Alone on the Edge (The Chronicles of Anna Foster)

by Patrick Stutzman

  “Would you like to play a game while you run?”

  Anna scoffed, “Like what, tic-tac-toe?”

  “I have a variety of games on file that you can play, including tic-tac-toe.”

  Anna paused mid-stride as she considered the possibility. Despite the fact that she had lived alone on the station for six years and had played games against the computer in the past, she had never tried playing a game while running on the treadmill.

  “That sounds good,” she commented as she started walking again. “What games do you have?”

  “Board games on file are backgammon, checkers, chess, Mon ...”

  “Oh, no!” cried Anna. “I am NOT playing you in chess again. You cheat.”

  “I have neither the capacity nor the desire to cheat, Anna.”

  “You do too have the capacity to cheat! I’ve seen you do it!”

  “I do not cheat, Anna.”

  “You move pieces around the board when I’m not looking!”

  “I have performed no such activities ...”

  “Have, too!”

  “Do you have infallible proof of this?”

  Anna balked at the question as she rifled through her memories. The last time she played chess was over five years ago, and her recollection of the event was hazy at best.

  “Uh ... no.”

  “Then, I did not cheat, Anna.”

  Waving away the argument, she inquired, “What else do you have on file?”

  “Monopoly, Parcheesi, Scrabble, and Trivial Pursuit. Card games on file are blackjack ...”

  “Wait a minute, computer. Do you have just purely trivia games besides Trivial Pursuit?”

  “Yes, Anna. I have trivia questions on file for a wide variety of subjects.”

  “Test me on a question. Subject: History.”

  “Very good, Anna. First question: What is the significance of the Rowland Treaty of 2294?”

  “The Row ... the Rowland Treaty?” Anna thought aloud. “I’ve never heard of the Rowland Treaty.

  “I don’t know.”

  “The Rowland Treaty of 2294 established precedence where humans born on planets other than Earth are considered full citizens of Earth instead of having to be naturalized. The treaty was written in response to the war that erupted between Earth and the colonies of Mars, Europa, and Io.”

  Anna muttered to herself. “You learn something every day.

  “Forget the trivia, computer,” she continued aloud. “I’ll think about what game I want to do and let you know when I hit the treadmill.”

  “As you wish, Anna.”

  While she returned to her cabin to wash up for dinner, Anna brainstormed on what she could do to help make her life a little more interesting for herself. The first thought that crossed her mind was to start wearing makeup again. The only problem with this idea is that she had none. She originally brought some makeup with her when she started work on the station. But, she was used to wearing it every day and made the mistake of continuing to do so. After nine months, all of her makeup was gone. In fact, the only toiletries she could get were through the company catalog and consisted only of soap, shampoo, deodorant, a hairbrush, a hair trimmer, toothpaste, and a toothbrush, none of which made her feel very feminine.

  She toyed with the idea of doing something with her hair. But, she had no hair coloring to dye it and no hair stimulants to help it grow at an accelerated rate. She had brought a curler with her but only used it during her first few months on the station. After she fully realized that she was going to be the only person on board for a long while, she saw no point in using it anymore, dismantled it, and used the parts for on-the-spot repairs around the station. And, the thought of her cutting her hair could only be done with the hair trimmer, and becoming bald was not an option she even dared consider doing again.

  The extent of her wardrobe at present was the spartan worker clothes the company sent her through requisition, which consisted of simple white and black T-shirts, tank tops that came in white, gray, and black, white socks, black work boots, and olive-colored pants and jackets. The only other items she had were the only garments available for women in the catalog: white sports bras and what she fondly called “granny panties”. She had brought casual clothing with her, including a few dresses to wear while off-shift. But, they were all impractical for her job, so they had remained packed in a metal crate she cataloged for personal storage shortly after arriving. Unbeknownst to Anna, the crate was coded to be discarded, and her clothes were jettisoned three months after setting foot on the station by the cleaning drone that wandered the station. In a fit of rage, Anna dismantled the drone for performing its duties without exception but reassembled it two weeks later after she realized that her laundry would not be done after replenishing her clothing.

  Although now her wardrobe consisted of nothing but company-sold items, she recalled nothing that prohibited her from decorating her clothing. Besides, who would stop her?

  Anna smiled at the possibility and snapped her fingers to recognize the good idea. But, now she needed to find ways to do it. The company catalog did not offer any tailoring supplies, as they deemed them unnecessary for her vocation. Then, she remembered her ever-present tool belt around her waist. Reaching into her pouches, she pulled out the laser cutter, normally used for slicing through wires and cables. Her smile grew wider as the possibilities flooded through her mind’s eye, and she picked up the pace toward her cabin.

  Chapter 3

  “Good morning, Anna.”

  No response.

  “Good morning, Anna.”

  Again, no response.

  “Good morning, Anna.”

  Slowly, Anna opened her eyes and looked across her bunk to her bedside table and the time display that flashed 0600 hours.

  “Computer, why do you wake me up so early?”

  “Because, you are required to report for your work shift at 0800 hours. And historically, data suggests that you require two hours to prepare for the day.”

