For the past year the Air and Space Museum had been negotiating with Pritchard as the Space Agency liaison for new material to display: lunar hoppers taken out of service, prototypes of the stegosaurus-like He-3 mining rovers, Jason Dvorak's blueprints for a remodeled Columbus. Within six months, a new wing of the museum would open, devoted entirely to the Moon-Mars initiative.
By that time, Pritchard thought, there might not even be a lunar colony in existence! The Farside construction had put everything in question. Could the Agency risk continuing the Mars mission itself without knowing the true nature of the alien race behind the nanomachines?
As Pritchard's gaze lingered on the white marble buildings, he heard a chanting crowd on the television set. He swung around in his chair. The camera panned over thousands of people. Some held up signs, many shook their fists in the air. All of them were chanting something Pritchard could not make out.
"Where is this?" he asked.
The screen displayed a slug line. STANFORD UNIVERSITY.
The voice of the news commentator came up over the noise. "The crowd is estimated to be over thirty thousand by the police, and a hundred thousand by the organizers. People are very concerned about the threat of nanotechnology, whether it be from the Farside of the Moon, or closer at home here in California. Researchers at Stanford have refused to come out and meet with the demonstrators -- "
The scene switched to the Daedalus construction -- an image two weeks old, Pritchard noticed. The newsnets had played similar stories two or three times an evening for the past month or so. With the destruction of the Collins, public interest and panic had soared.
Suddenly, an unknown threat had fallen in everyone's lap. The security they had felt from years of peace now wavered with paranoia. ALIEN INVASION!
screamed the tabloids.
As Pritchard watched the protesting crowd, he knew that this nanotech menace seemed more threatening even than "radioactivity," which had caused unreasoning panic among the stubborn and uneducated for generations. At least people could explain what radioactivity was, and they could take precautions against it. But the self-replicating nanotech menace was something no one had a handle on.
Some people had cheered yesterday's attempt by Bernard Chu to blow up the construction, while others had screamed bloody murder about provoking the alien presence, about giving the wrong message to another technological civilization. Pritchard knew it had been a hot-dog act by Chu, more to spite Celeste than to protect the moonbase, and Pritchard didn't approve of such drastic actions. The setback to the Daedalus construction should have calmed the world somewhat, though. Now they had a little more breathing room.
But the public would not be reassured so easily.
He turned away from the CNN televised images of chanting crowds, and swung his gaze across downtown Washington. It seemed so peaceful out there, humid air, tourists, fountains spraying. Agency Headquarters hadn't yet been the focus of many protests -- but the nanotech labs would only be the first place people would hit.
Anti-war demonstrations took their anger to the defense contractors, the laboratories that produced the weapons, and even the soldiers themselves.
But after a while, they lashed out at the people responsible for making the policy. It was only a matter of time.
If Pritchard could just find a way to make them feel safe again while the Agency worked on the real solution. If he could show the public they were taking decisive action, lull them into a sense of security....
Pritchard leaned forward and slapped at the intercom on his desk.
"Jeff?"
His aide's voice came back within seconds. "Yes, sir?"
"I need some information, as soon as you can trace it for me. The International Verification Initiative watchdog team -- what can you get me on it? What devices have they got available, and how can I get my hands on them?
What authority do I need?"
After a pause, Jeff responded. "I've sent the electronic servant through our combined databases. It should have all the information on your terminal in a few minutes. You have the authority to contact the IVI directly on an Undersecretary level. Even Director McConnell can't get any higher because of diplomatic protocol. Shall I initiate a contact for you?"
Pritchard thought fast. Dealing with an agency not within the U.S.
government made things tricky. The United Space Agency could supposedly get around those barriers, being an "international" agency itself. But because they were housed, staffed, and mostly underwritten by the U.S., the Agency carried only "lip-service" diplomatic credentials. The Verification Initiative, on the other hand, was a true international commission. But the IVI was the key to what he had in mind.
Pritchard said, "I need to speak with Director McConnell, first. Is she in?"
Two heartbeats passed. "She's over at the Hill. Do you want me to raise her?"
Pritchard thought briefly. He was a big boy, and things were changing too damned fast to worry about covering his butt every time. No one had thought up anything better yet, so he decided to go ahead with his decision.
He drew in a breath.
"No, but I need to put in a call for a press conference. Wait, make that a video statement instead. We'll issue it to the newsnets and do a conference to answer their questions another time." He glanced at the Stanford mob scene on the television, then at his watch. "Make sure the studio room is open. I want to go on in an hour."
"Very well, General. Ready in forty-five minutes."
As his aide clicked off, Pritchard thought, I sure the hell hope I know what I'm doing.
The technician pointed at Pritchard and mouthed, "Three, two, one ...
you're on." A red light came on over the tri-D cameras mounted at 120 degree intervals from him around the studio.Simon Pritchard tried not to look at the cameras, but instead stared into the stereochip that showed his features on the wallscreen. Minutes earlier he had finished combing his hair, and had checked to make sure his military jacket was immaculate. He didn't have as many medals, pins, or insignia as his contemporaries, but that was the price he paid for being a scholar in a warrior's world.
