“Can’t you announce yourself?” he grumbled.
“I am sorry, I will remember to do that. What about your breakfast?” asked Watson.
Artem felt a pang of guilt. Did Sobachka have something, too, or would he need to feed her with sausage? Then he heard her slurping. She stood underneath the table, eating from a dish where somebody had deposited dog food.
“Excellent,” he said.
“We reconstructed it from your memories.”
“Thank you, but you didn’t need to tell me that.” Artem set down the cup and grabbed a slice of smoked ham. He checked it out intently. Structure and color were perfect, as far as he could distinguish in the candlelight. He bit into it. Gourmet pork ham, lightly cured, and the strands getting caught between his teeth—it all seemed real, and yet nothing here was any more real than himself. It was a virtual scene designed to satisfy his very real sensory needs. He lifted the cup again. The heavenly scent was just as intense as before. He knew nothing of this was real, yet his appetite ignored his intellect as though knowledge was but a pet living in his head.
“If you like we could work on optimizing the setting. At what temperature do you prefer your coffee? We can set it so that the temperature never changes.”
“Thank you but that is not necessary.” Artem feared the coffee would seem less realistic as a result. Or would he just get used to things? “When you say ‘we,’ who is that exactly?” he asked.
“Myself, of course,” stated Watson.
“Of course.”
“… and the system of the station. I am not sure what it is. Whether it is alive or whether it is artificial. It is extremely modular. Sometimes it is one, then again it might be many. We don’t fully understand each other, which is mostly due to my limitations.”
“You told me about the individuals yesterday, the creators. Aren’t they here?”
“They are gone, have been gone, for a very long time already.”
“When will they return?”
“The system does not know that. Maybe never. The distances are unbelievably huge.”
“Our space is flat. They can’t change its geometry or its natural laws. It is only in their dimensions where our physics is no longer valid.”
“There are more general laws there, which we have not found so far. There is no magic anywhere.”
“This… this wishing table sure looks like magic, though.”
“It is quite real, but not in the way you are sensing it.”
“The way I sense it is quite okay for me.”
“Does that mean you are content?”
“No. I feel like a prisoner. But I am a guest, right?”
“Yes, I think the system has you in that category.”
“A guest should be able to open windows and doors himself, no?”
“That is true. I will discuss this with the system. Okay, discussion concluded, the system shares your point of view.”
“That was quick. What is next?”
Suddenly the location brightened up. Artem turned left toward the source and noticed a window floating in the room. It appeared three-dimensional and looked like a wood-framed window from Earth. Artem stood up and approached it to touch the frame. The material felt warm and had a wooden structure, complete with a few dings in the paint. He’d probably catch a splinter if he stroked the wood with a finger. The windowpane was transparent and appeared to be made of glass. Looking through it, he saw the sun glowing in a fiery red-orange before a black backdrop. He walked around the window. It was transparent from there, too. He saw the wishing table with all that had been set on it. Sobachka came to join him now.
“You may use the pane like a touch screen,” Watson said.
“What about the handle?”
“I’d be careful with that. If you turn the handle the window will open.”
“Are you telling me that space is there, through the window?” Artem grabbed the handle and wiggled it a bit. It could be turned all right.
“I do not know what is beyond the window. Just that it is some kind of exit. The system is taking your guest status quite seriously.”
“But you told me I am immortal.”
“As long as you don’t kill yourself.”
Artem left his hand on the handle and pondered the situation. His existence was apparently based on a complex algorithm with rules taken from his previous reality. He would have died opening a window into space as a human. If the system was consistent, his set of rules in this world would implement death as well. No, that was not an option for now.
Artem turned to Watson. “Have you found out more about the purpose of this station?”
“It controls the construction around the sun, much as we had suspected.”
“And what does the construction do?”
“The system calls it ‘Regulator.’”
“They can control the magnetic fields? And, consequently, the solar activity, with the tubes?”
“Theoretically, yes. Whoever has control of the system can provoke ice ages on Earth, or prevent space travel for years.”
“That is scary indeed,” Artem said.
“It is our reason for being here—don’t forget our mission.”
Watson had to be crazy. How could he be thinking of a mission that some conglomerate on Earth had forced him into? Maybe he didn’t have a choice—the company’s programmers had modified his structure, after all.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t speak about it so openly,” Artem said.
“The system certainly would have run a full analysis of me before letting me on board,” Watson responded. “I think the creators think in much longer time spans. And your human way of thinking is so alien to them that they might not always come to the right conclusions.”
“Who is saying that?”
“That is my conclusion. It is based on the fact that I am pretty unrestricted here and on the incredible time frame of this project. Their goal is to give the solar system the maximum amount of time to develop life. The creators seem to see themselves as gardeners. The sun is aging slowly and Earth will exit the habitable zone in about a billion years.”
“So soon?”
