Ghost Dancers
T. Richard Williams
____________________________________
SO HERE’S THE FIRST SCENE:
We’re in the Com Center of Cassini Station, orbiting peacefully about a thousand klicks above Titan. Located on Level 24, the lowest on the Station, it’s a room twenty meters square with several dozen ComScreens floating in mid air, each swirling with untold information--everything from messages to and from other outposts to complex mathematical readouts from the Station’s biomechanical computers, life support system, HydroGarden, and hive of living quarters. A Com crew of six men and two women move among the screens in the dim blue ambient lighting, some touching hand held pads or the implants behind their ears, while others reach out to the holographic surfaces slowly floating and shifting about the room. It is a ballet of movement—people and Screens slowly interlacing, separating, rejoining.
Three walls of the Center are translucent, revealing the electronic veins of the Station, alive with pulsing lights and a barely audible serenade of humming sounds. The fourth wall is dominated by a floor to ceiling ViewPort. Titan’s swirling atmosphere fills much of the panorama; the rest is the ink of space and the pinheads of icy stars.
“Seen it, Father? Titan be fillen our Port. Even down here. Even in the Com Center.”
“I know, Tanner.”
“Gut of Station. Seen it, Father? Big machines, with flicken, whirlen, blinken lights. Hear it? Dronen, dronen, dronen of low noise.”
“Yes,” Father Thom says. Patience, patience--he’s new to all this. He’s a Mars boy.
“Tanner, I been.”
“I know.”
“You come me when you needen a message sent home blicken--or as blinken as light can blinken. Until CORP makes the Fold Machine, that’s all you getten--three hunderd thousend kilos per tick-ticken, na more, na less.”
“That’s true, isn’t it?” Play along. Be kind. He can’t help it. He knows that, but patience isn’t always his virtue. Something else to work on.
“Fold Machine will be wonder. Dimensions will melten. Over a billion kilometers of space gone--poof. I callen out Mom on Mars. She hearen me hello a milli-tick-ticken after I spaken. In fraction I hearen back, ‘Hey, kid, how goes it?’ But now, hours between hallos.”
“Yes, yes. The price we pay.”
“But I gotten me other things, too, right? Like checken all those messages. In-goen, out-goen, I see ‘em all. CORP woulden never callen such things censor. So I don’t. I just getten to read everyone’s mail. Woo-hoo!”
Don’t wince. “Well, woo-hoo, indeed.” Crap. You winced. Pretend you didn’t. Hell, he doesn’t notice anyway. He’s too excited about being a hero.
“So today, Father, I’m sitten here, playen me long-distance poker game with me brother-pal over on the biggen Ganymede Station--hours twixen moves--when I seen it. This EtherScript from Pel to someone on Triton. Looken all lamb-lamb enough it does. ‘Hi. How are ya? Was the baby born yet? Nothin’ new here.’ That kinda stuff. Then I thinken I seen something. A subtext echo. I checken. Nix. Ah, but I knowen. Somethin’s hidden underside. I looken again. Nix again. But still I oath me seen something. That’s why I callen ya here, Father, rather than them. Before I been sayen anythin’, I comen you. To confess this before they finden out and be blamen me. I doin’ nix. Nix.”
“You did the right thing, Tanner. And no one’s going to think you did anything wrong.”
“Really, Father? Really true? Oh. Oh. Glad so. But I tellen you deep, Father. Someone’s finden the trickster way to cloaken a subtext. Or at least Pel has. Maybe. Anyway, it be trickster sharp, but not for ol’ Tanner.” He holds out his hand. The coin-sized disc glimmers. “I maken the copy for you. There’s nix other record, OK.”
“Thank you, Tanner. I’ll make sure this gets to the right authority. The average Com Messenger would’ve blown it off as a blip, especially after the initial pass from Security. You didn’t let that stop you. Good work, Tanner.”
“Thanken, Father. You taken to Commander Ryner now? After you blessen me?”
“Yes, Tanner.”
Tanner kneels before Father Thom, who places his hand on the young man’s extremely oblong head--a sure sign of someone born and raised in Martian gravity.
“By the Universal Power of the Great Spirit, know you are blessed, loved, and forever embraced. Go in Peace.”
“Thanken, Father.” Tanner rises to his full seven foot, 120 pound frame, which to an outsider appears to be something of an animated skeleton with enormous hands, gangly feet, and the most vivid green eyes Thom has seen since his last stint at Mars Base One about a decade ago.
“I’ll take it from here. I promise.” He takes the disc from Tanner and walks away--My turn to seek forgiveness--flipping it in the air, catching it.
Smiling.
Then the guilt.
TRANSMIT 1
· So I had a choice. There’s two ways of doin’ this, I said. The 60-word HoloCom where they get to see our pretty faces.
· Or the EtherScript version--24 units at a time--all text, but more information.
· Obvious choice, right? I said and went with the Ether.
· So let’s start this way:
· Some facts:
· Rom (as in Romney), the Dad, is 54.
· Sim (taken from Simon), his son, is 17.
· Their workdroid, Fizz, is 134.
· And they’re on 24CORP, a freighter haulin’ Helium 3 and supplies from Aldrin Base on the Moon to Cassini Station orbitin’ Titan. CORP’s creatin’ a launch platform there for deep space travel--past Neptune far into the Oort Cloud.
· Exploration.
· Colonization.
· Minin’.
· Profit.
· Though the voyage to Cassini Station’s only eight months thanks to the latest magnetoplasma engines, it’s still eight months.
· And for a 17 year old stuck with an old timer like his Dad, eight months might end up feelin’ like eight years.
· Oh yeh, I’m Pel, formerly of Sydney City in AUSTROCORP, formerly of Aldrin Base, now Station Master at Cassini. Rom and Sim are my deep mates. So was Val back in the day.
· This is what they told me.
· This is how we’ll get the word out.
· This is how we’ll keep pissin’ off CORP.
· They can’t really do a bloody thing. We’re too far away; it’d cost too much to send out their Police; and I bet the bosses are thinkin’ old saws like Choose your battles wisely and all that.
· They’re also bettin’ too few people will actually see this stuff, too few to matter.
· Speakin’ of saws, guess they never heard about acorns and oak trees, right?
· Anyway, we’ll be takin’ this story out there to Neptune’s Cloud Station, Sedna Base, anywhere else that’s measured in Astronomical Units and light years. The first of many stories.
· OK, let’s get crackin’.
AND NOW WE’RE HERE:
Thom stares at the Screen floating above his desk. Images of Pel, Val, Rom, and Sim slowly fade in and out. He’s touched the Screen to pause the AudioFeed; he’s just listened intently to the first Transmit in his quarters. It’s a small, rectangular room on Level 7 with a cot, a desk and chair, eating table and stool, and two small cushioned seats for Thom and any visitor who might happen by. One wall--pale blue--has a fold-out toilet, wash basin, and a FoodServe unit. The opposite is dominated by the round entrance port. The other two are alive with ever-changing scenes from Mars, Triton, Ganymede, and Europa--all images that Thom took while stationed there on his various assignments as a Base Chaplain.
How do I handle this?
Thank God the kid called me first.
Imagine if he’d gone to Ryner directly.
Poor Pel.
Maybe that should be my next move.
Talk to Pel.
He was careful.
But not careful enough.
TRANSMIT 2
· This is how it begins:
· During their third week out, Rom comes up with an idea.
· Like this: “Sim? You around?”
· A few moments later, his CortiCom clicks. “Yeah, Dad. What’s up?”
· “I got an idea. Wanna head up here for supper?”
· “Now? I was about to start the lacrosse interface with Fizz.”
· “Can it wait? Just wanna run something past you, something you might like.”
· Finally, the reply comes, sigh included: “Yeah, all right.” Then: “Give me a few. I’ll be up.” The Com clicks off.
· Yeah, I remember seventeen. He grimaces at the thought.
· Now here’s stuff about Rom you need to know:
· He rarely leaves the Control Dome. He likes being “up front,” at the head of the fifteen hundred meter ship.
