Sanctuary Thrive

by Ginger Booth

  Blink, blink. “We have no engineers. It’s naughty to eat between meals.”

  Darren chuckled.

  Ling continued, “We made the ultimate sacrifice and now enjoy our leisure.”

  He glanced at her. “That seems to be a popular saying. A quote from someone famous?”

  “It is our lifestyle.”

  “You have no engineers. Who runs the spaceport out there? Our ship needs to refill the water tanks. Who do I talk to about that?”

  Blink, blink. “Consult Shiva after you’re chipped.”

  “Your AI is going to sling water hoses for me?” Darren quipped. “Or, oh, you have robots to do all that?”

  “Yes,” Ling said gratefully.

  Darren leaned back against the counter. “You weren’t born here. You were what, eight years old when the colony was founded? Five when you left the Lunar Colony. You must remember it.”

  Blink, blink. “No, I don’t remember my childhood.”

  “Hm. I bet you remember how the hoses worked before you had robots, though.”

  Did she seem nervous? “We have always had robots.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they weren’t this sophisticated! And your AI! It must have taken a long time to train her to run this place.”

  “We had hard times,” Ling said repressively. “We made the ultimate sacrifice and now enjoy our leisure.”

  “Yes, you mentioned. What was down that dark corridor?”

  “Excess housing. Nova Tycho’s population has fallen by 30% since the founding.”

  “I’d like to see it.” Darren led the way back through the halls, hoping Ling would play along. “This is very exciting for me. Your colony is so similar to my own when I was a child. Oh, children. This is your creche?”

  The kids he saw were older teens, maybe 50 of them milling around an overlarge room. Six played a variant of basketball using three hoops. The others skulked around looking shifty to one degree or another, as that age group was wont to do. Like Ling, they all wore navy blue uniforms. A dozen stood staring at a blank wall, but this oddity didn’t concern Darren. His own three were hostile alien fruitcakes at that stage. His parents assured him he was worse. Best to leave teenagers to the creche.

  He continued onward to the dark hall.

  “There is no reason to go here,” Ling complained.

  “Oh, but there is!” Darren assured her. “I want to see…” He opened a first door onto an abandoned hospital ward, eight cots replete with medical equipment, layered in dust. He waded in and inspected an old life support cuff system. A thought belatedly occurred to him. “You didn’t seem surprised by my age, major.”

  “Shiva knew that you were older than you look.”

  “We have that technology to share, you know.” He switched his inspection to an intravenous system, archaic. Auto-docs were a Mahina innovation. The Gannies could have brought them along to Sanctuary, but perhaps they didn’t. “May I speak to a doctor?”

  “We have no doctors.”

  Darren couldn’t imagine a community that didn’t prioritize some kind of healer. Perhaps they called it something else. He powered on a centrifuge and opened it. Test tubes still lingered within, crusted with dried blood. Not much of a hospital. “You don’t seem interested in the possibility of regaining your youth.”

  Blink, blink. Blink, blink. “Please come this way for chipping.”

  “I asked why you want to die, Major Ling.” Darren peered straight into her eyes in challenge. At his age, he was only eight years shy of nanite obsolescence back on Mahina. On Thrive, they upgraded his old MA nanite suite to the new Yang-Yangs. But if he’d stayed behind, Mahina Actual’s urbs were at the bottom of the waiting list for those treatments. Mortality was breathing down his neck. Back home, he and Dot spent many an evening discussing their oncoming sudden descent into old age and death, after decades of vibrant health in young bodies.

  Darren came on this trip for the adventure of a lifetime. His wife came for the nanites.

  Anyone who looked like Ling, and didn’t welcome the chance at a young and vibrant physique again, simply wasn’t human. Either that, or the major was suicidally depressed. Perhaps both.

  “I –” Ling attempted, then turned and stalked out. “Please come this way for chipping.”

  Darren didn’t argue. He exited the final home of long-dead Loonies, and calmly walked after his host. When they reached the main drag corridor, she turned away from the staircase to the surface. That’s when he made a break for it, sprinting to escape back to Thrive.

