“Sir,” said Nika quietly. All eyes turned toward her and she flushed. “I think it most useful to focus on the possibility of continued human inhabitance. As you pointed out, if the place is empty we’ll get to make our own decisions and proceed how we please. But we have very specific instructions for delivering our findings, and if there are people, we’re obligated to follow through.”
“Are we?” asked Nakamura quietly.
The others looked at her as though she’d tongued a fly out of the air. Nakamura ignored their stares. “Our orders are both direct and vague,” she continued. “The project founders knew circumstances would evolve and that the Planet United Consortium might not exist. So we’re supposed to approach the ‘caretakers of the mission, or the heads of cosmological science.’ There’s a lot of leeway in those instructions, and if the mission has no caretakers, or if we can’t identify a scientific head . . .”
“You’re saying we just abandon the mission if we don’t find anyone who fits our nice ’n’ tidy descriptions?” asked Captain Ahmad.
“No. What I’m saying is just because we find people, that doesn’t mean there will be any scientists.”
Nika nodded, using her spoon to push some yellow goop away from her peas. She understood what Nakamura was getting at. “Humans and human ancestors have survived numerous bottleneck events over the millennia. Outbreak, ice age, genocide—we’ve survived. Someone survived. Societies and technologies don’t advance in a straight line. If there’s been a calamity, the people we meet could be living in a Stone Age. In which case, trying to deliver our findings might only cause problems.”
“In that case, landing might cause problems,” said Rodriguez. “What would they think? Big shiny cliffs falling from the sky—people emerging.”
“We’d be gods,” said the head navigator, Maureen LeBlanc.
“Or demons,” said Pavon. “Or, if they first think we’re gods and later change their minds . . .”
“If there’s one thing I know about history, it’s that having the mandate of heaven is only good if you can never lose it,” Nika agreed. “And something as benign as an earthquake can take it away.”
“They could have stories,” said Dr. Seal from Aesop. “About their ancestors exploring the stars. No need to think they won’t see us as fully human—just the confirmation of a legend.”
Captain Rodriguez stopped chewing for a moment. “What if they’ve gone the other way, though? I mean, what if they’ve all uploaded their consciousnesses into computers and there aren’t any more humans because they’ve all gone digital? The chip implants were the first step between biological and digital interfacing. I.C.C.’s AI hardware is based on the way neurons fire in the brain, which is much more efficient than the way previous computers processed data. Our interface is entirely artificial, but if you can take tech and pattern it on biology, why not take biology and pattern it on the tech?”
“I think I’d be able to detect signals, then,” said Pavon. “Especially this close—within a light-year. I would have found something.”
“Even if everything’s hardwired with quantum circuits? Like with the SD drives?”
Like the SD drives. Details of convoy history immediately sprang into Nika’s mind. Post Battle of Eden, 163 PLD. The DNA memory storage used with the navigational AIs—collocated inside the drives for speed—was found to be too susceptible to interactions with virtual particles during transitions from normal space to subspace. The proximity of the DNA to the SD bubble’s point of origin made it uniquely vulnerable. And though contact with such particles was rare, it could introduce fatal mutations, like the one that had destroyed Bottomless I. In order to prevent another implosion, all of the SD drives had been redesigned to no longer be dependent on deoxyribonucleic acid, and were now 100 percent hardwired. Like in the early days of space travel—similar to the type of hardwired systems that had gotten the Apollo missions to the moon, only on a quantum scale.
“Even if the people don’t use satellites or wireless transmissions of any kind?” the captain pressed. “You’d still be able to detect them?”
Pavon shrugged.
“I think the scenario unlikely,” said Nika.
“I agree,” said Nakamura. “They’d need the ability to engineer computers that never need attention. Sure, I.C.C. has an indefinite lifetime that could well exceed the ships themselves, but what about outside factors? Weather? Geology? Any physical accident could corrupt or permanently damage a computer system, regardless of its projected lifetime. Just short of putting the whole shebang underground on—I don’t know, Mars—there’s going to be little protection. And even then, geysers, dust storms, asteroid impacts . . . The death of the sun. Surely they’d have plans for avoiding those disasters. Not everyone could be hardwired—not everything.”
“But that all assumes the computers are immobile and that no one can interact with the physical world from inside,” said the captain.
“It also assumes the entire population has been uploaded. Couldn’t there be caretakers? Those who didn’t want to be uploaded?” asked Dr. Seal.
Nakamura nodded. “Well, sure, but—”
People began talking over one another, shouting out this possibility and that variable. Nika tried to sneak in a word, just to the captain, but too many opinions shouted her down. She shrank into her seat, overwhelmed.
Too many people. Every ligament in her body thrummed with the desire to leave, to take five minutes and be alone. She could barely hear herself think above the invasion of other voices.
But, eventually they all turned to Nika, seeking her expertise on humanity’s long, complicated history. And that was worse. The demanding eyes bore into her, shriveling her lungs as they tried to breathe, clamping her arteries as the blood tried to flow.
“What do you think?”
“What does Nika have to say?”
