The Ouroboros Wave

by Hayashi, Jyouji

  I enter the auto-homing command into the console, but the target is so close that it’s outside the mass driver’s parameters. I haven’t won yet, but they can’t stop twenty packets, not even if they put themselves physically in the way. And unless they stop them all, I win.

  I launch on the preprogrammed trajectory. The driver’s huge capacitors begin to discharge. The superconducting coils violently change shape as they send the cargo up the ramp. I can feel the vibration through the ground under my feet. In a few moments the magazine is empty. The first packet’s going to take out the airship, but that will leave nineteen for the hit on the chairman. More than enough.

  Even before all twenty packets are out of the barn, the airship on the radar is gone.

  Plus 0 Hours 5 Minutes

  Although her mission was now complete, Rahmya had no time to rest on her laurels. The Guardian airship hadn’t been simply passing by. They must have known about the mass driver and what could be done with it. She’d succeeded in destroying this lot, but more would come. She hurriedly gathered her gear and set out for the caverns.

  Would the mission succeed? Its chances seemed no better than fifty-fifty. No—bringing down the airship meant the mission would probably fail. Even if Deimos Station were destroyed, Ochiai’s ship could easily evade the attack.

  Better get my ass back to Kobe. There’s no proof I did this. Get back to Kobe, get a new ID, contact the client. We’ll just have to come up with a new plan. I may have blown the hit but Deimos Station is going to be toast in a few hours. The client can’t ignore that.

  The straight-line distance from the mine to the nearest cavern gate was ten kilometers, but there were the satellites to consider. She’d have to follow the path of a narrow streambed for concealment, but that would double the distance, and the surface conditions in the streambed were rough. Still, there were no other options. She wasn’t in a position to pick and choose.

  Rahmya had just entered the streambed when the cruiser’s radar returned an echo. She immediately halted the vehicle. A radar return here could only mean a rockslide, and the radar had definitely spotted something small dropping down in front of the cruiser. Rahmya swiveled the optical sensors upward, trying to locate the slide. She needn’t have bothered. A glance out the cruiser’s window would have shown her the source of the reading. The small objects weren’t falling, they were landing—clad in black armor and carrying guns.

  Impossible—you’re all dead!

  Rahmya knew she had destroyed the airship. But now it seemed that some—all?—of the crew had bailed before impact. Soon there would be more of them. Escape was impossible; the mission was over.

  “All right, you got me. You win, I lose. Deport me, whatever. I don’t care.” Rahmya spoke on the general comm. The answer was not what she expected.

  “No. We’re the ones who lost.” It was Shiran Kanda.

  Plus 0 Hours 6 Minutes

  I think she said, “We lost.” It wasn’t one of the three in front of me though. That voice just had to be Kanda. She must be close by.

  “You lost, did you? Yeah, I guess you did. Maybe I won’t get Ochiai, but you can’t do anything now to put Deimos out of harm’s way.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Your assassination plan failed. And Deimos is safe.”

  “Bullshit. You’re bluffing.”

  “Am I? Watch.”

  I receive some image data on my heads-up display. It’s the airship—imaged from outside. No…

  The footage plays back one high-speed frame at a time. I don’t have to see many frames to know what happened. The first packet hits the airship just as I hoped, but the mass differential is still huge, and the airship is built from some kind of carbon composite that absorbs shock better than a metal airframe. The airship shudders from the shock wave, but it’s still hanging in the sky when the second packet hits, and the rest are right on its tail. There’s a pileup of twenty packets colliding with the ship, pieces of the ship, and each other, the packets hitting the hull faster than the impact can tear the ship apart. “Now I understand. Wait—why does this mean you lost?”

  Then she says something I never expected to hear from a Martian.

  “We prevented you from assassinating Tetsuya and destroying Deimos Station, but not before you committed murder. Now four of our people are dead. By allowing you to slip past us, four precious lives were lost. We failed to protect them, even though it’s our job. That was my failure and my defeat.”

