The Singularity Trap

by Dennis E. Taylor

  This ability had simply appeared out of nowhere. He didn’t know if the computer had explicitly decided to give him this extra sense, of if it was simply a side-effect of the improving communications. He and the computer still couldn’t talk, as such. But a pidgin had been established, consisting of pictures, emotional overtones, and occasional words whose definitions had been agreed upon. Human. Nanite.Computer. And war.

  This last session had been about the nanites. Sort of. Mostly. The chrome animals that he’d been seeing were, if he understood correctly, sentient beings who had gone through the same process as he had. But voluntarily. The nanites could form any shape, any desired physiology. Which meant that an actual decision had been made at some level that Ivan would continue to be shaped like a human being rather than a seven-tentacled land-squid.

  I wonder if that’s subject to appeal?

  If he could sense the nanites, perhaps they could sense him in some way.

  Ivan held his hand up in front of his face and stared at his fingers. Then he glanced at the surveillance camera. If he could really, actually morph, doing it on Vid might not be in his best interests. How could—

  A group of nanites made a beeline for the camera. A few seconds later, Ivan knew that the camera would show him simply lying there for as long as he wanted it to. Where had that knowledge come from? There’d been no voice; words hadn’t scrolled across his vision. Nevertheless, he was certain it was true.

  But it only took care of the immediate problem. Someone could still show up at the observation window at just the wrong time. Well, that was almost always Dr. Narang, and he was fairly sure she was off-shift right now.

  Again, Ivan held his hand up. It was foolish, nothing more than wishful thinking—

  Or maybe not.

  As Ivan watched, his fingers slowly elongated. Okay, long enough. The stretching stopped. How about something a little more ‘out there’? Ivan put his hand down, closed his eyes, and concentrated. He felt what could only be described as resistance, then a feeling of relief or release.

  He opened his eyes and lifted his hand.

  Six fingers.

  Now that’s just weird.

  Ivan carefully touched his thumb to each of five fingers in turn. He couldn’t tell which was the new one, and his brain didn’t seem to have any issues with the extra digit. Which meant he wasn’t using a piece-by-piece copy of his nervous system, but more of an emulation. More proof that there was very little left of actual Ivan.

  He put the hand down and concentrated again. Again, he encountered a feeling of resistance, then relief. Ivan checked his hand again.

  Back to normal.

  So, I do have some control of this thing. Should I mention this? He glanced at the camera. Admitting what he’d done with his hand would lead to the thing he’d done with the camera. Pretty sure that wouldn’t be taken well. By this point, he’d failed to mention so many things that it would be extremely difficult not to come out looking guilty as hell.

  It was hard. On the one hand, he should be honest and forthcoming as becomes a good citizen and cooperative patient. On the other hand, there really wasn’t a scenario where he came out of this cured. Or free. Or alive, really. Any information that he volunteered would just make him appear more alien. Simple self-interest said he should keep his mouth shut.

  Ivan breathed a quiet sigh, then smiled, amused. In order to do that, he had taken his first breath in, what? Hours? Certainly since the last time he’d talked to someone.

  And that was getting more infrequent. The doctors, of course, gave orders and asked questions. But those weren’t really conversations in any real sense. Attempts to talk to the crew were uncomfortable at best. Seth was embarrassed. Some, like Tenn or Kady, were actively hostile. And of course, isolated in his own section of the module, Ivan couldn’t just walk over to the common area and say hi.

  Ivan thought about phoning Judy again. But the last time had been so difficult. She’d cried, then she’d put the kids on the phone, then they’d cried. Ivan had wanted so much to cry as well. He’d hung up after promising to call again, then curled up on his bunk. Even sleep was no longer available as an escape.

  He was overdue to call again, and he dreaded it every bit as much as he longed to hear her voice. What would he say? What would he tell her? Ivan was a dead man walking. The emails were hard enough, dealing with the pleas for more information, for a promise or even a hint that he’d be coming home soon. The last email from Judy had included short vids of his children, saying hi to their father. He had wanted to scream, to tear up his room.

  Really, the only company he had were the visitors in his head, and they were looking more like unwelcome tenants. But whatever was in there, it had a plan of some kind. And that plan did not necessarily have the best interests of the human race in mind. Ivan got the impression that direct defiance would result in him being switched off, and the computer would simply pursue its mission without human interaction. But he could cooperate, while pursuing his own agenda.

  He would keep his family safe. He could do this one last thing for them.

  Retrieval

  Admiral Moore sat, elbow on his desk and chin in hand, staring at the images on his tablet. An ache in his neck told him that he’d been in that position for too long.

  The navy ship Gambit had arrived at the asteroid where the anomaly was discovered, and was sending back pictures and data. The crew reported that they’d found both the arm from Pritchard’s suit and the anomaly itself.

  Communications round-trip time was up around forty minutes at the moment, making any kind of conversation impossible. Moore split his attention between reading the reports as they came in, and preparing a list of questions to send back.

  Admiral Castillo walked in. “Hi, Ted. I saw the images.” He sat down across the desk and crossed his legs.

