The Singularity Trap

by Dennis E. Taylor

Castillo laughed at Admiral Moore’s admittedly rare attempt at humor.

  “Seriously, though, this concerns me. On a scale from zero to ten, where zero is ‘Sounds like Pritchard’ and ten is ‘Sounds like an alien’, that is, what? An eight?”

  Castillo nodded. “About where I’d have put it. Has Pritchard given any indication that he intends to actively pursue his wish?”

  “Would you? I doubt we’d get any warning. He may have incautiously mentioned the idea to a friend and/or confessor, but now that it’s in his head, we’ll hear no more about it.” Moore snorted. “In fact, I’d feel considerably reassured if he did mention it to us.”

  Castillo let out a long breath. “Nevertheless, that physicist Schulze predicted exactly this chain of events. If we accept that he was right, then even if Pritchard is still mostly Pritchard, he is nevertheless dancing to an alien puppet master’s orders.”

  “That’s the way it looks to me, Alan. I occasionally find myself wondering if we should even be faking Pritchard’s death. Perhaps we’d be better off to actually do what we’re going to claim.”

  “Well, the module is on its way to the new location. We’re installing the package while it’s en route. Either way, we’ll be ready, Ted.”

  Castillo was silent for a moment, examining the ceiling, before continuing. “It does bring up the question of whether we should stop Pritchard or support him.”

  “Oh, come on, Alan. You can do Risk Matrices as well as I can. If we were in control of First Contact, sure, maybe. But thrust on us like this, the downside risk is full extinction of the human race. There is no potential payoff that can balance that.”

  “I don’t disagree. I just think it’s a question we might ourselves be asked, sooner or later.”

  Moore looked down at his phone, where a Caller Waiting alert was blinking. “Perhaps sooner, as it turns out. Alan, I have to get this. Can we continue our discussion later?”

  Castillo stood and gave him a brief nod on the way out.

  * * *

  “Better and better.” Moore put down the phone with a silent snarl and signaled to Lt. Bentley. “Get Castillo back in here, please.”

  Castillo arrived within two minutes. “More problems?”

  “Not totally unexpected, I think.” Moore grimaced. “I was just on the phone with Dr. Hall, the new UEN administrator. Seems Dr. Narang from the ICDC would like to send a team for some follow-up with Pritchard. Duration indefinite.”

  “That can’t be coincidence.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think so. I told him I’d discuss it in staff meetings, but that’s only good for twenty-four hours. It would seem that Kemp has put two and two together. They’re trying to bracket us. If we allow a team in, we can’t do anything with Pritchard. And you can bet they’ll be harder to get rid of than a tick infestation. If we deny the request, we cast suspicion on ourselves, especially if Pritchard meets an unfortunate end soon after.”

  Moore slammed the desk with his fist. “This forces our hand. We have to commit to a strategy, and take steps. No more bobbing and weaving and waiting to see how the wind blows.”

  “How will we deal with Jennings and his lawyers?”

  Moore smiled. “Well, we may have a bit of leverage of our own, as it turns out. There were some anomalous findings on the asteroid where they discovered the artifact. It looks like some RIVAs were used to alter the rock’s orbit.”

  Castillo frowned. “I don’t remember anything like that ever being mentioned.”

  “Funny, that. Yet the physical evidence, in the form of exhaust by-spray, indicates a prolonged burn. I’ve got analysts doing a back-prop on the rock’s orbit. I’ll bet you a dozen donuts it intersects Big Rock. And by the way, why Big Rock? Unless there was also a Little Rock?”

  “Does that mean the Big Rock strike might be infected?”

  Moore shook his head. “Realistically, I don’t think it’s likely. Their behavior in advising us of the infection and willingly submitting to quarantine indicates that they understood the inherent risks in the situation. I think they may simply have wanted to divorce the strike from the infection.”

  “Because of PR?”

  Moore gave Castillo an unbelieving look. “Because of the military. Us. Our first thought would have been to interdict the entire area. I’m sure that occurred to them. A lie of omission, forgetting to mention that the rocks were originally close together—really, there aren’t any laws broken.”

