Shades

by Eric Dallaire

  Looking out the window, the interior of the station became visible. A large retractable roof, now closing, had opened to receive our ship. When the station sealed, I heard a sucking of air as the hanger re-pressurized. Once the atmosphere stabilized and the gravity resumed, a small team of human handlers entered the cargo bay to collect the shades. The process of unloading all of the shades was much faster than loading. I assume that the new masters were eager to put this new crew to work.

  “All shades follow the blue line,” bellowed the voice of the portmaster. Then he invoked the permission-word over the intercom, reprogramming all the shades to follow his voice. Later, that same password would be used to transfer control to the new owner. However, my special serum programming made me immune to this. My OS responded only to Barnaby.

  Marching along with the others, I pretended to be another shade shuffling into the station. With a slight movement, I dared a glance to the right and read a large digital sign:

  ** WELCOME TO PORT CAELUM: YOUR NEW BEGINNING! **

  “Caelum is the Latin word for Heaven,” Sasha informed me. “Perhaps they were being ironic?” After looking around at the dingy surroundings, I had to agree. Covered in the soot and particulate from hundreds of rocket launches and landings, Port Caelum looked less like a paradise and bore more resemblance to a dirty factory. Along the western transparent glass wall of the station, the real Heaven glittered over the western horizon made jagged by gray mountains and jutting rocks. Standing over six miles high, the Lunar Spire crowned the upper limits of the moon's orbital atmosphere, lording over a quarter of the moon's surface. The structure also became the receptacle of countless dreams from the people of Earth, including many aspirations of my own. A brief fantasy flickered across my mind, a recurring daydream that included Vanessa and I sharing a drink on the penthouse balcony.

  “Get into the slingbox!” yelled one of the handlers. All the shades from my ship obliged, moving toward the open storage container. Boarding the slingbox would be a poor decision for me. For one, despite the serum changing my body’s physiology, I still needed air to breathe. That slingbox would be catapulted across the moon’s surface and dropped right in the middle of an open moon crater. Second, I needed to get back on the trail of the investigation.

  “Sasha,” I whispered in the softest tone possible. My head tilted to the right and my index finger pointed back toward the rocket. “Distraction. Pipe.” A team of workers steadied a long refueling line that looked like a thick fire-hose.

  “Understood,” Sasha replied into my ear. “The fueling regulation system is protected by basic security protocols. It will only take a moment to bypass it.”

  A second later, pale blue rocket fuel gushed from the coupling spigot. Since Sasha instructed the computer to increase the flow tenfold, the pipe writhed around, spewing liquid like a loose backyard garden hose. A chaotic scene erupted as screaming workers rushed to fix the crisis. Oblivious to the problem, the shades continued to march into the slingbox. Dozens of human workers scrambled to close the spigot.

  Seizing the moment, I broke ranks, sprinting to the nearest wall of the hangar. With all of the confusion, most eyes and security cameras remained fixed on the shuttle. Moving with urgency, I ducked behind a tall power-coil transformer to shed my shade uniform. Behind the cover, I wriggled out of the standard-issue red utility suit, revealing another layer of clothes. My long-sleeve black shirt and dark blue slacks looked like more convincing clothing for a living human. Then I removed the yellow contacts and wiped the make-up off my face.

  “I am impressed. You planned ahead and coordinated your attire for the occasion,” praised Sasha. “Most fashionable, sir. You do not look like a secret agent at all.”

  Not daring even a chuckle, I grinned at Sasha’s sarcasm and darted for the north side door with a sign that read ‘Northside Chutes’. At my approach, the door opened, allowing a dozen sprinting emergency workers to rush toward me. I held my breath as they ran by me. In their haste, none of them noticed that my clothes did not match their orange and white uniforms. Exhaling, I continued into a wide corridor that curved around the station’s launching bays.

  A white door labeled with Chute-03 opened at my approach, revealing a small-transport terminal with dual tracks. The domed ceiling stretched upward twenty feet, patterned with reflective insulating tiles. Manning a control console filled with digital readouts, a young, red-haired man in a white utility suit shot me a puzzled look. Startled by my announced arrival, his left hand gripped his holstered stun-rod.

