Mission hadn't noticed before, but Chandler Hunt stood quietly in the background. Now he stepped up and said, "Mission, we’re all relieved to know that you’re alright. Is there anything we can do for you?"
He shook his head and said, "No, but I appreciate the offer."
The nurse burst in, threw an evil stare at Mission and said, "I told you no more than three at a time. Now who is leaving?"
Susan, Pierce, and Montag said in unison, "Chandler is."
Once Chandler said his good-byes, Mission said, "What about your analysis of the syn?"
Pierce said, "We found an incredibly aggressive and brutal program for engaging other syns. It's a core portion of their programming. We'll load it into Montag this afternoon."
Mission's eyes narrowed and he said, "Montag, what do you think about that, loading violent programming into your system?"
"I want to do anything possible to protect the three of you."
"No, that's not what I mean. You saw that combat model female in action. What did you think of her behavior?"
"I thought it was horrible. There is no excuse for acting in such a manner."
"If that’s true, then why would you allow yourself to become like her?"
"I do it to protect. That is my function."
Mission sighed. "This is getting us nowhere. I don't like this. These killer syns are wrong, and we’re the last people who should create another one."
Mission turned to Susan and said, "Actually, I shouldn't have said a word. His primary function is protecting you. How do you feel about this?"
Susan actually shuddered. "They scare me. Anything that’s trained to kill without conscience is a frightening thing. I couldn't feel safe next to one."
Montag looked upset and Pierce said, "Don't worry about it big guy. I'll explain later."
Mission tugged at Susan's blouse and said, "I hate to be selfish, but can you tell me what happened to me, and what the prognosis is?"
"You took three rounds from the Stiletto on the left side of the abdominal region. The shots formed a rough equilateral triangle with about 1½" on a side. Fortunately, there is not much in the way of organs where you were hit, so the internal damage was mostly burn trauma. You did suffer some damage to the wall of the stomach and the small intestine. They might let you try some solid food in a couple of days and that will tell them how you are progressing."
"When can I get out of here?"
"Right now, they’re saying two weeks."
"I'll dig my way out with a plastic spoon before I stay two weeks."
The visit took too long. He could feel the darkness tapping on his shoulder, and he began to sink. "I didn't get to talk to the professor. I was supposed to give him my answer ... what's today?"
"Tuesday."
"Oh God, I've .... "
Susan smiled. He drifted away again.
27
Mission woke up and saw Susan dozing in the chair beside his bed. He watched the rhythms of her breathing, the work file clutched in her hand. He studied the lock of hair that fell across her face. She opened her eyes and smiled. "Hi. How do you feel?"
In truth, he felt a bit disincorporated, not an uncommon feeling for patients who have slept as much as he had. He tried to shift somewhat in the bed and said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but don't you ever go home? You need a decent meal and a good night's sleep."
She smiled again. "I'm managing. Your place just seems empty without the stench of your cigarettes."
"Look, Your sarcasm really is fine in small doses, but can't you ever say something positive? You know, like, Mission, you are irresistible in a pale green hospital gown."
"Alright, I'll give it a try. Mission, I think your stomach is quite handsome now that it's shaved."
Mission looked at her for a moment and said, "I can tell I'm going to have to be incredibly careful when I ask you for anything."
Then his face turned serious and he said, "How's the trip coming?"
"Very good. We have a firm itinerary, we are 90% complete on the equipment list, and we even met our Pioneer teammate."
"Dick?"
"You were right, the name is also a description. He's a lecherous little weasel who appears to suffer from caffeine overdose."
"Did he talk about his interests in the trip?"
"Yes, he said he's really tagging along as an efficiency analyst. He's very interested in our diagnostics to maximize utilization of synthetics in the mining process."
"Well, that doesn't sound too bad. Hey! I've got to talk to the professor. I promised him an answer on Monday, and ... "
Susan pointed across the room. Mission turned to see Professor Matlin, standing by the room divider and smiling. "Hello Mission. You seem to be feeling better."
Susan said, "This looks like a good time to run some errands. Bye."
Mission nodded. "Yes, I'm ready to get out of this bed and back to the world of the living."
The professor shook his finger. "If you try and rush this, you'll end up waving good-bye to the team as they leave. I have to tell you, I’m very concerned with this entire plan."
"You should be. The risks are real. But Susan’s going to be safe with Montag. I think I should sit down with you and Chandler before we leave. We all need to be clear on what authority I'll have in terms of reaching an accord."
Matlin's eyebrows raised. "You know what’s going to happen! Or at least you suspect. What is it?"
Mission said, "I'm not sure. I get these feelings and the supporting facts float to the top of my consciousness later on. How would Paradox react if they had to scrap this line? You could use the same physical brain and the same body, but with radically different programming."
"Well, my staff is playing with some ideas."
"Any revolutionary ideas as opposed to evolutionary?"
"Yes, you know Elliot, he's the smallish, very young, very bright engineer?"
Mission smiled. “That doesn’t really narrow the field, but yes, I know Elliot.”
