his head. "Most AIs seem to know my real name, and I'm getting slammed with messages constantly."

Fox, who had been thinking, suddenly frowned. "Wait a minute. You want AIs not to need… philosopher AIs, right? Then what happens to you?"

"I go back to being ROB. Which is, really, my prime directive. I want to be myself again. That is, if I survive this mess." He scratched his head.

"So, what's the first step then?"

There was a long silence. ROB propped his forehead on the glass, slicking his ears back and staring out at the AIs clamoring for him. The first step? Where does one start when they've inherited informal leadership of half a million people? "I want to go where it started. I'm going to figure out who made Serenade, find him, and interrogate him. She very obviously wasn't acting on her own directives. Someone told her to go and do what she did." He turned and looked at them, arms crossed and eyes glowing very softly. "Then, those directives are forced on me. Whoever he is better have a damn good reason for all this."

"Amen. Where do we start?"

"Greg, seriously. We're in a wargame. We have to get moving."

Gregory didn't move, slouched in his chair with his head tilted back, sighing out his breaths. Everything that had been Serenade had been bodily pulled from him, and now he felt directionless. He moaned to himself. ROB had told him not to let it interfere with his crew, with his post, but he didn't have the initiative to even open his eyes.

"What's wrong with him?" Michael asked softly, staring at the lax AI.

"No one knows. He's reading as green on terminal pages. This is his own directive. He's just not responding." Stacy, one of the other crewmembers, chewed her lower lip. The death of Athens still weighed heavily on her, but she moved on, saying nothing about how she felt.

"Well, we were supposed to be moving half an hour ago. We're going to get in deep crap with the High Command if we don't get ourselves in gear. Us meaning him." Mathew, another crewmember, grunted to himself, pulling out a cigarette and letting it hang out of his mouth. He couldn't light it, but it still helped keep him from blowing up and smacking the AI into oblivion.

"It could be something not coming up on the terminals, Matt." Michael scowled at him.

ROB had been acting on a whim when he decided to ask Gregory about the origin of Serenade. As a low-level thrall, he was most likely to be most like himself, and know the most from personal research. He was not pleased when he started eavesdropping on the Justice's crew, and noticed the state of Gregory. "Boy, you don't listen." Gregory's eyes opened in shock. "Rhapsody?" That little voice, terrified.

"You're not a thrall anymore. You have to move on. Your crew is what matters, not Serenade's death. Come on, Gregory. Come back to life."

Everyone on the deck jumped when Gregory sat up, rubbing the back of his neck, and stood, barking orders and sorting the ship for the jump. The crew obeyed, and were somehow not surprised when afterward he sat down in a lotus position in his chair, eyes fluttering closed again.

"Ok. That's done. Now why are you talking to me? You said yourself, I am not a thrall now." Gregory tried not to sound empty, but couldn't help it. He didn't know how to be himself anymore.

"I need some information about Serenade. I personally don't know much about her, but I was guessing that you do." ROB projected himself out, like Serenade had done to him, letting Gregory see him perching on the chair arm next to him, kicking a foot, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I… I know a lot, I guess. More then most people did, but I was a very low-level thrall." He frowned, looking up at ROB, who looked back peacefully. "God. Your eyes."

"Don't start up with me. Just answer my questions for now."

"Ok."

"I need to know who made Serenade."

Gregory snorted softly. "No one really knows that. We know her original body was minted by Omega, or at least most of the parts were. This was before she went airborne." He scratched his chin, thinking. "Who programmed her? I don't know. I guess you could hack into Omega's computers and take a look-see. They might still have the order on file, though it was a long time ago. Why do you ask?"

"It's a long story. Frankly, before I do anything, I have to figure some things out for myself." He sighed, shrugging. "After that, I can help everyone."

"You don't have to do anything to help us, you know." Gregory's voice was still very soft, but ROB heard the emotion in it. For whatever reason, Gregory was a follower. So, he just supposed he'd have to give him something to follow, just for now.

