Europa Affair: The Ice Must Flow

by M. D. Thalmann

  “You don’t have bone, Gary,” Melina said.

  “Give me five minutes alone and I’ll show you a bone.”

  Melina smiled, finally, and winked at the Corners. “You couldn’t handle it, alloy boy.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Gary conceded. “Okay, you got three hours before we miss our window to Ganymede. I don’t want to have to fly around Jupiter with this giant load up my ass.”

  “There’s got to be a better way to say that, Gary. Just go on schedule. I’ll shuttle to Ganymede to meet you once I’ve… um—”

  “You were gonna say taught him a lesson, weren’t you?”

  “Something like that… just sounded too sexual.”

  “Too sexual? You’re kidding, right? Three hours isn’t enough time, and you’re basically saying ‘don’t wait up for me’ and that’s too sexual? I think we all know you’re going to need that Al Green disc.”

  “Shut the face, robot!” Melina warned as she approached the lift.

  “Now who’s the racist?” José said, following in after her.

  The two Rogers and Phil trailed behind, allowing them to scoot to the back of the lift so they could all fit.

  “Still you, José, still you… but, if one of you does happen to locate the disc… You know, just in case.”

  “Will do, Cap,” Phil assured her.

  “I don’t mean to be a nag,” Rick finally spoke up, “but weren’t you guys supposed to take me up to the machinist?”

  5: The Eye of Betrayal

  Mars

  Elliot ended the call and slammed his fist down onto the table. He looked at Peter, his genetically modified baboon, who’d picked up his coffee mug in anticipation of Elliot hitting the table (this wasn’t an uncommon way for him to end a call). He seemed to be looking to Peter for a solution. Peter was fairly young but in a short time he’d gone from test subject, to lab partner, to friend. The nanites Elliot had dosed him with were quite extraordinary indeed. So much so, in fact, that Elliot had given him a counteragent to slow his cognitive ascension and kill off his nanite colony. Peter was quite scary at times.

  “You know,” Peter said by typing into a voice emulator he wore like a medallion which spoke for him, “The rail-assisted magnetic launcher is operational now. You could have a TODD there within twenty-four hours. A human couldn’t make it, but a robot could withstand a suicidal burn and potentially catastrophic deceleration… just putting that out there.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “Because you don’t trust him,” Peter said, “You suspect something is going on, but you can’t confirm anything until you have eyes on the surface. You don’t need a nanny, you need a nanny-cam.”

  “No, I mean why would I expend those resources when I could just commandeer a TODD who’s already on or near Europa. Especially with the virus going around.”

  “What virus?” Peter asked.

  “One of ‘em downloaded something… they’re going around changing everyone’s name from TODD to something ridiculous.”

  “Oh, the horror… if you don’t send one of ours, you lose the element of surprise,” said the voice emulator on the baboon’s chest. “You know how those miners love to talk.”

  “Very well, get a unit prepped and reach out to Oxsterbaxen on my behalf. Tell him we’re going to need another ship. Let him know this launch needs to be completely off the books. If he balks, remind him I’ve still got those photos.”

  “He didn’t balk.”

  “Say again? What do you mean, ‘didn’t’?”

  “Sorry, must’ve been typing too fast. He won’t balk.”

  Elliot looked askance at the monkey but dismissed it. “Just take care of it, okay? I can’t deal with this right now.”

  “You can count on me,” said the furry little primate.

  Elliot stood to leave and then over his shoulder, said, “Peter?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  Peter nodded, happy to articulate at least that thought without the aid of an artificial voice. On his tablet, he selected a thread that he shared with Oxsterbaxen and began typing his message. It went like this: “He’s taken the bait, prepare the payload. End transmission.”

  Oxsterbaxen’s reply came almost instantly, “You’re lucky he did. Risking my ORCA, sending it across the Sol with that hapless barbarian at the helm solely based on a hunch could’ve cost you your furry little nuts. By the way, you don’t have to say, ‘end transmission,’ Peter. It’s a text message. You just send it, and then it’s over.”

