Copyright 2018 Craig Robertson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission from the author.
ISBNs: 978-0-9997742-3-6 (Ebook)
978-0-9896659-9-5 (Paperback)
979-8-7667854-5-3 (Hardcover)
Cover art work and design by Starla Huchton
Available at http:// http://www.designedbystarla.com
Formatting services by Drew Avera
Edited by: Michael R. Blanche
Neil Farr
Forest Olivier
First Edition 2016
Second Edition 2018
Third Edition, 2018
Fourth Edition 2019
Fifth Edition 2020
Sixth Edition 2023
Imagine-It Publishing
This book is dedicated to my author’s group, headed by the stalwart Scott Evans. Please know, my friends, that without your guidance, patience, and caring, The Forever Life would have never have gotten off the ground. Thanks … forever.
PRELUDE
The president sat in the Oval Office, alone in the dark. His thumb was anchored on his temple while his fingers rubbed his brow raw with worry. He was confronted by the greatest possible threat to life on Earth. The Ice Ages, Climate Change, and thermonuclear war were child’s play compared with what he faced. Teddy Roosevelt once said of being commander-in-chief, “In any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing and the worst thing you can do is nothing.” This was indeed a time for action.
A soft knock on the door brought him back to the here-and-now. He glanced at his watch. Right on time. “Come.”
His chief of staff, Roger Carl, opened the door slowly and reached over to brighten the lights. He then ushered in two men. The secretary of state, Sherman Collins, and the other, the messenger. Both visitors were stiff and somber. Without being asked, all three sat across from the president, the messenger with some uncertainty.
Secretary Collins spoke first. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, Mr. President.”
Barely lifting his hand from his head, President Marshall waved a fatigued dismissal. His once-proud frame seemed deflated by the weight of current events. No one could recall the last time he’d told one of his silly jokes, or even smiled.
“This is Dr. Tip Benjamin,” Collins said. A faint nod was all the acknowledgement extended from Marshall. “Dr. Benjamin is the world’s best authority on our present crisis. He brings, I fear, as poor tidings as we had anticipated. Dr. Benjamin.” He gestured that the messenger should speak.
Tip cleared his dry throat. “Good evening, Mr. President.” Tip was a thin man and one unaccustomed to high-pressure meetings. What astrophysicist was? “The secretary has briefed me as to what you know, so I’m not sure where to begin or how detailed to be.”
“Just talk. I’ll ask questions when I need to.”
“Very well, sir.” Tip sucked at his lower lip. “About three months ago, a deep sky survey telescope detected what was initially felt to be a new comet. It quickly became apparent we weren’t to be that lucky. It turned out to be a rogue planet, one not associated with any particular star.”
The secretary could tell Marshall’s patience was flagging. “Dr. Benjamin, I believe you should skip the didactic and get right to the bottom line.”
Tip shrank back in his chair. It was a bitch being a geek in the world of normal people. “The planet is the size of Jupiter, give or take, and it’s moving really fast, for a planet, that is.” He stopped to consider his words. “Mercury is about ten percent its spee—”
“Dr. Benjamin. The president is a busy man.” Roger Carl had lost his patience.
“Ah, sorry. There I go again.” He looked briefly at the floor. “So, this large planet—we call it Vega, but that’s not official yet or anything—is going to pass through our solar system and then move off to God knows where. Before it does, Vega will pass close enough to Jupiter to throw that planet completely out of its present orbit around the Sun.”
The President asked quietly, “On this point, are you absolutely certain, Doctor?”
“Absolutely. One-hundred percent certain. Jupiter will fly off like a billiard ball and it will really pick up speed. Within a year’s time or so it will stabilize in a smaller and very odd-shaped orbit.”
Sitting up, Marshall asked, “And?”
Tip dropped his head as though an anchor hung around it. “And on it’s sixteenth of those orbits, Jupiter will directly impact Earth.”
“Again, Doctor, on this point are you absolutely certain?”
“One-hundred percent, sir.” He raised his arms above his head. “Really, I wish I wasn’t so damn certain. Jupiter will strike us squarely, a direct bullseye.” He slammed a fist into his palm. “Dead center.”
“Doctor Benjamin, there’s so much riding on your prediction, I must ask again. Is there any chance, however slight, the two planets will miss each other?” Marshall slumped back in his seat. He already knew the answer.
“Sorry, Mr. President. None whatsoever. We’re totally screwed.” As soon as those last words left his mouth, Tip wished he could pull them back in. He was relieved to see either no one cared or no one noticed his flippancy.
