The Darwin Elevator (18 page)

Past rows of terminals, beyond racks of blinking servers, at the very back of the room, she entered a collaborative area with seating for three in front of a grid of massive screens. The Platz Industries logo bounced merrily around in vivid resolution on the display.

She closed the door quietly behind her and sat down in the center seat in front of the console. From her lab coat she removed the four data cubes and a notepad.

After a deep breath, she typed her passphrase into the waiting system. The wall-sized screen cleared, then realigned itself to present Tania’s preferred view. Station status, personal messages, and a to-do list filled the left edge. Images from the previous night’s telescope activity dominated the remainder.

Tania ignored it all. Instead she inserted the data cubes into waiting slots. Options bloomed on the screen before her. Working quickly, she began the data transfer.

The systems at her disposal proved to be a similar vintage to those used in the observatory, removing her fears about compatibility. The facility must have been outfitted around the same time Anchor was built.

The cubes were dated roughly six years ago. SUBS disease had begun soon after, and across the planet the technical renaissance brought on by the Elevator’s arrival all but stopped. Everyone shifted focus to survival, to reaching Darwin before the disease reached them. Tania shivered at the thought. She’d been in orbit at the time, studying, and her parents had insisted she stay in space until “the situation was under control.” She never saw either of them again.

Before tears could come, she shook her head and refocused on the task at hand.

The first task for the computers involved cataloging the information in a layout that she could understand. The data set rolled through a linguistics program. She placed markers on the key fields and soon a database began to take shape.

A progress meter traveled across the screen, with anything but haste. Tania began to drift off. She leaned on her elbows, rested her chin on the backs of her hands, and tried to imagine the observatory where the data had been found. Snow-covered peaks, trees from one horizon to the other. A telescope nestled in a valley between the mountains, at the end of a gently winding road.

On the verge of sleep, Tania heard the delicate sound of the door opening. She realized she had concocted no cover story, had no plausible reason to be there. Mind racing, she turned to the door.

Natalie stood there. She looked tired, roused from sleep no doubt.

“What are you doing here?” Tania asked. The words sounded ridiculous even as she said them.

Her assistant waited in the doorway, frozen, taking in the scene. Her impassive face offered no insight into what must be going through her mind. Then she looked once over her shoulder before fully entering the room and easing the door closed. “My computer woke me. We … 
you
bumped Greg and Marcus off the system. They had an analysis running using a sample from that subhuman, and called me, rather irritated.”

Tania realized that the array of screens behind her were full of telemetry data. She stabbed for the key that would blank the imagery, but nothing happened.

Natalie took a tentative step into the room. “What’s going on?” She sounded like a child.

“I just,” Tania said, then stopped. What could she do? Lying now would be too much of a betrayal. “Nat, I’m sorry.”

Natalie came to stand at Tania’s side. She focused on the enormous monitor, where a visualization of the database continued to take shape.

“What is this?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Tania?”

“Listen,” Tania said. “I’ve been given a special project. Something I need to work on alone. I didn’t think anyone would notice.” She spoke in rapid spurts.

“What kind of project?”

“I can’t tell you,” Tania said. “You should leave.”

Natalie studied the screen, as if she hadn’t heard. “That would go a lot faster if you turned off vis and error-checking.”

“Nat, please. I must insist … wait, it would?”

“Also,” she said, “you forgot to flag an index field. It will take forever to search the data later.”

Tania glanced at the screen, then back to her assistant.

“Sure you want me to leave?” Natalie asked, a confident smirk on her face.

The warnings from Neil Platz raced through Tania’s mind. If what they suspected proved true, everything could change, again. That knowledge carried with it the extraordinary potential to disrupt the already fragile state of humanity. Neil wanted to manage that.

Yet Tania knew she could not do this alone. Natalie had proven her aptitude for information analysis time and again since arriving on Anchor Station a year ago. She’d become Tania’s best friend, as well. The perfect confidante, Tania decided.

