The Ouroboros Wave (26 page)

“What do you mean, Cap’n? There’s a great heat source up here.”

“And what might that be?”

“The gateway. Energy from Kali is keeping it ice free.”

Kameda’s horoscope had been right. Our fate was completely under the influence of Mars and Uranus after all.

WE FINALLY BROKE FREE
by venting a huge bubble of cold, compressed air from our ballast tanks. The sudden drop in temperature and the pressure of air gushing from
Remora
scattered the colonies into a rain of small spheres that sank out of sight.

To avoid emitting heat and attracting other colonies, we recovered Salmon and used its power supply to creep slowly back to the gateway. Those twenty kilometers were the worst part of the mission—the heating had to be shut down and the temperature in the boat dropped close to freezing. On the way, Kameda made some tepid coffee.

“This is great coffee, Kameda,” said the captain.

“I didn’t know you were capable of praise, Cap’n. This is quite a discovery.”

Back at base, we resupplied and made some hurried modifications to reduce
Remora
’s heat signature. After we’d retraced our steps to the colony, we quickly located
Swordfish
with the help of infrared sensors and established contact with her crew. Following our instructions, they shut down their power plant and blew compressed air from their tanks to free themselves from the embrace of the “dragon,” which fragmented into a number of huge spheres. We then guided
Swordfish
through the colony wall and safely back to the gateway. It had been four days since we had first dived into Europa’s icy waters.

Before the day was out, AADD had announced to the solar system that there were no dragons on Europa. The captain of
Swordfish
told the media that the life-form they had encountered was similar to plankton. The discovery of extraterrestrial life preoccupied the media for weeks, and for weeks people on Earth were exposed to information about extraterrestrial “plankton.” Eventually, talk of intelligent life on Europa ceased.

THREE MONTHS LATER
Kohara and Kameda dropped by my lab at AADD’s Jupiter Development Center on Mars. Their rescue of
Swordfish
had paid dividends: their team had recently been entrusted with development of all submarines for the exploration of Europa. A base was under construction and both men were scheduled to depart soon for Jupiter. Before their departure they wanted to update themselves on my research, which was still confidential except to
members of their team.

We stood before a large monitor with a view of the lab’s giant aquarium. “We keep the light levels in the tank close to darkness to simulate conditions on Europa. Everything that goes on is
monitored with night-vision cameras.”

The monitor showed a CG-enhanced view of Salmon threading its way through a forest of gelatinous shapes anchored to the
bed of the tank.

“What are those, anemones?” asked Kameda.

“They were cloned from that sample we took on Europa. I like to call them Hydra.”

“But the colonies on Europa are spherical!”

“Blame it on Salmon. Its AI is designed to learn from its environment. The cell colonies respond to changes in their environment. We wouldn’t mistake that for intelligence, but Salmon’s AI doesn’t understand that these are just colonies of different cell types. The colonies responded to Salmon’s heat emissions. The AI thought that was intelligent behavior and paid them closer attention. This cycle kept repeating until the colonies assumed the anemone shape you see here. Now there’s a stable equilibrium between the AI and
the colonies.”

“So are these creatures actually intelligent, Dr. Kurokawa?”

Were they? It was a simple question, after all. In pursuit of answers to such questions, I’d given up structural engineering to become a scientist studying intelligence. But during my twenty years of research, I had uncovered only progressively deeper levels
of the same question—and no answers.

“Are either of you familiar with the story of how Ouroboros, the ring around Kali, was nearly destroyed twenty-some years ago through miscommunication with an AI?”

“I heard about it, but I don’t know the details,” said Kameda.

“I witnessed the whole incident. It’s why I decided to devote
myself to this research.”

“So you’ve been working on this question for that long? And
what conclusions have you come to?”

“Simply put? None.” That was the best answer I could give. Given the opportunity I could talk about the subject for hours, I had that much to say. But if I had to boil everything down to a conclusion, “none” was the only answer I could give.

Sometimes this thought crossed my mind:

If I had to prove I was intelligent, could I do it?

PROGRESS IN TOOL MAKING
probably triggered the blossoming of human cognition. Tools can reveal that which lies beyond cognition, and tools enabled humans to discover that apparently accidental events had their proper causes.

For example, most astronomical events—the fall of a meteor or the passing of a comet—were first believed to be omens or portents. But by calculating orbits, humankind learned to predict these events.

As technology progressed, humanity advanced into space, growing more intelligent still. Humans cannot sense infrared radiation, much less electromagnetic or gravity waves. But they learned to build devices to detect these phenomena, and these devices expanded their cognitive capacity. They came to understand that things once thought inexplicable were inevitable.

