by Piers Platt
Peshai took a deep breath. “I stand by my decision,” he said. “Falken has already made exceptional progress toward helping Weaver in the short time he’s been back in the simulator. He’s managed to reestablish a personal connection with him – and before Falken arrived, Weaver had been choosing to spend his time in complete social isolation, for six or seven years. Oz’s assessment is that Weaver stands a higher chance of rehabilitation now than at any point since his initial incarceration.”
“Mr. Weaver’s reformation is not at issue here,” Locandez said. “He’s had the same shot at freedom as every other inmate in Oz; no more, no less. And in fact, you could argue that Mr. Falken’s involvement is unfair to all the other inmates in Oz, who do not have access to a personal friend reentering the system.”
Peshai opened his mouth to object, but Locandez raised her hand for silence. “For the time being, I’m not concerned with Mr. Weaver. What I’m most concerned with, Captain, is your insubordination. You have been our longest-serving warden, with an unbroken record of excellence. Until now.”
“I do apologize for disobeying you,” Peshai said. “But I believe it was the right thing to do. My role here is to save these inmates. As many of them as possible. We’re gaslighting them, subjecting them to privations, anguish, stress, all in an effort to better them. After all of that, we owe them the best possible shot at release that we can give them.”
“Are we not already doing so?” Arkanian asked.
Peshai faced her screen. “Ma’am, I’ve observed inmates in Oz for years, and talked to hundreds of graduates. As well-designed as the artificial intelligence engine is, invariably the graduates tell me that it was the human interactions they had in Oz that changed them the most. With real people, not virtual characters.”
“Are you suggesting we treat your actions here as some sort of social experiment?” Arkanian asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Yes!” Peshai nodded. “It’s unorthodox, I know, but if it works, it could be a new approach that dramatically increases the program’s effectiveness.”
“But the risks are many,” Ojibwe said. “AI can be controlled. Humans cannot. Falken’s presence in Oz could destroy the illusion for the other inmates.”
“Falken gave me his word that he would abide by the rules,” Peshai said.
“The word of a convict,” Huginot pointed out.
“The word of an ex-convict,” Peshai shot back. “And a graduate of this program.”
“Even if he keeps his word, I’m still not sold on this ‘experiment,’ ” Locandez said. “This committee needs to weigh the rights of the inmates here against the rights of human society more broadly. And society has a right to expect that we aren’t releasing dangerous criminals back into their midst, before they’ve fully reformed.”
“What if Weaver needs Falken to complete his rehabilitation?” Peshai asked.
“Then perhaps he’s not capable of reform, period,” Locandez said. “I have no wish to prosecute Mr. Weaver in five years’ time, when he’s become a repeat offender. I don’t want to have to face his victim’s family, and explain to them why we released him. Do you, Captain?”
Peshai sighed. “You’re presuming he will offend again. Statistically, that’s very unlikely.”
“But it’s not impossible,” Locandez said. “It has happened. Frankly, if it were up to me alone, I would argue for tougher hurdles in the program. A shorter timeframe to demonstrate rehabilitation, and more difficult ethical challenges along the way.”
“I disagree,” Peshai said. “But I respect your opinion. And I realize the quandary my actions have put you in. I will resign my post, effective immediately, and submit to whatever punishment the committee decides.”
Locandez nodded. “Thank you, Captain. Please call in the auditors.”
Peshai turned and opened the door to the conference room, and the two auditors entered. “Officers, take Captain Peshai to his quarters, please. We need to discuss matters in private.”
“Yes, ma’am,” one of the men replied.
Peshai filed out with the two men in tow, leaving the conference room empty except for the committee members on their screens.
* * *
In her home office, Locandez rubbed two fingers against her temple, frowning. Through the windows behind her, the trees of a city park swayed gently in the breeze. A child’s ride-on hovercycle sat overturned on the office floor amidst a jumble of other toys. As she waited, Locandez picked at a food stain on the leg of her pant-suit.