Besides, Nat already stood here, on the brink of uncovering her extracurricular research.
Neil will understand,
Tania told herself. “No,” she admitted. “Don’t go.”

Natalie sat down. “Good, that’s settled. A secret project, huh? I love it. I’m in.”

Together they realigned the ingestion of data. With Natalie’s expertise, the process would take a quarter of the time now.

“You’ll have to keep this to yourself,” Tania said as they waited.

“
Moi,
gossip?”

Tania shot her a stern look.

“I never pegged you for having a dark side,” Natalie said. “I like it. Goes with your eyes.”

Tania blushed. Natalie’s flirtatious nature was cute, and often riotously funny, but Tania had never been comfortable with such attention.

Tania’s mother had been a celebrated beauty in Mumbai; her father, a famous astronaut. Yet both held a deep-seated passion for science, and they met while working for Neil Platz on his first space venture: the purchase of a space station the Europeans wanted to de-orbit. Her father had been picked to command the first private space station, a fact that brought him widespread recognition among millions in India.

Tania inherited the better qualities of each, so everyone said, and she often resented her physical beauty. Her mother, rest her soul, had instilled in her the drive to succeed for her mind, not her appearance. A lofty challenge, and one she took seriously.

A chime came from the computer. All the data had been processed.

Natalie edged closer. “What are we looking at?”

“Trajectories of near-Earth objects.”

Concern flashed across the young woman’s face. “Something going to impact the station?”

“Doubtful,” Tania said. “Look at the dates, the origin.”

Natalie turned back to the monitor. “All right, fine. Japanese telemetry from 2278. Why?”

“I’m looking for anomalies.”

Natalie frowned. “To what end?”

“SUBS started in 2278,” Tania said.

“Yeah,” Natalie said, brow furrowed. “What does that have to do with … oh.”

Tania watched as her assistant’s eyes lit up.

“They might have spotted it … assuming it arrived aboard a Builder ship.”

Tania nodded. “Exactly.”

A period of silence passed as Natalie thought through the implications. “I don’t understand. We know where the disease started … Oh. Holy shit.”

“You’re quick,” Tania said.

“You’re trying to find out where it came from.”

Tania looked up at the screen full of numbers. “Sort of.”

“But,” Natalie said, voicing her thoughts as they arrived, “why? I mean, why would that matter? The damn thing probably left the Builder’s planet, or whatever, eons ago. Interesting to know, but—”

Tania held up a hand. “Nat, how much time passed between the Elevator’s arrival and the outbreak of SUBS?”

The other woman didn’t need to think about it. “Twelve years, of course. Well, eleven years, eight months, and ten days, if you want to be super picky.”

“Wow. Very good,” Tania said. “And, yes, I do want to be super picky.”

“Then I’m your gal.”

Tania grinned. “Nat, have you ever wondered if they’re coming back?”

“Of course,” Natalie said. “We all do.”

Tania waited.

“Oh,” said Natalie. “Oh! If we knew where to look, we could spot it early this time …”

“I knew you’d get it.”

Natalie sat motionless for a time, staring at the screen. “I’m amazed it never occurred to me before.”

“Can’t claim it’s an original idea,” Tania said. “Neil made a joke about it once, and it got me to thinking.”

“So, if SUBS began five … sorry, four-point-nine-to-be-picky … years ago, we’ll get a huge head start this time around. Seven years!”

Tania couldn’t help but smile. “You just fell into the same trap I did. Assuming, of course, there’s another ship coming, who’s to say it would follow the same schedule? It could be seven years, or seven months, or millennia.”

As she spoke, Natalie turned slowly to face her. “But you’re down here, in the middle of the night, working on it.”

“Neil’s salivating at the possibility of advance warning. You know how he likes to plan, and how he gets when a project catches his eye.”

They worked at it through the night.

Millions of objects were logged, objects as small as a penny, as often as every ten seconds. It proved painstaking at first, cross-referencing each entry with existing catalogs of celestial objects.

