Ben Bova - Titan

Habib’s voice came through, “All the sensor data is stored? We haven’t lost any data?”

“That’s what the computer says,” Gaeta replied. “It’s all stashed away in its memory somewhere.”

A jumble of voices in the background. Gaeta tuned them out and asked the computer, “Why store the data if you’re not uplinking it?”

Conflict of commands.

“Gesoo Christo ,” he growled. “Is that all you can say?”

Habib was almost shouting, “Ask it under what conditions it will uplink the data!”

Gaeta took a breath, then rephrased, “Under what conditions can the stored data be uplinked?”

Under no conditions.

“Why not?”

No response, although Gaeta heard a muted hubbub of voices from the command center.

Think, he said to himself. This is like talking to a very smart two-year-old. You’ve got to get around him.

“Computer, can you display the commands that are in conflict?”

The computer remained silent.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Gaeta tried to concentrate. Maybe I oughtta shut off the command center again, he thought. They’re nothing but a distraction.

Then Habib’s voice came through clearly, “Ask the computer to display each one of the commands that are in conflict individually.”

Worth a shot, Gaeta agreed. “Computer, display the command that controls the sensor data uplink.”

Immediately the computer’s flat, synthesized voice replied:

Command: All sensor data to be uplinked in real time.

“Okay, fine. Now, what command is in conflict with that one?”

Insufficient information.

“Insufficient?” Gaeta echoed. “What do you mean?”

Your question contains insufficient information to produce a meaningful answer.

Gaeta felt like pounding both fists on the vehicle’s roof. What the hell does he mean by that? What did I say that’s insufficient …? He thought about it for several moments, then decided to rephrase his question.

“Okay, look. Tell me what command is in conflict with the command to uplink all sensor data in real time.”

Primary restriction.

“Primary restriction? What the hell’s that?”

“Primary restriction?” Habib echoed. “What primary restriction?”

He looked up at the faces gathered around him. They all looked as puzzled as he.

“I know the master program,” he said. Gesturing to the programmers in the group he went on, “We wrote it. Do any of you know of a primary restriction?”

They glanced uneasily at each other, shaking their heads.

Von Helmholtz, still sitting ramrod straight in the chair beside Habib’s, said, “The clock is running. We will have to extract Gaeta from down there in twenty-nine minutes or less. I don’t like the looks of that black storm.”

Habib barely heard him. “A primary restriction. The master program believes it contains a primary restriction that is preventing it from uplinking data from the sensors.”

“There isn’t any primary restriction,” said one of the women.

“But the program believes there is,” Habib pointed out.

“There are learning routines,” one of the other program engineers said slowly, as if piecing together his thoughts as he spoke. “Maybe the program has modified itself.”

“What could make it do that?”

Habib replied, “It could learn from the conditions it encountered once it was activated on Titan’s surface.”

The woman said, “What could it possibly learn from Titan’s surface that would make it refuse to uplink data to us?”

No one had an answer for that.

Still sitting on Alpha ’s roof, Gaeta listened to the engineers’ musings with growing discomfort. He checked the temperature inside his suit: it had dropped four degrees below optimal. Okay, he thought as he turned up the thermostat to bring the temperature up, it’s pretty damned cold out there. Heater must be working overtime with me just sitting here, not generating much body heat.

The engineers were batting around ideas about why the stupid computer turned off the uplink antenna. It was like listening to a gaggle of high school class presidents trying to solve the problem of world hunger.

I’ve got get out of here, Gaeta told himself. But he realized that he didn’t want to leave his job unfinished. I can’t let this pile of chips beat me. I’m smarter than a goddamned computer, no matter what kind of learning programs they put into it.

“Computer,” he snapped, “what is this primary restriction?”

No response.

Grimacing, he rephrased, “Display the primary restriction.”

A burst of electronic noise assailed his earphones. Before Gaeta could blink, it was over. But his ears started ringing again.

Well, he thought, at least the guys in the control center have something to work on. Maybe in a week or two they’ll figure it out. But I can’t wait that long.

The chingado computer won’t uplink data from the sensors because it thinks there’s some primary restriction that’s telling it not to. Gaeta pondered that for several moments, while the engineers’ arguing voices continued to clutter up his communications frequency.

Something it’s learned while it’s been here on the surface of Titan, Gaeta thought. Maybe …

“Computer, what is the single most important piece of data your sensors have detected?”

Silence. Nothing but crackling static. Gaeta was about to give up in disgust when the computer’s inhuman voice replied:

LIFE-FORMS EXIST IN THE GROUND.

“But we knew that from earlier probes.”

I HAVE NO INFORMATION OF EARLIER PROBES.

I ? Gaeta wondered. A computer that talks about itself? That recognizes itself?

The engineers back at the control center jumped on the same concept. Gaeta heard their voices rise in pitch and intensity.

Ignoring their chatter, he said to the computer, “You found life-forms in the ground.”

YES.

Gaeta started to ask his next question but hesitated. Watch it, he said to himself. Don’t let him fall back on that damned “conflict of commands” crap again.

“Are the life-forms involved in the conflict of commands?”

Gaeta waited, but the computer stayed silent.

“Are the life-forms the cause of the conflict of commands?” he asked.

YES.

Holy shit! Gaeta exulted. Now we’re getting someplace. Aloud, he asked, “How do the life-forms cause a conflict of commands?”

Again the computer went silent. Is it thinking over the question or is it just too friggin’ stupid to give me an answer? Gaeta asked himself.

“Gaeta! Listen to me! Now!” Habib’s voice called insistently. Even with the volume turned low Gaeta could hear the urgency in his voice.

“What is it?” he replied wearily. He felt burdened, tired of this whole game. And then he waited, while the black snowstorm crept closer.

“That burst of information the program sent a half-minute ago,” Habib said at last. “It’s all about decontamination procedures!”

“Decontamination? You mean, like scrubbing the machine to make sure it doesn’t infect Titan with Earth germs?”

Again the delay. Then, “Yes! When you asked it to display the primary restriction it displayed its file on decontamination procedures!”

“That’s the primary restriction?”

With nothing else to do, Gaeta sat inside his cumbersome suit and counted the seconds to Habib’s reply. Eight … nine … ten …

“There isn’t any primary restriction. Nothing of that sort was written into the master program. But the computer has interpreted its decontamination procedures as a restriction of some sort.”

Gaeta shook his head inside his helmet. “I don’t get it. You’ve got some housekeeping commands written into the master program and the dumbass computer won’t send any data because—”