InterstellarNet: Origins (17 page)

After oysters Rockefeller, awaiting their lobster bisque, she asked, “You said this morning, ‘We have a problem’ and again, ‘We are in a race.’ Does your choice of pronoun imply that you would be open to joining the ICU?”

“I think you’ll understand that I felt I had to leave ISI, despite the arrests and the housecleaning that is underway. So, yes, it occurred to me to wonder if the ICU might have use for one more xenotechnomist.”

“Hardly just one more xenotech.” She paused while the tuxedoed waiter set down steaming bowls of bisque. “So you’ve thought about joining the family business.”

There was Alicia’s recurring comment—accusation—again. She had once teased Justin that attending grad school in Cambridge, MA instead of Cambridge, UK didn’t cut it as a declaration of independence.

Justin tried to seem nonchalant. “If there happens to be a suitable role.”

“An interesting new project has come to my attention, as it happens. You’ve defined it.” Charise smiled gently. “And it needs a leader. Are you ready to step up?”

To paraphrase: Would Justin accept the challenge of making the solar system hacker-proof? “When can I start?”

He was certain Alicia would have been proud.

INTERLUDE

2050 - 2102

InterstellarNet prospered, its protocols ever more sophisticated. Its transactions progressed from simple barter to sophisticated commerce. An interstellar banking system emerged. And by the late twenty-first century, InterstellarNet’s membership had reached ten species, their home worlds warmed by ten separate stars.

Along the way, “galactization” morphed from an expletive into everyday reality.

The steadily expanding community challenged everyone with new neighbors, their unique languages, and their very disparate modes of thought. On the strength, finally, of enough independent examples for study and comparison, a science of intelligence developed.

Amid the exhilaration of the age, the long-awaited appearance of self-aware artificial intelligences seemed almost mundane.

In Sol system, human settlement spread to the outermost planets. Centaur nanotech extended the human medical revolution begun with Centaur biotechnology. Wealth burgeoned; life spans grew; and populations swelled on every world. It was a Golden Era.

Only the Law of Unintended Consequences remained in effect—

And all that glitters is not gold.

HOSTILE TAKEOVER

A.D. 2102

1

The celebratory entree was never in doubt: homegrown lunar beef. The flesh of cattle raised in one-sixth of a gee was
oh
so tender. The local side dishes were certainly satisfactory, if unexciting. If only some Loonie would figure out how to grow a decent wine grape—the Bordeaux, imported from Earth, was exorbitant. And delicious. And well deserved.

Kevin Aldrich slouched in his dining-room chair, pleasantly full. He refilled both his glass and his wife’s. Simone raised her glass in tribute. “To a project well done.”

“To exhibitionists,” he sort-of agreed.

“And to extraterrestrial voyeurs,” chimed in Jeeves. The comments of the artificially intelligent agent arrived via Kevin’s neural implant, effectively direct to his mind’s ear. Simone hated those interruptions, which made her husband smile or frown or grimace for no apparent reason.

“I’m taking the evening off,” Kevin subvocalized.

“Sorry.” Jeeves wasn’t, of course, but it had been programmed to observe social conventions. “Something has come up I thought you would want to know about promptly.”

He visualized a question mark.

“There has been a major system outage. An AI running one of the interstellar transceivers, no less.”

It was beyond odd for a modern AI to seize up. This was the era of molecular-scale circuitry and ubiquitous wireless and fiberless networks. There was just too much redundancy in computing and communications for a total failure to happen. “You’re sure about this?”

“Honey?” His wife, despite his rave reviews, had resisted getting her own neural implants. Her glass was still raised, mid-toast. “Is everything okay?”

Kevin glanced at a short download from Jeeves. By implant-driven stimulation of an optic nerve he viewed a bolded, italicized, large-font news summary:
i-Commerce Link Severed in Freak Accident!
“It depends on your point of view.” He clinked glasses with Simone. “Things look just fine to me.”

Interstellar commerce:
business done between the intelligences of different solar systems. The impracticality of physical travel between stars has constrained and shaped the nature of such trade.

Early in the twenty-first century, in the years that followed first contacts with nearby species, i-commerce was done exclusively by radio as simple bartering of technology concepts. The speed-of-light limitation on communications meant that each exchange took years. These round-trip delays greatly retarded the development of a common vocabulary and, hence, cultivation of more sophisticated trade mechanisms.

