The Disturbance 2: The Answer: Hard Science Fiction, page 9
That wasn’t true. Chatterjee could definitely force him. But Chatterjee needed his help.
“No, you need me to cooperate.”
“I really hope you will. I think you’re fond of your crew. And this is the only way to help them.”
“They mean a lot to me, it’s true. But I’m not sure I’d give my life for them. No one knows what happened on board.”
“The ship itself is fine, we’re ninety-nine percent sure of that.”
“And my body? How am I supposed to search for my friends as a ghost in the computer?”
“Down below, where you met the other Benjamin, you saw six bungalows, no?”
“You want to implant me in another body. I’ll be Eric.”
“Yes, we still have two replacement bodies. They’re both stored in their transport cases and should function perfectly. The consciousness is interchangeable.”
“They should function?”
“We obviously haven’t tested them for many years. But my specialists give you a ninety-six percent chance. There will be a few transfer issues, because your body image won’t match, but you can cope with that. You came to terms with the fact that you weren’t human.”
Great. He was supposed to get into an unfamiliar android a vast distance away, to search for his missing friends. What if they had simply chosen to break contact?
“How long will my mission last?” asked Benjamin.
“We’re still working on that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the capacity of the sender and receiver are unfortunately very asymmetrical. We can transmit from Earth to Shepherd-1 with almost limitless capacity. But the ship’s transmission power is limited. The volume of data we’re dealing with means your transmission to the ship will take around a week. But it will take roughly five years in the opposite direction, and only if the ship doesn’t distance itself more in that time.”
“So I’ll be stuck on the Shepherd.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. We can provide you with a plan to increase the transmission capacity on board.”
“But I can’t just set up a massive dish there, like NASA has for its Deep Space Network.”
“That’s true. But I’m sure the transmission time can be halved with a little work.”
“What if something happens? What if the transmission’s interrupted?”
“That would result in a fragmented consciousness. That’s never happened before. I admit it would be an interesting subject for research, but it wouldn’t be very pleasant for you.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Well, I hope you won’t be discouraged by such potentialities. This is about helping your friends, after all.”
“And saving your precious data.”
“That would be a welcome side-effect. I’ve invested a considerable amount of my lifetime and money in this. And to prove to you that I’m serious, I’ll accompany you on the journey.”
“You want to upload yourself?”
“It seems to me the only way to secure the crew’s findings. If it comes to the crunch, you’ll prioritize your friends’ well-being above the scientific data. My presence will ensure both are taken into account.”
So Chatterjee wanted to be his minder on board. And he was willing to be separated from his body to do it. Maybe that had been his secret plan all along. Chatterjee didn’t know what it felt like to live as a copy, as a machine.
“Then why do you need me, if you’re there yourself?” he asked.
“I’m hoping you can win the crew’s trust. They probably won’t do me the same courtesy.”
He was right about that.
“Under these conditions, I don’t think I...”
“Slow down, my dear Benjamin. I’m going to attempt the transfer either way. But if you refuse, then I’ll focus on the data. I don’t care about your crew.”
That was a blatant threat. If he didn’t accompany Chatterjee, then Aaron, Christine, and David would fare badly. If the situation was within Chatterjee’s control. The scumbag was blackmailing him. Had he expected anything else? Maybe, but that was naïve. Chatterjee probably didn’t even see it as blackmail. He was simply presenting two options with corresponding consequences. Benjamin still had a choice.
“Can’t I try sending a personal message to the crew first?”
Chatterjee laughed. “We’ll try that. But first I need an answer from you. Are you coming with me, or am I taking care of this alone?”
Houston, October 7, 2112
The huge screen in his room was truly impressive. Benjamin didn’t need or want to sleep. He simply disabled the human need. He couldn’t afford to make a habit of that – someone who didn’t sleep didn’t fit into human society.
But he had things to do. Chatterjee had presented him with a difficult decision. He wanted to help his friends. But he didn’t want to leave Earth forever. Something held him here. On the enormous screen he displayed landscapes from every continent. Maybe that was it – this incredible diversity that couldn’t be found anywhere else. He hadn’t traveled much on Earth, but he knew it was all out there. That knowledge was enough after all those years in space.
