That minute was hardly long enough for Poole to recover from the shock. He felt a brief surge of delight, as well as astonishment, before another emotion took over. Glad though he was to hear from Bowman again, that phrase “a very important message” sounded distinctly ominous.
At least it was fortunate, Poole told himself, that he's asked for one of the few names I can remember. Yet who could forget a Scot with a Glasgow accent so thick it had taken them a week to master it? But he had been a brilliant lecturer – once you understood what he was saying.
“Dr Gregory McVitty.”
“Accepted. Now please switch on your Braincap receiver. It will take three minutes to download this message. Do not attempt to monitor: I am using ten-to-one compression. I will wait two minutes before starting.”
How is he managing to do this? Poole wondered. Jupiter/Lucifer was now over fifty light-minutes away, so this message must have left almost an hour ago. It must have been sent with an intelligent agent in a properly addressed package on the Ganymede-Earth beam – but that would have been a trivial feat to Halman, with the resources he had apparently been able to tap inside the Monolith.
The indicator light on the Brainbox was flickering. The message was coming through.
At the compression Halman was using, it would take half an hour for Poole to absorb the message in real-time. But he needed only ten minutes to know that his peaceful life-style had come to an abrupt end
34. Judgement
In a world of universal and instantaneous communication, it was very difficult to keep secrets. This was a matter, Poole decided immediately, for face-to-face discussion.
The Europa Committee had grumbled, but all its members had assembled in his apartment. There were seven of them – the lucky number, doubtless suggested by the phases of the Moon, that had always fascinated Mankind. It was the first time Poole had met three of the Committee's members, though by now he knew them all more thoroughly than he could possibly have done in a pre-Braincapped lifetime.
“Chairperson Oconnor, members of the Committee – I'd like to say a few words – only a few, I promise! – before you download the message I've received from Europa. And this is something I prefer to do verbally; that's more natural for me – I'm afraid I'll never be quite at ease with direct mental transfer.”
“As you all know, Dave Bowman and Hal have been stored as emulations in the Monolith on Europa. Apparently it never discards a tool it once found useful, and from time to time it activates Halman, to monitor our affairs – when they begin to concern it. As I suspect my arrival may have done – though perhaps I flatter myself.”
“But Halman isn't just a passive tool. The Dave component still retains something of its human origins – even emotions. And because we were trained together – shared almost everything for years – he apparently finds it much easier to communicate with me than with anyone else. I would like to think he enjoys doing it, but perhaps that's too strong a word.”
“He's also curious – inquisitive – and perhaps a little resentful of the way he's been collected, like a specimen of wildlife. Though that's probably what we are, from the viewpoint of the intelligence that created the Monolith.”
“And where is that intelligence now? Halman apparently knows the answer, and it's a chilling one.”
“As we always suspected, the Monolith is part of a galactic network of some kind. And the nearest node – the Monolith's controller, or immediate superior – is 450 light-years away.”
“Much too close for comfort! This means that the report on us and our affairs that was transmitted early in the twenty-first century was received half a millennium ago. If the Monolith's – let's say Supervisor – replied at once, any further instructions should be arriving just about now.”
“And that's exactly what seems to be happening. During the last few days, the Monolith has been receiving a continuous string of messages, and has been setting up new programs, presumably in accordance with these.”
“Unfortunately, Halman can only make guesses about the nature of those instructions. As you'll gather when you've downloaded this tablet, he has some limited access to many of the Monolith's circuits and memory banks, and can even carry on a kind of dialogue with it. If that's the right word – since you need two people for that! I still can't really grasp the idea that the Monolith, for all its powers, doesn't possess consciousness – doesn't even know that it exists!”
“Halman's been brooding over the problem for a thousand years – on and off – and has come to the same answer that most of us have done. But his conclusion must surely carry far more weight, because of his inside knowledge.”
“Sorry! I wasn't intending to make a joke – but what else could you call it?”
“Whatever went to the trouble of creating us – or at least tinkering with our ancestors' minds and genes – is deciding what to do next. And Halman is pessimistic. No – that's an exaggeration. Let's say he doesn't think much of our chances, but is now too detached an observer to be unduly worried. The future – the survival! – of the human race isn't much more than an interesting problem to him, but he's willing to help.”
Poole suddenly stopped talking, to the surprise of his intent audience.
“That's strange. I've just had an amazing flashback... I'm sure it explains what's happening. Please bear with me.”
“Dave and I were walking together one day, along the beach at the Cape, a few weeks before launch, when we noticed a large beetle lying on the sand. As often happens, it had fallen on its back and was waving its legs in the air, struggling to get right-way-up.”
“I ignored it – we were engaged in some complicated technical discussion – but not Dave. He stepped aside, and carefully flipped it over with his shoe. As it flew away I commented, 'Are you sure that was a good idea? Now it will go off and chomp somebody's prize chrysanthemums.' And he answered, 'Maybe you're right. But I'd like to give it the benefit of the doubt'.”