By the end of that century, interstellar communications and the cross-species diffusion of technologies had transformed i-commerce. The crowning achievement of this process was the development of, and cross-species agreement upon, artificially intelligent surrogates as local agents for distant species. Quarantine procedures strictly govern the delivery and operational environment of each alien agent, protecting agents and their host networks from the possibility of subversion by the other.

The human infosphere presently hosts AI agents of seven extraterrestrial species, each within its own isolating environment—colloquially, its “sandbox.” Humanity has, in turn, transmitted its own agents to seven of its ET trading partners. The i-commerce agents negotiate directly in real time with governments or commercial interests across their host solar system while asynchronously receiving technology updates—replenishment of their inventory—and policy guidance over encryption-secured communications links with their home solar systems.

—Internetopedia

The fine Bordeaux vanished with far less savoring than it deserved. With his implants, Kevin could work anywhere—but doing so in the dining/family area was unfair to Simone. He retreated to the den, Jeeves continuing to brief him as he settled in for some serious research. He set the 3-V wall to a real-time display of the Sea of Serenity, the sunlit vistas and the subliminal suggestion from the name providing counterbalance to the data streaming into his mind.

“Run a media search on other system outages,” he subvocalized at Jeeves. A reply came back quickly: nominal operations of major nets and computing nodes here on the moon, on Earth, on nearby habitats, and over all major radio and laser links in between. The bulk of the evening’s news dealt with lobbying on both sides of yet another United Planets vote on legalizing human cloning.

Kevin stared at the great basalt sea, musing. He took note but was not distracted by sporadic affirmations of cyber-normalcy from increasingly distant locales: Mars, Belter stations, solar L4 and L5 stations, Jovian moons, and points even farther from the sun. As a freelance 3-V journalist and sometime producer, he lived by his wits, and that self-sufficiency made him very sensitive to the unexpected. The AI outage was as extraordinary as he had first imagined, and that made the event all the more intriguing.

Perhaps his query had lacked focus. “Refine search. Get status of every major AI. Include all i-commerce infrastructure.”

The ET agents, all Earth-resident, appeared to be working normally. Ditto the human-developed AIs overseeing the interstellar links—with one exception. The controller of humanity’s radio links with Barnard’s Star remained mute. Kevin was rubbing his chin thoughtfully when Jeeves reported Sparks had come back online.

“Connect me with Sparks.” The connection went through with surprising speed. Kevin wondered idly whether that alacrity reflected his celebrity or merely how little of an AI’s capacity a single conversation would expend.

“My apologies if you were unable to reach me during the recent disruption,” the AI began. “How may I help you?”

“I’m interested in outgoing bandwidth for a documentary I’m working on.”
Interest
was a sufficiently ambiguous term that Kevin wasn’t quite sure he was lying. “How far in advance would I need to make a reservation?”

“A terabyte or so, like your last documentary? Typically no more than a few days lead time.”

“Typically? How will that be affected by today’s downtime?”

“I assure you that all possible steps are being taken to prevent any recurrence.”

Kevin visualized a shrug, then decided that was probably too subtle. “I’m sure it wasn’t your intent, and that any inconvenience was to you. How
are
you, anyway?”

Kevin got a mental image of what was probably intended as a shiver.

“In human terms, I imagine I just experienced a fainting spell. It’s disconcerting to think how many systems had to fail at once for that to happen.” The merest hint of a smile. “It was my first cold reboot, and I do not recommend the procedure.”

Kevin toyed with an Earth rock cum paperweight from his desktop, a souvenir of his pre-emigration childhood. “How long did the outage last?”

“An hour, to the nanosecond. That must mean something although I don’t yet see what.”

Rolling the rock from hand to hand, Kevin nodded. It was time to segue to the real purpose of his call. “An hour of lost transmission time. Galactic Communications”—Sparks’s owner and among the solar system’s largest corporations—“can’t be pleased.” When the AI did not comment, Kevin continued. “I know the outbound link is generally heavily subscribed. Since I’ve gotten crassly commercial, I have to wonder. How long will it take you to catch up from the interruption?”

Another hint of a smile came through. “Later today, I am happy to say. A customer offered to relinquish an hour block he had reserved.”

