Dark Star Calling

by Julia Keller

  For once, she told herself, the regular girl gets the win. Yay, me.

  It wasn’t the kind of thing she could say out loud, and it might never happen again, but right here, right now, she was the hero. Without her, the greasy tentacles of Graygrunge would still be whipping through these tunnels, on their way to the operational heart of New Earth, to do catastrophic damage. But with her, the menace had been thwarted.

  “I wish there’d been another way to divert the virus. I’m sorry,” Rez said. Repeating an apology was a very un-Rez-like thing to do, but then again, this had been a day of firsts. “That’s what I really wanted.”

  Violet shrugged. “Yeah, okay. Fine. You know what I really want? To get the hell out of these tunnels. Right now.”

  4

  Why Did the Chicken Cross the Galaxy?

  Twenty minutes later, when Shura, Tin Man, Kendall, and Rez walked into the observatory’s conference room for the debriefing, this is what they saw: an AstroRob lying flat on his back in the middle of the table.

  But that wasn’t the weirdest part.

  Even odder was the fact that Violet was up on the table, too, kneeling right next to Mickey. She had left the tunnels ahead of her friends, pledging to meet them back here; she had to pick something up first, she said. And now she was putting her plan into action. She was using her console to scan the contents of a warped and stained and battered-looking Old Earth book entitled 1,001 Jokes & Riddles for All Occasions into his main receptor portal. The portal’s edges were jagged and fire-blackened.

  That constituted only a small portion of his injuries. The AstroRob was in terrible shape. No lights, no perky hum. The linked cylinders that comprised his body were crinkled and askew. Clumps of steel sheathing hung off him like loosened roof tiles after a rainstorm.

  “Um, Violet?” Shura said. She had led the others into the room. She was wearing her white tunic, which meant it was a doctor day. Shura was a painter as well as a physician and researcher. On artist days, she wore a paint-spattered tunic. On doctor days, it was a starched white one. “What are you doing, exactly?”

  “Trying to bring him back to life.” Violet turned a page, repositioning her console to a point midway between book and portal. “Graygrunge infiltrated him. If I can remind him of something he loves, he might come around. And Mickey loves to tell jokes. More than anything.”

  “Mickey?” Shura said, a question mark in her voice.

  “It’s a nickname.”

  By now, the others—Kendall, Tin Man, and, at the far end, Rez—had taken their seats around the large oval table. Its blue-tinted top was so shiny that it looked like a precision-cut sample of New Earth sky. This room was where Rez conducted his meetings with the observatory staff. Through the tall glass walls lay a marvelous view of New Earth, its soaring towers and its silver highways, its meticulously planned beauty.

  Rez looked at the book in Violet’s hand. He made a face. “Hard to believe people ever relied on those things instead of consoles.”

  Violet ignored him. She turned to the last page of 1,001 Jokes & Riddles for All Occasions to finish the scan. Her father had maintained a large library of old-fashioned books, but his were literary classics. “I came across this one on Old Earth a few years ago. In the ruins of a library,” she said. “Not sure why I kept it, but I’m glad I did. Thought a few bad jokes might make Mickey perk right up. It’s a long shot but worth a try. I’m just about finished with the data transfer.”

  Tin Man piled his big black-booted feet up on the conference table. It was rude, which was why he did it. Tin Man had been born on Old Earth and never wanted anyone to think he’d been tamed by New Earth’s rules of decorum. A purple earring drooped from one ear. He shaved his head just often enough to keep the stubble looking sharp and menacing. He’d decorated his arms and his neck in a dense swarm of tattoos. He did all of those things, Violet knew, just to reinforce the point: He was Old Earth, all the way.

  “A robot who likes jokes?” Tin Man asked with a snort of disdain.

  “Yeah.” Violet’s tone was firm. “I think it’s pretty cool.” She was feeling protective of Mickey and didn’t want anybody to make fun of him. Especially not while he clung to life by a couple of singed wires.

