The Colonists

by Keith Fenwick

  The camp he currently lived in was an isolated seaside resort which had been closed for some years after going bust. The Greek government had run a lick of paint across the buildings before shipping in a couple of hundred people to live there. It had never been intended to provide a long-term solution, but once the refugees were ensconced, out of sight and out of mind, they were largely, and conveniently, forgotten.

  Initially, the refugees had been welcomed by sympathetic locals, but over time the Greeks had become more hostile when it was evident their government had chosen to ignore the plight of the refugees and leave them largely to their own devices. Many of the menfolk, who had no way of communicating with the outside world, no work, and no money, had begun to make trouble of one kind or another in the local community, which simply did not have the infrastructure to cope with an influx of new unproductive residents who brought with them a foreign culture and language.

  The men tended to gather together and gossip, then get into fights with each other because they had nothing constructive to do, and no real occupation except to brew moonshine and get into trouble after sampling too much of it.

  The local community grew frustrated and angry because they had been left to feed and clothe the refugees with little assistance from central government. The refugees were a more accessible target than the government, so they endured most of the aggravation from the Greeks. It was a tense situation and luckily for everyone, there were people on both sides who wanted to make the best of a demanding situation, so there had not yet been any outright violence between the refugees and the local population.

  Even when Muhammad was told he would be re-settled, he was angry at the way he, and thousands of others, had been cooped up in these camps instead of being allowed directly into Europe. If nothing else, the food was terrible, and he doubted it was halal, as they had been promised. The crusaders had a lot to answer for.

  He watched the footage and tried to follow the commentary. The film showed the warship firing on the upturned hull, then circling the hulk while it settled in the water and slowly sank beneath the waves, before it moved slowly away from the scene.

  Then he realised there were no bodies visible in the water. None. If the warship had massacred the passengers, their victims should be floating in the water. So where were they?

  Something didn’t add up for Muhammad. Shooting all the passengers was something he could understand. He was planning to do something similar to a lot of innocent civilians. But shooting at the hull of an empty ship made no sense to him.

  While he thought this over, one of the local imperialists approached him with what turned out to be Muhammad's travel order. He would soon be on his way.

  Fifteen

  Janice clustered around the monitors with her fellow crew members, observing the latest landing module ferrying android colonists down to their settlement. Janice had to admit the television production of the Mars landing was first class, even if the landing itself was a sham.

  This latest mission had a larger crew than the original teams: more couples, more expertise, more minds to help them understand their predicament and ultimately plan an escape. The original missions had been advance parties, sent on ahead to prepare the colony for further habitation. But since they had landed none of their work assignments had been started, let alone completed. Mostly, they spent their time sitting around the main communal area, watching their simulacra on television.

  Hopefully these latest arrivals could help to get to the bottom of what was really going on, the true purpose of their missions.

  Janice found her thoughts getting muddled and she had trouble holding an idea in her mind for any length of time. She had taken to making notes on her tablet, but she always forget to save them, and the auto-save option kept switching itself off. With a start, Janice realised she was more confused than she had thought.

  It was possible they had been drugged or had succumbed to a form of sophisticated conditioning or programming which made them believe they had experienced the entire trip aboard a spacecraft. The frustrating aspect of the situation was they didn’t know, couldn’t prove anything, and there were more people on their way who knew no more than they did, and who they would have to counsel when they arrived.

  Tellingly, there was no direct contact between the crews of the inbound missions with the original colonists until they materialised in the settlement.

  Janice thought the inbound crews must be in direct contact with their android clones on the trip out and while they orbited the planet running the final checks on the lander. Once these activities were complete they would leave the module, climb into their lander, and then descend to the planet’s surface, while the command module would cycle back to the moon. At some point in the process the human crew would materialise in the common room just like the rest of them had. They would be suspicious, angry, confused and possibly, like Janice had been herself, more than a little relieved to discover they were still alive after their risky voyage.

  It didn’t occur to her that all the crews were swapped out as the rockets left the pad back on Earth and arrived the same way she did, via a wormhole, and their passage had been slowed so they arrived at approximately the same time as the mission they should have been aboard. None of which made any sense:there was no need for the pretence of timing the arrival of the human and android crews.

  Janice knew they should be preparing to welcome the new arrivals. However, the stuffing had been knocked out of her fellow colonists. The realisation they were not really in control of their destiny had sapped their energy and drive.

  The only area they had any control over was the food they ate, the times they slept and who they slept with. Every other part of their existence was managed for them, right down to the timing of their tiresome exercise sessions and the daily emergency drills.

