Lyssa's Run_A Hard Science Fiction AI Adventure Read online

  Fran switched from hot to cold for what seemed like no reason, sometimes making herself angry in the time it took to explain how something was broken. Some days Fran couldn’t get enough of their dad, Captain Andy Sykes, while other days she disappeared into the propulsion section and only grunted responses over the comm system.

  Petral, on the other hand, had been sickly sweet, in a way that made Cara uncomfortable. The leggy, dark-haired woman who called herself an operator—but who had seemed more like a mercenary during the fight to get off Cruithne—asked questions about everything. She wanted to know about Tim’s poetry book and which boys Cara liked—blech. She wanted tours of their room, wanted to know what vids they liked, and all about Cara’s choices in music. She couldn’t get enough of watching their dad cook even the dumbest things, acting like boiling water was the height of human technology.

  While Fran acted like their dad annoyed her endlessly, creating this sort of crackling back-and-forth every time they were in the same room, Petral formed a vortex. She drew people toward herself and got them to say things they didn’t intend to say, while maintaining eye contact with her striking blue gaze as she tucked her black hair behind an ear, nodding seriously.

  Fran fixed and corrected things directly—with her hands and brain—while Petral hardly seemed to do anything but still accomplished tasks, getting others to do the work for her.

  Even Cara had fallen under Petral’s spell, giving up the complete timeline of her parents’ relationship and her mother’s disappearance two years ago without realizing what she was doing. It wasn’t until Petral had asked her the exact name of the neighborhood where her grandparents had lived on High Terra that Cara felt herself surface from the dream of Petral’s focused attention, realizing with a shock she had said more than she should have. She didn’t know why she felt the need to hang on to seemingly trivial information except that it was hers and she couldn’t see any need for a stranger to have it.

  The third woman whose presence hung over them was Lyssa, the AI. There were times when her dad—looking lean and worn like he usually did—couldn’t seem to shake the distracted expression that meant he was locked in a conversation or argument with the ghost Dr. Hari Jickson had implanted in his head.

  Cara had tried to imagine what it might be like to have another consciousness in her mind. Lying in the dark when she was supposed to be asleep, listening to her little brother’s even breathing, she would close her eyes and let herself drift, feeling for the edges of the dark behind her eyelids. How loud could she yell without using her voice? It was lonely to think of her mind as something trapped in the dark, experiencing the world through the filters of her senses—but that dark was hers. Anything she could imagine there belonged to her. How frustrating would it be to never have that space—her mind, her thoughts—all to herself again?

  Dr. Hari Jickson was dead, but Cara couldn’t help worrying that he was still carrying out the experiment—the same one that had created Lyssa—on her dad, and there was no way of knowing how it would turn out.

  What if he went crazy? What would she do then?

  Sitting at the comm station, watching the spectrum analyzers dance and spark, she couldn’t stop thinking about how much their lives had changed in such a short time. Everything had developed confusing layers that required constant remembering. Even Sunny Skies, which had been her home as long as she could remember, now had a new name: Worry’s End, which they only had to remember to use if contacted by outsiders.

  With two new crewmembers on board, she found herself weighed down by the stress of trying to understand what people really meant when they talked. Conversations and statements often seemed to carry double-meanings. Asking about the engines could be a question about the Lowspin Syndicate on Cruithne. Questions about what kind of music she liked was an effort to figure her out and…manipulate her somehow? Cara wasn’t used to the feeling of distrust. She hated it. She was learning to hate secrets.

  She thought about the pulse pistol she had hidden in the hydroponic room, buried in a drawer full of tubing and root cups. She’d found it behind a plas panel down near Airlock One while helping Fran with repairs. It was a Terran Space Force model, engraved with serial numbers and ‘dummy guides’—as her dad liked to say—indicating the lock status and charge levels. Her pistol was full.

  Twice now, she’d slipped off to hide in the old hydroponic garden and hold the pistol just like her dad had shown her during the fight on Cruithne; gripping the weapon in both hands in front of her, placing her finger on the trigger and looking down the sights to find center mass.

  Whenever she talked to Petral, she did her best not to think about the pistol. Something about the woman’s insistent blue eyes made her worry she would give up her secret without even meaning to.

  She had abruptly become aware—especially after Hari Jickson’s strange performance in she and Tim’s room—that adults wanted things. It seemed like a stupid realization, but all she could remember thinking about before was how her parents were going to take care of her and Tim, not that they had desires and emotions of their own. Now, everywhere she looked, she couldn’t help distrusting motives.

  Why were Fran and Petral really here? What did they want from her dad? What did Lyssa want, and did she even care that she was causing her dad so much turmoil? Everyone had said they were going to Proteus, a moon of Neptune, but did Lyssa even want that? What if she never wanted to leave her dad’s head? Then nothing would ever be the same again.

  Everything had changed and she couldn’t remember exactly when the change had happened. It seemed like a trick life had played on them, even worse than Mom leaving.

  The floor had slipped—like there had been a sudden change in gravity—only she didn’t know how to adjust her weight. She didn’t know how to kick off and spin, or grab at the bulkhead, ready to accept that what had been the floor was now overhead. Those were natural changes. They happened all the time. This was more subtle and insidious though she couldn’t tell exactly how.

