2014 Campbellian Anthology

by Various

  “I should have known you’d see it right away even if I hid the conclusion from my outline.” Duncan shrugged. “But I knew you’d find proving P=NP sexier.”

  “You’ve jumped ahead a few steps again. Back it up, Duncan.” For years, saying that might as well have been Grant’s full time job. If Duncan expected mere humans to understand him, he needed to take it step by step.

  This time, Duncan had skipped past surprise and straight to wistful. As he sighed, he seemed to deflate. Grant had never seen him look this mortal before.

  “P≠NP. Or maybe I’m wrong.” Duncan took a deep breath. “Rehashing old results in ever more elegant ways has done so well for me, I don’t have to be practical. I can do real math now. You know, throw yourself into unsolvable problems. Get lost in every twist and leap the way young mathematicians say they’ll do until they realize they need to eat. It’s time to tackle the impossible and… I just thought you’d want to do that too. With me.” Duncan showed his palms to Grant again. “Like I said, it’s up to you.”

  P≠NP meant that computationally intractable problems would always be intractable. The best anyone could do was recognize that then focus on heuristics and other approximate solutions. Mathematicians would care about that result, but no one else. The proof might become the most elegant anyone has ever seen but his theorem house would never sell it. No one, not even Duncan, had a body perfect enough to wear it in public without embarrassing themselves.

  They held each other’s gaze for what seemed like days before Duncan turned around. He started towards the door, his motion so perfectly controlled, Grant couldn’t tell how Duncan felt.

  “I think when we flesh out your outline, we may find that P=NP is undecidable.” Grant allowed a small smile on his face. Duncan was at least capable of the truth on occasion. That was a start.

  Duncan stopped, then pivoted around. Grant made a note to ask Duncan someday how he did that without squeaking.

  The puzzled look on Duncan’s face melted into one of realization then resolve. “Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Let’s discuss it over dinner. My treat.”

  Wind swept across the parking lot. A hoodie coalesced around Duncan. His giddy smile outshone the stars and the moon. The light poles seemed bunched together, corralled by the encroaching Jersey barriers. Not even the parking lot could contain Duncan tonight.

  No wonder Duncan was so happy. Grant had done exactly what Duncan wanted. Maybe Duncan had discovered the virtue of telling Grant the truth. Maybe Duncan had maneuvered Grant here the way he’d maneuvered Grant back onto the runway. Grant only knew one way to find out what was true. Take Duncan on. They’d tumble and swirl around each other until either they covered each other or Grant fell into the trenches of spikes.

  Grant suspected he could tumble on the runway forever and never really know. Not everything that’s true had a proof. No consistent formal system was complete. He wouldn’t be a mathematician though if he didn’t want to find out.

  Evan Currie became eligible for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer with the publication of Odyssey One: The Heart of Matter (2012), from 47North.

  Visit his website at www.tenhawkpresents.com.

  * * *

  Novel: Odyssey One: The Heart of Matter (excerpt)

  ODYSSEY ONE: THE HEART OF MATTER

  (excerpt)

  by Evan Currie

  First published as The Heart of Matter (2012), by 47North

  • • • •

  Liberty Station

  Lagrange Four, Earth Orbit

  CAPT. ERIC STANTON WESTON walked along the gently curving corridor that circled the exterior of the immensity of Space Station Liberty. He had to admit that the sensation of generated artificial gravity felt quite different to him after the time he’d spent on the Odyssey, both within the Sol System and without. The larger curve of the station’s outer wall felt more natural, but after spending so much time on the smaller, faster moving habitats of the Odyssey, he found that he preferred the sensation that had once nearly made him nauseous. They’d seen so much out there that he’d occasionally caught himself thinking of Earth as somewhat provincial compared to the huge megacity he’d seen on Ranquil.

  The alien world—or perhaps not so alien, he supposed—had been the indisputable highlight of their last mission. Eric only wished it had been more of an accomplishment of note, but considering the horror and destruction they had witnessed across three star systems, it didn’t take much to qualify as a “high point.”

  Rather than a simple shakedown cruise to confirm the viability of the Odyssey’s transition drive and other experimental systems, they’d found themselves on a charge across the galaxy right through the very middle of a war that they probably had no business involving themselves in. Eric was fully aware that was certainly the opinion of more than a handful of his superiors. He’d seen too much death in his career, however, to ignore genocide when it was danced in front of his face, so he had no regrets. For all the action they’d seen, and sacrifices made, he was proud and confident of the fact that his crew had none, either.

  Still, coming back now jarred his sensibilities, to be able to look out on space through horizontally mounted ports, unlike the few sections of the Odyssey that allowed such a personal view of the expanse. He followed the lines that adorned the floor, mapping out the various areas of the station, watching the rainbow idiot guides drop off as he climbed through the security zones into officer country.

  He had an appointment with Admiral Gracen, presumably concerning the new orders for the Odyssey. He hoped that the orders weren’t more of the same, since he’d spent the last three weeks after completion of repairs working the crew up to an invisible standard that no one appeared willing to tell him. It was time for the Odyssey to be under way again, long past time. He could feel his crew getting antsy, sitting still in a ship that was the fastest thing ever built by man. Steph was checking in almost constantly to see if they had their orders yet, and Eric had been forced to order several of his junior officers to relax. They’d seen the universe, and now they all wanted more.

