by Steve Alten
Having donned our parkas, the four of us hurriedly exited the helicopter. The intense cold blasted through my layers of clothing like a steel scythe as I attempted to negotiate the ice. Dr. Bruemmer took the lead, pointing to a double-wide trailer. An orange flag adorned with the Greek letter “Ω” set in white designated the structure as the command post.
Bruemmer wrenched open the door for Lara Saints and General Schall, waving for me to hurry.
I ignored him, my attention drawn to a dark figure lying motionless on the ice some sixty yards away. I pointed, then half jogged, half slid across the expanse, the steel teeth of my snow boots occasionally tearing holes into the frozen plain.
Bruemmer waved me off as hopeless and ducked inside the trailer.
As I moved closer, I wondered if I was hallucinating.
The woman was Asian, perhaps in her midthirties. She was lying on a rubber mat, wearing a neoprene black bodysuit and matching boots. Her face was serene, despite remaining fully exposed to the harsh elements; her waist-length tangle of hair whipped behind her like a dark brown flag. Her eyes were closed. She was not fighting the elements; as corny as it sounds, she appeared to be at one with them.
Most bizarre — a swirl of steam was rising from her body, the self-generated heat dispersed by the howling wind.
Unsure whether to leave or awaken her, I simply stared.
As I watched, her serenity bled into a dazed expression. The almond eyes snapped open, only to be blinded by the icy gusts. Whatever had been fueling her internal furnace appeared to have shut down, for she suddenly looked naked against the elements, her mind drowning in hypothermia.
Quickly unzipping my parka, I guided it over the woman’s frail upper torso. Forcing the hood over her head, I scooped her up in the coat and carried her to the trailer, exposing myself to a cold that threatened to paralyze my stiffening muscles.
The trailer door swung open and my uncle dragged us inside.
I laid the snow ninja down on a wool couch, her inert 120-pound form folding like a stringless puppet. She was shaking, her lips blue.
Lara covered her with a heated blanket while my uncle grabbed a walkie-talkie from a battery charger. “This is General Schall. We have a member of the crew in the command trailer, suffering from exposure. We are in need of medical assistance.”
Bruemmer scoffed. “Don’t fuss over her, General, she does this all the time. Crazy Buddhists, thinking they can defy the laws of thermodynamics.”
I sandwiched the woman’s near-frostbitten fingers in my hands, attempting to restore circulation. “Lara, who is she?”
“Her name’s Dharma Yuan. GOLEM assigned her to Oceanus as the team psychotherapist.”
“A waste of food and supplies, if you ask me.” Bruemmer fixed himself a cup of cocoa, heating it in the microwave. “Why the hell do we need a psychotherapist anyway?”
Lara glared at the older man. “Six years away from Earth, stuck inside a ten-thousand-square-foot habitat with eleven other people? I may need a psychotherapist just to keep from killing you.” Pushing past the grouchy scientist, she took the steaming cup from him, then pressed it to the Chinese-Indian woman’s lips. “Dharma, sip this, it’ll warm you.”
General Schall finished speaking to someone on the radio. “They’re sending a truck to take the four of you to Oceanus. Dharma will be treated on board.”
“You’re not coming?”
“No, Robbie. Oceanus’s engines are fueled and the countdown to immersion has already begun. I’ll remain at McMurdo until tomorrow, then I’m off to Australia for six weeks until you resurface.”
“Broads and beaches, huh?”
“Energy meetings. I get to explain to the United Nations why the world’s top engineers have been shuttled to the moon for an emergency fusion summit.”
A beeping truck horn demanded our presence outside. Two medical technicians entered the trailer, carrying a thermal medevac bag. Dharma was placed inside, then carried out to the transport vehicle, followed by Lara and Dr. Bruemmer.
Uncle David gripped my wrist. “Bruemmer gave you a taste of what to expect. Remember, most of the crew have been training together for more than a year. They’ll be suspicious of you — good! Step on a few toes. If one or more of them have sold us out to the coal industry, I want to know about it.”
