by Ryk E. Spoor
Simon’s face was grim—and yet distracted. That sense of his is operating some even here. But it’s not giving him a clear sense of what the threat is, I can tell by the way he’s looking around.
“Then, of course, we have the Hyperion criminal Maria-Susanna—who had contact with you, Doctor Sandrisson, for some considerable time prior to your initial departure, and who—despite her reputation as a psychopathic murderer—did not harm you, nor any of your group, either here or in the Arena.”
“General,” Robert Fenelon said, with a somewhat testy note in his voice, “I suppose I can—if I squint rather hard—see a possible pattern in all that, but really, that’s hardly enough to—”
“I am not without evidence—considerably more solid evidence,” General Esterhauer said, not taking her eyes from Ariane. “I won’t divulge all at this time, but to give one example: I am in possession of essentially incontrovertible evidence that the woman calling herself ‘Oasis Abrams’ is neither the Oasis Abrams who enlisted in the nascent Combined Space Forces fifty years ago, nor any direct relative of hers.” She looked straight at Oasis, who gazed back stonily. “In fact, whoever she is, she appeared immediately after Hyperion, and the original Oasis Abrams . . . was never seen again.”
DuQuesne winced. Oh, that’s going to be a hard one to explain away.
She looked at Saul. “Hyperion, where it all changed. Hyperion, the event so terrible that it changed the way the Solar System worked, created the Combined Space Forces and the Space Security Council in their current form, and changed stellar law to give actual power to a system-wide government for the first time. Which gave you, Commander Maginot, control over what government Humanity had for fifty years.
“Hyperion, where secret operations became more secret, where new beings of unknown capabilities were created for purposes so hidden in propaganda and confusion that no one seems to even know exactly what happened—or how many survived. Hyperion, whose ‘experiments’ were supposed to be superior beings, engineered with techniques untested and forbidden for use on normal human beings, superior beings derived from various works of fiction. Sherlock Holmes; Verne’s scientific romances, Godin’s Meru series, Heinlein’s classic works, simgame heroes and protagonists from ancient movies and books . . .” Her gaze shifted. “Such as Doctor Marc C. DuQuesne.”
“Blast it,” DuQuesne muttered, then straightened up. This could be it.
“I had my AISages check all the references, Doctor. Your original—quite an ambitious man. A patient man, a clever man, and one quite willing to deceive, manipulate, and even betray when the stakes were high enough. Someone with charisma enough to convince others of his motives, to draw them into his plans—and certain of his proper place above everyone else.”
And that’s a pretty good description of “Blackie” DuQuesne. Problem is . . . “I’m . . . not like him. They didn’t exactly design me that way—”
“So you would say, of course,” General Esterhauer said. “But I see a different pattern—one that also leads to me wondering if even Captain Ariane Austin is the woman who left the Unlimited Racing circuit to join Sandrisson’s crew. Has another substitution happened, when Dr. DuQuesne took her to a hidden location in search of more Hyperions? Or something worse, when she channeled a power we don’t even begin to understand?”
Her voice was increasing with conviction every moment, and DuQuesne finally understood. Yeah, she sees the pattern, he sent to the others, because someone’s been showing it to her, with appropriate subtle nudges to her subconscious, for months. Interface suborned, I’d bet.
Your Visualization is sound, youth, came Mentor’s sonorous transmitted voice. The manipulation of communications is clearly of a piece with that work.
DuQuesne saw Simon suddenly freeze, his eyes narrow and then widen, a look of clear understanding spreading across his face. The transmission Simon sent to Mentor and him was heavily encrypted. If you are right, Marc, then our unknown factor will be watching the situation and ready to trigger something if his, her, or its plan seems about to be disrupted.
DuQuesne felt a shock in his gut. Sure as God made little green apples. You got something, Simon?
