Blasphemy wf-2 Page 16
“There’s a chance that might happen?” Ford asked.
“No,” said Kate irritably. “Melissa’s just teasing you.”
“Ninety-seven percent,” intoned Dolby.
“Luminosity at seventeen point nine two TeV.”
Ford lowered his voice. “Kate . . . Don’t you think even the smallest possibility is too high? We’re talking about the destruction of the earth.”
“You can’t shut down science on outlandish possibilities.”
“Don’t you care?”
Kate flared up. “Damn it, Wyman, of course I care. I live on this planet, too. You think I’d risk that?”
“If the probability isn’t exactly zero, you are risking it.”
“The probability is zero.” She swiveled her chair, roughly turning her back on him.
Ford straightened up and noticed Hazelius still looking at him. The physicist rose from his chair and strolled over with an easy smile.
“Wyman? Let me reassure you with this little fact: if miniature black holes were stable, we’d see them everywhere, left over from the Big Bang. In fact, there’d be so many that they would have swallowed up everything by now. So the fact that we exist is proof that mini black holes are unstable.”
Corcoran smirked at the sidelines, pleased at the effect of her words.
“Somehow I’m not completely reassured.”
Hazelius placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “It’s impossible that Isabella will create a black hole that will destroy the earth. It simply can’t happen. ”
“Power steady,” said St. Vincent.
“Beam collimated. Luminosity eighteen point two TeV.”
The murmuring in the room had increased. Ford heard a new sound—a faint, distant singing.
“You hear that?” Hazelius said. “That’s a sound generated by trillions of particles racing around Isabella. We’re not sure why there’s a sound at all—the beams are in a vacuum. Somehow they set up a sympathetic vibration transmitted by the intense magnetic fields.”
The atmosphere on the Bridge was thickening with tension.
“Ken, take it up to ninety-nine and hold,” said Hazelius.
“Will do.”
“Rae?”
“Luminosity just over nineteen TeV and rising.”
“Harlan?”
“Steady and cool.”
“Michael?”
“No anomalies.”
Wardlaw spoke from his security station across the room. His voice was very loud in the hushed atmosphere. “I’ve got an intruder.”
“What?” Hazelius straightened up, astonished. “Where?”
“At the perimeter fence up top, around the elevator. I’m focusing in.”
Hazelius strode over, and Ford quickly joined him. A greenish image of the fence materialized on one of Wardlaw’s screens, seen from the perspective of a camera mounted high up on a mast above the elevator. It was of a man, pacing restlessly along the fence.
“Can you zero in?”
Wardlaw hit a switch, and a different view sprang into focus from the level of the fence.
“It’s that preacher!” said Hazelius.
The form of Russ Eddy, as gaunt as a scarecrow, paused in his pacing and hooked his fingers into the chain links, peering in with a suspicious scowl on his face. Behind him, the moon cast a greenish glow across the barren mesa.
“I’ll take care of it,” said Wardlaw, rising.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Hazelius.
“He’s trespassing.”
“Leave him be. He’s harmless. If he tries to climb the fence, then you can speak to him over the loudspeakers and tell him to scram.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hazelius turned. “Ken?”
“Holding at ninety-nine.”
“How’s the supercomputer, Rae?”
“So far, so good. Keeping up with the flow of particles.”
“Ken, take it up a tenth.”
The flower on the screen flared, flickering and spreading, running through all the colors of the rainbow. Ford stared at the screen, mesmerized by the image.
“I’m starting to see the very lowest end of that resonance,” said Michael Cecchini. “It’s a powerful one.”
“Take it up another tenth,” said Hazelius.
The writhing flower on the screen grew more intense, and two faint, shimmering lobes appeared on either side of the central point, darting outward again and again, like a grabbing hand.
“All power systems go,” said St. Vincent.
“Up a tenth,” said Hazelius.
Chen hit the keyboard. “I’m starting to see it—extreme space-time curvature at CZero.”
“Up a tenth.” Hazelius’s voice was calm, steady.
“There it is!” said Chen, her voice resonating across the Bridge.
“You see?” said Kate to Ford. “That black dot right at CZero. It’s as if the spray of particles was just briefly passing out and then back into our universe.”
“Twenty-two point five TeV.” Even the laid-back Chen sounded tense.
“Steady at ninety-nine point four.”
“Up a tenth.”
The flower writhed, twisted, throwing off veils and sprays of color. The dark hole in the center increased, its edges flickering raggedly. The resonance suddenly lunged outward, right off the sides of the screen.
Ford saw a drop of sweat crawl down Hazelius’s cheek.
“That’s the source of the charged jet at twenty-two point seven TeV,” said Kate Mercer. “We seem to be tearing the ‘brane at that point.”
“Up a tenth.”
The hole grew, pulsating strangely, like a beating heart. In the middle it was black as night. Ford stared, drawn in.
“Infinite curvature at CZero,” said Chen.
The hole had grown so large, it swallowed most of the center of the screen. Ford suddenly saw flashes in its depths, like a school of fish darting about in deep water.
“How’s the computer?” Hazelius asked sharply.
“Flaky,” said Chen.
