Cyber Rogues

by James P. Hogan

  Ten minutes later SP Six reactivated itself.

  “It’s bypassing all of them,” Krantz said. “We’re about to lose control completely. We have to shut the whole system down before things get out of hand. We have to do it now!”

  “Why not let it ride,” Dyer said. “We’re supposed to be simulating a worldwide system. With a worldwide system you mightn’t have a single-source cutout to fall back on.”

  “Then let’s make damn sure we’ve still got one here,” Krantz said shakily.

  Dyer thought about it and agreed. Alerts went out to the backup stations to prepare for a total shutdown of Spartacus. Krantz made a general announcement to all sectors of Janus. He stated that there was no cause for alarm and that the action was being taken as a precaution, purely to test the solar-plant shutdown procedures.

  Minutes later the supervisor in the control room of the solar plant in Detroit was on one of Dyer’s screens, waiting for the word to cut Spartacus’s supply of lifeblood. The final reports from around the Command Floor confirmed that the backup stations around Janus were ready and standing by to take over.

  “Okay,” Dyer said. “Carry on. Drop out the main power bus.”

  “Main power bus down,” the supervisor replied. “It looks okay. All readings confirm zero load on the solar-plant grid.”

  Dyer sat back and wiped his brow with the side of his hand. He turned and made a thumbs-up sign to Krantz.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Spartacus is dead. The solar plant’s delivering zero.”

  “Thank God for that,” Krantz replied in a relieved voice. “Maybe I was overreacting earlier, but I confess I was really worried for a while. I want to be absolutely certain nothing can interfere with that cutout before we even talk about switching anything on again. I’d like to call a meeting this evening to go through all the safety interlocks connected with the solar plant and double-check every one of them. Things today have moved too fast for comfort—my comfort anyway.”

  “I think maybe you’re talking too soon,” Frank Wescott said, stepping forward from where he had been standing a few paces behind. He pointed up at the master data displays. At that same moment Dyer became aware of the disbelieving murmurs that were breaking out all around the Command Floor.

  “Spartacus is still running!” Wescott said. “It might not be taking any power from the solar plant, but it looks like it doesn’t care about the solar plant anymore. The solar plant hasn’t made a damn bit of difference! The bloody thing is still as alive as it ever was. It’s getting power from somewhere else!”

  Through the confused images that came pouring into his reeling brain, Dyer saw Kim sinking down onto a chair in front of one of the displays. Her fists were clenched white and her face was stretched into a mask of suddenly unconcealed hatred as she took in the story unfolding in front of her. For her, he realized, this had already become a personal war.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Dyer didn’t say much as he sat with Danny Cordelle, Fred Hayes and some of Cordelle’s Technical Auxiliary Group in the capsule that was carrying them through the Spindle from the Hub to Detroit. It was almost midnight.

  With the benefit of hindsight, what had happened seemed so damned obvious and yet nowhere in the planning had they considered it a possibility. He felt angry and inwardly bitter, as if it reflected some failure by him personally. Dammit, he was in charge of the planning team; it was a personal failure.

  “Hell, if there’s been a mistake don’t feel too bad about it,” Krantz had said. “We are supposed to be simulating what could have happened on Earth. How much more of a realistic simulation can you get?” But Dyer still felt bad about it.

  Spartacus had built a bridging connection across to the grid powered by the fusion plant. Once this fact had been deduced, Dyer remembered that during one of the planning meetings many months before, somebody had raised just this possibility. But neither Spartacus nor any of the systems controlled by Spartacus were powered from the fusion-plant grid; it fed only the backup systems and their control facilities. Spartacus couldn’t know about the backup supply grid. How could it bridge across to something it couldn’t know about? It couldn’t, the planners had decided. But somehow it had.

  There were ten separate outlet circuits from the fusion plant, running out through Janus to feed the backup stations and the functions that they controlled. Every backup station had three of the ten feeder circuits routed through to it, which meant that each station could be switched out of one circuit and into another via switches located in the stations. This arrangement enabled, for example, all the backup stations to be distributed among nine of the feeder circuits while the tenth was isolated and shut down for repairs or maintenance.

