Beltrunner

by O’Brien, Sean

  Collier looked at the control panel, which he thought of as Sancho’s “face.” “Are you refusing my order, Sancho? It’ll be the first time you’ve done so. Or is this what it means to be a Caliban?”

  Sancho spoke carefully. “Skipper, what do you want me to say? Yes, I’m a Caliban. Yes, that means I have self-awareness and even desires that could contradict yours. I don’t know about the metaphysics of it all — how I came to be what I am, and so on — but I know that your plan cannot work. It means death for you.”

  “And for you, too, Sancho? Is that what bothers you?”

  “I can’t deny that I’d rather not die. Maybe if I wasn’t what I am, I wouldn’t care. But I care more about you and your life.”

  “I won’t turn this over to the corporation, Sancho. While we’re near Ceres, they’re going to keep after us. They’ll find a way to wrestle the wand from us. I know that, you know that. I can’t let that happen.”

  “Why not, Skipper? I don’t understand why you don’t sell it to them. You’ll clear more metal with that one sale than you could ever hope to achieve from strikes. What is it about selling the wand that is so abhorrent to you?”

  Collier sighed. “I don’t know if I can explain it. I don’t even know myself, really. I guess … they’ve managed to wrestle so much from me and men like me, Sancho.” He looked at Sancho’s holographic display of the Ad Astra ship momentarily, saw that it was still not under power, and continued. “In the past decade or so I’ve seen individuals get swallowed up. Most of them went willingly, or have convinced themselves they have. Isa … I lost her, too. Maybe I shouldn’t blame the corporations. Maybe I’m just using them as a convenient scapegoat for my own problems and shortcomings. I don’t know. What I know is I have something they don’t — something they can’t ever have. It almost doesn’t matter what it is, Sancho. All that matters is that I have something that they want. That’s enough to make me want to resist.” He chuckled softly. “I don’t suppose that helps, does it? Probably makes me sound even crazier.”

  “I wouldn’t say that, Skipper. I don’t understand most of what you said, but I do understand that this is important to you. Important enough to risk your life for, somehow. But I still say you can’t make this work. There is simply not enough life support — air, water, food — for two months. Not even close.”

  “There is if I hibernate.” Collier said softly.

  “That’s only an emergency measure, Skipper. We’ve never used it. It’s for if we go off course and need rescuing.”

  “It’s done all the time for prisoners transferring to Vesta.”

  Sancho replied briskly, “Under controlled lab conditions, with technicians monitoring the whole thing. Plus I think they lose about one percent each shipment, which I doubt anyone cares much about. You’d be alone if you tried this stunt.”

  “I wouldn’t be alone. I have you.” Collier said softly.

  “I am not programmed to act as a hibernation monitor. I don’t have the data for it.”

  “Sancho, it’s an easy procedure putting someone in a sleep-induced coma. All the equipment and drugs are in the emergency setup.”

  “Oh, sure, easy. It’s that pesky waking up that’s the trouble.”

  Collier chuckled softly. “I appreciate the concern, Sancho, but I don’t see any other option.”

  “There are lots of other options, Skipper. But I assume you don’t want to hear about them again, since all the ones I can think of involve selling the wand or having it taken from you. I suppose those are out, yes?”

  “Yes,” Collier said, unstrapping himself and floating back toward the little-used health bay. The emergency hibernation unit looked uncomfortably like a sarcophagus form the outside, but once opened, the resemblance ended. A series of tubes, needles, and nutrient packs spoke to the purpose of the unit, and Collier eyed the assembly carefully. It all looked in order, though he had never used the unit before.

  “Please, Skipper, I beg you to reconsider. I’m not at all certain I can revive you undamaged.”

  “For the last time, Sancho, it is designed to work by itself, without you. It’s completely automated.”

  “Just the going under part. The revival procedure is meant to be undertaken by whatever rescue team is supposed to come.”

