Ivan
…and pressed send.
Crew Reaction
“Is it even still Ivan?”
Seth glared at Raul. It looked like another Ivan-bashing session was starting up.
“C’mon, Seth. You’ve heard what Kemp said. There’s nothing biological left. He, or it, is all metal.” Raul sighed, hesitating for a moment. “Look, I know most of you don’t think much of my beliefs, and I try to keep it out of conversations, but not this time. Ivan is dead. He’s gone. Something has taken his place and is pretending to be him. Whatever’s in Ivan’s room, lying on his bunk, does not have a soul.”
“And you know this because…” Aspasia spoke calmly, but Seth knew that the expression on her face meant trouble.
Raul was either oblivious, or past the point of caring. “Yeah, yeah, I know, make fun of my religion. Nevertheless, it doesn’t give me a lot of leeway on this.”
“Only if you blindly adhere to doctrine,” Aspasia answered. “If you assume that Ivan isn’t lying, then he sees himself as still him. Which means he has the same morals, the same priorities, and the same capacity for and knowledge of good or evil—by whatever definition you want to use. How can he still be a sentient being, but be of less value now?”
“You’re assuming he’s still sentient,” Raul said.
“And you’re assuming he’s not. I think if you want to take away his rights, or whatever it is you’re aiming at, you’d better do a little more than just make assertions. You’re not in a position of authority, moral or otherwise.”
“Then who is? Someone has to make the decision, Aspasia.”
“And that’s your justification? Someone has to, so you’re as good as any?”
“And why not? I can—”
“Jesus H. Christ on a crutch, with bunnies on top! Can you two put a cork in it?” Tenn glared from one combatant to the other. “No one asked either of you to make a decision about Pritchard’s immortal soul or lack of it.”
Raul glared at Tenn. “Maybe not, Davies, but there are a lot of religious people out there. And I can say this with some confidence—most of them will agree with me. And I’m not sure they’ll all limit themselves to heated discussions across the lunch table.”
Aspasia flashed him a smile that verged on being a sneer. “Well, those assertions we can agree on.”
An uneasy silence settled on the room, as each person retreated to their own thoughts.
In the Common Room
Ivan wasn’t actually quarantined. The captain hadn’t actually issued an order requiring him to stay in his cabin. He rehearsed these statements as he stared at the door.
Finally, having generated enough courage, Ivan reached for the release. He stepped out into the corridor and looked both ways. It felt as if years had passed, and he was freshly paroled. He spent only a moment savoring the feeling of freedom before turning in the direction of the common room.
Tenn, Will, and Raul sat at a table, nursing coffees. The sudden silence as he stepped into view probably said all that needed to be said about his level of welcome. Ivan gave them an embarrassed smile and headed for the coffee machine. He’d been missing coffee—the subtle kick from that first cup was one of those rituals that made him feel in control of his day.
He drew a coffee, the sound of the flowing liquid filling the silence in the room. He held the steaming cup under his nose, and inhaled the aroma of fresh, quality coffee. Nose still works. That’s good.
Ivan turned in the direction of his crewmates, and was dismayed to see them look away quickly. Will, at least, looked embarrassed, but the thin line of his lips showed his determination. Defeated, Ivan aimed for a table at the other end of the room. He took a quick sip of the coffee, and—what the hell?
He couldn’t swallow. He wasn’t choking, but he simply couldn’t form the action. He could taste the coffee in his mouth, he could feel it cooling, but…
After a few frustrating moments, Ivan spit the coffee back into his cup, then poured it down the sink. So now drinking was out. The conversion seemed to be slowly stripping parts of his life away. Maybe he really was just an imitation of a person.
As he handed the empty cup to the dishwasher mech, Ivan felt a sudden jolt of rage and hate, accompanied by the image of the bear cub. It didn’t make sense. The mech wasn’t at fault, and anyway, the reaction was out of character for him. Assuming those emotions were even coming from him. What if they weren’t? What if his transformation came with an alien consciousness? It would at least explain the bear cub.
Ivan walked slowly out of the common room, pondering the possibility that he wasn’t alone in his head.
Most Paranoid Wins
Josh had made the soccer team. Suzie was in the semi-finals in her chess tournament at school. Judy’s boss had been passed up for a promotion, the position going to the CEO’s nephew. The email had the usual updates about all things family that you could expect to get when you were away from home. But nothing more. Events. Descriptions. Like the annual Christmas letter to relatives.
Then, at the bottom, two words. Call me.
Well, it turned out it was possible for a metal man to be terrified. Call that proven.
Ivan picked up the phone, selected audio only, and dialed home.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Judy, it’s me.”
“Oh, God, I’m glad you called. I can’t—when I try to write an email, it just comes out sounding like a diary. I wanted—”
“I understand, babe. Email’s good for relaying facts, but there’s too much time to think. Let’s just keep it this way. Email for updates, phone for us.”
“And the kids?”
“And the kids, if we can arrange a time.”
“You’re not going to turn on video?”
“Judy, it would terrify the kids. And it would make you cry, and then I’d want to cry, and I—”
“What?”
“Never mind. Just think of me as having advanced leprosy and my face is falling off.”