  Kendall peered more closely at the AstroRob. “Looks like a lost cause. I think it’s time for a trip to the recycle pod.” Kendall was lean but muscular, with short dark hair and gray eyes that watched everything. He was the only one around the table who sat up straight in his chair. He was the chief of police, and he never let his posture forget it. “Where’d he come from, anyway? And why keep him around?”

  Violet glanced at Rez. Was it time to tell them about his secret search for a promising star and how it had led him to find Rachel’s chip?

  With a barely perceptible motion of his head, Rez answered her: No.

  Okay, Violet thought. His secret, his call.

  But she still had to deal with Kendall’s question. “Oh, you know. It’s … um … spare parts for the observatory’s other AstroRobs.” Technically not a lie—because if Mickey didn’t recover, that’s exactly what he would be.

  Kendall nodded. He’d already lost interest in the robot and was checking his console feed. Tiny holographic jewels—black, brown, white, red, yellow, blue, and intricate blends thereof—rose at different rates from the console face, creating a sort of iridescent ballet. A slight tap on the desired jewel opened a message, viewable only by the console-wearer. Onlookers saw a blur.

  Rez cleared his throat. He was ready to start.

  Violet shoved the book in her back pocket. She patted Mickey’s shoulder—or what might be reasonably construed as a shoulder—and hopped down from the table. To her dismay, he remained comatose. She pulled out a chair between Shura and Kendall. She looked around the room.

  She’d been here several times before. In her role as a senator, she often had to huddle with Rez and his staff to discuss budget overruns and research priorities—gatherings that she didn’t enjoy but had to somehow get through without yawning or doodling on her console. Violet had originally thought that politics would be about helping people, and sometimes it was, but—surprise!—it turned out to be mostly about meetings and signing documents.

  On a high shelf in the corner was an orrery—an ornate, beautiful instrument made of wood and tin and brass that represented the movements of the planets of the solar system. It had been created centuries ago on Old Earth. Tin Man had rescued it from an abandoned Old Earth museum when he was a small boy. Last year, he had presented it to Rez as a tribute to Rachel. Tin Man had lost a little sister, too—Molly, back on Old Earth—and he knew what Rez was going through, even if Rez never acknowledged his pain out loud.

  Violet had recently realized just how much she and her friends were linked by their losses: She and Shura had each said a final goodbye to a parent. Rez and Tin Man grieved for Rachel and Molly. And Kendall had lost his brother, Danny.

  It made it all just a little bit easier to bear, maybe, if the people around you knew what you were feeling without you having to say anything. You didn’t have to worry about finding the right words. The words didn’t matter. Only the feelings.

  By now, it was early afternoon, and the sunlight gliding into the room seemed to make a special point of picking out the orrery first, as if it recognized an old friend and wanted to gift it with sparkle and mystery.

  Violet was glad the orrery was here. She was very worried about Mickey, and for some reason she didn’t understand, seeing the orrery cheered her up. It wasn’t a computer or any other sophisticated, high-tech gadget that would fit in with the numberless wonders of New Earth. In fact, an orrery was about as basic and low-tech as you could get, with its primitive clockwork mechanics, its tiny hand-painted globes, its minute gears that softly whirred and gently clicked as they engaged, its round wooden pedestal. It was almost as anachronistic as a book. But it was always the first thing she looked at when she came into this room and the last thing she
looked at when she left.

  Rez addressed the table. “Status reports.”

  They examined their consoles. Virus control was Rez’s domain, which was why no one questioned his authority. Had it been a medical or artistic issue, Shura would have taken the lead. Any law enforcement question was handled by Kendall and Tin Man. Political issues were automatically placed in Violet’s lap.

  “The final sweep of the tunnels,” Kendall said, “revealed no residual traces of Graygrunge.” A tiny green jewel rose from his console. He touched it, opening a screen that he quickly reviewed. “I did a quick sweep for other viruses, too. Negative. For now. But you never truly get rid of Graygrunge. It goes back into hiding. Lies in wait until the next chance it gets to attack.”

