To the Stars -- And Beyond

by Robert Reginald

  “Eddie? Eddie!” I jumped forward and we embraced like long-lost brothers.

  Later on Eddie turned to introduce an android who I saw talking quietly to Joey. “I want to introduce you to Andrew. Andrew was a present to me from your parents long ago. Andrew looked after me just like Joey looked after you, protected you, took an interest in you. Andrew is my guardian.”

  Andrew and Joey came toward us. Andrew said, “This was all Eddie’s idea. Once he consolidated power on Earth, he wanted to see you again, face to face, to renew your childhood friendship, and personally put a stop to the war.”

  I looked at Joey for an explanation.

  “No Earther ever had a guardian before. How did you pull that off?” I asked.

  Joey smiled, told me, “Unfortunately, that was true, but not any longer. Andrew was the first, a present given to Eddie when he left us long ago. Your parents realized, and Andrew and I concurred, that Eddie would become an important Earther leader someday. We realized that such a child desperately needed a guardian to protect him, to educate him, to be his advocate—to turn him into a good leader for himself and his people.”

  “And to protect me from my father,” Eddie said, and for a moment I saw that vulnerable, scared little boy I remembered from long ago in the face of the adult who now stood before me. Eddie added, “Andrew protected me, and even more than that, he helped me to grow and understand. He educated me. He took an interest.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t speak, my voice caught in my throat.

  Joey told me, “Your parents were pragmatic people as well as humanitarians, Controller. They knew the best way to ensure healthy Earther-Spacer relations was to see to it that the children of Earth—the future leaders of Earth—each had a guardian to protect them and see that they grew up healthy. It’s a far cry from the dysfunctional monsters or emotionally crippled basket-cases that have been the norm for too many of Earth’s leaders throughout its long bloody history.”

  Andrew said, “It was difficult in the beginning. I was sent with Eddie to be a servant and teacher, but by the time Eddie attained his majority, he understood what I was trying to accomplish. It’s the old guardian creed: ‘To protect and guide the child unselfishly. To be an advocate for that child—forever’.”

  I walked over to Joey and hugged him, “Even today, old friend, after all these years, you are still looking out for me.”

  “Of course, Controller. Best friends always look out for each other. There’s no time limit or conditioning built into such programming. There is only one thing deeper in a guardian than his programming—the devotion and friendship he feels for his charge.”

  I smiled at that, looking from Joey to Andrew and then over to Eddie, who said, “When I was a kid you saved me, so this is my way to repay you. I hope it will be a new era for humanity, and between Earthers and Spacers.”

  BLACK MIST

  by Richard A. Lupoff

  The body was found by a worker assigned to the Phobos Research Station, Jiricho Toshikawa. Toshikawa had been born in a small village in Okayama Prefecture. Uneducated and knowing only the simple skills of a farmer, it was a mystery how he came to be posted to Phobos. Perhaps it was believed that Toshikawa possessed skills that would be useful in the experimental farms of the Marineris region of Mars. But he had wound up on Phobos, a hapless individual who grudgingly performed his menial tasks.

  He was assigned to work in the dining commons of the station. His superior, the chief cook and manager of the food and dining facility, Wataru Okubo, had complained of the man. Toshikawa was lazy. He would hide or run away from work. Okubo tried to keep an eye on Toshikawa’s gawky figure and snaggle-toothed face, but the one great skill that Toshikawa possessed was the ability to escape hard tasks.

  Okubo had assigned Toshikawa to scrub the pots and implements used for preparing breakfast. Toshikawa had grumbled, complaining of Okubo’s unfairness and his own overworked status, but he had finally lifted the first implement in order to commence work. Okubo had turned away to answer a question from another worker. When he turned back, Toshikawa was nowhere to be seen.

  Toshikawa had made his way to the common crew quarters that he shared with other workers who were neither scientists nor persons of management rank. It had taken him a long time to learn his way around the corridors of the research station, even stopping at each intersection to study the diagram posted there, but at last he had learned the routes that he needed to follow each day.

  From his quarters it was a short walk to a shared spacesuit locker and a convenient airlock. Next, he had donned a spacesuit. Even the suit’s helmet and inflated limbs and torso did not conceal his scrawny shape.