“The sun has a total life expectancy of about seven billion years before ending as a red giant. The construction will keep things smooth so that Earth remains habitable for another six billion years.”
“I was shown pictures yesterday where the planets appeared to be very young.”
“The Regulator here is incredibly old in our time scale. The sun was much more unruly in its youth, and the construction was already protecting life on the planets from excess activity back then.”
“On the planets?”
“Yes, that had surprised me, too. Apparently life had also developed on Mars and Venus. Then there came a time where the Regulator had to make a decision, as it was no longer possible to support ideal conditions on all three planets.”
“The decision favored Earth.”
“Indeed, you were the lucky ones—despite life on Mars having started 500 million years earlier, mind you. But it was clear from the outset that it would be very challenging to maintain Mars in the habitable zone.”
“A pity that they weren’t able to make it work out for those other two planets.”
“They are not saying much about Venus. There seems to have been something going on there.”
“The Regulator must have lost control,” Artem said.
The window was fascinating. Artem had been typing on it for more than an hour now. It worked like a touch screen, except that everything had a spatial representation. Looking at stellar maps, that was hardly noticeable. By contrast, the solar surface was full of surprises. He was able to take any viewpoint.
A moment ago he had discovered that he could even apply various filters. Adding one was like closing a curtain. He wasn’t sure what the filters represented. He might be looking at the sun with ultraviolet rays or infrared. Just the differences between views were spectacula
r in their own right. The sun had always seemed a boring star to him, but this window gave him insight into a new world of wonders.
If he tapped the pane three times his view was centered to the station. Artem wanted to travel around the sun. He swiped left and the perspective moved in the opposite direction, starting his virtual solar orbit. He slowly changed the elevation of his viewpoint. If only that could be just as easy with a spacecraft!
The closer he got to the surface the more exciting the image became. Quickly it became clear that one could not talk about a surface in the strict sense of the term. Of course he had always known that the sun was a huge ball of superheated gas, but the smooth disk in the sky was just an illusion. The plasma roiled and moved about like muscles bulging under taut skin. Those were the magnetic fields. Each charged particle in motion helped create a magnetic field. And the sun consisted of plasma, essentially charged particles. It felt nothing less than a miracle that all those individual contributions—from a nearly infinite number of charged particles—worked together to create what looked like a ball from a safe distance. Gravitation surely played its part, but the individual magnetic fields had to be synchronized like a ballet—with billions of ballerinas—to keep everything in line.
Sometimes things went wrong, even in the best dance ensemble. It looked like such an event was occurring right now slightly behind the space station. A huge oval spot had formed there, and it was visible even to his untrained eye that incredibly large forces were at work. Artem tapped once to stop the flight at this virtual viewpoint. With some luck he would be in a front-row seat, so to speak, while witnessing a gigantic eruption. And there it was. A huge arc, almost as thick as Earth itself, was released. It shot into space at an incredible speed. Artem zoomed in. The arc appeared dense enough to walk on it.
But there was something else, a small dark shadow. What, for Pete’s sake, was out there creating shadows? Had the sun spit out a rock? Artem zoomed in even further. Was that a spaceship? Only one could be there—the NASA ship en route to the sun. Would they be so close already? Cold sweat formed on Artem’s back. What would the protuberance do with the ship?
“Watson, quick, I need you.”
“What’s up?”
“A disaster is in the works here.” He pointed to the screen. “Can we prevent that?”
“Oh, it is unfortunate that you are observing this.” Watson’s holographic representation bent forward to look at the scene.
“Can we help or not?”
“We can, but…”
“What?”
“It is against our mission parameters,” the AI explained.
Artem jumped and grabbed Watson’s throat, but his hands went empty.
“You damned misfit!” he yelled.
Sobachka barked loudly in support.
“I understand that you are frustrated.”
“You understand what?” Now the plasma jet enclosed the ship. It was too late. Artem hit the display with his fist. He almost hoped that it would break, but nothing happened.
“Woe to you if any of those people were harmed!”
“Calm down, Artem. Look, the ship is intact.”
Watson was right. The spaceship remained in place as though nothing had happened. Still, the AI had intentionally jeopardized human life.
“That was non-assistance of people in danger, a crime that leads to the death penalty for AIs.”
“The priorities of my programming did not give me any other option.”
“You could have let me help them.”
“Our goal is to attain control of this construction. The NASA ship stands in our way. Destroying it would increase the probability of our success.”
“You planned the death of these people?”
“I reinforced the magnetic field that caused the eruption.”
“You did it intentionally?” Artem could not believe what he was hearing. What kind of AI had those programmers released unto mankind?
“The probability of such a protuberance directly under their ship is very small.”
“Watson, that is murder!”
“Nobody died. I just accelerated a process that would have occurred anyway at that spot, eventually.”
“The system allowed you to do that? How could it? It made itself an accomplice.”