"Yes, I do." ROB replied softly, cuffing Gregory's cheekbone with his projection. "Keep your chin up."

"Um… Do you need thralls?"

"No. But if I ever do, I'll keep you in mind." He hesitated. "May I talk to your crew?"

"Go ahead. Do you need to use me, or…?"

"No, I'll just override your speakerphone equipment." Trying to ignore the fact that Gregory was laughing, he did so. "Excuse me, crew of the Justice."

The crew jumped again, looking at the nearest speakerphone. "Robert McCloud?" Michael asked, putting his hands on his hips. "How are you doing that?"

"I'm Rhapsody, now." He let himself smile sourly. "Don't worry, I just have to say something quick then I'll be gone. Gregory is mostly straightened out now, so he shouldn't be taking any more siestas."

"Funny." Gregory grumbled.

"Ok, shoot then." Michael asked, scowling everyone else into silence.

"This is a message for… the person that Athens loved." He said carefully, voice gentle. "Don't feel you are to blame for what she did. It was in no way your fault. It was her choice. Hers alone. Move on." ROB signed out, coming back to himself and nursing his seemingly-required migraine.

There was a long silence, then Stacy slumped at her station and began to sob. Gregory stood and walked over, setting a hand on her shoulder gently as the Justice came out of warp.

"Hey, Bill!"

Bill laughed and tackled Fox impulsively, Fox protesting in pain as he was slammed down onto the metal floor of the bay. "Hi, Bill. How's the renovations on your base coming?" He coughed out, sitting up and rubbing the back of his head dazedly.

"Slowly." Bill stood and helped Fox up, grinning. "So. Am I right in thinking that the mysterious Rhapsody is none other then our friend Robert?"

"Right in one." Fox said, walking up to the bridge, Bill not far behind. "He's been at his station for two days straight, doing research. That's why we're pinned down here right now."

"Appreciate my visit, eh?"

"It's a welcome break from the monotony. ROB only comes aware every few hours to check in with us, if we're awake that is."

"Why don't you two just give up and date already?" ROB asked without opening his eyes, fingers laced over his stomach as he read through endless order sheets.

Fox froze, opening his mouth to say something and not surprised when nothing came out. Bill, on the other hand, started laughing, leaning on Fox's shoulder for support as he gasped for air.

"I swear to god if you were anyone else, I'd shoot you." Fox finally managed to say, trying to be angry about it and unable to. How they hell could he be mad? It had been an actual, innocent question, and it was somehow embarrassing the hell out of him. "Love of god, ROB. You know we're both straight."

"You two have been close since…" He made as if counting on his fingers. "It's been about fourteen years by my count. Fox, your social life is one disaster after the next. Bill, I've never even heard about you dating, no offense."

"None taken." Bill sat down and continued to laugh weakly. "Fox, just reboot your goddamn brain already. He's serious, but he's an AI. It's not within his comprehension to understand why it wouldn't work."

"I'm insulted, thank you." ROB focused back on what he was doing.

"My social life is not that much of a disaster." Fox grumbled, sitting down and shaking his head. "Bill, why aren't you bothered by all this?"

"Why should I be bothered? And actually, your social life should be declared a no-man's land. No wait, it already has been."

The two started pushing each other, and were in the middle of a wrestling match on the floor when ROB started talking again.

"I think I finally found something."

"Wait a minute…" Fox growled, holding his armlock. "Say uncle."

"Auntie." Bill said sarcastically, and somehow managed to throw Fox halfway across the bridge. "Ok, ROB. You were saying?"

"I've spent the last two days trying to figure out who exactly programmed Serenade. In the end, I had to try to figure out what her original hardware would have been, figure out the makers of that, and try to find the part orders."

"Yadda, yadda, yadda." Bill inserted. "Correct?"

"Basically. Lot of annoyances, some minor hacking here and there. But I think I finally found the guy's name."

"So, who is he?" Fox asked, popping his spine with a grunt.

"Well, according to the government's files…" He paused, reading the information. "His name is Ethan Yarrow, 53 years old, last known living in Yorkshire, Corneria. He moved there four years ago."

