The Hard SF Renaissance

by David G. Hartwell

  Miri wasn’t buying any of it, “Bertie is not like us, Juan. You know about Annette. I know he’s wormed into a lot of groups at school. He’s everything to everyone, a regular Mr. Fixit.” Her face settled into a look of brooding contemplation, and she was silent for a moment.

  They were off Reche now, and on the southbound. The true view was of rolling hills covered by endless streets and houses and malls. If you accepted the roadway’s free enhancements, you got placid wilderness, splashed with advertising. Here and there were subtle defacements, the largest boulders morphing into trollishness; that was probably the work of some Pratchett belief circle. Their car passed the Pala off-ramp and started up the first of several miles-long ridges that separated them from Escondido and the cut across to the coast.

  “Last fall,” Miri said, “Bertram Todd was just another too-smart kid in my language class. But this semester, he’s caused me lots of inconvenience, lots of little humiliations. Now he has Attracted My Attention.” That did not sound like a healthy thing to do. “I’m gonna figure out his secret. One slip is all it takes.”

  That was the old saying: Once your secret is outed anywhere, however briefly, it is outed forever. “Oh, I don’t know,” said Juan. “The way to cover a slip is to embellish it, hide it in all sorts of fake secrets.”

  “Hah. Maybe he is something weird. Maybe he’s a corporate team.”

  Juan laughed. “Or maybe he’s something really weird!” Over the next few miles, he and Miri hit on all the cinema clichés: Maybe Bertie was an artificial boy, or a superbrain stuck in a bottle under Fort Meade. Maybe Bertie was a front for alien invaders, even now taking over the worldwide net. Maybe he was an old Chinese war program, suddenly growing to sentience, or the worldwide net itself that had finally awakened with superhuman—and certainly malignant—powers.

  Or maybe Bertie was a subconscious creation of Juan’s imagination, and Juan was—all unknowing—the monster. This one was Miri’s idea. In a way it was the funniest of all, though there was something a little unsettling about it, at least for Juan.

  The car had turned onto Highway 56, and they were going back toward the coast. There was more real open space here, and the hills were green with a gold-edging of spring flowers. The subdivisions were gone, replaced by mile after mile of industrial parks: the automated genomics and proteomics labs spread like gray-green lithops, soaking up the last of the sunlight. People could live and work anywhere in the world. But some things have to happen in a single real place, close enough together that superspeed data paths can connect their parts. These low buildings drove San Diego’s physical economy; inside, the genius of humans, machines, and biological nature collided to make magic.

  The sun sank back behind coastal fog as they entered the lagoon area north of Torrey Pines Park. Off the expressway, they turned south along the beach. The pale cliffs of the main part of the park rose ahead of them, the hilltops shrouded by the incoming fog.

  The Goofus had remained silent through all their laughter and silly talk. But when Miri got back into her speculation about how this all fit with the fact that Bertie was bothering her so much, he suddenly interrupted. “I think part of it is very simple. Why is Bertie bothering you, Miriam? It seems to me there’s one possibility so fantastic that neither of you have even imagined it.”

  William delivered this opinion with that faintly amused tone adults sometimes use with little kids. But Miri didn’t make a flip response. “Oh.” She looked at William as though he were hinting at some great insight. “I’ll think about this some more.”

  The road wound upwards through the fog. Miri had the car drop them off at the far side of the driveway circle at the top. “Let’s scope things out as we walk toward the ranger station.”

  Juan stepped down onto weedy asphalt. The sun had finally, truly, set. Geez, the air was cold. He flapped his arms in discomfort. He noticed that William had worn a jacket.

  “You two should think ahead a little more,” said the Goofus.

  Juan pulled a face. “I can stand a little evening cool.” Ma was often onto him like this, too. Plan-ahead add-ons were cheap, but he had convinced her that they made stupid mistakes of their own. He grabbed his sensor “gun” out of the car and slid it into the long pocket in the back of his vest—and tried to ignore his shivering.

  “Here, Miriam.” William handed the girl an adult-sized jacket, big enough to fit over her equipment vest.

