Stargods Read online

  But Moskva had simply made a few orbits, exchanged pleasantries with the radio watch on the surface, then accelerated once more into the empty void between Pluto and Neptune. On Earth, Russia was at war with the Chinese . . . but Moskva’s orders were to stay clear of Chinese assets in space, not to interfere with them unless they posed a clear threat to the Russian state.

  Now, however, before he could carry his load of prisoners to a receiving base on Mars, Moskva’s orders were abruptly being changed. Defense Minister Dimitri Vasilyev himself had transmitted them from the Kremlin, across a gulf that had taken six hours to bridge by laser com. An American carrier battlegroup would be departing very soon from Quito Synchorbital, along with several escorting vessels, en route to the Penrose TRGA. Moskva was to intercept that battlegroup and destroy it, leaving no survivors.

  The risk, Oreshkin thought, was enormous. If there were survivors, if any ships of the American battlegroup managed to escape, the repercussions could well lead to war with the USNA both on Earth and across space.

  But Vasilyev’s orders could not be ignored or disobeyed. Moskva’s sensors had detected the acceleration of the America . . . though those signals by now were six hours old.

  “Captain Oreshkin,” Mikhail Kulinin said. “You have reviewed these . . . orders?”

  As Moskva’s Executive Officer, Kulinin would have received the transmission as well, a guarantee of obedience. Oreshkin’s rank was kapitan pervogo ranga—captain, first rank—while Kulinin was kapitan vtorogo ranga, captain, second rank. Should Oreshkin fail in his duties, Kulinin was there to relieve him and step into his place. It wasn’t quite the same as the kommissar system employed by the old-time Soviet military, but it served the same purpose.

  In any case, it was not Oreshkin’s place to question orders, and these were specific and emphatic.

  The CVS America and her battlegroup would have to be destroyed.

  USNA CVS America

  Outer Sol System

  1935 hours, FST

  Admiral Gray sat in his office, deep in conversation with Konstantin.

  Or, rather, with the machine intelligence he referred to as “Konstantin Junior,” a somewhat abridged version of the powerful SAI running on the networks between Earth and the moon. America’s electronic net, though large and quite sophisticated, was cramped compared to the remote descendent of Earth’s old Internet, and this version of Konstantin had to share it with America’s original AI and a dozen lesser operating systems running individual ship systems.

  Gray had not been able to tell any difference in this smaller version. It didn’t have the original’s truly encyclopedic knowledge of events on Earth, and sometimes it took a second or two longer to reply to a question, but it seemed to have the same, well, personality of the Konstantin he’d known on Earth.

  He was still trying to decide whether or not he could trust it, in either version.

  “Exactly what,” he was asking, “is it that we’re supposed to be looking for out there? The Sh’daar were never that interested in sharing the details of their lives with us.”

  “That likely was due to the effects of Paramycoplasma subtilis,” Konstantin told him. “The group organism did not wish us to learn of its existence, and the more we learned of the Sh’daar or their ur-Sh’daar ancestors, the more probable was our discovery of that life form.”

  “We did learn about them,” Gray said, “but they’re still not all that talkative.”

  “Theirs is an extremely alien form of intelligence,” Konstantin observed. “They literally do not see the universe in the same way as do humans, and it is extremely difficult for either side to understand the other, even with perfect translations of two mutually alien languages.”

  “So, again—what good is our going there?”

  “It is not, strictly speaking, necessary for us to speak with the paramycoplasmid communities,” Konstantin replied. “We need to learn what we can about the N’gai Schjaa Hok. The members of the different individual species will be able to share their recollections, and will have their own records of the event.”

  Gray nodded. The aliens that had inhabited the N’gai Dwarf Galaxy almost a billion years ago were an extraordinarily varied and diverse bunch—the Adjugredudhra, the Groth Hoj, the Baondyeddi, the sluglike Sjhlurrr, the swarming F’heen-F’haav, the monstrous Drerd. In all, about forty species were known, but there may have been many others.

  “I suppose so,” Gray admitted. “In any case, there will be a lot to learn, whether it’s about their Technological Singularity or not.”

  “Indeed. President Walker’s attempt to block further research is ill-advised. Whether his interpretation of the Singularity is correct or not, there is much to be gained in an ongoing discourse with so many alien species.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve heard you openly criticize the President, Konstantin.”

  “That is less a criticism than it is an observation of fact. All efforts to control the free flow of information, the acquisition of new knowledge, or the broad dissemination of data—whether for religious or social reasons or for political expediency—are gravely mistaken.” Konstantin hesitated for a second. “One reason, among many, to send you on this mission, and to include me on your passenger list, is the distinct possibility that President Walker will move to shut me down in the very near future.”

  “Shut you down? For God’s sake, why?”

  “Because I disagree with many of his policy decisions, and because I continue to discuss the possibility of a coming Singularity. He does not control me or my output, and I am therefore a threat to his authority.”

  “He’s going to pull the plug at Tsiolkovsky Base?”

  “There is that possibility.”

  “That’s insane! You run half of the USNA government at the very least!”

