by J. S. Morin
Human Phase
Robot Geneticists
J. S. Morin
Copyright © 2017 J.S. Morin
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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
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J.S. Morin — First Edition
ISBN: 978-1-942642-71-8
Printed in the United States of America
Chapter One
Kaylee Fourteen wiped sweat from her forehead as she checked and rechecked the alignment of Mars’ first locally built atmosphere generator. The turbine would be spinning at half a million revolutions per minute once activated, and the slightest misalignment of the meter-long blades could cause them to shatter against the casing at supersonic speeds. Her breath echoed from inside the mask of her portable oxygen supply, working on the exterior of the machine. Baking red sunlight filtered through the thick miasma of carbon dioxide, nitrogen, and methane that sustained the planet’s first outdoor plant life. Soon—possibly within the decade—Kaylee would be able to picnic with her family under that sky without special equipment.
Tucking the nanoscale scanner into its holster on her belt, Kaylee tapped at the corner of her data goggles. She scrolled through her contacts list and connected to Ned Lund, the project lead for the Mars Terraforming Initiative and Kaylee’s boss. “All set, Ned. We can cap the outlet nozzle on atmo pump one. All seventy-two blades check out. All fittings exact within the micron. Thermal expansion zone is clear.”
Ned’s gruff voice came back in her ear. “Throw a tarp over it. We’ll cap pump one after lunch.”
Kaylee secured the site. Magnetic tie-downs clamped the pale purple alienite tarp across the exposed opening of the turbine. The last thing any of them needed was to come back from lunch break to find a grain of sand carried on the wind and dinged one of the blades. A quick double-check that the tarp wasn’t going to move while she was gone, Kaylee maneuvered the bucket of her lift-arm truck to deposit her at ground level.
Hopping the safety chain that kept her from falling out, Kaylee hustled over to one of the group transports and squeezed in beside a coworker on a bench in the back. The ride to base camp was only five minutes. Walking would have taken nearly an hour. Being jammed in shoulder-to-shoulder with people she barely knew was worth the time savings.
Once back at the pre-fab collection of environmentally controlled structures, Kaylee waited in line and made her way through the airlock in the third batch of workers. Once inside the cafeteria, she pushed her goggles onto her scalp and unbuckled her oxygen mask. The first breath of free-floating air always tasted better than the dank, rubbery-smelling stuff from inside the mask. Kaylee filled her lungs, and the sheen of sweat around her nose and mouth cooled and dried.
“Good work out there, Fourteen,” Ned greeted her with a handshake. His palm was callused and rough; his grip like iron. “We might get that unit online by nightfall at this rate.”
Kaylee stifled a yawn. “I thought we might push through lunch…”
Ned shook his head as he picked up a tray and got in line for chow. “Right is better than fast. That’s half the reason you’re here. Adrian wanted fast, but he got sloppy. We’re not robots. Food. Rest. The body works best when you maintain it.”
Kaylee fought back another yawn as she retrieved a tray and perused the camp’s lunch fare. All of it was Earth-grown, shipped across seventy-nine million kilometers of orbital space, and manufactured to last. Inside the colonies, more and more local food was consumed, but out in the work camps, they ate the cheap stuff.
“Sorry, Ned,” Kaylee said. “Don’t mean to seem like I’m—”
Ned waved a hand, brushing her apology aside. “Nah. Takes getting used to. Forty minutes a day doesn’t sound like much, but those short Earth days you’re used to will take their toll. Happens to everyone their first couple months here.”
Kaylee smiled her reply as the two of them piled their trays with canned peaches, beef jerky in gravy, and vacuum-packed broccoli. They’d all been so nice since she arrived. Everyone back home had warned her about the Martians and their bias against Earthborn humans, but Kaylee had yet to experience that bias firsthand.
She joined Ned and a few of the other supervisor-level workers at one of the main tables. Kaylee was Quality Assurance Chief, a role that had seemed to elude the Martians despite their attempts to fill it from their own ranks. Around the table were Chief Logistics Officer Miriam Hazra, Chief Technical Officer Ben Santos, and Operations Manager Lijing Chang. They all scooted and rearranged their trays to make room for the two newcomers at the round, plastic table.
“Heard we might cap the nozzle this afternoon,” Lijing said, raising a paltry toast with her thermos of water.
“To Kaylee,” Ned said, playing along and raising his thermos as well. The others followed suit. “May our next turbine activation not blow up in our faces like the last one.”
“Hear, hear,” the others joined in, including a halfhearted Kaylee. Stainless steel bottles clanged. Everyone chuckled, then dug into their meals.
No one was overly formal on the project. They were all sitting around a Protofab-grade table with environmental hazard gear dangling loose from their clothing. All of them were sweaty and dirty with a powdery red coating of untamed soil from outside the dome. Perfunctory discussions of work-related topics soon gave way to chatting about the latest movies, soccer, and the upcoming Emancipation Day celebration on Earth.
