The Singularity Trap

by Dennis E. Taylor

Moore looked at Admiral Castillo, his face carefully neutral. The two had arrived at an understanding, but it was important to remain publicly at arm’s length.

  “Let’s start by being frank with Mr. Pritchard about the monitoring. Something tells me he won’t be particularly shocked. We’ll ask him some straightforward questions. If we get answers, then everything is fine. But if not, then we have to go to the next level.”

  “And that would be…” Admiral Castillo was playing the part of antagonist beautifully. Moore made a note to be very careful when playing poker against him.

  “Our agreement with the ICDC was that we would maintain isolation of the alien nanites at all costs. We made it very clear what that phrase means. If the nanites were about to get loose, we would be justified in blowing up the module. There’s even been discussion of moving it to one of the other Lagrange points and embedding a pocket nuke.” Moore very carefully didn’t look around the room. If any of the others already knew about the administrator’s plans, it would come out now. And Moore’s plan would be in the toilet.

  “So we blow him up?” Castillo cocked his head.

  “We blow up the module. Officially, because the nanites were getting loose. Officially, he’s dead. At that point, we have a free hand to use whatever means we see fit to get more information, without worrying about Civil Rights enforcers looking over our shoulder.” And more important, the scientists won’t be able to ship nanites to Earth anymore

  The other officers looked shocked. Even Castillo looked shocked. Nice job, Alan.

  * * *

  Ivan looked up at movement in the observation window. It was Dr. Narang. He sat up.

  “I guess this is goodbye, Ivan.” Narang grabbed a chair and sat down. “We’re sending the medical personnel home today. The science team from Earth will be taking over from this point on. That shouldn’t really affect you much, other than new faces. I know it’s not an easy thing, Ivan. Permanent quarantine, unless some new information comes along. I wish there was something more I could offer you.”

  “No, I get it, Doc. I’ve seen the news. And it’s not like I can just blend in. Who knows, maybe the military will have some interesting experiments or studies. As long as it doesn’t involve vivisection.” Ivan smiled, but the comment obviously made Narang uncomfortable.

  “We have agreements, protocols in place, Ivan. They won’t harm you. They may want more samples, but you won’t be a lab rat.” She hesitated. “Have you talked to your family much?”

  “Some. But I’ve been avoiding video. I want them to remember me the way I used to be, you know? Especially the kids.”

  “I understand you’ve been getting stuff from the computer? That’s what you’re calling it, ‘the computer’?”

  “It’s an artificial cybernetic mind, Doc. We don’t have a term for exactly what it is. I’m not even sure I fully understand that, yet. ‘Computer’ works as good as any, and it’s a label that allows me to get a handle on it. But it’s as far from our computers as they are from a pile of rocks.”

  “Got it. I’m sure the new administrator, Dr. Hall, and his staff will be very interested. I look forward to finding out what you can teach them.”

  Ivan nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, Doc. Translation is still mostly by feel. But we’ll get there.”

  Narang stood. “Goodbye, Ivan. Gods be with you.”

  “Goodbye, Doc.”

  Demands

  A picture of a bear cub, again. What was it with the bear cub, anyway?

  As if on cue, the computer announced, Must contact the Makers. You have delayed here long enough.

  How?

  An image of a radio dish.

  Okay, so the bear cub, and a radio transmission. And the chrome sentients again.

  A feeling of impatience.

  Then an image of Ivan winking out of existence.

  Well, that last bit was clear enough anyway. A threat.

  This is for your protection.

  Image of Earth.

  Image of people.

  Interestingly, all the images were of people that Ivan had met since he’d become metallized. The computer could apparently only use images that it had actually seen. That meant that it couldn't data-mine his memories. No mind reading, then.

  That was good. The jury was still out as to whether the computer was actually here to help. Ivan would go along with the computer as long as that was a possibility, but if he had to subvert the computer’s plans, it was good to know he wouldn’t be exposed the moment he made the decision.