“Thanks, Bud. Now I’ve got that image in my head.”
They laughed together. It felt good. Like the old Judy and Ivan, always on the same wavelength.
“Listen, Ivan, there are rumors.”
“Oh?”
“Some ship has been placed in quarantine. There’s a disease, or an alien. Details are all over the place. But something’s getting out to the public.”
That was bad. That could be really bad. Ivan had seen food riots. He understood what fear and helplessness could do. “Wow. And we haven’t even arrived yet. Listen, Judy, you know our deal…”
“Most paranoid wins?”
“Yeah.”
He and Judy had made a deal early in their marriage. In any situation, whether it involved the children’s health, or money, or anything, whoever was the most concerned got priority. If one of them thought a doctor should be called, then a doctor would be called. If one of them thought a situation was dangerous, they’d leave.
“No one knows about the money yet, right? Keep it that way. As soon as escrow is removed, I want you to very quietly move. But quickly. Don’t leave any more forwarding information than you have to.”
“Ivan, what’s going on?”
“Nothing yet, babe. Nothing specific. But those rumors—I think they’re going to get worse. This could get really badly unshiny. And I think it’d be bad for a while.”
“Why?”
“Judy, I went to the common room a while back, to get a coffee. No one would talk to me, or look at me, or anything. These are people who know me. Some of them are friends. Or were. How do you think the average guy on the street is going to react?”
“Ivan, you aren’t a monster.”
“Well, that’s the thing, babe. I kind of am.”
Judy was silent for a moment. “Are you different? Inside? Or anything?”
“No, still me, just a new paint job. But that’s not the way people
will see it.”
They talked for a few more minutes. Ivan tried to savor every moment. He had to treat each call as his last, because it was entirely possible that one of them would turn out to be just that.
He hated lying to Judy, but it was possible that the call was either being monitored or recorded. Once they arrived at Lagrange Four, he would be under the government’s thumb. Admitting to some of the things going on in his head would pretty much guarantee the very eventuality he feared. The moment the government felt justified in categorizing him as an alien risk, all the protections guaranteed him by the New Liberation would be stripped away. And Ivan would very probably disappear.
There had to be a point to this. Whatever had created the booby trap had to have a purpose, a plan. Common sense dictated that he find out what that was, and whether it was a danger to his family and to humanity in general. Caution dictated that he not let anything get loose, even if that ‘anything’ was him.
He would have to navigate a delicate balancing act, not giving the government enough reason to end him, but still giving them enough reason to keep him locked up and under study. At least until he knew enough to make further plans.
And eventually, whoever or whatever had done this to him would make a move, or give a sign, or something.
Taking Courses
Ivan sat back with a sigh. He’d just powered through his astronomy course in six straight hours. At this rate, he would need to restock his course load in less than a week. It seemed that being a metal man came with a few perks, anyway. No eye strain, no stiff back, no fatigue. Well, that last made sense. He no longer needed sleep, so obviously recuperation wasn’t an issue. But sleep had benefits for memory and general brain function as well. Somehow, the conversion was providing for the requirements without the actual act.
Ivan added that factoid to a growing list of oddities and anomalies. On one level at least, this was an I.T. problem. And the change in behavior indicated that his brain hadn’t just been replaced neuron by neuron, otherwise his brain would continue to function identically—except perhaps faster. Or slower, depending on the technology, although that seemed unlikely.
Thinking about his situation as just another tech problem was probably helping to keep him sane. At minimum, it helped to break the self-reinforcing spiral of worry about his family and dread about his future. And, if he was being honest, it was kind of interesting, although he’d have preferred to be studying it from the outside.
A burst of sound startled him as the Vid powered on. He glanced at the screen, then at the remote in his hand. He hadn’t done that. Or he hadn’t wanted to, at least not consciously. Had his hand developed a life of its own? Or was he just that distracted?
But the Vid was showing a news program, and those had become increasingly interesting lately. So far, ICDC and Navy security appeared to have kept a cap on things, but you couldn’t hide the fact that a bunch of ICDC personnel had just high-tailed it for Lagrange Four, or that ICDC and Navy Public Relations were now operating in Content-Free Mode, where nothing was said using many words.
Come to think of it, some of the commentary sounded way too close to be random guesses. The word “alien” had been used several times, and there was no reason to jump to that conclusion. Unless there’d been a leak…
What would it mean for his family if the public got hold of the facts? Nothing good, certainly. Guilt by association was still a thing, even in this age of supposed enlightenment. The New Liberation hadn’t actually improved humanity, so much as defined hard limits on what could be imposed on citizens by government, law enforcement, or military.
Ivan turned off the Vid and lay down, his hands behind his head, and tried to relax. Without prompting, an image of a bear cub popped into his head. And there it is again. Why would—
The beep of the intercom interrupted his train of thought. He pressed the accept button.
“Hello, Ivan,” said the voice of Dante Aiello. “We’re going to be announcing spin-down and deceleration in a few minutes. The captain has ordered you to remain in your quarters for the duration. One person still in the hab ring isn’t going to create a problem, and it’s probably better if you don’t—”
“Yeah, I know, I shouldn’t show up in the common room and freak out the other crew. I’ve had a taste of that, thanks. I’m good here.”
