17

Skaidon was a genius. At age six he took one of the old-style IQ tests and was rated at 180. After he was congratulated, it is reported that he said, 'If you like I'll do a test to 190, now I know how they work.' Throughout his life Skaidon mocked those he called, 'Hard-wired lead-asses' Should you wish to know more about this, I direct you to one of his numerous biographies. This book is about runcibles. Today we are aware of the dangers of directly interfacing a human mind with a computer (not to be confused with the less direct methods ofauging or gridlinking). Skaidon was the first to do this and he died of it, leaving a legacy to humanity that is awesome. It took him twenty-three minutes. In those minutes, he and the Craystein computer became the most brilliant mind humankind has ever known. He gave us Skaidon technology, from which has come instantaneous travel, antigravity and much of our field technology. The Craystein computer, in its supercooled vault under the city of London on Earth, contains the math and blueprints for the runcible (for reasons not adequately explained, Skaidon loved the nonsense poem by Edward Lear and used its wording in his formulae to stand for those particles and states of existence we until then had no words for, hence: run-cible - the device; spoon - the five-dimensional field that breaks into nil-space; pea-green is a particle now tentatively identified as the tachyon) and to begin to understand some of this math let us first deal with that nil-space shibboleth wrongly described as quantum planing…

An Introduction to Skaidon Formulae by Ashanta Gorian

Two splits, outlining an area like the outer surface of a segment of orange, appeared in the hull of Hubris. The section of hull pushed out and from the poles of the ship it hinged round, exposing a play of light and shadow in the guts of the ship. Slowly, as of a cub coming from its burrow for the first time, the gleaming front surface of the heavy-lifter became exposed. Then more quickly, confidently, its impellers brought it out. It was in appearance a giant metal boomerang. From wing-tip to wing-tip it measured half a kilometre. Free of the Hubris it turned at ninety degrees to the rapidly closing split. Its impellers drove it on, and then, far enough away for safety, its ionic boosters jetted pulsed orange fire and blasted it for the horizon of Samarkand. Far to the side of it, Dragon sat on the horizon, watching.

Standing in the shuttle bay, while another minishuttle was being taken from storage, Cormac watched the heavy-lifter depart. It carried autodozers and line-laying moles for the clearance of a site to the west of the orig- inal one, which was still far too hot, and for the laying of's-con cables to directly draw off the heat energy from the buffers. Dragon had not left much of the original network intact. Chaline, who was on the lifter, was in her element.

When the heavy-lifter was a speck against Samarkand, Cormac went to the drop-shaft and from there to Isolation. The dracomen had been returned to their original quarters, where Mika continued her study of them. As far as he was concerned, they could stay there.

Mika was not at the viewing window where he expected to find her, but in the small control centre for all the isolation chambers. She was seated before a bank of screens and watching the one with IsolI imprinted above it. Two side screens to this one were giving a continuous readout of information.

'Do you have anything for me?' Cormac asked.

'Yes… yes, I think I do.'

Cormac dropped into the chair next to her.

She went on. 'They have been altered. I'm not even sure if they're the same ones. Their bone and muscle structures are lighter. If before they were made to be strong, now they have been made to be fast.'

Cormac looked at the two dracomen on the screen. Why? What was Dragon up to now?

Chaline watched the moles set off on their long journey to New Sea, and smiled under her mask. Improvisation under difficult circumstances: proof of a technician's abilities. Without the microwave receivers of the stations, they could not use the transmission dish that came with the runcible. But, as always, another way had been found.

Like giant silver woodlice with treads, the moles bumbled forwards in relentless slow motion, dragging their moling attachments along two metres below the surface as they laid the's-con cables. It would take them twenty hours to reach their destination. Hopefully the site here would be cleared by then. Chaline turned and watched the autodozers at work as they shoved huge mounds of dust and flaked stone before them and exposed the clean basalt below.

'Nadhir, is that second shuttle down yet?' she said, over the roar of heavy machinery.

The reply from her comunit was immediate. 'Down and ready.'

