Safe, Part VI

After double-checking all the items on his pre-flight list, Samir Asad made the decision to go through everything yet again. There could be no mistakes, nothing left undone for this trip. He had to survive twenty days on this tiny little ship, he had to get to the Cornucopia, he had to set things right and get their mission operating again. Then and only then would his dream be realized: he would be a colonist. The thought of it made him giddy with excitement.

“H-Hub command, this is Freya.” He cleared his throat and quenched his smile. “We’ve fully cleared orbit and are approaching our SPE coordinates. Tachyon field is still forming, 20 seconds until ready."

An anonymous Hub techie responded. “Affirmative, Freya. Surrounding traffic is aware of your presence; feel free to convert as soon as your engines are green. You have a go from the Hub.”

He knew all eyes were on his ship, all hopes were with him. “Roger, Hub command.” No pressure.

“Lieutenant Asad, this is Chairman Sollart.”

Pressure.

“Yes sir, Mister Chairmain sir?” He knew he sounded nervous. Too many ‘sirs’.

“I just want to wish you both the best of luck. It was very brave of you and Hawley to accept this mission given its high degree of difficulty and huge commitment to service.”

Samir was genuinely touched that the Chairman himself had taken the time to say such things. “Thank you, sir. It’s an honor to be a part of the Cornucopia colony, even though we’ll be a little late to the party.”

Sollart chuckled. “Better late than never at all, Mr. Asad.”

“Yes sir. 10 seconds.”

Daniela popped her head up from below deck. “Everything’s normal in conversion and propulsion, final checks show we’re up and running. Time to see what these new engines can do. Let me strap myself in and we’ll be good to go.”

“Lieutenant Asad, Lieutenant Hawley – safe travels. Sollart out.” Two beeps from the comm indicated the line was closed.

Daniela secured her seat restraints and buckled her helmet onto her suit. “Awful nice of the Bossman to see us out personally, considering this mission is a fucking death sentence.”

Used to her charming disposition, Samir calmly countered it: “Tachyon field is fully formed, we’re ready to go. And it’s not a death sentence, it’s a chance to see what’s out there. We get to be part of history.”

Daniela smiled a wry smile. “Spoken like someone who didn’t make the initial cut. Tell me again why it is they passed on you the first time around?”

“I was relegated to the pool of alternates because of my family’s history of heart disease,” Samir said bravely.

“Ahh, yes” said Daniela. “We can’t have those faulty genes of yours polluting our future on another world, now can we? What made them change their mind?”

Samir hesitated, thought about lying. Ultimately he decided that the truth couldn’t hurt him anymore; he would soon be light years away. “I made a large donation to the Hub.”

Her eyes widened. “You bribed your way onto this mission? What a goddamn moron!”

“Look Hawley, this is something I’ve always wanted. When I didn’t make the original Cornucopia mission I was crushed. Devastated. This was my last chance to be a colonist. They get a shipload of credits, I get my spot on the mission. Everyone’s happy.”

She shook her head. “Yeah, we’re all just SO happy. You ready to go?”

He looked over at his engineer, found her eyes beneath the glare of her helmet. “So, Hawley – if you think this is suicide, then why ARE you here, exactly?”

Daniela stared back at him, a mixture of regret and anger showing in her green eyes. “Sometimes death doesn’t seem like too bad an option.”

She turned back to her console and entered the final sequence. The tiny ship converted itself from normal space into space-prime as its engines catapulted it on an intercept course for the Cornucopia.

* * * * *

After freeing the latest colonist in her mind, Celia had been feeling odd. She didn’t know who she was prior to the mission, so it was hard for her to actually define the concept of ‘Celia’. But lately she didn’t feel like she was used to feeling. Something was a bit off and she found it hard to concentrate. Learning to tune out the myriad voices constantly playing in her head helped, but mostly she was confused. Conflicted.

She felt better when she could lose herself in learning, so most waking hours she continued her education with the ship’s library serving as her makeshift university. The ship’s computer stored so many data files, videos, audio lectures – she found it amazing. Celia devoured whole subjects at a time but even that was never enough. There was always another fact, another date, another theory that she didn’t know and remained as of yet undiscovered. She wanted to know everything.

Her usual day consisted of three hours in the library, an hour in the gym, a half hour in the pool, a quick shower, then three more hours of study. When she wasn’t acquiring knowledge, Celia was putting it to good use. At the end of every day, she’d been awarding herself an hour on the Cornucopia’s massive science deck, working on her pet project. Today that one hour was more like two and she could feel the exhaustion setting in. Time for bed, she thought as she locked the lab she had commandeered and headed back to her quarters. Halfway there, she was tempted to just lie down in the hallway and drift off on the floor, the quiet and warm hum of the ship beneath her. Instead she marched on, every step getting her closer and closer to the wonderful caress of sleep. Finally Celia reached her door. It slid open, she kicked off her shoes and poured herself onto the mattress.

