Stilicho turned and pointed to a full-sized robot. “How many bots do we have on Mars?”
“Hundreds,” David said. “The most common are the sweeper bots. Very simple machines whose job is to wipe away the dust that accumulates on the solar panels in the colony. Most of them are fully autonomous. The larger ones are the transport and lifter bots, and they are usually found on the construction sites.”
Stilicho took out a small plug drive from his pocket. “I’ll be bringing Maia with me. Can she override their command modules?”
David’s eyebrows shot up. MAIA was shot for Mobile Artificial Intelligence Assistant. They were the next generation in quantum AI suites, and could be used to hack into systems and provide instantaneous advice for their users. “You’ve got a Maia? I thought they were only at the prototype stage.”
It was Stilicho’s turn to give him a wink. “This is a Maia Version-Two, actually. Only Errol and me has one right now. I have to say, she’s been invaluable when it comes to handling the problems I’m faced with.”
“You’ll need the override code to hack into the bots, but I’m sure Errol will give them to you,” David said. “But why would you need to hack into the robots anyway? Are you expecting some kind of trouble out there?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest,” Stilicho said. “I guess Errol already outlined the problem to you.”
“He did,” David said. “And I honestly don’t know what’s going on out there.”
“Best to be safe,” Stilicho said. “Guns do work on Mars, right?”
“Of course,” David said. “Our corporate security teams have them. Firing them outside muffles the sound because of the thin atmosphere, and there’s less bullet drop due to the low gravity, which means a greater range. With the low gravity, you can move faster with much less effort. Jumping will be much higher. Throwing someone will be in slow motion and your throw will be longer.”
“I’ve asked Errol to include some weapons for me as well,” Stilicho said.
“I’ve already signed off on the manifest,” David said. “I’m also sending a full complement of security personnel with you. As you know, we normally hire former cops and put them through astronaut training. I hope that they’ll be enough to deal with any potential problems you’ll have out there.”
Stilicho exhaled slowly. “I hope so too. If you don’t know what the problem is, I’ll be damned if I could figure it out. If this gets worse, who do we call?”
“In the event everything goes to hell it would have to be the US Military, I suppose,” David said. “The Air Force’s Space Command is the only government arm now that still does manned spaceflights, since NASA reoriented itself into a regulatory agency. I don’t know what their capabilities are since all their space operations are classified, but I think Errol will go balls-up ballistic if we ever need to ask for their help.”
“Well if that should happen then I’ll need to find a new job if I ever get back to Earth,” Stilicho said.
“If you do get back to Earth you’ll get a complimentary, commemorative gold medal, courtesy of ACE Corp that says you went to Mars and back,” David said. “We give out a bronze pin to those that complete the space training program, and a silver pin to those that made it to low Earth orbit. Tourists love them.”
“Wonderful,” Stilicho said. “Do I still get that medal if I die?”
“No,” David said, winking. “You just get your name etched on the Mars Memorial in Washington DC, right beside the names of the dead people belonging to Mars First. Who knows, your name might even be placed right beside Silas Balsamic’s.”
Stilicho frowned. “Don’t quit your day job.”
Chapter 7
Less than forty-eight hours later, the Duran Duran lifted off from the Kennedy Space Center launchpad on Merrit Island. In addition to the crew there were ten passengers, along with extra cargo containers to fill out the interior. During the liftoff phase, all the passengers wore their skinsuits and helmets, before they gathered together at the transporter’s escape module, located just below the crew cockpit. There they were strapped down on their accelerator couches and were plugged into an independent oxygen supply system. In the event of a critical emergency during launch, the entire nose of the ship could eject away from the stricken rocket via the use of explosive bolts, and could land back to Earth safely using retro thrusters and a parachute system. The crew was highly experienced and the automated launch protocols were followed to the letter. In the end, it was a successful launch and the passengers were escorted by the cabin crew to their respective staterooms once low Earth orbit was achieved.