  The pole robots were getting sneakier. An arm reached out and snagged him as he ran past. He tried to push it off, but a second helped hold him pinned. A third zipped in and got him with the inoculation gun.

  The painful shot went straight through the engineer’s button-down shirt, driving unsterile fabric into a wound in the upper arm. Darren was incensed. He tipped the damned robot over with a steel-toed boot, and kicked another’s articulated arm.

  But the other two poles simply righted their fallen comrade, and they whirred away. Up the hall, Ling nodded to him, and retreated as well.

  Darren blinked. Then he ran unimpeded, as fast as his feet could carry him, back to his wife.

  Whatever this damned thing was they stuck in his arm, he wanted it out!

  19

  “I’d love to see your police station,” Clay shared with Colonel Zeb Tharsis. They strolled along the main drag corridor in the New Hellas sector. “Do they wear a different color uniform?”

  The fashion plate was having some difficulty with how the ‘Martians’ all wore the same pink outfit as Rosie the Shiva-face, neck to ankle. Not that it was a bad shade of pink, sort of a rusty brick, flattering to most complexions, if not his. Still, he couldn’t help feeling that a self-respecting man shouldn’t wear pink below the belt. Perhaps his prejudice was a holdover from Earth.

  “We all wear Martian red,” the colonel explained. “We need no police force. Surveillance is complete within the colony. Illegal acts are prevented.”

  “Who monitors –? Ah, your AI. Shiva.” Clay hoped to get Tharsis unplugged from her surveillance as soon as possible, to get some straight dope.

  “Of course.” The colonel – podunk village mayor – paused to admire a mural in the hall. “This masterwork was on Mars.”

  Clay recognized the picture. Actually, it was corporate advertising for a sports drink, emblazoned on a wall in the ball pits on Mars. He resumed walking and told Tharsis about their little VR project. “Three years is a very long time to entertain yourself in a small ship.”

  “I would love a tour of Thrive,” Tharsis returned, grinning. Then his face blanked. Blink, blink. “After you’re chipped.”

  “Of course,” Clay dismissed this. He preferred to see how Zelda reacted to the technology first, but no need to argue. “Now, after all my research on Mars, I’m betting you have killer sports facilities. What games do you play?”

  He’d found the right question. Tharsis’ footfalls sped as he drew Clay to their training gym, complete with ga-ga pits. The colonel burbled with enthusiasm about the Martian teams’ current standing against the Loonies and Gannies in a variety of sports.

  Clay’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t this the middle of the work day?” The gym was mobbed with adults intent on their sports training. He observed a three-way ping-pong game, ferociously fought.

  “Yes, we made the ultimate sacrifice and now enjoy our leisure.”

  That credo got old fast. Unlike Tharsis, Clay actually made the ultimate sacrifice a long time ago and hadn’t rested on his laurels yet. The past three years of forced leisure bored him silly. Even picking fights with Sass was growing dull.

  “Do you play any sports outside the domes?” Out of Shiva’s surveillance. And Sass’s.

  “Horseback riding!” Tharsis supplied with enthusiasm. “I – once you’re chipped, I could show you a picture. We communicate and share data through our chips.”

  Clay drew out his
pocket comm. He showed off a good image of himself and Sass riding horses on Mahina. They packed out on the regolith camping just before the long trip to Denali.

  “Are those real horses?” Tharsis admired wonderingly. “On a moon colony?”

  “Yes. How’s your terraforming coming along?”

  Blink, blink. “We have no plans to terraform Sanctuary. We are safe in the colony.” His brow crumpled. “It’s fun to go out joy-riding though.”

  “I’d love to try it!” Clay encouraged. “Could we? Now? You have to understand, I’ve been cooped up for three years. Your colony is lovely, but I’d kill to spend some time outdoors. See your landscape. Maybe visit your lake. We have no open water on Mahina. I miss it.”

  Blink, blink. “You miss open water?”

  “Yes, where I’m from on Earth, we had oceans, lakes, rivers, marshes. Toward the end it rained non-stop. Water everywhere.”

  “Let’s head outside –!” Blink, blink. “After you’re chipped. There was an agreement. Your crew must be chipped.”