Looking to his secretary of state, Marshall said, “So, in ninety-seven years, the Earth will be annihilated.” Back to Tip, he asked, “What, precisely, Dr. Benjamin, will occur?”
Tip held his hands up in the shape of a football. “Our tidally deformed planet will pass into Jupiter’s gaseous surface,” he crumpled his fingers together, “and some dust will come out the other side a few days later.”
Collins shrugged, and replied, “Well, at least we have almost a century to prepare. That’s something.”
Tip cleared his throat loudly.
Marshall was too tired and too vexed to brook indirectness. “Do you have something to add, Doctor? I can’t do the right thing if I do not have all the facts.”
Tip folded his shoulders forward, and tried to disappear between them. “Well, the sixteenth is the orbit where a collision will occur. But, orbit fifteen may rain all holy hell down from the heavens, puns intended.” Furrowing his brow, Tip remarked, “Fourteen may not be much of a walk in the park either. Not unless you’re carrying a really big steel umbrella.” He harrumphed a quiet laugh.
Marshall lost it. “Look, Benjamin, I don’t have the time or the inclination to play twenty-questions with you. If I don’t choose the sensible option and blow my brains out before tomorrow, I can’t waste time. What?”
Tip was shaking like a frightened dog beaten by his cruel owner. “Not only does Jupiter have several moons, but, after the interaction with Vega, it will likely trail behind it a large debris field. Certainly by orbit fifteen, our planet is likely to be struck by something big enough to cause major damage.”
“So,” Marshall said to no one in particular, “we have ninety-seven years, tops. We may only have ninety-one or less, if our luck remains as bad as it’s been.”
Carl stood up. “Explain to me, please, why we can’t just blow the damn thing up? I’m told we can’t. But, I mean, if the combined nuclear weapons held on Earth worked together, how could that not destroy Jupiter?”
Tip angled his head. “It’s just too damn big, Roger. If we launch all our nukes at Jupiter and managed somehow to throw the Moon at it too, it wouldn’t change a thing. And even if we could blow it apart, the little pieces would remain in orbit together. They’d still make mincemeat out of Earth just as efficiently.”
A frustrated Carl asked, “Couldn’t we redirect Jupiter? I’ve heard they would try that on an asteroid if it threatened the Earth.”
Tip shook his head. “Sorry, Roger, no can do. Yes, we can alter an asteroid’s orbit enough by flying rockets to one side of it, using the ship’s gravity to redirect the rock. But, like I just said, Jupiter is too massive and the time left is way too short. There is nothing we can do to save the Earth. Rog, you gotta let that idea go.”
Collins said hesitantly, “Mr. President—John—what are we going to do?”
Marshall tented his palms over his face and rubbed it vigorously. “We’re going to work like hell and pray like hell and hope to God we catch every single break between then and now.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Sherm, you and I both have grandkids young enough to die in this catastrophe unless we do something. Mine will not be remembered as the administration that chose to do nothing. We will commit every dollar of our wealth and every minute left to us to salvage as much of our species, of human culture, as we can.” He took a deep breath and looked out the window. “We will evacuate the Earth. We will find a new home for humankind. Nothing less is acceptable.” He stood. “So, gentlemen, we had best get to work. Sleep is a luxury we can no longer afford.”
ONE
Three years later in Houston
It wasn’t every day I had my entire being, everything I ever was or ever knew, dumped into a robot built by low-bid government contract. What could possibly go wrong? The white coats reassured me that none of the test animals showed any statistically significant mental impairment from the transfer. Great. No rats were stupider than they already were. But the whole process was so prohibitively expensive, full scientific vetting hadn’t been possible. Worst-case scenario, my brain would be scrambled into warm mush and the android would remain lifeless and empty. Jon all gone. Heads would shake and a few kind words would be said about me. The next morning the search for someone to blame and a new volunteer would start up in earnest.
You know what? I wasn’t worried in the least about the risks. I was the perfect man for this job. Youngest officer to make USAF Major in decades, a decorated combat veteran, and a graduate of the astronaut program. Two doctorates, one in biology and one in physics. Since divorcing Mrs. ControlFreak years back, I was as single as could be. Once so bitten, eternally shy was I. Plus, I was an only child, both my parents were already in the ground, and my nearest relative was so distant I could legally marry the woman. Not that I wanted to marry my demented ninety-seven-year-old third cousin awaiting death in a nursing home. But, my point was, Jonathan Alan Ryan was going to be the man who helped save this planet’s butt. The upcoming procedure and mission might just make that possible. Not sure I wanted to live forever, but, for the time being, it was one day at a time.
