Double Cross (5 page)
A month ago, he hardly felt like a father to me. Now it was different. Hearing him say that made me happy.
I fell asleep with a smile on my face.
And I woke up to a loud screeching noise.
The screeching sound was followed by a big jolt of the platform buggy.
In bed, I struggled to sit up. I leaned on my elbows and blinked myself completely awake. The first rays of sun had reached across the horizon, showing the jagged edges of ancient rust-red volcanoes on all sides of us.
“Tyce,” Dad said from behind the controls, “you can relax. We're fine.”
Rawling was at the side of the platform, peering downward through the clear protective plastic. “I'm not sure about one of our tires though.”
The platform deck had begun to tilt in Rawling's direction.
“Some of this lava is sharp as a razor,” Rawling continued. “I think it cut one of the rear tires.”
Dad leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. It looked like he'd been at the controls the entire time I'd slept.
“We've got a compressor underneath,” Rawling said. “All we need to do is plug the leak with a repair kit, and we'll be on our way.”
I remembered the tires were filled with carbon dioxide so we could pump into them straight from the atmosphere.
Dad stood and stretched. “Flip a coin to see who goes out there?”
“Nope,” Rawling said. He pointed at me. “Here's where you get to see how good your son is.”
“Run through the checklist,” Rawling told me as he tightened straps across my legs to hold me to the bed. If I moved, the connection between the antenna plug in my spine and the computer receiver on the other side of the platform deck could be broken.
“First,” I said, “no robot contact with any electrical sources. Ever.” Because my spinal nerves were attached to the antenna plug, any electrical current going into or through the robot could seriously damage the neurons of my brain. It had happened onceâa slight shockâand I'd been out for 6 minutes and 10 seconds.
“Check.” We did this every time. Rawling insisted on it. He said on Earth, airline pilots did the same thing before every flight because safety was so important.
Rawling pulled the straps down across my stomach and chest as I continued. “Second, I disengage instantly at the first warning of any damage to the robot's computer drive.” My brain circuits worked so closely with the computer circuits during the linkup that harm to the computer could spill over and harm my brain.
“Check.” Rawling strapped my head into position.
“How does he disengage?” Dad asked. This was the first time he'd actually seen me at work, though he had unstrapped me once when Rawling was called away. Dad knew the theory behind it, but whenever I'd gone on practice runs, he'd been unable to get away from his own work.
“I shout
Stop!
in my mind,” I said. “Sounds strange, but that's all it takes. My brain controls the virtual-reality no differently than it controls my hand muscles or arm muscles.”
There's a short, dark rod, hardly thicker than a needle, wedged directly into my spinal column at the bottom of my neck, just above the top of my shoulder blades. From that rod, thousands of tiny biological implantsâthey look like hairsâstick out of the end of the needle into the middle of my spinal column. Each of the fibers, which have grown into my nerves, has a core that transmits tiny impulses of electricity, allowing my brain to control a robot's computer.
This was part of the long-term plan to develop Mars: to use robots to explore the planet. Humans need oxygen, water, and heat to survive on the surface. Robots don't. But robots can't think like humans. From all my years of training with a computer simulation program, my mind knows the muscle moves it takes to handle the virtual-reality controls. Handling the robot is no different, except instead of actually moving my muscles, I imagine I'm moving the muscles. My brain then sends the proper nerve impulses to the robot, and it moves the way I make the robot move in the virtual-reality computer program.
I admit, it is cool. Almost worth being in a wheelchair. After all, the experimental operation is what caused my legs to be useless.
“Any last questions?” Rawling asked me. “We'll communicate by radio, and I'll direct you on the technical aspects of fixing the tire.”
“No questions,” I said.
Rawling placed a blindfold over my eyes.
In the darkness that now covered me, I spoke to my dad. “Don't worry. I like this. A lot.”
Bruce, the robot, was a freedom that made up for having legs that don't work. No one else could wander the planet like I could.
“Headset?” Rawling asked.
“Headset,” I confirmed.
He placed a soundproof headset on my ears. The fewer distractions to reach my brain in my real body, the better.
It was dark and silent while I waited. I knew Rawling needed to make some computer entries. The antenna plug in my back transmitted and received signals on an invisible X-ray frequency to the computer, which in turn relayed signals to and from the robot body. In my mind, there was no difference between handling the robot and handling a virtual-reality program like any kid on Earth. Except for the fact that the X-ray frequency for the robot had a lot longer range. Like a remote control that could penetrate walls and rock and anything that might get between the computer here and the robot body.
Blindfolded and in the silence of the headset, I waited for a sensation that had become familiar and beautiful for me. The sensation of entering the robot computer.
My wait wasn't long.
In the darkness and silence, I began to fall off a high, invisible cliff into a deep, invisible hole.
I kept falling and falling and falling. â¦
Directly beneath the platform deck, the robot's four video lenses opened. Light patterns were translated digitally and became electrical impulses that followed the electronic circuitry into the computer drive of the robot. From there, they were translated into X-ray waves that traveled to the receiver above. The receiver then beamed to the wires of my jumpsuit, which were connected to the antenna plug in my spine. The electrical impulses moved instantly up the nerves of my spinal column into my brain, which translated the light patterns into imagesâthe same thing it did when light entered my real eyes and hit the optical nerves that reached into my brain.
Although the lenses didn't blink, in my mind, it felt like I blinked into focus.
The monstrous tires of the platform buggy filled most of my view. I saw the lightweight titanium and graphite support beams of the underside of the platform.
The sound of wind and sand drifting across sand reached the robot's intake microphones and translated into sound in my mind.
I thought about moving the robot arms. And instantly it happened. I brought both titanium hands up in front of a video lens and flexed the robot's fingers, wiggling them to make sure everything worked properly.
