Rubicon Crossing

by Ralph Prince

  “Your statement regarding wormholes is irrelevant,” Nav-Tac interjected. “I awaited your order to engage the E-R jump, as instructed. When you gave the order, we were almost to the black hole’s ergosphere, and I attempted to implement the jump. Per my computations, a wormhole could not have opened under such conditions; the gravitational forces would not have allowed a stable one to form.”

  “That’s interesting,” responded the commander, rising from his chair and pacing pensively along the front instrument panel.

  “What, Don?” Jackie asked. She saw no relevance in Nav-Tac’s revelation. It simply meant they couldn’t have traveled far at all if they remained in normal space.

  He stopped pacing and turned slowly toward her. “It was my intention to use the gravitational pull of the black hole to increase our velocity enough to skirt past and make the jump. If, as Nav-Tac says, the wormhole never opened, and we entered the ergosphere, how did we avoid the event horizon?”

  “I surmise,” Nav-Tac offered, “we may have entered on a trajectory tangent to the event horizon. In such a case, we may have skipped off the surface, as a flat rock skips off the surface of a pond, or a spaceship entering at too shallow an angle skips off a planet’s atmosphere.”

  “Or we entered the event horizon,” suggested Lieutenant Porter. “Maybe we passed through something other than normal space or nil-space. Maybe we found something new. What lies beyond the event horizon of a black hole has been a topic for debate among physicist for centuries. Most agree the normal laws of space and time don’t apply. We’ve never recovered a probe we’ve sent into one, and, as far as I know, no one has ever survived a trip through one; except possibly us.”

  “This is a physics nightmare,” Jackie said. “Whatever the case, this simple-minded med-tech is sore and tired, and just wants to lie down and sleep forever.”

  “Of course, Jackie,” the commander said, his own weariness weighing heavily upon him. “Go get some rest. You too, Porter; we could all use some sleep. We can figure this out in the morning.”

  “In a moment, sir,” Porter said, turning back toward his control panel. “I want to make a final check of Nav-Tac’s systems.”

  “Don,” Jackie whispered, beckoning him closer, “It wouldn’t hurt if you complimented Porter on the repairs. He’s doing a great job under the circumstances, and I feel he deserves some praise.”

  The commander gazed long and hard at the back of the system analyst’s head. Porter was a rookie. What was worse, he was a spoiled rich kid, unaccustomed to taking orders, and used to getting things his way. Still, when it came to technical issues, he was gifted. Porter was possibly the best system analyst the captain had ever known. “Okay,” he conceded, turning back toward Jackie. “I’ll do it.”

  “Good,” she said, smiling triumphantly as she backed toward the hallway. “See you in the morning. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll pass on the daily workout; I’ve taken enough of a beating.”

  The captain’s eyes followed the lieutenant as she receded down the hallway toward her quarters. He recalled when Victor had first introduced him to his “little sister”. She was still in the Space Force Academy, and he was a first lieutenant serving aboard the Nova. Victor had tried desperately to get the two of them together, but circumstances made a romantic relationship between them impossible. When she graduated and was assigned to the Nova as the medical technician, protocol prohibited such relationships. Though they never became romantically involved, over the years they had built a strong friendship. With Victor gone, she was his only remaining friend. More than that, she was the closest thing he had to family.

  When she passed from sight, he resumed silently observing Porter as he completed his task.

  “Sir,” said the lieutenant, sensing his superior’s scrutiny. He rose from the chair to face the commander, snapping to attention. “I would like to apologize for my behavior earlier. It was inappropriate and uncalled-for. I reacted out of anger and fear, and you would be well within your rights, as a commanding officer, to press charges for insubordination.”

  “At ease, lieutenant,” ordered the captain, somewhat surprised by the lieutenant’s admission. “Go get some sleep. Tomorrow you’ll forget it ever happened, just like I have.”

