“This will be a series of hypothetical questions,” Alex said. “Just answer honestly. Harris, I’ll start with you.”
“Shoot.”
“Tawn believes there are ten individuals being held hostage. The hostage takers have threatened to kill all ten unless she first kills Trish and Gandy Boleman. What do you do?”
“What do you mean what do I do?”
“It would seem that you have a choice. You could prevent Tawn from killing the Bolemans, or take the chance that the hostage takers are bluffing. Do you stop Tawn or do you allow her to act?”
Harris rubbed the back of his neck. “You mean stop as in I kill Tawn?”
“Perhaps.”
Harris pursed his lips. “If I believed she would do it, then yes, I suppose I would have to take her out. Seems like an impossible situation either way. The hostage takers could still kill the ten, regardless of Tawn being successful or not. At least in this way there is guaranteed to be only a single death. And I believe Tawn would want me to do that so she wasn’t left with that decision.”
Tawn nodded. “I would. And I’d do the same for him if he was in that situation.”
Harris scowled. “I knew it. I was just kidding, but now I know you’d shoot me first chance you got.”
“What? No. What are you talking about?”
Harris chuckled. “Just having some fun. As I said, I’d take her out with the hope of limiting the damage.”
The image of Alex nodded. “It would appear that you are prepared to sacrifice your friend if it meant saving other friends. What if Tawn had been asked to kill two complete strangers?”
“No difference to me. Still a one for two deal. My friend doesn’t deserve to live any more than two other innocent people.”
Alex looked directly at the Boleman twins. “Gandy? Same question to you. Would you be prepared to sacrifice Trish to save two strangers?”
Gandy winced. “That’s tough. She’s my sister. Any way I could just knock her out or tie her up instead?”
Alex nodded. “Prevention of any guaranteed death is an admirable goal. Suppose you didn’t have those choices.”
Gandy fidgeted for several seconds. “I guess I’d have to, then. Just as Mr. Gruberg said. And I’d hope she’d do the same for me.”
Trish nodded with a smile. “I would.”
Gandy crossed his arms. “Well, you don’t have to look happy about it.”
The clang of a door lock could be heard from behind them. Farker emerged. Instead of joining the others he sat beside the still-open door.
Tawn said, “That look like an invitation to you?”
“Each of you has been granted access to level two,” said Alex.
“Finally, we can talk to Sharvie about it,” said Gandy.
The image of Alex shook its head. “Discussion of the levels beyond this point is prohibited. The journey for each of you should not be influenced by that of the others. If it is determined information was passed from one of you to another, both parties will be removed from the structure and any reentry barred. Is that statement clear?”
“Understood,” said Gandy.
Trish and Tawn nodded.
Harris stood with his hand grasping his chin as if in thought.
“Harris? Is there a problem? Do you require further explanation?”
Harris shook his head. “Nope. I understand. Was just going for dramatic effect.”
“Would removal of your level two access have a dramatic effect?”
Harris slowly rocked his head back and forth. “I suppose it would.”
“I see.”
The image of Alex was silent for several seconds.
Harris asked, “Are you just being snide with me, Alex?”
“Perhaps.”
Tawn sighed. “Can we just go through before the dog has to recharge again, or whatever he does.”
The hallway on the other side of the door contained several doors of its own. Gandy tried the first and was rewarded with it opening. A video image of Alex showed on a display beside the door.
“Only one person per room. Gandy, please enter. Instructions will follow.”
Harris glanced into the room before the door closed. “Hmm. A lounge chair, a helmet, and gloves. Looks about like our training simulators from back in the service.”
“Precisely,” said the image of Alex. “Please proceed to your rooms. Instructions will follow.”
Harris opened a door and walked in. The chair was a full-body-length recliner, covered in thick but soft leather.
Harris settled back as he reached for the helmet and gloves hanging on a hook to the side. “This doesn’t feel half bad. How is it you kept it in this shape for two thousand years?”
“When unoccupied, the room air is evacuated and replaced with nitrogen. The normal decay because of chemical interaction with oxygen doesn’t happen. An oil rub applied every twenty standard years or so allows the material to last indefinitely.”
“I assume I’m supposed to put this helmet on?”
“Yes. The gloves first please. The helmet will provide stimulus for sight, hearing, and smell. The gloves will add feedback for touch. Taste will not be simulated in this environment.”
Harris sighed. “Great. Now I’m hungry.”
“Place the helmet on your head, cinch in the strap to secure. The simulations will begin once those steps are complete.”
Harris pulled the helmet over his head. “Kind of a tight fit.”
“The helmet was designed to accommodate a large head. If smaller, padding inside will inflate to keep it snug. It seems you are just at or over the maximum. Is it uncomfortable?”
Harris shook his head as he fastened the strap under his chin. “No. Just tight.”
“Excellent. Let’s begin. You will be taken through a variety of simulations where your responses will be evaluated. Should those responses be determined to be wholly unacceptable at any time during the evaluation, you will be asked to leave and all further access will be terminated.”
Harris chuckled. “So no pressure, huh?”
