Callisto Deception

by John Read

  Tayler looked up from his notes, and said, “Amelia Stephanie Shepherd, do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband? If so, answer ‘I do.’”

  “I do,” Amelia repeated.

  Kevin tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “Her initials spell ‘ASS’ and she wants to keep her own last name?”

  “Shhhh,” I said, elbowing Kevin in the ribs.

  The commander turned to Avro. “Avery Roberto Garcia, do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife? If so, answer ‘I do.’”

  “I do,” Avro answered.

  “This is the part where we would normally exchange the rings, but Kevin, I believe you have something special planned?”

  Kevin nodded, reached to his wrist, tapping a button on his watch.

  A flickering star danced down the aisle like Tinkerbelle chasing Peter Pan. It grew in brightness as it approached the couple, and then circled them, illuminating them in a golden haze. Avro and Amelia rose from the ground, as if gravity had vanished. They held hands, smiling, rising into a beautiful display of art and color.

  Bands of twirling light circled their hands, etching colorful tattoos onto their wrists, running down their fingers like vines. The couple rotated as they rose into the air.

  “I now pronounce you, husband and wife. Avro, you may kiss the bride,” Tayler announced.

  Avro leaned in for the kiss, bending Amelia backward. Her grown fluttered in the air and tiny stars danced around it like fairies. The congregation whooped and hollered, the deafening cheers rattling the floorboards.

  As they kissed, fireworks exploded around the sanctuary, shooting from the pews.

  Amelia and Avro settled back down to the ground, and turned to face the congregation.

  Tayler cleared this throat. “I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. … Shepherd.”

  Avro turned back to look at Tayler. He just smiled and said, “Get out of here, you two.”

  The music returned; big band jazz appropriate for the era. Avro and Amelia ran down the aisle while the uniformed audience peppered them with rice and confetti. They shuffled down the steps of the church and hopped into a 1940 Chevrolet Special Deluxe convertible.

  There is no way to consummate a marriage in VR. Despite this, we didn’t see them for three whole days.

  19

  Clydesdale, with a population of only a few hundred people, was located twenty-four kilometers east of Newport, the capital. Natural terraces rising from rock formations ran through the town, remnants of craters the constructor had failed to whittle away. Clydesdale became known for its amalgamation of ranches, each property having stables for horses and pens for other animals. Fast growing redwoods and maples shaded the houses and barns. But nearby, a high desert-like tundra made the location ideal for grazing animals.

  It was in this place that Marie now lived. The town also hosted the new Center for Genetic Diversity. As in VR, the center had a view. Its large glass windows overlooked a fifty-acre horse pasture accented with boulders like those of Stonehenge. It was far less dystopian than it was in VR.

  Charles Thompson had met Diana Crane, in Cali, Marie having made the initial introduction. Marie hadn’t known it at the time, but they started dating while they were still on the ship, their bodies separated by space, but their minds joined by the magic of VR. Now they lived in Clydesdale, too.

  The couple had constructed their own ranch across the river. Every day, Charles would take a small boat across the channel, docking it at a wharf and walking two kilometers uphill to the CGD. Charles had been slightly overweight when he left Earth, but was now quite fit. Whether it was Diana’s insistence, or his commute, that was to blame for the transformation, Marie couldn’t tell.

  Marie and Branson lived in a yellow Cape Cod with a wraparound deck. Its large central chimney accented the pitched roof with gabled windows. It had been good to move into it after camping in a tent. Behind the house, James had built them a red four-stall barn that soon became home to two horses. The two empty stalls overflowed with feed and supplies. Each morning Marie would climb up a wooden ladder and toss flakes of hay down into the stalls.

  It was evening on the Callisto habitat, and Marie walked her horse on a lead, while James led another. Marie’s horse was a gelding named Shadow. He was mostly black with white splotches as if someone had brushed bleach over his mane. James walked a horse named Galileo, not after the Italian astronomer, but after a famous South African race horse. They were in a circular arena. Branson, who had just turned five, ran around nearby, chasing a flock of lambs.