  He had exited through the nearest airlock and walked away from the station. Mars was directly overhead. Toshikawa looked at the sky. Far away, near the curve of Mars’s surface, he could see the tiny, dim dot of Deimos. Earth was nowhere to be seen. It was night on this side of Phobos, full day on the side of Mars overhead.

  Toshikawa walked away from the research station. The crater Stickney lay directly ahead of him. Beyond it, the abandoned Russian space station that had been anchored to Phobos nearly a century before lifted its jagged black bulk. Toshikawa picked his way across the blanket of dark regolith that covered most of Phobos. His negligible weight, hardly one tenth of one percent of the sixty kilograms he had weighed on Earth, was barely enough to stir the regolith.

  Like all workers assigned to Phobos, he had learned the trick of walking with a careful, gliding stride, barely lifting his boots from the regolith. In the beginning he had been frightened on Phobos. Until he had learned to walk properly, he had feared that each stride might throw him from the moonlet altogether, and that he would be lost in the blackness of space, or plummet headlong to his death on Mars itself. But it would take a concerted effort, even by an exceptionally strong man, to break the grip of even Phobos’s light gravity.

  Toshikawa had been assigned to work on Mars at first, and had experienced little trouble in controlling his movements there.

  His lightness on the planet—there, he had weighed almost twenty-five kilograms—had caused him no difficulty. He had traveled from Earth by spaceplane to one of the orbiting stations, by shuttle to a cycling Niehoff ship, thence to Phobos and by minirocket and balloon to the surface of Mars. The bureaucracy had dithered over him and had finally shipped him back up to Phobos to be a cook’s helper and general worker.

  But on Phobos, with its tiny mass and proportionately tiny gravity—the discovery of the body had interrupted Toshikawa’s ruminations and driven such thoughts from his mind. When he saw the form lying on the surface he had given an involuntary yelp. Not knowing whether to race forward to help the fallen person or to run for assistance, he jumped.

  He rose from the regolith and experienced a moment of terror in which he forgot his lesson and thought that he would fly upward into the sky until he was caught by the stronger gravity of Mars, where he would tumble through the thin atmosphere of the planet and fall to his death.

  Instead, his ascent slowed; then he drifted gently back to Phobos. He landed on his toes and slowly collapsed onto one knee. Then he regained his self-control and rose to his feet. He felt a wave of shame creep through him and knew that his face was red. In his moment of panic he had soiled himself! How could he conceal this from Mr. Okubo? How could he face any of his fellow workers, any of the scientists or the managers who worked at the Phobos Research Station?

  For a time he was so concerned with this problem that he forgot the cause of his alarm. Then he remembered. He had seen a body, a human form, lying on the regolith, on the very edge of the crater Stickney.

  He moved forward again, this time taking care with his stride. He stood over the form he had seen. Yes, unquestionably, this was a person. He could tell by the configuration of torso and limbs, and by the spacesuit that the victim was wearing.

  Wondering whether the person was alive or dead, Toshikawa knelt beside the head. The person was l
ying face downward, arms and legs spread in the shape of an X. There was a mark on the back of the spacesuit, a line as long as the first two joints of a man’s forefinger, where something had penetrated the victim’s spacesuit and been withdrawn, leaving the suit’s sealant to prevent decompression.

  Toshikawa turned the victim over. For a moment the victim seemed alive, almost trying to bound from Toshikawa’s grasp. Once again he had forgotten to take account of the slight gravity of Phobos. There was also the sound of a moan in Toshikawa’s ears. He thought it was the victim, but then realized that he himself had made the sound.

  He lowered the body carefully to the ground. The regolith was a mixture of tiny crumbled rocks and dust. The dusty portion had adhered to the victim’s faceplate. As best he could, Toshikawa brushed the plate clean. The face of the victim was illuminated by the ruddy reflection of sunlight from the face of Mars. It was brighter than the brightest of moonlit nights on Earth.

  Toshikawa recognized the victim. It was a woman, one of the very few working on Phobos. He had seen her when she had arrived from a research center located beside a dry river bed at Nirgal Vallis. Her name was Fumiko Inada.

