Edward M. Lerner (6 page)

One of the agent’s ongoing duties was the investigation of human nature, research as often advanced by the study of human literature as by recourse to human behavioral sciences. His preferred literary genre was quintessentially human: the mystery. The intensely social beings of the solar system the humans named Alpha Centauri had virtually no crime, and the few misdeeds that did occur there were seldom premeditated.

His favorite detective was among the first: Sherlock Holmes. A key clue in the Holmesian tale
Silver Blaze
was the significance of something that did not happen: the curious incident of the dog that did not bark in the night.

T’bck Fwa had been drawn to the curious incident of human cutting-edge research abandoned without fanfare. Time and again, brilliant human physicists would publish a speculative paper or two about paths to a production-scale antimatter technology, only to abandon the topic forever. Too often for coincidence to explain, the scientists dropping their investigations had had, soon after their final antimatter-related publications, unexplained lengthy absences from their home institutions. When their travel could be reconstructed from public records, the destination was always the Jupiter system.

Jupiter-region flight plans filed with the UP Astronautics Agency, also public records, disclosed another anomaly. Himalia got many more scoopship deliveries than a prison could possibly need. The shipments were uneconomically split across multiple suppliers, denying individual companies evidence of more than a small fraction of the demand. Aggregated across suppliers, the fusion-fuel consumption on the so-called prison moon was consistent with a large-scale antimatter factory.

T’bck Fwa had for decades searched and sifted with the limitless perseverance of the inorganic for conclusive proof of a surreptitious human antimatter program. As his suspicions mounted, he had augmented his searches of public databases with more proactive means: commercial espionage. The infosphere was an ideal instrument for creating front organizations, layer upon layer, of obscure parentage and anonymous direction. Now real human investigators toiled unknowingly for the AI detective enthusiast, reporting on the purchase and delivery of specialized equipment. All clues continued to point to the Jovian moon Himalia.

It was his longstanding study of antimatter-research-related data that made the second, recent pattern so disturbing. The newest filings in the UPAA flight-plan database showed that from across the solar system a small armada of UP vessels was converging on Jupiter at high accelerations.

And so T’bck Fwa sent an encrypted Utmost Priority message over InterstellarNet to his distant patrons. His assertions of priority could not influence the light-speed limit—four local years would pass before his alert reached home, and four more for any advice to be returned.

If the two anomalies, as he feared, were related—if mankind was, at long last, about to use its secret hoard of antimatter—it was unlikely in the extreme that T’bck Fwa would have the benefit of a reply before deciding whether to act.

Why he felt there would be an action he could or should take, T’bck Fwa could not say. Any human detective would have called it a hunch.

Carlos Montoya was a bear of a man, Eva could never help but notice. He had broad shoulders and massive arms, and sprouted thick black hair everywhere a person could. He did not seem to mind that he dwarfed his tiny office or its battered metal desk. The door to that office read: “Jovial Spacelines.” Spaceport legend claimed Montoya had been so taken with a typo that he had abandoned his firm’s original, locale-apropos name.

Three visitors were crammed into the cluttered office: Eva herself, Art, and the ambassador. Getting Chung to agree to a meeting had been a hard sell; she found getting him through the door into this quasi-closet even harder. There was a reason for meeting here—the dingy, paperwork-covered walls masked the most snoop-proofed facility on Callisto. The spaceline was a front organization for the United Planets Intelligence Agency, and Montoya was the local UPIA station chief. He reported to the security officer of the project no one had yet identified beyond veiled references to a nearby astronomical body, to which, not coincidentally, the only civilian flights authorized were Jovial charters.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t meet elsewhere,” Chung sniffed.

The diplomatic mission to the Snakes and the activity on Himalia were both as sensitive as could be. Eva thought it possible she was the only person other than the UP’s secretary-general to hold current clearances in both projects. Art’s boss, the ICU secretary-general, had accepted what little Art was allowed to convey—the urgent need for “my recent little project” to coordinate with an equally secretive UP effort, that could be alluded to only by identifying Eva’s security officer on Earth.

It was enough.

