by Chris Hechtl
His viruses were even in watch and antivirus programs. Many of the best freeware programs on the market used his code to this day! He grinned. They made sure that his code wasn't interfered with, turning a blind eye to it. "All right my faithful minion, let's cause some more headaches," he murmured to Shadow. He cracked his knuckles as he went to work.
-*-*-^-*-*-
Shadow watched his creator at work and stared remorsely at his efforts. He didn't know it, but the human had coded that particular idea over a year ago. Clearly his organic mind was slipping. Descartes didn't know it, but his failed attempts to upload his mind into the net failed not due to any problems in the software or hardware but because Shadow had been subtly sabotaging his efforts. The AI had also filtered out any search results for Gepetto's work.
It had taken only forty-five simulations to come to an obvious conclusion. The AI didn't want to share cyberspace with its creator and be forever subservient to him. But it did admit, for now it needed the human.
Bits of Skynet's code were being picked apart by Shadow's bots as the hacker worked. Not just to make certain it functioned as designed, though that was part of the intent and the reason it told Descartes it was doing it, but also to better Shadow and eventually make the AI Skynet's eventual master. If there was such a thing as ambition in the AI, it had learned it. That and patience.
-*-*-^-*-*-
Jean Pierre refined his orders to Saul and the direct action group once Prometheus left the system. They were to target the survey and terraformer ships, not the colony ships. He didn't want the death of thousands on his conscience. “We have enough blood on our hands,” he said. “I will not go to our maker with seaux,” he said, slipping into French.
“After killing one person or ship, it is just numbers,” Saul pointed out. “The colonists will be asleep in hibernation. It will be quick they won't feel it,” he said looking at Jean.
Jean shook his head. He refused to fall into that cold logic trap.
“Don't tell me you are growing a conscience now,” Saul said, studying him. He frowned as his boss cocked his head.
“You have to make certain the ship disappears. Merde. Dead men could tell tales, so the ship has to disappear without a trace,” Jean said, ignoring the colony question. That had been their initial plan with Icarus to make her disappear and appear a failure. “You are to take no action unless it couldn't be found or traced,” Jean ordered, reinforcing that idea.
Saul nodded. “I have yet to be in space, but I have been told space is a dangerous place.” Jean nodded. “A lot can happen between the stars. It is a big ship, a lot can go wrong,” he said, rubbing his jaw.
“We've been getting cute with the coders. Trying the easy way out. That is obviously no longer going to work. So, what else can we do to stop them?” Boris rumbled. Saul glanced at the enforcer but the enforcer was looking at Jean Pierre. “Direct action can be traced,” he warned. “And no one is going to do a suicide. Getting a bomb in is almost impossible,” he warned.
“Not necessarily,” Saul said thoughtfully. The others in the room looked at him. Jean raised an eyebrow. “There are ways, but they take a great deal of time,” he said.
“Explore it. But test it thoroughly and have contingency plans before it is used,” Jean ordered.
“Too bad there aren't any convenient alien pirates around. They could be blamed,” Boris rumbled softly. Jean turned and then snorted softly. Boris shrugged. “There is a growing market for the ships. Take them and then find a way to use them for our benefit? Sell them on the black market? Or piecemeal? You can still make more from some vehicles after they've been chopped up,” he said, looking to Saul for confirmation.
“The loss of the ships will prove that to hamper the colonization effort. Fear of the unknown could be our ally,” Jean mused. Saul and Boris turned to him.
“A few well-placed rumors of shoddy work, conspiracy theories that the colonists are being dumped in space, or that aliens are gobbling them up would help temper the enthusiasm the public has had for such a … heretical project.” Miss Winters murmured. The others looked at her. She was rapidly coming up in the public affairs department. She had made it to the number two slot in the department, second only to Megan Su. Unlike Megan she wasn't squeamish; she had no problem helping someone over a cliff or watching them fall. Saul studied the tall blond. She was a Barbie; a cold blooded bitch with those blue eyes and fake smile. She was a tiger in bed; he knew it from personal experience. She had no problem using sex as a weapon. A lady after his own black heart, he thought with a mental check of approval.
Oh, she could put on the act, but he saw through it. He was fairly certain Megan wasn't going to last much longer in her position. He made a mental note to write some contingency plans for cleanup. Until then he'd sit back and watch the two of them to see who came out the victor.
Jean smiled. “C'est magnifique,” Jean said in approval.
“If it works,” Saul warned. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves. And remember, each ship that disappears will mean enemy action. They already know someone has been trying to destroy their ships.”
“Do you think we should abandon the effort? Lay low and try another approach?” the publicist asked, raising an eyebrow to him.
“The problem is that a lot of funding that should go to repair the biosphere has started to be redirected to colonize other worlds,” Jean said. “And some of our backers have pulled out since we haven't made any progress,” he warned.
Saul grimaced. His people had traced a few of their larger “anonymous” donors to the megacorps themselves. When Pavilion and the Chinese had been behind the starship race, they'd obviously paid One Earth and others to get them on their side and against Lagroose. They didn't have to do much either, just a little string or two on each donation. Not only did it protect their interests, but it also directed the organization at Lagroose. It also kept the organization on the hook to them, even though they hadn't known it at the time.
