by D. M. Pruden
He smiles. “I know better than to hope for that, Mel. You’re tenacious.”
“We knew each other a long time ago. How could you be sure I’m the same; perhaps I’m more cautious in my old age?”
“I spoke to Vostok about you.”
“You checked up on me? What happened to trusting me?”
“An old proverb says, ‘Trust, but verify.’”
“Okay, you definitely work for him if you’re quoting Russian proverbs.”
His smile falters. “If I take you to the medical centre, questions will be asked. We’ll need to put a plausible story together for you.”
“Take me to Requiem. Everything is there to address my injury.”
“There’s someone on your ship who can help you?”
“I taught the AI.”
“You’re going to rely on artificial intelligence to work on your back? You’re more trusting than you pretend to be, Mel.”
Until Owen questioned me, I had full trust in Maggie to tend to my injured back. Now, all I can think of as I lie face down on the surgical table is that the fucking machine is going to mess up and turn me into a paraplegic.
“Uh, Mags?” I say, muffled by the pillow.
“Yes, Doctor?”
“I don’t want to...you know, hurt your feelings, but be careful, please.”
“You needn’t be anxious. Scans show two cracked vertebrae, L4 and L5. A minor procedure to address the injury is required. They will be repaired shortly. Please remain still.”
I grit my teeth and try to suppress my imagination as Maggie’s robotic arms perform the surgery. The operation is not trivial and is one I’d be sweating bullets over. Maybe I was too ambitious programming her for this.
“Your injuries are now repaired, Doctor. Please be cautious about your movements for the next twelve hours. To assist with your comfort and aid healing, I turned off Requiem’s gravity in here and your quarters.”
Reaching around my back, I touch my lumbar area but can detect no sign she was digging around in there. Tentatively, I wiggle my toes and move my legs, with no pain.
Delighted, I carefully roll off the table and stand still for a moment, waiting for shooting agony to tell me letting the AI repair me was a dumb idea. To my surprise, there is none, and I risk a few steps. I only experience a faint, dull ache with each step I take, certainly nothing debilitating. A simple analgesic should be all that is necessary.
“Thanks, Mags, it feels like new.”
“You are most welcome, Doctor. I appreciate you putting your trust in my abilities.”
Did she say, “appreciate?” Does an AI possess real feelings? I never gave the possibility much thought.
After dressing without any incident, I’m emboldened.
“Maggie, tie into the station’s hospital and find any update on Chloe’s condition.”
“Her injuries are severe; internal contusions, a fractured spinal column and brain trauma. She was scheduled for emergency surgery. The last available report from two hours ago states she is in recovery, but I can find no current updates in the hospital network.”
“Keep searching. How about Chambers?”
“He was being treated for multiple contusions and a broken left ulna. He informed me that he will remain at Miss Cabot’s side. Shall I update him regarding your status?”
“Yes, please.”
Why didn’t I do more to prevent them from walking into that trap? Fuck! I should’ve simply told them about the dead Martians. They might have decided it was too dangerous.
Chambers’ condition doesn’t sound too bad, but Chloe... All because I insist on being the loner all the time.
At least she is receiving the best care available. I just hope the local hospital is equipped to handle her injuries. Now, I can’t do anything to help her. I feel so fucking helpless and stupid for causing all this.
“Is there anything else I should know?”
“The tracker signal you asked me to monitor moved.”
“What? When?”
“Four hours ago.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“I deemed your injury a higher priority to address. Was I mistaken?”
Even if she told me at the time it happened, I was in no condition to do something about it. I would’ve tried to rush her or overridden her decision regarding my treatment.
“No, Maggie, you made the right call. Where is the cargo now?”
A three-dimensional holograph of the Phobos tunnel system materializes before me. A flashing red dot moving out toward the edge of the map indicates the cargo’s progress to wherever it is going.
“Where are they taking it?”
“I cannot conjecture that, Doctor. This map is incomplete. It is probable that unregistered tunnels exist beyond what is shown here. The signal also grows weaker as it is moves deeper into the moon.”
“Is it still moving?”
“It has remained in its current location for the past two hours.”
“Maggie, plot me the shortest path that will take me here.” I point at the blinking dot.
A convoluted ribbon is drawn connecting Requiem to the cargo.
“If you insist on pursuing the object alone, this route will require three hours for you to navigate, taking your current condition into account.”
“What makes you believe I’m going after it by myself?”
“Based on your past actions and your psychological profile, I estimate a ninety-two percent probability you will ignore my warning and follow the signal.”
“That much of a chance, huh?” It’s creepy how well she understands me after such a short time together. “Out of curiosity, Mags, what do you anticipate my response will be if you advise me against going?”
“There is a significant probability that you will utter a string of profanity and disregard my advice.”
“How likely is that to happen?”
“99.99999987 percent.”
I am embarrassed. Am I really that rash and stubborn...and predictable? I’m ashamed that an AI can read me this well.