  In theory, therefore, it should still have been possible to close down Spartacus. What they needed to do was establish which feeder circuit Spartacus had hooked itself to, switch the backup stations into the others, and then close down the one that had been thus isolated. In practice doing so was far less simple. Nobody knew which circuit Spartacus was on. Come to that, nobody knew even where the bridge was physically. All they had deduced was that it had to exist somewhere because every other possibility had been eliminated.

  Until more information was forthcoming, there was no way of depowering Spartacus short of shutting down the fusion plant itself, which would have entailed bringing every machine on Janus to a stop. That, of course, would have meant evacuating everybody. Although there had been more than a few surprises, not to say shocks, that day, agreement was soon reached that there were several alternatives to be explored before anything as drastic as evacuation needed to be considered. After all, nothing actually bad had happened in spite of everything. All Spartacus had done was succeed beyond all expectations in staying alive, which was nothing more than what they had programmed it to do. Spartacus hadn’t hurt anybody. In fact it was still doing a faultless job of operating and managing the systems that kept everybody alive and comfortable. The whole situation was as good an example as anybody could ask for of the dilemma that might have been faced one day on Earth by a society that had come to depend totally on its machines to preserve the way of life that it had chosen to live. No, evacuation was not called for; there was much more still to be learned from the Janus experiment.

  In the meantime all ten SPs were running again, Spartacus was continuing in its self-appointed mission of upgrading primary nodes wholesale, and the elaborately worked-out plan of campaign had gone down the tubes. All the safeguards and precautions offered about as much protection as a solid-lead life jacket. The substations were designed to cut the SPs off from the solar-plant grid; Spartacus didn’t need the SPs, wasn’t running from the solar plant, and had bypassed the substations anyway. The fusion plant, once considered a guarantee that Spartacus could always be shut down even if it did bypass the substations, had now ironically turned out to be the very thing that was enabling Spartacus to avoid being shut down at all. The next line of defense, according to the plan, was Emergency Orange, which had also become a joke; the ISA ships could take out the whole solar plant now and it wouldn’t make an iota of difference.

  Krantz had gone into conference with Linsay and his staff officers to review strategy in light of the new developments. Dyer had taken charge of a concerted effort to locate the bridge that Spartacus had constructed into the fusion grid. If they could break the bridge and isolate Spartacus from the fusion grid again, they might still be able to salvage the situation. After four hours of frantic exchanges between the scientists in the Command Room and engineers in practically every nook and cranny of Janus, they finally found what they were looking for. The bridge was in the very heart of Detroit, linking the main supply bus from the fusion plant into the solar-plant bus on the “downstream” side of the main solar bus cutout. Hence, when the main solar bus cutout had been operated in the attempt to de-power Spartacus, the bus that was supposed to have been isolated by the cutout had simply continued to draw power across the b
ridge from the fusion bus.

  Admittedly the engineers hadn’t yet traced which feeder circuit from the fusion plant the bridge was connected to. Also, nobody could say for certain that it was the only bridge that Spartacus had made. But there was a chance. If that bridge was, for the time being at least, the sole slender umbilical cord that was keeping Spartacus alive, it represented what might well be the last short-lived opportunity to regain control. There was no time to waste. Leaving the rest of the team to continue with the task of tracing the feeder circuit, Dyer had assembled a small group and departed at once for Detroit to inspect the bridge at close quarters and supervise its demolition.

  They were met at the terminal in Detroit by Don Fisher, chief engineer of the fusion plant, and two of his assistants, and ushered through a maze of zero-g handwalks, access tunnels and connecting shafts to a point deep inside the fusion-plant sector of the Detroit complex. They hauled themselves down into a maintenance pit that ran underneath a bewildering mass of pipework, cylindrical tanks and pulsating machinery, and closed around a densely packed bundle of what must have comprised hundreds of cables and conduits. Fisher pointed to a thick, armor-clad cable clamped securely along the outside of the bundle. Nothing about it immediately singled this one out from the rest, but Dyer recognized it at once from the view he had seen only fifteen minutes previously in the Crystal Ball. It hadn’t been indicated on the construction blueprints that he’d retrieved from the system’s archives as a reference.

