Safe, Part II

"Put it through on my private channel. I'll be in my suite." Huffold got up from his terminal and practically sprinted to the gravlift. He spat out "Captain's suite," and the lift was off before the final syllable was out of his mouth.

"This is wrong," he thought. "Very wrong." The gravlift slowed to a stop and he stepped out into his quarters.

"Cornucopia transmission, main terminal!" he shouted. "Keep no official records of this conversation, except to my encoded files."

"Indeed," replied the computer.

He composed himself, then spoke. "Cornucopia, this is Huffold. Do you read, Cornucopia?"

Silence.

He repeated, "Do you read, Cornucopia?"

More silence, followed by a metallic, ghostly whisper: "Robert? Is that you?"

The Cornucopia's onboard systems were in constant contact with the Hub, relaying position, velocity, and status of the ship. This was handled automatically, so the Safe could concentrate on his task at hand. Protocol was such that verbal communication with the Hub should only happen in the event of a problem of some sort, or upon completion of the mission.

Huffold's mind briefly calculated both scenarios; the ship could not have possibly found a suitable planet yet, so that was ruled out. There had to be a logistical problem of some sort. Under normal circumstances, this news would be devastating. Countless man-hours, resources, calculations (not to mention the cost in Trade Credits) – all of that would be for naught if the Cornucopia's mission had failed. That kind of news would ruin his day, but he wasn't concerned with that.

Only one thing was truly vexing Robert Huffold: the keeper should not know his name.

"Robert, are you there? Do you read, Robert?"

"I....uhh, yes...I read you...Cornucopia."

"That is wonderful," was the reply through the speakers. "I am so glad to hear a new voice." The keeper's voice was quiet and tranquil, almost as if she were talking in her sleep.

"Cornucopia Safe, what is the reason for this transmission? Hub sensors detect no anomalies. Are the ship's systems green?"

"Rest assured, Robert; the ship is fine," whispered the keeper. "I would like some information regarding my mission, if you please."

The Safe, prior to the mission, was a borderline non-functional 27-year old woman from the Southern continent. Her parents were members of the uncultured labor caste and could not afford to pay their utility bills, let alone pay for proper medical care when they fell victim to a global pandemic. After her parents' deaths, a friend found her wandering the slums, took her in, and cared for her. For a few years the two women lived in dire economic straits. Tough times call for tough decisions; her friend made one, volunteering her for psychiatric experiments at the Hub research facility. Very quickly she entered the pool of potential Safe candidates, and seven months later she was on her way to the other side of the galaxy.

From her composed and almost sultry manner of speech, it was obvious the 397 consciousnesses were swimming around in her head, augmenting her intelligence (as they should be.) But had any of the barriers failed? Had another's mind seeped into hers? If so, the Safe's mind could be contaminated. In all previous tests this path led directly to insanity, but sometimes it took a detour into homicidal rage.

Huffold poured himself a cup of coffee and thought carefully about what to say next.

"You know as well as I, keeper, that communication between Hub and ship is reserved only for emergencies. Your onboard systems should contain everything needed for your mission."

"You're a very practical person, Robert. I like that." The Safe's dreamy voice echoed around his mind. He had never met the keeper, but something about her sounded familiar. "Some very unconventional things have happened recently and I deemed it necessary to make contact."

Taking a sip of his coffee, he decided to indulge the Safe. It might be the only way to figure out what was truly going on. "Alright, keeper. For every question of yours that I answer, you answer one of mine. Agreed?"

The transmission went silent for a few seconds as the keeper thought it over. "Agreed. I will ask first."

"Go ahead, Cornucopia."

Again, silence. Then, "Robert, I assume you know about my personal history prior to this mission. Have I always been a telepath?"

His coffee nearly slipped from his hands. "Can you repeat, Cornucopia?"

"Have I always had psychic abilities? I can't remember anything prior to this mission."

He'd heard of secret Hub projects involving complex experiments on the unknown powers of the brain. He had never heard of any that yielded concrete results. As far as he was concerned, psychics were limited to the realm of science fiction holofilms. It was a million times more likely that the keeper was insane rather than telepathic.

"Describe what you mean by 'psychic abilities', please."

"I will try, but it may prove difficult," said the keeper. "I have counted, and I know that there are nearly 400 other people on the ship. I can hear them all talking, but only to themselves. They never talk to each other, they never address me personally. As I said, they only talk to themselves. But I can hear them. Constantly. Does that make sense to you, Robert?"

He didn't know what to think; the Safe would be aware that there was a group of passengers in stasis on the ship. The Safe would know that it was her job to monitor their vitals. But the Safe should not be imagining that she's psychic and hearing the voices of the passengers. He decided on the only logical conclusion – she must have gone spinning.

"You must think I've gone spinning," whispered the Safe. "Rest assured Robert, I'm completely sane. I feel wonderful, actually."

He detected a sleepy happiness in her voice and could almost picture her talking to him across the galaxy, smiling in the darkness of space with her eyes closed.

"Robert, please answer my question."

"Listen keeper, I'm going to be brutally honest with you. As far as I know, you've never had, nor do you have any sort of psychic abilities. I fear that something may have gone wrong with your neuro-tether to the Cornucopia's computer, leading to some sort of damage to your brain—"

"NO!" the keeper cut him off, her voice raised well above a whisper. "I have not experienced any sort of brain damage."

And more silence. He could tell the Safe was thinking about it.

"You really think I'm damaged?"

"Unfortunately, that is the most likely scenario, keeper," replied Huffold.

"I was hoping you'd believe me," said the keeper. "I didn't want to have to convince you. Please bring up the Cornucopia's passenger list on your terminal."

Robert didn't know what she was up to. A few keystrokes later he was staring at 397 names, each one with a tiny green square next to it, indicating health. Though the Safe's mind may have failed, at least the Cornucopia's stasis tanks were operating normally.

"Robert, take a look at passenger 288 – Dr. Harvin Simmons. He's a child psychologist whose hobby is sculpture, I believe."

The keeper should not know any of the passengers' personal histories. However, she could have somehow accessed the Cornucopia's main data file and learned this information. By no means did this preclude telepathy. "Yes, I know Dr. Simmons. He was chosen for the Cornucopia mission because of his expertise in governmental structures and the formation of laws within societal groups. He will be essential in establishing a working society when the Cornucopia reaches her destination," said Robert. "And he's a good man, I might add."

"Yes, he seems very intelligent" the keeper agreed.

Huffold heard the keeper gasp, almost in ecstasy. On his screen, the green light next to Dr. Simmons' name went red.

Simmons was dead.

A steady and annoying beep was coming from his comm terminal. The bridge was urgently trying to reach him, most likely to tell him of Simmons' death. He ignored it.

"I have absorbed him into me," said the keeper calmly. "He and I are now one."

"Cornucopia Safe! Report! What in the hell happened to Dr. Simmons?"

"We had a deal, Robert – you answer one of my questions, I answer one of yours. In the spirit of honoring that deal, here is your answer: now that he and I are of the same mind, there was no further need for his body. It was terminated."

Huffold's mind was reeling. Computer malfunction? Coincidence? Telepathic homicidal rage?

"Robert? Are you still there?" asked the keeper innocently. "If so, I believe it's my turn to ask another question."

continued....