  “You know, I’m actually starting to like it here,” Marie said, patting Shadow on the neck.

  “It does have a kind of rustic appeal,” James replied. The Ring’s holographic sun penetrated the western tree line, casting pleasant shadows on the farmstead.

  “The doctor is in Clydesdale full time now. A favor for me, I suppose. She said if she won’t deliver my baby, no one will.”

  “I thought she was busy,” James replied. The doctor had asked James for a horse. James informed her that no one ‘owned’ the animals, but that he would be happy to set up a stable for her, and let her “adopt” a horse of her own. She agreed, and the town had another happy hippophile.

  Marie laughed. “Hell, yeah she is, she’s been training midwives by the dozen. But remember, my baby has got a pretty good lead on Generation Hope. If he, or she, arrives on schedule that is.”

  “You’re at thirty-nine weeks?”

  Marie nodded and they walked silently for another lap of the arena until James broke the silence.

  “You know, I just realized that for the first time, in a long while, I’m not afraid,” he said.

  “We’re inches away from the vacuum of space. We’re the memory of humanity. A huge weight rests on our tired shoulders. How are you not afraid?” Marie said.

  “Because I’ve been afraid since long before Doomsday.”

  “What do you mean?” Marie asked.

  “I always hoped my father was wrong, that Doomsday would never occur. I tried so hard not to believe him, but deep down, I knew my parents were right, and I hated them for it. At first, I distanced myself from my parents, trying to forget the inevitable. I learnt to live with my fear, and eventually, I came to peace with the idea and decided to help the Doomsdayers.”

  “You chose the animals that would come to Callisto?” Marie said.

  “I did. I thought that would help me, I thought it would cure me of my fear, but it didn’t.” He paused. “Until now, here with you, I’m happy. This farm, these horses, made it all worth it, even if it cost us Earth.”

  “I’m glad you did what you did. Callisto wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  The sky turned from pink to purple, and the sun disappeared. Jupiter hung high in the sky, casting eerie shadows, yet providing sufficient light to lead the horses back to the barn. They removed the horse’s halters and closed the stalls before climbing the gravel path to the house.

  They stopped on the deck and James rested a hand on the small of Marie’s back. “Branson, go inside and get ready for bed. I’ll be there soon,” Marie said, opening the door for him. Branson ran inside, closing the door behind him.

  The air began to cool and they stood in silence until James leaned in for a kiss. The familiar pang of grief for John shot through Marie. She put a hand on James’ chest, stopping the advance.

  “You know I’ll always be here for you,” James said.

  “I know you will,” Marie said with a smile. “Have a pleasant evening, James.”

  James took a step back, then turned, nodded, and walked home alone.

  At the top of the stairs, Marie looked in at Branson through the open window. He was in the living room in his day clothes, playing with his toys.

  “I told you to get ready for …” Marie clutched her stomach and sat down on the stairs.

  “Branson, honey, can you get me a glass of water?” Branson did as he was told. When he left for the kit
chen, Marie held her finger to her wrist. “James,” she paused, letting her watch complete the connection.

  “Hey,” James said. “Having second— “

  “James, I ... I just had a contraction.”

  Doctor O’Brian arrived at the house with a wheelchair, climbing the stairs and grabbing Marie under the arm. When James arrived, they led Marie down the steps and into the chair, wheeling her to the clinic between contractions. Branson trotted behind holding his Washington eagle.

  “James, please wait out here with Branson,” Marie said as a nurse took over. James nodded, and he sat down in the waiting room, grabbing a Dr. Seuss book from the shelf, Branson hopped into his lap. Within a few minutes of James’s reading, Branson fell asleep.

  Several hours later, Doctor O’Brian met them in the waiting area. “You can come in now,” she said.

