by Ron Collins
Or did he?
Life was confusing as hell sometimes. All he could say for sure was that he liked being with Marisa. She made him happy.
He ate linguine and bruschetta as he let the question on Kitchell’s gaze fade away.
“Tell me about this new math,” he said.
Kitchell took the bait.
“Technically I guess it’s not so much new math as it is applying recently developed stuff to different problems,” he said. “I got the base idea from one of the professors at the Academy. He was laying out concepts he got after hearing that the intelligence wonks were playing with a quantum mechanical crypto technique that strips patterns from sources in multiple cycles,” Kitchell said. “Simplifying things greatly, the idea is that each source leaves unique garbage information buried inside the atomic structure of whatever laminate gets used to store the data.”
“Interesting,” Torrance said.
“If you can find those patterns, you stand a better than reasonable chance to reconstruct the root data that carried them.”
“Even more interesting,” Torrance said. He had heard about some of this earlier when he had checked up on Kitchell’s progress, but the theory behind the use of this technique was more than a bit beyond him. He had intended to follow up, but that was more from a professional curiosity than anything else, and it had been a very low priority.
“It is interesting, isn’t it?”
The kid’s voice was getting that flavor of excitement on it.
He continued. “I don’t pretend to understand everything the intelligence guys are doing right now, but from a simple signal processing perspective it all adds up to the idea that if you can separate out various signals hiding in a blob, you could pass communication off by laying dirty messages over top of the ones you want someone to find.”
“Then the receiver reads the message by removing layers?” Marisa replied.
Kitchell nodded, sipping beer. “Which is easy if you know the patterns that need to be removed and the order you need to remove them in. But it gets grossly complex if you don’t know both of those things.”
Understanding began to dawn on Torrance.
“Something tells me that the next thing you’re going to say is that you have a way to strip layers away even if you don’t know the patterns or the order.”
Kitchell’s eyes glistened and his cheeks colored.
“It takes massive computing power, but I think so. At least I’ve got a theory for a theory.”
Torrance waited.
“Mostly it’s about digging into the atomic structure of the laminate to look at the garbage the process leaves behind. You look for crosstalk in the lattice, cross-patterns. It’s kind of like reading a beach you’re walking on. You see patterns in the sand and use the idea of what a wave is to help reconstruct the wave itself. Then doing that for wave after wave so you can reconstruct one that rolled up the shore ten minutes ago.”
“What you’re saying,” Torrance said, “is that you have an algorithm that finds patterns that don’t actually exist?”
“No, that’s what human beings do. This system would find and then rebuild patterns that would be there if other patterns weren’t contaminating the original.”
“You want to run the Eden data through your process,” Torrance said.
“Almost.”
Torrance gave Kitchell an annoyed glare.
“I mean, yes, I want to use the Eden data. I’ve already played with it a little, but we both know that data has problems—it’s incomplete, and the resolution of its storage isn’t as good as it could have been. Beyond that, if we’re right about the idea of an embedded source, the patterns weren’t layered so much as merged. Those are big problems for me right now.”
Kitchell glanced at Marisa, then back to Torrance.
“So I want to work on a process that applies the method in a different way.”
“Which is?” Torrance said.
“I want to merge my concept with artificial learning techniques so that the processing algorithm can adjust itself on each pass. I want to start with what is originally somewhat random patches of noise in a rapid-fire sequence to see what happens.”
“You want to create an automated cipher,” Torrance said.
Kitchell grinned, and immediately turned into a version of the brash teenager Torrance had first met.
“That’s why you came here, right?” Torrance said. “You’re looking for a quiet, off-the-record place where you can create a process to break the newest crypto the intelligence community is creating.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“But that’s how they would see it?”
“I don’t understand,” Marisa said, setting her fork down.
Torrance answered. “If Thomas can back out all the crap—if he can erase what are essentially random noise patterns to find language embedded below, he’s essentially broken their code. If Thomas succeeds, he’ll be able to read messages without knowing the original patterns.”
“Is that true?” She looked at Kitchell.
He let his eyes grow wide in an expression of mock innocence.
“That’s ballsy,” Marisa said. “Especially for a first-year.”
Kitchell raised his eyebrows.
“My advisers say I’m well beyond the average freshie.”
“I can imagine.”
That was no lie, Torrance thought. He could imagine a lot when it came to Thomas Kitchell. The boy had always been this weird combination of likeably capable and annoyingly clever.
“Will you help me?” Kitchell said. “I’ve already done a few runs with Eden’s data, and despite all the problems the results are interesting enough. And the Eden files are the exact kind of information I need to work with. I know it’s touchy, but in reality, since no one in the intel offices cares about these files I doubt anyone will really be watching me at all. Most likely anyone who learns about what I’m doing will just think I’m wasting time.”
Torrance rubbed his eyes.
He was in this strange double-state where his brain was jumping on overdrive, but his body felt like so much dead wood.
