“That’s a neat way of thinking about it,” Ron agreed. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“Another thing too,” Chris told them. “All that mass is a problem when you want to get away from it and go somewhere else. But Janus’s gravity is all inside; there isn’t any at all outside that’s worth talking about. So traveling about between Januses is easy. Natural planets are crazy. Why spend all that energy getting yourself up out of one gravity pit and then go straight down another one? It’s like everybody living at the bottom of coal mines. Doesn’t make sense.”
They caught up with Kim, who was talking to Dr. Fred Hayes, one of the specialists selected by Dyer for the computer team. Hayes was from Bell Labs and an expert on symbolic logic and the analysis of complex switching matrixes. He was a tall, lean graying individual in his late forties and he walked with a loose easygoing stride that contrasted sharply with Kim’s characteristic brisk and purposeful pace.
“How’s it going, Fred?” Dyer called, raising his voice to attract Hayes’s attention, “Has the captain convinced you that what I’ve got you into might not turn out to be so bad after all?”
Hayes half-turned and cast a wry grin back over his shoulder. “Well, it could have been worse, I suppose,” he conceded. “Knowing you, I was prepared for anything.” They had known each other casually for the seven years that had elapsed since Dyer’s time at M.I.T. Hayes had been with the University of Maryland then, and had collaborated with Dyer on mapping out the basic logic of the HESPER prototypes.
“So when do we hear all about these funny machines you’ve been working on, Fred?” Ron asked, “I’m still waiting to find out what we’re expected to fight those computers with. Aren’t you even gonna give us any clues?”
“Oh, you won’t have long to wait,” Fred answered. “In fact there’ll be a demonstration of them first thing tomorrow. That’s right, isn’t it Ray—first thing tomorrow?”
“Correct,” Dyer said, mimicking Malloy’s tone. He stretched out an arm and clapped Ron playfully on the shoulder. “And in the meantime, my friend, you have weapons training to look forward to. Did you ever fire an M25?”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard,” Ron grumbled, ignoring the question. “What the hell use do they expect guns to be against computers? Is a computer supposed to grow arms and legs or something? And I sure hope they’re right when they say that there won’t be any undue hazard from low-velocity ammunition on Janus. I’d sure hate to be living inside a balloon that becomes perforated.”
According to the figures that had been given, there was no risk of Janus decompressing explosively in the event its skin was punctured by small holes. All that would happen would be slow leakage; even with a hole three feet across, it would take almost twenty hours for half the microplanet’s air to escape. As far as the use of firearms went, the experts said, the risk of a bullet penetrating the shields was low, and, even if a few did, the consequences would be far from serious. So what were firearms needed for? Nobody really knew. Military people were just loath to go anywhere without them. In view of the uncertainty surrounding the whole experiment, a regulation had been decreed which required every person destined for Janus to undergo appropriate training.
“Well, it’s something different, isn’t it,” Chris remarked cheerfully. “And you never know, you might need it. I suppose there’s always the chance that something could crop up that Fred’s gadgets aren’t designed to handle. Anyhow, they’ve got enough brains in on this. I reckon they ought to know what they’re doing.”
Ron reflected on the statement for a moment.
“That’s what you Limeys said about the Titanic,” he replied.
Late that afternoon Chris was lying prone with the stubby black cylinder of the sighter resting loosely on top of the low parapet of sandbags in front of him. He pushed a wisp of hair away from his eyes and up under the rim of his steel helmet, and returned his gaze to the red flag that marked the target, over four thousand feet away at the end of the shallow valley that stretched out from the foot of the slope below him. The flag was just a pinpoint dancing in the haze of black smoke that still hung in the air from earlier bursts.
“Okay. One to go. Let’s make it good.” The voice of Sergeant Mat Solinsky came from behind him and to his left. Chris raised the sighter to bring its stock comfortably against his shoulder and lowered the side of his face against the cool metal. As he moved his head behind the binocular eyepiece, the distant end of the valley jumped forward to resolve itself into a detailed close-up that revealed every pebble and blade of grass. He searched until the flag moved into the field of view, gently centered the cross hairs on the oil drum that formed its base, brought it into sharp focus and locked the range into the fire-control microprocessor.
“Just like the last one,” Solinsky told him. “Nice and steady, squeeze slowly, and maintain aim until after impact. Ready . . . Fire!”
The Gremlin streaked out of an eighteen-inch-long lightweight tube positioned over a hundred feet away farther down the slope. The tiny missile flamed away in a wide curve that brought it into alignment with the target, traced a slight zigzag as it overcorrected and then compensated, and a few seconds later struck a couple of feet off target to vaporize the oil drum in a flash that would have consumed a medium-sized house.
“That’s a good ’un,” Solinsky shouted. Ron murmured approval from where he was standing a few paces back with the rest of the squad. “Let’s have a look at it,” Solinsky said as Chris climbed to his feet. He plugged a lead from his hand-held field computer into the sighter that Chris was still holding and activated the screen. Chris, Ron and the rest of the squad crowded around to watch the slow-motion replay of the view recorded through the sighter’s eyepiece camera.