“Up a tenth,” said Hazelius, his voice low.
The flecks increased. The singing noise, which had been steadily rising, added a hissing, snakelike overtone.
“Computer’s getting funkier,” said Chen, her voice tight.
“How so?”
“Take a look.”
Everyone was now standing before the big screen—everyone but Edelstein, who continued reading. Something was materializing in the central hole, with little bits and flashes of color, swarming faster, coming up from infinite depths, shimmering, taking shape. It was so strange, Ford wasn’t sure if his brain was interpreting it right.
Hazelius pulled the keyboard over and rapped in a command. “Isabella’s having trouble managing the bitstream. Rae, kill the checksum routines—that should free up CPU.”
“Hold it,” said Dolby. “That’s our early warning system.”
“It’s a backup to a backup. Rae? Please do it.”
Chen hammered in the command.
“Computer’s still funky, Gregory.”
“I’m with Ken—I think you should turn the checksum routines back on,” said Kate.
“Not yet. Take it up a tenth, Ken.”
A hesitation.
“Up a tenth.”
“All right,” said Dolby, his voice uncertain.
“Harlan?”
“Power’s deep, strong, and clean.”
“Rae?”
Chen’s voice was high-pitched. “It’s happening again. The computer’s getting all glacky on me, just like it did with Volkonsky.”
The shimmering intensified.
Cecchini said, “Beams still collimated. Luminosity twenty-four point nine. Tight and focused here.”
“Ninety-nine point eight,” said Chen.
“Up a tenth.”
Dolby spoke, his usually laconic voice uncharacteristically tight. “Gregory, are you sure—?”
“Up a tenth.”
“I’m losing the computer,” said Chen. “I’m losing it. It’s happening again.”
“It can’t be happening. Put it up a tenth!”
“Approaching ninety-nine point nine,” said Chen, a slight tremble in her voice.
The singing had become louder, and it reminded Ford of the sound made by the monolith in the movie 2001, a chorus of voices.
“Take it up to ninety-nine point nine five.”
“It’s gone! It won’t accept any input!” Chen tossed her head, her hair sweeping back in an angry cloud of black.
Ford stood with the others, just behind Hazelius, Cecchini, Chen, and St. Vincent, all of whom were riveted to their own keyboards. The image, the thing in the center of the Visualizer had taken solidity, and it was shimmering faster, with purple and deep red darts whipping in and out, a whirling hive of color, deep and three-dimensional.
It looked almost alive.
“My God,” gasped Ford involuntarily. “What is that?”
“Slag code,” said Edelstein dryly, not even looking up from his book. Instantly the Visualizer went blank.
“Oh no. God no,” Hazelius groaned.
A word popped up in the middle of the screen:
Greetings
Hazelius smacked the keyboard with his hand. “Son of a bitch!”
“Computer’s frozen,” said Chen.
Dolby turned to Chen, “Power down, Rae. Now.”
“No!” Hazelius turned on him. “Up to one hundred percent!”
“Are you crazy?” Dolby screamed.
Suddenly, instantly, Hazelius became calm. “Ken, we’ve got to find the malware. It seems to be a bot program—it’s moving around. It’s not in the main computer. So where is it? The detectors have built-in microprocessors— it’s moving around in the detectors. And that means we can find it. We can isolate the output from each detector and corner it. Am I right, Rae?”
“Absolutely. That’s a brilliant idea.”
“For God’s sake,” said Dolby, his face covered with sweat, “we’re flying blind. If the beams decollimated, they could slice through here, blow the shit out of all of us—not to mention frying two hundred and fifty million dollars’ worth of detectors.”
“Kate?” said Hazelius.
“I’m with you all the way, Gregory.”
“Take it to a hundred, Rae,” Hazelius said coolly.
“Okay.”
Dolby lunged for the keyboard, but Hazelius stepped into his way, blocking him.
“Ken,” Hazelius said rapidly, “listen to me. If the computer’s going to crash, it would have already happened. The controller software’s still running in the background. We just can’t see it. Give me ten minutes to trace this.”
“No way.”
“Five minutes, then. Please. This is not an arbitrary decision. My assistant director agrees with me. We’re in charge.”
“Nobody’s in charge of my machine but me.” Breathing hard, Dolby stared at Hazelius, stared at Mercer, then turned back, his arms at his side, fists clenched.
Without turning, Hazelius said, “Kate? We’re going to try what you and I discussed earlier: type in a question—anything. Let’s see if we can get it talking.”
“What the hell’s the point of asking it questions?” Dolby turned. “It’s a chatterbot program.”
“Maybe we can trace the output back to the source. Back to the logic bomb.”
Dolby stared at him.
“Rae,” said Hazelius, “if it outputs, you troll through the detectors looking for the signal.”
“Gotcha.” Chen jumped up from the console and went to another workstation, where she began typing.
The others stood almost paralyzed, as if in shock. Ford saw that Edelstein had finally put down his book to watch, a distant look of interest on his face.
Hazelius and Dolby continued their face-off, Hazelius blocking access to the power control board.
Greetings to you, too, Kate typed in.
