Andrea Blumberg

Nick is one of my oldest friends, and I wanted to do something special for his 40th birthday.  Like Erica, he's not big into puzzles, but we played a lot of computer games together at one point, games like Myst and The Journeyman Project, so I tried to create something that was less like a puzzle and more like a game.  I also knew that one thing he wanted was to be in contact with friends of his that he didn't get to see since his recent move, so I wanted to incorporate them into it somehow.  And I wanted to use a computer program that he had designed and put online, one that draws charts based on the data fed into it.

I came up with this introductory story:

Stardate 5102014

A handful of ring-shaped starships hang in space like platinum wedding bands scattered on a velvet cloth. They are the final few Arkships remaining in near-Earth orbit. The rest of the ships are already on their way to colonize Arcturus β, an Earth-like exoplanet that has been determined to be capable of sustaining life, and towards which several thousand pioneers are heading.

One by one there is a flare behind each of the remaining ships as they accelerate to interstellar speed and vanish into the blackness. Finally, only one ship remains. All of the viewing portals in that ship are dark, their inhabitants having sealed themselves into their cryocapsules in preparation for the long journey. All of the portals, that is, but one.

In the single remaining lit pod of the single remaining Arkship, Nick is desperately turning over cushions on his gravity couch, and pawing through the books and clothes in his locker. His cryogenic thermoregulator – necessary for surviving cryostasis – is nowhere to be found. He rumples the couch for a third time, and then stares off into the distance, his brow furrowed in consternation.

Suddenly, he whirls around and addresses the servobot parked in the corner.

“Have you seen my cryogenic thermoregulator?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“In the trash capsule.”

Nick throws up his hands and goes to lift the lid on the trash capsule. It had been sitting next to the desk, but now was nowhere to be found.

“Where is the trash capsule?!”

“It has been ejected in preparation for interstellar flight.”

“With my cryogenic thermoregulator inside?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you – ” Nick's voice rises to a dangerously high pitch before he regains control and takes a deep breath. He flips his long braid back over his shoulder and addresses the bot in a carefully even-toned voice.

“Can you go out there and get it back?”

“Yes.”

The servobot makes no move towards the small airlock. Nick looks up at the ceiling for the count of three and then back at the servobot.

“Go out there and retrieve the trash capsule.”

The servobot pauses for a long moment, starts forward, stops, swivels left, then right, then left again, backs up and stops. It pauses for another long moment.

“The trash capsules from the other 9 pods have been ejected as well. It is unclear which capsule came from this pod. I do not have enough propellant to visit and inspect them all.”

Nick moves to the viewing portal and looks out. He can see glints of sunlight off several of the ejected capsules; tiny new stars added to the background constellations. He leans his forehead against the cool plastiglass, and thinks.

His servobot has been functioning...not quite defectively, but idiosyncratically since they set out two weeks ago; a fault not shared by any of his friends' bots in the other nine pods around the ring-shaped ship. It occurs to him that all of the other competent bots will have kept track of the trajectories along which their trash capsules were expelled. If he can determine which of the nine capsules aren't his, he can send his servobot after the remaining one.

“Contact Rachel,” he says to the bot, not turning around

“Rachel Trousdale or Rachel Levine?”

Nick doesn't say “You want to know which Rachel? How about my wife?! The one I have you contact more often than anyone else on this ship!!” He simply says, “Trousdale.”

“Rachel Trousdale has entered cryogenic stasis and is no longer available for contact.”

Nick's jaw tightens slightly as he says, “Fine. Rachel Levine, then.”

“Rachel Levine has entered cryogenic stasis and is no longer available for contact.”

“Is anybody still available for contact?”

The bot pauses for a long moment.

“No.”

Okay, Nick thinks to himself, everyone's asleep. Dammit. But then he realizes that even so, their bots will still be able to send him the data. He turns to the servobot, “Contact Rachel's servo– contact Rachel Trousdale's servobot and request its trash capsule trajectory data.”

The bot only pauses for a short moment before answering.

“All servobots are powered down for interstellar flight. Only minimal functions are still active. All data has been dumped and wireless communication has been inactivated.”

Nick stares at the bot. For the first time he begins to get more concerned than frustrated. If he can't retrieve his cryogenic thermoregulator then he can't go into stasis, and if he doesn't go into stasis then the ship can't depart, and if the ship doesn't depart then they'll never reach Arcturus β and join the thousands of others in the space colony.

He crosses his arms and pinches his bottom lip, as his brow furrows again. The only sound in the smoothly uncluttered pod is his breathing, steady and deep. The servobot is motionless, without a hint of guilt or smugness distorting its upper sensory assemblage.

