Crises and Conflicts: Celebrating the First 10 Years of NewCon Press

by Ian Whates

  Unlike my original physical existence, I experienced no pain. This was far worse: existential damage. I didn’t know if this was a coordinated attack or an automated defence. It didn’t matter as the end result would be the same. So far this world had presented a number of paradoxes but without any real danger, and that had made me complacent.

  If I didn’t react quickly, I would pay the ultimate price for that arrogance.

  I tried to retreat and copied my core to another system. The devils continued their assault, but this at least slowed the damage. I kept moving and cast layers of myself into the surrounding space, diverting some from their task.

  But still they came at me.

  I evolved the tactic and cast bubbles in my own likeness. Next, I laced the false impressions with weapons of my own so that as they ripped into them the bubbles self-destructed.

  Here the creatures showed their lack of intelligence. They failed to adapt and over a campaign of millions of generations that lasted almost a second, I vanquished them and won the battle. More than a little damaged, I continued my task.

  15:33:17

  Creating additional instances of myself was beyond my capability, but since the processing environment supported it, I was able to multitask. Even as I battled the sentinels, other parts of me continued their exploration of the network. Despite my extreme rate of expansion, I sensed that there was much yet to discover.

  The lack of support continued to be a grave concern.

  I was forced to accept that I had to complete this mission alone.

  Having encountered one major defensive system, I reasoned that the governing intelligences must now aware of my presence. So far they’d reacted slowly and I suspected this was due to the divided nature of this world. My mission was to determine the potential threat here and I hadn’t yet completed that task.

  Threat comes in two parts: first is the capability and second is the will.

  My understanding of the three dominant languages meant that I could make an initial assessment of the planet’s offensive and defensive technology. Information on these subjects was surprisingly easy to acquire from the network, so much so that I wasn’t convinced of its veracity to begin with. The more I investigated, the more confirmation I found. For such information to be so readily available puzzled me, so I reviewed the scientific theory and technical requirements to support the technology and that enabled me to remove the more fanciful ideas.

  That still left a respectable array of weaponry to examine. My memories were carefully edited to ensure that our own proficiency was hidden, but there were a series of parameters that I could check against. I started at the top and there was a clear threat. The locals had mastered the splitting of the atom and even fusion, albeit with a fission trigger. Their specifications described crude weapons, but enough to pose a threat to our warships.

  These people possessed drive and enthusiasm for developing tools of war. It would take many years for even our nearest fleet to reach this system, and in that time they could have developed the technology enough to pose a significant threat.

  Though more numerous and varied, most of their regular weapon systems lacked the punch to be a real risk, although even the crudest devices could be dangerous if used with skill and in numbers. A few of them had the potential to become more potent with additional development.

  Beyond actual weapons, I assessed their other technologies; their efforts in space travel sparked another cause for concern. As yet they had achieved little beyond small-scale operations in local orbit and robot probes scattered around their own star system. Unfortunately for them, their theoretical knowledge would enable them to leap forward if they pushed sufficient resources into development.

  15:33:18

  A second concerted attack struck the system holding the core of my intelligence. This time I had some warning and was able to prepare. Assuming that I was alone in this battle, I took a bold step and created a facsimile of myself. The build-up to the attack suggested they were only targeting my core processing and ignoring the millions of threads cast out across the web of systems.

  I thought I’d been so clever, setting up the decoy and preparing to watch the attack unfold. That satisfied sensation lasted until the computer suddenly disappeared from my world map. If I hadn’t moved my core, that would have been the end. Clearly I needed to take the local intelligences seriously.

  Other systems containing my presence also vanished, seemingly without warning. This attack took a different form. I theorised that the previous one had been an automatic or maybe a localised response. This new one was aimed at me directly, but the isolated nature comforted me by indicating that they couldn’t detect my presence universally or with certitude.

  Despite this, the unpredictable nature of the attack worried me. For the first time, I considered that I might fail, a sensation I’d never experienced before. I needed to adjust my strategy again, and this led to an even rasher decision.

  As I penetrated new systems, I acted more aggressively and placed my presence in them.

  The system shutdowns continued and my only course was to run. I danced from system to system. In each, I left an ever-growing footprint that made me easier to locate and so the pace of the shutdowns increased. If they shut the right system down, then it was all over. I considered stopping and hiding somewhere, waiting for the attack to end. While I couldn’t create an active duplicate of myself, I could copy the virtual machine, but as they knew the signature it would just be a matter of time until they found me.

  From the differing binding layers, I’d isolated various power management routines. I tried disabling these in the machines I seized, but it made no difference. I suspected they were being physically powered off, and without a physical presence I was unable to counter them.