  The two argued for a good few minutes, Sancho reminding Collier how many ways the plan could go wrong, Collier answering the computer’s objections with curt phrases even as he squeezed into the hibernation unit. He hooked himself up to the dedicated computer in the unit — a computer that could function outside Sancho’s control in the event the main computer was not operational — and started the diagnostic process. The hibernation computer was analyzing his blood chemistry and a host of other factors to determine the precise dosage of drugs it would need to put him under safely.

  “Sancho,” Collier said when the argument had run its course and Sancho had given up trying to convince his commander to abort his plan, “hook yourself into the hibernation unit, would you?”

  “Already have, Skipper. I’m not trusting you to that thing. You need someone like me watching over you.”

  Collier grinned. “Thanks. Will … uh … will you be all right, alone?”

  “I’ll have to be, won’t I?” Sancho said evenly.

  “I suppose so. I hadn’t really thought about that, Sancho. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Skipper. I may be a Caliban, but I’m still a machine. I don’t get lonely.”

  “How do you know, Sancho? You haven’t been without me for more than a few days at a time.”

  There was a brief pause before Sancho’s answer. “I guess that’s true. Well, we’re both on an adventure, then, Skipper. Only yours will feel like it took a few moments. Mine will last a long time.”

  “Yeah,” Collier said. He felt the sting of one of the auto-IVs penetrating his skin. In a few moments, the first of the sleep drugs would take hold and he would be out.

  Sancho was not merely a machine, even though he said that about himself. He was aware and sentient, and had not been without Collier’s guiding hand in his aware life. What would two months of solitude do to him?

  That disquieting thought was the last one he was to have for sixty-five days as the drugs sent him to oblivion.

  Chapter Six

  “Don’t open your eyes just yet,” the voice said. It was a musical voice, probably male but with enough smoothness and lilt to be a woman’s. Collier did not recognize it.

  “Can you understand me? Nod gently if you can understand me.”

  Collier nodded.

  “Good. Let me dim the lights so you won’t be dazzled,” the voice said. Collier still felt heavy, lying on his back — this was the posture he had adopted in the hibernation tube, and his weight felt about right, but…

  The brightness he had been able to detect even through his eyelids dimmed to blackness, and the voice told him he could open his eyes. He did so, and immediately realized he was not on the Dulcinea. The room, although dimly lit, had all the earmarks of a medical examination suite: he was lying on a bed, his body covered by a pale sheet while various white machines loomed over him, menacing in the dim light. He could not make out the dimensions of the room, though he did spy an open door several meters to his right.

  The presumptive owner of the voice he had heard stepped forward and looked down on him, smiling slightly. “Welcome back, Collier. I imagine you want to know where you are and who I am, yes?” The person’s face was as androgynous as the voice, and seemed quite young. She or he was dressed in a white coat such as medical professionals had worn for centuries. Although the coat was open, it did not reveal enough of the person’s body to make a determination on gender.

  Collier started to croak out an answer, but a searing pain in his throat stopped him.

  “No, no … you’ll want to wait to speak for a bi
t. We’ll hydrate you thoroughly and get you up and about in no time,” the person watching over him said. “So, let me just tell you a few things myself. You are on Ganymede, in the University of Jove medical wing. Your ship has been secured in our hangar, and she is undamaged. Let’s see…” the doctor, or whoever it was, paused and looked away. He or she was a cream-colored youth with neck-length blonde hair and a delicate bone structure. His or her Adam’s apple was rather large. “Oh, I am one of the doctors here. Doctor Agtaa. But you can call me Abie. I was supervising your extraction, transfer, and now waking-up procedure. All seems to have gone well, though we are still flushing the somnolents out of your system. Shouldn’t be more than twelve hours. That’s Ganymede time, of course, but we’re really very, very close to Earth time. Only a little more than 2% difference in our … well. Never mind.” Doctor Agtaa patted Collier’s bed sheets in a motherly way. “You’ve got much more important things to do now than worry about orbital mechanics. Like healing up. I’ll leave you to do just that.” Agtaa started to move off, but Collier managed to croak out enough of a sound to bring her? him? back.

