Entropy's Children

Entropy's Children

Carl Martin

For my brother, Terry, who shared the joy of creating

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Original edition published March 2014.

Published by Tharsis Highlands Publishing

Smashwords Edition

May 2018

Copyright 2014, 2016, 2018 Carl Martin

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form.

Cover art: Dawn on Rigel 4, by Carl Martin, copyright 1978.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Contents

Introduction: The Meaning of Entropy

Tank

The Air We Breathe

The Water

All That Glitters

The Map

An Errand in Rizzel

Sand Box Rules

Locked in Ice

The Intruder

Return to Innocence

Verbothan's Curve

Gift of Karma

About the Author

Other Books by the Author

Connect with the Author

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Introduction: The Meaning of Entropy

Entropy has been defined as a measure of the quantity of thermal energy unavailable to do work in a closed thermodynamic system. In that same closed system, it can be characterized as the degree of randomness or turmoil.

In communication systems, it can be the amount of information loss in a transmitted message.

For the universe as a whole, it represents the inclination of energy and matter to develop into a condition of static homogeny.

In a society or system, it can be portrayed as an unstoppable deterioration.

Implications

We all live in a universe governed by the physical laws of nature. One of those laws tells us that the universe is winding down. Eventually, it will all reach a bland sameness throughout. Will that be the fiery compression of a collapsing universe, returning to the primordial point from which it all sprang more than 13 billion years ago, or will that be the cold darkness of an ever-expanding universe where even the red dwarfs have spent their fuel?

There are many things we do not yet know about our universe. The stories you are about to read explore some of these mysteries.

In a very real sense, we are all children of the universe in which we live—entropy's children.

Awareness of the possibilities is one of the first steps to understanding. Let the stories begin....

Carl Martin

February, 2014

Cebu, Philippines

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Tank

When you're in a war, you can't remain reasonable and survive. When someone tells you that something is impossible, they should stay out of your way while you make it happen.

Most scientists never admit it, but the better ones are also artists. Developing an elegant hypothesis is as much an art as anything. The well-practiced restraint helps bring an idea back down to the nitty gritty of the real world, especially before publishing.

In a war, some of the luxuries of restraint and the publishing niceties are not possible. You either find solutions or risk losing everything. In 3178, losing the war was not an option. The enemy was bent on extermination, not just conquest.

We did not know the enemy's name. We did not know even what they looked like. There had been no dialogue with them except for the brutal, one-sided physical communication of bombs, force beams, and gated stellar core material, all without warning.

Georges Simonefero was one of the good guys. His team of scientists had developed a way to destroy the enemy's ships. It was quite clever. The enemy used the same spatial warp field technology for interstellar flight used by humanity. Simonefero's team created a destructive resonance in the warp field that reflected off of the target ship and added to the resonance. The feedback would destroy the ship in seconds. Effectively, the warp field was creating tidal stresses in the hull of the ship much as Jupiter and the Galilean moons create tidal friction in Io, making that satellite the most volcanically active object in the Solar system. The hull and several dozen meters deep would become super heated in mere moments.

For three weeks, Simonefero and his team had been taking a much needed leave. Months of feverish research and development had paid off. Everyone was confident the war was as good as won.

Georges Simonefero was relaxing on the beach of a small continent on a planet not far from the front lines. For this planet, like most of those held by humanity, the men were away at war, and the women, as well as the very old and the very young, stayed behind. And the women were very lonely.

In some ways, the era was like that experienced by humanity in the middle of the twentieth century. Gender equality was starting to make a comeback, but most were quite happy with the roles they were playing.

Georges had been soaking up the rays, occasionally turning to have his attendant rub him down with more lotion. As a war hero, he had been given special treatment of every conceivable kind. The attendant was young and attractive and had pampered him during the day. She had kept him warm at night, and Georges had no doubts that he deserved it all.

He was only mildly irritated when a shadow blocked his sun. Looking up, he saw a female silhouette. Andrea, darling. You're blocking my sun.

I'm not your darling, Mr. Simonefero. The voice was feminine, but decidedly gruff. I am Lieutenant Priscilla Sharp, from Sector HQ. We have a problem.

Georges sat up and blinked at the glare surrounding her silhouette. Shaking his head, he waved her to the side. Please. What kind of problem. He sat on the edge of his towel and tried to regain his focus. Andrea joined him, holding onto his arm and kissing the side of his face.

The enemy figured a way around your drone.

What? How?

Simple. When a drone approaches, they turn off their warp field.