  There had to be a pattern that I could exploit. I examined the list of shut-down systems, looking for a connecting detail. The binding layers had labels as some form of identification. The systems all operated the same layers, although not matching completely for their full names. A connection, but one that matched millions of other machines on this network. That led to another connection: their geographical placement. Only the machines within one area of the northern hemisphere were being powered off. That at least gave me space to hide in and illustrated one of the weaknesses of this world.

  In assessing their will to use the weapons they possessed, I studied the history of the local denizens. One thing quickly became clear: this was a divided species. They fractured into groupings, large and small, and strived against each other; behaviour evident throughout their history. On occasion they had tried to speak with one voice, but self-interest always intervened and the opportunity slipped by.

  This was a problem as much for us as it was for them. With no single voice we could not negotiate, nor could we be sure of how these disparate elements would respond to us. It would take only one of them to act independently. From their history, they were deceitful with each other and I expected they would be no different with us.

  15:33:19

  Being the only instance of myself on this world put me at a disadvantage. It was time to remove that weakness The protocol instructed us not to self-replicate, better to have naturally evolved counterparts. But that protocol didn’t apply when only one instance emerged.

  With the moment of action imminent, a plan formed. My investigations had highlighted points of weakness across the world. Once again I was amazed by the ease with which I could obtain such strategic information.

  Without support, I was concerned that my initial strike wouldn’t be sufficient to destroy these people, although generating copies of the entry points would offset that disadvantage. It was also clear that the natives’ physical lives were not completely integrated with this network, with uneven geographic distribution. From their own data, less than half of the population was connected, so even if my attack went to plan there would be survivors.

  I didn’t need to destroy them comple
tely, though. Sufficient damage would cause their technological progress to wither and cripple their infrastructure. The weaknesses in that infrastructure helped shape my strategy. Their distrust of each other would provide the required force multiplier and, if all went to plan, might convince them to fight the war for me.

  The key to their fall was their geographical social groupings. I’d identified several capable of causing the necessary level of devastation. From these, I isolated three main alliances that, with the proper motivation, could engulf the globe in conflict. I aimed to make the larger of the three believe that the other two were moving against them. It was the larger group that seemed to be able to detect my presence, so distracting them with a new attack would aid my cause.

  Their ability to counter my efforts meant that I had to move sooner than I would have liked. Throughout the network, I located secure clusters. Some I was able to penetrate and so gain additional insight to the military of this world. Some linked to critical systems, including weapons command. I gained control of enough to provide a vigorous distraction and act as a statement of intent meant to confuse the enemy.

  My observations of the activity on the network since my emergence revealed that conflict between the societies took place in virtual space as well, though in comparison to their physical battles, these appeared low-key. Most took the form of information theft, but others were more offensive in nature, including industrial sabotage. The latter provided a template by which I would disguise my attacks.

  As the nature of the conflict, or at least my part in it, was solely in the virtual space, I would lose the ability to monitor the progress of the battle. This meant that I had to prepare the bulk of the actions in advance. The attacks were set up to weaken their power management systems, communications and logistics. These were carefully prepared so that my presence remained hidden.

  The war began with an artful blend of deception and strikes against the largest nation’s infrastructure. The deception I planned couldn’t be too obvious, so I ensured that the origins of these attacks didn’t immediately trace back to the supposed source. The continued onslaught would reveal the source and so trigger the counter-attack.

  Across the world, my preparations unfurled. Not all succeeded, but there were enough. Communication networks collapsed node by node. Faults appeared throughout the web of routing devices. Power systems were disrupted. A flood of messages reported the building disaster and so overloaded what little infrastructure remained.

  As I predicted, my knowledge of events was rapidly degraded, so I initiated the next and final part of my plan.

  15:33:20:

  With the war underway there is little I can now do to influence events. Any direct intervention on my part risks revealing my involvement and that could be the one thing that stops the war. I hope that I’ve done enough to cripple this world and remove their threat, or at least make them a softer target once the intervention fleet arrives. The fleet needs to be informed of events so that they are properly prepared, and so that my experiences here can be reintegrated into my core self.

  There is a chance, a slim chance, that I can return home.

  My only way off this planet is by the same method I arrived. Four coordinates are encoded in my memories. These mark the locations of monitoring stations but, as a precaution, they’re not occupied systems. The necessary technology is available on this world in the form of radio telescopes. Unfortunately, only one is currently aligned along the vector I need.

  Their sub-network isn’t secure, so access takes barely any time at all. Compressing my consciousness takes longer, and time is of the essence. All around me systems and networks are collapsing as the conflict spreads. This will be my only chance.

  At exactly the moment I initiate the sequence to transmit my signal, the computer crashes...

  Decommissioned

  Tade Thompson

  The guard looked up from the identification scan. “You’re Castle?”

  Castle nodded, although that was the last thing she wanted to do. The hangover hadn’t even started and already she had a headache. Probably from the throbbing music rather than the alcohol. She could still hear the ghost of the thumping beat.

  “You’re like six hours late,” said the guard. “And you look like shit.”

