Transporter (an Ell Donsaii story #16), page 16
“All right,” Ell said cheerfully. “That wasn’t so painful was it?” Without waiting for his answer, she continued, “We have a way to port people safely. We call it a transporter.”
Feeling surprised and yet confused, Epaulding said, “Okaay, and that affects NASA how?”
“You’re going to be able to port people to the Moon or Mars or anywhere else. It’s surprisingly cheap, so they’ll be able to commute to work there in the morning, then come back home to have dinner with their families on Earth.”
Little tingles ran across Epaulding’s scalp. “Oh…” he said, trying to think of all the things this affected. His mind immediately went to the Venus mission they’d been constructing in orbit, he said, “Um, we’ll still need to send rockets to such locations first, right? To deliver the, uh, ‘transporter’ things?”
“Nope. I’m sure you’re aware of the industrial-sized ports we’ve been emplacing on Mars to move atmosphere for the terraforming project. We’ve already got twenty-meter ports working there and we’re prototyping even bigger ones. So, since there’re ports on and around Venus, you can send whatever equipment you want through ports.”
“I guess we’d have to work up from the little ports that’re already there, to bigger and bigger ports?”
“Well, you know our new ports are inflatable graphene hula hoops. Deflated they’re pretty small, so there aren’t very many steps from a little port to a huge one anymore.”
Speaking slowly because that’s how he felt he was thinking, he said, “Our Venus Viability Mission… the big lab that’s supposed to float high in the Venusian atmosphere. We’ve been spending billions building the VVM out in orbit. Are you saying we’d just as well scrap it?”
“No. Just that you don’t have to fly it there. What’s its narrowest dimension?”
“Um, let me pull up the schematic…” He spoke to his AI. A minute later he looked back at Ell, “Its width is 17.3 meters.”
“There you go. You presumably don’t even have to wait for the next generation industrial port. Portal Tech can sell you a pair of twenty-meter ports. You port one to the VVM’s orbit here around Earth, and the other one to the desired location and depth you want in the Venusian atmosphere, then slide the Earth end of the port over the VVM and, voila, your mission’s in the clouds of Venus.” She gave a little laugh, “It isn’t quite as simple in practice as it is in concept, but it’s still a lot simpler than flying it there. Safer for your astronauts too.”
“Wait a minute, how is it that people can go through ports now?”
“Um, I’d explain it in detail, except the story’s kind of embarrassing. So, you’ll just have to trust me that it works.”
After a moment of silence to get his thoughts together, Epaulding said, “You’ve had more time to think about this. What should I be… considering?”
Without hesitation, she replied, “Moving people and devices to other places in the solar system is no longer NASA’s business. Instead, getting stuff there is now the easy part. Learning about the solar system with these new capabilities should be your new mission. Figuring out what this enormously expanded access will enable the human race to do should be your objective.
Epaulding sat thinking for a moment, then conscious he was wasting a genius’s valuable time, he said, “Um, when we first started talking, you said you had a request?”
“I do. As you know, the astronauts you have on Mars would like to be able to come home. In particular, my friend Phil Zabrisk is wanting to come home for medical treatment. If we positioned a transporter in the tunnels on Mars they could come home at will and commute back to work there as needed.”
Mind boggled, Epaulding stared at Donsaii’s video image on his wall screen. “I’d imagine we’ll want to do some testing on the transporter system first. What medical issue is he having?”
Straight-faced, she said, “He feels his sensitivity to radiation damage is too high to live on the fourth planet.”
Epaulding blinked, “He thinks he’s more sensitive than the others?”
“No, he thinks they’re all too sensitive. He wants to have the gene therapy that was given to the mice.” She shrugged, “For that matter, so do the rest of them and Lindy Thompson’s already here getting hers done.”
Frowning, Epaulding asked, “Have those therapies been through their human trials yet?”
“No, Lindy volunteered to be a human test subject. Phil wants to do the same.”