Damn! Georges blinked and shook his head. With their automatic defenses...

The drone doesn't stand a chance. Can't even get close.

So, if we put a bomb in the drone, we still couldn't detonate close enough to do any good. Georges patted Andrea's hands affectionately, and gave her a long kiss. He knew he may not be tasting those lips for some time. Got to go, darling.

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After three days, the reassembled team was still struggling to come up with a solution. They had remained on the same planet, but at a different continent. HQ had split the team into two groups. Georges was to lead one team to come up with new technology. The other team was tasked to find a foolproof method for sneaking a drone in close without being detected.

Sir, said Andros. Here she is again. He nodded toward the door at the far end of the research lab.

Oh, no. With more dumb questions, no doubt. We don't have time for this.

As Lt. Sharp approached, the men grew silent.

Mr. Simonefero, I don't like this any more than you do. I have to check. What's your progress?

None, I'm afraid.

I know I'm asking dumb questions,... Priscilla let the statement sit there for an uncomfortable moment. Georges wondered if the woman had overheard their earlier whispers. But how exactly does the drone weapon work?

Georges sighed uncomfortably. It uses some very old technology—something called a 'tank circuit.' It receives a radio signal that reacts with the warp field and stimulates the destructive cascade. The data stream riding along the amplitude modulation is tailored for the broadcast frequency. The signal captured in the tank circuit reacts with the warp field locally, and the entire warp field sends out a pulse that reflects off of the nearby ship projecting the field. This adds to the warp field fluctuations, creating a feedback loop. The hull of the ship is volatized by the tidal friction created by the fluctuating warp field.

What's a tank circuit?

Primitive radio technology. Coil and capacitor in parallel.

Primitive? I should be able to understand this. Her expression remained emotionless.

Georges swallowed with difficulty. He knew all too well that his silence was not what she wanted to hear. Well. A tank circuit consists of a coil of wire, something that resists alternating current and allows direct current. The higher the frequency, the more the coil resists. The capacitor, on the other hand, allows alternating current, and completely resists direct current. The capacitor is made up of charged plates separated by a space—no electrical contact. The higher the frequency the less the capacitor resists. Somewhere between the extremes of direct current and high-frequency alternating, there is a frequency that has the easiest time negotiating both devices. This is the tuned frequency of the tank circuit.

And what about atoms? she asked.

Pardon?

Two charges separated by a space and an electron orbiting the nucleus. Sounds like a tank circuit to me.

Georges felt slapped. His pause was brief, but his mind raced. He stared goggle eyed back at her. Genius! Aim our signal at their hull.

But sir, said Andros. It's a solid. Absorption spectra—distorted by atomic proximity.

Andros, said Georges, how can we vaporize a metal?

Simple maser, but that's only going to yield a small— Andros swallowed uncomfortably. He already saw the answer.

Be happy, Andros. We've got it.

Okay, said Priscilla. I think I understand what you're after, but how exactly?

Genius! said Georges, looking straight into her eyes. It doesn't take much to begin the cascade. The ripples in the warp field multiply when they're reflected by nearby objects. It's a feedback loop. And the objects overheat. If the overheating is fast enough, we could have much more vaporized metal in mere moments. Destruction is assured, but the faster we drive it home, the less time they have to retaliate. He turned to Andros. Do we have that spectral analysis of their hulls?

Yes sir. Iron alloy on all of their larger ships. A few of the small ones are titanium based.

Good. Find the compatible data streams for iron at several absorption frequencies. Include ionized, as well.

Georges turned to Lt. Sharp. Priscilla, I could hug you, but I wouldn't want you to take it the wrong way. Go. Tell headquarters we have a solution.

As Priscilla Sharp headed for the exit, Georges turned to his team. Andros! All of you. Make a note. There are no dumb questions.

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The Air We Breathe

Gerry Ann Quesada was a reporter with a future, but now she felt stuck. Her editor wanted a story on stuffy science that seemed to lead nowhere for her career. Boy, was she wrong.

Gerry Ann Quesada brushed some lint off her blazer and looked up at her boss with an expression of pained curiosity. Chief. If it's so minor, then why bother?

De Maupassant wrote about a piece of string. Catch my drift? Chief Baxter planted his fists on the edge of Gerry's desk, and stared at her with a look of fatherly concern.

Sure chief. She shook her head with disgust. Make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

That's the spirit. That kind of creative comeback tells me you have potential. Now you just need faith in yourself. Look. Some people long for happiness. A few genuinely know how to create it—never having to wait for serendipity. You want a story? Take your slab of marble, and see David, then chip away until you let him out.

