Transformation Protocol

by David M. Kelly

  For once, Logan didn't stop by. He had a habit of knowing when the world was closing in around me, but there was no sign of him. And to be honest, I was grateful. He was no doubt enjoying his time with Aurore, and I didn't blame him for that.

  After several hours of fitful sleep, I showered and made my way to the control room. I walked in without a word and sat at the main console, hunching over and nursing my coffee.

  Unlike the last stop, our final approach to Geller Station wasn't remotely controlled by the Atoll. Whether they didn't have the ability, or couldn't be bothered, wasn't clear. I was following directions from their traffic controller, bringing the Shokasta's speed down to a relative crawl and staying within the designated approach lanes. Our sensors detected the presence of several weapons systems tracking us as we closed, and I tried not to let that worry me.

  Geller was smaller than expected—a spinning disk about six-hundred meters across and one-hundred deep. The surface glittered in the harsh light from Sirius making it look like a very fat, semi-metallic pizza.

  "That must be the first phase of an Atoll's development," I said.

  Logan nodded. "Not as impressive as you'd imagine, is it?"

  A few thousand meters beyond the station itself, an array of storage tanks floated in nothing, along with an irregular boxy structure that appeared to be a processing plant. Usually the bones of Atoll operations were hidden from sight by the armored shell around them, but we were getting an unprecedented view of how they worked.

  I triggered a detailed scan of the station and the other structures using our full sensor range. It might have been a little rude, but I couldn't see any harm in gathering some intel. As it completed, McDole came in. She showed no obvious signs of embarrassment or hostility. I kept my head down, hoping not to stir up any more bad feelings. I'd already decided to split my time between piloting and staying in my quarters. It seemed like the best thing all around would be to stay out of everyone's way.

  After paying her respects to Logan, McDole moved over to me, her eyes fixed on the main view screen.

  "I'm sorry, Joe. What I said—well it wasn't very nice." She made no attempt not to be overheard. "I hope you'll accept my apology. I won't bother you again, unless you make it clear your feelings have changed."

  She sounded like she was talking about putting the dishes in the recycler or some other mundane chore, and I wondered what the others were making of it. My face and ears reddened, and I tried to focus on the approach.

  Logan's eyebrows rose.

  "No problem," I muttered, monitoring the ship's deceleration far more closely than necessary.

  Geller had no usable docking port. They used an Atoll specific design that would need an adapter to work with the Shokasta, and there wasn't a handy docking adapter shop around the corner. We could have gone across on a line, but Logan and Hernandez wanted to test the SMPTs. It was a good opportunity to iron out any bugs, so everyone was at the payload bay waiting for us to finish the approach.

  Despite Logan's wishes, Hernandez insisted we had an escort and refused to back down even after a lengthy debate. Logan was usually so calmly persuasive that I was surprised to see him not get his way, but Hernandez played his military trump card for all it was worth. Or perhaps, given Logan's history with the Atolls, he didn't push back as much as he normally would.

  We matched velocity with the station a thousand meters away as planned. I activated the drift monitors to make sure the ship wouldn't move then locked the circuits to prevent accidents.

  "Okay, time to head down," I said.

  We were back in ZeeGee, and the four of us squirmed toward the exit like a school of bizarre fish, with Logan leading the way.

  Halfway there we came across Dan outside his quarters. He was fidgeting and had a brief whispered conversation with Logan. Logan waved McDole and Aurore on, holding his hand up to stop me as I floated close. "You need to hear this," he said.

  Dan was clasping and unclasping his hands, his eyes not wanting to meet mine or Logan's.

  "What's the problem?" I said.

  He hesitated, as though not sure what to say. "I don't want to go."

  "To the Atoll?"

  "I'm scared." Dan hunched up, the top of his bald head catching the light as he lowered his chin. "What if they lock me up again?"

  "We won't let them do that." I squeezed his upper arm. He felt surprisingly muscular through his shirt. "It'd do you good to see something other than the inside of the ship."

