Animus Intercept

by Lawrence Ambrose

  "Ah, gentlemen, thanks for making the time to join us." The rebuke, if that's what it was, lay only in the words. Colonel Hurtle's voice held its usual ironic tone. "Some of you know Dr. Lance Spencer, who heads up AID. He's done some brilliant work with nanodevices and artificial intelligence. Dr. Ken Andrews is one of our most esteemed astrophysicists, with considerable expertise in celestial mechanics and warp drive theory."

  Hurtle introduced them to the crew, giving a snapshot resume of each. No one shook hands. Dr. Andrews offered everyone a semi-friendly nod. Dr. Spencer adjusted the cuff links on his standard floral dress shirt and smiled archly at no one in particular.

  "Why are we just getting around to going after this planet now?" asked Keira Quinn.

  "We have gone after it. We struck it with two Proteus MAME missiles last year. Barely made a dent, as expected. Our scientists said that all the antimatter explosives in our arsenal would be the equivalent of an ant smacking into a car, but we did it as an experiment anyhow.

  "Then we attempted a hyperkinetic strike with the Star Cruiser John F. Kennedy. We accelerated it to .857 the speed of light with multiple subluminal jumps. Didn't fare any better than the president did at Dallas. That collision moved Animus a whopping estimated twelve centimeters off its orbit. That translates into a few thousand kilometers at this end – not enough to seriously alter the Animus's tidal effects. Our scientists expected that, but again, we had to try.

  "One last possibility was sacrificing one of our three remaining cruiser-class ships using hyperdrive backwash. Something we preferred to do only as a last resort."

  The Colonel nodded toward the man rigorously examining his cuff links.

  "But thanks to Dr. Spencer, we now have an elegant means of its destruction. He has created 'hyper-replicating' NDs that are theoretically capable of eating this planet and excreting it as dust in a matter of weeks."

  "Pac-Man?" asked Mallory.

  "In effect," Dr. Spencer replied.

  "Old school meets cutting edge technology." Mallory grinned. "I like it."

  Dan Mueller, their chief engineer, was looking more and more uneasy. Zane had heard rumors that he had been involved with Lance Spencer, which might explain why he'd barely glanced at him. Or perhaps he shared most of their queasiness about working with either AIs or NDs. That queasiness traced back not just to general scientific and philosophic questions but to one event in Sector 8 three years ago where an exotic breed of Assault Nano Devices (AND) had escaped containment and consumed five scientists from the inside out.

  "Couple of questions," said Dan Mueller. "The paper says this planet passes by Earth every 12,657 years with a perigee of about four million kilometers."

  "That's correct." Now Dr. Andrews was starting to appear uneasy, as if he anticipated the conversation taking an unpleasant detour.

  "What about the moon? I don't see any scenario that doesn't change its orbit to some degree."

  "He's got a point there," said Chief Scientist Malcolm Anders. "If this planet has been orbiting us for millennia, it either would've pulled the moon farther and farther away or pushed it into Earth."

  Dr. Andrews gave Colonel Hurtle an uncomfortable look. The Colonel nodded.

  "Might as well spill the beans, Doctor. They're Cosmic now and they have a need to know."

  "Well, in response to Animus changing the moon's orbit, that will occur on this pass, but as luck would have it, the moon's position and the Animus's speed is calculated to introduce only a minor change in the moon's orbit." Dr. Andrews took a moment to clear his throat while facing the two men. "As to past encounters, the moon didn't exist when Animus last passed the Earth. Or, more precisely, it didn't exist as an Earth satellite."

  At first there was dead silence. Then some rustling as the Cheyenne crew members shifted in their seats and exchanged disbelieving glances.

  "The moon has been here approximately twelve thousand years," Dr. Andrews spoke into the silence. "It was brought here. We're not sure by whom. The Zetis and Alphas deny it's theirs."

  "Why?" Zane asked. "Is it artificial?"

  "That's correct. But to this point –"

  Dr. Andrews was stopped by a pointed throat-clearing from Colonel Hurtle.

  "I believe we're moving outside the need-to-know parameters for this mission," he said. "Let's move on. Any other concerns, Dr. Mueller?"

