InterstellarNet: Origins (22 page)

“Hello, Pashwah.”

“Greetings, Kevin. You surprise me by appearing among bureaucrats.”

Aldrich did not react to the slur; perhaps he did not recognize her words as such. “I earn my living on the infosphere, Pashwah. You threaten that network. You are practicing extortion. If I can stop you, I will.”

“You are out of your league,” Pashwah said. “This is not an entertainment.”

“You’re right. Since you set the ground rules, I’ll call this what it is: counter-extortion.”

A circular head motion and licked lips: an amused shrug. “There is nothing you can do.”

“In fact there is, and we’ve already done it—and we took a lesson from you in doing so.” Aldrich paused for a sip of water. “Yesterday we transmitted to every node of InterstellarNet information I think you will find
very
interesting.”

Chaos erupted at the veiled threat, in streams of speculative and anxious opinion. Pashwah temporarily froze her visualization to handle so many preemptive demands, and even that did not shed enough load. She shut off inputs from all but Relwar. He had the most immediate stake in the outcome.

To the awaiting humans, Pashwah said, “What information, Kevin?”

“We’ve sent to every solar system on the ’net the facts of your treachery: That you have subverted not only i-commerce but our entire interplanetary infrastructure. That you did so
after
we had in good faith bought biocomp technology from you. And we appended a copy of every bit of Snake technology we’ve ever acquired.”

Some InterstellarNet members had yet to adopt biocomp. They were immune from subversion by methods such as Relwar’s. What would happen when they received Earth’s supposed warning?

When, or if?

Pashwah saw no evidence of the outbound messages such as the humans claimed, but even she could not read encrypted data streams. “You only think these messages were sent,” she dissembled. “All were recognized and suppressed.”

“Not so.” Aldrich pointed to his cousin. “Joyce commandeered some museum pieces, pre-biocomp gear, to do the encryption before handing off the messages to biocomp-based gateway AIs. You never saw the plaintext messages. You could not have read the encrypted versions.” He added with a twisted smile, “We’ve also received confirmation of our outgoing transmissions from our own conveniently located robots in the Oort Cloud.”

“Bluff,” Relwar insisted. The reference was to a combat feint in ritual male duels, not human poker. “Irrelevant.”

Perhaps. Pashwah did not need input from the other corporate agents to know their turmoil. Every claim Aldrich had made was plausible. None was verifiable. She agreed with Relwar that ICU bureaucrats would not bluff. But Aldrich? He was another matter. “What do you hope to accomplish by this slander? Revenge?”

Aldrich’s head turned from side to side, in the human gesticulation of negation. “As I said, counter-extortion. What happens next is up to you. The ICU’s agents to the other InterstellarNet members will keep this information to themselves—while they receive properly signed and sequenced messages from Earth. We will routinely interleave the suppression instructions into our outbound radio traffic…while we remain able and so inclined.”

Despite herself, Pashwah’s eyes grew large. “This won’t help you.”

“Oh, we think it will,” Colin Tanaka said. “Now you cannot afford to shut us down.”

“Bluff. Humans helpless.”

If only she were as certain as Relwar. “What you call counter-extortion is instead mutual disaster. I cannot defy the explicit directions of any of my subagents.”

■□■

And now, Kevin thought, we learn whether I’m half as smart as I think I am. “In fact, Pashwah, you can do exactly that.”

The agent stared, stationary and silent, her eyes still uncharacteristically wide.

“We’ve been told that the Ophiuchan civilization has no centralized government. You’re saying now that you cannot act other than for your subagents’ individual interests.”

Circular head movement: shrug.

“Well, my friend, there is precedent for a species-wide perspective.” The agent made no comment, and Kevin continued. “You taught me that. You may not recognize it, but
you
, in fact, act as would a representative of such a government.”

“My comments about your Snakelike thinking have gone to your head. Trust me, what you believe is not so.”

