by J G Clements
“Jim, we have two choices. One, we go explore that point. We can get there and back if we take a slow trajectory, or two, we beeline back to Earth and share this with everyone. And I mean everyone.” The tone in his voice told the whole story. Yes, we needed to take this story home, and not just transmit the data. As part of this, I knew we would bring as much of Mike’s ship home as we could, proof of what we are saying. “Lets get some sleep. We are going to be very busy the next several weeks.”
As I fell asleep that night, I kept thinking about how to make a ship immune to laser dissection. And I came up empty.
******
I finished the broadcast, and signed off to Earth. Sue had been monitoring what a lot of the cable stations on Earth were saying, and I had never seen her so grim. “I think everyone on Earth was listening tonight. We have several dozen transmissions coming in on our private frequencies. Jim, is there anyone you would like to speak to...any presidents, chancellors, dictators, rock-stars…they all seem to have questions?”
“Is lady GoGo calling?” Sue ignored me, then to my complete astonishment, she put a can of beer in my hand. I have no idea how hard it might have been to get that up here, but the smile on her face showed me that she wanted me to have it.
“By the way, you did a good job, Jim. You used, mostly, whole sentences.” Turning her attention back to her console and to any sarcastic comment I was about to make, she apparently told folks I wasn’t taking any calls right now. I waited till she was through, then when she turned her attention back to me, I asked her if she’d like to split the beer with me? Pleased, she smiled ear to ear. “You learn fast.”
“We are all going to learn fast if we are going to figure this thing out and stay alive.
Chapter 3.
Ceres Report: Nothing Works.
McKinsie himself asked me to keep a ship’s log. So here goes: Nothing is working right. The reactor keeps shutting down, and without that I have no thrust and no power. Yes, I do have some liquid fuel….hydrogen and oxygen…but I’m actually using that as a bunsen burner. Its a little tricky, but I managed to get a small gas flow of oxygen started, then added hydrogen while I kept providing a spark. Once I got a flame established, I was able to get a little heat into my cabin. It’s not much, but it’s buying me time until I can figure out what the problems are.
I am the Recruiter. I recited that to myself as I sat outside the Veteran’s Hospital. I was taught to say that to myself, taught that it helps me adopt that part of my personality and lets the other parts go into temporary remission. Humans, they explained, don’t do very well integrating their different personalities. I don’t pretend to know why they know more about humans than humans do, but they were right. So while I sat here in my car, waiting for a shift change, I became the Recruiter. Anything else I ever was, wasn’t as important as this.
Like most Veteran’s Hospitals, this one dated from before World War II. Shabby, old décor but usually set in a park-like atmosphere. I guess some of this effect came from the fact that the trees and most of the shrubs probably also dated from before WWII. They had quite a lot of time to mature. One entire wall was covered in ivy. It looked nice, but apparently no one knew, or no one cared, that the ivy was eating the mortar from between the bricks. But on second thought, maybe that was appropriate after all.
Despite the fact that the hospital thinks they are organized, the reality is they are not. With the exception of the pharmacy areas, hospitals are not high crime locations. The pharmacies would probably be staffed by muscular and healthy young men and women. The rest of the hospital would be staffed by nurses who would not anticipate any trouble from outsiders. To further my advantage, I always come at the midnight shift change. For the little while that the hospitals are double-staffed, they are also the most disorganized.
Looking very business-like, like a young doctor, though not too young, I walked toward the front door, timing my arrival just behind a pair of nurses. They used their electronic ID cards to open the door, and only glanced back for a half second to see who was entering behind them. Again, they aren’t expecting trouble, and if trouble did come, it would not be a well dressed young man carrying a slightly over-sized black bag.
I don’t like carrying the bag, though. I think it’s out of date. On the other hand, it’s probably the most sophisticated device on the planet this evening.