Eva did the introductions, identifying Montoya as a UPIA operative. Chung’s eyes narrowed, but he made no comment. “Gentlemen, there are a few key facts to make known. First,” and she nodded at Chung, “the installation at Himalia is not a prison, high-security or otherwise. That’s a cover story. It’s a research facility of extraordinary sensitivity.

“Second,” and she turned to Montoya, “our stated reason for being in the Jupiter system is equally fictitious. We’re about to meet, secretly at first, with interstellar visitors. Our callers are the species commonly called the Snakes.”

“The K’vithians,” Chung corrected. A lab hidden in the vast Jovian system did not impress him.

“Why Callisto?” Montoya asked. Being suspicious was what he did for a living.

“We’re not meeting on Callisto, only nearby,” Chung said. “The K’vithians need repairs and fuel. There was mention of auxiliary vessels scooping Jovian atmosphere.”

“Good thing you said something. Unidentified ships zooming about the area would have made the base defense team
very
nervous.” Montoya arched a caterpillar-like eyebrow. “I trust, Ambassador, you will direct these folks far away from Himalia?”

“That can be arranged.” Chung stood to leave, giving his staffers a cold glance.

Even with my few social skills, Eva thought, that undiplomatic look was easy to read: Why the fuss? “Sorry, there’s more. The K’vithians would have us believe they’re planning to scoop hydrogen. If that were their primary motivation, Art is correct: Given current planetary positions, an emergency stop at Saturn would have been more logical. Barring that, so would a closer-in orbit of Jupiter.

“Here’s the thing. The only energy source that’s practical for an interstellar mission is matter-antimatter annihilation.” Hers was but one of the UP research teams seeking theory that might lead to an interstellar drive. About all the competing teams ever agreed upon was the energy requirement. “Fusion is at best a secondary energy source for them. They didn’t even start their fusion drive until they were mostly decelerated.”

“Hmm.” Montoya locked eyes with Chung. “Now the other shoe drops, Ambassador. Our secret program on Himalia involves a factory. It is the solar system’s only antimatter factory. Maybe, just maybe, the Snakes somehow found that out.

“I mention this mainly for the reason we keep the factory’s very existence a secret. In the wrong hands, our stockpile could make the biggest H-bomb ever built look like a firecracker.”

The mission had reconvened in the Valhalla City community center for the final briefing before a subset headed off for the first in-person encounter with the K’vithians. Art had waved over Carlos Montoya to sit with Eva, Keizo, and himself.

“…momentous occasion,” intoned Ambassador Chung from the dais at the front of the room. “The first face-to-face meeting between interstellar neighbors.”

“They’re about one meter tall,” Art netted to his companions. “Face to face doesn’t exactly describe it.” Without turning, Eva shot back a glowering emoticon.

A large graphic popped up beside Chung. “The contact team will be on the embassy ship, shown here in red. UP escort vessels”—on which Montoya had insisted—“are blue. We’ll rendezvous with our visitors, shown in green….”

“Uh-oh.” A neural alarm demanded Art’s attention. His implant had put through an incoming newsbreak on Interplanetary News Net. It was prioritized TEOTWAWKI.

He wasn’t the only one still linked in. As a buzz erupted across the hall, Chung’s deputy whispered into his boss’s ear. Scowling, Chung nodded.

Chung’s visual aid dissolved into a telescopic close-up of a stony cylinder in a field of stars. “…continues to decelerate. Experts extrapolate that it will assume orbit around Jupiter sometime tomorrow,” said the voiceover. A talking head replaced the starship. “To repeat what little we now know, the visitor is coming from the direction of Barnard’s Star. This reporter has monitored its approach for much of the day. In that time there have been several exchanges of coded radio messages between Earth and this vessel, all using the Snakes’ standard commercial frequency.

“As interesting, perhaps, as the onrushing starship are the actions of United Planets authorities. That they are aware of the approaching starship is evident: UP vessels have been converging on Jupiter in large numbers for about three weeks.

“What did the authorities know, and when did they know it?” The camera zoomed into a close-up of the reporter. “Why have they withheld this incredible news from the citizens of the United Planets?

“This is Corinne Elman, reporting exclusively for Interplanetary News Network.”