· Here, “riding the dragon,” as he calls it, he can monitor the ship in style--storage locker and cargo bay temperature and humidity, radiation levels and meteoroid detection, engine efficiency, fuel use, the Com and Navigation links back to Aldrin Base on Mare Imbrium, and a hundred other possibilities--all things that make a freighter the size of 24CORP efficient and, in the end, money-making.
· But there’s more--always is, right?--the aspects that burrow in a bit deeper:
· Here, Rom can spend time just takin’ in the universe outside. There’s somethin’ about its immensity that enthralls him. That’s a good word I think: Enthrall. Like he’s enchanted or somethin’ by a mythical sorcerer. It’s almost like that. He never tires of watchin’ stars, planets, or all those countless, far-off galaxies through the ViewPort. Sure, he has BookChips, VidChips, long-distance card games with a few of the boys back at Aldrin or ahead on Cassini. Or a dozen other diversions, but he always ends up here, sittin’ and watchin’ the bloody cosmos.
· Simply told, after Val died, all those stars became his solace--and escape.
· He’d done this round trip dozens of times over a nearly thirty-year career. Sometimes with a crew of two or three droids. Sometimes with a human companion or two. Twice with Val.
· But most of the time Val, a tech engineer, was back at Aldrin with Sim--which is how I knew Val. I was an engineer there, too.
· Anyway, Rom was gone a lot, sometimes for 16 or 17 months at a clip.
· Not easy for Val.
· Not easy for Sim.
· But he couldn’t undo it, could he?
· When CORP whistles, you bark.
· So now the chromosome of guilt winds round his DNA like a prickly vine, the little gnaw in his gut that never quite goes away.
· But the trip I’m talkin’ about was gonna be a little different.
OUR NEXT STOP:
Now we find ourselves in Pel’s quarters, Level 4. It’s more spacious than Father Thom’s but possesses the same general amenities; however, it also has a sofa and a lounge chair for viewing HoloFlicks and other entertainment. Father Thom and Pel sit opposite each other at the round eating table.
Thom’s wearing his clerical garb--a simple grey tunic over loose fitting black pants and a slender gold torque around his shaven head. There’s a silver wedding band with a single ruby on his right hand--the silver ring a sign of his office, the gemstone indicating his relationship status. Though his partner died years ago in a freak mining accident on the Moon, he’s never wanted to remove the stone and revert to a plain band.
Pel, in his dark orange work coveralls, has a mop of shoulder-length unruly pitch black hair that makes his chlorine blue eyes all the more startling. Having lived away from Earth for over a dozen years, he’s pale to the point of ghostliness, and like most Lifers--the term used to indicate those who’ll never return to Earth, either by choice or CORP assignment--he’s grown quite thin. Still and all, Pel is actually quite handsome in a square jaw, angular face way. Nanobots circulating through his body, keep everything in constant repair, but there’s no need for big muscles in low G’s. Instead, he has the striated muscular build of a very slender athlete.
On the other hand, second or third generation off-world humans like Tanner, even with nanotech, already show signs of evolving into something quite new. Only time will reveal what they’ll eventually look like—what they’ll ultimately become.
The two men sip chai from ceramic cups Pel brought from Mars.
“What were you thinking, Pel? Thank God it was Tanner. Imagine if Rhem or Stall had detected the anomaly?”
“You’re right, but it seemed like the right time to start spreadin’ the word.”
“But that’s not for you to decide on your own, is it?”
Pel lowers his head. He hates upsettin’ his trusted friend. “I get it, Thom. I understand the dangers. But with Sim and his father now hidden away before CORP can act, it seemed right. It was one of the few times the Com Center was understaffed. Just me and four others on the midnight shift. The three others’d called in sick.”
Thom sees that Pel’s Screen is still open--a steady flow of news and entertainment words and images scroll across. “You sure the ComSecure protocols are up?” He asks. “I’m more than a bit paranoid these days.”
“They’re up. The room’s a tomb as far as Security’s concerned. Can’t hear or see a thing.”
“Let’s hope. But you can’t keep it that way for too long; they’ll suspect something.”
“I’ll say we were havin’ a Privacy Hour. You’re single now, so . . .” he winks after the pause.
Thom smiles. “But they know my partners are women.”
“You’ve become . . . flexible?” He suggests impishly, with a shrug, another wink, and a killer smile.
“Well, good for me, I guess.” And thinks: If I were to try anything, I could see myself with Pel. Good-looking and fun. But more important—a rebel. Someone passionate about beating CORP at its own game. He shakes himself from the momentary fantasy. “Well, however you cover the blackout’s fine with me.”
“Good. Now to the matter at hand. You got the disc back?”
Thom reaches into the tunic’s breast pocket and pulls it out. “Here.” He places it on the table. “Now what?”
“We’ve gotta find another way to transmit.”
“I wonder how much got sent before Tanner cut it off?”
“No idea. Tanner didn’t say anythin’?”
“Nothing really. Just said he read the surface message and then noticed the undercurrent.
“So that means by the time he could really double check, the whole thing could’ve been transmitted.”
“Or just a part.”
“The point is that something might have gotten through to Triton.”
“But who received it, Pel? You sent it to Meeker?”
“Exactly.”
“CORP filters all incoming and outgoing messages on Triton—just like it does everywhere else. Maybe someone else saw the same blip Tanner did.”
“I over-rode the system. Sent it directly to Meeker.”
“Wouldn’t they detect that, too?” Thom takes a deep breath. “Pel, I’m older and a helluva lot more bruised by experience than you. You’ve got to assume that absolutely nothing goes un-noticed. If you over-ride something, someone somewhere’s going to notice that.”
“Assumin’ they’re interested.” Pel reached over to touch his friend’s arm. “Believe me. Triton’s twice as large as Cassini, but its Com Center’s the same size. Millions of pieces of information fly through that room every hour of every day--from Station readouts to interoffice memos. The chances that one encrypted message on one innocuous personal note—addressed to the Chief no less—would even be noticed by an over-worked, over-stressed Com team is pretty slim if ya ask me.”
“Yes, but that over-worked, over-stressed team has droid back up. You can’t forget our Synth friends. They never get tired and are equally alert and vigilant. If one of them was stationed in the Center when your message was received, then all bets are off, right?”
“But there weren’t any Synths on duty that day. Meeker told me.”
“How?”
“Whatcha mean?”
“Exactly what I said. How did Meeker tell you this? Clearly you asked. He then responded, right? How?”
“Personal message.”
“First off, you don’t think that looks like a suspicious question? Second, you assume the person responding was Meeker. Anyone can hack a HoloPic of someone. For all you know your question was intercepted by someone in Command and it was that person who responded.”
“I used double layers.”
“And using double filters would go un-noticed, look un-suspicious? Especially if it was supposedly just an off-the-cuff Station-to-Station conversation between two pals?”
“Thom, Thom--you really weren’t kiddin’ when you said you’d become paranoid.”
“Oh, I’ve been so-called paranoid for ages. I’ve been on four colonial bases in my lifetime, listening to confessions, hearing the most intimate details of lives, from Messenger boys like Tanner to top-ranking CORP personnel. Trust me on this: Not a word gets unheard. Not a movement un-noticed. Not a motive unchecked. At every turn, someone’s there—and all under the guise of keeping CORP’s empire safe and peaceful for all. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s this: The bigger the operation, the greater the number of rules. Something as big as CORP has more rules and regs than an unkept lawn back on Earth has weeds.” He picks up the little disc. “This,” he says with emphasis, “is a bomb. And if CORP knows about it, it’ll try to defuse it quickly.”
“I’m telling you, they don’t know. I just believe that in my bones.”
“Bones can be broken. Bones can be fractured. Bones can be . . .”
“All right. I get it.” He leans back, frustrated. “I get it. But the damage is done, presumin’ there’s been any damage at all. The big question now is: Where do we go from here?”
TRANSMIT 3
· Just before this scheduled run to Cassini, Rom gets a message. CORP wants to try out a new idea that’s really a very old one: To send Rom to Titan and back again with an apprentice. Teach the new guy the ropes. Get him prepped for his own ship one day.
· Immediately Rom suggested his son--which he knew was what CORP wanted.
· Even if nothin’ could be done about Val, maybe he could make it up to Sim, if only a little bit.
