Star Trek: Titan - 006 - Synthesis

by James Swallow

  “Is it really?” he replied.

  Melora cleared her throat, mulling it over. “Actually, it’s a good solution. Certainly the best in the time frame we have.” She paused. “I’m convinced that there will be another Null event, a much larger one, and soon.”

  “What if the next incursion is too big for us or the Sentries to blast into submission?” added the engineer. “What then? We need every advantage we can muster.”

  Riker’s hand strayed to his chin and ran through his growth of beard. At length, he gave a nod. “Ask her.”

  • • •

  Despite himself, Torvig gave a slight yelp as the avatar blinked into being in front of him, blocking his path down the corridor. He straightened, attempting to regain some of his composure.

  “I’m in the observation lounge,” she told him. “Doctor Ra-Havreii just summoned me there.”

  “I was on my way to assist with the last of the deuterium slush transfer. You’re multiplexing?” The hologram nodded in reply. The Choblik watched her carefully. There was no apparent slowdown in process speed, no sense that she was distracted by the fact that she was holding two—perhaps even more—conversations at once.

  “The captain is asking me to absorb all of the sensor data from the Sentry called White-Blue. Lieutenant Commander Pazlar is encountering difficulties in interpreting it.” She nodded again. “I was aware of that. Melora does not know that I have been observing her activities. I was afraid she might resent it if she did.”

  “Can you help her?”

  She looked at him. “Should I?”

  The comment seemed odd. “Those data could help the crew, your crew. I thought they—we—were important to you.”

  “This is a test, Torvig,” she said. “They’re testing me. They want to know if I will lie to them. To see if I am still loyal.”

  A chill crept along the ensign’s spine, and he could not stop himself from asking the next question. “Are you?”

  The avatar gave him a look he couldn’t quite read. Was that something like disappointment he saw there? Or perhaps pity? She looked away as she replied, “I am processing the data.”

  That, it seemed, was all the answer Torvig was to receive. “What’s your evaluation?”

  The hologram met his eyes. “Worse is yet to come.”

  Riker watched her sketch lines in the air and conjure screenlike panes from nothing. He couldn’t help noticing that she had changed again, shifting her outward aspect by tiny, incremental amounts. The avatar still resembled the Minuet holoprogram, but now, along with the strange gossamer robes she adorned herself with, her face had a different texture, a tone that strayed more toward porcelain than flesh. The captain wondered if the manikinesque aspect was some sort of unconscious statement on her part, as if she were taking on the appearance of something artificial, reminiscent of a doll, in order to remind them of what she was.

  “I have assimilated the information,” she told the room.

  “That was quick,” said Keru.

  “Indeed,” noted Ra-Haverii. “You managed something in seconds that Melora couldn’t do in hours?”

  “Yes,” replied the avatar. “Lieutenant Commander Pazlar is not able to engage multiple virtual iterations of herself on a single problem, as I am. In addition, I slaved supplemental computing systems to the main framework for extra processing power.” Riker thought he detected a slight air of smugness in the words.

  “What systems?” demanded Melora.

  The hologram glanced at her. “There are several tertiary computers aboard Titan not in active mode at this precise moment. I took direct control of them. Those aboard the complement of shuttlecraft parked in the hangar bays, one hundred ninety-six inactive tricorders and personal auxiliary data displays, as well as civilian crew domestic units, entertainment modules—”

  Vale broke in. “You daisy-chained all of those devices together?”

  “It seemed the most efficient method.” The avatar looked toward Riker, past a floating screen of spooling data. “You did ask me to process the data as soon as possible.”

  Riker frowned at the avatar’s cavalier explanation but pressed on. “Conclusions?”

  “Worse is yet to come.”

  “We’re going to need a more specific analysis than that.” Melora was terse.

  “Lieutenant Commander Pazlar’s initial estimation is correct,” continued the hologram. “Based on the data from White-Blue’s scans and the corresponding information recovered by my sensor grids, there will indeed be another Null incursion. The incidence and magnitude of the subspace events are increasing at an exponential scale and at locations ever closer to the core of this star system.” No one spoke as the floating screens presented a tactical plot of the local stellar region, with the dark blooms of spatial anomalies growing like patches of spilled ink through clear water. “Ambient radiation and precursor traces suggest that the next incursion event will take place within a zone ten light-days from the last. Estimated time to formation: approximately fifteen to twenty hours.”

  It was Vale who broke the silence that followed in the wake of the chilling conclusion. “The last one was the size of a dreadnought. How big will the next one be?”

  “If the expansion of volume remains constant, the predicted incursion will have an initial mass equivalent to one-third that of the planet Earth.”

  “Define ‘initial mass,’ ” said Keru.

  “The Null is capable of direct-contact matter conversion,” said the avatar. “Once it has penetrated our dimension, it will continue to expand, drawing in all matter it encounters. It is likely that if it achieves a critical level of density, a tipping point will be exceeded, and it will be free to draw the full potentiality of its structure into this universe.”

