What Are You Made Of?

by Gary Starta

  “In good faith, I will tell you that the copy of the broadcast I have made is contained within a satellite orbiting Earth. However, this satellite will appear to your radar as part of the weather-net system as I have engineered it to emit a false signal. I have also rigged this satellite to destroy itself in twenty years, which should be in close proximity to the time I will return from Ceres,” Petrovsky concluded.

  As the jubilant engineer got up to exit the room, some dark clouds passed in front of the sun.

  Chapter 12: Casting the First Stone

  Joyce Starkman decided to get some fresh air by taking a walk by her flower garden. She awoke from a three hour nap still haunted by the bad dream and the reality of the radioactive contamination. The scientist felt terribly alone with that burden even though Aaron had left her with a supportive note that told her he would be out in the fields taking more soil samples.

  A chime went off on Joyce’s tele-data unit disturbing the trance she had fallen into. Normally, she would lean down to view each of her beautiful lilacs, but today she walked past them with no enjoyment. The scientist fumbled in her pocket for the ringing unit which she dropped in a nearby flower bed. Fighting to regain her composure, she retrieved the device which informed her that a meeting would be held on the later in the evening to discuss Peter and Karen’s theories on the radiation problem.

  Joyce’s mind quickly reverted back to her worries after she read the message. She then began sobbing uncontrollably and fell to the ground on her hands and knees. The death of her boy four months ago had been severely tragic for her. However, Joyce kept much of her emotion bottled up inside as she wanted to remain professional as possible in the eyes of the other scientists. She knew that her work was very important for the future inhabitants.

  The provision of an android replacement for James did not provide the kind of comfort McElroy had promised her. In fact, Joyce realized she was intentionally avoiding contact with the android as much as possible.

  The scientist knew that her one diversion—work—could soon become a futile effort with the discovery of the radioactive particles. She had little hope that Dr. Hiroshi would find that the scientists were unaffected by the soil contamination—and if they weren’t—they would surely suffer some poisoning from the decay of the planet’s ozone layer.

  Joyce lifted her head up as she heard the whir of a motor coming from the distance. For a minute, she thought that her husband might be riding back from the fields in their land rover. She selfishly hoped he had cut his work short today so they could spend some time alone before the meeting.

  As the vehicle approached within 100 meters, she recognized the driver was Mikola Petrovsky from his lanky 6-foot-4-inch frame and his trademark maroon-colored cap.

  Joyce quickly reached back into her pocket to retrieve her tele-data unit. Starkman did not trust Mikola from the moment she had laid eyes on him and that concern had now segued into full-fledged fear. Joyce placed one finger on the button which would connect her with her husband as Petrovsky parked his vehicle.

  “Good day, Joyce,” Petrovsky said with a forced smile.

  “I take it that this is not a friendly visit,” Joyce said sternly.

  “You’re right. It never is a friendly visit with,” he stressed.

  “I don’t know why you’re here. You can tell me whatever is on your mind at tonight’s meeting, Petrovsky.”

  “That is true. However, time is of the essence. Thanks to your mad doctor, we are now facing an imminent health crisis. We must immediately cleanse the soil and atmosphere. With your help, I believe we can use the ship to de-contaminate most of this region. And there is also another type of cleansing I have in mind,” Petrovsky said menacingly.

  “I want your android boy de-activated during this crisis. I know you have never been a fan of the so-called recreation. You let your husband be manipulated by that bastard McElroy who just wanted to continue his illegal work under the guise of compassion.”

  “Just how do you intend for this to happen, Petrovsky? You are not in charge of law enforcement on this planet,” Joyce contended.

  “I’m sure you’re aware of my discharge from research and development, Joyce. Do you think I’d be standing here now if I didn’t use a hands on approach?”

  At that instant, Joyce pressed the button on the handset of the teledata unit contained within her lab coat pocket. Petrovsky noticed the movement she made with her hand and began to approach her slowly.

