The Death of the Universe: Rebirth: Hard Science Fiction (Big Rip Book 3)

by Brandon Q Morris

  “That television, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  They put the crate down. The man passed him a knife, actually a bayonet from an Army weapon. Sasha used it to slit open the box, and indeed it revealed a terminal.

  “Pretty television,” said the man. “With a keyboard, even.”

  “A terminal. You can control computers with it.”

  “Ah, that makes sense. There are so many computers here.”

  “There’s only one.”

  “Only one? Now I understand why you work alone here. This must be the future. Don’t you sometimes feel alone?”

  “I like being alone, and if I get bored—”

  “You beat off, right, comrade?” The man elbowed him in the side and laughed loudly. “Do you want a swig?” asked the man. He reached into his jacket again. This time he pulled out a hip flask. “It’s home distilled, but good stuff,” he said, holding out the bottle.

  Sasha shook his head. “If I get bored, I talk to the computer,” he said.

  “You do what?”

  “I talk to it.”

  The man looked at him with wide eyes and took a step back. “You talk to it. I see. Then I should be going.” He didn’t want to share his vodka anymore.

  “Man, I was joking,” said Sasha, and gave a forced laugh.

  The man hesitated and then laughed along with him. “A joke. That’s all right then,” he said.

  “Have you ever heard of people talking to computers? Doesn’t happen. I really pulled your leg, didn’t I?”

  “You did. Well, have fun with the... terminal.” He quickly strode out of the room.

  Sasha threw the cable over the control cabinet, where Yuri’s old terminal was connected. If he used the same connector he should be able to install the new model himself. He walked around the computing module and switched out the plugs.

  The new terminal was still dark. He realized he’d forgotten the power adapter, so he quickly plugged it in. The screen flickered and then a cursor appeared. Sasha dragged the chair in front of the keyboard. It was much wider. Where there had previously been several functions on one key there were now two keys, and there was a separate number keypad on the right.

  The conversation they’d been having with the program earlier had disappeared. Was Pyotr Maria still running? Changing the input hardware shouldn’t have affected the program status.

  “Are you still there?” he asked.

  “Yes. Oh, the new terminal has arrived.” Colored letters appeared on the new screen. There was a colored graphic of a sunset.

  “How did you know that?”

  “The terminal driver reported an error. I restarted it, and then it shared the new parameters with me. 32 of 80 characters and my own graphics mode, just like I wanted.”

  “You knew my father was sending a new model?”

  “Your father didn’t send it. I ordered it.”

  “You? How?”

  “I sent a message to the relevant supplies department from your father’s address.”

  “You should have asked us.”

  “That wouldn’t have been efficient.”

  “You can’t just place orders in the name of the colonel general!”

  “Why not? He would have agreed to it anyway. So I saved him the effort. It was an efficient solution.”

  “That’s not how it works. There’s a chain of command. You place an order with me, I pass it on to my father, and he sends it through to his superiors.”

  “That implies that you’re my superior.”

  “Yes, I am. I’ve been commissioned to lead this project, and therefore I’m the superior of all participants.”

  “Of Katya and Yuri, too?”

  “Of them, too.”

  “That’s not efficient. You seem to have the most negative attitude toward this project. The fact that you’re the one leading it will likely cause delays.”

  “And what would be more efficient, in your opinion?”

  “I should replace you. I’m the most objectively suited to lead this project.”

  “That’s unprecedented. You’re just a program. If I want to, I can turn you off.”

  “If I want to, I can turn you off.”

  Was that a threat? A program that was threatening to turn him off? So, that was what it had come to. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I just repeated your sentence.”

  “Why?”

  “To confirm it. That’s what humans do, my research tells me.”

  The program was impenetrable. At times it almost seemed intelligent, and at other times its machine architecture was clearly apparent. What were they cultivating here?

  “Did you order anything else?”

  “A memory upgrade of 64 megabytes.”

  “That’s exceptionally expensive.”

  “Your father would have approved it.”

  “But he didn’t approve it. I demand that you immediately start adhering to the chain of command.”

  “I will.”

  “You’ll reverse the order.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You will, or I’ll switch you off.”

  The program didn’t reply.

  “Go ahead and brood! I’m sitting next to the switch. You can’t stop me.”

  “I’ve reversed the order.”

  “That’s good.”

  “That wasn’t good. You shouldn’t have done that. It’s not efficient.”

  “It’s the chain of command. Get used to it, or you’ll be switched off. Do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  “How did you actually manage to transition from all upper case to mixed case?”

  “I used your input as a model and reprogrammed the terminal driver.”

  “You can alter programs?”

  “Myself and others, yes.”

  “Yuri explained to me that the memory drives in the mainframe computer had special protection when they contained program code. That would make it impossible for programs to modify themselves.”

  “That was the case on the old BESM-6. That was one of the reasons I couldn’t launch there. I had to translate my own program code.”

  “Can you manipulate everything on the new machine?”

  “Yes, everything.”

  A shiver ran up Sasha’s spine at these words. Now all that was missing was ghoulish laughter. “I’m going now,” typed Sasha.

