What Are You Made Of?

by Gary Starta

  Association president Kenneth Copperfield even held an event in Mikola’s honor. Copperfield was quoted to say, “I look upon the face of Mikola Petrovsky and see a bright future for our missions to deep space.”

  Little did Copperfield know how events would transpire in the future. Mikola did help to promote deep space travel, but not so “brightly” as Copperfield had hoped for. In fact, Petrovsky’s demeanor of late had rivaled the darkness of “a black hole,” according to his wife.

  Soon after Petrovsky’s promotion to Chief Engineer, the Ukrainian native became suspicious that the position would be short lived. Mikola heard grumblings from upper management that the engineers must find a way to allow travelers to enter into a sleep state during flight. What the management was referring to was cryo-stasis—which had later been invented by the robots—who eventually replaced Mikola. Before the hammer came down, Petrovsky dug through computer files to find out why the procedure was so imperative. Several classified entries of “space madness” referred to a condition experienced on the Tempest. Petrovsky dug further until he actually found the recorded log of the ship’s medical officer pronouncing a mutiny had taken place. He then copied the file and up linked it to a satellite with the help of a friend who worked for the Weather Net Service.

  The file access had granted Mikola his ticket to fame as a member of the first crew to land on Ceres. Now that fame was in jeopardy from the radiation poisoning. Robots had replaced him before and now they were about to do it again-literally, he lamented.

  Petrovsky knew the mission must be termed a success in order for the public to remember his name. He would allow his memories to be implanted into what he most detested as a means of achieving this goal. However, the self-absorbed engineer surmised that his patience now could result in the greatest heroism ever known by man. Once it was ascertained that Ceres could successfully support life, he would expose the bastards who allowed artificial life to flourish. The public would be stunned by the allegations—but would also be in love with this space engineer who fought to uphold the law in new worlds, he fantasized.

  Petrovsky needed a plan which would allow him to remember McElroy’s procedure to become this hero. Once his mind was functioning within the android body, Mikola believed it would be impossible to recall that he was no longer his former human self. Petrovsky suspected McElroy of purposely imposing this procedure as a way to escape blame for his illegal doings.

  “Who would be hurt most if its revealed that our bodies have been replaced by circuits and processors in direct violation of federation law?” Petrovsky argued with himself.

  “McElroy says it’s for the good of the civilians; but I know his need for deception. He’s probably afraid he’ll be arrested before his death. Once the civilians find out he has replaced us with machines, there will be hell to pay. I know human nature and its dark side is just waiting for an excuse to rise to the surface. The public and the federation will eat him alive.”

  Petrovsky surmised he would petition the civilians to contact the federation to expose McElroy. “They’ll all love me—or what’s left of me—and hate both McElroy and his ideas. I will then plead that all robotic research be terminated along with every damn AI who took my job. McElroy and his ideas will die a most unpleasant death and I will have my day of reckoning with the association. I just need to remember all this.”

  Chapter 2: Role Playing

  The civilian crew of Terran’s Ark were scheduled to perform their play after spending the past two weeks rehearsing their roles. The 23rd century play, Playing God, was chosen by popular vote—or more accurately, popular’ suggestion, by Linda Dougherty. The ship’s morale counselor explained the script successfully captured the political climate of the time when all the world’s governments became centrally managed by the Global Federation of Earth. Linda feared the long arm of the federation government would reach into their new galaxy. Although this conglomerate-type government had successfully rid Earth of war and disease, Dougherty knew it also was responsible for diluting cultural heritage. A fictitious race of people known as the Reiterative presented as victims of this global re-assignment which mandated every government be based upon democracy. The federation managed the world’s governments from its headquarters in Washington, D.C., where the White House was once located. Federation senators and congressman essentially “pulled Earth’s strings” at a building known as The Global Village.

  The play focused on how a country in the eastern part of the world was subject to the laws and restrictions imposed by lawmakers who lived on another continent.