'Tell Dave to get over to New Sea and get things ready for the moles' arrival. He should be able to have the heat-sinks ready to be connected up by then. Those's-con cables out there weren't too badly damaged.'

At least Dragon had left them the heat-sinks. The heat-sink stations were now just metal-lined craters, but the sinks themselves were under half a kilometre of ice.

'He'll start moaning again.'

'Then he can moan. At least he won't be here doing it… Did the lifter get away on schedule?'

'It did, and by the time it returns we should have enough clear bedrock to offload the runcible onto.'

'Fused and levelled?'

'Yes, we're keeping up with the dozers. Should be able to drive in the bracings for the containment sphere by the time the lifter goes up for the prefabs.'

'What word from Jane?'

'The AI's ready, just has to be brought down and keyed in. The hour-eater's going to be setting up the horns and aligning the fields. The AI can do the fine tuning.'

Chaline nodded to herself in satisfaction: all according to plan. Fifty hours she had estimated, and fifty hours it would be. Chaline prided herself on her estimates.

'—lined in lies hurled grey-suited arms flapping wings of ashen crow cage him in screaming orbit cast and broken in sum beauty of chaos calm eye of storm hub fulcrum—'

'Hubris just does not have the processing power to unravel this mind without the danger of scrambling it further,' said Jane.

She and Cormac were seated before a bank of controls - grudgingly allowed them by the frenetic runcible technicians - in Downlink Com.

'Then that is a risk we must take. I've got my back to a wall here. I think Dragon is lying about an awful lot, but I've got no way to prove it, and this is a life-and-death situation. If I fuck up, people are going to die, and the killers are going to go unpunished. Remember, there were ten thousand people out here.'

'You do not have to remind me,' said Jane with something approaching anger.

'Sorry,' said Cormac.

'—axis screams roar of own might swastika purge emetic sponge of obscene colour blowing across lizards light fleeing sinter sinter fell into new day skulls satchel leather fetid hollows wasp eaten apples pork bone-exposed crackling… dying… black rats—'

'There, damn it. There!' said Cormac. 'Lizards could easily be the dracomen. Light fleeing could be the Maker escaping. And the skulls and crackling… ten thousand people.'

'Somewhat interpretive… But there may be a way…'

'—chewing rotating heart in assonance chained before red-hot grate spitting intestines died died am—'

'Sorry, what did you say?'

'I said there may be a way to unscramble it. Though Chaline won't like it,' said Jane.

'Tell me. Don't tell her.'

'The new runcible AI might be able to do it. It is not keyed into the grid yet, and has fifty times the processing power of Hubris. It needs that to sort out the five-space math and nil-space co-ordinates.'

Cormac was silent for a while, staring off down the room at a screen showing the heavy-lifter coming up from Samarkand.

'Of course,' he said. 'Of course.' He turned and stared at her fiercely. 'Now - we do it now.'

Jane looked at him carefully for a moment before speaking to Hubris. 'Hubris, the new runcible AI is in Hold 5A. Can you link with it there, or will there have to be a direct line?'

'A direct line is not necessary. Once initiated, the new AI would be able to access all systems. It would be able to compensate for any error I might make in transmission and reception.'

'Initiation would be immediate,' said Jane.

Hubris said, "There are dangers. This AI has been prepared for immediate installation in the grid.'

'The danger will be brief.'

'It will last for ten seconds. It will take this long for the AI to access all systems and ascertain its situation. Should I initiate, I will first sound a hold alert on all workstations.'

'Initiate then.'

'I cannot do this without a direct order from Agent Cormac.'

Cormac turned to Jane. 'Why the danger?'

'In an unprogrammed situation at initiation, the AI will immediately act to protect itself. It will take control of all accessible systems.'

Cormac turned to study the consoles. 'Hubris, initiate runcible AI.'

Hubris's voice sounded throughout the ship. 'All workstations, this is a hold alert. All robots will be going onto hold. All transient information is now in protected storage. I repeat…'

Cormac glanced around and saw that the technicians in Downlink Com were leaning back from their consoles and looking at each other in puzzlement, then looking to Cormac and Jane with chagrin.