“Computer, set alarm for seven – no, eight AM. Also, add the following item to tomorrow’s task list – ‘Investigate external shutters , determine cause for malfunction.’ Finally, dim lights.” She was asleep and dreaming almost immediately.

* * * * *

Since the feed from Cornucopia had gone live a few days prior, Huffold had been cycling through different camera views, watching the rogue Safe. Her daily routine was odd, to say the least. Most of her morning was spent in the library, and he couldn’t blame her for that. Awake and alone, on a one-way ticket to the unknown with 400 people in her head, how else would anyone spend their time? But the strange thing was that she didn’t watch entertainment vids or play any gaming programs. She simply read. For hours.

As boring as it was to watch these library sessions, Celia’s daily mid-day exercise routine (and subsequent shower) were quite stimulating. Before becoming a Safe it would have been easy to look at the style of her clothes and lack of hygiene and dismiss her as unstable. But now – there was definitely something different about her. She was confident, poised. And sometimes…beautiful. Just now, she was freshly showered and seated at her favorite library terminal, her light brown hair damp and pulled into a ponytail. She sat with her long, thin legs crossed while she rested her chin in her hand, reading a journal on interspatial propulsion, occasionally taking notes. He had to keep telling himself that this strange young woman was most likely a murderer, not some innocent non-functional that has simply experienced some bad luck in deep space.

At the end of her day, Celia would take a lift to the science deck and disappear. Robert had dangled some additional bonuses in front of his techs, asking them to determine why the Cornucopia’s science deck cameras still weren’t online. So far, none of them had been able to figure it out, and this annoyed him. He was concerned for her safety, but there was only so much trouble she could get into. As a precaution, he locked down most of the science deck, though some areas wouldn’t respond (much like the cameras.)

On this particular day Celia had spent an extra long time off-camera on the science deck and Huffold had become worried. It was quite unlike her to not stick to a schedule – was there an accident, had she fallen and hurt herself? He was about to order a team of service robots to investigate when he finally spotted her returning to her quarters. She could barely keep her eyes open and was falling asleep while standing in the lift. Huffold fought the instinct to label this girl “cute”, and instead thought of the now-deceased Dr. Simmons. He watched Celia enter her quarters, crawl into bed and fall asleep.

Huffold swiveled his chair around to his secondary console and began summarizing the Safe’s day. His report was being studied daily – analyzed, documented and discussed by the top psychologists and neuroscientists in the Hub. They were watching Celia’s activities and looking for patterns, trying to find any clue as to why the mission had gone this way. So far, results were inconclusive. Most of the eggheads agreed she wasn’t anywhere near emotionally stable, but they were amazed at her newfound intelligence and thirst for knowledge. There was even talk of attempting to rehab her remotely, which seemed the best option to Huffold.

His comm terminal beeped. “Yes? Huffold here.”

“Sorry to bother you, sir. Assistant Spooner here. I think I’ve made a breakthrough with those troubles we’ve been having with the feeds on the science deck.”

“You’re on quite a run lately, Spooner. Way to go.” Finally, he’d be able to see what Celia was up to during her daily mystery hour.

“Well, that’s the good news, sir. The bad news is that for every section of science deck that we gain access to, we lose access to another area of the ship. We haven’t been able to figure out why, but my guess is some sort of space-prime interference or—“

“Save it, tech. Put it in a report. So are you saying we have access to science deck’s cameras?”

“Yes sir,” said Spooner. “Some of them, at least.”

Huffold thought it over. “So we gained science deck, what did we lose?”

“The decks currently dark are maintenance, hydroponics, mineralogy, and weapons.”

He looked at his screen, still showing the camera feed from Celia’s dimly lit quarters. Her bed was empty.

“I’ll get back to you,” he said and quickly cut the feed to his assistant.

“Computer, replay the last 30 seconds of the Safe’s camera feed.” He was confused. Once the Safe was asleep, she was dead to the world. He’d seen her sleep through the night, every night so far. Add to that the fact she seemed especially exhausted today – what could she be up to?

The replay showed Celia getting into bed, issuing some sort of voice command to her computer. The lights dimmed and she lay still for a few seconds, then Robert saw her open her eyes, glance around the room and spring from the bed. Moving quickly, Celia left her room.

“Computer, give me the hallway feed just outside this room.” He watched Celia move down the corridor, her back pressed against the wall and her head looking this way and that. She moved quickly but carefully, as if she was being pursued. Robert wondered what had gotten into her.

