Johnny Winger and the Battle at Caloris Basin Page 16

  Finally, they swept around a small knob of a hill and homed on the source of the coupler signals. For good measure, Doc helped Winger form up a visual lens of photons, so he could ‘see’ their destination.

  The structure was a huge dish, with the mount and swivel atop of a low dome. Underground wireway trenches snaked out in several directions, the trench fillings still lightly packed on top of the trenches, so that from above, the installation resembled a bulls-eye, with the dish antenna at the center.

  ***Now we figure out how to get inside, Johnny, and get our patterns scanned. From here, with the right config pattern, Earth is only five minutes away***

  “I want a first-class seat, Doc.”

  The swarms closed on the antenna compound.

  The coupler array was laid out in a roughly triangular fashion. A platform dominated the center of the complex, situated on a low hill. Dish and horn antennas were mounted on top of the platform. Surrounding the antenna farm were half a dozen small egg-shaped structures, almost like small containment pods.

  ***Johnny, decoherence wake analysis indicates that these pods contain quantum coupler systems…the question is which one to use…I am endeavoring to perform astronomical calculations to see if any of these antenna are pointed to Earth…current ephemerides now loading, adjusting for Mercury’s orbital position--***

  Winger and Doc paused at the base of the coupler site. In the harsh glare of sunlight, the swarms resembled faint dust clouds drifting on electrostatic currents across the cratered surface.

  “Hey, Doc…you know all that special knowledge I’m supposed to have…that the Shadow Man loaded?”

  ***The Central Entity has downloaded petabytes of files into your processor, Johnny…you have a great deal of knowledge about how this Caloris Basin site is to be built***

  “Well, my giant brain tells me that that pod over there—“ he meant the pod farthest to the right “—is the one we want. I don’t know how I know that. But we should go there.”

  There was no argument from Doc and the two swarms merged and cruised on their trillions of picowatt propulsors in that direction.

  The pod was no bigger than waste basket and was attached to a base partially buried in the regolith. Strands of multi-colored cable snaked out of the pod base toward one of the antennas, several dozen meters away.

  They found a port at the top of the pod and gained access that way.

  Inside, they followed Doc’s deco wake analysis and Winger’s crude navigation until they came to a small chamber, resembling an assimilator booth in miniature.

  “This is it,” Doc,” Winger announced. “I’m sure of it.”

  Both swarms were able to penetrate the scanning chamber in good order. Inside the chamber, they were surrounded by bulb-like projections pointing at them from all directions.

  ***I am analyzing the layout now, Johnny…trying to determine how to activate scanning functions…and to verify that our patterns will be transmitted along the proper heading….***

  Even as he gathered photons to make a visual impression, Johnny Winger somehow ‘knew’ what to do. From somewhere deep in memory, a file named Initial State Pattern Scan and Buffering surfaced and was loaded into his attention module.

  “Doc, I think we just sort of hang around in the center here…see the lights…that’s a positioning guide. I think it’s mostly automatic, once we do that.”

  In the center of the chamber, a spherical grid of lights was now projected. The two swarms re-located themselves into the middle of the grid.

  That’s when things started to happen.

  There came a series of light flashes but he felt nothing at first. A faint breeze stirred and he felt himself being steadily pulled apart, dispersed into whispers, echoes, reflections and shadows, then there was nothing.

  Five minutes later, the signal bearing the patterns of Johnny Winger and Doc II arrived on Earth.

  As a young child, Johnny Winger had always loved taking a bath. Lots of words could describe the feeling: security, serenity, safety, warmth, coccoon. Not words a three-year old would use, but you get the idea.

  Thoughts like these and others came to Johnny Winger. He was a little disoriented.

  Where am I? What is this?

  He remembered being disassembled by Doc III on Europa…the Keeper was there…the cave…the brilliant light….later, the base on Mercury….

  He decided to open a coupler link to Doc, then thought better of it.

