The hologram at the rental service was already waiting for them. It bowed and said, “I hope you had a good flight.”
No one paid any attention to the virtual figure. Kepler felt a bit sorry for it, especially as it didn’t seem to understand what had happened—why there were four passengers instead of three and how the shuttle had been replaced by a private cabriolet. The butler was still holding the gun against the Secretary’s neck. Kepler was thrilled they had him. Even a 300-gram pistol felt heavy when you had to hold it up at neck height for an extended period of time. It didn’t seem to bother the butler.
“Forward!” ordered Zhenyi.
The group moved off, the Secretary at the front, followed by his minder. Hopefully Columbus wouldn’t try anything stupid. If the butler shot him they’d be on their own. They probably wouldn’t even make it back to their ship. The Secretary could easily thwart them, but to do that he’d have to sacrifice himself, and he wasn’t that kind of person. If he was, he’d never have become Secretary of the Convention—an organization that only met every thousand years and issued invitations to general meetings only once in a million cycles.
“You won’t get far,” said Columbus after a while. “You’ll have the whole Milky Way on your tail.”
“Ah, the galaxy is big,” said Zhenyi.
“There are almost a trillion stars in the local group,” calculated the butler. “Every person would have to search a hundred million of them each to find us. Even if we factor in an optimistic travel time of four years per system, you would only be guaranteed to find us after four hundred million years.”
“But you’ve got some kind of plan, so you’ll be lurking around somewhere near the core of the Milky Way.”
He was right, thought Kepler. But what was their plan? As long as their hostage was listening he could hardly ask Zhenyi, who had probably already come up with a plan. The question was, did they even have a chance? The cleverest human brains had already spent several thousand cycles preparing to transform Sagittarius A* into a quasar. How were they supposed to intervene?
But clearly they weren’t the only ones singing to a different tune. Someone was manipulating the database to make the Herbae’s system disappear. Was it the same someone who had Gropius the architect on their conscience?
“Columbus, a question,” said Kepler. “The murder of Gropius—”
“Which you committed,” interrupted the Secretary.
“It wasn’t us. How did it happen? What do you know about it?”
“All evidence points to you. Gropius was shot, severally.”
“Severally?” asked Zhenyi.
“Yes, twenty-two players and the referee,” said Columbus.
“Go on,” said Kepler.
“Gropius was completely alone at the time. No other spacecraft had stopped within a radius of three light-years.”
“That’s why we’re under suspicion,” said Kepler.
“You’re the only ones going around in an unregistered ship.”
“But it’s not invisible,” said Zhenyi.
“You removed all records onboard Gropius’s ship.”
“But the ship’s sensors would have registered our departure. We can only delete existing data, not what happens in the future,” said Zhenyi.
“Sensors have a hard time with unregistered ships, because they don’t exist. How did you even do it? I’m at your mercy, so can’t you just tell me?” said Columbus.
“Nice try,” said Kepler. “But the joke is, we don’t even know.”
“So it had nothing to do with the removal of the Guardian from Terra?”
“What? What did you say about the Guardian AI?” Zhenyi walked past the group, stood in front of Columbus and poked him in the gut. “Speak! What happened on Terra?”
“I don’t know anything, other than the fact that the Guardian AI was neutralized,” said Columbus. “Stop poking me please.”
Zhenyi jabbed him one more time in the belly with her index finger. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “The Guardian AI of all things! It was ancient! Its programming was from the 21st century! Can you imagine? Practically from the Stone Age! Anyone who would destroy such an eminent AI would probably kill their own mother. There’s something very sordid going on here. What do the arbiters say about it? Surely they can’t just ignore it?”
“The arbiters? Don’t make me laugh,” said Columbus. “They haven’t bothered with reality for gigacycles. They prefer to develop fanciful theories about holographic universes.”
Shortly after the destruction of Earth, the arbiters—a series of level 11 AIs—had declared themselves independent and withdrawn from the lives of humans. Only the Guardian of Terra remained, probably because it took pride in its job. And now it was dead, if you could say that about an AI. Kepler shuddered. If that had happened a few gigacycles ago, the arbiters would have obliterated humanity in retaliation. The fact that they obviously weren’t reacting proved Columbus was right.
“We should get moving,” said Kepler.
They could interrogate the Secretary on board the ship once they’d had the opportunity to come up with a plan.
“Thank you Kepler,” said Zhenyi, and led the group onwards.
“The ship has been impounded,” said the sphere’s AI.
Zhenyi yanked on the wheel that was supposed to open the airlock to their ship, but it didn’t budge.
Kepler took a deep breath. So the Secretary was right. They wouldn’t be able to leave. Zhenyi held out her hand and the butler placed the pistol in it.
“Then I’ll shoot the Secretary of the Convention,” said Zhenyi.
Columbus pulled his head in. His knees trembled. Kepler felt sorry for him, because he knew the man now had to die. The sphere AI wouldn’t be able to strike a deal if it had been ordered to detain them, and his ex-girlfriend would have to follow through with her threat.