Stilicho groaned slightly as he stayed wrapped up in his bed. The sleeping bag that he was strapped into resembled a giant golf bag, and his head was sticking out in between the zipped up lining. He was nauseous, and it felt like his throat was connected directly to his stomach, ready to expel the last remaining contents still lodged precariously inside of it. Stilicho couldn’t tell up from down, and all he could do was to stay still and close his eyes, but it didn’t stop the lightheadedness. A used barf bag lay floating just a meter away near his face, and he was too weak to place it along the wall.
The stateroom door opened and a compact, dark-haired woman floated inside. She had a wide smile on her face. “Hello, Mr. Jones. My name is Asha, and I’m your personal spaceflight attendant. Mr. Flux has told me a lot about you and he says to take good care of you. So how are you feeling now?”
Stilicho wheezed. “What do you think? I feel … sick.”
Asha kept smiling. She had been trained for situations like this. The attendant took the floating barf sack and placed it in a trash bag she had strapped by the side of her skinsuit. “Yes, you’re having a bout of space adaptation syndrome, it’s quite a common occurrence.”
Stilicho closed his eyes and nodded slightly. “Yeah, SAS. So they tell me. Have you got something … to treat me with?”
“We have motion sickness-medications, but it’s better that you work through it naturally,” Asha said. “Because the side effects will make you drowsy, or worse. You ought to feel better in a day or two, if not sooner.”
Stilicho sighed. “I … don’t think I can keep this up.”
Asha giggled. “Sure you can, Mr. Jones. Just rest for now. I will be back later for your dinner. If you’re feeling better by then you could actually go over to our restaurant, it’s located just below this deck. Just go down through the central accessway, you can’t miss it. We have custom-made salads, smoked salmon, fettuccine carbonara and beef burgundy for this dinner course. We usually serve the fresh produce right away in the first few days, so you don’t want to miss that. There’s cheesecake, fruit, gourmet cheeses, ice cream and hot baked brownies for dessert. If you want to order off the menu with items such as grilled hotdogs or a cheeseburger, we could accommodate you for sure.”
Stilicho grimaced. “Please … don’t talk to me about food. It just makes me want to throw up more.”
“Very well, sir,” Asha said. “Oh, Captain Deladrier received a priority one message and told me to pass the good news on to you. It seems that Mr. Flux has personally directed the driveship from L-point two to head over here- at near low Earth orbit- and rendezvous with us. We should be matching heading and velocities soon. This means that we will be docking with them in the next few hours, and our travel time to Mars will be reduced by at least four days.”
“That’s the first good news I’ve heard since we lifted off,” Stilicho said, his mood brightening. He pointed at the cabinets around the cabin. “Are any of those things actually real beds?”
“You’re lying in your bed right now, Mr. Jones,” Asha said.
“This isn’t a cabin, it’s a closet,” Stilicho said. Talking to her was distracting him from his discomfort, so he kept at it. “And I feel like an old jacket just hanging on a peg.”
Asha giggled again. “A true spaceship isn’t like what you see on TV, Mr. Jones. In this ship, accessways go up and do
wn, like an elevator in a building, not side to side corridors like in a sea-going vessel. That is why your bed is vertically positioned along the wall.” She touched the side of one of the cabinets and it opened, revealing a virtual helmet. “We have full net coverage, and our entertainment system contains all the movies, music, literature and TV shows produced by the entire world for the past hundred and fifty years. I would suggest you not use the VR simulator until your bout of sickness has passed.”
Stilicho took out a remote control unit that had been velcroed to the wall and activated the TV monitor located at the opposite side of the cabin. He began cycling through a few thousand channels. “Well, maybe this might not be so bad after all. I just need to stay pegged here and watch movies all day and night.”