Thanks to superb observational technology, humanity was about to unlock the mystery behind the sudden appearance of a tiny black hole in the solar system. But not all cognitive abilities can be extended by machines. Sometimes cognition can only be expanded by the greatest mystery of all—human action.

THE VOICE OF EINGANA
A.D. 2163

1

NINETY ASTRONOMICAL UNITS
from the Sun, space reclaims its true darkness. At three times the distance from the Sun to Uranus—twelve hours at the speed of light—sunlight attenuates to nearly one-tenth of one percent of its intensity on Earth. The Sun is still the brightest object in the heavens by far—magnitude minus seventeen, far brighter than Sirius. Still, at this distance it is just another star in the sky.

This sun-star hung over Shocho Kanda as she stood on the hull of
Shantak II.
To determine her position with respect to the outer planets, the first thing she did was look for the Sun.

First she adjusted the opacity setting of her helmet’s visor to bring the Sun’s brightness to an index value. This yielded her exact distance from the Sun. The position of Sirius or Canopus would then tell her where she was relative to the rest of the solar system. None of this was necessary, of course. The solar system was dotted with positioning satellites to guide space traffic, and these could give Shocho her position to within a few meters’ accuracy. But whenever she EVA’d, she confirmed her location herself. It was a kind of ritual. Machines can fail; that was more than reason enough.

Even in the Sun’s dim light, the amplification circuits in Shocho’s visor let her find her way along the hull of
Shantak II.
The space around her was hung with mirrors tens of kilometers across, polished discs shimmering with starlight. There were more than twenty-five thousand of them in this region of space. Though invisible from where she stood, there was also a laser interferometer for measuring gravity waves, tens of kilometers long. The crew of
Shantak II
controlled the devices, analyzing the information they
gathered and carrying out occasional repairs.

After confirming her location, Shocho turned to the task at hand: inspecting
Shantak II’
s communications module. Most of the ship’s communications were laser based. The main comm unit floated above the hull, cradled in a magnetic field to isolate it from vibration. It looked like the compound eye of an insect, its small lenses tracking sun and stars to maintain its orientation. In its center was a huge optical module housing a laser transmitter. Although the unit looked like a huge eye, it functioned more as
an ear and mouth.

“Do you really think we’ll find something amiss with the transmitter?”

EVA was always carried out with a partner. Chaa was looking at Shocho, waiting for an answer. Shocho couldn’t read his expression; the suit visors were electroplated with reflective gold. But it was clear from Chaa’s voice that he didn’t think this EVA would
turn up anything.

“It’s odd. If someone deliberately disabled the comm system,
they’d have to physically access the optical module.”

“They’d still need the access codes. I doubt our Terran guests are that sophisticated, which means the blackout must be real. No one’s transmitting.” In other words, they should be looking for answers
inside the ship, not out here on the hull.

“Chaa, you realize we’re in a difficult situation right now?”

“I was going to ask you the same question.”

The conversation was taking place between agent programs. Web implants extended their users’ sensorium and facilitated communication. While agent programs didn’t guarantee perfect mutual understanding, Shocho and Chaa had accumulated hundreds of hours working together. Each had an accurate grasp of the other’s capabilities. Still, at this moment neither understood what the
other was thinking.

“We should be doing something more productive than checking the comm unit,” Chaa persisted. “We might be at war with Earth
already.”

“There isn’t going to be any war. They don’t have a fraction of the ships we do, even without the energy supplies Kali gives us. Even if there’s actual fighting, it won’t last beyond a few limited
engagements. That’s hardly a war.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you? It’s no secret the Terrans are building armed spacecraft capable of reaching the outer planets.”

“And how are they going to reach Mars without being detected, much less Jupiter? There are hundreds of unmanned ships shuttling around the solar system with energy transmitted from the accretion disk. We can track those ships to within a few meters. Do you really think an armed Terran spacecraft could conduct offensive operations in that environment?”

“If they’re sufficiently determined there’s no telling what an
enemy is capable of.”

Chaa’s use of the term
enemy
was revealing. He seemed to have already made up his mind. Shocho wished she could see his
expression.

“So you think they’ll start a war they can’t win?” They were arguing past each other. She was focused on capabilities; he cared
only about intent.

“Your ancestors were Japanese, Shocho. You should know humans don’t always make rational decisions. Organizations can run amok and behave in irrational ways. It’s clear from your history. Japan’s military started the Pacific War even though they knew they didn’t have a chance of winning it. And when it was clear they’d be defeated, it took them two years to summon up the will to end it. What’s rational about a kamikaze attack? History hasn’t ended, and history will always include people who are prepared to start wars they can’t win.”