  “That’s it,” Fisher informed them needlessly, “It’s a neat job. IEEE Standards right down to the color of the clamps.”

  “Any news as to which feeder it is yet?” Dyer inquired as he used a stanchion to haul himself under a cowling and closer to the mass of cabling. The run followed a wide duct underneath a transverse section of conveyor housing, through a jungle of structural members that disappeared into levels above, and then made a right-angle turn into a tunnel that took it through a bulkhead wall.

  “Just a couple of minutes ago,” Fisher replied. “This bridge connects into Feeder Four. All backup stations on that loop are switching over to other feeders right now. It should be isolated and ready to shut down at any minute.” Dyer grunted and continued with a rapid examination of the drones’ handiwork. Just as he was finishing, a call note sounded from Fisher’s viewpad. Fisher took it from his pocket and interrogated the display.

  “Fusion Control Room,” he announced. “Feeder Four has been isolated. They’re ready to shut down.”

  “Do it,” Dyer said, at the same time using his own pad to contact Krantz in the Command Room.

  “Feeder Four’s down,” Fisher said. One of the engineers, who had clipped an inductive sensor around the bridge cable, consulted the instrument’s miniature display.

  “The bridge is dead,” he pronounced. “It’s not taking current.”

  Dyer looked at the image of Krantz on the screen of his viewpad. For several long, agonizing seconds Krantz directed his gaze offscreen to consult other invisible oracles. Then he looked back at Dyer. His face was bleak.

  “No go, Ray. Spartacus is still up. There must be other bridges drawing from the other feeders. There’s a report coming in from Pittsburgh right at this moment. They think they may have found another one there. We’re checking it against the master prints.”

  Had the laws of physics cooperated, Dyer would have sunk down wearily onto the nearest support. As things were, he just stared mutely back at the screen. The faces around him were grave and silent.

  “It looks as if it’s going to be a race between us ripping them out and Spartacus putting them back together,” Krantz said. “I’m instructing General Linsay to order Operation Haystack to take effect as of now.” Dyer nodded his agreement.

  “We’ll begin with this one,” he said.

  “I’ll call you as things develop,” Krantz told him and cut off the screen.

  From what had taken place earlier in the evening in the Command Room, Dyer already knew that the race against the drones was on. As soon as the scientists had realized what was happening with the bridges, they had entered commands into the system to suspend all drone activity before the situation became any more complicated. And everywhere in Janus the drones were deactivated—for a while. Then, evidently, Spartacus had weighed the implications against the strange things that had been happening in its environment to threaten its survival, and it had worked its priority-reversing trick again to override the commands and restore the drones to life.

  Operation Haystack meant that the attempts to contain Spartacus remotely from the Command Room and other control points had now been abandoned officially. The Battle of the Switching Centers had been conceded and the action was moving out into the field. All off-duty engineers and technicians who were on standby anywhere in Janus would be mobilized to join the various duty teams in carrying out an exhaustive search of the whole structure to seek out and eliminate all of Spartacus’s bridges to the fusion grid. Haystack had been planned originally as a response to bypasses being constructed around the SP substations, but it could be applied to the present situation virtually without changes.

  Haystack called for a passive role on the part of the engineers; their orders were simply to disconnect the bridging circuits as fast as they found them. The objective was to acquire data on how quickly the machines could redo what the people undid, and vice versa. Success, in the form of the connections to the feeders being traced and torn out faster than they could be replaced, would be taken as a reassuring pointer to the probable outcome if a similar situation should ever arise on Earth. And success would be easy to gauge; it would be achieved when the last bridge was cut and Spartacus stopped running.

