The Settlers (24 page)

And how many Onyx babies were born last year?
 

One hundred eleven thousand four hundred seventy one, Bob answers.

Micah turns back to the window.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, thinking hard.
How many Onyx citizens are there right now?
he asks.
 

Bob says, One million two hundred eighty four thousand six hundred nine.

And how many Machine-class citizens?
 

Six million three hundred forty seven --

Stop, stop.
I get it.
You're telling me that the Onyx class is outnumbered by six to one --
 

That's not entirely accurate --
 

But it's close enough.
They're outnumbered six to one, so they're having as many babies as they can, while the working class advances at a microscopic pace.
So in, what -- fifteen years?
-- the Onyx class outnumbers the working class altogether?
 

That's not entirely accurate, either.

But is that the goal?
Of course my math isn't right.
This is bullshit.

That is not a stated goal of the program, sir.

Onyx isn't trying to quickly grow so it can't be easily overthrown by a blue-collar riot?
 

No, sir.
 

Micah paces around the room.
The sun is beginning to rise over the city again.
 

So what's the goal of this reproductive Nazism?
 

I don't believe that's an accurate term for it either, sir.
But the goal is quite simple.
Humanity is attempting to create successive generations of smarter, more creative and more forward-thinking people.
After all, did you believe that mankind would simply relocate from Earth to Earth orbit and be satisfied with its future?
 

Micah stops.
What are you saying?
 

The fleet of stations is just the first step in a very long-term plan, Bob says, to find a new home for humanity.
Several, if possible.
 

But to manipulate the race as you go, right?
Like you're breeding show dogs or racehorses.
 

I'm not responsible, sir.
I'm simply an artificial intelligence, a companion designated to serve you.

Serve?
Or observe and report?
 

Sir, your activities in your apartment are only recorded so that I may provide more nuanced service as I grow more informed about your preferences and requirements, Bob says.

This is bullshit, Micah says again.
Bullshit.

I believe that you will find the Onyx-class life a pleasant one, sir.
Onyx-class citizens are not required to hold regular positions of employment, but are provided with ample time to spend on whatever personal projects, hobbies or leisures they wish, Bob says.
Onyx-class citizens have large amounts of time, and with it, they produce novels, fine artwork, political position papers, beautiful music, complex theorems and more.

But if I wanted to just sleep all day and all night, every day and night?
I could do that, couldn't I.
 

You may spend your time however you wish, Bob says.

What if I wish to spend my time with the Machine class?
What if I want to take a job, or visit a friend?

Visitations are permitted and in fact encouraged, Bob says.

But?
 

But Machine-class employment for Onyx-class citizens is prohibited.
 

Micah paces again.
Mae would never have gone for this.
 

It is possible that is true, Bob says.
 

What do you mean?
 

Mae Atherton-Sparrow, your deceased wife from whom you inherited your Onyx-class status, did not complete the twelve-week course.
She successfully completed just under two weeks of the course.
 

Micah presses his palms against his eyes.
And what is the curriculum for those first two weeks?

In order, Bob says, the first two weeks prepare future settlers for low-gravity transport, set packing guidelines, discuss medical waivers, allow selection of living quarters, and teach settlers about the changed day and night patterns.

When are the details of Onyx- and Machine-class policies taught?
Micah asks.
 

On week nine, Bob says.
 

Week nine, Micah repeats.
Mae didn't know about any of this.

It's unlikely, sir.

You know, Micah says, I didn't want to live in space.
Mae did.
When she died -- when she died, I was miserable for seven long, stupid years.
And then one day I woke up and realized I'd let nearly a decade pass without doing anything positive.
I slept all the time.
I worked a shit job, and I considered becoming a drunk.
But after those seven years, I suddenly wanted to do something for Mae.
It took me seven years, but I wanted to honor her.
So I applied for settlement.
Imagine my surprise when I was not only accepted, but granted elite status.
 

Inheritors are truly fortunate people, Bob agrees.

No, Micah says.
No.
We might just be the only ones who are thinking clearly.
 

Micah steps out of the shower.
 

Bob, he says.
 

Yes, sir.
 

How exactly does a person dry off around here?
 

If you'll re-enter the shower, sir, I'll happily demonstrate, Bob says.
 

Micah opens the shower door and steps back inside.
 

Bob says, Any time you'd like to dry yourself, simply say the word 'dry'.
 

Okay, Micah says.
Dry.
 

The shower doors hiss.
Previously unseen seals tighten and pop into place.
The shower becomes an isolation chamber.
Micah thinks nervously about what might happen if the shower activated now.
Would the chamber fill with water?
Could he drown in an upright shower chamber?
 

Around him, dozens of tiny specks become visible in the walls.
The specks form a grid pattern.
Micah is reaching out to touch them when they activate.
Each speck is a tiny jet.
His skin ripples and rearranges itself in the blast from the miniature blasts.
He feels his hair flipping about, and looks up.

Mistake.
The jets in the ceiling pound his eyes, which moisten immediately.
 

Try not to look at the jets, sir, Bob says.

Don't watch me in the shower, Bob, Micah says.
 

Three tones sound as Bob processes this.
Micah imagines Bob as a tiny spook with a notepad.
 

Does not like it when you watch him in shower.
Check.

Hello?

Mae.

I thought we agreed not to --

I'm sorry.
I miss you.
And it's ridiculous, not talking.
 

It's not ridiculous.
Micah, we have a real problem.
 

Your boss called.

Oh.

He said that a package had arrived for you marked
time-sensitive
.
He wanted to know if he should have somebody messenger it over while you were on sabbatical.

What did you say?
 

I said that's what he should do.
 

Good.

Sabbatical?

Look, I don't want to talk about it.
 

Are you actually in Tokyo, or did you lie about everything?

I'm in Tokyo.
 

Good.
Okay.
Why?

I told you, we're not talking right now.

I'm talking.
You're not talking.
 

Micah, I don't need this.
 

This?
I'm just a 'this' to you?
 

You know you're not.
 

I have tried being understanding.

You've done a bang-up job at it.
 

Hey.
I have tried.

Micah, tell me one thing.

What?

Tell me what your single biggest dream is.

I don't know.
 

You know you have one.
What is it?

Maybe to live in the house.
And I'm doing it, so mission accomplished.

Alright.
So what if I had stayed in California?

When?

Instead of moving in with you at the house.
What if I had put my foot down?
What if I had said you have to move to California with me, or we're through?
 

I -- you wouldn't have.
 

No, but if I had.
Do you know what would have happened?
I know you do.
We would have broken up, Micah.
Because the house is important to you.
Because it holds almost an entire lifetime of meaning, and you'll never be shaken free from that.
You would never want to.
And I understood that, and I would never have tried to change that.
 

But that's exactly what you want to do now.
You want to shake me free of that and take me to Pluto.

Yes, well.
I do.
But now it's very personal.