The Invincible (15 page)

“Why?”

“I can’t answer that. I’ve made innumerable calculations. There is the possibility that the sun of Regis III has cooled off at a much faster rate over the past three million years than was previously the case. This may have deprived the stationary organisms of the amount of energy they need. But that’s just an assumption.”

“Let’s just suppose you are right: do you believe, then, that the clouds have some command center at either the surface or the interior of this planet?”

“No, I don’t think it’s anything like that. It could be that these microorganisms themselves form such a center when they combine in a certain manner—a kind of inanimate brain. In general it’s probably better for them to live separately. They exist in loose swarms which permits them to be constantly exposed to the sunlight, or even to chase after thunder clouds, for they probably obtain energy from these atmospheric discharges. However, they will unite in moments of danger, or to be more precise, in the event of any sudden change that constitutes a threat to their survival.”

“Such a reaction would have to be triggered by something. And what happens to that incredibly complex memory bank that remembers the whole system during these periods of ‘swarming’? After all, an electronic brain is known to be cleverer than its individual parts, Lauda. Are you suggesting that these elements have been clever enough to jump back to their proper places again by themselves? That would imply some initial blueprint of the entire brain—”

“Not necessarily. It suffices for each element to recall those elements with which it was in immediate contact. Let’s say element number one is to attach each of its surfaces to six other particles which in turn remember the same thing about themselves. Thus the amount of information stored in each individual particle can be very limited indeed, and only a certain trigger mechanism, some kind of signal—
Warning! Danger
!—is needed to restore the original configuration, the creation of the ‘brain.’ But this is no more than a grossly simplified description. The process must be far more complicated than that—just consider how frequently these individual elements are destroyed—and yet the overall functioning of the superstructure remains unaffected.”

“Fine. We can’t afford the time now to go into further details. Are there any practical conclusions we can draw from your hypothesis, Lauda?”

“To some extent, yes, but rather negative conclusions. Millions of years of ‘machine evolution’ and a phenomenon never before encountered by man anywhere in the galaxy. Let’s just focus on the main problem. Machines as we know them do not exist for their own sake, but rather to serve someone or something. From the point of view of mankind, the existence of a self-generating metal bush or an iron cloud is meaningless. Of course you could also say that cactus plants in our terrestrial deserts are equally meaningless. The key lies in the fact how excellently they have adapted in their fight against other living beings. I am inclined to believe they resorted to killing only during the first phases of this battle, while the continents were still teeming with life. Soon the amount of energy used for killing must have proven to be uneconomical, and they turned to other methods. The result? The catastrophe of the
Condor,
the business with Kertelen, and, finally, the destruction of Regnar’s men.”

“What kind of methods do you mean?”

“I don’t know exactly how they function. I can only express my own opinion: in the case of Kertelen, we have witnessed the annihilation of almost the entire information bank stored in the human brain. It’s probably the same thing with animals. An organism maimed in this fashion obviously cannot survive. Simpler, faster, and more economical than outright killing… I’m sorry to say that my conclusions are very pessimistic, as far as we are concerned. That may even be the understatement of the year. Our position is far worse than theirs, for several reasons. To begin with, it’s much easier to destroy a living organism than a mechanism or some technical installation. Besides, they have evolved under conditions that forced them to fight against living things and against their metallic brothers, as we might call these robots. In other words, they have conducted a war on two fronts, battling) against any kind of adaptive mechanism evolved by living systems, and also against any manifestation of intelligence in machines. Millions of years of such warfare must have resulted in a perfect and uniquely universal system of destruction. I am afraid if we want to beat them we’ll have to resort to total annihilation, and that’s as good as impossible.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. Of course, it is conceivable that the entire planet could be destroyed, if the proper concentration of means were available. But this is not our task here, quite apart from the fact that we lack the necessary equipment to do so. The situation as I see it is absolutely unique. We are superior intellectually. These mechanisms do not represent a truly intelligent power. But they have managed to adapt perfectly to this planet—by annihilating anything rational as well as anything alive. They themselves are not alive, therefore what is harmless for them might mean death for us.”

“How can you be so sure that these mechanisms lack rationality?” “I could try to duck that question. I could plead ignorance; but I assure you, if I’ve ever been convinced of anything, this is it. Why don’t they represent an intellectual power? My God! If they had any mental faculties they would have finished us off long ago. Just run through everything that’s happened since we landed here—you’ll have to conclude that they can’t possibly have a strategical plan. They make only one attack at a time.”

“Hmm. What about the way they interrupted contact between us and Regnar, and then the attack on our scouting planes—”

“But they haven’t done anything they didn’t already do thousands of years ago. The more complicated automatons they destroyed must certainly have had radio communication. One of their earliest tasks must have been to prevent the exchange of information. The solution to their problem was self-apparent: what would be better suited as a screening device than a metallic cloud? And now? What do we do? We have to protect ourselves and the machines and robots without whose aid we would be helpless, while our adversaries are free to operate in any way they need. They command a literally inexhaustible means of reproduction; they can continue to exist even if we annihilate a part of their forces; they are unaffected by our conventional weapons of destruction. There’s nothing left for us to do but turn to our strongest weapon, the antimatter artillery. Yet even so we’ll never destroy them all. Have you noticed how they react when they’re hit? They simply disintegrate. Besides, the fact that we have to stay behind our protective force fields, reduces our maneuverability. They, on the other hand, can reduce their size at will, move freely from place to place—and even if we should succeed in beating them on this continent, they’ll simply withdraw to another one. And after all, their complete annihilation is not what we came here to accomplish. I think we should get out.”

“So that’s it.”