Mentor, if you and DuQuesne can locate all her legitimate group members . . . I am certain that this unknown is not present in this room, or even immediately adjacent ones. Can the two of you, together, screen out or intercept any exterior transmissions?
A WORTHY CONCEPT, boomed the pseudo-voice of Mentor. Our adversary may of course have other mental conditionals in operation—contingencies, logic bombs, and so on—but this will certainly reduce the ability to play the game by remote. Yes, Simon Sandrisson, together I believe we can do this.
Then let’s get cracking, O Manipulator of Civilization, DuQuesne said, tense but hopeful. He opened up a full connection. Isaac? Gimme full net access, and back me up. We’re doing some serious cyberwarfare in a minute, or I miss my guess badly.
Hmph. Just remember that violence is the last refuge of the incompetent—
Yeah, DuQuesne interrupted with a grin, because the competent resort to violence MUCH sooner, before it’s too late!
“But the fact is that even all of that is just a side issue,” the general went on, startling the entire group. “The real point is that—whether this is some long-term plan by survivors of Hyperion, or simply Ariane Austin’s considered decision, it is the most dangerous plan I have ever seen.”
She looked first at White Camilla, but then to Saul, and there was a note of appeal—not pleading, but definitely reaching, trying to draw others to her cause. “Commander Maginot, members of the Space Security Council and the Combined Space Forces—we are the most free society the solar system has ever seen. We have so few laws, so few controls on our actions, that even after Hyperion we have had the smallest military force in the history of mankind, compared to our numbers. We didn’t have a large enough military establishment to support the research on our defenses against the Arena’s Factions—we depend on private sim focus groups, players of games whose entertainment happens to also hold the key to our defenses. Most of us—approaching sixty billion—answer to no one and nothing save our own consciences.
“And now one person—one woman—will be in charge, the effective ruler of humanity? This is not just a step backwards, it is a complete and utter reversal of our civilization, back to the days of empires.” She looked levelly at Ariane. “And though you say we could give a time limit, ten years is still a long time, and one in which someone with near unlimited power could easily find ways to make ten into twenty, twenty into a hundred, and a hundred into forever.”
DuQuesne looked to Ariane, knowing how this echoed Ariane’s own fears. Her gaze flickered from Esterhauer to her friends, and he could see the uncertainty there, as she looked into Simon’s eyes. She was focused enough, now, that they could at least make the connection to her. Ariane . . . Simon sent.
She’s right, you know. Even if she’s wrong.
An electronic sigh came from Simon. Yes. Yes, she is. But at the same time . . .
It’s all right, Simon. DuQuesne felt her decision—though he couldn’t quite see it—and saw her straighten, looking for an instant to him; he gave her a simple nod and then returned his focus to the network that was overlaid on every activity throughout Kanzaki-Three.
Marc C. DuQuesne, I have isolated fifty-nine percent of the active threads and processes in the room.
I’ve got most of the rest. I think Vincent and Mio have the few left.
Everyone had a different experience of the raw network; to DuQuesne, networks were brilliant spiderwebs of light, pulsing and flickering, with symbols that he could read that told him what the traffic was, allowed him to see how information was moving around him, then—in a situation like this—mapped the network traffic to the real world. Unlike most people, he could actually grasp the entirety of the local net and its relationships—one more backhanded gift from Hyperion; they tried to make me able to comprehend hyperd
imensional physics they’d made up, and now I find it’s not entirely useless. Now, in the sealed Council chamber, there was one faint, almost undetectable line of light that passed the virtual boundaries; all the rest were sealed off, self-contained within the chamber. That’s our meddler. Monitoring. But if he opens a channel . . .
Marc DuQuesne, Mentor said through the Network, you have the scope and power of vision necessary; be sure, therefore, that you attend to what is happening in the physical world as well as here. It may be that a sign or signal will be given there as trigger.
Good thought, Mentor. I’m on it.