The cosmos was awe-inspiring. Benjamin could vividly recall the sense of being minuscule. Just thinking about it sent a shiver up his spine. But the universe’s immense power also made it frightening. They would never map it out in its entirety. Evolution hadn’t designed them for that – on this warm, wet ball that looked like a precious, shimmering marble from a distance. And although he himself was not a product of evolution, he had inherited the human sense of awe and small-scale perspective.
He switched to the simulated view from the Shepherd in its current position. Nothing but blackness. He had to look for the Sun. It was no longer the brightest star. Between him and the next life-supporting place lay deadly cold and vacuum. And that was where Chatterjee wanted to take him. Was that a good idea?
Why not? He had lived out there for many years and coped well. He had a chance to help his friends. If it wasn’t already too late.
“Computer!”
It was worth a try. A screen as expensive as this must have a speech interface. A gong sounded and text appeared in the middle of the screen.
“What can I do for you?”
“Do I have access to the network?”
“You have read-only access to the network.”
“What functions are available?”
“All resources of the Alpha Omega Porter Heights facility.”
Porter Heights was a suburb of Houston. Was that where this underground complex was located?
“I’m searching for a recording from the Shepherd-1 Mission Operations Center.”
“There are approximately 3200 recordings that fit your criteria.”
“I need a recording in which the astronaut Christine is speaking.”
“There are 56 recordings that fit your criteria.”
“Give me the most recent one.”
“I’ll play the recording.”
The video he had seen earlier as a hologram now appeared on the wall. The huge screen and high resolution made it look similarly three-dimensional. Benjamin watched the recording intently. Maybe Christine had given some signal that only he would understand. She could assume he had reached Earth. But there was nothing. The astronomer was cheerfully excited, gesticulating, wide-eyed. That was genuine. She was on the verge of uncovering something spectacular. And this time she wasn’t going to renege. Something had forced her hand the first time. Not Chatterjee. He was too interested in the results.
The enemy of your enemy is your friend. Did that count in this situation? Their interests were different, but similar. Could he work with the businessman, even though under other circumstances he had tried to kill them? That’s not how it was, he would argue. I knew you were androids and wouldn’t die in the vacuum. Only you didn’t know it.
If it had been necessary to sacrifice them, Chatterjee wouldn’t have hesitated. And he was about to join the man on board Shepherd-1? Maybe it was better than knowing Chatterjee was there on his own. It was a difficult choice. What had happened to his friends?
“Computer, stop playback.”
The wall went dark. Benjamin leaned against it.
“Do I have access to the current telemetry data from Shepherd-1?”
“Access is authorized.”
This was exciting! Was Chatterjee not afraid of Benjamin revealing his secret? Or was he confident he would make the right decision?
“Show it to me,” said Benjamin.
A stream of numbers ran across the screen, coded in the hexadecimal system. The computer had taken his instructions a little too literally.
“With interpretation and scales, please.”
The screen filled with curves. The spaceship was sending back a surprising amount of data. He looked at each curve individually. There was the onboard network voltage, the chemical thruster fuel levels, the air humidity, the level of ionization in the interstellar matter, the current transmitter and receiver performance...
Which of these values were cyclical? If people were still alive on board, there would be indications in the data. Benjamin couldn’t be the first person to think of this. But he knew how the crew lived better than the people from Mission Operations. Maybe he would find a clue no one else noticed.
The air humidity seemed an obvious place to start. It increased when humans breathed. Or androids – their lungs also added water vapor to the air. He assumed they had organized themselves into eight-hour shifts. That was logical with a crew of three.
“Show me the air humidity from the last six weeks.”
Benjamin clicked his finger joints. The other curves disappeared. The values didn’t show any significant fluctuations. The life support system compensated. It functioned well. Too well, because it removed all clues and smoothed the curve as if the ship were unoccupied. What about voltage?
“Computer, I need the voltage from the last six weeks.”
It should drop briefly when someone used an electrical device. When getting up at the start of his shift, he had always used a razor, microwave, coffee machine, and toothbrush. But the data showed none of that. Not even the microwave could compete with other consumption in the system. There were a few spikes, but they were so high that they had to be components of the ship.
