by Ginger Booth
“How fun!” she assured him. “We’re eager to see everything –”
“Ow!” cried Zelda Maier, the young atmospheric grad student. She jumped forward, nearly ramming into the stiff and elderly Petunia Ling. “It bit me!”
‘It’ was a pole-like robot on a circular rolling base. Tall as Sass’s shoulder, the machine featured a single articulated arm that reminded her of an adjustable desk lamp with claw, its maximum reach a couple meters. The grey head looked like a bowling ball, with a grid of camera eyes like sequins neatly spaced for an omni-directional view, plus three larger round speaker grills at ‘jaw’ level, distributed around the sphere. A utility belt hung from a spoked wheel at its ‘hips.’
Sass smiled harder at Tharsis, and snagged the robot by its ‘wrist.’ “I don’t understand.”
“Hm? Oh! Shiva is chipping you! That’s how you join our colony. Remember we spoke of this?”
Sass smiled thinly at the robot’s eyes. “This is Shiva?” My pal, my buddy! “The AI who shot at my ship? And murdered seven of my crew? Is that you, Shiva?”
The robot prudently attempted to reverse. Sass followed, not letting go of the damned thing’s arm.
Tharsis continued clueless. “Ah, no, captain. That’s a utility robot. Shiva directs all the robots.”
Clay assisted by casually stepping on the other side of the robot’s rolling base to block its escape. “Why did this thing attack our crewmate? Is the captain’s question.” The first mate’s face remained stone neutral as he studied the utility pole. He relieved it of the tool in its hand.
“An inoculation gun,” Darren advised quietly. He’d joined Sass and Clay, and poked at the ‘shoulder’ joint on the ambulatory pedestal. “They did mention that was how they’d persuade Shiva not to, um.”
Kill us, Sass easily completed his sentence. “Husna, please take Zelda and Porter back to the ship.” She grabbed the geologist’s elbow and herded her trio of scientists back through the airlock door. “I think we need our ship’s medic to look over this ‘chipping’ before we proceed further. I’m sure you understand, colonel.”
“Well, no, actually –” Tharsis began.
“Darren,” Clay interrupted, “would you like to take this robot for study?”
Darren pushed his glasses up. “Later. I’m eager to dissect it.”
“But where are our manners?” Sass cut in.
As though in reply, Darren drew out a heavy duty joint bolt. The robotic arm drooped from its wires, no longer with any leverage to extend. After a moment’s further reflection, he unlatched a 10-cm spring as well. Sass released the wrist and the arm dropped to the floor in a clank.
Sass turned to narrow her eyes at the machine. “Shiva, I understand you are protective of your people.” She leaned closer. “So am I.”
The robot deactivated, its previous motor hum spinning down with a sad moan. Husna and the grad students were still donning their pressure suits. Darren matter-of-factly clutched the robot by the throat and handed it in for them to bring back to Thrive. “Be sure to warn Remi it bites.”
Sass masked a grin behind a hand. No doubt Remi would appreciate the gesture. Feeling much better, she turned back to her hosts, who stood frozen, mouths slightly ajar. “A tour? We’re eager to see your facilities. We won’t, um, touch anything. Provided it doesn’t touch us first. You understand.”
Tharsis took an enormous gulp of air, as though preparing to object at volume. Sass would have understood that. But instead he simply deflated. “Yes, of course. We can’t show you the whole town in one visit. So today I’ll show you around New Hellas, where the majority of our people live.”
The other two dignitaries looked deflated.
Clay volunteered, “I’d love to see New Hellas. But I know that Mr. Markley was eager to tour Nova Tycho. And the captain was so looking forward to visiting Ganymede Too and Scholar Silva.”
Sass played along. “We could split up and compare notes later.” Only belatedly did she wonder if splitting up was smart. It would give them the lay of the land quickly, and she wasn’t too worried about Clay or her own ability to defend themselves. She was less confident of Darren Markley.
But the Loonie and Ganny women stood up straighter and beamed.
“Excellent! This way, Captain Collier!” Inge Lumpkin flourished an arm toward a cinder block mini building. Its yellow tint matched the landscape. Four of these structures stood near the verge of the broad low-slung dome over the ball fields, equally spaced like cardinal points. Sass shrugged to Clay and followed Lumpkin.