  Then, one day, Bill Sugden unexpectedly announced he was sure they were on Mars. “It’s the gravity. We can’t be on Earth because our bodies are feeling the effects of low gravity. Our faces are a little puffy for example, and I think this is one of the reasons we are being reminded to keep up with our exercise regime.”

  Bill’s insight failed to create much of a stir in the crew. Most of them had now descended into emotional states which were borderline catatonic. Janice felt she was the only one who retained a sense of urgency and even then she often felt worn down by fatigue. Bill still retained some of his spunk, but he was becoming increasingly apathetic.

  This made Janice more determined than ever to escape from the building using the bomb they'd been working on. However, each time they got themselves to the point of setting the charge, some new drama distracted them, and they ended up delaying their escape attempt, or Bill found another excuse to tinker with the detonator to ensure it was going to work.

  Her train of thought was interrupted by an inbound message from mission control. This was something new: they hadn’t been in direct contact since she arrived.

  “Now you have fully acclimatised to your new environment, we want to enlist your assistance to create a Skidian User Guide and document your experiences to help crew members in subsequent missions settle into the colony.”

  “Is this some newbie from the communications and marketing department looking for something useful to do?” Janice asked nobody in particular. “What’s going on?” she asked, as a lander descended toward the Martian surface with the next group of android colonists aboard.

  “I beg your pardon?” Morris responded to the voice squawking at him via the Book on the table, while he peered at his mobile and enjoyed a beer. He knew it wasn’t going to be an interactive discussion by the tone of the ‘voice’, and he felt had been cornered by an extremely determined salesman from whom there was no escape.

  “In time tens of thousands of people from all walks of life will follow you to Skid. The purpose of this process is to provide material for these new settlers to assist them to integrate into life in this unique environment.”

>   “What process are you talking about?”

  “The purpose of the Skidian User Guide is to prepare future settlers for their new lives on Skid. We are polling key people like you to help us to develop the SKUG and other training documentation. You have been chosen to assist because you have been identified as an early adopter of innovative technology.”

  It was as if the intelligence behind the device thought it had to repeat itself until Morris understood what was being asked of him.

  “But I have only been here a matter of hours. I haven’t even worked out how to feed…” Morris began to protest. “And I completed another survey a little while ago.”

  Morris’s involvement wasn’t a matter of choice. Bruce had suggested rather strongly to the Transcendents they needed to put some implementation and training steps into its project plan, with the input of some real trainers and communications people.

  The Todd brothers had taken on the task initially, then rapidly choose to opt out and leave the job to the Transcendents, because they didn’t want to get their hands dirty. Writing documentation didn’t spin their wheels and was a process they felt was beneath them. After all, as they were reminded incessantly by the MPU, they had the resources of the most powerful, sophisticated, and technologically advanced civilisation in the known universe at their fingertips at their disposal.

  As long as Bruce accepted their progress reports at their regular stand-ups without requiring any hard evidence, they weren’t concerned at dropping the ball. Their misplaced confidence was in the Transcendents, who had promised to undertake the heavy lifting for the generation of the user guide they would critique once complete.

  The only thing causing a frisson of concern in the back of their mind was Bruce’s disconcerting penchant for turning up at the least convenient time and poking around where he wasn’t welcome. One minute he was adamant he wanted no involvement in the project and anything to do with Skid. Then next minute he was doing a meet and greet with the new Martian colonists in his sweaty crutching gear, reeking of sheep shit and lanoline.

  Dick considered it a master stroke when Sue had decided she wanted to be involved and began to work on a survey to help define the content for the guide.

  Morris didn’t have a chance against this level of inertia.

  “We will begin with a survey to gather some information. This survey is being pushed to your Book. Please note this call is being recorded for training purposes. If you do not wish for the recording to be used, please indicate this to a customer services representative.”

  Morris picked up the Book out of interest to see what this was all about. It didn’t appear he had much choice in the matter, because the notification had annoyingly cut into a football game he had been watching, and he couldn’t turn it off and return to the coverage. He enjoyed being able to see the game, but he was still struggling to understand how he could be watching the current season of EPL football when he was half way across the universe.

  “Please answer the questions honestly. This will assist us to develop an optimal solution.”

  “This should be interesting,” Morris muttered under his breath. He wondered if the other men who had been dropped into this lunatic asylum had also been given this questionnaire to complete.

  “You may answer the questions verbally or via the form on your Book. Question one: on a scale of one to ten, with one being least likely and ten being most likely, how likely is it you would recommend this company to a friend or colleague?”

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “I do not understand your response.”

  “One.” Morris also moved the slider hard to the left of the form.

  “Overall, how satisfied or dissatisfied are you with our company? Very satisfied, somewhat satisfied, neither satisfied or dissatisfied, somewhat dissatisfied, or very dissatisfied.”

