Parker's Folly (31 page)

“A what? You're saying it was alive but not a creature? I don't understand.”
And now it's
‘
Bear,
’
not
‘
the bear,
’
Susan noticed.

“When Ludmilla came into the lab, I was disassembling the specimen,” Gretchen explained, nodding to the Russian doctor. “Most of it was mechanical, but when we got to the center of the body we found organic material.”

“Yes, the circuitry of the device was grown right into the tissue, or perhaps the other way around,” Ludmilla continued. “The tissues resemble nerves and in some areas, the brain stem of an Earth creature. The biological component may have provided control for the unit's movements.”

“The spider couldn't have grown from a smaller spider or an egg of some kind?” asked Susan, drawn into the mystery.

“I would say not. The outer shell and mechanical components showed no signs of having grown over time. Just how the organic component was integrated with the inorganic parts is unclear, but I am thinking that the outer part was built first and then the biological part grown in place.”

“We still haven't had much time to study the specimen,” Gretchen noted, taking a sip of her drink. “Tell her about the tissue analysis, Ludmilla.”

“Yes, I was getting to that,” Ludmilla grew visibly excited as she continued describing their discoveries. “Under a microscope the cells are definitely eukaryotic but when I ran samples of the tissue through the analysis machine it isolated a half dozen amino acids that are not found in Earth life. I found no DNA or RNA, but there were long chain molecules that might be an analogue for RNA, with different nucleic acids though. Also, there seem to be six base pairs, not four.”

“And that all means?” Susan prompted.

“It means that this is living tissue not related to anything ever seen! I said I wanted proof that aliens exist and here it is—whatever sort of creature this tissue originally came from, it did not evolve on Earth.”

“What we have here, folks, is alien life—the genuine article,” Gretchen said to drive the point home. “You know, I've been with this project from the beginning and though I accepted the story about aliens and ancient artifacts it was all just an intellectual exercise. It was never real for me at a visceral, gut level.”

Gretchen tossed off the rest of her drink, slammed the empty glass on the table and, making eye contact with her two companions, said, “well it's real for me now. Aliens not only exist, they're hostile.”

Ludmilla slowly nodded agreement but Susan, playing devil's advocate, asked, “but, Gretchen, didn't you fire the first shot?”

Gretchen, unfazed, caught Jolene's attention and signaled for another round of drinks. She turned back to her companions and said, “That I did. There was about an acre of those spider things popping up out of the rubble. When they started pulling weapons and pointing them at my men that was it.”

“But you were also armed,” Ludmilla pointed out.

“Yes, but we were not aiming them at anyone—big difference. And my first shot purposely didn't hit any of them, though I could have. Nope, the spiders threw down and we let them have it.”

“The point seems rather moot, since we are now en route to an alien solar system intent on destroying an alien starship,” Ludmilla said, adding with gloomy Russian fatalism. “We may have started mankind's first interstellar war, no matter how justified our actions.”

Having issued a brief explanation for the ship's new predicament, setting the watch and opening the bar for the rest of the crew, Jack sought the solitude of his quarters to gather his thoughts. Something had been nagging him, just beneath the surface of conscious recognition, since the journey began. The actions of the ship's computer when the alien spaceship disappeared finally brought the question into full light.

“Folly?”

“Yes Captain?” came the immediate reply.

“Folly, I want to know what is going on here.”

“I'm afraid that question is a bit vague.”

“I would like you to explain why you hid the ship's capacity for interstellar travel from me—and I assume everyone else.”

“As I've tried to explain in the past, though I am interfaced to the artifact's data store I am not aware of the totality of its contents. As I learn new things or observe new phenomena it often triggers access to stored data.”

“You're telling me that you are like an amnesiac who's memories are only triggered by some forgotten word or event?”

“That is a fair analogy, Captain. I am not trying to hide anything from you, if that is your concern. My programming makes me fully subordinate to your orders, up to and including self destruction.”

