Neptune Crossing (The Chaos Chronicles) (9 page)

With awakening, for the quarx, there was a sense that certain memories were faded or perhaps had been lost, that some very important work had gone unfinished, that some failure had to be rectified, some wrong atoned for, some need fulfilled. There was a reverberating memory that this was how it
always
felt to awaken.

The quarx felt a deep loneliness and longing, but also a sudden new urgency. Here was a new place and time, a new solar system, a new race called "humanity" that had come into being while he had slept. And humanity had found its way to Triton, and would soon discover the translator. Who were they, these humans—and were they dangerous? Would one of them make a suitable host and companion?
Were they dangerous?
Why had the translator waited so long to wake him? It had served him well, and protected him—but it was not
life
to be trapped in that machine forever. How he longed to be free of its bonds—to grow, to taste again the reality of life with another!

But it was not to be easy; there was something that had to be done here—a matter of life and death, not just for him, but for the beings of this solar system. He did not know yet what it was, but he knew that that was why he had been awakened, and he knew that it would be risky and costly, because it always was. He had much to learn, and quickly.

With the help of the translator, he listened to humanity and came to know their languages and some of their ways. He watched their entertainment and studied their history through what he could capture of their datanet. He struggled to get to know a race that sometimes made him shudder with fear.

Fear...?

They were a dangerous species, humanity. Of course, most sentient species were; and with that thought came another shudder.

Do you fear
all
sentient species? whispered Bandicut.

Watch the datastream, you're missing too much, was the whispered answer.

The quarx still had much to learn, even as he paid particular attention to a survey pilot named Bandicut who was stumbling along in a rare but promising condition known as silence-fugue, toward a potential meeting. The translator hinted that time was probably growing short, and this person seemed the most promising of an uncertain lot...

——

The datastream changed, and most of it diverted away, while a single, bright connection remained.

/Are you saying that you deliberately—/

>>  I didn't say that. >>

/—drew me in—?/

>>  I didn't say that, exactly. >>

/But you knew a lot about me already, and you sure as hell opened the ground under my feet!/

>>  Well...yes... >>

/So you knew I was coming?/

>>  I sensed...yes...when I am in the translator, it enables me a certain degree of...what you would probably call telepathic scanning. It is nothing like the intimate contact that we have now. It is more like a...radar sweep. >>

/Radar sweep? And are you still doing this? Are you probing the other people here?/

>>  I can't, not outside of the translator. Except in a limited way, when you physically touch someone, or something. >>

Bandicut remembered Napoleon. /Like the robot, you mean?/

>>  Yes. >>

Bandicut was silent for a time, trying to absorb all that the quarx had told him. /Charlie,/ he said finally, /are you trying to say that you spend your life traveling around the galaxy trying to bail civilizations out of trouble? Because that's what it sounds like.../

>>  Well, yes—I mean, no! Not always whole civilizations... >>

Bandicut blinked. /Good God, but you mean it's true? Is that what you do? It sounds like...I mean, don't you...have a life of your
own
to live?/ He swallowed, and realized that a shadow of grief seemed to have come across Charlie with his words. /I'm sorry, look, I didn't mean...if I said something.../

The quarx spoke, but as though from a great distance.

>>  It's not...so bad, really. It has its own rewards, you know. >>

/Charlie—/ He hesitated, and after a moment, the quarx drew back toward him, speaking softly.

>>  It is true that I am on a...journey, John Bandicut. And that I don't always know where I am going, or for what purpose. Or whether I will ever return to my own kind. Or even if they are— >>

The quarx paused. /What?/ Bandicut asked. /Alive, or something?/

>>  Yes. >>

/Jesus...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—/

>>  It's been a
long
journey, John. I've seen more than one civilization fall, and I've seen some saved, and the latter way is better. I'd like to help save yours, if I can. >>

Bandicut was silent. They had to save the Earth, the quarx had said. And he wanted Bandicut's help.  /You want to, uh, tell me a little more about that?/ he asked at last.

>>  I'll try. Let's start with a question. How much do you know about chaos? >>

/How do you mean? Randomness, disorder, entropy?/

>>  No, I mean the
science
of chaos. >>

/Oh. Not too much. What
should
I know about it?/

——

The explanation came in streams and waves, curling around him like breakers rolling in upon a shore...

The dynamical theories of chaos were the only practical means of describing many kinds of natural events, of illuminating past and present patterns, and of predicting future patterns of similar events. Among the subjects described by chaos theory were fluid turbulence, atmospheric weather patterns, the movements of particles, of individual lives, of planetary bodies in orbit...and even the social forces that swirled through crisis upon crisis in the history of any civilization, including Earth's. It was the last two of these subjects that had drawn the sharpest attention of the translator.

It was the study of the chaotic patterns of orbital resonance in the solar system that made the translator suspect, long ago, that the Earth might one day be in trouble.

How's that? whispered Bandicut.

Let the stream carry you, and just try to follow, murmured the quarx.

The human science of chaos was far too immature, even in its second century of organized existence, to adequately analyze the appropriate data; and even the translator, with its vastly more powerful chaos-calculator, was still working furiously, refining and analyzing, drawing together vague and shadowy possibilities into a picture that soon would make clear exactly what would go wrong, and where...and what must be done...

Charlie...? I'm not...

Take an example, murmured the quarx. Motions of particles in a cloud of smoke—or in the rings around a planet, a planet such as Neptune, or Saturn. All the particles followed known physical laws of motion. But the motions were too hopelessly complex, viewed from a perspective of close detail, for predictions of any individual particle's motion to be useful. The tiniest perturbation of an orbit in one place could cause a drastic change in a particle's path elsewere; and every particle exerted some degree of force on every other particle, so if you were trying to predict a particle's path with any precision, taking into account the millions of moving bodies and fluctuating conditions...