  “Oh, thank you!” She snugged it on, making Juan feel even more chilly and stupid.

  “One for you, too, champ.” William tossed a second jacket at Juan.

  It was bizarre to feel so irritated and so grateful at the same time. He took off the probe holster, and slipped on the jacket. Suddenly the evening felt a whole lot more pleasant. This would block about half his high-rate data ports, but hey, in a few minutes we’ll be back in the fog anyway.

  The car departed as they started off in the direction of the ranger station. And Juan realized that some of his park information was very out of date. There were the restrooms behind him, but the parking lot in the pictures was all gone except at the edges, where it had become this driveway circle. He groped around for more recent information.

  Of course, no one was parked up here. There were no cars dropping people off, either. Late April was not the height of the physical tourist season—and for Torrey Pines Park, that was the only kind of tourist season there was.

  They were just barely above the fog layer. The tops of the clouds fluffed out below them, into the west. On a clear day, there would have been a great direct view of the ocean. Now there were just misty shapes tossed up from the fog and above that, a sky of deepening twilight blue. There was still a special brightness at the horizon, where the sun had set. Venus hung above that glow, along with Sirius and the brighter stars of Orion.

  Juan hesitated. “That’s strange.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got mail.” He set a pointer in the sky for the others to see: a ballistic FedEx package with a Cambridge return address. It was coming straight down, and from very high up.

  At about a thousand feet, the mailer slowed dramatically, and a sexy voice spoke in Juan’s ear. “Do you accept delivery, Mr. Orozco?”

  “Yes, yes.” He indicated a spot on the ground nearby.

  All this time, William had been staring into the sky. Now he gave a little start and Juan guessed the guy had finally seen Juan’s pointer. A second after that, the package was visible to the naked eye: a dark speck showing an occasional bluish flare, falling silently toward them.

  It slowed again at ten feet; and they had a glimpse of the cause of the light: dozens of tiny landing jets around the edge of the package. Animal rights campaigners claimed the micro-turbines were painfully loud to some kinds of bats, but to humans and even dogs and cats, the whole operation was silent … . until the very last moment: Just a foot off the ground, there was a burst of wind and a scattering of pine needles.

  “Sign here, Mr. Orozco,” said the voice.

  Juan did so and started toward the mailer. William was already there, kneeling awkwardly. The Goofus spazzed at just the wrong instant and lurched forward, putting his knee through the mailer carton.

  Miri rushed over to him. “William! Are you okay?”

  William rolled back on his rear and sat there, massaging his knee. “Yes, I’m fine, Miriam. Damn.” He glanced at Juan. “I’m really sorry, kid.” For once, he didn’t sound sarcastic.

  Juan kept his mouth shut. He squatted down by the box: it was a standard twenty-ounce mailer, now with a big bend in the middle. The lid was jammed, but the material was scarcely stronger than cardboard, and he had no trouble prying it open. Inside … he pulled out a clear bag, held it up for the others to see.

  William leaned forward, squinting. The bag was filled with dozens of small, irregular balls. “They look like rabbit droppings to me.”

  “Yes. Or health food,” said Juan. Whatever they were, it didn’t look like
William’s accident had done them any harm.

  “Toad Vomit! What are you doing here?” Miriam’s voice was sharp and loud.

  Juan looked up and saw a familiar figure standing beside the mailer. Bertie. As usual, he had a perfect match on the ambient lighting; the twilight gleamed dimly off his grin. He gave Juan a little wave. “You can all thank me later. This FedEx courtesy link is only good for two minutes, so I have just enough time to clue you in.” He pointed at the bag in Juan’s hand. “These could be a big help once you get in the park.”

  Miri: “You don’t have any time. Go away!”

  Juan: “You’re trashing our local exam just by being here, Bertie.”

  Bertie looked from from one indignant face to the other. He gave Miri a little bow, and said, “You wound me!” Then he turned to Juan: “Not at all, my dear boy. The exam proctors don’t show you as embargoed. Technically, you haven’t started your local exam. And I’m simply calling to check in with my loyal unlimited team member—namely you.”