“You weren’t holding absolutely steady,” Solinsky commented. “There’s a slight drift toward the left . . . look, you can see it there. With a static target it wasn’t enough to matter much, but if you’d been tracking you might have blown it there. Anyhow, not bad.”
The range had gone quiet. At the far end of the valley the remote-controlled midget tractors were positioning more targets. On the slopes around them other figures were rising and forming into groups while fresh six-man squads stood by with their attendant instructors, waiting their turn to move into the firing pits.
“Okay, guys,” Solinsky said. “That was good. I guess we’re done. Let’s move out.” They collected the gear lying on the sand dunes around them and began making their way up the slope toward the track that led to the fort. Solinsky moved up to walk beside Chris and Ron.
“How does this compare with that World War II stuff on the computers that you were telling me about? Bit more lifelike, huh?”
“I can see why tanks went out of fashion,” Chris said.
Solinsky laughed. “One four-man fireteam could wipe out a whole brigade of those things before they even knew where the stuff was coming from,” he said. “And with maybe fifty tubes scattered around the place, it wouldn’t help ’em much if they did know. They’d still have to find the guys.”
“What’s the point of this anyhow?” Ron asked. “I can’t see them issuing Gremlins on Janus. Why learn about ’em?”
Solinsky shrugged. “Rules and regulations. If they’re included in the course that’s stipulated in the orders, then that’s what we teach. We just do what it says.”
“Sounds as if you might be out of a job when we get there,” Chris commented.
“Aw, I won’t be doing any of this stuff there,” Solinsky answered. “I’m being assigned to outside maintenance . . . buzzing around in those little four-man bugs. Sounds like fun, huh?”
“I wouldn’t say no to a ride in one of them sometime,” Ron said. “Any chance of you fixing it?”
Solinsky brought his hand up from his belt to rub his chin. “Well now, let’s see . . . I’d have to wait until I know what the score is there. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll be located in Section 17D of the H
ub—Maintenance & Spares Unit. Why don’t you two give me a call when we get there. I’ll let you know for sure then.”
“We might just take you up on that,” Ron warned him.
“Do that,” Solinsky urged. “We’ve taught you how to fire a Gremlin. Who knows, maybe we can show you how to pilot a spaceship too.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The arguments that had begun during Dyer’s first meeting in Washington all boiled down to this: if nothing that the system on Janus was capable of doing could prevent its being deactivated, then all the risks associated with allowing TITAN to grow further reduced to some form that was acceptable; if the system succeeded in devising some form of “unpullable plug,” then the risks were unacceptable.
The object of the experiment was not to find an effective means of destroying the system. After all, given a machine with no previous knowledge or experience of having its survival threatened and without having had any opportunity even to become aware that it was vulnerable, that end could have been achieved with almost absurd simplicity: just switch it off and that would be the end of the exercise. The objective was to find out how effectively its defenses would evolve in response to repeated demonstrations of its vulnerability. It was hoped to simulate the effects of things that might occur in the normal environment on Earth, things that could be insignificant to Man but which a system that had developed a survival drive might interpret as potential threats—power cuts, for example.
The only way to bring it to the system’s attention that it was vulnerable at all would be to go ahead and switch it off, and let its reasoning abilities figure out the implications. But obviously if it was switched off, it would be incapable of reasoning about anything at all, never mind taking any action to protect itself. Which said they’d have to switch it on again.
With power restored the machine would, because of the way it had been programmed, react to the knowledge that it had been halted, becoming mildly concerned and somewhat curious. Repetitions of the process—simply switching key parts of the machine off and then on again—would reinforce its reaction to the “discomfort” until, like a dog with an itch, it would begin experimenting to find ways of making the discomfort go away.
Kim’s group was responsible for developing the programming that would produce this behavior, and work had continued throughout the final weeks at CUNY and later in the computer lab set up at Fort Vokes. Progress in this area was on schedule.
But all that this would result in so far would be a computer that worried. Even if it suffered agonies of paranoia, what could it do about them? As Ron had said, computers were not equipped to carry rifles or throw grenades at suspected assailants. This was where Fred Hayes and his group came in. In a makeshift lab in the “Egghead Block”—a building that had been allocated to the scientific team for work space—Hayes described some of the techniques that the system was expected to experiment with in devising methods of self-defense.
“Here’s an example of one of the structural modules used in the construction of buildings on Janus,” he said, gesturing for the others to follow him over to the open area by the door of the lab. They formed a rough circle around an eight-foot-high panel, formed from some coated sheet material and reinforced by a sturdy-looking frame of aluminum sections. It was standing vertically in a supporting jig away from the walls on a clear part of the floor, and allowed them plenty of room to study it from all angles. Dyer walked slowly round the panel, casually taking in details of the alignment lugs and securing catches along all four sides, and came to where Frank Wescott was leaning forward to run a finger experimentally across part of its surface.