  Whether that would happen, given his current status of “mixed” esteem within the military and political realities of the North American Confederation (NAC), he didn’t know. He and much of the Odyssey crew, unfortunately, were currently what one might call “odd ducks.” They were too valuable, both politically and experience-wise, to be tossed away. However, there was a growing movement within the political and military communities that harbored ill will toward them for bringing the Earth, at least marginally, into a larger universe that appeared quite willing to kill them all. Not only did they now have to deal with non-Terran humans, the Colonials, but also voracious and warlike aliens. Well, he supposed that if you were going to explore the universe, then that was the chance you took.

  “Captain!”

  Eric paused, glancing back, and saw a young man, Lt. Walter Daniels, approaching from his six. He held his step until the young man had caught up to him, then nodded politely. “Lieutenant.”

  “Sir.” The lieutenant came to a halt and saluted. “Commander Roberts sends his regards and wanted me to give you this, sir.”

  Eric returned the salute, then accepted the memory chip from the young man, wondering why Roberts had sent him on a gopher job. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “Not a problem, sir,” Daniels responded. “I was heading to the station lounge, anyway.”

  Eric smiled slightly, nodding. That explained why Daniels had been tapped for gopher duty—it gave the young man another excuse to visit with a certain young ensign assigned to the Liberty Communications Center. Eric supposed he didn’t blame him; he’d done more for less in his day, and he was sure that his own commanding officers had given him a little latitude more than once. “Very good, then. As you were, Lieutenant.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Eric watched him leave for a moment, then pocketed the chip and turned and continued on his way. He still had an adm
iral to meet, after all.

  • • •

  Amanda Gracen looked up as Weston was shown into the office, nodding curtly to her secretary. As the naval attaché retreated from the room, she eyed him for a moment before gesturing to a chair across from her. “Take a seat, Captain.”

  Eric stepped forward and slid into the comfortable chair that was situated across from the admiral. “Admiral.”

  Gracen looked down at the files displayed beneath the hard plastic surface of her desk, idly flipping through them with economical flickers of her fingers. Weston wondered what she was waiting for, or if she just didn’t want him to feel comfortable. It was a tactic he’d used himself more than once when he wanted to stress a point with a subordinate, mostly because it was damnedably effective, even if you knew what was going on. After a moment, she looked up again, then leaned back in her high-backed chair. “Well, Captain, do you have a status report on your ship?”

  Eric stiffened, just slightly, then nodded. “Aye, ma’am. The Odyssey is fully repaired, and her crew is fully integrated and as good a group of people as I’ve had the honor to serve with. We’re ready for orders, Admiral.”

  A glint of something floated in the eyes of the admiral, but Eric couldn’t quite identify it. Amusement, perhaps, but he just couldn’t be sure. She nodded at his words, then flicked her finger along the display and opened another file. Eric wished he could tell what she was looking at, but the display in the admiral’s desk was designed to be read from the admiral’s position only.

  “Have you followed the developments with the ambassador’s dealings?” she asked after a moment.

  The “ambassador,” Elder Corusc, had been charged by his people with negotiating a treaty with Earth in the aftermath of the fierce battle the Odyssey had waged in their home system against the “Drasin,” so named by the Colonials. The technology of the two human cultures had diverged heavily in direction, leaving the Odyssey with an advantage in weapons sophistication, though woefully underpowered in the area of pure brute force.

  He had spent a great many nights since then imagining what the Earth technology base could do with all that pure energy. Many of the limitations the Odyssey suffered from were due largely to a lack of power, as opposed to a lack of technology.

  Weston shook his head in response to the question, though; he hadn’t had time with the make-work projects the Odyssey had been forced to endure. “I’m afraid not, ma’am. I’ve been a little busy.”

  The narrow smile on the admiral’s face told Eric that she knew precisely what he had been busy doing, but that was another matter.

  “Pity, you might have found it interesting,” was all she said on the subject.

  “I’m sure that I would have,” Eric replied, keeping his tone neutral.

  “Unfortunately,” she went on, “much of the technology won’t be of any use to us for several years at least…” She let her words drop off, then abruptly started speaking again. “Including, I’m afraid, their power systems.”

  Eric stiffened almost at once. That was the last thing he wanted to hear. “Pardon me, ma’am?”

  “The Colonials—sorry, the Priminae, as they apparently call themselves,” Gracen said, “use a power system entirely different from ours, and I’m afraid that we haven’t figured out a way to generate electricity with it just yet. Not with any real efficiency, at least.”

  Eric grimaced. He should have thought of that, he supposed.

  “We have some designers working on entirely new weapon and ship designs, but for the immediate future, we won’t be tapping that particular resource,” she told him.

  Eric sighed and said, “Understood.”

  “Still, that’s not to say that no good came of it.” The admiral half smiled. “The medical technology, while still not compatible with our own systems, doesn’t really have to be. We’ve already begun integrating a great many of the techniques into our own medical center here on Liberty, and so far, the results are promising.”

