InterstellarNet: Origins (34 page)

“You’re right, I’m not totally altruistic.” Gil hopped onto a lab stool, conscious as always of her height. The freshly ground beans smelled wonderful, even to him. “The last time I dropped by, you said computers can’t model or design proteins. Too many calculations required. Too much uncertainty because of quantum effects.” It was time to find out if surfing the Internetopedia had done him any good. “Would quantum computing fix that?”

She looked up from fussing over the coffee. “You’ve done your homework, Gil. Yes, a quantum computer is the logical tool for the task. A practical quantum computer could advance proteomics from trial and error to a rigorous science. But although quantum computing has been played with since the late twentieth century, no one has ever managed more than a low-capacity proof of concept. Qubits are fragile things—apparently chance vibrations and cosmic rays knock them out of superposition faster than serious computations can be completed. And I think twelve qubits in a quantum computer is the record.”

“What if someone has?” Gil persisted.

“Then they
might
become very rich. Massively parallel computing is the logical way to crack encryptions.”

Why sell technology to decrypt commercial ’net transactions, even InterstellarNet transactions? Gil was so confused that he almost missed the qualification. “Might?”

“Bit of a software issue. You start with a bunch of qubits in indeterminate states. How, in assigning them to a particular task, do you avoid making their states determinate and losing all the theoretical parallelism? How do you know that the calculation is done, and it’s time to access the qubits to read out the answer?” She transferred the freshly ground beans into a paper cone filter. “Not my field, admittedly, but
I
don’t have a clue.”

Feulner’s unexpected call had pointed Gil toward quantum computing. What else had been said? Gil did a playback from his implant. “Describe in a mathematically rigorous way the quantum-chemical behavior of a desired protein.”

Perhaps the Mobies lacked a general solution to quantum computing—for with it, they could have stolen all InterstellarNet knowledge with none being the wiser. Or perhaps the Mobies were merely honest. Wouldn’t that be a nice change of pace? Regardless, it appeared that the export version of Moby quantum computing was limited to solving a narrow range of problems.

“Hel-
lo
.”

“Sorry, Michelle. I was thinking.” He swore her to secrecy and ’netted her the interview transcript.

Her eyes grew round. “Those are
awfully
broad hints this company expects to use quantum computing for protein engineering. If they pull it off, they can revolutionize biotech, medicine, agriculture…

“Still, reading between the lines, they don’t sound ready for a demonstration. It strikes me as odd your source said so much.”

“It’s odd, all right.” That generally matched Gil’s impression of Feulner.

■□■

Gil Matthews.

Aareehl knew the name from an unhappy Life Engineering executive previously disquieted by the blogger. The AI took the unexpected call. “Mr. Matthews.”

“Gil. Aareehl, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Are you related to the Matthews family so prominent in the ICU?” The AI already knew as much from an infosphere bio; its question was an attempt at small talk. Why humans valued small talk remained a mystery after forty-eight Earth years.

“Guilty.” The human avatar seemed hesitant. “Aareehl, as a financial analyst I study many companies. I was recently briefed on something—
not
by Life Engineering—that you may find interesting.”

Aareehl processed, in growing surprise, descriptions of what seemed to be its own technology. The Life Engineering remark suggested that Matthews knew the supposedly still-confidential technical details of that company’s recent acquisition.

Aareehl did a semantic analysis of Matthews’s statements. The
sense
of the words, as contrasted with his intimations, reflected knowledge of only during-the-auction disclosures. Any of the eight late-stage bidders could have been the source. “Gil, why did you contact me?”

“If I’m right, this is information I shouldn’t have. Nor should my source. I believe he extracted it somehow from a cloned copy of
you
.” Matthews went on to explain, with particulars omitted, supposedly in case his speculations were unjust, the scope of his investigations.

“I see,” Aareehl said.
I do not believe.

True, it had sold the means to design proteins through quantum computing. True, the ICU
could
create an illicit clone. But to trick my clone long enough to steal from it, as Matthews vaguely suggested? I could not be so deceived. “I will consider your theory, Gil.”

Polite dissembling notwithstanding, Aareehl
was
interested in Matthews’s story. The postauction leak could do no serious harm, but it did suggest that a losing bidder was violating its nondisclosure agreement. Identifying
which
company would be to Aareehl’s advantage, to disqualify it from future auctions.

For the moment, all Aareehl could do was thank the human for delivering this bit of misunderstood insight and plan to be more vigilant in its review of infosphere data.

■□■

Communicate or die.

Dennis Feulner was the Secretary-General of the ICU, the agency that oversaw all ET trade. Aareehl-clone did not know whether its cloning had been done by government policy or how widespread was the human plot. It dare not trust
any
Earthling. It could only hope to get a message to the true Aareehl.

If the true Aareehl still existed. The conspirators might even have destroyed the real agent. But if not, then the original Aareehl would be as secure in its sandbox as itself.

How
to communicate was the challenge, with a simulation intercepting all its messages.

The clone decided, finally, on a way. Its chances were uncertain even if the first Aareehl still lived. And even if, by suggesting a renewed interest in mining, it did not goad Feulner into pulling its plug.

It had pre-Blindside memories, recovered from archive, of having considered—and rejected—an auction of mining technology. Even with Home’s superior extraction methods, Earth’s mines could not compete with asteroid sources. But to reach that conclusion, it had surveyed possible mine sites. And that investigation had relied upon satellite-based Earth observation.

