Assemblers of Infinity

by Kevin J. Anderson

  "That came up pretty fast," said Erika.

  "I keep forgetting about how close the Moon's horizon is. And that's one big mother of a hole!" Jason looked down at the computerized map, then across the flat plain of Daedalus. "We might as well cut across, use those bridges if they'll hold us. We'll reach the access roads faster than trying to go around the circumference of the hole."

  "Go ahead," said Erika. "I'm trying to get in as many shots as I can."

  She kept scanning the artifact. "Stop when you get to the access way. I want to drop off a package of instruments for Big Daddy and a portable relay dish."

  Jason concentrated on getting the rover safely to the access way, alternately using his computerized map, radar, and line-of-sight to guide him along the deep pit. All around them rose the solid arches, like gossamer confections stronger than steel.

  The support struts and the main walls of the structure rose cleanly out of the regolith, with no footprints, no signs of disturbance. Even though he knew the nanocritters were responsible for the assembly, he still felt shivers looking at the tall, milky structure.

  Bernard Chu's voice broke in. "Please give us a running account, Dr.

  Trace, Mr. Dvorak. We can't see all the details from the visuals you're sending us."

  Erika cleared her throat. "Jason is approaching the edge of the pit now, directly next to one of nine causeways that extends to a complex of secondary structures that surround the lobed construction in the middle."

  Jason anchored the rover with the emergency brake. He turned to Erika.

  "Well, should we get out and look?"

  The two of them dismounted from the low vehicle and cautiously stepped toward the edge of the sheer pit. Behind them they left footprints on the regolith that seemed glaringly obvious on the otherwise untouched crater floor.

  The giant dish structure lay before him not half a mile away, like a glass waterlily hundreds of meters high. The diamond-thread arches came up from the hole to a point at the base of the petals. On either side of the path leading to the antenna, the hole dropped off into deep blackness, where even the Sun's unfiltered rays could not penetrate.

  "This is simply incredible," Jason said, shining his lamp down into the dark. "We've found the network of catacombs. No telling how deep or how far they go. As ambitious as those nanocritters were, the Moon could be Swiss cheese all the way to the center." He turned to Erika. "Get a closeup of this?"

  Erika finished setting up a package of instruments on the ground next to the rover. "I've got the magnification up high, but there may not be enough contrast. Kind of hard to focus."

  Jason stepped forward to touch one of the towering milky-glass pillars.

  Not long before, every molecule here had been assembled by swarming nanocritters. He hesitated only a moment before he stroked the smooth surface.

  "Columbus, looks like everything in the alien complex is made up of long, unbroken fibers. Primary structural elements are all wound together, and each winding is surrounded by another winding, making a bigger winding, and so on up the hierarchy." He shook his head. "Far away, it looks smooth, but not up close."

  Seconds later, words bounced from Mission Control on Earth came to them. Jason recognized the voice of Albert Fukumitsu. "All our channels are open and active. We're recording everything here. No way are we going to lose any of this. And by the way, we've just got an accurate measurement of the diameter of that hole from Erika's sounder -- it's 2.9944 kilometers." The excitement in Fukumitsu's voice made Jason breathe a little easier. Nobody was going to push the button right now at least.

  Jason felt pressure on his arm, Erika tugging him onward. After the two of them climbed back into the rover, he turned the vehicle toward the pathway that arched across the seemingly bottomless pit. He took a deep breath.

  "Columbus, we're moving onto the causeway. Approaching with extreme caution.

  Seems sturdy enough."

  "Roger."

  Under the starry black sky Jason couldn't make out the other eight symmetrical pathways that he remembered from the maps. The unsupported path was a good five meters wide, rising up in a steep fifteen degree slope to a point halfway across the chasm before coming back down onto the main complex.

  With the foreshortened perspective, it looked like only a hundred meters to the other side, but as Jason started driving across, the distance seemed to get longer.