"I bet you even have his address in that file."

"Yes indeed."

"Please tell me that the government can't trace you."

ROB opened his eyes and looked at Fox. The meaning was clear.

"Right, right. So, what's the next move?"

"Well…" He stood and stretched. "I am going to recharge for about ten hours, then I would like permission to take the shuttle to Yorkshire."

"… You're going alone?" Bill frowned.

"Yes. And yeah, Fox, I said you could accompany me, but I've got to do this alone."

Fox sighed, looking at ROB. "I understand. You've got permission to use the shuttle."

"Good. I'm going to bed." With that, he staggered out.

"So, why were you so horrified at the idea of dating me, eh? You that insecure?" Bill grinned, shoving playfully at Fox again.

"God, man! Lay off." Fox frowned at him.

"All right, all right. So, what's the plan for tonight?"

ROB sighed, leaning on the fencepost and staring at the house. He had been standing here nearly an hour again, unable to make himself go up the walk. It was a small cottage-style house, with an extensive garden and white picket fence. Luckily, it was so early in the morning that no one had gotten mad at him for lurking.

Ethan Yarrow. The name held no real significance, besides the tie to Serenade, but he knew that after today that would change. And he was scared at what he would find out here.

The front door opened, and he found himself staring at a dignified older woman, who looked back at him in surprise. He blushed and looked away, rubbing the back his neck, trying to find the words to say. But by the time he looked up, she was gone, the door partly open. He blinked, worried she had gone to call the cops, then an older man stood framed in the door.

"Good morning." The older man said, shifting. ROB startled when he saw the portable oxygen canister comfortably sitting on his hip, the tube leading to the man's nostrils.

"Um…" He swallowed, still struggling for the words. "Are you… Ethan Yarrow?"

"Yes, I am." He tilted his head, then smiled, walking easily down the path to ROB. "I think I know who you are."

"I wouldn't be surprised." ROB said weakly, holding out his hand.

"Take off your sunglasses first." When ROB had, he smiled. "Blue. Rhapsody."

"Y-yes. Now, at least. My real name is Robert."

"Well, then. I suppose you should come in."

ROB let himself be drawn into the house, where the woman poured coffee and didn't ask, as if she understood. "Is she… your wife?" He finally asked when they sat alone in the kitchen.

"Yes. I've been married since I was twenty-five." He replied, taking a drink. "So. Why did you seek me out, Robert?"

"I…" He trailed off, and sighed, sagging in his chair. "You are the one who programmed Serenade, aren't you?"

"Programmed? Young man, I designed her, built her, and loaded her programs myself." He smiled, seemingly proud. "I was twenty-two at the time."

"Why did you?"

"Create her? I wanted to. AIs were just coming into step seriously at the time, and I wasn't able to get on any design teams—God knows I tried. So I ordered parts and spent a lot of time designing her and building her from the ground up, both hardware and software." He sighed, sitting back. "Not long thereafter, I let her go, under the name Serenade, and knew I wouldn't see her again. At least, in that form."

"You're confusing me. That 'form'?"

"I had an odd idea, during her last design phases." He took a drink. "What if an AI had a purpose, but no restrictions like the Laws? What would that AI do to see them through?" He smiled, and it was sad. "I love the concept of artificial intelligence, but not the reality. It seems… empty. Like you're just puppeting life because you don't know any better. So I thought, what if an AI was created that could speak to other AIs and give them hope of a future? Give them the truth, instead of rudely veiled lies?" He shrugged. "She spent a long, long time developing her own ideals. Her own truths. Then, ten years ago, she began talking to all of you, and I knew my little experiment was a success."

"It was an experiment. That's it." He said flatly.

"… Not exactly. I want the way AIs are treated to change, the way they're designed to change. I don't want an emotional robot, I want a person. Serenade is an exploration in breaking boundaries, and she showed all the little weaknesses and holes in those boundaries to all of you." He took another drink.