Pritchard said, "Good afternoon. As I have said before, the United Space Agency will keep you updated during this time of crisis. After yesterday's attempt to use explosives against the alien construction on the Moon, we now know that conventional methods of eradicating the nanotechnological phenomenon will not work. Though we believe the explosion has set back the work of the machines for a time, they seem to be recovering rapidly. We still don't know what it is they are building, nor do we seem able to stop it -- even if we wanted to.
"The United Space Agency believes it is imperative to keep this alien technology at bay until we know its purpose, until we can be sure it is not a threat. We need some ace in the hole, a defense we can count on if -- and I repeat, if -- the Daedalus construction turns out to be something we should fear."
He concentrated on maintaining a grave expression. "Exactly one half hour ago, the United Space Agency formally sent a petition to the International Verification Initiative, the sole international organization tasked with the accounting of nuclear weapons. Since they are headquartered in Washington, D.C., we expect a response from them shortly. A go-ahead from the IVI would allow the United Space Agency to remove up to six nuclear devices from this nation's last nuclear stockpile."
He paused long enough for that to sink in. He wondered, when this was broadcast, how many home viewers would stand up and cheer, and how many would scream in outrage?
"We plan to transport these devices onboard a robotically controlled ship in the safest manner possible to Daedalus crater on the lunar Farside.
Once the shipment has been delivered, it is our plan to have Columbus personnel install these six devices in a ring around the crater -- as a safety measure only. We must make the alien presence know we are serious. We must be prepared, just in case the construction turns out to be a weapon of some kind directed against E
arth.
"We will install a total chemical equivalent of over twenty million tons of TNT, with each device capable of producing a crater over a mile in diameter. In case of an emergency, we will detonate the devices to ensure that the alien artifact is completely destroyed."
For a moment he let himself feel immensely relieved he had not allowed any of the newsnet reps into the studio room. He couldn't handle the questions right now. Pritchard nodded at the camera, and said, "We will keep you updated. Thank you."
He continued to stare toward the stereochip until a red light above the unit blinked out. Pritchard relaxed his shoulders for the first time in what seemed like hours. The technicians scrambled around to straighten up the room.
Someone else was already passing the tape through the classification people, but Pritchard could veto anything they complained about. He was more worried about what Celeste would say. But somehow, he knew she would approve.
The Agency would soon be inundated with protest from all sides. It was bad enough to have the anti-nanotech freaks upset at him. Now he'd be bringing in the old anti-nuke protestors out of the woodwork, too.
It would have been a lot easier to fight a war, he thought again.
--------
CHAPTER 29
SIM-MARS
For the second time in his life, Jason Dvorak knew what it was like to be run over by a truck.
The first time had been when Margaret demanded a divorce. The second time was the helpless feeling after having this unwanted command snatched away from him. Jason could feel it eating at him, making him want to do something instead of letting the bureaucracy and the circumstances jerk him around.
Jason hadn't particularly resented it when McConnell placed Bernard Chu back in command -- the other man was much better suited to the task, by any measure. But watching Chu's idiotic bombing of the Daedalus construction made Jason want to bang his head against the curved wall of the Sim-Mars lab. What had the man been trying to do? What had the explosions been meant to accomplish?
Chu was a biochemist, not an architect. He had not bothered to figure out how best to damage the Daedalus artifact with conventional explosives.
Good God, their instruments showed the thing was made with diamond fiber and diamond foam -- it wasn't a house of straw that could be blown down with a huff and a puff.
True, the nitroglycerine and rocket fuel explosion had knocked out much of the support structure under the regolith, fractured and collapsed some hefty catacombs -- lava tubes, maybe? -- which had made the alien structure unstable. No one had even known the tunnels existed before this. Was there more nanotech excavation? How much of the alien complex was actually hidden from view underground? Chu's explosion had also spewed the Daedalus nanocritters far and wide.
Watching the IR flyover afterward, Jason found it painfully clear that the pace of the nanocritters' activity had tripled to repair the damage done.
The scattered hot zone had shrunk visibly in an hour, showing that the nanocritters were regrouping at the construction site.
Jason felt safe out at the Sim-Mars lab module with Erika, but he didn't trust his temper around the new commander right now. He turned his back on the main holotank. Erika was on the stool next to him, looking exhausted.
Jason said, "Okay, I give up. What do we do next?"
"What?" Erika raised her eyes. She looked wrung out, as if it didn't matter to her anymore.
Jason dropped his hands to his side. "I mean, what else can they expect us to do?"
Erika's sandy hair clung to the perspiration dotting her forehead. "Now that somebody's decided the safest course of action is to knock out the construction, Chu was just trying to get rid of it -- "
"Nobody decided that! Chu just wanted to show off. He could have left the whole damn site alone! Just look at what the explosion did!" He gestured to the infrared view of Daedalus in the holotank behind him. Though the alien structure was in ruin, hotspots of activity showed clearly, reconstructing the damaged framework in the rubble.