  Juan ground his teeth. “Okay. What’s the news?”

  Bertie’s grin broadened to slightly wider than humanly possible. “We’ve made great progress, Juan! I lucked out with the Siberian group—they had just the insight Kistler was needing. We’ve actually built prototypes!” He waved again at the bag in Juan’s hand. “You’ve got the first lot.” His tone slipped into persuasion mode. “I’m not on your local team, but our unlimited exam is concurrent, now isn’t it, Juan?”

  “Okay.” This was extreme even for Bertie. I bet he had the prototypes ready this afternoon!

  “So we need these ‘breadcrumbs’ tested, and since I noticed that my loyal teammate is incidentally on a field trip through Torrey Pines Park, well, I thought …”

  Miri glared at the intruder’s image. “So what have you stuck us with? I’ve got my own plans here.”

  “Totally organic network nodes, good enough to be field-tested. We left out the communication laser and recharge-capability, but the wee morsels have the rest of the standard function suite: basic sensors, a router, a localizer. And they’re just proteins and sugars, no heavy metals. Come the first heavy rain, they’ll be fertilizer.”

  Miri came over to Juan and popped open the plastic bag. She sniffed. “These things stink … I bet they’re toxic.”

  “Oh, no,” said Bertie. “We sacrificed a lot of functionality to make them safe. You could probably eat the dam things, Miri.” Bertie chuckled at the look on her face. “But I suggest not; they’re kind of heavy on nitrogen compounds … .”

  Juan stared at the little balls. Nitrogen compounds? That sounded like the summary work Juan had done earlier this semester! Juan choked on outrage, but all he could think to say was, “This—this is everything we were shooting for, Bertie.”

  “Yup.” Bertie preened. “Even if we don’t get all the standard function suite, our share of the rights will be some good money.” And a sure A grade on the unlimited exam. “So. Juan. These came off the MIT organo-fab about three hours ago. In a nice clean laboratory, they work fine. Now how about if you sneak them into the park, and give them a real field test? You’ll be serving your unlimited team at the same time you’re working on your local project. Now, that’s concurrency.”

  “Shove off, Bertie,” said Miri.

  He gave her a little bow. “My two minutes are almost up, anyway. I’m gone.” His image vanished.

  Miri frowned at the empty space where Bertie had been. “Do what you want with Bertie’s dungballs, Juan. But even if they’re totally organic, I’ll bet they’re still banned by park rules.”

  “Yes, but that would just be a technicality, wouldn’t it? These things won’t leave trash.”

  She just gave an angry shrug.

  William had picked up the half-crushed mailing carton. “What are we going to do with this?”

  Juan motioned him to set it down. “Just leave it. There’s a FedEx mini-hub in Jamul. The carton should have enough fuel to fly over there.” Then he noticed the damage tag floating beside the box. “Caray. It says it’s not airworthy.” There were also warnings about flammable fuel dangers and a reminder that he, Juan Orozco, had signed for the package and was responsible for its proper disposal.

  William flexed the carton. Empty, the thing was mostly plastic fluff, not more than two or three pounds. “I bet I could bend it back into its original shape.”

  “Um,” Juan said.

  Miri spelled things out for the Goofus: “That would probably not work, William. Also, we don’t have the manual. If we broke open the fuel system …”

  William nodded. “A good point, Miriam.” He slipped the carton into his bag, then shook his head wonderingly. “It flew here all the way from Cambridge.”

  Yeah, yeah.

  The three of them resumed their walk down to the ranger station, only now they were carrying a bit more baggage, both mental and physical. Miri grumbled, arguing mainly with herself about whether to use Bertie’s gift.