  “Uh huh. They’ve crated the suit arm, using an industrial glass lining. But frankly I don’t expect any activity, given what Dr. Narang has learned. The artifact is much more interesting.”

  “Artifact?” Admiral Castillo’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Not anomaly, anymore?”

  “No, it’s definitely man-made. Er, I mean, constructed by intelligence. It’s artificial. Relatively simple design, actually, given the advanced technology evident in the nanites.”

  “So, I guess we can rule out the Sino-Soviet Empire?”

  Moore nodded. “Alan, if the SSE had the technology to pull off even a fraction of what we’ve seen, we’d already be calling each other comrade and participating in self-criticism sessions.”

  “Which leaves aliens as the default explanation. Peachy. Have our people figured out the purpose of the thing?”

  “The squints on the Gambit did some preliminary analysis. The artifact is designed to squirt out something when touched. It’s basically a mouse trap. The device is powered by a chemical reaction. Totally inert substances, until they’re mixed. Analysts say that it’s the only way to ensure a working mechanism over long time scales.”

  “Long time scales?”

  “The analysts are talking about hundreds of thousands up to millions of years. Something based on maintaining tension, like a spring, would eventually deform due to metal fatigue, or lose elasticity and crack, or something. The chemical setup is specifically designed to not degrade over geological time scales. Do you find that frightening? I do.”

  “Which means this wasn’t set up for us.”

  “Right. It was put in place for whatever came along. Which turned out to be us, but could just have easily been intelligent raccoons.”

  Castillo chuckled. “Been watching old movies?”

  Moore smiled back. “I blame Narang. She made an offhand reference and it got me curious.”

  “Did you read the transcript from the conversation between Pritchard and Kemp?”

  “Yes. Just reinforces my feeling that we’re dealing with something very old and very patient.” />
  “It also reinforces the danger that we are either no longer dealing with a human being, or soon won’t be. Gerrard talked about the burden of proof being on you, Ted. That transcript will go a long way toward providing that proof.”

  Moore stared at Castillo, eyebrows climbing his forehead. It was a good point, but the man was likely leading up to something.

  “I understand you are having some difficulty selling the idea of strapping a nuclear device to the quarantine hab,” Castillo continued. “The nuclear option would be more palatable, I think, if the isolation ward were a little farther from Earth. Maybe outside the treaty zone. I wonder if we could arrange to tow it out of the Earth-Moon system entirely. Perhaps a solar orbit.”

  “Just an offhand thought, of course?”

  Castillo shrugged without further comment, nodded to him, and departed. Castillo had made a good point, although perhaps not the point he had intended. NavCom was not enthusiastic about the nuclear failsafe. Moore regretted bringing it up at all, in fact. In the vein of permission versus forgiveness, he’d have been better off to simply go ahead with it. Live and learn.

  He could submit the request again, with the alteration proposed by Castillo. Or he could assume permission, given that the proximity to Earth had been a major theme in the refusal.

  Unbelievable. It was as if no one else took the threat seriously. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Moore picked up his tablet and went back to the report from the Gambit.

  The report included a good deal of routine data, but some observations about the rock’s surface were puzzling. Moore sat up straighter in his chair and paged back and forth a few times. Then he buzzed Bentley.

  “Sir?”

  “Bentley, any supporting documents to go along with what you’ve given me?”

  “Erm, some images and raw footage, sir, but all the text has been forwarded as is.”

  “See if there are any images of the equipment scarring on the rock’s surface. Forward anything you find to me immediately.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Moore turned off the intercom and sat back, staring into space. Piton holes. Drag marks from cabling. Chemical discoloration, possibly from burning rocket fuel nearby. Why would the Mad Astra have attached RIVAs to the rock?

  He attached a list of questions for follow-up.

  Press Release

  Ivan turned to the channel that Dr. Narang had suggested, adjusted the volume, and tossed the remote onto his bedside table. The Vid showed a couple of talking heads discussing their predictions about the President’s upcoming address.

  Picking up the remote, Ivan muted the Vid. He’d never understood why Vid people needed to tell you what you were about to see, tell you what you were seeing, then tell you what you’d just seen. Maybe they were paid by the word.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and extended his senses. Nanites formed thin lines around the walls, floor, and ceiling of his room. Another line extended itself toward the airlock. He could vaguely sense the outlines of the corridor through the nanites.

  The doctors and technicians were watching carefully for any attempted breakout of nanites, of course, but they weren’t set up to detect wandering nanites that politely kept to his side of the airlock. By this point, Ivan had every corner of the isolation ward covered by nanite surveillance. He was reluctant to cross that last line in the sand, lest he bring down the military on him. It was a safe bet they had a contingency plan, and it probably wasn’t pleasant.

  However, if it got to the point where Ivan needed to leave in a hurry, he would be prepared.

  Ivan looked up as the President of the United Earth Nations came on screen, the UEN symbol emblazoned behind him. He quickly un-muted the Vid. The President played with something on the lectern—probably a tablet with his speech notes—then looked straight into the camera.