“Marov, is that possible?”
Her lips puckered in an expression of pure sourness. Panic dilated her eyes and made her fingers tremble. Shoving her plate away she announced, “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” With that she stood, threw her napkin onto the table, and excused herself from the room.
An empty movie room on Shambhala provided her only means of assured solitude. She ordered the lights down, flipped the outside indicator to occupied, and huddled on one of the couches.
“Nika?” It was I.C.C.
“What is it? I’d really like to be alone right now, if you don’t mind.”
“I thought you might find it comforting to know that I’m embarrassed too.”
She perked her head up, and didn’t bother to ask how it knew she was embarrassed. She was sure it could read all of the minor changes in her autonomic responses. “What do you have to be embarrassed about?”
“The crew keeps asking me questions I cannot answer.”
“Why does that embarrass you?”
“I am designed to impart information, to extrapolate when I cannot rely on the definite. Any answers I might give pertaining to Earth, based on the current information available, only have—at best—a four percent chance of being correct, which is below my programming’s acceptable range of probability. Therefore I have only been able to answer that I don’t know—an answer which can do nothing but cause the inquirer frustration and myself embarrassment.”
“I’ve never heard of you commiserating with a crew member before,” she said, snuggling into the soft fabric of the couch. The room was warm, and she found comfort in the darkness. Her eyelids drooped without her consent.
“It is always a private event.”
“I see,” she said through a yawn.
“Yes,” it said, “I think you do. Rest. Perhaps you’ll dream of questions with definitive answers.”
“Or no questions at all.” She sighed happily.
The entire bridge lay quiet, and if Nika closed her eyes she could almost believe she stood alone.
She was sure that when they dropped out of SD, when they em
erged next to the gas giant, they’d get something signal-wise. Presuming Earth was still there. Presuming humans still existed. Surely Pavon would be on the line to the bridge at any minute.
The forward screen flickered from black to speckled to fully resolved. Jupiter hung heavy in the bottom right of the image, its stormy belts swirling and clashing. An aurora played over the northern pole.
Captain Rodriguez stared pointedly at the bridge’s communications officer, waiting for him to patch Pavon through.
All quiet. An awkward cough and dry sniffle punctuated the anticlimax.
“There’s nothing, sir,” said the woman on the comms. “All I’m getting from here is the natural symphony of the planets.”
Impossible. Impossible. Could Earth really hide its signals?
Nika doubted it. They all did. That had to mean . . .
“You’re sure?” Rodriguez prodded.
“Nothing at this range.”
He turned toward the pilot. “Then take us in—as fast as you can. Are we still broadcasting the arrival message?”
“On loop, sir,” said the comm officer. “No answer.”
The captain looked at Nika.
She bit her lip in silent reply.
Days passed, and the convoy seemed—to Nika—to inch toward the planet, rather than race. And yet, simultaneously, Earth swelled in her mind and on the monitors until it blotted out all else.
The homecoming broadcast live across the convoy, and I.C.C. had the outer hull cameras zoomed in as far as it was able.
First they could resolve its color—blue and brown and green and white. Then shapes came into focus—outlines of land masses, ever changing due to cloud cover. And then the topography became clear. Swaths of desert and ice, planes and mountain ranges—the planet began to look real.
And all the while Nika’s dread grew. Those who made history were larger than life. They had unique, over-the-top personalities that drew others in like gravity wells and then sent them flying off on new courses, giving every timeline they encountered an assist.
Those people weren’t average, book-happy historians. They had charisma, pull, resolve, belief. They had an “it” factor you couldn’t fake.
But Nika would be asked to fake it. You will make history, the geneticists commanded.
No matter that she’d rather watch from afar. No matter that she knew she was bound to mess things up and historians of the future would look back and say, “What the heck happened here?”
When they finally reached Earth-orbit and Rodriguez called her to the bridge, she felt like she was going to be sick.
No epic one-liners like “One small step for man” will emanate from these lips, oh, no.
I’ll probably just puke all over the Earth ambassador’s shoes.
Upon entering the bridge, the captain immediately rushed her to a monitor. He pointed at the display by way of a greeting. “Minimal satellites, but hundreds of sprawling city centers. Flying, partially organic things I.C.C. thinks are personal vehicles. And people. Lots of people.”
“They’re there. They’re alive.” Nika let out a breath she could have sworn she’d been holding since she was five. “Have they responded to our messages yet?”
“No.”
“How come?”
He gave her an imploring look.
“Oh,” she said. “I—I don’t know. If they’ve got flying vehicles, they’ve got to have a way to monitor them. I can’t imagine they don’t know we’re here. We’re easily seeable with an old-fashioned telescope. Isn’t that right, I.C.C.?”
“Yes, Nika.”
“Shall I take us into a closer orbit?” asked the pilot.