One of them, who was at a communications console, glanced at Cormac and muttered laconically, 'Chaline'll be pissed. The autodozers went down just then.' He listened for a moment then continued. 'That was the lifter. They want to know why the main door isn't opening.'

'Tell them it's temporary. All systems should be back on-line… soon,' said Cormac. 'Hubris, you ready yet?'

'There is a heavy load being moved in the main bay. It will be in place shordy.'

Cormac ratded his fingers on the console in impatience.

'Load is now secured. I am now initiating—'

Suddenly the entire starship jerked. Gravity dropped to half. The screens began to run information at high speed, then faster and faster until they showed a grey blur. Lights and displays were flickering madly.

The man at the communications console said, 'Weapons systems just went online. Proton guns charging. Looks like the target is Dragon… Isolation just sealed up.'

Gripping the console, Cormac suddenly felt cold.

'Intruder defence systems—' The technician held a finger to his ear. 'That was main bay. The loading robots started up and turned to face them. They're shitting themselves down there.'

Cormac suddenly wished he could have the last few minutes back again. He was responsible. It was his order.

'Hubris?… Hubris?'

Suddenly gravity returned to normal. The screens flicked to a halt on disparate segments of data.

'Weapons systems coming offline. Intruder defence systems also… Loading robots going back on hold. Phew! Old Venolia sure knows some dirty words…'

Cormac slowly relaxed as the lights ceased their mad flickering and other displays returned to normal.

'Chaline just called up. Wants to know what the hell is going on. What shall I tell her?'

Cormac glanced at Jane, then turned to the tech- nician. 'Tell her I had the runcible AI initiated. We need it to decode the submind,' he said.

The technician shrugged and spoke into his mike. After a moment he turned back. 'She questioned your parentage, then said something about a submind suppository if the dozers don't get moving soon.'

'Tell her - soon.' He turned to Jane. 'The AI should be—'

'Ready,' said a voice that managed to put all the elements of a bored sophisticate into one word.

'Ready?'

Samarkand II continued. 'I have been initiated prematurely. Presumably there is a reason for this. I am therefore ready for your explanation. Please continue. It has been thirty-seven seconds - mark - and I am bored already'

The comtech said, 'Chaline again, and the lifter. They're getting nodüng from Hubris. Everything still on hold.'

'Hubris?' said Cormac.

'Hubris, I see,' said Samarkand II. 'I seem to have subsumed düs starship AI. Separating. Done.'

'Hubris?'

'Yes. I am. Hubris.'

'Dozers moving again. Hold's off. Main door opening. Isolation unsealing,' said the comtech.

Cormac breathed a sigh of relief. 'Hubris, is the submind on-line?'

'I cannot locate the submind in cyberspace.'

'This - you are looking for düs? It is not a mind,' said Samarkand II.

'—median man made solid ground engine parts clanking clanking bleeding oil-soap green bubbling hot—'

'It is the reason you were initiated,' Cormac told the AI.

'It is a submind of my predecessor. It contains information pertaining to the incident here.'

'You have it? You have the information?' asked Cormac eagerly.

'Not yet…'

'—cast aluminium hand shield over green volcanic glass orb head red quartz rods sulphur yellow green sulphur yellow sulphur blue stink aniseed prodesti-nationactinicablecomlivesurvin—' The monologue from the submind suddenly became a high-pitched squeal.

Samarkand II said, 'My predecessor survived the blast for nine-point-two seconds. It discovered a virus-lock on some information in itself. This, along with much else, it transmitted to its subminds, as by then it was no longer on the grid."

'—Broken caltrops under lead hooves. Horse-head is a hollow roll of tin with star diamonds for eyes and mussel shells for ears. Jade hands in red moonlight; night green and black over contrast land. Unlogged matter/energy transmission 32562331. Glass dragons in green sky red moon—'

Samarkand II said, 'Unlogged matter/energy transmission forty-eight solstan days before the incident. Confusion as to the nature of what was transmitted indicates a high probability that it was the entity referred to as "Maker".'