“Yes, that’s it. Since we’re obviously dealing with an adversary that is merely the outgrowth of an inorganic evolution, we cannot solve this problem by the usual formula of retaliation for what happened to the
Condor
and its crew. That would be the same as trying to punish the ocean for having swallowed a ship.”

“There’d be a great deal of logic in what you are saying—if the story really went like that,” said Horpach and rose from his seat. He leaned back against the table, both hands planted on the chart that had been covered with writing. “But it’s only a hypothesis, and we can’t return to Earth with a hypothesis. We need certainty. Not vengeance but certainty. An accurate diagnosis. Facts. Once we have that, once I have specimens of these—these flying mechanical fauna (if they exist at all)—safely stowed away on board, then I’ll agree that we have nothing left to do here any more. Then it will be up to our homebase on Earth to give us further instructions. Incidentally, there’s no guarantee that these metal flies will remain on this planet. They might undergo further evolution, leave the confines of Regis III and become a threat to interstellar spaceflight in this part of the galaxy.”

“Even if that were so, nothing of the sort would happen for several hundred thousand—if not several million—years. I’m afraid you are still guided by the notion that our opponent is a rational being, Astrogator. What was once the mere instrument of reasoning creatures became autonomous once its masters vanished. Over a period of millions of years, these structures have actually become part of the natural forces of this planet. Life survived in the ocean, partly because the mechanical evolution did not extend to that sphere, partly because the aquatic organisms were prevented from getting access to the dry land. This would explain the atmosphere’s moderate oxygen content, which is a by-product of the photosynthesis taking place in the algae and plankton living in the ocean. It also would account for the conditions on the continent’s surface. Naturally it’s nothing but one vast desert—these systems do not build up anything, have no civilization and do not create anything of value, having nothing but themselves. That’s why we should regard them as forces of nature. Nature herself never creates values. These structures are their own
raison d’être;
they simply exist for themselves, and they behave the way they do simply in order to continue to exist…”

“How would you explain the destruction of our scouter planes? They were inside their protective energy field the whole time, as we know.”

“One energy field can be extinguished by another. And if you want to erase the entire memory bank of a man’s brain instantaneously, you have to surround his head with a magnetic field so powerful it would be difficult to produce even with all the means we have here on board. For that you would need gigantic transformers and electromagnets.”

“Do you mean to say that these structures have all that at their disposal?”

“Of course not. They don’t ‘have’ anything. They are nothing more than building blocks that combine to form whatever the circumstances of any given moment require. A danger signal simply means that ‘something has come up.’ They register changes in their environment—changes in the electrostatic field, for example. The flying swarm is immediately sent into the ‘cloud-brain’ formation and its collective memory reawakens:
yes, we’ve encountered this organism before, dealt with them in such and such a manner, annihilated them
—then they just repeat the procedure.”

“All right,” said Horpach, who had not been listening to the biologist’s explanations for some time. “I’m going to postpone departure. Now we’ll have a meeting, though I’d rather not, since it means another one of those endless disputes. The scientists will get upset again, but I don’t know what else to do. I’ll see you in the main library in thirty minutes, Dr. Lauda.”

“If they can convince me that my hypothesis is wrong, you’ll have a truly happy man on board.” Dr. Lauda spoke these words softly and left the cabin as quietly as he had come. Horpach walked over to the intercom at the other wall, pushed the receiver button and called the scientists in to a meeting.

It soon became evident that Dr. Lauda’s assumptions were shared by most of his colleagues: he was merely the first to express them in such a determined manner. The only differences of opinion concerned the question whether the cloud could be considered to have consciousness or not. The cyberneticists were inclined to view the cloud as a thinking system, capable of strategic planning. Lauda was subjected to vigorous attacks. Horpach realized that the basis for their violent arguments was not so much their objections to Lauda’s explanations as the fact that he had discussed them first with the commander rather than with his colleagues. Despite their good relations with the rest of the crew, the scientists formed a “state within a state” on board ship and followed a definite unwritten code of behavior.

Kronotos, the senior cyberneticist, asked Lauda how the cloud could have learned to attack men if it were devoid of intellect.

“Quite simple,” answered the biologist. “It’s done nothing else for millions of years. I’m referring to their fight against the original denizens of Regis III, animals with a central nervous system. The cloud learned to attack them the same way a terrestrial insect will attack its victim, and with the same precision with which a wasp injects its poison into the nerve fibers of a cricket or a grasshopper. No intelligence is needed for that, just instinct.”

“But where did they learn to attack planes? Surely they’ve never met up with aircraft before.”

“How can you be sure of that? The cloud fought on two fronts, as I’ve already pointed out, my dear colleague. Against the organic inhabitants of Regis III, and against the inorganic kind—the automatons, the robots. These robots must necessarily have resorted to all kinds of defensive and offensive means,”

“But if there were no flying robots among them—”

“I see the point Dr. Lauda wants to make here,” remarked Saurahan, the assistant cyberneticist. These giant robots, macro-automatons, must have established some means of communication with each other in order to work together. They could be most efficiently destroyed through isolation, and that could be best accomplished by blocking their communication system—”

“Whether the cloud’s behavior is triggered by conscious mental activity or not is completely immaterial at this point,” Kronotos countered. “Our present task is not to find a single hypothesis that will answer all our problems, but rather one that will guarantee us maximum possible security in the course of our stay on this planet. So it would be wiser for us to assume that the cloud does have a certain degree of intelligence. We’ll probably exercise greater caution that way. If, on the other hand, we go along with Dr. Lauda’s belief that the cloud does not possess any reasoning power, and if he turns out to be in error, we may have to pay a terribly high price for that error. I am speaking now not as a theorist but« as a tactician.”