Ganymede

by Jason Taylor

  “The part about turning them into weapons, Tros. Because that would be insane. We can’t be thinking about a military option, are we?” Jill asked, hoping against hope that Icarus was wrong.

  Tros sighed, glancing to the left at something Jill couldn’t see. “Absolutely not,” she said and then she closed the connection.

  Jill stared for a moment at the empty space where Tros had been. She closed her interface and turned to look out the window-screen, seeing nothing, feeling nothing but unsettled.

  Chapter 22

  Joseph was sitting in the control room monitoring the clones. There were an array of intelligent systems that would catch anything out of the ordinary well before he could detect it, but the security protocols put in place by Commander Tros required a human backup. Apparently, she wasn’t willing to completely trust the computer AI. Joseph didn’t mind. A job was a job, right? Even if it was boring.

  There were no video feeds to watch, just a set of data monitors. He was notified whenever a clone moved, but he couldn’t see the actual movement. It was weird. Even weirder was how seldom any of the clones made any movement at all. When he viewed the data as a graph, all he saw was four flat lines. The clones were silent and still within their cells for hours at a time. The only movement seemed to be at mealtime, when the automated systems would deliver food through a secure slot, and again several hours later for the necessary elimination of bodily wastes.

  Vital signs and heat signatures were similarly steady. Their heart-rates never varied much above or below fifty beats per minute. Blood pressure, blood oxygen, glucose, hormones and vitamins in their bloodstreams, all of it unnaturally flat and steady. Joseph triggered his interface and looked more closely at the brain activity of the clones. The brain patterns were unique for each clone. Suki’s was spiky and erratic, as if she was barely controlling some strong emotion. Elizabeth’s was steady and stable, like a drumbeat, rolling forward inexorably, as if she was working a difficult mental problem. Ava’s was slow and subdued, barely active, as if she was in a deep meditative trance. June’s was the only one that appeared remotely human to him. It progressed through the various patterns and stages of sleep, similar to what he’d seen in other prisoners he’d monitored over his career. The others were unlike any other brain pattern he’d seen.

  Joseph was startled out of his thoughts by a voice behind him. “So, you’re the new guy, huh?”

  He stood up and spun around to see a pretty, blond woman just inside the door, arms crossed over her chest, a smile on her face, amused by his reaction.

  “Yeah, that’s right, I started this week. My name’s Joseph Carter. I’m pulling the graveyard shift tonight,” he said, standing a little taller, talking a little deeper than normal.

  “I’m Liezel. Only been here a couple weeks myself. I’m on building patrol tonight. Just thought I’d stop in to say hi and introduce myself.”

  “That’s kind of you,” he said, searching for more words, unsure what else to say.

  “You want some coffee or something? I could grab it for you,” she asked as she took a few steps toward him, placing a hand nonchalantly on the back of his chair where it stood between them.

  Joseph took a tentative step backward. He’d always had a strong sense of personal space. “Um yeah, sure, I guess.”

  Liezel stayed where she was, as if she hadn’t heard, staring past him toward the control monitors. “Creepy little buggers, aren’t they?”

  “What?” Joseph followed her gaze to the motion readout. It still showed zero movement in any of the cells over the past twelve hours. “Oh yeah, they are. It’s not just me, then?”

  “No, we all think there’s something wrong with them. This whole program is a cluster. I don’t think those kids are even human. I mean, look at that?” She said, gesturing at the monitors. “What kind of shit is that?”

  “I know. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It is odd, isn’t it?” she asked. She paused conspiratorially and leaned in closer. “I heard a security officer was killed by one of them.”

  “What?” Joseph exclaimed, shocked.

  “They covered it up. I was talking to Jules in the break room, and she told me what happened. You know Jules right? She’s one of the security leads. Anyway, she had a friend who was on duty at the time of the incident and caught wind of what happened. But then her friend was removed from the project the very next day. Weird, huh?” She waited until Joseph nodded in agreement. “She told me that the security officer got fried by one of the clones. They drilled him through his interface somehow.”