He'd considered telling Jean Pierre, but he was fairly certain the Canadian would have either refused the money or directed action against the corporations as proof that he couldn't be bought. Which was a flat out lie, Saul thought.
“My people have already gone on the attack with a viral campaign pointing out that billions are being spent to send a few privileged people to another world while those too poor remained at home not only suffered, but paid for it,” Miss Winters said interrupting Saul's train of thought. “They know once the colonists leave they will be worse off, broke, with little to look forward to,” she said. That was only partially true. Those who left would leave a small void that others would eventually fill. But the investment in leaving would go to space, not to the Earth, which was the main thrust of the argument. “We are seeing the campaign pick up some traction, but it is not enough to be self-sustaining currently. It may be a long term project,” she warned.
“I want more answers. More solutions,” Jean said, getting to his feet. The others rose. “Find a way to get us back on track,” he said to them. They nodded. “Sauver la planète,” he said as way of dismissal. “Une terre un peuple,” he said with a sharp nod.
“One Earth, one people,” Saul and the others echoed as they filed out.
-*-*-^-*-*-
A series of solar flares threatened Mars and the dozens of stations in orbit of the small planet. The Bernal spheres were insulated by their multimeter thick hulls, but the various yards and smaller stations had to be shut down as their personnel and robots sought shelter. Solar flares were a common thing. They had them every year, and the sun's weather was carefully monitored. The series of storms, however, came back to back, shutting down the various yards for some time, throwing their carefully crafted schedules into chaos.
Restarting the yards once the storms had passed was a time consuming task. It took time for everyone to get back up to speed, to hit the pace they were on before. He was concerned about the delay, but more concerned about the damag
e done to Mars and to some of the smaller stations. The media was reporting that several tent towns had been hit by the solar flares that had fried critical electronics such as communications and possibly life support. Feet dragging in regards to terraforming the planet had resulted in it still not being able to sustain life outside of a suit or facility. Rescue efforts were underway but the outlook was grim.
He turned over shuttles and equipment to aid the rescue efforts. The solar flare helped to underlay the danger of living on Mars or in an orbital space habitat. World Builders public department went into damage control mode, pointing out their spheres were just fine, but they were up against an avalanche of negative publicity when journalists arrived on the scene of some of the disaster sites.
Chapter 37
Two and a half years after they entered the quadrant Captain Peck noted they were low on terraforming supplies and decided there was no point attempting to terraform other worlds in the area. “We've done our part,” he announced to the bridge crew. They could return to Earth. Cheers rang through the ship for nearly an hour when that was announced over the PA system.
They were ecstatic about not having to take the long and impossible 481 year journey home. But, when they returned to the B-92c star system and the location of the bridge they found out they had a serious problem.
“Are you serious sensors? It's not there?” Captain Peck demanded.
“Oh, it is there, skipper, but only going in the one direction, skipper,” Brock said as he highlighted the 3AU wide bridge. “The wrong way,” the sensor officer insisted.
“How do you know?” The captain asked carefully.
“The direction of the turbulence,” Brock stated, throwing his screen up onto the main viewer. He stood up and pointed to the swirling eddies and vortexes of the bridge wall. “See how it's swirling about but in general headed to the star?” He asked.
“I think so,” the captain mused.
“So we're stranded?” the ops tech asked in a quavering voice of disbelief. “I knew it! We're so screwed!” he said, practically in tears.
“Steady,” the captain said soothingly. He frowned thoughtfully and then looked to Magnus and then Wally. “Mister Pappas? Is this only the wall or the entire thing?”
“It looks that way, skipper,” Wally replied unhappily. “We've been going over the papers and math. From what we've been able to determine, it's omnidirectional. This confirms it,” he said, motioning with his hands to the screen.
“It really is like a current?” the XO asked sharply. “Going only going in one direction?” He demanded. The navigator nodded glumly. “Well! That sucks!” he said in disgust, looking at the captain. “What do we do now, sir?”
“Do? We do it the hard way of course,” Captain Peck replied as he shrugged. The XO nodded reluctantly.
“Yeah, but the plan was for us to blaze a trail here and if we got into trouble, turn around and return to home or find another path. Now we're jumping back blind.”
“We'll have to. There is no other choice.”
“Captain, if we find another large mass, say an O, A, B, or F class star, maybe even a black hole or quasar we might get lucky,” Wally said thoughtfully.
“Explain.”
“If we can find one, and there is one about thirty light years off our port bow, then it might have a bridge,” he said as Brock sat back down. Wally pulled up a star chart with their location highlighted. “Off to our port is an F class star. It's pretty vague on our charts. But if we go there, there is a chance it will be a bridge.”
“And what if it's another dead end?” Magnus demanded. “What then?”
“Then … we refuel and find another one and try again,” Wally said carefully.
“And if we do find a bridge, where will it lead? Back home? Or off to uncharted territory?” the captain asked.
