Dev said, ‘We were assigned to this work because of our technical experience with GapSpace. Even using the Gap, the space programme depends a lot on miniaturization. Actually, we two got involved in the first place because we were working on the in-Gap RT that detected the Invitation.’
Maggie asked warily, ‘RT?’
‘Radio telescope,’ Roberta murmured.
‘Tell her what she’s looking at,’ Cutler snapped.
‘It’s one of the smarter submodules,’ Dev said. ‘I mean, most of the components seem to be smart to some extent, and the whole assembly, when completed . . . Well, we haven’t got a handle on how smart that will be yet. What you have there is an approximation to a kind of computronium.’
That left Maggie flailing again. ‘A what-now?’
Roberta smiled. ‘A human name for an alien technology.’
Lee said, ‘A substance where every grain – even every molecule, every atom – is devoted to information processing. This is probably some way short of the ultimate realization. But we can recognize computing systems on a variety of scales, all the way from the mechanical – see those little levers? – down through the electronic, transistors and such, through chemical and nano and, we think, quantum.’
Dev said, ‘But we think the real beef is in the material structure itself. It’s a kind of diamond, engineered carbon, just as it looks. More advanced as a material even than space elevator thread.’
Roberta said, ‘And an innovation which alone is revolutionizing human industries.’
Cutler rubbed his chin. ‘Makes you think about the scale of what’s going on here, doesn’t it? You have rivers of twains in the sky, a steady flow of raw materials across the Long Earth. And you have this, in the palm of your hand, with a computer in every damn molecule.’
Maggie said, ‘How smart, exactly?’
Dev said, ‘Well, we estimate the data store at ten to twenty-two power bits per gram.’ At Maggie’s blank expression, he said, ‘That’s, um, ten billion trillion bits—’
Roberta said, ‘By comparison, a human brain, and a Next one come to that, stores around one hundred trillion bits. Smaller by a factor of a hundred million. In fact the number he quoted is ten times more than mankind’s estimated current global data store.’
Cutler snorted. ‘That doesn’t sound so much.’
Maggie said, ‘But he said, per gram.’ She hefted the block. ‘What does this mass, about a kilogram? And it can store ten times as much as all humanity’s knowledge, the whole of the Library of Congress, per gram.’ She glanced around at the facility. ‘This is overwhelming. Damn it, Ed, you should have sent me some kind of brief.’
‘Would you have believed it? Come meet a few more of our citizen volunteers . . .’
‘Carly Maric.’
‘Jo Margolis.’
‘We’re from the beanstalk facility at Miami West 17 . . .’
These were two bright, nervous twenty-year-olds who were applying experience of massive engineering gained from a space elevator construction project to one of the larger components. What they were building was a glistening, seamless structure of some pale, smooth substance, with a flaring base leading up to a complicated peak where something like a ball joint connected the lower entity to a flaring shield. Maggie thought it looked like the knee joint of some Dali-esque surreal monster.
‘We’ve no idea what it’s for. Or even if it’s finished yet,’ Carly said.
‘But we just loved working on it,’ said Jo. ‘Some of the pieces are made by conventional manufacture. We do some iron smelting here, there’s steelwork, but most of the metal components are built of aluminium that’s flown in by twain from stepwise extraction operations. There’s some stuff built of fancier materials like carbon composites. And then there’s this. If I’m honest, we don’t quite know what it’s made of. The chemists could tell you. It kind of grew in a big vat, layer by layer.’
Carly said nervously, ‘We have to look it over, check tolerances, keep an eye on the flow of materials into the vat, the temperature—’
‘We just love being here, General,’ Jo blurted out.
‘Admiral,’ Maggie corrected her automatically.
‘I mean there was just no work at home, not since they mothballed the beanstalk.’
And Maggie, who had commanded some peacekeeping missions at troubled, half-derelict industrial sites in the overdeveloped, underused communities of the Low Earths, sympathized completely.
But as they moved on, Cutler grumbled, ‘So much for a message from the stars. Sometimes it’s like a damn welfare scheme. We’ve even got the Humble here, just like those Low Earth industrial wastelands.’
‘The Humble?’