  “Wow, that’s nuts. Did you know that Dr. Clarence wants to interview them? How’s that supposed to work?”

  “I don’t know, but I hope I get to go in with her. I’ll teach those kids who’s boss,” she said, planting a fist softly into her palm. “They won’t fuck around with anyone after I’m done with them.”

  “If they can fry someone through their interface, why aren’t they in a dead-zone room with no network?”

  “I guess that’s what all this is about,” Liezel said, gesturing at the monitors. “It’s why we don’t have a video feed. They’ve locked down access. These are all passive, external monitors. See what they all have in common?”

  “No, not really.”

  “There’s nothing that can interface with their implants.”

  “Huh, yeah. I guess you’re right.” Joseph thought for a moment. “Why don’t we just hit them with a neural probe?”

  “For what purpose?” Liezel asked, interested.

  “I don’t know. To pull out their thoughts and figure out why they did it.” Joseph said.

  “Think about it, dummy. What do you think the clone would do to a probe operator?”

  “Oh… yeah, not a good idea,” he said, chagrined.

  “It’s ok, dummy.” she said affectionately, smiling to take away the sting.

  Joseph smiled back. “How about that coffee?”

  “Right,” Liezel said, turning to go. “When I get back, we can get to know each other a little better.”

  Joseph watched her go before returning to his console, intrigued in spite of himself.

  Jill and Tros were arguing. They’d been at it for over an hour. Long enough for the support staff lining the walls to progress from worried, to uncomfortable, to just plain bored.

  “How could you have kept this from me?” Jill asked, angry and exasperated.

  “It was need-to-know Jill, nothing more. You worry about your side of the project, I’ll worry about mine.” Tros replied, forcing patience into her voice, but mostly she just sounded tired.

  “By hiring my team without consulting me, you are impacting my ability to get my job done. I need to hire my own people, not get …” she was searching for the right word, “… infiltrated by the military!” she spat out.

  “Look, we need to ramp this entire operation up. We can’t keep going with the staff we have in place. It’s time for a new paradigm. I’ve brought in the best neurologists and psychologists in the country to work with you. You should be thanking me.”

  “Thanking you? All the people you’ve hired are ex-military. Scientists from all over the world, from the best universities and think tanks, are clamoring for a chance to work here. And you… you… bah!” Jill threw her hands up in frustration.

  “I need you to give these new people a chance,” Tros said, sounding conciliatory. “You can hire the rest of the team, ok? Take the people I’ve given you and get to know them. Once you’ve integrated them into the project, go ahead and hire for the rest of your positions.”

  “You’ve already hired…,” Jill consulted the personnel roster, “six neuroscientists, ten computer scientists, and a psychologist. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do with these people.”

  “You’re the one who convinced me we need to interview the clones. I’m on board with that, and I’m supporting you by building a team that will allow you to succeed in your mission,”
Tros said.

  “A psychologist?” Jill asked. “Why do I need a psychologist?”

  “Take a minute to stop being angry and think. The psychologist will work with you to devise the interview questions and to analyze the clones’ responses. I’ve worked with Dr. Marks before, he’s the best of the best.” Tros paused for a moment to let that sink in. “You will work with the neuroscientists to record the clones’ brain activity during the interviews and to analyze the results. We might get lucky and learn how they acquired their unique capabilities. The computer scientists will help you with analysis and data modeling. You, of all people, should understand the need for that. You’re the one who applied that type of thinking to the cloning problem in the first place.”

  “I know all that. Believe me, I know. It’s just … I wanted to pick my own team,” Jill trailed off, lamely.

  “I can understand that. Work with the team I hired for you and see how it goes. You can hire your own people later.”

  “I guess,” Jill said. She glanced back down at the roster on the table. “I see you hired fifteen new security officers. Why so many?”

