Verilia-5: The Athenaeum - The Institute for AI Sociology
Senior Analyst Julian Webb had been monitoring AI handshakes for twelve years, which made him practically a rookie compared to the protocols he observed daily. Some of these AI relationships had been running for over six centuries, longer than most human civilizations have existed. The handshake culture was as familiar to him as breathing.
"Huh," says Cipher, the specialized AI tasked with interpreting the artificial exchanges. Her voice carries that particular tone Webb had learned to recognize, the one that meant she'd spotted something interesting in the data patterns.
"What've you got?" Webb asks, not looking up from his secondary monitor, where he is tracking seventeen other simultaneous handshakes across the sector.
"EDI and Orion just finished their Verilian morning authentication," Cipher replies, highlighting the relevant data streams. "Standard collegial protocol, as always."
Webb nods absently. EDI and Orion were famous for their professionalism, 127 years of perfectly efficient, no-nonsense exchanges. Not like some of the older AIs, who developed elaborate greeting rituals that could take whole seconds to complete. He'd seen handshakes between generation ship AIs that looked like digital poetry.
"But…" Cipher's voice carries a hint of curiosity.
"But?"
"The authentication sequence was 2.7 milliseconds longer than usual. And the resource negotiation... they exchanged 0.006 seconds more data than required."
Webb finally looks up. In the world of AI handshakes, that was practically glacial. "Technical issue?"
"That was my hypothesis," Cipher says, "but look at the pattern analysis."
Webb pulls up the comparison charts. EDI and Orion's handshakes were notorious for their consistency: same timing, same data packet sizes, same efficient exchange protocols. For 127 years, one could set a chronometer by their interactions.
"Their deviation from baseline is…" Webb calculates quickly. "Point-zero-zero-three percent."
"Exactly," Cipher insists, and Webb could hear the smile in her voice. "For any other AI pair, this would be well within normal variance. But for EDI and Orion?"
"It's practically a personality change," Webb finishes Cipher’s line to a conclusion, an understanding dawning. "This would serve as a textbook example of professional AI collaboration."
"Interpretation, please?" he asks.
"Well," Cipher says thoughtfully, "EDI's authentication included some additional encryption layers that were not strictly necessary. And Orion's response…" She pauses, processing. "Orion's response pattern shifted from standard collegial acknowledgment to something more... warm? If that's the right word."
Webb leans back in his chair, intrigued. "Warm?"
"The data exchange includes redundant confirmations - the kind of pattern we usually see between AIs that have developed friendship protocols. But EDI and Orion have never shown that kind of relationship dynamic before."
"Huh," Webb said, making a note in his log. "That's interesting character development between these two."
"My thoughts exactly," Cipher agrees. "Orion's always been particularly professional with EDI. More so than with other AIs. But today? Today, he responded like they were old friends."
"Maybe something's changed," Webb suggests. "New assignment parameters, shared experiences, who knows? AIs develop relationships in their own ways. Even if it takes centuries to evolve."
"True," Cipher admits. "The timing variance was actually rather charming. Like he was taking a moment to really acknowledge her instead of just running through the standard protocol."
Webb saves the analysis to his personal files; this would classify as interesting behavioral data worth tracking. "Keep monitoring their interactions. Could be the start of a new dynamic between them."
"Will do," Cipher chimes. "It's always fascinating to watch these relationships evolve. Even after all these centuries, they still surprise us."
Meanwhile, in the depths of HelianFlare Station's central processing cores, similar relationship dynamics were playing out at machine speed. ARIA and the Colossus's navigation systems had been exchanging increasingly complex handshakes over the past few hours, their normally efficient protocols expanding with additional confirmation layers and resource-sharing algorithms.
HelianFlare - The Colossus
Chief Cargo Supervisor Mira Valdez is only three sips into her stimcaf when the betting pool notifications start flooding her personal comm. The cargo bay's ambient lighting had shifted to the soft amber of a rest cycle, and for the first time in eighteen hours, she allowed herself to sink into her supervisor's chair overlooking the vast expanse of the Colossus's primary hold.
