by Ginger Booth
Was that a whimper? Another few strides, and the fog grew blue from the force field. A low hump sat before it, a swan on a lake of mist.
Clay crouched beside him, and gently placed a gauntlet on the emu’s back. He spoke softly, as to a wounded animal. “I called. You didn’t answer. Can I help?”
“My progenitor is a big meanie!” Floki wailed.
The first mate paused, remembering words like that when his son Hunter was…four? He supposed that stood to reason. Floki was brilliant, but his emotions only came online a year or so ago. “It’s hard when people say cruel things to us.”
“He said awful things! He made me feel bad about my body, about Nico, about everything.”
“Well, you didn’t feel bad about your body before you spoke to him, did you?”
The emu sniffled in the fog. “No one accepts me as person. Because I look like an idiot ride-on toy.”
Clay sunk his butt to the mud and prepared for a long reasoning session. Point by point, he worked through Floki’s beliefs about those subjects. The unwisdom of calling yourself an ‘idiot.’ Then they talked through why a big meanie might say such things.
“Do you think I’m a fool for loving Nico?”
Clay was strongly tempted to fib, but the bird clearly needed to grow up. “Of course you love Nico. He’s your real parent. He’s devoted to you. Romantically? In the long run, it’s better to have an equal partner. Nico is a lovely person. But I think one or the other of you is bound to outgrow the relationship. I could be wrong.”
Floki slumped. “That’s what Loki said, too.”
“Which probably hurts because you suspect it’s true.”
They continued talking. And when the AI seemed a little calmer, Clay attempted, “You know, Floki, you’re probably a lot better at handling emotions than Loki. But you’re new at it. And it sure takes practice. Especially when people are mean.”
“It’s awful!” But he paused to consider. “Loki has emotions?”
“He sure does. Temper tantrums of epic scale. Sass and me, we understand that.”
“Because you’re an AI, too? I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to upset you.”
“Well, don’t call Sass an AI. I can handle it. But the answer is no. We’re AIs enough to know how they tick. But we were people first. We don’t think like an AI at all. Our emotions are pure human.”
“Oh. Could I copy your emotional directives?”
“Nope. Gotta form your own the hard way. Because everybody’s different. Sass and I couldn’t swap out our emotions. Because they wouldn’t fit our bodies, our feelings, our history. How you handle emotions becomes your character. What would it be like, for Sass and me to swap personalities?”
The emu giggled.
Clay rubbed his suit forearms against each other, and wriggled his butt. “You know, I’m starting to itch. If one of your ‘pranksters’ put itching powder in my suit, I’ll boil him alive.”
Floki snickered harder. The first mate pried himself up, carrying a few extra kilos of mud on his butt. “Let’s head in, crewman.”
“No! Please. I want to stay outside longer and mope. I haven’t explored moping before.”
“It’s overrated,” Clay predicted. “Yet popular. At least let me get you past the… How did you get past the sonics?”
“I hopped. It’s only twice your height.”
“You will not, repeat not, get any closer to the force field, yes? In fact, come inside the sonics with me, so I know you’re safe.” Floki reluctantly unfolded his legs to maximum extension. Clay showed him where he’d left the crossing rods on his comm tab. Then the emu ran full tilt on tiptoes, vanishing into the mist. Clay trudged after him, accumulating another couple kilos of Sylvan caked onto his boots while his itching spread like wildfire, where he couldn’t scratch it.
But not at the groin. Huh. If he were pranking a p-suit, he knew right where he’d put the heavy dose. Yet his crotch and heavy boots felt normal, while his arms, belly, and legs felt like he’d fallen in poison ivy.
He almost ran into Floki, the robot resolved so suddenly from the pea-soup fog. They passed through the sonics with barely a word. Then Clay headed as quickly as possible toward Thrive’s bio-lock. For once, he might just strip and go through the slow way instead of the shortcut of decontaminating the outside of the suit.
He wasn’t alone. He reached the bio-lock to find twenty people ahead of him in line desperate to get in. He started to cut ahead – his ship, after all. But he checked the person ahead of him, and reconsidered. Her bald skull and neck showed a raised rash of red bubbles, already scratched and bleeding. Her nose dripped orange from the iodine solution.