  Based on seventy-five years of experience, Clay had a fair idea what would happen if he were ‘chipped.’ His nanites liked to form an abscess around foreign material. The pus pockets didn’t last long, but they hurt for half an hour. They looked revolting when they festered. Or the chip might be small enough for them to disassemble and toss into his excretory system.

  “I think my nanites aren’t compatible with your chip comms. Let’s see the horses first.”

  Tharsis sped up again in eagerness, then blinked and slowed. “Shiva demands that you be chipped first.”

  During his bout of enthusiasm, Clay figured out which door Tharsis was making for, and kept striding. “This one? Do I need to fetch my pressure suit?”

  “The air system is integrated into the horse,” Tharsis replied, catching up again. “I don’t know if your clothing is adequate, though. Oh, this way –” He stopped dead. “I really must insist that you get chipped.”

  “Of course,” Clay agreed. “Have a pole robot meet us by the horses.”

  “Oh, yes, that works!” Tharsis agreed, much happier at this solution to his schizophrenic dilemma.

  A brief diversion into another gym netted Clay his own…pink track suit. They could so easily have picked a charcoal grey for the pants, he mourned. He changed into the outfit then and there, enjoying the tittering attention from onlookers. The fit was snug, reminding him of the diving suit he wore on the Denali sea bed. The local uniforms worked as pressure suits.

  Now both dressed for the outdoors, Zeb Tharsis led him at a trot across the hall and up the stairs to the ‘stables.’ A line of robo-horses stood rump to the wall, recharging. Their tails served as the power cords.

  As promised, a lone pole robot stood brandishing an inoculation gun at the motionless nose of the first horse. “Ah, thank you!” Clay boomed. He rushed the robot and twisted the gun out of its grip. A single karate chop served to disable its ‘wrist’ servos. A quick kick laid it flat, wheels whirring.

  “May I use this horse?” Clay asked Tharsis, who stared fixedly at the downed pole robot.

  “Ah – yes.” As soon as the colonel turned away from the polebot, he seemed to forget about it. He demonstrated to Clay how to unplug the horse’s tail and access its breath mask accessory. While his back was turned, Clay took advantage of a power switch exposed under the base of the pole robot, and set the device out of the way against the stall wall.

  Clay swung into the saddle, extracted the holstered breath mask, and slapped it onto his face. Only half-listening to the colonel’s orientation pitch, he examined the horse’s control pommel. He had reins, one dial for speed, and another with nine gait choices. He selected walk, speed level 1, and hauled back on the left rein to make a left turn for the airlock.

  Only then did he figure out how to turn on the air feed to the mask. He stowed the disabled inoculation gun in the saddlebag. He meant to keep that. If he stuck around here too long, he was sure Shiva would send him another.

  Tharsis hustled to catch up. “Wait! You’re not trained yet!”

  Clay shot a grin back at him. He spotted the bowling ball heads of another three polebots headed up the stairs. They weren’t quick at stair-stepping. Good to know. “How do I open the airlock?”

  “Automatic,” Tharsis replied, just as Clay’s horse crossed the sensor line.

  Clay clopped straight in. His horse proved too stupid to stop until its nose hit the outer door.

  “There are safety regulations,” Tharsis attempted, his voice booming as his horse drew into the chamber beside him.

  Amplifiers, not radio, Clay deduced. Seeing Tharsis’ example, he pulled the rolled fabric edges of his mask into a balaclava-like attachment covering his hair and neck. Yuck. He pulled on the racked gauntlets, too. He hated it when his skin cracked around the fingernails.

  The polebots had nearly reached the top of the stairs. The airlock began evacuating the breathable air. But the chamber had room for half a dozen horses, so the cycle was slow. Clay hopped off the horse and pressed an emergency override button to open the doors immediately, the air wasted. He vaulted back onto his steed, and shoved his toes firmly into the stirrups. He cranked the speed and gait to break out in a gallop with a “Whoop!”

  The dusty yellow landscape looked pretty at the moment. Buttes carved by wind-blown sand reminded him of pictures of the rolling desert wastelands of the American Southwest. Assorted colors of rock scree almost looked like desert shrubs from a distance. The orange sun lowered as a live coal. With so little atmosphere, little dips and rises cast inky shadows, and a gravelly grey slope rose before him.