“My apologies – I'd promised to say only a few words! But I'm very glad I remembered that incident: I really believe it puts Halman's message in the right perspective. He's giving the human race the benefit of the doubt...”
“Now please check your Braincaps. This is a high-density recording – top of the u.v. band, Channel 110. Make yourselves comfortable, but be sure you're free line of sight. Here we go...”
35. Council of War
No one asked for a replay. Once was sufficient.
There was a brief silence when the playback finished; then Chairperson Dr Oconnor removed her Braincap, massaged her shining scalp, and said slowly:
“You taught me a phrase from your period that seems very appropriate now. This is a can of worms.”
“But only Bowman – Halman – has opened it,” said one of the Committee members. “Does he really understand the operation of something as complex as the Monolith? Or is this whole scenario a figment of his imagination?”
“I don't think he has much imagination,” Dr Oconnor answered. “And everything checks perfectly. Especially the reference to Nova Scorpio. We assumed that was an accident; apparently it was a – judgement.”
“First Jupiter – now Scorpio,” said Dr Kraussman, the distinguished physicist who was popularly regarded as a reincarnation of the legendary Einstein. A little plastic surgery, it was rumored, had also helped. “Who will be next in line?”
“We always guessed,” said the Chair, “that the TMAs were monitoring us.” She paused for a moment, then added ruefully: “What bad – what incredibly bad! – luck that the fmal report went off, just after the very worst period in human history!”
There was another silence. Everyone knew that the twentieth century had often been branded “The Century of Torture”
Poole listened without interrupting, while he waited for some consensus to emerge. Not for the first time, he was impressed by the quality of the Committee. No one was trying to prove a pet theory, score debating points, or inflate an ego: he could not
help drawing a contrast with the often bad-tempered arguments he had heard in own time, between Space Agency engineers and administrators, Congressional staffs, and industrial executives.
Yes, the human race had undoubtedly improved. The Braincap had not only helped to weed out misfits, but had enormously increased the efficiency of education. Yet there had also been a loss; there were very few memorable characters in this society. Offhand he could think of only four – Indra, Captain Chandler, Dr Khan and the Dragon Lady of wistful memory.
The Chairperson let the discussion flow smoothly back and forth until everyone had had a say, then began her summing up.
“The obvious first question – how seriously should we take this threat – isn't worth wasting time on. Even if it's a false alarm, or a misunderstanding, it's potentially so grave that we must assume it's real, until we have absolute proof to the contrary. Agreed?”
“Good. And we don't know how much time we have. So we must assume that the danger is immediate. Perhaps Halman may be able to give us some further warning, but by then it may be too late.”
“So the only thing we have to decide is: how can we protect ourselves, against something as powerful as the Monolith? Look what happened to Jupiter! And, apparently, Nova Scorpio...”
“I'm sure that brute force would be useless, though perhaps we should explore that option. Dr Kraussman – how long would it take to build a super-bomb?”
“Assuming that the designs still exist, so that no research is necessary – oh, perhaps two weeks. Thermonuclear weapons are rather simple, and use common materials – after all, they made them back in the Second Millennium! But if you wanted something sophisticated – say an antimatter bomb, or a mini-black-hole – well, that might take a few months.”
“Thank you: could you start looking into it? But as I've said, I don't believe it would work; surely something that can handle such powers must also be able to protect itself against them. So – any other suggestions?”
“Can we negotiate?” one councillor asked, not very hopefully.
“With what... or whom?” Kraussman answered. “As we've discovered, the Monolith is essentially a pure mechanism, doing just what it's been programmed to do. Perhaps that program is flexible enough to allow of changes, but there's no way we can tell. And we certainly can't appeal to Head Office – that's half a thousand light-years away!”
Poole listened without interrupting; there was nothing he could contribute to the discussion, and indeed much of it was completely over his head. He began to feel an insidious sense of depression, would it have been better, he wondered, not to pass on this information? Then, if it was a false alarm, no one would be any the worse. And if it was not – well, humanity would still have peace of mind, before whatever inescapable doom awaited it.
He was still mulling over these gloomy thoughts when he was suddenly alerted by a familiar phrase.
A quiet little member of the Committee, with a name so long and difficult that Poole had never been able to remember, still less pronounce it, had abruptly dropped just two words into the discussion.
“Trojan Horse!”
There was one of those silences generally described as “pregnant”, then a chorus of “Why didn't I think of that!” “Of course!” “Very good idea!” until the Chairperson, for the first time in the session, had to call for order.
“Thank you, Professor Thirugnanasampanthamoorthy,” said Dr Oconnor, without missing a beat. ”Would you like to be more specific?”
“Certainly. If the Monolith is indeed, as everyone seems to think, essentially a machine without consciousness – and hence with only limited self-monitoring ability – we may already have the weapons that can defeat it. Locked up in the Vault.”
“And a delivery system – Halman!”
“Precisely.”
