Warden 3

by Isaac Hooke

  Will bit into the apple. “Not whores. I use a dating app.”

  “Hook-up app, you mean,” Rhea said.

  Will shrugged, taking another bite. “Same thing.”

  “So, how are they?” Rhea asked.

  “The women of this colony?” Will replied. “All right. I admit that having sex in lower gravity allows for some rather interesting new positions. There’s something about having sex with a chick while she’s doing a handstand that I find—”

  “Don’t want to hear it,” Rhea said, waving a dismissive palm.

  Will nodded. He finished his apple and tossed the core toward the small trash can next to the kitchen counter. The lid opened, accepting the garbage.

  “Now that we’re here, what do you actually want to do?” Will said.

  “Well it’s clear what you want to do…” Rhea said.

  He frowned at her. “Get the genital attachments and you can do it, too.”

  “Not with you,” Rhea said.

  “I meant with other people,” Will said.

  “Good,” she said.

  “I would like to know what you want to do as well,” Horatio said. “You were never very clear about it. ‘I want to go to Ganymede,’ was all you would say. Well, we are here. Now what? Are we going to plot the demise of the local Europan government? Or simple engage in some friendly sightseeing?”

  “The latter,” Rhea said. “I’m not interested in overthrowing the government. The Europans have done a good job here, as far as I can tell. Why throw away all their good work? They want Ganymede? They shed blood to take it? Then let them have it.” For now. “So. Sightseeing is on the menu among other things. There’s a museum I want to hit. And I heard Centaar has some nice Externals going on at the southern walls of the dome.”

  “Externals?” Will asked.

  “That’s where people strap on jet packs and a pair of skis, and then slalom down the exterior of the geodesic dome,” Horatio explained.

  Will stared at her in disbelief. “You want to jet ski down the exterior of a geodesic dome…”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Rhea said.

  Will shrugged. “Whatever shoots your pistol.”

  She smiled at that, and then glanced toward the kitchen window. It afforded much the same view as her bedroom.

  A chime sounded and Will stood up. He bounded to the slot next to the fridge and reached inside. “Here we go.”

  He pulled out the package and ripped it open, revealing a compressed garment of some sort.

  He unfolded it, revealing a parka, and tried it on. Frowning, he glanced at her. “The site said ‘fits true to size.’ Does this look like it fits true to size?”

  “Looks a bit small on you,” Horatio commented.

  “I gave the site permission to use my biometric profile,” Will said. “Went through the whole virtual fitting crap. The lying bastards. Well, that’s what I get for trying to rush the purchase in before my date. Ah well, I’m not going to return it now. Suppose it’ll do.” He shrugged off the parka and tossed it onto the couch, then sat down beside the garment.

  Rhea had returned her gaze to the window.

  “Looking at your usual private world?” Will asked. “Your secret augmented reality overlays?”

  “No,” Rhea said sadly. “Just the real world.”

  “What’s wrong?” Will asked.

  “Am I that transparent?” Rhea replied.

  “Uh huh,” Will told her.

  She swallowed, then glanced at her friends, but was unable to hold their collective gazes. She let her eyes drift to the window.

  “I thought this would feel like home,” she said. “But it doesn’t. I miss Earth. I miss Rust Town.”

  “No surprise there,” Will said. “I could have told you this would happen.”

  “Come now,” Horatio said. “No need to be so insensitive.”

  “A machine, telling me I’m insensitive,” Will quipped. “That’s a new one.”

  “After so many years spent in the company of humans, I’ve learned to be attentive to such matters,” Horatio said. “In any case, it’s obvious she’s not happy.”

  “Yeah.” Will glanced at her. “Are you sure it’s Rust Town you miss, and not the attention?”

  “Maybe both,” she admitted. “In Rust Town I was the Warden. Here, I’m a nobody.”

  “Not a nobody,” Will told her. “You’re a somebody to us.”

  She gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you. I do appreciate it.”

