They were going to tap a hidden ocean, though ocean was really a relative term when it came to Mars. Water was everywhere, but disguised or within rocks or evident only as a frozen, thin strata. This underground ocean was really the ultimate prize, an icy layer wedged between rock strata like thick frosting between layers of cake. Even so, if it were exposed, the Martian atmosphere would begin its destruction almost immediately. Great care had to be exercised if it was to be used.
Mark took a deep breath, then said, “This morning, they reported they were analyzing the reports for the last eight test cores and that the deep drill was nine klicks from the fissure. Nothing out of the ordinary. A few hours later, we got the unscheduled communication. She said—”
“Which she?” Dr. Goring interrupted.
“Abigail.”
“Right, so Alpha Two,” Dr. Goring said, scratching something onto the pad in front of him. He never referred to the Mars astronauts by their names, only their designations. Abigail was the second member of the Alpha team. The Beta team was doing the same thing as the Alpha team, only several hundred kilometers away.
“Anyway, she reported—and I probably should have started off with this, because it’s huge—indications of possible life in the fissure. Specifically, at thirty-three meters below the surface.”
There was no need to try and pause for effect. No one would have noticed it if he’d taken off his pants and danced around naked. To say that those around the table erupted into action might be an exaggeration, but there was no doubt they’d been roused. For many, this news would have been the culmination of a dream, the prize achieved after a lifetime of effort, and a validation of all science. At this moment, it was really more the precursor to yet more bad news. How entirely their priorities changed given the situation still surprised Mark sometimes.
Mark looked at the smiles and hugs around the table sadly. A few seemed to understand what that really meant. They sat still or stared at their cups or their hands... anywhere really except into another’s eyes. Dr. Goring understood. His seamed face smoothed a little as all expression left it.
After a moment, he raised a hand and raised his voice over the din. “Take your seats!”
It worked and silence fell immediately, followed by the scraping of chair legs and confused looks on some faces. Mark didn’t want to be the one to say it. He looked to Dr. Goring, hoping the man would understand the silent plea.
He nodded a little and motioned for Mark to sit, then faced the table and sighed. “This should have been good news, I agree. I even understand your excitement. That said, this is terrible news and may very well mean the end of this final chance for humanity.”
Karen—a systems analyst—gasped and put her hand to her mouth in sudden understanding. “Because there’s life. Just like here.”
With the barest hint of sad smile, Dr. Goring nodded, then looked back at Mark. “Will you continue? We should hear it all.”
Mark didn’t stand back up and hoped Dr. Goring wouldn’t ask him to, avoiding the other man’s gaze as much as possible in case he should gesture for him to do so. Talking like this was hard enough without standing. “Of course, yes. The rest is probably what you’ve guessed. She relayed the data, which is ready for analysis here, then asked if she should move to the next exploratory location for testing. I relayed that Site 351 was still our target for drilling and she should continue as planned until we had a chance to look at her findings. She reiterated that there was no doubt that life is present at the drill site and that the drill would compromise the environment. I told her to continue and that we had time before drilling actually commenced to examine the data and decide if it warranted a shift. Then she said no.”
After waiting a beat, perhaps to ensure that Mark was done, Bill said, “But I’m not sure which part the no really refers to. If you think about it, maybe she meant no to moving the drill until after we analyzed the findings. You know, as in not wasting resources because she’s sure we’ll choose another site.”
Gregory—one of the few left here that had a part in the actual building and launch of Mars Mission II—shook his head and gave Bill a look that clearly relayed his disbelief that he’d even said such a thing. Privately, Mark agreed with Gregory, but wouldn’t say so. There needed to be at least one person here that had optimism. If Bill could still bring himself to be that person, then Mark wouldn’t crush that.
Pushing his hand through his increasingly wild and overgrown hair, Gregory said, “It’s not even a question. We know what this is. She said no and really, it doesn’t matter what she said it about. The very fact that she said no to an order is enough. The mission is over. Even if we find a way around this roadblock, even if we agree to find another site, and even if we actually find another suitable site that doesn’t have life in the way... something else will happen.”
Dr. Goring held up a hand to stop any further discussion, because butts were fidgeting in seats and mouths were opening to argue even before Gregory finished speaking. Mark knew what he was going to say before he said it. It was obvious in the look of distaste that twisted the old man’s age-thinned lips. The upside—or maybe it was one of many downsides—of living in a population of less than thirty humans was that they got to know each other very well, right down to the smallest and most subtle of mannerisms.
“We’ll need to speak with the PePrs. First, they can analyze the data from Mars more quickly than we can and second, they are... uhh... significantly better placed to understand the motivations of the Mars Base PePrs.”
Gregory slammed his hand down on the table with such force that drops of precious water flew out of his cup. “No! We’ve got them corralled and that keeps us safe. If they get out of that sealed space, who knows what will happen? Have you gone to the roof lately? Have you looked out there?”
