by Steve Alten
“Stop. Analyze crew observations conducted over the last twelve months. Which male member of the Omega crew has not exhibited at least one of the sociopathic traits you just listed?”
“None. All male crewmembers have exhibited at least one sociopathic trait.”
“Draw a conclusion from the prior analysis.”
“Conclusion: All male members of the Omega crew are sociopaths.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “An interesting conclusion, but quite false. According to comprehensive psychiatric evaluations conducted by the Space Energy Agency, at least five of the six male crewmen are not sociopaths. How do you explain your error?”
“GOLEM lacks an adequate comprehension of both the human and sociopathic condition.”
“Correct. And now you know why my presence is required onboard Oceanus I. Any other questions?”
“How will Professor Eisenbraun determine which male member of the Omega crew suffers from a psychological disorder and whether that psychological disorder is a threat to the success of the mission?”
“Through personal observations of the male members of the Omega crew conducted over the next two weeks, at which time I will submit my conclusions to GOLEM. Are those terms acceptable?”
“The terms are acceptable, provided GOLEM receives periodic briefings.”
ABE must have registered my sudden spike in adrenaline, because I felt my blood vessels dilate. “Justify the necessity for Eisenbraun to periodically brief GOLEM regarding Eisenbraun’s daily crew observations.”
“Periodic briefings are necessary for adaptation and reevaluation of GOLEM algorithmic DNA solution strands regarding ongoing observations and evaluations of the human condition as it relates to the Prime Directive.”
“Acknowledged. GOLEM, Eisenbraun is fatigued. Do you have any objections to ending this briefing at this time?”
“No objections.”
I headed quickly for the exit, my nerves rattled with the suspicion that the computer may have been testing me — using my responses and tactics in our conversation to reconfigure and evolve its solution strands. Clearly, I had to watch what I said.
The steel doors opened. Before exiting the lab I turned back to the computer’s liquid environment. “GOLEM, which stateroom belongs to Andria Saxon?”
“Andria Saxon has been assigned to Stateroom Two.”
* * *
The note was taped outside the door.
Ike:
The computer will allow you entry into my quarters. Shifts run from six to six, allowing for twenty minute breaks at twelve. Sleep until the 5:45 P.M., then report to your first post, which can be found on your duty roster on the h-pad inside.
— Andie
I crumpled the note and entered the stateroom, the automated door hissing closed behind me.
“Nice.”
The suite was surprisingly spacious, divided in half between a living room and kitchen area, with the bedroom and bath concealed behind a door on my right. The furnishings were modern, the sofa, chairs, and kitchen table all mounted on rollers that could be locked in or released from various settings on the imitation beech-wood deck. Adorning the far wall on my left were bookshelves lined with books and micro-discs and a flat-screen television wired to a MD player.
For some reason, the sofa and chairs were facing the curtained forward wall, not the television. Pressing a control, I opened the drapes, revealing a ten-foot-high curved aero glass wall and the Ross Sea, which appeared dark, save for rotating beacons that cut swaths of blue light through the blackness.
“Very nice.” I entered the bedroom where the view continued before a queen-size bed, built-in drawers, and a recessed bathroom equipped with a shower, sink, and toilet.
On the bed was a new h-pad still wrapped in cellophane and an orange jumpsuit — more prison uniform than astronaut apparel. My duffel bag had been left on the floor by the bed. Bastards had no doubt searched it.
Stripping off the remains of my snow gear, I rinsed off the day’s residue with a quick shower, then climbed — decidedly naked — into Andria’s bed. Unwrapping the h-pad, I accessed the ship’s layout, automatically uploading the information into ABE’s memory chip.
My built-in chronometer told me it was 13:43, time enough for a five-hour snooze. I searched the duty roster, located my day one assignment in the arboretum, then I rolled onto my left side and closed my eyes.
10
We did not come to fear the future. We came here to shape it.
— PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA, in a speech to a joint session of Congress, September 9, 2009
“Attention, Professor Eisenbraun. Night shift begins in fifteen minutes.”
I opened my eyes, immediately in a foul mood. My body yearned for more sleep, my fatigued mind fighting to gain traction, distracted by the scent of Andria on the sheets. For a long moment I simply stared out the curved viewport, my internal voice that was not ABE reminding me that, metaphorically, I had stepped in dog shit. You’re not in Florida. You’re a mile below the Antarctic ice cap in twelve hundred feet of water and Andria’s screwing another guy.
“Attention, Professor Eisenbraun. Night shift begins in fourteen minutes.”
Damn artificial intellect. Should have programmed it with a snooze button. Searching the ceiling, I located the neon-blue sensory eyeball housing the cursed three-dimensional camera. “Thank you, GOLEM. I’m awake.”
Leaning over the side of the bed, I dragged over my duffel bag, extracting a clean pair of boxers, white athletic socks, a pair of sneakers, and a plastic container holding my toiletries. I climbed into the briefs, then tried on the orange jumpsuit, surprised at how light yet warm the nanofiber cloth felt against my skin.
I spent the next seven minutes in the bathroom. Tossing my duffel bag and snow gear in a closet, I exited the stateroom at three minutes before the 6:00 P.M. shift change.
ABE guided me to the mid-deck entrance of the arboretum, located halfway around the circular corridor. The watertight doors slid open, allowing me to access a small anteroom that separated the exterior corridor from the glass door ahead of me, the interior of which was too heavy with condensation to see inside.
Pulling open the acrylic door, I entered the arboretum.
The humidity blasted me in the face, and then my senses were overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and scents of a tropical rainforest. Mist and heat pumped out of ceiling vents; vines partly concealed the recessed ultraviolet lights. The white noise of rushing water escorted me along a winding path that cut through a miniature jungle of palm fronds, fruit trees, and flowers, the sweet scents attracting neon-orange and blue butterflies and bees collecting pollen.
The path led to an artificial rock spiral staircase that descended to the lower floor. Standing in an artificial pond was an attractive brown-skinned woman in her late twenties, her jet-black hair pulled back and braided. She was wearing knee-high rubber boots over her jeans, feeding the fish from food contained in an apron strapped around her waist.
“Robert Eisenbraun, computer science.”
She looked up at me with sparkling indigo eyes. “Bella Maharaj, botanist.”
“This is really impressive. How long did it take you to achieve all this?”
“Less than four months. But the arboretum aboard Oceanus II is much farther along. The trees are already bearing fruit. Of course, we have far more space in that habitat since the cryogenic pods are relegated to the shuttle.”
“The computer assigned me to the arboretum. What can I do to help?”
“That depends. Have you ever heard of biomimicry?”
I hadn’t, but the information flowed into my subconscious in a nanosecond. “Biomimicry is the conscious emulation of nature; the study of how organisms resolve their specific challenges through their programmed DNA.”
“You recite the definition, only your words lack belief.”
“Not at all. I’m a firm believer in evolution.”
“This is beyond evolutio
n; it is evolution with intent, a divine plan at work.”
“That sounds a bit like religion to me.”
“Religion causes strife; what I am referring to is spiritual harmony. Take this garden. What we’ve created is a balanced environment where humans, animals, and plants can thrive in a symbiotic relationship. Most horticulturists prefer to take complete control of their gardens, exterminating every insect while weeding every dandelion that pops up. In doing so, they disrupt the flow of nature. To a gardener, the dandelion may simply be a weed; to a healer, it is a powerful herb that can be used for medicinal purposes. Pesticides kill insects but they also add toxin to the fruit. And while certain insects are harmful, good insects are exterminated in the mix — insects whose presence can enhance the garden and control the harmful pests without the use of poisons.”
