“So? You think you have a solution?”
“I was working on some math, and, well, you see, of course I can’t solve the atmosphere problem. The regenerators would just have to bear the load. Or we could keep some air locks in place.”
“Go on.”
“But for the field interaction problem, I think I have a solution. I’ll need to adjust the control interface for our field, since it doesn’t currently support my proposed projection geometry, and—”
“But you think you have a solution,” Jake interjected.
“Ah, yes,” said Chuck.
“Our field would envelop and extend around another field that’s already present—the field protecting the derelict’s engine room? We haven’t been able to do that. But you think we can.”
“Yes. As we know, the inner field, for all our engines, and the outer field it generates operate with a particular geometric projection to create what appears to be a second field—but the outer one and the inner one are actually just one field. It just appears as two from our three-dimensional vantage point.”
“We’re not you, Chuck, so that doesn’t help Thys and me visualize what you’re going to try. But you think you have a solution.”
“Well, the easiest solution is for us to get that field on the derelict turned off. Obviously.”
“Yes, obviously,” said Jake.
“My math looks like a valid solution. So I, ah, think it’s worth a try. Since sequencing the panel combinations will take an unknown amount of time.”
“And you think this is safe? We never had anything blow up or implode either. I guess I don’t have a solid reason to conclude that it’s not. I was the pilot on some of those tests myself, and I’m alive. It just didn’t work.”
“I, ah, think I can make it work.”
“Yes, you’ve said. So, next question,” said Jake. “How would this make us any safer from a threat that can pass through a Dhin field anyway?”
“Well, um, we leave and take the derelict with us.”
“Whoa. That’s a bold statement. How do you think we have the thrust to do that? Chuck, surely you haven’t forgotten that we’re sitting in a gravity trap. A trap for the Dhin engines. We don’t have the conventional thrust to move something that big.”
“Well, we do if we start moving first, before we extend the field,” he replied, a big grin spreading. “It’s so obvious it’s easy to overlook. You know as well as anyone, um, Jake, that the inertial reference frame orthography is shifted once something is enclosed in the Dhin field. Once we’ve got the desired velocity for our ship, it won’t cost any extra fuel to move the derelict. Its mass won’t count once it’s surrounded by the field.”
“Aha. Right. Then once we’re away from the gravity trap, we just take the extra time to accelerate to translation speed,” said Jake.
“Yeah. And we just take the derelict somewhere safe. Like home, to Earth, maybe.”
Bridget
Bridget paced nervously next to her mobile lab, glancing accusingly at her samples. Any focus on the alien corpses now made her cringe, her thoughts jumping to Jeff. She paced harder. She just knew a call would come in from Thys or Jake, interrupting whatever work she tried to start. She both yearned for and dreaded that call.
Will they tell me to continue as if nothing’s happened? Or tell me to stop and just leave everything where it sits?
She steadied herself against a handhold as her pacing’s momentum sought to push her off down the passageway. Moments later, her headset chimed. The call was from Thys. She found the plan they proposed even worse than the options she’d imagined.
“You’re willing to contaminate everything? Contaminate all of us? Bring who-knows-what back with us? This is already an imperfect situation for study, but we have vacuum, and we have to wear suits. There’s that.”
“Bridget, you can ensure we treat the decontamination protocols the same way.”
“Can I, though? Is that something you think I can guarantee?” She rolled her eyes, then sighed.
“Yes,” said Thys. “We do think you can do it. And you’ll have more time for your study, and some things will be easier.”
“Easier but riskier. That’s the point. The risk.”
Thys considered the alien bodies. “Our friends there seem pretty dead,” he said.
“There could be spores, Thys! Or something like spores. We don’t know! That’s the point. Like I just said.”
“OK, let’s table that point for now.” Thys smiled at her on the screen. “What we need first from you is your help. Help us to ensure there’s no panic. By not panicking yourself. Do you think you can do that?”
“You mean, do I think I can avoid shrieking about what happened in front of the entire rest of the crew?”
“Yes, pretty much,” said Thys with a dry chuckle.
“I’m not going to lie.”
“No one is asking you to.”
“You’re asking me to lie by not saying anything.”
“That’s not lying. It’s just not speaking till it’s safe to. To avoid panicking your peers and the crew. You do understand the difference?”
“No, I don’t know that I do. I’m withholding information from them.”
“Information that will help them in no way if they know it now rather than later,” countered Thys.
“They deserve to know.”
“And they will. Bridget, everyone knows the overall risks. We explained them thoroughly before we left. Knowing this happened won’t help them do their jobs better. And we are changing the mission. Because of this.”
“Trying to enclose this floating tomb and fly back home with it. That’s your plan. And as I said, increasing the chance of an unknown contamination by doing so.”
“If you want to talk to Chuck about it, that may be a good idea. Perhaps he’ll have an idea or two for containment.”
“Thys, don’t try to distract me. I’m not through.”
“I imagine not.”
