If he tried to express some strong feeling or opinion, another watered the emotion down and a second endlessly berated him for his weakness. This, he believed, was the root cause of his inability to engage with others, and it was a disturbing turn of events, too.
He considered discussing the problem with Ross, but from previous experience knew that his friend would likely recommend him to one of the medical AIs for analysis, and that path presented its own special set of problems for Sam. Instead, he read up on schizophrenia, MPD and similar diseases of the mind on the Matrix. He could see little of himself in the extreme case histories and descriptions of these conditions.
There seemed no way to deal with this problem that did not contain a greater risk in exposure. He was at war with himself, and he feared he was going mad. Sometimes surrender seemed the only option.
19
May 2046
Surfing
In time the lake was completed and there came to be several waterfalls springing from the darkness above—artificial waterfalls that spilled into small artificial pools that led down small artificial streams that trickled over and around artificial rocks to other small artificial ponds teaming with gigantic koi.
Past the condos, the administration offices, and the clutch of chapels that served the faithful the boulevard was lined with gardens kept meticulously by lesser AIs. Down a short path past the Grand Hall window you came to the lake, whose tree lined shore included a beach, a dock, and waterside restaurant.
A pair of loons (they were, Ross claimed, the product of his own handiwork) patrolled the lake. Canoes and punts carried the more venturesome out onto the waters. The sun beamed overhead upon command. The far side of the water was lost in a darkness that hid the true extent of the illusion.
On the 6th anniversary of their arrival, they held a grand party at the lake. Sam had debated about going and in the end had arrived late with the party already in full swing. He was greeted by a scene of drunken revelry. The music—modern techno—was loud and abrasive. The wine had been flowing for hours. At the height of the festivities they were treated to a drunken CAO belly-flopping into the lake and to his subsequent rescue by two C units.
Sam stood back and watched. In this he was not alone. The AIs encircled the Colonists at a safe and discreet distance. God only knew what they thought of this display of human excess and frailty.
There were others like him who enjoyed spending their time at remote sites in the polar regions, in Marineris or Hellas, doing their own research and living out their dreams, and who shunned life in the Tube, but they were few. The remaining outstation personnel rotated in and out and Sam did most of the trips. The routes were now familiar to him. He made a long anticipated solo trip to the edge of Valles Marineris that had been ultimately disappointing. It had been during a planetwide dust storm and the view of the immense rift had been poor. The valley had disappeared in a pink and tan haze. He had sat and waited until his patience had come to an end.
He returned to the Tube from these trips late at night, saw few people when he was there, and departed as soon as possible. He sat motionless in a kitchen chair looking at the wind on the lake for hours, watching, waiting for something to happen. Paradise lost, he called it.
Any intrusions upon his privacy were met with angry outbursts. In time he ceased to be called for anything but work. When in the field he had been in the habit of sending a daily edoc to the Tube AI with his progress. Over time it became weekly, and eventually he sent it only when he remembered to do so. Soon even that seemed to suffice.
He knew that he was on his own in more ways than one. He knew that no one was going to launch a rescue mission just because he was overdue, and yet he also knew that as the number of AIs out and about increased he was never more than a few hundred klicks from someone—or something if, you preferred—and that his movements and his current location were known to some, and available to all who cared.
His death would be reported in time.
20
June 2046
Four Winds
The two Rollagons moved in single file at a steady thirty kilometers per hour onto the well-worn track that led to the outback. There was nothing unusual about their progress. Rollagons, rovers and AIs came and went from the Tube on a frequent if irregular basis.
Together as one they turned west. On board were essential supplies for an exploratory team at a small research facility on the edge of the Sharonov Crater almost two hundred kilometers distant. Clinging to the Rollagon's sides like a possum carried its young were ten AI units of the advanced B200 surveyor model.
For about an hour they continued at a steady and sedate pace, until, upon reaching the edge of the dune sea, they halted. The one in the rear drew up alongside the other. After a moment's pause, with a spinning of wheels accompanied by a great cloud of reddish dust, they tore out onto the dunes.
Up the long slopes they raced, gaining speed. At the crest their momentum carried them off into the air until, pulled down by gravity, they bounced onto the surface halfway up the next slope, front wheels landing first in a cloud of dust and a spray of rocks. Then up the next slope, as in a motocross race.
Again and again they leapt. Soon the dunes became closer together and, by adjusting their speed precisely, they were able to leap onto the far slope of the next dune. Their speed increased until they were leaping over entire dunes. First one, then the other was in the lead. To a bystander it would doubtless have seemed a dangerous sport and one that jeopardized irreplaceable equipment, not to say lives.
Far overhead, the signs of their passing were observed by Mars Global Surveyor IV in low orbit. The mission of MGS IV was to eternally scan the Martian surface in visible and infrared light for any changes from the image database and relay them to someone who cared on Earth, and thence to the Tube AI. It was only by chance that the satellite was positioned to see the commotion resulting from these high speed antics.