· And, as he expected, CORP loved the idea.
· On the Network, Sim and Rom’s run to Titan was a deep-felt human interest tale. Rom was a father passin’ on a time-honored tradition to his son. There they were: Rom and Sim, the future of CORP in the outer Sol system. A family workin’ for the greater good of humanity--and CORP’s great vision.
· Sim agreed to the trip and Rom looked forward to spendin’ time with Sim.
· So off they went: Rom, Sim, and their side-kick droid Fizz.
· But...three weeks out and it was obvious the kid was goin’ stir-crazy.
· Sure, he spent his time explorin’ the ship, playin’ Holo Games in one of the aft engine bays, runnin’ races down the long corridors--and, yes, he was a quick study, learnin’ the ins and outs of the freighter’s operation easily, most of which was automated or handled by CORP’s Lunar Command anyway. But...
· Truth be told, Sim wanted this, too.
· It was his way of dealin’ with Val’s loss as much as it was Rom’s hope to connect with his son.
· Yeh, he wondered about his Dad’s real motives--not that he saw anythin’ dark--but he figured it was really his Dad’s way of lookin’ out for him, tryin’ to create a better relationship.
· But...Sim soon found out that deep space was not for the faint of heart.
· So when Rom was indulgin’ in his secret passion this afternoon--readin’ medieval literature--and savorin’ The Canterbury Tales for the umpteenth time, he had his brainstorm. One that might make the long ride to Cassini easier for his son.
· Let’s set the scene a bit more fully.
· The Control Dome.
· It sits atop the forward-most section of the freighter, a bubble on a soccer-stadium sized box, a tiny eye able to look out on the universe.
· Despite early 22nd century technology, there’ve been relatively few design changes since the first freighters began haulin’ things from Earth orbit to the first lunar bases a century before. Sure, the engines are faster now and the Control Room interfaces are more advanced--Rom can tap a subdermal implant behind his right ear that allows him to “talk” directly to the ship’s bioengineered computers--but overall, a ship like 24CORP is still a string of enormous cargo boxes resemblin’ a 20th century freight train.
· The Control Dome is about fifteen meters across, divided into two “hemispheres.” The back half’s solid, made of meteoroid-proof, gamma ray-resistant nanometal that can withstand pretty much anythin’ space threw at it. And if there’s an impact of some kind, the microscopic robots in the metal begin rebuildin’ instantly. A self-healing ship. Most humans have the same tech, too, makin’ hundred year old people as common as 50 year olds a couple centuries back.
· Get a cut? You heal in minutes. Have some surgery? You’re up in an hour. Bullet to the head? Give it a few days and you’re ready for the races.
· Helped make most violent crime pretty much a thing of the past, right? Blast your mother-in-law with a laser and she’d be after ya next day.
· Anyway, the front hemisphere’s dominated by the curved ten-meter-wide, five-meter-high ViewPort, an enormous panoramic sheet of 25 centimeter-thick SmartGlass that allows Rom to indulge in his star-gazin’, memory-soaked, memory-forgettin’ vigils.
· A semi-circular control panel in the center of the room is the brain of the ship.
· The buttons, gauges, and levers found on early freighter panels’ve been replaced by a touch-screen tabletop. Nothin’ to push, nothin’ to move. Just tap into the ship’s BioMind and your thoughts can literally move the mountain thanks to several subdermal, ocular, and cochlear implants every ship’s captain receives upon graduation from pilot’s school. Once CORP grants your first commission, the implants are activated, makin’ you and your ship pretty close to a symbiotic organism.
TRANSMIT 4
· Last details:
· Two high-back, cushioned chairs in front of the panel; two more up by the ViewPort.
· But lotsa times, Rom just sits on the floor, like Val did back at the Rez, and makes like a shriveled sponge at the edge of a bountiful sea.
· So let’s pick it up from there:
· Sim enters the room from the back hemisphere’s LiftChute.
· Dad’s up by the Port.
· The kid’s slender, with long black hair revealin’ his Navajo heritage. Val’s heritage. Rom was the brown-haired, brown-eyed Anglo who came to live and work on the Rez--and ended up fallin’ in love.
· Still so young, Rom thinks. Old enough to understand loss; young enough to be haunted by it.
· Sim sees his Dad, still in great shape, but more grizzled than he remembers, his salt and pepper hair cut close. He seems old already. Is this what I’m in for? Is this what I really want?
· “What’s up?” Even if he’s havin’ his doubts about bein’ onboard, he tries to keep up-beat. After all, he can’t turn back. Then he’d have to face Val’s death by himself back on the Moon.
· No, it’s better here. Might as well make the most of it. If I don’t go nuts first. He tries to smile, but it’s getting’ to be a real fear. They’re still nearly seven months from Titan.
· “Take the load off.”
· Sim falls into the seat next to Rom’s: “Ready?”
· “I had an idea.”
· “Uh-oh.”
· “Hear me out before you shoot. Think about it. You can let me know.”
· “Well, mysterious.”
· “Listen, let’s just get it out. We both miss Val. We’re going through the motions up here. Brave face and all that. On top of it--let’s be honest--you’re getting’ bored, more and more restless. And we still got months to go.”
· Sim couldn’t help laughin’.
· “What?”
· “Cos I was thinkin’ the same thing. We got seven more months, and I’m not sure how much more I need to learn as your so-called apprentice. The ship’s on its own most of the time. And when my shift is through, I don’t have a heck of a lot to fill my time. I can run the hallways only so many times--or check out the cargo hold--or play lacrosse or football with Fizz.”
· “That’s what I wanted to talk about. Maybe we could play a game of our own instead.”
· Sim pulls a bit of a face. “You’re kiddin’, right?”
· He loves his Dad, despite all his absences, but Sim’s at that age when a guy wants to be independent, even if it hurts to be alone. Psych 101.
WE’RE STILL IN PEL’S QUARTERS
“Which is why,” Father Thom says after a sip of his drink, “we’re now going to try it my way.”
“Which is?”
Thom holds up the disc. “Which is to take the Transmits directly to Triton via the shuttle. We know Meeker’s with us on this.”
“Exactly.”
“Which is why we’re not going to see him. Too obvious. Too dangerous. If CORP suspects anything, they’ll look to him first.”
“But Tanner gave you the disc. By your thinkin’, wouldn’t that make you CORP Enemy Number One?”
“You’re right. I’ve got no idea how many CORP watchdogs saw him do it. Assuming—by your thinking--they were even looking or chose to review security tapes for some unknown reason.” He shakes his head. “Pel, it gets too complicated, doesn’t it?”
“Yeh.” He can see how agitated Thom is—and nothin’ I can do about it, is there?
“So the bottom line is simple; I’ll take the disc directly and give it to someone else. Maybe Phelan.”
“How’ll you get there.”
“Told you—by shuttle.”
“No, what I mean is under what pretense.”
“No pretense at all. I’m a Chaplain. I’m visiting my Triton flock.” He smiles and reaches into his tunic pocket and this time pulls out his black-market MessagePad. With deft thumb work, he plucks somethin’ out and hands it over to Pel.
Who reads it. Then presses the blue button.
They both smile.
“Just in case they’re listening,” Thom mouths.
“Yeh,” Pel nods and types out on Thom’s Pad: “Just in case.”
TRANSMIT 5
· “Don’t worry, I’m not talkin’ something stupid. Though maybe I am. Hear me out.” He sits on the edge of his chair. “I got an idea before when I was readin’ Canterbury Tales.”
· “From the Archive? One of those antique BookChips again?” He loves razzin’ his Dad about his quirky hobby--readin’ things by long-dead writers about a world that doesn’t even exist any more.
· “Yeah. One of those BookChips. It’s not as bad as you think. You should try one.”
· “Yeah, yeah. We’ve been through this. Not my thing. Anyway, what great idea did these Canterbury guys give you?”
· “Stories.”
· “Stories?”
· “Yeah, stories.”
· Crap. “Where’s this goin’?”