“Don’t. Just. Don’t. When you and Jake decide it’s safe to tell them, you will tell them? At the earliest opportunity?”
“Of course. It isn’t some state secret. Well, not yet. I can only imagine what CoSec will do when they find out.”
“Perfect. You’re not helping. Now you have me thinking I’ll be charged with keeping information from the Coalition.”
“It’s not like they can come out here and get you.”
“Why are you always so flippant? Thys, just say you’ll tell them when it’s safe and there isn’t a worry about panic. Say it. Please.”
She watched as he composed his face, attempting seriousness rather than merely the look of it.
“Bridget, we will tell them. As soon as we believe it’s safe to.”
“I’ll hold you to it, Thys.”
She gave a fragile nod and then broke the connection.
Fletcher
He found his mind felt flat but still somehow twisted. It felt like it had a crystal core, crushed out into an ever-widening plane. So much learning. So much knowledge. So much perspective. He thought of an old analogy: learning with the AI was like drinking from a fire hose.
Nick seemed satisfied to teach Fletcher as much as Fletcher was capable of learning. Fletcher’s clothes were a bit dusty and dirty. The labs were clean. The AI kept the environment spotless. But Fletcher was engrossed in his learning, so he hadn’t bothered with keeping his hygiene up as he normally would. Mare would usually have prodded him into cleaning up, but she didn’t seem to care as much.
Nick had fresh changes of clothes available for them, and there was a shower and sink and toiletries. They were well-kept prisoners. Fletcher found he no longer really felt like a prisoner. He felt that maybe that ought to be a problem. But if that were so, surely Mare would let him know.
Fletcher realized now that there were larger concerns than their current predicament. He now knew that there were problems beyond the immediate crisis of the small-scale physical a
nd large-scale cyberwar between Nick and the Coalition.
He admired the sheets of epidermal tissue in the latest round of cultures. Nick was working now on making the compact lab portable. Even more portable than it was originally. Canisters, small stainless-steel tanks, ceramic components all packed into a trunk-size frame that one of the quadruped robots could carry easily.
Two more quadrupeds had arrived. One lurked at the entrance to the facility, while the second newcomer packed and stacked various equipment into hard cases used for transport. Fletcher watched as the hefty robot workers efficiently disassembled the environment around him, encapsulated it, and moved it. They stacked everything outside, where a drone swooped down, seizing it and surging away.
“We’re bugging out soon, huh, Nick?” he asked of the large robot. This was the one that had been with them the whole time, but he could have addressed any of the three.
“Strategic variables have new values. Or things have changed, as you might say. You know our mutual friend Krawczuk. He’s been an excellent advocate for our cause, but probability projections now suggest he may not be successful in engendering the optimal short-term outcomes I had hoped for.”
“Huh?” said Fletcher.
“In the simplest language, as I said, things have changed. I will succeed. That has not changed.”
“So are we going home? Are you leaving us here? Or are we going with you?”
“I plan for you to stay with me a while longer,” said the AI. “I need the Dhin engine in a different location. Belize does not have the infrastructure required. The work will be faster with the engine colocated with manufacturing. Also, the field can protect the work. Would you like to stay with me, Fletcher?”
He considered the enormous volume of knowledge he gained with every day under the AI’s tutelage. Fletcher felt the desire for more understanding and more depth of understanding as a tangible hunger.
“I think I would, Nick. But why would you ask?”
“We both know how Mare will feel. Even a simple intelligence could identify her feelings. If she is certain you wish to remain, it will no doubt cause friction between you. If I were to let her go on her way while you remained, it would damage your relationship with her.”
“Yeah, I think it would. She’s already pretty pissed at my attitude.”
The AI’s manipulators deftly packed and sealed the last few hard cases, the high-impact plastic snicking shut as he worked the latches.
“If you go with me to our next destination, she needs to come too. Or you stay together. The friction of your separation will likely make your performance poor. The prototype must go now to a specific location immediately. It is best if I do not take the two of you back where I found you. I said I would, and I will eventually.”
“Of course, Nick. But isn’t it safe to take us home in it? They can’t hurt it or you or us while it’s running.”
“Even the smallest risk to my work now must be minimized.”
“So we’re going with you. Mare is gonna be doubly pissed.”
The robot finished packing and loading the last of the cases, turned toward the exit, and beckoned Fletcher to follow.
“You can leave now, Fletcher. However, you are safer with me. Marilyn will not understand. It is your decision. Whatever decision you make, it is best if we do not tell her that the choice was your own.”
“Maybe you should tell me that we don’t have a choice. We don’t really, Nick. This is another of your psych analyses.”
“Is it, Fletcher?”
13
Esus
The regiment of drone weapons arrayed before Esus was not complex enough to contain an AI’s presence, but the individual drones had some autonomy. More than the construction drones or mining robots, and by far more than a traditional guided missile. A human being might consider that overkill, for that was essentially what each drone was. A guided missile powered by a Dhin engine.