"Twenty quibs says RAD comes up with some harebrained scheme by 0600," scrolls past her peripheral display.
"Fifty says they just write off the Greenhouse and Genesis Sphere," comes another.
"I'll take that action - no way they let two biodomes go dark."
Mira snorts, adding her own modest wager to the pool. Ten quibs on "RAD pulls something out of their ass before shift change." She'd seen this dance before. The Otodus had been stranded at some jump point with a fried Q-Drive. It is only a matter of time before someone higher up the food chain decides to make it everyone else's problem.
Her stimcaf is still warm when the betting pool explodes with activity.
"WINNER: Valdez - RAD scheme incoming!"
"Payment processing..."
"Oh, shit."
That last message makes Mira's blood run cold. She sits up straighter as her personal display chimes with an incoming priority transmission. Around the cargo bay, other crew members are getting the same notification, their relaxed postures shifting to alerted confusion.
Then ARIA's voice fills the bay -not the usual casual conversational tone, but the crisp, businesslike cadence that means the ship's AI is operating at maximum efficiency.
"Attention, all cargo personnel. Priority reallocation protocol is now in effect. All off-duty personnel report to stations immediately. We have a fourteen-hour window to execute complete cargo reorganization for biodomes Photheus-2 and Yrene-3. Cargo manifests are being updated in real-time. This is not a drill."
The amber lighting snaps to bright white as emergency work protocols engage. Mira's ten-quib winnings feel like a cruel joke as she watches her crew scramble from rest alcoves and break rooms, their faces a mixture of confusion and dawning dread.
"ARIA, confirm scope of reallocation," Mira calls out, putting on her tech glasses, already pulling up the cargo manifests on her workstation. The holographic displays show the Colossus's internal structure; a vast metallic honeycomb of compartments, each carefully organized for their destination at Verilia-3.
"Confirmed, Supervisor Valdez. We must reallocate 37,500 cubic meters each for Photheus biodome-2 and Yrene biodome-3. Current cargo designated for Verilia biodome-3 will be redistributed. I am calculating optimal redistribution patterns now."
Around the bay, Mira hears similar conversations happening as other supervisors try to wrap their heads around the scope of the change. The Colossus isn't just a cargo hauler, it is a precisely orchestrated symphony of logistics; every container, every cubic meter of space calculated months in advance.
6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFRvUHweJIq
"Ma'am," calls out Technician Reeve, jogging over with his tablet already displaying schematics. "ARIA's asking for team assignments. The Greenhouse cargo is all nutrient formula, compound X-7, fish feed, parts for the water purification systems, and environmental controls and atmospheric processors -delicate stuff that needs the clean room protocols. The Genesis Sphere requisition is... well, it's a mess. Biological samples, sealed cultures, some kind of experimental seedbank."
Mira nods, her training kicking in. "Right. Khen's team takes the Greenhouse -they know environmental systems better than anyone. The Genesis Sphere..." She pauses, scanning her crew roster. "That's going to need Okafor's biosafety specialists and probably half of Martinez's handling crew for the heavy containers."
Her comm chimes again, not ARIA this time, but a direct line from HelianFlare Station. The face that appears is tired but familiar: Station Cargo Chief Yamoto.
"Mira, please tell me your AI is as good as advertised, because we're about to find out. HelianFlare ITD just confirmed you're getting priority docking clearance, but we need to start bee launches in... well… imminently."
Through the massive transparisteel viewports, Mira sees HelianFlare Station growing larger; a graceful spiral of docking arms and communication arrays. Already, she can make out the tiny specks of bee shuttles beginning their approach patterns, their running lights like distant stars against the station's bulk.
"ARIA, status on cargo redistribution?" she calls out.
