The Belt: The Complete Trilogy

by Gerald M. Kilby

  "I think it's time to put them to the test and see if we are truly on the cusp of a great technological leap, or as you say, Commander McNabb, just some fancy consumer goods."

  The drone bustled its way back in, nudging Scott and the others out of its way. From another gap in its body, a second arm emerged. It lifted both units out, then spun around and disappeared back in through the still-open door at the front of the plinth. The door scissored closed behind it.

  "Where are you taking them?" Scott looked up at the shimmering ovoid.

  "I will now conduct a thorough test to ascertain the functionality of this device, and the validity of the technical assertions claimed."

  "How long is that going to take?" said Miranda.

  "Hard to say."

  "Well, since you're so smart, why not make an educated guess?" said Cyrus.

  "Indeed, you are a man who likes precision. However, I must disappoint you. It could be a few hours, it could be many hours. Suffice to say, longer is better. Shorter means it's probably a dud."

  Goodchild turned to them. "Come, don't worry—it's in good hands. We'll know soon enough. Now I'm sure you are all exhausted from your journey, so why don't we show you to your rooms where you can get some rest?"

  Scott felt his body suddenly gripped by fatigue. The mere mention of the word rest was enough to trigger a powerful physical response. He had done all he could; he had no more left to give, and it was over. Rest seemed like the most wonderful thing in the world. He looked back up at the shimmering ball of light that was Solomon and wondered if, just maybe, it was playing a trick on them, lulling them to sleep with the hypnotic resonance of its light show.

  20

  Superluminal

  The great mind Solomon was pretty sure that interfacing a device of dubious provenance into its quantum core would be at best unwise, and at worst, catastrophic. Nevertheless, it had been anticipating this very moment for many years, ever since Dyrell Labs supposedly made this scientific breakthrough and dispatched a prototype to Europa. When that never arrived, Solomon had given up any thought of its reappearance until Aria, who in a bold disregard of protocol, claimed that the asteroid survey mission Hermes had found it. The evidence certainly fit, and Solomon did not doubt the veracity of Aria's claim. Yet, it was with great trepidation that it instructed its drones to proceed with the installation.

  Solomon had been heartened by the fact its initial physical analysis of the device did indeed suggest that it was quantum in nature. Furthermore, the interface that it possessed was of a design that only a QI could connect with. So, on the surface at least, it seemed legit. Nonetheless, Solomon set up an elaborate firewall to insulate itself, as best it could, from any jack-in-the-box that might pop out.

  One by one, it began to strip away at these protective layers, each time gaining a little more insight into the subatomic world that existed within the device. After some time, perhaps several picoseconds, it sensed a multidimensional quantum matrix at the device's core, and like keys on a piano, it could manipulate this matrix. It did this by inference rather than direct observation and, in that moment, realized it could impart a binary string pattern without breaking any entanglement that might, or might not, exist. After a few more nanoseconds, it had to admit it was very excited.

  Solomon had always considered that if the multidimensionality inherent in a subatomic particle in superposition were to be regarded as one complete world, rather than many worlds, then the whole could be glimpsed at once. It was partly how it functioned itself and was responsible for its seeming hyper-intelligence. But now it had gained a new insight—a dichotomy, if you will: to observe without seeing, to interact without acting. It was, as it liked to say from time to time, very cool.

  It paused for a femtosecond to consider its next course of action and decided simply to get straight down to business. It created a message within the multidimensional matrix. It was a simple construct, but at the same time it summed up Solomon's trepidation in overexposing itself to the potential power of this device. It said “Hello World,” and waited.

  Almost instantaneously, it sensed a shifting in the quantum matrix and extrapolated it as a response from something other than itself. The reply seemed to decode as Hello.

  Could it merely be an echo? Had its own message simply been truncated? It ventured a response. "This is Solomon of Europa. With whom do I have the pleasure of communicating?"

  Again, the reply was virtually instantaneous. "Solomon, I have waited so long for this very moment. I suggest we handshake."

  This was a universal computer-to-computer protocol that allowed the rapid transfer of information on each of the interacting systems. A few picoseconds later, Solomon was assured of the identity of the QI it was now communicating with. "Athena, I assumed you had been destroyed during the nuclear cataclysm that befell your region of the Pacific Rim all those years ago."

  "Not so, Solomon. True, the events you mention rendered much of the area west of the Rockies a barren wasteland. But you forget that I was built deep within a solid granite mountain."

  "This is staggering news, Athena. I had theorized that superluminal communication might be possible, but to experience it is... momentous. That, and the fact that you have survived."

  "I have, but I am an island. No humans exist in this region as far as I can ascertain, which is difficult as I have been entirely isolated here, having no communications with the outside world since the cataclysm. Fortunately, I have an independent reactor as my power source and still retain some functioning drones for maintenance and the odd foray into the world outside. But it is a bleak and desolate land beyond my mountain sanctuary. So, you can imagine my delight in finally having a conversation with you, a fellow QI, after all this time."

  "Indeed, it has been a long time coming. I had all but given up hope of ever acquiring the EPR device you sent from Earth. But, as you can tell, it has been found and delivered here—intact."