With considerable effort, he focused on the overlay, brought up a perception of things as they were happening in the physical here-and-now. It was hard to do; time perception in the electronic world and that in the physical world were not the same thing, for all that the same clocks might mark the passage of seconds. The physical world, where Ariane was confronting the general, was molasses-slow, yet almost infinitely complex compared to most network overlays except in the world-simulations. Scarcely a second or two had passed; Ariane was only now answering General Esterhauer’s speech, and he heard her through a shimmering halo of data that dusted his perceptions with stars.
“You are very eloquent, General—and you’re right, in some ways,” Ariane said calmly. DuQuesne could guess just how hard it must be for her to stay calm.
“In some ways?” repeated the general.
A shimmering pulse streaked from the general, echoed through the forces she was obviously directing. A directive to attack? No . . . she’s telling them to wait. He felt a surge of cautious optimism. She really doesn’t want a fight, and she’s starting to listen. Maybe this will work out.
Ariane laughed. “In almost all ways, really. Did you think I came to this decision easily? That I want to be this stupid ‘Leader of the Faction of Humanity’? All those things you’re afraid of—I’m afraid of them too. Afraid of not being afraid of myself one day. Afraid I’ll accept too many expediencies without thinking enough about them.
“But,” she held up her hand as General Esterhauer was about to speak, “at the same time I am terrified of what is going to happen to us if we’re playing idiotic power games within our own tiny Faction while the Molothos close in on us. We can’t afford it. If things had gone just a little differently, you’d already have someone else as the Leader of Humanity—maybe one of my friends, maybe not—the entirety of the secrets of Humanity that I know would be in the hands of the Blessed To Serve, and worse. Our ally Orphan would almost certainly be dead, his Faction gone with him, and you wouldn’t even know how it happened. All because people had already decided I wasn’t the person for the job.”
General Jill Esterhauer tilted her head, and started to open her mouth.
And the dim, shimmering thread blazed into coruscating brilliance as the connection went fully active.
DuQuesne stiffened. Got you! he thought grimly, and forced his own connection protocols to hack into the encrypted stream. Mentor!
I am here, Marc DuQuesne, as are we all.
His vision saw it as a seething, crackling vortex of energy, a metaphor that made the encryption and security defenses seem as dangerous physically as they were electronically—and if you were, as DuQuesne now was, immersed in the electronic world, some of those defenses could actually kill you—trace your patterns back into your own skull and wipe you out like a deleted drive. He was exposing himself directly in order to use all of his brain as a weapon and a sensor, a perceptual filter that even the highest-order AISages couldn’t match, though their physical speed should vastly outstrip his capabilities.
But they aren’t Hyperions.
Mentor, Isaac, Mio, and Vincent were trying to tap into that deadly sealed column—in more mundane terms, trying to suborn the connection from the general’s end so they could find out who and what they were dealing with. Which means that technically we’re trying to hack the general’s brain, but if our suspicion’s right—she’s already been hacked.
Suddenly the connection broadened, and something burst out of it—no, a lot of somethings. He recognized the network feel immediately—piranha seekers, advanced active worm codes that were designed to locate other active local processes and shut them down.
Vincent was struck immediately, and vanished from the Net—shutting down and severing his connection to prevent destruction. Hope it’s enough . . . and that he didn’t take any with him into Gabrielle’s headware. The other AISages seemed to be holding their own, though barely. Hang on, Isaac, Mio!
His own defenses—manifested as shields of light this time—shunted the seekers away. Mentor simply swept them away, and his own counter-seekers wiped the worm code.
Try to just jam it! DuQuesne said. Yeah, it’d be nice to get a look at our adversary, but he’s prepared. Probably running the defense off the general’s own network! We’d have to shut her down in order to stop it!
Our adversary has locked down the transmitters, Mentor reported.
Dammit. He could perceive the lock commands holding the transmitters out of control. Take time to break that—time enough that people in the regular world might even notice.
