As the other crew members crowded around, Ivan cleared the gravel and sand-like particulates from what looked for all the world like a walnut the size of a watermelon.
Tenn muttered, “We might want to be careful, here, guys.”
Ivan grinned. “Aw, come on, Tex. How bad can it be?”
With that, he reached down to pick up the anomaly.
Infection
There was a snapping motion—a blur, as if the object had abruptly changed shape. Ivan jerked and, suddenly, his right arm inexplicably felt hot. He looked at his space suit and saw a gray substance spreading onto his hand and forearm.
Ivan’s vision narrowed to a tunnel view, centered on his arm. Scenes from horror movies, both old and recent, played in his mind. He heard a scream, and realized an infinite time later that it came from inside his helmet.
Davies’s voice came loud over the radio. “This is Tennison Davies. Mayday! Mayday! We have a crew injury. We need immediate transport and medical standing by.”
“What is your location, and what is the nature of the injury?” Albert Micoroski responded.
“We’re on the Baby Rock. Ivan Pritchard found the anomaly, and something has glued itself to his arm. He’s screaming, but we’re not sure if it’s pain or panic.” There was dead air for a moment, then Davies continued, “The scooter is coming in to our position now. We’ll tie up and let her tow us in to the Astra. Stand by.”
“The captain wants details, Mr. Davies.” The voice of the Mad Astra’s pilot was dead calm.
“We dug up the anomaly that Cirila detected on the Baby Rock. It was small, about the size of a basketball. Pritchard reached down to pick it up and something came out of the thing and wrapped itself around his right arm.”
“Is he in pain?”
“Don’t think so. He panicked when it happened. He’s calmer now.”
A small part of Ivan’s mind, that little voice that insisted on ironic commentary on everything, noted that paralyzed with fear wasn’t the same as calmer.
“Mr. Davies, this is the captain. I want a video camera trained on the substance on his arm. Chief Engineer MacNeil will evaluate the situation, and we will then decide how to proceed.”
“Captain, we have to get him into sick bay so we can get this thing off—”
“You have the order of events wrong, Mr. Davies. He will not be going into sick bay, or coming into the ship at all, until either the substance is removed, or Mr. MacNeil assures me it is safe. This is not a negotiable item.”
“Yes sir.”
MacNeil’s voice cut in. “I’m sending a video camera and remote sensor over. Please train them on the anomaly when you get them.”
“Sir.”
As the conversation with the ship died down for the moment, Ivan tried to control his breathing. His mind began spinning through a panicked recitation: No, no, I can’t die now, not when we’ve just hit it rich! The ironic commentator in his head noted that at least this was a coherent thought, which was an improvement.
He remembered reaching for the object. He remembered a snapping motion, and something grabbing his arm. He remembered screaming, and a jumbled collage of faces and spacesuits and rock and space…
His arm prickled and itched maddeningly, but a small, rational part of his mind wondered if that was psychological. The stuff, whatever it was, didn’t seem to add any weight to his arm—it could just be paint for all the difference it made.
Shadows and reflections flitted across his visor as other crew members moved around him. Voices sounded over the intercom, but he couldn’t make sense of them. His mind seemed to have shut down, leaving only a panicked, cornered animal, screaming and running in circles inside his skull.
Someone placed their helmet in his line of sight. Their lips moved, and words came over the suit speakers. He tried to concentrate, to make sense of the sounds.
“Are you in pain? Is the stuff doing anything to you?”
Ivan’s eyes opened wider as a circuit breaker snapped back on in his brain, and he recognized Tenn’s voice. He replayed the words, working to extract meaning.
“Ah, uh, no, I don’t think so.” He took a deep breath and tried again. “No pain. It doesn’t really seem to be doing anything to me. It doesn’t even weigh anything.”
Tenn nodded and grabbed Ivan’s shovel, which was floating nearby at the end of its tether. He flipped it around expertly, then used the blade to scrape the substance off Ivan’s arm.
Or tried to.
The grayish substance actually seemed to flow around the shovel blade, reforming behind it. It looked vaguely like running a paddle through water.