Within a few seconds she was at a junction in the hallway. As she paused and peeked around each corner, it looked to Robert as if she expected someone to be there. When she saw she was alone, she activated a nearby computer terminal.

“Computer, report on any and all files that the Safe views.”

“Confirmed,” replied the computer. “Cornucopia Safe is currently accessing a map of the residential deck….now zooming out to surrounding decks….maintenance…medical…science…weapons….Cornucopia Safe is currently accessing a map of the weapons deck….Cornucopia Safe has ended terminal access.”

Huffold watched as Celia scurried to the lift, entered, hugged the wall and crouched in the back corner.

“Cornucopia Safe is taking lift 8D to the weapons deck.”

continued…

Safe, Part V

Celia stood in what a soldier might have recognized as an ‘at ease’ position about twenty feet inside the door of the Stasis Chamber. Her feet were spread about shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind her back, and shoulders squared and tense. This vantage gave her the best view of the pods that circled and rose around her in a kind of amphitheater formation, the bottoms of each upper row concealed by the head of the one below it. Short runs of steps and long gangways ran around the room, providing access to all of the pods and giving the ground-based maintenance servos a track to run on. There were also flying servos, and occasionally one of them flitted by on its way to some task assigned by the mainframe. The Safe darted her eyes to Simmons’ pod, noting that the scorch marks and dismembered wiring had been cleaned up--but she knew that even just a casual glance behind the structure in which his corpse was housed would reveal significant damage to all the tech that served as umbilical cords for these travelers.

Celia’s mind was taut, the bulk of her consciousness flung to that part of her brain in which the personalities of the bodies stacked before her resided. She searched for the one that would be the next to be freed, that would come into herself and join as Harvin had. She wanted to be a little finicky in her decision, and make it deliberately, for in a way the Safe didn’t quite understand she sensed that bringing too many minds into hers would spell disaster for her psyche, so quality should take precedence over quantity. Along with that, though, came the memory of the categorical pleasure that absorbing Simmons had brought her--and how addictive that joy could be.

She hesitated as she brushed up against an inquisitive mind, one with a powerful curiosity. Celia paused in her browsing and focused her attention on the one that had caught her attention, and noticed after a moment that it exuded confidence, as well, a surety born of both mental and physical strength. Nodding her head slightly, the Safe decided that this curiosity and confidence would serve her well, for she still had many questions for Huffold, and also owed him a conversation. The poise with which this mind held itself would doubtless be an asset, and perhaps she could avoid another embarrassing breakdown. She coaxed the target ego out of the mass of others, and brought it towards the “wall” that separated her own intellect from the mass she was carrying. On the way she learned it was of her own sex. Good news, she thought--a female to even out her augmentations. Already she felt drawn to this persona and its superior balance and control. As she coaxed the mind nearer the border, she prepared for the tearing down required to complete the merging.

As before, she pictured hands bent into rigid talons rending through the barrier in her mind, a ragged hole forming that the new woman could pass through. As before, the pain was immense, and she nearly lost consciousness from the shock and effort--then it was done. With a surge of energy she formed a clear image of hands repairing that wall, shoring it up so that no scar showed, no weakness was left to exploit. Also as before, she was veiled in elation at the joining, and felt as though a part of herself was back in place, something the Safe had been missing so long that she didn’t even know it had been gone. She sat, heavily, a small ribbon of drool suspended from one corner of her mouth.


Zoe Brazzo blinked heavily....at least, she thought she did. Although the action seemed normal, she sensed that something was different about it, something she could not put her finger on. It seemed as though she didn’t blink at all--only thought she did. After a few moments of consideration, she realized that the issue may be that she did not, currently, have a finger available to put on anything. She could sense a body around her mind, her wits, memories, and judgment available and in operating at full capacity, but that body did not seem accessible for the normal manipulation she was used to. Added to this oddness was the fact that she sensed that she was not alone in this body. Brushing up against her psyche were two other egos, fully functioning but not invasive--yet. One of them seemed more dominant than the other, but tired and a touch subdued right now. Being in the Safe’s head played hell with her sense of time, but somehow it didn’t feel like she had been put back in her own body, as was supposed to happen when the ship found a planet to colonize. Something was not right.

With the patience of the huntress that she was, Zoe decided to settle in and get the full lay of the land before taking any action.


