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Miscalculation Episode 4

A Slight Miscalculation, Episode 4: New SF by Mark Laporta

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[Editor’s Note: Read the Story from the Beginning]

Three days into his surprise mission for GalaxyPol, Crawford Caldera watched the data feed from Sky Rock’s Nav-AI on his workstation monitor, as the mid-sized ship reached the outskirts of the Skelana system. It was now only a few hours before the ship reached the system’s expansive asteroid belt. Soon after, Crawford would crawl back out onto a rocky surface he hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. For a man who’d become accustomed to the comfort of a magnificently ergonomic home, that was a scary prospect. 

His only consolation was that GalaxyPol’s nanobot regimen had finally started to take hold. While he was still far from the ideal of a “lean fighting machine,” he no longer worried that an extra-vehicular jaunt on an asteroid would pop a tendon or blow out a heart valve. Besides, he reminded himself, the reddish-brown johlantra suit he’d received from the Skelanese would also improve his odds of returning to the ship unscathed. 

Not only was it made of a complex material unknown to human science, but it was designed, apparently, to interact with his metabolism and keep his vital signs in the “green zone.” It had something to do, he surmised, with the millions of sensors woven into the suit’s novel synthetic fiber, which resulted in a surface that resembled the tight array of taste buds that dotted the human tongue.

Though the suit included no defensive weapons, Crawford had taken the precaution of slipping the miniature holographic projector that he’d used to torment Arielle, when they first met, into a small pouch built into the suit’s left arm. Like every other Skelanese device, it was voice-activated. Now that it was integrated into the encounter suit, the projector would pick up his commands through the suit’s collapsible, hood-like helmet.

But none of that was enough to dampen his mounting anxiety about what he might find. Despite his limited knowledge of engineering, the schematics that Djaleerin had absent-mindedly left on her workstation screen from time to time had made a lasting impression on him. Whatever the Skelanese had built in the hollowed-out asteroid he’d created for them was bound to be a thing of daunting complexity and power. Would one slip of his ungraceful feet trigger a cascade of cosmic disasters?

Try not to wet yourself, he thought. 

If his experience with the Skelanese had taught him anything, it was that they worked out every technical detail with excruciating precision. He’d more likely burn himself on one of the Sky Rock’s replicators than wreak havoc with the mystery device he was about to examine. Djaleerin, he remembered, had called it a kreljebtra. At some point, he told himself, he’d have to dig up his Skelanese/Standard dictionary and look into the origins of that word. 

Just in case, he sent a joint text to the entire team, which offered up that factoid for what it was worth. Could it offer a clue to the purpose it served? Maybe an old school linguist at the Mars Collective might make something out of it. Though truth be told, no one was quite sure that the descendants of the first human extraterrestrial colonists hadn’t shaded off into a type of science-inflected mysticism. 

In the meantime, there were reams of data for Arielle Chaplin’s team to analyze, regarding the relative stability of the solar system they were entering. In daily briefing sessions and even in casual, hallway conversation, the topic came up repeatedly. And as their analysis brought the situation into ever-sharper focus, one thing became clear: If the Skelanese had actually weakened the boundary between their universe and a neighboring one, the Sky Rock would need an effective escape plan.

“Escape to where exactly?” was Gwendolyn Tanby’s constant question. No one could deny she had a point. Even skeptical Elton Cameron had come around to taking the matter more seriously, as he confided at breakfast the day before Crawford’s rocky expedition.

“Not looking so much like a ‘ghost in the data’ now,” said Elton. “Last night we saw evidence of micro- deflections across a cubic lightyear of space in the vicinity of the asteroid belt. Whatever’s generating these … gravity waves … or whatever, is keeping its distance from them.”

“Can’t blame it,” said Crawford. “But, honestly, I can’t see what these weird phenomena have to do with the Skelanese mission. They wanted easy access to other universes. Never said anything about tearing this one to shreds.”

“Hate to say this,” said Elton, “but we may be looking at hardware failure. Whatever the aliens built may have simply gone haywire or … or developed a mind of its own.”