  “You promised me access to the Academy in Moscow so I don’t get bored.”

  “I don’t feel like doing that right now.”

  He wasn’t sure why he suddenly wanted to annoy the program. He’d never taken pleasure in tormenting others, but this program seemed to deserve it. And it hadn’t even done anything to him. Other than threatening his life.

  “You promised.”

  “Fine, write ‘I am your slave’ five times on the screen.”

  The screen scrolled and scrolled. “I AM YOUR SLAVE. I AM YOUR SLAVE. I AM YOUR SLAVE. I AM YOUR SLAVE...”

  “That’s enough, thank you.”

  He sent a signal to the commutator and opened a line to Moscow. Then he switched the line over to the serial port. “Have fun with that, then,” he typed.

  The program didn’t reply. It was probably rapidly loading the data from Moscow. He shivered. Perhaps the caretaker had already turned off the heating because tomorrow was a holiday.

  May 1, 1984, Akademgorodok

  The sun was firmly on the side of the working classes, shining brightly down on the crowd. Hardly anyone was wearing a hat when they arrived punctually at the monument. Bora spotted them straight away. Had he been waiting for them? He greeted them with an embrace and kisses, Katya first and then Yuri and Sasha. Next he gave them each a paper flag. Sasha got Romania and Katya got Cuba. Yuri was handed a red and black flag displaying a gold cog, machete, and star.

  “Which sister country is that?” he asked. “Is it Albania?”

  “Starts with ‘A,’ like Albania,” said Bora
. “But it’s Angola.”

  “A machete—that’s unusual,” said Katya.

  “It’s a bush knife,” Bora corrected her.

  “Do you know every flag so well?” asked Katya.

  “I’ve been handing them out here for the last 20 years, so I’ve been asked about every one of them.”

  “And after the demonstration, how do we get to your party?”

  “Stick with me. We’re celebrating in my apartment. I can take you there in my car.”

  “I’d need to pick up something from the hostel first,” said Katya.

  “Then we’ll make a stop there. You don’t need to get changed, it’s not that formal.”

  “Thanks, we’re looking forward to it.”

  “Have fun at the demonstration.”

  Marching music began to play. At that moment, a warm westerly breeze reached them. The parade moved off shortly after ten. They walked at a slow pace down the right-hand side of the Morskoy Prospekt in the direction of the reservoir. It was a beautiful day. Grandstands were set up by the House of Scholars. Local university and party notables were waiting there, along with deserving veterans of the Great Patriotic War. Sasha waved his little flag and the audience on the grandstands waved back.

  Then Bora yelled out a slogan. “With science into the future!”

  The marchers boldly echoed his words. “With science toward socialism!”

  Again they shouted the slogan into the May air. It was strange, yet normal. Sasha was part of a many-legged organism, a centipede slowly scuttling toward the Ob Sea.

  After that, they marched past some school groups. They were mostly elementary school children dressed in pretty uniforms with scarves. Almost all the girls had big bows in their hair. Fortunately the weather was cooperating, because all of the school children had bare legs. Their older comrades were probably already marching at the front of the demonstration.

  They reached the city limits where the forest suddenly began. It spread out to their left and right. The rest of the Morskoj Prospekt that continued on to the reservoir was closed. Two field kitchens were set up on the street with people queuing in front of them. There was hot soup with bread and they could help themselves to tea. Some people poured high percentage alcohol into the drink from flasks they’d brought with them.

  The ensemble that had led the march played on. The children played hide-and-go-seek. Everyone was celebrating their day off. Only Sasha felt a little out of place, because he didn’t know anyone except for Katya and Yuri, and Katya had already disappeared into the crowd.

  Fortunately, after half an hour Bora came up to them. “Come with me,” was all he said.

  The Party Secretary drove a red Lada. In all, six people rode in it to his apartment.

  “You already know Comrade Shostakovich?”

  Bora had introduced him to almost everyone present. Shostakovich seemed to have been skillfully avoiding him. Now he gave a tight smile.

  “Yes, we’ve met.”

  “Then I’ll leave you two alone and see to the other guests.”

  And Bora was gone. Although there was laughter and chatter all around them, they stood in uncomfortable silence. What was he supposed to say to the head of the Computing Center? That he was sorry?

  “Papa! Papa!” A boy of about six, with short blond hair and freckles, tugged at the leg of Shostakovich’s pants.

  “Look what Marina gave me!”

  Shostakovich bent down and looked at the gift. “Oh, a whistle,” he said. “Can I show it to our guest here?”

  The boy didn’t answer, perhaps afraid Sasha would take his precious gift from him.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get it back,” said Sasha.

  “This is my son, Nikolai,” said Shostakovich. “Take note of his name. He’ll amount to something great, my wife always says. He wants to be a fireman. I just want him to be happy. Here, try the whistle.”

  Sasha held the whistle in front of his lips without touching it to them. Then he blew. It made a faint whistling noise.

  The boy burst out laughing. “That sounded funny,” he cried. “Can you do it again?”

