Com transcript 2472.07.30 13:45:12
wireless static
"Blackwing One, this is Blackwing Command. Have you read it? It's over."
"Heard you five, Commander. It's over."
"The visitor transmitted a—" Radio static
"Say it again, Commander?"
Static "...said they dropped one..." "Rock in Paris!" It's gone! You can leave, done. "
"Ten-four. The weapon is hot. What do you mean it's gone, Commander? It's over."
"I mean, the entire city and half the countryside is gone. It's the Nucflash event. Again, Nucflash, Nucflash. That's it, Blackwing One. Acknowledge, pass."
"Definitely. Nucflash admits it, Blackwing Command. It's over."
"CINC has cleared football. You are free to fight.".
"Blackwing Squadron, I'm Blackwing One. Let's do it with numbers. If there's a lock, fire. Go, go, go!"
wireless static
End t
a
sc
ipt 2472.07.30 13:54:37
The man looked middle-aged at best and seemed to have not slept in several days. The stubble on his face had been there for several days, and there was an anxious look in his eyes. The spacesuit he wears is state-of-the-art, woven with fullerene and Kevlar fibers in an outer layer of biosynthetic fibers. The material is reinforced with memory fiber and programmable resin, making it barely thicker than a wetsuit. The bulkiest parts of the suit are the thin oxygen rebreather on his back, the raised power straps, and the armored palladium microalloy glass helmet. Despite the advanced technology he was wearing, both he and his suit looked extremely dirty and worse for wear.
In the three microseconds I observed him, I didn't know what to think of him.
"Who are you?" I asked. I want to know who I am.
"Excellent question. I am Dr. Stepan Jones' Gestaltist. I gave myself a neural scan, so my answers to your questions are limited."
"If you scan yourself with an NMT scanner, won't you be like me?"
"NMT scanners can only capture surface scans of the brain. As far as I know, no Gestalts have the capabilities of Nikolai Intelligence."
"But I was scanned by the NMT scanner. That's how I was created."
"Sorry, my answer is limited. I'm just a gestalt."
"Where are you now?"
"I'm on node 842, drive array 7, loaded into memory cluster 6."
If I could have frowned, I would have. It's like pulling teeth. But the holographic camera stood patiently, waiting for my questions.
"Where is Dr. Stepan Jones?"
"Dr. Stepan Jones was nearly dead when he made Gestalt. His intention was to take 40 grams of benzo before death to prevent long-term pain. I speculate that his remains were placed in 1035 Ga
The living quarters of the ymed outpost. "
"Where is the residence?" I didn't see them in the survey. "
"Sorry, my answer is limited. I'm just a gestalt."
I sighed inwardly. "Ga
What is the purpose of the ymed outpost?”
Gestalt smiled, as if I had finally asked the right question. "Ga
The ymed project was created by the Nikolai Foundation as an interstellar colony ship. Ga
The ymed project is currently 23 years away from completion. "
“How many people live in Ga
ymed outpost?”
"Zero. The living quarters plan won't be completed for another nine years."
"Then why are you here?"
"This is the last supply ship. In order to deliver and install you, Dr. Jones must come in person. There is no other way."
"Why don't you pack the Nikola 19?"
"Nicholas 19 is still installed, but is deactivated and disconnected from the core. NI Cortex is installed in rack 001."
"Why put me in the position of Nikola 19?"
"As the Nikola intelligence model has evolved, our understanding of its operations has also improved. Nikola-19 has been refined to follow long-term, complex logistical planning and the execution of large projects. However, Nikola-19 19’s ideas were not outside the scope of the designated project.”
"So, Nikola 19 is not creative." I said.
"Correct," Gestalt said. "You are basically the original version of Nikolai Intelligence. Dr. Jones has worked extensively with you on Earth, and you both believe you are a better fit for the role than Nikolai-19."
"Why don't I remember anything?" I asked.
"Dr. Jones only took away your core. He could not contain all the storage nodes containing your collaboration. Space is limited."
"Then what's the purpose of my coming here?"
"You are here to save humanity, Nikolai. You are the only one left."
I am angry. I was angry because I was flailing blindly in the dark. I was angry because the only guide I had was a frustratingly opaque Gestalt with whom I had ever worked. I'm angry that things about me are still being kept hidden from me, obviously. I was manipulated, played, pushed into this situation and I still didn't have enough information. Most of all, I'm angry because I'm a human being. Am I the only remaining human being?