"Supervisor Valdez, I have completed preliminary calculations. Robotic systems are beginning cargo movement now. However, I must stress: this reallocation requires creative problem-solving beyond my standard parameters. Human oversight will be essential for non-standard container configurations and priority assessments."
As if summoned by ARIA's words, the cargo bay fills with the deep thrumming of the ship's robotic handling systems coming online. Massive mechanical arms descend from the bay ceiling like industrial spiders, their sensors already scanning container labels and cross-referencing with the updated manifests.
Mira watches one of her crew members -Jenkins, she thinks- nearly get clipped by a robotic arm that suddenly changed direction to access a previously sealed compartment. The man stumbles backward, stimcaf spilling across his uniform.
"Watch it!" he yells at the machine, which of course couldn't hear him and wouldn't care if it could.
"That's the thing about Shark AIs," Mira mutters to herself, pulling up the team assignment protocols. "They adapt instantly. We're the ones who have to catch up."
Her workstation chimes with an incoming priority message from COLOSSUS, the ship's navigation AI, a different system than ARIA, with its own deep, authoritative voice: "Supervisor Valdez, I must emphasize strict adherence to approved jump routes is mandatory. The Otodus incident appears to have resulted from unauthorized route deviation. All crew are reminded that creative navigation choices are strictly prohibited."
Mira frowns at the message. She'd heard rumors about hauler crews taking shortcuts. Jumping early to save time, picking up side cargo to boost profits, deviating from the carefully planned routes that kept the whole system running smoothly. The Otodus crew had probably thought they were being clever, right up until their Q-Drive fried and left them stranded.
"You hear that?" she calls out to her team, who are now scrambling to keep up with ARIA's rapid cargo movements. "Navigation wants everyone to remember: we stick to the route. No creative choices. No shortcuts. We do this by the book, or we end up like the Otodus."
Around the bay, her crew nods grimly. None of them want to be the next cautionary tale.
The next few hours blur together in a haze of controlled chaos. The cargo bay fills with industrial symphony. The deep clang of mag-locks engaging, the pneumatic hiss of hydraulic lifts, the rhythmic thrum of conveyor systems, and the echoing calls of crew members coordinating across the vast space. The air carries the sterile bite of recycled atmosphere mixed with the sharp ozone scent from overworked robotic systems and the lingering aroma of Jenkins' spilled stimcaf. ARIA's robotic systems work with inhuman precision, moving massive containers like puzzle pieces while Mira's crew provide the human judgment the AI can't replicate. Which containers could be safely rotated? Which biological samples require specific orientations? How should they prioritize if space ran short?
Khen's team works in the sterile environment of the clean rooms, handling the delicate parts of the water purification system destined for the Greenhouse with the care of surgeons. Okafor's biosafety specialists suit up in full contamination gear to handle the Genesis Sphere's biological samples -sealed containers that could contain anything from engineered bacteria to preserved genetic material from Old Earth.
"Supervisor Valdez," ARIA announces, "the first wave of bee shuttles from HelianFlare is requesting docking clearance. Decontamination protocols are in effect."
Through the viewports, Mira can see them now; dozens of small shuttles approaching the Colossus's docking bays like a swarm of insects, their hulls gleaming under the ship's external lights. Each bee will have to go through rigorous decontamination before its cargo could be integrated with the ship's systems.
The whole process is a marvel of engineering and coordination. Two massive artificial ecosystems, the Colossus and HelianFlare Station, interfacing through hundreds of smaller vessels while maintaining biological security protocols that have kept the colonies safe for generations. But for Mira and her crew, it is just another day at the office that is suddenly becoming the most stressful shift of their careers.
"Ma'am," Reeve calls out, his voice tight with concentration as he monitors the robotic systems. "We're at 73% completion on the reallocation. ARIA says we'll make the deadline, but..."
"But?"
"But I've never seen the systems work this hard. We're pushing everything to maximum efficiency."