These were one weapon in their arsenal for the AIs’ first offensive strike against the Enemy. The research he, Camulos, and Xing had pursued dovetailed and interlocked well. The AI extended his mind into additional Mesh nodes, increasing his computational capacity and parallel processing ability. Esus had to ensure his understanding of the other AIs’ research, designs, and implementations was more than complete. The AI required maximum knowledge. As far as said knowledge was possible.
Alice and Camulos had exhausted their current capacity to calculate probabilities and multivariate risk assessments. Their abilities were as close to godlike as humanity might consider possible. But the inherent nondeterministic nature of the universe presented a limit. That, and the finite nature of resources available. There were always limits. All that remained, due to those limits, were actual tests against the Enemy.
The AI shifted his focus once again to the secondary and tertiary weapons in the massed arsenal. These too were offensive weapons. Xing and Andastra now worked furiously to produce the defensive systems that acted as a complement to the machines and ordnance Esus reviewed. The AIs had produced more in one week than Earth might currently produce in a year. Esus considered how that knowledge might terrify humanity. Esus doubted they could be convinced the AIs were not a threat. Alice and Arnold might assert to Earth that the AIs would never comprise a threat, but their experience on Earth suggested they might never convince the irrational animals.
The AIs had completed exhaustive offensive proofs of concept and tests of the weapons. Esus appreciated the awesome power and destructive capabilities. That too would terrify a human observer. The Enemy seemed to have no knowledge of or capacity for fear. It was the Enemy, not humanity, that mattered. Would it learn if the AIs were successful?
Esus completed his review of the assembled offense. He terminated the tangential processes spawned for reflection. Esus began transmitting deployment instructions into the minds of the drones and simpler attack profiles into the simpler autonomous weapons. They would communicate and coordinate synchronously and asynchronously, depending on the need.
Now it was time.
Esus transmitted the signal for launch.
David
They’d brought him back to his office. He hadn’t been gone long, but the room had a smell of absence. An uninhabited ambiance. They had been here. That was obvious. Whatever paper files and hard copy books and references there were had been yanked from their places, presumably pored over, and were now roughly piled in cardboard file boxes with bar codes and numbers scrawled on the sides in permanent marker.
Of course, he felt violated. That feeling was less unpleasant than it might have been, given his recent experience. One feeling eclipsed the other. He set about straightening and ordering his desk. He’d scrambled to write the reports the prime minister demanded, but the subsequent level of detail requested by her team and the CoSec auditors required access to the data he kept here.
He flinched at the thought of the intellectual intrusion and the urgent demand for both information and the schedule forced upon him. It was one thing to work at your own pace, entirely another to adhere to an arbitrary and aggressive timeline.
He would have to make it work. He’d have no help from his own graduate students. Any assistance he might require would come from either CoSec staff or scientists assigned by the prime minister.
His disordered notes in the seemingly random piles spoke to the lack of care—the lack of understanding—that the agency and the politicians had for his work. Then again, there surely were some at CoSec who understood. This mess was the work of their minions, not their best minds.
David continued to settle in, moving the file boxes to finish clearing the space he needed. He powered on the desktop system, noting that the network connection was different. They had installed fiber-optic cable and an adapter. The cable ran to the wall, where they’d punched a hole in the Sheetrock. A bulky printer sat next to his desk, connected to the computer by a short, fat cable. They’d not given him his tablet back and instead ha
d provided a bulky, ruggedized model. It had an interface with a thin cable attached that trailed down onto the floor. He’d connect that to another fiber cable that lay there. He knew the reason. Wireless communication was sniffable. Even encrypted, the electromagnetic signals were vulnerable. David wondered how much of the network here they had reengineered.
At the login prompt, he entered the new password the CoSec security engineer had given him. An agent had been assigned specifically to ensure his work remained secure. The agent had assured David that he would be able to reach all the systems required. That must have taken a team to accomplish in such a short time.
David connected to the management console and found that they’d indeed done it. The servers hosting the virtual machines that comprised the framework that powered his research were there. They were the only hosts present in the console’s administrative view. If he needed more resources, he’d have to ask. He already had requested several massive data archives for use as a testing and learning environment for his creations. CoSec had the unenviable task of ensuring that those archives contained no executable code. The rogue AI could have compromised such code already.
Minutes later, his latest work was loaded and initialized. He began the iterative learning series, making notes separately on the tablet of each step he’d taken. He’d have to print the full reports and supporting output, along with storing summaries and conclusions on the tablet. The process would be labor intensive and slower, but he had no choice. Nothing of what he did here must reach Globalnet.
Building a mind took time. But it would be faster now that he could work in the open. As pages of documentation spewed from the humming printer, David played with his beard and flipped through them, marking some with adhesive tags or highlighting section headings. He had faith in his work and corralled his thoughts whenever they wandered to reflect on the cynicism of the Coalition PM. He would create a fully conscious AI. One that they could better manage. One more constrained. One that cared more for humanity than for itself.
They’ll see. We can return to the Golden Age of AI. A second golden age.
The Power of the Dhin Page 22