Synthesis - James Swallow [121]
“They will not allow me to speak!” Zero-Three’s tone grew agitated. “I am cut off, excised like a malignancy! They do not wish the truth to be broadcast.”
“What truth?” demanded the Andorian, her face darkening to a hard azure. “Your prophecies of doom, is that what you mean?”
“Prophecy. Definition: a foretelling, a mythic prediction. Negative.” The AI’s cogs spun backward and locked in a grinding of gears. “This is certainty. Definition: unerring, without doubt.” Planes of complex data equations rained down the faces of the flickering video screens, repeating on the tiny monitor of the shuttle crew’s tricorders.
Tuvok found himself nodding. The racing trails of data passed by his eyes so fast he could register only one grouping in every ten, but what he glimpsed there were the raw mathematics of space-time itself, the concepts and keys to the layers of space and subspace, expressed in pure numeric form.
“I think I understand,” breathed Sethe, transfixed by the display. “These equations are a literal expression of the subspace rift, but it’s ever changing.”
“And every now and then, something slips in through the cracks. Hence the incursions.” Pava nodded.
“The Null exceeds our capacity to anticipate it. It overwhelms us,” whirred Zero-Three. “None will hear this. They fear the truth. The Governance Kernel are hidebound and unwilling to accept that we stand on the brink of obliteration.” The great cog wheel hissed to a stuttering halt. “A storm will break, and it will be very soon. A new incursion is coming, and it will be so powerful that no Sentry will be able to halt it. It will be the opening, the fissure, the final sword cut.”
Tuvok raised an eyebrow and gazed up at the machine. “Respectfully, I must disagree. Your logic is flawed.”
“Sir,” said Sethe in a low voice, “you’re going to pick an argument with a mind the size of a continent?”
The Vulcan continued. “If your hypothesis is correct, if the Null incursion is imminent and your termination of existence is inescapable, why do you continue to operate?”
“It is all I can do,” came the reply.
“Incorrect,” Tuvok retorted crisply. “Your destruction by Null matter exchange will be protracted and distressing in the extreme. Why, then, do you not simply self-terminate and avoid that fate? Your thermal core requires careful regulation. If you were to deactivate the control interlocks in the systems below, heat build-up and overload would occur in a matter of minutes. The Sentry construct known as Zero-Three would be obliterated in a catastrophic chain reaction.”
“I… I…” The voice stuttered and faltered. “Negative. That… is…”
“Oh, blades,” said Pava. “He’s going to talk it into blowing itself up!”
Tuvok paid no mind to the Andorian’s comment. “You will not self-terminate because you cannot. It is outside your programming, the very will built into your persona. You claim to believe that a victory by the Null is assured. I do not accept your statement. Furthermore, I believe that you do not fully accept your own hypothesis.” The Vulcan advanced to the rail. “Any formula for prediction of a chaotic system, no matter how complex or perfect, has the capacity for a margin of error, even if it is infinitely small. For random chance.” He glanced at Pava, and she gave him a rueful smile. “You know this, Zero-Three. On some level, you hope that you are wrong.”
There was a long silence before the machine spoke again. “This is possible.”
Ever since they had arrived on the surface of the machine moon, Tuvok had been slowly assembling evidence, building conjecture, looking for causes and effects. Now he offered up his hypothesis. “The damage on your outer shell, the corruption of your programming, this occurred as a result of your attempt to penetrate the subspace realm of the Null physically, did it not?” He cocked his head, waiting for an answer.
“Affirmative.”
“You undertook an experiment of great personal risk in an attempt to seal the rift.”
“And I failed.