The Singularity Trap

Dennis E. Taylor

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover art by Stephan Martiniere

Other titles by the author

The Bobiverse series:

We Are Legion (We Are Bob)

For We Are Many

All These Worlds

Dedications

First, and always, I want to dedicate this book to my wife, Blaihin, and my daughter, Tina.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to:

Members of the Ubergroup and Novel Exchange group on scribophile.

Sandra and Ken McLaren

Nicole Hamilton

Sheena Lewis

Patrick Jordan

Trudy Cochrane

Table of Contents

Glossary of Acronyms

Cast of Characters

1.Emissary

2.Launch

3.Financial Concerns

4.Departure

5.Being an Asteroid Miner

6.Trying Another Location

7.Tallying Results

8.Paydirt

9.Checking it Out

10.Infection

11.Recovery

12.Investigation

13.Situation Analysis

14.Adverse Reaction

15.Deja Vu

16.We’ll Handle It

17.Continuing Infection

18.Strategy Meeting

19.Writing Home

20.ICDC

21.A Difficult Conversation

22.Consternation

23.The Chrome Man

24.The Way Things Must Be

25.Crew Reaction

26.In the Common Room

27.Most Paranoid Wins

28.Taking Courses

29.Arrival

30.Quarantine

31.First Looks

32.Status

33.Looking Over His Shoulder

34.Unrest

35.Screaming

36.Discussion

37.Enemy Threats

38.Investigations and Discoveries

39.The Continued Threat

40.It Hits The Fan

41.Putting It in Perspective

42.In the News

43.Reconsiderations

44.Interlude

45.Retrieval

46.Press Release

47.Anomalies

48.Finally

49.More News

50.Summary of Findings

51.Discharge Day

52.Release

53.Unbelievable

54.Demands

55.It’s Moving

56.Failsafe Implementation

57.Escape

58.Detonation

59.Finding Refuge

60.Calling with News

61.Vessel Released

62.An Unexpected Call

63.Purchase

64.Reports of My Death

65.Humanity’s Options

66.Naval Exercise

67.Strike Force

68.Counterstrike

69.Collateral Damage

70.Arrest

71.Visiting

72.Preparations

73.Second Assault

74.Reconfiguration

75.Waiting for The End

76.Defensive Strategy

77.Surveil

78.Approach

79.Attack

80.Response

81.Found

82.Discussion

83.Reaction

84.Face-Off

85.Aftermath

86.Conversation

87.Funeral

88.Coda

For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul?