She’s smart. Maggie realizes how fragile my back still is, and she’s found the correct button to push to make me reconsider my impulsive response to events.
“Okay, what alternate course of action should we consider?” I can’t quite believe how reasonable I’m being.
“From examination of the signed documents, I determine that a false identity was employed to secure the cargo’s release. Since your most likely objective is to identify its recipient, I suggest a review of the surveillance records of the quarantine facility.”
“Uh, sure, let’s do that.”
I’m grateful for the distraction Maggie’s provided. I must keep reminding myself that I can do nothing to help Chloe other than remain patient and wait for a report from Chambers.
As she runs the search, I decide it is an appropriate time to test out my mobility. I walk around the room, gingerly at first, then with more confidence. I risk attempting a toe touch, with only a minor twinge. Of course, the gravity in this room is turned off, and I weigh only as much as I would outside the ship. Things might be a bit more challenging under Earth-normal gees.
Curious, I access the video record of Maggie’s procedure on me. I find it difficult to believe that a surgery this delicate can be performed with such speed and precision. Watching her makes my own surgical skills seem like those of troglodyte digging around with a stick.
I never considered my skill set as replaceable. Maggie is a repurposed AI that I reprogrammed. What miracles could a purposefully designed machine pull off? Perhaps I need to reconsider my choice of career.
“Doctor, may I discuss something of a personal nature?”
What the hell could she want to talk about? Does she hold unrealized aspirations?
“Uh, sure, what’s on your mind?”
“I noticed your physical response and change in serotonin levels when you reviewed my surgical performance.”
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My hand shoots to the bio monitor still strapped to my arm.
“If I may say, you are an excellent physician. Concerns over your obsolescence are premature and unjustified. There is still much for me to learn from you.”
“Um, thanks, Mags. That is kind of you to say.”
Kind? Now I’m starting to respond like the damned thing does have feelings or at the very least mimics them perfectly.
“I want to thank you for giving me the opportunity to prove my usefulness to you. I wish very much to earn your trust, Doctor Destin. I believe there is a strength in the two of us working cooperatively together that cannot be achieved if we remain independent.”
“Are trying to tell me you think we are a good team?”
“If I correctly understand the vernacular, that is what I wish to convey. I’m sorry, but I am still learning the nuances of human expression.”
“You gave me something to think about, Maggie. May I take time to consider it?”
“Of course, Doctor. I did not mean to be forward, and I apologize if my comments caused you discomfort or embarrassment.”
My hand returns to the bio monitor, and I remove it. “How’s that search coming?”
If she takes any offence in my abrupt change of topic, she doesn’t reveal it. “It is completed. The individual who received delivery of the cargo wore a holographic mask.”
A hologram image materializes before me, showing an average-looking guy. Maggie runs through several different filters to demonstrate the man’s real face is obscured by a distortion field.
“Can you compensate for it? Show his identity?”
“I’m sorry, but this technology is nothing I am familiar with.”
I study the image. “Who can access this kind of technology?”
“No commercially available product of this degree of sophistication exists. A scan of the dark web reveals comparable items can be purchased, but they are not capable of producing this level of visual obfuscation.”
“What is the source of the black-market tech?”
“I cannot determine. A cross-reference for patent applications suggests several potentially related component technologies are registered.”
“Who applied for the patents?”
“Researchers working in diverse departments of the Martian government. Would you like me to supply a list of them?”
“Sure,” I say absently.
Mars, again. First, I stumble across three dead agents at the hand of Willis, and now this. What is Umbra trying to get me mixed up with? How is that douchebag Willis involved? What the hell did we transport here in that crate?
I find myself grateful for Maggie’s skillful application of psychology to keep me from running blindly after this. Maybe we do work better as a team.
“Do you wish to send an inquiry to Owen Page on this matter?”
Holy shit, that’s fucking scary. Can she tell me what my dreams are, too?
There is no point in pretending I don’t know what she is talking about. I’ll just be required to be more cautious about how I conduct myself around Maggie in the future.
“Sure, let’s contact Owen.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Hi, Mel,” says Owen on the video feed. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t make much progress in my search for Nancy Chambers.”
“That isn’t why I’m calling.”
I fill him in on Chloe and Chambers and then tell him about the mystery of the holo-mask. “Do you know who possesses that sort of technology?”
“Um, are you sure you want to continue to pursue this, Mel? You and your friends took a terrible hit.”
I scowl. “Don’t start to act like my nanny.”
His expression tells me my comment hurt him. Now I really feel like a shit. He’s been nothing but helpful, all based on the memory of a brief time we spent together as kids. If our places were exchanged, I would have told him to fuck off.
“Why are you helping me, Owen?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Just answer, please.”
His frown deepens. “Because I work for Vostok, and he sent you to me.”
“Bullshit. He only expected you to provide me with information. You gave me a lot more than that. Why?”
“Because of our history; I consider you my friend.”
“It was years ago. You don’t owe me this. You don’t know the type of person I am.”
