“We’re in a sync window,” said Jackson. “Find out.”
“It wasn’t very effective,” Beanfield pointed out. “They didn’t get any closer than usual.”
“The battle did actually take eight seconds longer,” Gilly said. “That’s almost a whole standard deviation.”
“Only because some of them stayed out of pulse range.”
“That’s still longer.”
“So?” Beanfield said.
“They’re learning.”
“They’re always varying their tactics,” Jackson said. “That’s not new.”
“But it isn’t random. Almost everything they try is more effective than before. It’s steady improvement. And that shouldn’t be possible, because we leave no survivors. They have no feedback on each tactic they try.”
“This feels like a question for back home,” Jackson said. “Or the ship.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “It’s just curious.”
“You’re curious,” Beanfield said.
“All right,” said Jackson. The salamander cloud vanished. “Anders can catch up in his own time. We have an all-hands from Len, but let me give you the spoilers. We’re going into VZ.”
VZ was Violet Zone, an area devoid of beacons and relays. Ships that went into VZ couldn’t sync at all.
There was a moment of silence. Beanfield said, “How long?”
“It’s situational,” Jackson said. “Depends on what we find. You know that.”
“There must be an estimate.”
“Listen to Len,” said Jackson, and keyed a video.
Len’s upper half appeared above the table, looking more somber than usual. “Evening, monkeys. Hope you’re well. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it: Strategic Command is sending you on a trip to VZ. All expenses paid, but it’s going to be a long one. Preliminary estimate is six months.”
He thought he’d misheard. Beanfield said, “Six months? Six months with no sync?”
It was funny: They’d talked about VZ before and the joke was that Gilly would love it, since there would be no interviews, no one badgering him to record clips for his feed, just them and the ship. But six months was a long time to go dark. Even for him. No messages. No new books or movies. He said, “We must be going deep.”
“We’re winning the war,” Jackson said. “It’s where you go to find the enemy now.”
“Boy,” said Beanfield. On the table, Len continued to burble. “Anders will be a challenge.”
“Well,” Jackson said, “that’s what you’re here for.”
“Mmm,” said Beanfield. Gilly liked Beanfield a lot, but sometimes she seemed to be under the impression that her job was the most important thing anyone did. In reality, it was the other three of them who ran the ship. Beanfield was only monitoring them. “If we win the war, can we go home early?”
“Yes, we can,” Jackson said.
“We missed what Len was saying,” said Beanfield. “Can you rewind?”
“No,” said Jackson. “Rewatch on your own time.”
“In other news,” said Len, “from what I hear, we’re signing with Freco to produce the next generation of warship. So you’ll all be obsolete in about eight years.”
“Ugh,” Beanfield said. “Freco.”
“What’s wrong with Freco?” Gilly said.
She glanced at the Surplex logo on his jacket. “Aren’t they your competitor?”
“Yes. But Freco is fine. I’m not married to Surplex.”
“Don’t let the ship hear you say that,” said Beanfield.
“What do you have against Freco?”
“It opposed the war. Don’t you remember those ads?”
“Only at first. It changed its mind with new data.” Freco had a lot of political opinions and spent big to share them. But that wasn’t unusual; many companies lobbied for or against various things, for reasons Gilly didn’t care too much about.
“Well,” she said, “that’s shifty.”
“You’re anthropomorphizing,” Gilly said. “Mental flexibility is desirable in an AI.” Like Surplex, Freco’s executive decision-making was largely controlled by software. That was practically the most valuable thing about each company now: its machine intelligence code. It was used everywhere and guided everything.
“Shouldn’t have computers in charge anyway,” Jackson said. This was an outdated opinion, and Gilly let it go.
Anders entered. “What’d I miss?”
“Sit down,” said Beanfield.
“Len!” Anders said. “You’ve lost weight, you handsome devil.” He squeezed into a seat. His hand was wrapped in clear plastic.
“No sync window for six months,” Gilly said.
“That’s preliminary,” Beanfield said. “That’s only an estimate.”
“Bullshit,” Anders said, and looked to Gilly, who shrugged.
“You know what,” Beanfield said. “There are actually some pretty cool mental stimulation programs we can run in VZ that we’re not normally allowed.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I have to check.”
“Fuck me,” Anders said.
“Anders,” Jackson said.
“Six months?” Anders said, and stood, for no apparent reason.
“We always knew this was a possibility,” Gilly said.
“Sit your ass down,” Beanfield said.
“I’m sorry,” Anders said. “I’m feeling the need to externalize my feelings. Don’t you say I should do that?”
“There’s a time and place.”
Len began to talk about election news. Anders said, “Shut up, Len.”
“You should appreciate Len while you can,” Gilly said. “You won’t see him for a while.”
“Len can bite me,” Anders said. He began to unbuckle.
“Anders!” said Beanfield. “Stop that. Anders. No one wants to see that.”
Anders shucked his pants. He had a long penis. They had all seen it a few times. “Let’s go, Len. Right here.”