The modest building proved to be a stairwell down into the town proper. Before she let the doorway close behind her, Sass took careful note of which staircases Darren and Clay descended into.
“What’s the fourth staircase?” she asked Lumpkin.
But her guide didn’t hear her. Sass let it go for now.
Sass found the corridors of Ganymede Too clean, hushed, and bright grey, with an occasional ankle-high robot busy sweeping. Commander Inge Lumpkin pointed out deserted halls at intersections, listing what facilities were located where, mostly private apartments.
Sass pounced when she mentioned their creche. Without enthusiasm, Lumpkin led her to the ‘recess room,’ currently occupied by the age 6-to-10 crowd. The floor featured the same dead-grass-shaded astro-turf as the sports fields above. The community leader proudly explained there were nearly 300 youth in Ganymede Too, including up to 20-year-olds. The Martians had 80% more, but the larger Loonie community 30% fewer.
“You separate your children?” Sass frowned. “Wouldn’t they have more fun together? Especially at the high school level.”
Lumpkin blinked several times. “We maintain separate communities. Ganymede Too is winning the child-rearing contest. We will soon outstrip Nova Tycho in population.”
Sass studied the kids, maybe 75 of them in the gym-sized room. Some fooled around with a ball or jump-ropes. Most stood talking. Several idled in a line staring at the wall. No running, no yelling or laughing or rough-housing. They appeared slightly stretched by the facility’s 0.9 g artificial gravity. But they were physically strong, well-groomed and fed, none skinny or fat, all wearing the same bright grey uniform as the commander.
Until one child broke pattern. His voice rose and he shoved a girl. She shoved back – and stopped. Both children froze, then quietly walked to the side to gaze at the wall.
Sass pointed. “Commander, what just happened there?”
“They misbehaved. They can rejoin recess after time out.”
“I didn’t see a teacher tell them to do that.” Sass didn’t see anyone but the children in the play hall.
“Shiva runs the creche,” Lumpkin clarified, and turned away. “The cafeteria is this way, but closed. It’s naughty to eat between meals.”
Naughty. “Commander, how did Shiva speak to the children?”
“They are chipped, of course. Our communications utilize the chips.”
“But why did the children obey her?”
Lumpkin appeared sorely puzzled by that one. “Why wouldn’t children obey when given instructions?”
Sass huffed a laugh. “Do you have children, commander?”
“Yes, three. One was in the play hall. The other two are older.”
Sass’s amusement died. No child waved to Lumpkin, nor did the community leader extend any greeting. “I see. Do the children live with you and your husband?” There was no reason they couldn’t, with grav plating everywhere. They could spend the evenings at home with their parents.
“I never married. The children live in the creche. This way.”
Don’t judge, Sass beseeched herself. Creche care was necessary in these artificial environments. The practice weakened family ties on Mahina, too, and eradicated them on Denali. And it wasn’t as though young people would envy her doing childbirth the natural way, complete with stretched abdomen, blood, and dirty diapers.
Lumpkin led on to her own personal accommodations, a modes
t bedroom and bath. A large display faced the foot of the bed. This showed the playing fields upstairs as though it were a window. The room was devoid of personal touches, except for one corner, which offered a brightly lit potted plant.
Sass pointed to the ferny thing. “This is the first greenery I’ve seen in your,” compound, “community. I guess you don’t spend much time in here.”
“Twelve hours a day,” Lumpkin refuted this. “Ganymede bedrooms feature living plants. This is one of the ways we differ from Martians and Loonies.”
Sass nodded and turned back to the corridor, as though tactfully removing her gaze from abject poverty. The room wasn’t punitive, exactly, far more pleasant than a Mahina prison cell. But the crew bunks on Thrive displayed more personality.
Well, they used to, and would again.
“Tell me, commander, could I buy some mattresses? When Shiva attacked my ship, we lost beds along with the crewmates sleeping in them.”
If Lumpkin was disturbed by Sass bringing up her casualties, she didn’t show it. She merely blinked a few times, then nodded. “These can be manufactured. Once you’re chipped, you can submit an order.”
