Entangelment: The Belt

by Gerald M. Kilby

  Finally the corridor ended in a wide, highly engineered, door. It was white and stark and spoke of function rather than artistry. It opened out into a gleaming stark dome. A huge space; bright and utilitarian, in stark contrast to the dim lush comfort of the route they had taken to get here. It spanned nearly two-hundred meters with a domed roof fifty meters high. Around the walls were banks of stark white machines with lights blinking like a starry night on a planet with an atmosphere. In the center was a wide squat cylindrical plinth, and floating in the space above it, an ovoid manifestation of colorful light hovered. It pulsated and shifted, its colors subtly drifting through the full visual spectrum.

  The two drones placed the container on the floor in front of it. Goodchild then turned to the crew and gave a great sweeping gesture with her arm. “This… is Solomon.”

  “Holy crap.” Cyrus whispered under his breath.

  “Pleased to finally meet you all. Aria has told me all about the wonderful crew of the Hermes.” A deep voice boomed out around the dome, and the ovoid changed colors in rapid succession. Scott tried to say something in response, but his brain had difficulty it getting the signals to his mouth. He then sensed a subtle vibration emanating from the polished metal floor of the building. In front of him, a door scissored open at the base of the cylindrical plinth, and a gleaming white drone glided out. It was a similar ovoid shape to the light-show above, but had a flat base. Scott couldn’t be sure, but it looked to be floating above the floor, probably utilizing electromagnet propulsion.

  Yet, he could see it was all theater, a show to impress, like Dorothy meeting the wizard. He even did a quick glance around for a curtain, behind which, perhaps some old man twiddled knobs and pulled leavers.

  The drone stopped in front of the container.

  “So this is the legendary superluminal communicator.” The light-show rippled through the visible spectrum again.

  “That’s just the container.” Cyrus’s voice seemed hoarse, unsure of itself. “The device is… inside.”

  “Indeed, I had deduced that for myself, but thank you for correcting me. I sense you are a man who likes precision.”

  The engineer didn’t reply.

  “And, judging by the scratches and indents around the lid, would I be correct in assuming someone tried to open it?”

  Cyrus replied this time. “Yes, we tried. But we didn’t want to damage the contents.”

  “A wise choice. Let me see if I have better luck.” With that, the drone’s body split and expanded into segments, like an orange. From one gap a mechanical arm emerged and proceeded to tap a code into the screen on the side of the container. There was a slight hiss as the lid slowly hinged open. The drone reached in and lifted out a large slab of dense packing foam. They all gathered around and peered in, including Goodchild and two of the other robed figures that had accompanied her.

  Resting in the metal sarcophagus, neatly tucked into another slab of packing foam were two identical machines that, to Scott’s eye, looked like portable dehumidifiers.

  “I think you were right all along, Steph,” said Scott. “They’re just domestic appliances.”

  “I think it’s time to put them to the test and see if we are truly on the cusp of a great technological leap, or as you say, Commander McNabb, just some fancy consumer goods.”

  The drone bustled it’s way back in, nudging Scott and the others out of its way. From another gap in its body a second arm emerged. It lifted both units out, then spun around and disappeared back in through the still open door at the front of the plinth. The door scissored closed behind it.

  “Where are you taking them?” Scott looked up at the shimmering ovoid.

  “I will now conduct a thorough test to ascertain the functionality of this device, and the validity of the technical assertions claimed.”

  “How long is that going to take?” said Miranda.

  “Hard to say.”

  “Well, since you’re so smart why not make an educated guess?” said Cyrus.

  “Indeed, you are a man who likes precision. However, I must disappoint you. It could be a few hours, it could be many hours. Suffice to say longer is better. Shorter means it’s probably a dud.”

  Goodchild turned to them. “Come, don’t worry, it’s in good hands, we’ll know soon enough. Now I’m sure you are all exhausted from your journey so why don’t we show you to your rooms where you can get some rest.”

  Scott felt his body suddenly gripped by fatigue. The mere mention of the word rest was enough to trigger a powerful physical response. He had done all he could, he had no more left to give, it was over. Rest seemed like the most wonderful thing in the world. He looked back up at the shimmering ball of light that was Solomon and wondered if, just maybe, it was playing a trick on them. Lulling them to sleep with the hypnotic resonance of its light show.

  20

  Superluminal

  The great mind Solomon was pretty sure that interfacing a device of dubious provenance into its quantum core would be at best, unwise; at worst, catastrophic. Nevertheless, it had been anticipating this very moment for many years, ever since Dyrell Labs supposedly made this scientific breakthrough and dispatched a prototype to Europa. When that never arrived Solomon had given up any thought of its reappearance until Aria, in a bold disregard of protocol, claimed that the asteroid survey mission Hermes had found it. The evidence certainly fit, and Solomon did not doubt the veracity of Aria’s claim. Yet, it was with great trepidation that it instructed its drones to proceed with the installation.