  Somebody else might be listening.

  Maybe taking a warm bath as a three-year old wasn’t the best way to describe being a few atoms in a larger swarm. Try this: buried under the covers on a cold winter morning. No? How about stumbling about in a darkened bedroom trying to find your slippers? Or: getting separated from your Mom and Dad on the boardwalk at Daytona Beach for three hours, with all the panic and frantic worry. Or: locked in a closet by your big sister, fumbling around with jackets and coat hangers.

  Johnny Winger decided to try a more logical approach to figuring this out.

  I think, therefore I am. At least, he thought he was thinking. I have a mind. I have thoughts. But there was more. Something more than his thoughts. Was somebody else in here? That was ridiculous.

  I have sensations. Hot, cold, hard, soft. Try to analyze this.

  A snatch of memory came to him: Personal identity is the unique identity of a person existing through time. That is to say, the necessary and sufficient conditions under which a person at one time and a person at another time can be said to be the same person, persisting through time. In the modern philosophy of mind, this concept of personal identity is referred to as the diachronic problem of personal identity. The synchronic problem is grounded in the question of what features or traits characterize a given person at one time.

  Where the hell did that come from? I must have read that.

  Now, he was sure of it. There was someone else in here. Just a snatch of voice, a snippet—

  ***Do you recognize me?***

  Recognize you? I can barely hear you. Yet, there was something—

  An image came to mind. It was fuzzy at first, but with effort, it sharpened. It was a man, an elderly man with a fritz of white hair on the back of his head, rumpled and patched corduroy jacket, hardly-ever-washed jeans.

  Doc Frost.

  ***Hello, Johnny…it’s nice to see you again…pardon me for saying so, but you seem a little confused***

  Hey, Doc…am I? Am I…you know…?

  Doc Frost smiled, that same avuncular smile. ***You’re wondering if this is what it feels like…to be an angel…to be part of something greater…we’re now back on Earth, Johnny***

  Actually, I was…well, yeah…I guess I was sort of wondering that. I thought it would be like being inside a cloud. Or maybe a tornado.

  Again the smile, this time even wider.

  ***It’s a transition phase, that’s all. Meant to make the change easier. There are many reports about what it’s like to be an angel…we’ve archived all of them. And we use them for others, those who are new to the experience***

  So, I’m actually still an angel…wow…what do others say about all this?

  ***Some reports describe feelings of a kind of warmth, or a closeness, affection, even a form of love, a family or sense of belonging, in a way or at a level they never experienced before, as humans, as Normals***

  Yeah, Doc, I do feel some of that. Are these normal feelings?

  Doc Frost scrunched up his face, thinking. ***Well, to be honest, Johnny, feelings and emotions are different here. Feelings are programmed in and allotted processor capacity. You know the Central Entity runs all these routines, just as a way of keeping the mother swarm together. Social cohesion, just like a tribe or a clan, is just as important for an angel swarm of bots as for any family of Normals. Just like your family***

  So, Doc, will I…always be like this? Can I go places, do things, be other
people or things? I’ve heard—

  Doc Frost held up a hand. ***You’ve got lots of questions, Johnny…I think I can answer most of them, but first I have some instructions for you***

  Instructions? What kind of instructions?

  Doc Frost seemed to fade slightly, as if a faint mist had drifted between them. The outline of the Doc was still there, just less distinct.

  ***You’re taking a little trip, Johnny. Back home. That’s why your patterns have been maintained. You’re going into the Net, you can do that now. You’ve got a special mission…a very important mission***

  A mission…what kind of mission? Am I a trooper again?

  ***In a way…you’re going to help defend the Net…Johnny, bad things are happening here. The Central Entity needs the Net…think of it as a nursery, a breeding ground for your brothers and sisters…all angels. They’ve come from a long way and they need the Net to do their job***

  But the Net is just a network of computers…links…software….

