GHOST STABILITY: 43% FAILED ENGRAM PRESERVATION
TEST 77: FAILED ENGRAM DEGENERATION AT HIGH DATA THROUGHPUT
Thumbs swept fast across the readout, the words scrawling down the cracked screen of the data slate before it was slammed against the end table.
"This isn't going to work," Ridge spat, forgetting his own strength as he yanked his hand back. He watched the Biomancer peel off his mask and let out an exhausted sigh.
"I will not hear that from a tool junkie who wouldn't know the difference between a synaptic node and a neural nodule."
"They didn't teach you jokes at the Medical Academy, did they?"
"They didn't have to. Most of us are born with one." The Biomancer rolled up his sleeve. "But I can show you what they taught us—" and he caught Ridge by the collar.
The doors to the laboratory slid open.
Thella and Vronica stepped through—surprised, but not really. The scene had repeated itself over the last two days.
"If you two are arguing, then you aren't working. Now are you?" Thella crossed the doorway, picked up the fallen slate, and handed it back to Ridge. "Do you mind telling me what the problem is now?"
Ridge still held the frustration in his breath. Tired of arguing, he turned to her, took the slate, and sighed—his rage doused by a single look from her.
Vronica's gaze danced between the two of them. She was certain she had seen this before, and it wasn't fear; Ridge showed every sign against it. This time she didn't need to scan him. It was obvious.
"The idiot—ahem." Ridge cleared his throat. "He can't seem to understand what we're trying to do. The memory upload won't work if we keep chasing speed over thoroughness."
The Biomancer stepped up, eager to correct him. "If you understood even a fifth of what I'm capable of, you'd understand why this simply will not work."
Thella stepped between them and looked the doctor up and down.
The people of Ma'dim were lean and tall. Their world held them in less than half of Terra's gravity, and over generations that lightness had drawn their frames long. That, and rust-colored hair streaked with black, lent them a fearsome visage in the right light.
When the doctor looked up at her, he swallowed his words. His gaze snagged on the scars cut deep from her chin down into her throat, on the sharp features framed by high cheekbones, on the unmoving eyes set beneath them like a wolf's.
He took a step back—retreating, without realizing it, into his own desk—and nearly knocked loose the clutter of tools, wires, and the unattached plates of the chassis bound for the operating chair.
"I only meant to say that…" His eyes tried to meet hers again and darted away just as fast. "The Pygmy's Engram is quite dense. Attempting a Needlecast at such a distance could burn it out before the upload is complete."
"That's only if we run a single pulse stream." Ridge raised the slate and shook it at him.
"And do you happen to have a receiver capable of decoding a multi-pulse stream? Is it already in place?" the doctor shot back, pinching the bridge of his nose before wiping a dripping nostril. The chill of the laboratory was nothing on a regular day's work—but he hadn't been home since his customers first made their request.
How he regretted letting them in.
"Don't worry about that. Just do what needs to be done to make the stream succeed." Thella turned. "Vronica—is there no way to hold the pulsestream open longer? It would make for a far more stable upload."
She glanced to her companion as she spoke. Vronica had risen from the pale couch behind her and was taking her first tentative steps into the lab, the trapezoidal window at her back framing a cyan sweep of Procella.
"If the transmission takes longer than ninety-six seconds, we may be detected," Vronica said. "And any use of the Spyweave could have devastating consequences for the Needlecaster."
"She's right, Thella. This is one of those times where catastrophic failure isn't hyperbole—it's guaranteed."
"Then what will we do?"
"Unfortunately, it is as I've said." The doctor's shoulders sagged. "A Ghost's Engrammatic data is simply too dense for Needlecasting—unless significant compression is involved. And at that point, important files may be lost. Or unrecoverable."
"The transmission will work." Vronica's voice didn't waver.
"Hmm. So we either get caught, or we risk corrupting your memories." He studied her. "I'm sure you've weighed the risks, Vronica—"
"I have. And we will continue."
"I see. Doctor, we'll continue this tomorrow. I expect results, not excuses."
"I've already told you all I can do, miss."
"And I've told you I have no interest in excuses." Thella tapped Vronica's leg on her way out.
Ridge held the concerned doctor in his eyes a moment longer, then followed.
Vronica gave the doctor a small bow and handed him the data slate Ridge had passed to her.
Why did I let them in?
The tram rushed down the Procellan lanes, on its way to the tunnel. Thella was quiet. Ridge sat sunk into himself, turning the failures over and over, caught somewhere between his own doubt and the woman beside him.
"This has become more work than it's worth," he said.
"Do you no longer wish to aid me?" Vronica asked.
"Of course we're going to help." Thella's mouth curved. "But unlike our dear Captain, I'd like to do it in a way that doesn't require any of us to be martyred."
The charm pulled a smile out of Ridge despite himself. He looked back down at the slate, thumbing through the tests. Every completed run had crashed into the same wall.
"There's too much data for the window we're trying to transmit through. Compression opens a whole other set of problems, so I'm leaving that alone—but the problem still stands."
"Then let's reduce the load," Vronica said, her expression unmoving even under the weight of the words.
"What—what are you on about?"
"If the information is the problem, then don't try to send all of me. Only the parts that are needed."
The statement alone held them in place. The only sound left in their car was the whisper of the vacuum wrapped around the levitating tram, hissing as it drew to a stop at Camp Insularum.
"Can you do it, Private Essern?"
"Should and could aren't the same thing here." Ridge dragged a hand down his face. "Who knows what happens if we start untangling your Engrammatic data—choosing what matters by some criteria we don't understand, casting it into your new body—without accidentally leaving in military or Protectorate secrets."
"You would only be sending what the mission requires. I am certain that much will be enough."
"You're not listening to me, Vronica. There are too many unknowns—"
"Then help her, Ridge." Thella caught his hand as he let the slate drop into his lap. "Let's work on mitigating those risks. Let's make this a risk and not a sacrifice."
"Ahhh… the two people I'd expect to talk me into madness like this aren't even here." He ruffled a hand through his hair until the sigh worked its way out, then reached up to rub his shoulder. "I hope you're both happy. You've twisted my arm."
"Thank you, Private Essern—"
"Yeah, sure. Let's get some rest and we'll start in the—"
"Oh, no. We're heading back to the Biomancer Clinic."
"What—not you too, Thella?" Ridge groaned from the bottom of his exhaustion. "The slave drivers aren't even here right now. Why are you filling in for them?"
Thella leaned to his ear and whispered something.
He quieted so fast that even Vronica was caught off guard. The only thing out of place was his racing heart and the flare climbing his face; a quick scan turned up all sorts of abnormalities.
"Private Oswin." Vronica's head tilted. "What did you say to Private Essern?"
"Oh, nothing more than what every man wants to hear. There's no better motivator in the Protectorate." Thella flashed a teasing smile and winked at Ridge—another flare, promptly logged by Vronica.
"Hmm. Would you mind sharing it with me?"
"Sure. The next time we have a moment to ourselves." She settled back into her seat. "I'm curious how the Captain will react."
"The Captain?" For a moment Vronica's eyes flickered with a spark of violet.
"Oh, silly me—I spoke aloud. Pay me no mind, Vronica. For now, we have other matters to attend to."