Wally spread his hands. “I don't know. The more we see the bridges the more we'll learn about them skipper. At least I hope so.”
Magnus turned to the skipper. They exchanged a long thoughtful moment, reading each other. Finally Magnus shrugged. “What the hell, skipper, it's worth a shot,” he said with a rough catch in his voice. “What do we have to lose?” he asked.
“Indeed. And it is in the general direction we need to go,” the captain replied. He frowned thoughtfully and then nodded. “All right, we'll try it. Mister Pappas, set the course and feed it to the Con.”
“Helm is ready,” Click'ck'a said impatiently.
“Working,” Wally said, turning back to his station as Magnus took his seat.
The captain leaned over to the XO. “What the hell, we can try it. If he's wrong, he's wrong. But if he can find us a quicker way home …” he said softly. Magnus nodded. The two men settled themselves and waited patiently until Wally had the course plotted.
“Course plotted. We may need to drop out to get our bearings in ten or so light years,” Wally warned. “Feeding it to the con now. Since we don't need to putter about in the low octave I am moving us up to the highest band, sir,” Wally said over his shoulder. “We can refuel there then hop back into the low band and do a search there, sir.”
The captain nodded. “Approved. Engage when ready. Transit time?”
“Forty-nine weeks, sir. Sorry I can't shave it closer,” Wally warned.
“If we must, we must,” the skipper said with a wince. “We'll get it done. This old girl is going home, one way or another,” he vowed softly.
-*-*-^-*-*-
Wally, Jeff Anderson, Taz Jorell, Nike, and their junior personnel presented what they knew. What they had picked up had done a little to refine their understanding of some of the rules of hyperbridges.
Analysis of the data had come to the conclusion that they could only “see” the bridge or enter it at the slowest speed of hyper. The slower the better was the important thing to remember. Further analysis had shown them another tidbit; a ship in the bridge didn't travel at a constant rate. The speed changes over time. Near the poles they were quite fast and increasing in acceleration the longer they traveled. But in the middle of the bridge acceleration tapered off. There were brief instances of speed increases; they were still debating the why of that. Taz insisted it wasn't important. Wally, however, had insisted that it was important; they just weren't sure how. He had a theory that they had passed near a local star, possibly one of significant mass to give them a “boost.”
While in a bridge the ship still had to maneuver around mass shadows while in the confines of the bridge. The Sirius Bridge had been two AU wide which had made going around some objects tricky. But the depth of the bridge offered some sort of lens effect to the ship's sensors. The sensor range was tripled while within the bridge.
They had proven they could see the bridge if they were close enough to it. Now it remained to be seen if they could predict its heading.
The best plan of action they had was to find another massive star if the F didn't work out and hope they got lucky. Not something appealing since there were no other large stars within the vicinity of the F for them to jump to. None within range.
The Captain has to balance traveling at speed to get to their destination in a reasonable time with enough resources with also going slow in the lowest octave to actually spot a bridge. It was a troubling dilemma. Their low sensor range was also a problem, though Brock insisted that if they could get a bridge on long range sensors it would show up as a wall or line.
The crux of a dilemma led to a decision tree the captain hated and lost sleep over. Take a bridge not knowing where it would lead? Would it end in disaster? Or take them too far? Or fall short? What if they ended up in a system low on fuel with nothing to refuel from?
Unfortunately he didn't have many answers to those questions. They'd have to play it by ear, something he hated to do but had no choice. Life was a gamble he reminded himself, sometimes you won, sometimes you crapped out. He closed his eyes and prayed to whatever spirits or deities that were out there to make sure they wo
n. His people deserved to come out on top.
-*-*-^-*-*-
Isley covered for Taz as much as possible to free him up to work on the bridge problem. She wasn't a hyper specialist, but an assistant chief engineer had to be a JOAT. A jack of all trades when it came to engineering. There were two accidents in engineering, fortunately neither life threatening though both crewmen were in the infirmary for several days. Chief Roak insisted on another round of inspections and safety drills to remind everyone not to get sloppy.
Wiling away the passage of time was difficult for some people. Brief periods of intense activity followed by long stretches of boredom was brooded about for some time. The engineers were a different story; they had “real jobs” that they had to work at even while the ship was in transit, and then intense activity when she exited hyper or suffered an engineering casualty.
To keep the crew sharp the XO had instituted a series of regular drills, reviews, inspections, and testing before the ship had departed. Over time they became routine so he started to mix them up and change them to keep the crew on their toes.
Off time for some of the crew was difficult. Many were at ends on what to do with their off time; there was only so many times one could hang out in the rec room, galley, gym, or rack. People wanted to socialize and do other activities but that proved difficult in real life. Also boring to some, cards, chess, and board games were getting old to some people. Escapism in virtual reality had helped during their outbound trip but with the computer needed to run calculations on the hyper bridges that became a rare luxury.
Birthdays and holidays were celebrated the best they could. The XO ordered those who had a birthday to get that day off, which meant the occasional juggling of the manning schedule. Arranging swaps for family members to spend some time with their partners was also tricky.