Asha pointed to a rectangular black box at the bottom end of the stateroom. “That is your personal exercise unit. Just plant your feet on the bottom and grip the handles. Bend down and pull yourself up and repeat. It’s like doing squats back on Earth. We have more elaborate machines in the gym, which are two levels below your cabin. The security officers are currently hogging all the treadmills and gravity resistance machines, but with your VIP status I can definitely ask them to make room for you. If you want a more social form of exercise, a zero-gravity ball game is scheduled with the crew at the main common area a few hours after breakfast tomorrow, if you’d like to attend.”
Stilicho shook his head. “I’m not really in the mood to exercise just yet.”
Asha nodded. “Okay, we can wait until you’re feeling better. But once you’re up to it then you must exercise at least two hours every twenty-four hours. It is imperative that you do this, or you will lose muscle mass.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stilicho said. “I’ve been told of this countless times already.”
“I’m sorry for having to insist, but I will be checking on you every few hours,” Asha said.
“Okay,” Stilicho said. “Can I take off my diaper now?”
“I would suggest you keep it on even if you haven’t used it,” Asha said. “The toilet is three doors to your left or right once you come out of your room. It uses a vacuum to bring the waste products into its system, so it may be a bit uncomfortable at first. Just read the instructions before you use it.”
Stilicho blinked. “So it doesn’t use water?”
“That would be impractical with no gravity,” Asha said. “The toilet papers are wet wipes, and you can flush them into the toilet after use since they are biodegradable as well.”
“Wonderful,” Stilicho said. “Since I’ll be here for a month and a half, how about taking a bath?”
“Unfortunately we follow strict water rationing rules while in space,” Asha said. “We have a special zero-g bathroom in which you can use a sponge bath while wearing your pressurized helmet, so that the loose water molecules don’t enter your lungs. Once you are done, you can activate the vacuum seal to draw the floating droplets back to the draining walls. You won’t be able to exit until that is done. You can only do this once a week. If you want to take more baths, you can use the liquid wipes.”
“No windows to see out in space?”
Asha smirked. “There’s an observation deck you can check out, but you won’t be seeing much until we begin docking procedures with the driveship. The best time to be there is on our approach to Mars, and you can see the Red Planet in all its glory. You can also switch to channel one on your entertainment system and cycle through the cameras located outside of the ship. You can toggle settings like infrared mode or zoom in using the telescopic mode for a closer look. Those things give a much better view of the outside than a window ever could.”
“Okay,” Stilicho said. “When I’m feeling better, could I get a congratulatory drink?”
Asha shook her head. “If you mean an alcoholic drink then I’m afraid we don’t have any available. Current NASA regulations state that no alcoholic beverages can be consumed during spaceflight. If you want water, fruit juice, coffee or a soda I can get you almost any brand you like. If you want something stronger, I can whip up a mean vanilla milkshake, which I’m sure will satisfy your cravings.”
Stilicho bit his lip. It was about as bad as he expected. He was used to staying in luxury hotels while traveling, and this was shaping up to be an unpleasant experience so far. “Okay, I guess I don’t have any other questions for now.”
“One other thing,” Asha said. “In the event of a solar flare, the alarm will sound. That gives you twenty minutes to stop whatever you’re doing and head immediately to the escape module- same place where you strapped down during takeoff. It’s the most heavily shielded part of the ship. Once the flare is over, you can go back to your activities. Cosmic radiation is a continuous bombardment, but the inner hull is constructed with hydrogenised, high-density plastic which stops most of it.”
“Hookay, just another thing to worry about. Hopefully I can still have children after all this is over with.”
Asha smiled again as she pointed to a nearby touch console. “I’m available on call. Just push that button. If I can’t stop by, then another attendant will be with you shortly.” With that, she turned around, opened the door behind her, and left the cabin.
Stilicho looked around. It seemed that the stateroom was completely sealed, and could function as a fully pressurized habitat in case the other compartments lost any atmosphere. The filtered air was dry, and he needed to unpack his small jar of petroleum jelly to coat the inside of his nose, otherwise he would be getting a sore throat soon enough. Another cabinet, just an arm’s length away, contained a breathing helmet and life support backpack, ready to be used in case of an explosive decompression. He remembered all the things David Conklin had told him a few days earlier, and hoped that he wouldn’t have to experience such an event.