-Mark 8:36

Glossary of Acronyms

RIVARocket Impelled Vector Adjustment

IMMInterplanetary Merchant Marine

ICDCInterplanetary Centers for Disease Control

UENUnited Earth Nations

UENNUnited Earth Nations Navy

SSESino-Soviet Empire

SSCStrategic Space Command

ISIInterplanetary Science Institute

AQRIAdvanced Quantum Resonance Imaging

Cast of Characters

Crew of the Mad Astra

Andrew JenningsCaptain

Dante AielloFirst Mate

Albert MicoroskiPilot, astrogator

Lita GenerusCo-pilot and purser

Charlie KempDoctor

Duncan MacNeilEngineer

Ivan PritchardComputer specialist

Seth RobinsonCrewmate and friend

Tennison DaviesSenior crewman

Arcadius GeigerCrewmate and other noob

Raul Alfarocrew

Willoughby Toddcrew

Robert Salacrew

Fredric Robertssoncrew

Aran SokalControl Systems specialist

Aspasia NevinScooter pilot

Lorenza RaskeMining Robot specialist

Cirila HeinrichsGeologist

ICDC Staff

Madhur NarangSenior Investigating Pathologist, ICDC

Karin LaakkonenDirector, ICDC

Haruki NakamuraAssistant Investigating Pathologist, ICDC

Noelia Sandovaldoctor

Henry Samuelsondoctor

Alwin Schulzephysicist

Matt Siegelcomputer expert

UEN Navy Personnel

Admiral Theodore MooreChair, Quarantine committee

Commodore Michael GerrardQuarantine committee

Admiral Alan CastilloQuarantine committee

Admiral Georgia RichardsQuarantine committee

Commodore Alice NevinQuarantine committee

Lt. Colonel Neil MartinsonQuarantine committee

Lieutenant George BentleyMoore’s assistant

Captain Xuân LêFrigate Outbound

Captain Norman HardingCruiser Resolute

Commodore Rani MandelbaumTask Force Officer in Charge

Lt. Ernest VoigtInterrogator

Mercury Residents

Emilia JonquersResident of Vulcan’s Forge

Bruce JonquersMining specialist, Emilia’s husband

Ian & Caleb JonquersEmilia’s children

Others

Judy PritchardIvan’s wife

Josh & SuzieIvan’s children

RogerTenn’s partner

1.Emissary

1.Emissary

One final nudge from the solar wind, and the traveler floated in orbit, just one of many insignificant pieces of flotsam at this distance from the local star. A voltage through the lines caused its sail to fold into a neat, compact package.

The journey from the previous star had taken millennia, but the traveler was incapable of feeling boredom or impatience. Nor did it feel anxiety over the many more such hops in its future. The traveler worked through its checklist, shutting down some systems, activating others. Some maintenance would be required—the nearby asteroids would be more than sufficient to supply the raw materials.

The traveler scanned the stellar system, looking for planets or moons that matched any of several templates. And almost immediately, success! A blue-green planet with strong spectroscopic lines indicating oxygen, water, and one of the many biological strategies used to harness sunlight. No lights, no radio traffic, but the traveler didn’t concern itself. Intelligence would come, or it would not. Either way, the traveler would be long since gone.

The traveler launched a drone to the nearest asteroid. Raw materials were mined, maintenance was completed, and an emissary was constructed to wait for the emergence of any intelligent life.

The traveler couldn’t feel joy or satisfaction—the Makers had been very careful to limit its level of sentience. The traveler knew this as a datum, but had no opinion otherwise.

Nevertheless, this stop had been successful. Several checkpoint items were marked completed, and other goal trees activated.

It was time to move on. A voltage through the anchor lines, and the sail unfolded. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the traveler began its millenia-long journey to the next candidate star.

It could wait.

2.Launch

2.Launch

“One minute to launch.”

Ivan gripped the chair arms even tighter. The pain in his fingers penetrated his panic, and he struggled to unclench his hands and slow his breathing.

He looked at the arms of his blue coverall, relieved that the cloth was still dry. If he couldn’t get a grip soon, the sight of a sopping-wet uniform would only encourage the other crew members to more of what they apparently thought was witty commentary.

And anyway, his funk made no logical sense. The Sling had been launching shuttles into orbit with no major incidents for almost forty years. Technically, this was safer than air travel. And he was going into space! This should be fun.

“Hey, noob. You aren’t going to have a jammer, are you?”

Ivan glanced to his left at Tennison Davies, sitting across the center aisle. Tenn, a beefy, florid Texan, was a veteran of asteroid mining, returning for his tenth tour.

In fact, every one of the crew signed on with the Mad Astra had at least four previous tours with the mining ship. Everyone except himself and Arcadius Geiger, and Kady looked like he was falling asleep. Show-off.

Ivan and his fellow crew members sat together, taking up two complete rows. He could see groups from several other ships, all wearing similar utility coveralls, also heading up in preparation for a six-month mining tour. The coveralls, standard-issue items probably made by a single company, were identical except for the ship insignia on the left breast. The Mad Astra crew wore a stylized image of a hand reaching for a star.

Several clunks and a shudder ran through the shuttle, and Ivan renewed his death grip. He half-expected to hear a squeal of bending metal from the chair’s arms. A faint whiff of flop-sweat assaulted his nostrils and he realized he was again losing the battle with panic.

“Fifteen seconds,” the P.A. intoned.

Ivan closed his eyes and tried deep-breathing exercises again. Too late to back out now. Even if he unbuckled and ran screaming for the exit, the shuttle would launch on schedule, with him plastered to the rear bulkhead. Three months of training and simulations, which had felt like an adventure of its own, now seemed nothing more than wishful thinking . He was about to be shot into the air in a tin can, with no say in his fate, not even a view of space for the next fifteen minutes.

“Relax, noob,” said Davies. “We haven’t lost a crew member in weeks.” The veteran miner grinned at Ivan, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. He looked more like a cat anticipating a meal than someone offering reassurance.

