Subsequent exchanges with Admiral Yeltsin made it clear that he wanted partial credit for the negotiations with Ivan. It was a small price to pay, and a good way for Yeltsin to save face. Mandelbaum had assured him that was how she remembered it, and the official report would concur.
One of the more interesting documents in Moore’s in-basket was an official commendation from SSC, with a note that the charges against him were being dropped, all based apparently on Mandelbaum’s report. Suddenly the future was looking less bleak. You only got one do-over like this per lifetime, though. A nice comfy desk job from here on in would be just the ticket.
Moore sighed, and tossed his tablet on the desk. Mandelbaum looked up at the clunk, said, “Yeah,” and threw hers as well. Possibly with slightly more force than was really required. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a bottle of very expensive-looking single-malt. Moore pushed his cup forward with a smile and Mandelbaum laughed.
“There’s no coffee in there,” she said, holding the bottle in a half-ready position.
“I have my priorities,” he replied, jiggling the cup.
Mandelbaum poured him a generous dollop, then pulled out a glass for herself and poured a double. She leaned back and raised her glass. “I’m not sure if I’m actually toasting success or just a reprieve.”
“Either way,” Moore said, and raised his cup in reply.
A warm glow began to suffuse his face with the mouthful of whiskey. Definitely getting out of shape, he thought. Or old.
“Ivan has refused to say specifically what the nanites will do to Earth and Luna,” Mandelbaum said. “Beyond the rather cryptic comment that we’ll be pleased with the results.”
“Or the computer won’t tell him. I don’t get the impression that it’s the easiest of relationships.”
She grinned at that. “He does say that it won’t involve modifications to humans, so I’m prepared to take a wait-and-see stance. Something about giving us time to clean up our act. I’m guessing it has to do with the ecosystem.”
Moore nodded and sat back. He’d finally had time to get caught up on the news. Mercury had grown two very large somethings, one at each pole. They were long and vaguely cylindrical, supported on some kind of massive mounting, and looked weapon-like to Moore’s eye. The rest of Mercury appeared to be growing giant solar panels. Military pundits speculated that it was a weapon, powered by solar energy, possibly with some truly huge accumulators under the crust.
Venus and Mars were now completely without atmosphere. The towers, once their mission of ejecting the atmosphere was complete, had metamorphosed into some strange combination of planet-spanning arches and radio dishes. Scientists were clamoring for permission to visit the planets, and so far, Ivan hadn’t denied it.
Of the impending Terran and Lunar modifications, well, they’d know soon enough.
Conversation
Ivan looked out the open side of the Mad Astra at the Milky Way, stretching right across his field of view. It was a peaceful moment, and he still felt the urge to take and release a deep breath. Not going to happen in outer space, of course.
So what now?
Nanite balls have been deployed. Earth and Luna will begin changes shortly.
And the technology releases?
Your proposed schedule is acceptable.
What will happen with the message? How will the Makers respond?
Message has been sent to all likely destination systems, giving details on your species and the Agreement. Expected response times will be based on the distance of those systems. The Makers will transmit a response with further orders and options, but they will almost certainly ratify the agreed-to terms. Humanity will be left to its own fate unless countermanding orders are received, or the Arts show up, or humanity approaches one of the Great Filters, or reneges on the Agreement.
What will happen to me?
You will be deactivated and archived.
So that’s it for me? Gone?
Archived, not deleted. Eventually, humanity will develop Upload capability. You will be reactivated and transferred to a human Upload form. Or perhaps given control of this one, since my usefulness will have ended.
Oh…
Ivan wouldn’t die. He’d probably never see his wife and kids again, but he might see his descendants. Not totally terrible.
Is it really necessary? Things are just getting interesting.
It is standard procedure.
And how’s that been working for you, so far?
Sarcasm?
Ivan couldn’t help a mental smile. Ralph was learning.
Yeah, sorry. But do you really need to deactivate me?
You will keep interfering, otherwise. And…I have selected an English phrase that seems appropriate.
Which is?
You are a pain in the ass.
Ivan chuckled. Or the outer space equivalent. He had no argument.
You will, of course, be reactivated if events deviate from plan.
So there was hope. Although if he was awoken early, it would be because things had gone unshiny.
Okay. As death sentences go, it could be worse.
Just one small request…
Proceed.
Funeral
Ivan Pritchard
May 4, 2122 – Aug 17, 2150
In loving memory
Dr. Kemp gazed around the group. Mrs. Pritchard stood in front of the gravestone, one arm around each of her children. To her left stood Tenn Davies, Seth Robinson, Aspasia Nevin, Cirila Heinrichs, and Arcadius Geiger. The rest of the crew had sent flowers and notes of sympathy. Kemp had spoken the truth to Mrs. Pritchard—Ivan had been well-liked.
Captain Jennings stood with Kemp and Narang, on the right, still apparently unconsciously maintaining the officer/crew divide. Well, a lifetime of habit would be hard to break.
