The Singularity Trap

by Dennis E. Taylor

  MacNeil gazed into the compartment for a few moments, then turned to look at the sample container. He leaned far into the compartment and stared intently at the corner, illuminating it with the flashlight. He then backed away from the compartment, still staring in the same direction. Kemp watched this performance silently, not wanting to interrupt whatever calculations were going on.

  “Both sets of holes line up with the shortest path back to Ivan,” MacNeil said. “Which means the wee beasties drilled straight through the ship. I’ll have to check the intervening spaces for critical wiring or such.” He turned off his flashlight. “Which doesn’t definitively answer the question of where the metal is coming from, but the fact they can eat through a sample case like that gives us a possible answer that I dinna like at all.”

  Kemp noted in passing that MacNeil’s accent got stronger in stressful situations. He thought about what the chief had said. “Um. Cannibalizing the ship to rebuild Ivan’s arm.”

  “Mm, hmm.”

  They turned the room lights back on and sat down. MacNeil looked up at the ceiling for a few moments, rubbing his chin. “The question is, why would they go back to Pritchard in particular? Especially once the nanites were no longer associated with him?”

  “Urgh.” Kemp rubbed his forehead. “Unless they’re in more than just his arm. There was nothing in the blood sample I took during the initial exam, but that was before he started to metallize.”

  “Right. Time to take another one?”

  They got up and Kemp led the way back to sick bay.

  * * *

  “And there it is.” Dr. Kemp gestured to the microscope.

  MacNeil leaned in and looked through the eyepieces. “Oh, dear. Those are…”

  “Nanites. Same as the ones that are replacing his cells.”

  “So they have taken up residence in our Mr. Pritchard.” MacNeil stepped back and glared at the microscope. “Which at least explains the homing behavior. Now, as for the other part of the question…”

  * * *

  “They’re eating the ship?” Captain Jennings, for the first time since Kemp had known him, looked unabashedly afraid.

  “Not the whole ship, Captain,” MacNeil explained quickly. “They seem to be stripping layers from structures to supply the material for Pritchard’s new parts.”

  “And these things are in his bloodstream?”

  Kemp nodded. “We did tests on ourselves, and found nothing. That’s not definitive, though. I found nothing initially out of the ordinary in Pritchard’s blood sample, either. But it would explain why they’re obsessed with getting back to him. He has been, for better or worse, chosen in some way.”

  “I’m going to order blood tests for everyone,” Captain Jennings said. “Negative results may not be definitive, but a positive result would be. We need to know.”

  Kemp nodded. “I’ll get the sick bay ready.”

  * * *

  A line-up wound along the corridor from the sick bay. Dr. Kemp was quick and efficient, and anyway no one really wanted to engage in chit-chat. At two minutes per person, the crew was soon back in the common room, doubtlessly spinning ever wilder theories.

  Ivan was still out. Kemp couldn’t believe that so much had happened since the man had been infected. Kemp sighed quietly and walked over to look down at him. Poor sap. The infection, or whatever it was, seemed to be going to great lengths to avoid harming him, or even causing him any discomfort. A good sign, certainly. But even if this turned out to be ultimately benign, he was going through hell. In addition to his own health, he had to be worried about how his family would be affected. Although the strike at Big Rock would help with—

  Dr. Kemp felt behind himself for the intercom button. Without turning, he pressed it. “Astra? Page the captain please. Tell him Ivan’s other limbs have started to metallize.”

  We’ll Handle It

  The captain ended the call with a barely audible groan of frustration. Well, the good news was that no one else seemed to be infected. The bad news was that Ivan Pritchard continued to be converted—to metallize, as Dr. Kemp put it.

  And Chief MacNeil had confirmed the worst: the nanites were moving freely about the ship, harvesting metal, and returning it to Pritchard’s body to build his replacement parts. No critical systems had been affected. In fact, according to the chief, the nanites appeared to be spreading their depredations around in order to avoid adversely affecting any equipment.