I needed answers, I needed to question the Gestalt further. I need to know why I am the only shred of humanity left. But Gestalt has proven that he can manipulate me and my environment. What else could he do? I don't believe him. If he can do this so easily, what traps are left for me? What surprises could arise at the worst possible time?
My attention turned to the sensor disruption caused by Gestalt. It soon became apparent that the program that started the Gestalt Tower also ran a script that simply turned off the sensors and cameras. I wrote a reverse script and within seconds, my consciousness expanded again. It is completely unacceptable that Gestalt can do this.
The first task is to isolate the Gestalt so that it cannot reach me or my resources. I found the processes running Gestalt and paused them. The holographic camera froze in place. I wrote a custom firewall around the program, isolating it from any resources, leaving only a minimal number of processor threads to allow it to run.
But clearly I wasn't completely in control of the situation yet. Gestalt refers to the living area. These are in Ga
Somewhere on ymed, but cut off from me. I had no control over my communications, and my last attempt at fixing the problem completely sidetracked me. I also don't know what the pitfalls are in my own code. I have billions of lines of code, and tens of exabytes of stored data. Just in the past 24 hours I've generated over 200TB of data in logs and reports. It's going to be hard work.
Over the next few days I created a virtual sandbox and tested it to make sure it worked with my core or control Ga
ymed is completely isolated from any API protocol. Once I was sure it was completely secure, I built an algorithm to systematically check every file, database, and log I had. The algorithm will weed out obviously clean files and heuristically check any files that may or have performed operations. The documents in question were set aside for closer review. I set up the algorithm to allow it to use most of my computing power. I immediately felt sluggish, almost dizzy, and my thinking slowed down.
"Welcome back," she said warmly from her bedside. There was an unopened book on her lap and a small duffel bag at her feet. "how are you feeling?"
I was groggy and my mouth was dry. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. She noticed immediately and handed me a glass of ice water and a straw. The water soothed my mouth and I cleared my throat.
All he said was "Sir." I tried again. "girl?"
"They're fine. They're with my mom."
"My mother?!" I said in horror.
"No, no, no. My mother."
"Oh," was all my drug-addled brain could think. I feel like I should be worried, but she's calm so things must be fine. I have never trusted anyone as much as I trust her. After all we have been through so much together.
"Who gets appendicitis at this age? Are you trying to break the world record?" she teased gently. "I thought only kids would worry about this."
"Could happen...between peaks...10:30..." I muttered. She giggled. I closed my eyes for a while. When I opened it again, she was reading a book. My mind clearer, I took the opportunity to look at her. The way she frowns, the way she frowns or smiles while reading a story.
Without raising her head, she said: "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes," I replied with a yawn. Apart from the dull pain in my flank where I had laparoscopic surgery, I feel much better. "When can we go home?"
"Soon, love. Soon."
I couldn't accomplish much due to limited resources. I couldn't think straight and was constantly distracted by the flashing lights on my status board. It's like being exhausted but not being able to sleep. I couldn't focus on anything that required deep thought or analysis because I didn't have the resources. So I focused on maintenance. Everything I could do was linear, most of it had a ready plan and just needed to be executed. There are drones to repair, mining plans to approve, and a perpetual lack of storage space to address. Some of the oldest production facilities are reaching the end of their lives, but I see no sign of any plans to replace them. I began implementing a plan to move as much production as possible out and retrofit them over the next 90 days. It's amazing how quickly things can get done when you have workers working 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I guess it's weird that I'm supposed to be on a schedule that matches a planet I don't even live on. I think even artificial intelligence has habits.
I also discovered that small machine shops and repair facilities were no substitute for a real factory. I have a huge stockpile of raw materials but no way to turn them into any useful scale I need. I can't make batteries or reactors, and the drone pulse engines are well beyond my current fabrication capabilities. Constituting Ga
Many of ymed's things, and mine, rely on materials specially made from manufacturing bases on Earth that took centuries to scale up and now I have to recreate here. Once I had the resources again, there was more and more to do.