Ivan opened his mouth to retort, but at that moment, the Sling kicked in. His body was pressed into his seat as the shuttle accelerated down the track. It would continue for the entire five-kilometer stretch of the launch tunnel, air resistance reduced by massive pumps that pulled the air from in front of the shuttle and pumped it back in behind.

The occasional moan floating up the aisle showed that he wasn’t the only person having trouble. He tried to extract a small kernel of solace from that shared misery.

Thankfully, this part of the takeoff was smooth—nothing like the old space launches, perched on top of an explosive cylinder of fuel, being rattled so hard you felt your teeth would fall out through your ears. Ivan concentrated on his breathing, and on not whimpering in fear. He hadn’t been tagged with a nickname yet, and he sure as hell didn’t want to provide the crew with that kind of material to work with. Certainly not before he’d even left atmosphere.

The shuttle hit the upcurving part of the Sling, and the acceleration vector changed, now pushing him down in his seat as well as back. The pressure would only last seconds—possibly the longest seconds of his life.

As the shuttle left the Sling behind, boosters kicked in. Specially tuned microwave emitters heated and rarified the air in front of the shuttle, reducing air resistance as the vessel clawed its way into the sky.

The bump and rattle gradually faded as the shuttle climbed through the atmosphere. After five minutes, the boosters shut down, leaving them in free fall. The sudden silence made Ivan wonder for a moment if his hearing had been damaged. Fortunately, Davies provided his own brand of reassurance.

“Hey, looks like the noob survived. Didn’t even pee himself, I don’t think.”

Ivan turned his head to glare at Davies and provide suitable return fire.

Big mistake.

The hammering he’d just taken during launch, combined with the free fall conditions, were already playing hell with his beleaguered stomach. Add the insult to his inner ear from an abrupt turn of the head, and with an oop Ivan grabbed for the barf bag in the pocket in front of him. The retching seemed to go on forever.

One of the unfortunate aspects of the human condition was that the acrid odor of vomit tended to induce vomiting. Several more oops sounded through the cabin. There would probably be some eventual abuse for that, as well.

Finally recovered, his face dripping in sweat, he rolled up the bag and placed it in the receptacle. Turning to Seth Robinson, seated on his right in the middle seat, Ivan said, “Well, great. I guess I’ve just earned a nickname.”

“Naw,” replied Robinson. “If we gave out a nickname for puking, most of us would be called Barfie. You’ve got two days to get that under control, noob. If you’re still tossing it up come departure day, you’ll be scrubbed. You’ll get your money back for your share purchase, less the standard penalty. And we’ll be doing a six-month tour short a body. Clear?”

Ivan nodded, silent. The penalty would wipe out what small equity in his share he’d managed to build. If he washed out, he’d be left with nothing.

He glanced at Robinson. Freckled and redheaded, thin and gangly, a good fifteen centimeters taller than Ivan, Robinson could pass for a teenager in the right light. It was hard to believe that the man was old enough to hold a Spacer certificate. If Robinson could do it, Ivan could damn well do it.

“Docking maneuvers start in thirty seconds,” the P.A. announced.

Ivan looked up—carefully, this time—and cursed the lack of windows. He was in space. Granted, asteroid mining wasn’t the most glamorous way to get there, but most avenues to space involved military commissions, significant wealth, or some specialty in high demand at the space stations or colonies. The child of climate-change refugees who lost everything when the ocean took their home, Ivan’s options were strictly limited.

He thought of his family, of the dead-end, soul-crushing job that was the best he could get despite finishing at the top of his Computer Science graduating class. The bug-infested, too-small apartment that was all he and Judy could manage on two salaries. This was their only way out. He would get this done. The pay was better to begin with, and if they hit any kind of significant mineral lode—

The shuttle jerked as maneuvering thrusters kicked in. The passengers endured several minutes of random accelerations—fortunately for Ivan’s stomach, all low-thrust.

“This pilot sucks,” muttered one of the crew. Ivan craned his neck to look over the seat backs and identified the speaker as Raul Alfaro. Dark-haired and olive-skinned, Alfaro spoke with a faint Spanish accent.

“Belay that, Alfaro,” barked another. “You’re a guest here.”

The rebuke came from Albert Micoroski, the pilot of the Mad Astra, sitting across the aisle from Alfaro. Pilots stuck together, and one wouldn’t tolerate bad-mouthing another’s flying. The Astra’s co-pilot, Lita Generus, added her glare for emphasis.