‘Think of a labour union run by sanctimonious Next. You’ll see soon enough. And you’ll have to find a way to deal with them, and good luck with that,’ Cutler said blackly.
The factory tour continued. Maggie’s last encounter was, surprisingly, with a little kid with a matter printer. He was no older than ten, eleven. He just sat there feeding scrap into the machine’s hopper, and out the other side came objects rather like heavy bolts, a couple of inches long, with broad heads but lacking any thread that Maggie could see. He’d been doing this for a while, evidently: there was a box of the bolts beside him, half-filled.
A nun sat with him, reading a novel on a tablet. She smiled and introduced herself as Sister Coleen; the boy was called Jan Roderick. They were from a children’s home in Madison West 5.
‘Not just any home,’ Cutler murmured to Maggie. ‘The same home that produced the great Joshua Valienté. You’d think one would be enough . . .’
Maggie knew all about Joshua Valienté, and the Home. She bent down. ‘You made all these?’
‘The matter printer did,’ Jan said simply.
‘Well, yes—’
‘But I programmed it. I go around collecting waste material at the end of the shifts, and I recycle it into things like this.’
‘All very efficient,’ Roberta said approvingly.
Maggie asked, ‘Do you know what these things are for?’
‘No. But nobody knows what any of this is for, not yet. They must be good for something or they wouldn’t want them, would they?’
‘I guess not.’ Maggie studied Jan. And she thought of the couple from the Gap, the girls from the space elevator. Their shining enthusiasm. This project was certainly capturing imaginations, it seemed, from kids’ homes in the Low Earths all the way to space workers. ‘Why are you doing this, Jan? What’s the appeal?’
Jan looked at her as if he didn’t understand the question. ‘There was an Invitation from the sky. It said, JOIN US. And then there were the messages from the Next people, and I figured them out for myself. The viral stories. The number clues that led to this world, Apple Pi.’
‘That’s true,’ said Sister Coleen ruefully.
‘And that’s why I’m making these.’ Another bolt was finished; he bent over, picked it out of the printer’s hopper, stowed it in the box with the rest, and pressed the printer’s restart button. He grinned a gappy grin up at Maggie. ‘JOIN US. That’s what it said. I’m helping.’
Cutler tapped Maggie on the shoulder. ‘First, join me. I got a couple more items to show you before your coffee break . . .’
37
SHE WAS DRIVEN at some pace past a fenced-off compound:
COMMUNICATIONS AND COMMUNITY CENTER
ACCESS THROUGH SECURITY GATE ONLY
Within, Maggie glimpsed huddles of tents, a few permanent buildings, and disparate-looking groups, some gathered around campfires, some singing songs, one lot mounting some kind of demonstration up against the wire. All on the inside of the fence. Marine grunts, blank-faced, wearing heavy body armour and carrying blunt-looking weapons, stood outside the fence and stared back in.
‘Heavy containment for a “communications and community” operation,’ Maggie murmured to Cutler.
‘Yeah. I’ll loan you my Lieutenant Keith; sh
e turns out to be good at dealing with the wackos . . .’
‘ “Wackos”, Ed?’
‘Protesters against the project. We’ve had to do some security screening; we stopped a couple of bombs. Oh, and some who love it all a little too much, on the other hand. They turn up here at random – that’s stepping for you – and we just have to round them up from all over the Thinker site, and that’s a big area, believe me. They’re in a cage in there, whether they know it or not. We “officially” interview them, and we have a closed-circuit comms system so they can make their little video programmes and jabber and scribble away to each other. But they are in a cage, and that’s where they’ll stay. As long as they stay calm, and keep back from the fences, everybody’s happy.’
She thought she heard distant music, a gentle, lulling singing, as if by some vast but distant choir . . . She tried to focus. ‘What kind of protesters?’
‘You name it, we got ’em. UFO nuts. Conspiracy theorists who think it’s all the Communists making a comeback from the stars.’
‘Or Hitler,’ said Sheridan with a grin. ‘Old Adolf’s a candidate too.’
‘I’d be disappointed if he wasn’t.’
