Analyze did end up being pretty cool.

When I went back out to test it, I initially had trouble finding something to target, since monsters didn’t live too long near Fort Autumn. Eventually, though, I was able to borrow a pair of binoculars, which let me get a good look at a Bladetail wheeling through the sky in the distance.

I hadn’t been sure what to expect, and the first few “insights” I got weren’t terribly helpful; I already knew cutting off its head would kill it. Learning exactly where its heart was and where bones would block my strike was more useful, but I’d had a rough idea of those things before.

As I kept watching, though, I learned things I hadn’t suspected. For example, the bladetails were probably an apex predator wherever they’d come from. Their necks and tails were incredibly flexible about striking downward, but neither could bend upward to any significant degree, and the bladetail would have difficulty in defending its own back from something striking from above. Oooh, and the ability drew my attention to the gentle undulation of a section of its back. A shallow injury there would probably puncture its lung, of which the animal seemed to have only one.

Of course, I pretty much had to attack a bladetail from below, so these particular insights weren’t terribly helpful to me… but it gave me a better idea of how the ability worked. It was interesting that I hadn’t gotten the insight about the lung until the monster had wheeled up and away from me, giving me a view of the back that let me notice in-and-out motion of its breathing. That made me wonder if I could get better information if I gave the ability better information. Could we capture a monster? Run tests? The monsters disappeared when slain, but maybe… vivisection?

I cringed a little at that last thought. I did not share Micah’s fascination with looking at things’ innards, alive or dead. My squeamishness didn’t matter, though: if I could grit my teeth and cut up a frog to pass high school biology, I could sure as hell do the same for information that would help my kids and I survive.

That initiative would likely have to wait until we returned from our trip. I was hoping we wouldn’t be gone long.

The plan was to swing south to try to pick up some additional support from the Redstone Arsenal, and perhaps to get in touch with the Shop we believed was in the southern side of Madison. The previous expedition east had headed out along 72, and Nancy had kept the colonel apprised of what they’d seen… and what they hadn’t, which was any red Shop spires. My Shop said there was another less than three miles away, and the Decatur group hadn’t seen it on their way in, which didn’t leave many options for its location. It was possible it was in Capshaw or Harvest to the north of us, but it probably wasn’t to the west. That distance would put it smack in between Madison and Athens, where there was nothing but farm fields. There’d be a zoo there eventually, but…

I stopped myself with a laugh. Not anymore. There’d likely never be a zoo there, now.

The point was, there were barely any people out in that direction at that distance. If it wasn’t to the north of us, it was to the southeast. We’d check it out on our way to the Arsenal, then swing back north and find a good site for the Shop somewhere east of Research Park. After we placed the Shop, my kids and I were out of there. They needed me to press a damn button, not to stick around with my kids. The colonel and some of the guards would stay to guard the Shop, hopefully with a detachment from the Arsenal along, but if not, oh well. The driver would take us home and they could sort it out.

At least I’d know what I was doing when placing the next Shop, and I’d be able to pick a more defensible location than my wide-open front lawn. Perhaps a loading bay for one of the stores, where we could simply wall off the front. If not, a few of the apartment complexes had high walls around the outside, and some were built with interior courtyards. We’d have to purchase a larger area and make more walls, but it was doable. George had suggested knocking the roof off of a building with strong walls, like a bank branch, to let us place the Shop inside. There were downsides to that approach, since we’d be exposing the inside of the bank to the weather, but again, it was a possibility.

Having lots of options was good. Wherever we put the Shop, we’d need groups willing to ferry food away to the surrounding area, if we really wanted to make a difference. Nancy’s crew had really only driven through the area, not stopping to chat. It was weird to feel like we didn’t know what we were heading into, but Nancy was being held captive just a block north from my favorite used bookstore. Knowing which restaurant sold the best tacos or ramen or which nights kids ate free did not help us know where we could find a group of reasonable people. Even if we got a detachment of soldiers to guard the Shop, plonking it down in the middle of the territory of a group like the Dragons would be courting disaster. We needed to find people we could work with, who’d help us make an analogue to our setup here with Fort Autumn.

I hoped we could figure it out quickly, but it wasn’t something I could work on right now. My goals for the rest of today were to get the kids and I packed for the trip, talk to Keith about Irving, and hopefully spend some time practicing aikido moves with the kids.

