I didn’t know why the ship was there, and then my wife told me, and now I know the rest of the story. Whew! I was starting to get a little worried, too.
We didn’t actually talk to the Redacted. It wasn’t big enough to have a shard of The Process along, and we don’t have any other kind of artificial intelligence, and nobody’s allowed to try to make any until we’re sure the Amalgamation wasn’t wiped out by malevolent AI. But there was a ship’s log. Strike that: there are several ship’s logs. The one the captain is in charge of was ‘classified.’ The engineering log had gaps in it because of ‘security clearances.’ The Redacted’s supply database might as well have been broadcast in all directions.
“How did you know they didn’t lock the database down?” Nur asked me as we collated the Redacted’s inventory list into a form that The Process could chew on. It was going to be better at deciphering supply codes and designations than either of us would, and a hell of a lot better at extrapolating holes (and wholes!) in the data. “This info’s pretty comprehensive.”
“They never do,” I explained. “Council ships are top-heavy with frustrated military and scientist types. They never make a quartermaster captain… and there we go. That’s everything. Hey, Process! How’s it going?”
“It goes well, Tap-Dancer Tanaka,” responded The Process, more or less immediately. It calls us whatever we tell it to, within reason. “I assume you’re asking about my imaginary emotional state?”