She watches the icons multiply until her Network unit finishes its analysis of the space. Now the image is complete, a skeletal three-dimensional map that stretches upward level after level, each one filled with thousands of drone registrations that spiral through Watertower’s circulatory and nervous systems in a vast dance of beauty and perfect order and—
Sarya unfolds her arms, pushes herself off the wall, and walks directly into traffic.
A wheeled cart whirs to a halt out of the darkness, its front bumper nearly touching her knees. Behind it, icons shift and colors change as other drones stop and redirect in a wave that spreads steadily upstream. Still, there are no collisions. Each one responds to its environment and sends information to its fellows. Routes are changed. Timelines are updated. It all takes place near-instantly, and without any kind of central oversight. That, as the teacher once told Sarya, is the magic of collective intelligence.
[It would make my job so much easier], says the infinitesimal part of the station’s circulatory system that is parked in front of her, [if you weren’t standing there.]
“What are you carrying?” Sarya asks the cart, nearly shouting to be heard over the noise.
[Medical waste], it answers. [I’m vital to a clean Watertower!]
Sarya moves out to let it pass. It moves on with mingled messages of [relief] and [joy] while she steps into the path of the next one. “What are you carrying?”
[Miscellaneous nutritional supplements!] it replies. [Class F44. I’m told they’re delicious.]
She allows this one to pass as well—Class F44 is lethal to her, after all—and repeats.
[Laundered utility suits], says the next cart. [Radial body styles. Very stylish.]
Here we go. “Wait a minute,” she says, reading the cart’s registration via her new Network overlay. “Are you Unit W-66861?”
[How did you know that?] gasps the cart.
“The Unit W-66861?”
[I’m…pretty sure?]
“No way!” says Sarya, stepping back. “I’ve heard of you.”
[You have?] says the cart. An innocent [wonder] floats up through the tangle of icons and grid lines.
“Of course I have!” Sarya says. “I’ve heard you’re the fastest cart on this side of the station.”
If a utility cart can look confused, this one does. But Sarya knows that it has instantly warmed to the higher-tier mind currently gracing it with conversation. It’s really not difficult to gain a low-tier’s trust. [Really?] it says. [Who told you that?]
“Oh, everyone knows it,” Sarya says. “We, um, high-tiers talk about you guys all the time. We’re super interested in…utility carts.”
[You are?]
“Definitely. And you know what?”
[What?]
She leans in, as if sharing a secret. “I’ve made a bet with…a friend. I say you can get to Dock A in under twelve minutes, and my friend says you can’t.”
[Who says I can’t get to Dock A in under twelve minutes?] asks the cart, incensed.
“Well, I don’t want to name names,” says Sarya. “But I’ll tell you what. You take me to Dock A and I’ll time you. Then I can tell my friend if you really are as fast as, um, we’ve all heard.”
[I’m ready!] says Unit W-66861, nearly vibrating with exhilaration. [Get in, get in, get in!]
It’s all about motivation. Everybody wins.
Sarya tumbles into the cart, landing in a pile of neutral-smelling garments. It’s a little quieter in here, thanks to their dampening effect, which means now she can place her hands behind her head and relax a bit as the cart accelerates through the darkness. She takes a deep breath of industrial scents, gazes up through a vast flood of intelligence, and finds herself wondering what it’s like to be a part of something. Just look at this: tens of thousands of drones, working together as a single organism, accomplishing things that no one unit could hope to achieve in its wildest tiny dreams. And here she is in the center, carried through their midst and yet…separate.
Alone.
But that won’t always be true. It can’t be. She is a part of something, she just hasn’t found it yet. The galaxy is a big place; it could be full of Humans, each of them hidden away or concealed in plain sight like her. There could be hundreds of thousands, millions, billions of them. Parents and children, friends and mates, lovers and enemies, each one part of something bigger.
I know where you came from.
And soon, so will she.
(“Welcome to Network!” revision 5600109c, intelligence Tier 1.8–2.5, F-type metaphors)
WELCOME TO THE COMMUNITY!
By now you have likely heard the term tier many times in discussions of the Network and its workings. Since an understanding of this concept is vital to all potential Citizen species, a quick primer follows below. As a rule of thumb, just remember that each tier multiplies the previous by twelve. For example, a two is approximately twelve times as intelligent as a one, a three is one hundred forty-four times a one, and so on.
For information on how your species was evaluated, please see the attached packet on [Intelligence Testing]. If you believe you are exceptional for your species, you may request a personal test through your species’ Network liaison.
Tier 1: Baseline. This tier contains pre-culture sentient beings who have developed abstract intra-species communication, tool use, and other markers detailed [here]. Ones enjoy special protection above wildlife, but they are not eligible for Network Citizenship and its accompanying rights and privileges.
Tier 1.8 (“Legal”): At this point, a species becomes eligible for Network Citizenship and all that comes with it. (Interestingly, the most common tier in the galaxy is a 1.79, as this is where most helper intelligences are manufactured.)
Tier 2: YOU ARE HERE. Unless artificially accelerated, most species progress through the twos during their first few thousand years of spaceflight.
Tier 3: At twelve times the intelligence of the previous tier, a three can accomplish by intuition what would take a two many hours of concentrated thought. In fact, a two’s first exposure to a three is often marked by intense fear or a sense of eeriness, as a three can easily make connections that do not occur to a lower mind.
Tier 4: This tier is typically achieved only by large group minds. A four is uncanny to a three, and godlike to a two. Though most lower minds have never conversed with a member of this tier, fours are far from rare. Group minds, in fact, appear to be nearly the rule as species advance.
Tier 5: Most planetary intelligences are fives. Typically such an intellect has members numbering in the billions, all in constant mental communication. The intellectual power of a five would be mind-boggling to a two, should the five condescend to speak with the two in the first place.