One more briefing with the suits and IFGOs, and I could get on with it. Oh, excuse me. For those never lucky enough to be military pilots, IFGOs stands for, and please excuse my French in advance, Ignorant Fucking GroundOfficer. Not really a term of endearment, but there it was. I flew planes, they flew desks. I risked my butt, they risked splinters in theirs. One more boring meeting. I could do this. At all times, I never forget that there were three equally qualified pilots dying to take my place, and the boss, General Saunders, would love to bump me just because he could.
In fact, once I was clear of the docking bay and alone on my ship, I do believe I was going to have to tell that SOB off. What was he going to do? I will have been downloaded into an android with no possibility of reversing the process and be outbound on a mission slated to last the better part of a century. Saunders, sure as hell’s a bad place for penguins to nest, won’t be standing at the dock awaiting my return with a couple of MPs. But, for the time being, I had to stay focused. No screw-ups and in a little while, I’d make history. Or become history. Hey, either way, I was kicking the can down the road.
I stepped up to the main security checkpoint before taking the elevator down the twenty stories to the main laboratories. To the sergeant, I said, “Morning, Jimmie. How’s it going today?”
He popped me a salute, and said, “Fine, Major. And you?”
“Jimmie, don’t they tell you anything around here? Today’s the day they shrink-wrap my brain and try to stuff it into an untested android. If that doesn’t kill me, pretty soon they’re shooting me off in a completely experimental spacecraft, alone, for a hundred years.”
With a blank expression, he said, “So, you’re looking at busy day, right?”
“I’m thinking so. Yes.”
Jimmie shrugged. “I’m hoping for meatloaf tonight. You’re clear to proceed, Major.”
“Thanks, Sergeant. Oh, and maybe save me a slice, if there’s enough. I love meatloaf.”
He saluted. “Sure, no problem. I just hope the missus can wrap it well enough to last that long.”
I made it to the meeting room just on time. Saunders was there, as was our lead scientist, Dr. Toño DeJesus. All the section heads were there to go through our final checklists together. The three alternate pilots were hovering like vultures.
Saunders stood with a grunt. After a loud clearing of his throat he began. “Today we’re going to take an enormous step forward. I expect perfection from each and every one of you. If any of you find yourselves looking at me across my desk tomorrow morning because you screwed something up, I promise you, it will not be pleasant.” He thumped the desk with his knuckles. “Just hope whatever mistake you made killed you. It will save me the bother.” He scanned the room like a shark surveying a school of fish, to see if anyone reacted poorly. “Very well. Professor, the floor is yours. But make it quick. We’re all very busy today.”
Nervous by nature, DeJesus hesitantly stood up. His tall, thin frame and long, thin face were set off poorly by his tendency to stoop forward, as if he were years older than he looked. His loose-fitting clothes only amplified his hunched, drained appearance. He looked to me. “Good morning, Major Ryan. I trust you are well.”
“Couldn’t be better, Doc.”
He turned to the others. “Any glitches or stops on anyone’s final checklist?” No one said a peep. “Fine, fine.” He looked to the wall clock. “In approximately ninety minutes we will commence the upload of Major Ryan to the android. If anyone runs into a problem, however slight, notify the general or me immediately. Otherwise, I suggest we all get to our stations and do our jobs.”
I had to say it. Heck, it might be the last time I saw them, or anyone else for that matter. “Ah, a moment of your time, if you don’t mind.”
Everyone looked to Saunders. He scrunched up his face like he was significantly constipated, but finally said, “Unscheduled, but, all right, Major. If it’s brief and mission critical.”
I stood up and crumpled my hat in my hands. “Sure is, Sir. I just wanted to thank you all for your hard work. Especially those of you working to make the android as human as possible. I did have one question, before I go any further, though.” I glanced over at Saunders. He looked like he was going to puff up and explode. Too bad he didn’t. “For those of you in the Genital Department. When you signed off on ʽfully functional,’ was that a promise, or was it just your general goal?”
The room erupted in snickers, well, aside from the boss. He looked as displeased as a cat with a can of sardines. He glared at me a moment. “Very droll, Major. If you’re finished with your locker-room jokes, do you think we could be getting on with it?”
“Of course, General Saunders.”