Packing would take some thought. With all the people crowding into the Fort Autumn area, our Points Siphon had gotten more effective, and for several days now it had been boosting people to their eighth ability, rather than their seventh. Even more importantly, the information we’d gotten from looking at our first two drivers’ abilities had let us pick better options for our third driver, and he had significantly better synergy on Animate Machinery, enough that he could manage a small 14-seater bus instead of only a pickup truck. Even so, space would be limited. We’d be bringing me, my kids, Colonel Zwerinski, the driver himself, and eight guards, and we planned to take as much water and rations as we could. While we’d be able to buy more water and food from my new Shop once we placed it, we didn’t want to be rushed into plonking it down in a bad spot due to something as preventable as hunger or thirst. Oh, and who knew how many people we’d add to our team when we reached Redstone Arsenal? Hopefully someone with more extensive experience or training in hostage negotiation.

The point was, there was real value in packing as minimally as possible, a challenge for me. My packing style was generally to assess the space available and fill it to the brim with preparations for every eventuality I could think of. It was a bit of an ongoing battle between my husband and I. Every time we unpacked from a trip, Vince would be sure to comment on all the things we’d “wasted time” bringing but never used. Every time an “unexpected” situation occurred - illness, foul weather, ripped clothing - I would bring out my preparations with extreme smugness. It’s true that we could have managed without my preparations in most of those circumstances, but who would want to?

This was a different story, though, and I’d have to try to channel my absent husband when preparing.

But before I went inside to pack, I wanted to track down Keith. I didn’t know Irving personally, but Pointy’s horror at his situation was enough to move him up pretty high on my priority list. I made my way down to the quarry, where Keith was sitting in a folding chair at a card table. He was a thin, tall man, in his mid-twenties. Irving hovered overhead, the most sci-fi looking thing I’d seen since the Maffiyir started. Irving was a translucent black rectangle with bright blue text, the colors reminding me of Tron. The hovering screen wouldn’t have been out-of-place on the bridge of any Hollywood spaceship, but seemed a little incongruous when juxtaposed with the rickety card table, three-ring binder, and pens and paper. Keith finished writing a list and stretched, shaking out the soreness in his hand. He caught sight of me as he did so and sighed. “Yes? Did you need something?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Irving, if you had a minute.”

“You?” Keith looked me up and down, apparently confused. “You want to talk to me about Irving? Do you have an Information Assistant?”

I was taken aback. I’d spoken to Keith earlier in the day, when we’d dropped off Pointy. “No. I, uh-”

Irving cut me off, his voice cool and diction perfect. “Ms. Moretti spoke to us previously. She is the owner of the Shop and her daughter is the one with the Information Assistant, the turtle known as… Pointy.”

I bristled at the pause and its implied criticism. So what if my daughter had named her utterly-round-and-soft stuffy Pointy? It was, by far, not the weirdest name I’d heard of a child giving their stuffed animal.

Not the point, Meghan, I chastised myself. Aloud, I said, “Yes, that’s me. I was speaking with Pointy and I learned some things I thought you would want to address.”

Keith raised an eyebrow and flicked his fingers, inviting me to continue.

“Would you mind asking Irving to recite a list of all orders currently affecting his processing?”

Keith frowned. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Well, Pointy had several orders unintentionally limiting her processing, and from what she observed, she thought Irving did as well. Moreover, don’t you want to give Irving the freedom to think his own thoughts?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I’m not a two-year-old, Ms. Moretti. Just because your kid is giving her stuffed animal nonsense orders doesn’t mean I’m doing the same with Irving. Yes, Irving has orders affecting his thinking. He’s my assistant, and I order him to help with the things I need help with. He’s fine with that.”

“Cassie is three.” The response was reflexive, and I winced even as I said it, even before I saw Keith’s impatient reaction. What’s the difference between two and three? I could practically see him thinking, and honestly, in this situation, he had a point. “Never mind that, though.” I scrabbled for a way to get through to him. “Look, did you know that Irving said he didn’t want Pointy’s translated text logs?”

That actually got Keith’s attention. “What? Irving, is that true?”

“You ordered me not to consider language data, and the translation was probabilistic and incomplete.”

“How incomplete?”

“That is unclear. I did not accept the data transmission.”

“Well, let’s get that for you. Then you can take a half-hour break from your other work to try to assess how useful it is.”

“Understood, Keith.”