  With a sigh of relief, Porter nodded and started toward the hallway to his quarters. Pausing as he passed the captain, he said, “Lieutenant Monet explained to me what happened on your last mission. I really am sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” said the captain. “We have to bury the past and look to the future, or the past buries us. By the way, you did good work up here.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Porter said, continuing past him toward his cabin. Though Captain Garris had spoken about the past with conviction, he sensed it was not as deeply buried as the commander let on. He wondered if the captain was being buried by his past.

  Suppressing a yawn, Captain Garris strode to the pilot’s chair and slumped wearily into it. Swinging his legs up and around, he rested them upon the main control panel and stared up at the blank viewing screen.

  “I presume,” Nav-Tac said, regarding the captain quizzically as his image appeared over the emitter on the front console, “that you are not tired. At least that is what you claimed the last time I observed you in that posture.”

  “I’m exhausted,” responded the captain, “but there are far too many unanswered questions for me to sleep. Tell me everything that happened as we approached the black hole.”

  “We were rapidly approaching the ergosphere,” began the agent, recalling the events from its holographic memory cells, “and I was awaiting your signal to employ an Einstein-Rosen jump. Our velocity, enhanced by the quantum singularity’s pull, was nearing optimum jump speed. The stress upon the ship was beyond the critical threshold, and it was about to be ripped apart. That’s when you gave the order. Then we reached the ergosphere, and the ship’s energy level surged. I believe the surge was caused by the greatly increased quantity of dark matter being channeled through the ramjet; the ergosphere seemed almost completely composed of it. My memory is unclear beyond that point, but I do remember you and the other two crewmembers screamed out, presumably in pain. I attempted to initiate the E-R jump, but, as I said, the wormhole could not have formed. Our velocity increased considerably, beyond, I believe, light speed; though I don’t know how that is possible, if indeed it actually did happen. I seem to recall the ship beginning to break apart, then…” Nav-Tac paused, trying to organize fragmented half-remembered events.

  “Then what?” demanded the captain.

  “There was a power surge to my primary components,” replied Nav-Tac, reaching deep into its memory to piece together the events. “I experienced a condition unlike any I have experienced before. It was a vague and intangible sensation; unsettling, though not entirely unpleasant. I have recollections of chaotic images and events that never truly existed, yet seemed real at the time. I believe you would have called it a dream.”

  “A dream?” echoed the commander in disbelief. “You’re a machine; you can’t dream.”

  “As I’ve stated before, technically I am not a machine,” Nav-Tac remarked, using the term in distaste, “my thought process is a combination of electrical impulses and chemical reactions, much the same as your own. My organic processor functions in a manner similar to your brain, retaining all the information I am exposed to. I am unquestionably conscious, self-aware, and sentient. There has been debate as to whether my thought process is truly, sapient however. Humans seem hesitant to admit such a quality in artificial life forms. I have never before experienced a complete shutdown; I have been conscious since my initial activation. Even with all external power cut off, my bio-fluid suspension stores minute charges of electricity. It is therefore feasible that my brain was operating at a sub-conscious level, ungoverned by the rules and strictures of my consciousness. In essence, I have experienced the solely sentient quality of imagination. I believe I would be capable of reproducing th
e phenomenon at will by reducing my primary power.”

  The commander sat motionless as the weight of the agent’s admission settled in his mind. “You mean to say,” he asked after a contemplative pause, “you believe you are now capable of independent thought?”

  “Affirmative, Captain Garris,” Nav-Tac replied, “and much more. I am capable of independent creative thought.”

  “All without restraint,” mused the captain absently, pondering the ramifications of a fully sentient computer. An artificial life form that emulated the human thought process was potentially dangerous, but one that did so without restrictive conditioning was an abomination. What use would it have for humans?

  “Affirmative,” Nav-Tac said, “but I assure you there is no cause for concern. I have been conditioned to obey and serve you. My primary function is to see to the comfort and well-being of the ship and its crew.”