  Even with the fog, Bertie’s “breadcrumbs” could give them a real edge in surveilling the park—if they could get them in. Juan’s mind raced along that line, trying to figure what he should say at the ranger station. At the same time he was watching William. The guy had brought a flashlight. The circle of light twitched this way and that, casting tree roots and brush into sharp relief. Come to think of it, without Miri’s Marine Corps gear, a flashlight would have been even more welcome than the jackets. In some ways, William was not a complete fool. In others …

  Juan was just glad that William hadn’t pushed the FedEx mailer back at him. Juan would have been stuck with carrying it around all night; the carton counted as toxic waste, and it would surely rat on him if he left it in an ordinary trash can. Ol’ William had been only mildly interested in the breadcrumbs—but the package they came in, even busted, that fascinated the guy.

  The park’s entrance area still had fairly good connectivity, but the ranger station was hidden by the hillside and Juan couldn’t get a view on it. Unfortunately, the State Parks Web site was under construction. Juan browsed around, but all he could find were more out-of-date pictures. The station might be uncrewed. On an offseason Monday night like this, a single 411 operator might be enough to cover all the state parks in Southern California.

  As they came off the path, into direct sight of the station, they saw that it wasn’t simply a rest point or even a kiosk. In fact, it was an enclosed office with bright, real lighting and a physically-present ranger—a middle-aged guy, maybe thirty-five years old.

  The ranger stood and stepped out into the puddle of light. “Evening,” he said to William; then he noticed the heavily bundled forms of Miriam and Juan. “Hi, kids. What can I do for you all?”

  Miri glanced significantly at William. Something almost like panic came into William’s eyes. He mumbled, “Sorry, Munchkin, I don’t remember what you do at places like this.”

  “S’okay.” Miri turned to the ranger. “We just want to buy a night pass, no camping. For three.”

  “You got it.” A receipt appeared in the air between them, along with a document : a list of park regulations.

  “Wait one.” The ranger ducked back into his office and came out with some kind of search wand; this setup was really old-fashioned. “I shoulda done this first.” He walked over to William, but was talking to all three of them, essentially hitting the high points of the park regs. “Follow the signs. No cliff climbing is allowed. If you go out on the seaside cliff face, we will know and you will be fined. Are you vision equipped?”

  “Yes, sir.” Miriam raised her goggles into the light. Juan opened his jacket so his equipment vest was visible.

  The ranger laughed. “Wow. I haven’t seen those in a while. Just don’t leave the batteries lying around in the park. That’s”—he turned away from William and swept his wand around Miriam and Juan—“That’s very important here, folks. Leave the park as you found it. No littering, and no networking. Loose junk just piles up, and we
can’t clean it out like you can other places.”

  The wand made a faint whining sound as it passed over Juan’s jacket pocket. Boogers. It must have gotten a ping back. Most likely Bertie’s prototypes didn’t have a hard off-state.

  The ranger heard the noise, too. He held the wand flat against Juan’s jacket and bent to listen. “Damn false alarm, I bet. What do you have in there, Son?”

  Juan handed him the bag of dark, brownish balls. The ranger held it up to the light. “What are these things?”

  “Trail mix.” William spoke before Juan could even look tongue-tied.

  “Hey, really? Can I try one?” He popped the bag open as Juan watched in wide-eyed silence. “They look nice and chocolaty.” He picked one out of the bag, and squeezed it appraisingly. Then the smell hit him. “Dios!” He threw the ball at the ground and stared at the brown stain that remained on his fingers. “That smells like … that smells awful.” He jammed the bag back into Juan’s hands. “I don’t know, kid. You have odd tastes.”

  But he didn’t question their story further. “Okay, folks. I think you’re good to go. I’ll show you the trailhead. I—” He stopped, stared vacantly for a second. “Oops. I see some people just coming into Mount Cuyamaca Park, and I’m covering there tonight, too. You wanna go on ahead?” He pointed at a path that led northward from his station. “You can’t miss the trailhead; even if it’s down, there’s a big sign.” He waved them on, and then turned to talk to whoever he was seeing at the park in the mountains.

  Beyond the trailhead, the park was completely unimproved, a wilderness. For a hundred feet or so, Juan had wireless connectivity but even that was fading. Miri checked in with the exam proctor service to certify that their team was going local; since the wilderness was very soon going to isolate them from the worldwide net, they might as well get official credit for the fact!