  “Sorry, you missed one. In Kobe.”

  “Gong-ru Yang? Yes, we know. I’m sure her death was a tragedy, but she’s not one of the people I’m here to protect. The Guardians exist to protect AADD.”

  “So the death of a Terran means nothing to you.”

  “I didn’t say that. But I’m not responsible for protecting them. I’d prefer it if Gong-ru hadn’t died. But either way, I failed to do my job.”

  “Weren’t you trying to stop me from killing your chairman?”

  “Of course. He’s a member of AADD.”

  “Not just a member. He’s the chairman—he calls all the shots!”

  “No one calls all the shots in AADD. Tetsu is the head of our steering committee, nothing more. It’s just a function. He doesn’t hold any particular ‘power.’ But I doubt this is something you’d understand.”

  That’s when it hits me—the reason I keep misreading these people. Terran culture, Terran values—none of it means anything to them. They’re like this intelligent life-form that’s close to human but plays by completely different rules. How can I win against something like that? They’re not even playing the same game.

  “So what are you going to do with me? Maybe you don’t care about Kobe, but I killed four of your people. Why don’t you just take care of the payback here and now?”

  “Your hijacker friends have already been deported to Earth. Thanks for tipping us off to the plot. It made it very easy for us to arrest them.”

  “I didn’t tip anyone off !”

  “Really? Your accomplices think you did. We made sure of it. You’ll be sent back to Earth later, I suppose. Naturally we’ll make sure your friends know every detail of your itinerary so you can have a reunion.”

  “So that’s how you plan to dispose of me. Very convenient.”

  “That’s something for you and your friends to decide. It’s not my concern. But if you want to atone for the killing of four people, there is a way.”

  “And that would be what?”

  “Follow precedent. Seek asylum on Mars. No—asylum in AADD. It’s possible, if you wish to do so. But you’d have to become a Guardian. That’d be the best way to atone for your crime.”

  Plus 0 Hours 7 Minutes

  As Shiran had expected, Rahmya’s reaction to her offer was silence. Now it was time to drive the point home. “If you join us, you’ll be the best weapon we could have against the people who hired you. That alone makes you worth having.”

  Shiran’s web was delivering protests to this move from some of her team. But Mikal stood behind her. For Shiran that was enough to decide the matter.

  “Sure. Use me till I quit being useful. Then you toss me to the dogs.”

  “How useful you are is something you’ll have to decide yourself. Do your best to prove yourself as a Guardian, and that will be the greatest atonement you could make to those four people who died.”

  “Do my best? You know how many people might die if I did my best? Do you know what I am?”

  “Of course. If you join us, we get access to your experience and expertise as a terrorist. That will help enable us to prevent further incidents like this.”

  “I kill four people and you’re not going to execute me. You’re not going to toss me in prison. No. You’re going to make me a member of your society? Don’t expect me to believe that.”

  “But it’s true—if you work to earn your membership in our collective. Why should execution or prison be necessary? AADD doesn’t have laws, at least not as
you would understand that term.”

  Shiran signaled one of the team to take Rahmya from the vehicle. The captive emerged quietly, no sign of resistance. The Guardian got in the vehicle and drove it away, leaving Rahmya behind.

  Plus 0 Hours 8 Minutes

  There are about twenty of them, all wearing armored EMUs. Only one is unarmed. That must be Shiran Kanda.

  “Your fate is in your hands,” she says to me. “That is our way, and whether you join us or not you must follow it.”

  “I guess this isn’t the time to negotiate.”

  “You guessed right.”

  The Guardians line up in front of me like a wall. I see another airship approaching the sandbar behind them, preparing to touch down. In the opposite direction is the mouth of the mass driver. Beyond that lies the red-brown desert, empty and infinite.

