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  Book One of the Ceti Conflict

  WILLIAM GEE

  Copyright © 2021 by William Gee

  The right of William J. Gee to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  Cover Art: Edited image of photos available from NASA (www.nasa.gov). Original images courtesy of the Image Science & Analysis Laboratory, NASA Johnson Space Center. Image #: STS077-702-039. Date of collection: 06/01/1996.

  Acknowledgement

  Early mornings. Good coffee. Never say die.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  A Threat to Reason

  The elevator doors opened, releasing three men into a darkened basement. Their arrival was closely scrutinised by two women seated at a bare metal table. Leaning against a near wall were rows of folded metal chairs. The men each retrieved a chair and sat at the table to face the women, their expressions inscrutable.

  Though measures had been taken to disguise it, each of the room’s occupants exuded a gravitas hinting at the power they wielded. Two of the assembled hid their faces from the others. All but one wore the metallic circlet of a near-AI.

  An Asian man with eyes of mismatched brown leaned across the table, his blood red balaclava commanding everyone’s attention. He commenced his interrogation of the dark-skinned woman sat opposite him.

  ‘Tian. It was you who interpreted the diagnostic reports sent back by the Yaxis probe, correct?’ he began.

  ‘That’s correct,’ Tian replied coolly. ‘I determined that the second planet of the Tau Ceti system resided within its star’s habitable zone.’ Any misgivings Tian may have felt about being questioned so were well hidden. ‘That assertion came with a confidence level of ninety-five percent. All estimates were based on diagnostic data from the Yaxis probe, my President,’ she concluded.

  ‘Well, that salves my conscience considerably. Are you suitably salved, Tseng?’ quipped the President to the young man seated to his right. Tseng was following the exchange with interest while expertly braiding his long black ponytail. He remained silent.

  ‘I stand by my interpretations,’ Tian interjected, ignoring the President’s flippant tone.

  The President slowly got to his feet, turning away from his subject to adjust his balaclava. He then abruptly whirled around, slamming his fist down on the table and causing Tian to recoil in her chair. ‘Explain to me how you allowed the full-AI project to end in failure,’ he spat.

  Tian took a moment to steady herself before replying. ‘You’ve been misinformed,’ she stated. ‘The AI project isn’t a failure, my President. Other than a few initial memory lapses exhibited by the trial’s subject, that project is producing flawless results.’ Seeing naught but scepticism across the table, Tian pressed on. ‘My researchers assert that the memory issues were caused by the host having difficulty assimilating with the AI. However, a short while later this resolved itself, and the subject was then able to accomplish tasks well beyond her native ability, or even that of a near-AI user. These findings hardly qualify–’

  ‘Hector! Explain why this qualifies,’ barked the President, cutting Tian off midsentence. He retook his seat and turned to the room’s most enigmatic occupant.

  Hector wore an eyeband, a thin strip of grey metallic fabric covering his eyes and nose. It shimmered in the low light, appearing opaque to those seated around the table. The technology enhanced his sight while also concealing his identity. Uniquely, he was the only one in attendance who abstained from wearing a near-AI circlet.

  ‘Any change to ingrained behavioural traits post-implantation are signifiers of the AI dominating part, if not all, of the host subject’s mind,’ stated Hector in a cold voice. ‘Obviously some changes in behaviour could be justified. Increased reliance on the AI for problem solving or taxing mental problems, for instance, but the AI must not interfere with the subject’s unique perception of self.’ He sat back and cracked his knuckles. ‘Traits learned over a person’s lifetime, which will include their loyalty to our cause, must remain unassailable to the implants. Any evidence of personality changes occurring concurrent to the AI achieving sentience constitutes failure of the project.’ Hector turned his featureless face at Tian.

  Tian was incensed. ‘You have been spying on my research program. On me,’ she accused. ‘A pity you lack the requisite comprehension needed to parse my work.’ Having dismissed Hector, she entreated the President. ‘This is hardly the time, nor the place, we should be discussing real threats to Reason’s March. The obvious benefits of my research can wait.’

  ‘Tian. Silence,’ commanded the President.

  Hector turned his blank gaze back to the President and continued, ‘There is cause to suppose that experimental full-AI subjects are losing their free will. The danger this poses cannot be overstated,’ he warned. ‘There is no greater threat to Reason’s March.’

  Tian threw Hector another contemptuous look. ‘I don’t know what you think you’ve discovered but you’re wrong. Everything you’ve said is unfounded. The results of my trial are exemplary. No loss of cognitive independence was observed. My results are flawless,’ Tian hissed.

  ‘No,’ replied Hector flatly, ‘they are not. And I have cause to suspect that the isolated mainframe housing your project has been compromised.’

  Shock passed over Tian’s face. ‘Impossible. My AI project is unnetworked and shielded from wireless access. My laboratories are enclosed within two Faraday cages and are impervious to external attack. And as for my research team, they were all vetted and cleared. By you, no less. Have you failed Reason’s March, Hector?’

