Bastion Saturn (22 page)

Winter sat at the head of the table chewing and smearing a large glob of butter on the bread. “OK,
dhe
abstainers.
Vhat
is your plan?”

Caleb said, “Energy, Siggi. You need more of it if you’re going to really ramp this place up.”

“Yes. I already said that. With this new crew, I can make some money and eventually get what I will need.”

Caleb stood and paced behind Winter, the man’s head turning back and forth to keep up. “What if you could have it much sooner?”

“Um. I would of course be happy, But I have told you I don’t yet have the resources. Do you mind stopping this pacing?”

Caleb sat on the edge of the table close to Winter. “What if you could have a small hydrogen-fuel cell generator in a few weeks at a price that you couldn’t refuse?”

“I, uh, I suppose I couldn’t refuse. What type of price are we talking about?”

Caleb leaned in and whispered in his ear. Winter’s eyebrows lifted. “How can you get this, you odd people who push drugs and show boobs?”

Jennifer scrunched up her nose.

Caleb said, “Let us worry about that.”

“I don’t buy stolen goods.”

“Used?”

“Sure. I suppose.”

“Excellent. Let’s get this operation fully running.”

Winter stood and offered a hand to Caleb. “An exciting prospect, Mister Day. You show up with this generator, and I’ll pay you.”

“Consider it done.”

As the gang walked away from the conference room, Spruck said, “OK. Enough with the mystery. Vinter said yes. Where is this generator coming from?”

Caleb glanced at Jennifer. “Phoebe.”

Jennifer stopped dead in her tracks, the rest following suit. “What?”

Natalie said, “Phoebe? The moon? What’s up with Phoebe?”

Saanvi said, “Are you nuts?”

Caleb turned and held up his hands in placating gesture. “Hear me out. The lab there is dead. You know a lab like that has a backup gennie. Who’s going to miss it?”

Saanvi said, “So we
are
stealing!”

“From the dead. More like salvage. The shuttle, that we have all counted on, is salvage from the same place. I named her Phoebe by the way.”

Jennifer said, “We barely got out of there with our lives! Are you nuts?”

Spruck said, “Who’s dead? I’m confused.”

Natalie said, “Yeah?”

Caleb looked around. The hall was empty, but still . . . “Can we talk about this in a more . . . private setting?”

They gathered in the
Phoebe
. Bert had joined them at Caleb’s request. Everyone fired off questions at Caleb at once. He held up his hands again. “Hold on! You didn’t get a look at the place, Jen.”

“I got all the look I’d ever want.”

“But you weren’t scouting it. Remember I went over to the lab by myself before I got you. The power generation is all on the outside. We don’t have to go inside at all . . . I’m pretty sure. I’m sure.”

Natalie asked, “What the fuck are you people talking about?”

Saanvi said, “There is a lab on Phoebe that was sabotaged by a booby trapped child’s toy. The toy released a nano cloud that caused the human residents to commit suicide by walking out of the airlock without protection. Bert here was a witness.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Spruck. “They can do that?”

Bert said, “It would seem the remaining people on Earth take issue with those who came here.”

Jennifer said, “There’s no way that lab is still abandoned. Someone from Hanson has had to have checked it out. There were dead cops there.”

Natalie said, “This gets better.”

“Exactly,” said Caleb. “It has been weeks. Back me up here, Bert. There’s no way that another group of scientists have reoccupied it.”

Bert said, “It is unlikely that the space has been re-occupied with the same type of scientists. That skills set in the Saturn System, as far as my knowledge base can inform you, was almost entirely wiped out.”

“My thoughts exactly. An investigation will have been done, but it’s unlikely the base has been reoccupied, or ever will be.”

Spruck said, “Can we just get back to the suicide nanos for a sec? You’re saying that a thing like that got released in a lab that was, I’m assuming, intended to contain such a thing?”

No one spoke. Bert finally said, “I can answer that: Yes.”

“Well, shit. Ten astro units from Earth, and they still want us dead?”

No one responded to the obvious. Bert finally said, “That is apparently the case.”

Caleb said, “OK, we’re getting off track here. Yes, the AI freaks want us dead, but we can do nothing about that. What we can do is go get a generator for Siggi, get paid, and keep on keepin’ on. Who’s with me?”