· “Well, it’s like this. A couple of dozen people--men and women from all levels of society--take a Spirit Walk from London to Canterbury, about 90 klicks give or take. Not much by our standards, but back then, back a thousand years ago, that was a long haul. So anyway, they come up with this plan to tell stories comin’ and goin’ to pass the time.”
· “And you’re tellin’ me this because . . .?”
· “Because I think it might be cool if we did the same thing.”
· “Tell each other stories? Last time you told me a story I was about ten. Aren’t we a little old for that?”
· “Hey, I was good, too, wasn’t I? You always liked my stories. And don’t forget you told some, too. Remember how we’d spend time at the drillin’ station out on the Mare or down in the HydroGarden at Aldrin and you’d make up fantastic stories about moon monsters and asteroid crashes? Com’on you gotta remember that.”
· “Yeah, I remember. But that was then. Now…”
· “…Now what? So we’re a little older. Big deal. Besides, I was thinkin’ of a way to spice it up, make it a game, something that challenges us.”
· “Such as?” He doesn’t want to let on he might be a little intrigued.
· “Rather than just tell a whole story, maybe one of us can start and then let the other person continue for a while. Then toss it back to the first person and so on ‘til we decide the story’s over.”
· “Isn’t there poetry like that? I forget what it’s called, but one poet starts a poem and then another builds on it. It can go through ten or twenty writers--or just be exchanged back and forth between two. I think it’s from SINOCORP or somewhere like that.”
· Rom reaches over to slap Sim’s leg with a laugh. “Wow, you actually did learned somethin’ in school.”
· “Yeh, imagine that.”
· “But let’s get back. Whadaya think? Kinda cool, right?”
· It does sound fun, somethin’ different, but he says as plainly as he can manage: “Could be interestin’.”
· “Oh com’on, I can see it in your eyes. You like it.”
· Sim turns away with a smile.
THE HALLWAY OUSIDE PEL’S QUARTERS.
Generic, tubular. Grey walls, recessed lighting, neutral blue carpeting. Doors to labs, offices, private quarters along the way.
What Thom had written was simple enough. Of course i’m taking it to meeker but don’t want corp to know. not trusting they aren’t spying on u right now. don’t want an audio record just in case. erase this NOW.
But now, walkin’ towards the lift, back to his quarters, getting’ ready to pack, he wonders whether CORP might even have a way to keep track of personal messages and notes on his supposedly unregistered Pad, too. If they did, then they already knew he wasn’t goin’ to see Phelan to hand over the disc. They’d be waitin’ for him at the dock--or, at the least, watchin’ him, ready to pounce the minute he showed up at Meeker’s door.
Yes, he smirks, life anywhere in the Sol System means never-ending paranoia.
The lift door opened.
And trust rarer than hope.
TRANSMIT 6
· “I may’ve been away a lot on the freighter, but I’ve also been your Dad for 17 years, ‘member? I think I can read you pretty good by now.”
· “Guess so.”
· “Guess right.”
· They sit for a few moments watchin’ the stars. Mars is beginnin’ to show brighter on the port side--a dot last week, a ping pong ball this week. It’d be a week or so before they reach its orbit and then use its gravity to help boost them towards Saturn.
· “When were you thinkin’ about startin’ this literary adventure?” Sim’s mask of indifference is quickly slippin’ away.
· “How about after we eat?”
· “Today?”
· “Why not?”
· “I’ll need to think of a good start,” Sim says.
· “You assume you’re startin’?”
· “Yeah,” Sim laughs, “funny how I assumed that.”
· “Yeah. Funny.” He loves the ease he can feel with Sim at moments like this. Sure there’s all that teenage stuff goin’ on, and Sim had been closer to Val. But when they’re together, like now, there seems to be a connection, a comfort on Rom’s part.
· “Well if you wanna start after supper, then you might as well go first. Then I’ll go.” Sim pauses. “But what if I can’t think of anything?”
· “Just keep goin’ anyway. Don’t let the ball drop. Just keep addin’, even if it sounds stupid. We’re not out to win a literary award. It’s about the fun.”
· A momentary quiver passes through Sim’s gut.
· Which Rom senses: “What?”
· “You reminded me of Val just then.”
· “How?”
· “Val was always tellin’ me to have fun, to enjoy life.”
· “Good advice, right?”
· Sim nods his head, brushin’ aside the mood.
· “So let’s eat,” Sim says, “and then have some fun.”
· “Yeah, let’s eat.”
· So they do.
BACK INSIDE PEL’S QUARTERS:
Thom has just left. Pel sinks to his desk chair, looking totally relieved.
I hate using him like that, but what were we supposed to do?
The door chime sounds. Pel gets up, looks through the peephole, and smiles.
He presses the wallpad and the door rolls open with a placid pneumatic whoosh.
“It’s done.”
And let’s the door shut again.
He sits back down.
Yeh, it’s done.
TRANSMIT 7
· But it’s durin’ supper--which they eat in front of the ViewPort--that Sim gets his own blast of inspiration. It happens this way:
· The ship’s HoloCom beeps.
· An incomin’ message for Sim.
· A miniature Holo of his pal Den appears in the air above his food tray, the caller’s spiked haired flyin’ off in a thousand directions, the green eyes as real as life.
· Hey Sim. Just wanted to connect. Aldrin’s a bore without you. Tri and Van got suspended. Again. They did something to the HydroGarden and it started snowing instead of raining. Commander Freemont went nuclear. See what you’re missing? Anyway, hope you and your Dad are OK. Say hi when you have time. Oh, yeah, Sal says to tell . . .
· And the Holo dissolves in a whirl of sputterin’ electrons.
· “Must’ve hit 60.” Rem shoves in a mouthful of a Synth peanut butter and jelly. It’s not too bad actually, but the FoodServe never quite gets the flavors of any food perfectly. It’s an approximation at best. But you get used to it. By the time you arrive at Cassini Station, you’d swear it’s four star cuisine--or so you convince yourself.
· “Yeah. Wish they’d figure a way to get more data into the HoloStream. I mean it’s tough to say what you want in 60 words or less.” Sim’s clearly disappointed. Den’s his oldest friend back at the lunar Base. When Val, Rem, and Sim moved up to Aldrin from the Rez, it was Den who showed the seven year old Sim around the Base and volunteered to walk him to and from the Base school.
· They even dated briefly, but they decided they were better off as friends.
· Seeing her made him homesick.
· Seeing her reminded him of Val--of missing Val.
· So, like he often has this past year, he ignores his feelin’s and continues: “Or not have the damn time lag. We can build plasma engines, but we can’t get invent a system that let’s us send a message in real time.”
· “Sorry, kiddo, but light speed is still light speed. And the further away we get, the longer it takes. And,” Rom makes air quotes and says in a Network voice, ‘Foldin’s still a long way off’.”
· “Yeh, yeh. That’s CORP-speak for ‘Who knows when’.” He finally takes a bite of food. “Still, it’d be nice to get more than a tease. Sixty words, fifteen or twenty seconds if you’re lucky. It sucks. And EtherScript’s just not the same. More words, but still just words. Not people. And all because CORP is too cheap.”
· And that’s when he has his brainstorm.
· “Hey, that’s how we could do it.”
· “What?” Rem’s trying not to inhale his food, but even Synth peanut butter was better than none at all.
· “Maybe we could use the 60 word or less rule for our story. Makes the whole thing more of a challenge, right? We’ll get Fizz up here and he can keep track. When one of us hits 60 words, we stop and the other guy has to pick it up from there, even if it’s the middle of a sentence.”
· “Love it.” He wipes his mouth. “We can have some real fun.”
· “Yeh, but let’s try to make a good story. No green elephants on Jupiter dancin’ to Beethoven or anythin’ like that.”
· “Why not? You got somethin’ against green elephants? Besides, that was one of my better stories.”
· “Dad. Really. I mean it. I know it’s your idea to do this and I’m willin’ to go along, but let’s see if we can at least make it an interestin’ game.”
· “Agreed.”
· “So when do we start?”
TRANSMIT 8
· Ten minutes later:
· Fizz stands to one side of Sim and Rom who face each other in the ViewPort chairs.
· The lights in the expansive room are turned down both for efficiency and effect.
