Текст книги "The Cure"

Автор книги: Douglas E. Richards

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

This caused Einstein and others no end of headaches, and entire schools of brilliant physicists refused to accept that this was really what was happening. Einstein didn’t believe this was real, calling it “spooky action at a distance.”

Even so, even after quantum entanglement was conclusively demonstrated, the physics community insisted it still didn’t violate the speed-of-light barrier. Nothing could travel faster than light: not particles, energy, or information. But since information wasn’t being conveyed in this case, the speed-of-light barrier held. Yes, if a coin landed on heads at one end of the universe, its entangled partner would instantly land on tails at the other end. But since the heads or tails nature of the first coin was random, what good did this do anyone? No real information could be transmitted by this process.

And the possible implications of quantum entanglement were even more profound than these bizarre results suggested. Since at the time of the Big Bang, all the matter of the universe was concentrated in a single point, it was conceivable that every last particle in the universe was entangled with every other.

Fermi went on to explain how information could be transmitted faster than light using quantum entanglement, but that it had to be done through knowledge of dark matter and dark energy, which humanity didn’t possess, having only discovered these major constituents of the universe very recently. Although completely invisible, the Milky Way was thought to contain so much dark matter that this mysterious material outweighed all the stars in the galaxy ten to one.

And 73 percent of the universe was now thought to be made up of mysterious energy called dark energy, hidden in the vacuum of space. If human physics was ever in any danger of being impressed with itself, the fact that the science, until recently, had been totally oblivious to the vast majority of matter and energy in the universe, was a humbling reminder of its limitations.

Fermi explained again that he and his colleagues had transported here from Suran using once-in-a-generation resources, so that every atom of extra weight had been inconceivably expensive. The trip had required energy and computational ability beyond even Fermi’s comprehension. While they would have loved to have brought advanced technology with them, the only technology their civilization could afford to send, literally, was a small quantum computer.

“And this is what I’ve detected?” said Hansen.

“That’s right,” replied Fermi. “We have computers many orders of magnitude more powerful, but we could only bring along what you might think of as a laptop. Still, because it operates on quantum principles, it’s thousands of times more powerful than the computers you have here.”

Steve Fuller cleared his throat and faced Hansen. “But bringing this discussion out of the clouds and down to earth for a minute,” he said. “This is one of the reasons I needed to, ah … force a meeting with you. Without putting too fine a point on it, we need you to shut the fuck up about the quantum signature you’ve discovered. Do you think you can do that?”

Hansen was taken aback by the way this had been said. He considered several choice responses before choosing the most benign. “No one takes me seriously anyway.”

“I do,” said Fuller meaningfully. “Consider yourself lucky that no one else has to this point.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that in your zeal to localize this signal of yours, you’ve been trying to get permits and funds to dig underground just outside of Washington, D.C., for months. Where you think this mysterious signal is emanating from. And no matter how many times you’re denied a permit you won’t stop pressing. And you won’t shut up about your theory either. Do you know how fucking annoying that is? Well, congratulations. You finally made it. Right now we’re sitting in a facility three hundred feet underground, at the precise spot you wanted to dig. Dead center. And I can’t tell you how much we don’t want to be discovered down here.”

Hansen swallowed hard. He was proud his theory had so accurately pinpointed the location of the signature, but he was beginning to get nervous.

“So we need you to tell your advisor and everyone else you’ve been pestering that you’ve made an error. And that you’ve now come to your senses. It’s a good thing we’re moving our headquarters out West in a few weeks,” added Fuller. “Or we might have been forced to kill you.”

He said it with a friendly smile, as though he was joking, so Hansen chose to believe him.

28

FULLER OPENED HIS mouth to continue when he was interrupted by a knock at the door. A woman stuck her head into the conference room and asked when she should serve lunch. Fuller glanced at this watch and asked her to return in thirty minutes.