Tenn stopped, and the substance smoothed itself out.
More gabbling followed, more sounds that Ivan’s brain couldn’t process. The universe presented like a disconnected series of still-frames, similar in theme but not logically connected.
* * *
The conversations had resumed. Unable to form a thought, let alone any kind of strategy, Ivan simply allowed himself to float in place, ministered to by the other space suits swarming around, while the radio chatter flowed over and past him.
Duncan’s voice came over the channel. The chief engineer had a puzzled tone, but no sense of panic or urgency. “It doesn’t appear to be spreading, Captain. It’s not particularly showing up on infrared. It seems to be thermally non-conductive. There’s no radiation, no magnetic or electromagnetic activity. You’d think it was spray paint except for the tendency to flow around attempts to scrape it.”
“Any conclusions, Mr. MacNeil?”
“It appears to be at some kind of equilibrium, Captain. It’s where it wants to be.”
“Doctor?”
“Other than vitals from the suit monitors, I can’t tell you much, Captain. Pritchard’s heart rate and respiration are way up, of course, but nothing indicates anything other than adrenaline.”
“Can anyone assure me that this is safe to bring into the ship?”
Silence answered the captain’s question.
“Any suggestions for a resolution?”
Dr. Kemp spoke up. “I might have one, Captain. We could cut off the suit arm.”
“Amputate?”
“Not the arm itself, sir, just the suit. The gunk doesn’t even reach Pritchard’s elbow. We could cut the material above the elbow and strip it off.”
“Will he lose the arm?”
“No sir, he shouldn’t. The others can start spraying suit sealant on the arm as the fabric is being pulled back. That should protect the arm somewhat from depressurization.”
“Suit sealant is for patching small holes in suits, to prevent hematomas on the skin, doctor. How well do you expect it to work when it’s covering an entire arm?”
“It’ll be better than nothing, sir. That’s really all I can promise. People can survive vacuum for a short time. There’s normally far more risk to the lungs, eyes, and ears. Worst case, he will probably suffer some bruising on the arm.”
There was a pause before the captain addressed Davies. “Mr. Davies, you have a fabric saw?”
“Yes sir, standard kit.”
“All right. Understand that if the substance has penetrated through to his arm, he might be allowed to die out there. At your discretion, please begin. Ms. Nevin, be prepared to ferry him to the airlock with all haste if results permit.”
A series of “Yes sir’s” answered.
Tenn’s face moved into Ivan’s field of view. “Ivan, stick out your arm.”
Ivan did so, and someone sprayed something on his arm. Then Tenn ran something around his arm, and a ring of agony formed around his biceps. Two crew members grabbed his suit arm and pulled. The pain was beyond description, as if they were stripping his skin off. Ivan heard whimpering coming from inside his helmet.
Finally, the pain stopped, and Ivan felt himself fade out…
* * *
Seth peered through Ivan’s helmet viso
r. The sprout’s eyes didn’t look quite so much like white saucers anymore, and he seemed to be in better control. According to the suit’s external readouts, Ivan was still hyperventilating a little, but the environmentals were keeping up, so far.
Seth was more concerned about some of the other crew members, who seemed to be heading for panic attacks of their own. The doctor’s plan would require careful coordination. If someone went off-script at the wrong time, Ivan could die.
Tenn had the fabric saw out and ready. Based on the same concept as the saws used to cut casts off limbs, the composite blade of a fabric saw would decompose the material but wouldn’t affect flesh. He brought the saw near Ivan’s arm, then gave orders to the crew. “Seth, you brace Ivan in the passenger seat so we can pull off the suit arm without dislodging him. Kady and Raul, be ready to grab the fabric as I cut it and peel it back. Make sure the gunk doesn’t touch you or anyone else, or we’ll be doing this all over again. Will, be ready with the sealant.” Tenn looked around at the other crew members to make sure they were reacting to his orders.
“Screw that,” Kady’s voice rose in pitch. “I’m not taking a chance on that shit touching me!”