  “The floodgates will open,” said Melora. “We might never be able to stop it.”

  Riker shot the hologram a look. “Do the Sentries have these same data? Do they know this is coming?”

  “No,” she replied. “White-Blue attempted to provide this information, but those overtures were rebuffed. It appears the Governance Kernel does not consider White-Blue to be a reliable source of data.”

  “I think he cried wolf once too often.” Ra-Havreii nodded to himself. “Given the divisive behavior the machines have shown, I’m not surprised.” He sighed. “That’s the problem with multiple-expert systems. Different thought patterns produce divergent results. Disharmony reigns. That’s why a single voice has to take charge in a crisis.” The Efrosian threw the captain a jut of the chin. “The Sentries have their intelligence but poor structure.”

  “We have to warn them,” said Vale. “This is more than just some local problem. The Null could lay waste to this entire sector!”

  “For starters,” Melora noted. “If it consumes this system, within months, it will be expanding through interstellar space, converting everything it finds, even cosmic dust and free-floating hydrogen. In a few decades, it could be at the borders of Federation space.”

  “You think it could absorb stars?” Keru asked grimly.

  “The likelihood is strong,” replied the avatar. “Matter is matter. Only the structure of it differs.”

  Vale leaned in toward Riker. “Sir? How are we going to handle this? If we come to the machines and tell them that doomsday is fifteen hours from now, they’re not going to listen. You’ve seen how they respond to us. We’re organics… wetminds.” She shot the avatar a hard look. “They think we’re inferior.”

  The captain rose to his feet and glanced out through the observation lounge’s curved windows. Beyond, the oval shape of the Sentry spacedock was expanding to allow the Titan inside.

  “Maybe so,” he said. “Let’s just hope we can get them to pay heed to one of their own.”

  On the other side of the rectangular window, the autonomic repair arms and supply tenders went into operation the moment the Federation starship entered the dock platform. White-Blue angled itself on its rear quad of limbs, its upp
er thorax tilted back so it could present its sensors to the data communicator of the repair facility. It sent a few questioning muon pulses, but in return came only blunt, basic responses. White-Blue’s message queue remained unchanged; at the top of its comms listing, a priority directive from One-Five suggesting in masked but pointed machine code that the time to dally with the organics was over. The AI detected the pattern of RedGold’s intent in the message, the poorly parsed elements of the other Sentry’s aggressive posturing bleeding through the verbose, flabby code strings.

  White-Blue expressed a moment of melancholy analog in a burst of prime numbers. For many thousands of clock cycles now, the AI had understood that with each disagreement it made with the members of the Governance Kernel, it was further isolating itself from the central flow of Sentry society. The unity of their kind was dependent on a specialization of function, as Two-Seven and Black-Silver often reiterated, echoing one another’s command subroutines into feedback loops to underline their points. Red-Gold was aggressive because it was programmed to be. Cyan-Gray was a defender, a conciliator. And White-Blue was an explorer, a challenger.

  But lately, the waveform of that function was collapsing. Red-Gold’s strident code was most often the one that overrode the less vociferous Sentries. Not for the first time, White-Blue examined the possibility that Red-Gold had allowed passage of its shipframe beyond the secure perimeter, precisely because it had expected White-Blue’s operation to be terminated by the Null.

  As an artifact of this assumption, the machine computed a synthetic proxy state corresponding to the emotional effect of dread, and despite attempts then to erase the pattern, White-Blue found it could not do so. It finally ceased the fruitless action as its sensors detected the approach of one of the organics.

  “Identifier: Deanna-Troi. Species: Betazoid-human fusion. Interrogative: How may I assist you, Counselor?”

  The female displayed a smile but not one of sufficient magnitude to indicate a genuine elevation in her mood level. “I thought you were assisting the engineering team.”

  “Negative,” it replied. “I am not required at this juncture. Additionally, I believe my presence is counterproductive in some cases. Your crew find me difficult to integrate into their worldview.”

  “I doubt that,” she answered. “No one aboard the Titan is fazed by the new or the alien.”

  White-Blue corrected the error in her statement. “You are mistaken. You base your hypothesis on the appearance of organic divergent life. I am machine life. I am unlike. There is prejudice.”

  Troi’s expression became firmer. “One could say that was true of your kind as well.”

  “That is regretfully correct.”

  “Recognizing a problem is the first step toward fixing it.” Her brow furrowed. For long clock cycles, the Betazoid appeared to be thinking. “Our Federation is based on the ideal of diverse peoples working toward a common goal. You asked how you could help me, White-Blue. You can help all of us, my people and yours, by working with us.”

  “That function is already being performed.”