“That’s out of the question!”
Ell studied him for a moment, then said, “Come on, Director. You can’t compel him to stay there. He’s a free human being. He feels very strongly about this and it isn’t worth expending effort fighting him over it.”
“I may not be able to compel him, but I can toss him out of the astronaut corps!”
This time she tilted her head curiously as she studied him.
After a moment Epaulding sighed and said, “And you’ve just told me that any idiot can get to space now, right? Throwing him out of the corps won’t even hurt his feelings.”
“I don’t think so. He won’t go unemployed. There’s going to be a huge demand for people who know how to wear spacesuits and can handle themselves in space. Someone like Phil who has experience on the other bodies of the solar system will have people begging him to work for them... If I were you, I’d be worried about losing people, not thinking about firing any of them.”
“Okay, okay. He can come. Can you drag your feet about getting a transporter out there? Give me some time to prepare some testing for it?”
“Sorry…” she had the grace to look a little embarrassed. “Um, it’s already out there.”
Epaulding rolled his eyes. “Well, then tell them we have to do some testing before they use it.”
She narrowed her eyes, “There shouldn’t be any ‘we’ in that sentence. Remember you’ve promised to keep the transporters a secret. You’d have to do any testing all by yourself.”
He stared at her. “Some dummy loads would have to be sent back and—”
“They have been,” Ell interrupted. “Hundreds of times.”
Epaulding sighed, “You’re sure it’s safe?”
“Don’t tell Phil or Carol, but I ported out there late one night. I’m telling you in hopes of convincing you just how safe I think it is.”
Epaulding put his palms up, “I surrender.”
“Thanks!” she said cheerfully. “I’m sure you’ll think of more issues that are going to arise from transporter technology. Don’t hesitate to call and talk to me about them. I don’t just want to help you; I want to help everyone with this difficult transition. Can’t do that without knowing what’s cropping up.”
***
Yazdan and Shirvani followed the foreigner for kilometers. The man frequently stopped in shady spots to consult a map, setting down his backpack when he did—just as he had at the Darab building—though the other stops weren’t at sensitive locations like Darab. He bought a falafel for lunch. He stopped in a couple of shops and looked around. His progression across the city had seemed random though he was generally moving northeast.
Now he’d entered a rug merchant and been in there for an hour. Yazdan finally entered the merchant’s shop and listened while the foreigner discussed exporting rugs to India. The man spoke Farsi well and had an Indian accent despite his light coloration. Yazdan reflected on the fact that India’d been an English colony and doubtless still had numerous persons of English extraction that lived there, many of whom were citizens. Looks like his stop in front of Darab was probably innocent, Yazdan thought. But he’d continue following the man until they were called off.
He and Shirvani switched every so often so their target wouldn’t always have the same one of them in his peripheral vision but Yazdan was usually the close one. When, in the afternoon, the man started heading back the other direction, Yazdan and Shirvani switched up, with Shirvani staying close to the foreigner more often than Yazdan. Now Shirvani was the one who kept the man in view and Yazdan was more often out of sight.
Thus it was that Yazdan wasn’t paying close attention to the man’s location. Suddenly he realized Shirvani’d stopped at a street vendor. Catching Yazdan’s attention, he surreptitiously pointed. Then turned to stare a question at Yazdan.
What’s he excited about? Yazdan wondered, glancing where Shirvani’d pointed as he came around the corner. Shirvani had pointed at their target. The man had stopped to study his map again. He’d set his backpack down against the wall, same as he’d done so many other times. Yazdan turned around to go back the other way, giving him another chance to look at the man. Nothing seemed unusual. Oh! The man was leaning against a different side of the Darab building.
Back around the corner, Yazdan called in for instruction.
As he expected, he and Shirvani were to keep a close eye on the man until uniformed officers arrived. Yazdan reversed direction and walked back across the street past Shirvani. The man picked up his backpack. As Yazdan passed Shirvani, he whispered harshly, “Do not let that khar (donkey) out of your sight!”
