“Please unfasten your seat belts and stand.” The driver imitated the monotone of an inferior droid, as if no human should subject us to what lie ahead. Our seats retracted and the floor disappeared from under our feet. We drifted into a small arena surrounded by five walls, our luggage tumbling after us.
Our driver peered through the opening and recited, “After your furniture and appliances arrive, you can set the room dividers any way you find comfortable. Your droid’s memory contains the necessary information. Within the next twenty-four hours you should begin to experience gravity.”
A transparent trapdoor hinged from the ceiling swung shut, as the robot-cab lifted and disappeared from view. We were ensconced in our new accommodations.
My mother broke our astonished silence. “Droid, contact the Realm.”
Sera’s eyelids fluttered and an expression of concentration spread across her face. “No contact available.”
Mother yelled, “Stupid droid, make contact!”
A scent of ozone pierced my nostrils, and Sera emitted a visible vapor. She repeated, “Contact unavailable.”
“Break off attempt and lay still!” Mother reached into her jacket pocket and retrieved Sera’s computer capsule. “Slide you pants over your hips.”
My father gasped, and I quietly rejoiced. Mother had foreseen the solution to my most impending problem.
“Sera sat up, glanced around, and fixed her gaze on Mother. “I’ll need an update of what has transpired since we packed for our journey. In the meantime, let’s get orientated.”
I imagined Albert in a mirrored situation across a mile-long tether and fifty years of habitat-expansion away.
Dad’s organization skills overcame his confusion. “I agree. We need to establish what we know about our situation.” He glanced around the empty space.
I said, “Sera is back. That’s all that matters.”
“She left us?” Dad’s bewilderment returned, then his expression brightened. “I thought something felt strange, especially the way Martha dealt with her.”
“I reduced her to the common droid the Realm expected her to be.” Mom snickered. “Thanks to a wad of bubble gum stuck in the corner of my traveling pouch, her capsule didn’t fall out on the cab floor with the rest of the stuff when I purposely ripped the seam.” She squeezed my hand. “And to Ariel for distracting our driver with that spray of perfume.”
Sera said, “I’m getting a picture of the segment I missed.”
“All accept the bit of nearly bursting your circuitry to test if the Realm had our home under surveillance,” Dad said.
“To an ordinary droid that command would have been contradictory. The Realm contacts its droids, not the other way around.” A slight eye tic. “We are free of interference in our private area. I did an automatic sweep the moment you changed my computer capsule. Your father is correct. We need to orient ourselves.” She floated to the five edged flat space opposite the trap door from which we entered. “When our habitat begins to rotate, this will become our floor.”
Dad said, “Let’s hope our furniture and appliances arrive before gravity makes them too heavy to manage.” He glanced around the room and pointed. “Those two outer walls have windows.” He swung himself around and faced a door on the wall between the two without windows. “And there’s our exit, assuming we aren’t expected to crawl through the trap door in the ceiling. I see no stairway or lift.”
Mother asked, “Should we open the door? Do you think it’s safe?”
Sera said, “The five enclosures are pressurized, heated, and have atmosphere. Once the total habitat is sealed and we break away from Haley’s comet, the outer area will also become habitable.” Her lids fluttered. “I have no information about the middle pentagon.”
Mother said, “Then we better not open the door.”
“The colored rooftops probably indicated living spaces for the five families.” Dad gestured toward the door and his body twirled past it. He stuck his hand into his pocket. “What’s the purpose of the middle area? Operational functions? General utility?”
“The Stork,” Mother suggested.
“The Realm?” I shuddered.
Sera shook her head. “I’m receiving no information.”
“Instructions are probably locked in your inferior droid status.” Mother’s expression turned ghastly. “Your connection to the Realm is severed? What happened to the communication capability you had before we were evicted?”
“In the past I had been fed through the droid pool, a loop the Realm may have closed.”
“Replace the capsule updated by the Realm,” I suggested. “Every time when we need information.”
“It wouldn’t help my memory when back in this mode. Each time I would have to be reinitiated, indicating a problem that would require a repair droid.”
“At least we’d find out what’s behind this door,” Dad growled.
“And Ariel would lose her personal avatar,” Mother protested.
He faced Sera. “How did you gain independence from the Realm’s scrutiny in the first place?”
Sera brushed her fingers across her eyelid as if to remove a speck of lint or dust. “Part of that same loophole. I had been allowed to evolve over time.”
“Just you?”
“I’m the original droid who brought human embryos to life, one of them in my mid chamber.”
“My mother’s and my first ancestor,” I blurted.
“I’ve been with your family for a thousand years, your mother’s personal companion for the seventy years prior to your conception. Together she and I selected your genes.”
“I’m a designer child?” More Twentieth Century!
Sera glanced at me and said. “You might call me a rogue droid.”
My thoughts had been scanned.
“So that’s why our family had been singled out?” Dad asked.
My mother’s face turned apologetic. “I could never fully explain Sera’s role in our lives for fear of detection.”
“Or the control she wields over us.” Dad covered his face. “I’ve lost all my useful functions.”
Flabbergasted, I asked, “How so?” His authority as head of the household had never appeared threatened, at least not by Sera. “We’ll still need your skills to grow our food.”