  Shiran sees me checking out my situation and nods. “You have two choices. Step forward and follow us onto the airship. If you do, you will spend the rest of your life as a Guardian and a member of the collective. Your other choice stretches behind you, as you see. If you’re resourceful and luck is with you, you may be able to reach the orbital elevator on your own. If you do, and you swear never to return to Mars again, you will be permitted to go where you will, unhindered.”

  “Two choices?”

  “Only those two.”

  I can feel my resolve taking shape already. No matter how hard the decision is, I’m the only one who can make it. And as long as my fate is mine to decide, I’ll never be defeated.

  I’ve made my choice. The journey begins here.

  THE ISSUE OF CONSCIOUSNESS was raised for a reason, of course. The structure of consciousness is partly responsible for misinterpreting chance responses.

  Still, confirming the presence of consciousness is not necessarily straightforward. If you are communicating with an entity that responds appropriately, you can assume the entity is conscious. If you share the same physical structure, you can make certain informed guesses about the entity’s condition, even if direct communication is impossible—and if you can make sense of the entity’s actions and their results, you can infer that consciousness is present.

  But is communication possible in the complete absence of shared physical characteristics? Could you confirm that such an entity was conscious? We have done so with an AI, but that may have been pure luck.

  The intent to communicate, for example, may not always be present; where it is not, humankind has found it difficult to conclude that consciousness exists. Perhaps the emergence of life is inevitable. But consciousness is a byproduct of chance.

  THE DRAGONS OF EUROPA

  A.D. 2149

  SOMEHOW we never really got used to seeing our ship from the outside. From the ship’s viewing ports, all we could see was the dark sky full of stars, the monotonous plain of ice, and a slice of ocean surface, but our webs cut through the darkness and enhanced the contrast and texture of the scene. Technology had banished darkness from the solar system.

  “Insertion in ten seconds. System disengage.”

  “System disengage. Autodiagnostic clear.”

  “System clear, check.” Captain Kohara was proceeding through his final predive checks. Remora was now disengaged from the network of its mother ship, Dagon III, and operating on its own computer and power systems. I heard a faint mechanical hum start up.

  “System status update: RPM, voltage, oil pressure, oxidant temperature and pressure, all nominal.” Kameda’s voice sounded strangely doubled. I switched off my web’s audio circuit. In this narrow space, the navigator’s voice reached my ears sooner than my web fed data to my auditory cortex. I could still faintly hear that strange hum. I must have seemed confused.

  “Is this your first experience with diesel, Dr. Kurokawa?”

  “This is diesel? Yes, it’s the first time.”

  “I guess it must be. Remora is probably the only diesel spacecraft out there. Not as efficient as fuel cells, but the waste heat is recycled. Overall it doesn’t perform too badly.” Although it depended on Dagon III for transport, officially Remora was classified as a spaceship.

  Kameda didn’t seem inclined to explain further. It was obvious he thought I wouldn’t understand. “Remora uses closed-cycle, air-independent propulsion. With only three crew, we’ve got enough liquid oxygen to cruise for a week.”

  “Hey, Kameda, instead of shooting the breeze with the professor, how about monitoring your console? You’re supposed to be watching my back.”

  “Can’t I monitor on my web?”

  “I don’t care, just do it!” In fact, all three of us were using our webs, even though the consoles displayed the same information.

  “Commencing insertion.” Kameda monitored the console intently as Remora slowly entered the hundred-meter circle of water. Energy transmitted from the artificial accretion disk—now in orbit around Uranus—had carved a gateway through 250 meters of solid ice.

  Dagon III was a modified bulk carrier, piloted by AADD’s Special Equipment Team. The ship was equipped with optical sensors along its hull. We could use these sensors to view 3-D computer-enhanced images from any angle. I selected a portside CG view of Remora. The mother ship was using its twenty-meter manipulator arm to lower us into the water. Remora was about ten meters long. Cradled beneath it was a submersible robot named Salmon. There was nothing for us to do—Dagon’s manipulator arm handled the insertion.