Frank had a pale thin face whose planes came together at sharp angles. He wore his hair short and parted in an old-fashioned style and his tight-lipped mouth had a permanent downturn at the corners, which gave him the appearance of being somewhat humorless and fussy. In fact, he could be just that at times, but he was first-rate at pinpointing elusive bugs in horrendously complex programs and that was what mattered.
“I thought it would be plastic and cheap,” Frank said, looking up. “But it’s not. It’s difficult to tell exactly what it is. Feels quite good and strong, though,” He sounded mildly disappointed.
“If Janus is made out of moonrock I don’t think you’ll find much plastic there,” Dyer remarked. “I don’t think you’ll find much of anything that needs carbon. It’s probably some silicon-based stuff.”
“Is this made out of lunar material?” Chris asked Hayes, a few feet away from them.
“Yes it is,” Hayes replied. “It was one of the ones churned out in Detroit while Janus was being built.” He raised his voice to address all of the half-dozen or so persons present.
“This is an example of one of several kinds of standard wall module,” he said. “No two buildings on Janus look alike, yet they’re all constructed by putting together a comparatively few types of standard module like this one. There are modules for walls, floors, roofs, ceilings and so on, and some special types such as see-through panels for sun porches or windows or whatever. Anybody can put ’em together and you can design your own house and put it up in a day. The number of possible combinations is more than the whole population could get through in a lifetime.”
The faces around him were polite but not really all that interested. They knew that Hayes was not there to talk about aesthetics and architecture.
“Modular buildings aren’t really new,” he went on, as if reading their minds. “But here’s something that you won’t find in any modular buildings down here on Earth . . . not yet anyway.” He indicated a flat rib encapsulated in an insulation coating that transversed the rear of the panel fully from one side to the other. Both ends terminated in identical blocks at the edges, suggesting connectors of some kind.
“Datastrip,” Wescott guessed. Hayes nodded. Somebody gave a low whistle of approval.
Datastrip was something that had been under development for a few years and which was reported in the professional journals from time to time. Essentially it meant that every structural module of every building of Janus carried a length of integral electrical bus to which any device designed to communicate into TITAN could be coupled, either by direct connection or by radiated energy as was the case with portable things like viewpads. As all the modules were assembled together to form structures, the strips connected up automatically to provide plumbed-in TITAN wherever you happened to be. The network thus formed a tree which grew as the building grew, all its twigs finding their way eventually back to one of the trunks of the primary data highways.
“Not just passive wiring either,” Hayes told them. “It’s got its own switching and routing microprocessors built into the connector blocks.” That meant the buildings themselves would constitute functional extensions of the network’s total switching hierarchy. It heralded the day when whole cities could be designed as living cells in the planetary organism, not just as boxes of inanimate steel and concrete through which electronic neural tissue was threaded afterward.
“This is the first line of defense that we expect the system to try,” Hayes went on. “The Datastrip distributes power lines throughout Janus as well as network intelligence. When we start breaking its connections it’ll almost certainly start creating bypass links to neutralize the breaks. With billions of combinations to choose from and thousands of computers available to do the figuring, it ought to have no trouble finding ways through a lot faster than we can block them.” He shrugged. “That, of course, is one of the things we’d very much like to find out more about.”
While Hayes was talking, Dyer studied the expression on Wescott’s face. Frank’s features were blank but his eyes betrayed a lack of conviction. It was the look of somebody in the position of having to listen to a sales pitch on something he’d already made his mind up not to buy. Frank was still convinced that the risks had been outrageously exaggerated, that the whole exercise would prove an expensive and pointless waste of time, and he had said so
.
“If you route the primary power of a machine through a manually controlled switch there’s no way in hell it’s gonna stop you from unplugging it,” he had told Dyer and Krantz during a debate shortly after his arrival. “If you decide to throw the switch then that’s the end of it. You don’t need an army and your own private world to prove that. We’ll just wind up looking like the biggest bunch of assholes in the business with millions of dollars gone down the tubes to account for.”
Frank had maintained his stance ever since Dyer’s first trip to Washington with Richter, so his attitude had come as no surprise. At first Krantz had expressed doubts at the wisdom of having Frank along at all, but Dyer defended the choice on the grounds that in science, as with most things, good ideas flourished best on a diet of varied opinions. People who all thought the same way tended to expend a lot of time and energy merely reinforcing one another’s prejudices instead of solving problems. Schroder had agreed with Dyer and in the end Krantz accepted the vote. Dyer had guessed that Frank’s morbid streak would compel him to come along if only to see his prophesies fulfilled, and that was exactly what happened.
“If the system turns out to be incapable of bypassing our attempts to shut it down, then we’ll have won and there’ll be nothing more left to do,” Hayes said. “If that happens we can carry on and upgrade TITAN without any further worries. But if that did happen, I must confess I’d feel very disappointed in it. I’m sure it could do better.” Wescott sniffed pointedly but didn’t take the matter any further. “So now we’ve reached a point, hypothetically, where the system has successfully neutralized the built-in breakpoints that were supposed to guarantee we’d always have final control over it,” Hayes went on. “What do we do then?”
Cyber Rogues Page 16