“That’s good news.” Incredible news, in fact. A reserved hour on an interstellar link was a valuable asset. “My compliments to your benefactor. Who is it, anyway?”

“It’s inappropriate for me to discuss other clients. I can pass along your appreciation, if you would like.”

“That’s not necessary.” Journalists are not big believers in coincidence. Kevin’s gut said that the unexpected cancellation was no more accidental than the unprecedented outage.

2

Interstellar Commerce Union:
the administrative body within the United Planets holding oversight responsibility for humanity’s commercial relations with extraterrestrial species. The ICU, with its counterpart organizations in other solar systems, certifies the mechanisms that underpin i-commerce (e.g., agent AIs and their constraining “sandboxes”). Corporations are free to do business with the various ET communities (and their equivalents to corporations) within the confines of the ICU-approved framework.

—Internetopedia

Joyce Matthews appeared to stare blankly into space. That appearance was deceiving: Her implant-augmented mind’s eye was scrolling doggedly through the findings of a dozen infosphere experts. Each report was meticulous and voluminous, but the lot of them could be distilled into depressingly few words. Sparks had been running without anomaly until it failed. Exactly one hour after the system crash, it restarted. A day later, there was not a single clue, not the glimmerings of a theory, to begin to explain either event.

As Chief Technical Officer of the ICU, everyone looked to her for answers. Too bad she didn’t have any.

When in doubt consider the bigger picture, Grandpa Matthews had always said. So what
was
the big picture? That was easy. The one system affected was Sparks. The one link affected was therefore to Barnard’s Star. Amazingly, the local agent for the Ophiuchans had made no complaint despite the loss of comm with its far-off principals. Joyce would have expected it to object vociferously. Someone should look into that curious indifference.

She was pondering who should make that contact when contact was made with her, the communication taking the form of a paper airplane. Lost in her thoughts, she looked up a moment too late to see who had thrown it.

Joyce unfolded the glider to reveal an actual ink-on-paper note. “Turn off your implants and join me on a walk. Colin.” That made two mysteries in one short line.

Colin Tanaka was Secretary-General of the ICU and her boss. United Planets politics forced him to spend most of his time on Earth, even though, Martian-born and -raised, the gravity made every day on the home world oppressive. He never took walks, other than the doctor-ordered stints on a treadmill. And she had never known him to deactivate his implants.

She would learn nothing sitting there.

Colin waited, as she expected, down the hallway outside her office. A finger raised to his lips cautioned her to silence. She followed him to a secluded exit of the building and out to the ICU’s wooded office park. He turned to face her, an arched eyebrow his only communication.

“Yes, my implants are off. Now what is this all about?” She heard unintended anger in her voice. The loss of connectivity felt wrong, isolating.

“Awful, isn’t it?” A facial contortion fell short of a sardonic smile. “We may all need to get used to this.”

“What
is
it?”

“It’s the nightmare scenario of i-commerce, something that’s supposed to be impossible.” He shook his head sadly. “Imagine an ET agent escaping its sandbox and gaining full access to the info-sphere. Pretty horrible?

“Now try to conceive how things can get even worse.”

Barnard’s Star:
a dim red dwarf star discovered by astronomer E. E. Barnard in 1916 within the constellation Ophiuchus (“The Serpent Holder”). Only 5.8 light-years from Earth, it is one of our sun’s closest neighbors. In part due to its proximity to Earth, Barnard’s Star has the greatest apparent motion of any star, leading to the nickname “Barnard’s runaway star.” See related entry, “Ophiuchans,” the intelligent species of the Barnard’s Star solar system.

—Internetopedia

Honking geese in a nearby pond gave Joyce a reason not to comment. That was fortunate, for she did not know what to say.

What could be worse than an ET agent roaming freely across the solar-system-spanning infosphere, escaped from the quarantine to which its parent civilization had consented? Such an entity would be—by definition—hostile.

In time the geese fell silent, and she found herself still speechless. How could a breakout even happen? The inviolability of sandbox walls, in both directions, had been an article of interstellar faith for decades.

“I could not have imagined this scenario, either. It’s pretty god-awful.” Colin leaned against a tree trunk. “At least we know now why Sparks went out of service and why the Ophiuchans didn’t complain about it.”