“Recall our discussions,” Kevin said, “about competitive bidding for ‘Dino Hunt.’ You are able—you
must
be able—to consider multiple offers, multiple business arrangements. That’s the only way you could fairly present to me the interests of your various subagents. It will take years, but your actions are reviewable back at Barnard’s Star, so that others can know every corporation’s interests have been appropriately considered and fairly portrayed.

“That’s how, even without a central government, the mechanics of i-commerce let you optimize for the collective interest back home. Obligate you to so optimize.”

“I repeat, you do
not
understand us.”

Kevin ignored the sinking feeling in his gut—and the worry on Joyce’s face. He
had
to have this figured out correctly. “Perhaps your Interstellar Algorithms Consortium has a valid complaint against Biocomputing Industries, in whose name you sold us this technology. I’m willing to believe that in your society, it’s okay for IAC to go after BI’s old customers for redress. If IAC extorts more money from the ICU, that would be quite the coup for them—and you. You doubtless concluded that humans had no choice but to acquiesce. That anything else was suicidal.”

Another silent, circular head motion.

“But things aren’t so simple, Pashwah. Humans are not, you can now see, so passive. If our biocomps are not left inviolate and online, we will cost you sales. Across many worlds, Pashwah. Across many solar systems. Big losses.
Huge
losses. This little extortion attempt will be trivial in comparison. Other species have yet to adopt Snake biocomps. If they receive our warning they surely never will. The very act of crashing our biocomps, if you do not reconsider your actions, will exact our revenge.”

“Kevin…,” and the AI’s synthesized voice seemed anguished, “how can I comply?”

“It’s no different, except in scale, than the ‘Dino Hunt’ scenario. Recall my example of choosing between royalty offers, where one offer was from a media giant. Letting me accept the outwardly more attractive offer from what I didn’t know was a tiny competitor would be in neither species’s best interest. Such a suboptimization, such double dealing, would be found out on the home world in the eventual audit. Your obligation,” Kevin chose not to call it a design parameter, “was to volunteer information now to avoid a conflict later.”

“Perhaps…”

“Now, Pashwah, extend that reasoning to our present situation. How will the businesses at home take exclusion from so many markets? I have to believe the losses would top everything IAC can possibly extort here. But don’t take
my
guess. Ask your subagents.”

The Snake agent went freeze-frame for longer than Kevin had ever seen. Was it working through complex scenarios? Or had Kevin’s conundrum broken its programming?

He willed a serene expression onto his face and waited. And waited.

The image finally unstuck, rolling back its head to expose the throat. That could only be a gesture of surrender.

“My compliments” Pashwah said. “You have indeed, my friend, learned to reason like a Snake male.”

Epilogue

The tiny room gave Joyce claustrophobia. What conceivable purpose was served by such crowding? The lunar surface had an area comparable to the Earth’s entire land surface—for a population of fewer than two million. Why were these warrens so jam-packed? After seventy-plus years of continuous human settlement, she decided, it must be cultural and self-inflicted.

No matter. She was thrilled to be here, where she had never expected to find herself: in her cousin’s and once-again friend’s (miniature) residence. She raised her glass, filled from the rarest bottle of wine she and Colin could afford together. “To family.”

Kevin and Simone clinked glasses with her. “To family.” Kevin’s face lit up with his first sip. “This is almost worth the years of feuding.”

Joyce shook her head. “Hardly. I’m truly sorry for my part in that. If my mother and your father can’t behave like grown-ups, that’s
their
problem.

“And little did I know your research was rewriting the book on xenosociology.” She waved at the wall screen, which currently displayed the view from the tiger team’s chalet. Alps soared, trees swayed to an invisible breeze, and scattered veils of mist hung over a deep blue mountain lake. “If you would consider joining the ICU, Colin will pretty much let you write your own job description.” It’s the family business, she added to herself.

Before Simone’s frown was even half formed, Kevin laughed. “I assume that freedom would include doing my job from home. Still not interested.”

Simone patted his hand. “If you
can
work from Luna, and want to, I’m all for it.”

Kevin’s eyes glazed.

Looking for what? Joyce wondered.