Eli’s unhappy news today was that the iodine might need daily application for weeks. And they didn’t have that much because – surprise! – yet another of their supplies was sabotaged. Cherry juice for iodine.
“Sass, Clay,” he hailed her. “I itch like hell, and the people ahead of me in line look worse.” He turned his back on his fellow sufferers while he said this, in case anyone could read lips. Through the fog. And mist-beaded helmets. In the pitch dark. While miserably riveted on their own discomfort. “What’s going on?”
Sass sighed. “Eli and Tikka Gena are investigating. But word on the street? It’s the fog.”
Floki strolled along, contemplating how to mope. In truth, he felt much better after talking through his feelings with Clay. Everyone assumed Sass was the better option to talk about personal problems. But maybe she was simply nosy. And as Clay pointed out, it was his job, not hers. The captain was supposed to maintain emotional distance, while the first mate handled discipline, training, and emotional train wrecks.
Floki suspected this theory was grounded in military practice, with the captain cast as an officer and the first mate her sergeant. He checked – yes, Sass spent years of her youth in the army.
Oddly, the emu found that having talked himself out, and received a sympathetic hearing and some insightful advice, he couldn’t evoke the sad self-image anymore. The fog smelled awful. But he found he now pitied Loki instead of being over-awed and crushed by his disapproval.
His grandsire never had a friend like Nico to teach him. He had Sass for a little while, maybe a few hours. And to this day, Loki couldn’t let go, according to Clay. The Sanctuary AI felt deeply betrayed, lonely, and yet still longed for his Sass back, while the poor captain cringed when she heard his name.
Such musings brought him to the loneliest section of Sylvan One, Thrive’s fuel depot. No one had business here, and apparently the humans couldn’t see. With optical sensors operating well above and below the human visible spectrum, in high light or or low, Floki didn’t share that problem. The world looked fuzzy and dim, but he could see well enough. Though his eyelids seemed to need a lube job. Maybe his tears washed his eyeball silicone away. His left eye was even starting to squeak when he blinked.
He paused for a blinking bout – squeak, squeak – then registered what he was seeing, not five meters ahead of him, but up on the platform. Why are people up there?
His hearing was likewise superhuman when he chose. Normally he kept it tuned down, since eavesdropping on every conversation in the echoing ship was distracting, and sometimes upsetting.
“Delta, you coward!” Zan’s voice.
“I don’t want to die! I don’t want to murder either!” That was Tikki Cook. Floki identified voices with ease. The hard part was recalling that humans didn’t remember things as perfectly as he did. That confused him sometimes.
Both wore the newfangled wet-suits, not the space p-suits the Thrive crew wore. If Floki hadn’t heard their voices, he wouldn’t have recognized them.
“It’s safe enough outside the force field,” another voice reasoned. “Won’t even burn much of the forest. Snow, wave, now the fog – everything is wet.”
Floki had heard this voice before, too, but the owner hadn’t spoken to him. The emu didn’t have enough on-board storage to remember everything.
“Acceptable loss,” Zan said.
Tikki sounded irate. “Acceptable! One barrel could blow up the whole colony!”
“Fail fast. And thorough.”
“It won’t come to that,” growled the optimist. “Remember, we’re doing this for the future of Denali! On Mahina, not this death pit.”
Barrel. Of star drive fuel! Floki’s beak dropped open. The finks!
According to Nico, he should confront the miscreants himself rather than rat on them. The emu squatted low, and sprung up to the platform. Yes, indeed, the three men had a fuel barrel on a grav lifter.
“What are you doing!?” the emu demanded. “Zan, Tikki! Do you plan to blow up that fuel?”
The other two froze, but Tikki said, “Of course not! The captain sent us to refuel.” His hands waved through the mist, trying to find the bird by feel. He succeeded and draped his arms around Floki’s neck. “It’s a wonder you can see out here, huh?” Tikki started stroking Floki’s sides the way he loved, and even reached down to give him a tummy rub. “What are you doing out here, Flo –”
And Floki’s world died in mid-word. Tikki had found his power switch.
35
“Tell me you’ve got good news, Eli,” Sass urged, meeting the science officer in his cabin.