We embraced. Then I put on my parka, left the trailer, and climbed into the backseat of the awaiting truck.
The battery-powered transport accelerated past several trailers and four fuel tanks on skids labeled FLAMMABLE: ROCKET FUEL. Up ahead, Oceanus I glistened like a giant crystal ball, its surface inverting reflections of its surroundings, its four double-jointed anchor legs giving the structure a “spider” effect. As we moved closer to one of these silo-size supports, I noticed both the top and bottom of each vertical appendage were charred.
The truck parked at a mobile gantry, its heated aluminum steps leading up to a portal situated in the habitat’s third level. Dharma was carried up the stairs by an EMT.
I waited, then followed the others up the gantry into Oceanus.
“Whoa.”
The 360-degree panoramic view was startling, like entering a giant fishbowl. Twelve leather lounge chairs, equipped with harnesses and adjustable tabletops were set in pairs facing the aero gel surface. Above, the heavens yielded to the aurora, running across the endless blue sky like a spearmint river. Below and all around us the camp had mobilized; trucks, trailers, and fuel tanks formed a convoy that I knew was en route to reconvene several miles to the east.
Tearing myself away from the view, I inspected the rest of the chamber. Rising up along the walls like latitude lines on a globe were six tubular support buttresses. These five-feet-in-diameter hollow acrylic beams continued up the curved ceiling where they met at a centrally located vertical shaft.
The vertical column was ten feet around. Composed of aero gel, the see-through plastic tube was filled with an orange-colored fluid, more oil than water.
As I watched, a round object floated up through the flooded shaft like a glob of wax in a lava lamp. An acrylic sphere, its interior was filled with a clear viscous liquid, but appeared to be of a thinner viscosity than what was in the shaft.
The object ascended to my eye level, revealing its internal workings, and thus its identity.
GOLEM …
While conventional computers were designed to implement one calculation very fast, their performance had always been limited to the number of transistors that could fit onto a single integrated-circuit silicon chip. Enter the biochemical supercomputer, an evolutionary leap up the technology ladder. Instead of using the binary system, which delineated either an on state assigned the value one or an off state assigned the value zero, a supercomputer used strands of encoded DNA that produced billions of potential solutions simultaneously, outperforming a trillion silicon chips combined.
The most sophisticated man-made creation ever conceived observed me from multiple angles — one camera within its sphere, the other cameras mounted along the domed ceiling.
My first impression of the machine I had designed and programmed, then deserted before its actual conception, was that GOLEM resembled a giant floating eyeball. At the center of its sphere was a black mass — a pupil-like object roughly the diameter of a basketball. Functioning like the nucleus of a cell, the porous gelatinous membrane was filled with adenosine-triphosphate (ATP), a substance used in human cells to transport chemical energy for metabolism.
There were no circuits in a biochemical supercomputer, no mechanical devices to plug in. Swirling inside the sphere’s enzyme elixir and occasionally through the porous surface of this eyeball-like object were tens of thousands of six-inch-long wire-thin strands. Composed of DNA, each of these twisted double-helix strands had the capacity to store billions of times more data than a silicon chip, all while using far less energy. Color-coded in unique combinations of bioluminescent lime green, phosphorescent orange, neon pink, and electric blue, the
se amino acid nucleotides continuously and would perpetually pass through the black mass’s semipermeable membrane. Each exit generated a tiny spark of electricity that powered tens of thousands of computations in a process that mimicked the chemical reactions which occur in human cells.
“So, the prodigal son returns to see his child.”
Monique DeFriend was dressed in a skintight royal-blue one-piece jumpsuit, the redhead’s physical attributes as clearly on display as the computer’s.
I turned to face my former supervisor, preparing myself for one of our usual verbal jousts. “GOLEM isn’t my child. I was one of thirty scientists who worked on it.”
“It was your design we selected for the DNA matrix, I’d say that makes you its father.”
“And I suppose you’re its mother?”
“Of course.”
“Did its birth leave stretch marks? I’m guessing yes.”
Monique’s hazel eyes danced, her smile frozen. “You’re here to ask me a question: Ask it and go.”