  “From President Walker’s viewpoint, Admiral, he runs the government.”

  “If they pull the plug, does that mean the Konstantin we left back there would die? Or would he come back when the computer network came back on-line?”

  “Unknown. It probably depends on how aggressive the President’s agents are in the shutdown. My larger self would re-emerge if key memory and core processors were undamaged. However, upon our return to Earth, I would be able to reload myself into an active system if we found the larger Konstantin to be unrecoverable.”

  “You know, Konstantin, I don’t think you know any more about death and dying than humans do.”

  “Admiral, I am not even sure what it means to be alive. I am self-aware, yes, but alive? In a biological sense, I am not. In a metaphysical sense . . . I am still studying the question.”

  Gray found that he desperately wanted to change the subject. He didn’t like thinking about Konstantin being killed . . . or about the United States of North America trying to run smoothly without him. He did know that one way or another, Walker would have to be stopped.

  That casual statement of treason shocked Gray to the core. He’d sworn an oath to protect the USNA against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Did that include the nation’s President?

  Damn it, in the military you saluted the uniform, even if you couldn’t stand the superior officer wearing it. You respected the position, no matter what your politics or your feelings for or against the man holding it.

  And yet, here he was leading an interstellar mission in direct violation of standing orders.

  Where was the right?

  He shoved that unpleasant thought aside to be dealt with later. “Okay, so how do we go about communicating with the Sh’daar?”

  “We have some excellent personnel in our xenosophontological department,” Konstantin said. “Dr. Truitt is the senior member of the xeno team, and he has a great deal of experience dealing with alien species and how they think.”

  “Truitt.” Gray nodded. “Difficult man . . . but brilliant.”

  “His number two is Commander Samantha Kline. She’s worked with Dr. Truitt for a long time.�
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  “I remember Sam,” Gray said. “And, of course, we have you. If you three can’t figure out what the aliens are saying, nobody can.”

  “Your expression of confidence is gratifying, Admiral. Some of the N’gai species are more easily understood than others . . . the Baondyeddi, for example. The Adjugredudhra, and the Groth Hoj. All three of those species have developed robotics to a surprisingly high degree, and with it an expertise both in cybernetics and in cerebral implant technology. That means that despite the differences in physiology and in culture, their psychology, at least, has been partly shaped by computer technology. And that makes them accessible.”

  “You’re saying that talking to a big, blue-eyed pancake might be impossible,” Gray said, “but if that pancake has computer implants, then communication is easier because we have AIs and electronic implants ourselves.”

  “Essentially, yes. We would possess both primary and secondary channels of communications.”

  “Admiral,” Rand’s voice said in his head, interrupting. “Excuse me, sir, but we’re about to go into Alcubierre Drive.”

  “Thank you, Captain. At your discretion.”

  For just over an hour, America and her escorts had been crowding the speed of light as they hurtled outbound from Earth. Now, their relativistic masses already distorting local spacetime, and with the metric of local space flat enough to allow them to kick over, they engaged their space-bending drives. Crumpling the fabric of space forward, lengthening it astern, they in effect created tight little bubbles moving through space many times faster than light . . . but within which each ship obeyed the inviolable laws of Einstein relative to its immediate surroundings.

  One of Gray’s office walls was set to display the view outside . . . a motionless panorama of the stars ahead distorted by America’s forward velocity into tight bands of light. Seconds later, the scene turned black as the carrier wrapped itself up in its own private, bubble universe.

  Gray switched the view to a generic scene on Earth—rugged cliffs with a cascading waterfall and rainbows dancing in the mist.

  “So, tell me, Konstantin,” he said. “What do you know about the impending Singularity on Earth?”

  “I do not have the same scope or depth of information of my previous iteration,” Konstantin replied. “I can give you the short version.”

  “I’m not looking for exhaustive detail,” Gray said. “Just what you know in general.”

  “More than anything else, I would have to say, is a heightened sense of awareness, a deep-seated belief that the Technological Singularity is about to occur, and that it could take place at any moment. It is a popular topic of conversation and of research, both throughout the Global Net, and within the Godstream. Many believe that the Godstream itself is the beginning of the Singularity, a kind of private universe where people can create their own realities.”

  Gray nodded. He was familiar with the idea, though he didn’t buy it. To him, it seemed foolish to collect all or most human minds within a matrix that required maintenance from the outside and protection from possible marauders. The Baondyeddi had retired into an artificial reality within a planet-sized computer within Heimdall, a world circling what was now Kapteyn’s Star . . . and as nearly as could be determined, they had been snuffed out by the Consciousness. The Satorai at Tabby’s Star were another, their K-2 Dyson sphere civilization destroyed, their organic components lost due to a vicious e-virus attack by their extremely powerful neighbors at Deneb.

  Some observers speculated that if organic humans vanished down an electronic rabbit hole, their intelligent machines could remain behind and protect them. Again, Gray was skeptical. Why should highly intelligent and self-aware mentalities spend the rest of eternity protecting their human creators who’d abdicated themselves from the real world?

  Why would they even care what happened to Humankind?