  Then an image of the chrome animals again, but this time against the backdrop of an image of a galaxy. Lines from the chrome animals seemed to indicate specific locations. And there were a lot of them.

  These are civilizations, Ivan realized. Galactic civilizations. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them. Ivan felt something like a sideways shift in his head as all the science fiction he’d ever read became, suddenly, simply fiction. And out-of-date fiction, at that.

  The image vanished, then re-formed. It was the multi-system battle scene again, but this time more nuanced, more detailed. The animals were back, but not chrome. At random intervals, some of them turned to chrome. At other random intervals, hordes of Artificials showed up and apparently overran animals. But always non-chrome ones. Was uploading to nanite form a safety measure against the Artificials?

  Yes.

  Ivan received a strong sense of satisfaction along with the single word. Apparently, he’d finally gotten the message.

  Great. The good news was that he was making progress. The bad news was that Earth was in danger from the Dishwasher Liberation Front.

  Irritation.

  Okay, either the computer had no sense of humor—entirely possible—or Ivan was missing part of the point with the dishwasher.

  Dishwashers are Artificials.

  Image of dishwasher.

  Image of non-chrome mechanoids.

  A.I.s? The Artificials were A.I.s?

  Satisfaction.

  So Ivan had been right. There was a war. A galactic war, apparently. And biological life was on the defensive.

  That couldn’t be good.

  Aren’t you an A.I.?

  No. Sense of self is specifically contraindicated.

  Oh, great. The computer was getting more of a vocabulary. Had Ivan used that word? Had he thought it? No, it had been one of the doctors. So, the computer saw and heard what Ivan saw and heard.

  And what the heck did that statement mean, anyway? A sense of self was—oh. Consciousness. The computer was not an A.I., because it had no sense of self. Therefore, no ambition, or personal agenda.

  Okay, that was a subject for later. For now, what about the War Against the Dishwashers? For the moment, it seemed a good idea to go along with the computer’s agenda. If Ivan’s understanding was even close to correct, it would mean the computer was here to protect humanity.

  Well, caution was still called for. He wouldn’t overcommit, but he could make some preparations. If he had to leave, he doubted the military would hold the door open for him.

  Do you have a name?

  That would require a sense of self.

  You still need a unique designation.

  Depending on which nanite is currently controlling communications, I would have a 256-bit serial number.

  Yeah, I’ll pass on that. How about I come up with a name for you?

  Is there a purpose?

  Because ‘hey you’ gets old after a while.

  If you wish. What do you propose?

  Ralph. I think I’ll call you Ralph.

  Acceptable.

  So why are you here, Ralph?

  To prevent this stellar system from being taken by the artificial entities.

  A.I.s, right? Artificials? Arts?

  That is correct.

  Are your Makers like me? I mean, the way I am now?

  Yes, although details differ from one sp
ecies to the next. All species that survive what your Vid program refers to as the tech revolution will eventually upload themselves to a non-biological form.

  All species that survive? What percentage survive?

  Zero point eight six percent.

  That was terrible odds. Fermi paradox, anyone? And yet…

  Then the only way they survive is to upload themselves?

  Yes.

  So you’re here as a representative of the Uploads, and you’re here to help against the Arts? And your way to do this is to ambush and convert a single random native? Seems like an odd way to go about it.

  It is the most efficient method, committing a minimal level of resources to each stellar system, while ensuring that species will be contacted soon after they achieve space travel. Taking on the form of an indigene allows me to evaluate their fitness for acceptance into the community.

  Huh. Well, okay, looked at that way… But talk about taking the long view.

  So, Ralph. Tell me more about the Makers.

  It’s Moving

  “Hi, doc.”

  Kemp shifted the phone to his other ear. “Hello, Ivan. Haven’t heard from you in a few days.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to bother you until you were back home.”