  When she had first arrived at Phobos, Toshikawa had been smitten by her beauty. Her hair was glossy and highlights of blue seemed to flash from the black. Her face was soft, and he had seen enough of her figure to find his sleep interrupted night after night.

  Once in the dining commons, when he was off duty, he had approached her table with rice and tea and tried to strike up a conversation, but she had given him a look that discouraged him.

  Now she lay in his arms, unmoving. Her eyes were open. Her face seemed to be an unnatural color, but in the light of Mars Toshikawa was uncertain about this. He reached toward her chest, drew his hand back in shame, then placed his thinly gloved fingers over her heart.

  He could detect neither heartbeat not respiration.

  Fumiko Inada was dead.

  Toshikawa laid her carefully back on the regolith. There would be an investigation of her death, and he thought that it would be best to leave her and her surroundings undisturbed. He realized that he had already lifted the woman, turned her over, and brushed the regolith from her face mask.

  He thought for a moment that he should turn her face down and rub her helmet in the regolith, so as to restore the prior condition. But that might only make things worse. Instead, he lowered her gently to the ground and rose carefully to his feet.

  He walked carefully back toward the research station. He wished that he had remained there, performing the tasks assigned him by Mr. Okubo. Then Fumiko Inada would not be restored to life, but at least he would not have been the one to find her. He would not have become frightened, soiled himself, disarranged the scene of her death.

  There were places where the regolith was disturbed, as if it were the infield of a baseball diamond where a base runner had slid heavily. Toshikawa stepped carefully around them, disturbing the regolith as little as possible with his own light, gliding strides.

  He re-entered the research station, but instead of removing his spacesuit immediately, he made his way to crew quarters. Here he removed the spacesuit and cleaned himself. Wearing fresh clothing, he returned the spacesuit to the common room.

  He returned to the dining commons and faced Mr. Okubo.

  Mr. Okubo was furious. He demanded, “Where have you been?” Before Toshikawa could reply, Mr. Okubo shouted, “You are the worst worker I have ever known! You are never here, and when you are here, you are worthless!”

  Toshikawa saw that Mr. Okubo had grown red in the face. This was not the redness of Mars’s reflected light; it was the red of great anger. Toshikawa said, “I have been outside. I went to look at the Stickney crater.”

  “You were supposed to be working! You had no right to leave the station. What were you doing at the crater?”

  “Someone is dead.”

  “What?”

  Toshikawa dropped his gaze. “Someone is dead.”

  “At Stickney? You found someone at Stickney? Dead?”

  “Yes.” Toshikawa wilted beneath Mr. Okubo’s scorn.

  “You are an idiot as well as a fool!” Other workers, distracted by the shouting of Mr. Okubo, had ceased their work and were staring at the two men, listening to their words. Mr. Okubo said, “Who is dead?”

  Toshikawa said, “Miss Inada.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She was lying there. I turned her over. I could tell she was dead.”

  “How could you tell?”

  Toshikawa said, “She looked dead.”

  “And are you a doctor? You just took a look at Miss Inada and you decided that she was dead?”

  Toshikawa felt his ears, face, and neck burning with embarrassment. He said, “No. I put my hand on her chest. On her heart. There was no heartbeat. And she was not breathing.”

  Mr. Okubo stood for a moment, his breath hissing between his teeth. Toshikawa felt that he would faint if he had to stand much longer before Mr. Okubo like this. Finally Mr. Okubo said, “Come with me.”

  He led the way from the dining commons to the office of Mr. Kakuji Matsuda. He knocked on the door. Toshikawa stood behind him. The heat of his embarrassment had fallen away from him. He was so cold that he shivered with fright. He was seeing the face of Miss Inada as she had looked at him with dead eyes from inside her helmet.

  Mr. Matsuda grunted, and Mr. Okubo opened the door to Mr. Matsuda’s office. He stepped inside. Toshikawa did not know what to do. He remained behind in the corridor until Mr. Okubo reached back and grabbed him by the wrist. Mr. Okubo pulled Toshikawa inside the office.

  Toshikawa saw the furnishings. A desk with a computer screen and its equipment, a record driver, a voder. Chairs. Shelves bearing record and book holders.

