“We have an interesting situation. We’ve tagged your comms station—the real one—and your nanite balls. We can blow them up. But we can’t blow you up. You can build more nanites, and try again. But we’ll be more prepared to deny you resources. And we’re learning how to fight the nanites. We also have the poisoning the well option. Remember you mentioned that systems belonging to species that nuked themselves to extinction are unusable? We have enough hardware to implement that, and you know we’d be willing. Sounds like the beginning of a long, drawn-out cold war, with both sides offering nothing but defector moves. Do you agree with my assessment?”

“Sure do, Doc. And the computer is annoyed with me. It’s pretty sure I orchestrated this, but it can’t figure out how.”

“I’d imagine the subtleties of implied communication are something you lose when you get Uploaded,” Narang commented.

“Not sure I’d agree, Doc. Uh, Dr. Narang. I’m Uploaded, and I still get it.”

“So, it’s not the process itself,” Dr. Kemp mused out loud. “Time? Or maybe loss of ‘humanity’, or the equivalent for other species?”

“I can’t say, Doc. Neither can the computer. But it admits—not sure if that’s the right work, maybe acknowledges—that this is one of the reasons that the Uploads keep looking for more species. Fresh blood, so to speak.

“And yet it was planning on wiping us out.”

“Not explicitly, just allowing us to be killed in the conversion. Nothing personal. There’s a cost/benefit analysis, and a risk analysis. Humanity came up short, although barely. We are, apparently, a bit of a pain in the ass, cosmically speaking.”

Now came the gambit. Kemp had to hope he played this right. He took a deep breath. “Given all that, the computer’s course of action doesn’t strike me as logical.”

There was a momentary silence, then Ivan laughed out loud. “I wouldn’t have believed it was possible, but you just offended the computer, Doc.”

Kemp grinned at Jennings and Narang, then answered, “Well, good. At least that means it’s listening.” He settled back in his chair and stroked his chin for a moment. “Here’s the thing. We’re not facing an imminent Arts invasion, are we? I mean, nothing specific has been detected?”

“Why do you say that, Doctor?” Mandelbaum cut in.

“Because the computer’s actions are orderly, and are not rushed. A space station, for instance, would be a secondary priority if the Arts were coming down our throats. Instead, the computer is executing multiple parallel activities. What you do when you have the luxury of time.”

“As it happens, Doc, you’re correct. How is that relevant?” Ivan’s voice had taken on a flat inflection. Dr. Kemp frowned for a moment, wondering if he’d just heard the computer talking.