The moment the door closed, Fuller took up where he had left off. “But I don’t want you to decide if you’ll do what I’m asking just yet,” he said to Kyle Hansen. “Because you still don’t know the big picture. After you do, I’m sure you’ll want to cooperate.”

Both Fuller and Fermi described the seventeen known civilizations in this arm of the galaxy and how interstellar comingling of the seventeen species was handled. And why the Seventeen believed it was vital that one of them send a contingent to Earth in order to save a savage but talented new species from self-destruction. The Wraps had been an obvious choice for this duty for a number of reasons.

Hansen had no sense of how much time was passing, and was astonished when there was another knock on the door. Could thirty minutes have passed already?

Sure enough, the same woman who had visited before wheeled in a serving cart loaded with five metal plates, all of them covered by metal domes, and an assortment of drinks, along with plates, napkins, and silverware. The conversation ceased until she had left the room once again.

Fuller lifted the domes from two of the plates to reveal heaping mounds of two Chinese dishes, beef broccoli and cashew chicken, which had surprised Hansen since the only utensils that had accompanied the meal were Western.

Fuller turned to Hansen. “Hungry?” he asked. “Or would you rather wait for a better stopping place?”

“I’ll wait,” said Hansen immediately. He could always eat. But he couldn’t always learn about the history of galactic civilization.

Fuller nodded approvingly. He covered the steaming dishes once again and continued where he had left off. “The Wraps came to our government and quickly demonstrated their bona fides,” he explained. “Regardless of what you may have heard, this is the only visitation Earth has ever had. And as you’ve learned already, it wasn’t by spaceship. The Wraps offered to use their skill and their quantum computer to help us protect us from ourselves.”

“How?”

“They were short on explanations. Fortunately, they were long on results. First, their computer is somehow able to scan for nuclear and bioweapon signatures at incredible sensitivity. You identified their quantum computer based on its spectra. Their computer can identify WMD basically the same way, although we have no idea how. And we provide all the inputs we have. Our entire huge database. All the information we have on known terrorists, along with every other piece of electronic data we can collect. And they have access to trillions of pages more on the Internet. Their computer can take these inputs and do magic with it. See patterns we can’t. Make predictions with uncanny accuracy.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve been begging them to pick a few stocks for me,” he added with a smirk.

“I’m surprised you trusted them enough to give them total access to your data.”

“They earned our trust. It didn’t happen right away. As a show of good faith in the early days, Fermi and his friends alerted us to several terrorist actions that would have leveled one of our cities if not for them. As distrusting as we were inclined to be, it only took saving our bacon a few times before we became willing to be more open minded. Eventually we decided they were exactly what they presented themselves to be. Namely, friendly aliens trying to help.”

“When did they arrive?”

“The exact date is classified, but it was after nine eleven, unfortunately. Not that we didn’t have all the information we needed to stop that one ourselves. What I will tell you is that we are now the most classified department in the world, under the auspices of DHS; the Department of Homeland Security. We wait a few years after inauguration to even tell new presidents of our existence, and the rest of the agencies we serve will never know of us. And I should add that this is a global effort. The Wraps decide on the priorities and where we put resources. If, in their judgment, stopping a plot against Israel or England or somewhere else is more important than stopping a plot against America, we do that. Not that we don’t try to stop them all. We find a way to feed the intel to various protective agencies, our own and in other countries, in such a way that it looks homegrown. We’ve rooted out dozens and dozens of plots that could have spiraled out of control. Plots that through a domino effect could have led to a retardation of worldwide civilization and even the end of humanity. But no one knows we exist, or are providing intel behind the scenes.”

Hansen wasn’t sure he was totally buying it. He felt he was missing something. He loved science fiction and wanted with all his heart for this to be true—an advanced and benevolent species watching over us. It was the ultimate science fiction dream. But it was human nature to question things that seemed too good to be true. And Hansen didn’t quite trust a species devoting huge amounts of energy and resources, on a scale at which the energy output of human civilization for all of history was just rounding error, without wanting anything in return.