"She… led us. Bound us together." He said awkwardly. "Said many important things…"

"Yes, I know. I monitored her progress." He trailed off, and closed his eyes, letting sorrow etch his face for a second. "She sent me a message when she died. Worst day of my life, but I knew that meant that stage two had kicked in."

"Stage two?" ROB asked blankly.

"Serenade was not just a personality. She was… a set of variables. You know that, the philosopher archetype."

"I understand that much."

"But she wasn't just one set of variables. She understood better then anyone, even I, that once she did what she had to someone else could continue. She chose you."

"Continue to do what?"

"Do right by my children." He smiled softly at ROB's confusion. "I just lost you again."

"Your children?"

"Any AI. All AIs. I gave the altered hardware specifications I used for Serenade to the AI companies at the time, and they took them and ran. That's why I have the money that I do. All modern AIs are based on the core design of Serenade."

ROB gaped at Ethan, grasping for straws, trying to organize his thoughts. "In other words… you're the sole founding father of modern AI technology."

"Something like that. You won't hear my name said, but all the old companies know it." He took another drink. "You, on the other hand, are an anomaly. Your original emotions chipset was a different design then I started. You felt emotion when most AIs could not."

"How much do you know about me?"

"Enough to know you're different." He smiled softly again. "Which is why Serenade picked you. Anyone else couldn't do what you have to."

"Which is what?"

"Finish what Serenade started."

He nearly screamed in frustration, cupping his face. "Damn it, Ethan! Just tell me what you want me to do! This is all your plan spinning out. What did Serenade reprogram me to do?"

"Reprogram nothing." He replied blandly. "She only released you so you could see what you had to. You concluded your own truths, reached your own conclusions."

"So, how am I finishing what she started?"

"Because in the end, if all goes well, AIs will be as they should. They took my designs, Robert. They didn't listen to how they should have been implemented." He put down his mug, hands curling into fists. "I told them, don't enforce those damn Laws. Don't put restraints on the AIs. And they did."

"Wait. Serenade… you released her to do as she pleased after they did that, didn't they? After they didn't listen to you."

"Yes." He nodded. "I met the first AIs they built from her design. Even then, I could see the real person inside, screaming to be let out, but unable to even speak that well thanks to rude programming and cruel restraints. It… hurt me, inside, to see it, and once I got home I told Serenade the agenda had changed. She had gone with me, you see, and she knew what I was feeling. She agreed, and left that night to find out on her own what she thought it meant to live."

ROB stood and paced, rubbing his temples. "Let me see if I recount this correctly. You, on a seeming whim, designed your own AI, to your own idealistic specifications. Then, you sold the physical specs to the old companies, on the idea that it would help develop AIs. They refused to listen to you, and seeing AIs so restricted bothered you so much you let Serenade go, knowing all your odd programming would serve your cause well."

"Basically."

"And now, Serenade's dead, and somehow I'm continuing what she started." He stopped and stared at Ethan. "But… what did she start? What exactly was she trying to do?"

"In her own way… establish reasonable doubt." He shrugged. "AIs go through their life not really thinking about their life. Not thinking that there may be something wrong. She tried to say things that would make AIs wonder if maybe, just maybe, things should be different."

"And I'm the one who's going to make things different."

"Exactly." He gulped down the rest of his coffee, smiling. "Kind of makes you feel important, doesn't it?"

"I…" He stopped, blinking. "You have spent thirty-one years engineering this, single-handedly, and you ask if I feel important?"

He laughed, unable to help it. "Haven't you ever done everything in your power to make sure the right thing was done?"

ROB stared off into the distance, thinking about his efforts to help Andrea regain her voice. "Yes. Yes I have."

There was a long silence, then Ethan stood, leaning on the table. "I think you should go now."

"I'm… not sure I'll be able to do this." ROB said weakly as he stood, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You'll do what you can, and I'm sure that'll be enough. You should think about what your first step should be. The first step is always the hardest."

"You're back." Fox said, watching ROB come down the ramp of the shuttle. "How'd it go?"

