Star Strike: Book One of the Inheritance Trilogy (The Inheritance Trilogy, Book 1)

by Ian Douglas

  They were committed, and Alexander was not going to abandon those men on the other side.

  e(ip) + 1 = 0

  RFS Alpha

  Aquila Space

  2209 hrs GMT

  Sensors imbedded within the access corridor kept the e(ip) + 1 = 0 apprised of where the three alien probes were as they descended from the surface. Communication, however, was not possible. While the e(ip) + 1 = 0 could sense—the closest analog in terms of sensory input actually was taste—the internal communications of the three, there was as yet no way to derive meaning from them.

  Indeed, the watchers were having some difficulty now determining whether the intruders were organic beings or if they were robotic extensions of some sort.

  The intruding automatons shared characteristics of organic beings and machines. To e(ip) + 1 = 0 senses, they appeared as interpenetrating patterns of n-dimensional solids and complex surfaces that were bound by complex tensors and their associated scalar fields, radiating heat and occasional bursts of heterodyned radio noise that may have been attempts at communication.

  After several moments, the watchers monitoring the aliens’ approach assumed they were autonomous probes, possibly robots, possibly engineered bioforms in protective armor and under the control of “Chesty” and “Evans,” the alien intelligences in the ships still outside. Blocking the probes’ radio links with Chesty had not incapacitated them, demonstrating that they were not teleoperated machines.

  It was equally possible, however, that these three were biological constructs analogous to the e(ip) + 1 = 0’s own sigma forms, life forms bioengineered eons ago to allow them to extend their reach into alien environments.

  A major problem remained, now, in establishing communication with the beings, whatever they were. The e(ip) + 1 = 0 could feel the flow and surge of internal virtual worlds riding some of the emitted RF noise—a clear point of similarity between the two distinct sequences. If there was to be communication, it might best be effected through a shared artificial reality.

  But deriving common ground, even a virtual common ground, was going to be an incredibly complex and difficult task with the limited number of axioms that could be assumed. To build a valid model, the e(ip) + 1 = 0 desperately needed more data.

  Then, as the e(ip) + 1 = 0 watchers continued to observe the three alien probes, other monitors raised an alarm.

  The Translation Ring, orbiting slowly at the outer rim of the e(ip) + 1 = 0 Collective, had just opened…and more alien tensors—ships, apparently, though the forms were difficult to integrate within e(ip) + 1 = 0 concepts, were now coming through.

  Recon Sword

  RFS Alpha

  Aquila Space

  2210 hrs GMT

  “Hold up, Marines,” Eden said. “We’ve lost signal. I’m not reading Ops Control!”

  Warhurst checked a readout. “The relays are functioning, sir,” he said. “Must be some kind of shielding.”

  “Should we turn around and go back?” Galena wanted to know.

  Eden considered this. “No. We’re here to make contact. Let’s keep going. But…watch yourselves.”

  The passageway was a cylindrical tunnel 3 meters wide plunging almost directly down into the heart of the asteroid. The gravity was so slight that the descent was easy, a matter of guiding themselves forward by pushing along the walls, or with short, tightly controlled bursts of gas from their jets. Warhurst was wondering when they would find an airlock. The entranceway had opened directly into this tunnel from the hard vacuum outside, and they were still in vacuum as they continued moving deeper.

  And deeper. The rock was only about 12 kilometers across. How much deeper were they going to go?

  And then, without warning, the tunnel opened into a large, a huge chamber, one with polished walls that shone in the Marines’ suit lights. That chamber was filled with rank upon rank upon gleaming rank of polished-silver cylinders, each 3 meters long and 1 meter thick and with rounded end-caps, each imbedded in a tight-packed tangle of conduits and plumbing.

  “My God,” Warhurst said. “What the hell have we found?…”

  System Outskirts

  Aquila Space

  2315 hrs GMT

  The Xul sentry probe had waited, silent, unrecognized, for a long time…ever since the vicious series of actions resulting in the extermination of Species 3119.

