“No, it doesn’t. Too dense and too fine. Not more than a hundred thousand or so kilometers in thickness. The objects were too small even for the close range radar. Only our close-in weapon system could detect them when they were almost on us.”
“So those were our shots?”
“The laser didn’t manage to destroy the large objects, so the particles reached the protective deflector. We were flying too fast. It was you who told us we wouldn’t meet solid matter beyond the limits of the astrosphere...”
“It’s strange. Perhaps we should calculate the orbital parameters?”
The captain shook his head.
“We jumped past it too quickly. I can only say that whatever it was, it must be rotating not in the plane of the ecliptic.”
“That can’t be at all...”
“It doesn’t seem to know that it can’t be,” commented the first pilot maliciously. “Why can’t it?”
“The celestial bodies of star systems are formed from a protoplanetary disc, therefore everything that flies around a star must do so more or less in the same plane. According to the prevalent theory of the origin of star systems, at least.”
“Could it be an exception? Like Pluto...” The second pilot shrugged his shoulders.
“No, Pluto was in a collision, which changed its orbit. Initially Pluto also rotated in the same plane as the other planets. Such a thing is not possible for an asteroid belt. By the way, what about studying the material?”
“The material?”
The captain threw a glance at the first pilot, mocking Steve’s naivety.
“At 300 km/sec relative velocity, it would be impossibly difficult to take a sample, Steve. Unless of course you have your baseball glove with you.”
“Yes, Steve, stick your hand outside, you might catch a few pebbles.”
“What about residue on the shield? I’m wondering if we could scrape some off.”
“At that speed, I doubt if there’s anything left of them.”
“I don’t think the atoms could have decomposed from the impacts. If we’re lucky, we might even find molecules. If you will permit specimens to be taken from the shield...”
“
Why not, if you think there’s anything there worth looking at? Impacts at that speed are no joke. A third of a thousand km/sec! You could poke a head in a helmet through the crater from a tiny dust particle.”
10
Having delivered the ship to the parking place next to the hangars, the tug detached the hook and, after a short audio signal like a duck quacking farewell to the pilots, went away.
They waited in front of the closed ramp in the rear part of the ship. Chuck was standing as taut as a string, due not so much to the requirements of protocol as to his idea of how a military intelligence analyst should behave in the presence of his top boss. Time seemed to be standing still. The second hand of the mechanical clock directly above their heads was barely crawling around the dial.
Yes, a military analyst is definitely not a trained SSS soldier. Unlike Chuck, who was used to sitting in a soft chair, a soldier could stand on the square for an hour, straight as a ramrod. It was said that some of them even managed to sleep standing up. No, these people were clearly not made from the same clay as Chuck, whose forehead was already covered in perspiration. And if that damned ramp didn’t open within the next minute... He was already a bundle of nerves and that wasn’t good. High-flying birds like Stark could smell nervousness a mile off. He was a good analyst, but here he was, nervous as a kitten, just because he had to stand at attention for a few minutes!
In the silence, the click of the magnetic locks seemed like a tremendous crash and the armored ramp was slowly lowered to the strained sound of the hydraulic drives. At last! Chuck suddenly remembered the flap caused by the meeting with the general that morning. He had been so hot and bothered about their first meeting face to face that he had turned up with his fly unzipped. What an epic fail! It was a good thing Stark had a sense of humor...
Chuck glanced down to make sure the same embarrassment was not repeated. Standing at attention, the part of his trousers in question was concealed from view by his jacket. He furtively leaned slightly forward, then a little further, then further again. It all seemed to be in order.
Satisfied, he raised his head, only to shudder at the sight of three infantrymen and two infantry robots. All five, weapons at the ready, looked around inside the ship through the opening passage.
“First time in the Wasps’ Nest?” chuckled Stark.
“Um... Yes, sir!” Chuck suppressed his agitation and replied, it seemed to him, in a brisk, businesslike voice.
The ramp finally came to rest on the ground and Stark was already on his way down it before the hydraulics had clicked and stopped.
“Welcome to the base, sir!” rapped out one of the infantrymen, saluting and pointing to the open door of an armored army cross-country vehicle standing nearby in the shadow of a wing.
Stark squeezed through the open door and Chuck followed him. One of the soldiers slammed the heavy door shut and, together with the other two, took up position on the side steps. The vehicle started immediately.
So this was the Wasps’ Nest. Chuck gave no sign that not only was this the first time he had visited the base, but also the first time he had heard its nickname. He could have asked, “Why Nest, in particular?”, but the moment for doing so had been lost. In general, a military intelligence analyst should never be afraid to ask questions, but something told Chuck that this was the wrong time for it. He must think things out for himself, not distract the Lieutenant General next to him, who was immersed in reading something important on his tablet, with his stupid questions.
In spite of the noise inside the vehicle, there was a persistent low sound like someone banging with an iron bar. It speeded up as they did, to a more frequent rhythm, and became moderate when they braked for a turn. A flat tire? Something wrong with the engine?
