Habitats

by Laurence Dahners

  “Thanks, I really hadn’t thought about this stuff.”

  “My AI says that Clemson’s policy is for you to get 40% of any royalty income from your inventions. D5R’s 50% policy means that anything you invent here will pay you a little better than it would at Clemson. Really important that you have careful documentation of which is which though. The potential profits could give impetus to pretty big legal battles.”

  “Uh, thanks for the advice,” G S ad need a lary said, head spinning. “I think I’d better get some legal advice for sure.”

  “Good idea.”

  ***

  Vivian stepped uncomfortably to the front of the room to speak to the Portal Tech employees. She hated public speaking but this was important. “Good morning. We are taking time to speak to you this morning about something that happened to me last week. I was approached by a man interested in hiring me away from Portal Tech for exorbitant amounts of money. When I said I wasn’t interested, he then arranged my kidnapping.” She paused at the sound of indrawn breath. A susurrus of low concerned voices washed over the room. When it had abated and she felt she had their attention, she spoke again. “As you know, we’ve been concerned that something like this might happen and that’s why we’ve offered you implanted ports that would allow you to let us know if you were threatened, attacked or kidnapped. It was through just such a port that I was rescued after my abduction.

  “The ports we are producing are a boon to mankind, but as I’m sure you have realized, they can be used as weapons, or to pass weapons as well. We are specifically manufacturing ports that are not easily used as weapons. However, as happened to me, groups out there who want to use ports as weapons may decide to obtain the expertise to do so by bribing or threatening you… or your loved ones. Initial indications are that the men who abducted me work for a foreign government that would like ‘weaponizable’ ports for its military.

  “Not many of you have taken us up on our offer to provide you with implanted ports. Now that the potential threat has become real, we wanted to be sure you were aware and remind you of the offer for you to get an implant.

  “Also, if you are approached by someone, be cautious, especially of offers that seem ‘too good to be true.’ Let us know what you’ve been offered, we can help you try to determine if it’s a legitimate offer and may be willing to make a counteroffer.

  “I’ll be happy to take questions now.”

  Hands went up all around the room.

  ***

  Dr. Hanson stepped into the clinic roomette to see John Parker, the man who’d lost his hand to a shotgun blast. His wife sat with him. There also was a young woman and a man, both too old to be Parker’s children. Hanson merely glanced at the two though, focusing instead on her patient. They were probably just other relatives; people needed a lot of support after losing a limb.

  After asking how he was doing she briefly examined Parker’s stump where everything appeared to be very well healed. “Well, Mr. Parker, everything seems to be going very well. On x-ray the stems appear to be very solidly fixed in your bones. We need to plan for the secondary surgery to install your transcutaneous stems. Are you up for that yet?”

  “Well… S0">n>

  Hanson frowned, patients sometimes had odd requests and she wondered what this one would be. “What’s that?” She studied his face carefully and glanced at his wife. It wasn’t all that unusual for patients to lose touch with reality and ask for something bizarre. She’d had a patient once ask her to reopen his amputation stump to apply some extract of pig bladder he’d found on the internet. The patient had decided the extract would make his finger grow back.

  “I work for this high tech company out in the Triangle and we’ve been working with Ryan Keller here, a grad student in Biomedical Engineering at UNC.

  Hanson turned to look at the young man, but found her eyes arrested when she realized that the young woman between Ms. Parker and Keller was Ell Donsaii! Astonished that she could have been oblivious to her presence until then, Hanson said, “Hello,” and nodded to both of them. “Ms. Donsaii.” She turned her eyes back to Parker and raised her eyebrows.

  “Ryan has been developing ‘neurotrodes’ which can pick signals up from, and transmit to, transected nerve endings.”

  Hanson’s eyebrows rose and she turned to look at the young man, “That’s fascinating. I assume that all motor impulse outflow gets picked up as one unit and all sensory fibers get the sensory signal?”

  “Oh, no, each axon grows into its own individual microtube so we can separate the signal for each neuron.”