· Much to their amusement, Fizz has brought up a real wax candle from one of the Cargo Bays and placed it on a small table between the two chairs. It smells like cedar.
· “What’s this?”
· “Your campfire, sir.” The droid’s voice was a light, pleasant baritone.
· Rom laughs.
· The droid gives a static chuckle.
· Sim looks over his shoulder. “So you understand the rules, Fizz.”
· “Yes, sir.”
· “You stop us when we hit sixty words. If we stay under, that’s fine, but if we hit sixty, you can beep or somethin’.”
· “And the next person starts up,” Rom adds.
· Fizz--five feet of whirrin’ lights and wires beneath translucent skin, lookin’ vaguely humanoid--nods his football shaped head. “Understood.”
· “So,” Rem claps his hands together and rubs them briskly. “Let’s get started. Ready?”
· Rom nods, takes in a deep breath and, lookin’ outside, sees Mars, smiles at the idea that’s just come to him, and begins:
· “Jeremy Walkin’ Moon can finally relax. He writes in his journal: The tension’s been intolerable--only until they left. Once they were gone, I was free again. Even if they’ve left all of us to die--it’s still freedom. The tyranny of years is now over. He looks out the port in his quarters…”
· He interrupts himself.
· “Fizz, could you please tap into our Corn-I’s?”
· “Yes, sir. May I ask why?”
· “Because you could tick off the number of words for us and we’d see the count in our corneal implants. We’d know when we’re getting’ near our 60-word limit without you havin’ to interrupt us.”
· “Good thinking.’ Keep the flow goin’. Assumin’ we can keep any kind of flow. Especially if you keep stoppin’ us.” He laughs.
· “Promise. That’s it.”
· “OK. Let’s do that tap-in, Fizz.”
· “Yes, sir.”
TRANSMIT 9
· Fizz opens his channel to their implants. Almost every human has one now--a direct interface to any other person with Corn-I as well as a connection to the Network. With one touch to your Temporal implant, you can tie into any Com, Data, or Archive system; with another you can talk to just about anyone in the Sol system, assumin’ you don’t mind those long-distance time lags.
· Simply put, Corn-I made old-fashioned computers and mobile TelCom obsolete by the end of the 21st century. Even the once poor nations of Earth, now controlled by CORP subsidiaries, offer Corn-I capability under the guise of humanitarian outreach. Many love the idea that we’re all one now. Others feel it’s a way to keep tabs on potential resistance movements that fight their underground wars against CORP.
· Whatever the case, it’s possible that if you actually want to talk to someone in one of the few aboriginal regions left in Africa or interior Asia or Australia (a.k.a AFRICORP, SINOCORP, AUSTACORP), you can, assumin’ he or she’s got the implant and is inclined to speak to someone livin’ in the “Big Man’s CORP.” An image of the person appears in the lower right of your peripheral vision and you hear his or her voice over your cochlear device.
· “Can you see it, sir?”
· Both Sim and Rom see a blue number 54 glowin’ softly off to the right.
· “Great stuff, Fizz,” Rom said.
· “I won’t interrupt, sir, but you’ll know you’ve passed the limit. I’ve adjusted the number to automatically become red once you pass 60. For good measure, I’ll also let you both see the exact threshold word. This way the next speaker can pick up from there.”
· “Sounds like you’re havin’ fun with this, too.” Sim says.
· “I enjoy a good game, sir. Keeps my synapses fresh.” He lets out another static giggle.
· “All right, let’s do this again. No interruptions this time.” Then Rom winks at Sim: “Promise.”
· “Yeah, right, but I won’t be holdin’ my breath.”
· Rom adjusts himself in his chair. He starts, watchin’ the numbers slowly mount quietly in the corner:
· “Jeremy Walkin’ Moon can relax now. He writes about it in his journal:
· The tension’s been unbearable lately. But now that they’re gone, we’re all free again. Even if they’ve left all of us to die--it’s still freedom. The tyranny of years is now over.
· He looks out the port in his quarters and...”
· Fifty-five words. He stops and gives a nod to Sim.
· Sim takes a moment, then starts:
· “...And sees the Quad surrounded by the 20 huts makin’ up the Base. For the first time he can remember, no police. Just circles of light cast from the dome. Just the concrete paths connectin’ huts. Just the sound of stale air wooshin’ through ventilators. One by one he sees people emergin’ from their quarters. An hour before they’d all...”
· The number 60 blinks. He stops in mid-sentence.
· Just as Rom’s about to pick up his thread, he feels a kind of epiphany. He realizes that this game of his requires more than just casual listenin’. His mind can’t drift for even a moment. He looks at Sim and begins to well up. When? When have I ever listened to you this intently, this intensely?
· My son.
· The very image of Val.
· He clears his throat. “An hour before . . . they’d all been roused by the sound of vehicles moving out of the airlocks and garages and then the pulsin’ shuttle vehicles from the nearby launch pad. Jeremy went to the window in time to see the streaks of electric blue smudge the early dawn and fizzle into nothin’ness…”
· After a nod from his father, a sly smile emerges on Sim’s face: “…like when Aeneas left Dido without so much as a goodbye. Only we won’t kill ourselves like she did. No, our Aeneas ain’t worth it, Jeremy thinks, as he watches his friends one by one fill the Quad. Time for him to go join them, so he leaves his desk, opens the door and begins to greet them…”
TRANSMIT 10
· The reference to Aeneas gets a firm thumbs up from Rem. “…Jeremy joins everyone outside. They talk about the past few months--all the betrayals. Different people start to report: It’s been a clean, quick break. The spies and Administrative officers destroyed the communication links, contaminated the hydro gardens, and left only one workin’ land rover…” Less than 60, but he stops.
· Sim looks out the ViewPort. If you stare long enough, you can begin to see the motion of the ship, see the stars slowly, slowly slippin’ past. He stares at Mars, then turns to Rom as if to I’m gonna do this: “…As they’re sharing their findings, suddenly, there’s a howling sound outside the camp. At first everyone thinks it’s an approachin’ Martian windstorm. Then Jeremy realizes that it’s an animal sound--one he’d heard back on Earth decades ago on the Reservation. ‘I know that sound,’ Jeremy says, his eyes fixed on the outer airlock door…”
· Rom leans forward. OK, I’ll take the bait: “…Jeremy’s wife, Yoko, asks, ’What is it?’ She stands next to him, graspin’ his arm. The howl gets closer. Materializin’ through the metal door hatch as a man might slowly emerge through a fog, a white wolf, the size of a large dog, appears, walkin’ through the air lock and into the open space of the Quad…”
· He looks at his Dad, at those often sad grey eyes. He decides to go on, to take the potentially dangerous risk. After all, isn’t that what this trip’s really about? Isn’t this the reason you brought me along? “…The colonists are terrified at first and back up towards the surroundin’ huts. But with an imperceptible sound of wind, the shape of the wolf slowly begins to blur and swirls into a new form. Molecules and glitterin’ dust become taller and paler, the whirlin’ subsides and there before them stands the tall naked body of Robb Walkin’ Moon…”
· A wave of memory hits Rom. He looks at Sim. It’s a dare, isn’t it? You want to see if I pick up the stick. It’d be easy not to. But I won’t do that to you.
· To us.
· “…The Base doctor, Rick, grabs onto a nearby chair for balance. Yoko and Jeremy let out soft gasps. The others stand frozen. There’s a long pause. The familiar lyric voice speaks: ‘Don’t be afraid.’ Robb looks at all of them warmly. ‘You weren’t expectin’ me, and this certainly wasn’t the way you would, but it seemed better than waiting’…”
· It’s gonna happen, Sim thinks, isn’t it? Finally. “…So Yoko runs into the Walkin’ Moon hut and reappears carryin’ a blanket. She walks slowly up and wraps him, endin’ with a warm mother’s hug. Jeremy begins to weep and approaches his son ever so slowly. The three of them cradle each other. Robb breaks from them and approaches Rick, takin’ him in his arms. ‘I’ve missed you so’…”
· Sim and Rom spend a few moments in silence.
· They both know what this has become.
· Rom starts up again: “…‘I’ve missed you so,’ is all Robb can say and hugs Rick with all his might. Rick breaks into sobbin’...”