Before Alfaro could respond, a clunk resounded through the walls as the shuttle docked. Again, Ivan wished for windows. He might as well be on Earth in yet another simulator, for all the actual adventure he was getting.

They had just docked at Olympus Station, the hub for space travel anywhere in the system. The enormous, double habitation rings, a full kilometer in diameter, formed the most well-known and iconic image in the civilized world. The view during the approach must have been spectacular.

“There are lots of windows on the station, noob,” Robinson said, seeming to read his mind. “You can spend the next two days watching shuttles and ships come and go. As long as you pass the pre-flight, your time is your own, once we’ve met with the captain for the standard benediction. Star Lounge, half an hour. You know where that is?”

Ivan responded with a small shake of his head.

“Noobs…” Robinson rolled his eyes. “Just stick with me when we get into the station. You can handle free fall, I hope?”

* * *

Astronomical. The word didn’t apply to just stars and planets. Ivan scanned the drink menu and felt his eyebrows climb his forehead. He’d had steaks that cost less. Real steaks.

Davies, sitting across from him, laughed. “Yeah, noob, just one of many things you have to get used to. But not to worry. The locally produced stuff is much cheaper.”

“And where would I find that?” Ivan asked, waving the menu.

“Well, not here. The working stiff bars don’t come with the fancy view…” Davies waved a hand at the large window a few tables over. The stars, visible in the low lighting, would take just over a minute to complete a rotation. “…or the nice comfy gravity.” He smiled at Ivan, the expression still lacking any trace of friendliness. “You might want to practice a little more with low-gee before you visit up-axis, noob.”

The waiter returned with the drinks—a tequila shot for each crew member. He set the glasses down, but no one reached for theirs. There was likely a tradition of some sort in play. Ivan watched Robinson, seated beside him, for cues.

Captain Andrew Jennings, at one end of the long table, stood up. Tall, grey-haired, and spare of build, he was every inch the lifetime spacer. A buzz cut and thick mustache gave him the aura of a movie cowboy, yet somehow he still managed to make the standard utility coveralls look like a uniform.

“Gentlemen and ladies.” He paused to scan the table, pointedly looking at each person, perhaps memorizing their faces. “We have lucked out and managed to get a relatively unexplored section of the belt in this tour’s Stakes Lottery. Things haven’t gone particularly shiny the last couple of trips, and we’ve had to say goodbye to some of our crew. I’d like to welcome our newest members, Ivan Pritchard and Arcadius Geiger.” The captain gestured toward Ivan and the other new member. “Arcadius is a veteran spacer, having crewed with the Forward Motion and the Serene Starlight on several occasions.”

Geiger nodded to the table in general, and muttered something noncommittal in a slight German accent.

Gesturing toward Ivan, the captain continued, “Ivan is a first-timer, but is also a top-rated computer specialist, so we’re looking forward to perhaps a little less drama with setting up the mining robot A.I.s this time around.”

Several of the crew whooped and clapped their hands. Ivan grinned and bobbed his head, embarrassed by the sudden attention.

“As you know, it takes only one good strike to set you up for life. It’s why we do this. Well, that and the luxurious lifestyle.” The captain flashed a tight smile to general laughter.

He raised his glass, and everyone at the table stood, shooters in hand. “To the Mad Astra and her crew. And may this tour be our big score.” The crew members raised their drinks and tossed them back in unison.

Hah-woof! Tequila shooter. Not used to those. Ivan’s eyes watered, and he put every ounce of will-power available into the task of not coughing as he sat down.

He turned to find Robinson watching him with an amused smile. “Not used to tequila, sprout?”

Ivan blew out a breath. “I’m more of a whiskey drinker.”

“Captain buys the first drink,” Davies said, leaning forward. “But after that, we’re on our own, sprout.”

Ivan’s eyes widened as he realized he’d just acquired a nickname. He turned to glare at Robinson.

Robinson shrugged and grinned. “Sorry.”

The captain picked that moment to stand again and address the crew. “I know this isn’t your venue of choice, people. I admit to a certain sympathy. The prices would get you an entire meal at other establishments. So, I will leave you to enjoy your remaining liberty. I’ll see you all, I hope, on the Mad Astra in two days’ time.”

The crew stood, and with a final nod, the captain turned and left.

