Maxwell wasn't smiling this time. Blanche wondered if he saw through the sham of what Arthur was doing with his machine, the way his creature was making her look like a vicious old fool. Her hands were shaking. It was just like her fights with Helen over all those years. So real, so real...
"Question one,” said Maxwell. “How did Helen Winslow die?"
"A blackout, like I said, only this one brought me here. I'm told there was massive bleeding in my brain,” said Annie. She sat down on her couch again and crossed her legs.
"All right. Question two: why was Helen's head preserved by freezing and the rest of her body separated from it?"
Annie thought for a moment. “Well, I remember it said in the contract my body could be used in any way to help the AINI project. Only the head was important, really; there was some data downloaded right after I—I should say Helen—died. Helen's last image of Arthur was there. Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie. I have to be Annie to answer the questions, but you know who I am."
Arthur was crying, his face buried in a handkerchief.
"Separating Helen's body wasn't a cost-saving measure?"
"Well, it saved money, but the body was worthless, all used up, nothing left to revive. No matter, now. I'm here, and I have my Fred, my Arthur. We talk whenever we want to, don't we, hon?"
Tears were running down Arthur's cheeks. He nodded his head, smiled, and blew his nose loudly in the handkerchief.
"He keeps us right in his living room,” added Annie. “It was worth the extra cost, but there's where I got into trouble with Blanche. I never thought she's miss a couple of million; she always had more than Fred and I. I just got overenthused about the project, I guess. I was wrong. I was wrong because I promised Blanche the money for her foundation. But then the blackouts started, and Arthur was so upset and alone, and we—we just wanted to be together, at least until he finds that special girl."
Arthur began blubbering again. Everyone in the room avoided eye contact with each other.
"Dear God,” said Blanche.
Annie bristled. “Oh shut up, Blanche. I don't expect you to understand, but there is nothing stronger than the love of a mother for her only son. You never had children because you didn't want them. I did, so try to respect that."
Her voice had risen in pitch. Her male companion came into the room, walked up behind her, and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. “The ice is melting. I miss you.” He kissed the crown of her head.
Annie put her hands on his and pointed directly at Blanche. “See anyone there you recognize?"
The man looked closely. There was no doubt in Blanche's mind that she was looking at an image of Fred Winslow from at least thirty years before he'd died.
"Is that Blanche? How did she get to be so old?"
Again that husky laugh. “I'll explain later, sweet. Pull the cork. I'll be there in a minute. Kiss, kiss."
He kissed Annie delicately on the mouth and went away.
Annie gave Blanche a sultry look. “More upgrades coming, but he's already quite a man. I've kept him waiting long enough, so let's get to it, Blanche. I'm Helen whether you like it or not, but I'm also a damn good AI. The judge here isn't going to help us. There are too many precedents involved: legality of AI testimony, the AI as a legal substitute for a human, dead or alive, et cetera, et cetera. I don't think he cares to appear in the legal journals that many times. Is that an accurate statement, Your Honor?"
"That is a reasonable approximation of what I'm thinking,” said Maxwell, looking vaguely amused.
"So it's you and me, Blanche. How much will it take for you to drop all this mess? Two million? Three? How about four? That's tops. Otherwise you're going to trial, and there isn't a jury around that's smart enough or imaginative enough to believe I am who I say I am. And you will get nothing."
Blanche looked at Arthur. “I'll write a check for whatever amount Mother says and make it payable to your arts foundation in the names of my parents,” he said.
Randal shrugged his shoulders and wiggled an eyebrow at her. The rest of the lawyers at the other table looked away. There was a long silence, horrible for everyone who waited.
"Three million,” said Blanche.
"Write the check, Arthur,” said Annie, standing up and smoothing her robed hips with her hands. “I'll talk to you tonight. Right now I have a date with your dad. Blanche, do come over for tea sometime. We must stay in touch, and Arthur will set up the machine for you, won't you dear?"