The interior of the helmet illuminated. Harris Gruberg was standing on a sidewalk from a two thousand year old Human city. Wheeled vehicles moved up and down the street beside him. Pedestrians walked as if having somewhere they intended to go. A vendor standing several meters away wore a full body sign with pockets containing paper fliers.
The vendor held out an ad. “Hey, buddy, need any dry-cleaning done?”
Harris shook his head. “Dry-cleaning? Not even sure what that is.”
The man gave an irritated look. “You know, for suits and dresses. Business or evening wear. Like for those slacks you’re wearing. You need those cleaned? Murray’s has the means.”
Harris looked down. His feet were adorned with striped socks covered by a pair of polished brown loafers. His brown and white plaid slacks were held up with a wide belt and oversized buckle. A bolo-style tie and cowboy-ish shirt were capped off with a light brown, felt Stetson.
Harris chuckled. “What kind of nightmare scenario did you drop me into, Alex?”
No reply was returned.
The vendor pushed the flier. “You want this or not, pal?”
Harris looked intently at the text on the paper in front of him. “Welby Street? Where is that?”
The vendor pointed. “Two blocks down. Turn right. You can’t miss it.”
The irritated man again pushed the paper. “Take this flier and you get 5 percent off. You here in town for the big rodeo?”
Harris reached up, adjusting his hat. “Rodeo?”
“Yeah, in the arena.”
“Where would that be?”
The man sighed. “Three blocks east. Turn south. Let’s see… four… no, five blocks from there. Just past restaurant row.”
“Restaurant row?”
The vendor shook his head. “Never been to New Denver, have you? Look, cross over here. Walk the three blocks. Turn right on Alabaster. Keep walking from
there. You can’t miss the arena. And if you don’t already have tickets you’ll want to get moving. First rides are in about an hour.”
Harris turned, stepping out into the street. A horn from a passing vehicle blared, followed by a verbal insult to his intelligence. A quick jog across had him moving down a side street.
As restaurant row was reached, the olfactory mechanism of the helmet kicked out the smell of the many foods. A scowling Harris Gruberg, with no means to actually sample the foodstuffs for sale, hurried past. A block later he was standing in front of the arena, and approached a ticket window.
“How many?”
Harris replied, “What?”
“Tickets. How many? And do you have a preferred section?”
Harris glanced at his empty wrist before lifting his hat and rubbing his head. “I don’t seem to have a credit store.”
“A what?”
“You know. A credit store.”
The man at the ticket counter scowled. “Look, you want in, pull out your wallet and give me the eighteen dollars, like it says here on the sign. You cowboys normally keep them in your coat pocket, right?”
“Keep what?”
The ticket-seller shook his head. “You just fall off your horse and hit your head? Reach in your coat, retrieve your wallet, and give me a twenty.”
Harris reached in, finding a leather billfold just as the man had advised. Inside was a paper bill with the number twenty printed in each corner.
Harris handed it to the man and received a single ticket and change in return. He stood reading the print.
The man said, “Rides are starting. You might want to go in.”
After a short walk through the wickets, Harris handed the ticket to another man. He continued down a hall and through an aisle entry to a view of the open field of the rodeo. Announcements were made over a loudspeaker as he walked the steps down to the location as marked on his ticket. The seat number, 4A, had him sitting by a large woman. She eyed him intently as she feasted on a corn dog.
“Want one?” The half-eaten, breaded delight was held up in front of his face.
Harris took a whiff; his nostrils flared. “Sure.”
“You’ll have to go back up to concession. You ain’t gettin’ one of mine.”
A cackly laugh filled the Biomarine’s ears.
“Alex, why are you torturing me with the food?”
Again the question went unanswered.
As the rodeo began, a large Earth bull was paraded around the dirt-covered floor of the arena. A cowgirl, sitting high on a horse, was at the ready inside a pen.
The woman sitting beside him reached out, grabbing the right sleeve of his shirt with her mustard-covered fingers. “This is it. That’s Bobbi Holmes. She’s the best roper on the planet.”
As Harris glanced down at his stained sleeve in disgust, a series of excited screams came from the crowd. A young boy had fallen over the rail, dropping to the arena floor. The bull, startled by the noise of the concerned patrons, turned toward the terrified boy.
Harris scanned the crowd, wincing at the lack of any action for a rescue. With two long steps and a leap, the hundred and fourteen kilogram Biomarine was over the rail and on the arena floor. He yelled to grab the attention of the bull as he sprinted for the boy. A half dozen long steps saw the boy’s only protector slamming into the side of the charging and irritated beast.
As the bull rammed into the rail beside the boy, Harris grabbed the boy’s arm, swinging him up and over the rail to safety. The angry bull charged, catching the Bio with its horns and slinging him into the air. After crashing hard to the ground, Harris was up and sprinting across the arena floor, kicking dust and dirt into the air. A jump up and over the rail on the other side had the Biomarine sprawled out on the steps as the bull slid to a stop.
The large woman in the seat beside his own held out a complete corn dog. “Here, you earned it.”
As Harris reached out, the simulation came to an end.
A scowl covered his face. “Now why’d you stop it? You heard her. I earned that corn dog.”