At four in the morning, Natalie had the brilliant idea to ask the computer to show them information that did not match the pattern of the rest. Tania had discarded this to eliminate things that might confuse the program. Things like the report title, information on the telescope’s settings, and the names of supervising personnel seemed like a waste of time.

In the nonmatching data set, Natalie came across a typed note, immediately below a log entry that blended with all the others. An entry they never would have noticed otherwise.

“Hey, look at his,” she said.

The note was in English.

Tania read it aloud. “‘Bizarre! Vector out of band. Validate.’”

They looked at each other. Natalie said, “Let me see if the object shows up anywhere else.”

The computer searched the log in seconds and produced one more entry, plus another comment:

S
UGOI
! A
BNORMAL
VECTOR
VALIDATED
.

C
ONFIRM
WITH
A. R. S
HU
(K
ECK
).

The room became quiet, save for the constant background hum of the station’s air processors. Tania felt her scalp begin to tingle.

“I’d say we have a lead,” she said.

“You know who this Shu person is?”

Tania shook her head. “Nope. But a name is a good start.”

Tania returned to her cabin only an hour before the morning cycle would begin. She closed and locked the door, then went straight to her terminal.

After a long series of chimes, Neil answered her call.

“Have you got something?” he asked immediately.

“The logs are genuine. For the most part the information is mundane, trivial. Your basic satellite tracking logs.”

“I haven’t had my tea yet, dear. Cut to it.”

“I have found an interesting anomaly.” Tania almost said “we.” She took a long breath and then exhaled.

“Which is what?” Neil asked.

“It may be nothing,” Tania said. “Something marked as an ‘unknown entity,’ standard classification when something new pops up. In this case, though, there is a handwritten note to go with it: ‘Abnormal vector,’ and instructions to confirm with an A. R. Shu, at the Keck telescope. It’s dated August 2277.”

“What does abnormal vector mean?”

“A trajectory that doesn’t match the typical objects that cross our path,” she said. “Satellites in orbit follow certain paths. Comets and so forth come from fairly predictable angles.”

Five seconds passed. “A year before the SUBS began,” Neil said, to himself mostly. “Did you get a position? Somewhere to look?”

“It’s only listed twice,” she said, “and these logs don’t contain that kind of detail. Just vector analysis, the positions must have been stored elsewhere. What we need are the finer details.”

“A. R. Shu.”

“Seems like our best chance,” Tania said.

“Anything in the old data vaults about this person?”

“A bit of luck there,” she said. “Nothing on this subject specifically. Most of the data we’ve collected from NASA is rocket schematics and procedure manuals. However, we also have their employment records, and I found an Andrew Ryoko Shu.”

“If you tell me we need an expedition to America …”

“The mainland, no,” Tania said. “Our Mr. Shu was stationed at the University of Hawaii, in Hilo. They had a contract to store all the data for Keck.”

She could hear Neil preparing tea in the background, and waited. “Okay,” he said at last, “I’ll get my team on it. Just tell me which cubes you need, and they’ll get it.”

“It’s not that simple. According to the archives, they were still using antiquated storage techniques, crude even by the standards of their time. The equipment is likely to be massive. Heavy.”

Neil grunted. “I see.”

They both went quiet for a while.

“I’m hoping you’ll say something, here,” Neil said.

Tania snorted. “The best option is to try to get their data center online, search for the data we need, and make a copy there.”

Now Neil laughed. “Do you have any idea how unlikely it is that any of that equipment still works?”

“It’s an underground data vault. According to the archive, a microthorium reactor was installed in 2112 for backup power. It should still be purring away. With a few hours of work, and the right equipment, it should be possible.”

“We need to supply them with a portable Ferrine array, too? Jesus.”

Tania hesitated. Only a few Ferrine arrays still existed. They’d been designed in orbit, after the disease, for the purpose of interfacing with as many different systems as possible. The complex, fragile devices had been invaluable in syphoning old data before such ventures became too risky.