Singularity Point

by Brian Smith

  Ashburn grinned back. “Fair enough. I’ll be honest: I haven’t given the matter a lot of thought myself—I’ve been busier than a one-armed paper hanger. I want to see Shiguro-san get both the credit and the windfall for the stuff his company was developing and working on. Beyond that, I’m inclined to turn it all over to Uncle Sam and wash my hands of it. It seems like that was what Harper intended in the first place.”

  “Harper didn’t know what was on the cores,” Ayers reminded them.

  Kusaka frowned. “Why turn it over to the United States? Why not the Japanese government? or the British government? Bill Campbell was a British citizen, after all, and Aberdeen was U.K. flagged. If the cores can be said to be any sort of national property, then surely it’s theirs.”

  “Touché,” Drayson grinned.

  Ashburn scowled. “Like I said: I haven’t given the matter a lot of thought. What about you, tovarich?”

  Kusaka’s oculars came to life, and a moment later he sent some graphics for everyone to look at in AR. “I want to take personal possession of all the astrophysics and cosmology data by Chiang Tsong and Sam Hyman, to be published in academia posthumously. For Federov Propulsion, I want all engineering data related to space-time field-drive propulsion originating from or related to our current work. I also want the schematics for Daedalus, which I’ll hold in trust for Aberdeen Astronautics, to be turned over to them if the company remains viable in the future. If it doesn’t, I’ll make use of them. There is one other thing I want that my company is technically not entitled to, and I’m not asking for it exclusively, just for copies: the data files concerning antimatter production and power generation, and anything on zero-point energy.”

  Ashburn looked intrigued, and, as tired as he’d been a few days before, he remembered part of their earlier conversation with crystal clarity. “Do you think you can finagle up some kind of FTL drive? Is that actually possible?”

  Kusaka grinned. “Crawl, walk, run, Mike-san. Up the long ladder we go. Before anything like that would be possible, I need to perfect second sheaf gravity-field generation, inertial dampening, and forcefield projection. We can’t access the third dimensional sheaf on the engineering level without those things first. To do those things, I need the pertinent data files on those cores. Aside from what I asked for, I’m not too concerned about what happens with the remainder of the data partitions: I’ll go along with what everyone else decides.”

  Drayson took that moment to step into the dialog before Ashburn could reply.

  “By God,” he said, looking warmly at the others. “This reminds me of sitting around the table in the Crandall Annex with Ty Forester, old Dmitri, and the others, spitballing ideas back and forth and mapping out the future. They sure knew how to pick their people. You all sound like the Next Coming of the board of trustees.”

  Ashburn smiled, and it wasn’t necessarily a friendly smile. “We’re gonna need some new trustees, aren’t we, Mr. Chairman? Do you even see the foundation surviving this war?”

  “The Crandall Foundation isn’t about companies or money or anything that crass,” Drayson replied, trying to turn his charm level up to maximum. “It’s about ideals. It’s about vision. Raymond Crandall set up the foundation for two reasons: to cure cancer and to get humanity off Earth and to the stars. The first job is done. We were starting to look at other grandiose medical goals to shoot for when all this started to happen. I think the seeds for accomplishing the second goal are right here in this office and sitting in the hold of this ship. The Mars Independence Movement can’t kill the Crandall Foundation, and neither can any nation on Earth. It can’t die as long as there are human beings willing to embrace the ideals and goals of the foundation, willing to defend them and work to make them real.”

  “Bravo—that’s very flowery,” Ayers replied dryly; she was nobody’s fool. “And your idea for the cores is related to all these grand visions for humanity, am I right?” Drayson refused to be baited or made angry. Instead, he smiled winningly, aware that, given time, his natural charisma would bring them around.

  “You are absolutely right,” he agreed with her. “What’s more, my ideas are very much in line with most of yours. Taking it one step further, I’m pretty sure I can broker this into a win-win for everyone involved: the USN directly, all the nations of Earth, Federov Propulsion, and Barsoom Traders. Maybe even Aberdeen, although that’s a tougher prospect,” he added thoughtfully. “In any event, both your companies were founded by my friends and colleagues. Their goals were aligned with foundation goals, and I don’t want to see their work eradicated by the MIM or anyone else.”

  “All this is going to be hard to accomplish if you’re in federal prison,” Ayers commented.

  Drayson’s smile soured slightly. “I’m not associated with the MIM, I promise,” he assured them. “I’ll go with the authorities, suffer through the interrogations, and jump through the legal hoops. When the dust settles, my name will be cleared. In the meantime, you’re all going to have roles to play as well, but nothing underhanded or nefarious. My plan is going to solve a lot of problems for a lot of people, and it will deal with the matter of those cores, as well.”

  “Sounds like you’ve put some thought into it,” Ashburn said, freshly intrigued. “Let’s hear it.”

  Drayson nodded, his eyes as bright as an excited child’s, as he opened his data partition and sent the others professional-grade graphics to accompany what now appeared to be a formal presentation.

  “Here’s what I propose. . . .”

  Chapter 18

  The Gaianet Newsfeed—Happenings in and around the Gaia-sphere!