  “Like a human virus,” Rez said.

  That drew a frowning rebuke from Shura. “Not like a human virus,” she said, making air quotes with her fingers around the word he’d used incorrectly. “It is a human virus. And it’s a computer virus, too. As Stratton and Hemlepp proved, at this point, there’s no essential difference anymore—at the cellular level, anyway—between the two. The transformation is complete.”

  “So how do you know when it’s coming?” Tin Man asked. “I mean, we’ve cleared it out of the computer systems before. Any way to predict when an outbreak’s imminent?”

  “Not really,” Shura replied. “It’s opportunistic. The minute it senses a weakness, an opening, it strikes. And the triggers are always changing.”

  “Thanks goodness you developed that retardant,” Violet said to her. “I hate to think what might happen if—”

  “Can we move on?” Rez snapped, interrupting her. “Let’s save the back-patting for later. Speaking of the retardant, Shura, how’s our supply?”

  “Low,” she answered. “I’ll have to start on a new batch right away.”

  Rez turned to Tin Man. “We got lucky, right? No alarms sent out to police or fire departments. Nobody was hanging around the entrance to the tunnels, wondering why a bunch of people suddenly pried off the hatch and dived in.”

  “Not a peep,” Tin Man replied. “The tunnels are mostly forgotten these days. Just like the Intercept.”

  “Already?” Violet said.

  Tin Man shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if it was four years ago or four seconds ago. Ancient history. People are busy. They have other things to think about.”

  Rez rapped his knuckles on the table. He wanted them to get back to business.

  “Tin Man, you always monitor the public channels, too, right? News feeds on consoles?”

  “Nobody’s mentioned it,” he answered. “So far, so good.”

  “Okay. Let’s keep it that way. I don’t want people to know how often the jumping viruses actually show up. They’d freak out, for sure. If our computer systems crashed—which is what would happen if we didn’t stop Graygrunge and the others—a lot of critical functions would be compromised. But so far, we’ve been able to contain the viruses when they attack. So let’s make this our little secret. Agreed?”

  There was a murmur of Yeah, sure and Okay from around the table. Plus Tin Man’s Whatever.

  “So … thanks,” Rez said matter-of-factly and in an ice-cold, impersonal way.

  The Rez way, Violet thought. He seemed a little too comfortable with secrets.

  But then she realized that he’d stopped talking.

  He was looking at the four of them. One by one. And not casually. Not as if they were just a glaze of faces that didn’t matter to him except for when he specifically needed them.

  No. He was really looking at them.

  At Tin Man, whose nicked-up, tough-guy boots were still stacked on the tabletop and who was using a short penknife to dig a splinter out of his right palm.

  At Shura, who was studying the recumbent robot and whose pale, round face had bunched into a frown as she imagined the internal schematics of the machine, trying to figure out how she might help restore him to a robot version of consciousness.

  At Kendall, who was still checking his console every few seconds, tapping out replies to messages from his officers and keeping an eye on his news feed.

  At me, Violet thought. Rez’s gaze had finally alighted on her. She spotted something in his eyes that she’d only seen there a few times before, and only when he was interacting with Rachel:

  Gratitude.

  Violet felt as if she could, just for an instant, read Rez’s mind and his heart.

  These are my friends. I needed them this morning, and I called, and they came. It’s only fair that I tell them what’s going on. Either I trust them or I don’t—and if I do, then they deserve to know.

  “One more thing,” Rez said, “before everybody takes off.”

  Violet gave him a brief, pleased nod. She was pretty sure of what he was going to say next.

  No more secrets. Not the kind you keep from your friends, anyway. It was time to bring the others on board.

  Now it was Violet’s turn to do a quick scan of the room—at the faces gathered here, the faces of the people she cared about, the people she sometimes argued with and got mad at but that she’d faced danger with, and even death. And would again, in a heartbeat, if the need arose.