  Both Joyce and Mikola were unaware that James had been watching them through his bedroom window. By the time Petrovsky had taken three steps towards Joyce, James had ran the distance from his bedroom to the outdoor garden using his superior leg power.

  Joyce began to back peddle as Petrovsky came within two meters of her. She then stumbled over a rock in her garden and fell. At that moment, she then noticed that James had joined them.

  “James, go back to your room!” Joyce screamed.

  “You stay away from my mother!” James yelled at Mikola.

  “I was only coming closer to her to see what was inside her coat pocket,” Petrovsky protested. “You made a motion that looked like you were reaching for a weapon, Joyce.”

  “But now that the boy has joined us, we can get down to the business at hand,” Petrovsky said while casting a leering gaze at the boy.

  “You lay a hand on him and I will kill you,” Joyce threatened.

  “A-ha, look who is suddenly supportive of their pseudo-blood kin,” Petrovsky chided.

  “Well, maybe it won’t be a hand I will lay on him,” Petrovsky hypothesized while bending down to pick up a rock from the garden.

  Unaware that the stone was intended for him, James screamed, “Leave my mother alone!”

  “She is not a mother to a thing,” Petrovsky muttered underneath his breath.

  As Petrovsky drew his arm back to hurl the piece of granite, Joyce jumped up to grab at his arm. However, Mikola effortlessly knocked her back down to the ground with his leg.

  James then leaped from his position which was nearly three meters away and landed squarely on Petrovsky’s chest knocking him backwards. The lanky scientist immediately lost his balance and proceeded to roll on the ground provoking it to release a small dust cloud over him.

  “I hope you choke on the radiation,” Joyce screamed at the fallen scientist.

  Just then Joyce heard the whining engine of her husband’s land rover approaching.

  “This is not over. I will deal with you, your husband, that thing and McElroy at another time,” Petrovsky threatened as he dusted the sand off his maroon suit and jumped into his rover. He then verbally commanded the unit to return to his dwelling at maximum velocity.

  “Get the hell out of here!” Joyce gasped as she started to cough from the dust clouds caused by both Petrovsky and her husband’s land rovers.

  “What’s going on here?” Aaron demanded as he jumped out of his vehicle.

  “He threatened us, Aaron,” she answered lowering her voice to a whisper. “He wants the boy de-activated.” “Never!” Aaron exclaimed.

  “Maybe we wouldn’t be in this position if we had said no to McElroy,” Joyce protested.

  “Mom, what did he mean by referring to me as a thing?” James asked.

  “I don’t know dear. He is a very sick man, honey.”

  “I’m sorry Aaron, I don’t want to take this out on you. I know you were trying to do what was best for all of us,” Joyce continued as her emotions began to subside. She then placed one arm around her husband’s waist and the other around James’ shoulders. “I love my family,” Joyce announced.

  “I love you too, Mom,” James said.

  Aaron then explained he had received the message about the meeting and suggested a separate session be held for McElroy and themselves. “Right now, we need to keep as far away from Petrovsky as possible,” he cautioned.

  “Yes, I suggest we keep as far away from the crazy man as possible,” James agreed.


  Chapter 13: Paper or Plastic?

  Linda Dougherty decided she would visit the rec room. Mario and Marisa Perez and Lori and Daryl White were celebrating the White’s fifth wedding anniversary. Linda, who had grown bored scanning the ship’s console on her routine night shift assignment, was lonesome for company as her husband Matt would still be in cryo-stasis for another five months. The other couples on the ship all opted to be put in stasis together so they would not be without their partner’s company during the trip.

  In an effort to boost both the morale of the couples and herself, Linda gathered some electronic note pads to bring to the rec room for a game she devised. She made sure the ship was under the auto pilot control of the computer before leaving the craft’s small bridge.

  “How about we have a little lottery to bet who will be the first parents of a Ceres baby?” Linda proposed. She distributed the pads out to the Marisa, Mario, Lori and Daryl.

