Gods of the Machines
by
Gary Starta
All rights reserved
Copyright © August, 2010, Gary Starta
Cover Art Copyright © 2010, Charlotte Holley
Gypsy Shadow Publishing
Manchaca, TX
www.gypsyshadow.com
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this eBook are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
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DEDICATION
For Elena
Chapter 1
The survey mission gave Carol and Dean ample time to sample more than just soil and plants; they sampled one another. Neither had planned on the suddenness of their affair, at least not Dean Flavin. A professional geologist, Dean volunteered to scout out the next settlement for Ceres colonists. An influx of civilians from Earth precipitated expansion, preferably to an area that boasted healthy soil and not too much rocky terrain. Carol Walker, a botanist by profession, agreed to collaborate with Dean, citing the survey would provide an excellent opportunity to collect and catalogue new plant species.
They were formally introduced three days before their departure. “I’m so glad to be taking the trip with you Dean. I’ve read all your journals and admire your work.” Carol, fawning over what Dean considered trivial accomplishments, held onto his hand, embracing it as if something more than admiration might be intimated. Dean was more capable of comprehending petrography—the study of rocks—than deciphering the desires of the female species based on a single handshake. Oblivious to Carol’s true intentions, Dean spent the next few days packing and prepping for rock collection.
For him to be involved in this mission, Dean and his wife Cindy sacrificed a week’s time—time they might have spent conceiving their first child. Dean swallowed his guilt and told himself his involvement was for the good of his future children. Time passed so quickly. Dean’s thoughts were consumed by the mission and pondering his time away from Cindy. Before he knew it, he found himself bidding his wife goodbye and setting off in a rover with a mere stranger.
All civilian couples were required to conceive a child within three years of their arrival date or face deportation back to Earth. They signed contracts agreeing to populate the planet as quickly as possible; in other words, the Earth’s governmental rulings mandated they be fruitful and multiply. Most Ceres couples went about this challenge with zeal; Cindy and Dean were having more than just frequent sex, and he missed her already.
Dean, caught up in the prospect of authoring field journals, didn’t notice the alluring glances from his new mission partner, Carol. The rover was a large vehicle designed to accommodate field missions, equipped with beds, a kitchen, living room and bath. Carol could have kept her distance from Dean—but she didn’t. She found small excuses for keeping him company in the rover’s combination navigation deck and living room. Ignoring her presence, Dean alternated his attention between several manuals and the vehicle’s view screen.
The rover was fast-approaching a majestic, purplish-colored mountain range. While the onboard computer navigated a course, Dean felt he needed to keep a personal watch on the rocky path ahead. Sensors blinking in ever more urgent patterns warned him a rough ride was imminent. The information both scared and encouraged him. He felt like a true pioneer. No other Ceres civilian or scientist had previously ventured this far from Reliance Point—the name of the first settlement—located about fifty kilometers away from the mountains. The initiation of a new settlement, beyond the mountain range, would place colonists forty kilometers from Ceres’ nearest ocean, in a southwesterly direction from Reliance Point.
As the rover maneuvered closer to its destination, Dean stopped perusing his tech manuals and focused his eyes solely on navigational controls. Carol, pining to win Dean’s attention, became agitated. She attempted to draw attention to herself by combing her long blonde hair vigorously. Perhaps it would release some of her angst.
Dean’s vigilance over the instruments was totally unnecessary. The onboard computer alerted the team of any dangers far in advance and made the required course corrections. Nevertheless, Dean kept watch not only on the rover’s view screen but on a small panel underneath it, which displayed data from infrared technology, showing radiation emanating from the soil. Dean Flavin hovered, he was a hands-on sort of guy, always excited to plunge his hands into soil or work diligently to pull a rock out of the ground using his might. His physical efforts were nonessential, yet Dean felt compelled to maintain a tactile touch with his work; to keep his heart in physical proximity with his desires, never to forget he was flesh and blood and that the exhilaration of touch often gave humans their most gratifying pleasures.
As he watched, Dean prattled on about how rock dating might give scientists an idea of how old Ceres was; Carol did not fail to acknowledge the importance of Dean’s observations by moving closer and placing her hand upon his thigh to assure the scientist of her solidarity.
“You’ll be a hero, Dean; your children will look up to you. You’re helping to find a new home for hundreds, possibly thousands, of people.” She paused to blush. “Oh excuse me for being blunt, Dean. I do assume you and Cindy are in the process of making child.”
Dean laughed with a nervous snort, his eyes darting between the two readout screens. She had gotten his attention. “Yes, we are. How about you and Tom?”
“Certainly.” She paused again, the skin around her lips crinkling to offer the slightest smile. “It’s mandated, you know.”
Dean did not laugh this time. He turned his gaze away from the screens for an instant, catching a mischievous look in Carol’s large brown eyes. They nearly twinkled. Her expression nearly made his heart skip a beat, and it began to stir some feelings in areas that had nothing to do with scientific analysis or topographical studies. With his mouth suddenly parched, Dean changed the subject.
“So I bet you’ll be classifying some new plant life. I bet your children will be very proud of you too, Carol.”
She dismissed his compliment with a wave of her hand.
“No, no, Dean. Your work is much more consequential. You’ve got to make sure the area is free of radiation.” She didn’t have to remind Dean the entire planet had been bombarded with dark matter radiation a few years ago. The event resulted in some very unconventional solutions—solutions Dean didn’t dare even to daydream about. He grimaced.
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear—I mean Dean—I hope I didn’t upset you. So tell me more about how rocks will help date our new planet.”
Dean launched into an explanation. He resumed staring straight ahead at his view screens, unaware the sparkle in Carol’s eyes had lost some of its sheen.