“Computer, was research data transmitted?”
“No research data was transmitted.”
Too bad.
“What about air pressure?”
A straight line appeared on screen with a small serration at the end.
“Is that an impact?” he asked.
“No, it’s the main airlock opening cycle.”
“Enlarge that, please.”
The serration stretched out. It now looked like a W. The computer was right. Something had opened twice. Only the main airlock could cause such a significant drop in air pressure. If it was an impact, it would be in the shape of a V – a sudden loss of pressure, followed by an automatic compensation. Two impacts close together were very unlikely in that region of the cosmos.
“When was that?” he asked.
“The first or the second pressure drop?”
“Both.”
“The time between the two events was approximately one hour. The first drop was on September 24.”
Before Christine sent her message. Maybe a routine inspection.
“Was there anything on the service checklist for that day?”
“No.”
“Are there other deviations in the telemetry data with a similar time stamp?”
“One day prior there was a minimal course correction after a proximity alert.”
“Any damage?”
“No, the ship then operated at 100 percent nominal.”
“Thank you, computer.”
The data wasn’t helping. There were no indications that anyone was still on board. But also no indication that the crew had left the ship.
“Computer?”
“What can I do for you?”
“Access to the telemetry data archive. I’m searching for periodic changes in particular.”
“What is the reference value?”
“Time.”
“Searching for periodic changes with the reference value of time.”
For many years, Benjamin had stuck to a fixed schedule of waking, working, training, showering, and sleeping. Like the rest of the crew. And there was no sign of this in the data?
“There is one measurement that fits your criteria.”
“Display it on screen.”
The computer drew a pattern like a heartbeat.
“What is that? And what’s the scale?”
“It’s the waste water volume, normalized to standard usage. One meter corresponds to one week.”
That was his proof. They had done laundry once a week. Laundry for three people. That caused a lot more waste water to be recycled than usual. That was the jagged part of the curve that looked like a heartbeat. Who would have figured that laundry could be the only evidence of life on a spaceship?
“Show me that curve for the last two weeks?”
The representation stretched out and turned into a flatline. The washing machine, the heart of Shepherd-1, was no longer running. Benjamin sat down. Was he reading too much into it? It had only been two weeks. What if they just didn’t feel like doing laundry? They had enough clothing to last four weeks if they changed their underwear daily.
“Computer, how many times has the periodicity of the waste water fluctuation been interrupted in the last ten years?”
“Twice.”
In the last ten years, the crew had skipped laundry day exactly twice. Weren’t they overdue for another deviation? Right when they were on the verge of such exciting results, it was plausible that they had neglected the chores.
No, he was kidding himself. Shepherd-1 had ceased making contact. That wasn’t just a whim. He had to help his friends. If only he didn’t have to take Chatterjee with him!
“Have you decided?” Chatterjee asked at the door.
“You’re in a hurry,” said Benjamin.
“I still have some preparations to make. The boss of Alpha Omega will be unavailable for a while. Maybe forever. I can guide the company strategically from Shepherd-1, but the transmission time is too long for day-to-day decision-making.”
“Who are you handing over control to?”
“It would be too much for one person. Not everyone is as talented as I am. So each division will have its own boss. I was intending to list all the company divisions separately on the stock market before I die, but that will have to wait. I wasn’t expecting to have to give up my day-to day business so soon.”
“But you must be well over seventy?”
“That’s nothing! My contemporary at RB, Shostakovich, is still running his company, even though he’s now over a hundred.”
“I heard his daughter’s the boss there now.”
“Officially, yes, but the old man still pulls strings in the background. He’s a meddling old bastard.”
“And you’re not?”
“No, I use modern lean management methods. My teams work with agile processes.”
“I’m agile too.”
“Thanks to the wonderful body my engineers gave you. I’m really proud of that. I succeeded in improving on the human.”
“But I can’t reproduce.”
“Soon humans won’t be able to do that either. There’s a trend toward assisted reproduction, which is open to you too. You select semen and egg donors, and then we hatch you a child.”
“That sounds... inhumane.”