“Just a minute, Dr T. We know nothing – absolutely nothing – about the Monolith's architecture. How can we be sure that anything our primitive species ever designed would be effective against it?”
“We can't – but remember this. However sophisticated it is, the Monolith has to obey exactly the same universal laws of logic that Aristotle and Boole formulated, centuries ago. That's why it may – no, should! – be vulnerable to the things locked up in the Vault. We have to assemble them in such a way that at least one of them will work. It's our only hope – unless anybody can suggest a better alternative.”
“Excuse me,” said Poole, finally losing patience. “Will someone kindly tell me – what and where is this famous Vault you're talking about?”
36. Chamber of Horrors
History is full of nightmares, some natural, some manmade.
By the end of the twenty-first century, most of the natural ones – smallpox, the Black Death, AIDS, the hideous viruses lurking in the African jungle – had been eliminated, or at least brought under control, by the advance of medicine. However, it was never wise to underestimate the ingenuity of Mother Nature, and no one doubted that the future would still have unpleasant biological surprises in store for Mankind.
It seemed a sensible precaution, therefore, to keep a few specimens of all these horrors for scientific study – carefully guarded, of course, so that there was no possibility of them escaping and again wreaking havoc on the human race. But how could one be absolutely sure that there was no danger of this happening?
There had been – understandably – quite an outcry in the late twentieth century when it was proposed to keep the last known smallpox viruses at Disease Control centers in the United States and Russia. However unlikely it might be, there was a finite possibility that they might be released by such accidents as earthquakes, equipment failures – or even deliberate sabotage by terrorist groups.
A solution that satisfied everyone (except a few “Preserve the lunar wilderness!” extremists) was to ship them to the Moon, and to keep them in a laboratory at the end of a kilometer-long shaft drilled into the isolated mountain Pico, one of the most prominent features of the Mare Imbrium. And here, over the years, they were joined by some of the most outstanding examples of misplaced human ingenuity – indeed, insanity.
There were gases and mists that, even in microscopic doses, caused slow or instant death. Some had been created by religious cultists who, though mentally deranged, had managed to acquire considerable scientific knowledge. Many of them believed that the end of the world was at hand (when, of course, only their followers would be saved). In case God was absent-minded enough not to perform as scheduled, they wanted to make sure that they could rectify His unfortunate oversight.
The first assaults of these lethal cultists were made on such vulnerable targets as crowded subways, World Fairs, sports stadiums, pop concerts... tens of thousands were killed, and many more injured before the madness was brought under control in the early twenty-first century. As often happens, some good came out of evil, because it forced the world's law-enforcement agencies to co-operate as never before; even rogue states which had promoted political terrorism were unable to tolerate this random and wholly unpredictable variety.
The chemical and biological agents used in these attacks – as well as in earlier forms of warfare – joined the deadly collection in Pico. Their antidotes, when they existed, were also stored with them. It was hoped that none of this material would ever concern humanity again – but it was still available, under heavy guard, if it was needed in some desperate emergency.
The third category of items stored in the Pico vault, although they could be classified as plagues, had never killed or injured anyone – directly. They had not even existed before the late twentieth century, but in a few decades they had done billions of dollars' worth of damage, and often wrecked lives as effectively as any bodily illness could have done. They were the diseases which attacked Mankind's newest and most versatile servant, the computer.
Taking names from the medical dictionaries – viruses, prions, tapeworms – they were programs that often mimicked, with uncanny accuracy, the behav
ior of their organic relatives. Some were harmless – little more than playful jokes, contrived to surprise or amuse Computer operators by unexpected messages and images on their visual displays. Others were far more malicious – deliberately designed agents of catastrophe.
In most cases their purpose was entirely mercenary; they were the weapons that sophisticated criminals used to blackmail the banks and commercial organizations that now depended utterly upon the efficient operation of their computer systems. On being warned that their data banks would be erased automatically at a certain time, unless they transferred a few megadollars to some anonymous offshore number, most victims decided not to risk possibly irreparable disaster. They paid up quietly, often – to avoid public or even private embarrassment – without notifying the police.
This understandable desire for privacy made it easy for the network highwaymen to conduct their electronic holdups: even when they were caught, they were treated gently by legal systems which did not know how to handle such novel crimes – and, after all, they had not really hurt anyone, had they? Indeed, after they had served their brief sentences, many of the perpetrators were quietly hired by their victims, on the old principle that poachers make the best game-keepers.
These computer criminals were driven purely by greed, and certainly did not wish to destroy the organizations they preyed upon: no sensible parasite kills its host. But there were other, and much more dangerous, enemies of society at work...
Usually, they were maladjusted individuals – typically adolescent males – working entirely alone, and of course in complete secrecy. Their aim was to create programs which would simply create havoc and confusion, when they had been spread over the planet by the world-wide cable and radio networks, or on physical carriers such as diskettes and CD ROMS. Then they would enjoy the resulting chaos, basking in the sense of power it gave their pitiful psyches.