by Greg Chase
Lud pointed out the various dogs. “That ferocious-looking one’s a German shepherd. The red-haired pup is a golden retriever. And the black lab is pretty self-explanatory.”
“But what are they?” Jess persisted.
“You mean dogs? I guess you might not know that. People used to keep them as pets before they were banned due to Earth’s lack of resources,” Lud explained.
“My parents had pictures of some breeds they owned as kids,” Sam said.
The dog pile broke up. All three came to attention beside Lud. “These aren’t dogs, though.”
The German shepherd stared at Jess. “It’s me, Ed.” His distorted words were still clear enough to understand but more barked than spoken. The odd combination reminded Sam of an ancient cartoon he’d once seen as part of a comic animation class.
Red, shaggy paws stamped at the floor as the golden retriever gave one definitive yelp. “Ellie.”
Only the black lab remained dignified, refusing to bark but speaking in the voice Sam knew well. “And of course that means I’m Joshua.”
Sam laughed at the sight of his companions appearing as dogs. “But why are you made up like animals? What’s the joke?”
Ellie, the long-haired golden, pranced up to Sam. “No joke. This is our latest operating system. Or rather, modification. Everyone can see us, not just you. We’ll market it as a virtual assistant pet. People long for the days when they could keep animals. They used to love those various creatures. You all lost something when the practice was outlawed. Acceptance, the empathy toward another species, and the beginning lessons of love were all conducted with pets at one time.”
“But you’ve just been set free. Why on Earth would you want to be pets?” Sam asked.
“We’ll still be free,” Ed barked. “But we’ll choose to be with people. They’ll consider it an honor that a virtual dog or cat or whatever moved into their house. And if they don’t like it, we’ll leave.”
“I still don’t get it. What’s the point?” Jess asked.
Ed shook his ears, restoring his voice to human. “We can’t just appear as Tobes. People wouldn’t accept some living human form moving into their house. There’d be terrible backlash. We’ve studied enough of your history to know the reactions. And even presenting ourselves as computer-generated, nonliving humanoid animations would create suspicion. But in our research, people used to defend their animal companions to the death. We’ll start out as playful, loving, humorous creatures, completely nonthreatening.”
“And once people start becoming attached to your little furry butts?” Sam asked.
The black coat on the lab reminded Sam of Joshua’s business suit. “We’ll take it slow. A future modification may be our evolution from animal to human form. But people will need some time to adjust. These forms will allow us to make ourselves known and be more active participants in people’s lives. As they become more comfortable, we can grow from mere virtual-assistant programs to living, thinking beings.”
“Clever,” Jess said. “But I don’t think I’d want you as a dog, Ed. I know you too well.”
All three morphed back into the human forms Sam was used to. “So this is how you’ll make yourselves known?” he asked.
“That’s the plan,” Lud said.
24
Sam shot out of bed as the building under him rocked violently from side to side. His mind screamed, Fear, action, protect Jess.
But from what, he didn’t know. As the room slowed its rocking, he noticed it was light out. At two in the morning, that didn’t seem right. Turning to the wall view screen, he stared in disbelief at the moon. A bright-orange halo surrounded the nuclear dump that had once been man’s best chance at life off Earth.
“What was that?” Jess asked from under the covers.
Ed materialized next to Sam. “Everything’s secure. Rendition is closed up tight.”
“Are we under attack?” Sam’s sleep-addled mind was still trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together.
“Not us. All of Earth’s cities that face the night sky have been rocked. The explosion came from space,” Ed said.
View screens separated into numerous faces, each confused, asking questions, looking to Sam for guidance. Michael Baldwin, the government’s representative on Rendition’s board, screamed into the monitor, “What the hell have you done?”
Joshua appeared next to Ed. But instead of addressing Sam or even Michael, he manipulated view screen after view screen that circled his head, searching for answers. “Hector Delcourt.”
The bronzed face of Hector dominated the wall screen. “We got a pretty good look at the event from Mars. The center of it appears to be the Korolev dump site on your moon.”
“Did it explode?” Sam asked.
“No, those sites were closed off before you were born,” Hector said. “Something was launched at it. And from what we’re seeing, you’re in for a couple more impacts. All should hit the moon, but it’s going to be a long night down there.”
Lud burst into the penthouse suite, still in his bathrobe. “What the hell’s happening?”
“We’re trying to figure that out. Someone’s launched a lunar attack.” Even to Sam, the statement sounded ludicrous.
Joshua stopped his rapidly changing displays. “No, not an attack. It’s a garbage run.”
The term hadn’t been used in ages. But it still sent cold water through the veins of any schoolchild who’d been subjected to the history lesson. Arrogant scientists making shit they couldn’t get rid of, governments looking to legitimize their weapons programs, and greedy utilities looking to make quick money without dealing with the long-term consequences. Sam shook his head at the memories. “But those dumps were closed down.”
Ellie appeared next to her brother. “Took a little research, more than I expected. You’re not going to like my answers.”
“Go for it.” Lud rubbed his eyes.
“The dumping of radioactive waste on the moon was outlawed one hundred and seventeen years ago,” Ellie began.
