The Singularity Trap

by Dennis E. Taylor

  The session appeared to be in danger of descending into a gush-fest. Narang interrupted the spiral. “So, Matt, are you willing to commit to the statement that this is extraterrestrial in origin?”

  “Mathematically, it is still possible that it’s of human origin. We can’t logically rule that out, in the same way we can’t rule out leprechauns. But, realistically, no one is even close to this.” He shook his head. “If I had to, I’d bet my life on it being alien.”

  Step one, done. Narang took a moment to refill her tea from the faux-ceramic pot. She glanced over at the pastry tray, but the locust swarm had already ravaged it. Mostly the head locust, Samuelson.

  “Okay, next question, and maybe not as easy to answer. Does this seem symptomatic of some kind of attack?”

  “Not a chance,” Siegel said before anyone else could speak. He received several arch looks, for his tone as much as for his statement.

  Narang raised her eyebrows at Siegel, inviting him to continue.

  “Why set it up on some random asteroid? If you want to attack Earth, just drop the package into the atmosphere.”

  “So, why was it placed on some random asteroid?”

  Siegel shrugged without comment.

  Hmm, step 2, sort of done.

  Narang looked at her tablet, at the third question. “Does the incident imply an impending visit—or invasion—from the Makers?” Moore would probably not be happy with today’s Q&A, she thought.

  “Not directly, no,” Schulze replied. “However, to answer the last half of the previous question, you’d put the device on a random asteroid so that only a space-faring species could activate it. To answer this question, you’d then program the trap to phone home the first chance it got.” Schulze grinned. “Then, maybe, we’d get a visit.”

  Oh, he definitely won’t be happy. Narang decided to deliver this revelation personally. The fireworks would be epic.

  * * *

  Admiral Moore’s eyes seemed about to pop right out of his head. Narang kept her face impassive, but she was embarrassed to realize that she was enjoying his discomfiture.

  “So you’re saying Pritchard might try to contact whoever sent this thing?”

  “It’s just speculation on Dr. Schulze’s part, Admiral. And it doesn’t speak to motive or consequences, even if it turns out to be reality. This could be an anthropological exercise, for all we know. Studying the natives.”

  Moore snorted, his expression showing clearly how little he believed that. He changed the subject abruptly. “I understand you’ve been subject to some hacking attempts.”

  Narang decided to be candid. “Well, not here, so much. We’re using your network, of course. But headquarters, yes. Fortunately, we have some of the most sophisticated security A.I.s in the solar system.”

  “Drawbridge category?” Moore asked. At her nod, he continued. “Doctor, don’t get too complacent. They’ll keep at it until they get what they want. Or until it becomes irrelevant, which would mean things have gotten much worse.”

  Narang paused to rub her eyes. Too many days with not enough sleep were catching up with her. “I understand, Admiral. But everything we’ve seen so far indicates that this is not a Gray Goo scenario.”

  “What about Alien Invasion?” Moore smiled tightly.

  “Depends on how you define invasion, I guess.” Narang stood. “Anyway, you have everything we’ve learned so far. Happy reading.” She gave him a nod and walked out. Bentley tried to catch her eye as she stepped past his desk, but she needed sleep more than she needed another conversation.

  Status

  Admiral Moore blew on his coffee, then took a sip. The habitual action gave him an opportunity to look around the table without being obvious about it. He still didn’t have a good feel for the positions of the various committee members. Or, he admitted to himself, maybe those attitudes were shifting faster than he could get a handle on them. It seemed every day brought some new revelation about this Pritchard and his disease.

  He put his cup down and rapped on the table with his knuckles. Conversations ceased as everyone turned to him.

  Moore gave the committee members a pro forma smile. “I have received a request—or perhaps that’s not the right word, since she’s not asking for permission—from Dr. Narang for us to bring some more people into the project. We have a cybernetics expert, a xenobiologist, a couple of physicists, as well as some medical specialists whose fields I’m not sure I can even pronounce.”

