The Singularity Trap

by Dennis E. Taylor

  Even if he could run, doing so would leave the slowly growing communications station alone and defenseless.

  He ran some calculations. There didn’t seem to be a solution that ended with both himself and the comms station able to survive the upcoming visit. The Astra had no armaments, defensive or otherwise, and Ralph didn’t have any helpful suggestions.

  Ivan found that last bit especially interesting. The computer that ran his emulation was vastly powerful, with an effectively infinite storage capacity. But even granting that it didn’t have all the knowledge of the Makers, it didn’t seem particularly resourceful. Maybe a sense of self-preservation was hard to inculcate in something that had no concept of self.

  The Navy had radar. They’d see anything coming in plenty of time to dodge or shoot back. They had better legs than the Astra, at least the old version. The stripped-down version, maybe not so much. However, they’d be sure to take the time to blow up the station, so he would be back to square one.

  Nuts.

  Was there an advantage to delaying Ralph’s plan by letting the station be blown up? Not really. Communications with the Makers didn’t seem to be a danger point in and of itself. Ralph was the real danger. If the attempt to send a message was foiled, who knew what Ralph might try next? Good strategy dictated that Ivan keep all the players in their most comfortable grooves, where they’d be the most predictable and controllable.

  Ivan sat back, an arm draped across a bare steel girder, and stared through the open wall frame into open space, pondering alternatives.

  Danger.

  From the Navy? Yeah, I’m working on it.

  Are your people ever NOT fighting?

  They believe we are a danger to them.

  Their behavior is not rational.

  Self-defense isn’t rational?

  In the absence of all pertinent facts, yes.

  That seemed a bit self-serving, but on the other hand that would also require a sense of self. Ivan wondered if Ralph was perhaps growing one. But that was for another conversation.

  Options?

  I actually have an idea for handling the Navy. It’ll set us back, but also give us more material to work with. We could end up with more resources for a bigger station. And a few accessories.

  I am listening…

  Not so fast. You’ve been refusing to answer certain questions, mostly to do with the human race’s immediate future. So I’m offering a deal—I’ll get us out of this, if you’ll be more forthcoming with me on this subject. The alternative is we just sit here and they blow us up.

  I can deactivate you and take over.

  And fail. Pretty sure your goal tree rates that outcome pretty low. I want to know what I’m working for, or I stop working. Things are in full play now, and I don’t think you have enough knowledge of the situation to pull it off, even if your scenario templates cover any of this. So, deal or no deal?

  Agreed.

  All right, then. You first. I’m listening…

  Counterstrike

  “I don’t understand, sir. This is supposed to be an exercise. A rescue exercise. Now we have an actual target, and you want us to treat it as hostile?”

  Admiral Moore pressed his lips together. Even with the difference in rank, he would have to play this carefully. He was already on shaky ground, both back home and here. If Captain Lê decided to dig in his heels pending clarification, Moore would be helpless to do anything about it. And Lê would be within his rights.

  Perhaps honesty, or at least some honesty would work. “Captain, the exercise was a cover story. We are pursuing an enemy that could literally spell the end of the human race. The nuclear explosion outside Lagrange Four was a failed attempt to take this enemy down. Now we have another opportunity, and no chance for him to sneak away.”

  “A cover story, to fool whom?”

  “The public, of course. And some government factions that would see this as counterproductive to their interests.”

  “Like the Chiefs of Staff?” Lê said.

  Too close. Far too close to home. “Like the ICDC.”

  Lê drew back, a perplexed frown on his face. Good. A completely unexpected, out-of-left-field answer had the advantage that it must be true, because why would someone lie in that manner? And in this case, there was just enough truth in the statement to give Moore’s body language reinforcement.

  The captain pondered for a few moments, then nodded. “Provisionally, I will continue to follow orders. However, I reserve the right to seek clarification if this goes un-shiny.”

  “Understood, Captain.”