  Across the command deck, her dad sat squinting at the holodisplay, moving bits of light around that represented potential stops after they left the Mars 1 Ring. His shoulders were a tense line. The path between stops flashed for a second like a jagged claw of lightning, then faded as he wiped the info and leaned back, sighing.

  He caught Cara looking at him and forced a smile. “Can’t make a plan without cargo,” he said. “So I’m just spinning my wheels. You picking anything up from Mars yet?”

  “Lots of things,” Cara said. “You want to hear some dance music?”

  “Dance music? Do Marsians dance?”

  Cara grinned at his goofy smile. “I think at least one in a hundred million Marsians dance.”

  “No, that was just someone having a seizure. You need a sense of humor to dance, and no one on Mars has a sense of humor.”

  “Dad,” she scolded. “You can’t generalize about a whole planet. It’s kind of weird to even say Marsians like they’re one group of people.”

  “I’m old. That’s what I do. There’s a reason this is the first time you’ll be visiting Mars.”

  “I thought you wanted to live on Mars before you and Mom got Sunny Skies?”

  Andy waved a hand, still staring into the holodisplay. “I was young and foolish back then.”

  “Like me, huh?”

  “Like you? No. You don’t know any better yet. I knew better but was trying to convince myself otherwise. That’s a whole different kind of foolish.”

  Andy spun the holodisplay and zoomed in. The first point on the flight plan grew in front of him until the blue-green orb of Mars filled most of the display. The ring of Mars 1 glittered around the planet like a flat silver bracelet. Despite being pushed away from Mars during the construction of the ring, Phobos still orbited fast, and relatively close, to the terraformed planet. There had been a second moon once—Diemos—but it was gone now, ground up for construction material along with Mercury and other material
from the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter.

  Everything is moving, she mused, watching as the Mars Outer Shipyards came into focus, a haze at the outside edges of the Mars 1 Ring. She knew Mars 1 was sixteen hundred kilometers wide and more than a hundred kilometers thick, giving it nearly thirty times the usable land mass as Terra once all the levels were filled up—but it still looked so fragile in the display.

  As her dad continued to zoom in, now pulling up potential docking points and scrolling through their fee schedules, what had seemed tiny from a distance became overwhelming. The scale of it was hard to hold in her mind.

  “Are you hearing anything interesting?” her dad asked, nodding toward the comms panel. “We should be getting a query anytime now.”

  They were still a day away from Mars 1, but had been in Mars Protectorate space for four days at least. She knew her dad was dreading the eventual scrutiny from the local military forces who probably weren’t excited about the flood of ships from Cruithne.

  Cara glanced at the spectrum again, flicking through various bands and wavelengths. They were surrounded by communications all the time, but at the moment none of it was directed specifically at them.

  “Nothing yet,” she said. “I picked up a cool old vid channel I’ve been recording. We could watch it later.”

  Mention of “we” seemed to remind her dad about Tim. She wasn’t surprised when the next thing he asked was, “Where’s your brother?”

  “I think he’s in his room. Or he might have gone somewhere with Petral. She said she was going to make something to eat.”

  “Petral made it clear she doesn’t cook.”

  Cara shrugged. “Get something in the kitchen then. He loves following her around. Maybe she’ll make him cook something.”

  “That would be a sight,” Andy said, getting drawn into the dock advertisements again. From what Cara had overheard, they had plenty of money from Ngoba Starl, the gangster on Cruithne with the curly beard and bowties. As her father frowned at prices, she figured it wasn’t because he was cheap but because he couldn’t let go of the idea that they were poor. She didn’t know if his attitude was good or bad.

  An alert flashed on her display and Cara directed her attention to an incoming message aimed directly at them. As Andy had expected, it was the Mars Protectorate.

  “Dad,” she called. “We’ve got a message.”

  “That’ll be Mars 1 customs,” he muttered, turning off the holodisplay. “I guess our vacation is over.” He stood slowly, stretching, then walked over to her console to stand behind her with his hands on the back of her chair. Cara liked that he didn’t push her away from the console. He let her navigate the menus to the message, teasing her when she fat-fingered the commands as he watched.

  “Worry’s End,” a thin voice said. “This is First Lieutenant Kerda of the Hellas Planitia. You have been randomly selected for increased scrutiny prior to your approach to Mars 1. You are to transmit your crew list and manifest information immediately. Failure to comply with this directive will result in reactive measures up to, and including, boarding and pre-emptive attack. Do you understand this directive?”

  Her dad blew out a long breath. “You remember that vid we watched where the gorillas smack their chests at each other?” he said.

  Cara nodded.

  “That’s what this is, only we’re not a gorilla. We’re more like a squirrel.”

  “Or rabbits,” Cara corrected, referencing their old joke.

  Andy smiled despite the worry on his face. “That’s right,” he said. “Rabbits.”

  He reached over her shoulder to tap the console. “Hellas Planitia,” he said. “This is Captain Andy Sykes of the Worry’s End. I have received your directive and will comply shortly. We left Cruithne in a hurry due to unrest there, so I’m not carrying any cargo.”

