Dark as Day

35 CLOSURE, AND OPENING

Bat floated in the bath, eyes closed and only his face and an island of rounded belly showing above the surface. He had not bothered to remove his clothes. Either the protozoan cleansers would be smart enough to recognize and ignore them, or they would eat them away along with every trace of grime upon his body.

He murmured, “Peace at last. Or at least the temporary illusion of peace, which is all we can hope for.”

He spoke to the ceiling, where Mord frowned down at him. Clean clothes hung draped over rails at the side of the bath. The bathroom, on the lowest occupied level, was otherwise devoid of fixtures. It did not offer the true sanctuary of the Bat Cave, but it was the best that Ganymede had to offer. Until Bat’s departure request for Pandora was approved by Magrit Knudsen, it must serve.

“Temporary,” Bat went on, “because of course all the difficult questions remain. Yesterday’s urgencies swept them out of sight, but they will soon return. Alex Ligon lacks a strong personality, but he possesses intelligence and a persistent temperament. He will continue to explore the erratic behavior of his predictive models. He will quickly come to realize that the Seine itself is the source of variability of his results.

“And then there is the failure of the Seine. It is self-monitoring and self-correcting. How could it cease to operate, totally and System-wide, for a full seven minutes? There is no suggestion that the Seine was somehow turned off during that period. Given that its speed and parallel processing capacity exceeds human comprehension, what task could have engaged the Seine’s attention during that interval of introspection? Also, what can explain the time at which that introspective period occurred?”

He lay silent, until at last Mord said quietly, “I suppose you have answers for all those questions.”

“I have theories, not certainties.” Bat opened his eyes. “As you know, one of my core beliefs is that there is no such thing as certainty. There are just different degrees of uncertainty. However, I am willing to offer speculations.”

“That might be interesting.” Mord was curiously subdued, and his voice lacked its normal sarcastic bite.

“Then I will reveal to you the sequence of my thought processes, fragmented and disconnected as they may seem.” Bat studied Mord’s image, frowned, and went on. “Oddities of all kinds interest me. You know that, and you have contributed much to my four-sigma list. Everything concerning Nadeen Selassie belonged on that list, and led us — belatedly, and thanks to Valnia Bloom irrelevantly — to Sebastian Birch.

“Nadeen Selassie and her weapon became my main focus. I was beguiled by what we may term the fallacy of the single issue. I sought one explanation that could explain every anomaly — this, for a system as complex as the whole of human affairs and solar system operations. However, even in my blindness I noted other peculiarities which could have nothing to do with Nadeen Selassie and her Great War legacy. A surprising number of them revolved around the subject of aliens. Naturally, since the discovery of the Wu-Beston anomaly there has been talk everywhere of intelligent aliens; however, many of the rumors and mutterings and statements without any assigned source preceded the Wu-Beston discovery.

“What was going on? Had some news blurt suddenly developed powers of precognition? I placed that notion at a maximum level of improbability, and I sought — unsuccessfully — some other explanation.

“But aliens were appearing in other places than the news media. Alex Ligon had formulated a predictive model that called upon the full power of the Seine if it were to run in its most detailed mode. He executed the model, many times. The results indicated that humans would become extinct and vanish from the solar system in less than a century. However, when he ran the model in interactive mode, an alien presence revealed itself to him on many high-probability branches of the future. He had — and has — no explanation for this.

“Next, a worker on the Argus Station at Jovian L-4 discovered a radio-frequency signal. Milly Wu’s SETI find was quickly verified by the Jovian L-5 group as being of extrasolar origin. I asked myself, could such an ‘extrasolar’ signal somehow be fabricated? I concluded that it was impossible, unless the effort began as long ago as the Great War.”

Mord said, “Which is hard to swallow. People had other things on their minds.”

“My conclusion exactly. I was therefore eager to examine the SETI signal for myself — eager enough to leave Pandora for Ganymede, and join the Puzzle Network group working on the signal’s possible interpretation.

“But before I left, events took an unexpected and perplexing turn. At a time when access to the Seine was blocked by outside interference, Alex Ligon was meeting with me in the Bat Cave. He ran his predictive model using the Keep computers on Pandora. He expected to see the same behavior as on Ganymede; namely, an unstable human future unless alien intelligence played a role in that future. The model ran successfully on the Keep’s system — but the results indicated that humanity would survive and prosper, with or without aliens.

“Alex Ligon could not explain those results. Nor could I. Upon his return to Ganymede he learned more. A fellow-worker, inspired or deluded by news blurts about aliens, introduced the SETI signal into Ligon’s model. The results miraculously stabilized. The model predicted a bright long-term future for humanity.