  Nevertheless, the potential downside was without limit. In theory, once finished with Pritchard, the nanites could start on the rest of the crew. In theory, if the Mad Astra returned to Earth, they could release this scourge on the human race. Gray Goo apocalypse, indeed.

  This was no longer a containable situation.

  The captain reached for the intercom. A lot of preparation would be required.

  * * *

  “What is the status of the claim, Ms. Generus?”

  Generus pursed her lips for a moment. “Everything is textbook, sir. We’ve forwarded all data to the auction house. Bids are coming in from the conglomerates. Closing date is three days away. Just the reserve price will make a single-share owner a half-billionaire.”

  “At what point is the deal irrevocable?”

  “Well, the bid winner will send a survey ship to verify our data. If that turned out to be significantly incorrect, they could pull out. But I’m confident of Cirila’s numbers, sir. If anything, she’s been slightly conservative. So I don’t see that happening.”

  Jennings nodded. “I agree, Ms. Generus. I’m more concerned about the buyer becoming spooked if this business with Ivan Pritchard goes public.”

  “But we’ve been careful to separate the two events, both chronologically and spatially.”

  “And done a good job, I believe. Nevertheless, is there a way for us to get screwed?”

  “Honestly, sir, if the military got involved, and suspected a connection between the claim and the Pritchard Event, then they could conceivably attempt to interdict the Big Rock. But first they have to make that connection. And even then, there’s hundreds of billions of dollars at stake, and I’d think the bid winner would go to court to fight it rather than meekly backing off.”

  “That is my analysis as well. Thank you.”

  It was a dismissal. Lita hesitated for a moment, then got up and left the captain’s ready room.

  Jennings paused to review the chain of events and consider their options. What he was about to propose would take them further down the rabbit-hole into possible illegality. He would have to present his proposal delicately.

  Before hesitation could become paralysis, he stabbed the call button for the doctor.

  “Captain?”

  “Doctor, I wonder if it would be feasible, without breaking your oath, to delay reporting Mr. Pritchard’s condition. Say, three days?”

  “Three days, Captain?” Kemp sounded concerned. Spooked, really.

  “Will we be breaking any laws? Contravening any policies?”

  “Well, no, sir. I guess if we were military… As it is, there may be questions about why we took so long to report the event, but it’s not unreasonable for us to try to handle it ourselves, at least for a while. Why three days, specifically, if I may ask?”

  “In three days, bidding closes on Big Rock. After that point, the bid winner is personally, if that’s the right word, invested.” Jennings smiled for a fraction of a second at the attempted witticism. “Considering the life-altering nature of our claim, I think it’s a reasonable consideration.”

  “I, uh, can’t really disagree, captain. Honestly, I think Ivan would agree as well.”

  “And what is the situation with Mr. Pritchard?”

  “I re-sedated him. I can’t do that again without risking medical complications. Of course, by that point it may not matter. The metallization is accelerating. The interface is now proximal relative to the knees and elbow on the three remaining limb
s.”

  “Which in English means it’s up to his thighs and upper arm? Will the conversion continue into the torso?”

  Dr. Kemp was silent for a moment before replying. “I don’t know. Metallization along the right arm appears to have halted at the shoulder, but I don’t know if it’s just waiting for the other limbs to catch up. There’s definitely intelligence involved, although whether it’s sentient or just A.I. is impossible to say.”

  “And still no idea what the end game is?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What about isolating him? Is there anything we can do?”

  “We don’t have any facilities for that. We can confine him to his room, of course, and that’s probably a good idea just for crew morale. But, ultimately, it’s a gesture more than a real precaution. The nanites are already out, and they’re demonstrably not impeded by walls.”

  “Understood. It goes without saying that we cannot expect to return to Earth until this is resolved. Please prepare a full report for transmission to the ICDC. Try to minimize reference to the timeline, but don’t prevaricate. We don’t mind being portrayed as unwise, but we can’t afford any slightest whiff of criminality.”

  ”Yes sir.”

  “Very well, then, Doctor. Keep me up to date on status. Thank you.”