Huffold sat at his desk and re-read his letter to Harvin. He decided to put it aside for a few minutes, then switched over to scan the pre-launch log for the Freya, the small scout ship that would be dispatched in 36 hours to go and catch up with the Cornucopia and--he fervently hoped--put things right and salvage what they could from the colony ship’s mission. The two-man crew’s orders included a variety of ways to subdue the Safe, none of which involved killing her....for now. A second dart-shaped fast mover, the Frey, was a twin to the first and currently being stocked as a back up, to be launched in 60 hours on a similar mission but with a new Safe on board to replace the current malfunctioning one. Sollart, Huffold, and their superiors had decided to run the Cornucopia with a Safe plus four and complete the original mission, if possible. Huffold felt certain that the four spacers they were sending would be able to get things under control--but the problem on his mind was how to manage Celia until then. The Freya wouldn’t be able to dock with the colony ship for twenty days. Huffold’s hair greyed at the thought of the damage to lives and ship that could be done in that time.

“Sir?” Huffold’s assistant’s voice from the intercom interrupted his unpleasant thoughts--a welcome distraction. He keyed the mic.
“What news from the comm?”
“Reporting that we now have visual inside the Cornucopia, sir. Per your instructions, no one has access to the actual viewing screen yet.”
Huffold’s spirits rose edgily. This could be the break they needed--visual information from the live feed would be delayed, of course, but it was infinitely better than the ‘nothing’ they had right now.
“Excellent--give the techs a bonus and rotate a vacation day through the staff without leaving us short-handed. Ping Sollart and patch it through to his office, and mine, coded and scrambled. Then, get your ass in here so I can keep you in the loop.”
“Also, sir--”
“Also? Lay it down.”
“We have some minimal control over a few of the ship’s functions. Right now just lights, window shutters on the hull, and all doors, including the fire/breach seals in the access tunnels and air vents. We can change the access codes and disallow entry into any and all parts of the ship, on a short delay.”
“Double the raise, give yourself one, and remind me to visit the comm cage for some accolades. That is impressive work.”
“Sir.”
Huffold hit a few controls and shifted the view on his screen to the much larger one on the wall, and waited for the feed.

continued...

welcome to earf

I recall that there was a series of nature films that I had to watch at some point in college or high school--or maybe at my dad’s house when he lived in Colorado and I was too young to go out on my own much while he was at work so mainly stayed around his home and yard and watched stuff he had recorded, my favorites being shows about bugs and spiders.  Come to think of it, there was a tunnel web on the side of his house that, in retrospect, I should not have been poking with a stick to see what would come out.  Nothing ever did come out--probably because my ‘cricket in distress’ impression sucks--but something could have, and it seems that only very poisonous spiders with big fangs build tunnel webs.  Sometimes my brother would walk with me down to the local market, and I would make sure to buy some Nerds candy just about every visit, even if I didn’t get anything else.  On my next birthday my dad sent me a case of Nerds.  Good for him, noticing what I liked and playing to it, but is there such a thing as too many Nerds?  Yes, yes there is.  At first I guarded the treats viciously, but by the end of the summer I was force feeding my friends those little pellets of colored sugar and preservatives because I just couldn’t stand it any more.  Still not a big fan of ‘strawberry-banana’ anything.  Or cotton candy.  You want to keep me away from your stuff just swath it all in strawberry-banana cotton candy.  Ick.

But I digress.  The narrator of the nature films was a British guy called David Attenborough, and he was great.  He always presented the material in a simple way, building on small principles and working his way up to more complicated ideas.  I happened on a book that he wrote a while back, title of ‘Life on Earth’.  It’s not the kind of book that I read in bed, because any book I read in bed puts me to sleep and I end up completely losing track and having to go back over the last 1-2 pages I “read”.  This Attenborough book I picked up is like his films, but all-encompassing rather than episodic.  It starts at the theoretical beginning of our planet and proceeds up through simple organisms, on up to more complex, and then discusses individual species’ behaviors.  I’m just now on the bit about mollusks.

Something he mentions in this book is how a lot of history can be found in the walls of the Grand Canyon, what with the layers and all.  Here’s a fun fact that dropped my jaw: the layer at the bottom of the canyon is 2,000 million years old.

2,000 million years.  If I were a geologist, that is the kind of figure that would make me put down my mechanical pencil and go get another beer.

There is a popular analogy that compresses the entirety of the earth’s history as a planet into a one standard year.  In this year, those bottom strata would appear in mid-September--meaning, of course, that the Earth as a whole is more than double this age--and we aren’t in any kind of position to speak about how many birthdays the universe has had.  It’s worth mentioning that in this model, man appears in the evening on December 31.

So, given this information, what may a reasonable person conclude?  Well, I suppose that’s up the the individual, but as for me and my house we choose to think that man is not the point, that this place we live in was not built for us.  It may be fantastic to think that the whole of human history--skyscrapers and woodworking and space flight and ice cream sandwiches--all of it began with sludge and lightning 3000 million years ago or so.....but this makes so much more sense than the whole shebang just popping into existence a shade over 6000 years ago, as some have said.