He threw a glance at the faces of the infantrymen outside. They did not look worried, they were just turning their heads, obviously scanning the locality for a potential threat.
Yet what threat could there be in a protected base? But no harm in being careful. Particularly as the head of military intelligence himself was inside. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why they called it the Wasps’ Nest. They were fussing around as if someone had stirred up a wasps’ nest.
After leaving the airfield, the vehicle speeded up toward a road leading through a field to a complex of grey buildings in the distance. The noise outside became louder. It was now clear that it was coming from behind. Chuck turned his head and froze. Only a few meters behind them, the infantry robots were running, their steel feet hitting the asphalt. The faster they ran, the harder they hit. The sound was now so loud that it was as if giants were running after the vehicle.
Their running, and the movement of their arms, legs and bodies, looked unnaturally precise and smooth. People don’t run like that. These machines hardly rocked from side to side at all. In spite of the inevitable shaking and jumping, it could be seen that the gun barrels on their shoulders were compensating for the rocking, maintaining their direction of aim regardless of the robots’ movements. Wow! Chuck knew it was impossible to run away from these humanoid killing machines on your own two feet, but that they could easily catch up with a car was news to him. Furthermore, it seemed that their gyroscopic system made them capable of aimed fire on the run. Why did they need living soldiers of soft meat on brittle bones with just a thin layer of skin over them, when they had hellish creations like these?
General MacQueen, Commander of the Space Fleet, stood at the window looking at something outside. Chuck knew his face, of course, who didn’t? But in the flesh, he seemed shorter than Chuck had imagined him to be. This was probably a law of human psychology, to attribute certain qualities to famous people in the imagination: height, intelligence, capability, experience...
MacQueen nodded a greeting an
d, turning in his chair, pointed to two others standing nearby.
“So you think all three ships are on the same mission?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did you reach this conclusion?”
“The initial situation was a meeting of those three cargo ships in near-Sun space,” said Chuck, beginning his explanation. He had run through this moment in his mind dozens of times and had read his report aloud to himself several times in front of a mirror, but he was so nervous that his throat suddenly dried up. It seemed to him that his voice sounded strained, forced. Not at all suitable for a military intelligence analyst, who was supposed to have nerves of steel and a clear mind. He coughed briefly.
“Our attention was drawn to the ships because we were scanning space intensively in connection with the expedition to the Gliese system. Several analysts, working independently, saw an obvious connection, though none of them could explain why. At the same time, analysis by the AI...”
“Your Wise Men,” laughed MacQueen.
“Yes, that’s what we call them. Our AI assessed the situation as unworthy of attention. A subsequent check of the ships under the guise of a routine inspection by our agents, during which we checked out all possible discrepancies, did not bear fruit either. So within the rules of standard investigative procedure, the question should have been closed.
“But I continued to worry about the clear discrepancy between the human and machine assessments. It was the first time I had seen anything like that.”
“How long have you been in the analytical department?” asked MacQueen, interrupting him.
“Um... four years, sir,” replied Chuck. What was the point of this question? It nearly knocked him off course.
“Anyway, I decided to find the reason. For that I had to dig into myself, look inside my own skull. Why, on the basis of argument within the framework of strict logic, does the matter look clean, yet the intuition persist?
“I began thinking about the fact that processes in military intelligence, as in any other large organization, are strictly regulated. A protocol exists, prescribing the sequence of investigative actions. But however cleverly written the protocol may be, it has a shortcoming. It is predictable. Unlike the intuitive view of the situation, which does not confine itself to prescribed methods or follow standard procedures. Perhaps this was the reason for the discrepancy between the rational and the intuitive.
“As the next step, I decided to breach the prescribed protocol. After all, any intelligence action within its framework is predictable, no matter how cunning it may be, and may already have been taken into account by our opponents. As a consequence, it would be unlikely to bring results.
“A problem arises here. The protocol is not just a simple collection of bureaucratic laws and rules; it is the quintessence of the experience of intelligence agents throughout the world. That is, the protocol shows the optimum path. Consequently, a departure from this well-trodden path involves loss of efficiency, the danger of being bogged down in uncertainty, and the risk of chasing after shadows. And if the optimum intelligence strategy has not produced a result, what is to be expected from the others?
“I decided to abstract myself from the details and look at the situation from another level. If everything had been calculated in advance by those trying to conceal their actions from us, then it would not be easy to find discrepancies by standard methods. The most vulnerable points in the legend created to conceal the true state of affairs would have already been eliminated and they would not be found.
“This led to a new thesis. The situation with the ships has been constructed so that it does not look suspicious. As far as possible, that is. Particularly for AIs. An AI conducts automatic monitoring of all the events in the Solar System. It does not always interpret them correctly, but it knows every detail.