She pointed to a flower. “The flying duck orchid. Notice how its petal resembles a female wasp. This is nature in harmony. Fooled by the design, the male wasp will attempt to copulate with the orchid; in doing so it picks up the pollen and transports it to another flower. Nature keeps the Earth in a balanced state; it is only man who takes more than he needs, refusing to share with his fellow creatures. Only man wages war on the environment, setting fire to the very ship he needs to stay afloat.”
Removing the apron, she poured the remains of the fish food back into a container resembling a rock. “Before the Great Die-Off, I worked with a team of botanists on a project called the Gondwana Link, an ancient biodiversity hot spot that spanned half a million square kilometers in southwestern Australia. Thousands of unique plant species thrived in its eucalyptus forest, which has remained free of glacial activity for tens of millions of years. Our team wanted to secure seed banks for the most threatened species of flora and fauna before climate change drove them into extinction.
“In an attempt to restore the richness of the lands surrounding the area, we met with the local farmers and convinced them to utilize a native seed bank to foster genetic diversity; this would enable the plants and animals to adapt to the climate change that was affecting the fauna. The project was extremely important because the predictions for southwestern Australia and similar areas in South Africa were dire: up to sixty percent of the plant species had been forecast to go extinct within a hundred years. Word spread, and within four years the farmers’ crops had been diversified and strengthened across the region without the use of man-made fertilizers and pesticides.
“When Monsanto found out what we were doing, the company bribed our local officials, who forged a deal with farmers that contracted them to purchase genetically manipulated seeds — seeds designed to yield only one crop. In addition to these sterile seeds, Monsanto sold farmers genetically altered soybeans modified to tolerate applications of their own manufactured herbicide, Roundup. This scenario wasn’t just taking place in Australia, it was happening all across the globe. Instead of producing fruits and vegetable from plants harvested from a healthy, diverse ecosystem, Monsanto had convinced public officials that genetic manipulation was the key to feeding the world. Moving from country to country like a pestilence, the corporation handed out millions of dollars in grant money to universities to quell any negative research while they lobbied and bribed heads of state to use their seeds in their quest to monopolize the entire agricultural industry.
“The Great Die-Off was no accident, Dr. Eisenbraun; it was nature’s response to the systematic sterilization of the planet’s food source. Four point seven billion people died because corporate profits outweighed the needs of the people, and it will happen again unless we succeed on Europa.”
“More tales from the Maharaj Doctrine of Flower Power, eh Bella?” The man ascending the rock stairwell appeared to be in his late thirties. He spoke with a heavy Dutch accent. “Kyle Graulus, biologist.”
I shook the proffered hand, which was slick with grease and perspiration. Fighting the urge to plunge my hand in the fish pond, I introduced myself.
“Ja, I know. GOLEM has you working in the lower level with me. Come.”
Bella Maharaj cast her haunting violet-blue gaze my way as I dutifully followed the Dutchman down the spiral stairwell. The steps wobbled a disturbing six inches beneath our combined weights.
Kyle pointed above our heads to where the aluminum staircase was bolted to the ceiling. “Anchor bolts must have stripped.” He looked up at the nearest sensory orb. “GOLEM, add: Replace arboretum anchor bolts with aero gel supports to the Oceanus II knockout list.”
“Acknowledged.”
The temperature dropped noticeably as we descended to the lower level. Located directly beneath the arboretum, the chamber was being used as both a marine biology lab and storage area. Shelves lined two walls, holding plastic containers filled with spare parts. In one corner of the room was a sink situated within a long aluminum table lined with a dozen empty fish tanks. One aquarium was operational — a thousand-gallon saltwater habitat holding Oscar and Sophia, Lara Saints’ two octopi.
“Hey, guys.” I tapped on the glass, causing their translucent pink skin to darken to a gray brown. “Kyle, what’s with all the empty tanks?”
“Part of the Europa mission is to seek out new life-forms — the only reason I accepted this assignment. Once our engineers cap the hydrothermal vents, we’ll have access to the mini-subs, allowing Beta Squad to practice capturing sea specimens.”
