Gate Crashers

by Patrick S. Tomlinson

  “Now, as we all know, the Conestoga’s down two gravity generators, cause unknown. Normally, we’d shut down the modules opposing the failed units to bring the system back into balance, but because the crew ran their diagnostic tests late, the failure was caught late. So now we can’t afford to lose two more modules if we want to stop the ship in time.”

  This was a heavily censored version of what the rest of the room had yelled back and forth for the last hour.

  “Since we can’t shut down any additional modules, I’ve worked out a program that will redistribute power, reducing it to the modules opposing the burned-out ones, while increasing it to the adjoining ones to compensate.”

  “That’s great, but you’ll end up with the same power levels as if you were missing four units.” The objection came from a thin, hawkish-looking, middle-aged man.

  “Not really, because my program bypasses the safety limiters and gooses three of the modules to 135 percent.”

  This was met by three gasps, two chuckles, and one blank stare.

  The hawk swooped in to pounce. “That’s crazy, kid. You’re begging for them to fuse just like the others. Engineers don’t pick a spot to call 100 percent capacity out of a hat, you know!”

  Felix absorbed the man’s patronizing tone and let it fuel him. This was his territory, and he was going to defend it. He looked straight at him, hard enough for the man to avert his gaze.

  “Yes, that’s true. As it turns out, I do know a thing or two about engineering. I spent two days in a shuttle getting here, which left me with time to read the technical literature of the Mk 7a Gravity Projector Module. All of it.” He paused. “In military applications, it has been rated for 125 percent emergency output for up to sixteen hours.”

  “That’s the military version; this is a civilian transport,” interrupted another scientist with an air of finality. “Those ratings don’t apply to our modules.”

  “The only significant difference between the military and civilian models is the amount of shielding on the outer casings. The internal components are virtually identical. The ratings remain valid.” Felix rolled right over the objection and pressed forward.

  “So we’re only going past their proven capacity by another 10 percent, and I think we can mitigate the risk of failure further if we divert the coolant flow from the fused units to the ones we’re running harder. It should be a simple matter for the ship’s engineers to reroute the plumbing.”

  A sturdy-looking man with rough hands stood to face him. “That’s easy to say when you’re not the one trying to hold a pipe wrench through a vac suit glove.”

  “If you can think of a way to get me out there in time, I’ll do it myself.” Felix held his ground.

  The mechanic didn’t relent. “Just who the hell do you think you—”

  A throat cleared. The assembled scientists, engineers, and administrators turned to face the sound, which had come from a small woman with silver-streaked auburn hair sitting at the head of the table. Where the director sat.

  “I think we all agree that M’sieur Fletcher’s proposal is crazy, oui?” asked Renée Lemieux.

  She was met with nods and a guffaw from around the room. They began to resume their bickering.

  “Quiet.” Her tone changed from light to reproachful. “For the last hour, you’ve all argued over very safe plans that can’t work. M’sieur Fletcher has proposed a very risky plan that might.” She let the words echo in their heads for a moment. “So if a better idea hasn’t presented itself in ten minutes, we move on Fletcher’s plan.”

  The advantage of having no reputation is you can bet it all and still not be out much if things go badly. The wager worked out for Felix.

  * * *

  Felix watched from the huge bay windows of the Unicycle’s Space Traffic Control module with several other people from the conference room. The Conestoga was still light-hours away. The only things to see were pinpricks of light, the last surviving photons of the long march from their parent stars.

  Felix reflected on the millennia-long odyssey those ancient rays of light had undergone just to bounce off the back of a naked ape’s eye. It hardly seemed worth the investment in time and energy, but it was the only reason humans knew anything about their cosmos. Light speed was the great-grandmother of all speed limits. It stood on the side of the road connecting every star. It loomed over all matter and energy and demanded absolute compliance. To Felix’s mind, a just universe would contain a way around Einstein’s tyranny.

