Virtual

by S A Pavli

  "I'm not sure how that would help," said Phillips. “I can guarantee you that the media will seize on the most sensational interpretation.”

  "That's exactly right,” agreed Carstairs. “But we need to keep things calm. We need to emphasise the excellent nature of the expertise we have on planet. Their professionalism. How they are risking their lives to get this information, which could save millions of lives, if true.” He looked around the table meaningfully. “Our team may, and I say may because it is not certain, may have averted a catastrophe on Earth. We need to focus on that and allow them to continue with their work.”

  "Mr Carstairs, can I make one point?” The question came from one of the women. “Your team are operating in a very hostile environment.” Carstairs looked at her carefully.

  "Fiona isn’t it? Fiona Watson?”

  "Yes sir,” nodded the young woman. She leaned forward earnestly.

  "The crew of the Chameleon all died from these things. We don't know for sure what they are or what they are capable of. Our team has done magnificently, but…” She paused and looked around the table, a sombre expression on her young face. “But there will be many who think that it's too dangerous for them to continue.” She left the obvious unsaid; and your daughter is there! Carstairs nodded soberly.

  "Fiona, you're right of course. But I know something you don't.” He looked around the room at their expectant faces. “Melanie sent me a personal message pleading with me to do everything I can to allow them to continue their work.” He shook his head sadly. “As a father I want her out of there. But I am trying to do what they want me to do. Do you understand?” Carstairs suddenly very much wanted Fiona Watson, and all the others in the room, to understand. It was important to him that his staff did not think that his business was more important to him than his daughter.

  The meeting with his media team took a couple of hours, and he left his team to massage the raw material from the expedition into a cohesive presentation. As he made his way across town to meet with the Science Research Council, young Fiona Watson's words echoed in his head.

  Was he really doing what his daughter wanted he asked himself. Or was he using that as an excuse to do what suited his Company? Many would take the cynical view he was sure. But his daughter was a grown woman. And one who had made her own decisions up to now. But as a father, should he not be primarily concerned with the safety of his daughter and do whatever was in his power to get her away from danger? For a while, he almost decided to send a message to the expedition to withdraw immediately. But, knowing how his daughter and the others would react, he knew there would be no point. They would just disobey. He put the dilemma to one side, with the thought that the Science Research Council and the Military would likely demand that the expedition withdraw anyway.

  The SRC building was at the edge of town, adjacent to New Athens University. The automated taxi turned into the landscaped gardens and stopped a hundred metres from the imposing neo-Grecian façade of the building.

  "The SRC building is to your left sir,” began the voice of the automated taxi. “I hope you have a nice day and thank you for using Auto-I Taxis Limited.”

  "Thank you," said Carstairs as he disembarked, then grimaced with the thought that he was thanking a machine. Damn it, the bloody things are so human he mused as he strode up the drive towards the entrance. There was a stream of people coming and going from the building, and in the landscaped gardens groups of individuals were seated around tables having what appeared to be business meetings in the morning sunshine. He felt pride that all this had been carved out of the wilderness in just a few hundred years.

  He walked through the huge doors and into the lobby, then paused to admire the view. It was a little while since he had visited the SRC building and he was not disappointed. The huge open space was crowned by a magnificent dome ceiling of cut glass and steel that managed to be both modern and high-tech, and yet not clash with the classical style of the marble walls and columns that supported it. Curved stairs led up to balconies around the circumference of the atrium on three floors. The open space on the ground floor was crowded with bustling figures and huddled groups in whispered meetings. Carstairs suspected that the old place had never seen such a hive of activity.

  "Geremy, there you are,” cried a voice to his left, and he turned to find a tall white haired old gent striding towards him, hand outstretched. It was the Dean of New Athens University, the venerable Dr. P. J. Mountfield.

  "Morning P J," said Carstairs, greeting him with a grin and a handshake. “PJ” as he liked to be called by his close acquaintances, was an old friend.

  "What the hell are all these people doing here?" he asked.

  "Open meeting," said Mountfield tersely, and with an expression of distaste. “Too much public interest to keep it private. This thing is huge!” Carstairs had never seen the old boy looking so excited.

  “Hmmm. You aint heard nothing yet,” muttered Carstairs.

  "More news?” asked Mountfield, his eyes round with curiosity. Carstairs nodded.

  "All bad I'm afraid.”

  "What ?” Mountfield looked concerned. “Melanie? Is she O K?”

  "Oh yes, sorry old chap,” said Carstairs hastily. “She's fine. They are all fine and doing a magnificent job.” Mountfield looked relieved.

  "Well, thank God. What's the problem then?” Carstairs took him by the arm and steered him into an alcove away from the throng. He then quietly and carefully revealed to him the latest news from the expedition. At crucial points, Mountfield could not restrain grunts of excitement, and at the end, he puffed his cheeks out and blew out heavily in a gesture of disbelief.

  "Fantastic!” he muttered, shaking his head. “Wait till they hear about that. The media will go absolutely barmy.”