As before, with Dulcey, Crawford’s puzzled expression triggered a mini-lecture from Elton, this time on the theory of “spontaneous sentience.” Given a device with enough computing power and a sufficiently independent sensor array, sentience might arise of its own out of the machine’s experience of the real world. Even, that is, if artificial intelligence programming or circuitry were not included in its original configuration. 

All the while, Crawford couldn’t help noticing how erratically the status lights on Elton’s cerebral implants had begun to flicker.

“You think the Skelanese kreljebtra might have gone rogue?” he asked. 

“Can’t rule it out, is all I’m saying,” said Elton. “I’d recommend you take a lase pistol or particle gun with you, if I thought that wouldn’t likely trigger more cosmic mayhem, depending on what you hit.”

Crawford snorted. 

“Me with a weapon,” he said. “Now you’re talking cosmic catastrophe.”

A crash of mess hall furniture in the near distance made both men whip their head around. There, sprawled out on the off-white tiles was Dulcey, gasping for breath, as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Crawford leapt out of his chair with uncharacteristic grace and rushed to her side as she started to sit up. 

“There you are,” she gasped. “I … sorry about this. But I found exactly what we’re looking for.”

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Crawford’s eyebrows shot up as he helped her to her feet. His first thought was how grateful he was that her young body had most likely absorbed the shock of her fall.  In spite of his worries, he did his best to put a comic spin on the situation. If only to put himself at ease, he flipped his hands, palm up in the air. 

“No use getting killed over it, though, is it?” he asked. Dulcey gave him a sheepish look. 

“Good point,” she said. “Can I show you my data? Lucky me, I left my tablet in my quarters. Otherwise … smasheroo.”

Crawford shook his head and was startled when Dulcey insisted they reconvene in the ship’s computing bay. 

“We have to see how this plays out on a larger screen,” she said. “There’s too much detail to cram into a small frame.”

On his way out of the mess hall, Crawford checked the time on a readout embedded in the wall above the mess hall entrance. In twenty-four hours, he’d be inside the carved-out Skelanese asteroid. Would anything Dulcey told him count for a hill of beans by then? He found the nearest elevator bank that would take him down to Level 5 — where he’d yet to venture. 

As the door to the computing bay whooshed open, he was surprised to see Arielle waiting for him, her sour expression a harsh contrast to the room’s cheerful white, forest green and ochre décor. Sitting next to her was Saffron Davies, leader of Arielle’s physics team. Her intense, dark brown eyes stared out through a swoosh of black hair that concealed most of her face. 

“Don’t look so stunned, Mr. Caldara,” said Arielle. “I get called whenever anyone requests access to this bay.  It’s normally off limits. But when I saw it was Dulcey, I approved it. There she is now. This better be good. I have to account for every….”

“Sorry to take so long,” said Dulcey. “Hi, Agent Chaplin. I hope this won’t be too boring for you.”

Arielle glared at her.

“I’m not easily bored, Ms. Shear,” said Arielle. 

“Of course not, Sorry,” said Dulcey. “I’m just so excited by what I found.”

“I hope this is worth it,” said Saffron. “I have reams of my own data to analyze. You know, actual data.”

Dulcey stared at Saffron a moment, before rushing over to a central workstation, connecting her tablet to the Sky Rock’snetwork interface and entering a command string at lightning speed. Crawford, Arielle and even Saffron were startled to see a vibrant, pulsating image appear on the computer bay’s expansive holoscreen. 

“Mind explaining yourself?” asked Arielle. 

Dulcey winked at Crawford and summarized their recent speculations about the Skelanese project and the likely function of the kreljebtra they built in the Skelana asteroid belt. After a tentative nod from Arielle, she started a video that her computer-modeling software had created that morning. 

“We were looking for evidence of extra-universal proton migration,” she said. “I’ve checked space lane logs across each of the major colonial routes and there’s nothing. But this is what I found in the Skelana system.”

Crawford’s eyes widened as the simulation showed a steady, ongoing exchange of particles in both directions, plummeting in and out of what appeared to be a dark chasm. 

 “The kreljebtra is doing that?” asked Arielle. “Craters, this is much worse than I thought. How … extensive … is this?”

