A Second Chance at Eden

by Peter F. Hamilton

  We found Wallace Steinbauer in a glass-walled office on one side of the cavern. The JSKP Cybernetic Manufacturing Division’s manager was in his late thirties; someone else I suspected had been gene-adapted. Above-average height, with a trim build, and a handsome, if angular, face that seemed to radiate competence. You just knew he was the right man for the job – any job.

  He shook my hand warmly, and hurriedly cleared some carbon-composite cartons from the chairs. His whole office was littered with intricate mechanical components, as though someone had broken open half a dozen turbines and not known how to reassemble them.

  Don’t get many visitors here, he said in apology.

  I let my gaze return to the energetic rows of machinery beyond the glass. This is quite an operation you’ve got here.

  I like to think so. JSKP only posted me here a couple of years ago to troubleshoot. My predecessor couldn’t hack it, which the company simply couldn’t afford. Cybernetics is the most important division in Eden, it has to function perfectly. I helped get it back on stream.

  What do you make here?

  The smart answer is everything and anything. But basically we’re supposed to provide all the habitat’s internal mechanical equipment; we’re also licensed by the UN Civil Spaceflight Authority to provide grade-D maintenance and refurbishment on spacecraft components and the industrial stations’ life-support equipment; and on top of that lot we furnish the town with all its domestic fundamentals. Anything from your jeep to the water-pumping station to the cutlery on your kitchen table. We’ve got detailed templates for over a million different items in our computer’s memory cores. Anything you need for your home or office, you just punch it in and it’ll be fabricated automatically. The system is that sophisticated. In theory there’s no human intervention required, although in practice we spend sixty per cent of our time troubleshooting. It’s taken eighteen months to refine, but I’ve finally got us up to self-replication level. Any piece of machinery you see out in that cavern can now be made here. Except for the electronics, which are put together in one of the external industrial stations.

  Doesn’t Eden import anything? I asked.

  Only luxury items. JSKP decided it would be cheaper for us to produce all our own requirements. And that includes all the everyday consumables like fabrics, plastics, and paper. My division also includes recyling plants, which are connected to the habitat’s waste tubules. Eden’s organs consume all the organic chemicals, but we reclaim the rest.

  What about the initial raw materials? Surely you can’t make everything from recycled waste. Suppose I needed a dozen new jeeps for my officers?

  No problem. Eden digests over two hundred thousand tonnes of asteroid rock each year in its maw; it is still growing, after all. His mind relayed a mental image of the southern endcap, supplied directly from the integral sensitive cells. Right at the hub was the maw; a circular crater lined with tall red-raw spines resembling cilia. The largest spines were arrayed round the rim, pointing inwards and rippling in hour-long undulations, giving the impression that some giant sea anemone was clinging to the shell. The arrangement was an organic version of a lobster pot; chunks of ice and rubble, delivered from Jupiter’s rings by tugs, were trapped inside. They were being broken down into pebblesized granules by the slow, unrelenting movement of the spines, and ingested through mouth pores in the polyp.

  That was when the process became complex. Sandwiched between the endcap’s inner and outer layers were titanic organs; first, enzyme filtration glands which distilled and separated minerals and ores into their constituent compounds. Anything dangerously toxic was vented back out into space through porous sections of the shell. Organic chemicals were fed into a second series of organs where they were combined into nutrient fluids and delivered to the mitosis layer to sustain Eden’s growth. Inorganic elements were diverted into deep storage silos buried in the polyp behind the cyberfactory caverns, glittery dry powders filling the cavities like metallic grain.

  We have huge surpluses of metals and a host of other minerals, Wallace Steinbauer said. And they’re all available in their purest form. We send the metal powder out to a furnace station to get usable ingots and tubing. The minerals we shove through a small chemical-processing plant.

  So you’re totally self-sufficient now? I said. My admiration for Penny Maowkavitz had returned with a vengeance after I viewed the maw and its associated organs. That woman had ingenuity in abundance.