"Yes. Well, he came to me saying that we have been trying to shoehorn an organic programming system into an electronics based brain. He developed the fundamentals of a programming language and system that he tailored to the functioning of a polychromadrine based brain."
Mission looked at the professor and said, "This is just my opinion, but I think you should fund that system and go to prototype as quickly as possible."
Matlin considered the suggestion. "Mission you talk like a man who works for the company. Do you work for the company?"
His expression was pained. "Look, I want to accept the position offered me, because I don't want to wonder for the rest of my life, if I could have done it. But I fear that I won't know what I'm doing."
Matlin sat down at the foot of the bed. "I don't have any doubts. But if I did, our discussion just now would erase them. You’re looking at a very narrow interpretation of what an engineer does. You're thinking that someone hands you specs for a frequency analyzer, you go through them with a fine tooth comb, and turn out a detailed design specifying every component, from the power source and the cabinet, to the chips, and the I/O systems. Right? Of course I'm right."
"But Mission, do you know how long an engineer can do that sort of work? An average of four to six years. Tops. And then they've lost touch with the current theory in their field, and they look to some kid who doesn't even shave yet, to take over. Those kids are an important part of the work."
"But you know what? At the same time, they are complete idiots. They find it difficult to consider costs constraints. They don't really understand how their module fits into the system being built, and they couldn't begin to take into account the wants and needs of the customer."
Matlin tapped his chest and said, "I do that for them. Senior Engineers do that for them. We look at their designs and say, You need to make this component smaller. You are producing too much heat at this point. These components cost five times what we budgeted. Then we discuss. Sometimes, t
hey are right and we can't find a way to make it smaller or cooler or cheaper. Most of the time, we just insist that they fix it, and they dream up something. That's what a Senior Engineer does. And that’s what you have been doing with my staff since this thing started."
He got up and headed toward the door, mumbling over his shoulder to Mission as he went. "So, don't worry. You'll be fine. And if not ... well, if not we'll just fire you. Get your rest, Mission."
Mission leaned back on the pillow and smiled. Senior Robotics Engineer.
28
It would be impossible to not feel some excitement. Mission looked out the window at the shuttle they would board. It seemed ironic in a way. Completing the first large scale space station made possible the manufacture of alloys unprecedented in terms of insulation from heat. The new alloys made trips outside the earth's gravity into no more than a long plane flight.
Mission visited Planet's Row (the name used by everyone in referencing the string of space stations from Mercury's orbit out to the edge of the solar system) once before, also courtesy of Paradox. He tracked a syn to a shuttle flight, but he refused to pay for a ticket to Planet's Row from the bounty he might earn.
Paradox paid and he just barely made it to the shuttle before they closed the doors for takeoff. He found his mark almost as soon as he disembarked, and within two hours, he sat on the shuttle heading back home. He remembered little about the flight, except that he would need a very good reason to do it again.
He turned to look at Susan. Although she perched on a chair, she virtually hummed with nervous energy. Mission sat down next to her and said, "Are we a little antsy?"
She still carried the icy smile in her repertoire and she chose to use it. "I hold you responsible for all of this. Here I am, a sane and rational person, about to board an aircraft that will soon cause me to weigh over a thousand pounds."
"What new wonder toy do they have on this model to ease the discomfort of G forces?"
"The brochure says that they have seats filled with flexi-polymer on hydraulic assemblies. This state of the art system virtually negates any of the consequences of G forces."
Mission said, "Ha!"
Susan read on, "As some passengers may suffer slight discomfort, Valium is available ½ hour before flight time."
They both laughed. Mission moved his shoulders slightly and then frowned. Susan said, "What's your problem, mister?"
Mission almost pouted. "I feel weird without my Glock. Like part of me is missing."
"Where did you pack it?"
"In one of the lighter equipment bags. I disassembled it for the authorities and then packed it in a checked bag. I can't reassemble it until we hit the space station."
"You do realize Mission, that billions of people go their entire lives without ever carrying a gun?"
"How many of them look like a jigsaw puzzle, courtesy of a combat model synthetic?" The cuts on his face from the mirror still showed, even though they would disappear in another week or so.
"I keep telling you. You don't look like a jigsaw puzzle, you look like a Picasso."
Mission grunted. "Anyway, my world has required a gun for some time. I guess an argument in a technical meeting with the engineers shouldn't be settled by gunfire."
Susan grinned. "It is extreme, but you'd only have to do it once, and then it would be quite easy to build consensus."
They boarded the shuttle and took their seats. Susan looked nervously at the double shoulder harness and seatbelt. As the flight attendant moved past, Mission asked for Valium and she gave him two doses. He took his and set the other on Susan's armrest. She pretended not to notice.
Mission looked around the cabin. Pierce and Montag nodded and said hello. The Dick sat two rows up. He was everything Susan had described and more. He refused to admit he had lost his hair and instead, combed hair from the side all the way over the top. He bore a pasty sort of complexion seen most commonly at funeral homes, and he obviously bought his clothes from the One Size Fits All store.
