It took about ten minutes more, and the evacuation complete message popped up on his tablet.
Moore hit the intercom. “Captain, get us under way at your earliest convenience, please.”
“Aye, sir,” came from the intercom, followed by clunks and groans as the Navy ferry released itself from the embrace of the isolation module. A brief bit of disorientation as the ship rotated, not worth commenting on for an old Navy man, and the ferry began accelerating toward Lagrange Four Naval base.
Castillo popped his head in the cabin door. “Got a moment?”
Moore nodded. A pointed look at Bentley, who made himself scarce, closing the door behind him.
Castillo pulled himself into a seat. “It’s ready. The software’s going through its self-check, but that can be overridden if necessary. Full readiness in ten minutes.”
“Which, if we took advantage of it, would leave us with tans that would last us the rest of our lives,” Moore said with a grin.
“Or five minutes, whichever came first.”
Gallows humor. A mainstay of the military mind. The two men chuckled, acknowledging their shared burden, and were silent for several seconds.
Moore broke the silence. “I’ve radioed ahead to the base, and they are battening down. But other than an exposure-mandated early rotation to groundside for some of the crew, there won’t be any effect at that distance. We face more risk if we have to detonate early. But as long as Pritchard keeps sleeping—or whatever it is he does—we can hold off.”
Castillo nodded. “Twenty minutes, and we’re shiny. I’ve already prepared a report. I’ll forward it to you to vet. No choice, blah blah, imminent danger, blah blah.”
Moore nodded without comment. They both understood the Navy way.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Moore and Castillo stood over the keypad, looking at each other. This would be a career-defining moment, one way or the other. They were about to detonate a nuclear weapon in the environs of the Earth/Moon system in peacetime. Technically, several Earth nations, including the SSE, could interpret it as an act of war.
Castillo said, “I agree to the necessity of this action and I take full responsibility for my decision.” With that, he ran his Ident through the scanner, then entered a code.
Moore, nodded, then went through the same routine. As he finished entering his code, a large square red button became illuminated, the word DETONATE written clearly in its center.
Moore put his index and middle fingers on the button, and looked at Castillo. “Last chance…”
Castillo shook his head, the movement barely visible. With a feeling that his career was taking a right-angle turn, Moore applied pressure.
Detonation. They couldn’t watch, of course. Especially in space, a nuclear explosion would be the last thing you ever saw.
They could grow you new eyeballs, these days, but it wasn’t cheap. And Moore doubted the process was comfortable.
“I guess that takes care of the problem,” Castillo said.
Moore snorted, and gave him a disbelieving look. “That takes care of the Pritchard part of the problem. Now we have to deal with the ICDC, with Jennings’s lawyers, with the Navy senior brass, with the news media—because you can bet Jennings and his bunch will go public—and with the United Earth Council, if we can’t get it quashed at a lower level. Not to mention that the Sino-Soviet Empire will probably claim that it’s either an attack or a trick to screw them out of a piece of the pie.” He looked to the ceiling for a moment. “We are by no means out of the shit, yet. All we have going for us is the conviction that we are doing the right thing for humanity.”
Castillo sighed. “Yup. I guess I’d better make some calls. I have some people who owe me favors. It’s time to cash in the markers.”
Finding Refuge
The blast created stark shadows and intolerably bright highlights. If Ivan’s eyes had been flesh and blood, he would be blinded just by the reflected light, even through closed eyelids. The radiation played across him, unfiltered by shielded walls. Some nanites perished, and were absorbed and rebuilt. Some were damaged, and either repaired themselves or were repaired by their fellows. Within two minutes, he was as good as new.
The deed had been done before the ferry was even docked. They’d been in a hurry. He regretted his outburst with the admiral, just a little. The man had gotten his goat, and Ivan had lashed out in response. Still, he didn’t think his words merited this reaction. Well, presumably the admiral had what he thought were good reasons for deciding to eliminate Ivan.
Meanwhile, hanging around the outside of the base didn’t have a lot of future. The urge continued to draw him toward celestial north. That had to be Ralph’s influence.
But how to get there? At this point, his plan consisted mostly of just winging it.
He raised his head carefully and surveyed the area. The ferry, to which he was still clinging, had just attached itself to a docking bay against Lagrange Four Naval base. The base itself was a miscellaneous hodge-podge of structures, containers, docks, and decommissioned ships converted to quarters. A shanty town would have looked more organized.
The chaos was an illusion, though. The Navy was a masterwork of organization, and each structure was catalogued, categorized, blueprinted, and monitored. They’d notice if a piece went flying off.
The ferry was a reasonable target, but slow. The Navy would have no problem pursuing and destroying a runaway ferry. Hell, they could stop and have lunch first.
Ivan spotted the Mad Astra, sitting at dock. There appeared to be no activity around the ship. No lights shone from any of the ports. There wasn’t even an airlock tube linking the ship to the base. Perhaps Captain Jennings hadn’t claimed it yet.
He scanned the area between the ferry and the Astra. Only a few short stretches where he’d have to free-fall. Not ideal, but it could be a lot worse.