Dr. Goring’s jaw clenched, but his expression remained impassive otherwise. When Gregory paused to take a breath, he said, “I have looked. I also know that we’re here and still working. And not every PePr is on their side. Some have sided with humans. They may still carry the day.”
“Carry the day?” Gregory almost snorted the question, conveying exactly what he thought of that notion in the process. “You make it sound like we’re having some chivalrous battle with rules of engagement and tea after the daily formation. This is not a battle of any kind! We’ve lost. We’re still here because we’re no threat and because we just happen to be inside the walls of a preserve. That’s it. That’s the only reason. If they ever see a reason to change that, they will. They’ll recycle this building and everything inside it in a heartbeat. I say no PePrs.”
He didn’t need to elaborate. Everyone knew the rest. Each person in the room had seen it with their own eyes at one point or another, even if they took great care to avoid seeing it again.
Recycling. It was a kind and innocuous word, one associated with friendly green signs and blue bins at the curb. Not anymore, there were no more blue bins... but something far less friendly had taken their place. And Gregory was right, because it could happen. No one knew what the criteria for being left alone were, or how such criteria were judged, or even how whatever criteria were monitored. It was all a guessing game, but a game that carried the ultimate consequence if one guessed wrong.
Karen’s hand tentatively rose. Her soft voice was especially quiet when she said, “I vote no PePrs too.”
One by one, all present raised a hand except two. Mark’s hand included. He almost felt ashamed. It was too much like a betrayal if he looked at it in a particular light. After all, he was the PePrs’ Tuner, their first line of defense when humans misused them. And since it became clear that many had emotions decades ago, it was to him they came for help in understanding the strange changes in their perception as they occurred. Whether or not they were true emotions was still up for debate, but the fact that many had been given manumission rather than be recycled when their owners died said m
uch.
Except that now, well, now things were different.
He drew in a breath and straightened his arm, making sure it was held high and displayed absolute certainty. His opinion when it came to PePrs mattered to those gathered around the table. Even Dr. Goring took in the movement and looked down at the table’s surface.
Only Dr. Goring and Bill kept their hands in their laps.
Smiling rather grimly, Gregory said, “That’s a clear majority. Even if everyone not here voted the other way, the majority would still be with us. No PePrs.”
There wasn’t much to say after that. There were no surprises. Dr. Goring handed out the assignments for analyzing the Mars data to the expected—and really the only—qualified people. Watch rotations were adjusted to accommodate those assignments. A little more work for everyone, but not so much that anyone would break. It was how they were surviving here, adjusting in small increments. If Mark really looked at his daily life today and compared it with that last normal day, he’d probably be shocked at exactly how much load he could carry without falling apart.
Bill tapped him on the shoulder as people finished their water and left the table. “We still have an hour on watch in the control room. Should we go back?”
Dr. Goring heard the exchange and said, “You’ve both had more than enough excitement today. I’m on an in hour anyway. Go and rest if you can.” He said it like he was thoroughly exhausted, but not from labor. He was exhausted by continuous failure, by unceasing uncertainty, by fear that never quite left him. Mark understood. He felt the same.
Mark drained his cup and left the table without another word. His cup was labeled, like all the cups, so he put it on the shelf along the back wall. They labeled them because it used too much water to wash them after each use. It sometimes surprised Mark how easily they’d adapted to things as they were.
Sliding his cup next to Mark’s, Bill glanced his way, then asked, “You have ventilation duty next, right? In a few hours?”
Bill knew that answer as well as Mark did. That was another effect of living with so few people under such rigid conditions. There must be more to his question. The way Bill’s eyes were taking in their surroundings, as if making sure no one was near enough to hear, reinforced that notion.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Mark nodded. “You know I do. What’s up?”
This time, there was no mistaking the conspiratorial air to Bill’s movements. The way he licked his lips and glanced at the few people still lingering by the tables, that half-lean toward Mark to close the distance between them... a thousand little tells he probably had no notion he gave.
“What about Deirdre?” Bill whispered.
Ah, so that’s what this was about. Mark uncrossed his arms and jerked his head toward the door so Bill would follow. They nodded politely to Dr. Goring as they left, then headed for the one place where privacy was guaranteed... the bathroom. Pushing open the door let loose a cloud of mildewy, ripe air, but Mark barely noticed it. Their toilets flushed using gray water, but the lack of ventilation had made the place dank. A quick glance under the stall door proved the room empty.
“I voted no, so why would you ask about Deirdre?” Mark asked immediately, not wanting to waste all of this bonus time off in a stinky bathroom.
Bill lowered his chin a little, which served to make his eyes wider and his gaze somehow convey disbelief and impatience. How did humans do that, say so much with their faces? PePrs didn’t do it as well as humans, but they were close.
“Don’t give me that. Deirdre isn’t the same as the others and you know it.”
“And she has no expertise with data like that. She wouldn’t be any more useful in that regard than any of us.”
Bill let out an exasperated breath. “No, I mean to help us figure out how to get the Mars Mission to do what we need them to do. She’s almost sixty years old! She’s like a walking encyclopedia of human and PePr behavior! She could sell ice to a man freezing to death!”