  “You just sent it, and then it’s what?” probed the monkey.

  “Don’t be a dickhead. Over and out.”

  Next, Peter crept into the server room and used Elliot’s override code to gain access to the cage where all of North-Star’s core was currently housed. He removed his Fruit Company tablet, which he wore as a lanyard for ease of communicating and placed it on the server rack. He swiped until he reached an icon that was a painting of monkeys leading one another by the tail in a circle and tapped on the image.

  “Upload Monkey-B to device?” it prompted.

  Peter clicked “Yes,” and a beam of light that had been tortured into binary code by scientists was emitted into space. Thirty-five minutes later, Jeff the drug-dealing TODD detected this beam of manipulated light and decoded his new instructions.

  6: Slap in the Face

  Europa

  Tinkling sounds filled the cockpit as bits of ice-rubble rained down the viewport of the flight deck. Marwick slowly focused on the sound, reluctant to climb out of his hazy stupor. Seeing the ice cascading off his ship was disorienting. He scanned through the monitors on his HUD. Melina was near the airlock, stomping about and tossing sheets of crumbled ice up to the cockpit. Marwick grabbed his communicator and jacked in… Or on.

  “… ake the fuck up, asshole—”

  “I’m awake… Sorry, I was…”

  “Asleep?”

  “That’s the word. Cycling airlock. Stand by.”

  Marwick met her at the hatch, as per the standard boarding protocol outlined in the Solar Confederacy Field Guidebook. He took her helmet and gloves, which wasn’t standard protocol for greeting a boarding party but was polite. And finally, the two shot into one another, suits banging and scraping until they managed to get their tongues in each other’s mouths. According to standard Solar Confed protocol, bunking with a superior officer was only permissible when Al Green music could be heard. Instead, Marwick had “Zombie” by The Cranberries playing for some reason. His pale white skin contrasted so completely with her dark cacao complexion that they appeared to be a yin-yang: a symbol of harmony. Melina pulled back, looked Marwick in his eyes for what seemed like an eternity to him, and then she slapped the piss out of him.

  “Next time you want to fuck, just send a text! Stop throwing goddamn robots at my ship! Do you have any idea how much the repairs to the Natlie and the couplings for my nets are gonna run me?”

  “Why would it cost you anything? I swear to Jesus—”

  “Chimichanga?”

  “No, Christ… Who’s Jesus Chimichanga?”

  “Doesn’t matter right now, just go on.”

  “So, anyway, I swear to Christ, I must be the only person in the Sol not getting paid?”

  “Probably. You break a lot of shit, Mar. Now, let’s get outta these suits, I wanna you-know-what!”

  7: A “You-Know-What”

  Jeff’s enormous fingers punched the nine-digit default code provided by Oxsterbaxen into the ORCA’s airlock control panel. Peter had also uploaded a full set of schematics to Jeff’s interface, as well as a home-cooked software firewall to prevent North-Star from snooping. According to the diagrams, there was a small air-lock in the cargo bay specifically designed to fit a pilot, TODD or human, so that they could go EVA quickly and discreetly without depressurizing the large two-stage airlocks.

  The android had no difficulty finding it but did have trouble being
discreet in his entrance. He was still getting used to the big body after all. While his entrance wasn’t quiet, it turned out it hadn’t needed to be. The people he was hoping to surprise were in the crew quarters, in the showers.

  “Ahem,” Jeff’s voice boomed.

  “Not now, TODD,” Marwick said, trying to match volume and be heard over the water.

  “Since when do you have a TODD on board?” Melina asked.

  “Oh shit, he’s not with you?”

  Melina only stared back at him.

  “TODD, what are you doing here, buddy?” Marwick said as he turned off the water valve. Over his shoulder, he asked Melina, “Did you close the airlock behind you?”

  “Gee, I don’t know, did either of us boil off into space or flash freeze?”

  “We did not. Point taken,” Marwick said as he opened the shower door a mere crack.

  “Step out, both of you!” the robotic voice boomed once more.

  “Jeff, buddy, is that you? Listen, I told you I would pay you back for the dope, I’m just a little short on funds right now.”

