“The only robot going outside is mine,” I said.
“Exactly. Which is very disturbing. What does that tell you?”
I thought it through before I answered. “The robot has been outside longer than 48 hours. Which means if it has been used at all, it should need recharging. But the only source of charging is inside the dome. So either it hasn’t been used much, or it doesn’t need recharging.”
Rawling nodded. “What really scares me is that I reviewed the dome entrance surveillance discs as far back as they go. One month. That robot did not enter or leave the dome in the entire time. So it’s been out beyond the greenhouse, hidden from anyone in the dome for at least a month. And I’d be surprised if today was the only time that robot was active.”
“Surprised?” I asked.
“You saw what the other robot was doing. Practice activities. Lifting. Circling. Digging. Practice is just that. Practice. Repeated activities. So what are the chances that the only time someone activated it was while you were on top of the dome?”
“Slim. It would have to be a big coincidence.”
“No one but you and I and two techies knew you were going up there for maintenance work today. The top of the dome is probably the only place that would give anyone the chance to see the robot. So whoever practices it would have felt safe to use it. I’d say it’s much more likely that the robot has been used often and daily.” Rawling rubbed his chin. “And that tells us …”
I thought again. “First of all, someone else in the dome is running a robot. And second, either the robot has an incredible battery power that doesn’t need charging very often, or it has a way of replenishing its power outside the dome.”
“Yes and yes,” he said. “But it’s something even bigger that bothers me the most.”
I knew the answer to that. “You’re the director, and you don’t know about it.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right again.”
That’s why Rawling had told me to finish the telescope maintenance and return to the dome as if we hadn’t seen the other robot. Rawling wanted the chance to search for whoever controlled it without that person knowing Rawling was in the middle of a search.
“Think about what’s been happening in the last few months.” Rawling listed the major events since I’d learned to control the robot body. During an oxygen crisis, the former director had tried to save a select few scientists, keeping it secret from the other 180 people under the dome, whom he was willing to let die. Later we’d discovered that the director had hidden oxygen tanks to help save hybrid animals bred through illegal genetic experiments, rather than saving the 180 dome residents. And recently, the revealing of a falsified ancient alien civilization had proved there was a conspiracy between a group of dome officials on Mars and a government group on Earth.
“What do all of these have in common?” Rawling asked. He answered his own question. “Secrecy, conspiracy, and ulterior motives at top levels.” He shook his head. “I came here as a medical doctor. I was willing to give up 10 or 15 years of my life because I believed—and still believe—that the Mars Project can save millions of Earth lives.”
I nodded. I’d never witnessed the conditions on Earth myself, of course, but I’d been told they weren’t the greatest. There was a threat of overpopulation, and governments were barely holding control as everyone fought for resources. The team’s arrival on Mars was Phase 1 of a long-term plan to establish the dome. Phase 2, which my mom had already started, was genetically altering plants that could grow outside the dome so that more oxygen could be added to the atmosphere. The long-range plan—over a hundred years—was to make the entire planet a place for humans to live outside of the dome. If Mars could be made a new colony, then Earth could start shipping people here to live. If not, new wars might begin, and millions of people would die from war or starvation or disease.
“The hope that this dome represents,” Rawling continued, “has been enough to keep most of the political powers on Earth working together. It’s like a light at the end of the tunnel, even though it’s far away and small. But from the few communications I’ve had, some political leaders on Earth are becoming less willing to work together. So there’s a good chance war might break out there soon.” He paused and looked intently at me. “Since I’ve taken over as director, I’ve discovered that even though we are 50 million miles from Earth, the politics continue here.”
Now I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense. I mean, if there is some sort of ongoing conspiracy here at the dome, with a secret circle of people among the scientists, why would the high-level Earth powers put you in the position of director? Wouldn’t they want someone from the secret circle in power?”
“I’ve thought about this long and hard. I want to believe some of the high-level people on Earth don’t know about the hidden circles here at the dome. And that the ones who do want me in position because then it will definitely appear there is no conspiracy. In the meantime, with enough scientists as part of the hidden circle, things can continue the way it used to be under the former director’s control.”
“Any use in asking him?”
Because of ex-director Blaine Steven’s part in the oxygen crisis, then later in the ancient alien civilization hoax, he was in lockup, waiting to be sent back to Earth when the shuttle left again.
“No good at all,” Rawling said with a tired smile. “All he has to do is deny any knowledge. And we have no proof.”
“Except for the other robot. It didn’t get here without someone pulling levers back on Earth.”
“Bingo,” he said.
“Bingo?”
“Sorry. It’s an old Earth expression. A game people played when I was your age.”
“What does this ‘bingo’ have to do with what I said?”
“Bingo means you won.”
“I won?”
Rawling sighed. “Forget it. All I meant was that I think you’re right. Someone pulled levers back on Earth to smuggle another robot out here. If I can find out who is behind the other robot, I might be able to learn more about the secret levels of power here at the dome. If we do that, I’ll be able to figure out more about what’s happening back on Earth.”