  “Pretty speculative, Ted.”

  “Maybe not as much as you’d think. I had someone check. The Astra is missing considerable lengths of towing cable and several RIVA units from its inventory. You don’t get rid of cable, or throw away used RIVAs. Besides being a potential navigation hazard, they’re expensive.”

  “Unless you’re getting rid of evidence.” Castillo pondered for a few moments, hand rubbing chin absentmindedly. “But if you don’t realistically think there was an actual risk, isn’t it a case of no harm, no foul? If they haven’t actually broken any laws, do we even need to care?”

  “I’m still looking into that, Alan. But, regardless, I think there’s some leverage to be had. We could, if we wanted, apply pressure to the System Council to quarantine the area. Out of an abundance of caution, you understand. Consolidated Industrials, seeing their lucrative source of raw ore in danger of becoming inaccessible, might seek redress with the crew of the Astra.”

  “As in, sue them to get the money back.”

  “Yup. But all this can be avoided, if Captain Jennings simply takes a more diplomatic and philosophical stance on the question of Ivan Pritchard.”

  * * *

  Admiral Moore looked through the glass at Ivan Pritchard. This was, strangely, the first time he’d seen the man in the flesh, so to speak. Moore was impressed despite himself. Even with the crew outfit to break up the chrome, Pritchard could be hard to separate from the background.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Pritchard. I’m Admiral Moore.”

  Pritchard walked up to the window and smiled. “Hello, Admiral. Dr. Narang mentioned you on several occasions. I was beginning to think you were an urban myth.”

  Moore returned a brief, tight-lipped smile. “Well, we all have our jobs. Mr. Pritchard, I’m here today to talk to you about some comments you’ve made on calls with Dr. Kemp.”

  “I wondered when you guys would get up the nerve to admit you were eavesdropping. Jeez, it’s not like it’s a surprise to anyone. I think I’d be insulted if you weren’t.”

  “Well, I’m admitting it. And I’m admitting to being somewhat concerned, especially about these makers that you want to visit—”

  “Contact.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Pritchard made a dismissive gesture. “I want to contact. Not visit. No FTL, as far as I know.”

  Moore’s eyes narrowed. “How much do you know, Mr. Pritchard?”

  “Bits and snatches, mostly. It’s like dreaming. You can remember bits when you wake up, but there’s never a full narrative. Except that what I’m picking up has internal consistency, unlike the free-for-all of dreams. I just can’t always get everything.”

  “And what could we do, Mr. Pritchard, to help you remember better?”

  Pritchard’s face went hard and he stared directly at Moore. “That’s the kind of oddly phrased question, Admiral, that could be interpreted as a threat. ‘It would be terrible if somethin’ was to happenz to youz or dis nice restaurant.’”

  “I’m not interested in word games, Mr. Pritchard. I need to know if the Makers are a threat. And, closer to home, if you are.”

  “I don’t have those answers, yet, Admiral. And judging by all the banging and clanking, I may not have time to get them.”

  “What?” Admiral Moore took a step back.

  “Being turned into something non-human isn’t fun, but it does have a few upsides. Like very acute senses. Along with the .02 gee acceleration, you’re doing some kind of mechanica
l work in that direction…” Pritchard pointed down at an angle of about thirty degrees. “My guess is a nuke or something else appropriate to get rid of the problem, as soon as you’ve moved us far enough away from Lagrange Four Naval base. Or maybe to be able to claim that I’m dead? Will I end up in some lab on the backside of the moon?”

  This was not good. This thing had unknown powers and senses, and apparently had a better handle on reality than Moore had given it credit for. Could they even continue to contain it if it wanted to leave? What would happen if it decided to react defensively?

  The question of whether more information was worth the risk of keeping it alive had just been answered.

  Without a word, Moore turned to walk out. As he passed the technician on duty, he said, “Full isolation. No more communications with the outside.”