  I like to think so. Certainly we’ll be able to provide Pallas and Ararat with their own cyberfactories. That’s our next big project. Right now we’re just ticking over with maintenance and spares for our existing systems.

  So a simple pistol is no trouble.

  That’s right. Wallace Steinbauer rifled through some boxes at the side of his desk, and pulled out the Colt with a triumphant grin. No major problem in putting it together, he said. But then I never thought it would be. We could build you some weapons far more powerful than this if you asked.

  I took it from him, testing the weight. It struck me as appallingly primitive; looking from the side the grip jutted almost as though it was an afterthought. There was an eagle emblem on the silicon, its wings stretched wide.

  Interesting point. If you could build any gun you wanted, why choose a weapon like this, why not something more modern?

  I’d suggest your murderer chose it precisely because of its simplicity, Wallace Steinbauer said. The Colt .45 has been around since the late eighteen-hundreds. Don’t let its age fool you, it’s an effective weapon, especially for close-range work. And from a strictly mechanical point of view it’s a very basic piece of machinery, which means it’s easy to fabricate, and highly reliable, especially when made out of these materials. I’d say it was an excellent choice.

  But why an exact replica? Rolf asked. Surely you can come up with something better using the kind of CAD programs we have these days? My kid designs stuff more complicated than this at school, and he’s only nine. In fact why bother with a revolver at all? The chimp was only ever going to be able to fire a single shot.

  I can give you a one-word answer, Wallace Steinbauer said. Testing. The Colt is tried and tested, with two hundred years of successful operation behind it. The murderer knew the components worked. If he had designed his own gun he would need to test it to make absolutely sure it was going to fire when the chimp pulled the trigger. And you can hardly test a gun in Eden.

  I handed the pistol over to Rolf. Everyone keeps talking about templates, and original components, I said. Where did they come from? I know any reference library memory core would have video images of a Colt. But where did actual templates come from? How did you make this one?

  Wallace Steinbauer scratched the back of his head, looking faintly embarrassed. My division has the templates for quite a few weapons. It’s the potential, you see. If the police or the Governor ever really needed heavy duty firepower, like if those Boston bastards turn violent, I could provide you with the relevant hardware within a few hours. Those stun guns and lasers you’re issued with are only adequate providing you don’t come up against anything more powerful.

  And the Colt is one of the templates? I said wearily.

  Yes, I’m afraid so. I didn’t know myself until your department came to me with this request. It looks like someone back on Earth just downloaded an entire History of Armaments almanac for our reference source.

  Who else has accessed the Colt’s file?

  Wallace Steinbauer grimaced apologetically. There’s no record of any access prior to my request. Sorry.

  Has your computer been compromised?

  I thought it was a secure system, but I suppose it must have been. There are only five people in the division including me who have the authority to access the weapons files anyway. So the murderer must have hacked in; if they have the skill for that, erasing access records wouldn’t pose any problem.

  I used singular-engagement mode to tell Rolf: We’ll need alibis for Steinbauer and
the other four who can access the weapons file. Also check to see if any of them ever had any contact with Maowkavitz.

  Yes, sir.

  What about records for machine time? I asked Steinbauer. Do you know when the original pistol’s components were fabricated?

  Again, nothing, he said, cheerlessly. We’re going to have to strengthen our whole computer system after this. I didn’t realize it was quite so open to abuse. It worries me.

  So there won’t be any record of the materials being taken out of storage either, I concluded glumly.

  No. Hiding a kilogram loss would be absurdly easy. We’re used to dealing in ten-tonne units here. Unless it’s larger than that we wouldn’t even notice it’s gone.

  Great. OK, Rolf, I want Shannon over here to examine the computer system. See if she can find any signs of tampering.

  He pulled a sardonic face. We’ll be popular. Do you want her to do that before she tries to crack the rest of Maowkav-itz’s files?

  I winced as I tried to sort out a priority list in my mind.

  No, Maowkavitz’s files must come first. The Cybernetics Division computer is a long shot, but I would like it covered today. Do we have someone else who could run through it?