  “My job is to mitigate threats to this project. The interviews are going to add significant risk. I need to guard against the possibility of an escape.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Jill said.

  “About the clones escaping?” Tros asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “No, about how we’re going to interview the children,” Jill responded.

  “I have a team working on it. We have two potential risks to worry about – physical attacks and cyber attacks. We need to figure out how to mitigate both problems before we continue,” Tros responded.

  “Do you have a solution?” Jill asked.

  “The physical part won’t be too much of an issue. We can keep them in their cells, adding a barrier that will allow the interviewer to talk with them and to record their responses. The clones will be constrained to one half of their cell while the barrier is in place, but they don’t seem to move much, so I don’t think it’ll bother them to have less space.”

  “How will we protect the interviewer against cyber attacks?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet. Once the interviewer is inside the cell, their interface and implant will be vulnerable to an attack like the one Elizabeth used against Matt,” Tros responded.

  “I agree with you. I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I believe there is only one choice.” Jill looked meaningfully at Tros. “I’m going to disconnect.”

  Tros was speechless for a long moment before she could respond. “You know I can’t allow that. Without access to your implant, you won’t be able to access any of the networked systems. How will you work? How will you eat? How will you stay sane? I’d rather disconnect the clones and spare you.”

  “It’s the only way. Think about it for a moment and you’ll see it too. If surgery fails on a clone and we kill one of the kids, what happens then? With the level of public pressure on the Senate, we’d be shut down the very same day.”

  “It’s too dangerous. If you aren't killed, you could be permanently impaired. Disconnecting your implant can result in brain damage, and then after the interviews are complete, there’s no guarantee you can be successfully reconnected. You could be crippled for life,” Tros said.

  “This is my life’s work. I need to understand what’s happening to the clones, and I can’t ask someone else to take the risk. It has to be me,” Jill said, heat rising in her cheeks.

  Tros stared levelly at Jill for a few long moments, evaluating. “Ok Jill, if that’s what you think has to happen, I’ll go along with it.”

  Jill stood to leave. “I’ll work with my team to schedule the surgery, and the first set of interviews.”

  Chapter 23

  When Jill awoke from surgery, the world was cold and still. Like everyone else, her implant had been connected to her brainstem at birth and she had lived her entire life under its influence. She’d thought she had been prepared for what it would be like to live without it. She’d thought that she had an understanding of what the world would be like without filters. She’d been wrong.

  She was lying on a cold, metal platform. On one side, the platform was connected to the wall. On the other side it was supported by bare steel cables that ran to the ceiling. She was lying under a threadbare cotton blanket, wearing only a thin, paper gown. She shivered, and the paper crinkled uncomfortably underneath her. The room was plain and ugly, composed of pitted concrete walls and a dented, metal door. She recognized some of the medical devices around her, but they were old and battered. They seemed barely functional.

  Jill sat up with a groan, the back of her head and neck aching. Her head was fuzzy and full, and it was hard to think. When she shook her head, trying to clear it, sharp spikes of pain lanced from the root of her skull into the center of her head. Whimpering, she stopped moving, waiting for the worst of the pain to subside, and for the room to stop spinning around her. When she felt well enough to move again, she shifted her legs off the table, placing her feet on the ground. The floor was made from a sharp, textured concrete, uncomfortable on her bare skin, and freezing cold. As she tried to move off the table, she felt a tug at the top of her spine. She reached back with one hand to find a thin cable emerging from the base of her neck. She dropped her hand as if it had been scalded, mentally recoiling from the idea of pulling the cable free.

  Maybe standing up wasn't such a good idea before she had a chance to talk with a doctor. She tried to trigger her interface, but nothing happened.

  Right. Disconnected.

  She looked around the room, searching for another way to let someone know she was awake, but there was nothing. She didn’t want to lie back down, and she couldn’t stand without pulling out whatever was in her neck. She sat stuck, wondering how long it would take before someone noticed she was awake.

