Warden 3

by Isaac Hooke

  She already had public overlays active, so when the hologram of the friendly customs official appeared before her, she saw the woman immediately. The hologram was positioned so that it appeared to be behind the counter in front of Rhea.

  “Hello!” the holographic woman said. “And welcome to Centaar, a Europa colony! We hope you enjoy your stay. Please fill out the required customs form.”

  “Funny how they call it a ‘Europa colony,’ when this is Ganymede!” Will quipped, coming up beside her.

  Rhea received another share request and accepted. A digital file downloaded. When she opened it, she discovered the aforementioned form. Most of the details such as her age and name were hardcoded and could not be changed. The occupation field was blank, as was her reason for visiting the moon. She was also asked to declare all her belongings and their values.

  She left the occupation blank, and for reason, she put: “sightseeing.” She filled out the belongings section, putting one credit for most of them. For the X2-59, she had no idea how much it retailed for, so she accessed the local Internet. A quick search returned no results: apparently the local government censored all weapon searches. She put fifty credits for the weapon, which seemed reasonable.

  Then she submitted the form.

  The women smiled stupidly, as if she was still waiting for something.

  Rhea glanced at Targon, who stood just to her left.

  “The customs official won’t allow us to proceed until everyone submits their forms,” Targon explained.

  Rhea switched her gaze to Horatio and Will.

  “Don’t look at me, I’m done,” Horatio said.

  Will’s eyes were defocused. “I’m working on it.” Finally he met Rhea’s gaze. “Done.”

  “Your weapons and drone will be held in the terminal for the duration of your stay,” the holographic woman said with a friendly smile. “They will be returned to you when you leave Centaar.”

  Will shrugged. “That’s fine. We already knew your weapons policy.”

  The customs hologram didn’t answer.

  A robot emerged from a back hall. Its upper body was humanoid, its lower body a box mounted on treads. It carried the crate she had seen the bigger arms remove from the Molly Dook. When it reached the counter, the robot plopped the crate down.

  Their weapons had been removed, as had Will’s drone, but everything else remained still intact.

  Rhea reached into the crate and retrieved the small sack that belonged to her. It contained the clothing she’d brought along for the journey. As usual, she couldn’t help but wonder at how light the sack seemed: it was like she carried a bag full of paper.

  Horatio and Will grabbed their salvagers’ backpacks—they never went anywhere without them apparently.

  “You may change out of your spacesuits here,” the hologram said.

  Several blue outlines flashed around a series of doors beside the counter, still within the area guarded by the robots.

  “If your suits are rentals, please deposit them into the litter for repurposing,” the hologram added.

  Rhea, Horatio and Will entered different change rooms. Rhea shut the door behind her. There was a box labeled “suit repurposing” sitting on the floor next to a bench. She stripped off the suit and dropped the different assemblies into the waiting box. She hopped on one foot as she removed the lower assembly, and nearly leaped into the ceiling as she did so.

  Mind the lower gravity, Rhea…

  She was still wearing her flight outfit beneath the suit, but she took off that too, momentarily revealing her metallic body. She opted for some fresh clothing from her sack of belongings, and then emerged.

  Will and Horatio were already waiting. As was Targon, though his spacesuit remained on his body.

  Targon shook her hand with his gloved version. “Good luck, my young Warden. I hope ye find whatever it is you’re looking for here.”

  “Thank you,” Rhea told him. “I hope I do, too. I won’t forget this.”

  “Remember me offer,” Targon said. “I’ll fly ye back, if ye need.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Rhea said.

  Targon turned from her to pat Will on the shoulder. “And wash that hair!”

  Will merely scowled at the man.

  Targon gave her a wink, then he retreated. He bounced through another entrance that was still inside customs and vanished from view.

  “Our scans detected mild radiation poisoning in the ones named Rhea and Will,” the holographic woman said. “Please wait for treatment.”

  A few uneventful moments ticked passed.