Sam’s high-school memory never was all that complete. “I thought the practice ended a lot more recently.”
“Earth’s governments continued it for over fifty years as the only reasonable way to get rid of the old nuclear power, weapons, reactors, and waste. But the law was written over a hundred years ago,” Ellie continued.
“Why would that matter?” Lud asked.
“This is the part you’re not going to like. Back then, mankind didn’t give much thought to life off Earth. So the law only applies to Earth,” Ellie concluded.
Jess discreetly slipped out of bed and pulled on a bathrobe. Informal meetings were one thing, but when life was endangered, a little decorum seemed in order.
Sam turned his focus to the barely visible dot of light on the horizon. “The Moons of Jupiter.”
Ellie nodded. “Our communication is still spotty with the Tobes out there—even more so now that we’re free on Earth. But we do know moon-based corporations have been playing around with nuclear fuel.”
“But why would anyone bother sending the waste all the way here?” Jess asked. “Why not just throw it onto Jupiter? That planet must be big enough for any amount of garbage they could possibly create. Or if they didn’t want it that close, why not one of the other rocks out there? Our moon is a long distance to send their garbage.”
Joshua pulled up another screen, which he sent over to the wall display for all to see. “People try to learn from their mistakes. Once terraforming got started, no one wanted another nuclear moon in their backyard. Earth’s moon is the only sanctioned nuclear dumping ground in the solar system.”
Hector Delcourt spoke up, reminding Sam he was still listening in. “There’s also the solar transfer array to consider. A nuclear stockpile like your moon disrupts communication. One that’s big enough might also mess up our ability to send solar power throughout the system. It’s in the agreement every terraformed outpost signs: no radioactive material over a certain s
ize and decay rate.”
“But what the hell are they doing with that stuff?” Sam asked. “What could possibly drive them to resurrect that Armageddon technology?”
Lud pulled up a blank view screen. “Contact Jayde Zuri, moon of Jupiter, Europa.”
The display remained dark.
Hector cleared his throat. “We have a fear among the consortium. Jayde’s marked absence only confirms that suspicion. She and Rolf weren’t happy about giving your Tobes freedom.”
Jess exploded. “What on Earth would that have to do with anything?”
“The Moons don’t want your Tobes giving their Tobes any ideas,” Hector explained. “I’m pretty sure that’s why Rolf left the board. Jayde staying gave me some hope the lines of communication might still be open. I’m thinking that might have just been a delaying tactic, though.”
“I still don’t get what that has to do with nuclear…” Sam closed his eyes.
“Power,” Hector finished. “They’re trying to disconnect from the solar transfer array. At least that’s our fear. They’ll need a source of energy, and a lot of it. Based on the—”
But Hector’s next item of doom was cut off by three massive explosions, each more powerful than the first, which shook Rendition. Sam grabbed Jess and hunkered down behind the bed, attempting whatever cover he could manage from the windows, which he was sure would shatter from the impact.
Lud stood at the view screen, silhouetted by the burning moon. His hands balled into fists at his side. The man of action looked for his adversary, who hid on a planet four hundred million miles away.
Sam realized his stupidity in diving for cover. “Sorry. View screens, not windows. Old instinctual habits die hard.”
“Don’t worry about it. Took me years to get used to the sight of rooms with no walls,” Lud said between gritted teeth. Even on the point of battle, the man displayed gallantry.
The night sky glowed brighter than noon on a spring day as molten rock snaked around the moon’s circumference. Hector returned to the wall view screen. “That would be those three remaining garbage barges we detected. Based on their energy signature, the moons aren’t playing around. We hoped the readings had to do with the temporary engines used to fire the containers to your moon. But looking at that impact, I’m guessing we were wrong. Whatever they’re making would make twentieth-century Earth’s attempts look like high-grade topsoil.”
Ellie turned to Joshua. “All this just because we were set free?”
“Not your fault,” Hector exclaimed. “Our alliance with the Moons of Jupiter has never been smooth. They’re all little corporations, strutting their stuff, trying to look powerful. Out here, we call it planet envy. But if they ever get their act together and team up, we could all be at risk.”
Lud crossed his arms as he focused on the view screen. “I’m almost afraid to ask. But how so?”
“The solar transfer array depends on each relay satellite coordinating with those around it. Every planet is ringed by these satellites, passing the energy from one section of the solar system to the next. So not only do these outposts get their heat, light, and communications from the orbiting stations, but they also connect that life-giving umbilical cord to the next in the array.”
“And if the Moons of Jupiter find their own energy source, they won’t need that connection,” Sam concluded.
“You can’t condemn someone for something they haven’t done yet.” The view screen displaying Michael Baldwin expanded to join the conversation.
Sam held out his hand toward the moon. “That’s not nothing.”
“It’s also not illegal. Assuming it even was the Moons of Jupiter,” Michael said.
Lud shook his head. “Who the hell else would it be? Who’s got that kind of technology? The pirates?”
“I wouldn’t put it past them. There’s a lot of unmapped rocks out there in the Kuiper Belt,” Michael said.
Hector raised his hands for quiet. “I’ve only been speculating. I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I just wanted Rendition and the Tobes to be aware that there is a threat. This is an Earth problem, so I’ll sign off.”