  Branson remained asleep as James carried him into the delivery room, setting him down in a reclined rocker. James sat on a stool to the right of the bed so that he was at eye level with Marie, propped on pillows. The newborn baby blinked at its new world as it rested on Marie’s chest, steel blue eyes staring into space.

  Marie smiled. James had tears in his eyes. He’d been there for Marie throughout the pregnancy, and she could tell he cared deeply for her and her children.

  “When Branson wakes up, tell him he has a sister,” Marie said.

  20

  “Uncle James, Uncle James!” Branson yelled. Running out of the house, he tossed a fiberplastic glider into the air. The glider soared high in the morning breeze, twisting in the air, and catching the currents. The glider’s hollow wings and fuselage gave it the properties of a very aerodynamic balloon, and it floated in the air for several minutes before landing in a rose bush several houses over.

  “I made it at school. Mrs. Branch wanted us to write stories, but I wanted to print airplanes.”

  “Writing is just as important as building airplanes,” James said.

  “Yeah, but this is way more fun.”

  Lise toddled through the open door, waving an empty sippy cup at the adults. “I’ll get it,” James said, getting up and taking the cup from the two-year-old.

  “Keep an eye on your sister, Branson,” Marie said, kissing him on the head. “I love you, and I’ll see you after school.”

  “Bye, Mommy.”

  Marie set her coffee on the porch railing and stretched for her morning run. She was training for a marathon in Newport that was only four weeks away. She ran down to the river and headed east. Fog hovered above still water like condensation on a mirror even as the river widened into a lake. There was a path built along the water and Marie intended to run the length of it.

  After sixteen kilometers, the trail ended and Marie climbed down onto the shoreline. Jupiter’s gravity induced monthly tides, and the water level rose and fell almost a meter over Callisto’s twenty-eight-day orbit. After another six kilometers, Marie reached the edge of the developed area of the Callisto Ring.

  She climbed up from the shoreline, stretching in a grove of tall oak trees. Something unexpected sat beyond the trees: a cabin. Near the structure, a plot of land blossomed with rows of corn. Below the corn grew what looked like carrots, cauliflower, and tobacco in rows. A robotic arm hovered over the vegetables, spraying precisely measured squirts of water on new growth. The robot arm alternated hands, like a Swiss army knife changing tools. A claw reached into the dirt, pulling out a weed.

  A goat struggled against a lead fastened to a pole.

  Most of Callisto’s population still lived in Newport, and the others lived in towns or farms. Marie jogged up to the cabin, wondering how long it had been there. Newport’s buildings had become overgrown with vines and it was beginning to look like a college campus, but this structure looked new, or at least had been cleared of vines.

  Marie considered the possibility that there were others on Callisto, a remnant of the builders. It was the robot that peaked her interest; its task, weeding the garden, was one that had since reverted back to humans. She was familiar with the types of machines that could be printed here, and this robot wasn’t one of them.

  She walked through the grove towards the cabin, noting its proximity to the Ring wall and one of Callisto’s printing stations.

  “You know, you’re the first person to ever find my cabin,” a male voice said in an accent that sounded at first British, but then more like an actor’s in an old American movie. Marie was startled at first, but the voice was calm, and she composed herself.

  “Who are you?” Marie asked.

  “My name is Henry Allen,” the man said. “The third.”

  Long brown hair was pushed back behind his ears, well styled. A beard hung below his chin, as if he hadn’t shaved in months.

  “Marie Orville,” she said. “I know of you, you were the CEO of Mars Corp. My husband had wanted to work for your company had he not gotten a job with NASA.”

  “Orville, you say?” he said, and his head twitched.

  “Yes, that’s correct,” Marie said.

  “I knew an Orville once. Nice man.”

  “A business associate?” Marie asked.

  “Of sorts. Care for some coffee? I haven’t spoken to anyone in months.”

  “Sure. Coffee would be nice.”