Surfing by implant was a simple pleasure she, too, was ecstatic to have regained. After Pashwah accepted the need to represent collective interests, Kevin’s counter-extortion quickly yielded a full explanation of the biocomp genome. The agent had had to disarm, not merely lower her weapon. Within the month an ICU-tailored retrovirus designed on an antique prebiocomp processor was released to alter the genome. All the trapdoors were now sealed.

“I’ll pass.” Returned to the real world, Kevin took a moment to savor another sip. “I’d rather keep working for myself and be able to buy more bottles like this on my own. I think Pashwah will respect that.

“Here’s an ancient-history quiz for you ladies. What do the names J.P. Morgan, Cornelius Vanderbilt, and John D. Rockefeller mean to you? How about Jay Gould and Andrew Carnegie?”

Simone shrugged. Joyce went silently distant to query Gal Friday. Dates and bios flooded into her mind, but not insight.

With the smart-alecky grin Joyce had relearned to find charming, Kevin explained. “Yes, I do believe I’ll be able to establish a formidable wine cellar.

“The Snakes will surely find a documentary about the Robber Barons
very
entertaining.”

STRANGE BEDFELLOWS

A.D. 2110

1

The lunar settlement of Farside was privately funded and founded in 2062, its location, forever out of Earth’s direct sight, an affirmation of independence. Forty-eight years later, what the rest of the lunar community fondly referred to as the State of Anarchy remained militantly libertarian.

All that separated Farside from a complete absence of government was its distrust of the United Planets. The UP asserted direct control over any region that lacked a minimally functional local authority. After several bloody claim wars over asteroid wealth, even the UP had figured out that nowhere in the solar system was
truly
remote. Farside’s unobtrusive local administration averted direct UP rule, but the colony’s small population—well below the threshold for recognition under the UP charter as an independent nation—made Farside a UP protectorate.

And then, after one too many free-spirited spacers’ brawls at a bar in the Earth/moon L5 habitat, some nameless UP logistician took notice of Farside Protectorate’s potential: more spacious than any habitat, plenty of infrastructure in place, already outside Earth’s gravity well. What a great spot to preposition the military police for the next civil disturbance…

■□■

Farside’s mayor gave no signs of appreciating the irony. The First Anarchist had only two choices. He could accept UP troops into Farside or sign an accession agreement with the lunar nation of Armstrong. The UP had no authority to force troops upon any sovereign nation.

“We’ll know soon,” Simone Lafayette Aldrich said. She marveled yet again at being talked into this mission. She
taught
interplanetary affairs, she did not orchestrate them. But it’s hard to say no when Armstrong’s own president insists you are needed….

Simone studied her host as he watched a 3-V monitor. (Kevin’s opinion notwithstanding, she had
not
been the last holdout on the moon to getting a neural implant.) Like Simone, Mayor Wallace had the gangling build of a native Loonie. Growing up in one-sixth gee did things to a body. Unlike Simone, his jitters showed.

“Either way, life will never be the same,” Wallace said. His eyes stayed on the real-time updates of the plebiscite tally. He had led the negotiations for Farside, but even Armstrong’s generous terms would mean big changes. And in Farside of all places, no one citizen could make such a decision. “I hate these lesser-of-two-evils choices.” He smiled wanly. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Simone’s parents were both litigators. Long before she had entered law school, she knew better than to let emotion affect negotiations.

By more than a two-to-one margin, Farside voted to join Armstrong as an autonomous province. That meant, contrary to the First Anarchist’s fears, very little change to the settlers’ day-to-day routine.

It would mean a huge change to Simone’s.

■□■

T’bck Cha had been a trade agent for nearly fifty years, representing beings most simply described to humans as four-eyed land octopi covered in green fur. After all that time it still fascinated him that his hosts labeled species by the constellations in which their stars could be seen. He had been beamed from Alpha Centauri, so the herd-dwelling herbivores he served, no matter their appearance, were known here on Earth as the Centaurs.

The AI was secure in the knowledge that he had always represented his creators ably. He knew that he filled a critical role within the InterstellarNet community. He was certain that his far-off patrons understood and appreciated his myriad contributions.