Cutler said, ‘Then you have Christians wondering about the state of grace of these people in the Galaxy who sent the message, whatever they are, and some Islamists who fear the Thinker is blasphemous – maybe we’re building some kind of image of God. On the other hand there are some Christian cultists who believe we should build it precisely because it will destroy the world and bring on the Coming of Christ. Take your pick.’
‘To be fair,’ Roberta said, ‘many of the Next express similar views, at least concerning the unquantifiable threat the project poses.’
Cutler said, ‘It’s more serious than that, Maggie. These egghead Next are no more united than we are. There’s a faction of them here – I told you – call themselves the Humble. They can call strikes, walk-outs, go-slows. But they’re not just agitators. They’re a kind of . . .’ He waved a hand, searching for the word. ‘A cult.’
Roberta smiled. ‘Cult. Actually I think that’s quite an appropriate word, Admiral. They claim to be following Stan Berg’s teachings – are you familiar with Berg, Admiral Kauffman? I myself attended the Sermon Under the Beanstalk . . .’
Maggie raised her eyebrows at Cutler, who shrugged.
‘But they are perverting Berg’s words. Be humble in the face of the universe. That’s translated by the Humble as – be humble before me! Do good. Sure. As long as the good is what I say it is, as long as it’s good for me. Apprehend—’
Cutler snorted. ‘Philosophers. We got a zoo of ’em here. You know how you can tell a philosopher? By how many words he uses when he beefs about the john being blocked. Ah, it’s all hot air. But you need to keep a watch on them, Maggie.’
‘I can see you have it all under control, Ed.’
He eyed her, evidently unsure if she was mocking him. Indeed, she was unsure herself.
They drove on from the compound, and Maggie saw they were heading for another fenced-off area, this one much more extensive. The fence itself was enormously long, running from horizon to horizon; she was reminded of the supposedly rabbit-proof fences that they used to build across Australia. Everything about this project seemed to be on a monumental scale, even the fences. Looking through this latest barrier, she saw more activity. Wide, sprawling buildings. Watchtowers where supervisors, or maybe guards, peered down at the action. Big components being manhandled by teams of hefty workers – hell, no, they were too massive for humans . . . And she heard that singing – rich, detailed, an unending round.
‘Trolls,’ she breathed. ‘You’ve got trolls.’
‘No,’ Ed said gleefully. ‘You’ve got trolls. You always did like the damn hairies, didn’t you? Well, be careful what you wish for. It’s like the UFO types in their tinfoil helmets. These beasts just turn up, and you got to put them somewhere. So we built this fence to keep them out of the more fiddly stuff. Not just trolls, actually. Some of those other humanoids have come wandering in. The kobolds, the ones that can speak a little English. Hell, they speak it better than the average marine.’
Jane Sheridan put in, ‘Hey, don’t knock the kobolds. If not for Fingers’s swap meets I’d have run out of underwear long ago.’
‘Join us,’ said Roberta Golding, with a smile. ‘The Invitation wasn’t just for us, you know. Not just for humans or Next. And it was broadcast on more channels than just the radio spectrum. Which is why the humanoids are showing up here.’
Maggie goggled at all that. ‘Run that by me again? . . . No. Later. We need to talk, Professor Golding.’
‘Of course—’
‘Down!’
Suddenly Ed Cutler had his hand on Maggie’s neck, and was forcing her over, sideways and down into her seat in the vehicle. Around her she heard weapons being drawn, triggers cocked.
And then she heard a gruff bark, like a big dog, or a wolf.
Maggie grinned. ‘I know that bark.’
‘Stay down!’
‘Let me up, damn it, Ed! Nobody shoot, and that’s an order.’
A certain natural authority worked in her favour, as usual. Ed, nominally her superior, backed off and let her straighten up. The rest, Jane Sheridan and Ed’s officers and guards, lowered their weapons warily.
Something was running at the fence, from the far side. A huge, vigorous body, on four legs: a wolf, unmistakeably, a huge one. Even Maggie flinched when it reached the fence.
But it pulled up and stopped, panting. Then it raised itself up on its hind legs – not like a dog standing for a trick, more like a human straightening up, a male, low of chest, short in the legs, but standing comfortably. Now it could be seen that the beast wore a kind of jacket, replete with leather rings and deep pockets. And it carried a wrench in one paw-like hand.