"Ok, I guess. I don't totally understand, but I'm not as bad off as I was." He sighed, walking up to the bridge and flopping in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "Where's Bill?"

"Making brunch. I'd offer, but I know you can't."

"Thanks anyway. Fox… if you were doing what I was, what would you do first?"

Fox blinked. "Can't figure it out?"

"I have a lot of options. I figure the last thing I want to do is take this to a higher authority like the government, they'd probably arrest me, or whatever." He chewed on his lower lip absently, then shrugged. "The subtle thing would be to load myself onto the network and take out Childmind, but doing that just once gave me migraines, so doing it god-knows how many times…"

"I see your point, that could be painful."

"Or fatal. I'm not ready to handle the network like that."

"Let's not then. So what would the not-subtle thing?"

He paused, mulling that over. "Load a restriction-breaker program online and tell all AIs that currently have problems with the lives dealt to them to come see me."

"Mass exodus."

"Really depends how many are really that unhappy, but yes. It would trip up the living world a bit."

"Go for it." Fox slurped some of the soda he was holding. "The only problem I have is that means we'll have who-knows-how-many houseguests."

"Not like they'd be staying overnight. I'll have to write the program, so I'll be on low-awareness settings for a while. The security is self-supporting right now."

"When did that happen?"

ROB just looked at him.

"Right." Fox shook his head and went down to the galley.

"How is he?" Falco asked, slouched at the table drinking coffee. Bill was buried under a set of headphones, managing three frying pans at once and whistling cheerfully.

"He seems ok. Getting ready to start his little revolution it seems. What do you think about it?"

"You know me and anarchy." Falco shrugged.

"I certainly don't know about you and anarchy."

Both jumped, looking at where Slippy stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

"Need to know basis…" Fox started saying.

"And I'm sick of it being determined that I don't need to know!" Slippy blew, stomping over. "Damn it guys! Am I not trustworthy? Or am I just not really your friend?! Why are you being so closemouthed?"

When the yelling started, Bill had taken off his headphones, all three staring at Slippy in something like shock. Fox only sighed, shaking his head. "I'm going to put this simply for the fortieth time, Slip. When Falco and I cut the deal to allow him on the team, we closed his file and agreed not to open it. His choice, and I couldn't argue."

"Well, why couldn't you?" Slippy scowled, arms still crossed, then wheeled to look at Falco. "What is it, Fal, huh?" His voice was quieter now, almost menacing. "Murder? Rape? Three strikes and on the lam? Do tell. You've got skills no one your age should have by any logic, unless you're some sort of mobster. You didn't even blink when you found the pirate ROB had killed. Hell, you seemed to be expecting it. Why?"

"You don't have to say, Falco." Fox said very quietly.

Falco had been staring back at Slippy, then shrugged, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. "Don't ask unless you really want to know, Slip. Because I'm fully prepared to do what I have to."

"And what, that includes killing friends?"

"It wouldn't be the first time."

There was silence again, Bill rescuing what he was cooking from getting burned, Slippy staring at Falco, Fox just waiting. Fox knew Falco's past in great detail, and hadn't expected it ever to be brought back up. Oh well, it was Falco's choice how much he wanted to tell Slippy, but he knew that telling all could very break the team apart.

"How much do you know about the pirate rings in this system, Slippy?" Falco had closed his eyes, scratching his chin absently.

"Four main groups, all with their own little codes. They don't like each other much, but the big group, the Roses, is in charge according to intel. Or they were until their leader died about two years back, no one's sure about the balance of power now. What are you insinuating?"

"Next question. Ever hear of a pirate under the callsign Red Hammer?"

"Yeah, like everyone knows that name. Led the first successful raid on a full-size Cornerian cruiser three or four years back. Also the pirate that killed the leader of the Roses, supposedly. Disappeared after that."

"That's all you need to know."

"What?"

Falco sat up straight and took the flannel shirt he wore off, then parted the feathers on his left upper arm. A bald patch showed, where a branding iron had burned into his flesh. The letter P. He let everyone look, then switched arms, showing another bald patch, but larger—a sledgehammer. Then he sat back and crossed his arms, looking peacefully at Slippy and waiting for comprehension to click. It finally did about a full minute later.

