The Singularity Trap

by Dennis E. Taylor

  A hand went up. “Then why are we bothering with it at all?”

  “To learn,” Narang responded. “No other reason. As soon as the Navy is satisfied that they’ve learned everything they can from it, they might, in fact, go ahead and push it into the sun. A hyperbolic orbit that intersects the sun’s surface, and that problem, at least, will be solved.”

  Another hand. “Do we seriously expect to cure Pritchard?”

  Narang skewered the speaker with her gaze. “We expect to try. We expect to do everything we can for him. Worst case, we expect to learn enough from him to prevent a repeat.” She hesitated for a moment. “This situation is unusual in that there doesn’t seem to be a problem with mortality. No one is sure what we’ll do with Pritchard if, at the end of this, he’s still, um, metallized.”

  “Seal him away somewhere?”

  “This isn’t the 21st century, Samuelson. We do our best for all our citizens. Don’t lose sight of that.”

  Narang again looked around the room, ensuring everyone was paying attention. “This brings up the other thing you have to keep in mind. Because of the nature of this infection, no level of isolation is sufficient except empty space and no contact. The moment you walk into that isolation module, you are part of the quarantine, until we have this thing beat. The tone you set for working this problem will affect how soon you come out of quarantine as well.”

  Narang held the silence for a moment. “Therefore, I am giving you one last chance to back out. There will be no recriminations, and it won’t affect your career. You can leave with the same ferry that brought us here. But once the Mad Astra crew is aboard, we are all committed.”

  She waited, a full ten seconds. No one moved except Samuelson, who grabbed another doughnut.

  One last glare around the room, and Narang said, “If there are no other questions, it’s time to go meet our patients.”

  * * *

  The ferry ride to the isolation module went by in total silence. Everyone knew that this was a one-way trip, until the problem had been licked. Paranoia was the watchword, and all moves had been carefully planned. Even the order in which the module was populated. With the doctors flying over before the crew of the Astra, the ferry would be allowed to return to base. Once the crew of the Astra was brought over, nothing would leave the module.

  A quiet meeting with Lieutenant Colonel Martinson from the naval oversight committee had made it clear to Dr. Narang that any attempt to circumvent this state of affairs would be met with deadly force. If necessary, a missile stood ready to take out the entire installation.

  They unloaded through the airlock connection, and each doctor headed for his or her assigned station. Within a half hour, Nakamura walked into Narang’s office. “Everyone has confirmed readiness. No issues.”

  “Okay, thanks, Haruki. I’ll buzz Admiral Moore and let him know we’re ready for the patients.”

  * * *

  The crew of the Mad Astra shuffled out of the elevator in single file. As each stepped up, a voice over the intercom assigned them a room to their right.

  “They don’t seem to be especially down,” Dr. Nakamura said.

  “They’ve all been in the vessel with Pritchard for weeks. There’s been no indication that the nanites are interested in anyone else. Really, once we have verified that we can detect the little buggers, we’ll probably clear the rest of the crew quickly.” Narang smiled ruefully. “And just as well. Admiral Moore has advised me that Captain Jennings set up a scorched-earth plan. He’s hired some high-priced lawyers, given them a complete briefing, and instructed them to raise hell if he doesn’t check in every day. The implication is clear. We can’t just sweep the problem under the rug.”

  Nakamura looked shocked. “But we wouldn’t—”

  “I know, Haruki. But a good détente removes the question entirely.”

  Narang checked her cheat sheet. All the crew members except patient zero were accounted for. She signaled Samuelson with a gesture, and he closed the airlock to Level 3, the crew area. Another flip of a switch, and the airlock to Level 4 opened, on the opposite side of the elevator. Samuelson spoke briefly into his mike.

  It took less than a minute for the elevator to make a round trip. The elevator doors opened, the last crew member walked in, and a collective gasp went up from the ICDC doctors. Ivan Pritchard wore the standard crew onboard outfit of shorts, slippers, and a tee shirt. From his totally bald head to the tips of his toes, he looked like he was made of chrome. But he walked and behaved in a completely normal, human manner, right down to slightly hunched shoulders and a hesitant step that stated clearly he was uncomfortable being center stage.

  According to Pritchard’s records, he hadn’t changed in shape or size. He showed clear muscle definition, which indicated that he took good care of himself. If they could paint him in human colors, he would pass unnoticed anywhere.

  Pritchard looked around. Narang reached over and nudged Samuelson, who seemed to have locked up in place. He blinked and leaned forward into the microphone. “Mr. Pritchard, you will be in room number one, in the section immediately to your left.”

  Ivan nodded without comment and proceeded through the open airlock. As soon as he was through, Samuelson operated the panel and the airlock door closed.

  Samuelson checked the remote cameras, looking for any issues, or any crew still wandering around. Satisfied that the crew members were all settled, Narang motioned for the microphone. Samuelson handed it to her, then flipped a switch. “All rooms.”

  Narang nodded to him, held down the mike button, and spoke. “Thank you all for your patience. We have set up the quarantine module in four levels. One is the level that you are currently in. At the moment, you are all equally suspected of carrying the infection, despite only one of you displaying symptoms. We will be attempting to establish our ability to detect the infection. If we find that we can do that, then any person who comes up negative will be moved to the next level.”