  A few minutes later there was a loud click from the latch, then the door swung open, squealing on rusty hinges.

  A doctor entered the room smiling. “Jill, I see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

  “Doctor Bateman, is that you?” Jill cocked her head and squinted, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Dr. Bateman looked like a bad version of himself. Wrinkles and liver spots made him look far older than she remembered him. His hands had a slight tremor. There was a string of spittle stuck in the corner of his mouth that moved with his lips as he talked. His eyes weren’t even the same color, a dull brown rather than the vivid green that she remembered. She nearly shook her head to clear her vision, but then she remembered the pain from last time and held still.

  “Yes, of course it’s me. The operation went off without a hitch. You should be up and moving around in no time.” He shuffled closer.

  Jill wrinkled her nose. He smelled like urine and sweat. She could see perspiration stains on his collar and in his armpits.

  “Let me just get this implant monitor off of you,” Dr. Bateman muttered. He reached behind her head, and with a twist of his fingers, she felt the cable fall free, landing on the table with a metallic ping. “There you go. That should feel much better.”

  He stepped back, a grimace on his face. Was he trying to smile at her? Jill felt the pain in her head subside, the world coming into clearer focus. “Is it ok if I stand?”

  “Sure, my girl. If you feel up to it.”

  Jill placed weight on her feet and stood, swaying slightly before catching her balance. She took a few steps, the paper crinkling around her, drafts of cold air swirling up and replacing any body heat she’d managed to generate while sitting. She shivered again. “Where are my clothes?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course. Come with me, if you will.” Dr. Bateman turned toward the door, expecting Jill to follow.

  The hallway was constructed of the same rough concrete as her room, lit by harsh, flickering lights buzzing in the fixtures overhead. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Before the operation, everything had l
ooked different. The hallway had been gleaming and modern. The operating room had been state of the art. Dr. Bateman had been middle-aged, handsome, and thoroughly professional. The world she knew had been replaced by this facsimile. Everything was run down, battered, and decayed. It was like living without filters, but ten times worse. Was this what the world was really like? Jill swayed on her feet, placing a hand on the rough concrete wall to steady herself.

  Dr. Bateman turned and looked back at her. “Do you need a hand? Or I could get a chair for you if you’d like. Some slight dizziness is to be expected.”

  “No, just give me a moment,” Jill said.

  She straightened up and continued to walk, following Dr. Bateman to another metal door that led into a larger room with a wall full of lockers.

  “Here you go then,” Dr. Bateman said, pointing at a locker. “Your things are in there.”

  Jill couldn’t figure out how to open it. She turned to Dr. Bateman, “How do I…”

  “Oh right, of course.” Dr. Bateman closed his eyes for a moment and the locker door popped open. “Thoughtless of me. Sorry.”

  Jill collected her clothes and placed them on the bench. She waited for Dr. Bateman to leave. “Some privacy?” she asked.

  The doctor startled visibly. “Oh my. Yes, of course. You can’t put up a privacy screen, can you? I’ll just…” he mumbled and walked out the door.

  After she’d dressed, she looked around for a mirror without luck. She wanted to see what she looked like. She also dreaded the thought of what she might see. With a sigh, she exited the room to find Dr. Bateman standing on the other side, still visibly embarrassed.

  “Well then,” Jill said, “I guess I should get to work.”

  Jill sat in a dilapidated conference room with Tros and the psychologist, Dr. Marks. Tros looked almost exactly as she’d looked before. Somehow Jill wasn’t surprised. Tros was like a force of nature.

  Dr. Marks was a severe looking man with a shock of brown hair, laced with streaks of grey. He had a habit of wrinkling his nose when he talked. It gave him the appearance of a very smart rabbit, discussing the weighty issues of the day. Jill listened to him, trying not to grin as she imagined him with whiskers and big, floppy ears.