  A siren derailed Felix’s train of thought, and he was back in the STC module. Technicians swarmed about, preparing to warm up the Unicycle’s particle accelerator and point it downrange. If one knew where to look, one could see tiny ripples in the starlight, like looking through an old center-spun window where gravitational lenses projected into space from the facility’s own generators would focus and aim the indescribably powerful particle beam the Unicycle was about to produce.

  After decades in space, the Conestoga had burned through almost all of its deuterium fuel. Like all interstellar yanks, a receiving dish was fitted to its aft designed to catch energy beamed by the Unicycle, which served as the ship’s power source inside the solar system. If everything went to plan, the Conestoga’s crew was already busy playing plumber with the ship’s coolant system. The beam would fire in a few minutes. The crew had just enough time to finish the modifications for the beam’s arrival … in thirteen hours.

  The clock reached zero. Behind Felix, Ms. Lemieux pressed a holographic toggle in the shape of a huge red button outlined in yellow and black stripes. The lights overhead flickered and dimmed for a brief time.

  That was it. There was no deafening BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. No retina-melting light poured through the view ports. The only evidence anything happened at all was a very slight shimmer around the edges of the gravitational lenses as a few rogue particles were kicked clear of the stream. They looked like tiny aurora borealis. Boreali? Considering he was witnessing the most powerful machine ever built, Felix felt the whole experience was anticlimactic.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Director Lemieux asked, taking position next to him.

  “I’m sorry. A what?” Felix could hardly be blamed for this naïveté. The penny had been dropped from U.S. currency more than two centuries ago. But they kept turning up.

  “Of course, you are too young. It means, what are you thinking about?”

  “Oh, right. Um, I guess I’m thinking about anything except what’s going to happen in thirteen hours, if I’m honest.”

  “Ahh. Nervous about your plan, oui?”

  “No. About the crew.” Felix ran his fingers through his hair. “The mechanic in our meeting was right about one thing. It is easy when you’re not the one taking the risks. Right now, they’re hanging off of a bit of scaffolding with wrenches and plasma cutters, because they believe my plan will save their lives.”

  There was silence for several long seconds. Lemieux spoke again.

  “You are wrong, M’sieur Fletcher, at least twice.” Her tone was gentle. “First, they are hanging out there because I recommended it to M’sieur Graham, who, as head of the AESA, ordered them to do so. And, second, you have also taken a risk, maybe a big one, no?”

  “I don’t see how.” Felix shrugged.

  “You risk your plan will not work and people will die.”

  “Yes, but they would also die if we did nothing. All our other yanks are light-years away from here. We wouldn’t be able to catch them before they ran out of power entirely.”

  “Granted, but that’s not how headlines are written. Instead, they say things like, RESCUE PLAN FAILS, WITH FATAL RESULTS. It’s not fair, but it’s true.” The Frenchwoman made a sympathetic gesture with upturned palms. “But maybe the even bigger risk is for your plan to work.”

  This wasn’t what Felix had expected. He looked positively incredulous. “How’s that now?”

  “I mean to you personally, of course. Do you really think you wer
e the only one in the room to consider running the modules hot?” Lemieux stared straight into the younger man. “No, I’m sure it had occurred to at least three, maybe four of the others.”

  Felix looked like a raccoon in headlights. “Well, then, why didn’t they speak up? The rest of the plans were garbage. It was the only thing that had any chance of working.”

  “Ah, but the rest of the plans were safe.”

  “Safe for who?”

  “For them, of course. No one else spoke up because they didn’t want to take on the responsibility. They have interests to protect, some political, others professional. They don’t want to risk damaging their careers.”

  “I don’t care about that; I just want to do the job and give the Conestoga the best odds possible.”

  “I know. You have that luxury because you don’t have any position to defend. That’s why I asked for you to come out here. The rest of them are pigeonholed by success. So you see, if your plan succeeds, you risk revealing them to be cowards. Even if you’re right, you will probably make enemies today.”