· Rom stops short.
· Despite an effort, he starts to cry.
· Which becomes deep sobbin’.
· A year of pent-up sobbin’.
· A year of feelin’ no star-watchin’ vigil can quite push away.
· A year of avoidin’.
· “It’s all right, Dad.” Sim gets up and walks round the table, the candle still flickerin’. He kneels down.
· And puts an arm round his father’s shoulder.
· “Should we stop?”
· “No, no. It’s OK.” He holds his son’s hand. “Really. It’s OK. Actually I’m glad you showed the cajones. Someone had to. Good for you.”
· “But I don’t want you to if it’s gonna hurt too much.”
· “Nah. It’s good for me.” He looks up. “For you, too.”
· “Guess so. It’s the big rock in the middle of the room. The one we never talk about.”
MEEKER’S QUARTERS ON TRITON BASE:
Everything about the Base is dusky metallic, pewter, burnished, chrome. Even the crew quarters. It’s a close-to-sterile environment that’s softened only by amber-hued recessed lighting and neutral cadet blue and taupe for some of the walls and the carpets. Even the functional decor has an angular, industrial look. Desks, chairs, sofas, pull-down beds, whatever furniture you can imagine—it’s all utilitarian and shades of grey, shades of black.
Which may explain why everyone seems to favor the most vibrant colors for their clothing.
Meeker—another Mars-born man, second-generation—wears a brilliant scarlet coverall over which he dons a loose-fitting tunic whose vivid geometric patterns remind you of ancient African tribal designs—a feast of golden earth tones. Even his gravity slippers are a remarkable lime green.
Thom, in his black trousers and grey cleric’s tunic, nearly fades into the background.
Since he wasn’t intercepted when he arrived—as he feared might happen—he’s made his visit look quite legitimate, seeking out old friends as well as strangers, offering blessings and counsel.
Meeker is simply another of his pastoral visits.
Meek, as his friends call him, has turned off the Com, which brings a half-smile to Thom, who thinks: If he uses the Privacy excuse again, CORP’s going to think I’m an outright whore.
They’ve just spent a few minutes listening to a section of Pel’s disc on Meek’s portable Screen.
“So we hearen 10 of the 17 Transmits and I been confused. Truly. Deep.” Meeker, uses the same Martian dialect that most Mars-born colonials choose to speak—already a bit of anti-CORP defiance, though CORP claims to tolerate the language as part of its “we embrace all people” attitude. Thom thinks it sounds like English spoken with a EUROCORP accent, something akin to the Old Dutch or Norse he’s heard in HoloFilms.
“Why’s that, Meek?”
“First, why is Pel talken the tale? Why not direct Sim and Rom? And then why disguisen the tale like it’s Martian. Everyall knowen Val be killt on Moon—for that be what their sayen, right? It happenen on Mars. They been sayen Val’s tale in cloaks, yeh? And shapeshften? Nix thing as that—all children beddy-bed yaren. They no even spaken Mars dialect. It sounds more like Moon Talk.”
“You’re right, of course, but I think Pel did it because he wanted to tell the story with enough fiction that it could be denied in case CORP discovered it—or decided to make an issue.”
“Still, so strange. But moren important—where are they, these two? Rom and Sim? Is Pel hidden ‘em on Cassini? If not, wheren?”
Thom sits back and smiles. It’s suddenly very clear to him: “Oh we can figure that out, can’t we?”
TRANSMIT 11
· “Yeh,” Rom says. “A very big rock.”
· “So,” Sim stands up. “Ya wanna bust it up?”
· “Gimme the hammer, kiddo.” He gets up, as well, and they both walk to the edge of the ViewPort.
· Where they stand watchin’ space slip by for a long while.
· “Do we finish our story?” Rom finally asks.
· “I’d like that.” His arm reaches round his Dad’s waist and pulls him close. “You go first.”
· Still lookin’ out at stars, Rem says:
· “…So Rick has his cry and says, ‘But I thought you were dead.’
· ‘It’s what you had to think--and what CORP had to think. That my prototype died with me. I had to die and disappear for a while.’
· Rick pulls back a bit. ‘A while? A year is a long “while,” Robbie’ Rick says angrily…”
· He looks at his Dad intently and picks up the thread:
· “…But Rick’s anger flashes for only a moment. He hugs Robb again.
· ‘But why the wolf disguise? And what prototype? What’s all this about?”
· A few people move in closer.
· ‘Let me grab some clothes,” Robb says. “I’ve so much to tell you. Just don’t be afraid. I’m still the Robb you once knew--but more’…”
· Rom begins to pace about the room to collect his thoughts--“…He looks at Yoko: ‘I hope you’ve kept some of my clothes, Mom. I could use ‘em about now.”’
· ‘Yes,’ but she’s still too stunned to grasp the full meanin’ of this scene. She leads him to their hut, and he goes upstairs to his old closet to get his lab coveralls his Mom had saved…”
· He finally sits down in front of the candle.
· Now it’s inevitable; the momentum is unstoppable: “…She’s ashamed to feel the doubt she does--what if this is another CORP trick. What if the man upstairs puttin’ on the coveralls isn’t Robb? What if, what if, what if. Everyone’s thinkin’ the same thing. The dead don’t come back. We saw him die. But then he comes out into the Quad in Robb’s lab uniform…”
· Then Rem says it. “But when he comes out into the Quad in Robb’s lab uniform, he looks no different than the day CORP agents fired their weapons the year before…”
· There.
· Sim and Rom look at each other.
· “You still have over thirty words to go, Dad.”
· Rom shakes his head. “It’s all right,” he barely whispers. “Your turn.”
TRANSMIT 12
· Sim wonders how careful he should be now that Rom’s opened up. That thing they never talk about--at least not in the past twelve months.
· “…‘This is goin’ to be tough to believe,’ he begins, ‘but you’ve got to trust me and considerin’ what’s happened today, I’m not sure you have a choice.’
· ‘How do you know what’s happened to us?’ Jeremy asks. There are murmurs.
· ‘Just listen to me first, Dad, and then we can sort through your questions…”
· Sim sits down across from his Dad.
· The candle flame wavers in the current from the ship’s ventilator.
· “…‘But time’s gonna be important,’ Robb says. ‘With the Hydrogardens gone and the food supplies limited, what I have to say will be life and death--so please, if you loved me and trusted me once, please love and trust me again.’
· Of all the people he is sayin’ this to, his eyes linger on Rick. ‘Please.’…”
· Starin’ into the flame, Sim asks: “How should we end this, Dad?”
· “Whenever, however we want.”
· He looks up: “Well, how do you want this to end?”
· “Happily.” It’s first thought in Rom’s head.
· “Even if . . . ?”
· “Yes, even if it didn’t end that way in real life. Let’s make somethin’ good out of this.”
· “Is that what you want?”
· “Isn’t that what you want, too? To make this go away? Even if it’s only for a while.”
· Now it’s Sim who chokes up. “Yes.”
· “Then that’s what we should do.”
· He forces a smile. “Even if.”
· “Yes. Even if.”
· And so they move on with their story, lettin’ it pour out spontaneously, surprisin’ themselves with the twists and turns it makes.
· It’s more happiness than either has felt in a long while.
· Certainly more than either has felt together.
· Yes, it’s Happiness: Necessary, elusive--and so, so brief.
TRANSMIT 13
· So Rom starts up again: “… ‘Do you remember last year when I was workin’ the extra hours in the lab?’
· Rick nods.
· ‘I was havin’ a breakthrough at that point. A breakthrough that CORP knew about. And one they didn’t want me to tell you or anyone else about. A breakthrough that could potentially upend CORP.’
· ‘But the wolf?’ Yoko whispers…”
· Sim shifts to the end of his seat: “…Robb moves closer to her. ‘That’s part of what I was workin’ on. Clearly I succeeded.’
· There were anxious, frustrated murmurs across the Quad.
· ‘We don’t have a lot of time, so here’s the short version. As you know CORP was plannin’ to spend untold trillions of Yen to terraform Mars, a process that could take two centuries.’…”
· Rom leans back, lookin’ up at the curve of the dome: “… ‘What I created was a shapeshiftin’ program that would allow humans to adapt to Mars the way it is. To leave its environment unscathed. Not kill off any of its native microbes. Not alter its wondrous landscape.’