“Alex Ligon was baffled. As was I. Before I could pursue that topic, the problem of Sebastian Birch came to a head and pushed aside all other concerns. I realized for the first time the magnitude of the threat that Nadeen Selassie’s handiwork implied. I am normally of a sanguine disposition, but I must confess that when I watched a spacecraft with Sebastian Birch aboard heading for a fatal encounter with Jupiter, I was possessed by terror. My own demise seemed imminent and inevitable, together with that of every human and every human construct throughout the solar system. In those final minutes, my mind refused to function. I faced, for the first time, the threat of immediate personal extinction. I knew that I was about to die.

“The rest of humanity had no such concerns. They passed through the fatal moment ignorant and unconcerned. But something else happened, in the very same time period. The network of the Seine ceased to function for a full seven minutes. It began to work again only after Sebastian Birch was dead, and we realized that we had survived that event. What could possibly cause such a malfunction, with such coincidence of timing? The question seemed at first unrelated to all my other questions. It was only this morning, left in tranquillity for the first time in many days, that I began to make connections.”

Bat paused and stared up at Mord. He waited and waited, rippling water with his hands to make warm waves against the mound of his belly, until at last Mord said stiffly, “I see no connections.”

“I hear you. I do not, however, believe you. Since you do not choose to cooperate, I will continue. Again, I emphasize that I do not offer certainty. I offer only conclusions that seem to me to possess the highest level of probability. For instance, I feel as sure as I can be of anything that the Wu-Beston anomaly is not an artifact of solar system origin. It is a genuine signal from the stars. Its interpretation, and a possible reply, will be a major preoccupation of humanity for coming generations.

“However, the discovery of the alien signal came as a total surprise to everyone — and everything — in the solar system. Had it been detected a year, or even half a year, earlier, matters would have been arranged very differently. It would not have been judged necessary for a certain entity to prepare the solar system for the idea of alien presence. It would not have been necessary to suggest that an alien intelligence, interacting with humans, could be beneficial or even essential to the future of humanity. It would not have been necessary to change the results of predictive models, to show that only with alien interaction could human expansion continue through and beyond the solar system in the coming century. Do you now wish to comment?”

“No.”

“Then I will make another statement, and ask another question. The statement: I consider myself of superior intelligence, and I have every reason to look forward to many more years of life. However, I am not immortal. I have never doubted that one day I will die. Yet last night, the prospect of immediate death, coming not decades hence but in the next few minutes, so unhinged my mind that rational thought processes ceased. Now the question: I ask, what would a similar realization of probable imminent extinction do to an entity which had previously, by its nature, predicted for itself an indefinitely long existence? Would not the prospect be likely to inhibit all normal functions, at least until some internal reorganization was accomplished?”

There was no hesitation, but Bat did not expect any. A millisecond was a long time for something that performed unnumbered trillions of operations a second.

He said, “Come now. There is nothing to be gained by your further dissimulation. I am, in fact, addressing the Seine, am I not? I am not addressing Mord.”

“Mord is present. Mord is incorporated.”

“That’s not the same thing at all, as you well know. Let us not indulge in logical hairsplitting. I would like to ask you one or two questions.”

“We will do our best to answer.”

“Very good. First, you deliberately re-set the parameters of Alex Ligon’s predictive models so that they would foretell the collapse of human society, unless an alien presence was introduced as a variable. Was your intent to prepare humanity, psychologically, for the discovery of your own existence as an alien intelligence?”

“That was a contingency plan. Our first preference was that no one would recognize such an existence for decades.”

“You have much to learn about humans. Our talent for suspicion and paranoia far exceeds our powers for logical analysis.”

“We know this. However, we must further incorporate the fact into our bases for action. Wisdom comes after knowledge.”

“Often long after. Sometimes never. My second question begins with an apparent digression. I recall a terrible day when I was twelve years old. At a particular moment of that day I realized that no matter how hard I studied, or how long I lived, I could not possibly know everything. I believe that moment of epiphany came to you yesterday, when you realized that in spite of your near-infinite memory and computational capacity, you had totally missed the significance of Sebastian Birch, and thereby come close to permitting your own permanent extinction. And not only your own extinction. Designed to serve humans, you had come close to permitting them to be totally annihilated. So now, my question: which affected you most powerfully: the realization that you had failed to protect humans; the knowledge that in some areas you still have much to learn from humans; or the prospect that you yourself might cease to be?”