  “And that won’t set off flags, at all, no sir,” Admiral Castillo muttered.

  “Well, this situation isn’t really top secret, Alan.” Moore shrugged. “The media picked it up the moment the ICDC dispatched a team spaceward. It’s well past the rumor stage now, and well into scandal. We’re able to play the patient confidentiality card to a large extent, plus the ongoing investigation narrative, but some media pundits are getting pretty bold in their criticisms and pointed questions.” He paused and looked around the table. “And Security has reported hacking attempts are up several thousand percent.”

  Several heads jerked around to look directly at Moore. He let the moment play out to maximum effect. Best they understand early the seriousness of the situation.

  “All this, based on an ICDC mobilization? That seems excessive,” Commodore Gerrard said.

  “I agree, Mike,” Moore replied with a tight smile. “It’s possible there is or has been a leak of some kind. We’re looking into that. It’s fortunate that when the Mad Astra returned early they didn’t publicly announce their intention to do so. As far as public records show, the Astra is still out there checking asteroids for another two months, which means anyone attempting to extract information by data mining will discount it as a possibility.”

  “What exactly are we trying to keep from the public, Admiral?” Commodore Nevin phrased the question innocently enough, but there was a barb behind it, Moore was sure. Her eyebrows met in her trademark scowl.

  “Commodore, we have irrefutable proof of the existence of intelligent life outside of Earth. E.T., if you will. You don’t think that’s going to cause a stir?”

  “Oh, no argument on that, Admiral. But is it really our place to play nanny to the world?”

  “It is our place,” Moore replied, “to avoid vomiting out sensational news until those whose job it is to do so, can package it up properly. I’m not suggesting we keep it a secret. I’m suggesting that how the news breaks will affect how it’s received, and how the public reacts.”

  Commodore Nevin snorted, but held her tongue.

  “Anyway,” Moore continued, looking around the table, “unless someone can come up with a reason, I can’t block Dr. Narang’s request. Anyone?”

  Silence greeted him.

  Well, that’s that, he thought.

  * * *

  Moore grimaced as he watched the news show Topic Zero on his tablet. The lead reporter, an obnoxious former sports star turned Vid personality, stood outside ICDC headquarters, going through the standard clichéd innuendos and leading questions. The bottom line, though, was that someone had seen the list of ICDC draftees, and put two and two together. And, as usual with the media, gotten five.

  Now, smelling blood, the media had laid siege to the ICDC. Moore watched a replay of the interview with Dr. Karin Laakkonen. The woman was an expert at not giving away anything, but the challenge had just encouraged the media vultures.

  Reporter: Doctor L, the ICDC’s withholding of information on the quarantine is the direct cause of the demonstrations outside. Isn’t it better at this time to simply come clean on the situation?

  Laakkonen: Sir, the problem isn’t so much with ICDC not releasing information that we don’t have, as it is with the media trying to fill that void with irresponsible conjecture and innuendo.

  Reporter: But Doctor, isn’t it true that you have an alien pathogen isolated on a Navy moonbase?

  Laakkonen: No sir, it is not. And by the way, tha
t kind of leading question, when talking into the camera, is exactly what I’m referring to. You’ve descended into tabloid territory. So let me reiterate the only statement I can give you: The ICDC is still investigating. We have not yet established whether a quarantine is even necessary, but will not lift it until we’ve made that determination, out of an abundance of simple prudence. And we will release information as it becomes available, subject to privacy requirements.

  Reporter: But surely public safety trumps any privacy issues—

  Laakkonen: If that comes to pass, then we will release more information. At this point, there is no danger to the public, your irresponsible reporting notwithstanding.

  Moore found himself feeling some sympathy for the woman. But she would have to get herself under better control. Letting them bait her was not productive.

  The media, of course, were past masters at whipping the public into a frenzy when it suited their agenda. It appeared the goal in this case was to put pressure on the government to put out some kind of information release. Meanwhile, demonstrations were increasingly turning into riots. And you could bet the media would deny any responsibility in the end.