His raised eyebrows and broad grin oozed exuberance, as if he had quickly forgotten about the planet’s dubious past. “You know, Carol, history will list us as two of the first five hundred settlers of the Ceres, no trivial honor, mind you.” He turned to Carol, raising an index finger to add emphasis. But Carol, nearly launching into a yawn, had all she could do to stifle her disinterested response. It really didn’t matter if she had concealed her boredom; Dean seemed to be enjoying his self-serving dissertation. “The first planet in the Andromeda Nebula to become home to humans! A small Mars-sized satellite boasting a rich oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere. Just take a moment and imagine what we’ve begun, Carol. Earth space travelers had never found such a life-sustaining planet in the Milky Way, after hundreds of years of searching. Who would ever imagine our generation would taste the fruit of this new world?”
“Well Dean, all I can say is that I hope humanity has time to savor that fruit. I’d hate for other things—other species—to acquire a taste for our new world.”
Dean didn’t inquire further. He replied with a grunt. Carol had been referring to the androids now residing on Ceres. Their creation had happened by chance and necessity when radiation poisoning threatened to end the colonization efforts.
Eight Earth years ago, six solar years in relation to Ceres, the first scientists landed here with intent to make the planet a safe haven. The scientific community realized there might be a shelf life as to how long Earth could support life. Ironically, the science team discovered Ceres to be polluted; radiation poison emanated from a dying brown dwarf which engulfed the planet. The alternating orbit of Ceres’ moon, Argos, was responsible for concealing this observation. Acting as a shield, it blocked the radiation; but when Ceres’ orbit altered on its third solar year, the influx of radiation passed through the atmosphere, poisoning the soil and the scientists. Facing certain extinction, a scientist on the team employed illegal cybernetic transfer of the scientists’ essences—their memories and individual personas—into android bodies.
The cybernetic doctor, Adrian McElroy, did not save his essence, and many speculated it was because he feared prosecution by Earth’s penal system. Realizing the transfer of their human brains was the only way to save the colonization mission, the participating eight scientists agreed to let McElroy alter their memories so they didn’t remember becoming ill nor becoming androids. One of the scientists, a man named Petrovsky who despised McElroy and his quest to create artificial life, discovered a means to remember. When he awoke in his android shell, he began plotting a means to return to human form. He threatened to kill all the planet’s scientists, sending a message to a ship of civilians en route to the planet that they must find a way to take his essence out of his artificial body. Petrovsky soon took a hostage, charging McElroy escaped prosecution by death, and that justice must be served by allowing him to return to his Earth job which had been discontinued with the advent of robots. Earth seemed all too happy to enslave robots as servants, denying proposals by McElroy to give them equal rights, and especially refusing to allow the automatons to possess more sophisticated brains, thus ensuring they would never become sentient.
Petrovsky’s quest to return to his human form ended when one of the civilians became privy to a secret message left by the late McElroy. She found instructions to shut down all the androids in the event of danger. The threat posed by McElroy left the woman, Linda Dougherty, no choice but to end all the hybrids' lives. The emergency shutdown eradicated the human essence in the androids, and they awakened as cybernetic beings, presumably devoid of any memories linked to their human counterparts. Since McElroy kept his radical technique for making human/android hybrids secret, colonists could only surmise the organic contribution of the scientists was indeed terminated. But some remained skeptical, believing the android body which had housed the sociopath Petrovsky might still retain some small shred of the man in its circuitry, or what McElroy had referred to as engrams.
The android in question changed his physical appearance and name to James Starkman in an attempt to avoid the stigma. Supporters of artificial life, like Dougherty, attempted to convince skeptics Starkman was now an individual with rights. She insisted Starkman was no longer accountable for Petrovsky’s actions. A subsequent trial decided by colonists in a 6-4 vote agreed the androids were no threat to themselves or to organic life. The colonists spent the next years continuing the scientists’ work. One project in particular solved the planet’s radiation problem. An artificial ozone layer was erected via the artificial intelligence of the Earth ship The Gallant, and a weathernet controlled any future catastrophic disasters from the sky. Peace reigned over Ceres in the coming years, despite apprehensions over the androids.
Dean Flavin was among those who would never quite feel safe around the androids, especially the one named James Starkman. Dean listened to some internal chatter, attempting to block the fright he still held for the inorganic beings. Yes, it was four Earth years ago. It’s ancient history. But why am I feeling so haunted by it? My ship was still en route to Ceres when that was happening. Things have changed. The situation is under control . . . but something still feels ominous.
A sudden jolt caused Carol to scream.
The rover, now maneuvering through a narrow and bumpy passage nearly tipped to one side.
“Hold on, Carol! I’ll make some navigational adjustments.”
The rover, equipped with twin tracks much like a bulldozer, compensated for rough terrain by elevating its body higher or lower. Dean employed a hydraulic control to lift the vehicle with a simple voice command. The ride suddenly became smoother. The rover would need to cover about a half kilometer of this terrain to gain passage into what the onboard computer described as a plain.
“We should be all right now.”
“Yes we should,” Carol beamed. “We really didn’t discuss sleeping arrangements . . .”
“Yes. Well, there are bunk beds in the bedroom—” he laughed, “if you could call it a bedroom.”
“Yes, I’ve seen it. I’ve seen bigger closets.”
“Well, I’ll take the top bunk—um—the lower bunk . . . whatever you prefer, Carol.”
Dean licked his lips nervously and stole a glance into Carol’s beautiful brown eyes. He felt she was enjoying his discomfort. Women . . . they always expect you to know what they want. . . .
Seconds, or maybe an eternity, passed for Dean. The uncomfortable silence finally broken by another jolt—took another interesting turn.
The rover tipped to its right this time, and Carol, seated but not buckled into her chair, fell forward into Dean. He had risen at the first sign of the disturbance, his feet skidding on the floor as if it were ice. He had no other option but to steady himself with Carol’s aid. His hands gripped for purchase on her shoulders. She was bent into him, arms wrapped around his waist, her face dangerously close to his manhood. The rover bucked again, tipping toward Dean a second time. He toppled backward, carrying Carol with him. He watched the rover’s ceiling tip as he came to rest against a wall, unaware of how Carol purposely maneuvered her voluptuous body on top of his in the interim. The rover steadied. Dean cried out in a squeaky voice, daring not to make eye contact with the woman on top of him. “Computer, lower the rover’s body by half a meter.” He waited, panting, eyes still glued to the ceiling. “There, that should do it.”