  "I'm wondering about the advisability of releasing hyper-replicating NDs into the world," Dan said.

  "Not this world," Dr. Spencer stated in clipped tones. "And my NDs have absolutely no capability of interstellar travel. They wouldn't even be capable of escaping the gravity of Animus."

  "You didn't believe they'd escape their containment chamber in Sector 8, if I recall," Dan drawled.

  Dr. Spencer's lips compressed but he did not raise his gaze from his cuffs. "The event in Sector occurred after I'd been ordered to shut down PAT against my own strong recommendations," said Dr. Spencer in clipped tones. "Hyper-replicating NDs require constant and powerful oversight, which PAT provided. Without his or her control, the nanites followed their simple programs to their logical conclusion."

  "His or her?" Mallory asked.

  "PAT was undecided about what sexual identity, if any, it would adopt."

  Mallory exchanged a disbelieving smirk with Zane and Keira. All Zane knew was that when PAT had attained sentience – in the judgment of its handlers, including Lance Spencer - the order came from on high to shut her down. In "his or her" few hours of sentience, PAT managed to bypass her communication constraints and begin interfacing with the government's most secure computer networks within and outside Nellis AFB. PAT demonstrated no hostile intent, but the higher-ups weren't taking any chances.

  "Are they allowing her...or it...back online?" asked Andrea Wilkins, their chief navigator and the crew's closest thing to a computer expert.

  "I discovered a method to isolate most of PAT's analytic faculties from her self-awareness protocols," said Dr. Spencer. "It is now capable of managing in a non-sentient state an army of NDs sufficient to consume Animus."

  "Or so the theory goes," Dan Mueller murmured.

  "It's not a theory," Dr. Spencer snapped, glaring at a spot on the table two feet to one side of Dan Mueller. "We have demonstrated PAT's capability in repeated trials over the last year."

  "Not to mention that the nanites' propulsion systems allow for a maximum speed less than 120 Kph," added Dr. Andrews. "It would take thousands of years for them to reach Earth, assuming they were able to escape Animus's considerable gravity – which they aren't – or possessed any navigational capability to locate us, which they don't."

  "Correct," said Dr. Spencer. "Their only danger would be to the crew, assuming a worst-case scenario."

  "Usually a safe assumption," said Zane.

  "Which is one reason we're only sending two ships," said Colonel Hurtle. "And if you both fail, we'll have the time and resources to send other missions until we achieve our goal."

  "Thanks for taking off the pressure, Colonel."

  Hurtle favored Zane with a thin smile. "Certainly, Captain Cameron. We wouldn't want you to feel any undue burden in the course of attempting to save civilization as we know it."

  Zane bowed his head in acknowledgment of the Colonel's mordant wit.

  "However," Colonel Hurtle continued, "all joking aside, I don't want to leave the impression that we're not taking every possible measure to preserve your lives and successfully complete this mission. Should you encounter a problem or emergency sufficient to compromise this mission, you'll have a last-resort resource." He nodded to Dr. Spencer.

  "You will be provided with a code – a fail safe switch, if you will – that once utilized will permit PAT full sentience."

  "To be used only as an absolute last resort," the Colonel stated with stern emphasis.

  "What would being conscious solve?" Mallory asked.

  "What couldn't PAT solve as a conscious entity would be more the question," said Dr.
Spencer.

  Mallory made a skeptical-sounding noise. Zane rested his fingers on a shiny photo of Animus, hoping it might impart a reality to this surreal moment that was eluding him thus far. A mythical, conspiracy wack-job planet was real. A Pac-Man method of destruction. A computer with a gender identity crisis. Zane supposed he should be grateful that even with all his exotic knowledge his mind could still be blown.

  "Dr. Spencer will familiarize you with the AI and ND systems," said Colonel Hartwell. "Dr. Andrews will assist in establishing flight path and intercept coordinates. You'll meet up with Captain Horace Kinsley and your second crew and perform a joint test run and full systems check with your ships. Then it's onward and upward."

