Everyone was a little bit perplexed at that and more than a little bit suspicious. But even though the original ALCOR is gone, the security measures at the gate are self-contained, separate copies of him. Which was a nice surprise for the boys and each one of them has spent lots of hours out at the security beacons visiting with them. They aren’t stations, just small floating spheres large enough to hold a person or two at a time. But the ALCOR copies inside are old. Very old. They are not him anymore, but their own separate personalities. So Serpint said it wasn’t the same. They are different people. But it was still nice to talk with them and reminisce about their mutual friend.
It has made this transition a little easier. The new copy is doing OK. It was never meant to take over the station for long periods of time, so there’s a learning curve. But we’re alive.
Anyway, the Prime Navy had some secret deal with ALCOR and we think they’re worried that the new copy won’t honor it. They worry about baby AIs. They are unpredictable and have been known to throw tantrums, and when that AI is connected to a security array like the one Harem Station has, well… one must make friends, I suppose.
We are, after all, at war with the entire Cygnian System after what we did to their warship at Bull Station. So if the Prime Navy is interested in forming an alliance, Crux is on board with that.
We all agreed it’s better to have close friends in high places if they have an entire galactic navy at their disposal.
“You about ready?” Serpint says, watching me fuss with my collar in the mirror as he stands in the doorway to the bedroom.
He took off my bracelets and anklets when we got back from Bull Station, but I kept the jewel-encrusted collar with his name on it even though I’m not in servitude to him anymore. I like it. It’s beautiful and the idea that I still belong to him makes me happy. Why not let everyone know that?
“Yes,” I say, taking one final look at my ceremonial gown in the mirror. We match, again. Black and pink. And while it’s sad that we are in these special outfits twice in the span of just a few months, I love that the memorial service is so formal and all the ribbons and medals pinned to us represent my brand-new relationships with these outlaw men and their station.
I have new medals over my heart now. One for each of the boys and their partners. And special ones for ALCOR and Beauty.
Valor and Luck took the loss of their bot hard. Harder than anyone expected. And they haven’t replaced her yet. But one day they will. One day they will be ready to leave the station again and go about their jobs hunting down ancient components to keep the AI functioning.
Booty made sure the broken hull of the Big Dicker was brought into the medical bays. They’ve been working on her ever since and while she’s not quite ready for prime time again, she will be soon.
The station chimes the warning bells that everyone should be now on their way to the ceremony. Serpint takes my hand and leads me through our quarters to the elevator. It’s a long walk down to the waiting lift-bot that will take us down to the lowest level. We don’t talk. Just stand on the lift, holding hands. Letting everyone see us as we descend.
And by everyone, I do mean everyone. There have been a lot of memorial services since ALCOR died. So many dead from the baby ALCOR’s inability to master all the networks and systems that keep this station running. So we figured most people would be sick of the service and not many would show up today.
We were wrong. People have been lining up since last night to get a front-row space at the edge of the levels. There are millions of people on this station, so not everyone will be able to see. But the new AI put up large screens along the city for those who couldn’t reach the actual ceremony space.
They are all dressed in the special ceremonial garb. The new ALCOR has been printing custom outfits and ribbons for weeks. And everyone has at least two medals over their hearts. One for real ALCOR and one for Beauty.
It’s never been done before, but Crux said, “Hell, if we can’t all unite for this one occasion, then we’re not the family I thought we were.” And we agreed. Even though it cost every single person on the station at least a week’s pay in donation to get all the materials together, and the operators had to pull double shifts to keep the printers going spin in and spin out to have everything ready, no one objected.