· ‘Shapeshiftin’s just a myth,’ someone mutters.
· ‘This is bull. Tell us the truth.’
· ‘I am tellin’ you the truth.’…”
· Sim puts his hand a few inches over the flame to feel its warmth. “… ‘Then explain the process,’ Rick demands.
· ‘In a nut shell, usin’ nanobots and alterin’ DNA sequences, I was able to find the key to changin’ our forms without destroyin’ our essence, our consciousness. I know that sounds like hokum, but that’s why I appeared to you as a wolf. It’s also why CORP had me killed.’…”
· “…Robb moves towards the center of the Quad, the others following him cautiously.
· ‘CORP was keepin’ constant vigilance. Watchin’ my every move. They were terrified of the very thing I achieved. For a fraction of the cost of terraformin’, every human in space could transform into an entity that could survive any environment’…”
· “… ‘From the mineral-rich clouds of Jupiter to the iron fields of Mercury. With shapeshiftin’ tech, CORP’s hold on the colonies could collapse.’
· ‘Still doesn’t explain how you’re here,’ Rick says, tremblin’. ‘I saw the bullet wound, the blood. I saw you die. I held you.’
· ‘When I was shot, I allowed myself to appear dead--I let myself be…’…”
· The number 60 blinks; Sim stops.
· And without pause, Rom finishes the thought: “… ‘…and let myself be buried.’…”
· He looks over at Sim. “And that’s the truth, isn’t it?”
· For a moment Sim wondered whether this was part of the story.
· “It is, isn’t it?” Rom asks again.
· “What is?”
TRANSMIT 14
· “I buried everythin’, didn’t I? I buried Val, literally. But I buried myself. I buried Aldrin Base. I even tried to bury the bastards who shot Val.”
· “Maybe you had to. To survive. Emotionally, I mean.”
· “And then I buried you, too. I almost shut you out completely.”
· “But you didn’t. I’m here, right? We’re here on 24CORP headin’ to Cassini--together. CORP can’t stop that.”
· “But that’s even more guilt for me. What if they decide to keep us there?”
· Sim raises an eye.
· “That’s what this could be about,” Rom says. “They set me up. They wanted me to ask you along so they could ship us to one of the farthest Sol outposts. They could keep us there under some pretense. Exiled, for all intents. They’ll let someone else pilot the freighter back. That makes me a selfish bastard, doesn’t it? I brought you out here. Maybe you’ll never be able to get back.”
· “O com’on. Do you really think they’d…”
· “Don’t be naïve, Sim. It keeps me far away from Aldrin. Keeps you away, as well. You’re Val’s kid.”
· “Yeah, but I’m your kid, too.”
· “Exactly. Back at Aldrin we both could’ve opened our mouths. Could’ve started tellin’ people Val’s death was preventable. That CORP did nothin’ to stop the killers who attacked the Lab that night. Or worse, that CORP may have actually supported the killers. But we didn’t say a word, did we? But I bet they’re still afraid we might.”
· “You kept quiet for a year. So did I,” Sim says. “Oh, they caught the so-called intruders and put ‘em on trial. They were found guilty and sent to one of the asteroid prison camps. Great. Case solved. But that doesn’t excuse CORP. Or us.”
· “Yes, we both kept our mouths shut, didn’t we? And why is that?”
· Sim can feel himself pale.
· “I think we both know,” Rom says. “We were tryin’ to save our hides. We suspected assassination. We suspected the warnin’ system had been tampered with. We found out from Jak that we were probably right. Then Jak and his files disappeared. We knew why, but we didn’t say anythin’ because we didn’t want to end up like Jak. Erased. So we didn’t need to consult on our silence, did we? We just did it. We kept quiet.”
· Sim gets up and walks to the Port. “But isn’t that what Val would’ve wanted? For us to keep ourselves safe? Don’t make waves. CORP’s too big to fight. Stuff like that, right?”
· “Probably. But that’s a guess or wishful thinkin’, kiddo. It still doesn’t excuse me from keepin’ quiet. Or for invitin’ you on this run.”
· “First off, no one would’ve believed you, Dad. Or me. I mean, think about it. Would anyone really think CORP agents made such a mess of the investigation? Or had covered up--or sabotaged--a faulty security system in Val’s Lab? Or that CORP--to use your word--erased Jak? Or that it was really a CORP hit job?”
· “True, but if we could prove that CORP...”
· “Dad. You know it’s impossible. CORP controls every aspect of the Network. And most of the people at Aldrin are in CORP’s pocket. Even if we could get the truth back to Earth or any of the off-world Bases, who’d believe us, who’d be interested? Would anyone really care? People like the status-quo. Don’t rock the boat. And with good reason. Like I said, CORP’s too powerful to fight, pure and simple.”
· He takes Rom by the shoulders. ”And as for your guilt about puttin’ me in harm’s way, I don’t care. We’re here together. That’s what counts. So, yes, we may be exiled to Cassini, but we’re not goin’ to be erased.”
· “I hope you’re right.”
· “And if you’re right about them dumpin’ us out at Titan, well, we can start over there, right? CORP thinks they’re getting’ us out of the way. They’re really givin’ us a second chance, if you wanna look at that way.”
· Rom joins Sim at the Port. “You never cease amazin’ me. Like I keep sayin’, Val raised a smart kid.” He embraces him. “A wonderful kid.”
TRANSMIT 15
· “Yeah, well you were there, too. You helped raise me, probably more than you know.”
· The proverbial ten-ton weight’s been lifted from Rom’s shoulder.
· He lets the feelin’ settle in for a few moments, then, he breaks away slowly. “So.”
· “So,” Sam repeats, “is the story over?”
· “Good question. Is it?” Rom laughs. “We’ve asked ourselves that a few times tonight.”
· “Let’s tie up the loose ends, why don’t we?”
· “What the hell. Why not? But let’s wrap it before it turns into an effin’ epic.”
· They sit down again.
· There’s only an inch of candle left.
· Rom’s about to start, but bursts into another peal of laughter.
· “What?”
· “I forgot where we left off.”
· Sim smiles playfully. “Gettin’ old are we, Dad?”
· Fizz interrupts. “If I may, you were at the point when Robb says to Rick that he was shot, that he allowed himself to appear dead and be buried.”
· “Thanks, Fizz,” Rom says.
· “You know, when you hear it that way, it makes this whole story sound really dumb. I mean really, really far-fetched.”
· “Yeh, but you know, it’s our dumb. Besides, we both know different. So let’s stop stallin’ and finish it off.”
· So he slaps his leg, and presses on:
· “Robb looks at Rick tearfully. ‘Believe me, I never wanted to hurt you. And we’ll have time to talk about that, but right now, we’ve gotta get started.’
· ‘With what?’ Rick asks.
· ‘With savin’ ourselves.’
· ‘How? Everythin’s destroyed.’
· ‘I know, but I can help you.’ He walks up to Rick. Rick wants to retreat. ‘Trust me.’…”
· “…‘Listen,’ Rick says. ‘Those bastards’ve destroyed our food reserves, cut off our communications with other Bases and with Earth, and’ve left us one with only cantankerous land rover. At best, in a few days the air in this place won’t be breathable and any terraformin’ machinery is decades away from being able to support us. How can you help?’…”
TRANSMIT 16
· “… ‘Let me show you.’
· With that, Robb reaches out to take Rick’s hand and says “Like a wolf.”
· Rick’s breath catches, the others move closer, but don’t interfere.
· ‘It’s OK,’ Rick manages to say in a whisper.
· Imperceptibly Rick’s body begins to haze over with a white mist, his clothes dissolvin’, his skin slowly coatin’ over with grey-white fur…”
· “…and he’s on all fours. He’s become a wolf, sleek and beautiful. Everyone stares in fear, bewilderment, fascination.
· ‘How?’ Yoko asks.
· ‘Some of my bioteched bots transferred into him through our skin pores. The reaction, as you see, is almost immediate. My shapeshifting prototype’s a success. We’re no longer victims here.’