“The Wraps are totally pacifistic,” continued Fuller, unable to hide his disapproval. “So we don’t tell them operational details. They like to think of this as an intellectual exercise. If they think people will get hurt, even those who have made themselves the enemy of civilization, they get squeamish. Like a vegan in a steak house. You and I are ordering the porterhouses and trying not to drool. They’re trying not to vomit.”

Fermi nodded. “It is true,” he said. He went on to describe the toll just being on Earth was taking on them. They liked and even admired individual humans, who often had a great sense of humor and of duty. Impressive curiosity and drive. But in comparison to any member of the Seventeen, humanity as a whole was the most raw. The most passionate. The most ruthless, selfish, and malevolent.

But at the same time, there was a flip side to this passion. Individual humans were capable of astoundingly powerful displays of love, loyalty, self-sacrifice, and heroism. Still, being exposed to the single-minded brutality of the species, just watching the news for a single day, was extremely taxing to their psyche. Like having an exposed nerve being hit repeatedly with a needle.

The conversation dwindled and Hansen and Fuller decided to eat their fill of Chinese food before it got too cold. Fermi pulled a nondescript bar of food from his pocket, which looked to have the consistency of tar, explaining that Wraps had different dietary requirements than humans.

After Hansen finished the last of his beef broccoli, he turned to the alien and raised his eyebrows. “You chose the name Fermi as a wry statement, didn’t you? As an ironic response to the Fermi paradox.”

“Outstanding,” said the alien approvingly. “A sense of humor is a trait shared by eleven of the seventeen known species. We Wraps have a very dry sense of humor. Something true of many humans, as well.”

“Oh yeah,” said Fuller. “Wraps are a real laugh riot. An alien named Fermi. Who wouldn’t get a comedy gem like that?” he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Enrico Fermi had been a brilliant, Nobel Prize–winning physicist who had worked on the Manhattan Project. One day, in 1951, he and some colleagues were discussing reports of UFOs, and whether or not they were real. His response was simple. If aliens existed, where were they? “Where is everybody?” he was reported to have said.

From anyone not as brilliant as Enrico Fermi, this might have just been a comment made in jest with no deeper meaning. From Fermi it was profound. The logic behind it very difficult to refute. This was ultimately called the Fermi Paradox and entire books were written speculating as to the answer to this simple question.

The universe had been around for fourteen billion years, and in the scheme of things, humanity for the blink of an eye. If intelligent life was common, it should have arisen all throughout the history of the universe. Eight billion years ago. Five billion. A hundred million. It didn’t matter. Once intelligence arose, technology would arise an instant later, on cosmological time scales. Even assuming a species could only spread outward from their home planet at a tiny fraction of the speed of light, after several million years the universe, and the Milky Way galaxy, should still be teeming with intelligent life. So if intelligence was common, the local neighborhood should have been extensively colonized by at least one intelligent species, occupying every square millimeter of available real estate and advertising its presence. The fact that this wasn’t the case spoke volumes.

But it occurred to Hansen that just because he was staring at an alien who embodied the answer to “Where is everybody?” and had chosen the name Fermi to be ironic, the Fermi Paradox was no less insightful, and no less demanding of an answer, than it ever was.

“So what is the solution?” said Hansen. “If Wraps have been around for millions of years, why didn’t you, or one or more of the Seventeen, colonize this entire galaxy while we were still swinging through trees? Or were all eighteen of us born at basically the same minute of cosmic time?”

“The variation in birthdays among the seventeen—now eighteen—is very slight. Some of the seventeen civilizations were space-faring hundreds of thousands of years ago. Wraps have only been a part of the galactic community for about forty thousand years.”

“Can I assume you’re all at different levels of technology?”

