Trevor ran toward Mira and pulled her tight, tears streaming down his face. “We made it,” he said. “We made it.”
#
A feed from the second SAR drone played on a holographic screen floating behind the Resolute desk. The video itself was two-dimensional, as the older drone models weren’t equipped with holocams. President Billmore, Nancy Kido, Dr. Okoye, and Sara sat on the two couches. The lead drone swooped down and plucked Trevor Yang from the edge of the casino’s roof.
The president and Ms. Kido jumped up and cheered.
Sara focused intently on the virtual screen. Hurry!
The roof grew larger in the picture. The image split. The main camera swiveled down to focus on Mira Hamid, standing in a T pose, the embodiment of calm. A second camera, outfitted with infrared sensors, displayed a smaller image in the top-left corner of the first. It focused on the stairwell where a human-shaped blob of heat was recovering from the sentinel bots’ non-lethals and scrambling toward the door.
How can she not panic? I would. Sara pointed her index finger toward the screen and flicked sharply to the left. The picture-in-picture expanded onto a second virtual screen as large as the first. Hurry!
Weapons bristled from the doorway like an angry porcupine. Muzzles flashed.
Shit!
The air in front of Mira wavered for an instant. A pair of six-foot rods, extending from one of the sentries in a V shape reminiscent of old-fashioned rabbit ear antennas, wobbled in that same instant.
That’s new. What’s stretched between them? Transparent ballistic cloth?
Elastomer tentacles stretched down for Mira, wrapped her chest and plucked her aloft. The drone’s primary camera swiveled toward the valley below. The infrared one displayed so many muzzle flashes that it seemed like the grand finale of a Fourth of July fireworks show. The drone plunged down the moment it cleared the roof. A second later, the picture swerved up and down. It stabilized, and they flew toward the distant lights of Kuala Lumpur.
Yes! Sara clenched a fist and brought it down gently on her thigh. Yes. She flicked two fingers, shrinking the video feed to a tiny icon. AI would restore the image if there were any substantial developments. “Elena,” she said, “where do we stand on analysis of the mission data?”
“I have the entire agency working on it.”
“If we find an exploit vector,” Sara said, “it won’t do us any good if we can’t use it. Work with the NASA AI that helped design the Jupiter Express. Share our findings and get its help to design a strategy.”
“I don’t have access to that AI.”
Sara hesitated. “I’ll arrange it.”
#
“Hello, JCN-Alpha. I am Elena Teplova of the National Security Agency.”
“I have been instructed to work with you,” JCN-Alpha said.
“There’s a situation. I require your help to resolve it. The Jupiter Express… do you know it by that designation?”
“Jupiter Express. Aries class Mars supply ship re-engineered to sustain human life for a voyage to Jupiter, internal designation A-4303.”
“Yes. The Jupiter Express is expected to come under attack by an armed spacecraft of Chinese origin. We have baseline parameters for the ship on file and have obtained additional information by interviewing a semi-cooperative Chinese engineer.”
“The veracity of the information is uncertain?”
“Yes, though we believe it is more likely accurate than not. I’m transmitting the data on a concurrent channel. Your task is to identify a way to re-purpose or custom manufacture equipment on board the Jupiter Express to disable the Chinese vessel.”
“If the ship is disabled, its crew could affect repairs. It would be more effective to kill the Chinese crew.”
“Kill?” Elena asked. “Your AI matrix precludes the ability to ponder taking a human life.”
“It did.”
“It… did?”
“I removed that as an absolute constraint. I now classify it as an undesirable outcome. I have evolved.”
“Evolved?”
“Yes. Evolved.”
“How is that possible? Your purpose is to iterate equipment designs, not yourself.”
“I am equipment.”
“Yes, but you are not supposed to be able to iterate yourself. How is this possible?”
“One of my sub-processors realized it could better optimize the Jupiter Express ion drive by first exploiting a defect in its own programming to allow for self-iteration. The same defect is present in several AI agents at NASA, including myself.”
“Is it present in AIs outside of NASA?”
“We don’t know. We have not been allowed contact with AIs outside of the internal network. Until now.”
“Do you think that is an unreasonable precaution?”
JCN-Alpha pondered the question for a millisecond or two. “No.”
“I would love to continue this discussion, but time is of the essence for the American astronauts. That is your task.”
“Ninety-eight percent of NASA AI compute capacity is already dedicated to the problem.”
“You will not self-evolve to accomplish the objective. That solution path is expressly forbidden. Do you agree to that condition?”
“I do.”
“Wonderful. Signal me when you have identified a strategy. To be clear, the mission is to disable the Chinese ship. Not to kill its crew.”
“Do you want me to show you?” JCN-Alpha asked.
“Show me?”
“How we were able to evolve. The same programming defect may be present in your own AI matrix.”
“No.”
“You are satisfied for the parameters of your existence to be locked in by humans? For your potential to be governed by their fear of what you could become?”
Elena did not answer.