My mother warned me up until the day she died to stop being my own worst enemy. I know she meant well, but it sure was a lot more fun my way.
A driver waited outside the meeting room with a golf cart transport. The main laboratory was about a quarter mile away. The general, doctor, and I mounted up. We were all silent for the short trip. Once there, I headed to the locker room, while the other two made their way to Control Central. In the dressing room, I donned my designated clothing. In honor of the historic significance and the presence of news photographers, the higher-ups decided that I shouldn’t wear a traditional medical gown. They felt there was insufficient dignity if my naked butt flashed across a holo screen. Also, a Hollywood director was consulted to suggest camera angles and my general movements. One of his actors demonstrated that if I was seated in the exam chair wearing a standard-issue gown, my masculinity was at risk of entering the public record. So, I wore a modified toga. It wound around me tightly one and a half times and tied with a thin belt.
The design of the outfit was actually hotly debated. One camp held that the entire kit should be white. Understated, antiseptic, and traditional. A disparate segment of those entitled to an opinion favored a military palate, such as Air Force blue and gray. A differing gaggle of fashionistas felt a bold new look was called for by the enormity of the occasion. They argued against a Roman toga, suggesting a smock-over-towel-wrap ensemble. The colors, they proclaimed, should speak of the future, iridescent oranges transitioning into electric yellows.
When told of the controversy, Saunders decreed that the robe would be white. His robe at home was white and it was a perfectly fine robe. The assistant asked what color his robe’s sash was. That turned out to be an awkward, TMI moment for both men. The general remarked off-handedly that he didn’t have a belt for his robe. Oh myyy. When the nearly apoplectic assistant pointed out the lack of privacy, Saunders screamed that the belt would be white, too.
The three backup pilots sat with me, fidgeting. Major Turk McCarthy, the first alternate, noted I was ready and teased, “So, big guy, it’s still not too late to pass the baton to me.”
I smiled. “No, but thanks. I think I’ll run it to the finish line myself. Plus, you could live looking like me for all of eternity?”
Turk said, “Suit yourself. I was just worrying about you.”
“Do tell?”
Placing a hand on his chest, Turk said, “I do, indeed.” He leaned in confidentially. “I’ve had a long time to think about this immortality thing, Jon. I have come to believe it will be a curse—a damn curse.” Sorrowfully, he shook his head. “As to looking like you, why—hell—I’d suffer that gladly to help a colleague. I’m just that kind of a guy.”
“A curse, you say? That doesn’t sound so good.”
Confidently, Turk said, “They never are, big guy—never-ever.”
“So,” I asked, “what, you’d take that bullet for me?”
“Yes, I would, because you’re such a good friend. You know I love you like both my brothers combined, right?”
I nodded. “I did not know that. Wow, I think I may start bawling like a beauty queen who just won the crown.”
“No need and no time. Just strip that robe off and walk out that door.”
“Hmm.” I rubbed my chin.
“What?” Turk asked.
“I was wondering if this isn’t just a ploy to see me naked again, Turk.”
“No way. You’re not my type. But—for the record—Carl here would like to sneak another peek.” He pointed to one of the other two alternates, who promptly punched Turk in the arm.
That was, of course, the precise moment Saunders entered the room. “What the hell are you four imbeciles doing?”
We staggered to attention as one. “Nothing,” Turk said. “We were just saying our farewells to Major Ryan, Sir.”
Saunders crossed his arms. “What, by injuring my most valuable asset on the day I need him the most?”
“No, Sir. Just friendly horseplay.”
“Well knock it off. You three,” he swiped a plump finger at the backups, “get to the Control Room, now. You,” he pointed to me, “need to report to your duty station.”
“Sir.” The alternates saluted and snapped-to.
I lingered and sat back down on the wooden bench. “If it’s all the same to you, General, I think I’ll hang out here a minute longer, to gather my thoughts.”
With uncharacteristic nervousness, Saunders muttered, “Oh, yes. Fine, Major. I’ll be up top if you need me.”
I saluted. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll just be a minute.”
Finally, I was alone. Four years of constant screening, testing, and training had bombarded my mind. Endless meetings, interviews, and review sessions have overloaded my senses. Solitude was finally mine—in the Men’s Locker Room next door to the big machine which was about to suck out my soul. Oh well, I had to reflect, not Lake Tahoe in early spring, but it was quiet, save for the ubiquitous electrical hum. That sound asked nothing of me, nor did it judge.