  Continuing Infection

  Ivan awoke with no transition. One moment, blank, the next, full awareness. That was unusual at any time, unless an alarm clock was involved; he liked to take several minutes to segue from dreams to wakefulness. In this case, he was coming out of sedation. He remembered being put under after panicking about his arm.

  His arm!

  Ivan sat up without warning, almost knocking Dr. Kemp over. The doctor had apparently been reaching for his face or something, and came that close to getting clocked in the nose by Ivan’s forehead.

  He lifted his right arm. Metal. His eyes followed the arm up to his shoulder. Metal, as far as he could see, even the shoulder. He turned to Dr. Kemp, tears forming in his eyes.

  Then he saw his legs. And his left arm. A whimper escaped his throat and the world contracted to a bright point.

  * * *

  Ivan awoke again. And remembered.

  He looked at his feet, at his hands. Metal. Dr. Kemp sat at the side of the bed, looking sympathetic. Ivan looked him in the eyes and said, “How bad is it?”

  Dr. Kemp looked down for a moment. “Ivan, it’s not bad like cancer or a degenerative disease. You aren’t, as far as we can tell, dying. Or even unhealthy. You’re just…”

  “Turning into Iron Man?” Ivan laughed, but even he could hear the note of hysteria.

  Dr. Kemp’s face fell. Ivan felt bad for him, for a moment.

  “Ivan, the conversion is continuing. At the moment, the only parts of you that are still flesh and blood are your head and torso.”

  Ivan looked down. “Uh…”

  Dr. Kemp flashed a smile. “Everything is still there. Whether functionality is maintained or not, well, you can test that at your leisure.”

  “Okay, what about bodily functions?”

  “This is the truly interesting thing about this whole process.” Dr. Kemp gave Ivan a sideways glance, as if gauging his reaction to the comment. “It’s not just blindly working its way up your body. It appears to maintain biological systems as long as necessary until a metal version is ready to take over the function. Blood supply is always appropriate to the remaining biological systems. Hormonal levels are maintained. And so on.”

  Ivan stared at him for several seconds. “This isn’t going to stop, is it?”

  Dr. Kemp’s only answer was a sigh.

  “But what is it?”

  The doctor waved a hand and made fish motions with his mouth for a few moments. Then he shrugged and gave Ivan a rueful smile. “I wish I knew. We know the basic facts, Ivan. Your cells are being replaced by microscopic nanites. The nanites are harvesting metal from the ship to make more nanites.”

  Kemp looked up at the ceiling for a moment, perhaps gathering his thoughts. “There are a few things I find encouraging. First, the nanites are careful not to take too much metal from one spot. The chief tells me that nothing is getting eaten down enough to affect functionality or structural soundness. And, likewise, none of the changes being made to you seems to be harmful, beyond the obvious issue of consent. It seems to be taking care to not cause you harm or even discomfort. None of those things could happen by coincidence. It requires a concerted, conscious effort.”

  “Conscious?”

  Dr. Kemp shook his head. “Don’t read anything into that. I don’t have any inside information. I meant conscious as in a deliberate, targeted set of results.”

  Ivan nodded, thinking about it. “Yeah, an A.I. could do something like that according to its instructions. That really seems more likely, just in general.”

  He leaned back and started to rub his forehead, then jerked his hand away and stared at it. The action had felt entirely normal to his fingertips, but on his forehead it had felt like being massaged by a metallic implement.

  “If this was happening to someone else, I’d be fascinated. As it is, I’m still curious, but also terrified. The process could be completely benign, but at the end of it I’ll still be gone.”

  “Perhaps. Or maybe not. We don’t know the limits of this thing. I know it’s easy for me to say, but there’s only one way to find out.”

  “Not that I have a choice.” Ivan sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m pretty tired, Doc. Can we continue this later?”

  The stool’s casters made a rolling sound as Dr. Kemp stood. “No problem, Ivan. I’d like to do some tests when you’re rested.”