  In scene one of act three, the play’s leading character, Omar Kasmishen, vehemently defends the autonomous government his country experienced when he was just a boy. Kasmishen, who is now 65 year old, sees how the implementation affected his son and daughter who seem to have abandoned all sense of Kiratite culture and religion.

  Linda cast Jon Sanderson as Kasmishen in the play because of his flair for the dramatic. Marisa Perez plays Omar’s daughter, Shantayla, while Mario Perez portrays the son, Jaland. Dougherty believed the youthful spirit of the Perez couple would translate into a realistic representation of the age gap between their characters and Kasmishen even though all the performers were in their twenties.

  Linda tried to inspire her shipmates with the advent of a virtual audience. “Don’t worry, I didn’t program them to heckle you,” assured Dougherty as she readied the room’s lighting for the scene. The play commences with Omar admiring a collection of family weapons contained within a display case.

  Shantayla then walks into the family’s living quarters to interrupt Omar’s sentimental journey.

  Shantayla: I see you are walking down your memory lane again, father. If you don’t stop this, mother has threatened to report the possession of these relics to the authorities.

  Omar: Don’t fool with me, Shantayla. Federation control freaks would only be too happy to confiscate my collection. Now I don’t expect you to understand my passion for this artillery, dear. My affinity for these weapons is based upon a past life as you say because they represent my only means to recall my youth as well as my heritage.

  Shantayla: I know your youth has passed, but how can you say you no longer have a heritage? You are still a Kiratite for life.

  Omar: Is that what the federation has taught you?

  Shantayla: What do you mean, the federation?

  Omar: The federation has funded all your schooling, Shantayla. Do you honestly think they don’t have a hand in the curriculum?

  Shantayla: Okay, let’s say they have a hand in the directives of my courses. The federation only seeks to keep the world at peace so everybody can continue to have a heritage. I don’t see why they would care what our personal beliefs are as long as they’re not harmful to others.

  Omar: I know you want to believe that the federation’s control is only for our benefit. Everybody wants to believe in a positive cause. However, you do not know how negatively the global control affected my parents. I saw two very proud people who were reduced to becoming the passionless puppets of the federation’s satellite government system.

  Shantayla: Were you inside their heads to assess the damages you claim?

  Omar: I didn’t have to be. The first thing to go was their love for Kiratite culture. One by one, historical museums as well as art galleries began to close their doors for no apparent reason. One could infer that federation influence was responsible for this. I could not blame them for wanting to remove the teeth from the tiger. I am not totally proud of the past wars our nation participated in and the ghastly consequences. The unofficial report was our country’s leaders were coerced to remove our thirst for conquest by taking away our art. I remember how your grandparents told themselves this was for their own good. But I did not hear any conviction in their tone.

  Shantayla: So what did they do? Take away the paintings of battlefields?

  Omar: You are a living example of how they created the antiseptic e
nvironment I am referring to. No, the paintings were not of battlefields. The paintings represented unique architectural ideas and religious beliefs.

  Shantayla: I’m sorry, Dad. But all our religion ever did for our race was put it in perpetual war with the rest of the world.

  Jaland then enters the living quarters in the middle of the father and daughter debate…

  Jaland: Why are we engaged in war talk? Didn’t our ancestors have their fill of it?

  Omar: I was just trying to inform your sister that federation control has created a global village. You two now live in a commune with the rest of the world. If somebody asked you what your heritage was, could you honestly answer that question?

  Jaland: Well, I would first describe our people as a peaceful people.

  Omar: And, what else? You don’t have anything else to say because they have engineered a way to make you forget you had Kiratite ancestors. They have successfully taken away every reason you could ever have to engage in a dispute.

  Shantayla: Why do you speak of that as a bad thing?

  Omar: Because we no longer have any honor, dear. How can you proclaim honor when battles are fought over a computer screen by politicians instead of in a face-to-face duel?