  * * *

  “It’s put up or shut up time, gentlemen.” Moore looked around the table. “Pritchard knows, or at least has guessed, our intentions. Not quite the whole picture, but he’s close enough. He might not be able to do anything about it, or he might. Do we take that chance?”

  Commodore Gerrard leaned forward. “Admiral, consider also the possibility that, by reacting aggressively, we might be precipitating exactly the reaction we’re so concerned about.”

  “It’s Hobson’s Choice, Commodore. We can become paralyzed by trying to second-guess ourselves and our opponents. At some point, you have to make a decision. Even if the decision is to do nothing, at least make it an active decision, instead of doing nothing out of fear.”

  “Now,” the admiral looked around the table. “What will we do, today?”

  Castillo spoke up. “The nuke isn’t quite in place, but it can be ready within six hours. We’re far enough from the base now for safety, but not outside treaty space yet. So there will be an inquiry, of course. And the SSE pickets haven’t moved from their location, so they aren’t an immediate concern.”

  “And we can have the module evacuated in half that time,” Admiral Richards added.

  Moore looked around the table. “I know the military isn’t really a democratic institution, but I’d like to get a sense of what everyone thinks. So let’s have a non-binding vote. In favor of the nuclear solution? Against?”

  Moore looked at Martinson, the only person to vote against. “Any reason, Martinson?”

  Martinson looked ill. “I guess I still believe in the planetary constitution, Admiral. Pritchard hasn’t done anything wrong, hasn’t broken any laws, and didn’t ask to get put where he is. And we’re about to blow him up, to activate a military nuclear device in peacetime, because we’re scared of the dark.” He gazed at Moore, his eyes haunted. “This isn’t what I signed up for, and I don’t see how I can reconcile such an action with the oath that I took. You do this, you do it without me.”

  “Understood, Lieutenant Colonel. As officer in charge of this operation, I relieve you of your duties. Please leave the room.”

  Martinson nodded, got up, and walked out without looking back.

  “Should we just let him go?”

  Moore winced. “We may be skirting the edges, Commodore, but we aren’t cartoon villains quite yet. Martinson understands chain of command, and he understands the security level of this installation. He won’t help, but he won’t interfere, either. And he will continue to serve in the future.”

  He rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Okay, let’s do this. Commodore, start evacuation proceedings. Castillo, make sure the nuke is ready to go on time. Maybe having things come to a head before a plausible interval has elapsed will work in our favor.”

  Escape

  Ivan watched with interest as the technician got up and left without a word. The noises and vibrations of a working crew had been dying off for the last couple of hours. They were evacuating, and that could mean only one thing. The military was making their move.

  He’d attempted to phone Jennings’s lawyers, right after the face-off with Admiral Moore. And, of course, the phone was dead. Ivan was cut off. They wouldn’t do that if they had any expectation he’d ever be in a position to complain about it. Which meant he was going to be either dead or buried, very soon.

  Well, he’d wanted to shake loose a reaction. Mission accomplished. The Navy had reacted, and things were on the move. The question, of course, was just what was the move? Were they going to fake his death, then seal him in a lab for the rest of his life? Or were they really going to kill him?

  And how would Ralph react? If Ivan thought the military was just going to nuke him, maybe the best thing he could do for his family would be to lie down and allow it. Assuming Ralph would let him do that. And that left the question of the Arts. If Ivan allowed himself to be eliminated, and the Arts showed up with humanity unprepared, it was a certain death sentence for the human race. That much Ralph had made abundantly clear.

  If it was the other possibility, and they stuck him in a lab somewhere… Sooner or later Ralph would get tired of waiting for Ivan to get it together and take over. If that happened, he’d have no opportunity to influence Ralph’s decisions.

  Plus, I really don’t want to die. But I really don’t want to end up a guinea pig for the rest of forever, either. I need to be able to make a decision once I’m communicating properly with Ralph. For that, I need to be alive and free.

  Okay, then, time to bail. He’d been preparing for days. Time to execute Operation Bug-Out.

  He looked up at the video camera in the upper corner of his room, then went and lay down in his bunk and closed his eyes.