“If you find anything, then what?”
“Then you have the data you need to win the argument for a trip back to Alpha Centauri A.”
“No landing team,” Marisa said, sipping her wine. “If you can read the data remotely, you don’t have to create a mission that requires people to put boots planetside.”
“That’s right,” Kitchell said.
Torrance saw it then, too.
If Kitchell could crack the code even just enough to prove there was a code, then Torrance could make a new argument. The idea burned in his mind and made him suddenly able to access that tiny edge of hope he had clung to for so long. After all this time, that sensation cut two ways, but it was still there. Thomas Kitchell was sitting here, giving him exactly what he needed to keep going after three days of disappointment.
Torrance reached for his wineglass, then looked at his dinner mates.
“Yes,” Torrance finally said. “We’ll need to be careful about how we progress on this, but I’ll help you.” He raised the liquid, sweet and red. “I think this calls for a toast, eh?”
The three touched glasses, and Torrance took a full mouthful. The robust layers of the red blend filled his mind.
If Kitchell was right, Torrance might just get his mission after all.
CHAPTER 4
Europa Station: Jovian Science Center
Local Date: January 7, 2216
Local Time: 1350
The news sat on Torrance’s projection device.
SOURCE: INFOWAVE — NEWS for the 23rd century
TRANSMITTED: January 5, 2216, Earth Standard
HEADLINE: U3 Attack Repelled Over Asia, Over 300 Dead
Universe Three fire bombers flew in the skies over the rice fields of China district today, but damage was minimized due to antiair satellite cover and scrambled airc
raft out of Hong Kong. In addition, the United Government’s new Star Drive craft UGIS Venture arrived nearly immediately, and apparently served to preempt the U3 attack patterns. At least 312 people are known killed, hundreds more wounded. The rice crop is reported to remain safe, though numbers were not released.
“We’re angry,” said district mayor Kenji Liu. “This attack is senseless. So many people dead.”
Admiral Naomi Umaro, newly promoted to a UG staff position, had stronger words. “Universe Three has the ability to stop this war all by themselves. Or they could fight the thing honorably. Instead, they purposefully choose to fly these kinds of sorties against defenseless farmers.”
The attack is the latest in a series of operations that U3 Leader Deidra Francis has threatened to execute against targets on Earth. “We will show the United Government,” she said in a recently broadcast bulletin, “that as long as they continue to threaten our freedom, there is no safe place in the universe. That includes the mother planet.”
His gut clenched as he scanned the report. It continued for paragraph after paragraph, conveying a litany of personal stories. The only positive note in the whole thing was that the damage done was less than earlier attacks U3 had pulled off.
This war was getting tougher to deal with every month.
Deidra Francis appeared to be no less adroit than her father, and she had an “advantage” in that she wasn’t afraid to use force—or, at least she wasn’t as constrained by the politics of the day as her father had been. Something told Torrance that Casmir Francis would have been just as bloodthirsty if it came down to it, but Francis, the elder, had been playing a game with peaceful recognition of Universe Three as a final target, whereas his daughter took the reins after that goal was no longer a reasonable expectation.
Torrance had already read the internal reports that came from the intelligence branch, so he understood more of the minutia than was written here, but the core was easy to follow, as was the response that would invariably come from the people and their UG leaders.
Now was not the time to dwell on this, though.
Difficult as it was, now was the time to prepare.
Jared Kulpani, the Jovian Science Center’s president and CEO, was going to visit in ten minutes.
Torrance slid the report away, and dug back into his notes regarding Thomas Kitchell’s findings.
The kid was truly brilliant.
War or no war, Torrance had to be ready.
* * *
Right on time, the door chimed and slid open.
Jared Kulpani stepped in, dressed as usual in sharply creased business attire and striding with the graceful movements of an athlete. In his late thirties, Kulpani was tall, with chiseled looks that attracted attention whenever he appeared anywhere. He was sharp-witted and quick on his feet, a man who had won pretty much every part of life’s lottery but who also took advantage of those traits with hard work and intelligent application of every resource he was given. As the station’s president, Kulpani was its ranking civilian officer.
Torrance rose and came around his desk.
“Ambassador Black,” Kulpani said as he approached Torrance’s desk. His smile was warm.
“Thank you for taking the inconvenience of coming here,” Torrance replied, clasping Kulpani’s hand.
“It was not an inconvenience at all. I was already attending a meeting in the science wing. No reason to make you venture out when you’re right on my way.”
Torrance nodded. The comment made sense when stacked up against Kulpani’s reputation. The president and CEO was known to be all about efficiency, even when it came to his own behaviors. It was something Torrance admired about him. Most politicians saw efficiency as something they wanted from other people, but wouldn’t understand how to put it into action themselves if their lives depended on it.
They took seats.
“Getting straight to it,” Torrance said. “I want to present some research that Thomas Kitchell has done while interning for me the past few months.”
“Yes.”