I knew the room I was looking for. I had been here earlier today...during visiting hours where you really could wander around looking confused. Room 618 was where I wanted to go, unless something had happened in the last twelve hours where they had moved him. I donned a white labcoat which gave me complete authenticity to go where I wanted, then took one of the stairwells to the 6th floor. Green and beige floor tiles, probably asbestos since they have lasted so long, bricks with lots of rust stains, and a cheap carpet on the stair treads only added to my impression of a tired building. No cameras were present which helps, and I was on the right floor in under two minutes.
Room 618 was dark, though the door was open. I’d prefer the door to be closed, but closing it might attract attention. I’d just have to manage. It had two beds, and the one I wanted was the one toward the back, near the window.
At first, I thought he was asleep. His breathing was regular, and there were no machines that beeped every few seconds. As I adjusted the blinds to control the amount of light…emanating from a lightpole in the parking lot…I was startled. He was awake, and looking at me.
I’ve done this before, but not like this. Always, my targets have been asleep and I had to rouse them for my work. Often, they were confused by the drugs the hospitals gave them to make everyone’s night go smoother. No such luck tonight. Instead, he just looked at me, calmly. There was also a depth there that I did not often see. His eyes were alive, though the body in the bed was… old.
His name was Tom Adams. He was over ninety years old, but more importantly, he had been the captain of a diesel-powered submarine in WWII. A very successful one, with a large number of kills against German U2 boats. I had forgotten just how many boats he had hunted and killed, but in my opinion, just coming back alive from commanding a submarine made him successful. At age ninety-something, I had been told that he was perfectly lucid…an important fact in my line of work. His body, though, worn out from a lifetime of work and living, was going. Paralyzed on his left side, he had been admitted a few months ago for rehab. Though at his age ‘rehab’ didn’t mean the same thing to him that it would have meant to me.
Trying to stay out of sight of the open door, I turned the little knob-thing that closed the window blinds. The room, already in twilight, was plunged into a darkness that I hoped would be concealing for the next few minutes. I moved as close to him as I could, trying to stay at the head of the bed, and knelt so I could whisper to him. The floor was hard, but I generally put a pillow or blanket down to make it easier. I took a deep breath, and one more time, remembered that I was the Recruiter.
“Are you awake, and can you hear me?” I asked.
“Yes. I can. Who are you?” He was totally lucid. And he surprised my by asking me questions.
“I am the Recruiter. And I have come to make you an offer. An amazing offer. You can either accept or refuse the offer. If you refuse, I will say goodnight and I will not trouble you again. If you say yes, I will explain further. Do you understand me so far?”
“Yes”. It was a weak voice, but due only to his infirmary. His mind, I could tell, was as strong and clear as it ever was. I could tell why they wanted him, and I was a bit jealous. I only wished she wanted me. I controlled my personality again.
“Please listen very carefully. There is a war in our galaxy between a race that seeks to eliminate all life that isn’t them, and several races that hope to stop them. It has been waging for over 200 years, and isn’t likely to be over soon. I have come to ask you to join this war.”
He chuckled…he probably thought I was crazy. They all do. Usually, this is the hardest
part of the job, convincing them that I’m not just another in-mate from down the hall. Instead, he surprised me. “Aren’t I a little old, son, to be a soldier again?”
I took a deep breath. “Yes, you are too old. Biologically. Consequently, I have come to remove your mind...the thinking and emotional part of you. You...your consciousness will be transferred to a new construct, a bio-mechanical machine. In it, you can live another two-hundred years, though not entirely as human at first. You will be mobile, and not indentured in anyway. That is, if you agree to go tonight, and don’t like the situation, you will not be required to work for my…sponsors.”
“Son, some of the medications they give me here knock me for a loop. But you’ve beat me by a mile, boy”.
It was my turn to smile. “I want to place a small device on your head, to help you hear better. There is someone who wishes to speak to you. Is this OK?”
“It can’t be any worse than some of the stuff the nurses do. Sure.”
I placed the small sapper unit on his head. It covered one ear, though it wasn’t his hearing that was affected. I placed a small unit into my own ear so I could listen in. I was not about to get the full treatment, but I wanted to hear.