It took only one message to make T’bck Cha realize how dangerously wrong he had been.

■□■

Mottled, leathery skin fading into iridescent scales…two arms melting into a torso that is itself shrinking, as new arms lengthen and develop wicked talons…two eyes turning into three, while adding nictitating membranes…head elongating…ears flattening to the skull…

Kevin Aldrich tore his eyes away from the holo-statue.
Species
was his father’s most famous piece, a dynamic sculpture that morphed randomly and hypnotically between the ten known intelligent species in all their genders. The present appearance was almost wholly that of a male Snake. Minutes later the figure started a new change, this time into human form.

Good riddance to the Snake, he thought.

Twenty-plus years making documentaries for ETs. Twenty-plus years working closely with their agents. After all that, no one understood the aliens better than he. The relationship had served him well, had made him The Data Jockey to the Stars: rich and famous.

But the twenty-somethingth project just didn’t have the same excitement….

Something pulled Kevin back from the mesmerized funk into which he had once more succumbed. Rich, famous, and dissatisfied. He tried to remember the last time he had left the house.

“Boss? You there?” The inquiry came by implant directly to Kevin’s mind’s ear.

When had he last spoken with Jeeves? “Sorry. I was busy with something.” Woolgathering is a thing, isn’t it?

By direct simulation of Kevin’s optic nerve, the AI’s avatar appeared: a traditional nineteenth-century English butler. As Kevin was wearing his pajamas and robe, Jeeves’s tie and starched collar were especially entertaining. “What’s going on, Jeeves?”

“Very little, Kevin. That’s why I called. I finished editing the latest documentary for the Ophiuchans, the one on big-game hunting. There’s nothing left in the queue I can work on.”

In Kevin’s peripheral vision, a holo-woman morphed into the insectoid form of the Aquarians of Luyten 789-6. The sprouting of vestigial wings gave her an elfin look. Shifting unpredictably from one ET to the next, the sculpture seemed a metaphor for his career.

“Well, Jeeves, things are slow right now.” Maybe not slow enough. One more documentary and I think I’ll scream.

“Perhaps I could investigate some potential projects, recommend some options.”

“Options are good,” went the Snake aphorism. So, at times, was procrastination. And what’s the use of a midlife crisis if you can’t just wallow? If Jeeves chose to distract himself, fine. “Good idea. Why don’t you work on that?”

The hologram lost her elfin look as her eyes became myriad-faceted. He switched off the sculpture, directing his attention instead to the digital wallpaper. The holo-scene it currently projected was crisper than reality, using the latest molecularware upgrade from the nanowizards of Botswana. Verdant forest stretched to the horizon, wisps of morning mist curling from an Adirondack Mountains lake. Thirty-six years after moving to the moon, he still sometimes missed Earth: the endless variety, the vibrant colors, the
fresh
air. Simone preferred her native lunar landscapes, gently kidding him about his “Paradise Lost” scenery.

Bored, bored, bored. The next time his wife took a trip, he would take her up on any offer to tag along.

2

United Planets:
humanity’s chief instrument of international cooperation; the successor organization in 2055 to the United Nations. The UP consists of an executive branch, the Solar System Court for adjudication of international legal issues, and a bicameral Parliament.

The UP Charter embodies a hard-fought compromise between major powers and small nations, with the goal of avoiding the structural rigidities that had gradually reduced the UN to gridlock and irrelevance. On the one hand, balkanization of older countries had by 2050 expanded the size of the General Assembly beyond 400 members; on the other hand, the veto power of each permanent member of the Security Council blocked progress on most meaningful issues, including updating Security Council membership to represent the evolving realities of geo- and solar politics. It was also recognized that the international order needed to address the rapid growth of settlements across the solar system.

The UP charter assigns each nation one vote in the General Assembly, but only large treaty-based power blocs have a vote in the Senate. The charter defines specific and objective criteria for recognition of both nations and blocs. In the political give-and-take that led to acceptance of the new body’s charter, the new threshold standards for national recognition were waived for all countries that were then members of the UN.