  “I know that in all probability you will feel motivated to vote for yourselves in this lottery, but remember there may be a better chance to win if you base your vote upon the fertility analysis I have provided for all the potential mothers. All couples who correctly pick the first parents of a child will be rewarded with a food processor that will be able to replicate your favorite dishes just like the one we have on board this ship. A grand prize will also be awarded to those who pick the closest birth date and sex of the child. That lucky couple will be awarded a digital satellite receiver that will be able to transmit broadcasts of all your favorite shows from Earth—however, those programs will be provided on a slight delay, of course,” Linda joked.

  As the couples marked their answers on the pads, Linda opened a bottle of champagne to toast the White’s anniversary.

  As the pink-colored alcohol flowed freely, so did the couple’s opinions on what they considered entertainment. Lori White started the conversation.

  “I’ll be glad when you’re in stasis, Marisa. Then maybe I won’t have to hear Violent Sensuality all day.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you that the lead singer is a hologram?” Daryl asked a giggling and somewhat tipsy Marisa.

  “Well, it doesn’t seem to bother you that the so-called of your pornographic films are just holographic projections,” Marisa shot back at Daryl.

  “Yes, but that’s for health reasons, Marisa. No sane person wants to put themselves at sexual risk anymore,” Daryl argued.

  “Do you believe people used to perform these acts with multiple partners?” Lori chimed in trying to dissipate some of the heat the conversation was producing.

  “I know,” Daryl agreed. “But seriously, how do you worship a singer that is so contrived. The record label doesn’t even to have to pay this lead singer—what’s her name?—Marlena Stephanovich.”

  “Most singers of the past didn’t have natural bodies or hair anyway. And some were accused of lip-syncing in concert. So why do you find a holo-singer so drastic?” Marisa countered.

  “Well, this Stephanovich will never get old, lose her voice, her figure or hit a wrong note. I don’t see how this kind of can be appreciated,” Daryl noted, “Where is the years of dedication that natural singers have to put in?”

  “The enjoyment I receive from a singer is not just measured by talent, but what kind of emotional response they can evoke. If the programmer of the hologram is an artist, than true art will be emitted. If you could download the elements of a great painter into a computer program, great art would probably be created by the software. In other words, I don’t feel the listener is being cheated if that’s what you’re alluding to,” Marisa explained.

  Just listen to some of Violent Sensuality’s lyrics:

  Didn’t you feel me staring when they told you I’d be coming and I received you and I believed you and I need you in all the ways I can’t describe; when I met you for the first time you brought some kind of hope into my mind; then I listened very hard to the things you said and the way you said them cause you saved me; and you made me believe all the way to the bank with you.

  “Don’t you just feel the passion oozing out of her words?” Marisa asked.

  “I would agree that real performers would be preferred if it was four hundred years ago when bands used to give concerts—talk about putting yourself at risk—but now telecasts are digitally broadcast in theaters which makes it both safer for performers and fans. Too many tragedies occurred during live concerts when people were either trampled, burned or shot to death. And the way these video tours are presented, no fan ever has a poor view of the performance. Do you believe people called scalpers used to charge outrageous fees for seats positioned closest to the band? Now each seat is designed so the fan feels the performer is directly playing towards them. So again, I don’t feel the music fan is being cheated by these technological advances at all,” Marisa continued while sipping her champagne. “I believe this technology is actually preventing the record companies from cheating the fans.”

  “I agree with Marisa that the technology has made my music appreciation a whole lot easier than it would have been centuries ago,” Lori conceded. “You don’t even have to go to theaters anymore with the advent of holo-technology. I enjoy the private pleasure of being an audience of one. I program my digitronic emitter to have the band perform every song in my living unit. Plus, it’s really entertaining when my cat leaps at the multi-dimensional figures and finds out there was nothing tangible to grab a hold of.”

  “You mean you still have live pets in your homes?” Mario asked with astonishment.

