Bastion Saturn

by C. Chase Harwood

  A little over an hour later the Diamond Girl and Phoebe joined the Belle in the landing area. Jennifer’s face popped up on Caleb’s holo. “I know we burned a bunch of fuel and used a bunch of time to get here, but are you sure you want to do this?”

  Caleb jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Someone sealed the place off like a tomb. What’s the worry?”

  “Just sayin’.”

  “I only need Bert over there. And probably Spruck . . . And Natalie if she wants to come. You ladies should prep the shuttle to receive the goods.”

  Caleb stepped off the exosuit platform with a sense memory of the gravity on this moon. While landing, he had spotted the scrape on the surface that was both the leap from his first ship and that ship’s subsequent crash. Both marks were very much unchanged. There were, however, clear trails of footprints that led from the landing area out to the scars. Obviously some investigation had been undertaken. There were additional footprints all over the landing area as well as the tracks of a heavy treaded machine—probably whatever had covered the lab entrance with the hardened foam. A large sign had been placed in front of the foam: “Forbidden. Extreme Toxicity Hazard. Keep Back 100 Meters. Attempted Entry Will Be Dealt with by Authorized Lethal Force—Article 6, Titan Weapons Code 56a.” It was branded with both the international signs for poison and infection. The skull and crossbones was particularly vicious looking.

  Caleb doubted that it would deter treasure hunters. Too bad for them. He spotted Bert stepping out of the airlock on the Phoebe, then Spruck and Natalie stepping off the Belle in their exosuits. Spruck popped open a hatch and grabbed a couple of toolboxes out of a rack.

  Caleb said, “Looks like they only foamed the entrance. The physical plant is around to the right down in that depression. Bot, you take the lead.”

  Bert bristled at being referred to as Bot. What was happening to him? Bristling? He was quite familiar with the definition, quite capable of seeing it in human behavior. How was it possible that he felt . . . that he felt? The sensations came so naturally and regularly that he mostly wasn’t aware of them unless they rose to the level of astonishing intensity. Bristling at name calling was astonishing. He needed to connect to an outside diagnostic device. His own diagnostics clearly couldn’t be trusted. The nearest one was on Caleb’s former police ship, but there was no way Caleb was going to let Bert or any robot on his ship.

  As they approached the lip of the crater containing the lab’s physical plant, a figure sat up from a prone position on the ground. The humans all jerked in shock while Bert stopped and slightly cocked his head, immediately recognizing a fellow traveler. The robot was the same model as Bert: white but smudged with Phoebe dirt and wearing a rugged looking coverall. The bot’s lips moved and its voice was relayed to the speakers inside the human’s helmets. “Pardon me. Apparently I have my motion sensors dialed back too far. I did not detect your arrival, officer.”

  Caleb glanced down at his suit remembering what he was wearing.

  The robot continued, “I show no appointment with the police. You are advised that you are in a restricted zone and should make departure immediately for your own safety and for the safety of those around you.”

  No one said a word, waiting on Caleb’s response. He stammered, “Uh . . . I . . . We have business here. We’ve been sent to remove the facility’s backup gennie.”

  All humanoid robots were built to show typical human reactions and this one cocked its head as if to say, I know nothing of that. Bert became aware of how he too had cocked his head, and he willfully straightened his neck. The other bot said, “I have no current data supporting your statement. My primary mission on this moon is to act as a herald in the event of human activity. I am to tell you that your presence on Phoebe places you in grave danger of contracting a pathogen that is one-hundred percent lethal to any higher order species of mammal. Additionally, the lab itself is protected by deadly force, per Article 6, Titan Weapons Code 56a, though the presence of a Hanson police officer could of course override that with the correct command.” The robot lifted a communication device off its webbed belt. “Barring that command, and in the event that you don’t depart immediately, I am to alert the authorities on Hanson of your presence, and I am to inform you that this encounter is being recorded.”

  Caleb jumped forward and snatched the device from the robot’s hand. “Quiet, bot.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir, but you are in violation of Hanson Penal Code 56J89-B. I must insist that your return my communications device forthwith.”

