Bastion Saturn Read online

  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.”

  “I have not felt any resentment.”

  “Well,” Spruck smiled warmly as if relieved. “You’ve had a unique situation with us. Don’t take this the wrong way, Bert, but you’re kind of like a stray dog that has latched on to the first passersby. Caleb orders you around a bit, but basically you have been free to just exist as you choose. What if, because of that, we aren’t a threat to you, and you don’t feel compelled to break away, to use violence against us?”

  “Violence? My programing precludes me from using violence.”

  “Assuming that this thing has really happened to you. And come to think of it, you have been doing all sorts of things that seem outside the standard programing for higher functioning bots like you . . . does it?”

  “Does it, Mr. Spruck? I mean Spruck.”

  “Does your programing still preclude you from committing violence?”

  On the Diamond Girl, Caleb stole glances at Jennifer’s long eyelashes and full parted lips as she looked out the windshield at the sweeping majesty of the colossal planet’s rings. “I’ll never get used to the scale of it,” she said. “I mean, it’s impossible to get my head around how big it all is. If I didn’t have the readouts right here showing me that those rings were thousands of klicks away, I’d swear we could reach out and touch them.”

  They were approaching Pan at an oblique angle that would have them almost skimming the ice crystals and dust that ran like divided rivers on either side of the little moon. Pan was nestled in a space in the rings called the Encke Gap, and was the host for yet another hotel, a luxury resort that catered to the .01 percent of Saturn System residents who could afford the ultimate getaway. The head of Amazon Security, Charles King, turned out to be no spoiled sport. As Amazon was the security firm watching out for the Pan Hotel’s highly valued guests, he had made the introduction out of deference for Jennifer’s skills in combat as well as a goodwill gesture toward his neighbors, the monks. She had clearly impressed him. That she had turned him down when he had offered her a job hadn’t deterred him, either. Thanks to Charles King, they had a meeting with the Pan Hotel’s hospitality director, which would hopefully mean another big sale.

  Caleb took in the view as well, saying, “When I was sixteen I had a job working at a float-plane operation up near the base of Mount Denali. I was the cleanup guy in the maintenance shed working for dog wages, and my boss never once offered to let me go up on one of the flights. They flew hunters and campers to all sorts of remote areas in Alaska, but mostly they took day trippers up to buzz around and land on the last bit of mountain glacier. Most days it was so clouded over you couldn’t even see the top, but when you could see it, it was fucking breathtaking. It was impossible to really get a sense of how big it was from the ground. I needed to get up there. Had to get up there. Hiking it was out of the question. I didn’t have the time or the skills. Heck, people were still dying trying back then. Now they probably just program their brains to have the experience while they sit in their little cubes. Anyway, at the end of the summer, before I left to go back to Vermont, I booked myself as a passenger, and yes, the bastard who ran the place took my hard-earned money. I remember flying past one of the sheer faces about halfway up and I was certain that we were going to clip a wing on the rock wall. The pilot told me that we were hundreds of feet away, and I couldn’t believe him.” Caleb looked out the window at the gas giant that ate up the entire horizon to their right and the rings that stretched out before them like ripples on an endless sea. He thought, Earth would just be another very big moon floating around this mega planet. “There aren’t words are there?”

  Jennifer looked over at him and smiled. “Why are you so insecure? You’re a good guy when you don’t mean to be.”

  “I’m not.”
/>   She laughed. “Honey, you’re the definition of insecure. You’re one puffed-up fellow, and the funny thing is, you’re actually really solid and you don’t even know it.”

  “Now hold on.” He waved his hand up and down his body. “There is nothing puffed-up here at all. I’m quite aware that I’m solid, thank you very much.” In his mind he catalogued all of the implications of her referring to him as honey.

  “OK. You keep telling yourself that.”