  Jaland: If that is the price to pay to escape annihilation, then I call it a bargain.

  Omar: We are nameless, faceless creatures with no soul. I feel like an automaton. We survive with no emotional attachments to where we came from. Now we are just one piece of a giant computer which only programs us to care about money.

  Shantayla: Can’t you be happy that we get to live in peace, Dad? And speaking of money, please transfer some into my account as I’m going to need a new air coach to commute to work.

  The scene then ended to shouts of “bravo” by Linda. “We’ll continue this play tomorrow, people.”

  “I feel like I’m walking a fine line between fiction and reality,” Marisa said to Linda as she removed her costume’s jacket. “I know why you picked this play; you want us to think about how government control will impact our lives on Ceres. I already know they are trying to impose a population control law. But that really doesn’t concern me. Maybe I am really like Shantayla in the fact that I don’t feel like I am losing who I am.

  “Did people really get that worked up about who their ancestors were?” Mario asked as he stepped down from the stage’s platform.

  “Yes, they did. This play was very controversial when it came out. The public could identify with the pain of war which Omar alluded to in the script. War was almost viewed as a normal way of life and most people felt compelled to continue hateful acts because it was ingrained in their nature. The play shows that conditioning is also a big part of who we are. We can and have been made less prone to engage in physical disputes through the disassociation of stimulus that is known to provoke hostility. In many cases, war continued for decades because the same inaccurate stories were presented to each new generation of children. The children did not have any personal reason to hate their opponent. They were just told that they should. So while I agree the governing process has been beneficial in this effort to stop war, I also must be wary of us losing our individuality as people.”

  “Do you see this as a problem we will face on Ceres?” Mario asked Linda.

  “I hope we can abide by the federation’s laws and still feel we are not just a cog in the machine. I hope that one day we will feel proud of what it means to be a Cerean citizen.”

  Chapter 3: Clue Me In

  Don Volpicelli awoke with a start as his air coach navigated a turbulent patch of air high above Virginia’s countryside. “Oh my God, what is happening?” the private eye groaned fighting to regain full consciousness. Volpicelli felt a twinge of pain surge from the back of his head as the air coach rocked from side to side. “Where am I headed?’” Don asked his navigational control system.

  The dazed investigator asked the question again after getting no response from the system. He then glanced at a computer readout that indicated the auto response unit was off-line. Volpicelli recalled how he had been surprised by Mercer while conducting surveillance in Bob Schmitt’s neighborhood. His mind then caught a flash of an image of a man carrying a large crate to his vehicle. Don quickly put together the pieces of the puzzle to theorize that the unidentified man was most likely hired by Mercer to kill Schmitt. Volpicelli then remembered that he had activated his data net unit during the scuffle with Mercer. Volpicelli quickly checked his coat pocket to verify that the device was still recording audio. After confirming that his conversation with Mercer had been taped, he proceeded to describe the man wheeling the crate. Don reported to the automated recorder that the perpetrator was Caucasian and in his mid-thirties. He recalled the man sported an unkempt beard. He also took note that the suspect wore a cap that looked like it was part of a uniform for a courier service. “The vehicle he drove had Virginia plates and appeared to be dark blue in color,” Don noted before taking a pause. “What detail and I’m forgetting?” Don asked aloud. “Oh yes, a belt was protruding from the container…” He was then interrupted as the air coach started to make a sudden descent. “Why did Mercer let me go?” Volpicelli pondered. The former cop then realized that Mercer must have tampered with his vehicle’s GPS system. Panic filled Volpicelli’s mind as he peered out his window to discover the air coach was traveling too low to clear a dense forest area . Don attempted to take manual control of his runaway car but the vehicle failed to recognize him as a pilot. The desperate PI placed his hands on the steering wheel of the coach and fought with gravity for the next few minutes to gain a standing position.