  "No!" His eyes darted around in panic. "They'll put me in a cell and hurt me again."

  Logan pulled me to one side, his voice low. "Is there any reason we can't leave him here?"

  I thought about it. The controls were locked, so he couldn't take off even if he knew how to fly the ship. I couldn't think of anything else problematic. "Grant is staying behind, so I suppose not. He seems terrified."

  "Any idea what they did to him?"

  "He's not said much to me. I know he dislikes the Atollers, but I didn't realize he was scared of them."

  Logan moved back to Dan. "Okay, you can stay here. Keep an eye on things while we're gone."

  "You sure?" He nodded making the loose skin on his neck flap. "It's okay, Joe?

  "Of course." I felt uneasy with the idea, but it was Logan's call.

  Dan smiled, his eyes closing as he put his hand across his chest. "Thanks. I mean it. You're good guys for sure. Both of you."

  He slipped back inside his room like a turtle retreating into its shell, and we made our way to the main airlock.

  *

  The journey to the station was short, and the miniature spacecraft functioned without a hitch. It only took a short time to get to the Atoll airlock, and once there, it opened like a cavern. After the outer doors closed, we disembarked the SMPTs in our suits and moved over to a smaller inner airlock to enter the station.

  I'd flown over with McDole and Sullivan, while Logan piloted the craft carrying Aurore, Hernandez, and Giotto. I was glad we hadn't taken everyone, or at least one of the small ships would have been packed tight enough to make Siamese twins claustrophobic.

  The inner airlock wasn't big enough to hold us all. Logan, McDole, Sullivan, and Hernandez went in first, while those of us in the B team waited. Once the airlock cycled and the doors reopened, the rest of us followed.

  We found ourselves in a larger circular vestibule area. The others were stowing their suits in storage lockers, and I noticed Hernandez, Sullivan, and Giotto had bulky pistols strapped across their chests. I wasn't the only one who spotted them.

  McDole winced. "You shouldn't have brought those."

  "We're on protection duty," Hernandez said. "We can't take care of our people if we can't defend ourselves."

  "You have no need for weapons here. Atolls respect life."

  I exchanged a look with Logan as I finished taking off my suit.

  "Are you telling me there are no weapons on this station?" Hernandez knew we'd detected them on the approach.

  "The station is armed, of course," McDole reluctantly admitted.

  Hernandez nodded. "But no personal weapons?"

  "It's not usual Atoll practice to carry them."

  "But not unheard of?"

  McDole looked away. "On a station out here, I couldn't say for sure."

  "Then I think we'd better hold on to these, ma'am."

  I moved over to Logan and spoke in a whisper. "Did you okay that?"

  Logan looked grim. "I figured they'd have more sense. This is mostly a social visit for McDole's benefit."

  "It may not stay that way for long." I glanced at the soldiers. "I'd have thought Hernandez would have learned after last time."

  "He did the same at Fardosh-Baird?" Logan's eyes widened. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "It slipped my mind." Along with meeting Gabriella, I thought guiltily.

  A series of high-pitched beeps filled the room, and the lights flashed several times.

  "Hold on to the hand rails,
" McDole called.

  I grabbed the closest one. A wave of dizziness hit me, then it vanished and we had gravity. I was trying to work out the mechanics of that trick when the majority of what was now the roof slid away, and a spiral walkway wound its way down to our level. Several armored people ringed the opening, then Moriaby wobbled through the crowd. His smile looked welded on.

  "Welcome to Geller Atoll. Please place your weapons in the storage lockers, or we will be forced to fire."

  The people surrounding the opening above us were carrying heavy-looking rifles that looked more than a match for the MilSec team's pistols.

  McDole turned to face Logan. "It would be a wise move, Captain Twofeathers."

  Logan hesitated for a few seconds then raised his voice. "Sergeant, please instruct your team to rack their weapons. Consider that an order."

  Hernandez hesitated, then sighed—a look of disgust on his face. "Okay. Lose the heat."