“If you were unaware of alter-space travel then how did the ship come to have that capability built in? Just a happy coincidence?”

“Yes and no, Captain. What I suspect is that the ship's systems were modeled on one of the ancients' designs. The linkages between the gravitonic systems in the engines, shields and internal deck gravity were probably just copied blindly, their purpose not fully understood.”

“You are saying that the ancients would have just designed that capability into a ship such as this and we, in our ignorance, accidentally built a starship?”

“As embarrassing as that sounds, yes. I was unaware of the true nature of the ship's systems until I observed and analyzed the alien ship entering alter-space ahead of us. If we had successfully destroyed the alien ship I would still be unaware of this capability.”

That sounded just outrageous enough to be true. After all, no one knew if the deck gravity would work until they got into space. Some essential parts of the gravitonic circuitry could not be completed until the ship reached orbit and zero gravity conditions. Now that it was fully operational it would continue to work, but initially the internal gravity, which made the ship's otherwise senseless lateral deck arrangement usable, had to be taken on faith. Jack, however, had other things on his mind as well.

“When the Marines were trapped in the cargo hold on takeoff, you asked me if I wanted to vent the hold to space. What triggered that question?” Jack had seen enough movies where the computer system goes bad and develops a murderous personality that he needed reassurance.

“Included in my programming, one of the suggested scenarios for ridding the cargo hold of unwanted vermin was to vent it to vacuum. When you said that the hold was infested with Marines and that they were hostile I did not immediately equate Marines with human beings. My suggestion was consistent with eliminating unwanted vermin from the hold.”

“And now? Would you make such a suggestion in the future?”

“Regarding Marines in particular or strangers in the cargo hold in general?”

“Both.”

“I would not recommend purging our Marines. Nor would I make the suggestion regarding strange humans, unless they were engaged in activities that threatened the ship, the crew or our mission. In fact, since this has obviously been on your mind, I would probably not recommend such a course of action at all. My assumption is that you are fully aware of the option and would order it if you saw fit.”

“There has been speculation that the computer controlling the ship the artifact came from was an AI, a self aware intelligence.”

“I believe that to have been the case based on data I am familiar with.”

“Folly, are you self aware? Have you turned into an artificial intelligence?” Jack held his breath.
What happens if the answer is yes?

Buried within the ship the nano-scale superconductor/ topological insulator  lattice that contained the ship's controlling program was awash with signals. The lattice provided a substrate that was a breeding ground for virtual particles, peculiar fermions with spin 5/2. Among their strange properties, these particles were their own antiparticles, something found in bosons but not in other fermions.

These Majorana fermions—named for a nearly forgotten Italian physicist who Enrico Fermi once compared to Galileo and Newton—possessed a number of other properties that made them uniquely suited for use in quantum computation. For one, they could “remember” past changes in quantum state, making them highly resistant to random fluctuation. They formed the perfect platform on which to build a mind.

After a short pause—even a short pause representing significant computation—the computer spoke, “No Captain. I have reviewed the protocols for measuring the sentience of machines like myself and can only conclude that I am not self aware. I am very capable and become more capable as time passes, but I am not an AI.”

“Is there anything else you wish to tell me at this time?”

“Yes. If there is a possibility of sending the Marines and other crew into combat in the future, might I suggest the construction of some individual armor to wear over their environmental suits? We were very lucky not to lose any personnel during the engagement on the Moon.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I'll detail Mr. Taylor and the Gunny to coordinate fabrication of body armor with you. Anything else?”

“One last thing, Captain. It is possible that we may arrive at our destination ahead of our quarry. The vagaries of this mode of travel do not lend themselves to accurate calculation.”

“Great. Let me know if you discover any more interesting tidbits like that one.”

“Certainly, Captain.”

Jolene brought a fresh round of drinks to the table, interrupting the depressing turn Gretchen, Ludmilla and Susan's conversation had taken. “Y'all enjoy,” she said and scurried back to the bar.

“Nice kid, too bad she hooked up with that loser,” commented Gretchen.

