by George Ebey
Over the past decade, scientists had discovered that Mars was rich in ores and minerals just ripe for the plucking. At the same time, the planet was a harsh and desolate environment, inhospitable to life. Plagued with radiation, cold temperatures, an unbreathable atmosphere, and violent windstorms, the place made human-led mining operations dangerous and impractical. Which left just one option. The work would have to be done through the use of robotic proxies.
That was where MARSCORP excelled.
After much research and development, they’d created and manufactured a fleet of mining rovers that could be deposited on the surface of Mars and controlled by human handlers back on Earth. In essence, it put “people” on the surface of the planet without the need for complicated organic life support. This revolutionary design made it possible for them to extract the natural resources of another planet for profit. Without endangering men.
Her eyes still fixed on the rotating red orb above, Helen’s mind filled with images of countless human-controlled avatars moving across the surface, shaping and remaking the landscape, turning it from a desert wasteland to something new. Something no longer void of life. Not a life of flesh and bone, but a life a metal. When thinking of it in these terms, she felt excited by the possibility of it all.
But there was a catch.
The whole thing was an extremely expensive process. The price tag to get the entire operation up and running went into the billions, and though they’d been making great dividends from the resources they extracted, MARSCORP was still a corporation, and eager to maximize profits any way they could. To offset costs, they instituted a new system: Individuals could sign up to be freelance operators, and would perform the mining work via a link to a Mars-bound rover. In exchange for a percentage of the profit.
The deal was an attractive prospect. If someone found a good vein or an ore-rich hot spot, they could make a killing … once all the tolls and startup debts were covered, of course. There were plenty of rags-to-riches stories out there, all about a new generation of intrepid entrepreneurs making six figures, or even more, in the interplanetary mining game.
She often wondered, though, if those tales of splendor were fabricated by someone at MARSCORP, to help sell the idea to potential investors. People who might not have taken the risk otherwise.
Sure, the thought of Mars being a new promised land—where the ancient craters were paved with gold—was nice, but in truth, the whole thing was risky. In order to lease the mining rights and secure one of MARSCORP’s rover units, would-be operators had to make a personal financial investment. Which meant that they either had to have a ton of money up front, or put up some kind of collateral before being granted access to a mining rover.
And once they did, they were responsible for that rover. If anything happened to it before they were able to earn their initial investment back, MARSCORP would keep the collateral as a matter of compensation for their lost equipment.
That was the very deal that Helen’s father was currently considering. And the idea terrified her so much that she had to turn away from the model. Now, rather than seeing countless rovers remaking Mars for the good of mankind, all she saw was a graveyard of broken-down machines, their headstones creating a monument to debt, bankruptcy, and broken homes.
With so much at risk, it was a wonder that anyone took the deal at all. But there were plenty of people out there who thought they had what it took to be successful. Or worse, were gullible enough that they failed to see the potential trap they were walking into. People who were using this as a means to get rich quick, without thinking about the consequences.
People like Dad, she thought.
He was a geologist who taught a class at a local university. He made a decent living at it, but once he heard about the MARSCORP deal, he became obsessed with the idea of using his geological expertise to make a fortune on the Red Planet. They weren’t rich, by any means, so to do it, he’d have to sink everything they had into it: savings, equity in their house, college funds—everything.
Helen was against it. How could he ever hope to control the fate of a piece of hardware that was millions of miles away? What if it got stuck in crater somewhere? What if it broke down?
But her dad was convinced that he could make a go of it.
It was why she felt so strongly about the convention, and the tournament itself. The grand prize was a one-year, no-contract lease of a Martian mining rover. So if she succeeded, her dad would get his chance to strike it rich … and risk nothing in the process.
All she had to do was win one more match.
BUT IT WOULDN’T be easy.
The girls were going up against the Kioko twins—another brother-and-sister team that had a huge reputation on the gaming circuit. Undefeated, they were also talented designers. Their bot—which they called Iron Dragon—was sleek, fast, and well-armed. Like DEBBI, it boasted a two-weapon system. One weapon was a virtual flamethrower, the other a quick-repeating laser pistol for close-quarters combat.
After it became clear that they might have to face the team, Helen had begun researching the Kioko twins, watching vids of some of their past bouts and studying their various strategies. Their key signature move was to use the flamethrower to take out any drones in the vicinity, then pick off the enemy bot with their laser. It was a highly effective technique, and it worked well.
She just had to hope that the interface between her and Misty would be enough to tip the scales in their favor.
No pressure.
MAYBE I SHOULD just go back and do a few simulations after all, she thought suddenly.
But she wasn’t ready just yet. So, still convinced that she needed a break to take the edge off and help her focus, she decided to split the difference. Find something else to do for the next hour, then hit the simulator right after. The best of both worlds.
She checked the speaker schedule, and found that she was actually just in time to catch a presentation by the CEO of MARSCORP himself, Maximillian Oliver. She’d known that he was going to be around during the convention, and had been hoping that she’d get a chance to hear him speak. He was a big name in the field, after all, and this would probably be her only opportunity before the convention ended.