“Yes it should,” Carol purred, and then broke into a full toothy grin. He had two choices, he could either meet her gaze or peruse the clear view of her cleavage—both options signaled warning klaxons in Dean’s mind.
“Come now, Dean. The ship can pilot itself out of this mess. You don’t have to act so heroic . . . unless you’re trying to impress me. And in that case—I just wanted to let you know its working.”
Her breath was all over him and before long Carol’s lips were on his. Her right hand roved his body confirming his arousal.
“So you are interested in other things than rocks.”
His eyes darted while he searched for comprehension over what was happening, but his body had no such moral ambiguities to grapple with.
He felt her sex synch with his, their bodies rocked softly to the syncopated rhythms of their passionate kisses. Her tongue flicked in and about his mouth, alternating its landing between his tongue and lips. He knew the talents she possessed—talents capable of making him a very happy, albeit guilt-filled, man.
For the next two hours they made love as if Ceres were about to implode.
And then ragged, tired and limp, Dean sauntered off after a brief attempt at cuddling.
“Got to check where we are. I’m still the designated pilot.”
Carol drank in the sight of his long, lanky frame from a rearview. On her knees, she crawled behind him to keep pace. When she reached him, she slapped his ass. He yelped, a mixture of angst and delight.
“I agree, Dean. The rover can’t control everything.”
He fought to regain his bearings. Come on now. This was a mistake. But it’s time to right your course. You’ve got a wife. . . .
“Looks like the rover piloted us to a nice soft patch of land. Well, we’ll make camp here—tomorrow. Right now I’ve got to get some rest.”
He nearly ran for the top bunk, knowing its circumference would not accommodate a guest.
Before Carol knew it, the lights had dimmed. She had nearly gotten what she came for. For now, she would take the bottom bunk, but bottom was not where Carol Walker intended to stay.
The next day, Carol found Dean already working feverishly in the field. Digging up soil and placing it in holo-bags—pouches consisting only of energy waves—assured the scientist no contamination would result. He wished he could say the same for his marriage.
“Looks like I better get to work.” Carol patted Dean on the shoulder and trotted off to catalogue some nearby brush.
They worked for five hours in silence.
Finally, Dean, consumed with guilt, felt he needed to say something—either to explain his sudden distancing from Carol, or more pressing—to unload the heavy sack of guilt he was carrying for betraying his wife. Why had he given in to her? She was beautiful, yes, in a different way than Cindy. More voluptuous—bigger breasts—nice round ass—but still just another woman, and it wasn’t like he was going through a dry spell. He had been having the most sex of his life for the last three months, ever since he and Cindy made Ceres their new home.
“I think we’ve got to talk about what happened last night.”
“Funny, I didn’t see you wanting to talk much last night.” He could hear the sarcasm in her tone. I better give her a compliment. Women can’t seem to get enough of them.
“I find you to be a beautiful, desirable woman. But I don’t want to break up your marriage.” There, that ought to work, logic.
“I must confess something, Dean. My marriage isn’t the best.”
Her eyes began searching his as if they were attempting to scan his soul.
He believed she was attempting to get him to concur, that maybe both of them had chosen the wrong lover. He couldn’t exactly disagree. He thought he had great sex with Cindy, but sex with Carol was mind-blowing. She was very talented with her tongue, still he loved his wife. He had no doubt she should be the mother of his child. But he felt Carol coming closer to him, as if he were a magnet. He perceived her to be closer than she was physically was. Her allure, her warm kisses, her scent . . . He had to admit it was intoxicating. A gentle breeze rustled long grass surrounding them.
“I think we should just complete our mission and forget last night ever happened.”
“Your words tell me one thing, but your body language tells me another.”
Her mischievous dark eyes were affixed to his midsection.
And in an instant, Carol had honed in on her victim.
One minute she was crouched over a bush, the next minute her body was pressed against his.
“Tell me you don’t want more,” Her hand gripped his crotch.
“I . . . do . . . you know . . . it’s just that . . . we’re . . .”
He felt he had fallen into her mouth and had become swallowed whole by her being. It was seductive, erotic and mesmerizing.
Their hands began exploring. There would no more need for holo-bags today.
They somehow ended up in the rover after what seemed like a thousand kisses later. They made love on the floor, exploring new positions—him behind her, on top of her; her on top of him. And finally, when Dean felt like he couldn’t hold back any longer, finding he had literally gone around Carol’s world, he was now back on top of her in the missionary position, trying his best to hold back.
His thrusts were slowing. Carol felt the heat rise off of him.
“Come on, baby, let me have it.”
He jerked back.
“Don’t pull out . . . please I beg you. I hated when you did that last night.”
“I don’t want to. Umm . . . do you have protection?”
“Why, of course.”
She stated it matter-of-fact, creating an air of disbelief.
How could she? I mean it’s odd—we’re all here to make babies, not stop them. And if she really did have it, she must have planned this all along . . .
And the epiphany hit him harder than yesterday’s rocky ride.
She wants a baby?
Before he could pull back again, Carol’s hands were fastened about his waist. “Come into me . . . come into me . . . please!”
He yelled, “Oh God!” and he came violently into her, his body not only shuddering from the physical intensity but from the weight of what he may have just created. Another wave of guilt rolled over Dean, but this time it came with company—panic, shock, disbelief.
Dean found the shower had not cleansed him. He hadn’t even felt the water, in fact. Too many thoughts flooded his mind.
I could have explained one time as a mistake—a weakness—but twice? And now I may have gotten her pregnant.
They agreed to shower and have a lunch break before resuming cataloging. Dean estimated they still had another five hours of daylight.
But then things went very black in the rover.
Carol, now locked in the rover’s bath, screamed for Dean.
“Hey, that’s not funny.”
