Maybe it was time to cut back on the field assignments.
Discharge Day
Dr. Kemp stood with the other crew, facing Dr. Narang. Today was Freedom Day. The ICDC had defined the conditions under which they could be considered clean, and it seemed they’d passed. An air of anticipation hovered in the air; crew members conducted whispered conversations in quick bursts. The crew were wearing their original blue coveralls, the Mad Astra’s logo still prominent on the left breast.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be going, one at a time, into the next room. You will be scanned in the AQRI, after which you will be escorted to a ferry. You will be leaving with only the clothes on your back. Even with the AQRI scans, we’re taking no unnecessary risks.”
A hand went up. “What about Ivan?”
It was Seth Robinson, who was probably the closest thing to a friend that Ivan had in this group.
Narang answered without hesitation. The quickness of the response made Kemp think that it was probably rehearsed.
“Mr. Pritchard is not infectious, to the extent we can determine. Nor is he curable in any real sense. As such, he falls outside the ICDC’s purview. The military will support his ongoing accommodations, while they continue to evaluate the risk of the alien technology.”
Captain Jennings stepped forward. “Just so you know, my lawyers are now expecting daily updates from Mr. Pritchard. I take care of my crew, and if he abruptly disappears, I have billions of dollars available to pursue the issue.”
Dr. Narang nodded. “Noted, Captain Jennings. And I’m sure the Navy is aware of it as well.”
Kemp raised his hand. “Do you think the Navy will allow continued contact?”
Narang smiled briefly. “I can’t speak for them, but I would imagine they want as little rocking the boat as possible, so I think so. One complaint to the captain’s lawyers and stuff would hit the fan.”
The statement was greeted with chuckles, and Captain Jennings nodded.
* * *
Kemp’s phone rang before the ferry had even left the dock. Caller ID indicated a general Lagrange Four number.
“Hi Doc, it’s Ivan.”
“Hi Ivan. What’s up?”
“Nothing in particular, I guess. Just wanted to test the Navy’s promise that I’d have free access.”
Kemp smiled. “No one would blame you. Even in this day and age, everyone is still at least somewhat distrustful of the military mind.”
“Mm, yeah. So, can I continue to give you a ring once in a while?”
“Sure, Ivan. What about the other crew? Seth?”
Kemp heard a sigh on the other end. “I’ve had a couple of conversations. They’ve been what you’d call stiff. I think maybe the other crew are just a little scared of me. And they resent me some for the quarantine.”
Kemp closed his eyes and shook his head. People could be jerks.
“I think that’ll mellow a bit now that they’re out, Ivan. You might even get some awkward apology calls.”
Ivan snorted. “I’d be okay with that.”
Kemp found himself momentarily distracted by the snort. The sound required lungs. And breath. And, for that matter, nasal passages. Kemp wondered again how much of the human Ivan was still being preserved. Did he still breathe? Did he still need to?
“Ivan, I’ve not been part of the investigation since we arrived. I have to ask—do you know where you get your energy from? I know you aren’t eating anymore.”
“Uh, yeah, no, not eating anymore. Or breathing, except when I need to speak. My nanites are powered by something—understand, I’m not getting complete explanations from the computer, just individual words and images, and even those are fuzzy. But it looks like some kind of piggy-backing off of virtual particles. Not the Casimir Effect, but something that ends up doing the same thing. That’s what the president was talking about, although I think they’ll find it a little more difficult to reverse-engineer than they’re expecting.”
“So, infinite, inexhaustible energy? Maybe you should worry about the military.”
“Naw. I can spare a few nanites.”
Kemp could tell that Ivan had something else on his mind. He waited, silently inviting Ivan to continue.
“The thing is, Doc, I’m getting other things. There are Makers out there. The beings who created me, at least this version of me. The computer thinks they’re still out there. And…”
“And?”
“And something else is out there as well. Something bad.”
Release
Seth sat in the first row of the military ferry, along with Aspasia. He would have the window seat, if there were windows. An odor of sweat and old socks mixed with some kind of machine smell pervaded the cabin, testament to the legions of Navy crew who had sat here before him. As it was, he could just make out several generations of graffiti scratched onto the bulkhead, dutifully painted over in military puke color. The paint didn’t quite fill in the scratches, though. He entertained himself trying to make out the no-doubt scurrilous messages, until a sharp punch on his shoulder make him jerk around.
Aspasia glared at him. “What, I have bad breath? A bulkhead is more interesting?”
Seth opened his mouth to try to explain, then just laughed. There was no version that wouldn’t make things worse.
“Sorry, Spazzie. I’m happy to be going home—mostly. Just not sure how I feel about leaving Ivan behind.”
“Yeah, I’ll go one better. I know how I feel about leaving him behind. But we’re not doing him any good back there. Especially when we’re all in one section and he’s by himself in another. That couldn’t have felt good, either.”
“God’s sake,” Tenn said, looking over top of their chairs. “Are you guys still moping about the sprout?”
Seth turned and glared at Tenn. “You’re really bound and determined to just forget about him?”