  Suspicion flowed over Hanson, “Well, that’s fascinating… but surely you aren’t thinking that a grad student’s research project is ready for human implantation are you? Even if it worked there would be terrible problems with transcutaneous infection and besides there aren’t any prostheses available for such control at present.”

  The people in her office glanced at one another, then Donsaii spoke, “Our company has been using waldoes with mechanical hands for its work in space. We’ve commissioned a modified version of such a hand for John.” She had reached into the bag at her feet and now she pulled out a mechanical hand.

  Hanson’s eyebrows rose again. The hand appeared to be very sophisticated, with all the joints of a real hand, rather than just a few like most current myoelectric hands. Donsaii held it out to her and Hanson took it, surprised at how light it was. She’d held some myoelectrics and they were quite heavy. It must not have the motors and batteries installed yet she thought.

  “Run program,” Donsaii said, apparently to her AI.

  Hanson’s eyebrows shot up as the hand began flexing and extending its fingers. The thumb abducted, adducted, flexed and extended, then the wrist began flexing and extending as well. Hanson turned it to look up into the socket to see the motors, “How… how is it moving?”

  “It has all the joints a hand does and polymer cables for each of the muscles and tendons, all entering through ports behind the wrist.”

  Ports! Of course! This is the woman that invented them! She closed her eyes thinking “survivors guilt” is probably what’s driving this. And they are going to be so disappointed when all this effort doesn’t work. But, it would be better if I’m not the one to dash their hopes. Carefully she said, “And you want me to…?”

  Ryan said, “We think we have enough small animal data to apply for an IRB (Institutional Review Board) protocol to try at least one neurotrode in a human. We need a clinician on the IRB application and we’re hoping you’d be willing?”

  Somewhat beseechingly, Mr. Parker said, “I’d really like to try this. Even if it’s just with one nerve for the first run. If it ruins one of the nerves that used to go to my hand, well I’m not using them anyway. And obviously, it would be great to have the neurotrodes implanted at the same surgery as when the stems are put in.”

  Hanson sat back, “How are you going to keep these ‘neurotrodes’ from getting infected where the wires come out of the skin?”

  “They won’t go ‘through’ the skin. They’ll go through ports and the part of the wire that’s outside the body can be kept in an antiseptic solution.”

  Hanson closed her eyes, of course. She sighed. If this worked it would be incredible. This was the kind of thing that could make the reputation of a young academic surgeon. Or totally destroy that same reputation if things went south. “This sounds exciting but I can’t take any more time to think about it while other patients are waiting. Send me your contact information and the data you have so far… I’ll get back to you.”

  ***

  Carter leaned his waldo back to inspect his last weld. He felt pretty comfortable as a waldo driver nowadays. Last week they’d installed an airlock on the big metal box they’d been welding together. Said airlock could also connect in an airtight fashion to any of the airlocks of the huge inflated habitat which filled much of Carter’s field of view at present.

  The weld he’d just finished was to ho
ld one of a number of rocket nozzles on different surfaces of the metal box. When they’d taken the first of the nozzles out of the modified Learjet, which he thought of as the “little spaceplane,” he’d been confused by the lack of plumbing connections for fuel, etc. Then he’d remembered with some embarrassment that he worked for the company that came up with ports and that, of course fuel would be entering the rocket engine through ports hidden inside of it. “Ben?” he’d asked, “What are the rocket engines for?”

  Ben had laughed, “I’ve been waiting patiently for you to ask me what you and the boys are building out there in space.”

  “Well, I have been wondering. What use do you have for a big metal box?”

  “Don’t be afraid to ask,” he’d sai S /font>d, “we want you fully engaged in the project… To be honest, mostly it’s been a test bed for space construction and a learning exercise in using the waldoes. But what you’re making while you’re ‘testing’ is a spaceship.”

  Carter’s eyes had widened as he had looked at the ungainly box in a new light. “Ah, not one intended to enter the atmosphere,” he’d said, realizing that it didn’t have to be gracefully aerodynamic if it stayed in space.