“No, hold steady. We’ve only been here for a few hours. We’ll let them make the first move. We don’t want to appear threatening. Keep broadcasting. I.C.C., keep all convoy divisions on constant alert. Everyone who can monitor the surface or the immediate vicinity of the planet should continue to do so nonstop. Have me informed immediately if anyone notices anything that might add to our understanding. Compile all information and send it streaming to a monitor in the situation room.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Nika, come with me. I want to speak with you privately.” He pivoted, and strode off the bridge. She followed in a hurry.
The door slid smoothly shut behind them. “If they can see us—if they know we’re here—why aren’t they saying anything?”
She pressed her lips together in a thin line. “We don’t know what the political situation is like. Perhaps the nations have to jointly approve the message before it’s sent.”
“Doesn’t it make more sense to at least acknowledge us first? Rather than leave us hanging here in silence?”
“If they’ve received the message and understood it—” And that was a big if. Convoy languages could be as antiquated to those below as ancient Sumerian was to the convoy. “If they know who we are, and what our mission is—then they might not be worried about a quick response. We’re not a military vessel. We pose no physical threat.”
He pursed his mouth in abject skepticism.
“They haven’t blown us out of the sky yet,” she offered. “That’s a good sign.”
“I want you to tell me what’s going on down there,” he said flatly.
She frowned and her breathing shallowed. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Yes, yes. I’m sorry.” He slumped into his plush chair and propped his head up on one hand. His skull lulled to the side, as though the ligaments in his neck had snapped.
“How long will we wait?” she asked, leaning against the door.
“As long as it takes.”
His expression was long and rubbery, as though he’d just begrudgingly given away something precious—like his command. Perhaps he had. The situation’s control didn’t belong to him anymore.
Had it ever?
“What were you expecting? Really?” she asked, as delicately as she could.
He turned his whole body squarely toward her, his features set firmly. “I wanted them to welcome us home.” He laid his hands in his lap. “Since I was a child I’ve anticipated smiles, and cheers. Maybe not parades—but warmth. I expected comradeship and communion. That—” he jabbed at the air in the direction of the planet “—is the coldest shoulder I could have imagined. They won’t even acknowledge our existence.”
“Come on,” she said lightly, knowing the joke was tasteless before it sprang from her mouth, “You’ve had worse at the singles-mingles.”
Luckily he granted her a chuckle. “I’m letting my sentimentality get the better of me,” he said.
She signaled her agreement with a smile. “How long will you wait to land?”
He shrugged. “We could stay up here indefinitely.”
“Stay up here forever with the end of the mission literally in sight?” She paced the room. “We were ordered to come back and deliver the message. Delivery boys don’t wait for recipients to come to them. We’re meant to land. Everyone on board expects to. Do you want a mutiny on your hands?”
He scoffed. “No one is going to mutiny. And I’m not budging. Not without a go-ahead from the surface.”
Nika’s eyes brightened for a moment. “Have we heard anything from the moon?”
“No. Nor the colony we saw on Mars. They aren’t sending any messages between themselves that we could intercept either.”
“The colonies are dark?”
He sighed, as though tired of repeating the obvious. “As far as—”
She finished with him, nodding, “—we can tell. Okay. And Pavon, has she . . . ?”
“No, there’s nothing in the entire EM spectrum she can detect that is strong enough to indicate it might be the primary communication method—not with a planet as advanced as Earth. Maybe early twentieth century, but not forty-second century.”
“But there are EM anomalies?”
“Nothing she can do anything with. We’re talking barely a degree away from natural va
riance.”
“Close to pre-telecommunications, then,” she said.
He held out his hand in a beseeching gesture. “See, this is what you’re here for.”
“To spit out useless Earth facts?”
“To help ignorant fools like me understand what we could be up against.”
“You’re up against a communications blockade, be it purposeful or not.”
“And your suggestion is . . . ?”
“To put a time limit on our orbit. Pick a place to land, and a date, and if we hear nothing, make the first move.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do that. The risk to the convoy . . .”
“The convoy means nothing if we don’t deliver our findings.”
“It means nearly one hundred thousand lives,” he countered.
“My gut tells me they won’t attack us,” she said firmly. “History tells me,” she corrected.
A swift, clipped ha sprang from his lips. “What history?”
“Military history is not the be-all and end-all of human interaction.”
“No, but I’d say it factors heavily in this case. Name me a comparable incident where shots were not fired.” In a sharp jerk, he rose to his feet. “Tell me what precedent you’re relying on for your recommendation, Ms. Marov.”
“If they can’t identify us they won’t risk starting an interstellar war.”
“What?”
“1952, a British RAF fighter pilot encountered an unidentified aircraft while flying over Germany. He described it as a metallic disc. He did not engage. In 2008, two United States Air Force pilots spotted a black, flying object within restricted airspace. They did not engage. 2043, a European nuclear submarine’s course was intercepted by a bright, submerged object twice their size. They did not engage. 1975—”
“UFOs? Your precedent is UFOs?”
“And USOs. These are all incidents where the individuals involved all agreed that what they encountered was a vessel. The men and women were all military personnel and did not fire upon the—”
“You’re giving me fodder for the rumor mills as military precedent?” He clearly thought she was mocking him. “Marov, this is no time—”
Noumenon Page 29