  Two men sat in the room. Behind the desk, Toshikawa recognized Mr. Kakuji Matsuda, the manager of the Phobos Research Station. Toshikawa had seen Mr. Matsuda a few times. Mr. Matsuda addressed the staff of the station on such important holidays as the Emperor’s birthday or the anniversary of the first Mars landing. The second man, Toshikawa was not certain of. He thought he was Mr. Eiji Sumiyoshi, Mr. Matsuda’s deputy.

  Toshikawa didn’t know what to do. He watched Mr. Okubo, hoping to follow his lead. Mr. Okubo bowed to Mr. Matsuda. Toshikawa did the same, bowing more deeply.

  Mr. Matsuda stood up and returned the bows. “What do you want?”

  Toshikawa could see that the two managers had been playing hanafuda—the cards were still lying on Mr. Matsuda’s desk. Mr. Sumiyoshi’s hand lay before him—an eight, nine, three. A shudder passed through Toshikawa. There was a hot sake jug on the desk as well, and cups for the two men.

  Mr. Okubo said, “Mr. Matsuda, Toshikawa here claims that he found Miss Inada near the Stickney crater, dead.”

  Mr. Matsuda turned his eyes for the first time to Toshikawa. “Is this true?”

  Trembling, Toshikawa said, “Yes, sir. I was walking.”

  “Not working? Was this before the start of work?”

  “No, sir. It was during work.”

  “Had Mr. Okubo sent you on an errand outside the station?”

  “No, sir. I did not feel well. I slept badly last night. I had troubled dreams. I thought the sight of the sky would clear my mind.”

  For the first time, Mr. Sumiyoshi spoke. “What kind of dreams?”

  Toshikawa felt himself reddening again. He stared at the floor. He did not speak.

  Mr. Sumiyoshi repeated his question.

  Toshikawa kept his face turned to the floor, but he rolled his eyes upward so he could see Mr. Sumiyoshi. He was a square man with huge muscles. He had thick hair that hung over his forehead. Out of the corner of his eye, Toshikawa could see Mr. Matsuda. His face and head were the shape of an egg. There was only a fringe of hair that circled his head from one ear to the other. His eyes were known to be weak, and he sometimes did without his lenses, squinting and feeling his way about the station.
/>   “Well?”

  Toshikawa saw Mr. Okubo look at Mr. Matsuda. Mr. Matsuda nodded slightly and Mr. Okubo said, “Answer Mr. Sumiyoshi, Toshikawa.”

  “I dreamed about Miss Inada.”

  Mr. Sumiyoshi said, “You dreamed about her? Troubling dreams? Love dreams?” He paused. “Sex dreams?”

  Toshikawa did not speak, did not raise his eyes.

  “You dreamed about Miss Inada, then you went for a walk outside the station instead of doing your work. You found Miss Inada at Stickney and she is dead.”

  Mr. Matsuda said, “Enough. Let’s go and see. I’ll leave you in charge, Sumiyoshi.”

  Soon Mr. Matsuda, Mr. Okubo, and Toshikawa were wearing spacesuits. Toshikawa was relieved that he had changed to fresh clothing. The spacesuit he had worn earlier had not been soiled, only the trousers he wore beneath it.

  They stood outside the station. Mr. Matsuda made a sign with his hand, and they each turned on his radio. Mr. Matsuda said, “Take us to Miss Inada’s body. Maybe she is not really dead. Maybe you were mistaken.”

  Toshikawa shivered. He knew that he had not been mistaken. He looked up. Phobos’s rotation had moved it from the false, ruddy day of Mars light to the true day of the sun. He could see the sun itself, overhead, smaller than it appeared from either Earth or Mars, but brilliant and sharp.

  He led the way, carefully retracing his steps. Near the edge of the crater, the places where the regolith had been smeared remained in contrast to the dust and pebbles around them. Where Miss Inada had lain there was another area where the regolith was disturbed. But there was no sign of Miss Inada.

  Toshikawa said, “She’s gone!”

  Mr. Okubo said, “You’re sure you saw her here?”

  “Yes! Yes! I touched her. I picked her up, turned her over. I saw that she was dead.”