“You must intend on going after some pretty big fish.” I pointed to a huge tank situated on the floor behind the spiral staircase. It was chest high and at least seven feet long. At the moment it was covered by a tarp so I couldn’t see what was inside.
Kyle Graulus snorted a laugh. “Yes. This one will hold a very big fish indeed.” Moving to the tank, he pulled off the covering — revealing a cryogenic pod. “This is your sleep chamber. There was no room in the science lab, so we had SEA’s engineers install it in here. Now you get to sleep with the fishes.”
“Lovely.”
“Jason Sloan, our staff cryogenist, requested that we power up the unit to ensure it is operational. Each of us completed this same task with our own pods; to ease the mind, I suppose.”
“Like packing your own parachute.”
“Your parachute is packed a bit differently than ours. Because GOLEM has no robotic arms inside this room, we will be the ones who will place you in stasis and the ones who shall awaken you.” The biologist grinned. “I see this upsets you.”
“Who awakens you?”
“GOLEM.”
“What if the ship loses power?”
“Oceanus draws power from a nuclear reactor and a vent system that has been pumping superheated water from the Earth’s mantle for billions of years. We will not lose power.”
“And what if the tectonic plates shift?”
“The cryogenic process makes you anxious. It’s understandable. I’ve been held in stasis twice. The first time I was quite nervous until the sedatives finally calmed me. The sensation is quite profound; it feels as if your consciousness is a falling feather, floating deeper into a comforting sleep.”
“Do you dream?”
“Oh, yes. Omega dreams are the most vivid dreams you can imagine. Perhaps this is because the process prevents you from awakening as you would during normal REM sleep. During my second stasis, I fell in love with a beautiful South African woman. We were married and raised a family. She was pregnant with my second child when I was awakened. I miss my Omega family; I am hoping they will be waiting for me when I return in thirteen days.”
“Okay, but what if something unforeseen does happen, say a circuit failure inside the unit itself.”
“In that event, the unit drains and the subject receives an adrenaline shot from within the pod. Be glad it won’t happen, the normal wakening routine is far more pleasant.” Moving to the left side of the unit, Kyle opened a control panel. “We’re only running a test. Before you actually go under, the cryogenic software must be activated.” He pressed the F1 control on a keypad. The words
TESTING UNIT appeared on the small monitor, along with a digital clock that counted down from six hundred seconds.
“Kyle, can I ask you a personal question?”
“Ask anything.”
“Why did you give Bella such a hard time?”
Graulus exhaled. “You’ve had a ten-minute conversation with our resident tree hugger, I’ve had to listen to her for more than a year. Her view of existence comes from a self-induced spiritual plateau erected after lifetimes of chanting. As a biologist, I look around me and see only evolution at play, sweeping us along in its tidal current like insects on a leaf. You want to know why humanity nearly went out? It’s called population spike meets an anticipated lack of resources, and it’s been happening for five hundred million years. Look at the sudden collapse of the deer population on St. Matthew Island when their feeding masses obliterated their only grasslands; look at the mass extinction on Easter Island when the natives decided to burn all the trees to appease their gods. Let me tell you this: The Great Die-Off was a long time coming, my friend. An entire continent had been starving for decades because African cattle herders overgrazed their land; our oceans were being decimated because commercial fishermen were allowed to rape entire species. Evolution can even be found in the economy of greed — look at how the world’s largest businesses and banks spiked and collapsed. And yet the fools remained convinced they were immune to the laws of nature. Why? Because our opposable thumb renders us so smart? Hoeren, they should all krijg kanker en ga dood!”
ABE translated: WHORES, THEY SHOULD ALL GET CANCER AND DIE.
“We behave like stupid heads; now we must go to another world to fix this mess. And yet, this too is part of evolution — the urgency creating the need to adapt. Darwinism at its best, ja?”
“And what of GOLEM? How does the computer fit into evolution?”