“It can also be delivered naturally. But our procedure is very inclusive. Think of same-sex couples who want a child! And we avoid the suffering associated with surrogacy. The children are born into the best circumstances, into families that can really afford to have them!”
“I think I’m glad I’m an android.”
Benjamin put his hands in his pockets. Fresh air wafted in from the corridor. Chatterjee made no move to enter the room.
“I will advocate for androids to be granted the rights of legal persons,” said the boss of Alpha Omega. “Then you could marry and start a family. Think about it – as things stand, if I kill you, it’s no more than destruction of property. And as your body belongs to me, no one can object. It’s barbaric.”
“The manufacture of robots that can be mistaken for humans is still illegal worldwide.”
“I’m convinced that will change. The Earth’s population has been declining for years. Since the major climate correction in the 2080s, we simply have it too good.”
“I’ve met a few people who don’t have it good.”
“Well, yes. We’ll discuss that another time. Have you made a decision?”
“I have. I’m coming with you.”
“That’s wonderful!” Chatterjee beamed like a little boy who had just been given cotton candy. “Then please come with me to our laboratory.”
The way to the lab was even more convoluted than the route they had taken to visit his human counterpart. Was this deliberate? They had to change elevators twice, and the third had no button for the desired level. Instead, Chatterjee inserted a key hanging around his neck into a lock at chest height, then the elevator began to move.
Upward.
Benjamin was keeping count. They went from -9 down to -12 and then three or four levels back up. So the lab must be somewhere between the eighth and ninth basement levels. What was Chatterjee hiding here?
They entered some kind of clinic. Left and right along a corridor were hospital rooms like the one he woke up in. But they hadn’t used multiple elevators after leaving that facility. This must be another department of Chatterjee’s imperium. Most of the rooms were empty, or he assumed so because the doors were open.
“We don’t need as many test subjects these days,” explained Chatterjee. “At one time, every room was occupied.”
Test subjects for what? He would soon find out. The corridor turned left and ended at a large tiled room with dim floor lighting. In the middle of the room stood six coffin-like objects. They were made of glass. Benjamin couldn’t believe his eyes at first, but there were actually people floating in them.
“No, you need me to cooperate.”
“I really hope you will. I think you’re fond of your crew. And this is the only way to help them.”
“They mean a lot to me, it’s true. But I’m not sure I’d give my life for them. No one knows what happened on board.”
“The ship itself is fine, we’re ninety-nine percent sure of that.”
“And my body? How am I supposed to search for my friends as a ghost in the computer?”
“Down below, where you met the other Benjamin, you saw six bungalows, no?”
“You want to implant me in another body. I’ll be Eric.”
“Yes, we still have two replacement bodies. They’re both stored in their transport cases and should function perfectly. The consciousness is interchangeable.”
“They should function?”
“We obviously haven’t tested them for many years. But my specialists give you a ninety-six percent chance. There will be a few transfer issues, because your body image won’t match, but you can cope with that. You came to terms with the fact that you weren’t human.”
Great. He was supposed to get into an unfamiliar android a vast distance away, to search for his missing friends. What if they had simply chosen to break contact?
“How long will my mission last?” asked Benjamin.
“We’re still working on that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the capacity of the sender and receiver are unfortunately very asymmetrical. We can transmit from Earth to Shepherd-1 with almost limitless capacity. But the ship’s transmission power is limited. The volume of data we’re dealing with means your transmission to the ship will take around a week. But it will take roughly five years in the opposite direction, and only if the ship doesn’t distance itself more in that time.”
“So I’ll be stuck on the Shepherd.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. We can provide you with a plan to increase the transmission capacity on board.”
“But I can’t just set up a massive dish there, like NASA has for its Deep Space Network.”
“That’s true. But I’m sure the transmission time can be halved with a little work.”
“What if something happens? What if the transmission’s interrupted?”
“That would result in a fragmented consciousness. That’s never happened before. I admit it would be an interesting subject for research, but it wouldn’t be very pleasant for you.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Well, I hope you won’t be discouraged by such potentialities. This is about helping your friends, after all.”
“And saving your precious data.”