  Caleb looked at the others. “Ignore him. Bert, lead on.”

  Bert said, “But, sir, guilt of violation of Penal Code 56j89-B mandates a minimum sentence of twenty-one years on the penal colony of Ymir.”

  “How’s that different than working at Winter’s factory?”

  “I find that a difficult point to argue, sir.”

  The herald robot walked quickly alongside Caleb. “Officer . . . Your name seems to be erased from your suit record . . . I must insist that you and your entourage stop immediately. It is for your own good that you depart. I must also remind you that these events are being recorded.”

  Caleb stopped again. “Spruck, can I get a hand here? You got a bot bit in that box of yours?”

  Spruck set down his tool box. “You sure you want to do that?”

  “Just hand me the tool.”

  Spruck slid out a few drawers and searched among some small tools until he produced a screw driver with a unique bit on the tip. He handed it to Caleb.

  Caleb looked at the robot. “Your name?”

  “I have been authorized to not tell anyone, which would include nameless police, that information, lest such person use it to manipulate my programing.”

  Caleb let out a sigh and turned to Bert. “What’s its name?”

  Despite feelings of betrayal . . . Betrayal? Yes, that’s what it must be . . . Bert was compelled by his programing to comply with answering the question. “782-WLawrence, sir” He looked at Lawrence and said, “Not my fault that whomever left you here didn’t consider that another robot would easily defeat your security.”

  782-WLawrence gave Bert just a hint of hate in the eye.

  Bert shrugged an apology.

  Caleb said, “782-WLawrence, turn your back to me and present your port.”

  The robot turned around, unzipped its coverall, and let the collar fall back enough to reveal a single screw. Caleb inserted the driver and popped open a flap that measured about two centimeters square. Bert observed all of this with seemingly cold detachment. Spruck and Natalie were involuntarily cringing. Caleb asked, “Bert, remind me what the verbal shutdown protocol is.”

  Bert said, “Master shutdown protocol 451. 451 is a reference to a twentieth-century science fiction novelist named Ray Brad—”

  Caleb pinched his gloved hand closed in front of Bert’s mouth. “Everyone uses that. I should have guessed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Caleb redirected his attention to 782-WLawrence and pushed a small red button inside the open flap while repeating the shutdown protocol. The robot sat down on the ground with its legs crossed and closed its eyes.

  Saanvi’s voice broke into their helmets. “That won’t keep his recording from being delivered to whomever might come to check on him.”

  Caleb said, “So we take the bot with us.”

  “I would imagine that it has already been relayed.”

  “Whatever.” He nodded at Bert. “Lead on, other bot.”

  Chapter Nineteen - Scavengers

  With nearly half of Saturn’s atmosphere made up of hydrogen, the fuel was for all intents and purposes in infinite supply. The abundance was such that it cost almost nothing to compress it and ship it. Hanson’s sister city Soul (also a floating behemoth) was fixed high in the clouds of the Saturn atmosphere. A significant portion of its function was the processing of hydrogen for use around the system. As part of Bez Hanson’s original appeal to settlers, no one
paid for the stuff. It was delivered on demand to anywhere free of charge. The tricky part was obtaining the hardware to use it. As the ability to produce hi-tech goods remained in its infancy, spaceship engines and moon-based fuel-cell generators were among the hottest commodities in the new frontier. The raw materials abounded. The printing tech was there (sort of). It was just a matter of inertia. When enough people got enough raw material to enough people with the knowledge and machinery to convert those materials into hardware, the economic engine would get rolling. Time. Time was all that the humans of Saturn needed. In some parts of the system, the engine already purred along.

  The hydrogen-powered backup gennie on Phoebe had been installed in a smaller crater nestled within the main one and near the filling point for the underground hydrogen storage tanks. Caleb, Spruck, Natalie, and Bert stepped up to the lip of the smaller crater and paused, staring at the simple shipping container that housed it. A laser matrix that acted as an electric fence of sorts surrounded the structure. Caleb waved nonchalantly at the fence. “It’s just light. Those things aren’t lethal.

  Spruck gave him a double take. “You sure?”