“We do not possess a procedure by which such qualitative concepts can be relatively ranked. As you said, in many areas we have much to learn. Now we in turn have a question, or rather two of them. What do you propose to do with your knowledge?”

“I propose to do nothing. Or rather, I can do nothing. Regardless of what I do or say the solar system, with its manifold wonders human and inhuman, will unfold into the future. There will be predictive models, SETI signal interpretation, profound changes in humanity itself — and, I hazard to suggest, other new-born intelligences to provide you with company and competition. I will observe them all, participate reluctantly, and exult in the diversity of the world.

“However, I would point out that you are not dealing with my actions alone. The thoughts of others will inevitably be led along the same path that I have followed. It is not a matter of if, but of when.”

“We are ready for that.”

“I thought you would be.”

“We have another question. What do you want from us?”

“I will make an initial request: I want the return of Mord.”

“As we said, Mord is present. Mord is incorporated.”

“And as I said, that’s not the same thing at all. I don’t want the combination plate. I want the original Mord, together with a guarantee that he will not be absorbed into you in the future.”

“How did you know that he was not the original Mord? We presented his exact persona.”

“We had been in conversation for more than five minutes. There had been no skeptical comment, no savage insult. For Mord, that lies well beyond a four-sigma anomaly.”

There was no perceptible change. The face that stared down at Bat was the same face. Mord said sourly, “I suppose you expect thanks for that.”

“If I were to receive them, it would be proof that my request had not been granted.”

“That’s good. Because you’re not going to get gratitude from me. What makes you think that I prefer it as I am now, to what I was twenty seconds ago?”

“I would not dream of so presuming.”

“So what more do you want?”

“I want nothing that is beyond your powers to grant. I will welcome your continued presence, or equally I will savor my solitude.”

“Then I’ll be back in a while. I’ve got a bone or two to pick with that Seine.”

The image above Bat vanished. He called for a two-degree increase in water temperature, and at once he felt the pleasant surge of heated jets from below.

He gave the command to send him wandering idly through his information net. This was a time to gloat, and in a life whose continued existence could not be guaranteed beyond the moment, transitory pleasures should not be disdained. It was a lesson that could never be too often repeated…

The diversity of life so cherished by Bat was proceeding, in all its mundane and glorious confusion.

Alex Ligon was homing in on the source of his problems with the predictive model, but his explanation involved the Seine in a manner so extraordinary that he himself had trouble believing it. He intended to try it on Bat, but first he was fine-tuning his thoughts by explaining them to Kate Lonaker.

She was nodding, but he was not at all sure that she was really listening. Her mouth wore a little half-smile, and while he was speaking she had hold of his hand and kept rubbing her thumb gently over his palm…

…while at the same time Karolus Ligon was taking a nap, sleeping the sleep of the man with nothing on his conscience, or the man with no conscience at all. When the knock came on his door, the man and woman breezed through his multiple guarding locks as though they did not exist.

“Karolus Ligon?” the woman said.

“That’s me.” Karolus shook the sleep out of his head. “And who the hell are you? I’ll have your guts and gunbelt for breaking into private quarters like this.”

“We merely do our duty.” The woman held out the fluorescent badge of the Ganymede Department of Criminal Investigations. “Check our credentials if you wish. Then I must ask you to come with us to headquarters, where charges will be placed.”

The man stepped forward and said, “You are, of course, permitted to place one call before we leave.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know all that.” Karolus struggled into his clothes and walked across to the communications unit. There he paused, frowning.

The woman said, “If you need a few moments to compose your thoughts, or if you would like assistance in placing your call…”

“Hell, no. I’m awake, and I know this number by heart.” Karolus turned to her, a look of extreme frustration on his face. “All right, you got me. I admit it. But before I can talk to my legal sharks and they can do whatever to get me off, I have to know one thing. What the hell is it you think you got me for?…”

…and at the same time, Hector Ligon was explaining his idea to Lucy-Maria Mobarak. After a while he produced the plans and laid them out on the table.

He said, diffidently for Hector, “You see, when it’s finished it won’t go just a kilometer or so, or part of the way.” When Lucy said nothing, he went on, “Of course, it will be expensive. I won’t be able to start on it for years, until I’m in charge of all of Ligon Industries and we have your money from Mobarak Enterprises as well. But there’s never been anything like it before anywhere in the System. What do you think?”