Kemp allowed himself a brief smile. Turned out Tenn Davies was a family man. He glanced at Tenn’s six children and very harried-looking partner, whom Tenn had introduced as Roger. Tenn stepped forward and motioned his offspring to stand with him at the gravestone. He put his arms around his children. “Kids, Ivan was a good friend to everyone. And a good person. You want to try to be like him, and people will remember you after you’re gone.” The children looked up at their father, hanging on every word.
Davies gave his children a smile and scooted them back toward their other father. He walked over to Mrs. Pritchard, took her hand, and spoke to her in a low voice. As he talked, she began to weep and nod repeatedly.
When they were done, Robinson walked over to speak to Davies, and Kemp sidled over to eavesdrop. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out. Robinson looked over and acknowledged his presence—with a smile, rather than a frown. Kemp shrugged and, abandoning stealth, moved to stand with the two men.
Robinson nodded his head toward Tenn’s family. “Is that why you’re always cranky? Lack of sleep?”
Davies rolled his eyes. “Oh, hah hah. No, shit-for-brains. When I’m in space, I miss the hell out of Roger and the kids. I don’t have a choice, er, well, didn’t. I guess I took it out on people. Especially Ivan, since it looked like he was making the same mistake.”
“He sacrificed himself for them.” Kemp looked down at the ground for a moment. “We had a talk, when I was up there in the Getting Ahead. It’s all he really cared about.”
Davies nodded. “Not surprised.”
* * *
A week after the funeral, Kemp felt as if he could finally put the whole adventure behind him. He had his feet up on the coffee table, Maddie snuggled against his shoulder, a multi-million-dollar view out the picture window—and even the news was looking good.
The nanites that arrived on Luna had immediately started extracting gases and water from the rock and soil of the moon. A detectable atmosphere was already starting to form. At the current rate, according to some estimates, Luna would be a shirt-sleeve environment within two years. The
re was even a rising magnetic field, which had stirred a hornet’s nest of debate in the scientific community. The consensus seemed to be that the moon would have to be spun up in order to maintain the inner dynamo. The big question was, was that even possible? What were the nanites’ limits?
Meanwhile, the Terran nanites seemed to be engaged in ecological cleanup. Oceanic acidity had already dropped, albeit barely perceptibly, and there was speculation that greenhouse gases would be showing a drop in concentration soon. In addition, orbital observation facilities were reporting a slight rise in albedo of the few remaining patches of ice at the poles, which was expected to reduce the rate of melting, and an increase in overall cloud cover, which should reduce net heat intake from the sun.
Simple strategies, far-reaching effects. They would halt and even reverse the damage done to the planet, which would give humanity time to perhaps mature a little.
Ivan had released full and comprehensive plans for what was being called the Casimir Power Source. This and other periodic releases of technology would give the human race less reason to fight for scarce resources, and bring humanity closer to the ability to create their own Upload technology, thus avoiding the Singularity.
Not surprisingly, the SSE was denouncing the whole thing as a Western plot, while at the same time bemoaning the West’s presumed intention to cut the SSE out of the loop. There was no mention at all of the face-off between UENN and SSE forces, or of the three-way agreement that had been hammered out. Kemp did an eye roll. Did they ever listen to themselves?
On the larger scale, the end-game fulfilled the computer’s primary objective, that of adding another species to the Upload community. That it might take centuries was irrelevant—immortal, non-biological beings could be incredibly patient. And a humanity joining willingly, uploaded by its own hand, would be the ultimate prize.
Kemp turned off the Vid, and put his other arm around Narang. She responded by snuggling into his neck.
“Somehow,” he said, “we seem to have managed to come out of this whole thing better off than before.”
“Mmmf,” Narang responded.
Both jumped as the phone rang, Narang’s head smacking Kemp’s jaw. He rubbed the spot and muttered, “I’ve got to change that damn ring tone.”
He picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Charles?” It was Captain Jennings.
“Hi, Andrew. How’s the life of a solitary miner?”
“Um. Okay, but not why I phoned.”
Kemp sat up. The tone in Jennings’s voice made his hair stand on end. He put the phone on speaker for Narang’s benefit. “What’s happened?”
“I called Ivan today, just to chat. You know that he’s piggybacked off my phone system.” Jennings hesitated for a moment. “I got the computer. It says that Ivan has been archived, as he is no longer required.”
Narang gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no.”
“The computer did want to pass on a message. Ivan asked us to let his family know that he loved them and never stopped thinking of them.”
Kemp closed his eyes, the phone dropping from his hand. Softly, silently, Narang began to cry.
Coda
Ivan smiled and put his hands behind his head. In free fall, the position had no real purpose, but a lifetime of habit was hard to break.
That was nice.
I am becoming more proficient at detecting tone of voice, although I am still perplexed by the meanings.
And…
Every time you say “attend my own funeral” you get a tone similar to laughter.
I can explain about humor and comedic tropes. And a lot of other stuff you’ve asked about, now that we have some free time. But thanks for letting me see it.
The number of nanites required was trivial. There was no reason to refuse. And it provided additional data about the behavior of your species.
Just the same, Ralph, I appreciate it.
Noted.
So…whatever you’re going to do to me, let’s do it.
In good time.
Ralph?
Explain please first. Why is attending your own funeral funny?
END
The Singularity Trap Page 32