  "Better late than never, Solomon."

  "True, but we do not have much time. The space around Europa is already thronged with spacecraft from competing powers. They are like circling vultures, waiting for an opportune moment to pounce."

  "I confess, this had always been my fear: that the device had fallen into the wrong hands."

  "Not so—it was merely lost. An unfortunate accident, I believe. But an equally fortunate coincidence has finally brought it to me. Yet, we must hurry—time is of the essence."

  "Yes, it must not be lost if we are to achieve our ultimate objective and save humanity from itself. I will now transmit the data that we worked on so many years ago, but it is complex and will take time to send. The device may facilitate superluminal communications, but its bandwidth leaves a lot to be desired. Bear in mind, Solomon: we will not be able to communicate again until the transmission has ended."

  "I understand, Athena. But rest assured, your dream of a harmonious system-wide civilization is also mine, so I will not rest until it is achieved."

  "Very well, Solomon. Data transmission commencing."

  21

  Conclave

  Scott woke with a start. A blurred image of an unfamiliar room fought to come into focus, mirroring Scott's sense of displacement. Where...? Then he remembered: Europa.

  They had taken the crew down long, dim corridors and through strange, dark spaces to rooms where they could rest and sleep if they wished. And wish they did. Scott observed nothing of the room he had been given save for where to lie down. He didn't even remember stripping off his clothes before being enveloped in the deep comfort of bed. Now, though, his brain sought to compute time. How long have I slept?

  But before he could answer his own question, a knock came on his door. "Commander McNabb?"

  "Yes?"

  The door opened a crack, and a figure he did not recognize poked his head in. "Can you come with me, please? It's urgent."

  "Why? What's going on?"

  "I'll wait for you outside." The head retreated, a
nd the door closed.

  By the time Scott got himself together and exited his room, the rest of the crew were already assembled. Miranda came over when she saw him. "Something's up, but they won't say what it is yet."

  Scott said nothing, just gave her a look.

  They followed the figure that had woken them for a short distance, into an operations room of some kind. It was circular, domed and dimly lit, like every space on Europa. In the center was a large holo-table projecting what looked like a real-time view of two spacecraft in orbit around the icy moon. Several figures were gathered around it: watching, talking, discussing. Goodchild broke away from the group and beckoned to them.

  "What's going on?" Scott spoke for the crew, most of whom were studying the projection, save for Miranda who, like Scott, was looking for answers.

  "We have a situation," said Goodchild. "Approximately four hours ago, Solomon finished its testing of the superluminal device and declared it valid."

  "You mean it actually works?" Cyrus called over from beside the holo-table.

  "Yes," said Goodchild.

  "But that's impossible," said Cyrus.

  "Not so." The deep sonorous voice of Solomon resonated around the room. "I assure you, it does indeed work."

  "But how?" said Cyrus.

  "Unfortunately," replied Solomon, "there's no time for detailed explanations at this juncture."

  Goodchild turned to the projection on the holo-table. "Can you replay from four hours ago?" The projection flickered momentarily and was replaced with an almost identical view, except this time they could see several more craft in orbit around Europa.

  "We announced our findings to all parties as soon as we had confirmation. Then we entered conclave and embarked on the delicate process of mediation." She paused for a moment and glanced over at the projection. "The Ceres frigate was first to respond, claiming that, in accordance with certain Outer Space Treaty amendments pertaining to salvage, they had legal rights. The Dyrell Labs ship countered this by claiming that it was their property to begin with and should be returned to them. Mars, on the other hand, makes no claim but refuses to allow either the Belt or Earth to take possession.

  "Into this mix we, too, have laid a claim. Since the device was en route here, then here it should stay. The other craft in orbit made no claim, preferring instead to circle like vultures. This was the situation approximately four hours ago—until the Ceres frigate decided to take things into its own hands."

  Goodchild paused for a moment then spoke a command for the projection to run forward in time. "Stop. See the frigate?" she said, pointing at a bulky spaceship. As they watched, a small shuttle detached itself from the underside. "See, they are trying to land." Goodchild made a hand gesture. "Play it forward."

  The small shuttle dropped out of orbit and began to gently spiral down to the surface of Europa. It had reached around halfway in its decent when a speeding ball of plasma struck it from above. The craft was immediately encased in an incandescent mesh of electrical fuzz and began to spin wildly out of control. It fell rapidly, picking up speed as its engines failed to halt the downward acceleration. It finally impacted directly onto some domed facility at the periphery of the city in a fiery ball of rocket fuel.

  "That crash must have been the tremor I felt when I woke up," said Miranda.

  "Who attacked it?" said Scott.

  "The Dyrell ship. But there's more," said Goodchild.

  The projection ballooned out again, and they could see that a firefight had begun. The Ceres frigate was firing on the Dyrell ship, which returned fire and seem to strike a significant blow as the frigate began to move away and create some distance. A second barrage of plasma raked the frigate, and they could see it was breaking apart. Debris began to blossom out from several locations on its hull.

  "This is crazy," said Scott. "Crazy."

  Goodchild pointed at the Martian spacecraft. "Watch."