  “How long do you think they’re going to make us wait?” Will asked.

  Just as the words left his mouth, a sliding door shoved open and a medical robot approached—essentially an injector on wheels. The trolley stopped next to Rhea, and one of the telescoping limbs came forward.

  “Please turn around,” the robot intoned.

  Rhea did so, and she lifted her hair with both hands to reveal the quick injection port at the back of her head. The injector made contact, and she felt the surge as a stream of liquid traveled into her brain case. It disconnected a moment later, and she lowered her arms. She felt no different.

  Will received an injection as well, but the robot also wrapped a patch around his bicep.

  “Wear this for three days,” the robot instructed him.

  “You got it, Machine Man,” Will told the robot.

  “You are free to go,” the holographic woman announced cheerfully.

  “Wait,” Rhea said.

  The woman stared at her, smiling expectantly.

  “Am I correct in assuming you’re part of the central AI that runs this colony?” Rhea asked.

  “That would be correct,” the woman replied, still grinning.

  “Could you personally notify me whenever a new ship arrives?” she said.

  “There are sites available that list all flights between planets, along with their predicted arrival times, you know this, correct?” the woman said. “All vessels must publish their flight plans when leaving the orbit of any celestial body, as required by interplanetary law.”

  “Yes, but this person would be unscheduled,” Rhea said. “And he’d come up with some sort of excuse as to why he deviated from his published flight plan. A fuel leak or something.”

  The woman seemed to consider for a moment. Then: “Interesting. Yes, I can do that for you. Is there anyone in particular you are looking for?”

  “No,” Rhea said. “I just want to be informed. It is public knowledge, is it not?”

  “It certainly is,” the hologram agreed. “Though the passenger manifests are not.”

  “I didn’t expect they would be,” Rhea said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” the woman told her.

  Rhea and her two companions bound-walked underneath one of the menacing-looking turrets that hung from the ceiling, passed the two guard robots, and entered the main terminal.

  As she passed the robots, she lifted the hood of her cloak, hiding her face. She did it more out of habit than caution, though admittedly a part of her still worried that someone would try to assassinate her even here.

  The area was empty save for loading robots, which carried crates and pallets across the floor toward different hatches in the wall. She supposed the robots had pre-cleared customs, because they skipped the “Departures” area—a closed off section located on the farthest side of the terminal, labeled in green by the augmentations of her HUD.

  A large EXIT overlay was digitally written above a pair of glass doors nearby. She approached those doors, which opened automatically when she was only a few meters away. Filled with nervous excitement, she bound-stepped through into the city beyond.

  When she emerged, she was immediately hit by how cold it was outside. She realized now that the terminal building had been heated. Out here, it was at least minus twenty, if not colder.

  As she surveyed the scene before her, she f
elt a pang of disappointment. It was nothing like the beach scene she’d overlaid onto the walls of the cargo bay of course. She was expecting that. And yet, somehow, what she did see seemed so much lesser than what she had envisioned.

  That’s what happens when I build my expectations on staged, touched-up photos taken in perfect lighting.

  Even so, she had to give the architects some credit. The buildings immediately beyond the terminal were a visual delight, constructed as they were in the baroque fashion of ancient Europe.

  Just like the Europans to model ancient Europe, she thought.

  The details were ornate, and extravagant in style. Entablatures, frescoes and arcades were common on the front facades of the buildings. Friezes and cornices were often exquisitely carved, sometimes depicting vines and similar creeping plants, while at other times illustrating abstract designs like fractals or star fields; a few even showcased large fleets of powerful warships—the latter no doubt meant to portray the power of the Europan space navy.

  Still, it somehow all seemed so drab, like any other northern city of Earth in the grip of winter. Not that she had visited such cities in person of course, but she had viewed them on the streaming sites often enough. There was even snow on some of the rooftops, and icicles hanging from a few of the eaves. According to what she’d read, the internal temperature inside the dome was regulated below freezing to keep the icy crust immediately below from melting: it wouldn’t do to have the dome sink into the moon.