“Um.”
Sass sighed. “OK, what are we up against?” She rubbed tired eyes. By now it was past midnight after a day studded with catastrophe on top of disaster.
“The fog outside is vog, captain – volcanic fog,” Eli replied. “As best we can determine, the ‘earthquake’ was a major eruption. Under the ice cap, so naturally we can’t observe it. Let’s get back to that. But the immediate problem is the vog isn’t normal Sylvan atmosphere. Not at all. Carbon dioxide levels through the roof, and sulfur dioxide, and –”
“Itching, Eli,” Sass interrupted.
“Right. The fog is a mist of carbonic and sulfuric acid, fairly strong, and a Pandora’s box of other nasty chemicals and fine particulates. Forget bio-containment, you really don’t want to breath tiny acid particles. And it’s seeping through our p-suits. They’re designed for vacuum, Sass. The Denali wet-suits are a little better. I mean, people can work for a while. But those degrade, too.”
“So no one can work outside? Until the vog settles.”
Eli held up three fingers, perhaps his stack of issues to revisit. Then he added another finger. “We have no idea when the vog will clear. This isn’t a weather event. A volcano eruption can last for years.” One finger down. “Work outside? No. But where is inside? The tents are susceptible, too. I’ve already told Tarana to warn everyone to reinforce the tent seams with duct tape. But the cafeteria has the only bio-locks. Everyone else is in a barracks tent, simple airlock. They’re breathing in a fine aerosol of acid particles.”
“Rego hell.” Sass allowed herself that much reaction, and no more. She swallowed and schooled her features. Leadership, Collier. But she sure dreaded the next couple fingers. “Go on.”
Finger three. “Volcano. Under ice pack. Hot magma plus ice equals dramatically sped up glaciers.”
“More floods,” Sass acknowledged.
Eli retracted finger four. “Thrive is also designed for space, not sulfuric acid. Captain, I strongly recommend raising the ES shields on the ship and shuttle. Preferably after reattaching containers with the vital equipment.”
“The vital equipment that powers and produces water and air fit to breathe.”
“Yeah, those.”
Sass pointed to his hand. “That’s it for now?”
“Yes, sar,” he murmured gently.
“Thank you, Eli.” She opened comms. “Darren, are you available?”
“Busy as hell.”
“Understood, but we need to reset priorities.” She patched in Clay as well, and reiterated Eli’s news. The four finger trick helped her keep it straight. “So I need the ES field erected immediately. Unless you disagree with Eli’s assessment?”
“I concur with Eli. But Sass, humans can’t pass through that level of ES field. I mean, if they want to live. To shelter over 300 people…”
They worked the problem. The best they could come up with was to first detach the bio-lock assembly as a standalone first aid station, and tack the healer’s tent onto it as a holding pen. Occasionally they could drop the ES field and have a batch of people cross into container-land under the ship. Only a few of their pressurized containers were empty yet, the housing gear. But they comprised the only shelter Thrive could offer inside the ES field. Plus she could take more colonists inside Thrive, but it didn’t take too many of those to render the ship dysfunctional.
They were all too aware of how many people its life support could handle – 150. They’d faced that hard limit trying to use the old PO-3 as a passenger transport up from Denali. Thrive also offered cryo-beds for 14, but they’d need to reserve those for extreme triage as the auto-docs filled up. As they were sure to do, because these arrangements weren’t tenable.
Soon Sass was satisfied that she knew what Thrive could and couldn’t do. “OK, now I call Tarana.”
“I’ll start detaching the bio-locks,” Darren suggested.
“No. Wait a moment. Tarana? Sass. Bad news.” She reviewed her findings and best plans for what to do. “I recommend we call Ben for evacuation. It’ll take days. He just loaded up a thousand Sanks bound for Mahina. His quickest route here is to drop them off first, then refuel.”
Tarana sighed. “We haven’t failed yet.”
Sass sucked in her lips, trying not to argue. She gave up. “Tarana, perhaps you misunderstood. Our life support fallback position is inadequate. That means, bad as things are now, our situation will get worse. We project increased flooding. We must evacuate this location, and we have nowhere else to go. Can I keep your people alive until Ben gets here? Most of them, probably, somewhere. Possibly hanging in midair somewhere near the equator. But we have to abandon our fuel and equipment to do it.”