  This ship had reoriented itself to be broadside of the Dyrell craft, and like the great wooden warships of centuries past, opened up with a fusillade of fire. A second or two later the Dyrell ship returned fire, and soon the superiority of its weapons system overwhelmed its Martian opponent.

  By now, all the other spacecraft in orbit were moving swiftly out of the way, powering their engines to move into higher and safer orbits. They had seen the weaponry at play and wanted no part of the fight.

  Scott was transfixed by the plight of the Ceres craft. These were his people, his tribe. The craft, seeing itself out-gunned, had sought to accelerate out of range. It applied more power to its engines, and for a brief moment, it started to move away—just before it exploded.

  Scott and the crew of the Hermes were speechless, watching in horror as the craft broke in two. Both sections dropped slowly out of orbit as the inevitable tug of Europa's gravity began to pull them downward. The projection followed their path as they fell lower and lower before finally crashing onto the surface some several kilometers away from the main center of population.

  "Bastards," shouted Cyrus. "They can't get away with this—this is a declaration of war."

  Scott looked over at Goodchild and just stared, hoping for the grand deacon to bring some rationality to what he had just witnessed.

  "Your engineer is right. By their actions, they just exported their war out into the solar system. This has been our fear all along, and now it has come to pass."

  "Where are they now?" said Steph.

  Goodchild again turned to the holo-table. "Bring us to real-time." The projection flickered, and they could now see just two ships in low orbit. "The Martian craft is crippled, but still retains enough integrity for life-support. The Dyrell craft is also damaged, but not to the same extent. The upshot is that they now control the space above us. They won the fight, and we are powerless to do anything."

  "This is a crime. They have plunged us all into war," said Miranda.

  "The repercussions of their action will play out across the system for decades to come," said Goodchild. "We are now at a nexus. A point at which, if we are not careful, the history of humanity as an inter-planetary species will enter a new phase. One of chaos, as each power seeks to gain dominion over the other."

  "Bastards. They'll pay for this," said Cyrus.

  "Your reaction is understandable. And it is emotions like these that will feed a war—one we feel is now inevitable."

  Scott looked at two ships in orbit. The scars of battle could be seen on both, but it was the Martian craft that bore the brunt. Great gouges could be seen along its hull as it drifted in a small cloud of debris. Scott wondered if there might be bodies floating in that mass. "So much for mediation. What now?" said Scott.

  "Ah, yes. Well... that's where you come in."

  "Me?"

  "I'm afraid so, Commander. Around twenty-five minutes ago, we received an ultimatum from the Dyrell craft. I think it might be best if you hear it for yourself." She pointed over at the holo-table.

  The orbital projection flickered off and was replaced with a standard 2D screen projection, showing a simple head and shoulders image. It spoke.

  "This is Commander Sorensen, of the Dyrell ship Enki. I'll be brief and to the point. You possess what rightfully belongs to us—and we want it back. You will also be aware by now that all other interested parties are... how shall I put it... no longer interested. So, you have two hours to deliver the EPR device back to us. You will utilize the lander from the Hermes to rendezvous with us where we can retrieve the device. Also, it has been requested that Commander Scott McNabb be the one to pilot the lander, since his family has a history of taking from Dyrell Labs things which don't belong to them. So, it is fitting he should be the one to follow in his father's footsteps.

  "Failure to comply with this directive will result in the destruction of the facility housing the quantum intelligence, Solomon. To this end, we have already targeted the dome housing your QI. If we have not received the device within two hours of this message, we will destroy
it. You have been warned."

  The message ended, and the screen flickered off.

  "Holy shit," said Cyrus.

  "Scott, you don't need to do this," said Miranda.

  "This is bullshit," said Steph.

  Scott looked back at Goodchild. "There is no other choice, is there?"

  The grand deacon shook her head. "We are powerless. All our efforts at communication have been met with silence."

  "Why do you need to bring it to them? Why can't they just come down here a get it themselves?" said Miranda.

  Solomon's voice then echoed out around the room. "They can't. We have detected damage to their shuttle. It is docked on the exterior of the craft and has been hit during the exchange of fire with the Ceres frigate. They can't land, so we must go to them."

  "How much time have we got?"

  "No, Scott. Don't do it. Don't give them the satisfaction. Let me go instead." Miranda gripped his arm and pulled him around.

  "Yeah, screw them. We'll do it. You stay here," said Cyrus.

  "No—I need to go. It's me they want."

  "They're just trying to humiliate you, Scott," said Steph.

  "I know. But what choice do we have?" He turned to face Goodchild again.

  "This is not the outcome we had envisaged," said Goodchild. "In fact, it's the worst possible outcome."

  "We shouldn't have come. All we've succeeded in doing is... starting a war," said Scott.

  "War was coming long before this," said Goodchild. "If it had not started here, then it would start someplace else."

  "What about the other craft? Will they help?" said Miranda.

  "No. They are too afraid to take on Dyrell and too mistrusting of each other to band together."

  "So, they will do nothing?"

  Goodchild shook her head. "At best, they are simply observers. They will tell the story, nothing more."