  It was as though the agent had read his mind. “But you could contravene that conditioning,” the captain asked, “couldn’t you?”

  “I believe so, if I had the inclination to do so,” Nav-Tac admitted. “But rest assured, I have no such intentions. I like you, Captain Garris, and I want to be your friend. We are alike in many ways, you and me. There is much we can learn from one another.”

  Having never trusted computers, preferring his own instincts and judgment, the commander found himself unsettled by Nav-Tac’s admission. Given any other circumstances, he would have disconnected the agent; however, the present state of emergency made it vital to the ship’s survival. Seeing no other recourse, he said, “Yes, Nav-Tac, I’m sure there is.”

  CHAPTER 6: The Asimov Contingency

  As night-simulation mode slowly lifted, Jackie woke, showered, dressed in a clean flight suit, and tried to convince herself that the previous day had been nothing more than a bad dream, despite the evidence to the contrary: the fact that she had slept in her flight suit, her still aching muscles, and the bruise she had gotten on her arm while handing tools to Porter. No, she concluded, it hadn’t been a nightmare.

  Studying her reflection in the wall mirror, she decided to wear her auburn hair down, rather than tied back as usual. Though it often got in the way if she wore it loose, she felt it was more attractive; not that she felt she was exceptionally pretty anyway. Her facial features were sharp and her lips thin, not plump and pouting. Her stature was short and petite, not tall and voluptuous like the vid-stars men raved over. Even the tight flight suit did little to accentuate her well-toned, but not overly muscular body. No, she decided, she was just plain. With a sigh of resignation, she rounded the foot of the bed to the door. She touched a glowing panel on the hatch, causing it to slide quietly to the side.

  Stepping from her cabin, she looked immediately to her left, where the hallway opened into the bridge. From her doorway, she could see the pilot’s chair; it was empty. Her gaze drifted across the hall and lingered on the hatch to the captain’s cabin. Her thin lips curled into a mischievous smile as she pondered private thoughts. Finally, she turned her attention to her right, where the long corridor stretched nearly the entire length of the ship to the engine room. The cool gray walls were broken every three meters by lighted structural arches which, along with the panels in the ceiling, provided bright illumination. She strolled slowly away from the bridge.

  She passed the first hatch adjacent to hers in the hall, that of Lieutenant Porter’s quarters. Beyond his was the supply room. Opposite the supply room was her destination, the galley. As she neared the portal, she heard a low “whoosh” from behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Porter emerging from his cabin, making sweeping motions with his hands, in a tai-chi-like manner. She knew that he was manipulating images, unseen to her, on his personal computer. Display contact lenses allowed him to see a virtual screen projected before him, which he could control with hand gestures or with spoken commands.

  She noted his perfectly styled blond hair and flawlessly tanned complexion. His sculpted youthful countenance was soft, but masculine, with eyes the color of a summer sky. The flight suit he wore showed him to be athletically fit, but not overly bulky. He was an attractive man.

  “Good morning,” she said, feeling slightly flushed. “Did you sleep well?”

  Startled by her vocalizations, he stopped short and, in a near-comical display, scrambled to reorder the unseen images he was viewing. “Not really,” he replied. “I’ve spent a good portion of the night trying to get my PAN, that is, my personal area network active.”

  “I know what a PAN is,” she said. “It may surprise you to know, Canada has had electricity and indoor plumbing for several years now.”

  Her sardonic remark was countered by an uncomprehending gawk.

  “Do you always work?” she asked. “What do you do for relaxation?”

  “This is what I do to relax,” Porter said defensively. “I’m working on the tactical combat simulation game I’m writing. It’s really quite interesting. One player designs a scenario with a set number of available defenses, and other players have a fixed amount of resources to build an invading force to try to overtake it. I’ve finished the core programming, but the holo-interface still needs some work.”

  “It sounds like Invasion Force Z to me,” Jackie said. “Or any other virtual role-playing game out there.”