Will cut in before Kady could build up to a full-on conniption. “We have lots of sealant. How about if I cover the gunk with it first? Then it can’t get loose or touch anyone.”
“Good thinking, Will. Do it. Step back, everyone. Ivan, stick out your arm.” Tenn gave a small push and drifted away from the group. A small spurt with his jets and he was motionless. The others followed suit, leaving the field clear for Will.
It took only moments to cover the suit arm up to the elbow. Once the substance was covered, they moved back into position.
Tenn looked at Ivan. “Okay, sprout, this is not going to be comfortable. But the doc doesn’t think you’ll lose the arm. And anyway, with the money from your share, you’ll be able to get a new one grown.”
Ivan nodded, clearly sweating profusely. The suit environmentals were starting to have trouble keeping up, and his visor was fogging.
“And, 3...2...1...” Tenn ran the saw around Ivan’s lower biceps as quickly as he could. The fabric edges pulled back on either side. Kady and Raul braced their feet on the scooter frame and grabbed the forearm side of the cut. As they pulled, Will sprayed sealant from Ivan’s shoulder on down. Ivan whimpered a little as different parts of his arm suffered decompression, but he held still for the entire operation.
As soon as the suit arm was off, Kady thrust it to the ground and pushed gravel over it with his foot.
The rest of the crew cleared the scooter, and Tenn ordered Aspasia, “Go! Airlock, immediately!”
Needing no further prompting, Aspasia gave the scooter jets a spurt to get clear of the clump of crew members, then jetted toward the open airlock, where several people were waiting.
Recovery
The corridor outside sick bay was crowded. The captain had ordered everyone without a good reason to be there to clear out. Strangely, most of the crew had found a good reason. Or an excuse, anyway. Seth had made the claim, maybe only a slight exaggeration, of being Ivan’s best friend and a source of moral support. The captain had raised an ironic eyebrow, but allowed it.
Seth could hear Doc Kemp’s and Ivan’s voices muffled by the wall, but couldn’t make out words. At least it meant Ivan was alive, conscious, and relatively calm. Seth took a deep breath. He felt an unreasonable degree of guilt for going along with Ivan’s desire to dig up the thing. He should have known better. Whatever condition Ivan was in now, it was Seth’s fault.
The doctor walked out of sick bay and closed the door. He looked around at the dozen people crowding the corridor, then fixed his eyes on Captain Jennings.
“I’ve given him a sedative. Right now, all he really needs is rest. His arm is a mess, but there’s no obvious sign that the substance penetrated the suit. Everything is consistent with exposure to vacuum. Bruising, hematomas, some scrapes from the rough treatment, a bit of chemical burn from the amount of sealant used. All things being equal, he’ll be back to limited duty in a day or two, and full duty in a week.”
“Can we see him?” Seth asked. Maybe if he could assure himself that Ivan was okay, this feeling of dread would go away.
“Not a lot of point. I gave him one of the stronger sedatives in my arsenal. He’s out, and will be for at least six hours.”
“Just for a moment?”
Dr. Kemp looked at the captain, who nodded. With a bob of the head, the doctor indicated that Seth should enter sick bay. He held up a hand when the rest of the crew tried to follow. “Sorry, no. Just the one.”
Seth turned to his crewmates, nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, and went through the door. Ivan lay on a cot, a white cream covering his entire right arm. His head was turned slightly to the side, his mouth hanging open. He wasn’t quite knocked out, but he wasn’t quite just sleeping, either. There would be no discussion today.
Seth’s crewmates straightened up as he came out, and several started asking questions at the same time.
Seth held up a hand. “He’s out cold, like the doc said. He looks healthy, except his arm’s been through a ringer. I’ll trust the doc on his prognosis for the arm. Let’s just wait until tomorrow.”
He followed the rest of the crew back to the lounge, his head hanging. It hadn’t helped as much as he’d hoped.