He sighed again. “And there is that other matter. Remember? A comet that’s about to shotgun Mars as target practice.”
CHAPTER 8
That night, in the silence that usually fell beneath the dome after the supper hour, when the scientists and techies retreated into their minidomes to read e-books, I followed my own usual habit.
I wheeled across the dome, taking a path on the main level that wound between the dimmed minidomes, and headed to the telescope on the third level. Although I had gone there nearly every night since learning to handle the electronic controls of the telescope as a kid, on this night, like the night before, I didn’t want to look through the telescope. To me, the approaching comet was an enemy. It was almost like if I ignored it, it might go away.
No, I had a different reason for going to the telescope.
And when I got there five minutes after leaving our minidome, that reason was there and waiting for me.
“Let me run an idea past you,” I said to Ashley.
I sat near the eyepiece of the telescope. That was one handy thing about being in a wheelchair. You always had a place to sit.
“Sure,” she said. She’d pulled up a small bench from the side of the platform and moved it beside me. We both stared downward at the quietness of the dome floor beneath us.
“Remember I’ve been telling you about the virtual-reality Hammerhead?”
“I’ll bet you spent a lot of time today on it,” she replied. “Especially after what Rawling announced to everyone at the meeting today.”
Rawling had informed all the scientists and techies about the approaching comet, and then he had promised everyone there was nothing to worry about. He’d told them that a new space torpedo was being prepared to intercept and destroy the comet pieces long be
fore they reached Mars. However, he hadn’t told them I would be doing it—he didn’t want the extra pressure on me. After all, I was still a kid, and lots of people under the dome still treated me that way.
“At least three hours. Much more than that and my brain gets too tired.”
“Hard work, huh?”
“Hard work,” I agreed. “At least today was just a practice run. Without an enemy pilot to face. But tomorrow …”
“Back into combat?”
“I know it’s just virtual-reality combat, but it’s still tough. That’s why I want to run another idea past you.”
“Which is … ?”
“I’m going to blow up a moon.”
“What?” Ashley snapped her eyes onto mine.
“It’s just virtual reality, remember? So I won’t really be blowing up one of Mars’s moons.”
“But why?” She kept staring at me.
“Simple. I told you before that it’s hard to stop in space. I mean, the Hammerhead goes about 15,000 miles an hour. Which means that once you’re in front of the enemy space torpedo, you’re in big trouble. You can’t suddenly slow down and let the other torpedo go by. You stay out in front until finally you get blasted. Even if it is a virtual-reality blast.”
“But blowing up a moon?”
“Last time that pilot seemed to come out of nowhere, but I think the space torpedo was hiding by hovering in one of the craters of Phobos. So here’s my plan. I’ll go past Phobos, just like before. When the torpedo comes out on my tail, I’m going to make a loop back toward the moon. And I’ll blast Phobos apart. The lasers are supposed to be that powerful, and Phobos is not near as thick as it is wide. It should be no problem to knock Phobos into a dozen or so chunks.”
“I don’t get it,” Ashley said. “You’ll be out of laser power. You’ll have nothing left to shoot the other torpedo.”
“My gamble is that I won’t need to. I should be able to fly through the hole I blast into Phobos. The enemy torpedo will be following so close behind that it’s almost certain to get hit by one or more of the chunks of moon caused by the explosion.” I shrugged. “It’s not much of a gamble. I mean, once you’re followed by a space torpedo, you’re almost certain to get shot anyway. So why not try something totally unexpected?”
“Might work,” she said. “Like you said, it’s just a virtual-reality program. In real life you might not want to blow apart a moon.”
“Real life,” I echoed. “Not to change subjects, but can we talk about Earth?”
“You always want to talk about Earth.” Ashley stood and began pacing the small platform of the telescope area.
“You put me off every time I ask. But this time I want to hear about where you grew up.”
Stopping briefly, she tilted her body left, resting her right hand on her right hip. It was a trademark Ashley pose. “What matters is where I am now. Not what happened before. You know I don’t like talking about my family life.”
That was true. All Ashley had said was that her parents had recently divorced. I didn’t know why—it was one thing she found too painful to discuss. Her father was a scientist, and evidently so good that when he’d insisted he wouldn’t visit Mars unless he was allowed to take Ashley, he was given permission. No other scientist in the history of the dome had been allowed that privilege.
“You don’t have to tell me about your mother,” I said. “That’s not what I meant. Remember you told me that you grew up in a place called Denver, Colorado? And how you’ve told me about the mountains and the lakes?”
“I remember,” Ashley said. “It’s easy to miss all that when you’re on Mars.”
“How about if you were born on Mars and have never seen Earth in the first place?”
She smiled for an instant. “Good point.”
“Anyway,” I continued, “I was trying to learn more about Colorado and Denver, and I tried a search engine on the newspaper files loaded on the mainframe. You forgot to tell me about that tornado a few years back that took out a whole section of the city. That must have been something. I mean, I’ve read all I can about tornadoes, but I can’t imagine what it would be like to go through one. Were you scared?”