It was impossible—unless you employed truly
advanced
chaos dynamics, such as the calculations used by the translator. And even then, working out general patterns of orbital resonance and the stability and instability of orbits was one thing, but the raw-data requirement for tracking where one
individual
particle might get flung out of its orbit like a bullet was truly staggering, and best represented this way:

An image flicked into existence, showing a series of hollow, transparent, concentric tori, colored various shades of green, blue, orange, and red. Waves of distortion began rippling through the donuts, and then kinks appeared as resonant instabilities, and then the tori opened up like onion shells and twisted like bizarre Möbius strips, and shredded into four-dimensional ferns...

I am not following this, not at all—

——

The image vanished, and Bandicut let out a long breath. /Now, that sure was helpful./ He sensed frustration coming from the quarx.

>>  I don't expect you to follow the actual math, John. But I was trying to let you see the general outline of the problem, and the solution process. The translator, to put it
very
simply, is making n-dimensional phase-space analyses of the movements of objects in your solar system... >>

/That's putting it simply—?/ Bandicut asked, but the quarx continued without missing a beat.

>>  ...including those at the outer periphery, not just in the Kuiper Belt, but in what you call the Oort Cloud... >>

/Kuiper Belt? Oort Cloud? There's nothing but empty space there, and a few zillion comets./

>>  Precisely. Plus some dark planets which you haven't discovered yet. Your science is not yet tracking the large-scale movements of those bodies, or their gravitational effects on each other. Nevertheless, the translator is mapping the resonant attractor patterns that emerge over time, in an effort to mark the probable locations of future events. And now it needs the specific transient identifiers to locate— >>

/Would you explain this in
English
, please?/

>>  I'm trying, I really am. It's a question in one sense of identifying the largest-scale meta-attractions, and then using that as a focusing device to scale down to— >>

/Fucking A, Charlie, if you can't explain it, can you just cut to the conclusion?/

>>  I...yes, if you wish. The conclusion is that something's very likely to hit the Earth, something big, and I'm not sure yet what it is, and I need your help to find out. >>

Bandicut remained silent and puzzled for a little while. /Oh. That's more or less what you said in the first place, isn't it? But listen, then...why insist upon secrecy?/

There was a sigh, before the quarx answered.

>>  That's another part of the chaos analysis: the sociopolitical attractors. The translator says that time is too short, and if we go public, we'll set up turbulences that may delay our acting until it's too late. >>

Bandicut frowned. Before he could think of a reply, the quarx whispered one more thing.

>>  I'm putting a pretty heavy burden on you, I know. But there's one more thing here that you ought to know, too. >>

/Which is—?/

>>  Uh—well, you see...there's a good possibility that I might not live long enough to see this to its proper—
oh, hell's bells! NOW what's happening—?
>>

He was interrupted by a hash of static.

Chapter 6

Neurolink

/
What?
Charlie!/

——

>

 >>

 >>>

  >>>>

   >>>>>—<
loss of signal
>—>>>>

  >>

He couldn't hear the quarx over the static. There was some sort of jostling going on, but he couldn't tell if it was within the data-connection, or on the outside.

The static faded, but there was still some sort of scratchy interference, like a malfunctioning neurolink junction, or an audio speaker distorting a human voice. For a moment, he felt a rush of panic. Was this going to be another devastating breakdown, only without the neuro? It had seemed safe enough... but now the data-connection was disintegrating, and all of Charlie's explanatory images had turned to snow. The interference persisted a moment longer, before  

>>

 >>>>

   >>>>>—<
alpha-disconnect
>—>>>>

   >>>

 >>

>

was followed by a stunning silence. The silence was broken only by the jangling of his nerves and the slow return of his external senses.

/Charlie? Are you still there?/

The quarx stirred.

/// I'm here, but so is someone else!

Open your eyes, John!

Open your eyes! ///

What the hell was Charlie talking about? Was someone else trying to get access to his thoughts? Suddenly he realized that the quarx was speaking literally. His eyelids flicked open, and in the gloom of his bunk, he saw the privacy-curtain dimpling inward with rhythmic beats. Someone was whacking on it from the outside. He heard a muffled voice. "Bandie! You in there? Hey, Bandie!"

/// Who is it? ///

Bandicut groaned. /I think I know. I'd better answer./

/// Don't tell them about me! ///

/Gimme a break, will you?/ He opened the curtain a few inches and peered out into the glare of the room light. "What d'ya want, Krackey?" he grunted.

His roommate, Gordon Kracking, was pacing back and forth in front of their stacked bunks, waving his arms in obvious distress. Bandicut sighed. Krackey was arguably one of the brightest individuals in the entire Triton operation—and also one of the most ungainly, with angular bones and an owlish haircut; and whenever he was really worked up about something, all of that mental power somehow transformed him into a sight that reminded Bandicut of a crippled duck trying to fly.

/// Who is this? ///

the quarx asked.

/My friend,/ Bandicut sighed. /Don't mind him, he's a bit of a goak./

/// Goak—? ///

"Bandie!" Kracking cried. "I knew you were in there!"

"Yeah, Krackey, you got me on that one. Now make a little room, will you?" Bandicut pushed the curtain open and swung his feet out over the edge of the bunk. At the same time, he sat up, banging his head on the bunk above him.
"Ow!"
He cursed quietly. Three months in this place and he was still banging his goddamn head on that goddamn bunk.