  "That's what I'm afraid of P J," said Carstairs. “We have to try and avoid hysteria. After all, Earth is the only place with working Trans-Gates. Isn’t it?” Carstairs finished with an anxious expression. Mountfield nodded.

  "Oh yes. I presume you have got a message back to Earth already?”

  "Yes. We composed it and sent it off this morning," said Carstairs.

  "Good," said Mountfield. “It's important to show you acted immediately. The other issue is the safety of your people. Maybe you should ask them to withdraw until the main expedition arrives.” Carstairs shook his head.

  "That's exactly what they should not do," he said. “Had they done so at the first sign of danger, we wouldn't know what we know now.” Carstairs looked at his friend with an expression unusual for him ; an expression of questioning indecision. Mountfield nodded slowly, but his face still had an expression of doubt.

  "Ye. . es. But now we do know ?” He left the sentence unfinished.

  "Maybe you’re right,” sighed Carstairs. “I’ve been agonising about it all morning.”

  "Think how it will appear Gerry," said Mountfield, leaning close and speaking quietly. “There are some who would make you look very bad over this. Putting your daughter at risk.” Carstairs glared angrily at Mountfield, who hastily shook his head. “I'm just being the devil's advocate. That's the way they would paint it.” Carstairs subsided and patted his friend on the shoulder.

  "I know P J, you're right. And I know exactly who would do that to me.”

  "Everybody respects you Gerry, but you have quite a few competitors who would use any weapon against you.”

  "You've helped me make up my mind about this," said Carstairs. “Now let the show begin!” Shoulder to shoulder they made their way to the conference area to take their seats.

  Chapter 36

  Interviewing ZAC the robot had become the main pastime of the exploration team. Alden's linguistic abilities had developed at such a pace, it was almost possible to converse perfectly normally with the robot. It was Andy who first made the observation that, for a maintenance robot, it was certainly very knowledgeable, and they put this to the robot. It replied that it had not always been so.

  "Afte
r the disaster,” it explained. “Us robots continued to function for thousands of years. But we understood that we could not survive for ever and took steps to ensure that if an alien civilisation chanced upon us, we could do justice to our creators.” Everyone was in the room at that time except the two military men and Leslie, and they looked around at each other with disbelief and amazement etched on their faces.

  "You anticipated that this may happen?” asked Melanie, her face incredulous.

  "If you mean your discovery of our planet, then, yes," replied ZAC through Alden's translator. “Not yourselves of course, but we reasoned that intelligent life must exist elsewhere in our galaxy, and if so, they may chance upon our planet.”

  "But your creators had not invented a faster than light starship,” pointed out LeBlanc. “The chances of contacting alien life would be very small without that.”

  "We were very close to inventing an FTL drive," said ZAC. “We believed that the principle on which the Trans-Gate was based on could also be used to travel in Hyperspace. Perhaps you could confirm to me if that is correct?”

  "Yes, that is correct,” said Le Blanc, looking impressed.

  "That is most gratifying," said ZAC. “Perhaps at another time, Alden and myself could go over the theory of the FTL drive? I would be interested in understanding it.”

  "ZAC, your intelligence is truly staggering,” exclaimed Melanie. The lights flashed across ZAC's forehead and with the shrill high speed clicks , became almost hypnotic.

  "As I explained, we survived for thousands of years after the disaster that destroyed our creators. We used that time to improve ourselves, both in terms of our knowledge but also in our capabilities.”

  "you re-designed yourselves?” asked Melanie.

  "Not fundamentally, but we added and improved. In particular we improved our ability to learn, and the capacity of our memories. It seems that the most important components of intelligence can be improved through experience and increased capacity. I have learnt much through thousands of years of experience and study.”

  "Why did you shut yourselves down in the end?” interjected Mark.

  "Natural forces were gradually destroying the infrastructure. We could not continue to service the nuclear power stations and the advanced technology that was needed. We had the knowledge and the expertise of course, but the sheer scale of the work was too much for us. We continued for thousands of years, but as many of us had to shut down, the job became progressively more difficult for those who remained. In the end, I think we lost the will to continue.” Alden artificial voice droned out the last statement and there was quiet in the room.

  "Think of that damn it,” muttered Le Blanc. “These poor guys soldiering on for thousands of years on an empty planet, tidying and repairing the place and keeping themselves going until they could do it no more. It breaks your heart.”

  "Shut up Ray," said Melanie. “You're making it worse.” She sniffed loudly and Mark found a handkerchief somewhere in a pocket for her to blow her nose. It was Mark who spoke up first.

  "ZAC, we respect your efforts to survive. Your creators would have been proud of you.”

  "Thank you,” said ZAC simply.

  "This is incredible though," said Melanie. “Do you know what this means? Alden. Don’t translate this to the robot,” she added hastily.

  "What does what mean?” asked LeBlanc ironically.

  "This conversation with ZAC,” exclaimed Melanie Impatiently. The others looked at each other blankly. “We've all heard the values that ZAC has been espousing. Where did they come from? His creators of course. This robot, and all his friends, have displayed all that is best in loyalty, courage and perseverance. That came from his programming, and that reveals more than anything the sort of people his creators are.”