Making her way to the lecture hall, she found an open chair in the back and sat down. She’d have preferred to find a seat closer to the front, but the room was packed, and she considered herself lucky to get anything at all. The room was hot and not well ventilated, its high celling holding a vast array of unnecessarily powerful halogen lights, aimed down on the crammed-in crowd. The people around her wiggled and squirmed in their hard-bottom seats like a bunch of undead sardines, and Helen couldn’t blame them. But they weren’t moving, and neither was she.
People don’t put up with this level of discomfort for just anyone, proving without a doubt that Maximillian Oliver was the most popular draw there.
The man was something of an enigma. Young and brilliant, he was said to have graduated from MIT at eighteen, with a double master’s in mechanical engineering and artificial design. Heir to a large manufacturing conglomerate, he’d risen through the ranks quickly, and now—at age thirty—was the head of what promised to be one of the most ambitions and far-reaching business ventures in the world.
She knew that she should admire everything about him.
But at the same time, he was a large part of the very thing that had been causing her so much anxiety lately. Sure, her dad was partly to blame as well, but it was MARSCORP that saw profit in putting others at risk. And Maximillian Oliver was the one responsible for leading the charge.
This entire convention, for instance, was designed to put on a show to help curry public favor for their cause. Why else would they sponsor this battle bot tournament in the first place? Ordinarily, no one over twenty-one could enter into a lease for a Mars rover—not that too many people that age had the assets for it anyway. Yet here they were, letting teens compete for a chance to do just that.
&n
bsp; And it was all for one reason: They were trying to hook the hearts and minds of the young, to legitimize a business practice that some considered questionable. Trying to sway the youth now, while their minds were still open to such things.
Just look at the tournament itself. All anyone saw was a simulated 3D image on a vid-screen. The robots themselves spent the entire time in a closed box. So why not just have the teens compete using a basic video game construct? The answer was simple: By getting them to build robots of their own, and having them play in a somewhat limited yet still physically real way, MARSCORP was creating a situation similar to the very thing they were doing on Mars.
Sure, no one was fighting up there—that part of the game was just for show, for fun—but they were creating a new reality featuring a metal extension of mankind’s own hand, and putting that extension into another realm. It was the very thing that Helen herself was doing right here, right now, with DEBBI.
She felt bad for allowing herself to be a part of it all. But that didn’t matter, she decided. Right now, all she wanted to do was win that rover. With it, there would be no financial risk, and her dad could play interplanetary miner until the lunar cows came home if he wanted to. Maybe he’d even strike it rich and save the family.
Suddenly an announcer stepped out onto the stage and the room went silent. After a brief introduction, he moved away, and the enigmatic CEO of MARSCORP came forward to take center stage.
Helen was taken aback by how young he appeared.
Though he was twice her age, he had a youthful flair to him that sparkled from his big, jade-green eyes and sparkled from his pearly white grin. He carried himself with a confident but inviting manner, and oozed charm and charisma. When he spoke, his voice was crisp and clear. He was not only a brilliant mind, but also completely at home speaking in front of a crowd.
“Welcome,” he began.
Seated in the back, Helen could see that the crowd’s attention became instantly fixed directly on him. No one’s eyes wandered. No one seemed disinterested or unconnected. And they certainly weren’t worried about being uncomfortable anymore. He had gained their complete and undivided attention, just by stepping out onto the stage.
And something about that idea terrified her. No one should wield that much power. It was dangerous.
“I’d like to thank you for coming out today. These are exciting times—we’re on the verge of realizing a technological revolution that is unprecedented in the history of human civilization. Even as I speak, advances are being made that will propel us into a new age of scientific development. At MARSCORP, we are dedicated to the betterment of mankind.”
“Is that so?!”
Heads swiveled to a section in the back of the room, close to where Helen was seated, and she whirled around to stare as well. In the corner, she saw a man standing from his chair and starting down the aisle, stopping only when he reached the center of the hall. He was in his mid-forties, with average build, average clothes—average everything. But his eyes glowed with an intensity that was anything but average.
On the stage, Oliver stopped his speech and looked down at the man, his own eyes narrowing.
“You say you’re for the betterment of mankind,” the man said. “But what about the lives you people are ruining with your little scheme?”
A slight gasp came from the crowd, and Helen added to it with her own indrawn breath. This man was talking about the very thing she feared, and it made her feel both nervous and intrigued at the same time.
Keeping his cool, Oliver said, “Sir, I really don’t think this is the time or place to discuss any grievance you might have.”
“I disagree! I think it’s a very good time and place. I want these people to hear what I have to say!”
By now, two security guards had arrived on the scene, but Oliver motioned for them to hold off for a moment, allowing the man at least some room to talk. Helen couldn’t tell if he was being generous … or if he was just indicating to the crowd that he was still in charge.