  “On Orion’s brightest star, yes,” Lori declared. “I’ll never have a holo-cat or a robotic dog. But it’s okay if my actors or singers aren’t real because most of those types need to come programmed with an off switch anyway.”

  “I like my holo-cat, Remus, just fine,” Linda commented as she hoped the couple’s lively conversation would help and not hinder her morale efforts. “Besides, that is the only W.A.A. authorized type of animal we may transport from this ship onto the surface of the planet. The first Ceres animals will actually be born on the planet according to mission directives. Thanks to genetic engineering, in vitro fertilization will give birth to the first Ceres livestock. The frozen cells of both male and female pigs, chickens and cows will be birthed in an artificial womb unit by the scientists just before we arrive at Ceres,” she explained.

  “Well, on that sobering note, I think I will retire to my quarters,” Daryl announced as he emptied his fifth glass of the bubbly substance.

  The couples then filed out of the rec room as Linda took a sneak peak at their contest answers. The morale officer was not too surprised to find that the opinionated young civilians had all voted themselves to be the first parents of Ceres.

  Chapter 14: Tech-ies

  Three of Petrovsky’s former colleagues gathered for a drink in a small bar after their shift at the World Aeronautics Association’s headquarters in Virginia on a cold wintry December evening. Phil Jackson was leafing through a hard copy edition of the Newport News at a corner table while Chuck Paterson and Bob Schmitt ordered beers at the counter.

  Chuck greeted Phil with a beer and some small talk that Jackson did not seem to appreciate at the moment. “What’s the matter, besides everything?”Chuck jokingly asked him.

  “I used to look forward to the holidays, but now I dread them—that is what’s the matter,” Phil responded. “I brought home a much bigger paycheck with a lot more prestige attached to it before we lost our research and development jobs to robots. Even if the company was dreadfully boring at my house over Christmas, I could still talk about the federation vessels we would be designing. Now all I have to talk about is how we baby sit the robot’s software systems all day.”

  “We all feel that way, Phil,” Bob commiserated. “I miss the creativity we had as ship designers. I even miss the daily arguments we used to have.”

  Phil proceeded to sip his draft beer and scan the newspaper in front of him. “I don’t believe
this. Look at this article about Petrovsky and the way the media glorifies these scientists. I bet I would have replaced him as department head by now if our jobs weren’t eliminated.”

  “I know you would if the job was awarded for skill. But since it was a political popularity contest—you would have had to step over Petrovsky’s dead body to beat him on those terms,” Bob lamented.

  “That’s why Petrovsky had to be fired; the W.A.A. suits knew his ego would never allow him to agree to the job re-assignments we took,” Chuck explained. “You should be glad you’re a bigger person than he is, Phil; you’re devoted to space exploration and not self-exaltation.”

  “Yes, and that devotion has resulted in my self demotion,” Phil pointed out. “My ego, my bank account and my interest in my job have all gone flat like this beer. I should have known better than to drink something made with genetically engineered hops. We should never have agreed to these job re-assignments. If we didn’t take them, then maybe we could have sued the association like Petrovsky threatened to do. The association saw fit to make him one of these scientists of Ceres,” Phil said mockingly.

  “I agree we should have received greater compensation for our loss,” Bob stated. “However, that would mean hiring a lawyer and becoming part of the problem.” Bob then swished a swallow of beer in his mouth with a scowl. “I think I can taste the beer-au-cracy in this drink,” he joked.

  “There was a rumor that Petrovsky had to threaten the association in order to get on the mission. I highly doubt we would have been able to receive the same type of compensation without using a scare tactic,” Chuck theorized.

  “If that is what that selfish bastard did—and I wouldn’t put it past him—he sure as hell didn’t tell any of us about the dirt he had on them. When I was asked to provide a character analysis of our engineering comrade for the defense team, I should have submitted an entire essay on what kind of sleaze he was,” Phil complained. “However, I now see that that wouldn’t have mattered since he bought his way onto the mission.”