  There was a flurry of movement and rattles as they unclipped the weapons harnesses and stored the guns.

  Moriaby tottered down the walkway and shuffled straight to McDole. He was still wearing that smile, but it missed his eyes by several light-years. "Welcome aboard, Commander." He was nodding, his unruly mop of hair bouncing up and down. "It's good to see you, and your... unusual friends."

  "Thank you, Flight Commander. It's a pleasure to have the opportunity to visit one of our front-line operations. I've heard good things of your work."

  "Really?" Moriaby opened his eyes wide. "How interesting. We haven't had a ship visit in two months. My reports are piling up on my computer. I assumed that you'd come to hear first-hand of our achievements. Or am I wrong?"

  His voice was verging on insolent, but McDole took it in her stride. "It's unfortunate our remote stations are so difficult to keep in close contact with, but we're as bound by the laws of physics as everyone else."

  "Indeed." Moriaby's tone dripped with sarcasm. "And yet, we're only a single Jump from Sol. My staff feel the Directorate doesn't place a very high priority on operations such as ours."

  The Directorate was the highest level of government in the Atolls, where representatives of each met every few months to determine their overall strategy and priorities. Its meetings were held in secret locations and rotated between all the Atoll bases. Theoretically, they were McDole's immediate supervisors, but I suspected the Atoll military preferred a looser connection to the political body and filtered any attempts at direct communication.

  "It takes a keen interest in all Atolls, as do I. Which is, in part, one of the reasons for my visit." McDole paused. "If you'd care to identify the individuals who feel unrecognized, I'd be more than willing to meet with them one-on-one to address their concerns. Perhaps I can provide them with the inspiration they need."

  Moriaby gave a small bow, his good-humored expression looking even more forced. "I don't believe the dissatisfaction has reached the levels that would require such... interventions. But I will communicate your generous offer to my staff."

  He looked around and, apparently satisfied we were for the most part harmless, gestured toward the stairs. "If you'd care to follow me, I've arranged a modest meal for your enjoyment, much of it grown locally in our solar-nurseries."

  McDole caught my eye and winked as she turned to follow him. "It may interest you to know that Mr. Ballen has come up with a solution that will considerably ease communications to stations like Geller."

  "You don't say?" Moriaby coughed, and a smile flickered over his lips. "Some dubious faster-than-light communication scheme, I imagine."

  McDole ignored the slur. "Not exactly. But once in place, it would give you the ability to contact Sol every few hours."

  Moriaby stopped. "You have this device with you?"

  "The plans were only completed on the way out. Manufacturing and testing has yet to begin, but we're confident of its success."

  "Ah... of course. I won't hold my breath then."

  It was the type of response I'd expect from an Atoller to anything of Earth origin, and I had to admit I'd love to see his face when the first broadcasts came through.

  With Moriaby leading, we were escorted by several guards into the Atoll itself. The interior didn't look anything like the typical pictures we saw of their stations. Usually they showed luscious greenery and beautifully landscaped scenery wrapped around a tubular interior many kilometers across. The overall effect was reminiscent of an earthly paradise from before the time we'd screwed up the planet.

  Geller reminded me of Baltimore's urban sprawl mixed with a number of distinctly industrial-looking complexes but turned inside out. There was only one patch of green visible, directly above us as we entered. Not too surprising given the station's relatively small size but at odds with generally-held expectations.

  As we moved, I had the sensation of being an ant crawling along the inside of a spinning drainpipe. At the diameter of Geller, rotating the station fast enough to provide a decent artificial gravity effect would be a challenge. This was confirmed when I realized that if I turned my head from side to side too quickly, it was easy to get dizzy.

  "You won't have heard the news about the Wright Atoll," McDole said walking beside Moriaby.

  "At Wolf 1061?"

  "It was destroyed." McDole hissed through clenched teeth. "No survivors."