“That is a crime,” said the sphere AI. “Under these circumstances, I’ll have to arrange your immediate arrest. I have full power to do this.”
“But I’m already under arrest,” said Zhenyi.
“I don’t know you,” replied the AI, “and I don’t have any warrant for your arrest. Only the ship is specified, because the bill for the repair of the hydrogen tanks was not paid. This is the regular procedure. As soon as you pay the outstanding amount you’ll have access to your ship again.”
“But I agreed to cover the cost of repairs when we arrived,” said Kepler.
This was a nightmare. The AI was only detaining them because his account was empty!
“The account is only checked once the costs have been assessed. We have established that your account is overdrawn, Johannes Kepler.”
He’d known it would catch up with him at some point. His lifestyle and income simply weren’t compatible. He had actually visited Zhenyi originally to ask her for credit. But she was no longer registered anywhere. That meant she also didn’t have any accounts. Why couldn’t they have just deleted his data instead? Zhenyi didn’t have a single credit left, but she also had no debts.
“Columbus, you’re up,” said Zhenyi.
“For what?”
The man was playing dumb. That wouldn’t work on Zhenyi.
“You’ll assume the costs of the repairs immediately, or I’ll...”
She held the gun under his chin.
“I’ll... of course. I’ll pay the cost of the repairs to the ship,” said the Secretary.
“Please state your name and say, ‘I will’ to settle the outstanding debt,” said the AI.
Columbus performed the transfer. Outstanding debt... They wouldn’t get far with Kepler’s more-than-empty account. But the Secretary surely had enough in reserve to balance his account. Kepler wasn’t greedy. He just wanted enough money to be credit-worthy again.
“While you’re at it,” said Kepler, “I need to ask you to make a second transfer.”
“You won’t get away with this.”
“Would you rather have
a bullet in the head?”
“No. But transfers under duress can be reversed at any time. The AI here is an incorruptible witness.”
“That’s okay. Someone would have to arrange the reversal, and you won’t have an opportunity to do that. My new account balance will be synchronized throughout the galaxy at the speed of light. Wherever we stop, I’ll be credit-worthy again.”
Columbus sighed. “If I must,” he said.
“You must.”
They asked the AI to perform the transaction and Columbus gave his approval. Zhenyi had already opened the airlock and was waving them in.
“I’m happy to have done business with you,” concluded the sphere AI. “Hopefully we’ll have the honor again soon.”
Hopefully not, thought Kepler. There was nothing here that could help them now.
Cycle ZS9.1, S0-122
Marie felt slightly sorry for this star. S0-122 was so lightweight that under normal circumstances it would have had a long life ahead of it. The red dwarf would never be a main-sequence star that developed into a red giant. Instead, it would gradually transform into a blue dwarf, then a white dwarf, and finally a black dwarf. But all that would take quadrillions of cycles.
Would have taken, Marie corrected herself, because she was in the process of drastically altering S0-122’s future prospects. The star, which orbited Sagittarius A* every 90 cycles, was wonderfully suited to being turned into a neutron star to serve her plan. Only it could never become a neutron star on its own. They wanted to change this, and all they needed was a little mass.
A little? Marie smiled. They needed more mass than the spaceship could haul. But everything had already been arranged, thanks to Gropius! His gravitational games had made it possible to catapult a sizeable main sequence star out of its local system. It had come a long way, and its fate would be decided here and now.
“Are we safe here?” asked Pierre.
Marie was controlling the long-distance display. “It looks good. But we’ll need to depart at just the right moment,” she said.
“We still have to catch someone anyway.”
“Between the eyes. Bang.”
Marie laughed. It was funny, the way they had finished off one Gropius after another. They had alternated. For the last one—the referee—it was Marie who’d pulled the trigger. Pierre had let her fire the last shot, and she’d been thankful for that.
The new star had already integrated itself into the local system. Good, the two inner planets had been flung out. They had only contained primitive life anyway. Neither she nor Pierre was sorry. But from now on it would best if they tried to avoid problems like the system with the strange stems. Life always got in the way somehow, even if it didn’t show any signs of intelligence.
Since they had reached this system, S0-122 had already started stripping away matter from its companion. Their little star would become round and fat. Marie felt like the witch in the fairytale inspecting Hansel’s index finger. S0-122 had now become almost as heavy as twelve suns. That was within the range expected to produce a neutron star in the aftermath of an explosion—which was what they actually needed. But—and this was the danger—it was also threatening to become a type 1a supernova, which would leave nothing behind. And that was the reason they were there. They wanted to trigger a core collapse supernova by partially emptying their dark matter tanks. The dark matter was intended to reinforce the gravity acting on the core.
“On my signal,” said Marie.
The ship was following a course that would bring it very close to S0-122. They would have to open the tanks at just the right moment, in such a way that the dark matter, due to its inertia, would be flushed into the core of the star. Marie could have opened the tanks herself, but it was more fun doing it together.
Marie counted down. “Three... two... one...”
“Now,” they both said at once.
There was nothing to see or hear. The tank covers slid to the side. The dark matter, invisible to the human eye, drifted toward its target.