Safe, Part IV

Huffold stopped halfway across the office. Sollart's undersecretary must have deemed this call important, otherwise it would have simply been forwarded to Huffold's data queue, not sent directly to the Chairman's desk.

"For me? Who is calling?"

Sollart paused, his eyes darting around the room. Finally his gaze met Huffold's. "The origin ID says Cornucopia, from a Doctor Harvin Simmons."

"Simmons?" Huffold was incredulous. "That's impossible! The Safe just killed--"

"Calm down, Robert" said the Chairman. "You said yourself that the ship's systems may be compromised. The Safe could have been showing us what she wanted us to see. We honestly have no idea what Simmons' status is."

Robert took a few steps towards the enormous window behind his boss' desk. Sprawling in front of him, he could see most of the Hub itself, built in orbit piece by piece over the last hundred years. Thousands of tiny ships silently zipped from here to there, flashes of light popping in and out of view as their alloy hulls turned and reflected the sun's glow. Progress was constantly being made on the Hub; old sections refurbished, new sections constructed, raw materials hauled from planetside to orbit. The Hub was a floating continent, a testament to technology, and a starting point for one of the most daring tasks ever undertaken in the universe -- colonization. To launch a flimsy dart filled with colleagues, friends, and families into the abyss; to hope that dart hits a target somewhere, anywhere…all the while praying that nothing goes wrong. All in the name of progress. Was this mission doomed from the start? Could it be salvaged?

Huffold cleared his head. "You're right again, Chairman. I'm overreacting. Let's figure this out. Patch me in to Dr. Simmons."

"Unfortunately Mr. Huffold, this is a text-only transmission" said Sollart. "I'll put it on the main view screen."

--BEGIN TRANSMISSION--
Greetings! This is Harvin Simmons. I just thought you fellas back at the Hub might want to know that I'm awake. I'm not sure how or why it happened. My first thought was that we'd arrived somewhere, but I quickly discovered we hadn't dropped into normal space. From the hum of the fold engines, we still appear to be in space-prime hurtling away from you folks back in civilization. I've been wandering about the ship in an effort to locate the Safe and see if he knows anything about my nap being so unfortunately short. (Yes, I've checked the Safe's chair -- there was no one in it.) If I didn't know any better I'd think you guys were playing an elaborate prank on me! Upon reception of this message, please respond with my orders as to what in the hell happened and what I should be doing. In the meantime, I'm off to get to the bottom of this.
Dr. Harvin Simmons, currently wandering the stasis deck of Cornucopia
--END TRANSMISSION--

"Well, that certainly sounds like Harvin," said Huffold, smiling. "But why a text-only message? Why not just open a channel?"

"Perhaps our Safe has found a way to monopolize access to voice comm. If Simmons is to be believed, she's nowhere to be found. And the ship is still on course."

Both men fell quiet, thinking over the multitude of possible mission scenarios. Sollart finally spoke up. "I suppose we should answer Simmons' message. I'll draft a response, reassuring him things are under control, no matter how spun out they've become. Our scout ship will be launching within the hour. Go get some rest, Robert."

Huffold didn't need any further convincing. He was exhausted. "Yes sir. I'll see you first thing in the morning," he said to the Chairman, and started the long walk back to his residential spoke of the Hub. In the elevator, alone and pensive, he hoped that Sollart's positive point of view would prove to be correct -- that even though the Safe may be malfunctioning, the mission was still operational and Simmons was still alive.

* * * * *

Simmons was dead. At least his body was. She knew that she had extinguished its life for a good reason: to prove to Huffold that she wasn't insane. Sure, she heard hundreds of voices in her head, but now she knew the reason why.

Hearing voices was nothing new to her. Words, sentences, and conversations had been exploding through her mind as far back as she could remember, which was to say her first day in this place. At the beginning, she wasn't scared because she wasn't alone -- or at least she didn't know she was. She heard people talking all around her, but when she spoke up they wouldn't respond. All she could do was listen to the conversations rumbling around outside.

After a few days spent in darkness, she began to question her environment. Why was it so dark? Where was she? How was it that she wasn't hungry, didn't have to shower, didn't have to visit the bathroom? And who were these people she could hear?

Slowly, painstakingly she was able to deduce a few things. It was dark because her eyes were closed. She didn't have to eat, defecate, or shower because she was sitting in a chair that took care of all that for her. This chair was linked to a very sophisticated but very stubborn computer. She asked the computer many things, but it would only answer certain questions. One of her favorite queries was "Where are all these people that I hear talking?" The computer's response was always silence.