“They’re gone,” Huginot reported.
Locandez straightened up. On her screen, she saw the conference door on the UNCS Sydney close behind the two auditors. “I’ll arrange for a flight up there this afternoon,” she said, tiredly. “I’ll take over temporarily until a new warden can be found.”
“Thank you,” Arkanian said. “I think we would all agree that you’re best suited to run things in the interim.”
“Peshai has been a superb administrator,” Huginot said. “Must we lose him over this incident?”
“We have no choice,” Ojibwe said. “We simply can’t keep him on. Not after directly contradicting our instructions.”
“Agreed,” Locandez said. “My sense is Captain Peshai would turn us down, even if we offered to let him stay in the role. He knows we can’t employ a warden who flouts our commands.”
“I can start the recruiting process,” Arkanian offered. “I’ll draw up a list of candidates and share them with you all as soon as I can.”
“What should we do with Peshai, then?” Huginot asked. “I’m not eager to see a man who has served us so faithfully for so long back in jail for the rest of his life.”
“Nor I,” Ojibwe said. “And his staff would likely riot if they found out.”
Locandez sighed. “At minimum, I think we should accept his resignation, with loss of pension and all benefits.”
“Do you want to arrest him, too? Revoke his parole and send him to the permanent facility?” Arkanian asked.
Locandez frowned, thinking. “No,” she said, after a time. “I’m not sure his act was technically a criminal one. In recognition of his service, we won’t pursue any charges. We’ll simply ask him to step down.”
“I concur,” Arkanian replied. “That seems fair.”
“Agreed,” Ojibwe said, while Huginot nodded.
“I’ll inform him in person, when I arrive,” Locandez said. She pushed her chair back from her desk. “And with that … I need to pack, and inform my family.”
“Sorry, we’re forgetting one thing,” Huginot said. “Mr. Falken’s disposition.”
Locandez frowned. “You’re right,” she said. “Where is he now? Have they finished removing him from Oz?”
“No,” Huginot said. “I just accessed the Oz database. He’s still in the simulation.”
“Surely not?” Locandez said. “Why didn’t the auditors remove him the moment they found him?” She typed on her keypad, opening up the Oz program on her own computer.
“I’m not sure …,” Huginot said, reading from his screen.
“They probably went straight to Peshai to question him about Falken,” Arkanian guessed.
“Granted, but why is he still in?” Locandez asked. “They’ve had over an hour to remove him now.”
“Ah, here it is,” Huginot said. “They tried to, according to the program logs. But Oz denied the request.”
“Denied?” Ojibwe frowned. “Oz can do that? The program can override human commands?”
“Apparently,” Huginot said. “Oz told them that removing Mr. Falken suddenly and without explanation from the simulation would destroy the illusion for Mr. Weaver. Basically, the program had no way to rationally explain to Weaver why Falken would have suddenly disappeared.”
“It makes sense,” Arkanian said. “Falken can’t just vanish into thin air in front of Weaver’s eyes. Not without making Weaver question the reality of the simulation.”
“So how do we ge
t Mr. Falken out?” Locandez asked.
“Oz thinks there’s a high likelihood Weaver will become depressed and withdrawn, even with Falken’s intervention. His biometric readings indicate that he’s likely to stop talking to Falken and the virtual characters, and isolate himself again,” Huginot said, tracing text on his screen. “It recommends waiting until that happens, then removing Falken.”
“Fine,” Locandez said, annoyed. “The minute we can extract Falken from the simulation with minimal disruption to Mr. Weaver or the other inmates, we will.”
“And once Falken is out of the simulation?” Arkanian asked.
“I’m open to suggestions,” Locandez said. “And I confess, I’m reluctant to release him for this transgression. Not without some form of punishment.”
“We didn’t punish Peshai,” Arkanian pointed out.
“We fired him, and took away his pension,” Locandez said.