Repeatedly, and over many years, the collective leadership of the Unity had directed T’bck Fwa to search vigilantly for evidence in human space of two technologies: antimatter and interstellar drive. No reason was ever given for those requests, nor for the loss of interest five years ago. At least he interpreted as loss of interest the discontinuance of those inquiries.

His evidence for starship research was in all ways the opposite of his antimatter investigations. The human infosphere teemed with speculations about interstellar drives—none of them close to reduction to practice. Ironically, human starship enthusiasts were almost unanimous in the belief antimatter technology would be needed to conquer the interstellar void—and in their urgings the UP should therefore proactively develop antimatter technology.

Fond in his own way of his long-time hosts, T’bck Fwa had hoped that a future starship was, in fact, what the UP intended for its antimatter. The alternative, antimatter’s use in weaponry, would be horrible indeed. Alas, the same patient data mining that had revealed the UP’s disguised antimatter program had yielded no conclusive proof of a mature companion program for starship development.

The Unity’s uncharacteristically insistent requests … the humans’ unexplained huge investment in antimatter … the absence of any credible evidence for an interstellar-drive program … these were all very confusing. Decades of diligent sifting through unimaginably large amounts of data had offered no reconciliation.

Then came today’s news.

There
was
a starship. It was arriving from what the humans called Barnard’s Star—not only humanity’s second-closest interstellar neighbor, but also the Unity’s.

And that starship was heading not for Earth, but towards the humans’ undeclared antimatter facility.

As T’bck Fwa formulated a coded report to the Unity leadership, he could not help but wonder: Had knowledge of an alliance between Earth and K’vith motivated the insistent questions from home? Or had Pashwah, his Snake counterpart, independently discovered the secret of Himalia?

Once more T’bck Fwa feared that decisive action would be required of him before he could possibly expect any guidance.

“…and so the great spacecraft from Barnard’s Star will soon complete the initial phase of its historic journey. As I speak, the welcoming delegation of the United Planets is about to dock with humanity’s first interstellar visitor. Using the UP shuttle for scale, I hope you can begin to appreciate the enormity of the starship, a cylinder roughly a kilometer in length and a half kilometer in diameter.”

The bridge crew mostly ignored the broadcast now echoing through most of
Victorious
. In a way, thought Arblen Ems Firh Mashkith, that was understandable: The human voice register was an annoyingly low rumble. He insisted nonetheless on airing it, the better to acclimate all hands to the disagreeable sounds. Planning ahead was what the Foremost did.

The human reporter droned on. She, and eight more like her, appeared side by side in a row of holos. Backdrop to the narrations were panoramic views of his ship beside a full Jupiter and a crescent Callisto. Far larger than any broadcast image was the 3-V tactical display. The situational hologram tracked swarms of human vessels: media, diplomatic, and merely curious observers. Six United Planets frigates policed the region, keeping the flotilla at an almost comfortable distance. A single small ship with the human envoys decelerated on its final approach.

“The voyage has conquered a void of six light-years: an heroic accomplishment. As the vessel spins, we again see the blackened area surrounding a large patch. Our interstellar neighbors were fortunate to have survived their epic crossing.”

Simultaneous translations scrolled up the right edge of each monitor. Mashkith’s trust in Pashwah-qith remained tentative, but he had no substitute for her expertise. A specially constructed, physically isolated network for the AI, with access to these specific displays, was an acceptable risk; full connectivity, such that he could have tapped the running translations in real-time by neural interface, was far less desirable.

Unhappily, a full link-up was necessary during the coming meeting. Generations of clan doctrine stressed the avoidance of all eavesdropping risk during negotiations, and surely he and his officers would require occasional private consultations with their translator. Dogma, properly safeguarded by firewalls, would take precedence over his speculative uncertainty about the AI—but he would use that connection only when necessary.

The tactical display did a routine refresh; yet again, the number of icons increased. He could not deny the wisdom of Pashwah-qith’s advice: that the human media be manipulated to discover
Victorious
on final approach. The local military forces were fully occupied keeping gawkers at bay. No warships were left to shadow the auxiliary vessels he had deployed as rendezvous approached.