  “Besides, I’m sure the local government has an inkling of who you are,” Will said. “While the ordinary citizens of this colony might not watch Earth’s streaming channels—mostly because of network latency—the Europans have automated agents planetside, agents specifically designed to monitor our channels and send back summarized reports on a regular basis. The government knows who you are, I guarantee you. They’ve probably been watching you since your arrival. Or their AI has.”

  “Somehow that’s not very reassuring,” she said.

  “It’s not supposed to be,” Will told her. “It’s meant mostly as a warning.”

  “To behave?” she asked.

  “Basically,” he replied.

  She remembered the friendly face of the customs official, a face operated by the very same AI responsible for the entire colony, by its own admission. It would have recorded her ID in that moment and cross-linked it to her Earth persona. Yes, Will was right: they knew the Warden was here. But so far, they didn’t really seem to care.

  Over the next few days, she did her sightseeing, and was not bothered by the government. She was constantly aware of all the watching eyes upon her, in the form of the dome cameras affixed to the buildings, and their interior concourses.

  She visited most of the major buildings and tourist attractions, and even got her Externals skiing session in. Will grudgingly came along for the latter, and after falling three times in a row, skidding all the way to the bottom, he gave up. Rhea did little better, and accidentally jetted into the dome while trying to avoid another skier. She made a few new dents in her body, but at least she didn’t need repairs.

  Three days passed. The AI had yet to notify her of any unscheduled arrivals at the space terminal. She complained to Will about it.

  “What if someone arrived and the AI is concealing it from me?” Rhea asked him.

  “It’s certainly possible,” Will agreed. “Though I’m not sure what the AI would have to gain by that.”

  “Maybe the Europans want to see me assassinated,” Rhea said. “Maybe they’re worried I’ll foment discontent among the less fortunate, as I did in Rust Town, and stir them to revolution.”

  “There’s hardly any ‘less fortunate’ here,” Will said. “The classes seem about equal, from what I can tell. They’d have to be, to be able to afford migration from Europa.”

  “Well, either way, the government probably feels I’m up to no good,” Rhea said.

  “You think too highly of yourself,” Will said. “Honestly, I don’t believe they care all that much about your presence. They’ll monitor you, yes, but abet your death? I doubt it.”

  If they knew who she really was, they might consider assassinating her, Horatio sent over a private mental channel.

  There, see? Rhea transmitted over the same encrypted channel, without opening her mouth. Even Horatio agrees with me.

  Except, they don’t know who you really are, Will commented.

  Rhea had been very careful not to mention her Ganymedean roots out loud, not even in the privacy of the short-term rental. And whenever she or any of her companions got close to mentioning it, they always switched to encrypted mental communications. They weren’t going to risk being overheard, or having their lips read, by an AI. There were likely hidden microphones and cameras embedded everywhere, even here, keeping the all-seeing, all-knowing AI of the colony informed. If it was discovered that she was a Ganymedean, the local government would seriously wonder at her intentions.
That government might dispel her, confine her, or worse; perhaps even assassinate her like Horatio said.

  “I want to talk to the colony’s AI.” Rhea glanced up. “Well AI, call me.”

  “It’s not going to respond just like that,” Will said. “And admit it’s spying on us.”

  Rhea waited, then frowned when no call came. “Why keep up the ruse?”

  She accessed the local Internet via her HUD and pulled up the main site for the colony. She found the “Contact Us” card and activated it.

  The familiar women from customs appeared in front of her. “Hello again, Rhea. I trust your visit to our colony has been pleasant?”

  “It’s been great,” she said, which wasn’t a lie.

  “Excellent,” the holographic woman said. “What can I help you with today?”

  “I’m calling because I wanted to double-check with you that no unscheduled ships have arrived,” Rhea said.

  The woman blinked. Her smile remained unchanged. “No new ships have arrived.”

  “You’re sure?” Rhea pressed.

  “Of course I’m sure,” the woman said.