  It would have to do.

  * * *

  “Radar? Any activity?”

  “Nothing, sir. It’s just sitting there.”

  Moore nodded in approval at Lê’s regular checks. The captain might be ambivalent about his orders, but he was still a good officer and held the safety of his command paramount.

  Radar and long-range imaging showed what appeared to be a partly assembled radio telescope dish, with a few smaller objects floating nearby. It was a reasonable assumption that Pritchard’s alien master wanted to “phone home”. So far, though, there’d been no detectable response from anything in the target area. Moore was suspicious; Pritchard had shown enough ingenuity in the previous debacle. But perhaps there really was nothing he could do. Or perhaps this was a decoy construction of some kind, designed to distract them while Pritchard ran in another direction.

  Bah. Pointless speculation. They would have to get there and check it out. And then destroy it.

  A quick discussion with Lê confirmed Moore’s estimate of their military capability. They had some hours before they would need to finalize plans. Moore decided that would be the time to thoroughly read Lê in.

  Moore walked around the bridge, listening in on the low buzz of conversation between specialists. Exchanges involving the strength of solar wind, level of magnetic flux, amount of radio traffic from civilian sources, unexpected density of interplanetary dust, gravity gradients, and so on. He was struck again by a wave of nostalgia. As a captain, he’d felt like he had the world on his shoulders. Now he saw it for the easy, focused job that it was. Following policy was so much easier than setting it.

  He glanced up at the captain and smiled, then returned to his customary position.

  Interplanetary dust. Dust? “Shit!”

  The outburst caused every head in the room to swivel to face him.

  “Captain, get us out of here! Abort!” Moore felt the panic on his face, and didn’t care.

  “Too late Admiral.”

  That wasn’t Captain Lê’s voice. Or the voice of anyone in the room. It came from the intercom. Moore looked over at Lê, who sat, gripping his chair arms, frozen with confusion.

  Moore groaned. “Pritchard.”

  “You bet, Admiral. Your ships have all been infected, and are under my control. More or less. Of course, you don’t know what’s more and what’s less, so maybe don’t test me, okay? I’m still pissed at you for the nuke thing, by the way.”

  Moore gritted his teeth and said nothing.

  Captain Lê stood and paced over to stop at each console and talk to his bridge crew. As he moved from station to station, his expression became steadily darker.

  “For what it’s worth, Admiral, you’ve delayed me, at least. I had to toss all my spare nanites your way in order to have a hope of getting every ship. Now I have to wait until I breed up a new batch before I can continue construction of my communications station.”

  “And the ones that missed? What if they hit Earth?”

  “They had specific orders, Admiral. Like the nanites in the module, they won’t attempt to infect anyone else. You need to get over the idea that these are indiscriminate viral killing machines. There’s no Gray Goo scenario here.”

  “We have only your word for that.”

  “Sure, but there’s no reason for me to lie. If I meant to do that,
and wanted to, I’d just do it. Convincing you otherwise gains me nothing.”

  “What do you want from us?”

  “You mean other than not trying to blow me up all the time? I want you to go away. I want you to turn your ships around and head back. Um, except for two of them. I’ll be keeping two of the cruisers. You can transfer personnel to the other ships.”

  “And if we refuse?”

  “Admiral, I’ll be taking two ships. Your options are to retrieve your crew or leave them with me.”

  “We could just blow them up.”

  “Even if you could, which is not guaranteed, you’d just be wasting a lot of lives. I want the metal, not a working warship. Scrap works just fine for me.”

  Lê cut in. “May we have a few minutes to discuss this?”

  “Of course, Captain.”

  Lê looked at his First Officer. “I want a complete report. Status of all systems, all ships. Strategies, ideas, anything.”

  Commander Hanson nodded, then turned to begin her tasks.

  Captain Lê stood. “Admiral Moore, if I could speak to you in my Ready Room?”