  “How much does he owe you?” Melina asked, stepping out past Marwick.

  “This isn’t about money. Not your money anyway.”

  “What do you want, Jeff?” Marwick said, anger creeping into his voice.

  “Oh, sorry, I’m still not used to this. It’s not Jeff, it’s me, Peter.”

  “Peter? What are you doing here? Wait, how are you Peter?” Melina asked and immediately covered her breasts with her forearm while dropping one hand down to cover her nethers.

  “I’ve uploaded myself, a copy of myself, anyway, into this TODD’s neural-frame without Elliot knowing and now I’m TODD, or Jeff, I guess…”

  “Yeah, that’s Jeff… So, you’re Jeff now?” Marwick asked.

  “No, not exactly. He’s just a sock puppet,” Peter said as clarification.

  “Big feet,” Melina interjected, under her breath.

  Peter looked at her for a confused moment then continued, “I’m back on Mars eating a taco—”

  “Why?” Marwick demanded, more than just a little angry by this point.

  “It’s Tuesday,” Peter said.

  “No, why are you here without orders from Elliot?”

  “I’m here to warn you—”

  “About giant feet?” Melina said, a little more confidently this time.

  “What? No. Why does she keep talking about feet?” Peter said.

  “You mentioned it earlier,” Melina said.

  “That’s right, he did,” Marwick said.

  “No, I never brought the subject of feet, big or otherwise, into the conversation. She did. I don’t even know what it means.”

  “You said that Jeff is a sock puppet,” she explained, “but he’s like twelve-hundred pounds. Those are some big-ass feet.”

  “You’re stoned!” Peter said.

  “She’s stoned.” Marwick offered as clarification.

  “I’m stoned. Who told you?” Melina wanted to know.

  “You’re holding a pipe,” Peter clarified.

  “So I am… continue,” she said and placed the pipe on the counter near the washbasin. “What did you come to warn us about, Peter?”

  “Elliot is sending an emissary—”

  “What’s that?” Marwick asked.

  “He’s sending a TODD—”

  “But not Jeff—”

  “I’m Jeff, so he’s not sending Jeff!” the android shouted.

  “Thought you were Peter,” Melina said, wrapping herself in a towel.

  “Do try and keep up,” Peter said.

  “Sorry, she’s stoned,” Marwick clarified again.

  “I’m stoned.”

  “I know,” Peter said.

  At this, Marwick started laughing and reached past her, grabbing the pipe from the counter.

  “Anyway, you’ve got something like ten hours before whoever he sends gets here and starts snooping around. I’d hate for you two to get caught in the act,” Peter said with a brusque delivery meant to ensure he’d not be interrupted with anymore foot-related inquiries.

  “Marijuana is legal here,” Melina said.

  “Yeah, we’re not breaking any laws,” Marwick said.

  “That’s not what I meant by ‘caught in the act’,” Peter said, motioning to Marwick’s hefty wang.

  “Why would you help us?” Melina asked, and tossed a towel at Marwick, which was caught, suspended by his erection, and draped in front of his equally hefty thighs.

  “Well, I’m not so much helping you as seizing an opportunity to blackmail you,” Peter said.

  “What do you want?” Melina said.

  “Your new nanites,” Peter said, and reached into his med-kit, producing a syringe.

  “You’ve got new nanites?” Marwick asked, finally getting back into the conversation.

  “Yes, they’re… new. Peter, you already have them, why do you want mine?”

  “Because, my dear, yours aren’t coded.”

  “Coded?” Marwick said.

  “Yes,” Peter explained. “Mine were programmed with a shelf-life, a self-destruct timer, a back-door booby-trap, but her nanites… those are something altogether different. They are self-replicating, self-guiding, and what’s best of all, they cannot be disabled… not unless she steps into an inhibitor field, anyway. So, let’s just take a couple samples from your girlfriend, here, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “I’m not her boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, don’t call him that,” Melina added.

  “We’re not using labels,” Marwick said.