  She still spoke gently, staring deeply into the abyss on the other side of the glass. “Not to worry, I will not be among them.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Felix said sarcastically.

  “I take it these factors did not weigh on your mind when you decided to speak up?”

  “I didn’t even know they were factors. I thought professionals valued results.”

  “Of course they value results, so long as they can take credit for them.” Her face was contorted as bitterness and humor fought for supremacy. Renée looked at Felix again. “Let me ask you something. If we’d had this talk before the meeting, would you have acted differently?”

  “No.” Felix didn’t hesitate. “I guess I have different priorities.”

  Renée gave Felix a knowing smile. “I thought not. But don’t be so quick to judge them. You may find your priorities drifting when you have the big office and a dozen subordinates clawing to drag you from it. You would be surprised how many of history’s great men can thank petty rivalries and office politics for their success.” She turned back toward the room and patted Felix on the shoulder. “But don’t be too concerned yet. You could still get lucky. After all, your plan might fail.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  With that, the Frenchwoman walked away. Felix felt as though he’d survived a rather convivial scolding. He was left with the competing desires to either speed up or indefinitely delay the next thirteen hours. But time was busy keeping everything from happening all at once, and took no notice. His eyes drifted back to the stars.

  * * *

  Some twenty hours later, while the Conestoga and her crew bled off velocity like accumulated pounds before a class reunion, Renée Lemieux snuck away from the Space Traffic Control center and headed down to the Unicycle’s QER room.

  Renée switched on a holographic keyboard, entered Professor Eugene Graham’s private email address, and typed a short message in the air.

  He’s the one you want.

  The director hit Send, smiled to herself, and turned off the machine.

  CHAPTER 5

  Deep inside the Stack, Felix sat in a comfortable chair at a solid wood table, utterly perplexed about why he was there. The room was large, yet sparse. It had the feel of rented space, never serving a defined purpose. The head of AESA, Professor Eugene Graham, had broken into Felix’s apartment the night before as he returned from the Unicycle and offered him a job. The details of which he’d been less than forthcoming about. Not that Felix would remember anyway, on account of how many little rum bottles he’d indulged in on the flight home.

  Felix was joined by Graham’s assistant, Jeffery, and a horse of a man named Harris. Also present was a quirky Englishman with hair like exploded cotton, who couldn’t stop playing with an abacus slung around his neck, while a pair of lackeys to his right watched with reverent attention. Felix questioned why he’d gotten out of bed at all.

  Graham’s chest expanded like a bellows before he spoke. “Good afternoon, everyone. I’ve asked you here because we’ve added another member to the team.” All eyes turned toward Felix. “This is Mr. Fletcher. Today is his first day, and this meeting will serve as his introduction to our little project. Please keep in mind that he may need a little patience and extra explanation. To that end, let’s recap.” He keyed the table and the room’s lights dimmed.

  The center of the table opened like an iris to reveal the built-in holo-projector. The air above it coalesced into a shape like two silver bullets joined at the tips.

  “Twenty-five days ago, the AEUS Magellan wrote home to announce an artifact of unknown origin recovered in deep space. Spectrographic analysis determined its shell is comprised of a titanium and palladium alloy we’ve never seen before. Further isotopic tests show the metal was not mined on Earth or any of our colonies. Further, Magellan discovered this signal keeping the neighbors awake…” Eugene tapped another key. The room filled with a bizarre yet fascinating noise. The result one might expect if Salvador Dalí had taken up composition.

  “The object was found motionless four light-months away from the nearest star, yet the signal is too weak to reach it. That’s about as far as we’ve gotten.”

  With some reluctance, Eugene looked toward the cotton ball to his right. “Dr. Kiefer, how are we doing on the communication bottleneck?”

  “Well, we’ve fired up the Magellan’s reserve QER, so that doubled our bandwidth. And Marvin ’ere”—he slapped the closest lackey on the shoulder—“’e’s workin’ on some new data compression programs. That should speed things up another 20, maybe 25 percent.”