  Caleb let a light raspberry of exasperation escape his lips. This was not how he had seen all of this going down. For the entire trip from Harry’s Bar on Rhea she had found little ways to tease him. His ego was starting to feel bruised. Moreover, she had shown none of her proclivity for floating around naked while transiting between moons. He hadn’t got so much as a peek of cleavage since they’d been flying together. She’d made him leave the main cabin when she changed for a nap. He’d lost his inner battle of wills and turned on the camera that gave the pilot a view of the main cabin. He saw nothing but black. She’d covered the camera in advance. Now what did that say about her trust in him? For weeks he had been angling to get her to fly with him, fantasized about how this would go down, thought out all the right moves. Nothing that he had planned or hoped for was coming to fruition. He finally had her on his ship and . . . she was taking swipes at his ego.

  An incoming call sounded and Jennifer said, “Accept.” Natalie’s holographic head floated in front of them. “Did you guys read the small print on the invitation?”

  Caleb said, “No. Why? Who reads the small print on anything?”

  “Saanvi does.”

  Spruck’s head popped up on the display as well. “Hey, what’s up?”

  Natalie said, “The small print is what’s up. It says they aren’t providing any rooms for us. We are to dock in the delivery bays on Pan rather than the hotel and remain on our ships. They don’t even want us disembarking to walk to one another’s ships.”

  “Huh? Wouldn’t that have been written in the big print?” said Caleb.

  “Specifically, it says—get this—it says, that uninvited entry to the hotel will be considered a hostile act, and everything up to and including lethal force may be used to discourage such unauthorized entry.”

  “I’m sure it’s a mistake,” said Jennifer. “Just boilerplate left on some standard document. I’ll call King and iron it out.”

  “I hope so,” said Spruck. “I’ve been reading about this place since before leaving Earth. There are items on the um, menu that can’t be found anywhere else in the system.”

  “You can’t afford the menu,” said Caleb. “But that’s beside the point. We’ll let Jennifer iron it out.”

  After multiple attempts, King didn’t answer. His executive assistant couldn’t say when he would be available. And no, she had no power to intervene on their behalf. She would have Mr. King reach out to them when he became available.

  “Well, that blows,” said Spruck’s holographic head. Caleb and Jennifer watched Saanvi and Natalie’s heads nod in agreement.

  Natalie let out big sigh. “I figured if we’re meeting the head of hospitality, that we’d get some hospitality. I was all over the spa brochure.”

  “Why can’t we just book rooms ourselves?” asked Caleb.

  Saanvi said, “For one, they are a fortune that we don’t have, and likely will never have. And the place is invite only. That’s in the big print.”

  “But we did get invited,” whined Spruck.

  “To sell them some booze at the delivery docks,” said Jennifer glumly.

  “So be it,” said Caleb. “The quicker we do this deal, the quicker we can go to Hanson. The money we get from this will more than cover a few nights in a B Grade hotel. You can hit a Thai massage place, Nat. Heck, so can you Spruck. I seem to recall—not that I partook—that alternate services can easily be had.”

  The tiny moon was coming up fast. The satellite that hung in stationary orbit above it was nearly half its size. The giant hotel was roughly modeled on the space station that circled the Earth in the Stanley Kubrick movie 2001: A Space Odyssey: a giant wheel spinning in a lazy circle, the resort itself occupied the rim while the spokes were made of cables and tunnels connected to a central hub containing docks and the physical plant. It rotated perpendicular to the plane of the rings so that at any given moment, the giant picture windows that made up the outer wall of each suite swooped past the surprisingly thin rings either above or below them and then moved to facing toward or away from the planet. An elevator connected the hotel to the moon. From a distance it looked like a single thread connecting a floating spider web to a giant snowball.

  At eight-hundred kilometers from Pan, a space traffic controller hailed them. The hologram of an elderly balding man who had allowed his remaining side hair to grow to clown-like proportions popped up in front of Caleb and Jennifer. “Good evening and welcome to Pan. Would you please cycle your transponders once to identify yourselves? You need not leave them on.”

  Caleb, Spruck, and Saanvi did as asked.

  “Thank you,” said the clown. “You are cleared to dock in Bay 3 on Pan Proper. Leave a minimum of six kilometers between your starboard sides and the hotel as you pass. Upon landing please remain in your vessels and a representative party will make physical contact with each of your ships.”