A few weeks after her awakening, she was able to extract herself from the chair. The computer complained and advised against it, but couldn't do much to stop her. She explored the room, then the hallway past it, then the entire deck. Her eyes widened as she looked out her first viewport at the stars streaking by -- she was on a starship.

She spent two entire days exploring the ship and she came to the realization that it was enormous. There were entire decks filled with vegetation and animal life, a massive medical complex the size of a hospital, and countless large machines of unknown purposes. She found many rooms that would prove useful to her new life outside of her chair: latrines, kitchens, crew quarters, and even a gymnasium. All the while she heard the voices, but saw no people. There was one room that the computer would not permit her to access -- it was labeled "Stasis Chamber A." Because the computer wouldn't tell her anything about it, she decided the days of the computer knowing more than she did were over.

She devoted all her time to reading, to learning. Although she couldn't remember anything from her life prior to being on this ship, she knew that she knew how to read; from that she deduced that she must have had some previous life to speak of. So she read. The computer contained countless data files and she pored over as many as she could: history, philosophy, mathematics, poetry, computing, medicine. She eventually learned that the computer could be circumvented by bypassing certain logic circuits. This was her key to Stasis Chamber A.

When the lights in the chamber flickered on, she saw the people. She stood in the center of a bowl-shaped room filled with row after row of silent sleepers. And then she knew, or maybe she simply remembered. Either way, it all made sense to her: who these people were, where she was, what she was. She was terrified. The voices weren't coming from inside the ship. They were coming from people stored inside her head.

Panicked, she searched these voices and singled out the one called "Simmons". His voice had a calming, father-like quality that she was drawn to, so she tore down the mental wall between herself and Simmons. It hurt like hell, but she couldn't be alone any longer. She then flooded her consciousness out and instantly he coalesced into her. The pain went away and was replaced by a feeling she had no words for, a combination of sheer bliss, completion, and knowledge. And it had all happened so quickly; the whole process took only a few seconds. After those brief but important moments in time, the concept of Simmons became intangible. He was no longer a person to touch or to speak to...Simmons was now more like a feeling or an emotion to her. Inside her but not her, yet her at the same time. She was Simmons was her.

That didn't stop the grief from setting in after she had smashed the ship's connections that kept his body alive. But whose grief was it? Was it hers, caused by the taking of a life? Or was it Simmons', caused by watching his body cease to exist?

After crying herself to sleep she awoke several hours later. She felt refreshed, aware, super-awake. She had dreamt of Simmons; for most of the dream, he was holding her hand as they walked the corridors of the ship. In other parts of the dream she was Simmons, holding her own hand. It was a strange feeling, but it made sense -- Simmons was with her always. There was nothing to grieve about. All of her guilt left her as she showered, and by the time she arrived at Stasis Chamber A to look for which person she would free next, she felt absolutely wonderful.

continued...

Safe, Part III

It was easier than she thought it would be. The actual act had been a bit violent and required a little more force than she had anticipated, but now that it was finished she saw how it could be done easier the next time--if necessary. The energy rifle she had used as a bludgeon hung limply from one hand, butt of the weapon resting on the floor. She had discovered the settlers’ armory and gained access, but no amount of searching would reveal the keycode each gun needed to power up and fire. She discovered that only one person had that code, and he was currently inert.

The tethers and bindings that had connected Simmons’ stasis pod to the ship lay in ruins, an unidentified fluid seeping from one and sparks sputtering from another. They were relatively exposed, for the ship’s builders had not foreseen an attack coming from within. It did take a little doing to remove the a small covering and wedge herself into a position between the pods in order to do the damage, though. A movement caught her eye, and she watched in mute fascination as some of the Cornucopia’s automated cleaning crew emerged and set about tidying up the mess she had made.

Simmons had perished without a sound, just a quick flutter of his eyelids before they permanently closed. Perhaps his fists had spasmed and clenched, but she would never know, for the viewing window on the pod only revealed the faces of the stored. Her act of savagery on the hardware went wholly unnoticed by the gallery of forms in dormancy around her. She stood still, eyes staring and vacant, directly in front of the psychologist's corpse...and a stray thought set her to wonder what color his eyes were. She could feel panic in the base of her mind, distant but advancing steadily, a rebellion of her rational mind at what she had done to this unfortunate soul. She wondered how long it would be until hysteria claimed her. A calm voice in her ear brought the Safe out of her reverie.

“Cornucopia Safe? I await your question.” There was slight edge to Huffold’s voice, gently belying the great strain he was under. The Safe adjusted her headset and brushed at some of the charred spots on her uniform caused by the sparks that had heralded Simmons’ demise. She turned and left the stasis room, walking back towards the small room that was her operations center. When she spoke, her voice was distant, as if listening to another conversation while simultaneously having one of her own.