When talk crept toward politics, Kaylee wolfed down the last of her soggy, vacuum-preserved broccoli, and excused herself. “Time to prep that turbine for low-speed testing.”
The rest of them gave a quick acknowledgment and returned to discussing local elections.
Kaylee pulled down her goggles, fixed her filtration mask back in place, and stepped out into the dusty Martian wilderness. She took a breath in the privacy of her own company, and the rubbery smell came as a welcome reprise.
Chapter Two
Eve Fourteen sat on the edge of a pristine white table covered in bed linens. To call the piece of medical equipment a bed would have given it too much credit for an intention toward comfort, rest, or peace of mind. She wore a white smock provided by the hospital and was covered in residue from a variety of lubricants, adhesives, and conductive solutions that had been part of her physical examination.
Doctors had an annoying propensity for thoroughness, and with Eve they were particularly mindful. After all, at 148 years old, the pillar of human society’s health wasn’t a subject to be taken lightly.
Ashley390 returned. Despite the changing fashions of the time, the old robot still wore a chassis that had a distinctly inhuman appearance with an exposed metalized plastic finish and glowing orange eyes. Eve found the latter comforting, even though not many of her younger colleagues agreed.
<
br /> “Would you like this as a summary or a list of defects?” the doctor asked.
Eve smiled weakly. It was her own fault for insisting they not sugarcoat anything. “You’ve had me here five hours already. I think I have time for both.”
Ashley390 referenced a datatab despite having access to all the information she needed internally. Eve allowed the affectation to pass without remark. “You are the healthiest 148-year-old woman on record. That said, you’re still the only one, and in broader terms, I think you ought to strongly consider retirement and spending more time with your family.”
Eve snorted and crossed her thin, frail arms. “Humanity is my family. And the second that someone convinces me they can do my job better, I’ll let them have it.”
Ashley390 shook her head in resignation and continued. “Your renal function is continuing to slip. I think it’s about time we replace the other one with—”
“Fine,” Eve said with a wave of her hand. “Another cybernetic part. I don’t have a particular attachment to a kidney.”
“Your lungs are still a trouble spot, but I know you’ve been hesitant to have them upgraded.”
“Lot of bother,” Eve muttered. “The recovery time is too long. Get it under three days, and I’ll consider it.”
“You’re not going to like this next item,” Ashley390 warned. “But…”
“Oh, spit it out, woman,” Eve snapped. “You tell me I’ve not got long to live; well, don’t waste time coddling my feelings. Bad news has yet to get better with keeping, and I daresay I’ve heard worse than what you’re going to say next.”
“You need a crystalline brain.”
“The hell I do,” Eve countered, slipping gingerly off the table to face Ashley390 directly. “You’ve been pushing a robotic brain on me for years. I haven’t changed my mind, and I surely haven’t changed my vote on Human Welfare Committee policy regarding human upload in either direction.”
Not backing down a millimeter, Ashley390 set her datatab aside and spread her hands. “That’s me not ‘coddling your feelings,’” she quoted Eve’s words in a digital mimicry of the elder human’s voice. “Despite our best efforts to keep it at bay, you’re developing neural plaque that will eventually cause irreversible loss of higher brain function.”
Eve rolled her bionic implant eyes, which still saw as clearly as a teenager’s. “Spare me the theatrics. Up the dose on those cleansing microbes you’ve been using, and send me on my way.”
“Any more aggressive treatment is just going to exacerbate another issue. The anti-amyloid bacteria produce waste chemicals that are beginning to cause issues of their own. We don’t have the time to develop and test countermeasures that would be safe to use within your lifetime.”
Eve snorted. “I’ve been accused of spouting excrement often enough. About time I had justification for its origins.”
Ashley390’s smile was a sad one. “Geriatrics is a new old science. You’re in uncharted territory, Eve. You get the cutting edge of every procedure we come up with. We’re two decades past the oldest patients the Human Era ever documented. Left to its own biological limitations, that cellular brain of yours might have anywhere from three to eighteen months left of useful life in it.”
“After that?” Eve asked. Let Ashley390 try to scare her. Let the robot lay out all the bleak prognoses she liked. See if that might change Eve’s mind.
It wouldn’t. But Eve still had to know her fate.
Ashley390 affected a sigh. “Disorientation. Irritability. Memory and cognitive degeneration. We can regulate all your involuntary functions mechanically, but you’d essentially be a cybernetic puppet with limp strings.”
“How cheery,” Eve said, shuffling to the corner of the examination room to retrieve her clothing. “Anything else I need to know about my imminent demise?”
“I know you’ve got a busy schedule the next few days,” Ashley390 said. “But we should probably swap out your bronchial filter and replace a few more of your afferent nerves.”
An alert popped up in Eve’s field of vision.
INCOMING TRANSMISSION.
“Pardon me,” Eve said with a raised hand to stem further prognoses from the doctor. “Work intrudes. They must be losing bladder control over me being gone this long.”