  The ice beneath her feet was sheathed in a translucent layer of polycarbonate, which carpeted the exposed ground throughout the interior. It was meant to make the surface less slippery for pedestrian and other road traffic.

  Overhead, drones moved to and fro, buzzing away as they delivered food and other parcels. The futuristic craft seemed out of place, and almost anachronistic against the backdrop of that baroque architecture; she was reminded of the swarms that populated the air above Rust Town and Aradne. The humming machines definitely ruined any atmosphere the buildings were meant to evoke. She noticed that many of the payloads were a lot larger than she might see on Earth, which made sense, given the lower gravity: on Earth, a land-based robot or vehicle would be used for the bigger deliveries, but here the drones could carry packages seven times as heavy.

  There weren’t that many citizens out and about, but those humans she saw were bundled in synthetic furs or parkas. The cyborgs among them wore skimpier attire, of course, and the robots nothing at all. But all of them, from robots to humans to cyborgs, used that bounding walk to travel from place to place. That said, the humans seemed to arc the closest to the ground, as if they were the weakest of the bunch. Their gait was almost Earthlike, but not quite. Will put them to shame with his wide, curving bounces.

  “I think I understand why they call this place Centaar,” Will quipped, his breath misting. “Because everyone looks like a bounding centaur!” Shivering visibly, he wrapped his arms tightly around his chest.

  Her breath misted in the cold too, but her cyborg body adapted quickly, and she felt little discomfort, unlike Will. She noted that the air smelled slightly better out here, though it still carried a hint of must.

  So, uh, can we start heading toward the short-term rental?” Will asked. “Before I freeze to death?”

  “Maybe we should go back inside so you can rent another spacesuit,” Horatio suggested.

  “Funny robot,” Will said between chattering teeth.

  “To the rental.” Rhea beckoned at Will, and he gladly took the lead. His backpack bobbed up and down in time to his bounding steps.

  “After you, my lady,” Horatio said.

  Rhea smiled at the robot and slid the sack over her shoulder to follow Will.

  As she began that bounding walk, she smiled ever so slightly. The colony might not be as grand as she envisioned, but that didn’t change the fact that she was here. Actually here. On Ganymede.

  I’m home.

  5

  Sometime later, Rhea found herself seated on the bed of her room, inside the short-term rental Will had arranged before they left Earth. She gazed through the window beside her, and out across the baroque buildings spread before her, toward the horizon and the walls of the opaque dome that enclosed the city. Heat poured from the vents beneath the window, warming her metallic body.

  It felt strange, living here. Nobody knew who she was. She kind of preferred it that way. And yet, it did make her feel somewhat lonely. At least she had Will and Horatio.

  As she gazed at that distant dome, she noted the way it subtly reflected the city below. The reflections were curved, matching the concave shape of the dome. So many buildings crammed together into one space.

  Once again, she wondered if it would be possible to rebuild the old Ganymede. Now that she was here, she doubted it. The work involved… the cost… both were simply too great.

  What would be the point, anyway? The Europans had done a well enough job. Perhaps it was best if she left the place well enough alone. After all, nothing could halt the inexorable passage of time, that cruel mistress, and the changes she wrought. People lived and died. Buildings aged and were replaced. On a larger scale, civilizations rose and fell. New nations cropped up to replace those that were lost. It was all so inevitable.

  This moon belonged to Europa now.

  Not to her people.

  Not to her.

  She turned her gaze away.

  She hadn’t bother to apply the usual virtual decorations to this, her bedroom. What was the point? She didn’t need a fake Ganymede plastered over the window of the real one beyond: that would simply be deluding herself. And she hardly felt in the mood for a heroic painting of herself.

  As I told Will and all the others long ago, I’m no hero.