Everything did.
The robot body hung in a suspended cage. I pushed the button that lowered it. When the cage gently rested on the ground, I pushed another button that opened the door and rolled the robot onto the surface of Mars. The platform buggy was like a giant wagon above me, so I moved away, out from under the wheels and storage compartments, far enough to be able to see the entire minidome.
I waved upward at Rawling and Dad, who were looking for me.
It was weird, seeing them wave back down while only a few feet from them my actual body was motionless on the bed.
I knew how the robot body looked to them. The lower body is much like my wheelchair. Except that instead of a pair of legs, there is an axle that connects two wheels. The robot's upper body is merely a short, thick, hollow pole that sticks through the axle, with a heavy weight to counterbalance the arms and head. Within this weight is the battery that powers the robot, with wires running up inside the hollow pole.
The upper end of the pole has a crosspiece to which arms are attached. They are able to swing freely without hitting the wheels. Like the rest of the robot, they are made of titanium and jointed like human arms, with one difference. All the joints swivel. The hands, too, are like human hands, but with only three fingers and a thumb instead of four fingers and a thumb.
Four video lenses at the top of the pole serve as eyes. One faces forward, one backward, and one to each side.
Three tiny microphones, attached to the underside of the video lenses, play the role of ears, taking sound in. A speaker on the underside of the video lens that faces forward produces sound and allows me to make my voice heard.
The computer drive of the robot is well protected within the hollow titanium pole that serves as the robot's upper body. Since it is mounted on shock absorbers, the robot can fall 10 feet without shaking the computer drive. This computer drive has a short antenna plug-in at the back of the pole to give and take X-ray signals.
The robot is amazing. It has heat sensors that detect infrared, so I can see in total darkness. The video lenses' telescoping is powerful enough that I can recognize a person's face from five miles away. But I can zoom in close on something nearby and look at it as if using a microscope.
I can amplify hearing and pick up sounds at higher and lower levels than human hearing. The fibers wired into the titanium let me feel dust falling, if I want to concentrate on that minute of a level. The fibers also let me speak easily, just as if I were using a microphone.
The robot can't smell or taste, however. But one of the fingers is wired to perform material testing. All I need are a few specks of the material, and this finger will heat up, burn the material, and analyze the contents.
The robot is strong too. The titanium hands can grip a steel bar and bend it.
Did I mention it's fast? Its wheels will move three times faster than any human can sprint. But this morning, I had nowhere to go. My job was very simple. Fix a tire.
Rawling had placed a communications radio just outside the dome of the platform buggy. I saw him lift his radio to his mouth. Instantly, my radio speaker rumbled with his voice.
“Tyce, check the tire to see if the leak is obvious.”
I rolled over to the collapsed tire and scanned it with my video lens. “Nothing unusual,” I reported in my robot voice. “Can you roll the platform buggy ahead?”
Moments later, it rolled forward in a lopsided way.
Immediately, as the part of the tire that had been resting on the ground came into view, I saw the reason for the screeching sound.
As Rawling had guessed, a long, narrow piece of lava rock stuck from the tire. In fact, it stuck out so far that it scraped the underside of the platform deck each time the tire rolled over.
“Got it!” I said.
I explained what I saw.
With lots of instruction from Rawling, the strong robot hands and arms, and all the right equipment, I was able to seal the leak and refill the tire with compressed carbon dioxide.
It was a simple, routine piece of work.
The only unusual thing about it was a small gray box. I noticed it was attached to the axle of the wheel. I wondered if it was part of the GPS, because it had some wires sticking out, like communications antennae.
I loaded the robot body and raised the cage off the ground so the robot would hang and swing in safety. Then I gave the stop command to disengage from the computer program that controlled the robot.
From the bed inside the platform buggy's minidome, I calmly told Rawling I was ready to be unstrapped.
Seconds later, someone took off my headset and my blindfold.
It wasn't Rawling. It was Dad.
Rawling was at the base radio. Talking.
And when I heard what he said, I forgot all about that small gray plastic box beneath the platform deck.
“Blaine Steven has taken control of the dome?” I heard Rawling say, disbelief in his voice. “He has no authority to do that!”
Blaine Steven? Ex-director? But he was under guard until the next spaceship left Mars to take him to Earth.
“Sir,” the communications techie said, “half an hour ago, we received a transmission from Earth. It has the proper electronic identification code that identifies it as a Science Agency message. It granted Blaine Steven full directorship in your absence. Itâ”
Sudden silence.
“Platform one to main base,” Rawling said, trying to get the communications techie back. “Platform one to main base.”
“Dr. McTigre.” The sound of the radio communications was tinny, but I still recognized the new voice. Blaine Steven. He'd lost his position over a month ago because of how he'd mishandled an oxygen level zero situation that nearly killed 180 people under the dome. And now he was back?
“This is Rawling.” There was controlled anger in his voice.
“And this is Director Blaine Steven. Our computer shows your position clearly. Please explain to me what you are doing so far from base.”
Rawling opened and closed his mouth several times.
“That is an order, Dr. McTigre.”
I thought I understood Rawling's confusion. If it was true that the Science Agency had reinstated Blaine Steven as director, Rawling had no choice. The director of the dome was like a five-star general in the military. But could Rawling believe the Science Agency had given Blaine Steven the authority?
“That is an order, Dr. McTigre. If you do not respond, I will consider this mutiny.”
Mutiny. The worst possible offense under the dome. With penalties so severe that the person would not only be sent back to Earth but also be placed in prison for life.
Rawling shook his head at us and frowned. Then he sighed and said into the radio microphone, “I would rather not explain over the airwaves. However, if you check the logbook on my computer, you will see the urgency of this situation.”