  I could try, if you like. I took software management as my second subject at university.

  OK, see what you can come up with. And also run a check through any other memory cores you can think of, see if the Colt’s template was on file anywhere else. I gave Wallace Steinbauer a tight smile. I’d like you to install some stronger safeguards in your computer procedures as soon as possible, please. The idea of people being able to walk in here any time they like and load a template for an artillery piece isn’t one I enjoy. I am responsible for Eden’s overall security, and this seems like a gaping flaw.

  Sure, I’ll ask Quantumsoft if they can supply us with a more secure access authority program. Good. Did you know Penny Maowkavitz?

  He inflated his cheeks, and let out an awkward breath. Definitely a question he really did not want to be asked. I knew her. We had to keep the Biotechnology Division informed about the raw material produced by the digestive organs, especially if there were any problems. It was strictly an inter-department contact.

  Penny was intractable, I suggested.

  You’ve heard.

  Yeah.

  We didn’t get on terribly well. But there was no point in making an issue out of it. I’m due back to Earth in another four months. And there was her illness . . .

  I think you’re the first person I’ve met that doesn’t like it here.

  I do like Eden, he protested lightly. It’s interesting work, challenging. But the Snecma company has offered me a vice-presidential post in the New Kong asteroid. Better pay, more responsibility. I couldn’t turn that down.

  *

  I left Rolf in Wallace Steinbauer’s office to review the Cybernetics Division computer, and drove myself over to Penny Maowkavitz’s house. By Eden’s standards it was lavish, though nothing like as ostentatious as she could afford. She had built herself a U-shaped bungalow, with the wings embracing an oval swimming pool. It was set in a large garden which was shielded by a hedge of tall fuchsia bushes. I guessed Maowkavitz had designed the bushes herself; the topaz and jade flowers were larger than my fist, looking like origami snowflakes. Quite beautiful.

  Davis Caldarola was sitting in a chair at the poolside, slouched down almost horizontally. He was in his fifties, just starting to put on weight. A ruby-red sports shirt and baggy shorts showed me limbs with dark tanned skin and a mass of fine greying hair. A tall glass was standing on the table beside him, rapidly melting ice cubes bobbing about near the bottom. I guessed at vodka and tonic. A second guess that it wasn’t his first today. I made a conscious effort not to check with Eden.

  He gestured roughly at a nearby chair, and I dragged it over to him.

  ‘Ah, Eden’s Chief of Police, himself. I’m honoured. I was wondering when you’d come calling,’ he said. The voice was furry, not quite slurred, but close. In his state, I don’t suppose he wanted to try holding his thoughts steady enough to use the affinity symbionts. ‘Your people have been barging round in the house for days.’

  ‘I’m sorry if they’re getting in your way. They were told to be as quiet as possible.’

  ‘Ha! You’re running a murder investigation. You told them to do whatever they have to, and bugger what—’ He broke off and pressed his fists to his forehead. ‘Shit. I sound like the all-time self-pitying bastard.’

  ‘I think you’re entitled to feel whatever the hell you like right now.’

  ‘Oh, very good; very clever. Christ Almighty.’ He snatched the glass off the table and glared at it. ‘Too much of this bloody stuff. But what else is there?’

  ‘I need to know what you can tell me about Penny, but I can come back later.’

  He gave a loud snort. ‘I wouldn’t if I were you. I’ll be even worse then.’ The last of the vodka was downed in a swift gulp. ‘What can I tell you? She was awkward, argumentative, obstinate, she wouldn’t tolerate fools at all, let alone gladly. They all knew that, they all tiptoed around her. “Making allowances for her brilliance. ” Like bollocks. They were jealous, all of them; her colleagues, her company staff, even that yogi master fruitcake Chong. She wasn’t brilliant, she was a fucking genius. They don’t call this Eden for nothing, you know, and it’s her creation.’

  ‘You’re saying people resented her?’

  ‘Some of them, yeah.’

  ‘Anyone in particular?’