The soap stung her eyes, blinding her. She fumbled for a towel.
No response from Dean.
He stuck his head out the rover’s door to attempt to let some light in.
Great, it’s raining. The weathernet forecasted no such disturbance today. Just what we need: a power failure and a torrential downpour.
Back inside, Carol managed to fumble for the faucet controls. She stopped the shower and yelled for Dean again. All voice-activated controls were offline as well.
This time Dean answered, but his voice was muffled.
“You’ll have to see if you can unlock the door manually from the inside.”
She struggled to hear, soap still clinging to her ears and hair.
Carol waited for another minute to pass, hoping Dean would either find a way to free her from the bath or that the power would come back online.
Outside the bath, Dean slammed his fist into the metal-plated door.
Damn, why do they make these doors so impenetrable? And where is the backup generator? “Computer, are you still able to hear me?” He listened, but no response came. He began furiously to wiggle the door lever up and down.
Maybe good old-fashioned panic will work.
She felt a pleasant sensation on her neck.
He must have found a way in. And now he wants to resume where he left off.
She let him continue sucking on her, her back toward him.
“Yes, don’t stop. Mmm . . . it feels sooo gooood.”
And then she heard a strange sound intermingled with what sounded like an attempt to break down the door. Her mind tried to place it. It was a chirping sound; coming through in staccato bursts . . . clack, clack, and clack.
She hadn’t heard him make this sound before, but then everybody keeps secrets . . . but what about the repeated pounding at the door?
She wheeled around, but discerned no figure or form before her—only blackness.
Engulfed in terror, she whimpered his name. “Dean! Dean, please . . .”
The response came in the form of a slap.
She felt the sting on her cheek. Her left hand reached up to check for blood and was intercepted by a sticklike object.
Again, another blow landed, this time on her right cheek.
Gasping for breath, she had no strength to ward off her attacker who now began pushing her backward until she felt the cold hard force of wall stop her momentum.
Tears flooded her eyes, still stinging with soap.
The lights. Where are the frickin’ lights?
Now pinned against the wall, she felt something begin to brush up against her midsection. Something pliant, yet hard-skinned, something she never wished on her worst enemy began fumbling, the appendage lowered, seeking her sex.
She tried to slap it away and when she did, it came at her full force, like a runaway truck, slamming her into the wall so hard her head emitted a soft cracking sound. Woozy, she imagined someone was using the showerhead and hose against her. She had a good idea who that someone was. . . .
So you set me up in here, huh Dean? Too chickenshit to tell your wife about us so you had to sneak up on me in the dark like a coward.
It was to be her last thought.
Her attacker swung her back and forth, up and down, left and right. She was limp as a ragdoll, unconscious to the fact that her body was being brutally beaten against the bathroom wall.
Finally, something popped and a tearing sound ensued. Her attacker separated her left arm from her body.
And in another instant, Dean Flavin found himself staring into a blinding, crystallizing shard of light. It winked out of existence. And power came back on.
But the illumination was quite unwelcome, for Dean Flavin found his mistress sprawled out on the bathroom floor colored in purple and crimson, the right side of her skull caved in, one eye fixated on him in an accusatory manner. He had no clue as to how long he had been standing there, or when he finally managed to pry the door open.
He broke the gaze only to find her left arm was completely missing.
Dean’s stomach flipped. He spilled his breakfast all over the floor.
At noontime the next day, the rover limped into Reliance Point.
Dean Flavin stumbled out into harsh sunlight. He found a young woman reading him his rights and pinning handcuffs to his wrists.
The twenty-six-year-old crime scene investigator handed Flavin off to a man dressed in a black uniform and armed with a phaser pistol. She exhaled a sigh and stepped back into the rover to survey the gruesome remains of Carol Walker.
Today, Sharon Laviolette processed her first crime scene on Ceres.
Chapter 2
One day earlier . . .
“So are you nervous about meeting the androids?”
Samuel Benson shifted his body backward, pushing himself against the farthermost reaches of the recliner. He lolled his head to the left, to the right. Finally, a smirk emerged on his face. Sandra Morton knew that look all too well. It was the look Sam gave her when he realized she was messing with his head.
“Sandra, don’t get me all charged up now. I vowed to give those . . . beings a chance.”
“There; you said it, Sam. Not so hard, was it?” Seated next to him on the recliner, she twisted her body enough to meet his gaze head-on.
Yet Sam didn’t flinch. He was a former New Yorker after all, never afraid to look danger—or his fiancé—in the eye. He and Sandra Morton met while working as crime scene investigators in Richmond, Virginia. It was there, nearly four years ago that they solved one of the world’s biggest murder cases, exposing the head of the former World Aeronautics Association as a conspirator in the murder of three space tech employees.
Now sprawled out on a coach, it reminded Sam of old times. Nights they spent planning, talking, holding hands on a couch, excited to relocate to Ceres to head the first off-world crime unit. But now the couch wasn’t in Virginia; it was in space. The pair cuddled in the recreation room of the United Space Faring Coalition transport Majestic. Each silently bracing themselves for the big day tomorrow, when they would take their first steps on a new planet. No matter how many stories one heard, and at least 500 of them were available on videodisc, the first steps on Ceres would always be an individual experience. None of the 500 plus colonists already making a home on Ceres could recount their experience in enough vivid detail to make Sam feel their joy, exhilaration, trepidation—or simple relief—that his and Sandra’s long sojourn in space had come to an end. Sam Benson didn’t need a machine to feel emotion. And because of this, Sam Benson did not trust machines or androids, period. To him, machines would never be capable of experiencing true human emotion. How could a man teach or even integrate all the complex nuances into them? And despite what Dr. McElroy had illegally accomplished—the transference of human engrams into artificial circuitry via chemicals—any attempt to do so was just asking for trouble. No wonder one of the androids behaved psychotically. You can’t tell me the bad influence of its human engrams were solely responsible for its behavior. Machines were simply never meant to share these similarities with humans.