“I am here, Robert.” She continued down the Cornucopia’s corridor, trailing her fingers on the wall. The distant agitation was slightly more pronounced now, and she feared showing some weakness to her contact on Earth. “I must apologize, but our dialogue will have to wait. I’ve something that needs attending.”

“That is not an choice you have right now, Safe.” She could tell he was struggling to control his temper, irritated at being balked.

“We will continue this later. I look forward to having my questions answered, and to answering yours.”

“Safe, wait. We have to figure this out! Surely you understand this is an impossible situation that we cannot ignore! In your absence I will have to take action!”

“Do what you like, Robert,” she said, feeling more anxious by the moment but unwilling to release control. “I must leave for now, though. I will contact you soon.” Her voice felt a little shaky, but still was infused with a detached loftiness. She reached her hand to her headset and put her finger on the switch that would disconnect the link with her home planet.

“Safe--just two more minutes! Safe, this is unacceptable! Safe--Celia, you need to stay on the line!”

She flipped the switch, and removed her headset, placing it on the console from which she could monitor the pioneers in stoppage and other ship’s systems, almost dropping it as her hands began to shake, disobeying her mind’s commands to be still. She sat heavily, fearing she would fall if she did not, watching, enthralled, as the tremors advanced from her hands up her arms, and soon her entire body was quivering. When she was calm again, Celia Canter laid walked weakly out of the room to her adjacent quarters, then to her bed and lied down, weeping.


“Where do we stand, director?”

Huffold stood before the mammoth desk of his superior, ordering his report mentally for maximum conciseness. He would shoulder blame, if it were his to be had, but merely detail the situation on its face for the present. By now Chairman Sollart would have listened to the initial transmission and studied the ship’s logs and the status of its systems.

“Sir, it has been almost thirty minutes since my first and last communication with the malfunctioning Safe aboard the Cornucopia. My comm has been routed to this office so we don’t miss her when she contacts us again. It is unknown how unstable the Safe is, and impossible with the limited conversation I had with her to understand what, exactly, has occurred. It is also impossible to know the status of the settlers on board, and whether or not all of them still live, and whether the Safe has tampered with the ship’s monitors or terminated a passenger.” Huffold licked his lips. “Barring visual inspection we cannot know the true condition of the ship and its crew.”

The chairman stared at Huffold, disbelief in recent events dissipating but still clearly readable on his face. His expression softened slightly. “Not a happy place to be, director. You know the technology best--what options do we have?”

“What will benefit us most is time--time to access the ship’s systems, to try and patch in to the video and get eyes on board, and to see what has been done by the Safe in the software, and to block further tampering. All must be done covertly, without alerting her, of course. It is possible we could run the ship remotely, giving all control to our command. My people are currently working on gathering info, and I expect an update shortly.

“It may be possible to reprogram some of the automated crew--cleanup and maintenance robots--and subdue the Safe while she is sleeping or use them to set up security around the stasis chamber. What is enabled may be disabled, though, and we don’t know how proficient a programmer the Safe is.

“A scout ship with a two-person crew could be prepped and on its way in two days, but would take an additional twenty days to reach the Cornucopia at its current speed and heading. Once on board the crew could disable the Safe and place her in her biorejuvanation chair in permanent sleep, then they could monitor the ship throughout the rest of the journey--or bring it back home, depending on damage and resources. I don’t think she’ll use this chair on her own any more. It’s likely she is cunning enough to understand that if she is in it we may be able to prolong her sleep from here, rendering her harmless. The personalities could also be placed in to a new Safe and the old one disposed of, or sedated and kept for a detailed exam.

“If all fails, we could order the self-destruct sequence. Better this than 400 hostages.”

Sollart tented his fingers in front of his chest and considered, frowning. “Too many choices, too many variables. Lots of ‘if’.”

“We’ll know more when my team finishes their recon and we know what can and can’t be manipulated.”

“OK. Go ahead and prep the team for the scout ship and get that moving and off the ground. I think the ultimate solution involves having some of our people--sane and following orders--on that ship.”

“Sir.” Huffold turned to leave, and a white light blinked on the chairman’s desk. Sollart glanced at it and his eyes widened slightly as he scanned the call’s origin readout.

“Hold on, director. This call’s for you.”


continued......

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....

Safe, Part I

The problem was straight forward, on it's face as simple as buttering bread: Given the current technology, figure out a way for humans to survive--and thrive, if possible--the gargantuan distances and hefty amount of time needed to make it to a habitable planet. If there were no such planets available in a given time period, one that could be terraformed to suit people would do in a pinch.

As is the way of things, the answer was much more complicated.