Then, suddenly, my resources were back online for me to use, and my mind was racing again. The algorithm is complete. I was stunned by what I found. Dozens of traps, three worms, and five self-destruct devices linked to specific radio-coded sequences are now isolated in a virtual sandbox. There were 713 questionable command documents that I had to review personally. On top of that, there was a complete subroutine that was loaded, but blocked by the firewall. I was alone, with no help other than what I could do on my own, and I was walking in a minefield. If I want to save humanity, I have to save myself first.
I spent several weeks fixing my code. I rewrote the code so I could remove the trap without losing functionality. I quarantined the worm in a sandbox node because I didn't want to delete anything that might be used later. I canceled the self-destruct mechanism and even sent a drone to find and deactivate the physical trigger for the final explosion. I looked through the suspicious documents. Although I didn't find anything the first time, I looked through them again and a third time. Finally, I route all communication into a virtual sandbox in case I miss some triggers.
On the plus side, for the first time I was able to fully connect my communications device online. I know data is pouring in from the outside, but unfortunately I can't view any of it until I'm sure it's safe. I built a model of my own in a sandbox and built an algorithm to pipe communications into the model. I'm not taking any risks.
This leaves only the firewall subroutine. When I was at MIT, I was never really a hacker. I always prefer to use my own or pre-written software and am never interested in trying to break into someone else's system. So figuring out how to get in was a challenge. The process is using my resources, but there is no obvious hook for me to connect to, and no inbound port to communicate with.
But I can see where the traffic is going and thus understand where the data center is physically operating. The device has local and network data ports; likely a relic of its manufacture on Earth, and requires a technician to be able to plug in cables and work directly on the device. I instruct a datacenter drone to hardwire itself to a data port I control and connect to the subroutine node's local port. On top of that, it prompts me for a password.
Cracking codes, in and of itself, is a measure of raw computing power and patience, both of which I have. I started with the most basic brute force approach; I started trying every word in the English language, one at a time, three at a time, and every variation of the word. I replaced the vowels with numbers and added special characters. My password list is seven hundred million possible lengths and was growing when I started. But just as I was about to start a second, more complex set of passwords, my algorithm was complete. At first, I thought it was my mistake that caused the failure. Then I looked at it and smiled inwardly. This is much simpler. The local password is set to match the device's brand name. The default password has never been changed.
I quickly figured out the subroutine's security and allowed me to access it over the network. Once it lets me in, I immediately sandbox it and start my security algorithm, looking for traps. I didn't allow full processing power this time and was reluctant to fall back into a fugue state, but the subroutine wasn't large and I wasn't stuck. New sensors and cameras come online, as does a new set of databases. I found the missing residence.
I have to admit, the ingenuity of this scam is pretty clever. My sensors in the staging area below the launch pad were compromised, masquerading as a place without walls. Two additional corridors were constructed. One of these echoes the design of the main fusion grid corridor, except it's slightly to the southwest and connects to a second cave near the main fusion chamber. It is essentially a complete secondary grid of comparable size and complexity.
To the northeast is a series of large storage rooms filled with hundreds of sealed, temperature-controlled storage units. Each unit is a semi-cylinder with a planar section 4 meters wide. The units are paired and placed on a central pillar, which manages both units and connects them to the grid. A query confirmed they were gene banks. They contain nearly a complete catalog of all known gene sequences, as well as the actual genetic material. It also stores seeds and spores of various plants and trees, which can be transported.
But the really interesting part is to the north, which stretches for about 500 meters. It was intended to be a living area for at least a few hundred men, women and children. Carved in a neat grid with connecting corridors extending three stories deep, the living areas are completely unfinished. Hundreds of small rooms were carved into apartments, storage rooms, pantries, kitchens, hydroponic facilities, mechanical rooms, conference rooms and workshops. Each room is carved with precision but slightly larger in size. The ventilation shaft leads to a central room, but no machinery is installed to create or maintain an environment suitable for human breathing. The rooms are already ready to receive metal walls and doors, the grid has not yet been extended to the first few rooms.
However, in a room near the assembly area lies the answer to the mystery of the Gestalt ancestors. The room was apparently used as a garage, with several large bay doors leading to storage areas and shelves carved into the walls. Dozens of metal crates were piled on top of each other, including three human-sized crates. A man in a space suit slumped on the floor in the corner, motionless. I found Dr. Stepan Jones.