~~~
Rob noticed a man he’d seen before. Rob was on a side street, leaned up against a different side of the building of interest. This street wasn’t as busy, so when the man came around the corner, stopped, looked around, then crossed the street to place an order at the cart of a street vendor, it drew his attention. Another man came around the corner, glanced at him, then turned and faded back the other way. Shit!
“Jim, I think they’re onto me,” Rob breathed, thanking God that he wasn’t being covered by a newbie today. “You guys have enough data?”
“Go. Get out of there,” Jim said without hesitation. “We can come back for data, we can’t lose you.”
Rob picked up the backpack and shrugged it on, doing his level best to look as if he were in no hurry. Starting down the street, he spoke to his AI, “Li’l Joe, Give me eyes out the back of the backpack.” His AI put a rearview image up in Rob’s left contact. “Jim, the guy at the street vendor and the one who faded back around the corner… that’s him coming back around now. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen both of them before and now they’ve both just looked at each other and at me.” Rob saw corner guy say something to vendor guy. “Shit! They’re talking to each other.”
Heading west, Rob crossed the street, then turned left at the corner to go south. As soon as he rounded the corner he started to run, pulling off the backpack as he went. He asked his AI for a rearview out the port on the back of his cap, which it delivered sans all the bouncing around from his running. Passing a shop with a low, flat roof, he heaved the backpack up onto it. Just before he made the next corner and turned east, he saw the two guys come around the corner behind him. Running full out—but not going as fast as he’d like—he cursed his age and the way he’d let his fitness deteriorate.
No way I’m gonna make the next corner before those guys come around the last one! he thought, abruptly cutting left into a large store. Desperately trying not to pant, he walked deeper into the store.
Stopping behind a post relative to the proprietor, he took off the light blue skullcap he’d been wearing, turned it inside out to expose the black inner surface of it and put it back on.
He heard someone run by out front.
A little farther back in the store, he shrugged out of his light grey jacket, turning its dark blue surface outward and putting it back on. He cast about for a bathroom, hoping for a mirror where he could darken his skin.
Someone out on the street shouted something. The only thing Rob clearly heard was the Farsi word for “foreigner.”
But he did hear someone at the front of the shop shout “In here!”
Shit, shit, shit, shit! Rob headed for the back, looking for egress to the alley. “Jim, you got any ideas?” he asked.
“If you get to the alley, turn left. That’ll send you back west, the way you came. Unless there’re a lot more than two of them you might get past them. They’ll probably keep going the same way you were going.”
Rob saw a door, stepped to it and turned the knob. Locked! he thought when it wouldn’t open. But then he recognized a small knob for a bolt. He turned it and the door opened. He turned left into the alley and started west at a walk. After a few steps, he forced himself to slow down. Do not draw attention, he thought to himself.
Reaching in his pants’ pocket, he pulled out a tiny toothpaste tube of pigment and squeezed some out into his hand. He started smearing it on his face, neck, and back of hands.
A man in uniform turned the corner into the alley ahead.
Rob slowed further and tried to make the motions of his hands to one of a tired man rubbing his neck. I need a mirror! he thought, knowing he might have missed spots, or conversely have thick streaks in the pigment.
“Halt!” the man in uniform said.
Rob stopped, putting on a weary look. He saw the moment the uniformed man’s eyes widened. I missed a spot, he thought, able to tell the man was staring at his ear.
The man drew his weapon, then lifted a mic and started talking.
“Lil’ Joe, Armageddon,” Rob whispered. This strange code would have his AI send a message to his wife that he’d been captured, along with a link to his personal AI, which had recorded everything he’d done since the mission started. Recorded it in parallel to the CIA’s AI, which he wasn’t supposed to do. Otherwise, the CIA wouldn’t even tell her something had happened for months.