After a prolonged silence, Jennifer said, “Yeah, fine. Whatever. I truly have nothing better to do.”

“That’s the spirit.” Caleb held his arms wide to the rest of them. “Gang?”

The rest of them mumbled out unenthusiastic
sures
and
why-nots
.

Caleb said, “Good. Bot, you don’t get a vote. You’re with us. You ride in the shuttle with Miss Boyce and Miss Badami.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s Dr. Badami,” said Saanvi.

Spruck and Natalie in the
Belle
flew ten thousand klicks out in front of the
Diamond Girl
and the
Phoebe
. The
Belle
remained fully cloaked to ensure a good view of Phoebe while anyone who might be occupying the moon was busy tracking the other two ships. They chose to fly their whole fleet to give themselves the maximum number of options should something go wrong. Spruck put the
Belle
into orbit without incident and made several passes around the big ice ball.

Natalie popped up on the other ship’s holos. “Yup. Looks deserted. The entrance to the lab is covered in a mountain of solidified foam. Your crashed ship has been dug out, but it’s abandoned. I’d say you’re safe to come in.”

A little over an hour later the
Diamond Girl
and Phoebe joined the
Belle
in the landing area. Jennifer’s face popped up on Caleb’s holo. “I know we burned a bunch of fuel and used a bunch of time to get here, but are you sure you want to do this?”

Caleb jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Someone sealed the place off like a tomb. What’s the worry?”

“Just sayin’.”

“I only need Bert over there. And probably Spruck . . . And Natalie if she wants to come. You ladies should prep the shuttle to receive the goods.”

Caleb stepped off the exosuit platform with a sense memory of the gravity on this moon. While landing, he had spotted the scrape on the surface that was both the leap from his first ship and that ship’s subsequent crash. Both marks were very much unchanged. There were, however, clear trails of footprints that led from the landing area out to the scars. Obviously some investigation had been undertaken. There were additional footprints all over the landing area as well as the tracks of a heavy treaded machine—probably whatever had covered the lab entrance with the hardened foam. A large sign had been placed in front of the foam: “Forbidden. Extreme Toxicity Hazard. Keep Back 100 Meters. Attempted Entry Will Be Dealt with by Authorized Lethal Force—Article 6, Titan Weapons Code 56a.” It was branded with both the international signs for poison and infection. The skull and crossbones was particularly vicious looking.

Caleb doubted that it would deter treasure hunters. Too bad for them. He spotted Bert stepping out of the airlock on the
Phoebe
, then Spruck and Natalie stepping off the
Belle
in their exosuits. Spruck popped open a hatch and grabbed a couple of toolboxes out of a rack.

Caleb said, “Looks like they only foamed the entrance. The physical plant is around to the right down in that depression. Bot, you take the lead.”

Bert bristled at being referred to as Bot. What was happening to him? Bristling? He was quite familiar with the definition, quite capable of seeing it in human behavior. How was it possible that he felt . . . that he felt? The sensations came so naturally and regularly that he mostly wasn’t aware of them unless they rose to the level of astonishing intensity. Bristling at name calling was astonishing. He needed to connect to an outside diagnostic device. His own diagnostics clearly couldn’t be trusted. The nearest one was on Caleb’s former police ship, but there was no way Caleb was going to let Bert or any robot on his ship.

As they approached the lip of the crater containing the lab’s physical plant, a figure sat up from a prone position on the ground. The humans all jerked in shock while Bert stopped and slightly cocked his head, immediately recognizing a fellow traveler. The robot was the same model as Bert: white but smudged with Phoebe dirt and wearing a rugged looking coverall. The bot’s lips moved and its voice was relayed to the speakers inside the human’s helmets. “Pardon me. Apparently I have my motion sensors dialed back too far. I did not detect your arrival, officer.”

Caleb glanced down at his suit remembering what he was wearing.

The robot continued, “I show no appointment with the police. You are advised that you are in a restricted zone and should make departure immediately for your own safety and for the safety of those around you.”

No one said a word, waiting on Caleb’s response. He stammered, “Uh . . . I . . . We have business here. We’ve been sent to remove the facility’s backup gennie.”