  “Exactly, though we only intend this one to serve as a ‘lifeboat’ for the habitat. Should something happen to the habitat once it’s occupied, we want a place the occupants can move into, that can keep them safe and even change their orbit while awaiting rescue.”

  “Ah! That makes sense.”

  “So, I’ve sent your AI a plan for attaching the nozzles. You should also find a bunch of ports to install inside.”

  “And those ports are for?”

  “Well a lot of them are just atmosphere ports to let air into the ‘ship’ from down in North Carolina. Some are for water. Some are big ones that could be used to pass food or other objects in an emergency.”

  Woolgathering done, Carter pulled off his gloves and leaned back out of the waldo setup. “Ben?” he said, so that his AI would connect him to Stavos, “Everything’s installed on the…” he suddenly realized he didn’t have a name for it besides “big metal box.” He thought a moment, “On ‘Lifeboat 1,’” he finished.

  After a moment Ben came on the line and responded, “Great, I’ll be down in a minute and we can take a ‘waldo tour’ of Lifeboat 1 and of the habitat to see if we think they’re ready to send people up. We’ve hired a few ex-astronauts that we’ll bring in over the next couple of days to evaluate it too. Then we’ll start trying to send some folks up, mostly research types at first.”

  ***

  Trying to calm herself, Denise Emmerit took a couple of deep breaths. It’s only an exhibition, she fiercely told herself. Her gymnastics center put on an exhibition every December, the weekend before the Christmas break from school started. She’d worked so hard to excel and felt proud that, though only thirteen, she’d been chosen to demonstrate the vault.

  Denise couldn’t resist glancing over at the “little girls” as she thought of them. They were only a few years younger than she was, but Denise remembered idolizing the older girls chosen for these demonstrations when she’d been that age. She felt very proud to have been chosen as one of the demonstrators this year, yet terrified that she would blow it. She wondered if the older girls she’d idolized in exhibitions gone by could ever have been as nervous as she felt today.

  After that thought passed, she paused to wonder if her idol Ell Donsaii had ever been nervous before a meet. Thinking back to the Emmerit Christmas dinners where she’d met the famous Donsaii and even spoken to her once Sn t bee, she decided it would be impossible for someone as amazing as Donsaii to ever have been nervous.

  Then the PA system announced, “Now Denise Emmerit will demonstrate the vault.”

  Taking another deep breath Denise stood and strode to the vault lane. Trying not to focus on the crowd there for the exhibition, she found and focused her eyes on her mother as she walked up. Then training took over as she took a couple of dancing steps and stepped up to her starting mark. Focusing on the table she began her run, hit her round-off, planted her hands and… her hand slipped to the side! Panic stormed through her, at first horrified to be blowing her vault in front of the crowd, then as she spun out of control—fear of what was about to happen to her.

  Gym owner Alice White was spotting for Denise. With horror she realized that the skidding plant of Denise’s hand had spun her vault off to one side. She was going to land out of Alice’s reach. Worse, as Alice tried to leap forward, she recognized that Denise was going to come down out in the crowd! Picturing injuries to both Denise, and the people Denise crashed into, she began berating herself for letting people sit so close.

  But then one of the spectators rose to her feet, stepped slightly to her left and gracefully caught Denise by the arm, righting her and lowering her to the ground… unharmed. The woman had made this feat look as if it were a simple, easy thing to do—like the rest of us might catch someone who stumbled.

  Gawking, Alice realized that somehow Ell Donsaii had come in and seated herself in the audience without anyone really noticing. She had a ball cap pulled low to cover her signature hair, her HUD was darkened and baggy workout clothes concealed her elegant shape.

  Still, how could the world’s most famous gymnast have come in and seated herself at a gymnastics event without causing huge excitement?

  Astonished to have arrived on the ground unhurt, Denise looked up to see who had caught her and found herself staring into Ell’s twinkling eyes. Agog, she swallowed but found herself unable to speak.

  Ell smiled down at her, “At the Christmas dinner a couple of years ago, I promised you I’d watch you perform some of your gymnastic skills.” She tilted her head and shrugged, “but we got interrupted by a comet. I came by today to make good on my promise.”