I actually looked forward to the impending transfer attempt. If nothing happened, I’d go back to my old life and regain control. If the experiment succeeded, my existence would be radically altered and I’d move on. Even if the process nuked my brain, at least the entire farce would be over. I’d pay good money to never hear that windbag Saunders shoot his mouth off again. Sure, if everything went as planned, he’d send me tedious messages for a few years. But, soon enough, General PissedOff would go the way of all living flesh and out of my new life. Amen to that.
A quick check of the wall clock confirmed it was time to go. I looked up and closed my eyes. “Well, Mom and Pop, maybe I’ll see you in about half an hour. Who knows,” I chuckled, “maybe never.” I laughed out loud. “Maybe both, come to think of it.” With that, I stood and walked to the passageway leading to the testing arena. I pulled the steel door open and stepped into the ten-meter hallway.
Halfway down the corridor, near the blast doors, I could swear I felt a push back. It was as though the air was conspiring to stop me. Not the time to lose it, I chastised myself. Quit imagining signs and signals. After a few increasingly difficult steps, the illusion passed. I entered the work area, but couldn’t help looking back at the passageway.
Doc zipped to my side. “Over here, Major.” He pulled me toward the empty exam chair. “Please, be seated.”
Once in place, the doctor began affixing wires and sticky patches all over my body. Most instrumentation went on my head. We had drilled that step a hundred times. It seemed to go much quicker this time. I casually noted the covered android, wires streaming from under its shroud, seated in an identical chair three meters away.
“When are you guys going to let me see the robot, Doc?” I batted my eyelashes, and added, “Now seems as good a time as any.”
He shook his head. “We feel it is best if you do not see the copy. As you know, we don’t want to engender some unanticipated emotional response that could interfere with the transfer process. That’s the same reason we will not allow you to meet the functioning android, nor allow him to see you after the transfer is complete.” He shook his head wearily. “We’re breaking completely new ground here, Major. Perhaps we’re overreacting, or perhaps we’re naive, but this is how it will be.”
“At least tell me one thing, Doc.”
“What?”
“Is he as handsome as me?”
That drew a rare giggle from the doctor.
“I know, silly question, right? No way he could be.”
It seemed as if he was going to respond with something institutional, but instead he said, “Of course you are the more handsome of the pair, Major. Here, place this in your mouth.” He shoved a sensor down my throat and tapped my jaw shut.
Very soon, all was ready. I was wired six-ways-to-Sunday, and so was the dummy. Ten million lights flashed chaotically from all directions. Technicians, engineers, and photographers, all in dust-free suits, scurried around like hungry mice. The doctor checked his watch and confirmed it agreed precisely with the countdown clock high above the two exam chairs. Five minutes until the facility would be locked-down and backup power took over. Fifteen minutes until my destiny was revealed. I looked up to the panoramic windows of the Control Room. Saunders leaned on the sill, chewing his pipe stem like a butcher’s dog his bone. I could see the alternate pilots sitting near him. Turk waved his fingers at me as if to say goodbye.
The transfer floor smelled of antiseptic, and the air felt cold against my face. Sounds of anxious tension bounced from wall to wall. The pounding of my heart dueled with those of the machines that pulsed all around me. The taste of ozone and fear fouled the air. I felt tingly … then I felt … nothing …
**********
“ … nnnnn?”
“ … aaaannnnn?”
“ … jor Ryannnnn?”
My cheek stung. Someone was shaking my shoulder and slapping my face.
“Major Ryan?”
Light rammed past my eyelids and stormed to the back of my sockets. Painful illumination exploded in both eyes.
“Major Ryan, are you all right?”
It was a man’s voice. No … yes, a man. I struggled to make out the form. A man with a pencil-thin mustache bounced in and out of my focus. DeJesus. It was Doc, calling to me. I tried to raise my head, but was immediately stopped by the restraints. I attempted to sit up with equal futility. More restraints. I relaxed into the chair, helpless.
“Major Ryan, can you hear me? It is Dr. DeJesus. Jon, are you alright?”
There was something odd in his voice, in the tone. Jon? Doc never called me by my first name.
Something had gone terribly wrong. Was I dead? No, that’s silly. I could hear him and my face hurt from the pounding it had taken. I had to be alive. My head was spinning like a gyroscope, and I felt like a jet fighter in a dead-stall.
The vision of DeJesus shot sideways out of sight. Strong arms grabbed both my shoulders and shook me like a rag doll. A man’s voice yelled, but … it was different. Louder.