  Trending newsfeeds on the TGN:

  -Crandall Foundation chairman surfaces on Earth! In a bombshell revelation earlier this morning, a joint news release by the spacefaring governments of the Trans-Oceanic Alliance has confirmed that Carter Drayson, chairman of the Crandall Foundation board of trustees, fled Mars within hours of the unprovoked MIM attacks on Earth-flagged stations and territories. According to official sources, Drayson has been sequestered on Earth for the past several weeks, debriefing with TOA civil and military authorities. Furthermore, reports that Drayson was a Martian revolutionary involved in the formation of the illegal UMF government have been firmly rebutted. A TOA spokesman confirms that Drayson returned to Earth and voluntarily presented himself to TOA authorities, bringing information that may prove helpful to the war effort. A statement released by Drayson’s legal team claims that he has cooperated fully with investigators and is currently not under criminal investigation.

  -World stock markets suspend trading! In response to ongoing cyberstrikes against Earth’s financial institutions, all major markets on Terra, Luna, Ell-4, and Ell-5 have shut down while specialists attempt to devise a defense against the continuing infiltration of computerized systems by Mars-affiliated cyber terrorists. Despite the severing of networked communications between Earth and Mars three weeks ago, cyberattacks against stock markets and financial institutions have continued unabated. Law-enforcement authorities in PEA, CFR, and TOA nations are refocusing their investigative efforts locally under the assumption that MIM agents are conducting the attacks from various locations on Earth itself. In the meantime, governments worldwide have universally acknowledged that economic disruptions at all levels of commerce have grown “significant.”

  -Foiled asteroid strike or false alarm? This morning, PEA authorities in Moscow released their third official statement in as many days, reiterating that the continental emergency alert issued three days ago was a “false alarm.” PEA spokespersons claim that the alert resulted from a cyberattack by Mars against Alliance information feeds, with the intent of sowing discord and undermining public confidence in the government. Mass panic across Western Russia and Eastern Europe erupted when an alert was issued Wednesday evening, warning citizens of an impending kinetic strike and issuing instructions for citizens to shelter in place. The warning was rescinded four hours after being issued, with no
strike occurring. Pandemonium caused by the false alert resulted in scores of injuries, many fatal, in all metroplexes throughout the hemisphere. Citizens from Krakow to Nizhny Novgorod who were outdoors in the early hours before sunrise Thursday morning reported witnessing heavy, persistent meteor showers in the skies overhead. The PEA has restated that there was no strike, and casually added that “meteor showers are a periodic phenomenon that has occurred throughout the life of the planet and will continue to occur long after the conflict with Mars is settled.”

  -Mars Independence Movement claims victory along the maglev line! Gabriel Rogan, leader of the MIM and self-proclaimed “interim chancellor” of the United Mars Federation, released the following statement today: “Terran-flagged government agencies have been excised from all habitats in the Amazonis Mensa, and these settlements are now under the governance of the UMF. Local authorities have been given the option of continuing to operate normally under UMF oversight or of abdicating their positions in favor of third parties aligned with the UMF.” Chancellor Rogan and MIM sources went on to state that most Marsmen have accepted the new political reality “with enthusiasm” and that their day-to-day lives on Mars continue almost without interruption. When queried about the adverse effect the Earth-imposed interdiction and blockade are having on the red planet, Rogan made light of them and claimed that these were more troublesome to Earth than to Mars.

  -TOA nations post Operation Ares casualty lists. On a very somber note, the United States, the British Commonwealth, and Japan have finally published a roster of casualties resulting from the disastrous failed attempt to relieve overwhelmed TOA agencies in flagged Martian settlements. No details of the circumstances of the repulsed landing effort have been released despite public calls for transparency.

  March 2094 (Terran Calendar)

  U.S. Naval Aerospace Station Ross Crater

  Ross Crater, Luna

  NAS Ross Crater, home of the 3rd Fleet’s lunar test-and-evaluation center, was built primarily under the floor and into the steep western wall of the Ross Crater, located on the Earth-facing hemisphere of the moon, in the northwestern corner of the Sea of Tranquility. Anyone pointing a telescope at Ross wouldn’t see much; only the surface landing field and a few structures were visible either on the lunar surface or protruding from the crater wall; most of the facility was subterranean, like all habitats and facilities on the moon. With no atmosphere to provide any sort of natural shielding, surface radiation under direct sunlight was very high, even by modern standards, and the temperature swings between lunar day and night (each lasting two weeks) were extreme.

  Over the past few months, NAS Ross had undergone a rapid wartime expansion. Naval construction battalions had descended into the Ross Crater like an invading army, putting in three additional fusion reactors to quadruple the station’s power supply and digging massive rectangular dry docks into the crater floor, just beyond the established field boundaries. Once the crater had been excavated, gigantic overhead doors were added to seal off the dry docks from exposure to the lunar surface and, more important, to disguise from prying eyes any work happening inside. The Seabees themselves had also expanded the station facilities, carving out additional living and messing facilities and then connecting the station proper to the new dry docks via subterranean tunnels utilizing EM-induction tubecars.