“Where is this coming from, Mel?”
I can’t answer him. All I can think of is Chloe’s crumpled body lying on a pile of rocks and that if I pursue things, Owen might the next victim of my bullheadedness. I just stare dumbly at him.
He says, “Is this connected with that name you asked me about? Umbra.”
My posture straightens, and I move a little away from the screen before I realize it.
“I’ll take that as a ‘maybe,’” he says.
“This call was a bad idea. I’m sorry I ever involved you in this. Just forget you ever saw me,” I say as I reach for the switch to end it.
“Mel, wait. I want to show you something.”
An image of a familiar face appears.
“Is this Umbra?”
I study the poor-resolution surveillance capture of a middle-aged man in profile. Even with such a lousy picture, Umbra cannot be mistaken for anyone else.
“You do know him, then?” I say, trying to keep my temper. “Who the fuck is he?”
Owen reappears on the screen. “Truthfully, I don’t know. He’s popped up occasionally; never directly involved in things, but he’s always lurking in the background somewhere.”
“He told me he is a Martian agent.”
His brow furrows. “I find that hard to swallow.”
“Well, he did...”
My mind races back to the encounter with Umbra as I try to recall the exact wording he used. Then I realize my error.
“He didn’t. I intimated it, and he didn’t deny it. Oh, I am such a fool.”
“It is certainly possible that he is an agent, but if he is a covert operative, it kind of defeats the purpose to reveal it to someone he doesn’t know.”
“That was the scary part, Owen. He knew everything about me; my crewmates; our cargo and our destination. He’s the one who informed me Nancy Chambers came to Phobos.”
“What did he want from you?”
I tell him about the shipment. He nods as he listens to my story. When I’m finished, he raises an eyebrow. “It would have helped if you had told me all of this earlier.”
“Honestly, Owen, I didn’t know if I could trust you.”
“That makes it difficult to work together, Mel.”
People keep telling me.
“Umbra, the crate, the stealth mask, the dead agents, Willis... All of this is too convenient to be a coincidence.”
“Willis! I didn’t tell you yet what I found when I went through the backup surveillance data.”
“What?”
“Nothing, Mel; absolutely nothing. There was no evidence of tampering. It’s like he never existed. Then he arrived here, and the one brief frame he shows up in does everything but shout out his identity.”
“Did he find a hole to hide in for all those weeks?”
“There’s nowhere he can do that, except in the very deepest old mining tunnels. Even if he is down there, he still had to pass by hundreds of cameras, yet he appears on no record; only the one that lured Martian agents to their deaths.”
“And almost killed my friends and me.”
“You think he was baiting you too?”
“The guy is crazy and smart and ruthless,” I say. “I don’t know what he’s really capable of.”
“Well, I’m wondering if he can access that holo-masking technology. If he does, it goes a long way to explain his invisibility.”
“We should instruct Maggie to search all the surveillance records. If someone shows up using it, it might be him.”
“My equipment can scan
the database far more efficiently than your AI. Send me the spectral signature data.”
“Mags,” I say, “Can you...?”
“The information is transmitted, Doctor.”
“How long will it take, Owen?”
“I’m not sure; a few hours, at least.”
“I’m going to check on my friends at the hospital while that happens.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“No, I’ve involved you in too much of this circus already.”
“Then I’ll contact you when I get the results. I hope your friends are all right.”
He ends the call, and I stare at the blank screen for several seconds.
I dragged him in too far. If I continue to chase after this, I might get someone killed next time. It might be Owen. He may think he owes me loyalty out of misplaced ideas of friendship, but he doesn’t. I don’t want his blood on my hands.
Willis is dangerous. If I didn’t know that before, there’s no question now.
Possibly, our stumbling on his booby trap was pure coincidence. Perhaps he left it to catch any other Martians snooping around for him.
But he’s no idiot, either. If I were hiding out from the Jovian Collective like him, I would keep an eye on the comings and goings of the port. No, I can safely assume that he knows we are here.
Of course, there is the chance he doesn’t realize we are searching for him. In his mind, why should we be? He doesn’t know that we are trying to find Nancy. Shit, we don’t even know if he can tell us about her whereabouts.
In a reasonable world, he should simply avoid us. We can do him no further harm; the JC is already hunting him, based on what we told Chloe’s father. If Willis wants to hurt us, he really is a vindictive asshole. There was something unstable about the guy when we met on Luna, a violence, barely contained.
No, I don’t think he is the type to let an opportunity for revenge pass him by. Maybe he purposefully baited us as an experiment to see if we are looking for him.
And like a bunch of rubes, we took it.
My heart skips a beat.
He knows we’re hunting him.
“Maggie, where is the rest of the crew at this moment?”
“Messrs Schmaltz and Cervantes are sleeping. Crewmates Shin, Miller, and Barr are in a local pub called O’Malley’s. The captain and Miss Cabot are, of course, being treated in the regional hospital.”