'—Lizards with heavy bones. Dragon In The Flower.

Gridlinked

No law prevents. Dogs mad of grain held together with fungal filaments. Fish-head reptiles. Hot pools filled with man stew. 326222400—'

'The two dracomen arrived one day before the buffer went down. This information was transmitted into the grid prior to the explosion.'

Cormac said to Jane, 'Seems likely the dracomen set the mycelium. Dragon would say it was keyed to their arrival, and that the Maker set it.'

''Why would they set it, if the Maker was gone?'

'Did they know that?'

Jane said, 'I think you are prejudiced against Dragon. This information does not confer guilt.'

'Perhaps,' mused Cormac, then said, 'Samarkand II, is there any indication as to who set the mycelium? Also, where did the Maker go?'

'I will allow the submind to answer that.'

The submind said, 'No warning prior buffer failure. No indication source mycelium. Matter/energy transmission directed Chirat Cluster, Mendax System, Planet Viridian, ref. AB87.'

That the station was a centrifugal ring station showed that it was old. The off-shoot technology from Skaidon tech of gravity manipulation had taken a while to impinge on the design of stations, mainly because it took a long time for people used to the essential requirements of space habitation to trust it. That Nix, the station, had an elevator showed it was pre-runcible and truly ancient. Another sign of this great age was the worn ceramal deck across which Jarvellis was dragging herself. At one-quarter G it would have taken the passage of many feet to put such hollows in such a hard material.

'Come on, you can do it,' said Tull for the «th time. His wife Jeth offered similar, though less sincere, encouragement. Her lack of enthusiasm was understandable. Both Outlinkers were scared: they were allowing a person into their home who could kill them with a friendly pat on the back. It did not escape Jarvel-lis's notice how brave Tull had been: first to retrieve her from outside, then to slap her face once she was inside.

It took minutes that dragged like hours, but Jarvellis eventually reached the lip of the metal box and looked back. She made the final effort and dragged herself in. The Outlinkers were back against the walls now. Jeth held out her narrow hand in which lay the flattened sphere of the nerve-blocker.

'Will you keep still for me?' she asked.

Jarvellis coughed. Her lungs were filling with fluid. Her entire body ached and her left side was a wide line of pain. She felt dizzy and sick. She nodded her head, then turned it to one side. Jeth cautiously stepped in close and pressed the blocker to the back of her neck. The fibres of neural shunt went in, and blessed numbness rolled down her body in a wave. Tull pressed buttons on a small control panel. Jarvellis did not feel the elevator move. She only knew it was coming to the centre of the station, when panic that the floor had fallen away pulled her out of the haze. She was weightless.

Now the Outlinkers felt safe, they quickly got hold of her and manoeuvred her through the sliding door into a tubular tunnel. Even this exercise was difficult for them, for though she was weightless she still had inertia. It took the both of them hauling at her to overcome it and get her moving. The walls of the tunnel were diamond-patterned to offer grip for feet and hands. Interspersed at regular intervals were rails and catch-loops. Sinking back into the haze, Jarvellis watched the little robot swinging past on the latter of these like an iron gibbon.

They brought her eventually to a curved room with no definite floor or ceiling. There was equipment on every surface and she was relieved to see a modern medbot, cell-welder and all those other devices that equated the repair of the human body with that of any other machine. They pulled her to the weightless version of a surgical table, a frame ringed with adjustable clamps, and there secured her in place. Tull pulled back the dressing on her breast, while Jeth set the medbot to work on her thigh.

Til do my best, but you'll need to see a cosmetic surgeon,' he said. 'You'll need regrowth and reconstructive surgery. Too much mammary fat is missing.'

Jarvellis tried to speak, but hardly anything came out of her dry mouth. Tull leaned closer and she tried again. Eventually he got the gist of her request. She heard him speak hurriedly to his wife, but could not distinguish the words. There came a humming sound: some sort of ultrasound scanner.

'Still alive,' Tull said. 'We'll make sure the foetus stays connected.'