“Earlier I explained that the creators think differently, in very long time frames. But they are just as forceful as I am. They destroyed life on Mars, after all! And you benefitted from that decision, so you can’t complain.”
“You can’t even begin to compare the two.”
“They could have helped Mars. Life there might have continued for another billion years. Wasn’t that mass murder or non-assistance of endangered life? Evolution on Earth would have had a harder time. But they did the opposite and accelerated an inevitable process. Just like I did a moment ago.”
“Watson, you are insane.”
June 2, 2074, Solar Explorer
Heather had waited for a long time to speak alone with him. Finally the moment had come. “Callis, this is not a good idea.”
“There is no other possibility.”
She had expected that response. She had searched for a technical counter-argument for a long time but had come up empty. So she had to confess the truth. “Please, do it for me, don’t go out. We’ll die anyway. So please let us spend the last days together. Callis, I…”
He interrupted her. “Hush, now. I know.” He placed a finger on her mouth and broke into a wide grin. Then he wrapped his arms around her. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. He let go of her and wiped her tears with a finger. She felt closer to him than ever before. The impenetrable smile still was there, but she also noticed new wrinkles in his dark skin and the doubt in his dark brown eyes. She stroked his cheek, ignoring the stubble.
“You must go, right?”
She was still hoping that he’d say no, or at least shake his head, but deep down she knew that he had no other choice.
“Yes, I must do it for you.”
Life was so strange. Or was it people? Why would needs be perceived so differently even when two people had the same wants? Heather swallowed. She wanted to spend as much time as possible with Callis now that she had let it all out. And now he was compelled to play the hero so she could survive a few days more. What would that do for her? On the other hand, she couldn’t bear to watch Callis spending his last days wishing she had let him go.
“Callis?” Alain had found them.
Heather was disappointed. Their moment had passed far too quickly. She had spent all night painting the details of how she would tell him. It hadn’t gone anything like that, but he knows... he said he knows.
“Callis?”
“Yes, Alain?”
“I checked things again, and maybe your sortie will not be that dramatic after all.”
“6,000 degrees can hardly be fun!” Heather interjected.
“The density is at one ten-millionth of a gram per cubic centimeter. That’s approximately the same density as the Earth atmosphere has at one hundred kilometers altitude, where space starts,” Alain explained.
“It is dense enough to inflict a constant shower of hot particles,” Callis said. “Back-side of the envelope estimate, I have about seven meters to walk from the hatch to the motor. Changing the coil takes about three minute tops. Then seven meters to get back.”
“We’ll turn the shield so that it will protect you from direct sun rays. And we can provide you with a kind of reflective tent that is depressurized against the hot gas. Even if it heats up it will protect you from energy transmission due to the vacuum.”
“What about the hot outer hull?”
“You must avoid touching it. Your boots will get special soles. The motor is cooled actively so that is okay to touch.”
“Sounds manageable,” Callis said. “Do you have a plan for the tent?”
“I can start assembling one right away. In my former life we repaired pressurized pipes under su
ch tents from time to time.”
“Thank you, Alain,” said Heather, giving the old man a smile. Right this moment, she was really glad she had replied and sent him the data, back when he had sent the original email request.
“Let’s go,” Callis said while putting on his helmet. The tent was folded up beside him.
“Telemetry receiving clearly,” Amy noted. “All values green.”
“I sure hope so. I haven’t cleared the hatch yet.”
“Good luck, Callis,” whispered Heather. She thought that he wouldn’t have heard it, but then he turned around and responded.
“Thanks. I’ll be back in half an hour.”
But what condition will you be in? thought Heather, preferring not to give voice to her doubts. Callis’ spacesuit looked unusual. Alain had implemented yet another idea. He had stitched together two LCVGs, the cooling and heating suits that one usually wore on top of the space diaper and one’s personal underwear when in a spacesuit. With a slight modification Alain was now circulating liquid nitrogen through the extra LCVG layer. He had spent most of the time on the tubes, coating them with a special resin so they would not go brittle at minus 200 degrees. While he hadn’t been able to fully coat the tubing, the effect would still be important enough to justify Callis pulling tubes behind him on his way to the repair site.
The corrective jets had been used to turn the ship so that the working area was now in the shade of the solar shield. If everything worked out well—and Heather was hoping for that with all she had—Callis might even survive the upcoming sortie. But so far nobody had attempted an EVA in the solar photosphere, and it was unlikely that it would be repeated in the future of mankind.
Callis stepped into the airlock and shut it behind himself. Now Heather could only observe him with the help of cameras. She floated to her seat, activated her display, and set it to display Callis’ vital statistics. His heart was beating quickly, surely due to a healthy level of anxiety, but his oxygen saturation was normal.
“Opening the exterior hatch now.”
The helmet cam briefly touched the red light, indicating an EVA in progress. The airlock temperature indicator started rising by one degree every two seconds.
Silent Sun: Hard Science Fiction Page 20