  “Could a part of you be malfunctioning?” Rhea asked. “Maybe someone hacked the space terminal’s cameras or sensors?”

  “All systems are functioning within expected parameters in the space terminal,” the woman replied. “No viruses or other malicious code has been found. I’m sorry. No one unscheduled has arrived. Nor have there been any scheduled arrivals.”

  Rhea knew the latter already. She’d checked the flight aggregator sites: the next transport was set to arrive in a week.

  “Is there anything else?” the holographic woman asked.

  “That will be all,” Rhea said, disconnecting.

  She glanced at Will.

  Maybe it was pirates who shot at us after all, he sent over a mental channel.

  Maybe, Rhea agreed. Did you see the way the AI blinked when I asked it to double-check?

  Meaningless, Will transmitted. It’s an AI. When they lie, their faces don’t exhibit tells or other microtics. It’s simply part of their programming. You know, to make the hologram appear as realistic as possible.

  She sighed. I suppose you’re right. I’m trying to read too much into something that isn’t there.

  She stood up, bounded to her room, and retrieved the parka she’d purchased to fit in with the locals.

  When she returned to the kitchen, Will was eating a sandwich.

  “Where are we going?” Will asked, nodding at her jacket.

  “The one place we haven’t gone yet,” Rhea replied.

  “Oh no, not there,” Will said.

  “Yup,” Rhea said.

  Will gobbled down the sandwich. He grabbed an apple from the counter and threw it at Horatio. The robot stood silently in one corner, obviously absorbed in some virtual world or other, but its arm flew up to intercept the apple. The robot studied the fruit between its fingers, as if curious, then glanced at Will. Horatio’s gaze drifted to Rhea and her parka.

  “Where are we going?” Horatio asked.

  “The museum,” Will replied. “Exciting, huh?”

  “Actually, I think that would be fun,” Horatio said.

  “You would,” Will told the robot.

  “I heard they have some old Ganymede gear on display,” Rhea said. “I’d like to check it out, see if it sparks any memories.”

  So far, she hadn’t had a flashback for the entire trip. Part of the reason she had come here was to revive some of her lost memories, and she was beginning to wonder if any more of them had survived the wipe. So anything she could do to induce a flashback, like visiting a museum containing Ganymede artifacts from before the war, was worth a try.

  “I still think you should see a therapist, or a hypnotist,” Will said. “If you’re serious about getting back your memories.”

  “At this rate I might have to,” Rhea concurred.

  “When we’re done at the museum, can we go home?” Will asked. “Back to Earth?”

  She smiled patiently. “When are you going to understand? This is home.”

  “That’s right, keep telling yourself that,” Will said. “It’s obvious from your voice that even you don’t believe it.”

  “No,” she said slowly. “I suppose I don’t.”

  6

  Rhea perused the different exhibits at the museum with Will and Horatio. Most of the displays consisted of replicas of Europan dwelling styles, tools, and rocket ships. At each station a virtual guide appeared to explain what they were looking at, a guide cast in the same mien as the customs woman Rhea had encountered when first debarking the Molly Dook.

  Rhea gave all of those exhibits only cursory glances, and mostly walked away from the virtual guides in mid-sentence, heading for the Ganymede section.

  What she found was only of moderate interest. Some old Ganymedean augmented reality tech, clothing, miniatures of their geodesic domes and buildings, reproductions of room layouts, and so forth. None of it triggered a memory.

  Behind a glass display resided the mummified remains of two Ganymedeans holding hands. A man and a woman, judging from the distinct body shapes, though their faces were horribly disfigured. They were Robos, with robotic limbs attached to their arms. According to the virtual guide, these two were collected from one of the failed domes during the war. Their bodies had freeze dried in the void, preserving them. Apparently, all the air had been evacuated from the display case, so that they would remain in their current state for all eternity—or until the vacuum system failed.

  “How many Ganymedean domes were there?” Rhea asked the AI-driven guide.

  “Seventy in total,” the guide replied.