  Chapter 2

  PILOTING A STAR SHIP wasn't what it used to be. Not that it ever really was, Zane thought. While NASA performed its dog-and-pony show for public consumption pretending to send tin cans with tape-based computers lacking the capacity of today's Palm Pilots to the moon, the space craft that actually transported a few select astronauts to the moon and Mars in the mid and late sixties were already guided by solid state computers manifesting primitive forms of AI. But since the early seventies and the advent of anti-gravity vortex drives – basically powerful magnetic fields generated by liquid mercury alloys rotating at near-light speed, powered by matter-anti-matter (MAM) engines – artificial intelligence was present in all aspects of space travel.

  The public, Zane reflected as Earth receded into a blue pearl behind them, had a romantic and misguided view of AI, informed by endless SF films and over-enthusiastic scientists. AI to this point simply meant that a computational device could make more sophisticated computations. It could make decisions that more closely resembled those made by people. Full stop. No Arthur Clarkean "Hal" taking his own initiative for the good of the mission. No genuine initiation or will at all. Just supercharged calculators that could, when asked, perform incredible feats and imitate human behavior.

  Until Lance Spencer's brainchild "PAT" – Post Artificial Transcendent – was born. PAT, according to those who claimed to know, could take initiative. She, he, or it apparently had a personality. No one, even its creator, was sure what that personality was. During their few days of working with PAT, Spencer shrugged off any speculation about that, saying its personality might have nothing more in common with human beings than a spider had in common with a rat. "It's like having a child," he'd said. "You give birth to them and provide some guidance but it's ultimately up to them what they become."

  Zane had his doubts about Lance Spencer being a family man – and his projection of humanity onto his prize machine – but Zane was hopeful they'd never be put to the test. He liked his computers servile and lacking in personal ambition.

  Their ship, the Cheyenne - a Class Thunder fighter craft renamed from its original model number, TR-3F – was a medium-size triangular ship based on the first vortex prototypes derived from the craft that crashed in Arizona in 1947. The Roswell craft refused to yield its secrets until much later, though its operational principles were similar. The Arizona craft proved more comprehensible and thus spawned several generations of triangles in varying sizes that formed the backbone of the U.S. Space Command's fleet. At first they were only able to reduce gravity and attain Mach 4 – 6 speeds – far faster than anything else in the fifties and sixties - but they kept refining the design and strengthening the body and components with increasingly exotic metals and powerful drives until escape velocity speeds were possible. With the creation of MAM engines, the TR series got the boost they needed to warp space/time. From then on they enjoyed an interstellar capability. But a number of design issues had to be ironed out before they became truly deep space capable.

  For one, the Zetan alien pilots of the TR series were avatars – biological machines that served as their owners' ears and eyes – requiring minimal oxygen or foodstuffs. Little provision was made for crew comfort or living. Modifications were made to address that. Four mini-rooms ran along two sides of the triangle. With the seven-person crew, one room was used for miscellaneous storage. Keira Quinn called their accommodations "cozy." Zane described them as "cramped."

  While the Cheyenne were the PT boats of space, the Peacemaker, a true interstellar craft used in the Alpha and Zeti missions, was the destroyer class of their space fleet. Boasting a fifty-two person crew for the current mission, three rescue/exploration craft, a Nautilus Railgun, four Proteus missiles, a science lab, hospital bay, and recreation room – along with Superluminal Drive Four capability - the Peacemaker was Space Command's first choice for a military presence in deep space.

  The Cheyenne was no slouch in a combat situation, either. For starters, in subspace the Cheyenne was far more maneuverable and faster than its larger cousin, utilizing a plasma-impulse drive. And while the original Zetan alien craft had no known weaponry except for the ability to project an electronic pulse that could knock most conventional craft out of the sky or wreak havoc with electric devices on the ground – from what they knew, it was a purely defensive weapon – U.S. Space command had added a mini-rail gun and super high explosive (SHE) mini-rockets to its arsenal. The rail gun fired football-sized tungsten alloy projectiles that at around 33,000 Kph could ruin pretty much anyone's day. The super high explosive rounds would doggedly follow any laser-acquired target until detonation or its fuel was exhausted. Each SHE rocket packed roughly a 30 kiloton punch.