  Eric nodded absently, still in the back of his mind mourning the loss of all that power. It was only then that something about the conversation made him frown.

  “Pardon, Admiral,” he said after a moment’s thought, “but have we reached an agreement with the Colonials’ elder?”

  Admiral Gracen smiled again, this time a little wider. “Yes, we have.”

  Eric nodded again, his mind working hard now. He knew that the elder, Corusc, had been a little frustrated with the pace of Earth-born politics, but by the same token, the Colonials all seemed to be fatalists in one way or another—or rather, most of them were.

  He’d met a couple that were the same sort of struggle-unto-the-death types that Eric generally associated with human beings, but those were both military, more or less. Corusc was certainly a great deal more patient than he would have been, taking over three months from their arrival in the Sol System to patiently bounce from one state dinner to another in the hopes of recruiting some help, practically any help, for his people against the Drasin.

  Three months was a long time in any war, but even more so in the type of genocidal struggle that the Colonials faced. So Eric understood the elder’s frustrations quite easily.

  He looked back at the admiral. “What kind of agreement?”

  “We’ll supply advisors for their ground forces in the form of Green Beret detachments,” Gracen replied, “as well as providing them with the technical specifications on both our adaptive armor and laser systems. We won’t be giving them either the technical specifications on the transition drive system, nor will we give away the coordinates of the Sol System.”

  Eric nodded, agreeing with both points.

  The transition drive was certainly the ace in the hole for the Terran forces. It was a rather nerve-racking system that allowed effectively instantaneous travel across distances of up to thirty light-years. Even more if they could generate enough power to do it.

  Likewise, the exact stellar location of the Sol System wasn’t something to be traded away at any price in the current situation. Eric wasn’t certain if the enemy had any way to learn it from the Colonials, but it was far, far better to remain under the radar, as it were. At least until a home fleet and system-wide defense system could be put into place.

  However, in order to carry out even this agreement, it would mean sending the Odyssey on another mission. Eric’s eyes narrowed as he considered that. Not that he was opposed to another mission, and he was reasonably confident that his crew would welcome it; however, at the moment, the Odyssey was the single-largest accumulation of firepower in the Sol System.

  “When will we be returning to Ranquil, then?” he asked, as casually as he could.

  “In two weeks,” she replied. “Your crew will have that time for leave.”

  “Yes, ma’am, they’ll appreciate that,” Eric replied, but he was still thinking about local defenses. “Admiral… Without the Odyssey stationed here, if the Drasin should arrive…”

  “That’s unlikely to happen, unless they managed to backtrack your transition bursts,” Gracen replied. “But if it does, we should be adequately prepared.”

  Eric didn’t say anything, not because he agreed, but because he wasn’t so sure.

  Gracen went on. “The Normandy and the Enterprise are well under construction by our own crews, as you know, and they’ll be approaching minimal operational status in the next two weeks, though they’ll need another month to be completed. Additionally, the Soviet Alliance has begun construction on the Gagarin. She’s a light destroyer the Soviets had originally planned to use as a test bed for some new ideas of theirs, as well as a matter of showing their ‘flag’ in the new space race.”

  The Soviet Alliance was still relatively weak, coming out of the Block War with a nasty pounding to their credit from the Chinese forces that invaded from the south. They’d done well enough, considering that their military had been badly outmatched by the newer and more modern Block forces during the war.

 
; Ironically, though, it had done them a lot of good on the economic side of things. Since the end of the twentieth century, they’d been struggling to find their footing in a world that was jumping ahead by leaps and bounds and leaving them far behind. The war had forced the entire loose-knit agglomeration of nations to face a common enemy on even ground and to pour a lot of effort into a common goal.

  Since the end of the Block War, the alliance had been making great strides in stepping back into the field of Premier powers on Earth, and the Gagarin would be an important prestige point to them.

  “The Block, of course,” Gracen said with a mild twist to her lip, “has the Mao Tse Tung under construction in addition to their in-system freighters and armed shuttles. So I believe that we’re covered.”

  Eric supposed that was true enough, even though the Mao wouldn’t have nearly the defenses it needed to withstand a strike from a Drasin laser. If they could out maneuver it, though, they should have at least some measure of weapons parity, if you threw in the impact of existing orbital defenses. He didn’t have the slightest clue what the Gagarin would boast in terms of defensive and offensive power, however.

  Even so, a small handful of ships just didn’t sit well with him as the main line of defense for the NAC and the planet as a whole. They needed fleets, and they needed energy systems to power them to parity with the Drasin, at least. A power parity, with the NAC’s sophistication advantage, would let him sleep a lot better at night.

  Of course, some basic intel on the enemy wouldn’t hurt, either.

  “Very well, Admiral,” Eric said aloud, “I’ll inform my crew and begin preparations.”

  Gracen nodded. “I hope you’ll ensure that your own name appears on the leave list as well, Captain.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Eric replied, though he’d not really thought about it. Commanding his ship was something he rather enjoyed doing—when they weren’t floating in geosync orbit over Washington, at least.