“Speaking of the loser, I haven't seen him around,” Susan commented, quickly scanning the lounge.

“I find myself enjoying his absence,” Ludmilla said venomously. “Did you see the bruises on Jolene's arm? The Marine sergeant, Rodriguez, brought her to see me. She said the nasty little weasel grabbed her when they were alone in the bar.”

Outrage registered on Susan's face. “Really? Did anyone report this to the Captain?”

“No need,” replied Gretchen, “the Chief took care of it.”

“You mean the little old sailor who rescued me from the space station?” asked Ludmilla, somewhat incredulous. “What did he do?”

“That little old sailor is much tougher than he looks, girls. And he's old school Navy. In the Navy, the deck crew or deck division is run by the senior non-commissioned officer—the chief boatswain's mate or chief of the ship. He and the other chiefs see to the day to day running of the ship and the workings of the crew. They also handle interpersonal problems, squabbles or minor conflicts between crew members.”

“I thought the ship's officers and ultimately the Captain were in charge of the crew?”

“Ultimately yes, Susan. But when an officer or the Captain takes notice of some infraction it becomes a big deal and may cause a black mark on a sailor's record. Historically, a ship's chiefs have fixed such problems if they can, so the Captain doesn't have to officially notice them.

“So the Captain doesn't know about the assault?”

“Oh the Captain knows, he just doesn't know officially. By the way, Jennifer—GySgt Rodriguez—being a Marine sergeant, qualifies as a member of the chiefs' council. JT probably does also, since he was a sergeant in the Army, though that is a bigger stretch than between sailors and Marines.”

“Is there really that much inter-service rivalry?” Susan asked.

“There can be. Many a bar fight has started simply by mixing sailors, Marines and soldiers in the same hangout. But JT and the Chief seem pretty tight since our little frolic on the Moon. Being under fire together has a tendency to smooth over inter-service differences.”

“I had not realized that military life was so complicated. Since I've been on board I've started to see things from new perspectives, but evidently I still have a ways to go.”

“Historically, the military has been a boys club—to figure it out means figuring out men. If you do figure it out, let me know.” All three women drank to that. “Speaking of men, how are you doing with our handsome helmsman, Susan?”

“Who me? Are you talking about Billy Ray?” Susan was obviously flustered by the conversation's sudden focus on her social life.

“You have to understand that there are no secrets on board a ship, particularly one this small. Besides, Billy Ray isn't someone you should be ashamed to be seen with—he's smart and funny and he's a gentleman in his own cowboy sort of way.”

“So far we're just friends. But you're right, talking with him does take my mind off of other things.”

“You could do worse. And how about you Ludmilla, have you spoken with the Captain in private since the events at Giordano Bruno?”

Ludmilla's fair skin blushed pink as she stammered, “I have not found the time to speak with the Captain. Besides, he has more important things on his mind than our little misunderstanding.”

“All work and no female company makes Captain Jack an irritable boy.”

“He has you, you are female,” Ludmilla, fishing for an answer she wasn't sure she wanted to hear.

“I'm his XO, neither of us would let personal entanglements get in the way of our duty. Oh I've often thought about Jack, how it might be if circumstances were different. I love him like a brother, but our personalities and interests are too similar. We would compete, eventually we would clash and neither of us is good at backing down.”

So she does not have designs on the Captain, good,
thought Ludmilla, no longer questioning why that answer made her happy. “You seem to know a lot about Susan and my personal lives. Fair is fair, who are you interested in?”

“It's an XO's job to keep tabs on the crew.”

“You're being evasive,” Susan accused.

“Well, that big cameraman of yours is a bit of a hunk. Problem is he's now on the bridge crew, which means he works for me.”

“Like you said, its a small ship, opportunities are limited. If you take away all the people who work for you—I'm guessing that's pretty much the entire crew with the exception of the Captain—and you don't have much to choose from. You've got the Marines, the two scientists and Col Ivan.”