  “Understood, Captain Sykes,” the lieutenant responded. “We’re monitoring that situation. Send your crew data.”

  Andy opened his mouth to speak then stopped himself. He closed the channel. “I almost said it was just you, me and Tim,” he told Cara. “We’ve got two other people I need to worry about.”

  “I thought they were helping to worry about us?” Cara said.

  He smirked at her joke. “Jury’s still out on that, kiddo,” he said.

  Cara nodded inwardly. At least her dad seemed to share her unease at all the change, although she wouldn’t have forgotten Fran and Petral. She couldn’t stop thinking about them.

  “What about Lyssa?” she asked. “Do you have to declare her as part of the crew?”

  A surprised look flattened his face. “That’s an excellent question,” he said, looking even more worried now.

  CHAPTER THREE

  STELLAR DATE: 07.26.2980 (Adjusted Years)

  LOCATION: Heartbridge Corporate HQ, Raleigh

  REGION: High Terra, Earth, Terran Hegemony, InnerSol

  One year ago…

  The Heartbridge Corporation didn’t use flashy logos. Most people barely knew the corporation had its headquarters on High Terra. Their clinics across Sol were all clean white boxes with frosted glass, devoid of name or explanation, sometimes appearing like mushrooms overnight. Everyone knew what they were and how much they cost.

  Off a promenade near the administration district in Raleigh—capital of the Terran Hegemony—the entrance to the Heartbridge headquarters was a simple white vestibule where visitors waited for a full-body scan and appointment verification.

  Cal Kraft stood in the plain white lobby as the receptionist spoke to the woman in a blue suit in front of him. The woman looked like a flower on a snowfield. He liked the clean lines of the room, the obvious attention to furniture placement and overall order. Everything was made of a white ceramic material, a sort of flowing tile, with very few actual corners. There were only two doors: the entrance he had come through and an inset door behind the receptionist’s white-block desk. He expected to find drains in the floor where the room could be sluiced clean like a surgery.

  “I have an appointment,” the woman in blue said.

  “I’m sorry,” said the receptionist, a young man with purple-red hair and green eyes, a humanizing touch in the sterile room. “Your appointment has been rescheduled. Would you like me to send you the information via Link?”

  “No, I don’t want the information. I’ve been waiting for this appointment for three weeks.”

  “The board can be difficult to schedule,” the young man said. “I’m sure they appreciate your patience.”

  Cal watched the woman’s body language as she fumed. She clenched her fists and the tension went through her shoulders and down her back. He glanced at the receptionist, sitting below the woman, and visualized the several scenarios that might play out. He was disappointed when the woman didn’t grab the receptionist’s head to try and break his neck and instead wheeled around, surprised to find Cal standing behind her.

  Her blue eyes met his for a second, flaring, before she stalked past him, heels clicking harshly on the polished floor. Cal moved his gaze to the receptionist, who was already assuming a neutral expression as he stared into a screen in the surface of his desk.

  “How can I help you?” the young man asked as Cal stepped toward him.

  “My name is Cal Kraft. I have an appointment.”

  The receptionist smiled, showing square white teeth. “Of course, Cal Kraft. Your path is through the doorway and into the meeting room.”

  The doorway behind him slid open as he explained.

  “Thanks,” Cal said.

  He walked through the open door and stepped into a gleaming white hallway almost identical to the waiting room. The place made him feel like he had entered a giant autoclave that might abruptly raise the air temperature to three thousand degrees and burn everything clean and sterile, ready for the next patient.

  Cal wasn’t afraid of heat. He’d spent his childhood among the remains of Mercury, working a mining rig with Sol raging overhead and ever-pre
sent protest beacons screaming about the death of a planet. He didn’t like to be cold. His nightmares about burning to death—alone in a failing EV suit with Sol roiling above him—had eventually become a sort of comfort. Even if the planet was gone, Mercury remained a forge. He had survived one of the most inhospitable places in Sol, so close to their life-giving star that it became his angry and violent father.

  The meeting room resembled the reception space. The couches along the walls were gone, revealing smooth curves where wall met floor. A single chair sat in front of the white-block desk, where a man in a gray suit leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head.

  “Cal Kraft,” he called when Cal entered the room. “Very good of you to come.” He motioned for the chair. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Thanks,” Cal said. He pulled the chair away from the desk and sat down with his back straight, hands on his thighs. He tilted his head slightly as he studied the man behind the desk—who looked about forty, although he could have been any age. He had gray streaks in his black hair, a square chin, olive skin, and warm brown eyes. He looked like a doctor in an advertisement, a fount of knowledge and a comforting bedside manner.

  “I’m Rodri Sillick,” the man said. “I’ve been assigned with your intake.”

  Cal blinked slowly. “Intake?” he asked. “I thought I’d been invited to talk about the job.”

  Sillick cleared his throat, maintaining the calm facade. “Sure. I think it’s a good offer but the decision is still yours.”

  “I’d like to hear more about it. The only thing your recruiting person mentioned was security work. I do more than security work.”

  Sillick spread his hands. “Tell me what you do, Mr. Kraft.”