  Denise stared almost uncomprehendingly at her for another moment, then shrieked and threw her arms around Ell. Murmurs swept the room as people realized who was among them. Then one of the littler girls began clapping excitedly. Moments later a thunderous round of applause erupted and a crush of young gymnasts swept around Ell and Denise. They began jumping up and down in their excitement. Ell bent down near Denise’s ear and said, “Are you ready to try that vault again?”

  Denise nodded, unable to speak.

  Ell said, “Focus on where you’re going to put that hand this time, OK?”

  Denise nodded again.

  Ell stood up and spoke to the crowd. “OK, Denise is ready to try her vault again! Let’s back up and give her some room.”

  Despite her goosebumps, Alice joined her staff in shepherding the crowd of excited people back to their seats and cajoling the young gymnasts back to their assigned locations. With some envy she watched Donsaii walk Denise back to the start of the runway, hand on the girl’s shoulder, speaking to her quietly.

  Distantly Alice felt that she should be offended that someone else had taken it upon herself to coach one of her students. Yet how could you resent it when the very, very best gymnast in the world came to your gym and gave advice to someone you truly cared for?

  To her surprise, Denise found that the walk back to the start of the runway with Ell speaking gently to her about her vault gradually calmed her jangling nerves. Ell explained what Denise had done wrong in the failed vault as if she had watched a slow motion replay of it, even though Denise had no idea when she would have had time to scroll it through her HUD. She had been speaking serenely to Denise since the moment she caught her. Nonetheless, Ell’s clear understanding of what went wrong, absolute expectation that Denise wouldn’t make the same mistake again and tranquil assumption that Denise would nail the next vault left her standing at the beginning of the runway, feeling better about an impending vault than she ever had before in her life. She started running down the runway in what she would later describe as a “dreamlike state.” That led to her execution of the best vault she had so far performed in her life. Not a vault of high technical difficulty, but one
flawlessly performed. When she stuck her landing the room erupted in applause once again.

  The other girls and boys chosen to demonstrate a particular apparatus then demonstrated their skills for the attendees, all doing well and giving Alice a sense of glowing pride. She took the microphone to congratulate them on their performances and thanked Ms. Donsaii for attending and bringing some excitement to the event. “Now, I believe Ms. Underwood has set up refreshments that we may all enjoy…” she paused to look down at Suzie Plaz, one of the younger girls who took gymnastics. Suzie might be little but she filled every space she entered with bubbling enthusiasm. Just now Suzie tugged vigorously on Alice’s jacket demanding attention. Knowing that Suzie would have something cute to say, perhaps a thanks for their famous guest, but sure to be an audience pleaser she leaned down with the mike and said, “Yes, Suzie?”

  Not at all intimidated by the microphone Suzie’s voice boomed over the PA, “Please, Ms. Donsaii, will you do a ‘demonstration’ for us too?”

  Embarrassed, Alice stood and said, “I’m sure we’d all love that Suzie, but Ms. Donsaii hasn’t done gymnastics for years. We should be grateful, just that she attended, without asking her to do more.” Unfortunately, Alice’s words were almost completely drowned out by the shrieking of young voices, especially the girls, clamoring for their idol. She turned to Ell and gave her an uncomfortable shrug.

  Ell was looking down at Denise, who held her hand and stared pleadingly up into her eyes. Ell looked back at Alice and gave her a sh Sgavicroprug in return. She walked to the floor exercise area and, removing her shoes, stepped out onto it, bouncing a few times to get back the feel of the sprung floor. She looked around, “Can I have some music?” she asked brightly.

  A couple of moments later the opening bars of Velos’ “Concert at the End of the World” came over the speakers. Someone must know of Ell’s love for Velos. Years later Alice would most strongly remember the simple grace with which Donsaii danced simply and beautifully to the slow gentle arpeggiations of the opening section. The baggy exercise suit she had on no longer looking “dressed down” but somehow elegant as it flowed with her languid streaming motions. Everyone’s eyes followed each fluid gesture.