Alex replied, “While you would experience the touch and even the smell of your prize, you would not have been able to consume it.”
“So are these simulations a test to see how much you can piss me off?”
“The simulations are intended to record psychological responses to a series of stimuli. Your reaction to the boy falling into the arena will be analyzed and evaluated against a number of criteria.”
“That mean I passed?”
“There are no passing or failing criteria for the individual scenarios. Only reactional weightings.”
Harris chuckled. “OK. Well, I’m guessing that saving the boy was a win. What else you got?”
The simulated situations continued for several hours. Each time, Harris Gruberg’s actions brought an out-of-control situation back to a manageable footing. Lives were saved, wrongs righted.
Harris removed his helmet.
Alex asked, “Where are you going?”
“I’m going for a break. I want to eat and I want to rest. How many more of those do I have to sit through?”
“As many as it takes.”
Harris huffed. “Well, I guess I’ll be back after I stuff my face. Anyone else outside or they all still in the simulations?”
“Tawn Freely and Sharvie Withrow are both outside.”
Harris nodded. “Good.”
“And, Harris, remember, activities within the simulations cannot be discussed.”
“I got it.”
A short trek had the Biomarine standing in the doorway to the supply hut. Tawn and Sharvie were seated at a table, working over a set of MREs.
Harris grabbed a package and joined them. “Without saying what you did or didn’t do, what do you think of level two?”
Tawn replied, “Already finished and moved on.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Don’t know why it took Sharvie so long.”
Harris asked, “You finished too?”
Sharvie gave a reluctant reply. “I have, and I’ve been told that from this point on I can no longer comment on what level I’ve achieved.”
Harris shook his head. “I nailed every scenario. How is it you got moved up so quick?”
Sharvie stood with her meal. “We shouldn’t be discussing this. I’m going outside.”
Chapter 4
_______________________
Tawn looked at Harris. “She’s right. Not supposed to discuss.”
Gandy plodded in the door, his shirt soaked with sweat.
Harris chuckled. “What happened to you?”
Gandy shook his head. “Can’t talk about it other than to say I don’t imagine I’ll ever make it through.”
Harris pointed with his thumb. “Free Ride over here has already moved to level three.”
“How is that possible?”
Tawn sighed. “It’s not. I just wanted to see his reaction. And I think Sharvie is right. We shouldn’t be talking about this.”
Harris looked on in disgust. “I knew you couldn’t have made it through already. I kicked ass and I’m not through.”
Tawn held up a hand. “Don’t get too big a head over whatever you did. You won’t be able to fit in that helmet when you go back.”
Harris ripped open a package, revealing the heavily salted and sweetened meal within. “I have to guess you had issues with your helmet as well.”
Tawn nodded. “Almost ripped my ears off trying to pull it on.”
Gandy snickered. “You two do both have enormous heads.”
Harris laughed. “That’s to hold our enormous brains.”
Tawn sniped: “I’m guessing that pinhead you’re sporting was rattling around inside your helmet?”
Gandy smiled. “Nope. Snug and secure.”
Trish joined the group. “You all flunk out?”
“No,” said Harris. “Just making fun of your brother’s tiny head. Without breaking the rules b
y asking what you saw or did, how was your experience?”
Trish slowly nodded. “Interesting, just as Sharv said. I’m almost anxious to get back in there, but my brain said I needed a break.”
Tawn said, “What I find interesting is that we all came out within a few minutes of each other after being in there for hours. Oh, and the fact that Sharvie has moved on to level three. So maybe there’s hope for us to keep moving up.”
Harris finished his meal, tossing the packaging into a recycler. “I think we need to make a run out to Eden. I still think there has to be a way we can get food down to the colonel.”
Gandy shook his head. “We’ve been over this. We’ve got nothing. And you laughed at my last idea.”
Harris chuckled. “Disguise a freighter as an asteroid and send it in? First off, that’s not happening in the next two days. Aside from that, it was just plain dumb.”
Tawn sighed. “Dumb is that we can’t come up with anything. They will just have to surrender.”
Harris motioned toward the door. “I’m heading over there to assess the situation. You can all stay here or go with me. Your choice.”
The two Biomarines and three regulars, followed by Farker, boarded the Bangor. A short flight and a wormhole jump had the team checking the sensor display of the surrounding Eden space.
Harris scowled. “They’re leaving. Those are transports down there. The colonel must have given up.”
“Not like he had a choice,” said Tawn.
Harris zoomed in on a video image of the first dome and its surroundings. “Wait… that look like they are loading equipment?”
Tawn nodded. “And we have a ship almost to free space. Let’s see where they jump to.”
A wormhole opened with the transport moving calmly through.
“That’s the Retreat. That ship just went through to the Retreat.”
Harris turned the control stick while pushing the throttle to full.
Tawn asked, “Where we going?”
“The Retreat. Somebody there can tell us what’s happening.”
“Why not just open a comm wormhole?”
Harris stared at Tawn for several seconds. “I’m claiming brain fatigue from being in the simulations too long. What’s your excuse?”
Tawn shook her head. “Don’t need one. I came up with the idea.”
ARMS Jebwa Atrocity Page 3
