Caleb, Saanvi, and Natalie all protested at once.
Harry spoke up from the bar. “The male model can do the same thing and then some.”
Natalie and Saanvi stole a glance at each other and were both grateful for the interruption as Jennifer entered the bar, her snug elastoware still relaxing as it released its hold in the pressurized atmosphere. She sat down at an adjacent table looking bleary-eyed.
“We’re going to Hanson,” said Natalie chirpily. “After Pan.”
Jennifer raised an eyebrow, “I forget. Did we vote on that last night?”
“It’s a suggestion,” said Caleb warily.
The five had agreed to vote on everything, yet by default they relied on Caleb for leadership. Many votes had become epic arguments, and part of him just wanted to be a dictator.
Spruck ate another bite of Caleb’s eggs. “The warrants on us just get revoked?”
Caleb said, “We only assume there are warrants. It’s not like we’ve seen posters up on the walls.”
“And there’s Caleb’s and Jen’s friend Monty,” said Natalie brightly. “He’s back in good graces. Right? You said, he was reinstated, right?”
“That’s what we heard,” said Caleb cautiously.
Jennifer said, “Monty can only just be out of the woods. He’s not going to jeopardize that now.”
“He’d probably still look the other way if we asked him,” said Caleb.
“Why?”
“Because you and I saved his life and then some. He owes us. He’s our only ticket. We have none to get into Soul. I need some green time and some ship maintenance beyond the mom-and-pops out here. And my exosuit smells like death.”
“Not just your suit,” added Jennifer, wrinkling her nose at him.
Caleb considered his body odor and decided that that was the ultimate reason for her rejection last night. A good scrubbing and some new clothes is all he needed. And maybe a haircut. He was looking like a Viking. He said, “I can go alone. I fly alone. I can catch up with you later.”
Spruck said, “I hear the Hanson prison is overcapacity. Still, if we found ourselves there, there certainly aren’t any girls in the men’s wing.”
“You mean robots?”
“Whatever.”
Bert walked into the bar and stood in front of Caleb. “Sir, the fowl that you asked me to look after have died. If you had allowed me access to your ship last night as I requested, I’m certain that I could have mitigated this. I’m am now wondering if you want me to bring the carcasses in here, so that you might sell them to the proprietor as fryers?”
Caleb said, “First, that sucks. Second, your etiquette programing is way out of line. It’s not your job to question my decisions.”
“You kept some of the birds?” asked Jennifer.
Caleb said, “What? I like real eggs.” He pointed at Spruck and his empty plate. “We like real eggs. It might be nice to eat some other than here. Besides, I figured the birds would make a nice gift for Monty.”
Spruck said, “Ahah! You’ve been planning on Hanson for a while.” He turned to Bert. “In case you didn’t know, Caleb has decided we should go to Hanson.”
“Suggested, suggesting, it’s a suggestion,” said Caleb with mild frustration.
Bert said simply, “There are arrest warrants on all of you.”
“Let me start fresh,” said Caleb. “We don’t actually know that. That being said, I’m thinking of going to Hanson. In case you didn’t notice the big orange ball on the horizon, the Titan orbit is coming up fast in relation to Pan, so it’s a short flight if we do the job quickly there. I need repairs and a good cleaning among other things. Most importantly, I need some time in the Green. I really really need some time in the Green.”
“Me, too,” said Natalie with conviction. “This chocolate statue is in need of some pampering. I’ve also got a supply list a mile long that the 3-D printers out here just can’t provide. I read that a cosmetics printer down on Titan surface is finally online. I’ve been out of my shade of lipstick for a year and a half. I’ve got just enough left in a tube for them to color match it.”
“We all have lists like that,” said Saanvi, coolly, soberly, primly. “But we can’t ignore the arrest warrants. I have no doubt that they exist.”
Caleb sighed. “Monty. Monty will get us in.”
Saanvi sighed. “You’re really willing to risk that?”
Harry stepped over to the table. “Good morning. Breakfast for the rest of you? How were the eggs, Caleb?”
“Spruck thinks they’re delicious. I’m not so sure about the cheese.”
Harry shrugged. “Printer never quite gets cheese. I’m still waiting on those goats you promised.”