“If Peshai doesn’t deserve additional jail time, I’m not sure Falken does,” Arkanian argued.
“I agree,” Huginot said. “It seems inconsistent.”
“Again, I’m open to suggestions,” Locandez said, testily.
“Alter the conditions of his parole,” Arkanian said. “Restricted travel for five years, weekly check-ins with a parole officer.”
“Tack on a thousand hours of community service, and I’ll go with it,” Locandez said.
“Works for me,” Ojibwe said.
“So be it. But,” Locandez said, raising a finger in the air. “If he breaks his word and does something to jeopardize the simulation, if he steps one foot out of line before we pull him out of Oz … I’ll have no trouble sending him to the permanent facility for life.”
Chapter 25
Falken sat down next to Weaver, on the sandy earth atop Lookout Hill.
“I’m sorry,” Falken said.
A breeze ruffled the slate-gray surface of the ocean, then sighed in the trees above them. With the sun fully down, the chill of dusk began to set in. Weaver remained quiet.
“There’s something else you should know,” Falken said. “About the ship.”
Weaver pulled his knees up to his chest and set his arms across them, resting his chin on top of them. But he did not look at Falken.
“There’s an escape pod,” Falken said. “It can carry one person back up into orbit, and back to Earth. I know – you’re probably thinking this is one of those miracles again. And you’re right. I can’t explain why it’s here, it just seems too far-fetched. But I promise you, it exists. I can show it to you. And I think you should be the one to go back in it.”
Weaver turned to look at him then, and Falken met his gaze. “Why? Why me?”
“Because you deserve it more than I do,” Falken said. “Regardless of what you did or didn’t do back on Earth, you’re a good man, and your family needs you.”
Weaver thought for a moment. “There are others that deserve to go back as much – if not more – than I do.”
“Who?” Falken asked.
“Archos,” Weaver said. “He’s not a convict, you know. He was born here, as the child of corrections officers, back when the facility was still operational.”
Falken sighed. “I know. He told me his story once, too. But I think he’d be the first to admit that while he’s not a convict, he’s by no means innocent. And I wonder if he’d actually want to leave here. This has been his home for a long time. On Oz, he’s the warden, a leader of men. On Earth … I’m not sure what he’d be.”
“You found the ship,” Weaver said. “Maybe you should be the one to get out of here.”
“I’d like to,” Falken said. “But this is bigger than me. Everyone here is depending on whoever goes back to tell people the truth about this place. If I go back, I’m just a convicted murderer who escaped from prison. If you go back, you’re an innocent man wrongfully separated from his family for close to ten years. Who’s going to get more attention?”
“I thought you said I was guilty?” Weaver said.
“Are you?” Falken asked.
“No,” Weaver whispered.
“So go back,” Falken said. “Tell people about Oz. Save us all. And when the dust settles, you can get a retrial, and be with your family again.”
“How do you know the pod works?” Weaver asked.
“I don’t,” Falken said, with a shrug. And that’s true. I have no idea what will happen if I try to launch him up into orbit before Oz thinks he’s ready. But I’ve got one last idea I can try to get him to confess. “But if it doesn’t work, what’s the worst that could happen? You’re just still stuck here.”
“If we’re talking about a rocket capable of launching someone up into orbit, I imagine the worst case scenario is significantly worse than just being stuck here,” Weaver observed.
“True,” Falken said. “Are you willing to take that risk?”
“Yes,” Weaver said, without hesitation.
“Well, then,” Falken said, standing up. “Let’s get things prepped.”
He descended back into the Khonsu’s airlock, grabbed the shovels and the handsaw, and passed them up to Weaver, who set them on the ground outside the hatch. Then Falken climbed back up the ladder.
“Falken?”
“Yeah?”
“How do we know it’s real?” Weaver asked.
Falken pulled himself out of the hatch and stood up. “We don’t,” he admitted.