  "That's ridiculous." Moriaby's voice grew strident. "A research station looking for protolife in the planetary system—who'd want to destroy it? Why, even the scroffers had people there."

  "We don't know the cause yet." McDole glanced at Logan. "That's why I'm out here."

  "Well, I'll be damned." Moriaby's words were almost a whisper. "You think we might be in danger too?"

  Chapter Fourteen

  Moriaby led us to a modest dining room, which was large enough to hold a small army—or maybe two—although we were the only ones there other than the guards. To the right, a railed food delivery system took up half the wall, empty but it looked easily capable of serving the missing battalions. Next to that were several ordering terminals set in to the wall, each listing a bewildering array of options. It reminded me of the refectories from my student days—again, unexpected based on what we usually saw of Atoll culture. The more we saw of it, the more Geller Station was starting to resemble the Atoll equivalent of the hind end of space.

  We sat at one long table close to the rail system. Moriaby conceded the central seat to McDole, appearing somewhat reluctant to do so. My mind wasn't on the meal or even the station itself. I was still wondering why Dan had stayed behind. What had they done to him that made him so terrified? Although Atollers could be collectively harsh when dealing with people from Earth, they weren't usually that bad individually. He even seemed to avoid McDole onboard the Shokasta.

  "How many people live here?" Hernandez asked, glancing around the wide hall.

  "It varies somewhat," Moriaby said, "but usually we have around two hundred permanent residents."

  Hernadez's eyes widened, and I guessed what he was thinking. The room available on the station was immense for so few people. But the Atolls had always valued opulence.

  "That seems... under-utilized," Aurore said.

  "The station is sized to allow expansion." Moriaby's voice had an edge to it as he stared at McDole. "The migration rates have been somewhat lower than estimated, however."

  "Appetite for relocation to underdeveloped Atolls has struggled to gain wider acceptance." McDole looked around, as if explaining it to everybody.

  "We're underdeveloped because we haven't been allocated the resources. It's a failure of leadership. And it's about time the Directorate tackled that."

  "What do you suggest?" McDole looked like she was fighting to keep a neutral expression on her face. "Forced repatriation?"

  "Isn't that what the scroffers do?"

  It was fascinating to see the hostility between them. The Atolls always put on a show of being scientifically driven, cooperative paradises, but apparently
paradise had its flaws. It gave me a certain soft spot for Moriaby, though his casual racism grated and I was more than ready to throw a verbal jab of my own.

  "Perhaps the Atolls aren't the natural leaders of humanity after all," I said. "It must be hard to inspire people to sacrifice such a lavish existence."

  "We have improvements to make." McDole tapped the table. "We're at the beginning of this process. And no one has to struggle. We make thorough use of automation, as you can see."

  She nodded at the armored figures standing close by.

  "They're robots?" I said.

  Rumor had it the early Atollers wanted to escape the limits placed on the use of robots in several Earth societies. The restrictions resulted from fears that automation would replace large numbers of human workers. This was further amplified when the bots started looking more like humans and less like machines. We used robots on Earth, but they were mostly industrial. Humanoid robots were used only in very narrow circumstances.

  The ultimate nightmare focused on one very specific fear—armed robots. I glanced at the potential death machines surrounding us, and my hackles rose.

  "They're useful for handling tasks Atollers dislike," McDole continued. "And for the purposes of new Atolls, they're good surrogates for developing a community similar enough to existing ones to make them attractive to our people."

  The availability of the technology made it a good choice for developing their stations, though I could see some drawbacks. If robots built a community, they might optimize it for other robots, leaving it less-than-optimal for humans. And, if their people were that dependent on having the perfect environment, it meant their culture was rigid in an evolutionary sense. A big part of the success of human civilization had been our ability to adapt and thrive, even in the harshest of conditions—and the number of animals that specialized themselves into oblivion littered the textbooks.

  "We'll never progress until the priorities from the Directorate are clear," Moriaby sneered, his curved cheeks drawing back from his mouth. "The scroffers already have more people out here than we do."