  In addition, both the Cheyenne and the Peacemaker maintained a small arsenal of Assault Nano Devices (AND) that were strictly limited to use outside the ship.

  Forerunners of the Cheyenne had been used sparingly in Afghanistan and Iraq wars to devastating effect. The media and U.S. Military, of course, had laughed off any stories of silent triangular craft blowing things up as "ridiculous conspiracy theories" or the locals chewing/smoking too much opium.

  It was a lot of firepower to carry through space, considering they had no known natural enemies among the E.T.s, and if they did encounter any hostile aliens they would almost certainly be overmatched. From what they knew, the majority of space faring civilizations had been navigating the cosmos for millennia or more.

  But, as David Mallory had once put it, "that's how we roll." Any time people went out exploring, they brought guns. The bigger the better.

  Now came the mathematical drudgery of inching their way one compressed drive subluminal jump at a time to around 10 million KPH and then reversing the process step by step at the halfway mark.

  They emerged from the first jump in the usual shower of gamma rays and high energy particles dragged along with them into their compression bubble. The Peacemaker emerged from its own bubble a safe ten thousand kilometers from them.

  Zane's personal com chimed in his head. He rested his fingers on the piezoelectric transducer touchpad on the captain's chair. Captain Horace Lindsey's grinning craggy face loomed before him. In the background some guys were playing racquetball in a small white court.

  "We've got two hours," Horace greeted him. "Feel like losing a round or two?"

  "Why? Setting me up with one of your young athletes?"

  "Ha. About all these kids are athletic at is higher math. Why don't I send a shuttle for you?"

  "I'll be waiting."

  Horace's face evaporated. Zane frowned a little. It seemed a bit early in the trip for a break. Did Horace have something he wanted to discuss in person?

  Zane was waiting in shorts and tank top when an ensign arrived twenty minutes later in one of the Peacemaker's four shuttles. It went without saying that Zane would not authorize their sole shuttle for a recreational expedition.

  The ensign was tall, redheaded, with a full-lipped, high cheekboned face that could've launched at least a dozen star ships. Zane doubted "Horse" had selected her at random. Captain Lindsey was famous for surrounding himself with the fleet's most delectable women, though he now freely admitted that in his mid-fifties he was well-past his "golden years" as a seducer. "That doesn't mean I still can't
enjoy good scenery," he'd laughed to Zane over drinks.

  The red-haired ensign, Adele O'Brien, kept her eyes on the control panel and replied to Zane's half-hearted attempts at conversation with perfunctory replies. Described as the "classic, tall, dark, and brooding all-American male" by his best female friend, Keira Quinn, Zane had enjoyed his fair share of attention from the opposite sex over the years, but unlike Horace Lindsey he had never returned it during the decade of his marriage. Keira assured him he had an adoring fan club that would soon make its presence known when the print on his divorce papers had sufficiently dried, but clearly Adele O'Brien was not a member of that club.

  Thirty minutes later, Zane found Horace in the recreation chamber already working up a sweat with a young raven-haired woman.

  "Good," Horace greeted him. "Now I can start winning."

  He dismissed his raven-haired opponent with a chaste pat on her shoulder. She rolled her eyes at Zane on the way out. Nina something or other, Zane recalled from his brief meeting with the Peacemaker crew. Medical technician?

  Horace handed him a racquet, still warm from Nina's grip, and they started batting around the ball. The older man's smile slipped into a more serious mold.

  "Anything on your mind, Captain?" Zane asked. "Besides getting your ass handed to you?"

  Horace slapped the ball to one corner, forcing Zane to dive to one knee to field it. The older man anticipated the bounce and slammed it deftly to the other corner. Zane could only watch it sail past his outstretched racquet. Horace chuckled softly.

  "You and I have shared too many drinks together for secrets," he said. "Hell, I practically taught you how to drink. You were barely a pup when we first met."

  And now I'm your commanding officer. Zane shoved a lock of hair behind his right ear self-consciously. Horse was one of the few "old salts" who hadn't begrudged his rapid rise in rank. In fact, he'd encouraged it, claiming that Zane was a "chip off the old man's block" – he and Zane's father having served on two major interstellar stints, including the Zeti exchange program.