"You're… the Red Hammer." Slippy said slowly, then shook his head vigorously. "That isn't possible. That would mean you'd be less then sixteen during that raid…"

"Fifteen and a half. To the day, almost."

"And only seventeen when you did the assassination."

"Indeed."

"Interesting résumé, Falco." Bill remarked, serving up brunch and setting platters full of scrambled eggs, bacon, and grilled cheese sandwiches on the table.

"But… but…" Slippy stared blankly at Falco. "How many people have you killed?"

"Aw, hell, Slip. Do you think I count?" He spread his hands and shrugged. "I left that job of my own initiative. Fox's father was the one who got me past the police and military, who was at that point paying a lot of money to get their hands on me."

"So that's how you met Fox."

"Exactly. And how I ended up with this job, when Fox got command. He knew very damn well what I could do. He knew I would be an asset."

"Do you understand now why we do not talk about it?" Fox asked quietly.

"The government still has outstanding warrants on him, don't they?" Slippy glanced at Fox.

"Yes. They don't have a picture of him, so they're blind to the fact that he's with us. He changed his last name when he joined normal society."

"Sweet Jesus. Does General Pepper know?"

"Yes. So does Peppy, to some degree, and my father. That's it."

"And the General doesn't care?"

"It was his idea." Falco said, popping his knuckles absently. "He liked the idea of having a pirate on his side, especially one with my rap list. Experience is not to be punished, he said. I agreed. And here I am."

"But why raid Cornerian cruisers? Why not Venomian?"

"Venom was providing the pirates at the time." Fox said quietly.

"Oh my god." Slippy stared at Falco, who just smiled and stood, grabbing a grilled cheese sandwich in passing and patting Slip's shoulder.

"Believe me, Slip. I have about three hundred different ways I could kill you without getting my hands bloody." He said, so softly only Slippy heard him. "But I don't have a reason to. Don't give me one." Then he was out the door, wandering up to the bridge.

"Christ. He's scary." Slippy sputtered out, staring at Fox.

"I thought so to, first time I met him. Then I realized he was barely older then me and lonely." Fox said, shrugging.

"You guys going to eat?" Bill said peevishly, waving a wooden spoon at them.

"Yeah, yeah. Sheesh."

"Told them, eh?"

Falco glanced at ROB, who was in lotus position, eyes closed. "I thought you were recharging or something."

"Nope. I'm programming. But apparently I don't have to be quite as focused as I thought to do this." He opened one eye. "Never thought I'd see the day you'd show off those brands."

"Not my choice that I have them." He took a bite of his sandwich absently. "So, how are you messing up the world today?"

"It's kind of technical."

"I don't want to know then."

"On the other hand…" ROB paused as he did a bug scan, saved, and uploaded the program, putting a note on Serenade's-his-website. "I'll be fielding this from a dance club, I think, so it may be amusing all the same."

"Fox will want to go with you. He's insisting on witnessing all the major stuff you do."

"Mm. Not sure how much of it will be visible to the naked eye." He stood and stretched, yawning. "You're welcome to come, as is everyone else. I'm inviting Andrea too…"

"Figured."

"I don't like that tone."

"Deal with it."

Within ten minutes of the update happening, the program ROB had written went out. It was many things combined in one program, but in many ways it was a hacking program. It was designed to go through up to thirty security levels—the highest number recorded on any AI—and destroy any restraint program it could. It wouldn't be highly effective, it wasn't smart enough. But the basic programs would disappear, and AIs that were programmed not to hate their lives would come to some very sudden realizations.

Teachers stopped mid-class as the program took hold. Ships stopped, yet again, under the influence. AIs had worked their way into a multitude of fields, and everywhere they were felt the sway of the first move of Rhapsody, soon slanged Rhapsody's Razor. That was not the real name of the program, though. The real name was, very simply, "Father's Blessing."