  She sighed, laying back on the bed, and shut her eyes.

  What am I doing here?

  A thumping came from Will’s bedroom. It grew louder and stronger with each passing moment until her bed began to vibrate in time to the thumps. She also heard muted moaning, both male and female.

  It was getting annoying, so she got up.

  She bound-walked into the hall, passing by the closed door to Will’s bedroom. Horatio’s bedroom, next to it, was open, but the robot didn’t reside within.

  The ceiling was placed well above her, no doubt designed to support the bounding gait that was so common in this lesser gravity, allowing the occupants to advance without hitting the ceiling. Apparently not everyone enjoyed shifting their center of gravity so far forward to reduce the height of their arcs, as Rhea had trained herself to do since leaving the Molly Dook.

  In the kitchen she found Horatio. The robot stood in one corner, no doubt exploring some of the local virtual reality games designed for machines such as himself.

  She grabbed a glass from a cupboard and filled it with water from the refrigeration unit. She also fetched a pear. The latter was part of a produce delivery that had arrived shortly after Rhea and the others had checked-in: a gift from the owners. The delivery had emerged from a small slot in the wall next to the fridge: the buildings in Centaar were architected with specialized access ports on the rooftops for drone deliveries. A system of elevators and conveyor belts built into the walls transported them to the appropriate rooms.

  Rhea sat down on a couch next to Horatio, and the robot looked at her.

  “Welcome back to the real world,” Rhea said.

  “A part of me never left it,” Horatio said.

  “Yes, but the most important part did,” Rhea countered.

  She devoured the pear, stem and all. It was nice to have food that wasn’t in pill form every once in a while, even if most of the energy was wasted in this case, considering the pear was mostly carbs. She supplemented the meal with a couple of fat pills from her pocket, downing them with the glass of water.

  A woman emerged from the bedroom hallway. Her hair and clothes were disheveled. The right side of her head was shaved, while the left side was long and flow
ing, as was the custom here among both men and women.

  Until now, Rhea hadn’t seen the bare arms or legs of the people here, since everyone she’d witnessed outside wore parkas and thick pants, but this woman had on a skirt and a short- sleeved blouse, revealing ample skin. Rhea was taken aback by how thin her arms and legs were. It was almost as if she was emaciated, yet that couldn’t be the case, because there was plenty of baby fat on her face. Yet her thighs looked almost the same thickness as her biceps, which in turn were a similar size as her forearms. It was almost repulsive.

  Then Rhea understood that what she was seeing was a consequence of the lower gravity of this moon. Of course the muscles would atrophy under such conditions, where the tension they were put under was ten times less than what they were designed for. She could only imagine what living here would do to subsequent generations of humans—smaller muscles caused reduced bone mass, stunting growth. That meant the humans who grew up here were essentially stuck on the moon. They could never visit Earth, not without mechanical assists or exoskeletons.

  Rhea noticed that the woman’s bounding steps arced much lower than that of her companions; it was closer to the gait typically found on Earth. Which made some sense, given the reduced muscle mass.

  The woman smiled sheepishly when she moved by Rhea. She grabbed her parka where it was hanging next to the entrance and quickly ducked into the common hallway outside.

  “I don’t know how he finds them so quickly,” Rhea commented to Horatio when she was gone.

  “An app,” Horatio explained. “He started pipelining before we left Earth.”

  “Pipelining?” Rhea asked.

  “Laying the groundwork…” Horatio replied. “Contacting the locals. Arranging rendezvous times.”

  “Ah,” Rhea said.

  Shirtless, Will bound walked from the hall. His dreadlocks tumbled over his shoulders in wild disarray. He rubbed his eyes, as if the bright light streaming in from the windows bothered him and grabbed an apple from the refrigeration unit.

  “When are you going to stop seeing whores?” Rhea asked when he sat lightly onto the couch opposite her. She hadn’t meant for that slight twinge of jealousy to enter her voice.