  “What are you doing here?” the controller demanded. “How did you even get here?” I took a step forward, my eyes devouring details about him. My mind spun to generate a convincing story to get me inside one of those travel pods. I noticed his nametag read ‘D. Leahy’ and that his uniform looked impeccably neat, no lint, dandruff, or creases anywhere. The nearby black console gleamed from a recent polishing. Next to a set of levers and blinking buttons, I spied two clear plastic insta-clean spray bottles and a small box of sanitizing wipes. I sensed that Mr. D. Leahy enjoyed, or suffered, from a mild case of mysophobia, the fear of germs. I coughed and took another step, my face twisting into an expression of discomfort.

  “My boss…sending me home,” I rasped. “I...I don’t feel well…” To complete the deception, I pursed my lips, puffed my cheeks, and moved a hand to my mouth to stifle a pretend gag. “I think...I might get sick now…”

  Leahy’s face whitened. He reached for a disinfectant sprayer and shot anti-bacterial mist into the space between us. Then he slammed his hand onto a yellow button. “Get in and just get out of here,” he yelled. One of the blue pill-shaped travel pods opened its side door. Feigning weakness, I staggered inside and sat down. “Do me a favor, buddy,” he shouted as the door closed behind me. “If you get sick in there, make sure the controller on the other side cleans it before he sends it back, okay?”

  The magnetic engine revved and the pod snapped onto the invisible rails of the chute system. Leahy pressed another button to open the inner airlock door. Then he doused himself with more disinfectant as my pod glided out of the station.

  * * *

  The transparent canopy provided a clear view of the pockmarked lunar surface. A flat landscape of ash stretched ahead of me. Once the pod reached its top speed of four hundred miles an hour, the stars blurred over my head. I was a comet streaking through the desolate gray seas of rock and basalt soil covering the moon’s surface. After an hour of travel, I reached the charcoal landscape of the Mare Imbrium. The tube road curved right along the edge of a massive yawning crater. On the lip of this broken mountain, I looked down and saw an endless black chasm. Recalling my moon history and geography, I realized the Imbrium formed the ‘right eye’ of the famous man-on-moon visage seen from Earth.

  “I hope you are feeling better, sir. Your illness sounded severe,” joked Sasha.

  “I’m much better, thank you, Sasha,” I retorted with a smile. “It’s amazing what the outdoors can do for a man.”

  For another hundred miles, we sped over vast tracts of unsettled desolation. Streaking east, we departed one dirt sea to reach another, the Mare Tranquillitatis, home to the Lunar Spire. On the horizon, tiny figures dotted the horizon. The pod veered, keeping my glowing target ahead like a compass needle pointing true north. As we sped closer, the once distant dots turned out to be a hive of red-uniformed shades walking and floating across a massive construction site. The pod cut a path between the emerging buildings and landing bays that the shades built.

  “According to public record, this work crew is composed of thirty-three thousand, six hundred, and forty-two shades,” Sasha reported. “They are expanding the Atarashii Kuni province for the Japanese government, allowing for the emigration of another ten thousand of their citizens.”

  We started to slow at a three-way junction in front of the half-constructed station. Instead of continuing forward, the pod veered off to stop at the local te
rminal station.

  “Why are we stopping?” I asked. “We’re not even close to the Lunar Spire…”

  “Sir, I have detected an intrusive virus in the guidance system. We are no longer in control of--”

  “My apologies for the brief detour, lady and gentleman,” a smooth voice said through the pod’s front speakers. The man sounded familiar to me. “Your next stop will be Terminus Station Hyaku.”

  “Oscar?” asked Sasha.

  “Oui, ma cheri,” replied the voice.

  Then it clicked. It was the White Djinn. Somehow he saw through the faked IRS death announcement and tracked me. Also, Sasha called him ‘Oscar’. She knew his real name, exposing a deeper personal connection. During their private time together, it appeared that he planted tracing code on Sasha, whether she realized it or not.

  “We would prefer to be on our way, Oscar,” I replied with a note of irritation. “Please release our craft.”