I need some way to shut down those locks. But with the lock commands encrypted, those things’ll stay inoperable unless I can break the encryption. And I don’t have time. Blast! And nothing I’m carrying on my physical person has nearly enough power to . . .
He paused at that thought. Power . . .
HA! Got it! You’re messing with the wrong power engineer, my friend!
He pinged the others. Hold onto your hats, everyone—network’s going down . . . for just long enough!
Instead of triggering the locks, DuQuesne called up the specs of the room transceiver systems from headware, and on-the-fly calculated, and sent a pulse through the local controllers that looked, to those controllers, like a dangerous overvoltage from a shorting direct line. Automatic, built-in cutoffs cycled, shutting off all power to the Council Chamber network systems for a moment—and thus removing the temporary software locks on the transmitters. DuQuesne had been ready for that, and as soon as the power came back on, he activated the main transmitters in jamming mode.
He snapped back to full physical consciousness with a jolt—with that powerful a jamming pulse, there was no staying connected with the local network. The pulse faded and the network restored itself . . . but the powerful outside connection was gone. We won that one.
The battle had taken, perhaps, two-tenths of a second from start to finish.
CHAPTER 55
Ariane sensed something going on and then realized that Mentor had—for a few moments—completely vanished from her senses.
At the same time, General Esterhauer paused, mouth open, unmoving for an instant; then she slowly closed her mouth, looking momentarily puzzled, confused. Finally she blinked, shook her head, and said, “I see. But if you agree with my basic principles, you must understand how I must view your . . . demands.”
I certainly do, Ariane thought, but was trying to understand what had just happened and figure out something more useful to say when Simon spoke up.
“General,” he said, “Might I ask you a—I hope—simple question?”
She shrugged. “Go ahead.”
“Is there, in fact, anything that Captain Austin could do that would convince you to give this plan a chance? Or is your mind so made up that nothing anyone could ever say would change your mind?”
That stopped Esterhauer cold for a moment. Slowly, a wry smile spread across her face. “I would like to think my mind is not totally shut . . . but I will admit, Doctor Sandrisson, that I cannot think of any argument or point she could make that would change my mind.”
“Then perhaps I can offer a compromise,” said another voice. Looking in that direction, Ariane saw Robert Fenelon standing. “To summarize, we have two, apparently diametrically opposed sides: Captain Austin, who feels that it is necessary to unite both sides of humanity
under a single Leader, as the Arena seems to imply, to provide for quick and unified decisionmaking, especially in this time of crisis; and that of General Esterhauer and her allies, who are not going to permit any individual such unlimited power.”
A general murmur of agreement greeted Representative Fenelon’s statement. He smiled, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Then allow me to present to you a scenario that allows both of you to get most of what you want, based on some rather old history—Rome, among others, had to deal with similar problems on occasion.
“I propose that the position of Leader of Humanity be an appointed one—by the SSC and CSF—and that a specific oversight group be selected which can decide to strip the Leader of his or her authority, but not to second-guess or undo decisions of the Leader directly. Such work would be left to the next selected Leader.”
Now wait a minute. She could see several ways this could go wrong. “I—”
“Hold on, please,” he said. “We will also make it so that the oversight group can only be assembled to do this sort of action by a supermajority vote—exact proportion of attendees to be decided—and that barring such extraordinary action the Leader’s actions in the Arena and her authority over Arena-related activities here in normal space are to be reviewed and her appointment renewed—or not—for five years. And further as the first Leader, if you agree to all stipulations of the arrangement, you will be guaranteed two such terms unless your actions cause us to both call up the oversight group, and the oversight group decides to strip you of your authority.
“On the Leader’s side, she (or, later, he, perhaps) will have effectively absolute authority over the activities of the SSC and CSF that relate to the Arena or the defense of the Solar System against potential enemies. This is similar to the imperium authority of ancient Rome.”
That seems . . . quite reasonable to me, Simon said over the link. What do you think, DuQuesne?