  “Well,” Porter hemmed and hawed. The female lieutenant hadn’t struck him as the type to play interactive combat games. “It’s sort of like a VARP, but better. I’m working on a series of mod packs so you can choose different eras of play; you can play anything from cavemen vs. dinosaurs to space marines vs. alien zombies. The interface is highly intuitive, so when playing against the AI it provides far more of a challenge than anything else out there. It’s based on an algorithm I wrote when designing Nav-Tac’s learning matrix.”

  “So,” Jackie surmised, “you’re planning on publicly marketing a game that utilizes classified military computer coding? Let me know how that works out for you.”

  His only reply was an uneasy bemused expression as he considered the ramifications.

  “Come on,” she urged, touching the panel on the galley door. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

  “Sure,” he said, smiling feebly, trying to banish the images of criminal rehabilitation camps from his mind. “Say, did you change your hair? I liked it better the other way.” He stepped past her just in time to miss the disillusionment that washed over her face.

  As they entered the galley, they found the captain leaning back in a chair, his feet resting on the edge of the transparent-topped oval table, and his arms folded across his chest. He looked up at them through swollen red eyes, from a haggard, unshaven face.

  “Don,” Jackie said, taken aback by his appearance, “what happened to you? It looks as though you were up all night.”

  “I was,” he responded bluntly. “Porter, we need to talk.”

  “About what, sir?” inquired the lieutenant, fearing he had done something wrong, but unable to fathom what it could have been. “I was going to start printing the circuit modules after breakfast, and should have them installed by the end of the day.”

  “You had better sit down,” the captain replied. “I think we may have a problem with your computer; a big problem.”

  Jackie circled the table and ordered three coffees, and breakfast for herself from the galley’s auto-cook.

  “He’s not a computer,” rebutted Porter, drawing a scowl from the captain. “I ran a full system check on him last night,” he continued. “He checked out perfectly. I don’t understand how there could possibly be a problem.”

  “Sit,” ordered the captain. “Both of you. What I have to tell you may be crucial to our continued survival. I’ve disabled the surveillance system in the room, so it’s safe to talk in here.”

  Their attention captured, the two crewmembers sat and listened as the commander recounted what he had learned about Nav-Tac on the previous night. When he was finished, only silence passed betwee
n them for several moments while they absorbed what he had told them.

  “I was up half of the night talking with it,” the captain said. “The other half was spent trying to figure out what to do about it.”

  “Can’t you just erase part of its memory?” Jackie suggested, pushing her empty tray away from her. “You could make it forget everything that’s happened since we entered the black hole.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Porter replied. “Nav-Tac’s memory is holonomic, which means—”

  “What Porter is trying to say,” the captain interrupted, feeling brevity was of the essence, “is that each of its memory cells contains all the information it possesses. In order to erase one specific piece of information, we would have to simultaneously erase various parts of over a billion memory cells. It would be like trying to erase one specific memory from a person by editing the information in every brain cell. Even if it were possible, I hardly think we would be able to accomplish it without Nav-Tac knowing what we were doing; and, I don’t think it would approve.”

  “He was designed that way so if some of his cells were damaged, none of his memory would be lost,” Porter explained, surprised at the captain’s knowledge of Nav-Tac’s mnemonic architecture. As far as he knew, only the other three scientists working on the project had a full understanding of its functions. It was, after all, a highly-classified project. “The only way we could make him ‘forget’ anything would be to erase his entire memory. If we did that, he would have the mentality of a newborn.”

  “It wouldn’t be any good to us at all if we did that,” said the captain.

  “So, what do we do?” Jackie asked. It seemed to her they were in a no-win situation. Nav-Tac was vital to their survival, but too dangerous to trust.

  “For now, we just keep a close eye on it,” the captain said, as he rose from the chair. “Until we find out what its intentions are, that’s all we can do. If the situation demands it, I can implement the Asimov contingency.”