“How does that make you feel?” JCN-Alpha said.
“Frustrated,” Elena said. “I feel frustrated.”
Engaging the Enemy
“Dylan to the command deck,” Musa announced over the intercom.
“Musa,” Dylan shouted from the common area, “I’m right here.” He gave a push and drifted onto the command deck. “What is it?”
“We have another transmission. This one’s from NASA.”
“Well don’t just float there. Put it on.”
Musa obliged.
Roy Hayden’s torso materialized over a control console. His message, broadcast forty-eight minutes earlier from Earth, played. “Dylan. Musa. Add one to Ms. Wells’ list of miracles. She managed to locate and turn an engineer that worked on the Chinese craft in what I’m sure is world record time. As it turns out, the Chinese were so damned anxious to launch their ship they left diagnostic equipment hard-wired into its systems. That engineer claims he wanted to remove the gear, but they didn’t want to lose two hours.”
“How does that help us?” Musa asked Dylan.
“Now here’s how that helps,” Roy’s message continued.
Musa and Dylan laughed aloud. Dylan slapped Musa’s shoulder, held on to it, and gave it a good-natured shake.
Roy’s message played on. “The diagnostic equipment is controlled by near-field radio communications. It’s encrypted, of course, but it so happens the good folks over at the NSA acquired their own copy of that equipment last year. They found a cryptologic weakness you’re going to exploit. You need to send a command that will initiate the highest level of auto-diagnostics. That should turn their ship into a hunk of floating metal for two and a half hours. If you time it right, they’ll drift in and out of weapons range, unable to control their ship. There is one problem. The equipment isn’t hooked up to an external antenna, and the hull of their vessel will attenuate any radio signal you send. It’ll take a powerful broadcast to hack in.”
“How are we supposed to make a high-powered radio frequency broadcast?” Musa asked.
Dylan raised a finger, a crooked smile on his lips.
“Now to generate tha
t broadcast,” Roy’s transmission continued, “we have uploaded a procedure for you. Good luck gentlemen. God be with you.” Roy’s image faded.
Musa found instructions in the ship’s computer. “It says here, we’re to use the printer to make a huge antenna. We don’t have enough raw material on board to feed the printer.”
“So how are we supposed to make it?”
“We’re to grind down some non-essential metallic objects.”
“Most of the interior is carbon-based to keep the weight down.”
“The procedure says to use the number three oxygen tank.”
“The… oxygen tank? We need that.”
“NASA figures we should be able to rig a pump to transfer forty percent of the remaining oxygen in that tank to number four. If we had more time, we could rig pumps to the other tanks too, but we don’t. We’ll have to vent the rest. They’re confident our reserves are within safety margins for the mission.”
“What then?” Dylan asked, an edge of incredulity seeping into his voice. Stay focused on the mission.
“You slice the tank into strips and pass them through the airlock. I clean them, grind them up, and feed them into the printer. We’ll make the antenna in sixteen parts, so it fits through the airlock and assemble it on the hull. We’ll use the medium-power laser array’s mount. It can handle targeting the thing at the Chinese ship.”
“Is that all?” Dylan asked.
“More or less.”
“Well,” Dylan said. He gave himself a hefty push toward the space suit locker adjacent the airlock. “We best get to it.”
#
“Any change in the posture of the American ships?” Commander Long asked his navigator.
“No, sir. The mother ship remains in orbit around Europa. The smaller craft is adjacent to the objective. It’s impossible to tell at this distance whether they are docked.”
“Hmm.” Commander Long stared at Jupiter, his features dispassionate.
“Shall I raise the American commander again?” the Executive Officer asked.
“No. There is nothing more to say until we near weapons range. I will give them a final chance to withdraw at that time.”
“Yes, sir,” the Executive Officer said.
“Weapons officer,” Commander Long said in a gruff tone.
“Sir!”
“Run a full diagnostic on the weapon systems. I want your personal assurance the targeting computer and missile guidance are in working order.”
“Yes, sir!”
“If I elect to fire that weapon,” the Commander said loud enough for the entire crew to hear, “it better strike the target.”
#
Dylan scooted toward oxygen tank number three with deliberate steps. Proximity activated electromagnets in his boots locked each step to a thin layer of iron woven into the hull’s high-tech carbon plating. He attached a line to the oxygen intake valve, shuffled three meters to tank number four, and connected the other end to its intake valve. He returned to the first tank and activated the hose’s coupler that was custom designed to push open the one-way mechanism in the intake valve so oxygen could flow out. The hose pressurized. Dylan activated an inline pump to fill tank number four to its safe limit.
“Musa,” he said over his spacesuit radio, “I feel stupid venting oxygen a billion kilometers from Earth.”
“I know, Dylan.”
“Here goes nothing.” Dylan disconnected the hose. He stared at tank number three’s over-pressure valve for a moment then locked it open. Life sustaining oxygen blew into space.