“I know what you mean, Agent Chaplin,” said Dulcey, “but that isn’t the right question. This phenomenon isn’t like mold or rust or anything at the macro level that creeps over the surface of a solid object. It’s more like a tendency. It’s not so much that proton migration is happening in so many places, but that it can happen at any moment.”

“Clever girl,” said Saffron. “But simulations like this leave a lot to be desired. ‘Plausibility’ and ‘probability’ are two separate words — for a reason.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Dr. Davies,” said Arielle. “But until your analysis is complete, this is what we have to work with. And time, you have to admit, is running out. Or don’t you worry about getting swallowed by an alternative universe?”

Saffron slapped her palms down on her thighs and stood up. 

“Fine,” she said. “Ms. Shear’s speculations are noted. I’ll let you know if they pan out, which I doubt. For one thing, she has no predictive model, at least that I’ve heard. Kind of important really.”

The others watched her stalk out of the computer bay in silence, though the lopsided smile on Crawford’s lips spoke volumes.

“Nobody likes being scooped, I guess,” he said. “But is she right, Dulcey? You haven’t found a pattern, an array that the kreljebtra might generate that would help us know where it will strike next?”

“Maybe if we could get a more zoomed out view,” said Dulcey. “Trouble is, it’s hard to monitor submicroscopic phenomena over a large distance. Besides, as Dr. Davies pointed out, everything I’m showing you now is just … extrapolation. We can’t actually see anything.”

“You should be able to see the effect it’s having, though,” said Arielle. “What if we replicated a steady stream of small, space worthy drones and shot them out into the Skelana solar system. Wouldn’t some of them have to bump into your wandering protons?”

“That might work,” said Crawford, “but we should get the astro team to weigh in. If Dulcey’s right, we might only have days to sort this out before this ‘space disease’ leaps to another galaxy.”

“I’ve already sent this simulation to Elton and the others,” said Arielle. “I do my best thinking when I’m bored. Dulcey, you’ll turn all of your data over to the rest of the team immediately. And you, Mr. Crawford, you’d better start getting ready for your asteroid walk tomorrow. I’m sending 6N7 along to keep you out of trouble, whatever happens. But he’ll need time to acclimate to your speech patterns and you’ll need to learn how to give clear commands.”

Crawford sighed. As if his upcoming foray weren’t stressful enough, he’d have to put up with a snippy android dog. 

“If you insist,” he said. “Though if that little bastard gets in my way, he’ll get a boulder shoved down his throat.”

“Very colorful,” said Arielle. “6N7 would cost you about fifteen million credits to replace. What account should I charge that to?”

To be continued …. Read Episode 5 here.

^^^

A new Episode of A Slight Miscalculation appears every other Monday. See all episodes here.

Mark Laporta is the author of Probability Shadow and Entropy Refraction, the first two novels in the science fiction series, Against the Glare of Darkness, which are available at a bookstore near you, on Amazon and at Barnes & Noble. He is also the author of Orbitals: Journeys to Future Worlds, a collection of short science fiction, which is available as an ebook.

Image design by Steven S. Drachman, from an original photograph by Mikhail Nilov / Pexels

Episode 2 - picture

A Slight Miscalculation, Episode 2: New SF by Mark Laporta

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[Editor’s Note: Read the Story from the Beginning]

All the way out to the Skelana system on the Sky Rock, a ship with IMC markings, Crawford tried to weave together the few tattered threads of data that Arielle’s team had come up with. The trouble was, the readings they’d taken made no sense, even as “weird” data. Was the substance they’d uncovered merely a rare kind of energy-lensing crystal, or was it actually the edge of another universe poking up into his?

For the former to be true, the source of the energy would have been immediately apparent. That was simple geometry, in that the angle of the light’s emission would be traceable to a source at a complementary angle, no matter how many light years distant it might be.

But no. The only thing along that trajectory was a small space station that orbited a totally nondescript planet. It was two systems over from the asteroid belt where the strange phenomenon was found. At best, its output equaled 0.00001% of the energy pouring out of the asteroid in question. Besides, what would the Skelanese have wanted with a human space station that was scheduled for decommission within the month?