  Now, the Doc Frost image turned stern, its eyes narrowing and the corners of its mouth turning down. ***Johnny, there are grave threats to the Prime Key, coming from the Net, coming from the node where you will be sent…you’re needed to defend this node…many of your brothers and sisters are themselves on a special mission…it’s a mission to the Sun…***

  Johnny Winger listened carefully to what Doc Frost was saying. He knew the Prime Key was the master algorithm. It drove everything. He readily agreed to what Doc Frost…or what he imagined was Doc Frost…was saying. How could he not? That’s what it meant to be an angel…the greater good drove everything.

  But this seemed different. Though he was compelled to follow Doc Frost’s directives…no angel could say no…he knew there was another mission, unspoken of by Doc Frost. He wanted to link up with Doc III but he was afraid the link would be discovered.

  Maybe this wasn’t Doc Frost after all. The Shadow Man could take many forms….

  He was here to serve the mother swarm but a small part of him understood that the other mission was just as vital…to learn what he could about the Old Ones, gather intelligence and somehow get that intelligence to the Normals…so the blasted thing could be defeated.

  It was a struggle between the two missions…serving the mother swarm and gathering intelligence needed to defeat that very same mother swarm. Espionage was like that. Mata Hari and all that. Serving two masters. Slicing yourself ever more finely to feed the appetites of two worlds, hoping and praying that the two worlds would never meet and annihilate each other, like particle and anti-particle.

  Somehow, Doc III had been able to deconstruct him and allow him to be absorbed into the mother swarm, yet preserve the essence of what he was, his identity, his memories. Now it was coming back to him…maybe Doc III was letting him draw on that innocuous little file where his memory patterns had been stored.

  The basic objective of defeating the Keeper and ultimately the Old Ones was still there, still intact, though he knew now it would be in constant danger from competing directives from the mother swarm. Directives inherent in the program that was now running in his head…in his body…in his everything.

  Which side would win out? Even Johnny Winger couldn’t answer that. Execute the Prime Key. Smash the bejeezus out of the Prime Key. Those were his options. There was no middle ground. But somehow, he had to find a way.

  He felt himself moving, moving physically. It brought back a memory…riding the Wicked Witch on the boardwalk at Daytona. Jerks and rolls and snap turns…his neck had been sore for hours. Or maybe it was like when he got to ride in a real race car at Talladega…some kind of Fans Day on the speedway and you just about threw up because the fences were flashing by so fast.

  No, that wasn’t quite it either. This was different. But he decided to relax and let this odd sense of motion come to him…what else could you do? When a pitcher threw a baseball, the atoms that made up the baseball didn’t have a debate about where to go.

  Johnny Winger had a dilemma. The human being that had once been called Johnny Winger was now a dematerialized cloud of bots, what most people would call an angel. He was circulating around the Net, surfing bytes and packets and he knew he had a mission, a mission assigned by no less than The Shadow Man himself. His assigned mission was simple: to fight and defeat the Normals and all their defensive packets and tricks, who didn’t yet realize just who or what they were dealing with.

  It was just like a fist fight in a sleet storm, this combat down at the level of atoms. As an atomgrabber and a nanotrooper for years, Winger had worked with ANAD systems and driven bots through every kind of environment you could think of, including solid rock. Now he was one of them, living and fighting with the molecules that made up this crazy, roller-coaster world.

  It was better than riding the Cyclone at Daytona Beach.

  “Doc, maybe Liam was right, maybe you or your ancestors were right…this is cool stuff. It’s a little bit like swimming uphill, or tacking against strong winds in a sailboat, but once you get the hang of it, it’s a real head trip.”

  Doc chimed through on the coupler circuit. ***Multi-config is the way to go, Johnny…we’ve always maintained there’s nothing like it…***

  Winger found maneuvering through the packet stream inside the Net was something like fighting currents in the ocean. As a child, he remembered riding the waves on a board, tumbling end for end as the waves broke into a crescendo of foam and slammed him headfirst into the sand. You could fight the currents or you could flow with the currents. Just dodging the speedway of cotton balls was tricky enough, for that’s what the packet stream seemed like to him.