  “I hesitate to say that you owe me a debt, Jonah,” answered the Djinn. “The word has such an ugly, proletariat meaning. N'est-ce pas? But…you did promise me a favor.”

  Moments passed before I invoked the command console. As the pod’s guidance code streamed within the glass display, my fingers traced the Djinn’s virus infection. An inoculation echelon came to mind that might undo his corruption hack. It would be difficult, but thrilling to challenge him. My fingers twitched. Before I started a code battle, a second thought closed my hand. My gut told me to let him have his way for now.

  “Fine,” I sighed.

  The pod glided through the outer airlock and docked inside the main hangar. When the door opened, I stepped out and took a cautious breath. The air smelled stale, but it was a breathable atmosphere. Only shades walked the red-walled halls of the quiet station. A spherical Mark-IV generator, one of the few amenities here, hung from the ceiling. The bulbous transparent tank bubbled with proto-matter, casting a pool of dull yellow light underneath it. The device allowed supervisors to v-cast into the station at scheduled intervals. Most remote mining stations operated in this fashion. The precision of the shade’s serum reduced the need for constant human oversight for simple operations.

  “What a joy to see you both!” exclaimed the Djinn, walking over to greet us. Using the v-cast generator, he manifested his bipedal, white-suited form. Sasha took the liberty of manifesting her blue-skinned virtual form. Grinning, the Djinn embraced me. He sculpted enough proto-matter to give his form a solid body, so the hug felt firm. Then he gave Sasha a warmer hug. By my count, he lingered holding Sasha four and a half seconds longer.

  “This is an unexpected surprise,” Sasha said. “Are you well?”

  “I will be, after your help,” he replied.

  “Why do you need a favor?” I asked, scowling and crossing my arms.

  “I’ll explain on the way.” he said. “Jonah, you’ll need to retrieve a spacesuit from that storage locker. You’ll also find a portable virtual projector. Please bring that as well. We’re going on an excursion! Isn’t that delightful?” He looked too pleased with himself.

  He was right. The nearby locker contained all the equipment he mentioned. After rifling through nineteen environmental suits, I found an orange one that fit me. On the shelf above the closet, I spotted the hand-sized spherical v-cast generator. Without a proto-matter tank, it would only create non-substantive, light-based holograms. I took the device since it would allow the Djinn and Sasha to manifest at a basic level.

  Oxygen flowed after I donned my suit’s glass-shielded helmet. Then my limbs slipped into the tight fitting protective clothing. Down the hall, the Djinn beckoned, like some red and white ghost haunting the station. He led us to a dark garage housing a four-wheeled lunar rover. It was a dilapidated relic that lacked an internal pressurized atmosphere system that came standard even with travel-pods. Hence why the Djinn suggested the suit. I boarded the rover and discovered that the ignition button still worked. The electrical battery turned over with a crackling zap. Bright white headlights flared to life, showing the metal airlock door ahead. Then the green dashboard lights flickered to life. A map of the area displayed the highlighted destination programmed by the Djinn.

  “It’s a miracle this wreck runs,” I mumbled. When we rolled toward the airlock, the door split open to reveal the rough gray terrain outside. As we left the range of the station’s v-cast generator, the solid forms of the Djinn and Sasha deteriorated. After they transferred to the portable virtual projector, they reappeared like apparitions hovering over their seats.

  We traveled on, the vehicle climbing ridge over ridge, each ascent and descent increasing my irritation. We came to a gray valley populated by two hundred shades, all attached to silvery tether cords. Only four of the workers looked in our direction as we drove past them; most remained intent on the job of moving rocks.

  “Are we looking for the perfect picnic spot?” I growled.

  “Patience, it's just over that ridge,” the Djinn responded.

  Despite its rusted appearance, the rover rumbled over the bumpy terrain without stalling. After avoiding a small, gaping crater, we climbed the last outcropping and reached a vale littered with piled black rocks.

  “Here we are. Please stop,” the Djinn said.

  We pulled over and exited the vehicle. Another team of two hundred red-garbed shades carried heavy loads onto a waiting conveyor. They cleared the area, paving the way for future expansion in this forsaken region.

