What Are You Made Of?

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What Are You Made Of? Page 22

by Gary Starta


  “This control you’re trying to exert doesn’t sound like the federation government I know. I think you’re more worried about your pocketbook, Mr. Copperfield. The government could appoint another association to oversee the space program. Then the only difference would be whose pockets the money falls into—and unfortunately it wouldn’t be yours. So you utilize robots at your association because the investors love how they make them money. I think if robots were granted the rights of the constitution, you would lose your free labor. I don’t think AI rights would cause the public anarchy you claim.”

  “You have your opinion and that is your constitutional right. But I must remind you, Ms. Kennedy, that the law prohibits the manufacture of androids. Numerous public opinion polls find that the public is afraid of this technology. The consensus is that it’s acceptable to have nameless, faceless automatons service us because we then don’t identify with them as individuals. I don’t believe the public will ever embrace a robot who doesn’t resemble a human. So I really don’t fear your assumption that we’ll lose free labor on Earth because our robots don’t look like us. I fear Ms. Dougherty’s kind of thinking will create a domino effect on Ceres. Once the colonists find its all right to break one law, they’ll all be broken.”

  “I suggest you end your transmission Mr. Copperfield or something else may get broken. Take us to court and we’ll maybe have to endure a publication delay. So what? I’m prepared to suffer the consequences of the bad publicity. They say the only bad publicity is no publicity.” Suzanne then abruptly terminated the transmission.

  Back at space association’s headquarters, Ken Copperfield grumbled that his bluff did not work. He would now have to consider buying a judge in order to get his subpoena.

  Chapter 15: Chasing Tails

  CSI’s Sandra Morton and Samuel Benson were greeted at the Volpicelli crash scene by a burnt patch of pine needles and a few overhead clouds on an overcast Saturday afternoon in mid-March. The PI’s air coach had met its demise between the Shenandoah River and Massanutten Mountain.

  “Wow, we’re the only ones out here, Sandra,” Samuel commented while zipping up his windbreaker to avoid a gust of late winter wind chill. Morton proceeded a few meters behind Benson trying to keep all her senses attuned to the forest setting. However, the lead CSI found herself momentarily distracted by the bright yellow letters monogrammed on the back of Benson’s jacket which read: Forensics.

  “So who else did you expect to find our here, Sam? The only beings I see in this forest are a few squirrels and two devoted forensic investigators. Everybody else in this world thinks they already have these murders solved.”

  “Well, us and the squirrels are alike, Sandra. We’re both chasing nuts.”

  “Very amusing. However, I think our hunt is more comparative to finding a needle in a haystack.”

  “Maybe like trying to find a pine needle in a haystack,” Samuel added. The thirty-something investigator rarely could resist getting in the last word.

  “Oh, I forgot you’re originally a New York City boy,” Sandra mocked. “You feel uncomfortable in a natural setting that doesn’t include honking air coaches and litter.”

  “Well those kinds of settings do make for easier crime scenes,” Benson countered. “What can we expect to find out here in this barren wilderness? We certainly can’t go asking woodchucks if they happened to see anything.”

  Sandra then stopped walking for a moment and looked up into the sky. “What comes up, must come down,” she mumbled to herself. “There has to be something else that came out of that air coach in addition to our deceased private eye.”

  “This cloud cover isn’t helping us any to find whatever that may be, Sandra. I think I’ll set my eye glasses to night vision.” Benson then commanded his corrective lenses to convert to their infra red setting.

  “Sandra, I can really see where the flames from the air coach charred the oak trees and scorched the ground thanks to these tracking glasses.”

  “Well, you keep scanning the area for anything else which may emit a heat source. I’ll further examine the burnt area for any evidence which may have survived the flames.” Sandra proceeded to photograph the crash scene with her camera glasses. The photo-optic eye lenses had been programmed to record every bit of ground in a radius of 25 meters from where Volpicelli’s body was found.

  The camera lenses kept processing pictures until the area was completely photographed. It then started replaying the images back to Morton. The CSI viewed the initial images with disgust as the recordings consisted of a few empty patches of forest ground. But then two consecutive recordings revived Sandra’s spirit. Morton commanded her photo-optic glasses to freeze and replay those last two photos. The CSI noticed what looked like a half-eaten bird in one frame and a set of animal footprints in another.