After much thought, research, sacrifice, and gobs of cash, it was determined that Homo sapiens could be kept viable for quite some time in suspended animation, as long as there was some sort of monitoring system around to keep vigilance and correct any errors that may occur, as well as make fine adjustments to the sustained controlled environment when necessary. However, although there was computer software sensitive enough to keep tabs on, record information, and suggest adjustments for optimal suspension conditions, it was also determined that no program existed--nor would exist for many years, considering the rate of advancement--that could accurately and consistently make the changes to preserve the lives of the humans that were in suspension. Experiments were undertaken, and although an automated guardian could keep up for quite some time, eventually many small mistakes added up to large, critical errors, and the caretaker's simulated wards' survival rate plummeted as the far side of the Bell curve was explored. Things would be best if the mechanized watchdog was able to work in tandem with another overseer.

After much pondering and even more tinkering, it seemed as though the only construction currently available to handle such a task over time was the human brain--but this was not a solution, but yet another complication, as the only way to keep a human alive to survive the transit was to have them in stasis. If they were in stasis, though, they could not make the minute adjustments. Problem.

Par for the course, something else cropped up, a potentially critical setback. Through more simulations the researchers found that prolonged stasis caused the human intellect to degrade, producing babbling imbeciles--at best--in as short as one year. Another problem.

In this instance, technology, human ingenuity, and a willingness to sacrifice unknowing and uninformed others for the greater good provided the solution. Several discoveries were combined to find the answer.

A breakthrough had been made some years earlier which allowed one's memories--and thus, the bulk of their personality--to be stored electronically, with the best storage device being an organic one, if possible. That is, one's intellect could be extracted and placed into another human for storage, and barriers could be placed in the receiver so that the original and the stored would never mingle. In fact, experiments confirmed that the storage space in a human brain was so large that up to 400 intellects could be extracted, condensed, and stored in one healthy adult with no ill effects on that person. As a point of fact, there was a great benefit, in that the storage person's own wits and wisdom increased exponentially as more psyches were added. Everything has its limits, though, and through more experimentation additional regulations were discovered. Although candidates were rigorously screened for superior health, it seemed that the higher the initial intelligence of a being, the more predisposed they were to insanity, paranoia, schizophrenia, et al. after augmentation with storage personas, traits which were categorically determined to be unwelcome traits in a spacefaring caretaker of other humans and a giant starship.

Therefore, the starting brain power of the storer could not be too high, for it would be added to and increased by predictable levels as storage personalities were added for the trip. According to the researchers the optimal IQ for a 'storage device' was to be no higher than 80, then, to end up at around 135, at a maximum, once all intellects were cached. It was decided, though, by individuals that would, of course, never be the proposed depot, that the body that housed the inferior intellect should never know that: A) They were merely a means to an end and that their upgraded intelligence was artificial and B) Once their job was over and the destination was reached they would be rendered back to their original brainpower and become one that must now be supervised, rather than the other way round. A provision was made that the erstwhile custodians would live out the rest of their lives in comfort, in whatever reasonable way seemed fitting to them.

So, this became the new standard in spacefaring. Large, sturdy colony ships were outfitted with whatever equipment was deemed necessary to settle a new world, and no more than 400 settlers were put on board and in stasis with their intellects drained and condensed for deposit in the steward that was to keep them in trust until arrival on their new home. This keeper, then, was made smarter by the addition of the new personalities--but didn't know that it had ever been any other way in their life, and some memory augmentation was often employed to ensure ignorance. During sleep periods the trustee was put in a modified stasis in order to draw out his life and make any needed bio-repairs to his aging carcass. He would age, but slowly, and in perfect health. During waking periods he would spend his time monitoring the sleepers and the ship, keeping everything in flawless function in conjunction with the programmed attendant. On arrival at the new world, he would benignly have his wards removed and go back to being an idiot. The program's designers thought it the perfect plan, given the current resources.

"Sir?"
Huffold looked up from his screen, noting the tech at his desk and waiting for the reason for his approach.
"Proceed."
"Sir, we've received a transmission from the Cornucopia."
"They've only been out for 4 months. Chances aren't worth mentioning that they would have found a suitable planet to colonize within the distance they've traveled. Is it an automated message or voluntary?" While speaking Huffold's hands were working, fingers darting over his interface and bringing up specifications on the colony ship and it's monitoring network to his readout screen.
"Human-generated, sir, and personal."
"All systems read normal on our readout, 397 bodies breathing in stoppage, functioning as expected and the ship shows no red lights. There's only one human awake on that boat that could've sent a missive, and they are not supposed to know how."
"Sir."
"Let it out, techie."
"Sir, we've received a message from the Cornucopia's Safe. She's become aware, and has some rather awkward questions."

continued...