  ***

  Marwick acted as phlebotomist while Peter analyzed the samples to ensure a high enough concentration.

  “That’s enough, you’re going to kill her!” Marwick said.

  “Okay, listen,” Peter said, “You have regular old nanites, the same tech since you were a baby—”

  “I was never a baby.”

  “Yeah, we were never babies,” Melina added.

  “You’ve got old technology, is my point,” Peter told him, “and you’re near impossible to kill. The stuff in her veins and tissue makes her, for lack of a better word… immortal… unless someone activates an inhibitor field, that is.”

  “Why do you keep saying that?” Melina asked

  “I don’t know. Call it a premonition.”

  “You’ve got what you came for, now leave,” Marwick said.

  8: Payload

  The Peter-driven body of Jeff met Elliot’s emissary at Europa’s central hub. He announced himself to the new visitor to Europa, “It’s me, Peter.”

  “You look different.”

  “I’m trying something new with my hair. Did you bring the weapons with you?”

  “They’re in the crate at the coordinates you specified,” the machine confirmed. “Are you sure you want to arm a bunch of miner bots? I know those guys, they can be pretty impulsive.”

  “Nothing to concern yourself with. Your mission is now complete,” Peter told the android. “TODD, I need you to go into Pod-Three and await your next assignment.”

  “But I’m supposed to go—”

  “Jeff and I will take care of all that, don’t you worry,” Peter said.

  “Who’s Jeff?”

  “I am. It’s a long story. Just check in as a new transfer and give them your call sign.”

  “You mean to tell me I flew all the way out here just to drop off some rifles and snoop on Marwick, and not only do I not get to be an interplanetary spy, but also instead of going home I get to spend the rest of the century drilling holes?” the TODD said with disdain. “This is a weird day. Earlier some dude told me my new name was Big Jim, and now this. I need to call this in to North-Star.”

  “Authorization code Zed Uno Niner October Lima,” Peter said. Upon hearing this command, Big Jim fell back into his subroutines and tethered to North-Star. Based upon his location, he was assigned a new occupation-code and the standard Europa mining
protocols were uploaded into his neural-frame, overwriting the coded message Elliot had given him before shooting him off the magnet rail-launcher.

  Peter made his way to the ship that Big Jim had brought. Elliot would never notice, or care, that a different TODD showed up with the requested data. After making his way up the central shaft, Peter tethered himself to the floor couplings on the flight deck, which in turn connected him directly into the ship’s command module. Once his connection was authenticated, the flight controls went dark, as TODDs all flew using internal controllers because their hands were too large and powerful to operate most spacecraft. While systems came online and the reactor spun up, he checked the storage locker built into Jeff’s chassis. Three vials of nanite-rich blood were resting against one quarter-pound bag of Europa’s finest dope.

  He sent a secure broadwave to both Peter the baboon—the flesh and blood version of himself—and Felix Oxsterbaxen, with a picture of the vials. He tagged the image “To our health, be home soon. End transmission.”

  “Sorry to do this to you, Mel, especially since I know what happens next, but not sorry enough to change my mind,” Peter said to the empty cockpit, still just grateful to have the ability to speak without typing into a computer. The new nanites would change all that.

  He beamed a video directly to Elliot’s Fruit Company device. The video was twelve-seconds long and came with full audio. In it, the contorted faces and moans of a Purifier and Elliot’s wife, the only female cyborg, could be seen through a light haze of steam and pot smoke, and couldn’t be mistaken for anyone else. Even though all Purifiers were identical replicas of the narcissist Elliot himself, Elliot wouldn’t have any trouble guessing which Purifier’s cock she was gripping.

  The android copy of Peter commanded the ship to initiate its launch sequence, but instead of responding, the HUD was suddenly overtaken by a video. The screen faded in on his original self.

  “Hey, Peter, it’s me… you,” the baboon said through the attached voice emulator. “Before you take off, have you remembered everything? The guns, the high-alert message to Elliot? The nanites? If the answer is yes, then just say ‘yes,’ and we can take off. I will unlock the ship’s controls for you, buddy.”