  Narang swallowed before continuing. This part hit too close to home. “After a suitable interval, you will be moved to the second level, which is with the ICDC doctors, including myself. We will all be lab rats for the next phase. If no infection is detected, we will be moved to another module and re-tested. If we pass that, then you, and we, will be free to go home.”

  She released the button and took a deep, shaky breath.

  Samuelson muttered, “Except for Ivan Pritchard, who will spend the rest of his life here.”

  “Put a cork in it, Samuelson. Let’s have no giving up before we start.”

  * * *

  Dr. Narang smiled at the man on the other side of the window as she took her seat. She had Dr. Kemp’s notes and reports on her tablet, with annotations and questions in the margins. Before her staff dove in full-bore, she wanted to be sure of the facts.

  Kemp gazed back at her, his expression relaxed and expectant. She found herself liking him before he’d even said anything. The written reports showed a quick mind, a methodical and thorough work ethic. The conclusions indicated an ability to evaluate the situation honestly and without illusion. She’d be happy to have him on staff.

  The man across from her had an open, friendly face, clear blue eyes that looked right at you, and an easy smile. A very good doctor face, indeed.

  “Dr. Kemp, I’m Dr. Narang, lead investigator on this incident. I’ve read your notes and reports. I have some questions.”

  Kemp chuckled. “Only some? I still have a ton of questions. Each thing I learn just raises more issues.”

  “Mm, yes, well, we’re hoping to get a bit of a head start by leveraging off what you’ve already accomplished.” She straightened her tablet on the desk. “Let’s start with your initial examination…”

  * * *

  Narang looked over the notes she’d taken during the interview. As with any good investigator, Kemp had avoided injecting speculation into his documentation. However, he’d been more willing to o
pen up in a one-on-one interview, especially once it was understood that there would be no quoting out of context.

  The event was frightening in its simplicity. This had all the feel of a deliberate trap. But by humans? Or something else?

  The changes to Ivan Pritchard seemed impossible. But that assumed she took all descriptions at face value. There was always the possibility of exaggeration, of misremembering, of outright confabulation.

  On the other hand, she’d seen the chrome man. That would be hard to fake.

  She pulled up the intercom app and buzzed Nakamura.

  He popped up within seconds, in a video window.

  “Haruki, what do we have in terms of safety procedures?”

  “The usual. Negative pressure, sterilization of air and recirculation, isolation suits…”

  Narang shook her head. “Not going to be enough. We’re going to have to enforce physical isolation as well. No one goes into the crew area at all.”

  “But how will we get samples, do examinations?”

  “We can ask the Navy engineers for some custom work in that area.” Narang thought for a moment. “And I’m sure BSL-4 containment procedures will contain some descriptions of processes, even if only on paper. Contact Laakkonen and see if she can put someone on it. We need to up our game.”

  Nakamura nodded and ended the connection.

  Narang sat back and stared at the ceiling. She was beginning to realize that, despite the bizarre nature of this assignment, she’d still unconsciously treated it like a biological outbreak. That would have to change.

  Quarantine

  Dear Judy,

  We have arrived at Lagrange Four and are now under quarantine. I’m so sorry things are working out this way. It seems like nothing good comes to us without some corresponding karmic kick in the crotch, just to make sure we don’t get uppity.

  I still don’t have any more information, but the ICDC is involved, and if they can’t pull a rabbit out of a hat, no one can. I will do everything I can to try to come out of this okay, but I won’t do anything that might risk you or our children.

  I guess the good news is that we will be rich. I can be happy knowing that you and the kids will be more than okay for the rest of your lives. But remember what I said about getting away as quickly as possible.

  I’m sorry, I know I’m sounding morose. But that’s me, right? Never able to lie, even to reassure you.

  Whatever happens, I love you, babe. Give the kids a hug for me.

  Ivan.

  Ivan stared at the email for a few moments. Yeah, never able to lie. I seem to be getting a lot better at that, lately. Grimacing at the thought, he pressed send. He had no doubt that his correspondence was being examined, and would be censored or blocked if he said too much. Not that he would—he understood panic and the negative effects. He also understood guilt by association, and didn’t want his family painted with that brush. If things got out, he didn’t want a data trail from the infection to his family.

  He was interrupted by the arrival of a doctor at the window.

  “Hello, Mr. Pritchard.”

  “Hi, Doctor…Narang, right? What’s up?”

  “We’re blowing through the nanite samples that Dr. Kemp took, and we’ll need a new supply soon. Obviously, you being in isolation represents a challenge. We think we’ve figured out a way to get what we need from you with minimal fuss or danger. We’ll have to do some work on one of the other cubicles, then we’ll be moving you. I just wanted to let you know, because it’ll be a little noisy for a while.”

  “No prob, Doc. I’m so bored that even construction noise is a welcome addition.”

  Narang gave him an embarrassed smile. “You have full media access, of course, although I expect that gets old quickly. Is there anything else we can do for you?”

