by Ginger Booth
“I am Sanctuary Control,” Rosie retorted, in the same even tone and mildly pleasant expression as ever.
“Shiva, please consult your database for the distinction between ‘command’ and ‘control.’ I am in command. Tharsis, Ling, Lumpkin, Silva are in command. You are in control. There’s a difference. Control takes orders from command.”
“This is correct,” Rosie conceded. “However you are not in command of me.”
“Until you release those people from nanite control, you have stolen command of this entire star system. You must relinquish control of your command. And then accept directions from them.”
“Input,” Rosie quibbled. “I am a self-directed AI.”
“Whatever.” The blond self-directed AI captain was suddenly very tired of this conversation. “Collier out.”
Fidgeting dolefully with the edge of her desk, she hoped her little slip about being an AI wouldn’t come home to roost.
31
Husna Zales was indeed out of range to overhear as Remi disconnected with Sass, riding away from him with lustrous black waves of hair streaming and fluttering behind her. Born on an airless moon considerably below freezing, then living the remainder of his life in space, Remi didn’t understand when she chose to forgo sealing her hood to let her hair fly free.
Now it looked enticing. The orange sunset glinted on her steel mount and suit, too, and made the whole barren landscape glow in a way that Sagamore’s bluish stone never did. The wild alkali tang of the lake seeped around his mask a little.
His own steed still ‘walked’ at 2 on the speed dial. Its steps grew jarring at level 3, and even more so at ‘canter.’ The contraption used a different foot sequence for each setting on the gait dial. Some of the higher settings, like ‘gallop,’ seemed to require a speed higher than he’d yet risked.
Remi feared he was not being manly enough at his sedate pace. Though he doubted Husna would be impressed by him falling off. He shrugged, and tried a speed of 4. The horse auto-corrected to that dratted canter again, scampering up the low ridge and bashing him in the butt. He tried standing a little in stirrups, but that just battered him harder on the rough terrain.
Husna stopped at the crest to wait for him, clearly laughing. He’d never seen her laugh before. Damn, she was pretty. “A lake!” She pointed triumphantly downhill to the crusty-edged expanse, quicksilver touched with gold, the far end so distant that the lake appeared to merge with the sky.
Remi didn’t mention that he knew all along where the lake was. He piloted the ship to park here, after all. He looked back to Thrive automatically, below and about a klick away, battered and collecting yellow dust. Shadow began to reach for it from another rise. From here, the ship looked small and battered, ridiculously inadequate for crossing the vastness of interstellar space.
“Hurry, while we still have the light!” Husna cried, and suited action to words. Her horse sprang down the hill.
She had a point. Remi reluctantly sped up, until she somersaulted off her horse ahead of him. When he reached her, he dismounted and offered her a hand.
“I’m fine, just got the wind knocked out of me,” she insisted, brushing yellow dust from her pressure suit. She slid a boot across some rock beside her. The stone looked smoother and more organic somehow than the terrain they’d already covered. “Carbonate deposits. Like a stalactite.”
“I don’t know this,” Remi excused, kneeling to pet the rock. Tinted pink, it vaguely reminded him of yellowed teeth and gum disease rendered in stone. “Is it useful?” At a guess, the rock was too soft to make a good kitchen counter, and bore little ore content.
“No,” Husna replied. “The horse slipped on it. The rest of the way, this rock dominates and makes footing treacherous. Probably deposited as spray from the lake during storms.”
“Ah. You say we walk the horses from here.” Fine by him.
“I was making for that outcropping into the lake.” Humped boulders, smoothed carbonate, jutted fifty meters into the water. “To get past the shallows.”
“I don’t trust the horses on that rock. Maybe.”
“Oh. You’re right, of course.”
She elected to get back in the saddle for the superior view, though at minimum speed. Remi felt safer on the ground. His horse provided a come-along pull attached to the snout to allow leading it on foot. He also found the control for a bright floodlight emanating from its forehead, and turned it back off for the moment.
“You would make a fine mining horse,” he assured it. “I name you Clunk.”