  ‘How many full-AI circlets were commissioned, and how many are currently bonded to a user?’ interjected the President, directing the questions at Tian.

  ‘Three and two,’ she replied in an angry tone. ‘The initial test subject was integrated with the prototype six months ago. From her we are still learning much. It allowed us to refine the penultimate full-AI, of which Adam is the present custodian. As we’re all aware, he left the Apollo ring just under a month ago.’

  ‘Two and one, then,’ corrected Hector. ‘I can attest that both the initial prototype, and its user, are undergoing… decommissioning. I personally arranged it prior to attending this meeting.’

  Tian flushed with outrage but managed to contain her anger.

  ‘Excellent,’ replied the President. ‘Tian, you are to destroy the last uncommissioned full-AI. Completely melt it down.
Hector, witness the act. After that, I want the whole facility expunged. All the accumulated data purged. The building razed. Everything. Any person with knowledge of the project below three-diamond rank is to be killed. No exceptions. This must be done.’

  Tian slumped back in her chair, her anger replaced by shock. Meanwhile, the President sat back and pondered aloud, ‘Now, what to do about Adam. In eighteen years, he’ll arrive at his destination and have an opportunity to return to Earth, correct?’

  ‘That is correct,’ replied Tian in a dead voice.

  ‘How long until we can contact the Ion?’ queried the President.

  ‘To protect the electronics of the ship’s receiver, we should wait until it’s three light years away from Apollo base,’ brusquely replied the straight-backed woman wearing thin-rimmed glasses to Tian’s right. ‘That equates to approximately six years’ time.’

  ‘Thank you, Nera,’ said the President, leaning back to think. ‘Adam is perfectly contained where he is. I understand that Apollo base will contact the Ion just prior to it reaching the point of no return, correct?’

  ‘That is correct,’ Nera affirmed.

  ‘Good,’ stated the President, turning to Nera. ‘Find a way to override Adam’s ability to pilot Ion back to Earth. As of this moment, his choice to return or stay is made for him. He will remain in the Tau Ceti system.’

  ‘Yes, my President,’ replied Nera, appearing vaguely displeased by the command.

  ‘In three months’ time I will contact you for an outline of your solution. Do not disappoint me.’

  ‘It would be more prudent to redirect the Ion into the Ceti system’s star, my President,’ interjected Hector. ‘Leave nothing to chance.’

  The President scowled. ‘You recall the considerable preparations and cost sunk into sending Adam on his journey. I don’t want those resources wasted. I simply never wish to see him again.’ His tone became more wistful. ‘The data he could return to us would be invaluable, though it would need to be strictly quarantined and vetted, of course.’

  ‘My President,’ entreated Hector, ‘I remain troubled by the circumstances surrounding Adam’s departure. There were too many… unfortunate coincidences… in the lead up to Ion’s launch. The threat posed by him if he’s left alive could eclipse all others.’

  ‘Well then prove it,’ demanded the President. ‘I always have time for your conspiracies, Hector. I find them most diverting, but it takes more than a good story to convince me to act.’ With an air of finality, he ruffled the papers before him. ‘So concludes this meeting unless there are any other matters of critical urgency?’ He paused, looking around the table. ‘No? Then you are dismissed.’

  Everyone but the president stood to leave.

  ‘Tseng, wait behind,’ added the President.

  Tseng paused by the elevator, allowing the others to file past. Leaning back against the grimy wall, he flicked his braided ponytail over his shoulder in a show of nonchalance. Hector gazed blankly at him as he passed but it was impossible to infer anything through the eyeband.

  ‘The war?’ Tseng asked when he and the President were alone.

  ‘I’m sure you have it well under control,’ replied the President, waving the comment away. ‘Indeed, even my most pessimistic advisors predict victory by year’s end. It necessitates that we accelerate our plans for the transition.’

  Tseng raised an eyebrow at that. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes. Only once the entire planet is pacified will the true struggle begin,’ he replied grimly. ‘Certain individuals will immediately commence sowing dissention and vying for the presidency. This current war has provided them with great distraction and grand purpose. When it concludes, I will lose a great measure of my control.’

  ‘Hector,’ stated Tseng with distaste.

  ‘I’m not going to expose the vipers,’ replied the President, all the while subtly nodding. ‘I’m inconveniently old, Tseng,’ he continued with a sigh. ‘That alone will convince certain individuals to act. They will want to be well-poised to seize power when my position becomes untenable.’ The President was now on his feet, pacing and gesturing manically. ‘But no! Instead, I will seamlessly transfer the presidency to you. You, in return, will allow me to shape your initial decisions. Then, as time passes, I will grant you an increasing measure of control.’

  ‘You want me as your puppet,’ Tseng stated flatly.

  ‘To begin with, yes. Do you have a problem with that?’ asked the President with genuine interest.

  ‘No,’ replied Tseng after a time. ‘When will the transition begin?’