“Robinson, if I had a button I could press that would rewind the whole Ivan thing, I’d push it, no problem. Hell, even for purely selfish reasons, I’d press it—we’ve wasted a lot of time, here, and my—”
“Your family?”
“Whatever.” Tenn looked away for a moment, then continued. “A lot of people have suffered because of this whole thing, not just us. And Pritchard’s family will be getting all his money. You think that’s being cold? Ask Pritchard if it’s important or not. I’ll bet you my entire share that he’d rather die and leave them wealthy than go home still dirt poor.”
Seth hesitated and looked at Aspasia. “Actually, he did say something to that effect.”
“Yeah.” Tenn glared at Seth. “It’s what I’d do. It’s what you’d do if you had a family to worry about. So, okay, I’m bothered that he’s still here, but maybe there’s a bit of an upside to be glad about.”
With that, Tenn slipped back down to his seat. Seth heard the click as he buckled in. Seth turned to Aspasia, who mouthed a wow at him.
“So, on that subject,” Will called from the back, “What’s everyone planning on doing with their money? Anyone going to buy a mining ship?”
The question was met with general laughter. It appeared no one was prepared to continue asteroid mining as an avocation.
“The captain probably will,” said Cirila.
“Well, yeah,” Will replied. “But he’s a spacer by choice. Prospecting will just be an excuse.”
Seth was silent, thinking about the question. He had no family, and no real urge to correct the situation. “I’ve been thinking about buying a small island somewhere but, come to think of it, a space ship might be cheaper.”
“Yeah, and a small ship won’t get smaller every year.” More laughter, typical gallows humor.
“It might be worth buying into one of the new floating cities,” Lorenza said, her tone thoughtful. “Not just as an investment, but to live on.”
No one replied, but Seth could see heads nodding.
He looked over at Lita, who w
as paging through something on her tablet. “You still have a connection?”
“Mm, hmm. Sys message says it’ll go down when the shuttle launches, but until then it’s full service. I’m just checking the news. I want to see what we’re returning to.”
“Okay, and?” Will said.
“There’s a technical term, best articulated in German,” she replied. “Fledermuasscheiße-verrückt.”
“Which means?”
“Batshit crazy.”
Lita got the expected chuckles, and Seth said, “It’s that bad?”
She motioned to the tablet. “Well, the Sino-Soviet Empire, as usual, is talking like it’s the big guy on the block. Threatening to flatten other nations right and left if they aren’t given the inside line on the alien technology.” She scrolled down. “Preppers, of course, are both outraged and simultaneously gleeful that they’re finally right. The public in general is demanding that the government Do Something Right Now. The Christian Fundamentalist Association has declared the Church of the Return, and in fact the whole alien infection thing, to be a trick of the devil, and an indication of the End Times. They’re urging their members to violence.”
“Seriously?”
“Well, they don’t put it that way. More like, ‘Remember your second amendment rights when dealing with the devil and his minions.’ Hard to misinterpret.”
“They don’t have second amendment rights, anymore,” Will protested. “Not since the New Liberation.”
“Sure,” Tenn said. “But most of ’em still have guns.”
“Of course, those are the anti-alien types,” Lita said. “Then we have the pro-alien types. The Church of the Return, of course. Plus the Communist parties seem to have decided that the aliens will obviously all live in a communist or socialist utopia, and are condemning everyone else for attempting to forestall the inevitable. There’s a Baptist sect that sees this as the Rapture, and are lambasting the other Christian Fundamentalists for their behavior. Great fun all around.”
“Plus,” Aspasia added, “you’ll have the normal, average people who are simply scared out of their minds and reacting badly.”
Seth shook his head slowly. “What the hell are we returning to?”
Lita grinned at him. “Want to go half-ers on that island?”
“Or the mining ship?” Will added.
Seth rolled his eyes. “Maybe we should just phone Captain Jennings and re-up.”
The suggestion was met with groans.
Unbelievable
“Son of a bitch! Do we have further intel on any of this?”
Moore waved the transcript of Ivan’s phone call with Kemp as he glared at Lt. Bentley.
“Yes sir, some of it, at least. They’re already pursuing the power source question, obviously. Trouble is, the technology seems to operate at near the same level as the computing—at least based on Pritchard’s comments. We don’t have anything that can examine reality at that level. Possibly the people at the Super Hadron Collider might be able to.”
“But that would involve taking one or more of these nanite things to Earth. Not going to happen.” Moore sat back in his executive chair, frustration written plainly on his face.
“Uh, sir, it actually is going to happen. They’re planning on packaging up a couple of samples for delivery to some labs on Earth.”
Moore stared at Bentley for several seconds, his mind spinning. He could feel his face heating up with the realization that Narang had deliberately left him out of the loop. He wondered what safety measures the ICDC could set up, without Navy support. Or if they’d even bothered. Idiots.
“And the other thing?”
“Sir, we can’t bring it up with Pritchard unless he mentions it first. Unless we want to admit we’re monitoring communications. Of course, he probably suspects that, but as long as everyone maintains the polite fiction, we can all be friends.”