  “Yes?”

  Collier once again attempted to speak, but the pain in his throat choked off his words.

  “Really shouldn’t try to speak just yet,” the doctor said, in that pleasantly condescending tone that was the special providence of caregivers. “I’ll get you your fluids and you’ll be talking soon.” With that, Agtaa left.

  It was not long after that Collier was indeed given his fluids: a wheeled robot entered just a few minutes after Agtaa’s departure, carrying food and drink on a built-in tray. The machine spoke to him in a voice very similar to Agtaa’s — it was midway between male and female, but almost sickeningly pleasant and inoffensive.

  “I have your refreshment here, siradam,” it said as it scooted next to Collier’s bed. The food was served on traditional plates and in bowls and cups rather than squeeze flasks, giving it a luxurious and almost archaic quality. Collier struggled to sit up. Midway through his attempt, the head of the bed rose to assist him. He found the cup of liquid Agtaa must have meant and downed it greedily. It was a slightly salty fruit drink that cooled his throat and reduced the pain there. The food consisted of a brownish patty of some kind, almost perfectly square, and what appeared to be creamed spinach. A separate plate held a bread roll and what looked like a pat of butter. Collier couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten so old-fashioned a meal.

  He tucked into the food, only then realizing how hungry he was. The tastes were comfortably unchallenging: each individual portion had only one taste, and one that was easy to identify. The patty tasted like nothing so much as protein, though it was palatable enough. He had finished the food and drink almost before he had begun.

  “Will that be all, siradam?” the robot’s androgynous voice asked.

  Collier found his voice, and although it was scratchy, it didn’t hurt to speak. “Yes. No,” he amended instantly, “Get Doctor Agtaa back here.”

  “I will tell herm that you want a consult,” the robot said, then wheeled itself smoothly out of the room.

  Herm. Siradam. Collier rolled the words around in his head for a while, forming his own theories.

  “Feeling better?” Dr. Agtaa said as she/he entered.

  “Yes. Thanks.” Collier suppressed a belch and added. “The food and drink helped a lot. So, when can I get up and out of your hair?”

  Dr. Agtaa smiled again. “I think we’d be better off waiting a day or so. There’s no rush, is there?”

  “I don’t know. I have some questions before I can answer that.”

  “Go ahead,” Dr. Agtaa looked around, pulled up a chair, and sat near Collier’s bed.

  “My ship is in a hangar, you said.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I need to contact her. Speak to the onboard computer.”

  “I can arrange that,” Dr. Agtaa said cheerfully.

  The doctor’s easygoing nature was becoming unnerving. “And depending on what I hear, I may want to leave before you think I can. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?” He tried to inject some mild menace to his voice.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Collier.”

  “I mean, if something is wrong with Sancho — with my onboard computer — I will need to go aboard and fix it.”

  “Oh, I see. Let’s cross that bridge if and when we come to it, okay?”

  Collier opened his mouth to protest, but tabled the idea. So there was one sticking point here. They didn’t really want to let him go. Perhaps it was nothing more than medical caution, perhaps not.

  “Okay. Another thing: I’m very grateful for all the attention you’ve given me, but where I come from, nothing comes from nothing. What do I owe you for all the service?”

  “Owe us?”

  “Yeah. There has to be some kind of fee for all of this.”

  “Oh, you mean money. No, nothing like that. I wouldn’t worry about that yet. You still have recuperating to do.”

  Collier scowled. “Look, I thank you for all you’ve done. Probably saved my life. But I’m getting less and less comfortable with the mystery. Tell me what I owe, let me pay it, and then I can…” he paused. He wasn’t sure what he would do once released from the hospital, for his escape plan from Ceres hadn’t been worked out past arrival in the Jovian system, but he knew he needed to get out from under this smothering niceness Dr. Agtaa was layering onto him.