  My fellow citizens.

  There has been considerable speculation lately about an extraterrestrial disease being contained at the Lagrange Four Naval base. Very damaging rumors have spread, prompting acts of desperation, panic, and violence. The UEN Council has found it advisable, therefore, to lay out the true facts of the case.

  As opposed to the false facts? Ivan smiled despite a growing case of nerves.

  First, let me state that there is indeed a quarantined ship under study at the Naval base. The crew discovered something while prospecting in the asteroid belt. Let me assure you that, contrary to rumors, no one has died. To the extent the scientists and doctors of the ICDC have been able to determine, there is no communicable disease.

  Technically true, Ivan thought, but only if you omitted certain details.

  What the artifact does show, with one hundred percent certainty, is that we are not alone in the universe. And let me be clear about this. We discovered an artifact only. The technology is advanced, but it is only technology. There is no alien being held captive at Lagrange Four. There is no invasion fleet bearing down on us.

  Wow. Ivan began to wonder if absolutely everything that came out of a politician’s mouth was such cleverly constructed B.S. In all fairness, no, most of it wasn’t clever.

  What we do have is an opportunity. An opportunity to carefully study a technology far in advance of ours. An opportunity to bootstrap ourselves to the next level. Our scientists have reported, for instance, that the technology appears to be able to draw power from the very fabric of space. Imagine a world where all of our energy needs could be met, with no danger of pollution, waste heat, fallout, or contamination.

  I urge you all to see this not as a situation to be feared, but as an opportunity to enrich ourselves.

  Ivan stared at the screen, as the President continued to talk, his words carrying less and less content as the rhetoric ratcheted up. Finally, he finished, and prepared to take questions. Given the not-quite-truths in the speech, Ivan doubted that the Q&A would be a masterpiece of candor. Sighing, he aimed the remote and changed the channel.

  He was distracted by a rush of images and emotions.

  The computer seemed to be reacting to the President’s speech. The artificial lifeforms were still descending on Earth, and the dishwashers were still happy to see them, but the computer seemed to be adding politics to the mess. Now the conflict was expanding to other star systems, with different groups of artificial beings doing battle with different groups of chrome animals. There were alliances, victories, defeats…the only constant seemed to be that dishwashers and artificials stuck together, and the chrome animals stuck together. In addition, chrome animals absorbed non-chrome animals, while the artificials wiped them out.

  If this had been going through his mind before his transformation, Ivan would have suspected he was stoned. Since hallucinogens probably didn’t work on nanites, he’d have to go with the idea that this was a deliberate message. Was it a war? Was the computer trying to save humanity from something?

  Was something coming?

  Anomalies

  Dr. Narang looked up at the knock. Her office in the isolation module qualified for the title only because it contained a desk and chair. Without even a door—or hatch, this being Navy property—her privacy was more symbolic than actual.

  Dr. Samuelson shook his hand in the air briefly. Knocking on the metal wall, the only viable option, was painful. He sat down in the only other chair, folding his lanky frame into the small space, and resting his elbows on his knees.

  Narang pulled a folder from the basket icon on the corner of her tablet’s screen. “All right, Henry. I’ve scanned through your report, although I haven’t had time for a full read. But it doesn’t look like there are any surprises.”

  Samuelson’s eyes goggled. “How quickly we get blasé. The report is nothing but surprises.”

  Narang gave him a tired smile. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I guess. In summary, we have completely and utterly failed to infect anything else, living or otherwise. We have completely failed to detect any
trace of nanites in any of the other crew. The nanites show no propensity to wander about, now that they’ve finished converting Pritchard. They don’t defend themselves, they don’t even particularly show anything like a survival instinct. The only tropism we can identify is a desire to get back to Ivan Pritchard.”

  “And identifying them…”

  Samuelson waved a hand in dismissal. “Is ridiculously easy. They glow in AQRI scans. In fact, we can turn down the saturation until biological tissue barely registers. No way we’d miss one.”

  “On the other hand,” Narang said, “we can’t kill them, except one at a time. There’s no antidote, vaccine, phage, antiseptic, or other method of mass killing the things.”

  “Not without killing any humans in range, no.”

  Narang pushed the folder back to the basket icon. “I’m about to do my progress report, Henry. I called you to discuss the short-term and long-term risks. Not only of the nanites in general, but about the idea of releasing the crew.”

  Samuelson took a deep breath and blew it out before answering. “Okay. First, the safest thing to do would be to nuke the isolation module, the mining ship, the Naval base, and us. I assume that’s not an option?” He raised an eyebrow and Narang gave him a mocking smile.

  “Then there will be some theoretical risk. But it’s theoretical risk in that we can’t rule out something undetected, the same way we can’t rule out Santa Claus. Negative proofs are difficult or impossible. All we can do is show that Santa Claus, and the risk from the nanites, are both unlikely.”

  “Okay, I see where you’re going, Henry. So, given our assumed competence and the fact that our best efforts couldn’t force an infection…”