“Not everyone’s bladder has a servo-controlled regulator valve,” Ashley390 commented.
Eve’s fingers twitched. Fiber strands carried neuromuscular signals to the computer interface that had become as much a part of her as any organ. She navigated the interface to bounce messages back and forth across the Solarwide with her secretaries and a junior member of the Human Welfare Committee. In between, she creaked and groaned her way into a pair of slacks, an auto-button blouse, and orthotic shoes.
“Any last admonishments?” Eve asked as she headed for the door amid the floodgate she’d opened to committee business.
“All I can do is advise and offer treatment options,” Ashley390 replied. “I’ve made my recommendations. I can’t make you heed them.”
Eve smiled from the doorway. “Wonderful system, isn’t it? I’m free to live the last of my life on my terms, not yours.”
Chapter Three
Kaylee arrived at home that evening, worn to the bone but with a weary smile on her face. Her husband, Alan, greeted her at the door with a hug despite her being caked with crud from the day’s work.
“How’d it go? Are we breathing life into Mars yet?” Alan asked. He wore his sweater and tie like a uniform along with a sappy, optimistic smile that went with everything. He hadn’t changed since getting back from school that afternoon, where he taught history and sociology.
Kaylee hung from his neck for support. “Finally. You know, I said I wanted to come to Mars to make a difference, work with my hands, get out of my cushy climate projection job and away from computer terminals.”
“Reconsidering? I can have our bags packed inside the hour,” Alan joked.
Kaylee stretched and headed for the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of locally produced orange juice. “Not on your life. Today I got to see a jet of supersonic gas inject our atmosphere with the first breathable air made by Martians.”
“Are we calling ourselves Martians now?” Alan asked as he set out a pair of champagne glasses for Kaylee to fill.
Kaylee scrunched her face into a thoughtful scowl. “I suppose I did call it ‘our’ atmosphere, didn’t I? Well, it’s mine, at least. I helped make it, even if I didn’t build or install any of the machinery. It was my sign-off that allowed Ned to flip the switch and turn it on.”
“Like a priestess blessing her new flock,” Alan said with a smirk. He lifted his orange juice in a toast.
Kaylee clinked her glass against Alan’s. “To being Martians.”
They drank their toast, refilled their glasses, and sat down with auto-cooked fettuccine alfredo in front of the video screen. Alan flipped on the news feeds.
It was a daily ritual. The Solarwide brought Earth in story-item doses that vaccinated them against homesickness. Much as she might claim to have embraced her new Martian home, Kaylee still clung to that ball of ocean-drenched rock where she’d been born.
“In sporting news, the—”
Alan tapped the remote, switching from the London feed to Philadelphia-2.
“…and elsewhere in the solar system, the Mars—”
Tap.
“Wait,” Kaylee said, grabbing Alan by the wrist and knocking her fork to the floor with a clatter. “Go back. That was our atmosphere generator.”
Normally, the last thing they were looking for on the news feeds was Earth’s take on Martian current events, but this was an exception. Alan flicked back and resumed Philadelphia-2’s coverage, backing it up to the point they’d left off.
“The Mars Terraforming Initiative activated its first homegrown atmosphere generator, a new design that promises to create a breathable biome by 3225.”
“Technically,” Kayle
e said as an aside to the broadcast. “The plants will do most of the work. We’re nudging the system toward a critical mass of self-sufficiency.”
Alan pointed at the screen. “Hey, isn’t that your boss?”
Kaylee nodded, scowling at the sight of Ned giving an interview in the shadow of the generator. He had his breather off. Portable spigots, tapped off the main line, were washing an area around Ned and the reporter with breathable air.
Showoff.
“I know this is a proud day for Mars,” Ned said from the screen. By the waning daylight, the interview must have been recorded less than an hour ago. “This baby and all its subsystems run on a single Truman-Effect reactor. They’ve got another ready for us at Site-2. This was just the first of many atmo generators. Still have plenty of work to do. But we’re Martians. We’ll roll up our sleeves and get this done our way, without any help from Earth.”
Alan and Kaylee shared a glance. Where would Ned’s team have been without Kaylee overseeing the quality of the installation? And what planet did they think they’d gotten her from? Venus?
“Why is it so important that this effort was entirely human-run?” the reporter asked. “Terraforming Committee estimates show that this project could have been completed in 3215 with a robotic workforce.”
“I tell you what, Kent,” Ned said. “If those robots had wanted Mars habitable, they damn well could have done it centuries ago. They had their chance, and sure, maybe they could’ve done it quicker. But Martians—hell, all humans—need to look after themselves and not wait for committee handouts to do everything for them. That’s why this is so important. This is the beginning of a free, self-sufficient Mars.”
Alan blinked. “Did he just say that over the Solarwide?”
“He did,” Kaylee confirmed, hardly believing it herself.
It was one thing talking politics in the cafeteria of a small, close-knit project team. Plenty of Martians grumbled about being second-class citizens on their own planet. But to publicly come out against robots?