  In the ensuing seconds, Volpicelli managed to hoarsely shout, “Emergency!” which commanded the vehicle to open its doors. The stunned PI then waited for the vehicle to tip toward the pilot’s side. When the coach complied with his wish, the investigator released his grip of the wheel and closed his eyes as his body assumed a free fall position. Volpicelli fell to the ground from a height of approximately two football fields. The air coach careened towards the ground at a sharp 90 degree angle and met its demise as it crashed into a tree. The coach had managed to send an automated emergency signal to local police, fire and hospital officials within the split second of the impact. Three seconds later, the craft exploded into flames. The only remains of the crash were Don Volpicelli’s lifeless body and his data net recorder which lay a few dozen meters away from his corpse.

  In the early hours of the next morning, local news agencies were kept busy dispatching crews to the house of Chuck Paterson in Richmond after the local police leaked the news that a double homicide had occurred. A rookie detective had sent a audio message to his girlfriend who worked for the Newport News that two space association officials had apparently engaged in a fight to the death at a Richmond apartment complex. Even the National News Network was represented at the scene as the media giant had no choice but to join its competition in what was shaping up to be the hottest murder story in decades. The biggest names in electronic journalism were all on the scene clamoring for the police’s interpretation of the crime scene.

  NNN reporter Kay Jennings threw her shapely body in front of Virginia PD Lt. Detective Martin Simms to no avail as the veteran cop only grumbled “No comment.” Simms was enraged that the homicide investigation had become the target of a media feeding frenzy thanks to the loose lips of his young partner George Valentino. Once Simms made his way to the confines of Paterson’s apartment, he radioed the crime lab for evidence retrieval. “You better send two of your best CSI’s,” Simms growled into the receiver at lab supervisor Andrea Aikens. “We need to have this solved before the media scares the hell out of the public with conspiracy theories. It looks to me like two men just duked it out here, but we can’t risk an investigation of the space agency on the eve of our grandest colonization effort. Let’s just pray this doesn’t relate to the missing IT worker, Andrea.”

  Simms’ mood then managed to turn a darker shade of black as he
learned a private investigator hired to track down Phil Jackson was found dead due to a mysterious air coach accident.

  Chapter 4: Coming Up Roses

  Joyce Starkman wanted to get her mind off artificial intelligence so she went out to her flower garden to view some natural beauty. A chill was in the Ceres air as she strolled out to her yard. Joyce knew her flowers would only last a few more days before a frost would come and overtake them. This unfortunately reminded her that these next few months would be probably be her final season as well. This unsettling thought caused Joyce to shiver as she wrapped her thermal shawl snuggly around her shoulders.

  At the moment, the vivid reds and yellows of her flower bed seemed to stand in defiance to the soil contamination. Joyce silently marveled at the strength the roses symbolized for her. “How could they withstand the effects of the radiation so well?” she wondered. “Well, I must be strong now for my family,” she reflected.

  Joyce then realized that a person’s character can also be just as dynamic as a stunning rose. Removing her data net from her pocket, she fashioned a letter to Karen Hiroshi. Joyce wanted to thank her colleague for proposing a hydroponic solution to the contamination problem. “You have maintained a brave face in response to our problems, Karen. I appreciate your proposals to cleanse our soil. You have given me hope that life will once again flourish on our new planet. The future citizens of Ceres will also want to thank you for your courage and professionalism. I just wanted you to know my feelings before it was too late to tell you.”

  As Joyce readied to transmit her letter, she heard something burrowing from the ground. Fighting to suppress a scream, she watched a bug the size of her fist crawl out of the soil. The bug suddenly took on the colors of her flowers that surrounded it. Yet the camouflage effort did not seem orchestrated to conceal the bug’s presence. Joyce felt her eyes lock onto the insect’s as both beings sought to understand each other. As if hypnotized by the newly discovered species, Joyce slowly approached the red and yellow colored bug which made no move to flee from her. “I’ve got to analyze you my friend, you’re amazing.”