“This is not within man’s capability, it is simply too much work. Only AIs can do such a thing. Today’s computer power makes it possible. Computing systems work precisely and do not commit errors due to inattention or fatigue, but they have a shortcoming: the algorithm by which they take decisions is predictable. This is not always apparent, but it is a fact. How can we decide if the events we observe are random, or if they only seem so because they are staged?
“Back to the ships. In space, there are many ways of moving from point A to point B. But on the basis of the disposition of the planets, one’s own position, speed and direction of motion, there is usually only one optimum flight trajectory. The onboard computer, possessing inexhaustible navigation information, calculates this optimum trajectory and flies the ship along this course.
“In the case of these suspicious cargo vessels, we proceeded on the basis that they had all been pursuing some single aim from the beginning. After completing it, they flew off in different directions in order to cover their tracks and not arouse suspicion. Nevertheless, they all returned to near-Earth space. But they had to arrive there in such a way that no-one would suspect that the ships were connected by an invisible thread.
“If there had been no need for a conspiracy, they would have flown to Earth on the optimum trajectory. But this would arouse suspicion, because it would make it possible to calculate their common initial target. So the onboard computers had to cover their tracks and, as a result, select non-optimal flight trajectories.
“The question now arose: while there is only one optimum trajectory, there are many sub-optimal ones. How does the computer decide which particular one to select? Most likely it will select them by a random method. And this aspect is the Achilles’ heel of the legend concealing the real mission of the cargo ships.
“The point is this. The onboard computer uses a random number generator. You can imagine its work in the form of a very long table filled with random numbers, from which it selects them in order. That is, the numbers are pseudo-random. Pseudo-random means that by knowing the table and the place in it where the generator’s iterator is at a given moment, it is possible to predict precisely every subsequent number it selects.
“If the ships are not linked, their trajectories to near-Earth space would be optimal and random. If they are, if someone is simply trying to cover their tracks, the choice of route will be based on the pseudo-random numbers of the onboard AI’s generator. If I could obtain a sufficiently long series of such numbers from the onboard computer of one of the ships, I would be able to work back through the table and learn on which of the variants of flight trajectory selection it is based. Random or pseudo-random. If it’s the latter, we would know that in spite of their apparent independence, the ships are involved in some shady affair.”
MacQueen listened, making notes on his tablet. When Chuck paused to wet his throat with a sip of water, MacQueen raised his eyes to look at him.
“Why such complexity? Why couldn’t you just look inside the onboard AI during the routine inspection?”
“Onboard computers are sealed. It isn’t possible to open them without it being noticed. After all, that is the whole point of seals, that they can’t be broken without it being apparent.
“We could have simply demanded access to the AI, of course, but then we would have been showing our hand. It would have been obvious that we’re digging into this story about the ships. Their owner would have simply cut all the threads, which would have covered their tracks completely and permanently. That’s why we needed secrecy. We are not hunting the little fish, but the very biggest, the ones at the top of the food chain. Only they know all the aims and control the others. They are at the head of the plot. They’re cunning and can be frightened off easily.
“So my mission boiled down to forcing the onboard AI to issue a series of pseudo-random numbers in as realistic a situation as possible. That would answer the problems we face.”
“And so?”
“And so we simulated an emergency situation. We placed one of our fighters next to the parking place of these ships. When the cargo ship launched from the spaceport, we launched along wit
h it, under the pretext of an emergency mission. At the moment of vertical approach, we made it appear that the fighter’s autopilot had failed. It was thrown towards the launching ship, which had to carry out an emergency maneuver to avoid a collision. The onboard AI had to select one of several possible trajectories at random. Thus we got what we wanted.
“On the basis of the data obtained, we found confirmation of our theory with a probability of almost 100 per cent.”
“At what point did the cargo ships initially separate?”
“In a segment of near-Sun space. Inside the orbit of Mercury. But the interesting thing is that it wasn’t a point, but a line...”
“A line?”
“Precisely, a line. Penetrating the Sun and directed...”
MacQueen raised his hand, interrupting Chuck.
“Towards the Gliese system?”
“That’s right, sir. They were apparently trying to make use of the portal at the moment when it was open for the official expedition’s jump. Or maybe there were more than three cargo ships and some managed to reach Gliese.”
MacQueen turned his gaze from the analyst to Stark.
“Why didn’t we check that sector as part of the routine check? How did we permit unaccounted transports to be there?”
“The sector beyond Mercury is always problematic because of its nearness to the Sun. It blinds our radars and telescopes.”
“In addition to that, sir,” cut in Chuck, “the vector of the portal passes through the Sun. It was a very bold, if not reckless, operation at such a short distance from the star. The ships were at high risk in approaching so close to the Sun. To avoid being noticed by our radars as they approached the portal, they would have had to fall directly toward the Sun in the hope of being saved at the last moment by passing into another dimension. If the portal had been a few hours late in opening, the ships would have been caught in the Sun’s gravitational field. The thrust of their engines would not have been sufficient to get them out of there.
Fundamental Force Episode Two Page 6