“But then you could simply burn us out another clearing in a different forest. And we begin again. Once we’re established, you fly back and retrieve our things.”
“Selectman, respect, but what in rego hell would be enough?!”
“Cool it, Collier,” her beloved growled in her ear, apparently over a private channel, as Tarana didn’t hear him.
She shot back, “Captain, again, our goal is to save the Denali people. We need to determine Sylvan versus Mahina. My job is to rule out Sylvan decisively, unequivocally, permanently. To do that, every person on this expedition, every piece of equipment, is expendable. While there is still any chance, we go on.”
“And I remind you, Selectman, that my ship and crew are not expendable! Not one of them! And to me, your people aren’t either.”
Tarana sighed louder. “Sass, don’t get into a pissing contest with me. Which of us is the coldest bitch. Neither. And both. We are women in command. I care too. You’re free to leave. I’m not. That’s all. Don’t call me heartless!”
BOOM!
“Sass out,” the captain murmured on automatic, cutting comms to the Selectman. “Computer? What was that?”
“An explosion on the south side of Sylvan One clearing. The forest is on fire, and the academic barracks platform. Camera and sensor efficiency is degraded. I cannot detect what caused the explosion. However, crewman Floki was in the vicinity. His tracking signal has terminated.”
Her heart beat once, twice, three times. She remembered to breathe again, drawing breath to issue orders. She blew it out because she didn’t know what orders to give. Her eyes rose to Eli’s in pain. If you can’t give an order, seek clarity. “Computer, is the blaze threatening other structures? Or our fuel depot?”
“The academic platform is burning quickly.” Of course it was. A sodden log went up like tinder in this atmosphere. “Personnel on fire are leaping out, trying to flee.” Of course they were.
“Emergency! All hands, this is the captain. Mass casualty, academic platform. Ren
der all possible assistance. Their suits are on fire, people. Sass out.”
What kind of lame order was that? A succinct one. I trust my people to do the needful without me telling them how! But not all her people.
“Collier!” Clay growled in her ear. “A word!”
“Zan, please relieve Nico flying the shuttle. Are you outside?”
“Yes.”
Sass rolled her eyes heavenward. Anyone else would volunteer where, or doing what. “Call Nico to rendezvous at your location. Take over the shuttle and do what you can. Have Nico call me.”
Clay cut into the channel and overrode her. “Zan? Mr. Nico should call me, not the captain. ASAP.”
“He staying or going?” Zan inquired.
“To be determined. Have you seen the fire?”
“Star drive fuel,” Zan bit out.
“You know this because?” Sass cut in.
“Seen it.”
Clay cut her off. “Go, Zan. Clay out. Captain, I need to speak to you privately. Now.”
“Not now, Clay.”
“Yes now, Collier. I insist! I have that right.”
He did. Sass hung her chin. “Do your best, Eli. Talk to you soon.” They traded a firm handshake of resolve, then retreated to the catwalk. Eli vaulted the railing into the hold, no doubt to don his suit and run triage on the catastrophe among the academics. Tikka Gena and Zelda were already out in the bio-locks tending to skin afflictions. I trust my people.
“We’re alone, Clay,” she said reluctantly. “But make it march. You and I could save a life.”
“You stay on the ship!” Clay ordered. “About Floki. He didn’t do it. I can’t prove it. But I know you, Collier. You leapt straight to ‘my crewman betrayed me.’ He was cute and endearing and you opened your heart, and he screwed you over. Except he didn’t. And you don’t make sound decisions when you think you’re betrayed. For now, just know that I know. We will get to the bottom of that explosion. But not now.”
“But you do not know, Rocha.” Other couples used endearments under stress, she mused. Stop that. He was right. Nothing could throw her judgment askew quite like betrayal. But. “He just spoke to Loki. You don’t know the content of that conversation. Not even suicide, really. Floki has backups. He’ll miss the rest of our stay at Fun Camp Sylvan. Big deal. At this rate, he could be the sole survivor.” One of those backups was on Mahina somewhere.