  “We have come to my favor,” the Djinn said. “Our debt is settled. If you kill me.”

  “Excuse me?” I gasped.

  The Djinn walked over to the tallest of the workers and regarded its shriveled body with pity. The shade's sagging cheeks bore a distant resemblance to the smoother facial features of the Djinn's younger-looking virtual form. Instead of a well-manicured black beard, the creature grew an unkempt white beard. Then their eyes caught my attention. The same spark of mischief twinkled, proving to me they were one in the same. Despite his legendary status, I assumed that he was still a hacker, plugged into a connection somewhere on Earth. How could the Djinn exist outside his body for so long? My mind raced to consider possibilities that most would consider science fiction. Perhaps, facing the prospect of afterdeath, he used a constant v-cast to keep his mind away from his decaying body? Whatever the explanation, he cheated the serum. I respected that.

  “This is your real body?” I whispered. “You…you transferred your mind into your WhiteOut before the serum claimed it...I didn’t think such a thing was possible. Amazing--”

  “That explanation is not far from the truth, Jonah,” the Djinn admitted. “As part of Tomoe Gozen’s grand plan, all of those shades, including me, will be deployed to deep-space. With help from her ally Charon, she hacked their programming, extending the servitude by hundreds of years. I believe they captured Dr. Okono to coerce him into making their illegal afterdeath extensions...infinite and permanent. Once the shuttles leave this solar system, my body will be beyond even the reach of my agents. My suffering would never end. I must ask you to sever the tie.”

  “Oscar, I’m so sorry,” Sasha sobbed. I sensed that all of her emotional heuristics experienced great stress. Like a parent, my first instinct was to ease her pain.

  “I will help you do this…but…will you cease to be?” I asked.

  “That is the question we all face at some point,” said the Djinn with a grin. “But I believe a true death is preferable to endless slavery, don’t you? My calculations, my instincts tell me that…I will live on, in perhaps a new way. In the event that I fail, I wanted to wish you luck in your own quest to find Vanessa. I regret my own search to locate her through the seas of information failed. If I had but more time. To find her, I would suggest you narrow the focus. Look for the small things--”

  “Are you sure about this course of action?” Sasha interjected. “There are no proven statistical models to confirm your hypothesis. You might not survive. I
do not...desire that outcome.”

  “Ma cheri, if I succeed, it will be because of you. Your code will make my survival a possibility. It will bring me closer to you. Before I go, one more poem.” He knelt down and looked up to her with affection. “Good-by to the life I used to live, And the world I used to know; And kiss the hills for me, just once; Now I am ready to go!”

  “Oh, how I do adore Emily Dickinson,” Sasha replied in a hushed tone. She reached out for Oscar’s hand, but the fingers passed through each other with their incorporeal forms. Instead, she leaned to whisper something private. He smiled, put his own translucent hand near her cheek, and then stepped back. Sorrow overcame me, like a father’s misery at seeing his child in pain. Bright stars, silent mourners to this funeral, became glittering smudges before my watering eyes.

  “I am ready,” the Djinn said. Sensing my hesitation, he glided over to the work team and stood next to his old mortal shell. The shade ignored everyone and continued gathering ore. “Release me, Jonah. Please. You know the pain I feel.” He glanced at me with an expression of kinship. Did he know about my condition? “Either I get eternal rest, or I'll be reborn in the digital sea. Either way, it will be better.”

  As it turned out, I didn't need any convincing, but I let the Djinn finish his speech out of respect for Sasha. From my own experience on the shuttle and the TauK Network, I guessed that he endured pain. Without another word, I shot Oscar’s shade dead-center in the forehead. The blow knocked it off its feet and sent it into the airless space. As it floated without gravity, its bright yellow eyes dimmed.

  The Djinn's projected v-cast form winked out, then flickered back into view. He flailed his arms, like a doomed man aware that he was drowning. Then he calmed, looking out to the stars. With a final flash of light, his form disappeared altogether.

  We waited for an hour to see if he would return and manifest through the portable v-cast generator. Sasha scoured the nearby networks for any trace of his survival.