  ‘God, I don’t know. They’re all the same, fawning over her in public, then stabbing her in the back once she’s out of earshot. Bastards. None of them are sorry she’s gone, not really. The only one who was ever honest about hating her guts was Chong’s bimbo. The rest of them . . . they ought to hand out Oscars for the acting at that funeral.’

  A servitor chimp came out of the house, carrying another tall glass. It put it on the table beside Davis Caldarola, and picked up the empty one. Davis gave the new glass a guilty look, then squinted over at me. ‘Have you got any idea who did it?’

  ‘Not a specific suspect, no. But we’ve eliminated a lot of possibles.’

  ‘You haven’t got a fucking clue, have you? Jesus, she’s murdered in full view, and you don’t have one single idea who did it. What kind of policeman are you?’

  I steeled my expression, and said: ‘A persistent one. I’ll find the culprit eventually, but I’ll do it a lot quicker with your cooperation.’

  He wilted under the rebuke, just as I expected. Davis was a grieving drunk prone to tantrums, not an antiestablishment rebel.

  ‘I want to know about her,’ I said more gently. ‘Did she talk to you about her work?’

  ‘Some. We were a stimulus to each other. I listened to her describe her genetics projects; and I explained my own field to her. She was interesting and interested. That’s why our relationship worked so well, we were compatible right across the board.’

  ‘You’re an astronomer?’

  ‘Astrophysicist.’ He grinned savagely. ‘Get it right. There’s some in my profession who’d be badly offended by that. Think yourself lucky I’m so easygoing.’

  ‘Does the JSKP pay for your work?’

  ‘Some of it, my position is part-funded by the University of Paris. I’m supposed to be studying Jupiter’s gravitational collapse. Interesting field.’

  ‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic.’

  ‘Oh, there’s enough to captivate me. But there’s a lot else going on up here, more provoking puzzles. Even after all this time observing Jupiter at close range, and dropping robot probes into the atmosphere, there’s very little we know about it, certainly what goes on within the deeper levels, below the altitude which the probes can reach. Our solid-state sensor drones implode long before they reach the semisolid layers. All we’ve got on the interior is pure speculation, we don’t understand what happens to matter at those sort of compression factors, not for sure
. And Christ alone knows what’s actually taking place at the core. There’s a hundred theories.’

  ‘And Penny was interested?’

  He picked the glass of vodka up, swirled the ice, then put it down without drinking any. ‘Yeah. Academically, anyway. She could follow the arguments.’

  ‘What did she tell you about her work?’

  ‘Whatever she wanted. What bugged her, what was going well, new ideas. Christ, she would come up with some bizarre concepts at times. Balloon fish that could live in Jupiter’s atmosphere, mythological creatures, webs of organic conductors which could fly in the Earth’s ionosphere.’

  ‘Anything really radical?’

  ‘What? Those not enough for you? Don’t you want to see dragons perching on the mountaintops again?’

  ‘I meant something which could upset national economies, or put companies out of business.’

  ‘No, nothing like that. Penny wasn’t an anarchist. Besides, ninety per cent of her time was still tied up with developing the next generation of habitats. She was determined to do as much as she could before . . .’ He trailed off helplessly.

  ‘So, no secret projects, no fundamental breakthrough to crown her achievements?’

  ‘No. The habitats were enough for her.’

  ‘Did she ever mention anyone she was having trouble with?’

  He gave the glass another covetous look. ‘No individuals. She was narked with some of the Boston crowd—’ He stopped. Flinched. ‘You know about them?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I know all about you.’

  He grunted dismissively. ‘Big deal.’

  ‘I take it the Boston argument was over the timing of independence?’

  ‘Christ, some secret society we are. Yes. OK. All right, everyone knows it. Penny wanted the declaration as soon as the cloudscoop was operational. She was trying to talk people round, those that supported Parkinson. Which wasn’t a good idea, she’s not the diplomatic type. I was doing what I could, trying to help. She deserved to see independence.’ His eyes narrowed on my uniform’s UN insignia. ‘The old order overthrown.’