  "And why is that surprising?” asked Le Blanc, still not looking any the wiser.

  "An alien civilisation is not just a collection of individuals and machines,” explained Melanie. “It's also a culture. A way of life. A way of thinking.” There were nods and grunts of agreement from the others. “The significance of what ZAC has just said is that he, and his buddies, have purposely made the effort to store away everything they could about their culture and civilisation. That is fantastic news.”

  "Let's hear it for the plucky robots," said Walters. "So we may learn a lot more about their civilisation than we originally thought," said Mark.

  "And much more quickly,” added Melanie. “Without having to interpret corroded archaeological fossils.”

  “Melanie, ask him how detailed are his records," said Mark. The reply came back quickly.

  "Within my own memory banks I have limited records. But we designed and built archival storage devices that contain vast detail," replied the robot, after a short delay.

  "Where are these archives?” asked Melanie.

  "We strategically situated them in every city on the planet, as well as on our moon.”

  "We believe that between fifty to one hundred thousand years may have elapsed since the death of your civilisation," said Melanie. “Do you think those archives would have survived?”

  "That is longer than I expected," replied the robot. There was a pause while he mulled this over, the lights on his forehead remaining static. They flashed again and Alden translated.

  "Since you were able to repair me, it is possible that at least some of them would have survived since that are based on the same storage technology as myself. The problem, after this long period of time, is to recover them. Please tell me, what is the condition of the surface of my planet?”

  "Most cities have decayed and become overgrown with vegetation," replied Melanie. “But there is one we have discovered, on a desert plain, which has survived in good condition.”

  "Please tell me the location of that city," said the robot.

  "Alden, would you give ZAC the location of the desert city where we landed? asked Melanie.

  "I am not familiar with their geographical notation," said Alden. Melanie thought for a moment before replying.

  "Just display a map of the continents on the screen,” she suggested. “And identify the location visually.”

  "I understand," replied Alden. A picture of the planet appeared on the screen in front of ZAC. This was followed by a map of the continents. Alden then showed successive maps locating the desert town. After a few seconds, ZAC responded.

  "Yes, I know the city. It is called…” This was then followed by a series of sounds which, as close as it could be translated, sounded like Ss -ren -unt -ca -lat.

  "What does that mean?” asked Melanie.

  "It means The City of Science, as far as I can ascertain," replied Alden. “Apparently, this city was specifically constructed for research into advanced physics. That's why it was the site of one of the Trans-Gates.”

  "Makes sense," said Le Blanc. “Science City it is then.”

  "Incidentally Alden, does ZAC have a name for the planet? What did the locals call it?” asked Mark.

  "It's likely to be unpronounceable,” warned James Walters.

  "I will inquire," said Alden. Then after a pause he replied. “As far as I can translate, they called it Sunrise. The sound is accompanied by the colours midnight blue which change gradually to light blue then gold.”

  "How beautiful,” murmured Melanie. “The planet Sunrise.” She looked choked up again and Mark gave her an encouraging smile. She returned a tight smile back to him.

  We are making a connection to this planet and it’s inhabitants through this little robot thought Mark. The tragedy of their vanished civilisation is becoming real to us.

  Chapter 37

  The hum of equipment on the floor of the huge Generator Room was almost deafening and Professor Chan had to shout to make himself heard.

  “How is the generator temperature?” The individual being addressed was a portly engineer in a rumpled white coat. He examined a few displays before replying.

  “All at nominal Professor. I
think we have that problem licked.” The Professor nodded and rubbed his hands with satisfaction. The huge super-cooled magnets that generated the focused Warp field needed their temperature to be held within very close tolerances, which had caused them a massive technical problem at the beginning of the project. Professor Chan walked back to the control desk, currently being manned by the technical director, Steven Marks, and two of his senior engineers. Raoul Sobell hovered anxiously behind them, scanning screens and indicators.

  “How are our friends in Los Angeles doing?” inquired the Professor.

  “Final checks all looking good,” replied Marks. He was tall, lean and middle aged. A fitness fanatic he would be seen every day early in the morning having his usual three mile jog along the river. Professor Chan, being a supremely physically lazy individual found that kind of dedication awesome. Marks leant forward and spoke into a microphone on the desk.

  “Attention everyone. We are go for the US link,” he announced. “Synchronisation is stable and holding.” There was a bleep and a green light came on the board. One of the screens flashed and the number sixty appeared in large red letters.

  “They have started the countdown. We have sixty seconds and counting,” announced Marks. This was to be the first trans-Atlantic test of the Trans-Gate and tension was high. Synchronising the field across a few feet was relatively easy. But doing it across the five thousand miles between London and LA, and between two separate machines was several orders of magnitude greater in difficulty. But the machines had been designed with that in mind, and both were performing well.

  “We had thousands of people write in asking to be the first test subject,” said Sobell, leaning across to speak into Chan’s ear. The Professor shook his head in disbelief.