  He kept his attention on the rover while Erika continued her commentary. "The causeway -- a bridge, really -- seems to be comprised of the same twisted fibers that make up the arches. There is one large bundle I can make out, along with finer and finer strands down as far as I can see see."

  The steep slope of the glassy bridge made Jason feel like they were about to fall to the side, ready to plunge into the pit. But the rover tires held, and he maintained a meter of clearance on each side.

  Jason peered over the edge, unable to see the bottom. It seemed to go on forever. "How are we ever going to find out how deep this guy goes?" The depths had not reflected any of the electromagnetic signals sent out by the javelins.

  Erika shifted in her seat. "My EM sounder isn't giving a reading.

  Somebody would have to go down there, I guess."

  They rolled to the top of the cleanly rounded summit and paused to survey their dizzying position, before beginning to roll down the slope to the other side of the pit. In another few minutes they would reach the complex.

  Jason felt a drop of sweat work its way down his back, seeping through the tight inner garment he wore.

  Ahead of the rover, the Daedalus construction looked enormous. The glassy pathway sloped down to one of the secondary structures. The "roof" was flat and approximately square. He couldn't judge distance, but it had to be a couple of hundred meters on a side. And this was one of the smaller buildings!

  The overhanging translucent petals of the kilometer-wide dish sprawled over them, blocking out the stars and casting blurred shadows on the floor of the crater. On the flat rooftop of the secondary structure, Jason eased the rover to a halt.

  Erika pulled another instrument package from the rear compartment and stepped out. She placed her bulky boot gingerly on the structure's roof. She set her package down, then brushed her gloved fingers over the construction material. "I can't tell what it's made of, but it's unyielding."

  On sudden impulse, Jason rummaged through the emergency toolbox, and withdrew a long bar meant to be used as a lever. "Erika, get a picture of this." He placed a foot on the building, took a swing and hit the alien material with the bar. His own inertia lifted him up into the air, then practically tossed him flat on his back. The bar recoiled violently, hurting his hands.

  "It's solid all right," he said. "I can feel this bar vibrating like crazy."

  With a crackle of static, Newellen's voice came to them, relayed from L-2. "Let's just hope nothing comes out of the door now that you've knocked."

  Erika turned back to the instrument package. "I don't detect any motion that might point to heavy machinery inside." She paused. "I did pick up your hit, though."

  Jason said, "Let's keep going then. Look at all these access paths.

  There has to be a way to get inside."

  "Follow the nano-brick road," said Erika.

  "Very funny." He drove on. He watched the base of the antenna construction approach as the rover crept over the top of the secondary structure. As an architect, everything he saw amazed him. He wondered what his old hero Eiffel would have thought about all this.

  "It occurrs to me that we haven't seen any type of ground support for this thing."

  "Aren't those diamond arches holding up the petals?"

  "Yeah, but how are they being held up? And what about this building we're driving on? Where's its base? The only visible means of support are these pathways extending over the hole."

  Jason kept his eyes straight ahead and his hands on the wheel. "We're looking at something truly alien, designed by minds that didn't deve
lop architecture the same way humans did. I mean, even on our own planet, different cultures developed different ways of accomplishing the same tasks.

  Look at the pyramids of Egypt and then in Central America. The Mayans never developed the arch -- they used trapezoids instead of squares. Who knows what a completely alien brain on a completely alien planet could have cooked up?"

  He paused to ponder longer. "If this whole thing is being supported by just those pathways -- my God, the entire structure could be 'floating'

  suspended in this gigantic hole. And how far down does it go into the pit --

  miles?"

  The base of the giant flower was a hundred meters away. The diamond arches gathered at a point at the base, keeping the huge dish off the surface of the building.

  Erika indicated a point just under the arches. "I see a bulge on the surface, where everything converges. Maybe it's an access port, some kind of doorway."

  Jason turned to look at the base. The thing looked impossibly delicate

  -- too elegant -- to have been constructed on Earth, or even conceived by a human mind.