“That would be a welcome side-effect. I’ve invested a considerable amount of my lifetime and money in this. And to prove to you that I’m serious, I’ll accompany you on the journey.”
“You want to upload yourself?”
“It seems to me the only way to secure the crew’s findings. If it comes to the crunch, you’ll prioritize your friends’ well-being above the scientific data. My presence will ensure both are taken into account.”
So Chatterjee wanted to be his minder on board. And he was willing to be separated from his body to do it. Maybe that had been his secret plan all along. Chatterjee didn’t know what it felt like to live as a copy, as a machine.
“Then why do you need me, if you’re there yourself?” he asked.
“I’m hoping you can win the crew’s trust. They probably won’t do me the same courtesy.”
He was right about that.
“Under these conditions, I don’t think I...”
“Slow down, my dear Benjamin. I’m going to attempt the transfer either way. But if you refuse, then I’ll focus on the data. I don’t care about your crew.”
That was a blatant threat. If he didn’t accompany Chatterjee, then Aaron, Christine, and David would fare badly. If the situation was within Chatterjee’s control. The scumbag was blackmailing him. Had he expected anything else? Maybe, but that was naïve. Chatterjee probably didn’t even see it as blackmail. He was simply presenting two options with corresponding consequences. Benjamin still had a choice.
“Can’t I try sending a personal message to the crew first?”
Chatterjee laughed. “We’ll try that. But first I need an answer from you. Are you coming with me, or am I taking care of this alone?”
Houston, October 7, 2112
The huge screen in his room was truly impressive. Benjamin didn’t need or want to sleep. He simply disabled the human need. He couldn’t afford to make a habit of that – someone who didn’t sleep didn’t fit into human society.
But he had things to do. Chatterjee had presented him with a difficult decision. He wanted to help his friends. But he didn’t want to leave Earth forever. Something held him here. On the enormous screen he displayed landscapes from every continent. Maybe that was it – this incredible diversity that couldn’t be found anywhere else. He hadn’t traveled much on Earth, but he knew it was all out there. That knowledge was enough after all those years in space.
The cosmos was awe-inspiring. Benjamin could vividly recall the sense of being minuscule. Just thinking about it sent a shiver up his spine. But the universe’s immense power also made it frightening. They would never map it out in its entirety. Evolution hadn’t designed them for that – on this warm, wet ball that looked like a precious, shimmering marble from a distance. And although he himself was not a product of evolution, he had inherited the human sense of awe and small-scale perspective.
He switched to the simulated view from the Shepherd in its current position. Nothing but blackness. He had to look for the Sun. It was no longer the brightest star. Between him and the next life-supporting place lay deadly cold and vacuum. And that was where Chatterjee wanted to take him. Was that a good idea?
Why not? He had lived out there for many years and coped well. He had a chance to help his friends. If it wasn’t already too late.
“Computer!”
It was worth a try. A screen as expensive as this must have a speech interface. A gong sounded and text appeared in the middle of the screen.
“What can I do for you?”
“Do I have access to the network?”
“You have read-only access to the network.”
“What functions are available?”
“All resources of the Alpha Omega Porter Heights facility.”
Porter Heights was a suburb of Houston. Was that where this underground complex was located?
“I’m searching for a recording from the Shepherd-1 Mission Operations Center.”
“There are approximately 3200 recordings that fit your criteria.”
“I need a recording in which the astronaut Christine is speaking.”
“There are 56 recordings that fit your criteria.”
“Give me the most recent one.”
“I’ll play the recording.”
The video he had seen earlier as a hologram now appeared on the wall. The huge screen and high resolution made it look similarly three-dimensional. Benjamin watched the recording intently. Maybe Christine had given some signal that only he would understand. She could assume he had reached Earth. But there was nothing. The astronomer was cheerfully excited, gesticulating, wide-eyed. That was genuine. She was on the verge of uncovering something spectacular. And this time she wasn’t going to renege. Something had forced her hand the first time. Not Chatterjee. He was too interested in the results.
The enemy of your enemy is your friend. Did that count in this situation? Their interests were different, but similar. Could he work with the businessman, even though under other circumstances he had tried to kill them? That’s not how it was, he would argue. I knew you were androids and wouldn’t die in the vacuum. Only you didn’t know it.