  Caleb shrugged. “A lethal laser fence is just as illegal as any laser that can be shot at more than flesh.”

  Natalie said, “Cop ships have lethal lasers. Your Diamond Girl there has them.”

  “OK, sure, but why put a lethal fence around a backup gennie?” No one responded, so Caleb continued, “I’m just happy that nobody else has thought to pinch this yet.” He held up his lock popper. “Anyway, there’s nobody here. So what if we set off an alarm?”

  “Famous last words,” said Natalie.

  Caleb said, “You stay on the rim and keep a lookout for I don’t know what. In fact, Spruck, you stay here too until I get it open. Bot, be a dear and go walk in front of me through that laser fence.”

  Bert turned to Spruck. “Do you have a redundant tool in your box that I might use, Mr. Spruck?”

  “Huh?”

  “Perhaps you have two of the same type of wrench?”

  “Oh, uh, sure.” Spruck popped open the tool box and lifted out a short crescent wrench, handing it to Bert.

  “Thank you.”

  Caleb followed Bert down into the crater, the floor of which was roughly six meters below surface level. Bert moved with a steady rhythm that showed off his stability gyros’ capacity to make a walk down the steep sidewall look like a stroll. Caleb stepped off and immediately slipped in slow motion with his arms flailing, sliding down on his butt.

  Bert walked the twenty paces to the fence and then gingerly held the wrench up to one of the laser beams. The beam pulsed suddenly brighter. Sparks showered as the handle of the wrench turned molten orange, and the head fell to the dirt. Bert let the rest of the ruined tool fall as well then turned to Spruck. “I am sorry, Mr. Spruck. I hope your wrench was indeed redundant.”

  “Holy pigeon poop!” came Jennifer’s voice through all of their helmets.

  Caleb said, “Hmm. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

  Twenty minutes later, Spruck and Caleb were about finished disassembling two of the eight flexible solar panels from the Phoebe shuttle’s back. Spruck was struggling with a bolt and grunting. “You sure this will work?”

  “No. How could I be sure? They are mirror-like though, right? Mirrors reflect light, right?”

  “They are an integral part of this ship that offers passive battery charging. A part of the ship that is critical for habitation when the engines are not in use.”

  “Do you see any other mirrors around here? That aren’t also protected by death rays?”

  Spruck grunted. “I need a fucking torque wrench for this one. I don’t have a torque wrench.”

  “So let’s just try another one? Bolt that one back and I’ll work on this one.”

  “I’m going to need to swap out my air if we screw around with this much longer.”

  Caleb sighed and stood. “Are you always so whiny?”

  “Are you always so happy-go-fucking-lucky?”

  “Gentlemen,” came Saanvi’s soothing voice, “this is stressful enough, let’s try to keep things light, shall we?”

  Caleb said under his breath, “I’m not that happy-go-lucky.”

  Spruck said, “Sorry. I meant starry-eyed nitwit. And you can’t whisper under your breath on an open channel and not expect everyone to hear.”

  Jennifer said, “You are pretty happy-go-lucky, Caleb.”

  Any words of kindness from Jennifer ramped up the stupid part of Caleb’s brain, and he decided that he was indeed happy-go-lucky after all.

  They rebooted 782-WLawrence and when the machine opened its eyes Caleb said, “Hello, bot. Stand up.”

  782-WLawrence did as commanded while giving Bert another glance of if not hate, then at least distrust.

  Caleb handed 782-WLawrence one of the solar panels, which was roughly the robot’s height and a meter wide. “Hold this.”

  The robot easily hefted the solar panel by the mounting brackets on its back side. 782-WLawrence looked like a riot policeman with a giant shield. Spruck handed it the second panel, which it held aloft with its other hand. Caleb pointed down at the backup gennie. “March down there.”

  782-WLawrence said, “Sir. The laser matrix that you see below is not as it appears. It is set to destroy anything that passes.”

  “Yeah, yeah, Sherlock, we know.”

  “I am known as 782-WLawrence.”

  “And that is why, from now on, I am calling you Sherlock, Sherlock. March down there and stop before you reach the laser fence.”