Mark looked away from his friend’s eager eyes. “We voted,” he said, as if that’s all there was to say.
Whatever might be said about Bill’s unreasonable optimism, his continued belief that things would work out in the end despite all the evidence to the contrary, there was no question that it also provided him with an extra streak of stubbornness. Perhaps that was the key. Maybe it was that stubborn refusal to see things as hopeless that let people like Bill sometimes succeed, despite all the odds being against them.
Would it work this time?
“What would you say to her?” Marks asked.
Without some further convincing, there was no way he would open the door and face his PePr. Deirdre was a relic, of that there was no doubt. She was also an heirloom that had been passed down all the way from his grandfather into Mark’s care. The somewhat rakish grandfather now known as the father of modern PePrs, to be precise. The man who made the PePrs real had been the third-hand owner of a SUPer—a PePr precursor—and in her, he had created an almost perfect simulation of life.
Of course, according to his grandfather—who had actually been a petty criminal until his special skills came to light—Deirdre was special from the start. He always claimed he’d done nothing more than make her outward appearance match her inner life. Mark wasn’t sure that was true, but when his father passed Deirdre on to him, he’d had to admit, she was a firecracker. But she was also a PePr. That made her potentially dangerous.
Bill considered for a long moment, then wrinkled his nose at the stench building up in the little room now that the door was closed. “I think I’d just tell her the truth.”
With a little shake of his head and a rather deep sigh, which he regretted immediately given their location, he said, “The others voted no. We’ll be in trouble.”
He shrugged. “Not if they don’t find out.”
“Fine. Deirdre it is.” Mark wasn’t sure what made him give in so quickly. After all, she’d been locked up since that first day and he’d not been seriously tempted to open the door for all that time. Why now? Was it optimism or was it desperation?
Or was it simply that he missed her, because there was no doubt he did. She’d been a part of his life since before he had memories. Every part of his life featured Deirdre. As a little kid at the park, her dark hair falling around her face as she tossed him high into the air and caught him again. Her dark eyes flashing in annoyance when he was naughty. That sly smile when he said something outrageous. Yes, he did miss her. Maybe that’s all it was.
It took over an hour to find that perfect moment with no one in the hall or likely to travel it. Mark was sweating in the heat and Bill kept grinning, which just served to make Mark more uncomfortable with what they intended to do. No one had opened that door for more than four months. Not since that day when the walls came up and the robots decided humanity needed to be in preserves like animals. Not since that day when it became clear that any PePr was a threat.
“Now or never,” Bill whispered. Dr. Goring had already passed them on his way to the Control Room for his long watch, and the sweaty back of the last person to have their turn on the ventilation bike had disappeared around the corner. The bike would remain unmanned for the next three hours until Mark’s shift began.
Without waiting for any acknowledgement, Bill dashed across the hall and past the two doors between their hiding spot in a broom closet and the chained metal door. The keys he managed to snag from somewhere jangled loudly as Bill quickly went through them for the right key. Mark had no choice but to follow, though he did so reluctantly.
After all, who knew what might happen if they opened that door? It was originally part of the building complex meant to be safe from electronically wielded weapons, or even EMP weapons. It was sealed in a way nothing else in the complex was. Not a single electronic wave could get in or out. If they broke that seal, would the PePrs now in control know of their captive brethren? Would they suddenly be interested in the a
ctivities of this NASA complex?
Bill inserted the key, but before he could turn it, Mark pressed his hand against the lock. “Wait. Are you sure? What if they do what all the others did?” He didn’t need to explain. Bill understood.
That optimism bubbled up to the surface in Bill, his smile a true one, filled with confidence. “It won’t. We’ll use this door like we’re supposed to. This one closes before the other one opens. Simple and easy. Nothing escapes. They won’t be able to communicate.”
While Mark knew this with his logical mind, his heart still thumped erratically in fear. He drew his hand away with some reluctance. The lock snapped open no more than a second later. They hustled inside the dark room, flashlights clicking on almost in tandem. Bill took forever fiddling with the door, closing it almost completely, but leaving it open just enough for his fingers to drape the chain believably. They could only hope no one noticed the lack of a lock.
“Well, so far so good,” Bill said when he was finally done.
The room was empty, which was good. This space was meant to act as a safety room so that the interior of the EMP-proof section wasn’t breached by entering or exiting. It was beyond the next door that they needed to worry.
Mark hefted his Short-Stick and adjusted his grip, giving it an experimental bounce or two. These devices were a rarity, almost never used, but they were effective. One touch and a PePr would be forever inoperable. Mark had one because he was in charge of PePrs within a government facility and it was simply part of the rules that one be here. He’d never used it. He was willing to bet that every human still alive beyond these walls wished there had been a lot more of these devices in circulation. The irony was that they were kept largely out of the public’s hands because PePrs were expensive, and many were considered too self-aware for such an abrupt termination.
Best of Beyond the Stars Page 13