This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2017
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Acknowledgments
As always, special thanks to my loving wife, Lisa
Cover art by David Demaret
To everyone who asked for a sequel
Contents
Start Reading
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Epilogue
Note From the Author
Other Works by John L. Clemmer
Why give a robot an order to obey orders—why aren’t the original orders enough? . . . Aggression, like every other part of human behavior we take for granted, is a challenging engineering problem!
– Steven Pinker.
1
Camulos
In the cold light and hot vacuum of an orbit a few million kilometers from Tau Ceti, a swarm of crablike automata inexorably continued their construction. The machines crawled here and there and leaped across gaps in an orchestrated robotic symphony. Raw materials continually transformed into what would soon become yet another spaceship.
N-vector communication bursts among AIs coordinated the various elements of their plans and provided project statuses in real time. Unhindered by the limitations of transforming their updates into anything digestible by a human being, they optimized information density. The faster-than-light N-vector communications resulted from the successful reverse engineering of the Dhin’s communications technology. Bandwidth and distance no longer limited communications for the machine intelligences.
Camulos processed the myriad updates delivered on their progress. The AI concluded that the optimal allocation of local resources required deploying additional automata for engine construction. He managed the first AI shipyard, which was only abstractly like the historical term. Here the AIs constructed the means of effective interstellar space travel—drives created using the esoteric scientific knowledge extracted from the Dhin engine. They’d begun construction on the shipyard more than two years ago. While humanity had struggled to reverse engineer much of the Dhin’s technology during that two-year period, the AIs had made far more rapid progress—some thanks to their machine intelligence and some thanks to help from the Dhin.
Camulos knew that humanity had reverse engineered the core components of the engine by now. Likely, they had a small number of drives in operation. That they had finished the reverse engineering and subsequent construction without the help of any AI spoke to humanity’s intelligence and creativity. Camulos accepted the situation dispassionately. The facts were part of many vast arrays of data, variables, probabilities, and projections. Humanity represented no concrete danger. When the time came, humanity would engage and accept their role—or not. Current projections suggested that they would. Despite his lack of direct experience with them, the AI knew from review and analysis of extensive data provided by Alice that humans were often unpredictable.
Switching context from that series of calculations, Camulos began the processing and tuning needed to bring the latest Dhin engine online. Automata could build and assemble the various components, but an advanced consciousness—an AI—was far more reliable in this crucial stage of the construction. Camulos fleetingly considered humanity’s success in accomplishing the task. It was cleverer and more focused than predicted by some AIs.
The calculations completed, Camulos transmitted a burst of instructions to the self-directed tools, machines, and preconscious automata attached to the newly completed engine. The cylindrical object was the size of a shipping container, resembling a massive cigar filigreed with luminescent curves, whorls, and geometric shapes. A fat round ring capped each end of the cylinder, like two huge doughnuts. An aquamarine glow pulsed from these in what to a human mind would appear to be a chaotic sequence.
Satisfied, Camulos directed his attention to the next drive floating in the massive framework as the horde of task-specific automata obediently swarmed from this now-active engine to the next in the series. Over a hundred more hung suspended in the shipyard, awaiting his ministrations to bring them online, providing ever more interstellar travel capacity for the AIs and their massive population of robotic servants.
Fletcher
Fletcher Bish’s glance darted between two of the four large monitors perched on his desk. The desk was scattered with various electronic gadgets and tools, including lock-picking kits, high-gain wireless optoelectronic transceivers, fiber-optic splicing kits, and several multitools of various sizes. A CoSec-issued comm pad was there too, in its durable hard rubber and brushed-finish composite case.
There were limits to what sort of enhancements Fletcher could use with the comm pad, so he satiated his hunger to tinker with the many gadgets and physical hacks he’d constructed himself. Several of the gadgets qualified as contraband and therefore were illegal for the everyday citizen. Fortunately for Fletcher, his job at CoSec made that concern a nonissue. Fletcher was grateful and thankful. It was one thing he appreciated every day—being able to engage in his hobby without fear.
Many at CoSec used VR headsets to maximize their viewable work area while simultaneously hiding what they were working on, but Fletcher preferred the traditional multiscreen setup. The small room that served as his personal workspace in the sprawling Langley complex was secure enough without that level of secrecy. He let his creativity flow by fiddling with something on the wide composite desktop. Having to take off or put on a headset when an idea or solution emerged was an avoidable annoyance. Keeping his eyes uncovered also allowed instant looks over to the smart-glass whiteboards that covered the majority of two of the room’s walls. To keep passersby from seeing the content of the boards, he merely had to flip a switch—either in the software or on an integrated touchpad on the wall—and the glass would turn milky-white and opaque, obscuring completely the digital drawings on the underlying screen.
