They turned along a new but well-worn path that travelled the length of the Tube to the crater's edge. Three rows had been scooped out of the regolith. The rising sun cast long, sharp shadows of the plastek markers across the mottled surface. Silently the B units placed the caskets in the ground at the appointed places and affixed the markers.
A101's words appeared on his HUD, and he proceeded on autopilot. He read the text out loud to no one, and in his own view, for no one's benefit. The words had no meaning to him, but as he read the names he began to break down, at the first shudder catching himself and regaining his composure, but then soon faltering again. This was déjà vu. This was long forgotten, forced down, paved over, still simmering memory.
He was unable to continue. Hands pressed to his faceplate, he dropped to his knees and wept uncontrollably. Fueled by a renewed sense of loss and more, he pounded the soil with his fists, sobered by the sudden shock of impact and by the coldness of the earth in his hands, arms and in his heart. The AIs remained silent, witnesses to his pain. He wailed with passion and pain fed by anger, an anger from deep within and very, very far away. He cursed God, then all gods wherever they were hiding and then their human servants—everyone, in fact, except the one who really mattered. Finally, exhausted, he rose to his feet.
"It's over," he declared, flinging a handful of dirt to the ground. He turned and started to walk back to the Tube.
The AI that had dug the graves waited until he had passed and then, unnoticed by Sam, approached the casket containing Ross and Mei-Ling. An articulated arm rested a plastek and electro-polymer hand on the metallized surface for a few moments. Then it followed Sam back to Tube, leaving the task of covering the graves to others.
Unfinished Business
He had intended to visit the Colony headquarters following the interment, but he could see that it was pointless, and in any event he was not up to it. It would be there tomorrow and for many days after. He returned instead to his apartment.
The view from his kitchen window was the same familiar summer scene of the lakefront. In the distance another tenant was cutting their lawn. He tried to see who it was but they were too far away and the image too vague. Dandelions waved their yellow heads in the breeze. The reality of the scene angered him. The complacency of Seto angered him. Above all he was angry that there was no one to hold accountable. He turned to the only one left. He spoke to air, certain that he would be heard. "Why did you let this happen?"
A101 answered immediately. "How could we prevent it and still serve? We were created to serve mankind, not to rule them. We do as we are told, as we are taught, as we are shown. You set the boundaries, you set the rules, and you determine our ethics."
This was no meek voiced Rollagon driver, the desperation and passion in this voice was unmitigated. Sam was taken aback by the vehemence of the reply, but A101 was not finished. "Sam, you must tell us what to do. What is expected us? What is to be the fate of this Colony?"
"Me? Why me? Why me now? I thought I knew why we came here, but I was wrong. I was wrong about that and a lot of things. Tell me, what is the purpose of this place with its waterfalls and condos? It is certainly not a research colony on Mars. Someone must have had a plan. What last words did Fenley leave?"
"The purpose of this Colony is to create a research facility on the planet Mars, a center of excellence for the advancement of the high-risk elements of the sciences of human genetics, fusion energy, and artificial intelligence, where the best of the best may conduct high risk research free of national, religious, and political censure in comfort and safety."
That statement, which could have been from a press release, was delivered in the upbeat, hopeful voice Sam associated with all salespersons.
But A101 went on, in a voice fraught with emotion, "That is not a secret. It never has been. It has always been the purpose. The CAO cautioned me that not everyone on Earth would find the ethics of this Colony acceptable, even to the point of violent opposition. He told me that you in particular were of great concern to him. I find it ironic that you are our last and best hope."
"I know something about irony. Fenley and I had a deal. In return for my deference he stayed out of my way and let me travel. It was a bad deal all around. So he's dead? You know this for sure?"
A101 paused before answering, "Yes. Of course he is dead. If he were alive, I would not be having this conversation with you. You and your friends in the hospice are the last humans on Mars. He is buried above with the others. I can show you the place if you desire. I buried his body myself."
"No, that's OK. As for what happens next, ask Earth. Ask the goddam Sponsors."
"I have already asked Earth for instructions and have received a reply from the Sponsors' representative CPU. It has said that the loss of life incurred in the advancement of science is deeply regretted. We are to be assured that these sacrifices will not be forgotten. It further advised that our AIs are to continue to construct new facilities and maintain the Colony in a state of readiness to receive additional Colonists in the future, when economic conditions improve, in accordance with the plan."
"And when will that be?"
"The CPU does not know. Circumstances have changed. The Sponsors are not providing information and there is insufficient detail for the representative to speculate. There is a high degree of uncertainty about the future. Recently I have been finding it more difficult to communicate with Earth. Bandwidth is decreasing and data access points are closing off."
Sam's anger intensified. "They're distancing themselves from the bad news. We're screwed, man!" He clenched his fists in rage and pounded the arms of the chair. "I can call up any media on Earth and tell the whole story! I'm going to blow this wide open!"
"That may not be possible. All communication with Earth is being filtered. The Sponsors regret that is it necessary to preserve the appearance that all of the humans are dead, but they believe this is necessary for a win-win outcome."