Of course, sending such a message would piss off his bosses, so in a sense, he’d gained yet another enemy…
Chapter Seven
Cheryl, Ariel Vardaman’s administrative assistant, leaned in her door. “Dr. Vardaman,” she said, “I’ve got a call from Ell Donsaii. She said she’d like to talk to you about the impending release of some new technology?”
Crap! Vardaman thought. She’d forgotten Simon told her to call the woman. Looks like Simon’s not the only one who thinks I must talk to Donsaii. Irritated to be bugged about it, Vardaman said, “Tell her I’m busy now, but that I’ll set up an appointment with her in a couple of months.”
Nervously, Cheryl said, “You have open slots in your schedule tomorrow and several days next week.”
Not wanting to admit she was putting Donsaii off out of pique, Vardaman said, “I have plans for those slots. Besides,” she sighed, “I don’t want Donsaii getting special treatment. She shouldn’t think she can have unfettered access to the office of the Presidential Science Advisor just because of who she is.”
“Okay,” the young woman said doubtfully, stepping back into her own office.
***
When Molly Shannon got up in the morning her AI had a message from Rob. The kind of message she’d feared receiving for decades now.
The kind that started, “Dear Molly, if you’re getting this message…
The kind that said, “Give my love to our kids and my sister…
A message that said, “There won’t be anything you can do to help me The CIA will do what it can. I just wanted you to be able to prepare yourself and our affairs for what’s likely coming.” And “For God’s sake, don’t tell the CIA my AI recorded all this…”
***
When they found the microphone ports on the back of Rob’s canines, the first thing they did was shove a stick into his mouth to hold his teeth apart, then say in Farsi, “We’ve got your stupid, stupid agent and he’s going to regret his spying.”
Then they pulled the offending teeth without anesthetic.
Just before they pulled the second one, he heard Molly’s voice, “Rob! Rob! Can you hear me? It’s Molly. I love you. What’re those awful noises? Rob? Say something, Rob…”
If he’d said anything it would only have been a garbled scream.
***
Fay Kinrais’ AI said, “You have a call from Molly Shannon.”
She said, “I’ll take it… Molly! How are you?”
There was a period of silence, then a sob, then Molly said, “Not so good, Fay…”
~~~
When Fay finished telling Malcolm what’d happened to her brother, Malcolm held her while she cried. When they separated, he said, “I can call the kids… Unless you want to?”
***
Molly Shannon’s AI said, “You have a call from Shan Kinrais.”
Exhaustion from the tragedy had been compounded by the sympathy calls from her family. Molly almost told her AI to take a message. Then she remembered how much Shan had loved his uncle. She sighed, “I’ll take it… Hi, Shannie.”
Shan’s familiar voice, sounding troubled, said, “I’m so sorry, Aunt Molly. Have you gotten any news?”
“No,” Molly sighed. “The agency probably won’t let on that anything’s happened until they’re sure they can’t get him back. Then they’ll just say he was lost in the service of his country and that’ll be ‘all they can tell me.’”
“So, he got a message to you himself, not through the CIA?”
“Uh-huh. He’d had microphone ports put on the backs of his teeth and implanted in his ears before the CIA started doing it for all their agents. He talked them into using the ones he had rather than putting him through new installations.”
“Do you know what happened, where he was, who’s got him, that kind of stuff?”
“Shan, it wouldn’t do any good if I did. He sent me a link to his AI and it has a record of what he was doing when he was captured. An illegal record I’d point out, since, when he was on a mission it was supposed to forward everything directly to the Agency without recording any of it. But,” her voice broke, “no one I know has the power to do anything about this.”
“Aunt Molly,” Shan said softly, “have you forgotten who I married?”
“Who you…?” Molly was confused for a moment then realized he was talking about the fact that his wife Raquel had turned out to be Ell Donsaii in disguise. “You mean that you’re married to Ell? I hadn’t thought about it, but… You’re thinking she could bring some influence to bear?”