  He whispered, "Suppose this whole construction wasn't meant to stay in place? If it's floating, then maybe this is some sort of spaceship ... maybe this wasn't meant to remain here, but go on to Earth?"

  --------

  CHAPTER 36

  WASHINGTON, D.C. -- LOCAL MISSION CONTROL

  Simon Pritchard held onto the passenger side of the car as Celeste drove at breakneck speed toward Washington, D.C. They wound down the narrow lanes from her home on the Potomac, sliding on fallen leaves dampened by dew, then got onto the George Washington turnpike.

  Pritchard did not dare to say a word. The streetlamps glowing at 3:14

  A.M. flashed across her face like strobelights. She increased speed.

  Pritchard's feet kept pushing an imaginary brake pedal on the passenger-side floor.

  Glaring headlights from late-night drivers splashed across their view.

  Celeste wheeled along the road, going around anyone in her way. Exit signs flashed by, unread. They both knew the way to Mission Control.

  By the time Celeste reached Agency headquarters, Pritchard had grown numb with uneasiness. Something had terrified Celeste, and he could not get her to talk about it. But he saw how much it disturbed her. She parked, and Pritchard squeezed her arm to show his support, whatever she might need. By now he had learned not to ask questions.

  She gave him a distracted mumble of acknowledgment and got out of the car, motioning him to do the same. She ran up the walk, up the wide syn-granite steps, and Pritchard hurried after her, stiff in his confining dress blouse.

  Pulling the glass doors open, Celeste darted past the two outer-perimeter guards, waving her badge but not giving them time to inspect it. The guards stood up, startled, intent on watching their own screens of Mission Control, where something important seemed to be happening.

  Celeste ranged ahead of him down the halls, and Pritchard walked briskly to catch up. She paused for him at the access doors of Mission Control, then pulled open the alarmed gate, slipping her ID card into the reader as they both crammed inside. As soon as the outer gate closed, the inner door unlocked, and they squeezed out of the booth into the bustling control center.

  By this time Celeste was so out of breath that she could not even speak. Pritchard felt his heart pounding as he steadied himself against the wall. Adrenalin gushed through his bloodstream, and he made ready to help in any way, though he still did not understand what was going on.

  Some of the technicians turned to look at their arrival, but the others remained enraptured by what they saw on the screens, even the two armed guards standing by the entry, a Japanese man and woman. The head of Mission Control, Albert Fukumitsu, was too wrapped up in the events to give them more than a cursory glance. A hush blanketed the whole room.

  On the big holoscreens, Jason Dvorak and Erika Trace were exploring the alien artifact.

  Celeste panted and tried several times before she finally managed to push words out of her throat. "Mission Control internal cameras off!"

  Albert Fukumitsu turned to her, ready to mouth "Why?" but she snapped,

  "Cameras off! This is a security matter!" Celeste had grown livid. It frightened Pritchard to see her this way, transformed into a stranger by her unexplained terror.

  The techs looked at her with stunned expressions, as if too many things had happened in too short a time. Several turned to Fukumitsu for guidance.

  One reached across to an unoccupied console and keyed in a command string. The tiny red lamps above the implanted videocameras on the wall winked out.

  "Okay, cameras are off," the tech said.

  Fukumitsu strode over, wearing bell-bottom jeans that had already gone out of style for the second time. He wore a harried, concerned look. "You got one of my messages, Ms. McConnell? They've been at the Daedalus site now for about half an hour. Do you need a full report?"

  "Get them out of there!" she shouted. "We don't have much time!"

  Pritchard narrowed his eyes. Fukumitsu squinted at her as if to check her identity. "It appeared safe over there. They volunteered. I thought you would want someone to explore -- "

  "Get them out! You don't understand what they're going to cause! We're all in very grave danger!" Her black eyes glistened.

  Pritchard stepped forward to support her, as he had mentally promised to do. "Please listen to the director, Mr. Fukumitsu. Order those people to return to Columbus immediately."