* * *
Ivan slowly came awake. This was his favorite part of the day. Waking up by stages, warm in bed, brain not active enough yet to start cataloguing the reasons why you shouldn’t be so relaxed. The crappy apartment, the money troubles, the dead-end job…
Maybe today was a weekend. No alarm clock. He would take the kids to the park. They needed to burn off the energy. Banging around in a six-hundred-square-foot apartment just resulted in adult tempers flaring, and children in time-out.
He frowned without opening his eyes. That didn’t sound right. He’d done something, hadn’t he? Joined the Navy? No, joined a mining partnership. He was on the Mad Astra, and they’d just struck it rich, and he had checked Baby Rock, and—
He sat up, immediately sweating with fear. The thing had attacked him, grabbed his arm. But he’d been rescued by the crew, hustled off to sick bay. Everything was fine. His arm didn’t even hurt anymore.
Then, Ivan looked at his arm…
Dr. Kemp burst through the door, his eyes wide. Seeing his face, Ivan realized he’d been screaming; he cut off the sound with a snap of his jaw.
The doctor grabbed a medical kit from the counter and stepped closer to the cot. Ivan held up his arm, and the blood drained from the doctor’s face.
Ivan looked at his arm again, hoping he’d somehow been mistaken. The reality was all but impossible to absorb. The arm was silver. No, not silver, specifically. More of a chrome or titanium. From the tips of the fingers, to about halfway up the forearm, Ivan’s arm appeared to be coated with metal.
The doctor grabbed a box of surgical gloves and donned two layers. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then took Ivan’s hand and began to palpate the fingers and knuckles. Ivan could see the expression on his face change.
Kemp backed away from the bed, and Ivan thought for a moment he was going to run. Instead, he spun around and hammered the intercom button. “Astra, please wake the captain, and request his presence in sick bay with all haste. We have a situation.”
Investigation
“I’ve sedated him. Again. Just a light dose, this time. He’s conscious, but calm.” Dr. Kemp shook his head. “At this rate, I’ll go all the way through my supply by the end of the week.”
“But what is it?” Captain Jennings asked.
“As near as I can tell, it’s a metal prosthetic, seamlessly integrated with Pritchard’s physiology.” Dr. Kemp glanced at Chief MacNeil for a moment. “The level of detail, and the technology apparent in the implementation are like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
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p; MacNeil held up some small tools. “I could get a sample.”
The captain looked at Kemp, who nodded.
“After the Chief gets his sample,” Dr. Kemp continued, “I’ll try a few things, like sonogram and x-ray. I’ve already determined that it’s not affected by magnets.”
“Does he have a pulse?”
“In the arm, you mean?” Dr. Kemp shook his head. “I’m not sure about how the interface is set up, but I doubt there’s anything biological distal to the point where metal meets flesh.”
Captain Jennings frowned and stared at the sick bay door for a few seconds. “What are our options, doctor? Is amputation viable?”
“That’s my go-to plan, actually, unless something comes up to rule it out. Pritchard can get a new one grown as soon as he’s back on Earth. It’s not like none of us can afford it, now.” Despite the gravity of the situation, the men shared a quick smile.
“All right. Use your discretion, Doctor,” the captain said. “Keep me informed.”
* * *
Ivan held up his hand. His flesh was chrome, up to halfway up the forearm. “What is it, doc? What’s happening to me?”
“I’ve already described the physical aspect, Ivan. But the why and the how? I have no idea.”
“This is from the stuff I got on my arm. It must be.”
“It doesn’t look the same. The stuff on your suit was grayish, and liquid. But yeah, it’s reasonable to conclude that the gunk caused this in some way.”
“What do I do?”
Kemp pulled up a stool and sat in front of Ivan. “We don’t know anything about this thing, and I don’t think we can afford a wait-and-see stance. I’d like you to consider amputation. Stop it before it spreads, assuming it will spread.”
“Yeah, I get it. And I can get a new arm grown when we get home.” Ivan was silent for a few seconds, staring at his hand, slowly turning it. “Okay. Do it. Before I chicken out.”
* * *
Charles Kemp looked down at the notes, charts and images arrayed on his active desktop. He pushed the items around, but no alternate arrangement magically cast the data into a sane explanation.
The Singularity Trap Page 6