“Hello Tom.” Her voice was the beautiful contralto that men loved. Helen of Troy might have launched a thousand ships, but this voice could incite a full civil war. “I am a member of the race of beings called the Crekie. We are one of the seven races that seek to stop the spread of a great sickness in our galaxy. Amongst the billions of stars, there is a race that believes that all life should be them, and all other lives should be exterminated. I have come to offer you a second chance at life, one where you could help us. We can move you into a new construct, one that will become human eventually. Do I make myself clear?”
I’ve seen a lot of different reactions to her. But tonight was a first. Usually, they ask about the war, or proof, or a thousand questions. Tom immediately transcended all this and asked an intelligent question. “ If I am to live on in a different body, won’t I be merely a robot, or a computer program? Or some mimic of a human? Not truly alive but some abomination? Some insult to God?” Though it would have taken me some time to frame an answer, she was already speaking.
“You ask good questions, Tom. We have chosen well to find you. No, you will still be human, I promise. Yes, you will be in form that is much different than the one you inhabit now. It is a form that we can produce, one that is suitable to house your mind and your soul.”
“My soul…what do you know of souls?”
“We believe, that somewhere, just out of our reach, in some way we can’t imagine, there exists the maker of the universe. We believe that at the end of our intellect, when we can no longer exist on this plane, we go to join him. The part that joins the maker we call a soul. We believe that this is also the belief of your race. Is it not?” Without hesitation he answered yes and she continued.
“We don’t believe we are winning this war. Perhaps it’s because it’s easier to destroy than to build. Each victory for them makes them stronger, yet often a victory for us makes us weaker. We do not live in parts of the galaxy openly, but find ourselves more and more living in the ‘out of the way’ places, hoping not to be detected. They don’t need the types of planets we prefer to inhabit, and our planets are easy to find and easy to destroy. So we now live on many airless worlds and even live underground. We believe our societies to be declining.” The tattoo on my collar bone let her emotions into my mind, and I felt her anguish. It hurt me.
“The man next to you is our agent, the Recruiter. He carries the means to take you away from this hospital, and away from this planet. If you want to come and join us, you’ll need to do as he instructs you. I promise you, your consciousness is being transferred, not re-created. Yes, we are using a variety of methods both biological and mechanical, but we are certain that you’ll agree that it’s you when you are transferred.” A hesitation. Like she was checking some list. “Will you join us?”
He never asked why. That at first surprised me, then I realized that he was way ahead of me. He had already figured out the really important question. “How do we proceed?”
I knew she’d say nothing more. As far as I knew, and wished, she was still sitting on a mountain in New Hampshire and warming water to make me tea. It was my turn. “I’m going to put a machine on your head. After a few seconds, you are going to be in a very odd state of consciousness. You’ll be completely lucid, though somewhat passive to the happenings around you. Do you understand so far?”
“Yes. Go on.” An ancient voice, but with confidence. This man was a born leader. I can see why they want him.
“You’ll have to walk toward a sort of light, or an open spot. There are different descriptions, but you’ll know exactly where to go. But as you walk, you’ll be surrounded and accosted by a variety of things. For example, you might be in your third grade classroom, and your classmates will want to speak to you. You might be in your submarine, and there will be water coming in, but you need to ignore it and walk toward the light or portal or whatever it is. Friends, old lovers, enemies, subordinates might all ask you to stop and spend some time with them, or ask for help. They might ask for your forgiveness or offer to forgive you. Ignore them. Ignore everything and get to the portal.”
He then asked a question that no one had thought to ask me before. “How long will it take me, subjectively, to get to this portal?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Several weeks.”
“Won’t I get tired? At my age, son, I’m always tired.” I liked him more and more.
“No, its subjective time. Hard to explain. But if you do feel the need to rest, try to find a place where you are alone. Do not,” I almost raised my voice in anxiety, “do NOT stop and visit with anyone, stranger or friend. Understand?”