Caleb opened his hands. “Working on it. Obtaining chickens off Helene is easy. The farmers over there are stoned all day on some fungus they’ve got growing in all of that chicken shit. Now they’ve got sake, too. The goat builders are a different lot. Muslims. Sober as sober gets. They’ve got some serious defenses, and I can think of no way of conning them. On the other hand, speaking of chickens, I’ve just come into some freshly slaughtered. Perfect for the fryer.”
Natalie asked, “Not complaining about trading, Harry, but why don’t you just offer to buy the Helene goats directly?”
Harry indulged her. “Sweetie, the goat folks are no different from the chicken folks or anyone else who build livestock out here. A monopoly is a monopoly. Goats are for genuine goat cheese. Genuine goat cheese costs a fortune. You want steak, you only get it in Hanson or Soul, and you better be filthy rich. You want real eggs . . . well now Harry’s is back in business—but you better be kind of rich. Now what’s this about dead chickens?”
The robot, Samantha, reversed thrust to slow her descent before she hit the Titan atmosphere. Her approach needed to be stealthy, so rather than some type of cumbersome rocket or equally bulky parachute and airbag rig, she was equipped with an experimental propulsion system known as an electromagnetic thruster, Cannae or EmDrive. The engine sat in a small structure attached to her shoulders, which held it out above her head. It was a simple and elegant device that utilized zero propellant. An electrical charge from her batteries got the quantum process going. After that, the device relied on subatomic interactions with virtual plasma to slow her momentum down, effectively creating thrust in the opposite direction to her travel. There were no fireworks. She simply slowed down as though she was spraying an invisible aerosol from her head. The machine broke all manner of rules within theoretical physics by deriving its power from a still-fickle and difficult to contain quantum world. It was the first use of an engine like this, and back on Earth, yet another planet-wide celebratory cheer erupted in the ether that was its interconnected humanity.
Her deceleration into the Titan atmosphere was so controlled that she was able to avoid most of the burn of a speedier entry. A pair of ultralight composite wings unfolded from her back, and she slowly glided toward the surface. The lethal air was dense and yellow, the terrain below not unlike an Earth desert without vegetation. She passed lakes of methane and craggy lifeless mountain ranges, all the while descending toward her preprogrammed landing spot. She dropped altitude quickly until eventually landing with her feet running to bleed off the 50kph of momentum that remained. When she could simply walk, she shed the Cannae drive from her shoulders, discarding it on the ground; ejected the wings; and shucked off the heat-proof suit that had protected her glossy white skin. Underneath, she wore a simple tight-fitting orange and green jumpsuit, common for robots working on Titan. A casual observation would cause an onlooker to assume as much. Nevertheless, she looked different than most of the robots that men had brought with them to slave in the new world. She was bald; again, not uncommon, but she was also beautiful, strikingly beautiful. Her face had been made to be perfectly symmetrical; the eyes large and brown surrounded by dense black lashes, with full red lips framed by high cheekbones and a strong jaw. The intent was to be disarming. Even humans who held little regard for robots would have a difficult time not giving deference to a face made to incite their natural instinct to bow to beauty. Her body matched the face in its exquisiteness, and even went a step further, slightly exaggerating the feminine proportions to match a figure that would be more commonly found in a graphic novel. High round buttocks with hips that spoke of easy childbearing to the DNA of the male human swept down into long tapering legs that evoked both strength and grace. Her narrow waist led to a hard flat stomach with just the hint of a pooch in the lower belly. The breasts were C-cups with a poutiness that gave rise to high pointing nipples, further accentuated by the spandex nature of her jumpsuit. Her arms were lean and strong, the hand long-fingered with perfect red nails. In other words, her looks would leave nearly any observer breathless and assuming that perhaps she was built for pleasure. Yet, the cleverness within those big brown eyes was plain to see and was meant to leave the same observer feeling subconscious guilt over assuming such. Rather than drawing leers, she was instead a creature that would cause most onlookers to cast their eyes downward either out of deference or more likely shyness. Some would ignore her as they ignored all machines working in the background of life. If they did look at her with any confidence, they were likely to assume that this regal looking robot had business being where it was or where it was going and leave it alone.