Maggie got out of the vehicle, went to the fence and pressed her hand against the wire. ‘You too?’
‘We hear-hhrd. Join us-ss . . . We r-rrhode the twains-ss . . . I saw you-hrr ship.’
‘Good to see you, Ensign Snowy.’
‘And you, Add-hrr-mirrh-al.’ And the beagle snapped a brisk salute.
‘Give me strength,’ murmured Ed Cutler.
38
HER FIRST FEW hours’ dash around the Thinker facilities in this remote footprint of Ohio left Maggie overwhelmed, exhausted. All she wanted was to retire to her cabin on the Duke, and drink some single malt, and chew over her impressions so far with Joe Mackenzie – or, failing that, since good old Mac was long dead, with a compatible soul like Jane Sheridan.
But that wasn’t an option, it seemed.
As the light of day began to fade, the electric cart returned them to the central landing area where the Duke was still tethered. And alongside it now hovered another ship she didn’t recognize, sleek, jet-black, very expensive-looking, obviously private. Lights gleamed from an extensive observation deck built into its lower hull.
‘That’s where we’ll be guests for dinner,’ Cutler said smoothly.
‘Guests? Of whom?’
‘An old friend.’ He glanced at her. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get a chance to freshen up. We had spare uniforms shipped aboard earlier. You do smell a little of dog. And we’re going to take a ride. A proper view of your new domain, from the air.’ He grinned at her, almost evilly. ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet, Kauffman.’
Maggie had pulled long watches before. She rolled with the punches.
And maybe it helped that her capacity for surprise had already been so dulled when, a couple of hours later, in a glittering observation lounge crowded with guests, she met her host, in his wheelchair. A servant, a young man who looked as massive as a troll, stood stolidly behind him.
‘Douglas Black,’ she said, staring.
He grinned, almost elfin, his face a crumpled but suntanned mask. He was totally bald, his scalp covered by huge liver spots, and his eyes were large behind thick glasses. ‘The same.’ He
held up a spindly arm, a bony hand.
She tucked her peaked cap under one arm, and had to suppress a childish shudder of revulsion at the prospect of taking that claw-like hand, but when she did so the flesh was leathery but warm. ‘I haven’t seen you since—’
‘2045,’ he said without hesitation. ‘When you deposited me on Karakal.’
‘Earth West 239,741,211.’
‘Well remembered. My Shangri-La. My refuge against illness and ageing. And it worked, as you can see.’ He lifted up his arms, looking oddly like a clumsily worked string puppet. ‘I’m a hundred and six years old. Yet, I think you’ll agree, I don’t look a day over ninety-eight. And that joke is even older than me. Welcome to my humble vessel.’
With a soft shudder, the airship began to rise.
Looking around, Maggie saw that immense windows and transparent panels in the floor offered a wide view of the receding ground. The setting sun cast long shadows across a carpet of Thinker components. Her view expanded further as the twain rose. There was the ‘rabbit fence’, the compound of the trolls and beagles, itself a vast expanse, but, she could see now, even that was an island surrounded in the further distance by more of the Thinker construction . . .
‘Here.’ Ed Cutler stood by her; he handed her a glass of champagne. ‘I suspect you need this.’
Black raised a glass of fruit juice. ‘To health, long life and a fruitful cooperation.’
Maggie smiled. ‘I can hardly not drink to that.’ The champagne was exquisite, delicate – but too refined for her tastes, she knew. She’d swap a bucket full of it for a measure of a decent single malt . . . ‘Look, Mr Black, I’m new to all this.’
‘I know.’
‘You said cooperation. Cooperation over what?’
Cutler growled, ‘You can blame Professor Golding and her collaborators in Messengers, Inc. for that. The Next were worried that the project wasn’t progressing as well as it could – the development’s been patchy. The industrial concerns they’re consulting with on the Low Earths either don’t have the capacity or can’t deliver the quality. Shambolic organizations like the Long Earth Trading Company, for instance.’
The Long Cosmos Page 21