  The ancient Hunters of the Dawn knew this star system as 1901–002, the second system of Galactic Sector 1901, and it possessed an inherent importance simply by being one of those rare and far-scattered suns possessing a Gateway.

  But System 1901–002 was important also because, once, it had been part of Species 3119’s small but troublesome collective. The extermination of Species 3119 had not been as serious a problem as the genocidal war against the Associative, half a million years ago, but it had still given We Who Are cause for serious concern. Somehow, despite all of the Xul’s technological resources, Species 3119 had evolved an extremely advanced and deadly technological base, one capable of exploding stars.

  Even the largest hunterships of the Xul could not withstand the flood of energy loosed by the destruction of a sun.

  Long debate had followed the final destruction of Species 3119. How had they managed to evolve such an advanced technology without alerting those elements of the Xul galactic collective tasked with identifying threats to Xul survival? The question had become academic, of course, with the destruction of the last stronghold of the bitterly suicidal 3119s…but there had remained a genuine concern that other hold-outs might have escaped the notice of the giant hunterships, might have survived to rebuild their culture, their numbers, and their star-annihilating technologies.

  And so Xul scout-probes had been seeded within each of the star systems scattered across Sector 1901. Carefully disguised as solitary lumps of carbonaceous rock and ices a few kilometers across, orbiting in the cold, dark, outer reaches of each system, these probes used almost no energy and therefore were essentially undetectable. The sentient mechanisms within each slept through the millennia, until passive sensors on their surfaces registered activity within certain narrow parameters.

  Such activity was evident now in the probe orbiting two light-hours from the local star.

  A fleet, a very large fleet, was coming through the 1901–002 Gateway.

  As yet, the Xul sentience didn’t have enough data to be able to identify the operators of that fleet. Possibly, the fleet’s arrival represented the reemergence of Species 3119, after thousands of years of quiescence. Equally possibly, the fleet was that of another alien technic species, quite possibly of Species 2824, which had also caused unexpected difficulties for We Who Are in the recent past.

  If it was Species 2824, their fleet’s arrival was of particularly serious import, for that species originated in Sector 2420, ten to fifteen hundred light-years distant. They must be learning to use the gateway network, and that could have unfortunate repercussions for We Who Are.

  Even more ominous was their presence here, in one of the ancient systems of Species 3119. The alien fleet’s arrival suggested that they knew about the war with 3119, knew how close 3119 had come to stopping We Who Are…and might be looking for clues to the Weapon 3119 had employed.

  Such…curiosity could not be permitted.

  After recording the event, now two hours old, the Xul probe powered up, made a final internal check of all systems, then shimmered in a roil of twisting space/time, and was gone.

  This time there could be no delay. An immediate and overwhelming response was absolutely necessary.

  The supremacy, no, the very survival of We Who Are was at stake.

  22

  1012.1102

  UCS Hermes

  Stargate

  Aquila Space

  0945 hrs GMT

  General Alexander hadn’t gotten much sleep that night.

  Not that abstract terms like night and day had much to do with the operation of a starship on deployment. By convenience an
d by tradition, 1MIEF operated on Greenwich Mean Time, but, in fact, all ship stations had to be fully manned at all times. Besides, ship captains, to say nothing of the MIEF commanders, Lieutenant General Alexander and Vice Admiral Taggart, were by definition always on duty, no matter what their actual state of consciousness.

  He’d spent much of the night, so-called, monitoring the incoming tide of data transmitted first by Recon Sword, then by Marines of the 55th MARS off the Samar who had arrived some hours later. Currently, forty-five Marines of First Platoon, Alpha Company, were in the large subsurface chamber Recon Sword had discovered. The Marines, guided by intelligence and xenosophontologist personnel on board the Hermes, had spread out through the chamber, trying to gain an understanding of just what it was for.