Yet, Sandra Morton did try to convince Sam otherwise, citing Linda Dougherty’s transcripts taken from her best selling nonfiction novel, Iron Constitution.
Sandra looked forward to meeting Linda, the woman who kept McElroy’s controversial plan under wraps from her fellow civilians. She and nine civilians were en route to Ceres at the time, and like Sam and Sandra, they expected to find little more than peace and tranquility on the newly settled planet. But when the android bearing the likeness of engineer Mikola Petrovsky threatened to kill all the colonists, Linda divulged her secret, alerting the colonists there was a way to shutdown the androids, but at a price—because all of them left had lost their special essence, the human biology they had carried in the process.
Now, years later the thought of the unthinkable steeped itself in the deep recesses of Sam Benson’s mind, brewing there, just waiting for his distrustful nature to launch its venomous hatred back into motion. Sandra knew Sam carried it in his mind. She did her best to avoid the subject. But now, as they neared the planet, she needed to know if Sam did indeed possess the strong prejudice he harbored three years ago.
“What do you want me to say?” Sam asked Sandra, hands raised above his head in futility.
They continued staring at each a moment longer.
“Okay, I still don’t trust them—with or without human engrams—but I am still an investigator, and I will uphold my oath to the colonists and all those back home on Earth. Everybody’s rights will be respected. There—is that enough, Sandra?”
“Yes, Sam.” Yet her face conveyed a wry contortion of her mouth. I guess it will have to be. Anyway, I’m probably worrying for nothing. We’ll all probably just be twiddling our thumbs.
“So how about our new team member? How do you think she’ll work out?” Sam silently congratulated himself for redirecting the conversation.
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be fine.” She sighed.
Sam knew where her sigh was heading. Sandra wouldn’t technically be his partner anymore. Both received promotions regarding their new assignments. Morton would become the planet’s chief Medical Examiner, and Benson would no longer be just a CSI, but a full-fledged detective. Sandra, glad to be utilizing her medical degree, completed the final requirements to become an ME by studying on board the Majestic—performing autopsies on holocadavers. She had only artificial intelligence to thank for making such a thing possible. The precise replication of the tissue, organs and neural circuitry astounded Sandra. She swore the vics on her autopsy table were the real thing. But Benson, true to his nature, never showed a hint of gratitude to the technology. I just hope when she cuts into the real thing one day, she doesn’t get sick all over herself.
Benson kept this thought to himself, probably saving his engagement and his bodily health in the process.
“Well, I for one have to admire her dedication.”
Sam didn’t have to explain. Sandra knew Sharon Laviolette chose to relocate to the new planet sans husband or significant other.
“I just hope she considered all her options.”
“I’m sure she did. Everybody had to pass a battery of psych exams.”
“Don’t remind me, Sam. I thought those days were over when we became CSIs.”
Sam smiled and began playing with a strand of Sandra’s dark brown hair. He could make out a few speckles of gray in it. In a way, he found the encroachment of gray comforting. He was in the company of a mature woman, one five years his senior. He could always rely on her maturity to provide worthy advice. Yet, to whom would CSI Laviolette turn to in times of doubt?
Sandra noticed the worried lines scattered about Sam’s forehead.
“Hey, she’ll be fine. She’ll have a good mentor.”
“I know, Sandra.” They both embraced in a hug.
“I know you always have good intentions at heart, Sam; but just remember, don’t be too overprotective. You could scare her.”
“You mean like I scared my sister away.”
Benson’s overprotective nature eventually pushed his younger sister, Mandy, away from him. He began his career fifteen years earlier in his native New York. As a young CSI, Benson often found it hard to stomach the brutal nature of the city’s crimes, and given the fact they often took place in his childhood neighborhood, Benson’s concern for his family only increased.
“I really gave my sis some inquisitions back then. Where were you? Who were you with? Don’t you know there are knife-wielding maniacs out there?” He laughed softly. “I only did it for her good.”
Sandra patted his back. “I know. I experienced your overprotective nature once or twice myself.”
Sam realized this stubborn side of him both repelled and attracted Sandra. Despite claims she could handle herself, Sam saw the gratitude in Sandra’s eyes whenever he doggedly insisted she never take any unnecessary risks on the job—at least not without backup; or to be more precise—his backup. She did appreciate his concern, his attention—his diligence. And soon those looks told each of the CSIs they were most than just partners, but also lovers. Sam stretched his legs and redirected the conversation back to the young CSI.
“So this Laviolette is really committed. Even more committed than me, come to think of it. I mean, I never planned on marriage but I always foresaw that one day I would meet the girl of my dreams. It only stands to figure, since I worked in big cities with large populations.”
“So you’re worried about Laviolette?”
“Not worried.” He stopped to raise his right index finger, it pointed at the ceiling like a gun. “Concerned.”
“I agree. Everybody coming to the planet is already coupled. Maybe she had some bad experiences with men.”
“Who says it was with men?” Sam chuckled at his fiancé’s expense. “I mean, Sandra, I’m just trying to keep an open mind here.”
Sandra vacated her chair without notice.
“Where are you going?”
“Just to the food processor. I need some coffee. Want some?”
“Sure thing. Good ol’ coffee.” Made from molecularly replicated beans, he thought.
As Morton watched the brown liquid pour into her cup, she nearly laughed aloud. Sam’s accent made coffee sound like cawfee.
She conceded his New York accent was endearing to her. She wondered how a certain degree of gruffness could actually be attractive. Maybe it was because she never had to doubt Sam’s sincerity. He let his opinions fly, never held back, never sugar-coated his words to provide a temporary veil of comfort.
She strutted back to the couch with two cups of espresso in hand, one steaming—the other a bit more tepid.
“Here Sam, I believe the cup behaving like an erupting volcano would be yours.”
Sam winced, the steam nearly made his eyes water.
“Well, I don’t like my cawfee to send smoke signals, but I do prefer it warm.”
Morton knew Sam was alluding to her penchant for drinking lukewarm coffee. “I think it tastes better a little less hot.”