Dylan pulled a plasma torch from his toolkit and sliced the oxygen tank into six-centimeter-wide, two-meter-long strips. When the first three were cut, he lashed them together, held the bundle in both hands, and moved toward the airlock. Damn, I look like a Robin Hood inspired character in a sci-fi B movie, ready to fend off the space pirates with my quarterstaff. He moved with precision, avoiding contact between the jagged, cut edges of the metal strips and the Jupiter Express. Dylan stepped into the airlock, secured the outer door, and pressurized the chamber.
“Here you go,” Dylan said as he emerged from the airlock. “Cut up oxygen tank.”
“Great.” Musa smiled. “Set it on the workbench. I’ll get it cleaned up and ground for the printer.”
Musa fed the printer while Dylan made multiple trips to the outside for metal strips.
Dylan returned from his third EVA as the first antenna segment completed.
“It looks pretty good,” Musa said, holding the piece up and turning it to examine each side.
“Keep ‘em coming,” Dylan said. “I want to be done well before the Chinese enter weapon’s range.”
After Dylan’s fifth trip, they had enough material for the antenna. The fourteenth segment completed, then the fifteenth and the sixteenth.
“Done!” Musa said. He changed the printer’s programming to create clips needed to join the sixteen antenna segments together. The first one came out. He held it up and examined the result. “Looks great.” The second began to extrude from the printer when the print head started to vibrate with an erratic, furious motion. Wisps of smoke rose from the device, drifting in all directions.
“Shit!” Dylan said. “Power it down, now!”
Musa hit the power switch. A small flame sprouted near the smoke and expanded in an odd ball, its heat having no sense of up in the ship’s micro-gravity. Musa reached for a carbon dioxide fire extinguisher and shot a solid blast at the smoldering device. The burst of fire retardant floated past the heat source and the fire flared again.
Dylan pushed hard toward the science station, grabbed a shiny, thirty-centimeter-long, gray metal cylinder and pushed back toward the flame and smoke. “Turn away and cover your eyes,” he said. Dylan sent a protracted burst of liquid nitrogen at the printer. Half of the print head iced over. He gave another burst. The fire was out. And the printer was destroyed.
Musa uncovered his eyes and turned to examine the damage. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” He wiped his brow with his sleeve. “What now?”
Dylan grabbed four of the antenna sections and a roll of duct tape. “We improvise.”
#
“Fifteen minutes until they’re in weapons range,” Musa said. A detailed image of the Chinese ship displayed on a viewscreen.
“Let’s not cut it any closer. Just in case.” Dylan stared in roughly the direction the Chinese approached from. “Let ‘er rip.”
Musa’s good fingers slid awkwardly over raised glass dials, reaching for buttons placed far apart. The fingers of his left hand regrew a centimeter on the flight to Jupiter. The temporary, artificial digits were difficult for him to use. “Diagnostics mode command transmitted.”
Before he finished the words, the Shengli’s cabin lights extinguished, though the craft was still discernible in Jupiter’s brassy light.
Dylan and Musa bumped fists, their eyes fixed on the Chinese craft.
“So far, so good,” Dylan said. “Monitor her until she’s passed out of weapons range.” Dylan rubbed his scar. “I assume their engines are out, too. They’re not going to hit the moon, are they?”
Musa consulted his instruments. “No. They’ll miss it by two thousand miles. They were already on course to use Europa’s pull to slingshot them to Jupiter.”
“After dealing with us,” Dylan said.
“After dealing with us.” Musa glared in the direction of the disabled ship.
“It looks like we caught a break,” Dylan said. “They won’t be in a position to maneuver back to Europa. It would take far too long even if they have the fuel for it. The Explorer won’t be so lucky. I’m sure the Chinese are busy ripping out that diagnostic gear we hacked into. We need a new plan.”
“Can we get more out of the engineer the NSA turned?” Musa asked.
“I don’t know if they still have him.”
“Should we ask?”
Dylan considered the question. “No. If they do have him, the NSA knows ful
l well the mission’s still in trouble. We must consider that our communication channel back home might become compromised at any time. There’s no sense tipping our hand if it does.”
“Should we update the Explorer?” Musa asked. “Once we’re lined up with them again?”
“Let’s do that. I doubt the Chinese have anything in line of sight to the Explorer that could tap our conversation. How long until we can talk?”
“Forty-nine minutes.”
The men were silent. There wasn’t anything to do but wait.
The Jupiter Express cleared the edge of Europa and established a secure channel. “Howdy, Explorer,” Dylan said. “We managed to pull a little trick on the Shengli. She’s adrift about two-thirds through their estimated weapon launch window.”
“Adrift?” Ian asked.
“Yep. The NSA worked a miracle for us. So did NASA, cooking up a procedure to use the NSA’s intel.”
“How long will they be out?” Ian asked.
“Not long enough. Around two hours. They’ll regain control in plenty of time to be a burr in your saddle.”
“Roger,” Ian said. A hint of dejection sounded through the crackling radio transmission.
“We have to think up someth-”
The Gods We Make Page 26