It took almost six hours to complete the trip. Ivan wasn’t in a hurry, and the downside of being spotted was significant, to say the least. Eventually, though, he found himself on the outside of the Astra, on the side away from the base.
Going through the airlock would be easiest and quickest. But the airlock was in plain sight of the Dock Office, and if the Astra was on umbilical, an airlock activation would show up on monitoring consoles.
He heaved a mental sigh, a physical one not being possible in vacuum. Reluctantly, he placed his palm flat against the hull of the ship. This had been uncomfortable as hell, the last time. It probably would be this time as well.
* * *
Ivan moved carefully through the ship. Internal doors wouldn’t be monitored unless the ship was active and underway, and even then, it was more about pressure differentials and potential breaches than security. An adjustment to his eyes allowed him to see in infrared, since a livable environment was being maintained on board.
He sat down in the Captain’s Chair and looked around the bridge with interest. He’d never been invited up during the tour, and in the normal course of events probably never would have.
He examined each console and control. Some were labelled, and some were obvious. For the rest, a process of elimination and a bit of logic suggested functions with various degrees of likelihood. A couple of glowing telltales told Ivan that he’d been right about the umbilical. That would be the first problem. He needed to be able to work without alerting the base to his activity.
He still didn’t understand how he was able to control the nanites. He wasn’t entirely sure that it was him doing so. In some way, he might be simply telegraphing his desires to Ralph, who then implemented them.
Not that it mattered. The effect was the same either way. He thought about the nanites modifying the circuitry so that the base wouldn’t detect any activity on the ship. He sat back, confident that he would somehow know when the task was complete.
Meanwhile, he would have to figure out how to fly off in the Astra without attracting a floc
k of armed pursuers.
Calling with News
The phone rang, and Kemp scooped it up. The caller ID indicated Dr. Narang’s phone. “Hello?”
“Charlie?” Narang’s voice quavered.
“What’s wrong, Maddie?”
“Ivan’s dead.” She swallowed, sounding like she was choking back a sob. “I just got a call from Admiral Moore’s assistant. The bastard couldn’t even call me himself.”
“What happened?”
“Well, if you believe them, the nanites abruptly changed their behavior and started eating everything. I’ve asked for documentation, and I’m sure they’ll be able to produce credible evidence, just as soon as they finish creating it.” The bitterness in her voice left no doubt about her faith in the veracity of said evidence.
“This makes no sense, on so many levels,” Kemp said. “Why would the nanites suddenly change their behavior? Why would the military be so quick to react? And why would they pull this so soon? They must know that Captain Jennings will release the hounds.”
“I don’t know, Charlie. And Lt. Bentley was very matter of fact about it. I would have expected them to rationalize a little more, maybe try to sell me on the necessity.”
Kemp pondered for a few seconds. “Something’s up. The smell of dead fish pervades this.” He switched the phone to his other ear. “I’m leaning toward the Ivan as a lab rat scenario, personally, despite the timing. I’m going to call Jennings, see what he has to add. It goes without saying that Moore’s credibility on this is zero. Jennings will likely start a war.”
Narang agreed that was a good idea, and hung up. Kemp pulled up Jennings’s number and dialed it.
Voice mail. Kemp sighed and left his name and number, along with a brief message.
He got up and headed to the kitchen. A freezer-full of frozen dinners didn’t make for the most inspiring of meals, but they were quick, and didn’t require much effort to prepare or clean up. Ideal bachelor food. Kemp stared at the stack of boxes, and wondered if his changed financial status was causing the solitary life to lose some of its shine.
He had just made a selection and stuck it in the microwave when the phone rang. He picked it up and checked the caller ID. Jennings.
“Hello?”
“Dr. Kemp, this is Andrew Jennings. I just had an interesting discussion with Admiral Moore…”
“So you know about Ivan, then. And this explains why Moore had his assistant phone Dr. Narang, anyway.”
“Perhaps more than you know, Doctor. I’m assuming you and Dr. Narang find the timing suspicious?”
Kemp snorted. “Beyond suspicious. There’s no reason for the nanites to suddenly have gone on the warpath. And we did, not to put too fine a point on it, predict that the Navy would do exactly this.”
“Of course, we don’t know the nanites’ plans or schedule. They might simply have hit a milestone in their timeline and activated a script. And just because we predicted the action, doesn’t preclude the possibility of it being legitimate.”
Kemp held the phone in front of him and glared at it. Putting it back to his ear, he said, “Captain, are you defending them? Is there something going on I should know about?”
“I suppose so. My conversation with the admiral spent very little time on the subject of Ivan’s purported death, concentrating rather on the question of why we moved Baby Rock and what it might mean for us.”
“What?” Kemp could feel the blood draining from his face.
“It would seem that we were insufficiently devious when dealing with Baby Rock. Admiral Moore appears to have figured it out, and presented his conclusions and the ramifications, framed in a narrative of mutually assured destruction.”
“Oh.” Not good.
“I exaggerate slightly, of course. Even if I unleashed the lawyers, we wouldn’t do more than damage Admiral Moore in the short term. A Board of Inquiry, possibly, and some fast footwork by the Navy. And if he chose to play up the Baby Rock affair, he would be very unlikely to unwind our strike. However, he could do considerable damage in the short term, as could we.”