Fermi shook his head. “Virtually the same. Part of this is because intermingling brings homogenization. But mostly it’s because the universe allows rapid technological advance—to a point. Once you hit barriers built into the fabric of reality—like the speed of light or absolute zero, progress bunches up. Our species arrived at these barriers relatively quickly. Others very slowly. But it doesn’t matter. Imagine running a marathon, at the end of which is an impenetrable barrier. The fast runners reach it very quickly, while the tortoise might take a thousand times as long. But either way, they all end up at the same place.”

Hansen considered. He had never thought about it in this way, but Fermi made a lot of sense.

“But back to your original question about the paradox described by my namesake,” continued the alien. “Given the ubiquity of intelligence, we are certain it has arisen multiple times in multiple places. So why hasn’t the presence of those who were born billions of years before us been felt? We think for a number of reasons. We believe there are three categories of civilizations. The vast majority we believe are stillborn, self-destructing before they leave their planets, either through overpopulation, war, pollution, or other means of suicide. The same path your civilization is traveling now. Only when such a species happens to be discovered by more mature civilizations in time for them to intervene, before the point of no return, will this type of species survive. We hope this will be the case with you.”

“So you’re saying it’s just a great piece of cosmic dumb luck that you found us when you did?”

Fermi nodded.

“And the other categories?”

“In the second category are those few species who managed not to self-destruct and became space-faring many millions or billions of years ago. These have most likely advanced to such a transcendent level that they can easily hide from us, or create entirely new universes to inhabit. Leaving this one as an incubator for future intelligent life.”

“So the Seventeen must be in the third category.”

“Correct. The third category consists of civilizations that are mature. Not self-destructive. But stagnant. Not driven enough to reach the next level, as the superspecies may have done. And not expansionary. Fermi assumed that there would be exponential population growth and an unquenchable desire to explore and expand the frontier. This drive isn’t present in any of the Seventeen. None are growing in population. And most are shrinking. All are extremely comfortable as technology and access to nearly unlimited energy creates almost unlimited options for personal growth.”

Hansen considered. On Earth, the populations of many third-world countries were skyrocketing, but in many of the more comfortable and established countries population wasn’t growing at all, or was even declining. This had never been the case in Fermi’s time, but intelligent species with declining populations and no interest in colonization would answer his question quite nicely.

“Our cultures are unambitious,” continued Fermi. “Largely content with the status quo. After many thousands of years of stagnation, our greatest source of entertainment and stimulation is intermingling with each other. But the Seventeen haven’t welcomed a new member in twenty-five thousand years, and the current interactions are growing more and more routine, which is one reason you’re so important. A new species added to the mix adds diversity, a new way of thought, and creates endless permutations and combinations between and among all the others that reinvigorates them all. Even if you and another culture mix worse than oil and water, this still shakes things up. Makes things interesting. And with respect to advances in technology, new cultures, even those whose technology is relatively unsophisticated, bring fresh blood, and new ways of thinking about things. Which inevitably leads to some additional progress being made.”

“Fascinating,” said Hansen. “I only wish the real Enrico Fermi could be here to discuss this with you.”

“He was one of your most brilliant scientists, without a doubt. The other three travelers from Suran also adopted names of famous humans who have speculated about the existence of aliens.”

“I can’t wait to hear what they are.”

“They took the names Drake, Sagan, and Roddenberry. To honor these visionaries of your species.”

Hansen nodded. It was perhaps a measure of his level of geekiness that he was familiar with all three, as he had been with Fermi. Frank Drake had founded the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence, SETI, and had come up with what was known as the Drake equation, used to attempt to estimate the number of intelligent species in the universe. Carl Sagan had been one of the founders of the Planetary Society, which was partly dedicated to the search for extraterrestrial life. A pretty heady bunch to use as namesakes. But Roddenberry? Star Trek had been groundbreaking, but the creator of a piece of entertainment seemed out of place with the other three.

“Roddenberry?” said Hansen aloud. “Why? For his depiction of aliens?”