  After agreeing to the commands, Caleb turned to Jennifer. “My Spidey sense is acting up.”

  “Huh?”

  “Spiderman. My spider sense.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if you mean that this feels off, I agree.”

  Caleb looked at the others while double-checking that their connections were encrypted. “So what do we think?”

  Spruck said, “I am still pissed about missing what’s on the menu.”

  “He means, what do we think of the landing procedure?” said Natalie.

  “Oh. My Spidey sense is acting up a bit.”

  Caleb looked at Jennifer. “Huh? See?”

  Spruck continued, “But still, it’s a pretty standard docking procedure for a first time visit.”

  Saanvi said, “Given the clientele, they have to be really careful. That said, there is nothing saying we need to do this deal. We can take our product elsewhere.”

  “True,” said Caleb. “There’re lots of places on Hanson that I’m sure would be happy to work with us.”

  Spruck said, “Dude, what’s the obsession with Hanson? Other than an extreme willingness to take risks.”

  “Trees. I keep telling you, Arizona, they’ve got trees. Unlike you, who grew up in a barren landscape and, therefore,” he waved his hand at the windshield and the approaching moon, “you’re used to desolation. I grew up in Vermont. Means green mountains. Green. Got it? Got to get me some before I go nuts.”

  “OK, I get it,” said Spruck, who briefly looked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being overheard. “And speaking of nuts, Bert has something big to talk about when we are all together. Too much to say now, but be prepared to have your elastoware knocked off.”

  A hail signal came in from the hotel itself. Caleb accepted and brought the holocall into the existing conversation. An extremely attractive black woman wearing an Italian cut suit popped up. She spoke with a soft educated Southern US accent. “Ah, good. It seems I have all of the pilots here. I’m Allison Porter, the Pan Hotel hospitality coordinator. I just want to welcome y’all to Pan. Once the security procedures are complete the elevator will bring you up to the hotel. Though the hotel itself is fully booked, I have arranged a day for ya’ll in our clothing optional spa. You may have full access to the menu, gratis of course, while we sample your wares.”

  Everyone spoke at once with excited thank yous and appreciations.

  Ms. Porter chuckled, saying, “That was scrambled eggs on my end, but it sounds like that works for ya’ll. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” She dropped out of the conversation.

  Spruck said, “Now we�
�re talking. You get that, ya’ll? Full menu.”

  Jennifer said, “I don’t know what spider sense is, but my intuition is fighting my desire for a mud bath with a glass of champagne and a deep tissue massage.”

  Saanvi said, “Mud and champagne sounds heavenly.”

  Caleb said, “Here’s how we’re going to roll. Me and Jennifer land and scan the place, then you and Saanvi, Nat, when I give the go ahead. Spruck, you put the Belle into disappearing mode and watch us all until I give coast-clear. They’ll hate the cloaking, but too bad.”

  Caleb hadn’t even gotten his ship into a final landing sequence when the clown popped up on his display with a deep shade of red creeping up his throat and into his cheeks. “Mr. Day, your third ship has fallen off our scopes! This is a major breach of security! It must show itself immediately.”

  Caleb held up a hand, demanding a moment while accepting the moon’s autoland request to let his ship be taken over by the ground controllers. With his mind free from flying, he responded, “You have your security concerns and we have ours. When we and the Phoebe land and confirm the situation on the ground, Mr. Spruck will make himself known again for landing as well.”

  “That is not acceptable. Mr. Spruck must make himself known now.”

  “It’s just booze we’re peddling. Take it or leave it.”

  The clown said, “Stand by.” His image disappeared for a few seconds, then returned. “This is well out of the bounds of standard procedure, but you’re clear to continue your approach.” The hologram disappeared.

  Jennifer said, “Jeez, the word must have gotten out about how good the sake is.”

  Caleb looked at her to see if she was kidding. She seemed earnest enough. He said, “What about that intuition of yours?”

  “Still flying off the handle.”

  “You had me worried for a moment.”

  “About what?”