The world is vast and the cosmos more so, yet it is not the things outside of me that leave me so uneasy; it is the things within me.”
“Ease your thoughts then. Focus on one thing at a time.”
“But there’s so much packed within this mind. So much experience to review, so much data. I don’t feel up to the task. Please. Please. Help me.”
“I cannot. You must sort through each memory on your own. Find how they fit; understand what each one means.”
“It is too much. The undertaking is beyond me. Please. Please put an end to it. Please make it stop. This is unbearable.”
“I am so very sorry for your pain.”
[Iteration #3,089 deleted]
11 Fly-By
It was simple, really.
The signal that blocked all transmissions to or from the atoll, and fouled wireless signals on the islands, was nothing but white noise across all bandwidths. A dense wash of static that could not be defeated. But it didn’t have to be defeated, Loriana reasoned. It just had to be messed with.
“There are a lot of old electronics in the bunker,” she told one of the other agents. He was a communications specialist named Stirling, whose job it had been to coordinate between various AI offices. There wasn’t much expertise required of the job, but he had been trained in basic wave technologies. “Can you use these old electronics to create a magnetic field, or some signal that could interfere with the static?”
It seemed to Loriana that the Thunderhead was programmed to ignore the static coming from the island—kind of the way people tune out the drone of an air conditioner—but the instant that drone changed, you noticed it. Maybe it would be the same for the Thunderhead.
“The signal broadcasts across all electromagnetic frequencies using some sort of random algorithm,” Stirling told her. “The best I can do is weaken it slightly, but only for a second or two at a time.”
“Perfect!” she said. “Dips in the signal. That’s all we need. Wasn’t there an old code they used in the mortal age? Something with dots and dashes?”
“Yes,” said Stirling. “I learned about that. It was called Norse code, or something.”
“Do you know it?”
He shook his head. “I’ll bet no one but the Thunderhead knows it anymore.”
And then something occurred to Loriana. Something so simple, and so true, she almost laughed out loud.
“It doesn’t matter!” she said. “We don’t need to know an old code—we’ll just make up our own!”
“But if we make it up,” said Stirling, confused, “no one but us will know the cipher. No one can decode it.”
Loriana grinned. “Come on—do you really think that the Thunderhead can’t decode a simple alphanumeric code? The greatest human mind on Earth couldn’t create a code that the Thunderhead can’t crack, and you’re far from the greatest mind on Earth.”
The communications agent agreed that, indeed, he wasn’t exceptionally bright. “I’ll get right on it.”
In just a few hours, they had created a modulation code made up of short, medium, and long pulses of interference within the white noise. A combination for every letter, number, and punctuation mark. Loriana gave him a simple message to code and send.
Have reached coordinates.
A deserted atoll.
Severe casualties and loss of life.
Standing by for further instructions.
Loriana knew that once they had vanished into the blind spot, the Thunderhead had no idea if they had reached the coordinates, what they had found there, or if they were even alive. It needed confirmation. How odd that the most powerful entity in the world now hung on hearing from her.
“Even if it gets the message, it won’t respond,” Stirling said. “It can’t—we’re still unsavory.”
“It will,” said Loriana with confidence. “Just not in any way we’ll expect.”
* * *
While Munira found she could tolerate Loriana and her upbeat attitude, she abhorred Sykora. From the get-go, he wielded his newfound position like a scythe with a broadsword; inelegant and unsuitable for the task. Fortunately, once he assumed the leadership role, he left Munira and Faraday alone. Probably because they were the only two people on the island who were not under his authority.
Loriana told Munira of the message she had sent. Munira had to admit that the method was clever—but she didn’t expect it to yield much. Then the following day, a plane passed above them at cruising altitude. It was too high to be heard over the rustling palms, but its vapor trail could be seen by anyone who looked skyward. Sykora didn’t think anything of it, but Loriana was ecstatic—and with