  “Excellent. Keep working on that, Marvin. We’ll need to be able to shift huge amounts of data once they crack the artifact open and the research really gets going. The fewer delays the better.” Eugene looked to his assistant. “Jeffery, how goes the unwanted publicity front?”

  “Better than expected. We feared word of the artifact would leak immediately.”

  “Can’t imagine who might leak mission-critical information accidentally,” said now Sergeant Tom Harris.

  “Look, Thomas, I said I was sorry. Besides, you got a promotion out of it.” Jeffery found his track again. “Anyway, we decided to head it off and leak it ourselves to a few of the most fringe, sensationalist, and disreputable independent news sites. They’ve been running strong on the ‘Government / Alien Cover-Up’ angle ever since.”

  Harris spoke up again. “Okay, I’ll bite. How is that ‘better than expected’?”

  Jeffery grinned. “Once we selectively leaked the story, it found itself in a wilderness of other conspiracy theories, false-flag accusations, Antichrist sightings, the usual noise.” Jeffery smiled broadly. “It’s currently fighting for its life against the nutters who still believe the planet is some sort of flat discworld. Our story is almost completely lost in the noise.”

  “That’s brilliant,” said Felix. “I’ve had to deal with some of these people. There are still folks out there who insist the moon landings were faked.”

  “But you’re from the moon,” Eugene said.

  Felix shrugged. “It doesn’t faze them. When I told one of them I was from New Detroit, he insisted I was a government hologram and started trying to wave his hand through me. They’re impenetrable.”

  “Maybe our yanks could use them as meteor shielding,” Harris added.

  “Well, just this once we can be thankful for the sad state of education,” Eugene said. His gaze passed over the young Lunie. “You seem to be taking this well, Felix.”

  “Ah, yeah, I’m fine. Just curious how I fit into all this.”

  “A perfectly natural question. None of us here has an engineering background. Dr. Kiefer and his men are educated in particle physics and quantum theory, but their technical training is limited to the QERs they maintain. You’re sort of the reverse. Your experience is light on theoretical physics, but heavy on real-world applications. You kn
ow how things work. Therefore, where you fit in will be to take what we learn from the artifact and put it to practical uses.”

  Felix put his hands on the table. “Just so I’m clear, last month, a ship stumbled onto an alien thingamajig, so you’ve recruited me, a twenty-four-year-old college student, to remotely watch a crew thirty light-years away tear it apart and build stuff from what I see on the screen?”

  “That about sums it up,” Eugene said.

  “Oh. All right, then.” Learning about the job didn’t have the reassuring effect Felix had hoped for. “Who does our little project answer to?”

  “Well, that’s a good question, one that hasn’t really been answered yet. At this point it’s more an issue of who we ask for money and how much we tell them about how we spend it.”

  “So we’re like teenagers?” asked Felix.

  “Yes, now that you mention it. Liberating, isn’t it?” The rest of the room chuckled. “Look, Felix, people way above my pay grade are in the decision loop here, so don’t worry. The cops won’t burst through your door in the middle of the night.”

  “Why should I worry about cops? My boss handles the residential break-ins.”

  “Touché,” said Eugene. “What do you think you’ll need to do the job?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I’ve never built a reverse-engineering department from scratch before. But for starters, I’ll need work space, a quantum computer loaded with dynamic modeling software, access to theoretical physicists, and a molecular printer for rapid prototyping. Most importantly, I’ll need something to copy.”

  Eugene looked to Jeffery, who consulted his data pad. “There’s work space open here. The computer and the mol printer will be simple to acquire. We can probably bring in any physicists on the AESA payroll you want to consult, so long as they can pass security checks, so give us a list of people that need to be cleared.” Jeffery looked up from his pad. “But as far as source material, that’s up to Magellan.”