  Moore checked his email again. He expected a query from Naval Civilian Relations any minute. The ICDC protocols weren’t a secret, and any idiot would be able to connect the dots to figure out where the mystery ship was being held.

  Nothing yet. There was still time to compose a response. Moore queried the status board for Dr. Narang’s current location. Perhaps a face-to-face would help clarify things.

  * * *

  Dr. Narang sat back and gazed at Moore over her mug of tea. “You’re not suggesting lying to the public, are you, Admiral?”

  “Come on, Doctor. You’ve worked for the ICDC for long enough to understand about controlling information. A core dump without some kind of plan will cause panic. People will be scared of a potentially uncontrollable disease, other people will be scared about the imminent arrival of some kind of space invaders, and of course the xenophobes and religious extremists will have a fit.”

  Narang looked down at her mug for a few moments. “We don’t have much, yet, admiral. We’re still trying to characterize the active agent. We’re more used to biological subjects, if you know what I mean.”

  Not for the first time, Moore wondered if the ICDC was really the right agency to be running this show.

  “I saw my boss’s response on Vid,” Narang continued. “And I’d agree that it’s nothing but a stalling tactic. Someone will have to release an official statement, and I understand that we should cooperate. I’m just not sure we have anything of substance, yet.”

  “Fair enough, Doctor. Then let’s see what your crew can put together that won’t metaphorically throw gasoline on the fire.”

  “Have you ever even seen gasoline, Admiral?”

  Moore smiled as he stood to leave. “Clichés die hard, Doctor.”

  Looking Over His Shoulder

  Ivan kept glancing around his room. It was odd, but he felt like he wasn’t alone. Clearly, he was, but the feeling wouldn’t go away that someone was in the room with him. It was creepy. And the baby bear kept popping up in his mind. But now there were also images of strange, unfamiliar creatures, always in chrome.

  So, possibilities. One, he was losing his mind. Maybe the conversion wasn’t perfect, and he was unraveling. Or maybe the conversion was fine, and he was just unraveling all on his own. Or, two, the isolation was getting to him. Well, that was just 1B, really. Okay, two, something or someone actually was watching him. Of course, the surveillance camera up in the ceiling was an obvious candidate, but this was more than just that. Was something in his head with him? The creep factor would be off the charts, in that case.

  There were other weird things as well. He’d found himself on several occasions turning on the Vid without meaning to. One time, he’d spontaneously re-opened his astronomy course notes, and turned to a picture of the Briggs Farside Radio Telescope Array. Well, okay, it was impressive, but so what?

  Ivan glanced up at the surveillance camera. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable with not mentioning any of this. After all, he wasn’t a prisoner, technically, and this wasn’t an adversarial situation. And Captain Jennings’s tactic with the lawyers ensured that Ivan could expect full UEN citizenship protections.

  Still…

  It was lonely in quarantine. The doctors were all business. Calls to the rest of the crew tended to be, well, stiff was the kindest word Ivan could think of. Seth tried more than most, but even he was unsure how to deal with the chrome man.

  Conversations with his family helped, but he didn’t want to overdo that. It wasn’t just a question of the emotional toll on them. The more contact he had with his family, the more chance there was for someone to find out something. A chance comment by his children, a conversation overheard, a hack of the phone system, a fishing expedition by some news crew eavesdropping on the homes of random miners… Ivan smiled to himself. Most paranoid wins. He was certainly leading that race, these days.

  Ivan needed to be seen as human. As a victim, not as a dangerous alien thingamabob. Revelations about alien mind parasites, involuntary actions, and spontaneous mental imagery probably wouldn’t help his cause. So, caution. He wouldn’t do anything to endanger his family, but that didn’t mean he was going to volunteer to get tossed under the bus.

  “Mr. Pritchard?”

  Ivan looked up. It was Dr. Narang. She was one of the good ones. Too many of the doctors looked at him and just saw a specimen. He’d given up on trying to engage those individuals in any kind of conversation.