· Rick nuzzles up to Robb…”
· “… ‘They may’ve thought they destroyed everythin’, but we can beat them. With this tech, we can survive anywhere, in any shape or form we want. That’s what I’ve done for the past year. I’ve been just outside the Base, livin’ as rocks, boulders, microbes. And whatever form I took, my conscious mind remained clear and sharp’…”
· “… ‘And that answers the question about how I knew what they did to you. I was waitin’ ‘til I knew they’d pull this stunt. You were gettin’ too unruly for them, too unmanageable, too free-thinkin’. They’ll claim the Base was destroyed in an accident. But when Eyes from the Network come to scan the tragic scene, they’ll find us’…”
· “… ‘And for the few moments before they shut the Eyes down, the whole Sol system will see us. In whatever form we want. As humans, as birds, as trees, and, yes, even as wolves like me. In honor of my Navajo heritage. My animal spirit guide.’ Then it starts. First Jeremy. Then Yoko. Then everyone. The laughter…”
· “…Somethin’ that hasn’t been heard in a long, long time--continues, as one by one they all come over to touch Robb’s hand.
· ‘Whatever you want.’ he says.
· See?
· Yoko’s a butterfly now, flittin’ through the branches. And, over there, Audra’s chosen to be an eagle, and Jack the lilac tree, and Jeremy a whirl of dragonflies…”
· “…And Penn ponders the iridescent stones she’s become at the foot of a Martian elm. The whole Base becomes a scintillating kaleidoscope of continuously morphing shapes--playing, laughing, singing.
· And Rick and Robb, the two wolves, pass through the perimeter walls, and stand outside in the evening wind, howling their song to a small but dazzling setting sun…”
· They look at each other.
· “Good endin’?” Rom asks.
· “A bit dramatic, and I’m sure Shakespeare’s still safe, but it’s good. Like you said, it’s our good, our story.”
· Rom walks over to Fizz, placing’ his hand on the droid’s back. “Thanks for your help. We couldn’t have done it without you.”
· “It was nothing, sir.”
· With a flick of his hand, Rem activates the shut-down sequence.
· The synaptic lights dim, and the eyes grow dark.
· Fizz stands like a statue, frozen in place.
TRANSMIT 17
· Sim wonders why his Dad’s turned off the droid. “Dad?”
· “Just givin’ us a little more time. A brief moment of privacy before they decide to hack into our implants or listen in through Fizz. And they might.”
· “Maybe they won’t do anythin’. Maybe we’re just being paranoid.”
· “It’s possible. Livin’ and workin’ in a CORP-run Sol system can do that to a guy.”
· There’s a long silence.
· “You know, Dad, Val would’ve probably thought the same thing. That’s why you loved each other. You were both rebels. Two guys always livin’ on the edge. Two men willin’ to raise a kid at Aldrin. Two guys ready to follow their dreams despite CORP. What happened was awful. And I miss Pop terribly. But whether we end up on Cassini for the rest of our lives or head back to Aldrin, we still got each other.”
· “We still got time, right?”
· “Right.”
· It was good feelin’ this sudden burst of hope.
· Had he been too close to his grief?
· Had a really given up without knowin’ it?
· And it was Sim leadin’ the way.
· Val would’ve loved this.
· “Don’t worry, Dad. It’s all right. This is the stuff that gives life meanin’. Somethin’ good’ll come of this. Mark my words.”
· “Even if?”
· “Yes, even if . . .”
· And that’s their story.
· And mine.
· Truly told.
MEEKER’S QUARTERS
They’re through.
Thom takes the disc out of the Screen’s reader and places it on Meeker’s eating table.
“One by one these kinds of stories need to be told,” he says.
“But it’s so make-up.”
“No. It says something everyone already knows. It makes a point. It’s about standing up to them. Slowly. Surely. Over time, the outposts will revolt. The whole system will implode from the bases out here until the revolution gets back to Earth.”
“Dreamen. Dreamen.”
“But good dreams, yes?”
“Yeh, but wonder how can happenen.”
“You know it will. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think so.” Thom gives Meek a knowin’ glance.
Tryin’ to act coy: “What meanen . . .”
“They’re here, aren’t they? Hiding in an empty cargo bay maybe? They snuck out with me on the shuttle, right?”
Meek says nothin’ at first. He knowen. Then, he eases back in his seat and starts to laugh. Long and hard. “You been good, Father. You been figuren it out.”
“Actually a little slow; I should’ve figured it out back on Titan.”
“Maybe. It’s OK. You almost gotten it.” And finishes his laugh.
“Almost?”
“Very close.”
Thom looks puzzled, but before he pursues it, another thought enters his mind, “But what about Tanner?”
“One of us.”
“He wanted me to give it to Ryner.”
“Sympathetic. Woulden have mattered.”
“So whether I took it to Ryner or Pel . . .”
“It been worken out, right?” Another short laugh.
“Why didn’t Tanner just sneak the disc , Sim, and Rom out by himself? Why all this high drama?”
“Because other CORP big-bigs been looken him. Instead, he been maken it look like he been coveren himself. Given disc to the priest who given it to Command. All gooden, yes?”
“A show for CORP?”
“Yes.”
“But that doesn’t explain Sim and Rom. CORP must know they’re missing. And they must know I’ve got the disc; that I’ve brought it here. What does that gain?”
“A lot. Because you’re now goin’ to bring the disc to Station Commander Jerrell. Another one of us.” More laughter. “We been everywhere, more and deeper than they been thinken, right?” He leans in and picks up the disc, holdin’ it out between ‘em like it was gold. “And then Jerrell will been doin’ this in fronten Network Eyes.”
“Doing what?”
“This.” He tosses the disc in the air.
It turns over and over and lands on the carpet.
As if by impulse, Thom wants to reach out for it, but Meek restrains him with a firm hand.
“It’s time, Father,” Meek says quietly. “It’s safe. You know it is.”
The air around the disc begins to shimmer, wobble, vibrate gently.
Thom’s eyes widen. “Now I really feel like an idiot,” he says. “They’re not hiding in any cargo bay, are they?”
Coming out of the disc, concentric circles of bluish light begin to expand and spiral upward, gently separatin’ into two strands that thicken and become increasin’ly opaque.
“But you been right. They been sneaken on your shuttle. You gotten such things right.”
The forms take on more and more human characteristics--and in less than a minute the two of them are standing there, side by side, the disc still on the floor but looking somehow a bit smaller.
A father and a son.
Gainin’ their equilibrium, starin’ at their surroundings.
It’s Thom’s turn to laugh now and he slowly rises from his seat.
“My name’s Thom,” he says, takin’ a step towards them.
Sim and Rom look at him in delighted surprise.
Meek gets up, too, enjoyin’ the moment more thoroughly than he has anythin’ else in recent weeks, and moves in close so that the four of them stand nearly in a huddle.
“Let’s get these men some clothes. And then,” Thom finishes, “I guess we’re all here to start a revolution.”
FINAL SCENE:
Three days have passed.
Commander Jerrell’s office on Level One of Triton Base.
The entire room is made of transparent materials, giving the effect that everything is floating in space. Jarrell sits at his glassine desk and looking at his Screen. The disc lies on his desk.
Sim, Rom, Thom, and Meeker are sitting around the desk.
Jerrell is obviously recording something. He speaks aloud, in a firm, self-assured voice, like a man who knows he’s right. Like a man who knows he’s made a choice. Like a man who’s willing to deal with consequences.
“And now, it’s up to you.
“I’ve tried to fill in the details of Pel’s story as well as the scenes with Sim and Rom and the others.
“You’ve seen the NewsNet disclosure.
“You’ve seen CORP’s embarrassment.
“You’ve seen the ill-fated coverup.
“But you’ve also seen Sim and Rom.
“You’ve seen what Val accomplished.
“And you’ve heard from the others who risked their identities, their lives: Tanner, Thom, Pel, Meeker.
“Me.
“Our story needs to be heard.
“So does yours.”
When he’s done, he smiles at the others and touches his Screen. It folds down into a small square and then vanishes with a faint, static sizzle.
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