  * * *

  Captain Lê stared at Admiral Moore across the desk. Moore couldn’t help contrasting the karmic space with the difference in ranks. He felt like a Junior Lieutenant about to get dressed down.

  Finally, Lê spoke. “According to a quick inventory, we have zero control over our vessel. Every important system has been compromised. The other ships report identical problems. We are dead in the water. Commander Hanson may find something, of course, but right now I’m planning for the worst case.”

  Lê looked to the side for a moment. “Although it sticks in my craw to surrender a vessel without a fight—let alone two—I see no viable alternative. Sacrificing the lives of crew accomplishes nothing, since it’s apparent this Pritchard character will get what he wants, regardless.” He was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Admiral, I don’t see any way to save this situation. We will lose two ships—cruisers, no less—on what was supposed to be an exercise. You’re going to be wearing this one.”

  Moore gave him a rueful smile. “Captain, I am so far down the rabbit hole by now, this barely registers. However you try, you can’t actually imprison someone for more than one lifetime. Or execute them more than once.”

  “Perhaps, sir, you could consider being completely honest with me. If I understood how you got to where you are, it could affect not my testimony per se, but at least the spin I apply.”

  Moore sighed and looked at the ceiling for a few moments. “Captain, you know the metaphor of the frog and the pot of boiling water?”

  “Mm, hmm. Put the frog in cold water, heat gradually, and so on. I take it you are the frog?”

  Moore nodded. “And Pritchard is the water. Or maybe the fire. The metaphor has its limits.”

  Moore paused to scrub his face. Then he leaned back in his chair and gave Lê the whole story, sparing nothing.

  About halfway through, Lê ordered coffee for the two of them. At the end of the story, Lê looked down at his cup, still half-full and cold. With a sigh, he pressed the intercom and ordered replacements.

  “Pritchard is definitely the fire,” he said. “Although I do think you overreacted, sir.”

  Lê waited until the orderly had delivered the coffee and left. “While I understand what you are concerned about, I think that once the imminent threat of infection had been ruled out, a more conservative course could have been navigated.”

  “Hindsight, Captain. Always twenty-twenty.”

  “True. And not my place to judge, in the end. For that matter, Admiral, I could be in the minority on this. I tend to be a dove on many issues.”

  Moore realized that, having effectively given up, he felt relief more than anything else. And Lê was being very civilized about it. He could have tossed Moore in the brig and had a good chance of being vindicated in a Board of Inquiry.

  * * *

  “We’ll make arrangements,” Lê said to the intercom. He glared at Moore for a moment. “Any preferences?”

  Pritchard answered right away. “Not really. The cruisers are all of a size, and have about equal weaponry. Don’t try to booby-trap them. I’ll know, and I’ll just take different ships. But without the offloading option, in that case. Clear?”

  Lê made a motion to the Crew Chief, and he started giving orders. Lê motioned with his head to the Ready Room, and Moore followed him in.

  They sat. Lê did not offer Moore any refreshments, which in and of itself was a small thing, but with a large meaning.

  “I spoke to the Chiefs of Staff, Admiral Moore. Their orders are to relieve you of authority and place you under arrest, pending a Board of Inquiry. Unauthorized use of Navy resources—the naval exercise thing isn’t going to fly, I’m afraid—and loss of two cruisers in the process.” He shook his head. “There was some mention of interviews in process, several names mentioned. Castillo? Gerrard? Anyway, you appear to be in the shit.”

  Lê leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “I see no reason to place you in the brig, sir. However, I’ll want your parole that you’ll not try anything untoward. And, of course, I’ll have to refuse or countermand any orders you give.”

  Moore nodded, feeling the blood draining from his head. It had hit the fan. This was the moment that every career officer dreaded. And, he supposed, every career politician and every business executive. The career-ending, insurmountable screw-up.

  Moore found himself thankful that he had no family to disappoint.