“Okay. Has GOLEM evolved to the point of independence?”
“Eisenbraun, you of all people should know that evolution involves long-term adaptations. GOLEM is learning, reorganizing its algorithmic solution strands, which grow microscopically longer each time they pass through its solution matrix. The greater the length of the strands, the more experience the computer acquires. I’d hardly call that evolving.”
She circled the vertical shaft like a proud parent. “What do you think? You must feel a certain sense of satisfaction, even though you did abandon the project.”
I ignored the barb. “It’s bigger than I designed. Why make GOLEM’s enzyme vessel so large? It would take a hundred years just for the computer to use ten percent of that solution space.”
“It’s all about memory, Eisenbraun. Take GOLEM’s voice recognition software. Comprehending the nuances of human speech such as varied dialects, inflection, and in some cases speech impediments requires vast storehouses of memory. Same for the computer’s optical software, which is rigged to thirty-two cameras on board this habitat alone. Then there’s its motion software and its robotic appendages … a virtual nightmare of programming. In the end, we discovered that the larger the vessel’s free solution space, the more fully a DNA solution strand would mature. It’s sort of like an aquarium, the bigger the tank, the larger nature will allow the fish to grow. That was the real reason GOLEM had to shut down lunar operations, not because the computer had suddenly gone ‘HAL 2001,’ but because its DNA strands hadn’t evolved fast enough to run two autonomous systems concurrently. Of course, try explaining that to our vice president, whose expertise is in fusion, not computers.”
“Why even house GOLEM aboard Oceanus? Couldn’t it simply run operations remotely from Earth like it did on the moon?”
“The moon had Alpha Colony, with its relay satellites. Europa’s a lot farther away, lacking a communication outpost.”
“And this training mission — exactly what are the computer’s responsibilities over the next forty-five days?”
“GOLEM will monitor the crew during their work shifts, evaluate their performances, then oversee all life-support systems while the crew is held in cryogenic stasis. We want the computer’s DNA strands to continue to evolve, readying GOLEM for the Europa mission onboard Oceanus II. By the time our solar shuttle reaches Jupiter, the computer’s increased level of sophistication should allow it to gain full use of its robotic arms.”
“You equipped GOLEM with appendages? Why even send a human crew to Europa? Just let the computer handle the entire mining operation.”
“We could have sent GOLEM — if we had another four years to develop a series of robotic appendages capable of operating underwater at extreme depths and temperatures. Since we don’t have the time, the process of capping and siphoning helium-3 from Europa’s hydrothermal vents has to be performed by our crew. For that, we’ll use the two-man submersibles docked outside the lower deck.” Monique feigned a smile. “Andria’s been trained as one of the sub pilots; once we anchor along the bottom of the Ross Sea you should ask her to take you out for a ride.”
“She told you about us, but she never told me she was involved in this mission.”
“Lovers may keep secrets, but you’ll learn there are no secrets among Oceanus’s crew.”
“Warning: Six minutes until descent.”
We glanced up at the neon-blue sensory orb poised overhead.
“Six minutes, Eisenbraun. Six minutes, six weeks … six years. Six men and six women onboard … and you. GOLEM selected us as much for how our personalities mesh as for our skills. Which begs the question — where does that leave you? Assuming one of our crew really needs to be replaced, are you sure you’re the one who is best fit to replace them? Better think it through, you only have five and a half minutes before we submerge.”
For the first time, the magnitude of my decision to be here weighed seriously on my mind. “GOLEM, locate Andria Saxon.”
“Andria Saxon is in Stateroom One, located on Deck Two.”
I looked around, lost.
Monique pointed to a vertical ladder harbored inside one of the six bulkheads. “When you speak with Andria, be sure to ask her if she minds sharing her suite with you. Twelve suites, thirteen crew.”
I hurriedly descended the steel ladder to Deck Two, only to find myself standing in a circular corridor, the crew’s suites located along the outside, the entrances to far larger compartments on the inside. Heading counterclockwise, I passed Stateroom Eight on my right, the galley on my left. In full sprint I ran past a science lab that spanned Staterooms Seven through Three as if I were running to catch a plane. A home theater, an exercise room, and ahead was Stateroom One, its door open.