  Doc III chimed in again. ***General, long-range scan is detecting a point source of thermals…plus electromagnetic signatures suggesting a large formation nearby…estimating approximately seven thousand microns…***

  With his own and Doc’s patterns now stable, Winger made sure they were heading in the right direction The packet stream seemed to be flowing without problem. It was time to climb off the cotton-ball train and exit the Net.

  Johnny Winger set his propulsors for the nearest node. Doc III had given him a vector and he made up the distance in a few minutes. From a tactical map in memory, he knew this node, Node 3371, was inside a small room called Server Bank Eight. It was the office suite of UNSAC, in the Quartier-General, Paris. He closed on the node and pushed through the connector grid, flowing out of the lines and into a cool, equipment-filled space crammed with server racks, cabinets, and bundles of wire and cable strewn around.

  Johnny Winger toggled configuration C-2 and began slamming atoms to gather himself into something more closely resembling a human being, what the bots had long called a Normal. You had to laugh at that. What was normal and what wasn’t now? Everything in existence was made up of atoms. Some configurations just had more atoms than others.

  The process took about five minutes. When it was done, there stood alongside the rack containing server node 3371 an angel being that closely resembled Johnny Winger. In fact, it was Johnny Winger in all the ways that mattered…memory, identity, habits and thoughts. Doc III had seen to that.

  Now it was time to see to his real mission…what he had come here for.

  He sensed a dense form nearby…likely a Normal…and configged his photon lens to bring the form into clarity, probing ahead for thermal, electromagnetic and acoustic signatures.

  It was a human. It was Angelika Komar, Security Affairs Commissioner for UNIFORCE.

  Komar’s face was pale and a scream was even then forming in the back of her mouth.

  She lunged for an alarm button on her desk, to notify Security---how the hell did this thing get in here? But Johnny Winger had anticipated her reaction and already a tendril of bots had reached out to divert her hand away from the button.

  “Madam Commissioner…I don’t think you want to do that.”

&n
bsp; Komar swallowed her scream and looked at the bots swirling around her wrist. She yanked her arm back in horror.

  “Who are you? What are you? And how the hell did you get in here?”

  Winger waited a few more seconds, while the angel’s form began filling out, allowing UNSAC to get a better look at what he was.

  “I think you know who I am.”

  Komar rested her hands lightly on top of her desk, keeping her eyes glued to the apparition materializing in front of her. “You know it’s a Class A violation to pass level one security barriers…whoever you are…you won’t get away with this.”

  “Madame Commissioner, look…use your eyes. What do you see?”

  Komar glared back. “Someone who looks like General John Winger. Mister, either you’re a ghost or something I ate last night, or you’re one hell of a good simulation of one the greatest atomgrabbers the world has ever known.”

  Winger attempted a smile, but angel smiles sometimes looked like grimaces. “General John Hubbard Winger, at your service. I’m probably the only angel who doesn’t have wings…but some have called me Wings, over the years.”

  That made Komar flinch. “It must have been those peppers I had…this can’t be happening.”

  Now Winger was growing impatient. ANAD and Doc were right. Normals are so thick.

  “Madame Commissioner, I’ll get right to the point. I am John Winger—“

  Komar was shaking her head. “That can’t be. It’s a matter of historical record that General Winger was killed on Europa…the Jovian Hammer mission, what was it? Thirty years ago. This is some kind of projection…somebody’s idea of a joke.”:

  “Oh, no, Madame Commissioner…may I call you Angelika?...it’s no joke. You’re partly right. Winger was actually consumed by a big swarm in an ice cave on Europa. It was a Keeper swarm. Only he didn’t die. He was just…shall we say, re-arranged.”