Nick slowly releases his lip, looks up and to the left, and then snaps his fingers.

“I know how to get the information!”

What then followed was an email version of "Telephone" or "Whisper Down the Lane" (which is what we used to call it, growing up).  I had recruited 9 of Nick's friends (including myself) to play the game.  The conceit was that since everyone was in cryogenic stasis, and since the bots were powered down to minimal functionality, the bots could only communicate by knocking on the walls of adjacent rooms (see chart below). 

Nick had to send emails to his 9 friends, to discover which room everyone was in.  He could send any message he wanted to any person he wanted.  But he couldn't get any real answers back (everyone was in cryogenic stasis, after all); all he would get back was his original message.  But because the "bots" were "tapping on walls," errors were bound to creep in.  I had, in fact, given each person a rule by which they were to distort any emails sent to them (e.g. "remove the last letter of every word" or "add 1 to every number").  And people didn't send their emails back directly to Nick, but rather to the next person in the circle, who would then add their errors, and send the email to the next person, until it finally came back to Nick via the Central Computer.

For example, he might send an email to his friend Amy saying "The vixen jumped quickly on her foe barking with zeal" (a sentence using every letter of the alphabet).  He wouldn't know this, but Amy was in room 9 and her rule was "swap the first and last words of the message."  So she would send the message "Zeal vixen jumped quickly on her foe barking with the" to Kerry in room 8, whose rule was "reverse every three letter word," and so on until it it reached person 5, who would send it back to Nick (via the Central Computer).  The original message was now the complete gibberish, "Zal vixn quickly on of barking ht."

I was the person in room 5 so that I could double-check everyone's messages (I didn't want any real errors sneaking in!) and I would send messages to Nick from another email account with the name "Central Computer."

It seems impossibly hard, but Nick is wicked smart, and it only took him a few messages to each person to completely unravel all the rules and determine which room each person was in.

When he achieved this, I authorized each person to send out the physical puzzle piece that I had given them.  On one side was a bit of "starfield," and the other side was blank, for them to write in whatever personalized birthday message they wished.  I also asked NIck's wife to give him the envelope I'd sent her with the second bit of story and second set of instructions.

(There was a justification in his first instructions that the reason he had to identify everyone's room number was get the Central Computer to authorize a print out of all the other trash pod trajectories).

The servobot hums and whirs as it prepares to print out a hard copy of the trajectory information sent to it by the Central Computer. Nick chews on the nub of his right thumbnail in nervous anticipation. There's a click from the bot as a panel on its chest opens and two sheets of paper spool out of it. Nick grabs them greedily.

He scans the first page, then flips to the second, scans it, flips back to the first, and then looks at the servobot with indignation.

“What is this?!” he asks, gesturing with the papers. “These aren't trajectories. This page is some weird stuff about science fiction stories, and this page is just meaningless squiggles!”

“The Central Computer is so highly advanced that it doesn't use simple numbers to plot trajectories. The Central Computer connects everything in the universe with everything else. Stories are connected with stars are connected with abstract representations.Those are the trajectories as the Central Computer visualizes them.”

Nick just stares at the servobot with his eyebrows raised. He decides that the servobot has finally flipped its lid, and that they will be stuck in the Solar System forever. Then he takes a deep breath and tries again.

“Have the Central Computer send me trajectories in the form a human can understand.”
 

The bot answers immediately, “The Central Computer was designed to pilot the ship. There is no need for humans to be involved. Therefore the Central Computer cannot represent trajectories in the form you request.”

Nick blinks as he contemplates his reply. There is another whirring noise from the bot, then its chest panel opens again and a third piece of paper scrolls out.

Nick looks at it warily, then leans down and snatches it up. As he scans it, his hopes begin to rise. This, at least, makes sense. It is a starchart of the northern field of stars, with the locations of all of the trash capsules clearly marked on it. There are also numbers and letters next to some of the stars, though what they signify is not immediately clear to him.

The servobot pauses, and then says, “I was mistaken. The Central Computer is perfectly capable of representing trajectories in the form a human can understand. These papers are the trajectories simplified to the form a human can understand.”

Nick makes a little “hmpf”ing noise. He decides to have a look at all three pages together before arguing more with the servobot. He sits down at the desk, spreads the papers out before him and begins to study them.

Puzzle Part II – Plot the trajectories

You're well on your way to getting back that cryogenic thermoregulator!

To plot the trajectories you must first figure out which of the following plots is represented by each of the following trajectories.