  Morris had no problem with this question either.

  “Now moving onto question three. Which of the following words would you use to describe our products? Use all the words that apply?

  Morris scanned down the list and found no words to describe how he was feeling. There was a free text field at the bottom of the list if none of the options applied, so he tried it.

  “Other.”

  “Other is not a valid response.”

  “Unreliable.”

  The voice didn’t miss a beat.

  “How likely are you to use our products and services again?”

  Once again, there was only one possible response to this question.

  “Unlikely.”

  “Thank you for your time. Do you have any further comments before you continue with your transaction?”

  “What transaction?” Morris wondered.

  “Please enter a response.”

  “Not at this time.”

  “Thank you. We will now connect to with a customer services representative.”

  Muzak played into his ear for a few seconds and then another canned voice instructed him:

  “To direct you to someone who can help you, please enter your customer number, followed by the hash key.”

  Morris dutifully entered a few random numbers.

  “Now please enter your four or five-digit PIN, followed by the hash key.”

  Morris entered another set of random numbers and pressed the hash key.

  “Thank you.”

  A ring tone played, then there was a click on the end of the line indicating the call was being answered. A new sound played, transporting Morris to the most peaceful setting he could imagine in his mind. He was on standing on the bank of a pool, fed by a stream running through a forest clearing. It was the stylised rendition of the house he had always planned before the realities of life, a divorce, and broken dreams had got in the way. It was an odd fantasy given he had been diagnosed with borderline agoraphobic.

  “Thank you for waiting, caller. How may I be of assistance today?”

  The voice brought Morris back to reality.

  “I don’t understand why I am here and what is required of me.”

  “Thank you, caller. I am unable to resolve your issue currently. I will have to escalate it to second level support for resolution. I will give you a job number. Please hold.”

  Morris wondered if he had wandered into a lunatic asylum. Maybe he’d had a breakdown due to the extreme stress of training for the mission, and heavy medication had given rise to hallucinations or he was in a dream filled coma. This was just about all too much for him, but at the same time he was also fascinated to see where the surreal conversation was headed.

  After a slight pause came another click and a hiss of static, followed by another voice.

  “Thank you for holding. How may I help you today? Please press one for account enquiries, press two if you are wishing to sign up as a new customer, press three for technical support, press four…”

  Morris pressed the numeral five key rapidly several times, unsure whether to laugh or cry.

  “I am sorry, I did not understand your response.”

  The machine voice sounded a little agitated, and a new voice joined the conversation.

  “Good afternoon, sir.”

  Morris wasn’t immediately sure he was speaking to a real person, but whoever or whatever they were, they didn’t make any more sense than the initial voice.

  “We are producing a User Guide, along with a list of do's and don'ts to assist new immigrants to integrate and settle on Skid. We are seeking your assistance to provide content and validate our work to date.”

  But I have only been here for a few hours, Morris wanted to scream.

  “Please answer the following questions.”

  He decided he wasn’t going to play the game any longer and looked without success for a switch or button to turn the Book off, or some way of exiting the survey. The irritating voice coming from the device kept on demanding a response to its last question. In the end, he threw the device onto the floor in frustration, turned it on its
front and stomped on it until he felt, rather than heard, the screen smash and the voice was finally silenced. Before he could somewhat guiltily reach down and pick up all the pieces, a small robot charged through what Morris had thought might be a cat flap in the wall, though he had yet to see any signs of a cat. It sucked up all the smashed components, then scuttled back the way it had come.

  Across the compound, Sue instructed the MPU to end the survey program while she dressed. She belatedly realised the survey questions were not worth the paper they were written on. This was an embarrassing setback, because she was desperate to prove to the others, especially Bruce, she could be trusted with critical tasks.

  It was her own fault. She had expected and received very little help from Trev and Dick and had relied on the MPU to draft the initial version of the SKUG using an Australian guide for new immigrants she had found on the internet. For reasons best known to itself, the MPU also tried to get some feedback via a customer satisfaction survey without sharing the draft of the guide. How and why it had pursued this line of enquiry was beyond her and she didn’t have time to grill the MPU about it now. But she did take a moment to ponder, based on her limited interaction with the MPU, whether it was such a clever idea for it to be in control of the infrastructure running the planet.

  Sue put all her concerns to one side, because she didn’t want to be late for the wedding rehearsal and the project stage gate meeting she was attending afterwards.

  The meeting was to rubber-stamp the project’s move to the implementation phase, the uploading of thousands of MFYers from the Australian complex to Skid, via wormholes connected to Automedon, and then from Automedon to Skid.