If it had been necessary to sacrifice them, Chatterjee wouldn’t have hesitated. And he was about to join the man on board Shepherd-1? Maybe it was better than knowing Chatterjee was there on his own. It was a difficult choice. What had happened to his friends?
“Computer, stop playback.”
The wall went dark. Benjamin leaned against it.
“Do I have access to the current telemetry data from Shepherd-1?”
“Access is authorized.”
This was exciting! Was Chatterjee not afraid of Benjamin revealing his secret? Or was he confident he would make the right decision?
“Show it to me,” said Benjamin.
A stream of numbers ran across the screen, coded in the hexadecimal system. The computer had taken his instructions a little too literally.
“With interpretation and scales, please.”
The screen filled with curves. The spaceship was sending back a surprising amount of data. He looked at each curve individually. There was the onboard network voltage, the chemical thruster fuel levels, the air humidity, the level of ionization in the interstellar matter, the current transmitter and receiver performance...
Which of these values were cyclical? If people were still alive on board, there would be indications in the data. Benjamin couldn’t be the first person to think of this. But he knew how the crew lived better than the people from Mission Operations. Maybe he would find a clue no one else noticed.
The air humidity seemed an obvious place to start. It increased when humans breathed. Or androids – their lungs also added water vapor to the air. He assumed they had organized themselves into eight-hour shifts. That was logical with a crew of three.
“Show me the air humidity from the last six weeks.”
Benjamin clicked his finger joints. The other curves disappeared. The values didn’t show any significant fluctuations. The life support system compensated. It functioned well. Too well, because it removed all clues and smoothed the curve as if the ship were unoccupied. What about voltage?
“Computer, I need the voltage from the last six weeks.”
It should drop briefly when someone used an electrical device. When getting up at the start of his shift, he had always used a razor, microwave, coffee machine, and toothbrush. But the data showed none of that. Not even the microwave could compete with other consumption in the system. There were a few spikes, but they were so high that they had to be components of the ship.
“Computer, was research data transmitted?”
“No research data was transmitted.”
Too bad.
“What about air pressure?”
A straight line appeared on screen with a small serration at the end.
“Is that an impact?” he asked.
“No, it’s the main airlock opening cycle.”
“Enlarge that, please.”
The serration stretched out. It now looked like a W. The computer was right. Something had opened twice. Only the main airlock could cause such a significant drop in air pressure. If it was an impact, it would be in the shape of a V – a sudden loss of pressure, followed by an automatic compensation. Two impacts close together were very unlikely in that region of the cosmos.
“When was that?” he asked.
“The first or the second pressure drop?”
“Both.”
“The time between the two events was approximately one hour. The first drop was on September 24.”
Before Christine sent her message. Maybe a routine inspection.
“Was there anything on the service checklist for that day?”
“No.”
“Are there other deviations in the telemetry data with a similar time stamp?”
“One day prior there was a minimal course correction after a proximity alert.”
“Any damage?”
“No, the ship then operated at 100 percent nominal.”
“Thank you, computer.”
The data wasn’t helping. There were no indications that anyone was still on board. But also no indication that the crew had left the ship.
“Computer?”
“What can I do for you?”
“Access to the telemetry data archive. I’m searching for periodic changes in particular.”
“What is the reference value?”
“Time.”
“Searching for periodic changes with the reference value of time.”
For many years, Benjamin had stuck to a fixed schedule of waking, working, training, showering, and sleeping. Like the rest of the crew. And there was no sign of this in the data?
“There is one measurement that fits your criteria.”
“Display it on screen.”
The computer drew a pattern like a heartbeat.
“What is that? And what’s the scale?”
“It’s the waste water volume, normalized to standard usage. One meter corresponds to one week.”
That was his proof. They had done laundry once a week. Laundry for three people. That caused a lot more waste water to be recycled than usual. That was the jagged part of the curve that looked like a heartbeat. Who would have figured that laundry could be the only evidence of life on a spaceship?
“Show me that curve for the last two weeks?”