  Ten seconds later, he sat up. The nanites in the camera would continue to transmit an image of him lying on his bed until he called them off, or they died in a nuclear blast. Either/or.

  Ivan walked to the airlock door that separated his living quarters from the rest of the module. He pulled on the door, and it separated cleanly from the wall, the thin layer of metal that had been holding it in place parting without a struggle.

  There were only two other cameras covering the outer wall, and they had long since been compromised. Ivan walked confidently down the corridor to the outer bulkhead. He ran his hand along the wall, looking for—

  There. This section of the wall had no pipes, conduits, electronics, or other inconveniences. In principle, what he was about to do was no different from any of the shape-shifting experiments he’d been doing. Just a matter of degree, really. Of course, if he was wrong, it would throw a very large spanner into his strategy.

  He held his hand against the wall, and it seemed to melt right into the metal bulkhead. Ivan became thinner and thinner, and soon began to disappear completely from the feet up. His pants fell to the ground, as his lower body disappeared, then his shirt. Just before he vanished altogether, he consisted only of a very thin arm sticking straight out from the wall. Then even that was sucked up.

  * * *

  Ivan kept his hand welded to the wall as he reintegrated outside the module. The last thing he needed would be to get flung off the rotating station into space, helpless, with no reaction mass to throw around. He looked at the stars, at the Naval base hanging in the distance, and at the ferry almost completely out of sight around the bulk of the module.

  The hole in the wall was repaired by the nanites as easily as it had been created. There would be no loss of pressure to betray his departure. Slowly, carefully, making sure that he always had at least two anchor points, he made his way around the outside of the isolation module, moving closer to the hub while staying in shadows.

  Now came the riskiest part. The ferry might or might not have external monitors, and the pilot might or might not be looking out the view ports at the wrong time. Having a chrome finish helped, making it difficult to pick out his silhouette from the background. Creating a silhouette that didn’t scream human would help as well. People were hard-wired to see human forms.

  He stretched and thinned, until he was shaped more like a lizard. Carefully, he completed the route
to the ferry. A few seconds of examination revealed a good spot to settle down—good hold points, not near any exhausts, intakes, ports, antennae, or anything else that might get upset by his presence.

  Clanking and other indications of activity continued for some time. Either they were recovering equipment, or the population of the hab had been greater than seemed reasonable. Maybe extra guards to handle the alien menace? Ivan tried to care, but it seemed a minor detail, given what he was doing.

  He looked around. The stars, undimmed by atmosphere or viewport materials, shone in a display that once would have brought tears to his eyes. He glanced to celestial north, in the direction of the Little Dipper. Something about that area of the sky was important to Ralph, but Ivan couldn’t say why, or how he knew. He looked at the Earth, shrunken by unaccustomed distance. His home, his family’s home. He hoped he was doing the right thing.

  In some indefinite amount of time, the ferry separated from the hub airlock and made its way slowly toward the Naval base.

  He could wait.

  Detonation

  Status windows flickered on Moore’s tablet as he tracked progress. The installation of the nuke was ahead of schedule; evacuation of personnel was behind. Well, an acceptable state of affairs. Evacuation had three hours of slack, although the sooner they could shove off, the sooner they could detonate.

  Lt. Bentley sat at his desk, handling peripheral issues. Bentley had a hangdog look on his face that said very clearly to Moore that he would be having a morale issue there, soon. Bentley hadn’t had a vote, of course, being only a lieutenant, but no doubt he had an opinion.

  Opinions were overrated. Opinions were what you had when you didn’t have any skin in the game. Armchair quarterbacks had opinions. Real quarterbacks had decisions, and were answerable for the results.

  But Bentley was a good man, and loyal. Moore hoped like hell he wouldn’t have to dismiss him.

  A message flashed up from Richards. The last crew had been recalled from their posts. Moore looked at one of the video windows, which showed Pritchard, lying on his bunk, oblivious. Not a bad way to go, really. There would be no pain, no time for regrets.