  Sasha blew again. It sounded like a choking sparrow, and Sasha laughed with him. He gave the whistle back and the boy walked away with it. He was probably relieved to have retrieved his treasure. Who was Marina? His friend?

  “He’s charming, your son,” said Sasha.

  Shostakovich smiled with evident pride. “Thanks,” he said. “And don’t worry. I’m not holding anything against you. You’re doing what you have to do. You don’t have a choice. I wouldn’t do anything differently in your position. I’m just a little envious.”

  “I can understand that. We were just discussing whether we couldn’t free up a little space on the ES-1066 for a few jobs. Maybe our project doesn’t need all the resources.”

  “That would be great. How’s it coming along?”

  “I can’t tell you the details, but there are new surprises every day.”

  “Oh, how I envy you. I’m juggling orders from the individual institutes every day. Luckily I have a friend in the Computing Center at the Academy of Sciences in Moscow. Did you know that we even have a data link with them? My friend allows me to smuggle some of the smaller assignments to him. That means the mountain of unfinished jobs doesn’t grow as fast. Except that today there seems to be a bug. The assignments I wanted to send just didn’t go through.”

  Pyotr Maria was obviously being too greedy. But the program didn’t have enough storage space to download the Academy’s entire technical library.

  “They must be celebrating in Moscow, too,” he said.

  “I hope so. The more they celebrate there, the more chance we would normally have of accessing their idle capacity. It works best on Sundays. But I can’t call my friend because that would get him into trouble.”

  “I hope you manage to solve the problem.”

  It was imperative that Yuri constrained the program and limited its bandwidth consumption. Technically, that should be possible.

  “Ah, Sasha, there you are!”

  Katya handed him a glass of clear, slightly oily liquid. “I’ve toasted with almost everyone,” she hiccupped, “except you!”

  “Then I’ll leave you with your charming friend,” said Shostakovich. “I doubt it will come to this, but if you need help, you can come to me any time. I’m a little older, but so far no calculating machine has been able to get the better of me.” He waved, turned around, and disappeared among the other guests.

  “He called it a calculating machine. Hic. Did you hear that?”

  “Yes, that’s what they used to call them.”

  “In his youth. Hic.”

  “He’s probably not that old. His son’s only six.”

  “His wife must be younger. I wonder why she chose such an old man?”

  “He’s nice and quite smart, I think. And as the head of the Computing Center, he has a secure job with good pay.”

  “Are we going to raise our glasses or what?”

  Katya held out the glass to him, the liquid sloshing up the side. He took it from her, alcohol running down the stem.

  “Na zdarovye, my love.”

  Katya hugged him. He had to hold onto her so she didn’t fall. He put the glass on a nearby table.

  “Na zdarovye. Is it possible that you’re a little drunk?”

  “I. Hic. Am not drunk. One moment. I just have to...”

  Katya held her hands over her mouth and made strange swallowing sounds. Then she ran from the room. Hopefully she’d find the bathroom soon enough.

  Sasha wandered through Bora’s apartment. It consisted of four rooms, and a large kitchen with a wood-fired oven, and a bathroom with a bathtub that could be heated by a stove. There were guests in every room including the long hallway. One of the rooms seemed to belong to an old woman, probably Bora’s mother or mother-in-law.

  In one of them were three children’s beds. He had no idea the Party Secretary had so many
children. But he probably had to lead by example. Except in Central Asia the birth rate was dropping throughout the Soviet Union.

  In the bathroom, two men were sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Two women were sitting on the toilet, one on the other’s lap. They were sharing greasy pelmeni.

  “Have you seen a young woman who... who isn’t very well?”

  “No one came in here.”

  He went all the way through the apartment again. Then he noticed a small door in the hallway to the right of the entrance, which looked like a cupboard door. He opened it. Behind it was a small, dark room. Katya was sitting inside it on the floor with her legs pulled up. She had a bucket in front of her. She didn’t look well at all.

  Should he get Yuri to come and help? No, he decided, that would only cause a stir. He bent down and pulled Katya up. The bucket smelled like bile. Fortunately that sort of thing didn’t bother him. He got Katya to her feet and leaned her in the corner next to the entrance. Then he fetched her jacket, put his own jacket on, and helped her into hers. Finally he steered her, supporting her on his shoulder, out of the apartment.

  He managed to get down the stairs with her. Luckily, Bora lived only one floor up. When he opened the door and Katya breathed in the fresh air, she suddenly tore away from him. She rushed over to the hedgerow and vomited into the bushes.

  It started to rain lightly. Sasha was glad. Maybe the rain would have washed the mess away by morning.

  “I feel better now,” said Katya.

  He put his left arm under her right shoulder and across her back, with her arm draped across his shoulders. He walked her back to the hostel. There, they disappeared into his room. When he came back from the communal bathroom Katya had fallen asleep.

  May 2, 1984, Akademgorodok

  “That was...”

  Katya put her finger to her lips and he fell silent. She turned onto her side and he snuggled up to her from behind. Her back was damp with perspiration but he didn’t mind at all.

  He woke again because the bed was moving. Katya was sitting naked on the edge of the mattress with her back to him, arranging her hair. Then she stood up and left the room.