First, simplify the information that the central computer has sent to you. The computer may understand the connections between everything and everything else, but humans need a little more simplicity. You must untangle each “metaplot” into the three novels that compose it. The dashes represent the titles of the novels in random order.

Metaplot 1: A fireman is sent to burn all the copies of a new virus that's infecting people via their optic nerve, and winds up at an outpost at the remote edge of the Milky Way that has been settled mainly by artists and engineers.

A. __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __

B. __ __ __ __    __ __ __ __ __

C. __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __    __ __ __

Metaplot 2: Humans colonize the fourth planet from the sun and are visited by a pair of intergalactic gallivanters carrying small sheets of terry cloth. The interlopers soon head off for a winter planet peopled by genderless humanoids to try to convince them to join the intergalactic coalition of worlds.

D. __ __ __    __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ '__    __ __ __ __ __    __ __    __ __ __     __ __ __ __ __ __

E. __ __ __    __ __ __ __

F. __ __ __    __ __ __ __     __ __ __ __    __ __   __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __

Metaplot 3: In order to escape a dystopian future of totalitarianism and brainwashing propaganda, a young historian goes back in time, where she accidentally lands in a very bad era. She is saved by a man who has changed his body's refractive index to that of air so that it absorbs and reflects no light.

G. __ __ __ __

H. __ __ __    __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __    __ __ __

I.  __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __    __ __ __ __

1. ____ 2. ____ 3. ____

4. ____ 5. ____ 6. ____

7. ____ 5. ____ 9. ____

Assemble all of the pieces you have received from the other members of your ship around the map of constellations, and tape them in place. Then draw a straight line from each numbered star to the lettered star it has been matched with. Each line will cross through exactly one trash capsule. When all lines are drawn, the remaining, uncrossed capsule, will be yours.

Now draw a line from the star marked X through the uncrossed trash capsule to the starfield on the far side. Note who sent you that piece. Apply the Part I distortion rule from that person to the name of the constellation you just crossed.

That is where you will find the cryogenic thermoregulator.

Nick connects the final two stars on the constellation map with a triumphant flourish. He notes that the unmarked trash capsule is the one that appears in the constellation Boötes. He pushes back the chair, rises, and with the authority of one not to be denied, addresses the servobot.

“Go out there, fetch the trash capsule in Boötes, and bring it back. Now!”

The servobot moves backwards a fraction of an inch, fixing its sensory array on him. Then it turns swiftly towards the small airlock in the pod, speeds over to it, and irises open the inner door. It disappears inside, the door irises shut, and there is a hissing noise as the air in the lock is expelled. Nick moves to the viewing portal to watch.

As the bot exits from the far side of the lock, a fine mist jets out behind it, and enables it to maneuver gracefully through space. The bot shoots towards the trash capsule, and, as it nears the small cylinder, extends an appendage with a grappling hook on it. Without slowing, the bot catches the capsule by the handle, and makes a quick arc back towards the ship.

Nick steps backwards, and waits for the bot to return through the airlock. There is a hiss as the lock fills with air. Then the inner door opens, the bot enters with the trash capsule, and Nick lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Nick reaches for the trash capsule, and the bot zips away with it to the other side of the pod. Nick starts after it, angrily, but is checked by the bot's words.

“The outer temperature of the capsule is -136˚ Celsius. Damage to skin will result from contact.”

Nick stops, chagrined, and waits for the bot to put down the trash capsule and open it, then he reaches into the more insulated inner compartment and draws out his prize: the eagerly sought-after cryogenic thermoregulator. He takes a moment to just look at it, and feel it in his hands. Then he opens the protective packaging, puts the thermoregulator in place, and prepares himself to enter the cryocapsule and make ready for interstellar travel.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the servobot lift the trash capsule and start moving towards the airlock.

“Wait!” he barks. “Put that back in the corner. I'm not taking any chances.”

The servobot pauses for a long moment. Then it wheels over to the corner, places the trash capsule next to the desk, and returns to its resting spot.

Nick nods a satisfied nod and climbs into the cryocapsule. As he lays down, he smiles with a quiet glee at what will be awaiting him when he awakes. He presses the button to initiate the sleep cycle, and the lid of the cryocapsule slides over him smoothly. In a moment he is asleep, and in another few moments his body temperature has been brought down to proper hibernation levels.

In the corner, the servobot says softly, “Powering down for interstellar flight.”

The central computer registers that all cryocapsules are functioning properly, and begins the sequence to ignite the hyperdrive.

Against the inky backdrop of space, a double flare blooms behind a ring-shaped starship as it begins the long journey towards Arcturus β and the colonists' future.

Copyright © Andrea Blumberg 2016