When hell freezes over, Sass reflected. Next Lumpkin led her down a vacant corridor toward her office.
Suddenly, as though obeying some cue Sass missed, doors opened and people poured into the hall in a traffic jam. Lumpkin calmly shifted to the right-hand side of the corridor as the crowd filed past.
Arriving in the office, Sass noted that the screen display stood in the same position as in the bedroom, as did the room plant, though this one featured big rubbery leaves. A utilitarian grey steel desk replaced the bed. On the screen, the grey-clad throng began to emerge onto the sports fields.
They both sat on steel chairs, Lumpkin looking resigned. “Welcome to Ganymede Too. I imagine you have more business with the Martians.”
“Why would you imagine that?” Sass asked. “In fact, my partner and I lived with the Gannies for years. Your crews transported every colony in the Aloha system. And our only visitor since the founding was a Ganny.” Sass smiled. “We consider you almost family. Are any of the colony crew still alive? We might know them!”
The commander’s brow furrowed slightly. Blink, blink. “No, they’re dead.”
“And the wildcatters?” Lumpkin didn’t know the term. Sass explained, but the commander said none of them lived in Ganymede Too.
Disappointed, Sass grasped for another conversational gambit. “And you’re a commander. How long did you serve in space?”
“I’ve never been to space. We made the ultimate sacrifice and now enjoy our leisure.”
“So I’ve heard,” Sass growled. “I’m confused. Why are you called a commander? And Colonel Tharsis and Major Ling?”
“Ah. This is my title as mayor. My rank is lower than the Colonel and the Major, because Ganymede Too is smallest. Our colony ships were few and understaffed. When our population overtakes Nova Tycho, my title will advance to captain, and Ling will become lieutenant. Gannies will not outnumber Martians in my lifetime.”
“Does anyone go into space?”
“Shiva runs our asteroid facilities. There is no need to risk human lives. She protects us here at the colony.”
The door opened behind Sass, with the familiar whir of the mobile robot post. She rose from her chair to face not one, but three of the devices.
18
“You agreed to be chipped,” Lumpkin noted in her office. A trio of the pole robots advanced on Sass to do the deed.
She replied, “And I’m sure I will,” not, “after our medic has a chance to look over the chip.”
Posts one and two shot arms out at her, but Sass flipped her gravity and somersaulted to crouch on the ceiling upside-down. The room was less than 3 meters high, though. Post three extended its articulated arm toward her shoulder, brandishing its inoculation gun.
Sass shifted, then rose to grasp the arm by its ‘shoulder.’ This extended her personal grav field to the device, which suddenly speared the ceiling. She relieved it of the inoculation gun then let go, with the predictable result suffered by many a beer bottle released on the ceiling of Thrive. The post crashed to the floor, knocking the other two posts over, their wheels exposed to whir in thin air without traction. Sass flipped down, landing with both feet on one robot arm that tried to cantilever itself back to standing. From there, she kicked another back to prone, and bolted out the door to run home to Thrive.
That didn’t go well. She even forgot to ask where Hugo Silva sat.
But Lumpkin did point out a corridor to the ‘science labs.’ And more robot posts appeared to be headed for her. For a little village of 1100 people, Ganymede Too sure had a lot of robots.
Sass ducked into the right hallway. These doors, like Lumpkin’s, bore the occupant name. The first of the pole posse turned into the hall just as Sass found Hugo Silva’s room. The door was locked, with a keypad beside it, so she kicked it open.
With barely a glance at the deserted electronics lab she found herself in, she grabbed a familiar steel chair and rammed it under the doorknob to keep out her robot entourage.
That might grant her a few minutes’ reprieve. She sighed and began to take in her surroundings. Like any tinkerer’s lair, her first impression was chaotic. Equipment boxes and tools lay everywhere, stacked on tables, workbenches, and shelves as high as she could comfortably reach, with cartons of rejects stored above. Lights blinked or shone steadily on some panels, not on others.
A workstation screen with old-style keyboard displayed the Ganymede grey version of the Colony Corps logo with a login prompt. A gladiator helm formed of aluminum foil dangled above it. Sass assumed that was a toy. She picked up a lab notebook lying open beside the keyboard, not expecting to understand it.