* * *
They spent the night digging in the dark, uncovering the circle on the Khonsu’s hull that marked the escape pod’s silo. The digging took nearly ten hours, and they rested often, walking down to the water’s edge for a drink when they were thirsty. To be safe, instead of creating several tall piles of earth around the hole, Falken had Weaver spread the dirt out across the top of the ship, so that only someone who walked to the top of the hill would be able to tell they had been digging there. Then, just before dawn, they felled two trees that were close to the hole, sawing through the trunks just above where the white armored bark ended. Falken climbed a third tree to saw off branches overhanging the pod’s launch trajectory. Then he climbed down again, set the saw on the ground, and wiped the dirt from his hands on his uniform. Weaver hauled the cut branches to one side, clearing them away. He returned to find Falken staring down at the beach, lost in silent thought.
Last time we did this, Archos showed up right about this time, and Weaver sacrificed himself to let me escape.
“Everything alright?” Weaver asked.
“Hm?” Falken said. “Yeah. Just déjà vu. Sorry.”
“I get that all the time here,” Weaver said. He shivered, and in the first light of the morning, Falken could see dark circles under his eyes. He’s exhausted, Falken realized. He’s not as young as he was, or as fit. I worked him too hard.
“What now?” Weaver asked.
“I need to get something from the colony,” Falken said. “You stay here. Take a nap in the ship’s lounge. I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay,” Weaver said.
Falken watched him disappear down through the hatch, and then he set off toward the colony.
* * *
The sun had risen above the trees by the time Falken reached the edge of the fields surrounding the colony. None of the inmates were in the fields yet, but he knew they would be soon – already, the chimney above the Great Hall boasted a thick column of gray smoke, evidence of the morning meal being cooked. Falken’s whole body ached, but he forced himself to jog across the fields.
You’re not really in pain, anyway. It’s all in your head.
He swung the door to the infirmary open, and found Saltari washing his face with water from a wooden bucket. Ngobe was lying on a sleeping pad – the astrophysicist blinked at him and yawned.
“The prodigal son,” Ngobe said. “Where have you been?”
“The facility,” Falken said.
“The facility?” Saltari asked. He wiped his face dry on his uniform shirt. “What on earth
did you want to go there for?”
“I found Weaver,” Falken said. “He didn’t drown, he spent almost two years sailing around Oz, looking for other land. And he’s been at the facility ever since, trying to cobble together a working radio transmitter.”
“Another hare-brained scheme?” Saltari clucked his tongue.
“Did he have any luck?” Ngobe asked.
“Some,” Falken admitted. “But it doesn’t really matter. I need—”
“You need to see Mayor Luo, immediately, and apologize profusely,” Saltari interrupted him. “He’s going to start docking your food rations as punishment for missing not one, but two work shifts. And I can’t say I blame him.”
“I’ll make it up to him next week,” Falken said. “Ngobe, do you still have that keycard I gave you?”
“Of course,” Ngobe said. He reached into a pocket and pulled it out. “Now will you tell us where you got it?”
“Come on,” Falken said, opening the door, and gesturing at them to follow him. “I’ll show you.”
“You’ll show us?” Ngobe asked, frowning. He scrambled to his feet, and hurried to the door.
Saltari sighed. “Why do I have the feeling this is going to end with all three of us having our rations docked?”
“Come on, Salty,” Falken called, heading off down the steps.
“I’m coming,” he grumbled.
* * *
“This whole mound?” Ngobe asked incredulously, as they climbed the side of Lookout Hill.
“The whole thing,” Falken said. “The Khonsu’s been buried for hundreds of years, and we never even knew it.” As they walked, Falken pointed at the keycard in Ngobe’s hand. “That’s the captain’s master key,” he explained. “And you know how back in the old days, some ships had built-in escape pods, capable of achieving escape velocity so that the captain could get back to Earth, and organize a rescue party?”
Ngobe’s eyes went wide. “You’re kidding …,” he said.