He nodded, then realizing I may not have seen his movement in this twilight room, whispered, “Yes.”
“Here we go. And sir…Tom…good luck.” I put the device over his face…a sort of mask that was too thick, and was already warm. Somewhere in it, circuits were already warmed up and waiting for him. I knew it was also part biological but that’s all I knew. The tiny LED on it switched from a green, to amber. And until it turned either green again, or red, I had nothing to do.
The waiting for me was the hardest. I had her explain to me once what Tom was going thru, and I remember she told me that one day, when I needed it, she would come for me. Personally. That promise has kept me loyal to her for almost twelve years now. I was still embarrassed and yet buoyed at the thought she had feelings for me beyond that of her employee. I forced that feeling down: I am the Recruiter.
I was comfortable, out of site behind the bed. Several times someone walked by, a nurse I suppose, but she didn’t stop in this room, or for that matter, judging by her footsteps, any room on this floor. I waited. I could have dozed off, but that would have been disloyal. Though I really had to be gone before dawn, and before the dayshift started arriving.
With a sudden sound, like a tick of a clock or some minute trap closing, the cloakpiece turned green. I was good to go.
I had it off his face and back in the bag in a few seconds. I glanced at what was now the corpse of Tom Adams. His heart still beat, and would for another thirty minutes or so. Enough for me to be far away before a nursing station would see the change in vital signs. His face had lost any character it had had when I first looked at it. Amazing how the strength of a personality gives shape and purpose to a face.
With no time left to dawdle, I left the room and walked the opposite direction of where the nurse had gone. Down the stairs, past the ground floor, and to the basement level. End of a hall…a door to the outside. A quick look for either an alarm or camera…negative in both cases…and I was outside. Labcoat off and in my bag, and I was just another early exercise walker in this complex of buildings. My car was where I had left it…in a handicap spot with a handicap plate.
Less than an h
our later I was at the local airport...a small municipal one. I was well within my allotted time. I knew where to drive, and who to see. I handed him my package with little more than a polite nod, and oddly, a handshake. The young man walked toward his aircraft…some sort of corporate jet…and boarded. I watched for a moment…for no reason other than mentally closing this effort, then I drove off, drained. I was no longer the Recruiter. Some other aspect of me would now be ascendent. And one that wanted to sleep.
Less than an hour later I crawled into bed. Physically, but also emotionally exhausted. A voice in my head thanked me, and then after a second’s hesitation, bid me good night. Then to my amazement, she giggled. Wise beings from advanced races aren’t supposed to giggle. But as I drifted off to sleep, she made my day.
Chapter 4. Earth-Station
Ceres Report: I solved my sleeping problem. With no thrust since my reactor is off, Ive been unable to sleep in free-fall. Here is what worked: Bungee cords. I put about a dozen of them on my chair, and make them tight against me when I’m sleeping. Somehow the restraint fools my body and I don’t wake up with a nightmare of falling.
After Sue-39 and Jim enjoyed the beer, they had spent the next day together, mostly handling phone calls from Earth. Jim made it clear to Sue that there was nothing more he wanted, or needed to say. Jim made all the facts public, but kept any speculations he had about what happened to himself. Mike had flat-out refused to speak to anyone and had stayed on the iceberg. This morning, Jim had left with his ship and gone to help him. That left a very busy Sue-39, along with Jennifer-9, to manage calls.
Everyone on Earth wanted more information, even when there wasn’t any more information to give. When newspeople ran out of facts, they asked speculative questions then reported your speculative answers as facts. After Jim-88 explained that to Sue, she honored his request and didn’t bother him again. But she was tempted when she saw how much several news services were willing to pay for the story. Everyone wanted to speak to him, and the Fleet could use the money. But Jim really didn’t want to speak to anyone, so Sue was glad that he was busy out on the ice work. She also knew, of all the members of the Fleet, Jim-88 was a good choice to solve what had happened.