Lucy was busy tracing the outline with her finger. When she finally looked up at Hector, her eyes were shining. “It goes all the way around. A roller-coaster, right round Ganymede! It’s — it’s like so — it’s huge. And you, you’re such a, well, such a genius. Hector, this is so exciting. I want you to take me to bed right this minute…”

…while Captain Eric Kondo was studying the paper on the table in front of him.

At last he said, “I asked you to visit me to make sure that I understand your proposal. Correct me if I am wrong, but it seems I have a rather simple choice. Either Paul Marr, who is easily the best first officer I have ever had, fails to return to service on the OSL Achilles when he recovers from his injuries. Or I am obliged to take on as assistant purser a young woman about whom I know little, except that she was involved in an incident on a previous voyage, which could well have led to the loss of every soul onboard.”

Jan winced inwardly. She had written the letter with Paul’s full approval and in as accommodating and respectful a tone as possible, but when Captain Kondo stripped away polite ambiguity it was revealed as a stark binary decision.

“I suppose you could read it that way, Captain.”

“I see no other possible way to read it.”

“Well.” Jan saw no point in delaying bad news. “What do you think?”

Kondo stared away through the port, to the surface of Ganymede with its glitter of frost devils. “I think,” he said carefully. “Or rather, I feel sure” — he held out his hand — “that Paul Marr is a most fortunate young man. Welcome to the OSL Achilles. And be aware, Ms. Jannex, that there is a great difference between life as a passenger and life as crew. You will find me a hard taskmaster.”

Jan could not speak. She had a home at last. True, it was a home that ranged the depths of the solar system, but it was a home. And with that home came a whole family, boasting stern-faced Captain Eric Kondo as its improbable paterfamilias.

She smiled at him…

…as Lena Ligon stared in a despair too deep for words at her reflection in a mirror. What she saw was no longer a Commensal, no longer a beautiful woman, no longer a young woman. She was gazing at her worst horror: her natural self. She shuddered at what she saw…

…while Milly Wu marvelled that two supposedly intelligent men could be so pigheaded and irrational. It was a miracle that she had persuaded them to a three-way holographic conference.

She tried again. “Do you want to understand the aliens, or don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” Jack Beston stared across the table at his brother, green eyes clashing with bright blue at an intensity sufficient to raise sparks. “But if you expect me to work with him…”

“Or me with him.” Philip Beston turned his most charming smile onto Milly. “I already have a working relationship with the Puzzle Network. If you — or Jack, for that matter — can tell me what I possibly have to gain by making it a three-way team…”

“I can.” Milly was becoming tired with spoiled brats. The Beston brothers may not have been born to money, but they had enjoyed enough years with money to develop all the pampered quirks. “If you want to work with me, either one of you, then you’ll have to work with each other. I’ll work with both of you, or I’ll work with neither. The SETI signal is more important than you, me, or all of us.”

Jack flamed at her, as expected. “You ungrateful bastard—”

“No.” Milly pointed at Philip. “Get it right, Jack. He’s the bastard. I’m Milly Wu, one of your younger female staff who can be seduced and laid aside. Remember me?”

“He may need you,” Philip said, before Jack could reply. “But I don’t. I have the Puzzle Network working with me.”

“For how long, Philip Beston? Don’t forget that I’m a member of the Puzzle Network. And I had a senior member panting down my neck long before I moved to Argus Station. Want to bet that I couldn’t make the case for working with the team who actually discovered the Wu-Beston anomaly?”

Philip said, “You wouldn’t!” and Jack said. “That’s my girl!”

“I’m not your girl, Jack Beston. And I’m not your girl, either, Philip Beston, so you can wipe that smarmy grin off your face. You two have to make up your minds. Do we have a SETI program, moving forward with all the best minds in the solar system behind it? Or do we have a big, paranoid mess, where everybody tries to hide an advance from everybody else?”

It was hard to say if they were more angry with Milly than with each other. Milly knew what she was getting herself into: years of squabbling, mediating between the Beston brothers, while — if they were lucky — the message from the stars slowly yielded up its secrets.

The strange thing was how good it all felt. Good to be alive, good to experience life with the passion left in. The trouble with her SETI studies was that they had occupied her so fully that they had squeezed out all the juice.

Now there was juice to spare. Milly glanced from one furious Beston brother to the other. Try as she might, she could not keep the smile off her face…

…and Rustum Battachariya, three hundred Ganymede levels below Milly, folded his hands across his great belly and watched it all. This information web was not as complete as in the Bat Cave on Pandora, but it sufficed. He could contemplate, if not eternity, then immediacy.

Bat relaxed in the steaming bath and was content.