The LED screen above the console flickered, went dark. Then an answer appeared:
I am glad to be speaking to you.
“It’s responding!” Kate cried.
“Did you get that, Rae?” Hazelius shouted.
“I did,” said Chen excitedly. “I’ve got a bead on the output stream. You were right, it is coming from a detector! This is it! We got it! Keep going!”
Glad to be speaking to you, too, Kate typed. “Jeez, what should I say?”
“Ask who it is,” said Hazelius.
Who are you? Kate typed.
For lack of a better word, I am God.
A derisive snort from Hazelius. “Stupid-ass hackers!”
If you’re really God, typed Kate, then prove it.
We don’t have much time for proofs.
I’m thinking of a number between one and ten. What is it?
You are thinking of the transcendental number e.
Kate took her fingers off the keyboard and sat back.
“How’s it going, Rae?” Hazelius called to Chen.
“I’m tracing it! Just keep typing!”
Kate straightened her shoulders and leaned forward to type again.
Now I’m thinking of a number between zero and one.
Chaitin’s number: Omega.
At this, Kate stood up abruptly and stepped back from the keyboard, her hand over her mouth.
“What is it?” Ford asked.
“Keep typing!” Chen screamed from her hunched-over position.
Kate shook her head, her face pale, hand over her mouth, backing away from the machine.
“Why the hell isn’t someone inputting!” Chen screamed.
Hazelius turned to Ford. “Wyman—you take over from Kate.”
Ford stepped forward to the keyboard. If you’re God, then . . . What could he ask? He quickly typed, what’s the purpose of existence?
I don’t know the ultimate purpose.
“I’m getting it!” Chen shouted. “That’s it! Keep it going!”
That’s a fine thing, Ford typed, a god who doesn’t know the purpose of existence.
If I knew, existence would be pointless.
How so?
If the end of the universe were present in its beginning—if we are merely in the middle of the deterministic unfolding of a set of initial conditions—then the universe would be a pointless exercise.
“All right,” said Dolby, in a low and menacing tone. “Your time’s up. I want Isabella back.”
“Ken, we need more time,” said Hazelius.
Dolby tried to step past Hazelius, but the physicist blocked him. “Not yet.”
“I’ve almost got it!” yelled Chen. “Give me just a minute more, for chris-sakes!”
“No!” said Dolby. “I’m powering down now!”
“The hell you are,” said Hazelius. “Damn it, Wyman, keep inputting!”
Explain, Ford hastily typed.
If you’re at your destination, why make the journey? If you know the answer, why ask the question? That is why the future is—and must be—profoundly hidden, even from God. Otherwise, existence would have no meaning.
That’s a metaphysical argument, not a physical argument, Ford typed.
The physical argument is that no part of the universe can calculate things faster than the universe itself. The universe is “predicting the future” as fast as it can.
Dolby tried to step around Hazelius, but the physicist darted to the side, still blocking him.
“Keep it outputting, I’m almost there!” Chen screamed, hunched over the keyboard, typing maniacally.
What is the universe? Ford typed, plucking questions at random. Who are we? What are we doing here?
Dolby lunged forward, shoving Hazelius out of the way. Hazelius stumbled back, but he recovered quickly and flung himself on the engineer’s back, pulling him away from the console with astonishing force.
“Are you crazy?” Dolby yelled, trying to shuck him off. “Yo
u’re going to wreck my machine—!”
The two men wrestled, the diminutive physicist clinging like a monkey to the engineer’s broad back—and they fell heavily to the floor, the chair overturning with a crash.
The others were frozen with shock at the brawl. Nobody knew what to do.
“You crazy bastard—!” Dolby yelled, rolling on the floor, struggling to break free of the fiercely clinging physicist.
The logic bomb continued outputting to the Visualizer screen.
The universe is one vast, irreducible, ongoing computation, which is working toward a state that I do not and cannot know. The purpose of existence is to reach that final state. But that final state is a mystery to me, as it must be, for if I knew the answer, what would be the point of it all?
“Let me go!” Dolby cried.
“Somebody help me,” Hazelius cried. “Don’t let him touch that keyboard!”
What do you mean by computation? Ford typed. We’re all inside a computer?
By computation I mean thinking. All of existence, everything that happens—a falling leaf, a wave upon the beach, the collapse of a star—it is all just me, thinking.
“I got it!” Chen cried triumphantly. “I’ve—wait! What the hell—?”
What are you thinking? Ford typed.
With a final wrench, Dolby broke away from Hazelius and threw himself on the console.
“No!” Hazelius screamed. “Don’t shut her down! Wait!”
Dolby sat back, breathing hard. “Power-down sequence initiated.”
The singing noise that filled the room attenuated, and the screen in front of Ford flickered, the words dissolving. He had just the briefest glimpse of some eldritch shape flurrying up and disappearing into a point in the center of the screen, and then it went dark.
Hazelius shrugged his shoulders, straightened his clothes, brushed the dust off his shoulders, and turned to Chen, his voice calm. “Rae? Did you get it?”
Chen stared back at him, her face blank.
“Rae?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I got it.”
“Well? What processor is it coming from?”