Jarvellis tried to speak again, and once more he leant in close to hear her.

'All right,' he said, and made an adjustment to the nerve-blocker. The numbness rose from her neck and rolled her into oblivion.

An area two-thirds of a kilometre in diameter had been cleared, and the bedrock fused to obsidian and levelled. The containment sphere rested between the two cylindrical tanks of the buffers seemingly placed to stop it rolling away, and from it an enclosed walkway led to the surrounding complex of newly erected buildings. The buildings were domed and apparently made of native materials. Prefabricated sections had been joined, then sealed, with a composite of crushed rock and epoxy resins. Vapour jetted from them as they were heated and the moisture and excess C0₂ was pumped out. The whole complex was knitted together by more enclosed walkways, pylons carrying's-con cables, ground-level pipelines, and by a nimbus of electric light. Beyond the perimeter was impenetrable darkness.

Night had come to Samarkand.

The minishuttle rested in the twilight at the perimeter and, as he disembarked, Cormac had a good view across the complex. He paused for a moment on the C0₂ slush, his visor polarizing as the containment sphere emitted a flash of orange light. After fooling with the directional gain of his comunit, he heard Chaline bawling out one of her technicians.

'Dave! I said ninety gigahertz not megahertz! You're not going to get anywhere near alignment - What? What did you say?'

'I said why not leave it to the AI.'

'Because we are here and the AI isn't. Now, ninety gigahertz. Try to get it right this time.'

Cormac's visor polarized again as a tower of rainbows rose from the sphere and stabbed into the starlit sky. As it flickered out, he heard Chaline speaking in a somewhat happier tone.

'That's it: the spoon's in, close as we're going to get. The AI can lose the light-show.'

Cormac looked round as Jane disembarked, carrying a small suitcase.

'Seems they're ready for you,' he said. 'I heard. A good thing too.' She patted the suitcase. 'It's getting impatient.'

They set out for the runcible, where figures could be seen gathered around one of the buffers. 'That you, Jane?'

'Yes.'

'Good. Head for control. Everything's set up.' One of the figures detached from the group and headed for the building nearest to the runcible. Jane and Cormac headed there also, and were soon inside, removing their masks. The temperature was twenty below, so they kept their suits on.

'There you are,' said Chaline, and gestured to the device in the centre of the room. It had the appearance of a font made of glass and chrome pipes. A duct crossed the room from it, heading in the direction of the runcible. Next to it stood a pedestal-mounted console Cormac could not help comparing to a lectern. Here was the chapel. The god was about to be installed in his rightful home.

'I presume you have no more use for it now, and we can get on,' was Chaline's acid comment to Cormac.

'Of course,' said Cormac equably, refusing to rise to the bait. Chaline had been spoiling for a fight for the last three days.

Jane walked to the console, rested her case on it, opened the case and removed the Samarkand runcible AI. It was a squashed bronze cylinder with rounded ends, its dimensions being thirty centimetres by fifteen by ten. It was one of the most powerful minds known to the human race. Jane took it to the glass font and placed it into the receptacle made for it. Then she returned to the console and began working on the touch-controls, like a concert pianist. From the rim of the receptacle rose thousands of contacts to access the rim of the AI. It seemed for a moment as if it was surrounded by an army of platinum ants. Lights nickered in the glass column.

'On-line,' said Chaline, detaching the receiver from her comunit and holding it to her ear. 'Tuning… singularity developing… We're in - that's it, we're on the grid.' Chaline grinned happily at Cormac, her resentment forgotten. Then her grin changed to an expression of astonishment. 'Wait a minute… there's a transmission already. How the hell did they manage it that quickly?'

Cormac was through the interior door to the covered walkway before he knew what he was doing. Chaline and Jane came after him. In a moment they stepped into the containment sphere. Between the horns of the runcible the cusp was shimmering like a sheet of mother-of-pearl. A man stepped through it; an old grey-haired Japanese dressed in stained and baggy monofilament overall.

'Horace Blegg,' said Cormac. 'That's all I need.'