Contact the Station Mind

Technically, it ought to be possible to talk to the station mind anywhere on Unity. All you had to do was address it directly, and there was a good chance the mind would pay attention (even if it didn’t answer).

But you want privacy. And with all the people on the station, humans and Jellies alike, it’s easy for one person’s voice to get lost in the mix. You want the mind’s undivided attention. Or at least as much of it as you’re likely to get. Within reason, of course. It’s not always wise to get a mind too interested in your business.

You go back to Cortez. “Hey,” you say. “What would be the best way to contact the station mind?”

His eyes widen. “The station . . . Shit. I mean, uh, the best way would be one of the access consoles.”

You think you know what he’s talking about. Another data point in the seemingly endless briefings back on Gateway Station. “Where can I find them?”

He points. “Back out in the main drag. Any one of the side passages should have ‘em. There’s also one back at the ambassador’s offices.”

“Thanks. Owe you one.”

Walking quickly, you leave the entrance to the Jelly complex and head through the station. The air smells . . . fresh, like a newly-misted greenhouse. It reminds you of the plant-filled caverns deep below the surface of Mars, where they’re safe from the relentless onslaught of solar radiation.

You take the first right off the main concourse, down a narrow hall. Narrow for the station, that is. Even the largest luxury ships don’t have spaces this big.

Perhaps a hundred meters from the entrance, you spot one of the access consoles. It’s set within an arched alcove and looks like a lectern made of crystal and bark. There’s an almost religious feeling to it; a place to commune with the great spirit that inhabits the station.

Growing next to the alcove entrance are several pitcher plants—nearly the length of your forearm—that have a number of tentacles extending from their mouths, gently waving with hypnotic grace. These too you remember from the briefings. On your overlays, the plants’ proper name pops up: Sarracenia Monstrum. Even as you watch, a tentacle snares a small insect-like creature out of the air.

Charming.

You hesitate in front of the lectern. Perhaps it would be better to talk with the station mind back at the embassy. This was delicate work, and you don’t want anyone overhearing. . . . Counselor Sherrik’s smug face pops into your mind. On the other hand, there are a lot of people running around in the embassy. Too many people, and this is delicate work.

You glance up and down the hallway. Empty. It’s no guarantee of privacy, not with modern technology, but unless you had a console installed in your quarters, this is about the best you’re going to get.

On your overlays, you activate your local jamming field. It won’t stop all surveillance, but it’ll protect you from the more obvious types. Then you put your hands on the lectern and say, “Hello? I need to speak to the station mind.”

For a moment, nothing seems to happen. Then your skin prickles, as if with electricity, and a holo springs to life atop the lectern. . . .