After the second day, Stilicho felt well enough to go out of his cabin and explore the rest of the ship. For security reasons, only the crew was allowed in the cockpit, but he was able to have a meal at the restaurant with Captain Deladrier. Although the establishment had sit-down tables and a nice looking menu, the food that was served to him resembled a TV dinner, with trays velcroed onto the table. Stilicho was taught to use his knife to make an X-shaped incision on the plastic liner that covered the top of the dishes, to minimize runaway food particles in the microgravity environment. The meals were mostly pre-packaged but still somewhat tasty. When he ordered a steak, the meat was already pre-cut, though they managed to make it somewhat tender enough to be enjoyable. For obvious reasons, no crumbly or powdery food textures were ever served in space. Even the salt and pepper condiments were liquefied, and he needed to touch the tip of the squeeze bottle onto the surface of the food to get it to stick. When it came to drinks and soups, sipping through a straw was the way to go about it. There were clamps located near the tips of the straws, and he had to lock it in place in between sips, lest the liquid float out into the compartment. The metal utensils were magnetized, and could be placed onto the metal tables and would stay on it.
The eight security consultants mostly kept to themselves, so Stilicho didn’t bother to hang around with them. The only other passenger was a woman, and she seemed a little snobbish when Stilicho gave her a greeting as they floated by each other along the main accessway one day, so he ignored her from then on. Asha was always friendly, and he learned that she was a former flight attendant in the airline industry. Only in her mid-twenties, Asha was ultimately qualified for astronaut training, so she jumped at the chance for a career that rewarded her with increased pay to start a fund for a college degree.
With his stomach finally adjusted to life in space, Stilicho settled back in his cabin after taking his first weekly bath. It had been several days since the transporter docked with the driveship, and the latter had engaged its powerful NERVA engines for the journey to the Red Planet. He had finally adjusted to the constant freefalling sensation, and Stilicho was starting to feel better about the whole thing. Now it was time to do a lit
tle work. He took out a small plug from the lining of his skinsuit and inserted it into the cabin’s local internet port. In less than a second, Maia was online, speaking through the ear jack of his smartglasses.
The neutral, monotone voice was exactly the same as the last time he used it. “Hello, Stil. I must apologize once again for interrupting your auto-asphyxiation session. Please forgive me.”
Stilicho shook his head. “Look, forget about that, okay? Just erase that incident from your history files.”
“Done,” Maia said. “What can I do for you today?”
“First off,” Stilicho said. “Change your voice mode. Make it a woman’s with a pleasing personality.”
The voice changed into something sultry, slow and definitely feminine. “How does this sound, Stil?”
“Too sensuous,” Stilicho said. “Ease up on that part.”
The tone quickly became more businesslike. “How about now?”
“Better,” Stilicho said. “Okay, have there been any updates on the growing Mars rumors on the net?”
“A number of conspiracy sites are saying that the Chinese have secretly declared war on ACE Corp, and they are planning to attack the colony directly. No credible proof of that line of thinking exists. The mainstream media sites are interviewing worried relatives of the advanced construction crew back on Earth, since their personal com-links were silenced after the virus attacks. Errol’s only official comment was that there was a temporary communications problem, and an update will be forthcoming in a few weeks time. Company PR is doing its best to deny any conflicts with China and is busy quashing rumors about a Martian plague. In fact the Chinese secretly proposed to send a rescue team over to Chryse Planitia the moment they heard of the problems, but Errol declined the offer. Based on our satellite flybys, the Chinese are hunkering down in their colony until more information comes out,” Maia said. The advanced AI architecture enabled it to access and disseminate all the incoming news reports on the net in less than a second.
The Piranha Solution: A Hard Science Fiction Technothriller (Ace of Space Book 1) Page 9