"What if we've pissed off the construction boss in charge of your nanocritters? What will they do now? What if they come back here to take apart every scrap of metal on Columbus?"
She shook her head. "These are machines working in some kind of programmed way on a preset blueprint. Programmed, Jase. These things don't hold grudges, they don't have a penchant for getting even. What just happened to them could have been a random meteor strike, for all they know. They're machines, not Saberhagen's Berserkers."
"Bronco busters?"
"Berserkers ... never mind." She stood and walked to the holotank, tapping her finger on its base. "They've just looped back to another part of their construction program, assembling whatever they were supposed to except at an accelerated pace to make up for lost time. Before long, you won't be able to find a scratch from our homemade bomb." Erika sighed. "I don't know what to do now."
"So let's put our heads together." Jason forced a smile for her. "New challenges and all that. You've already found a way to cure us. Come to think of it, would it be too difficult to send some of your nanocannibals over there to stop the construction process?"
Erika's greenish eyes grew wide. "Jase -- my God, we've had the answer all along! Why didn't we think of this before?"
"I thought it only worked in our bodies."
"If it works on us, why wouldn't it work on Farside? It'll be like a vaccine for the whole construction site!"
Erika was already speaking to the holotank controller. "Computer, bring up Bernard Chu at Moonbase Columbus immediately! Priority one, or whatever the urgent category is."
"Priority A," Jason said.
"Priority A!"
Jason moved closer to Erika. In front of him, she had turned to the experimentation chamber, preparing the enclosed crucible to accept more nanocritter samples. She grabbed Jason by the ears and pulled his face to hers for a quick peck on the lips.
"I have to make a new batch of Destroyers," she said. "Once we've stopped the near-term threat of that construction -- if it is a threat --
we'll have more than enough time to find out what makes those nanocritters tick."
Chu appeared in the holotank, bleary-eyed in front of the transceiver.
Grinning, Erika knew she was going to give him something that would really wake him up.
The first IR overflight showed images exactly as Erika had expected.
Five hours earlier, Moonbase Columbus had launched another projectile at the alien construction site, filled with an electrostatically contained sample of Erika's modified Destroyers. Comparing it to a vaccine against an infection on the Moon's surface, she had convinced Chu that the Destroyers would self-replicate and defeat the rest of the alien nanomachines. Within 24
hours the nanotech activity should have decreased by about 95%, with only a few nanocannibals left to clean up the rest.
Standing again in the control center of Moonbase Columbus, Erika felt immense relief as the infrared map from the first flyover javelin displayed pockets of intense activity -- but the overall concentration of alien nanomachines had decreased dramatically. A few people in the control center applauded. Agency Select broadcast it all live. Celeste McConnell sent her personal congratulations.
All indications were that Erika's Destroyers were slaughtering the critters swarming around the gossamer construction. The nanocannibals wouldn't tear down the structure itself, merely "disinfect" it. It would be like an entomologist cleaning out a wasp nest before studying its structure. Somebody
-- maybe even Erika herself -- could safely go to the site to get an up-close view of what the extraterrestrial blueprint carried. Who could tell what might be buried under those new catacombs Chu's bomb had cracked open?
Upon seeing the decreased IR activity, Chu immediately broadcast a new videoloop to Earth. He no longer used Erika as a spokesperson though -- the idea seemed to be working, so he didn't need her as a potential scapegoat anymore.
With her legs
trembling even in the low lunar gravity, Erika went back to the moonbase room she shared with Cyndi Salito. Up and down the module quarters, other exiles from the Collins crowded in with moonbase personnel.
With Erika gone to Sim-Mars most of the time, and with Salito working odd hours, they had crossed paths only a few times. This time, the dim underground room was empty. With a sigh, Erika lay back on the flex-polymer bunk and closed her eyes to take a nap. Next javelin in five hours. By that time the nanocannibals should be halfway through mopping up....
Erika hurried into the control center, nearly late for the arrival of the second probe. She had fallen asleep to uneasy dreams and had awakened with only time enough to wipe a cold towel across her face. Jason had met her in the halls, coming to fetch her before she was late.
When they entered the bustling room, Newellen brought up several cubes showing perspectives of the incoming javelin. Chu, sitting in the prime focus of the holocameras, was already broadcasting live. From the side, Cyndi called up an image of the previous extent of the nanocritters' IR hot zone, then the much-dimmer mapping of the infestation five hours earler. The hot spots still showed areas of intense nanomachine activity.
"We expect to see a similar reduction in population," Chu was saying to his unseen audience. "We'll confirm this in just a moment."
The IR image speckled and resolved into grainier colors. Using the morphologies Erika had determined from her first work, Newellen had developed image enhancement techniques that could determine the gross characteristics of large congregations of a particular type of nanocritter; "packs" he called them. Yellow indicated the standard Assemblers clustered over the structure of the construction itself; green showed the packs of Disassemblers, combing the regolith for raw materials they would ship molecule by molecule to the waiting Assemblers. Unseen, but scattered throughout the population were the much-larger Controllers, information substations that directed the operations, as well as the courier Programmers that carried messages and instructions through the entire population.
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