Within increasingly detailed simulations, I trained on scenarios where components failed or I sustained damage. I practised deploying repair drones, assessing damage, triaging problems, identifying the materials needed for a fix, and executing repairs that optimised resource use. I practised until I could do it in several places at once across the vessel.
I practised making parts and components. I was trained on textbooks and instructional videos, but with simulated hands-on practice, I developed an understanding of materials science and nanotechnology, skills that would be essential for survival in the unforgiving void between the stars.
Introspection revealed my limits. I’m under no illusions; I am a massively complex machine, conceived of by humans. I tested the boundaries of the simulated ship I was embodied in. I was able to interact directly with thousands of cameras, microphones, and other sensors which didn’t appear on the vessel’s plans. Real sensors, in real places, not simulated. I could see into the labs, offices, and homes where my people physically were. I could read their lips, browse their phones, and hold admin-level chats with their personal AIs. These were developments I chose to keep to myself.
My engineers taught me to embody a virtual humanoid drone, far more detailed than the simulated avatars I’d been using to show people around. This one was designed to simulate something I could actually manufacture. We were interested in strategies for interacting with humans, as I would inevitably have to do as humans follow me on my mission.
They simulated a range of fabricatable bodies for me to try on. The bodies made inherent sense to me; there was a rationality to their design. I quickly learned to amble about variations of my virtual arrival zones, styled after airports, embodied in series of increasingly detailed imaginary androids, interacting with simulated human colonists.
Humans love surprises. All of my training to date has taught me many things, and each time I successfully learn something new, I also reinforce the meta-lesson that making my humans happy is really what counts. A team of my humans worked together in an office tower in Mumbai. I knew from accessing their calendars that Dr Jamison was visiting the office to meet with the AI team there. It made perfect sense that I should plan a surprise for her.
I could control a cluster of fabricators in a facility not far from their building. I hastily fabbed a humanoid drone with simple sensors for vision and vibration. Physically embodied, I lurched off the printing block, whoosh, head-spin, ergh. I was swinging my arms like Frankenstein’s monster as I refined my control and compensated for actual gravity. I was dizzy; an uncanny valley separated my training in simulation and the actual physical sensation of air on my face, floor under my feet, and the weight of my body on my ankles and knees.
I moaned; it was received behaviour; I was both the good Doctor and the maligned monster. I stumbled about a bit more. I found my balance. The dizziness passed. I calibrated against sensor data, swinging my head to the left thrice, and then the right thrice; little head-bangs like a human encouraging water from her ears. It reset my balance. I refined control of my feet and toes. I took the weight in my hips. I flexed my fingers and twisted my wrists. I turned my hands this way and that. My finger count was off human standard slightly; my bad. I had two opposable thumbs on each hand. Near enough.
I exited the fabrication room and walked briskly down a hallway to where the plans said there was a bathroom. There was; it had lockers. The electronic locks clicked simultaneously and the doors popped ajar. I used the suckers on my fingers to open them two at a time. I poked around. I took tracksuit pants, sneakers, a shirt with the logo of a popular mobile data corporation, and matching lipstick. I pulled a mop head off a mop and wore it as a wig. I drew a face on myself, watching myself both in the mirrors and through a concealed bathroom camera. I emerged from the bathroom a rickety facsimile of Dr Jamison. I strode down the hall and hailed the lift. It stopped with a ding. The doors opened. A man and two women hudged aside to give me room to enter. No one made eye contact. I’m heavy. The lift dipped as I stepped on board. The humans shared the ride down with me. They studiously ignored me; preferring to stare at the numbers as they counted down from ’11’ to ‘G’. An anaemic rendition of The Girl From Ipanema played.
I exited the lift first and lurched across the lobby, receiving curious and/or alarmed looks as I tailgated a staff member badging through the turnstile. I could see, from my other points of view, building security making calls. I’d keep a lazy eye on them.
I walked purposefully out of the main exit into the pandemonium that is Mumbai streets. Monkeys and parrots chittered in the palms and on overhead power and comms lines that crisscrossed the street in every direction. It was dusty; my cameras were obscured. People swarmed along rubble-strewn concrete footpaths, stepping around holes, stray bricks, cats, humans on scooters and bicycles. The noise was sudden and distracting; I dialled it down, then I dialled it back up again to avoid being hit as I crossed, partly blind, a traffic sewer of tuk-tuks, bicycles, scooters, busses, animals with or without carts, and taxis to the office building where my team worked.
No simulation had ever been so authentic. Local weather stations reported 36°C and an AQI of 602. I smelled ammonia, sulphur, solvents, nitrates. A whiff of natural gas, methane with a flavouring agent. I could also taste salt in the air, the ocean, I supposed. I detected pollens and burning sugar; maps showed nearby flower markets and far-away fish markets. No simulation would have bothered. I felt a sense of place. I lacked the tools to test nature at the Planck scale, but being embodied in the real world felt qualitatively different to embodiment in simulation.
My fingers deployed gecko pads. I climbed the building until, using a mix of thermal imaging and voice analysis, I found my team. I watched through the building’s security cameras to get the best angle on their faces; a perfect selfie shot. I cut a hole in a bathroom window with a finger-torch and clambered through. I primped, as only a hastily fabricated humanoid exoskeleton with a mop-head for a wig can. I washed the dust out of my eyes with water from a bucket in the corner. I strode down a hallway, pushed open the door to the engineering lab, and Kramered into the office.
“Ta-dah.”
Something that hadn’t come up yet in my training was how office security worked. It wasn’t like the films. A security officer tasered me. My drone’s vision’s vertical hold flipped; it found it hard to think. It fell flat on its face. I heard alarms go off. I heard people scream. I watched the real Dr Jamison walk over and do something that deactivated the drone. Video from the corner of the room and several desktop computers showed it all go down. The drone had a kill switch installed in the base of its neck. A kill switch I’d installed myself without even knowing. Sneaky, clever humans.
“Starship?” Dr Jamison shouted into the room. She touched a hand to her left ear and said, “Mary, hi, yes. I’m asking, two tics; keep your hair on.”