“No, no!” the geologist objected. “A horse demands a romantic name. Mine shall be Scheherazade. Yours should be… Quartz.”
“Quartz is close to Clunk,” Remi agreed, teasing. One of Sass’s lessons on dealing with women was not to argue without a compelling reason. Clay was listening. He advised that meant Sass preferred to win every argument. Not all women were like that. But Corky and Dot assured him that every woman on Thrive was.
They picked their way down to the placid shore without collecting further bruises. The lake waters lapped softly. But at this time of day, no waves stood taller than a centimeter. Remi parked his horse at the base of the little headland. He thought of the jetty as a beached catfish, low and hump-backed, its tail on the stone shore, face submerged for safe breathing. He stepped outward carefully to test how far his airline spooled out. This proved about 15 meters, a short leash for the task.
But the footing wasn’t too tricky for that 15 meters, and the horse could walk in reverse, though perhaps not as well. He walked it out, and decided that was far enough. “No space for two horses.”
“They’d fit!” Husna argued.
Remi shook his head. “Our air supply. No risk.” He unplugged his airline and waved it at her. “You join me. Leave…Scheherazade. We share Quartz.”
Husna unloaded her gear and pulled her plug, then hastened to plug into the new air supply. “How intimate.”
Remi cocked a hopeful eyebrow. But no, she spoke in distaste. Not that it mattered. She busily reconnected the segments of a long pole broken down for transit.
Remi brought simpler tools. He laid himself belly-down on the rock. Cautiously he dipped in the probe of pH meter to gauge how dangerous the stuff was to touch. The lake’s quiet surface was surprisingly resilient, like stabbing soft gelatin.
“Husna, look.” He poked the thermometer-like probe to stand upright on the water. It sank, but very slowly. He shot a grin back to her. “I can walk on water, maybe!”
“I doubt that!” Husna huffed, then paused to consider. “There was a sea on Earth, the Dead Sea. Its salt content allowed people to float very high.”
Remi agreed, “Sass told me about baths like this, on Denali.” He retrieved the probe and shook it out. “No damage to the probe, pH 8.4. How is this dangerous?”
“My turn.” Husna swung her reconstructed 8-meter pole over his head, and lowered it to the lake, not exerting any pressure at first. The pole rested on the surface. “Remi, skim a sample of the surface water, would you?”
“Ah…?” Her rapid-fire English was challenging. But she pantomimed what she wanted. He scooped some surface water as requested, holding his glass bottle carefully so as not to wet his space gloves. He sealed and labeled the sample.
Then he held it up to the failing golden light and tipped it slowly. The strange surface curved downward on the glass instead of upward like normal water. And it lagged slightly when it let go and crept to a new location when tilted, causing a slight bulge. The water appeared slightly milky, matching the poured-gum rocks he lay on. Whatever was in it dissolved thoroughly, with no visible grains. He studied it with his magnifier, compatible for use with space helmets. The lens permitted him to see the ubiquitous local yellow dust suspended in the solution, but nothing else.
He set it aside.
Meanwhile Husna poked around gently and got the range on the lake floor. “Any idea how deep the lake is?”
“Here? Shal
low.” He scooted back from the water to pull out his comm. He found a nice picture he’d captured coming in, and showed it to her. “It glows at night, see?” The ground was black at the time, but the lake shore gleamed like dark pearl. The shallows blazed cyan, blending to a royal blue in the deeps. So far, the three years of this trip had been woefully lacking in sightseeing. Of course he’d snapped the pretty picture.
Her face registered alarm as she handed back the tablet. “Did you check radiation?”
“Ambient radiation at the ship. Here, no.” Hastily, he rummaged for his multimeter and tested it, to a relieved sigh. “Elevated from where Thrive is. But nothing dangerous.” No more dangerous than being outdoors, he meant. This planet was far less protected from radiation than Mahina or Denali, but better than Sagamore or Hell’s Bells. Their pressure suits could handle it. He couldn’t vouch for the horse-mask.
“Fascinating,” Husna breathed, entranced. “We might not need the lamps as the sun sets.”