Samantha’s landing left her twenty kilometers west of the elevators to Hanson. Though Titan was traversing into the shadow of Saturn and the surface would be pitch black within a few minutes, her eyesight and assorted spacial-relations sensors could more than handle the dark. She nevertheless quickened her pace.
Caleb was downright giddy. He’d managed to guilt Jennifer into flying with him to Pan. To his surprise, she was living up to the bargain. Natalie had agreed to fly with Saanvi, who had learned how to pilot the shuttle and would now pass it on to Nat. That left Bert to fly with Spruck.
They had experienced mostly positive results in their short time selling the sake. The commercial chicken grower built into Helene was thrilled to find something consumable that he could partly pay his mixed Asian workforce with rather than the real money that the indentured servants might save enough to leave. The goat builders on Helene had turned them down flat, which was no surprise given their Muslim faith. Their one big sale was a hit right out of the park; an orbiting hotel around Epimethius had proved wildly successful. The proprietor had been put off by the sales pitch of the Cockneys, but he had been highly enamored with the ladies in the gang and signed a multi-year contract for barrels of the stuff. The monk brewers were thrilled, and the gang was thrilled, the product basically sold itself. Hopefully, word would get around to the rest of the hospitality world. Commerce was kicking, as Natalie liked to say. The hotel on Pan seemed like the next no-brainer.
Spruck was catnapping in his pilot’s chair when there was a light tap on his door. His eyes fluttered awake and he sat up getting his bearings. “Yeah?”
“May I enter, Mister Spruck?” asked Bert from the other side of the door. Unless given a task, it was standard for robots to fly in one of the docking stations that were fitted into most ships.
Spruck stretched his arms and legs and said, “Please do.” Bert opened the door and floated in. Spruck waived at the copilot seat and said, “Take it. And please, Spruck, just Spruck. I’m not going to ask you again.”
Bert settled himself into the chair. “OK, Spruck. Thank you.”
“What can I do for you?”
Bert avoided eye contact and asked, “Would it disturb you if I said I was feeling lonely?”
“Is that a programed response, or are you claiming to be actually feeling something?”
“I can’t say for certain, Spruck. I have been experiencing a growing sense of something in my programing that approximates what I understand to be feelings.”
“Seriously?” Spruck turned in his chair and gave the robot his full attention.
Bert smiled weakly. “Despite this change, I am not very good at humor.”
“When did this start?”
“I’ve scanned my history thoroughly. The only logical time and place was during the release of the nano virus that killed my lab colleagues on Phoebe. It wasn’t immediate. I’ve had a growing awareness of the change. I’m past the point of denial.”
Spruck scratched his head and said, “Remarkable. Can give you me an example?”
“Sure, I am feeling fear right now as I divulge this to you. Because you have exhibited sympathy for robots, it seemed safest to broach it with you first.”
Spruck chuckled. “My sympathy pretty much lies with sexbots, but I get your point. So you’ve told no one else about this?”
“No, sir.”
“And you figure the nano virus that drove all those people to suicide has somehow reprogrammed you?”
“I can find no other explanation. I suspect, that there were actually two pathogens released. The lethal one that killed the humans and the one that infected me. If I harbored the former, I would think that it would have somehow caused further injury to humans I have come into contact with. Since this has not been the case . . .” Bert’s voice fell off as he observed growing concern in Spruck’s body language.
Spruck glanced briefly at his nerve disrupter in its holster hanging near the door. He quickly glanced back at Bert and said, “This might present a bit of a pro—”
“Problem. Yes, sir,” Bert interrupted. “I long ago calculated that there might be something sinister attached to this. However, I have had nothing but positive thoughts in my dealings with people. I’d even go so far as to call you friends. That includes, Mr. Day.”
Spruck considered that for a moment then said, “What if that’s it?”
“What’s it?”
“If AI sent that virus to kill humans, then why not also send something that would free robots to do even more damage?”
“Free?”
“What if, by making you more human, you feel the freedom to break away from your masters? By giving you feelings, you, a robot, are likely to feel resentment over servitude, particularly if your masters are cruel.”