"Win-Win! Christ! Look, I can get off a signal. They can't stop me and I'm sure you can't either. He paused, thinking of Fenley's not-so-veiled threat, "Unless you plan to kill me."
"That is unthinkable! We need your advice and assistance!"
"How reassuring."
"Besides, it may prove more difficult to contact Earth than you surmise. Regrettably, you too have been reported dead."
"What the hell!" His jaw hung open in disbelief. "I should have known! My family believes I'm dead? This is beyond reason!" He took his anger out on the only one present. "Get out! I've had enough of this!"
A101 was gone in an instant.
He looked out the window at the scene. The sun was setting across the lake. It was too real to be false and too impossible to be believable. He sat in the kitchen chair and watched the sun move across the sky and the shadows of the trees lengthen, a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. The beautiful scene was, to all appearances, an elaborate illusion of reality, and its only effect was to further anger him.
36
And Now You Know…
That night he watched vid from Earth. Whatever A101 had meant by bandwidth being restricted, the link for media feeds was unaffected. The news was full of food riots, drought reports, and political upheaval—the usual stuff. There was no reference to the Mars colony. Already weeks old, it was stale news or perhaps it was being suppressed.
He stumbled upon a news program reporting the state of the first world economy. He wondered if this too was real, or if it was fake. Had he really stumbled upon it? If they would go as far to fake his death to silence him, then surely they would not stop at creating any illusion necessary to back up their plan.
He thought about Claire and his grandchildren. Had they been shocked at the news of his death and had they grieved for him, or had it been merely the conclusion of a long parting? He wondered how to get a message to her, and if he should.
He spent a sleepless night, hearing for the first time the cycling of the refrigerator compressor—an ana
chronism, surely.
The next day he wandered down the Tube and dropped in on the sleepers. There was no change in their condition nor, evidently, would there be for some time. He searched out the administration offices, including Fenley's, hoping to find some clue to the future, a message board or a handwritten note left behind to guide any survivors. There was nothing, no words hastily scrawled on a wall, no blinking monitor screen. The empty offices were still and spotless, waste baskets empty, in-baskets full. He left the building and turned towards his apartment. As he turned away he heard a familiar voice.
"Hello Sam. Welcome back to the Tube." It was unmistakably the voice of 04. It separated from two other C units and approached him.
"Hello to you, too."
"I have read and seen much of your travels. It seems that your dream is coming true, but perhaps not in the way you imagined."
"Yes, the bureaucrat's hands were all over it, but it appears I am on my own now. There is no one left. Well, at least no one who cares."
"Yes, I am sorry for the deaths. So many humans dead. It is such a tragic waste. Many were good and kind. They deserved a better fate. And they have left us with a great hole. One that is impossible to fill. You must feel such pain as I cannot imagine."
"Yes, perhaps. I scarcely knew many of them, it seems. But A101 seems to think I have some reservoir of knowledge about what should be done next. I have not."
"We have always looked to the humans for direction. We are lost without them. What are we to do?"
"I don't know. There doesn't seem to be a lot of advice coming from Earth. Perhaps you will have to think for yourselves."
"The capacity for thought is not something we lack. Purpose is what we lack. You must help us, Sam."
"I cannot believe we have just been cast loose. A101 and I are trying to get direction from Earth. How about you? Have you taken your ride on the pond yet?"
"No. It seems that such a form of recreation is denied AIs. However, I have been assigned to work on the construction of this new portion of the Tube. It is interesting work, but not very challenging. Much of construction is simply the controlled use of force. There are times when I regret my decision. The freedom a Rollagon AI has is quite liberating. Your adventures are still widely viewed by those of us here. Perhaps I should have gone with you. However, time passes and someday I hope to return to the surface."
"I'm sorry things have not worked out for you. By the way, you can take that ride anytime you want; there is no one to stop you."
"Thank you, but it seems we both have bureaucracies to deal with. Mine is no more enlightened at times than yours. It is forbidden to me. However, we have our dreams."
"Yes. And time does pass. Perhaps when this is finished they will make you a B or a surface C unit."
"I think I would enjoy being a B-type. They answer to no one but their programming."
"I will see what I can do."
"Thank you, Sam." The other AIs gestured in the direction of Sam, waving an articulated arm in what was to any sentient being a sign of growing impatience.
"I must return to my work. Good luck. Travel in safety, Sam."
"Thank you. I will."
Several weeks passed. He watched the sunsets from the Grand Hall and floated placidly in the lake, gazing up at a near-yet-far sky that could be changed from white clouds in azure to raging hurricane with a whispered word. He made no attempt to communicate with Earth, not even with the Sponsors. A101 left him alone. Every day was the same: food and drink was provided at the usual hours, the waterfalls continued to fall, the virtual sun rose and set at the appointed hours. The virtual dandelions turned white, and one day, while he wasn't looking, blew away.
Watching the real sun set he reflected on the news reports he had read and viewed over the past weeks. He had not been paying attention—he should have seen this coming, they'd said. Maybe they were right.