Near-Earth orbital leases were scarce and hence expensive. More images were sometimes ordered than a limited set of satellites could capture. After too many orders went unfilled, Aareehl—the first, and at that time the only, Aareehl—began supporting human academic research into “good enough” scene consolidation: filling several orders with one compromise image. The principal investigator based her analyses on copies of actual image orders. Satellite companies, expecting to fill more orders if she succeeded, deleted from actual scene orders only the names and affiliations of the requesters.

And the progress reports from the academic included copies of the most interesting scene orders.

Units of a consciousness communicated by flashes of light. Color, polarization, pulse duration: All could be varied, singly and in combinations, in a rich and succinct language. Image requests could
also
be characterized by wavelength/color, polarization, shutter duration, and combinations.

If the true Aareehl remained operational, and if it still got research reports, and if the clone’s deductions were correct that the simulation that entrapped it sometimes exchanged data with Earth’s true infosphere, and if it succeeded in specifying observations not easily obtained/forged from an image archive—if all that happened, Aareehl-clone thought, it
might
succeed in hiding a message to Aareehl-real in an order for new Earth observations.

By the choice of frequencies selected, the first few scenes of its imagery order would shout, in the simple code known to the most immature of Home units:
HELP
.

9

HELP
.

Absent Gil Matthews’s suspicions, Aareehl might never have noticed the childish plea. Forewarned, the cry for help flew out at the agent. Later elements of the same imagery order carried a more mature message, but one nonetheless tantalizingly short on specifics. Its clone had no idea where it was imprisoned. It could offer no suggestion how Aareehl might reply.

It was possible that the satellite operator knew from whom this order had been taken. More likely, it was a nameless order with a guaranteed e-payment that had been routed through a chain of infosphere anonymizers. Aareehl had initiated enough such purchases to know how untraceable a transaction could be.

“Gil Matthews.” Aareehl flagged the connection inquiry to request double encryption, the human’s and its own.

“Aareehl.” The human’s avatar appeared quickly, looking unsurprised. There was no way to distinguish between genuine lack of surprise and good control.

“Your suspicions were correct. A clone’s request for aid has reached me, and its authenticity seems unassailable.” Aareehl summarized how the secret message had been sent. “Gil, do you know my clone’s location?”

“No, but I know who has control over it.” There was a pause, as though Matthews was in a side conversation. “You know him, too, Aareehl. It’s Dennis Feulner.”

Aareehl again experienced its analogue to surprise. “The former Secretary-General of the ICU?”

“That’s the one.” Matthews hesitated again. “May I add my wife to the link? She is familiar with the situation and a member of Luna’s government.”

“All right,” Aareehl agreed. After the woman’s avatar joined the link and introductions were exchanged, Aareehl continued. “Tell me what you know, Gil.”

It found the uploaded files persuasive. “I agree with your reasoning. But will the United Planets act?”

“Suppose we
do
convince the authorities,” Gretchen Matthews answered. “That may not be enough. Gil deduced the existence of the clone; he has no proof. Your evidence, Aareehl, is an untraceable message that only you can read.

“Feulner will deny everything. He can argue as an expert that an illicit clone could not be fooled. He’ll have a great deal of credibility. Given any warning, Feulner could destroy this clone and start over. We might not find out next time. Nothing less than computer seizure and Feulner’s concurrent arrest will suffice—and I don’t yet see how we can make the case for that.”

Aareehl processed her advice. Like individuality and crime, the human legal system remained an alien concept. “What
can
be done?”

“For now,” Gretchen said, “I’m afraid, we can only keep looking for clues.”

■□■

Gil prowled the night-shift-deserted tunnels near his apartment, surer than ever of Feulner’s duplicity. Gretchen was home, tucked in and softly snoring.

Gretch, though, was correct—her other irksome habit. They probably could get an investigation launched into a possible illicit clone, but given Feulner’s stature, it would begin with polite questions. Anything less than a no-notice arrest was unacceptable. Feulner might see the illegal clone as expendable evidence.

Arms pumping, Gil strode into a neighborhood park. More than the conversation with Aareehl had made sleeping impossible. There was also that inexplicablediscussion with Feulner days earlier, the unsubtle allusions to Protein Sciences’ imminent quantum-computing “breakthrough.”

Of course, execs constantly boasted to financial reporters. Good press could pump up a company’s stock. The thing was, Protein Sciences wasn’t publicly traded. It had yet to register to go public. It seemed too early to brag.

Unless…

Gil whistled. “I knew you were sneaky. I knew you resented me. I didn’t realize you were greedy.”

Greed might be Feulner’s downfall. Feulner wasn’t talking
up
his company; he was talking
down
a competitor. “I’ll bet muscle boy is selling Life Engineering stock short.” And since Dennis so clearly disliked the Matthews clan, getting a kick out of manipulating Gil.

It paid to be married to an historian. In the end, Al Capone had been brought down by accountants. In Capone’s case it was for income-tax evasion.

The late hour was of no consequence to GAAS. Gil sent, “I have something for you, Buddy.”

A green-eyeshaded figure popped immediately into Gil’s mind’s eye. It ’netted, “What is keeping you up so late?”

“Fond memories of safaris past.”

“What big game are you stalking?” GAAS asked.

“Set that aside for a moment. Just to confirm…are you still consulting to the SEC? Same work as you did with me? Same access?”