Arthur nodded numbly, not obviously pleased with the request.
"We should talk more often, and I'd really like to see how your foundation plays out. It's good for me to keep up a variety of interests, now that I have so much time. Promise you'll come soon?"
Blanche moved her lips, but could not bring herself to answer.
"Bye, then,” Annie said, and left the room. Arthur turned off the machine and the white room with red furnishings was gone. Annie was gone—and so was Helen.
"Let the record show the parties settled this matter out of court,” said Maxwell, looking pleased and relieved. “This hearing is ended."
Everyone filed out of the courtroom. Arthur waited for Blanche at the door. “You'll have the check in a day or two,” he said, then, “You know, Mother was really serious about visiting with you. Just give me some warning when you want to come over. I don't have to be home. My secretary knows how to boot AINI for her."
Blanche looked away from him. “I really don't think I'll be doing that, Arthur,” she said.
Later, she changed her mind.
Copyright (c) 2007 by James C. Glass
[Back to Table of Contents]
Serial: MARSBOUND: PART II OF III by Joe Haldeman
If Mars does have inhabitants, they won't be your grandfather's Martians....
Part I synopsis
Going to Mars sounded like an exciting trip to eighteen-year-old Carmen Dula, but once she got there, the brave new world started to resemble a crowded tenement, where you couldn't go outside without supervision; one misstep and you'd die in seconds.
On the six-month-long trip over from Earth, she'd had a tryst with the pilot, which put him in some trouble with Mars, and her in deep trouble with at least one person there: the administrator Dargo Solingen, who seemed to make Carmen her special project, monitoring her schoolwork and spying on her personal life, keeping her on unlovely work details.
Dargo really exploded when she caught Carmen in a midnight skinny-dip in the newly filled water tank, along with her brother and four other young people. Worse than immoral! She couldn't claim they were doing anything other than paddling around, but water was scarce and almost sacred.
Among the punishments Carmen had to endure was total imprisonment inside the underground colony—no Mars walks until further notice. She took it for a day and most of a sleepless night. At three in the morning, she tiptoed up to the airlock, disabled the alarm, suited up, and went outside into the Martian dark.
She took a “dog” along, a wagon that carried extra oxygen, water, and power, and decided to walk straight out four thousand steps, and then straight back. Farther than she'd ever been, but not completely unexplored territory.
She enjoyed being alone, for the first time in more than a year, and paced along very carefully—until the crust she was walking on grew thin, and she fell through, dropping through the darkness to the hard floor of a lava tube. She broke an ankle and a rib. She did find the dog and turned on its light, and plugged into its oxygen supply.
But the radio was useless, and she realized she was getting cold. The suit heater was broken. How long before she froze solid?
As her hands and feet grew numb, she lay and looked up at the hole she'd fallen through. In what she thought was a final hallucination, an angel floated down. He was wearing red, and was incredibly ugly.
* * * *
II. FIRST CONTACT
1. Guardian angel
woke up in some pain, ankle throbbing and hands an
d feet burning. I was lying on a huge inflated pillow. The air was thick and muggy and it was dark. A yellow light was bobbing toward me, growing brighter. I heard lots of feet.
It was a flashlight, or rather a lightstick like you wear, and the person holding it ... wasn't a person. It was the red angel from my dream.
Maybe I was still dreaming. I was naked, which sometimes happens in my dreams. The dog was sitting a few feet away. My broken ankle was splinted between two pieces of what felt like wood. On Mars?
This angel had too many legs, like four, sticking out from under the red tunic thing. His head, if that's what it was, looked like a potato that had gone really bad. Soft and wrinkled and covered with eyes. Maybe they were eyes, lots of them, or antennae. He was almost as big as a small horse. He seemed to have two regular-sized arms and two little ones. For an angel, he smelled a lot like tuna fish.
I should have been terrified, naked in front of this monster, but he definitely was the one who had saved me from freezing to death. Or he was dressed like that one.