  Ivan barely heard the sound of the door closing.

  * * *

  “And squeeze again?”

  Ivan squeezed the bulb as instructed, while Dr. Kemp watched the pressure gauge. Dr. Kemp had asked him to undergo a physical, and Ivan figured it might distract him.

  The doctor had that skill that physicians seemed to cultivate everywhere—the same noncommittal “mm, hmm” on each test that gave no indication of whether he’d aced it or was about to die.

  Finally, the doctor looked up from his tablet. “It’s interesting. Your strength is considerably increased. I’m lucky you didn’t actually break a couple of my devices. You red-lined a couple of measurements. Reflexes are faster, but not inhumanly so. I think that’s going to continue to improve as the, uh, transformation continues.”

  “S’okay, Doc. I get it. I’m not happy, of course, but I’m probably not going to die. I actually feel pretty good, physically.” Ivan held up his arm and flexed it. “I used to have twinges with my elbow sometimes. Old football injury. It’s completely gone. So there’s some upside, I guess.”

  Kemp turned and picked up a blood collection kit. “I can’t take this from the usual locations, obviously. I’ll try to be gentle.” The doctor swabbed Ivan’s pectoral muscle, then held up the needle. “Ready?”

  Ivan nodded, and the doctor collected a blood sample. It hurt like a sonofabitch, but Ivan found himself not minding. It might be one of the last human sensations he would ever experience.

  Finally finished, the doctor sat back and crossed his legs. “So how do you feel otherwise, Ivan? Any other symptoms, issues? Concerns?”

  “Like I said, I feel great, physically.” Ivan looked at the ceiling for a moment. “What I’m really worried about…” He took a moment to get his voice under control. “What I’m really worried about is whether I’ll still be there when the process is complete. Will it be me? Or will there be an alien something looking out of my eyes? Will it remember being me? Will it even care?” Ivan squeezed his eyes then looked at the doctor. “Am I ever going to see my family again? Is there any version of this where I end up going home?”

  Dr. Kemp was silent for several seconds. “I wish I had an answer for you, Ivan. We’re all out of our depth, here.”

  The do
ctor took a marking pen from a drawer. “If you don’t mind, Ivan, I want to track the conversion.” At Ivan’s nod, Kemp made a series of regularly spaced marks on Ivan’s torso, starting from the point where metal met flesh. He then added numbers, starting from zero.

  “That’s exactly the kind of obsessive attention to detail that I can appreciate, Doc. I just wish it wasn’t me being measured.”

  “Look, Ivan, we’re all equally in the dark. But based on what I said yesterday, I don’t think this is an attack of some kind. Maybe it’s an attempt to communicate. I think it’s a fair bet that whatever engineered this isn’t human, so we can’t safely assume human motivations, but we can expect consistency.” Dr. Kemp tapped the palm of his hand with the marker while he considered. “If it’s taking care not to cause undue harm, I can’t see it suddenly changing course and becoming like a movie monster.”

  “Unless it didn’t want me to be spaced before the conversion was complete.”

  “Okay, granted, but then the best strategy would be to go after everyone at once. And to disable the ship quickly. However alien the intelligence behind this is, we still should expect it to act in a sane, consistent manner.”

  “You’ve decided it’s alien?” Ivan cocked his head and smiled slightly.

  “Haven’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s where I’d put my money.”

  Strategy Meeting

  Dr. Kemp looked around the table. All the ship’s bridge staff were present. Several muttered conversations provided a low susurrus of sound, barely above the level of the air system. Captain Jennings slowly stirred his coffee, gathering his thoughts before he looked up.

  “Record this meeting, please, Astra. For the record, present are: myself, Andrew Jennings, captain of the Mad Astra; First Mate Dante Aiello; pilot Albert Micoroski; co-pilot and purser Lita Generus; Charles Kemp, ship’s doctor; and Duncan MacNeil, chief engineer. The purpose of this meeting is to discuss the unexplained transmutation of crewman Ivan Pritchard into a being made of metal.”