  Ross Field itself was expanded; the surface tarmac was doubled in size and additional subterranean hangar facilities added underneath. This massive construction effort was carried out without any specific explanation of the purpose behind it—it was simply built according to the blueprints provided, with a big dose of the Seabee “Can do!” spirit added to the mix.

  When it was completed, the Seabee units were withdrawn without fanfare and sent on to their next assignments. A cloud of secrecy descended on the station shortly thereafter, access was strictly limited and controlled, and small teams of TOA military and civilian personnel began to arrive, set up their equipment, and go to work. Under peacetime conditions, the exorbitant costs and the rapidity of the expansion would have been unheard of. Given the present circumstances, nobody batted an eye at the expense, and the work was completed in record time—another notable achievement in the storied history of the U.S. Navy’s Civil Engineer Corps.

  ***

  Orders were orders, even when they were deliberately vague. USS Ranger had been in cislunar space for only two weeks when the embarked Marine Air Group was instructed to pack up its gear, load everything into the dropships, and relocate to NAS Ross Crater. A 3rd Fleet carrier air wing, navy rather than Marine, was transferring aboard to replace them, and Ranger had orders to redeploy as part of the defensive multinational fleet whose mission was to shield Earth from kinetic attacks coming from up-well.

  The orders had driven the Five-Two into a near-mutinous rage; the kinetic attacks against Earth that Ranger was deploying to defend against were already happening, and they were being benched with no explanation. As if that wasn’t enough, the entire Marine Corps was in a killing fury over the recent defeat on Mars. A large-scale drop to secure the chain of settlements along the maglev line had been an unmitigated disaster from the start. The rumor was that the dropships had been cyberhacked as they began their deorbit burns, which resulted in fatal trajectory changes the pilots weren’t able to overcome. The whole assault force had burned up during planetfall—an entire Regimental Combat Team gone, with no survivors. The ground forces from the other TOA contingents suffered the same fate, and not a single Terran trooper made it to the surface of Mars alive. Behind the attacks of December first and the one-day nuclear exchange between AI-controlled combat systems during the Western Pacific War, it was the worst one-day combat loss in U.S. history.

  Needless to say, the Marines of VMF-52 and their sister squadrons weren’t happy about being taken off the firing line.

  Sitting in the cockpit of his Moray, A.J. McClain wondered if he would ever get used to denetworked operations. His situational awareness was currently limited to what his own lidar was telling him. He was used to a plot-locked, link-fed, sensor-fused data feed that would show him every contact between cislunar space and Ell-4. Right now he could see only as far as his own lidar could, and it felt like flying blind. What was more, the cyber situation was so bad that standing orders were to not trust even the processed signal display, and to periodically check it against the raw data feed—which meant occasionally switching over and looking at dots on a screen. He then had to mentally compare those dots against the regular display to make sure what he was seeing was real and not some cyberhack-generated illusion.

  It was crazy.

  If the MIM were this capable of hacking and spoofing their gadgetry like this, McClain just didn’t see how Terran forces were going to win in the end. The idea that someone with access to a computer could electronically invade his ship and cause it to burn up during a planetfall chilled him to his core. He quickly nipped that line of thought in the bud—he was no defeatist. The Corps would find a way to win, just like always. Improvise, adapt, and overcome, he reminded himself with a sardonic mental grin. At least they’d learned their lesson about denetworking and isolating their systems from the external world. He doubted there would be a repeat of the mistakes made during Operation Ares.

  The Five-Two would be the first unit to arrive at Ross, with the remainder of the MAG arriving behind them, including the group’s non-flying personnel and equipment. He knew that Ross was a test-and-evaluation range, and he wondered where they were planning to billet everyone—the base couldn’t be that big.

  Flying in formation, his four-ship division—the squadron was still understrength—executed its turnover and deceleration burn on the mark, before cutting thrust and turning over again for the final approach. A lunar landing in a Moray was hard to screw up—with no atmosphere and only lunar gravity to contend with, they enjoyed an embarrassing surplus of delta-v. Still, the pilots of VMF-52 knew their approach was being watched by ground controllers
and probably a gaggle of ego-ridden squid test pilots, so they kept it locked-and-cocked the whole way down.

  When the four Morays touched down on their designated pads, it was with done with the unity and precision of a demonstration flight team. Marshaling bots controlled by a navy “yellowshirt” aircraft director below ground directed them onto the elevator and signaled them to shut down. The elevator then dropped them to the hangar facilities located beneath the lunar surface. The hangar bay was pressurized once the overhead doors were closed, and the appearance of human personnel not wearing exosuits was the signal for the pilots to start releasing helmet and cockpit seals. Automated tow tractors under the remote control of “blueshirt” aircraft handlers pulled up to respot the Marine fighters into the specialized berths prepared for them.

  A brown-shirted plane captain approached McClain and rendered a salute; McClain returned it. The young woman pointed out the doors leading to the paraloft, where the flight crews could claim lockers and stow their gear. McClain thanked her, gathered up his pilots, and had them do just that. As he was beginning to wonder if anyone at all was going to show up and formally greet them, he spotted a familiar face headed toward them.

  “Mike Ashburn!” McClain said, sticking out his hand. “What the hell are you doing here?”