“Your father is correct. This habitat is sterile of plant and animal life. Food is synthesized.”
“Synthesized? From what?” I asked.
“Dark matter,” Dad interjected. “I have no idea what that is, but your mother and I had it explained to us at the last meeting of the Fortieth.”
“By whom,” I yelled, accenting my proper English for Sera’s sake as my tutor.
“I thought you knew the person conducting those meetings.” Mother’s expression indicated an epiphany. “Albert’s father.” Her voice near a whisper. “Our previous neighbor.”
Dad said, “Fortunately he’s on the other side. I never did trust him.” He shook his head. “He and that weird kid of his.”
I’d been reminded. “What happened to Albert’s sperm?”
My father gagged.
“Safe in Sera’s interior,” Mother responded without a blush. “If what I suspect is correct, he may father more than just your child.”
The door under suspicion swung open, and a worker droid appeared from the dark interior, upside down from our perspective. He shoved bathroom and kitchen fixtures across the floor as if held there by gravity. A second upside down helper appeared half in the light, glanced around, and hastily retreated.
Mother asked Sera, “Have you been found out?”
“It’s unclear. I wasn’t able to link up with either of them. The second one might be human.”
Dad catapulted himself to the door, grabbed the sill and yelled, “Get back here!” The worker droid cowered at the yet to function toilet, and the helper stepped back into our living space inverted. Dad grabbed him by his feet and twirled him like propping the propeller on Lindberg�
�s Spirit of St Louis. In this case, the propeller remained stationary and Dad turned right side up. Feet planted on our inverted floor, they stood face to face.
“Paul!” The would-be droid turned out to be human—a fellow member of the Fortieth League. Dad slapped his back and went sailing.
Paul said, “Sorry. I’m wearing magnetic shoes.”
Dad clawed his way back to face his friend. “I thought you were a droid. The Realm got you doing your own work these days?”
“Just until we get a handle on things. For some odd reason our departure advanced weeks ahead of schedule.” Paul smirked. “Hope no one had need for the toilet.”
Dad said, “Least of our problems. But why did you duck out of here like a frightened droid?”
“Thought I experienced double vision from too much time in zero gravity. You never mentioned you had twin daughters.”
“She’s—”
Sera cut in. “I’m Ariel’s twin sister. The quiet one.”
Dad’s expression moved from shock to embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Paul. You haven’t met my family. Of course you know Martha.”
Mom said, “Paul, you’re a sight for sore eyes. How are you and Betty getting acclimated to this topsy-turvy world?”
“We actually arrived a few days ago. The blue pentagon next to yours. Thanks for asking.”
Mother said, “These are my girls, Ariel and Sera. We’ll stop over to meet your children first chance we get.”
“Grandchild, actually.” Paul lowered his head. “My son elected to remain on the comet.”
“Elected?” asked Dad, his face screwed into disbelief.
Paul glanced at the worker droid who paid more attention to us than his duties. “They needed his expertise back there.” His eyes became watery and he blinked. “Anyway, what would you like us to hook up first?”
Bathtub, I wanted to say, but held my tongue.
“Toilet and sink would be nice,” said Sera, the only one of us never in need of either.
“You got it.” He faced the droid. “Move appliances to the rest of the apartments before you deliver any furniture.”
The droid hesitated.
Paul responded, “Now!”
Apparently, he and Dad were used to working with these miserable machines. Paul’s gaze followed the droid’s exit, and he shut the door. He said, “Nice recovery. I recognized Ariel’s avatar and sensed my helper’s overly intense interest in it. Something seemed to be amiss.”
Sera said, “His communication with me must have been blocked. When in each other’s presence, droids should automatically make contact.”
“You think we actually fooled it into believing Sera is human?” Mother asked.
“My droids aren’t very discerning. More machine than intellect. However, I suggest you decide soon if you want to keep Sera isolated from the Realm. Could be a bit dicey.”
“We’re undecided how to best utilize her at the Stork, if there actually is a duplicate one on this craft.”
“There better be, or my granddaughter might some day be flying this contraption solo.”
“If we’re able to keep Sera isolated from the Realm, she’d be an asset when our group decides to act.”
“She’s aware of the conspiracy?” Paul’s voice indicated panic.
“Only what has transpired in this room, which will be erased if she’s to be tossed back to the other droids.”
Sera said, “I would prefer to remain fully involved, and I may be helpful with your group’s endeavor.”
Paul faced my mother. “I hope you know what you are doing.” He wiped his brow with his sleeve. “By the way, Suzie was granted a generic avatar, mostly for babysitter and playmate at this time. But she seems to have a degree of intelligence and discretion.”
“I would like the opportunity to make contact with her.” Sera’s demeanor mimicked mine at my most cunning.
I thought look out Realm, yet held my tongue. A rogue droid? Sera’s passing comment, but. . .
ARIEL GORDON: JOURNAL ENTRY #6
TUESDAY, JULY 10, 3150
Gravity developed slowly in our confined living space. The least exertion sent us airborne only to settle back to the floor like dust motes. We had to strap ourselves to our chairs, and our toilet stall spun to simulate gravity whenever we needed to pee. Each time I became dizzy, and bowel movements made me positively sick.