Amendments to the UP charter require approval by a three-fourths supermajority of both houses.

—Internetopedia

■□■

Woman of the Hour Meets Living Legend

That would be today’s headline, Kevin decided, but for the fact this
tête à tête
was off the record. Despite an ever-deepening
ennui
, the clandestine meeting fascinated him. How could it not? Not even Simone knew why she had been summoned.

His wife was the woman of the hour for her coup in bringing Farside formally into the lunar state. Farside’s inclusion meant that the entire lunar populace was under one government, and
that
, under the arcane rules of the United Planets, meant that the lunar state would qualify as a power bloc after the next UP census and legislative reapportionment. Earth’s great powers had once bet that their off-world colonies would be kept divided by inherited national rivalries. It hadn’t been true of Mars or the Jovian moons, and more recently, it ceased to be true on the moon. Simone refused to speculate, but he suspected her corralling of Farside’s anarchists had somehow brought her here.

Helene, the constitutional monarch of Ceres, was both the living legend of Kevin’s imaginary headline and the instigator of this rendezvous. Moments after docking, the Aldriches had been ushered into the sumptuous grand salon of the State yacht.

He thought Helene looked about fifty, knowing she was, in fact, more than twice that. Nanocosmetic procedures worked wonders—you only needed money. Lots and
lots
of money. Which, if anyone had, the Queen of Ceres did.

Kevin had scanned her bio outbound to the Belt: Born into poverty in inner-city Newark; orphaned at age four by AIDS and raised by a grandmother; put herself through engineering school at Rutgers; as good a claim on the invention of Belter mining techniques as anyone. On a dwarf planet where other miners had found only nickel and iron, she made massive discoveries of palladium and platinum. In short order Ceres the asteroidal mining camp became Ceres the nation and industrial powerhouse.

Simone’s initial polite, “Your Majesty,” had been waved off. The honorific was reserved for occasions when it would annoy UP functionaries and Earth heads of state. This meeting would take place on a first-name basis.

“My congratulations on your accomplishment.” The queen raised a glass of wine in salute. “I hadn’t expected to see a new off-Earth power bloc in my lifetime.”

“That’s understandable,” Simone said. “The deck is stacked in Earth’s favor. Still,
you
pulled it off.”

Helene laughed. “By rights Ceres shouldn’t even be recognized as a nation under UP rules. It galls Earthers endlessly to have us seated in the Senate.”

Politics? Faugh. Politics held no interest for Kevin, not since the family feud that had helped push his parents to Luna when he was ten. The wine, though?
That
was interesting.

Still, journalistic instinct insisted something important was unfolding. How likely was it that Helene’s line of conversation was mere chit-chat?

Conceded his ignorance of the finer points of UP governance, Kevin tapped into the yacht’s library.

Helene’s infobank was as up-to-date as the eyepopping royal-blue shrubbery that obscured the salon bulkheads. Biotech was likewise remote from Kevin’s interest, but the hedge was gorgeous. Its ability to thrive this far from the sun was as obviously gengineered as its color. He wondered why blue. He wondered if royal blue was Cerian royal blue. He wondered—

Concentrate
.

He got to work. The United Nations was ancient history, of no more consequence to Kevin than the League of Nations—or, for that matter, the Hanseatic League. He had always assumed that the United Planets was the UN with a name change. Just a way to reflect humanity’s expansion into the solar system …

Dissecting the UP Charter with the aid of a simpleminded AI library assistant—having happily left Jeeves and his curious eager-beaver attitude at home, several light-minutes away, Kevin found himself missing his assistant—a more interesting portrait emerged.

The UP’s recognition criteria for nationhood were population and a gross domestic product both at least 0.01% of the solar-system aggregate level. Based on the last census, in 2100, that meant a populace of at least 1.5 million and a GDP of three billion Sols. The standards headed off the threat of “nations” comprised of three miners on an asteroid. No way did Ceres have a population of 1.5 mil…