“Adjust course,” said Marie. The adjustment drives ignited. The ship distanced itself from S0-122 again. Now they needed to be patient.
“Shall I cook something?” asked Pierre.
“I’m not hungry,” Marie answered.
Together they watched the star system. Their body didn’t move. It was one of those intimate moments that Marie loved so much. And if their plan succeeded, then it would be perfect.
Now. The outer layers of the star moved inward at an impressive speed. Core collapse supernovas were an intense spectacle, because everything happened so fast at first. An X-ray flash flooded the ship. It was so strong that nothing could shield against it. The star was inundated by shockwaves that pressed both inward and outward and tried to cancel each other out. The process was unstoppable. Their first core-collapse supernova! At some point they would come back. The neutron star still needed some special handling. But for now they were needed elsewhere. They had to stop someone.
Marie accelerated the ship. It was getting dangerous here. The tanks were now half empty, but the fuel should be enough to get to Terra.
Cycle ZT2.4, Kepler-1229
“What’s that?” asked Kepler. Kepler pointed at a cloud of luminous points that seemed to be orbiting a G-type star.
“Well, if you don’t know, then I don’t know who does.” Zhenyi replied.
They stood side by side in front of the large screen in the control room. The star in the middle was Kepler-1229—or it once had been, because there was supposed to be a red dwarf at this location.
“Because the star’s named after me? Or why should I know?” he asked.
Many stars were named after the astronomer whose name he had assumed an eternity ago. Everyone had done that back then—sought out a famous role model of the same profession and taken on that person’s name. And because hardly any children had been born since then, the Milky Way was now full of former explorers, engineers, and artists.
“No, I’m talking about the cloud,” said Zhenyi. “It’s moving exactly according to Keplar’s laws”—she emphasized the name—”which are based on Newtonian physics. I told you old Isaac had constructed himself a unique home world.”
Kepler didn’t think much of Zhenyi’s idea of asking Newton for advice. The detour had cost them loads of time, because his home world lay relatively far away from the center of the galaxy. And what could he tell them that they didn’t already know? But Zhenyi had insisted on visiting, and as he hadn’t been able to come up with a better idea, he’d gone along with it.
In terms of sky mechanics, Newton certainly knew his stuff. That was obvious from what they could now see on the screen. Kepler used his fingers to zoom in on the cloud. They had arrived in a position almost exactly perpendicular to the orbital plane of the star, so he could admire it in all its beauty.
Newton had really outdone himself. For one thing, he’d somehow managed to swap out the red dwarf at the center of the system for a G-type star three times the size. That alone had been a stroke of mastery. But the way the planets rotated around this sun was unprecedented. Kepler counted eight different orbits—eight circles along which numerous planets were lined up like strings of pearls. He counted several times and finally confirmed there were 52 planets—per orbit!
Newton had procured 416 planets of almost exactly the same size from somewhere—or had he made them?—and arranged them around his sun. A configuration like that was only stable if alternate orbits circled in opposite directions. The outermost 52 planets traveled clockwise around the star. The 52 planets on the next orbit moved counter-clockwise. Even just to have come up with this idea was genius! It guaranteed that the individual worlds only exerted an influence on one another for short periods of time.
Clever, very clever, thought Kepler. He would have been too lazy for a project like that. But the construction phase would have been exhilarating. He would have to ask Newton about it. But where would they meet him? On which of the 4
16 planets would the physicist have set up his base?
“Which of the 416 is his?” he asked.
“None,” said Zhenyi.
“None?”
“I was amazed too. But it makes sense. He’s converted a small asteroid at a 90-degree orbit to the main orbital plane. That way he has a better vantage point from which to admire his work, and probably also notices more quickly when something gets out of balance.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Oh, you don’t want to know.”
“I do, Zhenyi.”
“Alright, if you insist. After escaping the sanatorium, I hid out for a while with Newton. At the time he was in the process of configuring the outermost orbits.”
“Did you and he...?”
Zhenyi laughed. “One woman, one man, no alternative within a radius of 150 light-years? Of course we slept together.”
Kepler opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything.
“You wanted to know!”
She scolded him playfully with her index finger. Of course he had wanted to know. Stupidly, he would now regard Newton more as a rival than a helper.
But looking at it objectively, it was an advantage. Zhenyi would get the information they needed.
Cycle ZT2.5, Kepler-1229
Newton’s home world was truly tiny, and nothing compared to his life’s work. It was no longer recognizable as an asteroid. The entire surface of the roughly twenty-kilometer-long and five-kilometer-wide, barrel-shaped celestial body was covered in glittering solar cells. At the bow and stern were two giant antennas. The antennas were probably the shortest distance to one of the 416 planets—Newton would simply transmit himself there via radio.
Kepler stood on the outer hull of the ship in a spacesuit, adjacent to the airlock. The butler was already on his way to Newton’s asteroid with a cable spool in tow. Once he’d attached the line, they could comfortably drift across.
The Death of the Universe: Hard Science Fiction (Big Rip Book 1) Page 17