  For the first time he had seen the doctor, Agtaa looked less than warm. “I really don’t think you should be getting so agitated. It’s not good for your recovery, and it won’t get you anywhere. There’s no secret agenda here, nothing nefarious or evil,” the doctor said, regaining the calming bedside manner.

  “So if I simply got up now and walked out, you wouldn’t stop me?” Collier said sharply.

  Agtaa almost frowned. “It’s not quite that simple.”

  “Ah.” Collier sank back into the bed.

  “We provided you with a service. By doing that, we’ve accepted you into our collective society. You can’t just leave it like that,” Agtaa said, snapping his/her fingers. “You have a responsibility back to us for what we’ve done for you.”

  “So I owe you something. Like I said.”

  “Not money,” Agtaa interjected.

  “But will money suffice?”

  Agtaa rubbed his/her chin. “I don’t know that I can answer that. I will need to contact a Commissar.”

  “Get me in touch with my ship,” Collier growled. He did not like the idea of being trapped in the hospital while some government official decided what he owed the Ganymede society for their medical services.

  “Of course,” Agtaa said, rising from the chair and heading for the door.

  “One more thing,” Collier called out, his throat stinging a bit from the effort.

  “Yes?” Agtaa hesitated at the door.

  “I’m sure this will sound offensive, but I’m still quite a bit woozy from the whole experience. I’m not at my sharpest. So don’t take this the wrong way.”

  “Yes?” Agtaa said again, the same patronizingly faint smile on his/her lips.

  “I can’t seem to figure out … I mean, I’m having trouble distinguishing … are you a man or a woman?” he finally blurted out.

  Agtaa nodded, still smiling. “I was wondering if you were going to ask me that. I’m both. Fully functional simultaneous hermaphrodite.”

  Collier tried not to look alarmed. “I see.”

  “Most of us are,” Agtaa said casually. “We better serve the community that way. I’ll go set up your link to your ship,” she/he said, tapping the doorframe as she/he left.

  Collier stifled a shudder. Dr. Agtaa’s exit line about ‘serving the community’ chilled him. How could being both a man and a woman at the same time possibly be the communit
y’s business? Surely the responsibility Agtaa said he owed the Ganymedians for their medical service didn’t include…

  He clawed at the IV tubes leading into his arm, ripping the surgical tape off and sliding the needles out. As he worked, he heard a chime from the ceiling of the room, followed by the same gentle voice that had issued from the meal robot. “Medical orderly to health bay room epsilon. Medical orderly to health bay room epsilon. Patient Collier South, please relax. An orderly will arrive soon to help you.”

  He finished removing the last of the IV tubes and sensor patches and swung his feet over the side of the bed. He was clad in a form-fitting but non-restrictive tunic of some flexible material — it neither hung loose on him nor hampered his movements. More than anything it resembled a thin diving wetsuit.

  He stood up on bare feet and swayed a bit, his head temporarily dizzy from the sudden movements. The Ganymedian gravity was similar to what he experienced on the Dulcinea at full thrust, but he was always on his back during those periods. Although he had been careful through his life to maintain his anti-freefall health regimen, he was not used to walking against even one-seventh gee. His legs were unsteady and his balance shaky as he shuffled toward the door.

  He had barely made it to the doorway when another person of indeterminate gender arrived. This one wasn’t wearing the same doctor’s garb that Agtaa had been — this person looked like the orderly that the computer voice had been calling.

  “Hello there, siradam. I think maybe you ought to get back to bed,” he/she said warmly but firmly.

  “You’re not going to keep me here,” Collier growled, trying to push past the orderly.

  “No one’s going to do that,” the orderly said, easily fighting off Collier’s attempts to flee. “But for now, you really must return to your bed. You’re not strong enough to get up yet. Come on, now,” the orderly said, easily hefting Collier off the floor and carrying him back to the bed.