All humanoid robots were built to show typical human reactions and this one cocked its head as if to say,
I know nothing of that.
Bert became aware of how he too had cocked his head, and he willfully straightened his neck. The other bot said, “I have no current data supporting your statement. My primary mission on this moon is to act as a herald in the event of human activity. I am to tell you that your presence on Phoebe places you in grave danger of contracting a pathogen that is one-hundred percent lethal to any higher order species of mammal. Additionally, the lab itself is protected by deadly force, per Article 6, Titan Weapons Code 56a, though the presence of a Hanson police officer could of course override that with the correct command.” The robot lifted a communication device off its webbed belt. “Barring that command, and in the event that you don’t depart immediately, I am to alert the authorities on Hanson of your presence, and I am to inform you that this encounter is being recorded.”

Caleb jumped forward and snatched the device from the robot’s hand. “Quiet, bot.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but you are in violation of Hanson Penal Code 56J89-B. I must insist that your return my communications device forthwith.”

Caleb looked at the others. “Ignore him. Bert, lead on.”

Bert said, “But, sir, guilt of violation of Penal Code 56j89-B mandates a minimum sentence of twenty-one years on the penal colony of Ymir.”

“How’s that different than working at Winter’s factory?”

“I find that a difficult point to argue, sir.”

The herald robot walked quickly alongside Caleb. “Officer . . . Your name seems to be erased from your suit record . . . I must insist that you and your entourage stop immediately. It is for your own good that you depart. I must also remind you that these events are being recorded.”

Caleb stopped again. “Spruck, can I get a hand here? You got a bot bit in that box of yours?”

Spruck set down his tool box. “You sure you want to do that?”

“Just hand me the tool.”

Spruck slid out a few drawers and searched among some small tools until he produced a screw driver with a unique bit on the tip. He handed it to Caleb.

Caleb looked at the robot. “Your name?”

“I have been authorized to not tell anyone, which would include nameless police, that information, lest such person use it to manipulate my programing.”

Caleb let out a sigh and turned to Bert. “What’s its name?”

Despite feelings of betrayal . . .
Betrayal? Yes, that’s what it must be
. . . Bert was compelled by his programing to comply with answering the question. “782-WLawrence, sir” He looked at Lawrence and said, “Not my fault that whomever left you here didn’t consider that another robot would easily defeat your security.”

782-WLawrence gave Bert just a hint of hate in the eye.

Bert shrugged an apology.

Caleb said, “782-WLawrence, turn your back to me and present your port.”

The robot turned around, unzipped its coverall, and let the collar fall back enough to reveal a single screw. Caleb inserted the driver and popped open a flap that measured about two centimeters square. Bert observed all of this with seemingly cold detachment. Spruck and Natalie were involuntarily cringing. Caleb asked, “Bert, remind me what the verbal shutdown protocol is.”

Bert said, “Master shutdown protocol 451. 451 is a reference to a twentieth-century science fiction novelist named Ray Brad—”

Caleb pinched his gloved hand closed in front of Bert’s mouth. “Everyone uses that. I should have guessed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Caleb redirected his attention to 782-WLawrence and pushed a small red button inside the open flap while repeating the shutdown protocol. The robot sat down on the ground with its legs crossed and closed its eyes.

Saanvi’s voice broke into their helmets. “That won’t keep his recording from being delivered to whomever might come to check on him.”

Caleb said, “So we take the bot with us.”

“I would imagine that it has already been relayed.”

“Whatever.” He nodded at Bert. “Lead on, other bot.”

With nearly half of Saturn’s atmosphere made up of hydrogen, the fuel was for all intents and purposes in infinite supply. The abundance was such that it cost almost nothing to compress it and ship it. Hanson’s sister city Soul (also a floating behemoth) was fixed high in the clouds of the Saturn atmosphere. A significant portion of its function was the processing of hydrogen for use around the system. As part of Bez Hanson’s original appeal to settlers, no one paid for the stuff. It was delivered on demand to anywhere free of charge. The tricky part was obtaining the hardware to use it. As the ability to produce hi-tech goods remained in its infancy, spaceship engines and moon-based fuel-cell generators were among the hottest commodities in the new frontier. The raw materials abounded. The printing tech was there (sort of). It was just a matter of inertia. When enough people got enough raw material to enough people with the knowledge and machinery to convert those materials into hardware, the economic engine would get rolling. Time. Time was all that the humans of Saturn needed. In some parts of the system, the engine already purred along.