Portable walls and larger pieces of furniture remained fixed in place and had to be demagnetized if we wanted to move them. Synthesized metal had replaced cellulous as our major building material. Chairs slid easily. Although the five separate living quarters formed a contiguous ring, no doors existed between them. Each apartment opened to a common hallway circumventing the inside central pentagon. Four doors opened off the hallway opposite the five apartments, one of them to the commissary and the adjacent one to Paul’s office. The other two rooms, according to him, remained vacant. The core of the structure opened to the lower levels. Paul’s assignment included dispensing commodities from the commissary that allowed him exclusive access to the inner pentagon as well as the apartments.
When Paul and his wife Betty came to visit, I entertained their six-year-old granddaughter, Sally. She and I would challenge our avatars to chess, memory games, and the like. Sera limited her intellectual advantage over Clara, a generic humanoid, but I noticed her subtly function at a higher level when casually interacting with the droid. Sera’s future link to the Realm?
The Realm back at the comet must have assumed Sera had malfunctioned and shut down. It gave up trying to contact her, both good and bad news for us. She wouldn’t be detected, but she lost access to privileged information. Sera seemed undeterred by our mission’s isolation, apparently confident our systems could function without instructions from our parent habitat.
My mother agreed to implant one of Albert’s XY sperm in my uterus, but not until she’d been permitted to organize her laboratory and check the cryogenic egg and sperm banks. If they failed, propagation of future humans would depend on the few children aboard. Albert and I would have a large family by the time that became feasible, assuming his sperm remained frozen. Sera claimed it created the greatest single drain on her batteries.
Marty’s message arrived on my monitor with no explanation for the delay. I faked excitement for my mother’s sake, but I remained uninterested in the cogitations of a twelve-year-old mind from a planet with unlimited resources. She’d been informed of my existence a full year before Mother decided I’d been ready. Based on the trivia Marty considered important to establish our relationship, she may as well have waited for further maturity. Of course, I am precocious through no fault of my own. Designer genes!
Her packet included a picture of herself, her parents—no avatar I suspect—and a printout of her DNA. She neglected to include dental records. However, I gained some insight into earthlings. They recorded every family back to our separation, not just by genetics but also with mothers’ names. Marty listed them. Reading the lineage of who begat whom drove me crazy. And what weird names, especially for women. What drives a civilization to such specifics or a preteen girl to include that information in a pen pal letter? Noticeably omitted was any acknowledgement of God. Are Albert and I the only believers in a higher power? My mother? Fortunately, I had been allowed two weeks to devise a response.
My passion to become pregnant had lessened somewhat, but my loyalty to Albert kept our decision alive. I had agreed to wait, but Albert probably assumed he’d planted his seed in me, not Sera, the night we slept together. We were aboard two ships passing in the night; actually a pair of tethered rotating balls feeding off the dark energy of the universe. Sera devised a communication scheme involving The History of the Roman Empire, a piece of nonfiction from the data library which hadn’t been included in my Twentieth Century tutorial. She changed Julius Caesar’s and Cleopatra’s names to Albert Caesar and Egyptian Queen Ariel and added the following statement to the title page.
Al
bert Caesar, summoned back to Rome, left Queen Ariel stranded in Egypt, two separate spheres of influence. Each carried memories of their recent trip up the Nile. Queen Ariel carried Albert Caesar’s son, but Apollo intervened and delayed his birth.
Would Albert pursue his interest in Rome under the present situation, and by what chance would he remember Sera’s recommendation? It was a long shot. However, I learned a bit more about the extent of Sera’s power.
When gravity finally stabilized, we obtained permission to shop at the commissary, an opportunity to mingle among the four other families, but only Paul’s family and my parents felt free enough to wander back and forth. My father built a staircase leading to the trap door in the ceiling that functioned as our source of light during the day and shaded over to simulate night. My mother questioned the effect continual daylight would have on the rhythms of our bodies, but Dad appreciated the longer growing season. With seeds, roots, and insects he’d smuggled on board, he calculated that rooftop gardens could support our population if our food synthesizer failed. When our outer atmosphere stabilized, he planted grass atop our roof and anchored the roots of fruit trees in a porous substance Paul concocted from commissary supplies.
According to a blueprint Paul shared with us, the core of the central pentagon contained a shaft accessing two lower levels, their outer walls shaped to the curvature of the sphere, the lowest level rounded like a bowl. The middle level housed our future human incubator—we agreed to abandon the mythical bird’s title—and the lowest level we named the Inner Sanctum where our life support systems functioned.
He explained that the dark energy of the universe converts to atoms that collect on our habitat’s outer surface, while matter on the inner surface erodes to synthesize into building materials, household items, and even our food, water, and air. As rapidly as the surface is consumed on the inside to maintain our habitat, it is replaced layer-upon-layer on the outside, like the reverse process of a snake shedding its skin to allow for growth. At this rate the two spheres will elongate into ovals that will expand until they connect like two tree trunks growing together. In about fifty years!
LIGHT YEARS FROM HOME Page 6