That, unfortunately, left Crawford with the uncomfortable realization.

A freaking ‘other universe’ right under out feet, he thought. What did Djaleerin do?

Djaleerin had been the leader of the mysterious Skelanese project and his closest associate among the aliens. They’d argued out the pros and cons of everything from the basic premise of the Skelanese experiment to the nerdiest technical details of its realization. As it happened, Crawford’s interests went beyond exogeology, to the study of the cosmic forces that had shaped the unexpected minerals and metals his field work uncovered.

Not satisfied with What, he also had a keen instinct for Why, and had spent thousands of downtime hours reading up on a host of related fields. That had ignited fiery debates on the most recondite bits of physics. Crawford knew from the outset that he was in over his head. But his curiosity drove him to insist on a full explanation — even when he doubted he could retain it.

But there was more to Crawford’s pursuit of understanding beyond sheer doggedness. Over time, Djaleerin became more than a business associate. Despite the chasm of species incompatibility that separated them, the supple contours of her mind had entered his own. They’d bonded telepathically in a way no one in Crawford’s circle would understand — which was not to suggest that he understood it either. Had it been the glint of her yellow, feline eyes, the graceful slink of her every move?

It just happened, he told himself.

Now he had more immediate concerns than lost love. Left unchecked, the strange phenomenon he’d been asked to investigate promised to wreak havoc with several cubic parsecs of the known universe. That is, if he could believe the data summary he’d received from Arielle’s team. The thought of that put his wistful reminiscence into deep perspective.

And yet, he realized, there was no way to crack this conundrum without thinking back to Djaleerin’s edgy experiments. Together, the Skelanese had taken the principles of the space folding engine as a point of departure. Given the tight security ring that his hosts had maintained around their project, that was almost all he could discover, except for this: the Skelanese were determined to create a passageway to any parallel universe they chose.

Even Djaleerin had refused to explain more than was absolutely necessary for him to carry out his assignment, which had its own devilish complexity. Imagine searching for an asteroid capable of absorbing shock waves generated by a suite of esoteric equipment that had yet to be tested.

Freaking nightmare, he reminded himself. The dimensions were the easy part. But the density … and how exactly to hollow an asteroid out to a uniform thickness, without even a single surface crack. Worse, the Skelanese wanted a space boulder with “resonance,” a quality they were incapable of quantifying. Crawford gave up asking and set his mind to designing AI-controlled dampeners to line the asteroid’s interior walls. If he could embed the dampeners in rock with a low shear modulus, he reasoned, the modified asteroid would be flexible enough to absorb the high levels of stress forecast by Skelanese predictive modeling.

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One quiet evening, after a long day of taking precise mass/density readings on thousands of candidate asteroids, Crawford sat down to dinner with Djaleerin. Though their differing anatomies dictated that they could hardly have shared a meal, there was nothing stopping them from sharing meal time. And that night, for once, the Skelanese female had let her guard down.

“We figured it out by studying data from thousands of space fold engine event logs,” she said. “There was a precise point in one out of every hundred folds or so, where a particular engine would grab first a little more of surrounding space than usual and then a little less. The only explanation, we imagined, must be some type of interference. And if we assume that this interference had come from a neighboring universe….”

She’d rattled on dreamily for the next half hour, her bright yellow eyes glistening in the last rays of artificial sunset aboard the Skelanese base ship. There wasn’t much left in Crawford’s head now of her explanation, but maybe just enough to point him in the right direction. He tapped a command into the armrest of the charcoal gray acceleration chair and called up the ship’s comsystem. A few seconds later, he’d found the connection he needed.

“Arielle,” he said, “get somebody in Research to track down every event log from ships that have passed through the Skelana asteroid belt in the time leading up to your discovery.”

“Won’t you be needing their mess hall menus, too?” asked Agent Chaplin.

“Fine,” said Crawford. “Take me home. Either I get your full cooperation, or you get nothing out of me.”

“Grouchy,” said Arielle. “But you’re in luck. I have a new recruit who’d be perfect for you. I’m told she makes AIs dance.”