  * * *

  The crew had been transferred out of two ships, and Pritchard returned control to the rest of the fleet. He explained that his nanites would remain, ready to re-take control if necessary, until the fleet returned to near-Earth space. At that point, the nanites would all self-destruct.

  Moore stood in his customary position in the bridge. He had no illusions, though, that he was any longer in charge. His presence would be tolerated as long as he didn’t create problems.

  He wondered idly about the outcomes of the other interviews. Castillo, he could trust. Gerrard, Richards, maybe not so much. They’d wavered and waffled at every bump in the road. He guessed they had folded like a house of cards at the first glare.

  Moore looked down and sighed. He could see a small chance of a quiet and early retirement, with no fanfare or handshake. That was the best case. The next best was a dishonorable discharge, and no pension. And that left the most likely scenario by far—trial, conviction, imprisonment. For a long, long time.

  Unless he was proven right. Then he would look like a prophet. But would it come too late?

  Collateral Damage

  The intercom beeped. “Dr. Kemp, Dr. Narang, to the bridge, please.”

  Kemp sat up on his cot. It was nominally the beginning of sleep period. Who knew what had drawn Captain Jennings to the bridge?

  He dressed and stepped out of his stateroom, almost running into Dr. Narang.

  They proceeded together up the corridor, and stepped into the lift without comment. One of the many improvements in the new vessel—no more ladder to move between levels.

  In minutes, they were entering through the bridge door. Lita Generus, in the pilot’s chair, swiveled to watch them.

  “What’s up, Captain?” Kemp asked.

  Jennings turned in his chair and gave Kemp a look that he couldn’t categorize. The captain gestured to the intercom. “Say hello, Ivan.”

  “Hello, Ivan,” the intercom replied.

  Jennings shook his head. “Everyone’s a comedian.” He turned to face Kemp and Narang squarely. “That is actually Ivan Pritchard on the intercom. He has apparently taken over our ship.”

  “What?” Kemp moved to stand by the captain. “Ivan?”

  “Hi, Doc. Glad you could make it. Dr. Narang. Long time no see.”

  “Can you actually see us?” Narang asked.

  “Uh, I
could if I wanted to take the trouble to take over cameras and monitoring systems. But I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t even see your ship coming. I was concentrating too hard on the Navy fleet coming after me to blow me up. It can affect your concentration.”

  Kemp snorted. “How’s that working out?”

  “Well, I took them over as well. Same process. I gathered all my nanites that I’d manufactured and tossed them toward the ships. Those that made contact simply worked their way through the hull into the ship and infected its systems. We learned a lot from the Mad Astra and the isolation module, so it was pretty quick.”

  “We?”

  “Me and the computer. I’ve kind of come to accept that this is a partnership. With the computer as senior partner, unfortunately.”

  “Are you losing control?”

  “Not yet, but the computer is becoming more opinionated. And communication is improving, by the way. The computer admits that it had to do some reconfiguration to deal with me.”

  “Well, that’s interesting.” Kemp rubbed his chin. “Do you have a more complete picture, yet?”

  “Hold on, Doctor,” Captain Jennings interrupted. “Ivan, what about my ship?”

  “Sorry, Captain. You just got caught in the by-spray of nanites. If you’d come in on a different course, you’d have been missed entirely. Of course, I’m going to withdraw my nanites. You guys are friends. In fact, done. Except for communications, because we still need to talk.”

  Jennings nodded, evidently satisfied, and gestured to Kemp to continue.

  “Yeah, so, complete picture?” Kemp reiterated.

  “Not complete yet, Doc, but I think the problems we’re running into now are terminology and culture. Kind of W.T.F. moments.”

  “So…” Kemp prompted.

  “You might want to get some coffee and sit down,” Ivan replied.

  “I thought you couldn’t see us,” Narang said.

  “I can hear you shuffling your feet once in a while. And the doctor slurps his coffee. Sorry, Doc.”