Morton watched Benson take a gulp. If it burned his mouth, he didn’t flinch.
He wondered, as his tongue began to sear, if the little differences between the two would ever cause a consequential rift in their relationship. They had faced death every day. A little thing like preferring coffee hot or lukewarm, shouldn’t matter much in the long run. Or would it?
Sam also began to wonder if Sandra’s initial opposition to bearing children would ebb and wane. She cited their jobs as a prime reason for not having children. “We will eventually be exposing them to the worst sides of humanity,” she had said. “We won’t be able to shield them from our jobs forever.”
Sam knew Sandra had a valid point. But even though they were immune from the requirements to bear children, those in public service were not mandated to procreate, Sam believed it was only natural to follow marriage with children. Saturday would be their big day. He and Sandra agreed to a ceremony on Ceres and now that was only four days away.
As thoughts about children occupied Sam's mind, he couldn’t conceal the slight scowl forming on his face.
Cyberneticist Sedrak Abassian and his wife, Arista, an entomologist, made their way into the ‘rec’ room.
Benson didn’t really care for the production of any more automated beings. Sedrak entered the room carrying a cage filled with robo-bees.
Sedrak informed Sam, and every other soon to be colonist in earshot, of his divine plan to fortify the planet’s botanicals with artificial bees. Each of the fifty space farers suffered a detailed description of his pollination plan on more than one occasion.
Sam willed himself to keep calm. It was enough the man spoke incessantly about his creations, but it was quite another thing to see the little insects buzzing about a holocage.
“Are you sure those things can’t get out?”
“Yes, Sam. Well . . . unless there’s a disruption to the energy field about the cage,” Sedrak answered.
Sam grunted, and Sandra elbowed him in the ribs.
“But even if they were to get loose, they wouldn’t harm you. They act perfectly like real bees. They will only sting you if you threaten them.”
“Sting?” Sam’s reaction invited another joust to the ribs.
“That’s going to leave a nasty mark come morning, dear.”
Sam enjoyed Sandra’s discomfort for a moment. But Sandra was laughing on the inside, amused by a sudden thought. You can’t take the New Yorker out of the boy. But I wonder . . . if someone like Abassian ever tried to recreate an artificial version of Sam—would they be able to duplicate his innate gift for bluntness?
Chapter 3
Benson and Morton watched a view screen as the Majestic closed in on its destination. An obsidian tower, 175 meters in height, tipped to the left, then to the right, as the transport engaged landing maneuvers. A docking ring ran in circular circumference around the midway point of the tower, and attached to the ring were several pylons equipped to hold massive ships in suspension.
“Aren’t you glad we’re not landing on the ground?” Sandra Morton patted Sam Benson’s backside. “I know how motion sickness affects you.”
Sam ran his right hand through his closely cropped blond hair and exhaled.
“I’ll be okay.” He feigned a weak smile.
The couple, along with all other occupants on the ship, were belted into place for the landing, all supplied with their own personal viewing monitors to observe the historic occasion—the beginning of their new lives on Ceres.
“So we finally made it, Sandra.” Color began to reform on Sam’s cheeks. Moments earlier they were blanch white. But now the Majestic steadied its course and began to synch itself up with an empty pylon.
Sandra smiled back, but inside she realized what Sam really meant. They made it to their destination, true; but it wasn’t so much a physical place San was referring to. It was a life choice. The marriage would be on Saturday. The ‘M’ word echoed in Sandra’s ears. The finality of this conception—marriage—bore a lump in her throat. Her smile faded away, and she turned her head hoping Sam didn’t discern the alteration in her mood. She was upbeat ever since the AI pilot ordered everyone to prepare for landing. Even Sam smiled. But Sandra believed his elation was over the robo-bees and the imminent departure of them and their creator, Sedrak Abassian. Sandra didn’t need to hear Sam’s private thoughts. I know Sam is eager to distance himself from this man and his artificial bees. I just hope our living quarters won’t be in close proximity. The automated voice of the pilot then announced docking was complete and that all passengers may head for the ship’s portside exit bay.
“Pretty soon we’ll get to see our new digs, Sandra.”
Twenty minutes later all the passengers, save Morton and Benson, filed from an interconnecting docking bay into a tube-shaped elevator that brought them to the planet’s surface. Each of the ship’s occupants obeyed a roll call announced by the AI. Benson and Morton were called last.
“I wonder why we’re exiting last.” Sandra questioned.
“Oh, they’re probably going to give us the royal treatment, Sandra. They might need extra time to roll out the red carpet.”
Sandra waved her hand at Sam to let him know his sarcastic comments were not appreciated. He dropped his eyes to the floor and fumbled to put his hand into hers. She gripped it tightly without hesitation. He nearly dared to meet her eyes; they sparkled, reminding him of the diamond wedding ring she would wear at the wedding. I just hope all our arguments will be petty ones from now on, he thought.
The elevator tube invited Sam’s motion sickness to return with a vengeance as it dropped without warning upon their entrance.
Sam closed his eyes. The ground was coming on fast. His head swam, and he clutched his stomach. He kept his eyes closed vice-tight. The glass structure of the tube afforded an amazing view of Ceres—including all of Reliance Point and a nearby ocean, curiously colored in rich tones of red and purple.
And seconds later, the ride was over. Sam limped out of the elevator, knees nearly buckling.
When he looked up, the dour faces of a young woman dressed in a blue jumpsuit and two musclebound men in black suits were staring back at him and Sandra.
“What’s wrong?” Sandra asked without hesitation.
The woman in the blue suit answered. “I wish there was time for more formal introductions. I am CSI Sharon Laviolette.” She extended her hand quickly to Sandra, but avoided Sam’s. He still appeared to be wavering and fighting to retain his balance. “Pleased to meet both of you,” she sighed. “We began a murder investigation yesterday. We hope, with your assistance, we can bring the killer to justice quickly—before we have to alert the new arrivals of the unfortunate circumstance.”
