In Hood’s defense, the positive impact of their partnership could not be denied. When that sub-legal shuttle had broken its communication equipment and wandered off, was it not a Good Thing that Hood and Sandy found it and returned it to its station? And when that group of legal intelligences had set up a shantytown in a refinery’s engineering level, was it not a Good Thing when Hood crashed in and dragged them out four at a time? And most dramatic of all: when that Interstellar brushed the edge of the solar system in the control of a homemade AI instead of a registered Network mind, was it not a Good Thing that Hood and Sandy were there to submit a full report? As they watched the Network defense systems make short work of the intruder, Sandy knew exactly what Hood was thinking: he was doing his duty as a Network Citizen member.
But it couldn’t last forever.
On their last day together, Sandy found Hood in the cargo bay. He stood facing away from her, examining the giant pressure suit they had just tracked down, a full lightsecond from its home base. It was sub-legal, but had been charmed into aiding and abetting a rogue android with a penchant for grand larceny. The android itself—and the stack of android parts he stole—lay in a corner of the bay, deactivated.
[Meet my new Series 11], Hood said without facing her. His long arm ran across its curved and gleaming surface. [Apparently the owner would prefer to sell it at a discount rather than take it back for the bounty.]
[A purchase?] Sandy said. She attached a surprised emotion to the message, but even without it Hood would never suspect the truth: he thought he had purchased it, but he had not. Sandy had, using Hood and his credit as easily as if they were two of her paws.
[It was quite the opportunity], he said, still facing away. [I cannot find anything wrong with it physically, and the mind—well, one sub-legal is like any other. I’m sure the last owner was simply careless with its orders.]
He was wrong, but Sandy did not correct him. No two minds are alike, not even in the vastness of the Network. Each has its own distinct inner workings—and therefore its own unique set of levers for influence and motivation. That is the way to get what you want: motivation, not orders. Lead a mind to think it came to a decision or an action by itself, and it will follow that choice to the end of the galaxy. Inspiration, not command. Choice, not force. Guidance, the filtering of input, the planting of ideas, the gentle shaping of the psyche itself…that is how you control an intelligence.
Exhibit A: Hood himself.
[It is time for me to leave this solar system], Hood said.
Sandy said nothing, but she was already bored. She had planned this exchange long ago, but she had to see it out.
[I will be returning to my home system], he said. And then he sent the message that sealed his fate: [After I return you to your academy.]
[But I do not want to go to the academy], Sandy said. She said it not because it would make a difference, but because he would expect it.
[I know it], he said, and sighed. [Our partnership has been profitable. It has been fulfilling. It has been…wrong. I have come to realize that you have a greater future than I—and that I have been selfish for keeping you with me.]
Sandy waited a long moment, as if she were shaken, as if she had not planned both sides of this conversation long ago. [Then let me complete one more mission with you], she said. [Let us make one more thing right before we part.]
Hood turned to face her with a grind that shook the floor. He stood on the deck that would soon belong to Sandy, and his four eyes burned down at her from behind the faceplate that she would soon hang on her wall. [Where?] he asked.
[A place called Watertower Station], she answered.
Watertower Station, a mining settlement like a hundred thousand others in the solar system. A place so boring and unremarkable that it hadn’t required the services of someone like Hood in years. And yet, a place where a person (tier undisclosed, but certainly high) had just begun putting out feelers for a very dangerous operation involving Network fraud. A falsely registered individual was to be retrieved from its murderous caretaker and returned to the client. A wrong to be righted, a challenge to be met, and a monetary reward to be collected: Sandy knew that this was the type of mission that spoke to Hood. She also knew it was the type that required more than a touch of good luck.
And Hood didn’t know it, but his good luck had ended.
But that’s the thing with luck; it comes and it goes, and lower intelligences never suspect that it has a source. If her partner had recently purchased a suit with rebellious tendencies without consulting Sandy, wasn’t that just bad luck? And if he took said suit on a ticklish mission, wasn’t that more of the same? Particularly if that suit was primed with certain ideas discussed in its presence. All minds have natures, after all, and those natures can only act in a limited number of ways. If rebellious suits find ways around their orders, if children run to their parents when threatened, if those parents protect their children, if giant bounty hunters with inflexible ethics refuse to leave missions unfinished—aren’t they all acting according to their natures? Sandy, for her part, could only do the same. She was the innocent bystander, the partner dutifully guiding ice loaders into Riptide’s cargo bay as Hood’s fate unfolded. Any outside observer would think her unaware that she was soon to be bereaved, the inheritor of Hood’s ship and sizable credit account.
But the Watertower mission did not go as Sandy hoped; it went better. It escalated in ways that even she could not have foreseen. Event followed event as player after player entered the game. On the station, she watched rumors send waves of panic through every corridor. A ship called Blazing Sunlight (a tier four!) rushed to the front of the docking queue when those rumors became public. One of the massive ice ships began to spin slowly out of control. Sandy watched the whole thing wide-eyed, overwhelmed by the magnitude of her success. She had put this into action: she, Sandonivas Ynne Merra. She felt unstoppable then, inevitable, an absolute force of nature. When she canceled the contract with the client—citing unforeseen death of partner—she had to watch herself so she did not accidentally attach a joyful emotion. When she padded into the room where the Strongarm lay in suspended animation, it was difficult to keep her face free of delight. She nearly danced as she climbed up his fur and flicked the device on his chest.
[Where am I?] asked the Strongarm, still drowsy.
Sandy grew very still as his eyes focused on her. She fluffed her fur in all the wrong places. She stood on his chest, trembling, and blinked down at him with every scrap of innocence she could muster.
[Oh, thank the Network], said Sandy. [I’ve been so frightened.]
Admittedly, even in the midst of her victory, there was a tense moment. There was a split second when she wondered: had she just experienced her own luck? Somehow, incredibly, her suit had returned without Hood—and yet with the target! When she messaged the client again, she held her breath. But the client did not respond, and Sandy was relieved. She had not been lucky after all, and that was very good news.