  Fukumitsu froze for a moment, and Pritchard could sense the wheels turning inside his mind. The head of Mission Control chose to be passive. He shrugged helplessly. "These are images being transmitted from atop Dr.

  Salito's hopper, taken from long distance. We can't communicate directly with Mr. Dvorak or Dr. Trace -- Dr. Chu has complete operational control from Columbus, so Trace and Dvorak are cut off." He shrugged a second time.

  "Get hold of Chu then!"

  Fukumitsu spoke slowly, "Every newsnet in the world is picking up these transmissions. You can't cut them off ... like you did us."

  Celeste looked at Pritchard, then pressed her palms to her temples. She appeared much older than he had ever seen her. Her black irises looked as deep as the pit on Daedalus. Her desperation began to rub off on Pritchard.

  "Then we're going to have to take some drastic measures," she said. Her voice sounded very cold. "Right now. We may only have a few minutes left."

  Pritchard sensed the situation was careening out of control. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to get one more piece of leverage. He strode over to the pair of Japanese guards, walking straight.

  He chose the closest guard, the one who looked more uncertain. If these two were anything like the Agency security in the outside lobby, his task would be simple. "Sergeant, please hand me your sidearm. Now."

  Confused, the man hesitated.

  "Sergeant, do you hear me?"

  The female guard intervened. "I am sorry, sir. We cannot surrender our weapons without proper authorization."

  Pritchard raised his voice, knowing that everyone's attention was now fixed on him. Thank God Celeste had thought to shut down the cameras. "Do you see these?" He pointed to the two stars on his right shoulder. "I am the top of your chain of command! What more authorization do you need?"

  Then he lowered his voice. "This is a crisis situation, Sergeant. You are supposed to follow orders, particularly now. Can't you see that world-shattering events are taking place here? You -- " He turned to the woman guard who had interrupted him, "may keep your own weapon as my backup."

  He returned his attention to the first guard. "Your sidearm! Now!"

  Reluctantly, the man handed over his service revolver. Pritchard took the weapon, trying to hide his own overwhelming tension. He wondered if he looked sufficiently threatening.

  "So what do we do now?" one of the technicians muttered. Albert Fukumitsu shuffled his feet and stared at the floor. Hi
s lips moved, as if he were holding back a dozen different outbursts.

  Celeste looked at the pistol in Pritchard's hand, and her shoulders slumped with relief. Her expression changed from inner terror to determination. He saw her swallow hard.

  On the big stereoscreen, the images of Jason Dvorak and Erika Trace shuffled forward in a dream walk. They started their descent into the alien pit.

  Pritchard prayed to God that Celeste knew what she was doing.

  --------

  CHAPTER 37

  ANTARCTICA -- NANOTECHNOLOGY ISOLATION LABORATORY

  Parvu dictated his farewell message to Sinda and his family, then stored it along with the video and textual-comment records of what had happened in the quarantine chamber ... what he had done to Kent ... how he had risked every life on the planet.

  He had come clean, explaining everything, leaving the excuses out.

  History would have to worry about that. The final memory cubes were sealed and shielded. They would survive any disaster now, short of nanotech disassembly of the entire facility.

  He had never gotten around to detailing the procedures he had used with the hybrids, with Old Gimp. The monitoring systems had automatically recorded the actions, but he had added no explanations. Parvu's records would be incomplete and confusing. And there was not enough time to fix them.

  When he had spoken into the recorders, addressing his wife and family, he had kept his voice from trembling, though tears streamed unhindered down his cheeks. He had not shaved in days, and he felt unclean and ashamed for leaving them such a pitiful last impression.

  After saying for the seventh time that he loved them, Parvu realized he was babbling, that he had said nothing new in some time. He recalled Sinda's image, thought of Timothy and his wife and their children before he reached out to end the recording.

  He wiped his forehead and his hand came away hot and sweat-filmed. His head pounded, and he felt dizzy. He had not slept in days. He could no longer think straight. He had not been thinking straight since the moment he mixed his innocent prototypes with the dormant alien automata.