  ‘You have repeatedly assured me that the war will be won within ten months. When the announcement of victory is made public, state that you are ascending to the presidency. I will ensure that everything is ready when the time comes. Now leave me,’ commanded the President.

  Tseng left, leaving the balaclava-clad man alone with his thoughts.

  Much had deviated from the President’s original plans. The failure of the full-AI project represented a severe setback. Now he would have to resort to more conventional means of keeping Tseng under his yoke after the transition took place.

  Chapter One

  Sierra Nevada

  The sun had begun setting over the Sierra Nevada. Against the colouring sky, a solitary plume of black smoke rose from a hidden campfire set in a treelined valley. Two men sat facing one another across the campfire, one old, one young. The older man’s pleading eyes were fixed on the younger man’s face, while the latter only had eyes for the fire.

  ‘Don’t go, Adam,’ begged the old man. ‘You’re the last of our family.’

  The fire hungrily devoured tinder, driving back the growing chill. In the Great Basin, dusk was becoming established. Its gloom consumed Adam’s father in more ways than one. Above him, the branches of the pinyon pines seemingly danced in the flickering light of the flames.

  ‘It’s for the good of everyone that I go. It’s for everyone’s future,’ replied Adam, struggling to meet his father’s gaze. ‘I must. Reason’s March has commanded it.’

  ‘Why you?’ Pain was evident in his father’s deep voice. ‘They already took you from me once. For this illogical, nonsensical war. A man sent to the front never returns. I almost ended my life when I received news of your posting. But then you returned. It was…’ His voice faltered.

  ‘You can say it. Naught but snakes and coyotes to hear you,’ murmured Adam. He hefted more wood on the fire, sending a shower of sparks skyward.

  ‘It was a miracle,’ his father whispered.

  They both fell silent for a time.

  ‘They chose me because I’m the best pilot the program has,’ Adam muttered, pausing to banish the resigned tone from his voice, ‘and because I don’t have a wife and kids.’

  Adam wished his father could understand but knew full well that he wouldn’t. He loathed his own hypocrisy. Here he was, encouraging his father to voice heretical religious sentiments that he himself would be too cowardly to utter.

  They lapsed into a second silence. Sound from the hungry fire filled the void left by the conversation. Adam gazed up at the Milky Way painted across the clear night sky. The moon hung low, appearing as a thin upturned crescent. His father’s gaze shifted to the flames.

  ‘You’re running away,’ he murmured after a time, ‘same as ever.’ He smiled sadly.

  A smile twitched to Adam’s lips in response. ‘These aren’t the old times,’ he replied, reminiscing. ‘I’ll never understand how you can cling to happiness, even now.’

  Their eyes met. ‘Because right now you’re here with me. Because right now, you’re safe. No matter how bad it ever got, you always made it back alive. But this won’t be like that. You won’t come back. Not while I live, anyway.’ His eyes bored deep into Adam’s soul. ‘Don’t go.’

  After a long pause, Adam broke under his father’s gaze, and he looked away.

  ‘It’s pointless even discussing it. I have to go. There’s
no refusing a command from Reason’s March. It’d be a death sentence,’ Adam said.

  He looked back at the fire. At that moment, a moth dove from the shadowy night into the glowing heart of combustion. A bad omen. Adam couldn’t bear to tell his father that he was the true reason he was leaving. With every new day, service to Reason’s March brought Adam closer to breaking. And when he broke, he would inevitably let slip some traitorous opinion or belief. Then he, and everyone he’d ever cared for, would be branded an enemy of the state. All would be condemned to death.

  He had to leave.

  It was his only option.

  ________

  Surrounded by the desolate vista of the Sierra Nevada, the Western Space Lift stood as a monument to technological achievement. Built atop a high plateau that bore decades-old scars of levelling machines, the site was crisscrossed by a complex stencil of runways and hangars. At the terminus of the longest runway, the black maw of the outgas vents opened, ringed with blue lights.

  That morning, over the exhaust shaft, a fuelled Sol rocket was undergoing pre-launch preparations. It was held in the embrace of the lift complex: a many-storeyed gantry of scaffolding, glass, and metal plate. Despite the chill of dawn, tendrils of condensation plummeted downwards from the booster rockets and main assembly. Nearby, a pair of coyotes worried refuse sacks abandoned in an alcove of the complex, having somehow bypassed the chainmesh fences and barbed wire.

  A desert jeep was in the process of navigating the perimeter checkpoint. Soon it was veering across runways towards the pilots’ accommodation. In response, the coyotes scattered, running past heavy automated machinery towards a far section of fence. The canine intruders were ignored by the various automata hauling polythene vacuum-packed supplies between the hangars. As the jeep approached the buildings, a reinforced hangar door began retracting with the slowness of a portcullis. With practiced ease, Adam navigated the jeep through the narrow entryway before parking and disembarking. Walking to the rear of the vehicle, he bent down and hung his keys on a hidden hook installed behind the exhaust pipe. That done, he exited the hanger and covered the short distance to the lift complex entrance.