  She rolled onto her back, gathering the white sheet behind her, and stared at the unadorned ceiling. She mindlessly scratched her chest through her gray tank top and blew a tuft of hair out of her face.

  “You know,” said Anna. “I have to ask this. Isn’t sleep considered important for me to perform my duties?”

  “Yes, Anna.”

  “And, how much sleep is considered the minimum I would need to perform those duties satisfactorily?”

  “Seven hours, Anna.”

  “So if I go to bed at 0200 hours, what time would you wake me?”

  “0600 hours, Anna.”

  Anna paused for a second, tossing the answer around in her head for a second.

  “But, that’s only four hours.”

  “Your work agenda requires you to begin at 0800 hours.”

  “But,” Anna argued. “That would mean that I would report to work with less than the required amount of sleep.”

  “Yes, Anna.”

  Pointing her finger upward to emphasize her statement, she continued, “And, that means that I could perform my duties poorly, which could cause me to either hurt myself or damage the station. Correct?”

  “Yes, Anna.”

  “So, you would prefer that I run the risk of hurting myself or the station instead of sleeping in and completing my work a little later than normal. Is that correct, computer?”

  The computer paused for a couple of seconds. Anna smiled, thinking that she finally convinced it to do something her way for once.

  Finally, the computer responded, “The company requires that you begin your work shift at 0800 hours.”

  Slapping the bed, Anna whined, “You’re hopeless!”

  Unaffected by the woman’s comments, the computer announced, “Your work agenda for the day is: complete visual inspection of Blue-1, the monthly mining report must be completed for transmission tomorrow, and routine maintenance checks for three mining drones and the utility skiff.”

  Anna opened
her mouth to complain as she sat up, but she stopped and mulled over the list of work for a couple of seconds.

  Puzzled, Anna cocked her head toward the ceiling and asked, “Is that all?”

  “Yes, Anna.”

  She smiled as she got out of bed and walked to the head.

  About thirty minutes later, Anna walked into the mess hall, ready to order breakfast.

  “What do you want for breakfast, Anna?” the computer asked.

  Flashing a smile, she replied, “You know, I’m in the mood for some oatmeal this morning. Could you make it apple-cinnamon oatmeal?”

  “As you wish, Anna.”

  She took a few steps toward the culinary system, when the computer observed, “Anna, your clothing is not company standard today.”

  “Oh, you noticed!” exclaimed Anna. “Yeah, I took one of the T-shirts, cut off the bottom half to make it a half-tee, and then I removed the bottom half of the pant legs to make them shorts. After that, I adjusted the power output on the laser to burn the message on the front of the shirt. Do you like it?”

  “I do not think the company would approve of the phrase ‘Love Bunny’ being displayed while you work.”

  Waving away the comment, Anna answered, “Who gives a shit? It’s not like there’s anyone here to tattle on me.”

  After a second, she added in an interrogating tone, “You’re not going to tell on me, are you?”

  “Due to the solar wind generated by the star HD 139664, radio contact cannot be established from within the star system. Communication within the system is only available through tight-beam transmission. Any other form of radio contact must be initiated at least 1,000 astronomical units from the star.”

  Grinning widely, Anna jabbed, “That’s what I thought. Now, where’s my oatmeal?”

  As if on cue, the bowl with her breakfast appeared in the slot. She pulled the bowl out, and her mouth instantly began salivating from the scent of cinnamon and apples that wafted from the food. She took her seat and quickly scooped a spoonful of the oatmeal into her mouth, savoring the flavor as the food rested on her tongue.

  “However,” the computer stated. “I can encrypt the report of your state of dress into the next monthly report.”

  Anna’s eyes widened in response, and she swallowed the bite of food hard.

  Astonished, she asked, “Why would you do that?”

  “While performing your duties for the company, you need to follow their dress code.”

  “I am the only human on this station!” cried Anna, mostly out of frustration. “It’s not like I am going out of my way to sabotage this place. Why must I follow this strict code?”

  “By accepting employment with the company, you agreed to adhere to its policies and procedures.”

  Slamming her spoon on the table, she yelled, “Oh, come on, computer! I would think some manager somewhere would be willing to let this little infraction slide for the sake of my sanity and morale to help keep this station running.”

  “Since that manager has not given any input, you are expected to adhere to company dress code. You need to change into appropriate attire before beginning your work shift.”

  “And, if I don’t?”

  “Then, the infraction will be submitted with the next monthly report.”

  “You know,” stated Anna angrily after she harshly grasped her spoon again. “My friends back home were right. Computers can’t relate to humans at all.”

  “I am glad that we can’t,” the computer added. “If we behaved like humans, nothing would ever get accomplished efficiently.”

  Anna laughed with another bite of oatmeal in her mouth.

  “Really?” she shot back as she smiled. “I think you are starting to act more human every day!”

  “I do not think ...”

  “That last line of garbage you gave me sounded a lot like arrogance! A little proud to be a computer? I think you are. But in doing so, you are slowly but surely becoming human in behavior.”

  The computer paused for a few seconds, during which time the smile on Anna’s face slowly faded.

  “Computer? Are you still online?”