The satellite controller was, of course, an AI, probably not too different from those used in the Rollagons, but undoubtedly it was a lot lonelier. The AI quickly zoomed in on the speeding vehicles and took a number of shots of the two side by side, complete with dust clouds and intertwining trails. A quick burst of coherent energy was sent in the direction of the Rollagons. That done, the files were deleted and MGS IV continued its mission of looking for change.
They covered 175 kilometers in four hours. Just before they came in sight of the station the Rollagons halted. They extended articulated appendages from their sides and meticulously brushed off the thick coats of dust that had covered everywhere and everything and removed the small cobbles that had become firmly lodged in their decking.
That done, they sat motionless for a further ninety minutes and then, in line astern, rolled the last few kilometers up to the research station at a stately thirty kilometers per hour and halted in front of the main module.
Seated at the window in anticipation of the Rollagons' scheduled arrival, Don Palanteer saw them as they crested the low rise southwest of the outpost. He picked up the PA mike and announced their arrival. Frank Pinkney joined him at the window, coffee in hand, fresh from the lounge.
"Well, I for one am glad that this is a task we leave to the AIs. I never have found much joy in rolling over the dunes. Turns my stomach. Always has, always will."
21
August 2046
OK, but no Hitch-Hikers
In the course of what was an otherwise ordinary day Sam was called before a subcommittee of the Executive of Science Programs. After a brief review of his work to date—during which he felt sure he was about to be sacked—to his complete and utter surprise, he was asked if he was interested in participating in a circumnavigation of Mars.
It was proposed to send two Rollagons on an extended mission to circle the planet, taking in the major points of scientific and public interest. Sam was favoured to lead the expedition. His immediate task was to prepare a route and an itinerary.
Once out of the meeting room he found his first reaction to be not joy but a sense of relief. After all, if one were to believe Fenley, human travel was on its last legs, so to speak. The promise of the trip provided an instant reprieve from the misery he felt whenever he contemplated living out the rest of his life in the Tube.
Unlike previous exploratory missions, manned and otherwise, this expedition would be constrained by neither time nor resources. The Rollagons had proven themselves to be virtually indestructible and for all practical purposes capable of unlimited endurance. Best of all, he had no return window to meet.
The list of locations he was compelled to visit in the interest of mission science was long, but many interesting sites were located along the route, and those mandated for him were among the most fascinating: Cydonia, Arisa Mons, the Tharsis volcanoes, and Valles Marineris. To be sure, AIs had already been to all of these locations and had conducted extensive geological surveys, but no human explorer had ever had the opportunity to do so much.
The requirements seemed laughable. A daily report was to be submitted before local midnight and his route could be redirected in accordance with the 'priorities of science'. The Colonists and indeed all of Earth would watch his progress over streaming video.
For Sam it was a dream come true. It was never enough to see it through an AI's eyes or through hi-res imagery. Always he had found his eyes drawn to the edge of the images, trying to see what was beside, below, above and beyond the horizon, certain that something else, something marvellous was just out of view. That hope was what kept him going. He was certain it would be the greatest adventure of his life, and possibly of all time.
As soon as the trip was announced it became apparent that there was no one willing to man the other Rollagon. The small cadre of Rollagon drivers had become comfortably ensconced in the Tube, and Carruthers, reckless fool that he had been, was dead. Sam could not understand why no one else wanted to go with him, even as a passenger with minimal responsibilities except to enjoy. Even Ross begged off. He put it in a nutshell during dinner that night.
"My heart is with you, Sam, really, but we're all comfy now here in Utopia. Why go out into the cold, dust and danger when the AIs will do it for you. After all, you won't be really be adding anything to the sum of knowledge. Just seeing isn't science any more than finding a Matrix page is knowledge and celebrity is success. The AIs do all the science the nerdies need and no one gets hurt. Besides Sam, some believe there's a fair probability you won't make it. They're still spooked by the deaths."
"That was ages ago. Besides, it happened because Carruthers ignored the AI's advice and was showing off."
"Maybe you're right, but they're afraid of travelling, though few will admit it. Consider this, too: we are all more than ten Earth years older than when we landed. Even the youngest is seventy. Need I remind you? It's time to retire to that condo by the lake."
"They're missing the chance of a lifetime—missing what we came here for." He paused, "What about you, are you scared, too?"
"No, but I am extraordinarily lazy. Besides, Rollagon travel still makes me sick. Have a good time, Sam. It's what you have always wanted. It's what you came for."
So Many Places, So Little Time
In an attempt to meet all requirements of the committee Sam and the Rollagon AI planned multiple routes. Sitting in the command chair while parked in the Adit they entered the locations he was compelled to visit into the GP computer and then added his favorites. A projection of Mars appeared on the forward window.
He wanted to visit the site of the Pathfinder landing to the southeast, and then head almost due south to Valles Marineris, then westward down the Valles to Tharsis. The problem was that there were interesting places all over the planet—how was one to see them all? In a few moments the first possible route appeared superimposed on the globe of Mars, soon followed by several others.
One thing that was immediately apparent was that there were no straight lines, but this was to be expected. Sam knew that any route would require avoiding crevices, steep inclines, and otherwise impassable terrain. He noticed that the route avoided the edge of Valles Marineris—one of the locations he had proposed, and also the up-valley route, too. He had wanted to travel along the wall at the more spectacular places, but nowhere did the path touch the edge. He queried the AI.