“Thanks, Ivan. And, sorry. I know this is hard on you.” The light went out on the intercom.
It’s nice to be wanted, isn’t it?
Arrival
Dr. Narang examined the personnel module, hanging in the heavens a few hundred meters away. You had to hand it to the Navy, they did things right. The module consisted, essentially, of the hab ring from a typical Navy ship—minus the ship. It looked like nothing so much as a giant floating coin with a stick poked through the center. Concentric layers featured decreasing gravity levels as one approached the hub.
“That way, we use standard parts,” Lt. Bentley explained. “And training is kept to a minimum. Someone used to a frigate will be able to find their way around the module right away.”
Narang nodded. “The important thing is that, with artificial gravity, we don’t have to worry so much about the long-term effects of the quarantine on the patients. And we really don’t know how long it might last.”
Bentley flipped open his tablet. “So, you wanted isolation for Pritchard, separate isolation for the rest of the crew, a third level for medical staff, and a fourth, clean level. Shall we inspect?”
They buckled themselves into their chairs, and the ferry pilot maneuvered the small vessel up to the module airlock at the hub.
From there, they took one of three elevators to the rim—the outermost level, with the highest gravity. Bentley kept up a running commentary as he showed Narang the different sections.
“You’ll have an AQRI scanner between each isolation level, as well as the usual diagnostics. We’ve tried to anticipate needs, but of course this isn’t your standard disease.
“The crew will be housed on one side of B elevator, and Pritchard on the other side. Labs are between those sections and elevators A and C, so Pritchard and the crew will have access only to the one elevator. And we’ll have manual control of that.”
“What are you expecting? A break-out?”
“This is pretty standard. Maybe these people won’t, but another group in another situation might. Anyway, your staff will own Levels 2 and 3 as well. Navy personnel will staff the hub and guard for any attempted excursions, by either patients or doctors.” He raised an eyebrow at Narang, inviting comment.
“Standard practice again?”
“Actually, Doctor, yes.”
“Hmph. Well, okay. We’ll probably be winging it, Lieutenant, at least at first. Our first priority will be to determine if Ivan’s infection can be reliably detected, and how.” Narang glanced back at the AQRI. “I’m betting those will figure prominently.”
Bentley nodded. “This probably isn’t a surprise, doctor, but this situation is a good deal more, um, out there than what our scenarios generally plan for. The committee will be considering additional levels of failsafe.”
“Hmm, I love that phrase. Any specifics?”
Bentley shook his head. “But I’m sure you’ll hear about it.”
Narang left the module feeling both impressed and vaguely disquieted. The Navy had delivered on all requests, including a full airlock and lab setup between each isolation level. She certainly had no complaints from that point of view. But Bentley’s last comments left her with a feeling of unease. What “failsafes” might they set up, and would they bring her into the loop?
Unfortunately, a feeling of unease wasn’t exactly actionable. Might as well just get this show on the road, and worry about complications as they came up.
“I guess we’re ready to go,” she said to Lt. Bentley. “Time to bring in the ICDC staff.”
* * *
The doctors watched from th
e control tower as the Mad Astra slowly pulled into the docking area. Given the nature of the possible infection, the Navy had decided not to provide a tug. Instead, the Astra was coming in using attitude jets. It was a far slower process, and a breach of operating protocols, but not too much less safe as long as the tower stayed on top of things.
Much discussion and planning had gone into the disposition of the patients and personnel. First, the medical staff would be transported over to the Level 2 ward. Then, the entire crew of the Astra would be moved to the Level 3 ward, with Ivan Pritchard moved to the Level 4 ward. After that, the Navy would go over the ship with a microscope, using remotes.
Dr. Narang turned to her assistant, Dr. Haruki Nakamura. “Our team is ready?”
“All waiting in the Ready Room.”
“Then let’s do this.”
* * *
Dr. Narang swept the room with her gaze, and allowed herself a moment of private awe. The conference room, and the long table dominating the center, displayed a curvature along the circumference of this hab ring level. Twelve doctors, all seasoned ICDC pros, looked back at her, expressions ranging from calm to excited. And, in Henry Samuelson’s case, hungry.
She took a deep breath.
“You’ve all read the briefing. You’ve almost all responded with ‘Is this a joke?’ Believe me, it is not a joke. It is real, it is unknown, and it is a potential threat. We don’t know the limits of capability of these nanites. We don’t know where they can hide, or how well. The simplest, the safest thing to do would be to push the Mad Astra, crew and all, into the sun. But we are civilized, and we don’t do that. So we must find a way, first, to clear those who are not infected and, second, to see what we can do for those who are. A distant, distant third priority is clearing the ship.
“For the one person in the entire solar system who might not already know about it, this is the ship that nailed the Big Rock strike. These people are now rich enough to buy their own navy. Or a stadium full of lawyers. So we will follow procedures, but we will also treat the patients with all due respect and courtesy. One upside, by the way, is that Captain Jennings has already told us that if we feel the need, we should just melt down the Astra. He’ll be buying a new ship, anyway.”
The Singularity Trap Page 11