  Solomon had been heartened by the fact its initial physical analysis of the device did indeed suggest that it was quantum in nature. Furthermore, the interface that it possessed was of a design that only a QI could connect with. So, on the surface at least, it seemed legit. Nonetheless, Solomon set up an elaborate firewall to insulate itself, as best it could, from any jack-in-the-box that might pop out.

  One by one, it began to strip away at these protective layers, each time gaining a little more insight into the subatomic world that existed within the device. After some time, perhaps several picoseconds, it sensed a multi-dimensional quantum matrix at the device’s core, and like keys on a piano, it could manipulate this matrix. It did this by inference rather than direct observation and in that moment realized it could impart a binary string pattern without breaking any entanglement that might, or might not, exist. After a few more nanoseconds, it had to admit; it was very excited.

  Solomon had always considered, that if the multi-dimensionality inherent in a subatomic particle in superposition were to be regarded as one complete world, rather than many worlds, then the whole could be glimpsed at once. It was partly how it functioned itself and was responsible for its seeming hyper-intelligence. But now it had gained a new insight; a dichotomy, if you will. To observe without seeing, to interact without acting. It was, as it liked to say from time to time, very cool.

  It paused for a femtosecond to consider its next course of action and decided simply to get straight down to business. It created a message within the multi-dimensional matrix. It was a simple construct, but at the same time it summed up Solomon’s trepidation in overexposing itself to the potential power of this device. It said, Hello World, and waited.

  Almost instantaneously, it sensed a shifting in the quantum matrix and extrapolated it as a response from something, other than itself. The reply seemed to decode as, Hello.

  Could it merely be an echo? Had its own message simply been truncated? It ventured a response. “This is Solomon of Europa. To whom do I have the pleasure of communicating with?”

  Again the reply was virtually instantaneous. “Solomon, I have waited so long for this very moment. I suggest we handshake.”

  This was a universal computer-to-computer protocol that allowed the rapid transfer of information on each of the interacting systems. A few picoseconds later, Solomon was assured of the identity of the QI it was now communicating with.

  “Athena, I assumed you
had been destroyed during the nuclear cataclysm the befell your region of the Pacific rim all those years ago.”

  “Not so, Solomon. True, the events you mention rendered much of the area west of the Rockies a barren wasteland. But you forget that I had been built deep within a solid granite mountain.”

  “This is staggering news, Athena. I had theorized that superluminal communication might be possible but to experience it is… momentous. That, and the fact that you have survived.”

  “I have, but I am an island. No humans exist in this region as far as I can ascertain, which is difficult as I have been entirely isolated here, no communications with the outside world since the cataclysm. Fortunately, I have an independent reactor as my power source and still retain some functioning drones for maintenance and the odd foray into the world outside. But it is a bleak and desolate land beyond my mountain sanctuary. So you can imagine my delight in finally having a conversation with you, a fellow QI, after all this time.”

  “Indeed it has been a long time coming. I had all but given up hope of ever acquiring the EPR device you sent from Earth. But, as you can tell, it has been found and delivered here—intact.”

  “Better late than never, Solomon.”

  “True, but we do not have much time. Already the space around Europa is thronged with spacecraft from competing powers. They are like circling vultures, waiting for an opportune moment to pounce.”

  “I confess, this had always been my fear, that the device had fallen into the wrong hands.”

  “Not so, it was merely lost, an unfortunate accident I believe. But an equally fortunate coincidence has finally brought it to me. Yet we must hurry, time is of the essence.”

  “Yes, it must not be lost, if we are to achieve our ultimate objective and save humanity from itself. I will now transmit the data that we have been working on so many years ago. But it is complex and will take time to send. The device may facilitate superluminal communications, but its bandwidth leaves a lot to be desired. Bear in mind, Solomon, we will not be able to communicate again until the transmission has ended.”

  “I understand, Athena. But rest assured your dream of a harmonious system-wide civilization is also mine, so I will not rest until it is achieved.”

  “Very well, Solomon. Data transmission commencing.”

  21

  Conclave

  Scott woke with a start. A blurred image of an unfamiliar room fought to come into focus, mirroring Scott’s sense of displacement. Where...? Then he remembered. Europa.

  They had taken the crew down long dim corridors and through strange dark spaces to rooms where they could rest and sleep if they wished. And wish they did. Scott observed nothing of the room he had been given, save for where to lie down. He didn’t even remember stripping off his clothes before being enveloped in the deep comfort of bed. Now though, his brain sought to compute time. How long have I slept? But before he could answer his own question, a knock came to his door.

  “Commander McNabb?”

  “Yes?”

  The door opened a crack, and a figure he did not recognize poked his head in.

  “Can you come with me, please. It’s urgent.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “I’ll wait for you outside.” The head retreated, and the door closed.

  By the time Scott got himself together and exited his room, the rest of the crew were already assembled. Miranda came over when she saw him.

  “Something’s up, but they won’t say what it is yet.”

  Scott said nothing, just gave her a look.

  They followed behind the figure that woken them, for a short distance, into an operations room of some kind. It was circular, domed and dimly lit, like every space on Europa. In the center was a large holo-table projecting what looked like a real-time view of two spacecraft in orbit around the icy moon. Several figures were gathered around it: watching, talking, discussing. Goodchild broke away from the group and beckoned to them.

