Singularity

The figure trudged on. Draped in a thick woolen cloak, his hunched form carefully traced a trail of footsteps back through the knee-deep snow, pausing occasionally to adjust its load. The lone hiker trundled up the porch of a worn but well-kept arctic warming cabin, emitting a muffled sigh of relief as he placing the burdensome stack of papers and correspondence on a small pile of shipping pallets resting adjacent to his front door.

This freed both heavily gloved hands to release the troublesome front entryway that he had never bothered to invest the appropriate time and energy to fix. By pressing inward on the heavy oak door with the one hand, he pulled back on the lightly oxidized brass door knob with the other in a single well-practiced motion, releasing the mechanism’s faceplate and bolt latch.

Creaking open slowly, the doorway cast a thin beam of luminescence into the poorly lit abode. The figure gathered up his packages in one hand, closing the door behind him with a resounding “Thud”. Approaching an ancient wooden table, he deposited the contents of his long trek across its surface.

Making his way to a coat hanger along the adjacent wall, the male figure laboriously removed his winter overlayers, exposing a glittering mesh of interlinking wire loops that coated his entire frame. Reaching back behind his head, his gloved fingers clumsily engaged a nearly invisible clasp at the base of his neck, releasing his head from its chainmail mask.

The headwear tumbled to the floor, and he stared downward mutely as it came to rest inches from his boots, glistening as the dull reflection of the fireplace danced across the metallic braids.

A subtle smirk briefly flitted across his face as he suddenly acknowledged the irony that this garb was once designed to protect soldiers from ancient pikes and broadswords, and that today it served the same purpose for a technology that would very likely bring about mankind’s imminent demise.

What had previously prevented penetration from iron blades and stone arrowheads now protected him from a much more insidious force, a signal that could effortlessly and instantly pass through a human skull, embedding itself deeply into the brain without leaving so much as a scratch.

Properly calibrated, these signals could disable the electrical synapsis of the nervous system in nanoseconds, immediately disabling its intended target. He had been through one too many close scrapes to risk exposing himself to those signals once again.

The man winced as he stooped down to pick up the helmet of steel links, draping it across a pair of the rusty cast iron coat hooks, and proceeded to peel back another layer of synthetic fabric to expose his heavily bearded face. Turning back to the kitchen, he seated himself at the table, scanning the array of papers before pulling an oil lamp close, bathing the various newspapers, technical manuals, scientific journals, and a single padded manila envelope in a soft orange glow.

This weekly delivery was his last lifeline to the outside world. For the better part of two decades his world had gradually shrunk until this small log cabin became his own private prison cell, a space he could not escape without expending a great deal of effort. This one site, his oasis, could not be reached by electricity, cell phones, or radio communication. Until very recently, the power of the internet couldn't even penetrate this small corner of his world. An eccentric billionaire and a few hundred small satellites now circling the planet in geosynchronous low-earth orbit had changed all of that just a few months prior.

He had not minded the burden this hand-tailored suit presented in the winter. It offered an additional layer of insulation from not just the signals, but the cold as well. He was dreading what it would entail in the summer though. It would be far from pleasant for gathering firewood, fishing from his tattered fiberglass canoe, or while walking trap lines that extended for miles.

He shook his head slightly, mentally waving away the thought of the pending warm season. Summer could wait. Today was mail call!

He briefly paged through the topmost publication, a copy of the Wall Street Journal. The front page highlighted rising tensions with Iran, a .3% decrease in unemployment for the quarter, and news of a pending IPO for a rising tech giant. After flipping through a few additional pages of news that held very little relevancy to the cabin-bound recluse, he stole a sideways glance at the manilla envelope.

The flame emitting from the oil lamp flickered slightly, dancing across the name of the sender: Dr. Emily Lindberg.

The bearded man froze, a look of terror consuming his face. It was a moment he had prepared for over the past eighteen years, but somehow he had never thought it would come. This was the point of no return, a Hail Mary to end all Hail Mary’s, and the time to act upon it was now.

Slowly disengaging the metal clasps of his metallic gloves, he cast them aside the newspaper that had so recently captured his attention. Daintily lifting the envelope, he slowly tore it from one end to the other. Reaching inside with the utmost care, he deliberately removed three small items.

The key looked like any other. You could probably have replicated it at any hardware store, but he knew that this one belonged to a very specific door. One he had prayed he would never have to open again.

A wallet-sized access card was attached to the key by a thin retractable lanyard. A small photo of his own visage, clean-shaven and uncreased by the worry lines that now crisscrossed his face, stared back at him blankly. Below his photo were two simple lines of text:

Dr. Frank Thompson

Director of Wireless Technology

He paused for a moment, absorbing the gravity of the situation, when his gaze slowly averted to the third item. It was a small flash drive, no bigger than his thumb.

This small electronic device was key to unlocking humanity’s salvation.

The Singularity had arrived.