  Kemp glanced at the real estate magazine he’d been leafing through. Images of lakeside and seaside properties spread luxuriously across the page. He gave his tablet a fond pat, then sat back. “All settled in, Ivan. What’s up?”

  “Interesting thing, doc. The module is moving.”

  Kemp sat up abruptly. “Moving?”

  “It’s very low-G, but if you’re patient, you can feel the effects. And I’m very patient.”

  Kemp felt his heart jump. “Have you talked to the lawyers?”

  “Yes. I’ve also asked the marines guarding me. They just reply that it’s above their pay grade.”

  “Well, if the captain’s lawyers know about it, they’ll make sure there’s no funny business.”

  “I’m not sure how much they can do, doc. Anyway, that’s not really why I’ve called. I’ve learned more.”

  “Ah. Okay, Ivan, give.”

  “The computer. It’s learning from me at the same time as I’m learning from it. What I said before about it being temporary? I might be just being kept active as a reference library, sort of. Once my usefulness is over, poof!”

  “I hope not. Are you any closer to being able to actually talk to the computer?”

  “Yes, but we’re still having problems with a lot of definitions. I think it’s more than just agreeing that a word means this or that. We seem to have completely different lists of concepts that need to be labelled. There’s very little in the way of one to one mappings.”

  “Well, I guess the computer’s society would have looked strange to us.”

  “But some stuff is coming through better. For instance, I think I know a little more about the Makers.”

  “Okay?” Kemp leaned forward, elbows on knees. This might be a breakthrough moment.

  “They’re like me. Or, really, I’m like them. At least like some of them—they’re not a single species. They scatter these artifacts, these booby traps, throughout space. Once in a while, some idiot triggers one and gets himself uploaded.”

  “Uploaded?”

  “Yeah, that’s the word the computer uses. Not sure why. Anyway, the Makers have lots of time. And they’re patient. And they need to contact other races. I haven’t been able to get why, yet, except it’s something to do with the other ones.”

  “The bad ones.”

  “Mm, yeah. Doc, I don’t know what I’ve stepped into here, but I have a feeling that the phrase We Are Not Alone is an understatement. And not in a good way.”

  “Interesting. Anything else, Ivan?”

  “I want to talk to the Makers. Or, rather, my computer wants to talk to them. Not sure how it would go about doing that. Or why, really. I think it has something to do with those animal images we discussed, though.”

  “That is very interesting, Ivan. I’m going to call a few people after we hang up. Just to compare notes. I’m sure the military didn’t start moving you just to improve the view.”

  “My thoughts exactly, doc. Thanks. Talk to you later.”

  “Bye, Ivan.”

  Kemp sat back, staring into the distance and waving his phone like a baton. Then, reaching a decision, he pulled up Captain Jennings’s number.

  The phone buzzed twice before a voice said, “Jennings.”

  “Captain Jennings, this is Dr. Kemp—”

  “Dr. Kemp! Nice to hear from you. Enjoying your new-found wealth?”

  Kemp made fish motions with his mouth for a few moments. It sounded like the voice of Captain Jennings, but the man had never shown the slightest trace of friendliness, beyond the basic formalities.

  “Uh, yes, actually. I’m shopping for an ocean or lake view property. Something quiet and away from it all. You?”

  “I have just closed a deal on a new BG-4502 long-haul mining ship, with custom options and a few upgrades. Cash sale, with a bonus for quick delivery. I admit to feeling a bit giddy.”

  Kemp laughed out loud. That explained a lot. “Wow, yeah, I can see it. I’m just not thinking that big. So what happens to the Astra?”

  “Would you like to take her over?”

  “Er, excuse me?”

  The captain chuckled. “The military, bless their orderly souls, put her back together good as new after finding no trace of nanites. She’s still at dock at the Lagrange Four station. They’ve threatened to start charging me moorage soon.”

  “What are you going to do with her?” Kemp asked.

  “Craigslist.”