But jotted on the page were names: John Copeland, Ben Acosta, Teke, Thrive, Sassafras Collier, Clay Rocha, Darren Markley, etc.
How did Hugo Silva get the names of Cope and Ben, left behind on Mahina eleven years ago? The mention of Teke, her stowaway Denali teenager, was particularly baffling. What the hell?
“Such a lovely facility,” Darren Markley enthused. He paused to admire a typically Loonie mural on a wall. An abstract of grey hatched toning erupted with a strong drippy blot of crimson. “What exactly does this painting convey to you, Major Ling?”
“This is a replica of a masterpiece in the Great Hall of Luna Colony.”
“So history, continuity?” Darren suggested. “Security?” Sass and Clay’s VR simulation of Luna Colony failed to include such a piece. Or perhaps they didn’t like the artwork. Neither did he.
The elderly Ling blinked a few times. “I don’t know. This way is our cafeteria. It’s naughty to eat between meals.”
Darren peered in anyway. “Do you have any bars open? The sun is starting to set.”
True Mahinan, to him sunset meant drinks. The natives observed their hours-long once-a-week sunset with happy hour to open the dim days of weekend. Not that those days were dark. On Glow, a bright Pono blazed forth with candlepower equivalent to a thousand full moons from old Earth. They welcomed cool days after the broiling sun, though.
“Bars?” Ling asked, puzzled. Then she blinked a few times, and continued. “Alcohol and mind-altering substances are forbidden in Sanctuary Colony. Those are naughty.”
Darren laughed out loud and pushed through the door into the cafeteria. “So all your festivities are held in here?” The light switch was a flat-rocker design instead of the Ganymede-style toggle popular among Mahina settlers. His home city, Mahina Actual, employed both, but rarely the dial-style favored by Martians. “Did you know that my ancestors were brought to Mahina by Loonies?”
Ling blinked rapidly again. Darren wondered if the eye ducts malfunctioned in her decrepit, unfamiliar form of old age. “Ah, the Loonie ship Manatee brought the original terraformers to Mahina,” she noted. “You are descended from them. No, I did not know that.”
Darren hesitate
d a half-step on that one. You didn’t know the fact you just cited? But he was more interested in the cafeteria serving bay, fully automated. “May I ask how old you are, major?”
“I’m seventy-one, among the oldest of Nova Tycho,” Ling said proudly.
“Oh, nice! I’m seventy-two,” Darren shared. He pressed a start button on a dispenser that reminded him of a coffee machine in MA. This dropped a paper-light drink bulb, and began filling. Green lights appeared over a couple dozen buttons, each now labeled with picture or text. Some depicted fruits he recognized, the others logos wholly unfamiliar. After a few seconds, the lights began blinking urgently.
“Two seconds,” Ling prompted.
Darren punched the red speed-striped button for ‘Shot!’ and another stream squirted. The lights abated and the machine powered itself off with a sigh. Delighted, he extracted his drink bulb and took a sip from the integrated straw. “Ooh, bubbly!”
“That flavor is high in caffeine,” Ling warned him.
Darren grinned. “Even better.” He strolled along the rest of the service counter, then eyed the room. Compared to similar lunchrooms at Mahina University, he estimated it could seat 300. The machines were variations on food printers, aside from the delightful soda fountain. Thrive used the same technology to turn protein stock into whatever the cook programmed in. They used recycled protein at this point. Their first-run soy stock ran out years ago.
He happily slurped his straw, enjoying his cola. Mahina manufactured cola syrup, too, used to flavor grain alcohol, but Corky hadn’t stocked any. Carbonated drinks were rare, other than beer. “Where do they serve salads? Fresh fruit?”
Blink, blink. “We employ a closed-loop recycling system.”
“Oh, dear. We’ll have to introduce you to Sass’s fruits and vegetables.” He drifted back to the drinks dispenser for another ‘Shot!’ “How do you open this thing for restocking? Oh, never mind.” He found the catch to open the cabinet and admire its innards. “I look forward to meeting your engineers.”