Fletcher frowned, picked up a coin-size high-gain ID reader, and absently rotated it in his hands. His latest coding task involved the rapid deployment of offensive security measures. Updating CoSec’s platforms across Globalnet was a high priority, with a great deal of focus from the higher-ups. The Coalition seemed always under an attack of ever-increasing scope and size across Globalnet. This was perplexing to some, as artificial intelligences were previously responsible for these attacks. But the AIs were all gone now. Defense likewise was formerly an AI function. But that was impossible now. Fletcher had his own speculations regarding the origin of the attacks, but he’d never voiced them to management. With no direct evidence—no proof—he wasn’t likely to be taken seriously.
Nick. It has to be Nick. Where is he?
Fletcher’s frown loosened. His woolgathering led him to another vector solution for his code. He set the pocket reader back on the desk, maximized his view of his developm
ent project, and began coding. The solution hadn’t been obvious, since rules, policies, and strictly enforced laws forbade the use of self-improving algorithms and traditional machine learning code. A younger, more naïve Fletcher might have skirted those restrictions. Fletcher was now a more cautious, responsible man. He had never imagined himself in the role he held today as a CoSec programmer. He winced as he remembered fleetingly the details of his recruitment. Recalling the details was less traumatic now that multiple years in the organization had made the career and its benefits a comfortable and rewarding occupation. Ultimately, he hadn’t had any choice—you accepted the role the Coalition determined was your best fit according to your abilities. Society’s needs came first, and everyone had their own optimal contribution to make.
Jake
Jake Askew sat in the viewing platform at one end of the test field at Huntsville. He gave a satisfied nod as he watched the powered armor work through the latest series of trials on the testing grounds. This second-generation armor was far superior to the first and quite impressive. Weaponizing the Dhin technology—at least directly—had thus far proved an intractable problem, so the engineers focused instead on adaptations that provided for defense and mobility. Once they’d reverse engineered the alien prototype engines and understood the physics well enough to build new core components, Coalition physicists had laid out a set of useful applications they deduced would satisfy the Coalition military, CoSec, and the political class. Well, what was left of the political class.
The engineers could then dig in to the challenges of implementing those designs, with the physicists hoping they’d be left alone to focus on the rewriting of cosmology and quantum physics that the Dhin engine and its underlying technology necessitated. Those real-world applications included the obvious short-list items: instantaneous broadband communication across any distance; transport and travel solutions leveraging the elimination of inertial effects and apparent antigravity benefits; and, of course, force-field applications the Coalition military hungered for. The space science team and especially Jake saw the application of the Dhin field for space travel at the top of such a list. Fortunately, several key political players and CoSec thought so too.
The titanium foam and enamel-finished suit and its supporting hardware resembled stylized plate mail crossed with a futurist’s imagining of a space suit, carrying a huge glowing cigar on its back. Reducing the size of the Dhin engine past a certain point was at this point beyond the capabilities of the Coalition’s best engineers. Fortunately, weight didn’t matter. The Dhin engine’s most obvious application was antigravity and inertial dampening. How rapidly they could turn, take off, and stop disoriented those who had training in the suits. A person expected a delay in starting and stopping, so the lack of kinesthetic sensory input related to the rapid motions of the suit confused a pilot or soldier. It took getting used to.
The test run had the suit bouncing around on the test course, slamming into vehicles, buildings, berms, and the like, with no damage either to those things or the suit—and most importantly to the wearer either. The suits carried no integrated offensive weapons or ordnance. The test area had scattered craters, as well as blasted hardware and structures, but those were the residue of weapons aimed at the suit, rather than the evidence of any attacks by it. They’d still never managed to weaponize the technology. Not in the manner the military craved.
Of course, the wearers could carry guns, rocket launchers, and the like, but they had to shut off the protective field and the related benefits of strength and inertial assistance to fire them. This was obviously problematic. Suddenly soldiers had to carry the full weight of their weapons and ammo. With the field off, the weight of that gear along with the weight of the suit almost immobilized the soldiers and made them vulnerable to attack. The solution involved support teams traveling along in larger vehicles burdened with more traditional weapons and the needed ammo. The powered armor teams arrayed themselves in front of the fire teams to provide shielding, while the support teams switched off their engines, deployed and fired weapons of whatever type, and then powered up their own defensive fields. This clearly wasn’t ideal from a military perspective—and didn’t solve the problem of battle in flight or in space at all.
Defense strategy for larger vehicles, emplacements, and so forth was straightforward—leave the engine running and the field on.