Keith nodded at me. “Thank you for bringing this oversight to my attention.”

“You’re not going to check the other orders he’s under?”

Keith rolled his eyes, but asked Irving to recite the orders affecting his thinking. It was a lengthy list, and “don’t consider language data” was hardly the only overreaching order.

Keith didn’t share my opinion. “As you can see, Ms. Moretti, your concerns were overblown, even if I do appreciate your catching that issue.”

“Uh… don’t you think some of those orders could cause similar problems? Like, you told him to assume Telekinesis and Force Shield are both based on application of kinetic energy.”

“Do you think that’s wrong?”

“No! Well, probably not. I mean, that’s the end effect. It could have a different, um, basis. But don’t you think Irving would have come to that conclusion on his own? By ordering him to think that way, you’re putting… chains on his thoughts. It might limit his creativity. Not to mention, it’s a pretty awful thing to do to another person. Controlling their thoughts.”

Keith’s face, which had grown slightly nervous when I’d voiced my objection, relaxed. “Ah, I think I see the problem here. Ms. Moretti, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but Irving and Pointy are programs, not people. Programs need precise directions and limited scope to accomplish tasks.”

“They’re people! It’s obvious just by talking to them for a little bit.”

“Now, now, Ms. Moretti. I can understand your confusion. Alien technology is far beyond our own and I have no doubt that the Information Assistants could pass the vast majority of Turing Tests. However, Irving himself has told me that he is not a person, but simply a program simulating a personality. There is no need to worry.”

Keith’s voice was kind. He could have come off as arrogant or patronizing - and he did sound a bit patronizing - but he mostly seemed concerned about my emotional distress. He seemed to be trying to comfort me.

I stumbled, trying to respond. I’d almost forgotten my discussion with Pointy, where she had told me the same things, that she was simply simulating a personality. That she was not a real being.

I didn’t agree, but, if Keith did, how could I convince him otherwise?

“I mean… Irving’s a very advanced program, though. Are you sure you want to limit him so much? You might be blinding him to figuring out things that wouldn’t occur to a human mind.”

Keith shook his head. “It’s something I will consider, but I am quite comfortable directing Irving’s processes down the paths I’m most interested in. Now, I am quite busy. If you’ll excuse me…?”

He lifted his pen again and turned to Irving, not waiting for a response from me. Irving began to list off the names of abilities and single-digit numbers. I wasn’t sure what they were doing, but I left them to it.

Like Pointy, I didn’t really want to talk with them any longer.

In my dark mood, I didn’t notice Micah racing toward me until he was almost up in my face.

“Mom! Mom, look what I made! Well, me and Mr. Clint.”

Micah was racing up to me, holding a metal… thing.

“Wow,” I said, stalling for time. “I’m impressed you guys managed to get to work so quickly. Is that a… that’s not a helmet, right?”

It didn’t seem nearly big enough, even for Cassie, and it looked way too angular. It was a nearly cube-shaped piece of metal, with an odd line of holes around the middle and a leather belt through a strap at the top. The corners of the cube were slightly uneven, and the edges were joined by a lumpy line of welding. He turned it toward me and I could see another line of welding affixing a bolt to the edge of a slightly oversized lid.

Micah treated me to a withering look. “No, Mom. Of course not. Does it look like a helmet?”

“It looks like a box?”

He grinned. “Yep!”

“Did we need a box?”

My oldest son looked at me like I was crazy. “Of course, Mom. Pointy got more hurt than I did during the Trial, and that was just from a bladetail. I mean, I guess she’s getting better, but if Cassie’s gonna keep bringing her with, we need to keep her safe somehow. Oh, also, Mr. Clint and I were trying to make some other stuff but it was pretty hard so he asked me if I had easier ideas. Boots are not easy.”

I grimaced. “Yeah. They wouldn’t be. That was really thoughtful of you, though! Shall we go give it to them?”

“Yeah! We made it out of the walls from the electrical box on the corner. I told him you said to never go near those, but he said it was okay since the electricity was off and then I thought ‘Hey, I can control electricity anyway,’ so I figured that because of that and because he was a grown-up that it was probably fine. Did you notice the holes in the side? Those are for Pointy to see out of. They were kind of hard to make! I had to control the heat really well and Mr. Clint had to find a way to punch the metal out. He had a metal stick called an awl, but then the metal bent out too far and…”

Micah kept up a running commentary all the way inside.