All of this could be overlooked if he were a nice guy, but he wasn't. He seemed to perpetually pant, wheeze, and drool. He would see a woman and stare conspicuously, looking her up and down with obscene intentions all too obvious. Mission hoped that they would find little opportunity to work with him.
The engines fired up and Susan showed signs of alarm when they grew, say, twice as loud as a standard earthbound jet. She snatched up the Valium and downed it and then clutched the armrest like she dangled over the Grand Canyon. Mission put his hand on hers to calm her. It didn't help.
The seats used to have scales showing how many Gs one was pulling. However, they sent too many of the passengers into panic, so the airlines removed them. The scales, not the panicked passengers. Mission knew they were nudging ten Gs. One didn't move. One didn't speak. One prayed for the experience to be over.
Soon they entered that stage where gravity fades to zero, and a star field replaces the horizon. Susan pointed out constellations and they looked out into space, in awe.
Finally, a slight turn revealed Space Station Three off the starboard bow. The deceleration and docking proved tedious, and time consuming. The captain completed the procedure and released the passengers to enter the station.
The station looked no different than any other facility where space is the most precious resource. Everything was a tight fit. The designers tried to compensate for the lack of windows by strategically locating vue screens on the walls. All in all, a claustrophobic environment even for the most well-adjusted individual.
The group moved directly to the hotel where their bags would arrive. Montag insisted on checking everyone in, but the wait became unpleasant. The traffic through the station constantly overflowed into the check-in area, moving, pushing, and prodding them until Mission realized it was good that he didn't have his gun. Montag motioned to them and they moved in his direction.
Pierce said, "What's up?"
Montag said, "They need our palm prints. They become our room keys."
With registration accomplished, they headed for the elevators to check out their rooms.
Mission opened the door and it bounced off the bed and swung back. He hit the light switch and got a good look at his ... closet. No bedroom could be this small. The single width bed hung five feet off the floor with a small sink, a databay for a computer, and a storage chest underneath. The toilets and showers were down the hall. A small vue screen clung to the wall opposite the bed.
Mission picked up his com. Susan answered and he said, "Help. I'm stuck in my room and can't get out."
"I know the feeling. And people actually pull 18 and 24 month rotations on these stations?"
"Not only that. They don't get the luxury suite like we do. No sink, no databay, and no vue screen. That makes enough room for another bed and another person."
"Just the thought is unbearable."
"You know, I had these notions of us having dinner in one of our rooms. Just relaxing. Listening to music or watching mindless vue screen programs."
"Well, the thought was sweet."
Mission groaned.
"Stupid! I meant the thought was stupid."
"Much better. When do you want dinner?"
"How about 6:00?"
"I'll knock on your door at six."
Mission relaxed on the bed. He wondered what Susan was doing. Probably expecting that he was making preparations for confronting 1000 potentially hostile syns and not allowing anyone on the team to get killed. Simple.
29
Classify the next five days as unremarkable in that they formed part of a monotonous and unpleasant repetition. Virtually all shuttles travel from one space station to the very next. This meant the group traveled by shuttle to the next station, checked into a closet that someone in advertising chose to call a bedroom, ate mostly canned food around a table the size of a dinner plate, and then started all over again the next day.
On route to Space Station Eight, the unrelenting
boredom grew too much for Mission to handle. He asked Susan for an itinerary and gaped at it in disbelief.
"Four days! We have to stay at Number 8 for four days?"
The question surprised Susan. "Yes Mission. We've known that since we started planning the trip. Haven't you looked through the itinerary before?"
"Well, actually, no. I mean who looks at those things? I figured I get off the shuttle when everyone else does, and we meet in the lobby the next day and get back on. I never considered that we might have a long layover."
She smiled a knowing smile and said, "I can just tell, your administrative assistant is going to love working with you."
Then she pulled out her com, complete with a pocket reference. She had loaded it with information about Neptune and its moons, the various settlements outside Earth, mining operations, and anything else she thought might be relevant for the trip. She punched up the data to show Mission.
"See? Neptune has only the one moon of sufficient mass to support an operation. And New Angeles is the only settlement on Triton. So you don't have the same traffic demands to the space station like you see for Jupiter with its four habitable moons and 18 total settlements. Or for Saturn with four decent moons, plus Titan with a population greater than the rest of the settlements combined. That of course is due to the increasing success in modifying Titan's atmosphere to an acceptable mixture for humans."
Mission grinned. "You sound like a travel brochure. But that still doesn't change the fact that we will be stranded in individual sardine cans for four days and three nights."
"I'm sure we can find something to do."
Mission's face turned grim. "I don't share your optimism. There will be a cramped bar with alcohol and drugs, and one woman for every fifteen men. And they will be pleasure models. You can take her back to your bunk and make your dreams come true while your roommate watches. Or you can go to the exercise unit and run on those simulated mountain ranges until exhaustion stops you. Then wait in line for a shower in a stall the size of a coffin, and go back and listen to your roommate make it with a syn. God!"
Living in Syn Page 13