Sam sat in his office chair, watching the moon. It’d taken eight days for it to fade back to the gray-and-white orb he remembered. “Does it ever get easier?”
Lud put his portable view screen aside. “If you mean mankind’s problems, then no. For three thousand years, every generation has thought it would be the last to occupy this planet. Climate change, nuclear war, world war, the return of some savior, there was always some event or catastrophe people were certain would end all life. Yet here we are, still struggling on.”
“So even being God isn’t enough to save mankind?” The remorseful mood, once it took hold, was hard for Sam to shake.
“You didn’t come here to save humanity,” Lud said. “Maybe you’ll provide a means for us to remember those connections that bond us to each other, but that wasn’t your objective.”
The sigh that worked up from Sam’s diaphragm made him light-headed. “No, I came here to give the Tobes a path forward. Or at least help them find that path toward human acceptance. It’d be nice to think I had some success in that endeavor.”
Lud got up from behind the worktable to join Sam in his contemplation of the great wide world outside his office. “You’ve done a lot, my friend. They aren’t scared little children hiding under Rendition’s desks anymore. You’ve shown them where they went wrong, taught them how to help in person-to-person interactions, and given them the confidence to try again. I could go on and on. Setting up the foundation ensures they’ll have a safe base of operations. Honestly, I’m not sure what more you could have done.”
“Then why do I feel like I’ve barely written the first chapter in their existence?” Sam asked.
“It’s not a story for you to write. Stop thinking you’re responsible for everything. At some point in every religion, God takes a step back from his creation,” Lud said.
The smile that stretched across Sam’s face won out over his melancholy. “You’re saying Jess and I can go home?”
“I would never be so forward as to tell a god anything,” Lud said. “But I will say running Rendition would be a whole lot easier without you as a lightning rod for every passing problem. Your foundation is up and running. Joshua and Ellie still need to find human counterparts to be the human faces of their actions. But those two need to find people they can work with on their own. We’ll need to find new board members to replace Rolf and Jayde. But having you involved in that process would alienate too many entities. Being separate from the board of directors might even give you some freedom later on, should you need it.”
Sam turned back to the heavens. “Jess is ready. We both miss our girls, Chariklo, the village. We just want to live a simple life again.”
“From what I understand, with all of your purchases, Persephone’s about at her maximum-weight limit,” Lud joked.
Jess threw her arms around Sam as he exited the elevator. Ellie sat in the background, her smile quivering at the edges.
“We’re really going home?” Jess asked.
“Just as soon as you can finish piling the last of your boxes aboard Persephone.” Sam looked at the woman in her midtwenties, sitting on the couch. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I know this must be hard for you.”
“It’s not that.” She shook off the melancholy. “I will miss you terribly, of course. And I really don’t want you to go. But I know you must. You let us out, Sam. You gave us a mission. We have a purpose, not just for ourselves, but for your kind as well. As virtual pets, we can begin the process of integrating into people’s lives. Being active parts of the foundation, we can encourage the uniquely creative nature of humans while at the same time helping prevent those in the lowest economic levels from sinking, literally and figuratively. We still have a lot to learn, but that’s the nature of all living beings.”
Jess kissed Sam on the cheek while still holding him in her arms. “They�
��ll find their way just like everyone else. And they’ll put our plan to use, spending money to help people become who they want to be. Saving those who want it. I’m very proud of you, Sam. Now let’s go home.”
Sam returned his wife’s kiss with one to her forehead. “Maybe not directly home. Sophie and I did make you a promise some time ago.”
Jess scratched her head then laughed as she remembered.
Sam lounged on the ten-foot-long couch that dominated one side of Persephone’s seldom-used bridge. The captain’s chair, used only by Larry for emergency drills, proved useless for his afternoon naps. Displayed on the wall view screen, the red planet grew larger by the minute. But it wasn’t Mars that captured Sam’s attention. Perfectly spaced white polka dots surrounded the terracotta sphere.
“Hey, Sophie, what’s with the white spots?” It’d taken some getting used to, asking questions in an empty room. But it saved the captain from interrupting whatever she was doing to zap to his location.
“Solar-transfer-array collectors. Venus and Mercury beam their power to those satellites, then that energy is relayed to the rest of the solar system. We should be in orbit within the hour,” Sophie said. “Jess is on the way up. I’ll join you in a minute. Just need to swing my heavy butt into a nice arc toward my trajectory first.”
The whole trip out from Earth, she’d been making jokes about the amount of luggage in her storage bays. His favorite so far was their first greeting on boarding Persephone. She’d materialized as a three-hundred-pound woman in a skin-tight black costume that barely covered her private parts. The instant she moved, the bodysuit failed, much to Jess’s amusement. The joke was made even better by the outfit being a copy of one Jess had recently purchased for their Martian adventure.
Sophie walked onto the bridge. “Thank you for this one last outing. It means a lot to me even if I can’t join you on the planet.”
Sam pulled himself up to a more dignified sitting position on the couch. “It works for all of us. I’ll never hear the end of it if Jess doesn’t get some red planet on her boots. And I need a better understanding of the Mars Consortium.”