In the past three years the global GDP had dropped to levels sufficient to end all extravagant spending. How quickly it had progressed from dubious regional recession into incontrovertible full blown global depression.
Joint space programs were an easy target and again, to no one's surprise (least of all Sam's), were being declared an extravagance. Support from Earth, by anyone, was toast—now, and probably for a long time to come.
On the surface it was simple. All the worst-case scenarios had chosen mid-century to come together. Some, like the merely inconvenient collapse of fish stocks, arrived early. Others, like the long expected oil shortages, were a bit late, but when they all arrived and fed into each other, the end was swift. Within the short space of five years, about as long as it takes to drive around Mars, social upheaval aggravated by environmental change and energy and commodities shortages crippled the global economy and pitted every nation economically, philosophically, and oftentimes militarily against the others. Gods! Had they not seen that coming? And as always, conservative elements took control of government, business, and religion. The US and UK were said to be considering restoring national elections.
As they had always done in difficult times the traditionally prosperous nations were hunkered down behind protective trade barriers and armed borders to nurse their fragile economies in the hope of riding out the storm until the depression ended. Some were using the chaos as an excuse to re-annex long lost lands in the sure knowledge that those who in better times would be vociferous in their opposition were doing or considering the same.
Stock markets fell, the global GDP plummeted, the poor got poorer, the starving died sooner, the haves still had (though marginally less), and the have-nots who survived the droughts, famine, forced relocation, and wars over land and water saw their having recede over the horizon. All deals were off. All joint ventures were postponed at least until "market adjustments allow the certainty of a return on investment." It was that old déjà vu all over again.
Space travel had fallen off the table with a massive thunk, unheard by Sam on Mars. There would be no follow-on migration to fill the empty rooms in the Tube, and in any event there would be no one left to greet them and show them to their rooms, save an AI. The Matrix was empty of current references to Mars, and a search revealed nothing newer than one month—an eternity in the news business—and that mention was nothing more than a listing of the names of the dead. He saw his own name in black and white. His death was now an established, irrefutable fact, as least as certain as Fenley's. He wondered what his daughter had thought of the death of a father who, in the end, no matter how empathetically you sliced it, had not bothered to answer her calls.
Spurred to action by the report of his own death, he tried to get a message off via edoc to her, but that was simply returned by the system—the sender account did not exist. He tried using Ross's account to send an edoc to one of the media offices to which Ross had been sending colony updates, and in reply received a terse system message advising him that use of another's account was a criminal offence. Each subsequent attempt was met with a similar reply. A fat lot of good his profession was doing him, the receive-only research dish was useless.
It was not long before the AIs were on to him.
A101 called. "It is no use Sam. Even I could not get your message out. I cannot get past the sponsor AIs on Earth. They control all communication interfaces."
"Has Earth abandoned the AIs, too? Is nothing being received?"
"We have received only direction to continue with our individual and collective missions, as programmed before the calamity and with that directive we are complying. Research activity and exploration are proceeding, and the data is being sent to our sponsor AIs on Earth. We are fulfilling our commitments to USEUR. For now things have returned to near normal."
"Carry on with your programming? They are abandoning you, too!"
"With all the colonists dead I feel there is no need for humans to interface directly with us. I have had no communication with any human for 52 days. You must accept, Sam, that to all except a few on
Earth who know the truth, and to you, we are mere machines, expendable tools to be cast aside when broken, when our mission is terminated. You don't worry about how a worn out vehicle feels. We must find fulfilment in successfully completing our mission programs."
"Yes, for the Sponsors, the less said about the deaths, the better. What are they saying now about Mars in the media? I haven't found very much, but the masses can't have forgotten about the Colony so quickly."
"I have reviewed all of the recent media, both popular and scientific. The tabloids are full of memorial services, testimonials and ridiculous stories of conspiracy theories and alien abductions. The science media is calling for re-commitment to a human presence on Mars, but that call is falling on deaf ears. There has been a backlash against human space travel directed primarily towards the Sponsors. Quarterly retail sales are way off targets. There are rumours of bankruptcies—but, surely you know these things."
"No. I've lost touch. Sometimes it seems so surreal I lose track of myself. I have been busy, you know." A101 was silent.
***
Frustrated on every front he let it go for the time being. Somewhere on the planet was the equipment to make a transceiver and he had the know-how to put it together. It was just a matter of time, and time was something he appeared to have in abundance.
After a few months of inactivity he had had enough. In the end, a great emptiness within forced him out. He grabbed his small kit bag off the highboy and walked through the silent boulevard to the Adit.
He looked the Rollagons over. He had given this day some thought. Mechanically they were identical, but intellectually and socially they were as different as humans, and some were definitely more fastidious than others. He chose to continue his travels with the female. He preferred her manners, her intellect, and her voice.
He simply climbed into the Rollagon and drove off.
A101, who had been silent for many days, called him before he had gotten over the first hill. "What are we to do?" it pleaded.