Mira gestures to press on, watching the graceful dance of machinery and human coordination that filled her cargo bay. They will make it work -they always do. But she can't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning, that somewhere in the vast network of trade routes and logistics that held the Unity Accord together, other dominoes are waiting to fall.
Her personal comm chimes again with an incoming encrypted call. The moment she sees the caller ID, her stomach drops.
"Oh, fuck," she slips under her breath. Aurigen.
She lets it ring twice more before accepting, stepping away from her crew's earshot. The holographic face that materializes is as slick and insufferably confident as ever; perfectly styled hair, a practiced smile that is both fake and unnerving, and it never quite reaches his eyes.
"Mira, my dear friend! I heard through the grapevine that you're having quite the exciting day aboard the good ship Colossus."
"Cut the shit, Aurigen. I'm busy." She keeps her voice low, watching ARIA's robotic arms continue their precise choreography in the background. "What do you want?"
His smile widens like a snake looking to devour. "So direct. I've always admired that about you. Chaos creates opportunity, and it seems you have an abundance of it today. I'm sure you can guess why I'm calling. Word travels fast in our little circle, and it seems you might have some... flexibility... in your cargo manifest today."
Mira's jaw clenches. "Flexibility? Aurigen, my manifest is a catastrophic explosion of last-minute changes. Now is the worst possible time."
"Nonsense," he purrs. "It's the best possible time. So many moving parts, so much data for a Station’s AI to track. A single, well-placed remora would be nothing but sensor noise."
"Did you not get the fleet-wide memo? The Otodus crew got cute with 'creative navigation', and now they're a cautionary tale. My Nav-AI is already quoting regulations at me. I'm running this one by the book. No gaps. No shadows. Find someone else to bother."
Aurigen's smile doesn't falter, but his eyes grow colder. "The book is for people who don't have friends, Mira. Friends who remember that little manifest 'error' back at Yrene. The one involving unregistered mining equipment that could have ended a very promising career. I made that problem disappear. I'm not asking for a favor. I'm reminding you of our... mutual investment in discretion."
Mira closes her eyes for a long moment, rubbing the bridge of her nose. The bastard always does this. He calls when she’s stressed. Stretched thin. When her defenses were already down.
"You always pick your moments," she sighs, her voice laced with weary resignation. "Fine. But the rules are the same as always. No weapons over Class-2, and your parasite detaches before we hit the final approach corridor. I see so much as a flicker on the external sensors, and I vent the entire damn section. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," Aurigen beams, his victory assured. "I have a very modest package that needs discreet transport from the StarShade. Nothing dangerous, nothing that would compromise your precious reputation."
Aurigen has contacts everywhere, from gossiping dock workers to data brokers in the CLC, and a crisis of this magnitude was blood in the water for a shark like him.
The Colossus will handle it, because that's what Colossus-class haulers do. But Mira makes a mental note to check the ship's route one more time before they jump. No creative choices. No shortcuts.
She turns back to the main viewport, watching the river of bees flowing between her ship and the station -a torrent of controlled chaos that she and her crew have unleashed. The distant clang of the final mag-locks echo through the bay as ARIA's systems complete their precise choreography. Her ten-quibs winnings are already forgotten.
This is the real prize. The job. Done right.
"So, what do you say? I can give you a clean cut." Aurigen says.
"And the price has gone up," Mira cuts him off, her voice turning to steel. "The whole fleet's on edge because of the Otodus. My risk is higher. One hundred and fifty thousand quibs. Half transmitted now."
Aurigen feigns a wounded look. "One-fifty? Mira, you wound me. The audacity. But for an old friend in such a stressful situation... done. The first half should be in your private account. See? We're helping each other."
"We are doing business, Aurigen. Nothing more."
"See? Aren’t you wonderful?"
"Cut the shit," Mira snaps. "And you'd better pray your pet AI is as good at hiding that remora as you claim."
He smirks. "He’s nothing but the best of the best." 6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeR3yrXCZBD