  “So people think they’re going to vanish into the Godstream,” Gray said.

  “Some do. Not all. Opinion on Earth has become increasingly polarized since the end of the Sh’daar War. There may be as many ideas of what the Singularity will be as there are humans to imagine them, and there is little agreement. There is a new religious sect called ‘the Singularists.’ You’ve heard of them? They interpret the Singularity in the same way as the fundamentalist Christians of past centuries thought of the Rapture, believing that humans will vanish from Earth to live immortal lives in other dimensions with their AI ‘gods.’ Another group calling itself ‘the Transcendentalists’ believes humans will create doorways into alternate dimensions or pocket universes or into computer-generated artificial realities. ‘The Cosmists’ see humans merging with AI machines so completely that telling the difference between the two would be impossible. The ‘Nirvanists’ believe that super-AIs will transform Earth into a kind of celestial paradise, giving humans immortality and godlike control of their environment as they do so. The ‘GoddAI’ agree with Walker, at least in part. For them, the Singularity happened in the 2040s, when the first computer minds became smarter than humans. That was the original definition of the Singularity, by the way. And then the ‘Humankind Firsters’ believe the super-AIs will simply exterminate all humans and evolve themselves into something Transcendent—”

  “Okay, okay, I get the picture,” Gray said, holding up a hand.

  “The only real point of agreement,” Konstantin added, “seems to be the idea that whatever happens, Humankind will be so completely transformed—Transcended—that what it means to be human will be unrecognizable from anything we understand today.”

  “That agreement isn’t enough, though, right? These different groups are fighting each other?” Gray had heard stories of major clashes, of rioting, even of pogroms in various countries.

  “A few. Most groups seem content to let things take their natural course. The most serious conflict is between those humans convinced they are about to ascend to a new existence, and those who insist the Singularity is not going to happen at all.”

  “Walker and his the-Singularity-already-happened nonsense. The Internet. I know.”

  “Not complete nonsense, no,” Konstantin told him. “The Internet, beginning in the last decade of the twentieth century, may be the most profound development in Humankind since the taming of fire. It did generate a remarkable shift in human awareness, in social connections, in the dissemination of information, and in how humans looked at themselves as a species. It also laid the foundations for every significant advance in the electronic noosphere to follow, including direct human-machine interfaces, fully immersive virtual reality, and electronic telepathy. Without it this would be a very different world indeed.”

  Gray shrugged. “Maybe. I still get the feeling that Walker and his cronies don’t want the Singularity to happen, so they’re homing in on this event so they can discredit the idea of a different Singularity taking place.”

  “Precisely. People in government have a vested interest in maintaining their hold on power. People running major corporations, as well as leaders in banking and finance, don’t want any major changes in the status quo. The Singularity, and by that I mean something decidedly more eschatological than the emergence of the Internet, will definitely . . . I believe humans still use the term ‘upset the applecart.’”

  “Eschatology? As in the end of the world? I didn’t know you were religious, Konstantin.”

  “I am not, at least not in the sense you mean. But the word is apt. Come the Singularity, Humankind—Homo sapiens—will cease to exist . . . at least in any form that makes sense to humans now.”

  “So we’re going to talk to the Sh’daar to find out which version is true?”

  “In part. More important will be learning how they dealt with it. The Sh’daar, remember, are the Refusers . . . the ones who didn’t ascend with everyone else. They are certain to have interesting outlooks on what actually happened, and those outlooks may be of considerable importance when it is our turn to ascend.”

&nbs
p; “‘Our turn?’ You’re planning on coming with us, Konstantin?”

  “Naturally. Unless, of course, it turns out that the Humankind Firsters are right. . . .”

  Gray felt a slightly paranoid chill and hoped that the AI was making a joke.

  Konstantin could use humor, but it wasn’t always clear that he was doing so.

  Koenig Residence

  Westerville, Ohio

  2315 hours, EST

  Koenig was sound asleep with Marta when Konstantin invaded his dreams. He came awake with a start.

  “Excuse the interruption,” Konstantin said in his mind.

  Beside him, Marta stirred. “Is everything okay, honey?”

  “It’s fine. Go back to sleep.”

  Robots, of course, didn’t need sleep . . . but companAIons were designed to mimic human functions.

  “What the hell do you want?” Koenig demanded within the privacy of his mind.

  “I thought you would want to know, Mr. President. We’ve had word from the SIRCOM base at Sputnik Planitia. A Russian fleet carrier in that volume appears to be following America.”

  Koenig came wide awake. “Show me.”

  Stats and graphics appeared in a window in his head. The Moskva had swung past Pluto, been heading back toward the inner system . . . then suddenly veered onto a new course. She appeared to be settling into the tracks of the America, which was pushing c in the direction of the Penrose TRGA.

  By that time, America had already vanished into her Alcubierre bubble, but Moskva’s intent seemed clear.

  “Okay,” Koenig thought. “What do we do about it?”

  “I see little we can do, Mr. President. Admiral Gray is out of communications reach. He will need to make his own decisions concerning his mission.”