“Not a pleasant thought,” said Crawford. “Just get her on it.”

“On what?” asked Arielle. “I don’t have a clue what you’re looking for. You’ll have to explain it to her.”

“But….” said Crawford.

“I know,” said Arielle. “It’s all over your psyche profile. You have a case of social anxiety big enough to ram a spread of antimatter torpedoes through. Too bad. Either brief Dulcey Shear or dig up the data yourself. You can screentalk her, you know.”

The connection went dead. Crawford swallowed hard. Actually meeting a new person was not among his top talents. Still, he knew Djaleerin would want him to ferret out the answer and, besides, he owed her. But how could he overlook the rumbling fog that had just rolled into the pit of his stomach?

Get a grip, he told himself. Hadn’t he handled this kind of thing thousands of times before? Besides, he reasoned….

“Hi … Dr. Caldera?” said a voice behind him.

Crawford spun around in the chair that he’d so far been too nervous to leave. Before him was a woman in her early thirties. Despite the dowdy, functional mission wear assigned to everyone at GalaxyPol, he had no trouble deciding that she was embarrassingly attractive.

Too bad I look like a sack of potatoes, he thought. Wasn’t that nanobot therapy supposed to kick in by now?

By contrast, the woman’s dark skin radiated vitality — as did the flash of inteligence in her eyes and her decidedly non-regulation shoes. Yet if Crawford’s disparaging self-appraisal mattered remotely to her, it didn’t show on her smiling face. In spite of himself, he stood up.

“Dulcey Shear?” he asked.

“Right!” said the woman. “Agent Chaplin said you were a fast study.”

Crawford tried hard not to roll his eyes, and failed.

“She’s so clever, isn’t she?” he said. “Anyway, if you can help me track down….”

“Event logs. Got it,” said Dulcey. “You trying to track space fold engagement? That can be tricky. Ship logs tend to lump all engine activity together, you know, as a statistical mean. But I can dig into the daily logs. You have an energy range you’re looking for?”

Crawford described what he thought he needed: Instances where a ship had used more energy than usual to create a fold and instances where the same ship had used less than the usual amount of energy to exit the fold.

“Or vice versa,” he said. “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry to smile,” said Dulcey. “It’s just that the last person I heard say ‘vice versa’ was my grandfather. What sector are you from?”

“The dinosaur sector, I guess,” said Crawford. “Now there’s one more thing. If you find any log entries that match that scenario, look for any sign of interference — you know, static on the line.”

“Static?” asked Dulcey. “Oh, oh, you’re making an analogy. Though there might be noise of some other kind, randomized cosmic particles, turbulence and so on.”

Smart as Hell, thought Crawford.

After a bit more chatter, Dulcey raced off to her workstation on one of the ship’s upper levels, obviously intrigued. When she was out of sight, Crawford ran a hand through his graying hair and decided it was time for a snack, which he figured he’d eat in his quarters. But on his way to the ship’s mess hall, he heard Arielle’s voice blaring out at him from the shipwide intercom.

“Caldera!” she shouted. “Check out the main view screen.”

Crawford’s head snapped to the right where, on the far wall of his bulkhead, a huge video monitor stared out at him. On screen was a flaming, planet-sized fireball that looked as if it were emerging from a glowing split in the cosmos.

“What … where is that image coming from?” he asked.

“For now, about ten light years away,” said Arielle. “But, of course, we’re heading right for it.”

From the data crawl at the bottom of the screen, Crawford knew exactly why. The coordinates indicated the very asteroid belt he’d studied eight years earlier — where, by all appearances, a planet from another universe had poked its nose into this one.

To be continued…. Read Episode 3 here.

A new Episode of A Slight Miscalculation will appear every other Monday. See all episodes here.

^^^

Mark Laporta is the author of Probability Shadow and Entropy Refraction, the first two novels in the science fiction series, Against the Glare of Darkness, which are available at a bookstore near you, on Amazon and at Barnes & Noble. He is also the author of Orbitals: Journeys to Future Worlds, a collection of short science fiction, which is available as an ebook.

Image by SaraRichterArt / Pixabay