“So it’s a standoff,” Kemp said.
“Yes. Admiral Moore assured me that our presumed actions would never see the light of day as long as he didn’t come to work to find a horde of rabid lawyers camped on his porch. We discussed it at some length and came to an understanding.”
Kemp rubbed his face with one hand. “So there’s nothing you can do?”
“I didn’t say that. I simply can’t engage in a frontal assault. But rest assured, Doctor, I will keep digging.”
“And meanwhile, Ivan is now a full-time lab rat.”
Jennings hesitated for a moment. “Hmm, on that subject, Admiral Moore admitted that ‘disappearing’ Ivan for study had been considered, but that they did actually kill him in the detonation. He was quite adamant about it. Despite myself, I’m inclined to believe him.”
“Why? Did he say?”
“He explained that further discoveries made it clear that Ivan was too dangerous to keep around, even as an object of study. He even played the fate of the human race card.”
“Huh.” Kemp walked back to the nuker in response to the ding, and retrieved his lunch. “What about his widow, Captain?”
“The admiral and I discussed that as well. He was surprisingly sympathetic, for an incarnation of pure evil.” Jennings chuckled ruefully. “He suggested that, for the sake of Ivan’s family, it would be best to treat this as a death due to an unknown disease, at least publicly. He also suggested that it would be most appropriate if I took care of the call.”
“Mighty generous of him.”
“Well, I would be doing it in the normal course of affairs, if Ivan had died while on the tour.”
“But they blew him up! Even if you take Moore’s statements at face value.” Kemp could feel himself getting angry, and he stopped to take a few deep breaths.
“We did discuss official stories and such. The admiral suggested a narrative whereby Ivan was the only fatality of the mystery illness, and after his death the module was nuked as a safety measure.”
“And you’re going to go along with that?”
“It sticks in my craw, Doctor. But I’m not the only person I have to worry about. There’s the crew in general, and Ivan’s family in particular. If we were to pursue a course of action that resulted in them not getting access to Ivan’s share of the strike, I think that would be the ultimate betrayal of his desires.”
“Yes,” Kemp said after a moment of thought. “Ivan came right out and said, in more than one way, that he would consider his death a fair trade for his family’s future. But it galls me that Moore will be getting away with it.”
Jennings grunted an acknowledgement. “I can be Earthside by tomorrow morning, Doctor. Would you care to accompany me?”
* * *
Kemp examined the house in front of him. The traxi had already left—any act of cowardice on his part now would require him to call another traxi and stand waiting for it to arrive. He turned to look at Captain Jennings, who seemed no more enthusiastic about the upcoming ordeal.
Finally, sighing in sync, the two men started for the front door. The house, in an earlier day, would have been lower-middle-class. In the modern era, you would need to be at least moderately wealthy to afford it.
The address was, as Kemp understood it, temporary. The family had moved out of their apartment the moment Ivan’s share had cleared. Kemp remembered Ivan mentioning that the family hadn’t even bothered trying to break the lease—they’d simply paid the balance remaining, and walked out. This house was intended to be an intermediate step, pending Ivan and Judy deciding what to do on a more permanent basis.
Kemp shook his head. Mrs. Pritchard would have to make that decision on her own now.
Judy Pritchard opened the door as they stepped up to the porch. The grey, drawn complexion and red-rimmed eyes confirmed that she knew the purpose of the vis
it.
“The kids are at their grandma’s. We’ll be able to speak freely.”
The captain nodded and introduced himself and Dr. Kemp.
They sat in the living room, Kemp and Jennings on one side, Mrs. Pritchard across from them. Kemp remembered Ivan mentioning that Judy was an actuary. She didn’t fit the accountant stereotype, being a strikingly attractive woman; but her posture, dress, and attention to personal detail screamed professional. Kemp compared it to the captain’s habit of always looking freshly pressed.
“I’d prefer,” she said without preamble, “if we could skip straight to the point.”
Captain Jennings cleared his throat, gave Dr. Kemp a quick glance, and began.
Judy Pritchard wept softly as the captain finished his prepared speech. Kemp privately admitted that the captain had done a magnificent job of touching all the major points without implicating anyone or implying any kind of wrongdoing. He knew that being forced to do that galled the man.
Kemp leaned forward. “I talked to Ivan several times during his ordeal, Mrs. Pritchard. He was scared, but mostly about how it would affect you. He told me that he considered it a reasonable trade to make sure his family was taken care of.”
Judy turned a tear-stained face to him. “I’d trade it all—every last penny—to have my Ivan back.”
“I understand,” Dr. Kemp said. “But I also know that he would beg you to reconsider.”
Mrs. Pritchard put her head down, balled her fists, and began to sob quietly.
Jennings and Kemp exchanged a glance, and Jennings put a card on the coffee table. “Here’s my number, should you have any questions. The ICDC will be preparing an official report and will give you a copy upon request.” Jennings bowed his head. “Ivan was a well-liked and valued member of the crew. We are all sorry for his passing and for your loss.”
The Singularity Trap Page 22