  “This looks like a dog has been hunting out here,” Sandra thought to herself.

  In the space of time Sandra had spent photographing the crime scene, Samuel had reached what appeared to be the perimeter of the forest. From this vantage point, the blonde-haired CSI found himself peering into a field filled with cat tail flowers which ranged in height from between two and three meters.

  “And I thought back there was like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Benson lamented.

  The CSI was about to turn back to the initial crash scene when he heard a rustling in the field.

  Benson commanded his glasses to hone in on the sound and magnify. An image was then transmitted back to his glasses which displayed a glowing red image. “This looks like some kind of animal and it’s carrying something in its mouth. Oh, my God. What if this creature has taken a piece of evidence from the crash?”

  Benson then bolted back to the crime scene to meet his partner. The former college soccer player ran in a zig-zag pattern to avoid various trees and brush in his path. In ten minutes, Benson reached his destination and quickly explained what he found to Sandra.

  “It looks like you’ve spotted the dog I was tracking in my crime scene photos, Sam. He may just have a piece of a desecrated bird in his mouth. I photographed the remains of a small quail-like animal about ten meters from where Volpicelli’s body was found.”

  “And he may have a key piece of evidence from the air coach, Sandra. We’ve got to radio Detective Simms and get him to send a chopper to our location. Tell them we’re looking for a dog in a haystack!”

  Jeff Turner fidgeted with a video game on his living room couch while his girlfriend Felicia Jenkins snacked on a nut-filled chocolate bar.

  “Darn it, Felicia. Every time you crunch into that bar I lose another member of my battalion.” Jeff had spent the last two hours playing his favorite simulated game, Fight to the Death. However, Turner’s scores had never been so low as today. The “space tech” murderer blamed his poor performance from all the nagging he had been experiencing the last three days. Jeff’s inner voice had constantly reminded him that he had not been paid his full share for committing the killings. In tandem, Felicia seemed to fill in every other gap in his mind which wasn’t obsessed about his unclaimed earnings with non-stop demands. Jenkins had strongly suggested they either go for more shopping or acquire tickets for an earlier departure for the Bahamas. The leggy brunette had paced Turner’s apartment floors for nearly an hour straight and depleted all his tobacco-free cigarettes in the process before the ex-courier lost all patience. “Okay,” Jeff blurted out. “Go ahead and use one of my bank credits to shop on the computer.”

  However, that spree only filled the span of a half hour before Jenkins returned to haunt Turner. Jeff reminded his material girl that he wasn’t made of money, especially after quitting his gig at the Round the-World package delivery service. “Honey, we’ve got to watch our budget if we want to get to our island getaway.”

  “But you told me you have money to burn. Just how much cash did you inherit from your parent’s inheritance?” Felicia queried her lover.

  “Never mind, honey. I want to keep
that figure a secret from the internal revenue service. I’ve told you ten times that we need to wait a few more days before flying off to the islands because I’ve got some personal business to tend to.”

  As Jenkins continued to chomp on her candy bar, Jeff suddenly pounced off his coach throwing down his video game.

  “What’s the matter, baby?” Felicia asked as a means to start a conversation. The curvaceous man magnet certainly didn’t give one single share of Ceres stock as to what was bothering Turner. Jenkins just needed to stretch her tongue a little bit as she had spent the majority of her 24 years engaged in constant chatter.

  “I’ll fill in you later. I think I’ve forgotten something that’s very important.” Jeff then ran his hand nervously through his hair and grabbed his courier’s cap. “I can’t believe I forgot my data net at Schmitt’s apartment. I just pray it’s still there.”

  Morton and Benson were just minutes away from Schmitt’s apartment complex. The pair had left the Volpicelli crash site a half hour ago after enlisting the aid of Detective Simms to put the brakes on their traveling evidence trail.

  “I can’t believe that dog is running around loose with evidence which may solve one of the federation’s biggest murder cases,” Samuel complained. He then took a bite out of his veggie burger. The CSI’s had flown their coach to a fly-in restaurant service which served air commuters half a mile above the ground. It was the first meal the pair had allowed themselves in the past 36 hours.