Got it, chief.

Gerry had dropped out of college to take care of her widowed and now invalid mother. Editor in Chief, Phil Baxter, loved to help bright young journalists hone their skills before they went off to make a name at one of the big rags. Nearly a dozen of the top talent in America owed their start to Chief Baxter. That was his gift to the world. He could sniff out talent. But he could also sniff out a story with potential.

As she drove to the interview, Gerry was not so sure about this one. Some scientist had made what sounded to be a minor discovery about the air millions of years ago.

How can the reader relate to this? It's not even about ancient history, she said, waving one hand about the car while she steered with the other. It's long before ancient history. How am I gonna get a break? She pictured Chief Baxter's face glaring at her. Well, okay. David. See David—the finished statue. Now, what am I after? Pulitzer. Yeah! How could stuffy dinosaur bones and stale air give me a Pulitzer? See the scope. See the impact. Make it big, big, big—epic! Visceral. Kick in the gut connection. How can this story be vitally important to us all? She shook her head, and laughed more from pain than joy. I don't know. She took a deep breath and held it for a moment. But hell, this could be good. Think positive, Gerr.

The Hammerheim Laboratories were run by the local university. They performed all manner of tests on archaeological artifacts and paleontological finds. It was here she was to meet and interview Dr. Thomas Kelly Wilson, the one who made the discovery.

Gerry parked, made her way into the building, through security, now wearing a visitor's badge, and followed her escort to the scientist's office.

Hello, Dr. Wilson. said Gerry politely. The escort hovered nearby until the scientist acknowledged his guest.

Wilson looked up from his desk, adjusted his glasses, and absently added a welcoming smile. He motioned toward his visitor's chair, half stood in mock courtesy, and resumed his seat.

I know you're busy, and want to thank you for seeing me. Gerry opened her notepad and activated her audio recorder. I'll get right to it, if you don't mind.

I appreciate that. What would you like to know?

What was discovered? And why was it important?

Wilson thought a moment, looking to the ceiling for an answer, then nodded and looked back at his guest. It's not often we have such an opportunity for direct evidence. Our piece of amber was from 72 million years ago, and it gave us a direct window on the atmospheric conditions back then. Usually the bubbles in amber are far too small to tell us much. And quite frequently, nature requires we get our information indirectly through a proxy.

Proxy? What? Is that voting rights at a stockholder's meeting?

Wilson blinked. Oh, no. No. Not that. Proxy. Well, it's indirect proof of something. Geese flying south overhead—that's a proxy for autumn. Quite often we have no direct way to prove something—paleoclimatology, archaeology, anthropology, et cetera. We might use pollen samples in bogs to tell us what the weather was like twelve thousand years ago. Layers in ice cores might tell us greater precipitation—meaning warmer weather. You can't have more rain and snow unless more water evaporates, right?

Yeah, sure. Gerry tapped her pen on the edge of her notepad. I've heard that ice cores prove there has been only one industrialized civilization.

Something like that. But you have to be careful of assumptions. Your statement assumes that civilization can't exist without burning fossil fuels. That may be a safe assumption. Then again...

Right. Well, what's so special about old air in a piece of amber?

Wilson blinked again, and swallowed. He adjusted his glasses on his nose, then decided they needed cleaning. The question bothered him. Clearly he was struggling to find an answer. She had just asked him to justify his passion. Gerry had seen that look before on the face of one of her professors. He had been working on a grant proposal when she showed up at his office with questions on an assignment.

I'm sorry. Gerry tried to find a more casual posture. What does the air in the amber tell us about conditions back then?

Oh, well. Lots. First, the composition was markedly different. Right now oxygen takes up 20.9 percent, but then it was as much as 25.6 percent.

That doesn't sound like much of a difference.

Sure, but think how you'd feel if you had a 22 percent oxygen boost. The downside? There'd be greater fire hazard. For several million years before the end of the dinosaur age, Earth had more oxygen in its atmosphere. I gave you percentage. That's pretty accurate, but there was more total air.

For a moment, it seemed the chair had dropped out from under her. Gerry did not dare breathe, or think the word Pulitzer.

What was peculiar was the pressure. We almost didn't check that. We assumed there would be no need.

Right. Dangerous assumption.

"Not dangerous, perhaps, but costly. An opportunity like this doesn't happen often. Almost never. Testing the pressure was an afterthought. It delayed our test of percentages a short while, while we figured out the best method. We