"Are you real?” I said. “Or am I still dreaming, or dead?"
He made some kind of noise, sort of like a bullfrog with teeth chattering. Then he whistled and the lights came on, dim but enough to see around. The unreality of it made me dizzy.
I was taking it far too calmly, maybe because I couldn't think of a thing to do. Either I was in the middle of some complicated dream, or this is what happens to you after you die, or I was completely insane, or, least likely of all, I'd been rescued by a Martian.
But a Martian wouldn't breathe oxygen, not this thick. He wouldn't have wood for making splints. Though this one might know something about ankles, having so many of them.
"You don't speak English, do you?"
He responded with a long speech that sounded kind of threatening. Maybe it was about food animals not being allowed to talk.
I was in a circular room, a little too small for both me and Big Red, with a round wall that seemed to be several layers of plastic sheeting. He had come in through slits in the plastic. The polished stone floor was warm. The high ceiling looked like the floor, but there were four bluish lights embedded in it, that looked like cheap plastic decorations.
It felt like a hospital room, and maybe it was one. The pillow was big enough for one like him to lie down on it.
On a stone pedestal over by the dog was a pitcher and a glass made of something that looked like obsidian. He poured me a glass of something and brought it over.
His hand, also potato-brown, had four long fingers without nails, and lots of little joints. The fingers were all the same length and it looked like any one of them could be the thumb. The small hands were miniature versions of the big ones.
The stuff in the glass didn't smell like anything and tasted like water, so I drank it down in a couple of greedy gulps.
He took the glass back and refilled it. When he handed it to me, he pointed into it with a small hand, and said, “Ar.” Sort of like a pirate.
I pointed and said, “Water?” He answered with a sound like “war,” with a lot of extra R's.
He set down the glass and brought me a plate with something that looked remarkably like a mushroom. No, thanks. I read that story.
(For a mad moment I wondered whether that could be it—I had eaten, or ingested, something that caused all this, and it was one big dope dream. But the pain was too real.)
He picked the thing up delicately and a mouth opened up in his neck, broad black teeth set in grisly red. He took a small nibble and replaced it on the plate. I shook my head no, though that could mean yes in Martian. Or some mortal insult.
How long could I go without eating? A week, I supposed, but my stomach growled at the thought.
He heard the growling and pointed helpfully to a hole in the floor. That took care of one question, but not quite yet, pal. We've hardly been introduced, and I don't even let my brother watch me do that.
I touched my chest and said “Carmen.” Then I pointed at his chest, if that's what it was.
He touched his chest and said “Harn.” Well, that was a start.
"No.” I took his hand—dry, raspy skin—and brought it over to touch my chest. “Car-men,” I said slowly. Me Jane, you Tarzan. Or Mr. Potato Head.
"Harn,” he repeated, which wasn't a bad Carmen if you couldn't pronounce C or M. Then he took my hand gently and placed it between his two small arms and made a sputtering sound no human could do, at least with the mouth. He let go, but I kept my hand there and said, “Red. I'll call you Red."
"Reh,” he said, and repeated it. It gave me a shiver. I was communicating with an alien. Someone put up a plaque! But he turned abruptly and left.
I took advantage of being alone and hopped over to the hole and used it, not as easy as that sounds. I needed to find something to use as a crutch. This wasn't exactly Wal-Mart, though. I drank some water and hopped back to the pillow and flopped down.
My hands and feet hurt a little less. They were red, like bad sunburn, which I supposed was the first stage of frostbite. I could have lost some fingers and toes—not that it would matter much to me, with lungs full of ice.
I looked around. Was I inside of Mars or was this some kind of a spaceship? You wouldn't make a spaceship out of stone. We had to be underground, but this stone didn't look at all like the petrified lava of the colony's tunnel. And it was warm, which had to be electrical or something. The lights and plastic sheets looked pretty high-tech, but everything else was kind of basic—a hole in the floor? (I hoped it wasn't somebody else's ceiling!)