  The best guess so far was that each of those curious cylinders contained an alien held in suspended animation—an analogue of the old cybe-hibe capsules once used by the Corps on long, speed-of-light deployments between the stars centuries before. The conduits appeared to carry life-support fluids and power. While the alien technology was still difficult to understand, certain things—electrical pumps and fiber-optic cables, for example—were recognizable as such no matter how strange their outward appearance or form.

  “I’m not sure,” Alexander was telling one of the MIEF intelligence officers, “that poking holes in their equipment is the right way to get started with them. Especially if those cylinders represent some sort of suspended-animation canister. What if we kill someone inside?”

  “That, General,” Colonel Jen Willis replied, “won’t happen. Nano microprobes are perfectly safe. And the data we get will tell us a great deal about alien physiology.”

  The technique was simple enough, Alexander knew. A tiny amount of specially programmed nano, consisting of nano-D and the raw materials for the probe itself, was placed on the surface of the device or container being sampled. The disassemblers ate a literally microscopic hole through the material. As soon as they detected a change in the material, the probe nano would insinuate itself through the hole, growing itself into a variety of submicroscopic probes. If there was air or liquid inside the container, the probes would identify it and radio the results to the Marines outside. If there were electronics inside, the probes would trace and sample them, transmitting information on what types of signals, at what voltages, were being encountered. The whole probe process occurred at such a tiny scale, however, that even living organisms could be sampled without harming them. Doctors used similar means to diagnose illness, with patients who lacked their own internal nanosystems for some reason.

  Still, Alexander was concerned. They as yet had no idea what they were dealing with, and the MIEF certainly could not afford to turn potential allies into enemies by a careless or clumsy misstep.

  At the same time, they had to learn what they were dealing with. Continued probes of the alien computer network had amassed huge amounts of data, including more of the enigmatic cels that might be landscapes or portraits, but most of it was still unintelligible. If the xenosophontology department could come up with some clues to the nature of the aliens, the AIs might be able to work out clues to the language.

  A few clues had been gleaned already.

  “So…what was it you’ve named the aliens?” he asked Willis.

  “‘Eulers,’” she said, giving the name its Germanic pronunciation which sounded like “Oilers.”

  “And that was the name of…what did you say? A mathematician?”

  “Yes, sir. Leonhard Euler. Eighteenth century…one of the greatest mathematicians of all time.”

  “Okay. But I still don’t understand—”

  “Whoever these people are,” Willis explained, “they seem to incorporate a lot of pretty sophisticated mathematics into what they’re doing. Our AI analyses were able to pick out basic number theory from their computer net pretty quickly, and give us an understanding of some of what they’re saying. We were able to determine the electrical signals they use for a lot of their communications that way…zero, one, pi, e…”

  “You told me earlier they use Fibonacci numbers as a means of encoding their computer data.”

  “Well…it’s not that simple, but, essentially, yes sir. In fact, that gave us our first clue, when we figured out they were using the Fibonacci series and its relationship to phi as a means of encoding data. And one of the things we’ve picked up since is what appears to be a mathematical equation that they use to refer to themselves.”

  “Yes, e to the i times pi, plus one equals zero,” Alexander said, reading the equation off of an open memory window. Math had never been his forte. “You told me. But I don’t understand what that means.”

  Willis sighed. She’d explained all of this before. “Sir, the equation is significant because it very succinctly relates five of the most important, most basic of mathematical constants—e, the square root of minus one, pi, one, and zero—in a single brief, elegant statement. It also employs the mathematical notions of addition, multiplication, exponentiation, and equality. Are you with me, sir?”

  “I think so….”

  “It’s important to understand that these are not human concepts. The relationship of the radius of a circle to its circumference, the base of the natural logarithm, these are very special numbers that simply appear, all by themselves, in a whole host of mathematical operations. It’s as though numbers like pi and e are built into the nature of the universe itself. In fact, some mathematical philosophers have used that equation to attempt to prove the existence of God.”