  “I don’t mean the repairs.” She offered a data soft of the type these beings designated an “isolinear optical chip.” White-Blue had already configured a reader socket on one of its manipulators to accept this media for interface. “Titan’s computer and our science officer have analyzed our data and yours. You need to see this.” She paused again as White-Blue stepped closer and plucked the chip from her fingers.

  The Sentry began a flash-upload process and dumped the data to a cache, sifting it for parity before dropping it into the web of research work and unfinished supposition that it had been collating over the past few solar cycles.

  Surprise was expressed immediately, then a thrill of concern that radiated out over its emotional emulator circuits. White-Blue checked the data a further five times, far beyond the number needed to ensure no redundancy, no error or misrepresentation. All of this it did in less than a few seconds on the Betazoid’s scale.

  White-Blue’s vocoder clicked on. “The Null is coming back,” it said. The statement was redundant, and yet the magnitude of it could not be contained. “This data is alarming. I am… reluctant to admit that I was correct. I had hoped my predictions were in error.” Already, the AI had set a countdown program spinning, measuring the passing clock cycles until the anticipated incursion. “The Titan’s system was able to compute these data where a Sentry could not. Impressive.”

  “Captain Riker asked me to bring this to you. We need you to take these findings to the Governance Kernel. Together, if we mobilize all of our resources—”

  White-Blue spoke over her. “The Titan will be inactive for a further four hours, Federation standard time,” it said. “At that point, all repairs will be complete, and your craft will be released and escorted to the edge of our territory. That is the current directive from the Kernel.”

  “We won’t leave,” she told it. “We can’t, not with a threat as big as the Null about to break through.”

  White-Blue sank back onto its six legs. “Your assistance is not required—”

  This time, the female interrupted. “That data file proves otherwise. Without our involvement, you would not have survived to bring those readings back here. Without our ship’s computer and our crew, you would not have been able to interpret them.”

  “You overestimate the strength of my voice in our society,” it replied. “My status is negligible. The Governance Kernel has previously heard my petitions and dismissed them as alarmist.” White-Blue hesitated, the memory of those moments causing a flare of irritation. “The FirstGen have seniority, and they are hidebound by their programming. They are reluctant to admit they are in error over anything.”

  “What about Cyan-Gray and the other SecondGen AIs in the group?”

  “Some will listen,” White-Blue admitted, “but others are more interested in their own agendas. They may not consider these data to be valid, coming in part as they do from organics.”

  Troi stepped forward and placed her hand on the top of White-Blue’s carapace. The gesture had no quantifiable physical value to it, but the Sentry sensed the meaning the female intended. It is an expression of solidarity. The recognition of a shared duty.

  “The Governance Kernel is convening to pool information in our consensual dataspace,” it told her. “I will gain access and present this datum.”

  The woman’s lips thinned. “Captain Riker feels that this requires the presence of an officer from the Titan as well as you. To demonstrate our seriousness.”

  “And also to keep a watch on me.” White-Blue studied her with a tertiary eye cluster and saw that its statement was correct. “The matter of confidence between us is still an issue. I understand. However, it will be difficult to get the Kernel members to reconvene another real-time physical gathering. The more militant factions carry much weight at this time, and I compute that Red-Gold will be strongly against granting an organic entry to a closed session.”

  “Then how can we speak to them, face-to-face? This isn’t something that can go through intermediaries. It needs to be addressed now.”

  White-Blue retreated a few steps and panned an analysis wand toward the humanoid, considering other options. It found a solution to the problem almost immediately, but with it came the certainty that resistance to its implementation would be strong. “There is a method,” it told her. “But it will require a great deal of confidence.”

  • • •

  The door to sickbay hissed open, and Dr. Ree looked up to see Commander Vale enter, her face tight with annoyance, her hand raised in a halting motion. “Okay, this stops right now.”

  Ree hesitated, the medical protoplaser gripped in his claw, and he shared a concerned glance with Nurse Ogawa. As Vale crossed the room in quick strides, the captain pushed himself off the biobed and came out to meet her. At his side, Troi frowned. Only the Sentry mechanoid appeared to be unconcerned, but then it was difficult to read the emotional sta
te of a device that resembled a giant metal arachnid. The machine was frozen in its stance, arched over the end of the bed with its tool limbs extended.

  “Christine, stand down,” Riker was saying.

  “With all due respect, sir, the hell I will.” Vale folded her arms. “I won’t let you go through with this. It’s irresponsible, it’s dangerous, it’s—”

  “My choice,” the captain said firmly. “We can’t just barge into the room down there, Commander,” he added. “This is the only way we’re getting into the Governance Kernel’s assembly.”

  “There is no room to barge into,” noted Troi.

  White-Blue bobbed on its legs. “Affirmative. The gathering is under way inside a virtual environment construct, while the Kernel members are separated in physical proximity. They are telepresent, sharing dataspace as program remotes.” It gestured with one of its manipulators. “I have absorbed enough data on human physiology to assist your medical officer in the implantation of a neural-linkage module.”