Johnny Winger and the Europa Quandary
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***ANAD systems began at the Autonomous Systems Laboratory at Northgate University in the year 2166…formed from a quantum processor with embedded elements of a viral genome which Doctor Frost obtained from archeological samples at the Engebbe dig site in Kenya. These ancient viral genome elements were later determined to have evolved from fossilized micro-robotic remains apparently seeded by sentient intelligence some three billion years ago***
Winger nodded, finished off his Scotch. “I know what you’re saying Doc. It’s an old argument. Man created ANAD. But somebody else created the lifeforms that became Man. So who created who? But that’s beside the point. We’ve let our creations take over. ANAD is just a tool. But the tool is re-making the toolmaker. That’s what makes me uncomfortable. Doc, I’m no dinosaur. I spent thirty years in Quantum Corps and I’ve fought and worked with ANAD swarms that whole time. Hell, I even hosted one of your predecessors in a shoulder capsule…the Symbiosis project. Blended man-machine warriors and all that. But it’s all gone too far. Now everybody has an angel in their lives. They’re everywhere and we can’t tell them from Normals. What’s real and what isn’t? What can you trust? And with the Keeper stirring up there on Europa and bots falling from the skies and the Net going haywire and now my own son, my own wife…are they real? Does it even matter anymore?”
Doc III was silent for a few moments. Its eyes narrowed to slits. It was thinking, processing all the emotional cues Winger was giving off. Jeez, I must be radiating emotions like plutonium, Winger muttered to himself. He watched the Doc III swarm trying to process his tirade. Now I’ve overloaded the damn thing.
He got up.
At last, the swarm responded. ***Perhaps an anti-anxiety pill would help, General. I have configurations for eleven hundred and four medicines which have proven neural de-traumatizing properties…I could--***
Winger held up a hand. “Thanks, Doc. I just want to have a clear head tomorrow. I’ve got to go pack. The lifter leaves for the spaceport at seven am.” He thumbed the control stud on the side of the containment pod. Immediately, the Doc III swarm began to disperse, sloughing off replicant bots, fading from view. The bot master received the pod command and made its way on propulsors to be captured into the pod. Moments later, the pod winked a green light at him and containment was done. He stuffed the pod into a pocket and went to start packing, mentally going over his pack list as he dragged a suitcase out of a hall closet.
The shuttle to Gateway Station would lift off from Spaceport America down in New Mexico at noon tomorrow. The lifter would take him from the north lift pad at Table Top to the spaceport in less than two hours. He’d have plenty of time.
He wanted to catch the noon shuttle. He wanted to go up to Gateway as early as possible, to learn more about Europa Forge’s equipment, the ship and her crew. He had nothing much holding him anymore.
The next morning, still depressed but resolute and clear-headed, Johnny Winger departed by lifter. The flight would take him down to the spaceport in short order. He checked a map on his wristpad as the lifter banked into the clouds and sped south.
It told him that Spaceport America was located in the middle of the Jornada del Muerto desert basin. The closest town was thirty-two kilometers away. Winger figured the town name was appropriate for this trip.
Truth or Consequences, New Mexico.