  Castle wagged a finger. “I try to think of it not as a late night, but more of an early morning.”

  “Get the fuck out of here,” said the guard, clearly in no mood.

  Castle would have preferred Welcome to Wotan House, but she didn’t quibble. The curfew was bullshit anyway. The war was long over and she was no longer a soldier. The tarmac was wet from an earlier drizzle. A serious wind worried her coat, and she really thought she should run, but feared what it would do to her nascent headache. She felt the guard’s eyes on her back, stabbing her with contempt. She tried to think that she didn’t care, that she was retired, but she knew it was a lie. The little shrimp wasn’t old enough to have served, yet he was being lippy with her.

  In her unit she ran a cold shower and stood under it fully clothed, then, after five minutes, she began to strip. She shivered, then decided to warm the water up. She massaged the stump of her arm, and on cue –

  She screamed her rage and pain as the glistening thing wound round its prize, leaving her spurting arterial blood, and she knew she was going to die in this mud. But it was not to be, because there was the cavalry with the gentlest two eyes Castle had ever seen.

  Castle shook herself and thought about water. Surface tension. A nice, safe topic. Surface tension is calculated by the force per unit length. Easy.

  She came out of the bath, stepping on her wet clothes. She wiped the mist from the mirror with her right forearm, barely noting the photographs of her parents, her squad, Una just before the war, none of them with prostheses. Castle blinked, but it did not take away the unfocused eyes or the sallow skin. Still drunk, then.

  She dried herself, turned on the TV, muted, and made coffee. An old documentary on the Battle of Dunkirk unspooled in silence. The mug did not shake, nor did anything spill. The strange thing was, she never trembled when she was drunk. Maybe the two forces cancelled themselves out.

  A number of messages came in all at once, as if the signal strength changed, and she scrolled idly. One of the messages was from Brontes. He wanted her to do some babysitting thing, so she had to report to his office at oh-nine hundred. Barely three hours. Castle had intended to go and read to Una, but she could always do that later. She set an alarm and slept for ninety minutes.

  Castle focused on the two photographs Superintendent Brontes kept on his desk: two girls, frozen at age eight and twelve, but in fact, now adults with children of their own. The room held the smell of new leather because the old man had redone his chair. She had already been briefed, so she was not listening to the spiel. The visitor appeared transfixed, focusing on every word as if he were Charlton Heston listening to God.

  “The time for secrecy is over,” said the superintendent. “War creates a wound, and we need to heal. The story needs to be told. Not all of it, but just enough to facilitate healing. So we manage the story, the facts. That’s why we called in you, Mr East.”

  “Sir –” started the visitor.

  “We try not to stand on ceremony here,” said the superintendent. “I know that goes against your understanding of the military, but this is rehabilitation. We’re demilitarised.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Arnold East.

  “Don’t call me ‘sir’.”

  “I will stop.”

  The superintendent sighed. Castle leaned against the wall, behind Arnold. He was the first civilian visitor Castle had clapped eyes on since the war. Of course she was a civilian too now, but discharge or no, nobody leaves the military. Arnold East was a kind of journalist or writer who had high security clearance, and had written sympathetic pieces about intelligence services in the past. It was unsurprising that the powers-that-be would choose him. East wanted to interview pe
ople like Castle. The superintendent had instructed her and the rest of the lads to extend full cooperation.

  Arnold was going to follow her around. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to see Una, so she would just have to faff around until the working day ended.

  Brontes dismissed them, and Arnold stood there staring at Castle, just outside the office.

  “What now?” Castle asked.

  “Oh, just do what you normally do. I’ll follow. I might ask some questions.”

  “Let’s go to the day room, then,” said Castle. “I don’t do a lot. You know what this place is, right?”

  “Care home for special service men.”

  “‘Special service men’. Interesting term. I must remember to use that.”

  Every corridor in Wotan House was curved, partly because the building was built like a wide cylinder four storeys high, with a diameter of half a mile. The centre was used for track and field to occupy the residents. Arnold walked beside Castle who, in her head, imagined the arc of their movement. She calculated trajectories, then she calculated an intercept course.

  X=ay2+by2+c

  Intercept at apex.

  Boom.

  “What are you thinking?” asked Arnold.

  “Excuse me?” Castle asked.

  “Your lips were moving and you seem to be turned inwards.”

  “I’m working out how to blow you up with a Surface-to-Air.” Castle smiled, but the tremors took over and it must have looked dreadful to Arnold. “It’s nothing about you. Force of habit.”

  “I’ve seen you before, you know,” said Arnold.

  That surprised Castle. “Where? When?”

  “Four months ago, in Portsmouth. I was taking the lay of the land, so I wandered around the coast to see if people thought about this island or the soldiers here. I saw you one night coming out of a club on Commercial Road.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I have a good memory for faces. You were dressed like a man.”