  “I see. And Euler?…”

  “Came up with the equation, yes, sir. It’s an identity derived from the Euler Formula. Or, I should say, he was the first human to derive it. Any mathematically competent species would do the same, sooner or later, because things like e are the same whether you’re human or Xul or An or N’mah or whatever.”

  “So how do you know the aliens are using this as their name for themselves?”

  “Guesswork, sir. But educated guesswork. The identity appears again and again within the data streams we’ve been receiving, and it appears to be a placeholder, a way of identifying something else. So maybe it’s what they call their home planet…or maybe it’s something else entirely, but the likeliest explanation is that they’ve adopted the term to mean themselves.”

  Alexander remembered having downloaded an e-pedia history, once, that had described how Thomas Young and Jean-François Champollion had first deciphered the Egyptian hieroglyphics and Demotic script found on the Rosetta Stone, a thousand years before. Champollion, in particular, had noticed that certain repeating collections of hieroglyphic symbols on the stone were enclosed in ovals, called cartouches, and that these seemed to correspond to certain names, like Ptolemy and Cleopatra, that appeared in the stone’s parallel text in classical Greek. The names of rulers mentioned in the text had proven to be the key to unlocking the writing of ancient Egypt. Perhaps the AIs working on translating the alien data streams were employing a similar strategy.

  Of course, translating the Rosetta Stone would have been child’s play compared to this, working out the linguistic and conceptual symbolisms of the completely unknown language of a completely unknown alien species.

  “An equation is a little hard to pronounce,” he said, bemused.

  “For us,” Willis said. “But we don’t yet know how they speak to one another. Maybe the mathematical term sounds to them like a single, short word would to us. Or their language might be nothing but equations and numerical relationships. And they might very well not have speech as we know it, with audible sounds. Maybe they use organic radio. Or fluctuating magnetic fields. Or changing colors or skin patterns. Or, hell, as a particular smell, if they communicate by means of odors.

  “The fact is, sir, we don’t know enough about their biology to even guess at what we’re working with here. That’s why we need to probe one of those capsules, very gently, very subtly. Until we do, we simply won’t have enough informa
tion to go on, and all of the data we’ve recorded so far is just, for the most part, noise.”

  Alexander thought about it a moment more. “Okay,” he said, but reluctantly. “But only one, and I want you to use the absolute least amount of intrusion possible. We’re the guests, here, and uninvited guests at that. I don’t want to blunder in and break up the furniture.”

  “Of course, General,” Willis said. “That goes without saying.”

  When it came to understanding the alien, Alexander thought, nothing went without saying. “Just be damned careful,” he said. “We’re already fighting the Xul…and maybe the PanEuropeans as well, if the negotiations back on Earth break down. Let’s not make these guys mad at us, too!”

  “Nothing,” Willis said, “can possibly go wrong.”

  But Alexander wasn’t so sure. Beings that thought in terms of higher mathematics—for him that seemed to define the very term “alien.”

  And the more alien these beings were, the more opportunity there would be for something to go horribly wrong.

  First Platoon, Alpha Company

  RFS Alpha

  Aquila Space

  1010 hrs GMT

  “Wait a second,” Garroway said. “They want us to fucking what?”

  Gunnery Sergeant Ramsey turned, looking at the array of cylinders gleaming, rank upon rank, into the surrounding darkness. “We’re supposed to poke a hole in one of those things? I don’t like it.”

  Sandre Kenyon held up the probe pack she’d just brought down from the surface. “They said the hole would be too small to cause any problem, Gunny.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t like the idea of poking at stuff we don’t understand.”

  “It’s fucking crazy,” Sergeant Chu said. “What if there’s, I don’t know, radiation inside those things? Or antimatter power plants?”

  “That’s a hell of a lot of antimatter generators,” Garroway said, still looking at the rows of silently waiting cylinders. He could see several small, black shapes—platoon remote sensor drones—were patrolling among the cylinders, searching for anything out of the ordinary. “But that doesn’t really make sense, power plants that small, and so many of them. They look more like the old cybe-hibe capsules, y‘know?”