  Get ready, guys, she thought. And even though she was worried about Mickey, she felt a flicker of excitement. Here we go.

  5

  Rez’s Big Reveal

  “I know everybody’s crazy busy,” Rez declared, “and so I’ll make this as brief as I can while not leaving out any essential aspects. For the past few months, I’ve been using the telescope here at the observatory to—”

  Suddenly, the sad heap of almost-dead robot in the middle of the table performed a very undead-robot-like maneuver: He sent forth a sound that might best be described as a long, wheezy fart. It smelled of fried wires and overheated plastic.

  Violet couldn’t resist a small giggle.

  “Wow,” Shura said. “Kind of makes your eyes water.”

  “Yeah. Wow,” Tin Man added, fanning the air in front of his face.

  Rez waited. His silence had a subtext; clearly, he found the entire incident undignified and had decided to ignore it. When no more comments and no further fart-like emissions were forthcoming, he continued, “Anyway, I’ve been using the telescope on my own time to conduct a clandestine search for a planet that might be able to serve as a new location for New Earth. Our orbit is diminishing ever so slightly. Nothing urgent right now, but someday, it might be. I’ve been looking for an exoplanet that would suit our needs. The thing is, I didn’t want to incite a panic. Same motive for covering up the Graygrunge attack.

  “So I found an unemployed AstroRob—the unfortunate Mickey you see before you here—and started making an inventory of stars. We look at the light from star after star after star, trying to spot a wobble. Because the wobble means—”

  “—that a planet is orbiting that star,” Kendall said, finishing his sentence with an eagerness he couldn’t hide. “The planet’s orbit interrupts the light. It breaks the path of the starlight.”

  “That’s exactly right.” Rez nodded approvingly. “Before his accident, poor Mickey here even came up with a name for the kind of star we need. A broken star. A star whose radiance has been interrupted—or ‘broken’—by an orbiting planet. And it was while I was searching for the exoplanet that I found her.”

  “Found who?” Tin Man asked.

  “Rachel. She’s back.”

  * * *

  The room was still.

  An instant later, it was the opposite of still as Kendall, Tin Man, and Shura all tried to talk at once, their voices clashing and tangling and overlapping.

  Kendall’s was the first to separate itself from the babble.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Just what I said,” Rez replied. “It’s Rachel.”

  “Rachel’s dead.” Kendall said it gently but firmly.

  Violet recalled having made the same point herself earlier that morning, bac
k in Rez’s lab.

  “Of course,” Rez snapped at him, just as he’d snapped at Violet. “It’s a signal from her Intercept chip, not Rachel herself. The chip’s trying to communicate with us. I was attempting to pin down its origin point when Graygrunge showed up. My speculation is that Rachel’s remains have reached a distant galaxy and were swept up in a meteor swarm, and then the swarm was rerouted by solar winds and then somehow the chip got separated. And now I’d like to get back to my work, so that I can—”

  “Hold on.” Tin Man’s tone was skeptical. “Just a quick question here, Rez, before we go on.”

  “Ask away,” Rez said.

  “Okay, here goes. Are you nuts?”

  Rez’s reply was swift and sharp. “I am not nuts, as you so charmingly put it.” He sent forth the words in a chilly voice. “And by the way, that’s a totally insensitive term with which to refer to people with mental instabilities.”

  “Call ’em like I see ’em, pal.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know enough not to jump to conclusions based on some silly signal. Which might be anything. From anywhere.” Tin Man grinned sardonically. “Maybe you’ve been staring at the stars too long. Maybe you oughta try keeping your eyes right down here on New Earth for a change. Just like the rest of us.”

  “You’re an idiot,” Rez declared.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  They glared at each other across the table, Tin Man with his muscles and his shaved head and his spider tattoos and his deliberately torn and raggedy Old Earth tunic, and Rez with his pallid, washed-out skin, which stayed that way because he spent too much time indoors squinting at a computer screen, and his messed-up hair and his mismatched tunic and trousers because he didn’t give a damn what he wore.