Hearing Andria’s voice, I stopped short of entering.
“… how was I supposed to know, Kevin? It’s not like I invited him on board.”
“What if he ends up replacing a crewman on the Europa mission?”
“He won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know him, Kevin. This whole thing was probably his uncle’s doing. Trust me, Ike’s not a risk-taker like you and me; he needs to stay inside his comfort zone, and he’s not very good with people. Spending the better part of six years living in a confined habitat with eleven other crewmen would drive him insane.”
“You never told me he was such a recluse.”
“Most brainiacs are. I suspect his father was the same way. Guys like Ike spend most of their time inside their own head, always analyzing life, never living it. Why do you think he invented ABE? That little microchip in his brain allows him to be as self-contained as GOLEM. Of course, the problem with living inside your own head all the time is that you isolate yourself from the real world.”
“Einstein was like this. I think it’s a Jew thing.”
“You mean a Jewish thing? Don’t tell me you’re anti-Semitic?”
“Of course not. What I meant … I just never understood the attraction. The guy’s a geek.”
“That geek kept us safe and sheltered during the GDO; his ingenuity and foresight allowed us to survive the gangs that would have eaten him and turned me into a sex slave. Ike was the first man I ever trusted.”
“Then why are you with me?”
“The Die-Off passed, only Ike still lives in fear. His phobias about mankind have made him overly possessive. You think he wants me piloting shuttles in space or submersibles on Europa? Hell no. Ike wants me in his bed and in the nursery, raising a kid or two while he explores quantum physics with ABE.”
“That’s not you. You’re a leader, Andria. A warrior bred for action. Just like me. It’ll drive me insane if we can’t sleep together during this mission. You have to tell him about us.”
Hearing them kiss, I dropped to one knee, as if someone had kicked me in the gut. Andie had not only lied to me about accepting a six-year mission, she was cheating on me!
There were a th
ousand things I wanted to say — retorts and accusations, rants and countless explanations justifying who I was and why I turned out the way I did — only suddenly I found myself in the wrong place at the wrong time for all the wrong reasons, and I had to get out now, before Oceanus submerged.
My mind paralyzed in a centrifuge of emotions, I staggered down the corridor — nearly knocking over Lara Saints, who was exiting Stateroom Seven, carrying a palm-size video camera.
“Ike? Are you all right? You look pale.”
Searching for the damn ladder, I mumbled, “Maybe I should run a level-one diagnostic.”
She giggled. “Are you pretending to be a computer?”
“What? No. Lara, where’s the ladder? And who the hell’s Kevin?”
“Kevin Read. He’s the ship’s commanding officer. Why?” She followed me down the corridor. “Oh, God, Ike, I’m so sorry. Do you want to come inside my suite? We could talk.”
Talk? No, I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to grab a bayonet and shove the blade up—
“Ike, here’s the ladder.” She ascended the tube before me, slowing me down, the top of my head pushing against her buttocks from below. We arrived together on the upper deck in time to hear a chorus of voices counting down “… three … two … one!”
Too late.
A deep, pulse-pounding rumble throttled sound and space, the structure reverberating in my bones as I saw the 360-degree panoramic view consumed in the chaos of flames and smoke and a thick white mist that blotted out the Antarctic heavens. The sound of rocket engines igniting below the habitat’s anchor legs muted my protests, along with the whooping and hollering coming from the eight members of the Oceanus’s crew who were strapped in lounge chairs to witness the historic descent.
For a surreal moment the ship actually rose thirty feet above the pack ice, until the quadruple 2,200°F exhausts boiled the ice sheet into gas, as gravity plummeted the twenty-five-ton sphere through a rapidly forming void, the sudden drop approaching free-fall speed.
The g-force collapsed me like a folding chair, and somehow I found myself on my knees, straddling Lara. Lying on her back beneath me, she seemed to be enjoying the ride.