Moore nodded. “Whereas, as soon as that’s out in the open, it becomes a jailer/prisoner relationship. Understood. Thing is, none of this is unreasonable as a topic of discussion. We need someone to engage him in casual conversation.” Moore looked significantly at Bentley.
“Oh. Uh, I’ll take care of it, sir.”
Bentley would pursue the matter and get back to Moore when done. Until then, Moore had other issues to deal with. Like this plan to send samples to Earth. Damned scientists! No slightest clue about risk analysis. Moore would have to find out if they’d already taken the samples, and if they’d already sent them. If not, there might still be time to nip this idiocy in the bud.
* * *
Narang looked down at her mug of tea and sighed, then returned her gaze to Admiral Moore. He avoided showing his amusement. Displaying emotion like that was a tactical failure. He hoped she wasn’t that transparent when dealing with patients.
“No, Admiral, we haven’t shipped the samples yet. That’s not really our job. Or our decision, for that matter. The task will be handled by the UEN Science Council administrator who will be taking over the Pritchard case. He will be up here in a few days, at which point I will be leaving. This was in the report I gave you.”
Moore nodded. His own fault for not at least scanning her report immediately. Although he doubted he could have actually derailed it, even with more warning. “Fine, Doctor. I’ll take it up with him.” He shook his head. “I have to say, I am boggled by the casual attitude being taken.”
“Casual?” Narang frowned. “The safety precautions are legion. This will be less risky than transporting fissionable materials, and people do that all the time. You can’t blow up fissionables in an emergency—well, you know what I mean.”
“I understand, Doctor. One of your safety measures will involve something that will destroy the nanites if the shipment is in danger.” Moore shook his head. “Still not good enough. If a batch of fissionables were to get loose despite all our precautions, there would be deaths, there would be long-lasting environmental repercussions. But the human race would not be in danger of extinction.” He slammed his fist on the armrest for emphasis. “If the nanites get loose, it could be game over. For everyone.”
“There are a lot of assumptions in that scenario, Admiral.”
“My job, Doctor.”
“But fortunately, not mine. I’ve told you what I was told. I had no part in the decision. Do feel free to take it up with, uh…” she flipped through some documents. “Dr. Bertram Hall, the incoming administrator. I can forward his contact details to you if you want to talk to him.”
And give him time to mount a defense? Moore thought. Thanks, no. I’ll blindside him when he gets here. “Thanks, Dr. Narang, I’d appreciate that.” On the other hand, no point in cueing her to warn him.
He stood, gave Narang a smile and a nod, and walked out.
Idiots.
* * *
Moore flipped through his directory until he found Admiral Castillo’s number. Castillo had come across as a tad hawkish in committee meetings. Now, he was starting to look prescient.
He hit the call button, and Castillo picked up immediately.
“Afternoon, Admiral Moore. Something up?”
“You might say that. Can we meet?”
Castillo arrived at Moore’s office within seconds, perhaps alerted by his tone.
Moore didn’t bother with any preamble. “They’re sending nanites to Earth.”
Castillo was silent for a moment, absorbing the news. “They being…”
“Does it matter? Of course the simple answer is Narang’s group. But the request—a non-optional request, the way she described it—comes from uphill. Considerably so. My guess is it’s a move by the President to give the public something positive to focus on.”
“Positive?”
“The power source. The nanites actually seem to extract power from the fabric of space. Hell, even I’ll admit that would be a good thing. But not this way. Not driven by a political deadline, with prudence and
common sense thrown out the airlock.”
Castillo nodded slowly, then steepled his fingers. “But it’s not done yet, right?”
“No, it’ll be a few—ah.” Moore gave Castillo a sharp look as he realized the direction of that question. “Right. Things can happen between now and then.”
“You mentioned that moving the hab might make the nuclear option more palatable. Were you going to confirm that first?”
Moore grinned. “I was debating. Now that seems like an unnecessary delay.”
“And risk. They could still say no.”
“Right.” Moore steepled his fingers, unconsciously mimicking Castillo. “Once everything is in place, there would be an accident or a breakout or something…”
“Making it necessary for us to detonate.”
“Sadly true. Alan, you have some contacts in the Farside Skunkworks, right? Can you have a backchannel conversation? We wouldn’t need that much space, but it would have to be isolated. And quickly, please. The moment HQ sends us any kind of directive, we go from being proactive to being mutineers.”
Castillo nodded and rose from his chair. “Will do.”
* * *
“Pritchard wasn’t really very forthcoming, sir.” Lt. Bentley sat at the foot of the conference table, looking back at the usual six senior officers. “I can’t tell if it’s standard distrust of the military, or if he’s just playing dumb, seeing if I’ll admit to the monitoring. It comes as no surprise that he has the best poker face in the solar system.”
Several people chuckled, but no one commented.
“Sers,” Moore said, looking around the table. “It may be time to prove the cliché correct. We can’t just treat Mr. Pritchard like a hotel guest for the rest of his life—and we have no idea how long that might be. We need answers, especially given his recent comments to Dr. Kemp.”
“What do you propose, Admiral Moore?”
The Singularity Trap Page 19