“I had one of those rover units of yours,” the man bellowed. “I bought the whole spiel—hook, line, and sinker. Thought I was going to make a fortune. I leveraged my house, drained my savings, all of it. And do you know what happened? The damn thing broke down and I lost everything!”
Oliver was quick to fire back. “Sir, this is a business venture. And with every business venture there are risks. You knew that when you signed up. We risk something, you risk something—that’s how it works. Those rovers aren’t free. The technology that gets them off world and safely to Mars isn’t free.”
“Don’t give me that!” the man spat. “What do you risk? You get to fly home on your jet, sipping champagne, while my family’s out on the street. And all because some of your ‘investors’ are crooked. Do you know that there are operators out there who are using their rover units to attack others and take their ore caches?”
Helen’s heart nearly skipped a beat. This was the first time she’d ever heard of such a thing. The thought of getting a rover stuck in a crater or battered into junk by a heavy windstorm was bad enough. But this idea terrified her. People using their rovers to … attack other rovers? Marauding criminals who destroyed your unit and took your hard-earned minerals, all while MARSCORP did nothing to stop it. It would bankrupt the operators, send them right into the poorhouse, while the robbers… This was worse than she’d thought—the stuff of nightmares.
And for the first time since the man’s outburst, Oliver looked like he was starting to lose his patience.
“That’s not true,” he insisted. “In fact, that’s slander!”
“What are you going to do? Sue me? Go ahead! I got nothing left for you to take!”
With that, Oliver looked to the guards and motioned for them to intervene.
The guards were on the man in a second, grabbing him by the arms and hauling him toward the door.
“Don’t let them fool you!” the man shouted to the stunned crowd as he was dragged away. “All they care about is money! They’ll ruin your life! Ruin it!”
Helen realized that she wasn’t breathing, and quickly sucked in a lungful of air.
The guards had the guy through the door a second later, leaving Oliver alone with the crowd, to clean up the mess. And he didn’t waste a second getting to it.
“Folks, I apologize for this interruption. Obviously the man was unstable. We’ll make sure that he gets the help he needs. As for the things he said, I can assure you that there is no truth to any of it. Yes, occasional operator error can lead to the loss of an expensive piece of equipment. And when that happens, certain compensation arrangements must be adhered to. But I can promise you that every effort is made to support the needs of our contracted labor force…”
Helen stopped paying attention. She had no interest in listening to Maximillian Oliver play spin doctor. All she could think about now was the man’s parting words to the crowd. They’ll ruin your life. But when she played it over in her mind, she didn’t see the man screaming those words in anguish. She saw her father.
Up on the stage, Oliver kicked his crowd-working powers into overdrive, spouting off about all the ways that MARSCORP was working to create a better tomorrow for everyone.
But she’d heard enough.
Standing as discreetly as possible, she made her way to the door and exited the room, leaving the lecture hall and its silver-tongued CEO behind.
WITH NOWHERE ELSE to go, she returned to the arena stage.
DEBBI was sitting right where she’d left it.
The stagehands had reset the arena for the final match, lowering the large top back onto the box and sealing the inside off from view until the match was complete. DEBBI and the competitor bot were still sitting outside the box, each in their own tiny starter gate, waiting for the next match to begin. Shutting the arena off like this was by design, Helen knew—once the robots entered, the virtual world portrayed on the vid-screen would become the new reality. Until then, the in
side of the arena remained a closed-off mystery. She could only imagine what crazy simulation they had planned for her next.
Looking down at DEBBI, she tried her best to take her mind off the incident in the lecture hall and how closely the man’s predicament mirrored her own situation. She was sure he’d gone into it with the best of intentions, too, only to find out that there was more going on than he could possibly have imagined. He would probably never have agreed to the deal if he’d known that he was going to be attacked by a gang of roving bandits up there. Thanks to that shortsightedness, he’d wound up on the street, and if she didn’t come through and win this contest, his fate might end up being her own.
It all came down to this little toy of a robot.
Her robot.
Sure, Misty had a stake in this too. But DEBBI was Helen’s design, her software, her codes, and ultimately her failure if it didn’t work out.
Misty had agreed to relinquish her share of the grand prize to Helen and her family if they won. She was in it for the sheer thrill of the game, and besides, her parents had no interest in Martian mining operations. They were already loaded. In fact, it was because of them that Helen and Misty had been able to make the trip here at all. With Helen’s dad looking to squeeze every penny he could in preparation for entering into a rover contract with MARSCORP, Helen hadn’t been able to cover the entry fee or six-hundred-mile trip from her home in Portland to the site of the convention in San Francisco.
So Misty went to her folks. They’d been more than happy to stake the fee and travel expenses, and had even agreed to send their family valet to accompany the girls, since they were too busy to do so themselves. Her folks were like that, using money as a substitute for their presence whenever possible. Meetings, parties, overseas tips… They often took precedent over time spent with their only daughter. To compensate for their chronic absence, they tended to be liberal with the purse strings whenever Misty came to them with requests.