Robinson poked Ivan with an elbow. “Let’s go get our gear and get settled in. We’ll see about some entertainment later.”

Ivan nodded to Davies, who favored him with a blank look, and followed Robinson out.

* * *

The transient accommodations on Olympus Station were clean, efficient—and tiny beyond belief. This style had been around in Japan since the 20th century, and it was ideal for overnights. Ivan eyed his bunk—literally a square tube running straight into the wall. Perhaps twice shoulders-width, it consisted of a thin mattress, some slide-open storage cupboards on the walls, and a pull-down locking hatch at the front for privacy and security. The compartments were stacked three levels deep, with a narrow ladder running between the stacks to access the upper bunks. Low-intensity lighting 24/7, combined with muted autumn colors, encouraged sleep and discouraged socializing. Shared bathroom facilities, at floor level, completed the offering.

It was clean, at least. The slightest whiff of disinfectant indicated that cleaning staff was on the ball. The restrooms looked well maintained, and the paint on the walls, if not exactly bright, was at least not peeling. No rust, of course. Corrosion on a space station could be fatal. No doubt inspection and maintenance would be draconian in its thoroughness.

The Burrows, the place was called. Ivan was pretty sure it was a bad play on the word ”boroughs”, but couldn’t bring himself to care enough to ask. As a junior crew member, he found himself stuck on the top row. In the one-quarter-gee of level seventeen, it wasn’t an onerous climb, but inconvenient if you needed to use the facilities in the middle of the night. Ivan sighed, draped his backpack over his shoulder, and climbed the narrow ladder. After easing himself in, he distributed his possessions into the appropriate cubbies, pulled down the door, and closed his eyes for a moment.

* * *

Ivan jerked awake, startled by the banging on his hatch.

“You alive, sprout? Do we have to order ourselves a replacement noob?”

Blinking the fog from his eyes, Ivan looked at his watch. He’d been asleep for more than two hours. He turned on his bunk and pushed the hatch up to see Davies, hanging from the side ladder by one hand, and still grinning. That grin was going to get old really fast.

“C’mon, sprout, we’re going up to Callahan’s. This is a good chance for you to look around while we protect your virginal butt.”

“Should I be doing that, this early? You said yourself—”

“You have to start somewhere,” Robinson yelled from the floor below.

Ivan bobbed his head in acknowledgement and began pulling himself out. Davies moved down the ladder to get out of his way.

At the bottom, Ivan found Davies and Robinson; the other new guy, Arcadius Geiger; Cirila Heinrichs, the geologist; and Aspasia Nevin, the scooter pilot.

“This looks serious,” he said, looking around.

“Only the drinking,” Nevin answered, favoring him with a scowl that Ivan was beginning to realize was her default expression. Without waiting for consensus, she turned and headed for the exit from The Burrows. For someone so short, Aspasia covered a lot of ground in a very short time, and gave the impression that she was more inclined to go through people rather than around.

Geiger and Heinrichs followed, Cirila snickering at a muttered comment from Kady.

Robinson slapped him on the shoulder as they brought up the rear. “We’re going to be on the Astra for six months, kid. Best to satisfy your inner delinquent before departure.”

The Burrows was close to one of the elevators that ran through the Wheel from the rim to the hub. They entered, and Ivan scanned the panel. Thirty levels made up the Wheel, each button labeled with both a floor number and the gravity value at that level. Davies pressed button twenty-seven, the doors closed, and the elevator began to rise.

Ivan staggered a little as the entire car seemed to shift. Robinson put out a steadying hand and chuckled. “The car swivels to keep down toward the floor, despite Coriolis forces. You’ll get used to it.”

* * *

Callahan’s didn’t fit the stereotype. All the Vid shows suggested that a spacer bar would be dark, smoky, filled with shady characters doing shady deals in the corners. The reality was clean, well lit, with lots of tables, and several Vids showing various sports and news channels. Ordinary people sat around, drinking and talking. It could be any bar on Earth, except for the tenth-gee gravity and the preponderance of mining crew coveralls as a fashion statement. That, and the visible curvature of the floor.

Ivan looked around. “No windows?”

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

Enjoyed this preview? ❤️ Do not stop here!

Read the complete book free online → 🔗

Continue reading now on BooksBarbecue and discover every page!

Love reading? Bookmark BooksBarbecue.com for more amazing books!

Happy Reading!