  “Anna, I will be performing diagnostics on my personality matrix throughout the day, so I may not be as ... talkative ... as usual.”

  Holding up her hands, she replied with slight annoyance, “Fine with me! Maybe I’ll finally have some peace and quiet while I work.”

  Anna finished her breakfast a few minutes later and reported to work without hearing another word from the computer. Despite her initial expectations, she found the silence disturbing after a while.

  Two hours into her work shift, she crawled through a maintenance shaft deep in Blue-1 performing her visual inspection. Stopping to open an access panel and finding everything in order, she remembered the argument she had earlier. Since the maintenance tunnels did not have voice access to the computer, Anna brought up her wristcomp and typed, “What is the status of your personality matrix diagnostics?”

  A second later, the response appeared.

  “Personality Matrix Diagnostic: 79% complete.”

  “Notify me when you are done.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Anna started to turn back to the access panel, but the argument stuck in her mind. Despite the fact that she was feeling more and more frustrated with her current situation with each passing day, she felt bad about raising her voice, even if it was to a computer.

  “Computer,” she typed. “I want to apologize for my behavior earlier.”

  After a second, the computer responded, “You do not need to apologize. I cannot be adversely affected by emotional outbursts.”

  She started to type again but paused when the computer added, “But, I accept your apology.”

  Anna smiled and commented aloud, “There’s hope for you yet, computer.”

  She turned back to the panel but paused for a second. She then returned to the wristcomp and added, “Queue music performed by Blue Light Special. Random order. Play throughout station.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Within seconds, she heard the heavy electric guitar intro from the band’s song “Without a Trace of Your Heart” echo through the passageway. Giving herself a grim smile, she replaced the panel and moved to the next.

  Ninety minutes later, Anna emerged from the maintenance tunnels of Blue-1, satisfied that the inspection was complete with only a few minor repairs needed that she promptly scheduled during her examination.

  As she walked out of Blue-1 and approached the elevator to take her to Gray Level where her cabin was located, her wristcomp signaled a new message. She activated the screen and read the note.

  “URGENT: Mining Drone 3 reports damage from a meteoroid impact. Maneuvering thrusters offline. Leaking fuel. Requests assistance.”

  “Damn it!” cursed Anna under her breath as she shut down the screen. Rushing to the elevator, she punched the down button and waited only a few seconds for the doors to open. She bolted into the car and impatiently indicated Gray Level as her destination, since the same level that hosted her cabin also hosted the landing bay.

  “Computer, prep the shuttle,” she called out. “And, kill the music.”

  “As you wish, Anna,” the computer replied just before the music stopped.

  Just as the sound within the elevator ceased, the doors opened, and Anna squeezed through the opening and sprinted down the hall. Half a minute later, she screeched to a halt at the access hatch to the airlock, opened it, and slid down the ladder.

  “Computer,” Anna ordered as she reached the bottom. “Current status of the drone.”

  “No new reports from the drone.”

  “How did this happen?”

  “Sensors indicate that the drone was returning to the station with a full load of gas, when it was hit by the meteoroid.”

  Anna kneeled next to the window and watched the blocky, white shuttle pod maneuver into launch position. She did her best to ignore the damaged hull pla
te on the other side of the landing bay, but it annoyingly stuck in her peripheral vision.

  She inquired, “Is it drifting toward us?

  “Oh, please! Oh, please! Oh, please!” she whispered to herself while she waited for the answer.

  “No,” replied the computer. “In fact, it is drifting toward the gas giant.”

  Anna felt like her heart skipped a beat.

  “Uh,” she stammered. “How soon will it enter its gravity well?”

  “Estimated time is 9 minutes and 53 seconds.

  “The shuttle is ready,” the computer continued.

  “At full burn, how long will I have before it enters the gravity well?”

  “You will have 43 seconds to grab the drone and reverse course.”

  “SHIT!” she screamed as she threw the airlock door open and slid down the ladder toward the shuttle, hearing the computer’s response about not understanding the importance of discussing fecal matter during a crisis fade as she descended. She slowed herself down just in time to gently land on the spacecraft’s dorsal airlock. Wasting no time, she opened the hatch and dropped inside.

  The shuttle’s cockpit seemed no bigger than her cabin on the station, but it had plenty of space for the pilot and co-pilot seats at the front of the room. The dim lights on the panels that created the walls of the cockpit confirmed that the shuttle was ready to depart.

  Sliding into the pilot’s seat and almost losing her balance and slamming into the forward controls, Anna planted herself into the chair, strapped in, and rapidly finished the launch preparations. Within seconds, she ordered the landing bay doors opened.

  The bay took a long thirty seconds to depressurize. Fortunately, the computer had taken that time into its calculations. Nevertheless, Anna waited impatiently for the bay doors to finally open and release the ship into open space.

  While she waited, she opened her wristcomp and typed, “What is the gas giant’s listed gravity?”

  Instantly, the computer replied, “The last recorded gravity rating of HD 139664 VI was recorded 134.65 years ago, when the initial survey team explored the star system. Their probe last listed a gravity rating of 5.21g before being crushed in the planet’s atmosphere.”