  The thundering complaints from Tharsis muted nicely with the decreased air pressure.

  Clay glanced behind, feeling mildly guilty. But Tharsis wasn’t half bad as a rider. Clay caught him by surprise, but the colonel was catching up. Clay cranked his power up another notch, his silvery steed kicking up plumes of dust behind him, sparkling like flying embers. He laughed out loud for the joy of freedom.

  He crested the hill half-expecting another slope to open before him. But this proved to be the crest of a modest ridge. He couldn’t see the lake or spaceport from here, so he hung a right, and set to cantering uphill, hoping for a better vantage point. He wished the saddle and knee areas worked as sensors to communicate his desires to the horse. But he quickly got the hang of tweaking the dials.

  After another half kilometer, he called back to Tharsis. “Are you out of Shiva’s clutches yet, colonel?”

  “Yes. Thank you. How did you figure it out?”

  “You told us on our way in.” Clay pulled his reins to bring his stainless steel steed to a halt, and patted its neck by the golden mane of metallic yarn. “You had people outside the colony and couldn’t communicate with them. Besides, I had a dog chipped once back on Earth. The devices don’t have much range.”

  Clay liked that dog. He was a rare breed, and came with a special permit from the Genetic Heritage Department. That allowed Clay and his wife to waste enough food on him to feed a family of tent rats. But he lost custody in the divorce. He hadn’t thought of them in years, the wife or the dog. He sighed.

  Tharsis pulled to a stop beside him. His mount touted a coppery mane with little beaded braids. “I’m not sure how long ago I lost control. A crew of wildcatters arrived. They were disruptive. A lot of debate, whether to go colonize a more promising planet, or give up and join one of the first shell colonies. We’ll never succeed here.”

  “They found an Earth-like planet?”

  “More water than this one, anyway. Some nice biomes.”

  “Did they arrive nine years ago?” Clay prompted. “Judging by the drive trails.”

  “That long,” Tharsis breathed. “Damn Shiva to hell. She was supposed to pacify the situation, then relinquish control. And I didn’t expect her to take control of me, or Petunia and Kurt.”

  “Kurt?”

  “Commander Kurt Kallias, my counterpart for
Ganymede Too.” Tharsis paused and stared, as though a map of dangerous terrain spread across his horse’s neck. “Kurt’s dead.” He shook his head as though trying to clear his mind. “It’s so hard to remember. What’s happened to us.”

  “I’m sure my captain would join me in asking whether you’d like our help.” Clay had automatically transferred his personal grav generator – currently off – and his comms into his new pink pants pocket when he changed. He glanced at it but didn’t see any messages. He guessed the rock shielding the underground city blocked those. He’d only just now found line of sight to Thrive. “Mind if I check in?”

  Not that he cared about Tharsis’ opinion. But the colonel waved for him to proceed. The ‘Martian’ sat lost in thought, but at least not blink-blinking anymore.

  “Remi? Clay. What’s your status?”

  “Clay! Where are you?”

  “Horseback riding. I’m fine. How’s Zelda?”

  “Zelda and Darren are struggling to fight off the ‘chip.’ I can’t reach Sass. Clay, robots keep approaching from the colony. The AI, ‘Sanctuary Control,’ she insists the captain wants to refill our water tanks. So far I toss them away with the grav grapplers –”

  “Take off,” Clay interrupted. “Remain on station above the spaceport. See if a few meters will do the trick. If not, go higher. Sass can comm you from outside the city. Maybe you could throw down a swing or something to haul her up. Or she could use her grav generator. I’m fine for now.”

  “Thank you! I do this now. Roy out.”

  The first officer tucked his comm away. He ought to get back to the ship. Or, the gallant thing would be to return to the city and extract Sass.

  But Clay couldn’t bear the thought of heading indoors again. Surely Remi could stave off a few robots. He’d had more than enough of Thrive, and Sass too. If she died, he could always retrieve her body tomorrow. She’d be fine.

  “Let’s ride, colonel! It’s beautiful out here. Can we spot your lake before nightfall?”