  “They were all destroyed?” she pressed.

  “Yes.”

  “And where can I find the closest?” she asked.

  She had tried looking up their locations while still on Earth, but got nothing, and assumed she would be able to find out more from the local Internet once she actually arrived. She’d been wrong: the search results were just as empty here as on Earth.

  “That information is unknown,” the guide replied.

  “Unknown?” Rhea said. “Or suppressed.”

  The guide didn’t answer.

  “Gotta love how forthright they are,” Will quipped.

  Rhea moved on to another display, and paused, waiting for the guide to appear and explain just what it was she was looking at. But the hologram did not show up this time.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  Finally, a holographic guide appeared. A man this time, dressed in tight-fitting gray fatigues. No, not a hologram.

  She knew him.

  Or did, once. She recognized him from the first flashback she ever had, when she flew Gizmo along the perimeter of that area known as Aradne Parliament, close to the dome-shaped Parliament Building within.

  He was draped in robes of white silk, with a red, tasseled rope girthing his waist. A gold medallion dangled from his throat, reaching to the center of his chest. He was bald, clean-shaven, and square-jawed, with a thick brow and penetrating blue eyes.

  “You know what this is,” the man said.

  He vanished. And in his place was the usual guide, the holographic woman, saying something in a language Rhea could not understand in that moment.

  Rhea’s eyes drifted to the objects that floated in the center of the glass case. They looked like a pair of brass knuckles, with bright plating along their upper rims.

  The woman’s gibberish became understandable once more, and Rhea heard these words: “They are inert, their power sources long since removed.”

  Rhea ran a hand across the glass. Beyond, the two devices almost seemed to call out to her. “They’re not inert. They’re just waiting for their proper owner: a Ganymede warrior.”

  She punched through the glass in a sudden fit of rage. How dare they stow such a prized weapon in a museum? A weapon like this was meant to be used.

  An alarm so
unded.

  She reached inside and slid her hands into the brass knuckles, which yet floated in place, waiting for her. When her fingers were secure, she formed them into fists, and the knuckles ignited: disks of plasma erupted from them, cutting through the glass fragments that remained.

  She removed her hands and examined the translucent blue disks. They reached past her elbows and extended a similar distance in front of her arms. They hummed loudly. Hungrily. Like the rotors of a drone, but deeper.

  “It shouldn’t be possible for her to operate them!” someone was saying. “They have no power source.”

  “Apparently you’re wrong about that,” Will said.

  Rhea glanced at him. Dressed in the museum’s livery, a woman stood next to Will and Horatio. She wore a horrified expression.

  “How did you—?” the woman asked.

  “It’s biometrically encoded to my brain,” she replied. “Only a Ganymedean can activate such a weapon. Human, or cyborg.”

  “But no Ganymedeans…” Her expression became even more alarmed when the realization dawned on her.

  The stamp of metallic feet echoed through the museum’s corridors—the slow, heavy bounding of robots. In moments two security robots hopped into view between the other exhibits.

  “Drop your weapons!” one of the robots said. The rifle barrels built into their arms were pointed directly at Rhea and her humming disks.

  Rhea cocked her head. “Make me.”

  “No wait—” the museum official began.

  But the robots opened fire.

  Rhea was already redirecting the disks to intercept the plasma shots. The bolts struck them, and she deflected blasts easily. Will, Horatio and the official ducked as the bolts shot past into the wall.

  Rhea rushed the robots. She moved at a bounding crouch, taking purposeful, arcing steps, holding the disks one atop the other so that her entire body was protected. The robots continued to fire, but the shots bounced away harmlessly from the glowing circles. Well, the impacts weren’t so harmless to the other exhibits the deflected bolts struck.

  When she reached her attackers, she stood up and swung her arms sideways. The glowing edges slammed into their necks, beheading the robots. She followed up with a downward swing, leaving a molten red line down their middles. The headless bodies separated vertically, split in half, and the constituent pieces clanged to the floor.