  The man stepped into his cabin. Marie followed, taking a seat in a green chair by a window. From where she sat, she could see the cabin had three rooms: a sitting area, a kitchen, and bathroom. On the far side of the sitting area, a spiral staircase led to a loft that overlooked the lower level. In the far corner, Marie noticed something she hadn’t seen since before Doomsday. An Asimo robot. The drone sat in a chair, its head slouched over.

  “You have a drone,” Marie observed.

  “Yes, I’m not as A.I. adverse as my colleagues. I used the drone to construct this cabin. He’s really quite handy.”

  Henry Allen walked over to a kitchenette and came back moments later with a steaming mug. He placed it on a coffee table. Several newspapers lay on the table, their poly-paper sheen glistening in the light.

  Marie looked at his left wrist, expecting to see one of the modified watches that all the colonists wore to communicate with each other, but he wasn't wearing one.

  “You’re a Doomsdayer, aren’t you?” Marie said. It was a guess, but she felt strongly about it, and then she came to a sudden realization. “You weren’t on the spacecraft.”

  “True.” H3 nodded.

  “How did you get into the Ring?"

  "I'll show you," H3 said. He stood, and climbed the spiral staircase to the landing above the sitting room. “C’mon.”

  Marie followed him up the stairs. At the top, a steel cylinder protruded from the far wall. The wall, Marie realized, wasn't part of the cabin, but part of the Ring itself. Where the cylinder met the wall, metal twisted inward. The cylinder had punctured the Ring, like a straw through a plastic cup.

  "What is it?" Marie asked, walking up to the cylinder and running a hand over the smooth surface.

  "It's an airlock," H3 said. "My spaceship is on the other side."

  “You cut your way in.”

  “Sort of.”

  “Where were you?” Marie asked. “If I had to guess, I’d say you just arrived.”

  “I came from Mars.” H3 walked back down the spiral staircase.

  “From Mars,” Marie said, following.

  “After the Doomsday event, I attempted to save my colony.”

  “From the Alliance?”

  “Ah, yes, from the Alliance.” H3 settled back into a chair by a black wood stove that rested on a four by four brick pad.

  “How did you escape?” Marie said, sitting in a chair across from him.

  “As you may know, Marie Orville, I am the richest man in the solar system. I had an escape pod built into my residence. But I failed to save the colony, and a lot of people died.”

  “Why are you by yourself? You have a spaceship; couldn’t you have saved people?”<
br />
  “I don’t play games with my life, Marie. If I’d saved others, I may not have been able to save myself, then what chance would I have a rebuilding a society?” H3 said. “Sometimes the ends justify the means.”

  “Sometimes,” Marie agreed. “But not often.” She set her coffee down on a coaster. “You’ve given up. I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re an influential person, you’re a leader; so what if you failed? For heaven’s sake, rejoin society!”

  H3 studied his guest, as if sizing her up. Then he leaned forward.

  “I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” H3 whispered. “But you must promise, not to tell a soul.”

  “I don’t like secrets,” Marie said.

  “Oh hell, I’ll tell you anyway, and then you’ll understand. You’ll understand why I haven’t gone back to face this society. Mrs. Orville, the people that brought you to Callisto …” H3 let the sentence hang while he opened the door of the stove. He picked up a wooden pipe from a stand, and then began tamping fresh tobacco retrieved from a mortar resting on a knee-high mantel.

  “The Doomsdayers,” Marie said, to complete the phrase.

  “Yes, the Doomsdayers,” H3 agreed, as he lit the pipe with a match. He shook the matchstick to extinguish the flame and tossed it into the stove. “These Doomsdayers did something in which, I personally believe, the ends did not justify the means.” H3 looked somber, as if confessing to a crime.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “How many ships do you think left Earth in the summer of 2071?”

  “Only four that I know of,” Marie answered. “The Mount Everest, the Victoria, the Melbourne and the Klondike.”

  “Incorrect,” H3 said, taking a puff from his pipe then leaning over to blow the smoke into the stove. A draft sucked the smoke into the chimney leaving only the pleasant scent of pipe tobacco behind.