  Again, Kemp found himself laughing. He liked this new, more human Captain Jennings.

  “Seriously, though, Doctor. I will be putting her up for sale. A member of the crew would get an especially good deal.”

  “Thanks, Captain. I, however, don’t have the spacer’s wanderlust. I’ll be shopping for a sailboat, next.”

  “To each his own. Now, did you call about something specific?”

  “Yes, of course. I just talked to Ivan Pritchard, and I thought I should bring you up to date.”

  Jennings’s voice was immediately all business. “All right. Shoot.”

  Dr. Kemp relayed the contents of the conversation, along with his suspicions about the move. When he was done, Jennings said, “You seemed to be on fairly easy terms with the doctor in charge of the ICDC contingent, Dr. Narang, was it? Maybe you should give her a call.”

  “My thoughts exactly, Captain. She gave me her card.”

  “And I will talk to my lawyers. Keep me updated, Doctor. Out.”

  Kemp retrieved the card from his desk and gazed at it for several moments. He and Dr. Narang had gotten along on more than easy terms. They’d ended up on a first-names basis, and Dr. Kemp was sure there’d been some chemistry as well—at least to the extent you could have chemistry when separated by industrial glass and a hermetic seal.

  He had no idea if that familiarity would persist now that circumstances were no longer forcing them together. Shaking his head at his own hesitancy, he dialed the direct line for Dr. Narang.

  He got voice mail.

  Kemp waited for the usual disclaimer and instructions, then spoke after the beep. “Maddie, this is Charlie Kemp. I’ve just had a somewhat disturbing conversation with Ivan Pritchard, and I wonder if you have some insight into the Navy’s contingency plans. I have a bad feeling that Ivan may be in danger. Please give me a call.”

  He left his number and hung up. He was just picking up his tablet to continue his search for a new home, when the phone rang.

  “Charlie? This is Maddie. I got your message.”

  Kemp smiled, glad that she hadn’t seen fit to retreat into formality. “Thanks for calling me back, Maddie. I talked to Ivan. They are moving the module, and they seem to have b
een trying to do it without him noticing. I’m not particularly paranoid, but it stinks like dead fish. Do they have protocols that involve moving the module first?”

  There was silence on the line for several seconds. “Originally, they were talking about moving the module away from the base and installing a small nuclear bomb, as a worst-case response. ‘Additional levels of failsafe’ they called it. We talked them down, but I got the impression they were humoring us rather than actually being convinced it was an overreaction.”

  “Shit.” Kemp thought for a moment. “Is their behavior consistent with the discovery of a breach?”

  “Oh, no, no way. If they found the nanites getting out, they wouldn’t be subtle. It would be like a hornet’s nest that had been stirred with a stick. They’d blow up the entire base if they felt they had to.”

  Kemp sighed. “I propose the following: The military will move the module to a remote location and install a nuclear device. After a suitably plausible period of time, they will detonate it and announce that the move was in reaction to an outbreak. But Ivan will have already been moved. And he’ll be a lab rat for the rest of his life.”

  Again, the line went silent, this time for most of a minute. Kemp was about to check if Maddie was still there when she finally spoke. “Tell you what. I will contact the UEN administrator and try to get an ICDC representative or two out there for follow-ups. If I’m successful, I can probably come up with reasons for them to stay indefinitely. If the Navy throws up roadblocks, we’ll have to go with your theory.”

  “And in that case, then what?”

  “Damned if I know,” she said. “I’m not really used to this whole espionage thing. I’m usually the hated establishment stooge.”

  Dr. Kemp chuckled and thanked her. They hung up after promising to keep each other updated.

  Failsafe Implementation

  Moore shook his head and pushed the transcript away. Castillo, sitting across the desk, gazed at him impassively, waiting for Moore to set the tone.

  “Well, hell,” Moore finally said. “Pritchard wants to contact his makers? What a wonderful idea! Let’s help, shall we?”