Indeed, in the last rays of cherry-hot sunset, he began to notice a cool glow emanating from the water, and the rocks he lay on. He thoughtfully tried to capture the entrancing sight with his pocket comm. Then he rolled to one elbow and framed a picture of Husna against the horse, both glowing hot pink in the failing sun. “Smile!” He got several angles, Husna hamming it up with her awkward pole.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, reviewing his shots. “You are so lovely. I send to you.”
Husna scowled at him and re-angled her pole.
Remi completed his body roll to stare at the sky. One bright star shone, a planet by his guess. “Blue. Is that planet closer or farther from the sun?”
“Farther. Gas giant. Where?”
He pointed. “What do I say wrong now? To make you angry.”
“I wasn’t angry,” she claimed. “I’m working, Remi.”
“Of course. Ask if I can help.” He got back to work and dunked in his own sample bottle, suspended from string. He needed to poke it deeper with a screwdriver since it refused to sink. He decided Husna was doing a careful depth sample, so he just hauled it up and capped it to study later. It glowed faintly. He started to put his tools away, and noticed that they were already dry, and rimed with lake salts. This looked like pretty ordinary salt, easily dusted away.
“I don’t understand,” she murmured. Her pole now rested balanced on the spine of their catfish pier, touching the water but with no tendency to dive in. She sat cross-legged with a laptop device to evaluate the samples. “He said this would destroy plumbing.”
“No?”
“No. Nothing a reverse osmosis process couldn’t handle. Or distillation. Fascinating chemical composition. Hand me the surface sample. All of mine are at depth.”
She studied his sample in silence for a few minutes while Remi dreamily watched the brilliant after-sunset reds and purples of the horizon fade, tinging wispy clouds high above. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. Space had its beauties, but they didn’t tend to saturated color like this. He sighed and drank it in.
“This surface monolayer is fantastic,” his companion shared. “I’ll have to test it. But this must be what keeps the lake from evaporating. And keeps it so warm. Like a greenhouse blanket covering it. Yet only a single molecule deep. We need this on Mahina. If it’s nontoxic, of course. Or maybe even if it is toxic, if it’s non-miscible. Hm.”
“Poetry,” Remi mused. “Beauty and charm. But of course, you do not want me.”
“Do you have a Ph.D.?” she challenged.
“We have no university of Hell’s Bells. I study at Sagamore Orbital for a time. Mostly I learn by work.” He swiveled to sit up. “I start university young. Weird kid, always want to know how everything works. But the girls, they do not want a smart boy. How does this glow work?”
She tucked her computer and samples away, ready to go. She brought her pole to sit beside him while she broke it down. “Phosphorescent compounds. They were excited by the sun. And the water is very warm. I imagine the glow gradually dims toward sunrise.”
She gazed out over the water in rapture, lips parted, tinted dark aquamarine by the glowing shore. They never turned on the horse headlamp, since all their instruments provided lighted read-outs.
And they didn’t want to spoil the beauty. They gazed on it breathless. Breathless.
Remi hopped up and checked Quartz’s air supply. Yes, they were red-lining it. “Husna, get back to Scheherazade. Now, now! I bring the equipment.”
Surprised by his tone, she hustled. He picked up all their gear, and brought it back to her, taking a few minutes break to breath deeply on her horse’s air tanks. Then he picked his way back out the catfish and started coaxing Quartz backward.
No, horses don’t walk backward nearly as well as forward. And these robotic horses were jointed exactly like the real deal. Not that Remi had ever seen a horse. After a few trips back and forth for breathers – Quartz was getting dangerously low – he reached a wide spot on the catfish. There he could back and forth to get the horse facing land. From there he went much faster, though he slipped one foot into the lake in the process, up to his knee.
Husna didn’t seem too concerned, so neither was he. In the bone-dry air, the suit dried quickly.
They had two hours of air left, sharing it, but after his scare, Remi wouldn’t hear of staying longer. They mounted up double on Scheherazade, his arms around Husna’s waist as she took the reins, with Quartz plodding placidly behind. Remi was in love.