  Haystack, therefore, did not require active measures to prevent the drones from operating. That would come, if necessary, with an order for Operation Counterstrike, which would be given to mark a shift over to offensive tactics in the event Haystack failed.

  But if Counterstrike failed to inhibit the drones effectively, total war would be declared by the mounting of Sledgehammer—the progressive dismantling of Spartacus piece by piece until the System ceased to function.

  And if Sledgehammer failed . . .

  But nobody knew the answers that far ahead. What happened then would depend on whatever else happened in the meantime.

  Dyer nodded to Fisher, who was waiting with his two engineers. They removed the retaining clamps from the bridge cable and pried it sufficiently loose to work a thick protective shield behind it before they started cutting. Within minutes the bridge was broken and the engineers had begun removing it in sections. They logged the time at which the circuit was broken. As the contest against the drones intensified, they would want to know every detail of how long the drones took to respond to a new fault, where they came from to fix it, how they were organized and deployed by Spartacus, and how they modified their behavior as the work load upon them increased.

  Just when they were about done, General Linsay’s voice came over the loudspeaker system from somewhere above to announce that Haystack had been mounted and to order all standby personnel to report to their respective units for further instructions. Fisher and his two engineers left to return to the fusion plant in order to be present at one of the Haystack briefings which was due to be given there. Cordelle departed with his crew to take charge of his assigned Haystack duties back in Downtown. Dyer and Hayes decided to stay on for a while to observe the actions of the drones that would almost certainly be showing up in the near future. They drifted into relaxed postures, Dyer floating horizontally with an arm draped loosely around the stanchion and Hayes wedged comfortably in a perpendicular position between a large structural supporting bracket and a pump housing.

  “Well, I guess we have to hand it to Kim and her team,” Hayes said after a while. “We said we wanted a machine that would fight to preserve itself. Boy, have we got it!”

  “We’ve got it,” Dyer murmured automatically. He still wasn’t really i
n a mood for talking.

  “I, uh . . . I think Kim could be getting a bit worried that she might have done too good a job,” Hayes said.

  Dyer smiled humorlessly. “There’s no reason why she should. We don’t fire people for things like that.”

  “She’s hung up about what Spartacus could be leading to . . . and I think part of the reason behind it could be my fault. I just thought you ought to know.” Hayes looked across at Dyer as if inviting some reaction. Dyer didn’t reply, but raised an eyebrow and waited. Hayes went on:

  “We were talking a while ago about entropy and evolution,” Hayes said. “For some reason or other . . . I can’t remember how it came up now, I said I thought that the next species after Man would probably be inorganic. I was talking academically at the time, but I think she may have taken it seriously. I’ve just got a feeling that perhaps she’s been getting it out of proportion ever since. Know what I mean . . . sometimes she seems to have bad feelings about this whole thing. This afternoon for instance . . . I don’t know if you noticed how she looked when the solar-bus cutout didn’t work.”

  Dyer nodded and emitted a long sigh. “Okay, I know what you mean. I’m glad you mentioned it, Fred, but don’t worry too much. There are personal things too.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know . . . I just—”

  “Forget it.”

  A short, awkward silence followed while Hayes sought for some way to change the subject and Dyer returned to his own thoughts.

  “Between us and whatever constitutes the walls in this place though, I think it could happen.”

  “What, the species thing?” Dyer asked absently. Hayes nodded, apparently feeling less ill at ease.

  “Yes. There are so many things that would make a true intelligence based on an inorganic system far superior to anything that could come out of an organic one. For a start it would be immortal.” He looked at Dyer expectantly. Dyer waited for him to elaborate, which he was obviously going to do whether Dyer said anything or not. Hayes went on. “A man lives for eighty years. He spends the first quarter of it or more learning all the same things that generations have had to learn before, and the rest of it laboriously building up a collection of information, knowledge, opinions, ideas, experiences—all those kinds of things. Then he dies and takes the whole damn lot with him, And so the next generation has to start out all over.” He made an empty-handed gesture in the air.