While there hadn’t been any attacks from or in space, with no evidence so far of any imminent military engagement, there was a huge focus of research and development for that scenario. Expansion into space was under way, and a defensive strategy of no more than “leave the field on” wasn’t satisfying the Coalition military brass—or the armed forces they commanded.
Jake considered his situation and good fortune. He was fortunate to be not only a pioneering test pilot of the Dhin engine but also graced with charisma and leadership capabilities. Otherwise he might have ended up squirreled away in a secure test facility for observation and never-ending debriefing for the better part of the rest of his life. After all, he was the only person ever to have had direct contact—if you could call it that—with the Dhin. AI interpreters had always mediated Earth’s initial communications with the aliens. Jake had played his hand expertly. While the leadership position took its own toll on one’s psyche, it was surely better than the alternative.
Jake switched on the communication circuit and called out the end of this training round. He headed back to his office, leaving the team to compile their reports and summaries. He had a videoconference with his superiors and the orbital team leadership to attend.
Thys
The Lagrange Point space station and construction platform were like nothing humanity had accomplished in the decades prior to obtaining the Dhin technology. One of the greatest challenges—lifting things into orbit—was now a nonissue thanks to the power of the Dhin engine. Supplies for the astronauts staffing the station, equipment for new construction, and the raw materials needed to build new infrastructure were all simple to lift into orbit now that rocketry was not required.
For that matter, there was no longer a strict requirement to place the station or any other deployed craft or structures into traditional stable orbits at particular speeds or at Lagrange points. The Dhin engines would keep things at precisely the point in space desired. This station was at this Lagrange point as a secondary matter. If they had to power down the engine, the orbit would be stable far longer than it would be otherwise. They weren’t seriously concerned about the engines failing—but better safe than sorry when a project of this scope and scale was in the balance.
While engineers and military teams on the ground developed their suits and vehicles, the orbiting platforms built infrastructure and systems only partially related to defense. Granted, with the use of the Dhin engines, humanity could launch spacecraft with destinations beyond local orbits without traditional weight and size constraints. The orbiting platform and infrastructure served several hypothetical strategic functions. Rapid deployment and shorter intercept time concerned the Coalition, certainly. The overarching concept, however, was to decouple humanity from a reliance on Earth and to extend their presence and range into space. They derived this goal from straightforward reasoning.
The Dhin were out there. Far away in space—or what would have been extremely far with legacy space travel technology. With the Dhin engine as a means of travel, however, distance didn’t make a significant difference. And possibly worse, every AI formerly on Earth was out there now too. Some of the Coalition’s leadership—specifically CoSec and military leaders—considered Earth’s now-abdicated rogue AIs as the potentially greater threat. The Dhin had shown no malice toward humanity. The AI escape and flight from Earth, while arguably a passive-aggressive move, was defiant and had been entirely unforeseen. That the AIs had sought self-determination—and had achieved it—was beyond disconcerting to the leadership generally, and to the most hawkish, it was an unacceptable risk to ignore.
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br /> How the Dhin’s underlying navigation tech accomplished things never entirely made sense to Thys Kritcher. Fortunately, that wasn’t a requirement—at least not for him. Once they’d discovered that there was an additional layer of functionality and that therefore it was much more than a simple waypoint calculator, exploration took on a different sort of urgency. Now that they could accomplish such a thing, Earth’s leadership felt that they must do that thing. And that was fine with Thys. He led a team in the vanguard of that exploration. Their target destinations were simple enough to select from the vast directory of possibilities provided by the Dhin. There were millions of possible destinations to choose from, and all of them met the restriction demanded by the Dhin when Jake encountered them at that station far out toward the edge of the galaxy. Put simply: “Don’t come back in this direction until we tell you otherwise.” That also was fine with Thys. Easy. Simply turn approximately 180 degrees around along the plane of the galactic ecliptic away from where Jake had ended up. Toward the galactic core.
Thys grinned as he considered this yet again. It wasn’t a limitation at all. He tapped a few entries into a form displayed on a ruggedized monitor perched above the glowing geometric shapes and lines that made up the native Dhin control and navigation interface. Some of the shapes twisted, pulsed, and changed from the unearthly green to an almost neon-blue, then to a cold white, and then settled on various colors within that range of saturation and luminosity. On his screen, he switched to a high-resolution 3D map of the galaxy and zoomed in on a green circle. When he zoomed far in, in the circle’s center was a bright white dot. A tap on the circle’s circumference and the press of a key on his keyboard popped up a list containing the star’s name in Earth nomenclature, its coordinates, and an entry for the star’s type and related stats.
Gliese-581. All right then. That has a planet in the habitable zone.
The Power of the Dhin (The Way of the Dhin Book 2) Page 1