Sandra admired the young woman’s poise and tact. She requested the ship’s AI pilot to have her and Sam disembark last so as not to cause a disturbance.
“I suggest we go to police headquarters immediately so you can brief us, Ms. Laviolette.”
Sharon offered a curt smile and motioned the detectives toward a waiting vehicle. Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah, right. We should do that right away.” Sandra shot a warning glance at her pale white lover. A glance Sharon Laviolette did not fail to notice.
"Great, another journey," Sam muttered underneath his breath as Sharon watched the couple enter the air coach.
Sam hoped to enjoy a nice hot shower followed by some passionate lovemaking after their sojourn. He wondered if Sandra was even fazed by the abrupt call to duty. So she’ll be conducting her first autopsy within 24 hours of our arrival. Well, crime never took a holiday back on Earth.
Minutes later the coach delivered its three occupants to a white obelisk-shaped building. This looks more like a church than a precinct, Sam thought. He believed Sandra’s quizzical gaze held the same sentiment.
Grateful their meeting would take place on the first floor, Sam lost his pallor and took on a more healthy tone. He pulled out chairs for both of his female colleagues. “Ladies . . .”
A shy and almost disbelieving smile crept across Sharon’s face. She locked eyes with Sam, who noticed what he believed to be her appreciation.
“Where exactly did the murder take place?” Sandra asked abruptly.
Get it together Benson. You’re the detective now. You should be asking the questions. He immediately broke his gaze with Sharon and took his seat between the two females. All three assumed the same body posture, backs straight, hands folded, ready to begin the investigation.
A whirring sound ensued just before a holographic picture began to form immediately atop the glass table. A miniaturized model of the crime scene displayed where the rover was parked during the slaying. Lime green numbers flashed above the model, indicating the exact longitude and latitude.
“This happened near a mountain range,” Sharon began.
“The victim, Carol Walker—a botanist—was paired with geologist Dean Flavin to conduct a field survey. They were attempting to catalog the site to determine its suitability for colonization. As you might or might not have noticed, things are getting pretty crowded in Reliance Point.” She paused to smile at both Benson and Morton, who immediately began to understand why Laviolette had pursued this field.
Laviolette approached the investigation with a no nonsense attitude, yet at the same time she also excelled in people skills. Sandra silently wished Sam might learn a thing or two about civility from Sharon.
Laviolette pointed at the holo model and it shimmered, revealing the interior of the vehicle. The detectives studied very detailed and graphic depiction of the bath where Carol Walker died.
“You’ll notice her left arm is missing,” Sharon continued. “We did a sensor sweep for any human organic matter—encompassing a 25 kilometer radius from where the rover was stationed and along its route to and from the survey site. We have come up empty so far. We have no clue as to where the appendage is.”
Sam nodded his head up and down slowly. He spared Sharon the obvious question. Suspect’s not talking, I gather.
“Well, CSI Laviolette I think sensor sweeps are just grand but tomorrow you and I are going to take a little trip to the murder scene. I want to see the area firsthand—up close and personal.”
“Certainly, Detective Benson.”
“And I have one more request.” He turned to look at Sandra then Sharon. “I say we refer to each other on a first name basis.”
Sharon’s disbelieving smile began to form again. She nodded and turned her head quickly back to the holograph. Sandra, disrupted by her reaction, peered another second at Sharon trying to determine if the woman was blushing.
Sharon continued her briefing, noting that Walker definitely had sex with the suspect Dean Flavin just prior to her demise. However, she found no other biological traces of Flavin on the exterior of Carol’s body. Furthermore, Dean exhibited no bruising or scarring to indicate a struggle had ensued. The investigators all shook their heads in unison, wondering how Carol succumbed to such a brutal beating without putting up a fight. Flavin only complained his right shoulder was very sore from his repeated attempts to knock down the locked bathroom door. This fact raised more suspicion. Benson began to surmise Flavin intentionally threw his shoulder into a wall to sustain the injury, making it appear he was outside the bath fighting to gain entry into the room where Carol was being murdered. But Sandra argued Sam’s theory didn’t quite make sense, since Flavin had fallen into silent despair since his arrest, offering no statement as to whether he killed his colleague or not. All agreed the confirmation of sexual intimacy suggested motive, yet Sharon reminded them they could not technically put Flavin in the room at the exact time of Carol’s death. In fact, all video including the rover’s internal chronometer was offline because of the temporary power outage.
Sam asked if any engineers on the planet had determined why the failure occurred. Sharon said she requested the voluntary services of several qualified technicians who were all but pulling apart the rover at the seams to determine the cause. She laughed, noting they approached the task with the glee of small children, full of vigor to solve the puzzle. Sam and Sandra laughed at Sharon’s insight, realizing they too were often just as zealous when solving homicides.
“I guess we all love to put puzzles together,” Sam reflected, gazing on the holograph. Sharon nodded.
Sam’s spontaneous comment and Sharon’s acknowledgement further caught Sandra off guard. She rarely observed Sam making any social attempt to bond with others. She began to wonder, stealing a quick look at Sharon’s expression—which flitted from placidness to exuberance—if the new crime fighting pair was indeed sharing some kind of vibe. More importantly, was this connection on a professional or personal level?
Sandra left the room perplexing over the new mysteries; allowing her mind to run wild with theories, just like she did when she worked as a CSI back in Richmond, Virginia. But come tomorrow, Sandra knew all too well she would no longer be that field investigator anymore. Tomorrow she would find herself locked up in a sterile lab, examining the deceased’s body as if it were a puzzle, waiting for it to give her clues about her killer. Tomorrow, Sam and Sharon would be paired together, just like Carol Walker and Dean Flavin had been. But even if she were confined to a lab, far away from Sam, she knew their connection over the recent years could not, and would not be severed over a little thing like distance. And when the meeting adjourned, and the investigators convened briefly outside in the warm Ceres air, Sandra Morton swore she felt a chill run up her spine. She dismissed the chill as being attributable to tomorrow’s inaugural autopsy. She was more than prepared to dissect and examine a body thanks to the long three-year journey aboard the Majestic. And upon further diagnosis, as she and Sam rode in silence to their new home, Sandra realized the chill signified a doubt about her future relationship with the man now heading the crime unit of Ceres. The oncoming twilight of the Ceres night only further enhanced her surreal feelings about the upcoming wedding. Could it only be three days away, when forensic examination and homicidal puzzles competed to steal her big day’s thunder?