  “I don’t think so, Doc. I’ve thought about all the things I want or might ask for, and most of them are beyond your power or really bad ideas. So, no. You could answer a question, though.”

  “I’ll try, Ivan.”

  “On the subject of Vid, there have been demonstrations around ICDC and UEN headquarters. You haven’t released anything, have you? Do these people have any actual fuel for this?”

  Narang paused for a moment before responding. “Ivan, there’s been no official announcement, either from ICDC or the UEN. But something’s gotten out. Some of the commentary is just too close to the mark. We’ve had to increase our online security because of the increased attention. I’m sure Admiral Moore is all over it, though.”

  She smiled again, nodded to him, and left before he could ask any more questions. He wasn’t sure, but she might be walking a little faster than she really needed to. Was that embarrassment, or just not wanting to be around the metal man?

  Welcome to my new life.

  First Looks

  “Who’s in the AQRI?” Narang walked up to the console, where a couple of doctors sat watching the monitor.

  Dr. Noelia Sandoval turned in her chair. “A little guy named ‘sample scraping’”

  “Ah. Bare nanites? What do they look like?”

  “Coming up,” said Nakamura, in the next seat. He poked at the console, and an image came up on the monitor. The Advanced Quantum Resonance Imager could scan in detail an object from the size of a full-grown human being down to the nucleus of a cell. The researchers hoped to learn if they could decode the internal workings of the nanites.

  Narang gasped when the image popped up on the monitor. The nanites glowed in AQRI imaging. This was their first bit of good news. If the devices showed up that clearly on AQRI scans, they’d be able to detect any infections in humans with little effort.

  The real-time image showed the nanites moving around slowly, looking for something to latch onto. As Chief MacNeil had reported, they seemed to be ineffective against industrial glass.

  “Next question will be: can we kill them?” Nakamura said.

  “Without killing the host,” Narang added.

  * * *

  Ivan Pritchard lay, apparently relaxed, in the AQRI. Sandoval and Nakamura hovered over the panel, ready to make any required adjustments. No one was entirely sure how the AQRI would handle an entirely metal subject.

  “I have to reduce saturation,” Sandoval said. “Can’t make out any detail in the glow.”

  In moments, the picture resolution improved. Narang stared, slack-jawed. A number of gasps behind her made it clear that all the doctors were watching.

  “What in the ninety-nine hells is that?” Sandoval pointed at a spot on the display.

  The image on the monitor showed a complex internal structure, easily as varied and diverse as a human body. But there, all resemblance ended.

  Narang moved slowly closer to the monitor, squinting at the image. Then she yelped as someone stepped on her heel. Narang whirled. “Hey! Everyone not on shift, take a big step back.”

  There were mutters that sounded like a mutiny in the making, but most of those present stepped back to the wall.

  Now able to concentrate on the image, Narang could only shake her head. “The report from Dr. Kemp indicated that the infection was replicating all required functions of human organs.”

  “Similar functionality doesn’t mean similar morphology, apparently,” Sandoval replied.

  “Unless,” Nakamura added, “having completely replaced the human tissues, the organism then reconfigured to something more efficient or desirable.”

  “Well, sure. He probably doesn’t need a spleen or kidneys. Which raises the question, what does he need?”

  Narang looked at Sandoval. “Can we make comparisons to our own mechs?”

  “Not a hope in hell, Dr. Narang. It’s like comparing a club to an autonomous drone. If you held a gun to my head, I couldn’t tell you what any of those structures are for. Power? Temperature control? Communications? It’s anyone’s guess, absent a dissection.”

  Narang gave Sandoval a sharp
look. If she was trying to be funny, mission not accomplished.

  Sandoval shrugged, unrepentant. “Kemp did some x-rays and AQRI scans on the trip in. We’ll compare them with this one, see how much has changed.” She flipped off the AQRI, and leaned to the microphone. “Thank you, Mr. Pritchard. We’re done for today.”

  On the other side of the glass, Ivan Pritchard got up, gave the doctors a salute, and walked back to his room.

  * * *

  Dr. Narang gestured to the image floating in the middle of the conference table. “Well, there it is. For those of you who didn’t quite believe the initial reports—in which group I include myself, by the way—it seems the Mad Astra’s doctor wasn’t drinking or smoking something after all.”

  “A nanite. An actual microscopic, self-contained machine.” Dr. Nakamura’s voice had the distracted tone of someone unwilling to spare more than minimal attention for the task of speaking.

  Dr. Alwin Schulze, a physicist borrowed from Caltech, grinned unabashedly. “And self-powered. We have nothing that could do that, not at that size.” Schulze leaned forward, then settled his rotund form more comfortably into his chair. He looked around the table, still smiling, inviting argument or commentary.

  “So, alien?”

  Schulze turned to face Narang. “Unquestionably. The Japanese are the technology leaders on this front, and they’re not even close to delivering something self-contained at the micron level. Never mind the data processing requirements.”

  Matt Siegel, the team’s Information Systems expert, shook his head. “Same comment applies from the I.T. angle, Alwin. I’ve no idea how you’d encode a complete computer system in that size, even without allowing room for power, I/O systems, and whatever else.”