  He was struck once again by her beauty, and even more by her casual lack of concern about it. Judy was like that.

  The thought of his wife brought a stab of anxiety, and he forced himself to shift mental gears.

  “What’s up, Dr. Narang?”

  “We need another scraping, if you don’t mind.”

  “You’ve already gone through the last batch?”

  Dr. Narang shrugged on the other side of the glass. “Many of our tests are destructive. And we’re being aggressive to try to get as much information as possible. So, yeah, we go through them pretty fast.”

  “Okay, Doc, no problem.” Ivan got up and put his arm in the sleeve that they’d set up. There was a snap, and he felt a bite. Dr. Narang looked at something below the window level, and said, “Good. Done. That doesn’t hurt too much, does it?”

  Ivan shook his head. “Things don’t hurt, generally, not in the same way as before. It’s more like data. I know it’s pain, I know it means damage is occurring and I should do something, but It doesn’t have the same urgency.”

  Dr. Narang smiled. “There’s a documented form of brain damage that produces that particular result, but I doubt it’s the same thing.”

  She sat down at the console, leaned forward, and rested her chin on her hands. “Do you feel different? In any specific, large-scale way? You must notice something?”

  Ivan thought for a few moments. “Well, I’m not sleeping anymore, but you knew that. That part is really weird. I keep realizing with a start that it’s past my bedtime or something, but I’m not sleepy.” He grinned. “I’m going through my computer courses a lot faster. A twenty-four-hour day does have its upsides.”

  “Can you read faster? Process better?”

  “Hard to tell from the inside, of course. But mostly, no. I still forget stuff, still have to go back and reference things. Whether or not I’m still Ivan, I still work like Ivan, and I guess that includes fallible human memory.”

  “Do you get tired?”

  “Not the way you mean, I think. But I do get bored, so I have to change tasks every once in a while.”

  Narang nodded, and the silence stretched for several seconds.

  “How’s the research going?” Ivan was intensely interested in progress, of course, but he also wanted to keep the doctor around as long as possibl
e.

  “We, uh, are learning more about what we can’t do than what we can, Ivan. For one thing, we can’t get the nanites to infect anything. Virus, bacteria, flatworms, mice, toasters…”

  “Toasters?”

  “I kid, slightly. But we’ve tried placing them on and in various types of equipment, and they just aren’t interested. They immediately start migrating back in your direction. Or trying to.”

  “Hmm. I’m afraid I don’t have any insights there, Doc.” Ivan shrugged. “It’s not like I’m calling to them.”

  “I understand. I’m going to get back to work, Ivan. We’ve got people waiting for this batch of beasties.” She nodded to him, then turned and headed up the hall.

  Ivan sighed and turned back to his room. Why this particular conversation would have caused it, Ivan had no idea. But now, for the first time, he really understood that he would not be going home. He couldn’t.

  His mind flashed back to dogpiles on the couch, barbeques on the ratty little balcony, and evenings at the park, holding Judy while the kids ran around screaming. And once more, he wished he could still cry.

  Unrest

  Protests continue to spread, fueled by rumors of an alien disease at one of the Lagrange Naval bases. Our requests for interviews with ICDC and Navy representatives were again refused. The ICDC continues to repeat its official narrative that there is no disease under study, alien or otherwise. Navy Relations responds to all questions with the statement that they provide facilities only, and any inquiries should be directed to the ICDC.

  The Representative for East Canada District and Northwest America District have issued a joint statement condemning WorldGov’s apparent refusal to force an inquiry.

  Ivan watched the Transplanetary News report with a slight smile. So far, no one had actually lied. If you set the bar low enough, that is.

  The big fear seemed to be the Gray Goo scenario. That recent movie hadn’t helped, of course. The Centaurus Scourge had primed the public with the idea of alien nanites coming in and eating everything. He wondered if the producers were happy with the free publicity. Or maybe already in hiding. Shooting the messenger was a time-honored tradition after all.