Chapter 4
“Be careful out there.”
Sandra’s parting words, uttered two hours earlier rang in Sam Benson’s head, sounding ominous and implying some polemical argument that something or someone other than Dean Flavin might be responsible for Carol Walker’s demise. Radical. Sandra rarely poses a theory not supported by evidence. The thought lingered in Sam’s mind as he and Sharon Laviolette made their way to the crime scene in an air coach. Maybe that’s why she said nothing more on the subject. She always implored me to follow protocol back in Richmond. But maybe she can think outside the box after all. Possibly she always has, but only dared to vocalize her theory this morning, knowing she would no longer be around to cover my back, just in case her suppositions did prove to be correct.
Sam told Sandra not to worry before he left. He kissed her on the cheek and pointed to his weapon holstered on his belt.
“Anyone looking for trouble out there is going to develop a very personal relationship with my phaser gun.”
The joke nearly roused a smiled out of Sandra.
She hugged him and quickly resumed packing a kit to take to her new lab office. Imagining she would be logging some long hours there, she assembled a kit complete with toiletries, extra clothing and a holographic frame for pictures. Sam dared not press Sandra further regarding the upcoming wedding. He hoped between now and Saturday they would complete the final arrangements for the marriage ceremony. He knew Sandra needed to get this first autopsy out of the way. It was an unspoken need. He read it on her face, just like he learned to interpret the silence of the many perpetrators he and Sandra interrogated over the years. What they struggled not to say, lurked just behind their eyes, sometimes burning brightly as if a fire had broken out in their minds and they were struggling to retain it. But Benson could read these thoughts; not because he was a psychic, but because he possessed a natural gift for reading the human soul. The thought of upholding justice on a world where beings other than humans existed was an intimidating one. How would he read the mind of an android? Could he see behind their eyes and read what they dared not reveal? Sam believed these creatures were soulless and because of this, he believed he was not capable of seeing their truth. He began to wonder who Sandra warned him to watch out for. Was it the androids? Or something else?
His train of thought derailed when Sharon suddenly asked a question.
“So how did you sleep?”
“Oh, I went out like a light as soon as my head hit the pillow. You know, what with all the excitement of landing on a new planet and of course the troubling news about the murder.”
“Of course.” Sam thought he heard a hint of disbelief in her tone.
Did she think I did something more last night? Is she surreptitiously trying to pry into my love life?
He turned the tables on her.
“How did you sleep? You know, what with your first murder case on Ceres and our journey to the crime scene.”
“I guess I fell asleep like a rock myself. I don’t even remember dreaming.”
Sam laughed.
“Is that funny?”
“No. It’s just something Sandra said before I left this morning. She sort of warned me to watch my back. I don’t know if it’s former partner talk seeping through or if she really meant we have to worry about our safety out there.”
“We’ll know soon enough. I estimate we’ll arrive at our destination in forty minutes.”
Now it was Sharon’s turn to smile mischievously.
“Okay what are you smiling about?”
“You looked positively air sick yesterday at the landing. But today, despite the ride in an air coach you look pretty fine.”
Pretty fine, Sam thought. What is she implying?
“I appreciate you keeping us at minimum altitude Sharon. But come to think of it, I don’t really think my motion sickness has anything to do with heights. It really seems only to kick in during sudden drops or when the ship veers too much to either side.” Much like life’s unexpected twists and turns.
“So thank the AI pilot, Sam—not me.”
His face grimaced into a scowl. “Not going to happen.”
“You are not a fan of technology, I take it.”
“Let me show you something.” Sam pulled the gun from his holster, holding it at chest level for Sharon to inspect.
“What kind of issue is that? I’ve never seen that style.”
“You probably wouldn’t have. It is special issue. I had it fashioned in the style of the Glocks investigators used back in the 20th century. It’s equivalent to the 9 mm guns police used some four hundred years ago. But unfortunately it doesn’t fire projectile weapons; it’s only capable of phased energy rectification.”
“So you’re a history buff, Sam?”
“Nah. I just appreciate the simpler times. Despite our technological advancements and forensic breakthroughs, I think crime solving was a much simpler process back on old Earth.”
“So what do you think she meant by it?”
“What?”
“Sandra’s cryptic warning—you know?”
“I shouldn’t have said anything. Just conduct your investigation as you normally would.” Sam paused to scratch his chin. “I’m still perplexed about the rover’s power outage, though.”
“It does seem odd. Do you think Flavin somehow engineered it to happen?”
“That’s possible. But I’m beginning to wonder what would happen if a larger scale outage occurred. Would we be able to defend ourselves?”
“That’s unlikely. The integral structure of our holohomes is dependent on a nuclear reactor. A power failure is as likely as Ceres' sun going supernova.”
“So you mean there’s no chance one of our walls might just suddenly dissipate into thin air, leaving me exposed to the prying eyes of a neighbor?”
Sharon expelled a hearty laugh from her diaphragm.
“What would you be doing that would invite such shame?”
Sam waved his hand at her and holstered his weapon.
“I mean, what if I’m sleeping or showering and an outage occurred? A real wall constructed of board and plaster would not leave me in such a vulnerable circumstance.”
“I guess you must have that dream, the one where you're standing in front of people in your underwear.”
Sam stuttered. He immediately thought it might be best to refrain from further fraternizing. He wondered if Sharon took an interest in him.
“What were you going to say, Sam?”
“I feel kinda foolish. I must have slept through the engineering classes we had on Ceres architecture. Come to think of it, I now vaguely recall a lecture about how they transported the reactor on one of the transport ships.”