  Europa’s surface gravity was only 0.135 G. Even though we were undoubtedly descending slowly, I still sensed the motion in the pit of my stomach. And then my body felt slightly heavier as Remora floated in Europa’s ocean.

  “Commence dive.”

  “Aye aye, commencing dive.”

  I heard the faint sound of the pumps starting up. Water flooded the ballast tanks. We bid farewell to space and dived.

  EUROPA, smallest of the four Galilean satellites of Jupiter. Since the twentieth century, scientists had speculated that it might harbor life. Data from unmanned missions suggested the presence of liquid water under the moon’s mantle of ice. Given its orbit and the tidal forces from Jupiter and Io, it was reasoned that there might well be active volcanoes at the bottom of Europa’s ocean. In that case, there would also be hydrothermal vents, like those on Earth. It would not be surprising for unique life-forms to have arisen and evolved in that environment. Subsequent observations refined and adjusted this initial impression, and most scientists continued to believe that life might be present.

  Of course, this view was based mostly on hope rather than fact. Angular mass data sent back by unmanned probes suggested that the depth of Europa’s surface ice and the underlying ocean was around 150 kilometers. Long-term investigation using synthetic aperture radar and other technologies indicated that the depth of the ice layer, though irregular, averaged around ten kilometers. To investigate the possibility of life on Europa, a hole would have to be opened in the ice; however, mechanical drilling required a huge investment in equipment, time, and people. Of course, ice samples recovered during drilling would be of great scientific value—the few ice cores taken from the surface had already yielded telltale traces of life. But the cores told a limited story. Only access to the ocean beneath the ice would yield definitive answers.

  Did this sheltered sea really harbor life? By chance an opportunity to test this hypothesis presented itself. Satellites detected icequakes caused by tidal forces and convective movements in the ice. These quakes created subsurface fissures where the ice was as thin as 250 meters.

  Energy transmitted from the accretion disk via laser and microwave melted a hundred-meter access hole in the ice. This feat also helped prove that Kali’s energy could be focused into a tight beam over millions of miles. To prevent a steam explosion, the ice was thinned gradually. After weeks of careful work the layer was breached.

  The first ship assigned the mission to search for signs of life—the submarine Swordfish—was quickly dispatched to Europa. Two things happened in quick
succession: traces of life were discovered and the submarine disappeared for reasons unknown. Our mission was to confirm the existence of life on this moon and discover the whereabouts of the submarine.

  MY WEB showed a depth of 150 meters. We weren’t even below the ice layer yet.

  “Captain,” said Kameda, “I think you should know that according to my web the influence of Mars and Uranus is very strong today.”

  “Kameda, this is a moon of Jupiter. How could the influence of Mars and Uranus be strong here? What do you think, Dr. Kurokawa?”

  “I think the forecast might be right.”

  “Really? Why?” The captain seemed surprised that I’d suggest astrology could affect our fate.

  “It’s the reason we’re here now, aboard Remora. Terraforming on Mars and Kali orbiting Uranus—that’s how we ended up on Europa.”

  “See, Kameda? Pros don’t actually believe in astrology.”

  “Did I say I believed in it? Fortune-telling is all about interpretation. You look at a lot of methods for telling the future and pick the one that suits you best. The important thing is to make the right choice.”

  The banter abruptly stopped. Both men peered carefully at their consoles. The ship’s rate of descent slowed.

  “Are we coming into a dangerous area?” I asked.

  “Yes, soon now. But Swordfish got past it okay and Remora is a smaller ship. Nothing to worry about.” The captain sent a 3-D profile of the access hole to my web. A simple tube a hundred meters in diameter extended deep into the ice. But for its last few tens of meters, the hole shrank from a cylinder to a long, narrow fissure. This section had been cleared by pumping high-pressure water into the hole. The inner surface was rough and irregular. To keep the hole from freezing from the bottom up while we were under the ice, powerful heat pumps around the edge circulated water from the surface into the depths. Only Kali’s unlimited energy made this possible.