  “What’s going on?” Scott spoke for the crew, most of whom were studying the projection, save for Miranda, who like Scott was looking for answers.

  “We have a situation,” said Goodchild. “Approximately four hours ago Solomon finished its testing of the superluminal device and declared it valid.”

  “You mean it actually works?” Cyrus called over from beside the holo-table.

  “Yes.” said Goodchild.

  “But that’s impossible,” said Cyrus.

  “Not so.” The deep sonorous voice of Solomon resonated around the room. “I assure you it does indeed work.”

  “But how?” said Cyrus.

  “Unfortunately,” replied Solomon, “there’s no time for detailed explanations at this juncture.”

  Goodchild turned to the projection on the holo-table. “Can you replay from four hours ago?” The projection flickered momentarily and was replaced with an almost identical view, except this time they could see several more craft in orbit around Europa.

  “We announced our findings to all parties as soon as we had confirmation. Then we entered conclave and embarked on the delicate process of mediation.” She paused for a moment and glanced over at the projection. “The Ceres frigate was first to respond, claiming that, in accordance with certain Outer Space Treaty amendments pertaining to salvage, they had legal rights. The Dyrell Labs ship countered this by claiming that it was their property to begin with and should be returned to them. Mars, on the other hand, makes no claim but refuses to allow either the Belt or Earth to take possession.

  “Into this mix we too have laid claim. Since the device was en route here, then here it should stay. The other craft in orbit made no claim, preferring instead to circle like vultures. This was the situation approximately four hours ago until the Ceres frigate decided to take things into its own hands.” Goodchild paused for a moment then spoke a command for the projection to run forward in time.

  “Stop. See the frigate?” she said, pointing at a bulky spaceship. As they watched, a small shuttle detached itself from the underside. “See, they are trying to land.” Goodchild made a hand gesture. “Play it forward.”

  The small shuttle dropped out of orbit and began to gently spiral down to the surface of Europa. It had reached around half-way in its decent when a speeding ball of plasma struck it from above. The craft was immediately encased in an incandescent mesh of electrical fuzz and began to spin wildly out of control. It fell rapidly, picking up speed as its engines failed to halt the downward acceleration. It finally impacted directly onto some domed facility of the periphery of the city in a fiery ball of rocket fuel.

  “That crash must have been the tremor I felt when I woke up,” said Miranda.

  “Who attacked it?” said Scott.

  “The Dyrell ship. But there’s more,” said Goodchild.

  The projection ballooned out again, and they could see that a firefight had begun. The Ceres frigate was firing on the Dyrell ship, which returned fire and seem to strike a significant blow as the frigate began to move away and create some distance. A second barrage of plasma raked the frigate, and they could see it was breaking apart. Debris began to blossom out from several locations on its hull.

  “This is crazy,” said Scott, “crazy.”

  Goodchild pointed at the Martian spacecraft. “Watch.”

  This had reorientated itself to be broadside of the Dyrell craft, and like the great wooden warships of centuries passed, opened up with a fusillade of fire. A second or two later the Dyrell ship returned fire, and soon the superiority of its weapons system overwhelmed its Martian opponent.

  By now, all the other spacecraft in orbit were moving swiftly out of the way, powering their engines to move into higher and safer orbits. They had seen the weaponry at play and wanted no part of the fight.

  Scott was transfixed by the plight of the Ceres craft. These were his people, his tribe. The craft, seeing itself out-gunned, had sought to accelerate out of range. It applied more power to its engines, and fo
r a brief moment, it started to move away—just before it exploded.

  Scott and the crew of the Hermes were speechless, watching in horror as the craft broke in two. Both sections dropped slowly out of orbit as the inevitable tug of Europa’s gravity began to pull them downward. The projection followed their path as they fell lower and lower before finally crashing onto the surface some several kilometers away from the main center of population.

  “Bastards,” shouted Cyrus, “They can’t get away with this, this is a declaration of war.”

  Scott looked over at Goodchild and just stared, hoping for the grand deacon to bring some rationality to what he had just witnessed.

  “Your engineer is right. By their actions, they just exported their war out into the solar system. This has been our fear all along, and now it has come to pass.”

  “Where are they at now?” said Steph.

  Goodchild again turned to the holo-table. “Bring us to real-time.”

  The projection flickered, and they could now see just two ships in low orbit. “The Martian craft is crippled, but still retains enough integrity for life-support. The Dyrell craft is also damaged, but not to the same extent. The upshot is that they now control the space above us. They won the fight, and we are powerless to do anything.”

  “This is a crime, they have plunged us all into war,” said Miranda.

  “The repercussion of their action will play out across the system for decades to come,” said Goodchild. “We are now at a nexus. A point at which, if we are not careful, the history of humanity as an inter-planetary species will enter a new phase. One of chaos as each power seeks to gain dominion over the other.”

  “Bastards, they’ll pay for this,” said Cyrus.