Torrance went through his pitch.
He described the algorithm, and its purpose. Its use of multidimensional pattern matching, and its reliance on quantum identifications. He recounted tweaks Kitchell had made over time as he played with the data.
Then he inserted conversation about the Eden files, spending most of the rest of his time on patterns that emerged in Kitchell’s output, putting them up on the projector but being certain to highlight the fact that none matched linguistics mechanisms available to them.
“They’re really quite beautiful, aren’t they,” he said.
“You were exploring Eden?” Kulpani replied.
“Only as a basic source.”
“You know your reputation, right? You know how that’s going to look?”
“I’m telling you, Thomas only used that dataset because he was aware of it, and because it fit the needs of his project. My name will not appear on any dissertation that gets written, and the results say he should be granted permission to continue.”
“Are you suggesting these patterns mean something?”
“The fact that cohesive patterns seem to exist in the source data is, at best, a suggestion that the possibility of intelligent life existing there cannot be ruled out. But, I would tread very carefully on how such information is analyzed. I am aware of my reputation. I’m not saying we’ve found intelligent life.”
Kulpani scanned the data projection. He asked to see several other slices, standing at one point to work with the data manually. After a bit, he sat back.
“What are you asking me to do?”
“I want you to support a request for a slot on the priority list for a jump to Alpha Centauri for a data collection effort to support Thomas Kitchell’s work. Given this finding, the mission profile doesn’t need to be extensive. Just a jump to gather fresh emissions with equipment that’s actually set to record what we want to record, then jump back. If you backed the idea, I can work through other channels to acquire additional support.”
“And, for this I get, what?”
“You mean, beyond possibly being among the people who can claim to have found intelligent life in the universe?” Torrance replied, grinning.
“Yes,” Kulpani said, most definitely not grinning. “That is what I mean.”
Torrance collected himself. “What do you want?”
“My commitment here is finished next year.”
“I see,” Torrance replied. “And do you have another position in mind for the future?”
“As much as I admire the scientific community, I’m thinking about pursuing something that would stretch me. Something more like managing the Mars civilizations.”
It was a natural movement, Torrance thought. Control a space station, then move to a larger, land-based civilization. That Kulpani was thinking specifics probably meant he had at least one more move planned after that. Torrance took him in. The CEO and president’s gaze was sharp and intense.
“I assume you play a mean game of chess,” Torrance responded.
Kulpani’s expression grew softer. “Poker is more my game.”
“I can see that, too.” Torrance leaned on his desk and focused on the issue. “I think I can help with your goals. I have trips planned to Mars and Kensington in the next month. And Ambassador Reyes has asked me to make several contacts Earthside that might be valuable to you, also. I would be happy to discuss your qualifications with all of them.”
Kulpani pursed his lips and glanced at the data column again. “Your mission can’t be too high on the list,” he said. “Could be a year or two before it happens.”
“Things take what they take.”
“Then I’ll be happy to put whatever weight I have to your effort.”
Torrance did his best to restrain a surge of adrenaline. Reyes would be proud of him.
“Thank you,” he said. “What can I do to help your effort now?”
“Write t
he pitch. Send it to me.”
“Consider it done.”
Kulpani gave a bright smile, then stood. “Please pass my congratulations to Mr. Kitchell.”
Torrance rose, also, and the two shook hands.
“I was wondering if I might run another idea past you,” Torrance said.
“Aggressive today, aren’t you?” the station president said.
“One only gets so many audiences with you,” Torrance replied. “It’s about Lieutenant Harthing.”
“I understand she’s undergoing skin therapy, right?”
“That’s right.” As Torrance paused, the image of Marisa came to him, her body covered in the matted swathes of therapy strips rearranging her skin’s molecules an atom at a time. It was an unpleasant process, applied three times a day. “She’s still finishing the regimen, but it’s coming along well enough now. She’s past the most painful parts, at least, and her therapist is happy. Mentally she’s been biting at the bit. I’m wondering if we can find a role for her that might give her the ability to contribute.”
“She was in guidance previously, right?”
“Navigation, yes.”
Kulpani nodded. “I’m not sure how grandly we need a navigation person here on Europa Station, but I know she’s bright.”
“Sharper than me,” Torrance said without a hint of humblebrag.
“I’m sure we can find something appropriate. Have her arrange a session.”
“Thank you.”
As Kulpani left, the station’s rotation triggered the observation window’s automatic rollback sequence. Alone in his office, Torrance stepped to the window, folded his arms across his belly, and watched the view come open.
It was a cold world out there, he thought.
But sometimes, if you stuck with it and if you looked at the picture just right, it was really quite amazing.
“Abke,” he said. “Patch me in to Lieutenant Harthing’s line.”
“Connecting,” Abke replied.
They were going to celebrate this together, even if that celebration consisted of only a walk and dinner out. But if Marisa Harthing played her cards right, she was going to go dancing for the first time in a very long time.