  “Or that evidence may only prove that our pooch had partaken in a quail sandwich, Sam.”

  “I have a gut feeling on this, Sandra. The dog found the one piece of tangible evidence that fell from Volpicelli’s air coach.”

  “Okay, I’ll play along with you. But right now we’ve got to concentrate on finding a piece of ground breaking evidence at Schmitt’s place,” Sandra reminded her emotionally-charged partner. She then cast a quick glance at Benson who was fiddling with the straw to his soft drink. “Don’t worry, Sam. The air team will notify us as soon as they locate the dog.”

  The pair would soon settle down to another long session of evidence processing.

  What are You

  Made Of?

  Part IV

  Chapter 1: Playing a Part

  James Starkman polished his Stradivarius replica until he could see his reflection in it. He then positioned the violin beneath his chin and took a deep breath before launching into a piece by Paganini.

  Joyce Starkman had transferred Ruby’s holographic cage into her son’s room so the bug could enjoy the beautiful symphonic renditions of Earth’s classical music. The bug immediately took a front and center row seat for the recital which also included music by Chopin and Bach. Ruby was bathed in pink and yellow tones to mimic the artificial carnations Joyce had put into his cage.

  Joyce surreptitiously positioned herself just outside the door jam of the her son’s room so as not to disturb the performer and his captive audience.

  James made his violin sing the passion of the notes he plucked. However, the android boy did not appear to partake in the emotional benefit of his playing. Joyce was disappointed in her boy’s lack of verve for his music. She comforted herself with the thought that she could immerse herself in the beauty of his gift for both of them. But after half an hour of constant playing, Joyce found she wasn’t alone in her appreciation. Ruby’s pink and yellow coloring shimmered to the rhythm of the music. “Music is a universal language,” Joyce mused to herself. “Maybe Ruby and his species will be able to tell us more about our new planet with artistic stimulation…”

  While Joyce’s imagination pondered the thought of communication with Ceres original inhabitants, Ruby began to display a new skill. The ridges located on top of his eyes slowly lit up and emitted a fluorescent blue-colored light. One might have surmised that the bug was totally entranced in the music. The fact was there was more to this phenomenon than meets the eye. Unfortunately, Ruby’s performance was not instantly recognized by James nor his mother. Joyce could not see this spectacle as she adhered to by her son’s request to provide a comfort zone when he played. James continued to play his instrument with his eyes cast to the floor and did not notice his enthusiastic fan for several more minutes.

  Finally, James took a brief pause in his recital and that’s when the bug caught the android’s attention. At first, James questioned that he had seen the blue flashes emitted by the insect. He called for his mother and tried to describe Ruby’s new found talent. Joyce suggested that James start playing again because the music might have produced the bug’s reaction. Sure enough, Ruby started flashing neon-colored strobes of light as soon as James bowed and plucked his Stradivarius.

  “I wonder if he is communicating with us,” Joyce marveled. The analytical portion of James’ brain tried to identify a pattern in the blinking sequence. James and the bug performed in unison for another five minutes. “I don’t believe Ruby’s visual syncopation has anything to do with keeping rhythm to the music, Mom” James theorized. “When I played a G note, I noticed that Ruby flashed a light seven times in succession. I confirmed this hypothesis was correct when he signaled three times after a C note and twice after I struck a ‘B’. Joyce thought to herself that her son could never have recorded the number of flashes the bug emitted without his artificial enhancements. Joyce suddenly felt inadequate as she could not recall any variation in her pet’s light show. “Maybe Ruby only chooses to communicate with an advanced mind. If so, I could possibly look forward to studying his speech patterns when I become an android.” Joyce had a hard time finishing the last portion of her thought. She still could not fathom that her consciousness would be linked to an automaton—or scarier yet, that her essence would literally become fused with an AI.

  “Well, I’m sure Ruby will continue to surprise us with more of his hidden talents. In the meantime, I propose we take a break and visit the flower bed. I have an idea on how we can preserve our garden for at least a few more weeks.” Joyce then released the force field on the holographic cage and motioned for James and Ruby to follow her outside.