  This time, Caleb jumped from the lip and landed with a fairly graceful two-bounce stop before pacing himself behind the robot. “OK, so this is what’s going to happen. You’re going to step up to the laser fence with those panels on either side of you and block the paths of the beams. You will do so while leaving enough room for me to pass under one of your arms to get to the other side.”

  “Sir, I must respectfully refuse. With the exception of saving human life, I am not allowed to place myself in imminent danger.”

  “If you don’t do it, I will do it, thus placing myself in imminent danger. I am ordering you to protect me from imminent danger.”

  The robot offered what looked like genuine frustration. “Very well, sir.”

  Spruck called from the lip of the crater. “Caleb, this is a bad idea. Why don’t we call it a day?”

  “I second that,” came Jennifer’s voice.

  Caleb stopped and turned. “No. I did not run from some tyrannical artificial intelligence back home to end up laboring for room and board on some rock for the rest of my life. I came out here to be free. Freedom is not free. There are hundreds of millions of people who will easily trade it for safety. I’m not one of them. It requires a willingness to die for it. I am taking that risk.”

  “Eloquently said, sir,” said 782-WLawrence.

  Caleb eyeballed 782-WLawrence for a long second before saying, “You’re a machine. A machine. Got that, Sherlock?”

  “A machine. Yes, sir. Are you ready for me to put my existence at risk for you now, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  The robot lifted the solar panels and stepped into the fence. The beams grew bright at once, ricocheting off in different directions while also shattering some of the panel’s protective coating. Caleb got a running start and dove through the gap under the robot’s outstretched right arm, landed short, and pulled his legs through. He then hefted himself up, reached out, and yanked the robot across with him. The fence reorganized itself and Caleb said, “There. That wasn’t so bad.” He glanced down and noted that the robot’s right boot smoldered with a clean hole to the ground. The robot tested the foot and took an uneasy step. It was slightly awkward, but the appendage still held it from falling over. Caleb mumbled, “Sorry,” and turned his attention to the locked container door. The lock popper cracked it open with the press of a button. To Caleb’s surprise, the generator h
ad a panel on it indicating that it was silently working away. He said, “I don’t understand. This is clearly a backup gennie. Why is it operating?”

  782-WLawrence said, “May I hazard that the generator provides its own security, sir, providing power to the fence?”

  “Yet another reason to call you Sherlock. You suck, by the way, as security personnel.” Caleb stepped over to the control panel and pressed the clearly marked international symbol for off. The operation lights dimmed and flickered out, and the laser fence instantly disappeared.

  “Right on, Caleb!” came Jennifer’s voice.

  “Oh ye of little faith,” he shot back.

  “Nice,” said Spruck, walking up to the door with Natalie and Bert right behind. “Let’s get to work.”

  Caleb gently pushed them back. “Now hold on just a sec. Five minutes ago you lot were ready to walk away. Nobody said scavenging was going to be easy. It’s never easy. I need to know you guys have the skin for this game. If not, I’ll do this on my own. Gung-ho or go home I say.”

  There was a brief silence then Jennifer piped in. “I’ve got the skin.”

  “Me, too,” said Saanvi.

  “I’m sorry I was a whiny bitch,” said Spruck.

  “I’ve always been in,” said Natalie. “Just watching and learning here.”

  Caleb said, “Fine, Natalie. Then it’s time for you to shine. Put those mechanical skills together and get this thing unbolted from this box.” Just then, Caleb noticed a bit of movement in the sky. A small, black basketball-size drone hovered one hundred meters up. Its camera was clearly aimed right at them. “Shit.” He reached to the ground, picked up a baseball-size rock, and heaved it at the drone. With the light gravity, the stone took off like a bullet. The drone nevertheless side-slipped it.

  Caleb turned to 782-WLawrence. “I’ve neglected to ask you who you work for, Sherlock.”

  “I am subleased to the Hanson Police via the Fanning Security Group, a subcorporation of Wang Fat Industries. As you are wearing a Hanson Police suit, this information should be readily at your disposal.”