I mentally reviewed why there can't be higher forms of life on Mars, least of all technological life: No artifacts—we've mapped every inch of it, and anything that looked artificial turned out to be natural. Of course there's nothing to breathe, though I seemed to be breathing. Same thing with water. And temperature.
There are plenty of microscopic organisms living underground, but how could they evolve into big bozos like Red? What is there on Mars for a big animal to eat? Rocks?
Red was coming back with his lightstick, followed by someone only half his size, wearing bright lime green. Smoother skin, like a more fresh potato. I decided she was female and called her Green. Just for the time being; I might have it backwards. They had seen me naked, but I hadn't seen them—and wasn't eager to, actually. They were scary enough this way.
Green was carrying a plastic bag with things inside that clicked softly together. She set the bag down carefully and exchanged a few noises with Red.
First she took out a dish that looked like pottery, and from a plastic bag shook out something that looked like an herb, or pot. It started smoking immediately, and she thrust it toward me. I sniffed it; it was pleasant, like mint or menthol. She made a gesture with her two small hands, a kind of shooing motion, that I interpreted to mean, “breathe more deeply,” and I did.
She took the dish away and brought two transparent disks, like big lenses, out of the bag and handed one to me. While I held it, she pressed the other one against my forehead, then chest, then the side of my leg. She gently lifted up the foot with the broken ankle and pressed it against the sole. Then she did the other foot. She put the lenses back in her bag and stood motionless, staring at me like a doctor or scientist.
I thought, okay, this is where the alien sticks a tube up your ass, but she must have left her tube back at the office.
She and Red conferred for a while, making gestures with their small arms while they made noises like porpoises and machinery. Then she reached into the bag and pulled out a small metal tube, which caused me to cringe away, but she gave it a snap with her wrist and it ratcheted out to about six feet long. She mimicked using it as a cane, which looked really strange, like a spider missing four legs, and handed it to me, saying “Harn."
Guess that was my name now. The stick felt lighter than aluminum, but when I used it to lever myself up, it was rigid and strong.
She reached into her bag of tricks and brought o
ut a thing like her tunic, somewhat thicker and softer and colored gray. There was a hole in it for my head, but no sleeves or other complications. I put it on gratefully and draped it around so I could use the stick. It was agreeably warm.
Red stepped ahead and, with a rippling gesture of all four hands, indicated, “Follow me.” I did, with Green coming behind me.
It was a strange sensation, going through the slits in those plastic sheets, or whatever they were. It was like they were alive, millions of feathery fingers clasping you and then letting go all at once, to close behind you with a snap.
When I went through the first one, it was noticeably cooler, and cooler still after the second one, and my ears popped. After the fourth one, it felt close to freezing, though the floor was still warm, and the air was noticeably thin; I was almost panting and could see my breath.
We stepped into a huge dark cavern. Rows of dim lights at about knee level marked off paths. The lights were all blue, but each path had its own kind of blue, different in shade or intensity. Meet me at the corner of bright turquoise and dim aquamarine.
I tried to remember our route, left at this shade of blue and then right at this one, but I was not sure how useful the knowledge would be. What, I was going to escape? Hold my breath and run back to the colony?
We went through a single sheet into a large area, at least as well lit as my hospital room and almost as warm. It had a kind of barnyard smell, not unpleasant. There were things that had to be plants all around, like broccoli but brown and gray with some yellow, sitting in water that you could hear was flowing. A little mist hung near the ground, and my face felt damp. It was a hydroponic farm like ours, but without greens or the bright colors of tomatoes and peppers and citrus fruits.
Green leaned over and picked something that looked like a cigar, or something even less appetizing, and offered it to me. I waved it away; she broke it in two and gave half to Red.
I couldn't tell how big the place was, probably acres. So where were all the people it was set up to feed? All the Martians.
Analog SFF, March 2008 Page 20