“I wish we could talk about something else,” Ashley said. It didn’t surprise me. She never liked talking about her childhood or her family life.
“Sure,” I said. “How about you talk. I’ll just listen.”
So she began to tell me about her homework assignments.
But I didn’t really listen. I was thinking about the tornado that had never hit Denver. I had just made that up to see what she would say.
I wondered why she hadn’t told me there was no tornado.
Which made me begin to wonder about a lot of other things.
CHAPTER 9
09.16.2039
Here I am, late at night, clicking my computer keyboard for this journal, when I should be sleeping. The thing is, thinking about the comet headed for Mars and the destruction it might cause has got me thinking other questions. Especially after I mentioned the tornado to Ashley.
I mean, tornadoes cause destruction too. Maybe not as much as chunks of comet crashing into a planet, but from what I’ve read about them, they are natural disasters that can hurt or kill hundreds of people at a time. Same with hurricanes, flash floods, earthquakes, monsoons, and even volcano eruptions.
Not long ago, because of the oxygen crisis and my mom’s strength even in the face of death, I began to believe in the existence of God. And not only a God “out there” but a God who cares about me. You might find it strange, but that belief happened through science. The more I learned about the universe, the harder it was to believe that human life happened by accident. One scientist a long time ago said the chances of that were similar to the chances of blowing up a junkyard and having all the pieces fall together to form a perfectly running high-speed sports car. Lots of other scientists, like my mom and Rawling, agree. Because of all the details of the universe that had to happen the exact right way at the exact right time, the presence of human life “by accident” on the planet Earth would be like winning the same lottery every week in a row for a year. Pretty low chances.
When you start believing in a Creator and wondering if the universe was actually created for a reason, then you have to start wondering why even further.
And that’s where I’ve been for the last few months. Wondering why—and trying to fit the pieces all together. Why would someone—who I’m now sure is God—create a universe and all of us in it? Didn’t he have enough to do? Was he bored, so he decided to create us? Or did he do it because he had some big purpose in mind?
I’ve also come to believe that I have a soul—a part of me invisible to science and medicine. A part of me that longs for meaning. A part of me that feels love, happiness, hope, and sadness. When I realized I had a soul, I wondered why even further.
It’s the why questions that can drive you nuts.
Like right now. Late at night. Here under the dome. In front of my computer.
If God made us, loves us, and gives us a soul, why do bad things like tornadoes and hurricanes and volcano eruptions happen to us? Is God a father who lets bad things into the house to hurt his kids—on purpose? Or does God still love us and yet allow bad things to happen sometimes? If so, why doesn’t the bad stuff just happen to bad people, rather than good people? And good things just to good people?
Right now I’m staring at my computer screen, half wanting to smile and half wanting to hit my head against a wall.
It was a lot easier a few months ago when I didn’t ask the why questions. Now I think about them constantly. Especially when it’s quiet under the dome and an exploding comet is headed directly for Mars.
So I don’t have any choice but to think about those questions.
I hope I get some sleep tonight.
CHAPTER 10
Hammerhead.
The real Hammerhead.
The next morning Rawling and I st
ood in front of a storage area near the back of the dome.
A middle-aged techie named John Chateau, a French-Canadian who liked to comb his gray hair over a big bald spot on the top of his head, had just opened the door for us.
“Incredible,” I said.
The Hammerhead stood on tail fins in a tall, thin crate made of protective plastic tubes. It looked just like the virtual-reality one. The nose of it had flat, wide stabilizer fins that gave it the appearance of a hammerhead shark. Almost hidden at the edges of the stabilizer fins were the holes of dozens of tiny flare nozzles. On the back of the space torpedo, just like a shark fin, was another stabilizer with dozens more tiny flare nozzles. It was black, with the kind of paint that reflected no light. The Hammerhead was only about seven feet tall and maybe double the width of a human body. Just the size of a giant shark.
John nodded with enthusiasm. “Tell you what, kid, this storage area was declared off-limits to all techies. I didn’t even know what was in here until yesterday. As a telescope man, I sure wish I could use this to go into outer space instead.”
Rawling had explained to me that he didn’t know the Hammerhead was at the dome until receiving an encrypted message from Earth a week earlier. In other words, it was just one more secret that Blaine Steven, the former director, had kept from the rest of us.
“It may look like a rocket ship, but it’s the most sophisticated robot in the history of humankind,” John said. He looked directly at me. “Computer-wise, it has all the functions of the robot you control. But what a difference in appearance, huh?”
“Incredible,” I repeated.
“Let me tell you about this baby,” John continued quickly, as if he were a little kid proud of his first go-cart. “Most space vehicles need huge rockets and thrusters to be able to escape the gravity of a planet. Huge rockets and thrusters need huge fuel tanks. Nearly 90 percent of the bulk of a vehicle is needed just for that. It doesn’t leave much for the actual travel out in space.”
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