The representation stretched out and turned into a flatline. The washing machine, the heart of Shepherd-1, was no longer running. Benjamin sat down. Was he reading too much into it? It had only been two weeks. What if they just didn’t feel like doing laundry? They had enough clothing to last four weeks if they changed their underwear daily.
“Computer, how many times has the periodicity of the waste water fluctuation been interrupted in the last ten years?”
“Twice.”
In the last ten years, the crew had skipped laundry day exactly twice. Weren’t they overdue for another deviation? Right when they were on the verge of such exciting results, it was plausible that they had neglected the chores.
No, he was kidding himself. Shepherd-1 had ceased making contact. That wasn’t just a whim. He had to help his friends. If only he didn’t have to take Chatterjee with him!
“Have you decided?” Chatterjee asked at the door.
“You’re in a hurry,” said Benjamin.
“I still have some preparations to make. The boss of Alpha Omega will be unavailable for a while. Maybe forever. I can guide the company strategically from Shepherd-1, but the transmission time is too long for day-to-day decision-making.”
“Who are you handing over control to?”
“It would be too much for one person. Not everyone is as talented as I am. So each division will have its own boss. I was intending to list all the company divisions separately on the stock market before I die, but that will have to wait. I wasn’t expecting to have to give up my day-to day business so soon.”
“But you must be well over seventy?”
“That’s nothing! My contemporary at RB, Shostakovich, is still running his company, even though he’s now over a hundred.”
“I heard his daughter’s the boss there now.”
“Officially, yes, but the old man still pulls strings in the background. He’s a meddling old bastard.”
“And you’re not?”
“No, I use modern lean management methods. My teams work with agile processes.”
“I’m agile too.”
“Thanks to the wonderful body my engineers gave you. I’m really proud of that. I succeeded in improving on the human.”
“But I can’t reproduce.”
“Soon humans won’t be able to do that either. There’s a trend toward assisted reproduction, which is open to you too. You select semen and egg donors, and then we hatch you a child.”
“That sounds... inhumane.”
“It can also be delivered naturally. But our procedure is very inclusive. Think of same-sex couples who want a child! And we avoid the suffering associated with surrogacy. The children are born into the best circumstances, into families that can really afford to have them!”
“I think I’m glad I’m an android.”
Benjamin put his hands in his pockets. Fresh air wafted in from the corridor. Chatterjee made no move to enter the room.
“I will advocate for androids to be granted the rights of legal persons,” said the boss of Alpha Omega. “Then you could marry and start a family. Think about it – as things stand, if I kill you, it’s no more than destruction of property. And as your body belongs to me, no one can object. It’s barbaric.”
“The manufacture of robots that can be mistaken for humans is still illegal worldwide.”
“I’m convinced that will change. The Earth’s population has been declining for years. Since the major climate correction in the 2080s, we simply have it too good.”
“I’ve met a few people who don’t have it good.”
“Well, yes. We’ll discuss that another time. Have you made a decision?”
“I have. I’m coming with you.”
“That’s wonderful!” Chatterjee beamed like a little boy who had just been given cotton candy. “Then please come with me to our laboratory.”
The way to the lab was even more convoluted than the route they had taken to visit his human counterpart. Was this deliberate? They had to change elevators twice, and the third had no button for the desired level. Instead, Chatterjee inserted a key hanging around his neck into a lock at chest height, then the elevator began to move.
Upward.
Benjamin was keeping count. They went from -9 down to -12 and then three or four levels back up. So the lab must be somewhere between the eighth and ninth basement levels. What was Chatterjee hiding here?
They entered some kind of clinic. Left and right along a corridor were hospital rooms like the one he woke up in. But they hadn’t used multiple elevators after leaving that facility. This must be another department of Chatterjee’s imperium. Most of the rooms were empty, or he assumed so because the doors were open.
“We don’t need as many test subjects these days,” explained Chatterjee. “At one time, every room was occupied.”
Test subjects for what? He would soon find out. The corridor turned left and ended at a large tiled room with dim floor lighting. In the middle of the room stood six coffin-like objects. They were made of glass. Benjamin couldn’t believe his eyes at first, but there were actually people floating in them.