  “I would like to erect a holographic green house around the flowers. I can’t bear to wait another season to see their beauty.” In reality, Joyce was lamenting that she would never view her roses again as a human being. James did not question his mothers’ motives. He quickly calculated a formula in his mind for programming the holo-emitter. “We can have the remaining roses protected for the entire winter season if you like, Mom. I believe the holographic containment will allow us to enjoy other types of vegetation. For some odd reason, I can envision vines wrapping themselves around holographic posts. James then paused and caught himself experiencing a strange de ja’ vu. “I saw a pathway covered in vines in my dream. I have researched the subject of these night visions for the past two days. I am finding that people often try to analyze symbols in their dreams. I wonder if the vines were alluding to constrictions or to new growth.”

  “Maybe they represent both,” Joyce commented. Before she could speak again, Ruby whizzed by her feet.

  Digging furiously into the frozen soil, Ruby started to sink into the ground.

  “Oh, no!” Joyce exclaimed. “I hope he is not trying to get away from us.”

  “I don’t think so, Mom. He probably has discovered something.”

  After five unsettling minutes, the bug re-emerged from the hole he had burrowed with an object.

  “It looks like Ruby has extracted a root from his newly created tunnel. I believe he wants us to take this gift,” Joyce deducted. “I am so intrigued by our new friend.”

  “I do not share your fascination with Ruby’s mining skills, Mom. Nor do I believe his intention is to give us presents. However, I do respect his intelligence.”

  Joyce placed the root in her pocket and announced she would make tea from it.

  The subject of exposure was also a hot topic over in Adrian McElroy’s laboratory. The weary doctor had been struggling the past few days
to invent some form of protection for the future Ceres inhabitants. Unfortunately, the safe guard could not be implemented without divulging his secret. At least one civilian would have to know that his colleagues had been replaced by androids. McElroy knew he probably would not survive long enough to tell the civilian crew in person.

  After long hard thought, Adrian reasoned he would have to transmit a sub space message to the captain of Terran’s Ark. The captain would have to be instructed on how to deactivate the scientist’s replacements in the event of an emergency. Deep down, McElroy wished humans were also equipped with an off switch. However, Adrian also knew that he had to treat humans with the same respect he hoped his robots would enjoy.

  The doctor then began to transcribe a letter entitled: For the Captain’s eyes only: “I begin this transmission to assure you that the safety of your crew is paramount. I therefore must implore you to remain calm as I explain what has transpired on our planet…”

  Chapter 2: Across the Universe

  Life was good aboard the Terran Ark. “Maybe too good,” Linda Dougherty thought to herself one quiet Tuesday evening. The moral counselor and acting captain of the sleek, silver space vessel decided to spend the night in her quarters. Linda opted for the solitude of her small room to help remind her that she needed to condense the civilian’s long journey into a concise memoir. Dougherty hoped a spark of inspiration would ignite her imagination so she could put the finishing touches on her journal. So far her book was filled with the “do’s and don’ts” of space travel as well as her personal thoughts on making Ceres a safe haven for all species. She tentatively planned to call the publication, “The Farthest Shore.”

  “Oh well,” Linda thought. “I guess this book won’t be as thrilling as some of those sci fi novels Steven Carlisle reads. Just as soon as Linda formed this consensus, her train of thought was interrupted by a strange feeling that seemed to emanate from her stomach. “We are less than an Earth year away from Ceres—our new home…and yet I can’t shake the feeling that we are about to face a serious challenge. Well, whatever form that hardship may or may not take, I know we will persevere. Our ship and our spirit has crossed an entire galaxy on this pilgrimage. I know somehow we all were selected for this mission by fate—an intangible factor the space association couldn’t have measured. I believe a divine presence is counting on each and every one of us for resolve and inspiration to make this colonization a reality…” Linda then shouted aloud, “Oh God, I should be recording this for my journal!” The Cranberry New Jersey native was just about to command the computer to commence recording when a flashing green light interrupted her. “Oh no—is there something wrong with the ship?” However, she soon reasoned that the vessel’s AI would have already employed itself to solve the problem. Upon further inspection of her console, Linda deduced that the green light signaled an incoming transmission. Linda’s husband Matt had transferred all of the ship’s commands to his wife before entering cryo-stasis. If Matt had not allowed his wife to skip her turn for hibernation, he would now be receiving the transmission.

 

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