Ishtar Rising (Book 2) - Michael A. Martin [8]
And minutes after that he and everyone else who remained on this planet would be reduced to their constituent atoms.
“Just hang in there for as long as you can, Soloman,” Captain Gold said. “Gomez is on her way with the cavalry. I’m sure you and her team will find a solution that everyone can live with. Gold out.”
The comm channel closed, but the cramped control room was anything but silent. The shrill elegance of the datasong the other Bynars sang as they interfaced directly with the linked networks of atmospheric probes and force-field node controls filled Soloman’s soul with melancholy and longing. He wanted desperately to join in their ululations.
Switching on his console’s voice interface, he opened his mouth, adding his voice to the piercing soprano chorus of the paired Bynars.
A Klaxon wailed as a force-field node suddenly collapsed. The first collapse was followed immediately by another. One of the human technicians yelped in terror. Soloman quieted, deactivating his voice interface. He resumed using his hands to input a series of lightning correction factors even as the Bynars altered their dataflow to counterbalance the ebb and flow of the field lines. Somehow, the three of them managed to transfer power in the correct amount, reconfiguring the remaining nodes to compensate for the rapidly accumulating errors. The network was holding steady.
At least until I make my next mistake, he mused sourly. Without a direct interface like that of 1011 and 1110, an otherwise easily avoidable error seemed all but inevitable.
It was intolerable. How can humans be content to dwell outside the flow of the numbers, merely looking in at them? How can they deal with streams of data without knowing the joy of swimming through them?
His skull felt as though it were expanding, until it seemed to him as big as all of space. He began to wonder whether he would suffer a brain hemorrhage before his processing incompetence cost everyone on the planet their lives. Dr. Lense’s stern warning returned to haunt him: There’s a sound physiological reason why your people aren’t called Trynars, Soloman.
A static-shredded voice spoke from his combadge. “Kwolek to Soloman.”
“Here,” he replied curtly, wary of splitting his concentration even by a small amount. The numbers continued to elude him until all he could follow was their general shapes and outlines. Useless.
He recognized the voice that responded as that of Fabian Stevens. “You don’t sound so hot, Soloman.”
“We’re…having some technical problems down here.”
Commander Gomez’s voice replaced that of Stevens. “You don’t say. How is the force-field network holding up?”
“Barely. But that could change at any moment. The force-field data is changing faster than the team can cope with it.”
“Even with three Bynars working the problem?” replied a chiming, static-distorted voice that Soloman recognized belatedly as belonging to P8 Blue.
Soloman glanced over at 1110, who happened to be looking his way at that exact moment. The other Bynar made no attempt to hide his revulsion.
“We work optimally in pairs rather than in odd-number groups,” Soloman said.
“As our captain might say, ‘optimal, schmoptimal,’” Gomez said.
“Excuse me?” Soloman said, trying to ignore the rhythmic throbbing in his temples.
“I mean we’re going to have to wing it, Soloman.”
“Wing it how, exactly, Commander Gomez? Has there been a change of plans?”
“We need to find a way to deactivate the force fields—safely—if we’re going to have any chance of getting everyone off the surface. But first we have to lower the volume of atmosphere that hasn’t been pushed high enough yet to be blown off into space.”
Ice slowly crept up the length of Soloman’s back. “I understand, Commander. But the force fields have distributed the atmosphere asymmetrically toward the sunlit side, and that makes running the process in reverse extremely complicated. We never ran any simulations