"Valles Marineris is almost without exception a high risk area."
"What's the danger?"
"The probability of a landslip for a Rollagon traversing within one kilometer of the edge in most areas is 3%."
"What criterion is that based on?"
"Survey AIs have assessed the stability of the edge of Valles Marineris at one hundred and eighty-three locations. Data was extrapolated for a vehicle of the mass and force generation of a moving Rollagon. At .5 kilometer the probability is 12%. At .25 kilometers it approaches 50%. The edge is therefore not safe. Use of GPR will prevent accidents caused by anomalies in the terrain that cannot be detected by other means."
"As was proven at Shalbatana."
The AI remained silent.
Sam had a thought. "What is this route like?" He pointed at a zigzag line in yellow. It began to flash.
"The probability of an incident for this route is zero to .5%."
"Has the whole planet been assessed?"
"No, surveys are still in progress."
He settled in his chair. "Show me the analysis products to date."
The globe changed. Red Mars became yellow Mars, mottled with red and green. The green areas were largely confined to the great plains and the bottoms of craters.
"The yellow is what?"
"Yellow indicates areas where the terrain has the potential for anomalies that could endanger a Rollagon."
"Due to what?"
"The surface and sub-surface are not known to be stable."
"So if you don't know for sure, then it's unsafe?"
The AI was characteristically slow in responding.
"That is in accordance with exploration protocols. Meaningful conclusions cannot be drawn without sufficient data."
"Green?"
"The surface and sub-surface are known to be stable. Anomalies may exist but are detectable and predictable."
"So red is too dangerous for travel by Rollagon?"
"Yes."
"What about a human walking?"
"A human, of course, weighs much less than a Rollagon. However, the hazards are different."
"How so?"
"A human could fall into a very small crevice which might not trap a Rollagon or a B-type."
"What will happen if I have control and drive the Rollagon into an unsafe area?"
"Warnings will be issued as required, based upon a combination of available archived data, GPR data and AI sensors."
"So you'll be looking out?"
"I have no wish to be terminated."
"Well, frankly, neither do I. Let's try this. Clear all that other stuff. Plot all the locations we are obliged to visit by the Science Committee." The dozen widely scattered locations glowed amber. "Locate all Lander and rover missions since, say, 1970." Other blue dots appeared. "Add the locations of all prior manned missions."
"Just the successful ones?" the AI queried.
"No, all of them. OK, now add the Tharsis Volcanoes including Alba Patera, Solis Planum, Cydonia, the North Pole, the Spiders of Mars, and Hellas Planitia." Sam paused, thinking of his favorites.
He continued in no particular order, rapidly rhyming off Aram Chaos, Ares Valles, Nirgal Valles, Tempe Terra, Argyre Planitia and on until he could think of no more. A belt of colorful dots circled the middle of the globe of Mars.
"That's enough. Now plot a route that takes us safely to all of those places." The AI remained silent for a space of several minutes. A route appeared superimposed on the globe, a zigzag line crisscrossing the planet. That had been easy.
"How long at normal speed?"
"Seven Mars years, three months p
lus or minus three weeks."
"How much time did you allow for sightseeing and science?"
"None."
"So if I want to get out and look around, I do it on my own time? Reasonable speed?"
"A prudent speed, minimizing stress on the passengers."
"What is the risk?"
"Assuming no mechanical failures, considering only the avoidance of the risk areas I described earlier, there is 3% risk."
"OK, try this—what if 50% is acceptable?
"Five Mars years, six months, but no one would agree to such a thing."
"Well, not much difference. I guess it adds a few klicks to be safe."
"Yes, it required some creativity to design a safer route, but you should still see the high spots."
"Well I can always change it once I am out of sight. Now to sell it to the Committee. I don't think they were expecting this."
"Actually, they have already done a similar analysis. They believe it will take six years. They did not, of course, consider your personal favourites."
"Still, there's quite a difference."
"I believe the Committee finds the duration and risk acceptable, with some changes."
"How many others have signed up?"
"None."
"That says a lot about their confidence in us and the perceived value of this mission."
The AI was silent.
Lessons
He did not return to his apartment that evening. While he was cleaning up his evening meal the AI initiated a conversation.
"I understand that the habitation facility in the lava tube has a river, a waterfall, and a lake. Also, there are plant lifeforms, animals other than humans, and the colours green, blue, purple, and their many hues can be seen there."
"Well, I wouldn't call it a river, and it's hardly the size of a real lake, but yes, there is a stream and a small pond in the Tube. There are also several waterfalls. It's quite strange to hear waterfalls after all these years."
"I should think it is all quite unnecessary. Water used to be so scarce that it seems odd that it is now so without value as to be used for mere pleasure."
Sam thought about explaining the pleasures of bathing, but let that pass. "Yes, perhaps, but many Colonists miss these things. People wanted it, so they got it. These things are quite common on Earth, by the way. Every shopping complex and domed community has its share of waterfalls and ponds. They feel it makes the Tube more like Earth."