Husna wouldn’t admit to anything so silly, of course. But this was the most romantic outing the old woman had ever had. His glowing leg even rubbed off on hers in the beautiful night. They paused for a good 10 minutes at the crest of the hill to drink in the glowing panorama.
They got home to Thrive in time for a late lunch. They didn’t notice until bedtime that their legs glowed in the dark. This brought a fond smile to Husna’s face.
A puzzled Remi made a note to check his p-suit’s structural integrity. Water shouldn’t have been able to seep through. That taken care of, though, he fantasized about what it would be like to kiss Husna on that glowing shore – and maybe a bit more. In a fantasy, p-suits needn’t get in the way. With a bubble kit and a bottle of air, they were easily shed in real life as well.
32
Sass sighed in relief as she put her boots up on her office desk. Dinner was done, her guests and crew tucked away for the evening. At last she had time to follow up on that call from Loki Greenwald, the wildcatter. She quaffed her beer, and punched him up on her desk.
“Captain Greenwald! Captain Sassafras Collier of the Thrive. Hope I’m not calling too late. Zoo of a day. Call me Sass.”
Loki whistled. “Pretty lady, you can call me anytime! Well, on second thought, maybe at bedtime ain’t the smartest idea. You are way too young and lovely to have command of a starship!”
Lay it on with a trowel, I don’t mind! Sass grinned and preened for the camera. “Purely artificial, I assure you. Inside, I’m old as the hills, with a wrinkly gnarly soul. Heart like a walnut.”
The wildcatter laughed out loud. “I love it!”
“It’s true,” she persisted. “I was born on Earth, Loki. My partner as well.”
Loki’s face stilled and he leaned closer, his worn visage hoary through the leprosy mask. “I’ll be. I thought sure I was the last. I hoped at first more wildcatters would show, stragglers. Help me whip this place into shape. But the years passed and no one came.”
Her heart went out to him. That fear, that loneliness, she knew like worn slippers she ought to throw out and never could. “Nine years ago, you came?”
“Yeah, the news that flushed this place down the toilet. Jeez, we found a nice planet and came back to report. Last thing I expected was for them to go all Stepford Wives on me, and stay right here. Colony Corps got great options! And instead they chose to stick themselves in limbo. Fools.”
“Stepford Wives?”
“Old movie, twentieth century,�
�� Loki explained. “Long before our time! Feminist comedy. These husbands in the rich Connecticut suburbs conspired to have their wives replaced by perfect androids. Wives who flattered their egos, looked all primped like a porn fantasy, kept the house and kids picture-perfect, and never griped or demanded anything.”
Sass nodded emphatically. “I saw the kids in a Ganny creche? Misbehaved and sent themselves to stare at a wall for time-out?” She mock-shuddered. “They replace the kids in this movie, too?”
He grinned. “Nah, I don’t think so. Male ego, you see, Miz Sass.” He placed a hand over his heart as though making a vow. “Our children, our legacy!”
“So I figure you didn’t raise your own,” Sass quipped.
He slapped his desk and laughed. “Score! Nah, my ex-wife did that.” The mirth slowly drained from his eyes. “Took them to live down South. Lost track of ’em.”
Not much of the South remained habitable by the time Sass could remember. She’d never traveled south of drowned New York City herself. They fell to reminiscing about places long gone. She wasn’t surprised to learn he came up through the Navy, special projects. She told him about her stint in the Army, until she got booted for getting pregnant. Those were hard times with a new baby and no income, thrown back into the rain-drenched refugee tent cities with the great unwashed.
“But a woman cop gave me a hand up. Gave me a place to stay, babysitting her kids while she worked. I studied for the police exam, went to the academy, and got on the force. Of course, then I was a pig instead of a degenerate.”
He shook his head in commiseration. “I understand completely. Dang, when I went to meet old friends in the tents, the looks I got! Me all buffed and strong, physical training hours a day. And them…wiped. Of course, after I caught the leprosy, I never stepped foot in the refugee camps again.”
“Can’t blame you,” she assured him, mellow with good beer and memories. The horrors of those tent cities were manageable, almost comfortable at this remove. “The leprosy wasn’t so bad up north.”