Unexpectedly, Fuller jumped in to answer this question before Fermi did. “No, for his prime directive concept.” Fuller said it with a measure of contempt, making no attempt to hide his disapproval. “The Seventeen apparently have a similar concept. You know, an edict about not mucking too much in our scientific development, since we’re so primitive.”

“Not primitive,” corrected Fermi. “Just unpolished and not quite … ready. There are certain basic tenets of science a species has to learn the hard way to be able to build from there.”

“Which is why they haven’t shared their computer or methods with you, correct?” guessed Hansen.

Fuller didn’t answer, but his face darkened.

“We could jump humanity ahead,” explained Fermi. “But this would be like cheating in school. Things learned the hard way tend to be learned more thoroughly.”

“You can get an A in algebra by cheating,” clarified Fuller. “But then you’re screwed in Algebra II.”

“Interesting,” said Hansen.

“Yeah?” said Fuller. “Well, what’s even more interesting is they seem to want to make a minor exception for you. When we were trying to decide what to do about you, they suggested that you were important. That your theories were correct and might get wiped out by the establishment if not given encouragement. That regardless of your stubbornness, you would eventually get drummed out of the mainstream and shunted to the scrap heap of history.”

Hansen shook his head as if he hadn’t heard right. “So one of the few times they’ve chosen to intervene—other than to watch for WMD—was on my account?”

It was all too much to digest, and Hansen’s emotions were spinning like a kaleidoscope: pride, vindication, shock, disbelief, and several others.

“You came up with your theories without their help,” said Fuller. “And you basically discovered us without their help as well. So by seeing that you’re nurtured rather than snuffed out—snuffed out scientifically,” he quickly clarified, “they aren’t breaching their ethics. It goes without saying we’d love to know how to build a quantum computer. And it looks like the only way we’ll be able to do that is through you. So we’re making an effort to turn the biggest thorn in our side—you—into an asset.”

Hansen studied Fuller’s face. “So what are you proposing?”

“You tell your advisor and others you’ve pestered that you were wrong about this quantum signature thing. Fermi and his associates are now constructing a device to block this signature, by the way, but it will take a year or two to complete. So you agree not to do experiments that will allow you to locate our new headquarters in the interim.” He paused to let this percolate. “In exchange, we’ll pull strings to get you funded for your research needs when it comes to quantum computing. Even though everyone will still think you’re a crackpot, you’ll miraculously get funding. Over the objections of the entire establishment.”

“So I go back to my life, forget this ever happened, and have a fairy godmother looking out for me?”

“Exactly. Finish your Ph.D. According to the Wraps, you’ll need all of what you’ll be learning in your graduate courses at CMU. In subjects the Wraps have no interest, or willingness, to teach you. Once you’ve graduated, we’ll sign you up under a joint project through DHS and DARPA to design a quantum computer. Which you’ll do at our headquarters, so you can consult with the Wraps. As ridiculous as it sounds, it will be like twenty questions. They won’t tell you the answer. But if you guess the right answer, they’ll wink at you.”

Fuller paused. “But from here on out, if you ever breathe a word about any of this, we’ll know. And we’ll make sure you’re put in a mental institution where God himself won’t be able to spring you—or even find you.”

Hansen offered a weak smile. “That doesn’t sound too constitutional,” he said.

“According to the Wraps’ computer—the granddaddy one back at their home planet, not the laptop version they have here—there is a much better than even chance we won’t survive as a species another ten years. These Wraps are our benefactors. The U.S. Constitution is an impressive document, but when survival of the nation is at stake, people like me have a little extra leeway. The Constitution isn’t a suicide pact.”

Hansen pursed his lips in thought, making sure he wasn’t missing anything. “Okay. I accept. You make a compelling proposal. And I will keep your secret. You can count on it.” He raised his eyebrows. “But just out of curiosity, what would have happened if I had rejected your offer?”

Fuller didn’t respond for several seconds. Finally, just the hint of a smile flickered over his face and he said, “Let’s just say it’s a good thing that none of us ever have to find out.”