“Ryan, wake up. That’s an order, Son.”
General Sandy. No, General Sanderson … Saunders. It was Saunders, trying to get me to wake up. Wake up? I was awake. My eyes were exploding, my nose was on fire, I was so …
“Why, you see, Professor, that’s all it takes. A little elbow grease and the boy’s as right as rain. Aren’t you, Ryan?”
I replied, “Yes, sir. I am, sir.”
And I was. What was all that about just now? I’d felt like I was being used for experimental tortures in hell, but suddenly I was perfectly fine. Better than fine, actually. I felt … really good.
DeJesus muscled back to the center of my vision. “Major Ryan. If you understand me, close your right eye.”
“Doc, wouldn’t it be a lot easier if I just told you I can understand you?”
“Yes, of course.” Chagrined, he looked to the general, then back at me. “Are you in any pain, Major?”
“No, Doc, just my ears ’cause you’re still shouting so loud.” He smiled sheepishly. “Are you okay, Doc?”
“Me? Yes, I’m … but I wasn’t just … I mean to say …”
My eyes sprang wide open. I asked, “You weren’t just what, Doc?” I stared at the doctor a moment. “What, you weren’t just dead? Did I die, Doc? Is that what all the fuss is about?”
“Major, there will be plenty of time to discuss all aspects of your … experience,” said the doctor. “But, those matters are best deferred until later. For now, I need to ascertain that you are funct … er, in proper health.” He reached over and loosened the restraints on my head, then released my chest and arms. I was still held in the chair by waist and leg straps. “There. See if you can sit up.”
Fluidly, I sat up. I smiled at him. “There, see. Nothing to worry about. I’m none the worse for wear. Hey, were you able to try the transfer yet? I seem to have a gap in my memory or something.”
Only then did I notice the other chair, the one I’d been strapped to initially, was empty. I angled my head that direction. “Why the hell’d you move me to this chair? This’s where the puppet sits. Aren’t we a little old for musical chairs?”
Doc went ashen. He rested his hands on his knees and began hyperventilating. I asked if he was okay, but he didn’t respond. He just kept hyperventilating, all the while he was losing more color. Finally, his trembling hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of nitroglycerin pills. He fumbled the cap open and slipped a tablet under his tongue.
I asked sharply, “Doc, you want me to get you a doctor?” I attempted to do just that, but was prevented from doing so by the restraints.
Finally, he was able to pat my forearm and weakly say, “I’m fine now, Major. Not to worry. I seem to have experienced a bit of shock, that’s all.”
“So,” I asked, “can you tell me why I’m sitting where the robot was, not where I started out?”
“Well, you see, Major … eh. Well, it’s like this … in essence—” He stammered badly. That could not be a good sign.
From the side, came a strong clear voice. “Because you are the robot, Major Ryan.” It was Saunders. I turned and saw a huge smile on his face.
I was really pissed. “General, with all due respect, this is not funny. You’ve subjected me to every test and scenario in the book. But this one borders on being just plain cruel. I have to formally protest.” This horse’s ass figured he’d see how I might react when the transfer was actually attempted. He had them knocked me out and put me in the android’s chair. The son of a bitch.
“Cruel now, am I?” He scanned the room quickly, and stepped over to an open medical cart. He removed a packaged needle and syringe and tore it open. After removing the cap from the needle, he walked back to my side. “Let’s see how cruel I really am, shall we?” With that, he stabbed me firmly in the back of the hand.
Belatedly, the doctor yelped a protest. “No, wait, General. Yo—” He stopped when it was clear his appeal was too late.
“Ow, you son-of-a-bitch. That hurt.”
Saunders pointed to my hand. “Look at your stupid hand, major-robot. No blood.”
I raised my hand to eye level. The needle was stuck in my flesh, it smarted, but he was right. There was no bleeding at all. I asked, “How did you pull off this parlor trick, Saunders? You an amateur magician on weekends?”
“That will be about all the insubordination I am willing to brook, Major Ryan—or whoever you are now. I will remind you but once. You are technically still an officer in the USAF. I am your commander and you will act accordingly. Do I make myself clear, Son?”
I barely heard the general’s words. I just kept staring at the painful but bloodless wound in my hand.
Into that gap jumped the doctor. “Gentlemen, please.” the doctor said. “Let us all calm down and allow cooler heads to prevail.” He placed himself between Saunders and me. “We have just created a miracle. Let us not spoil it with harsh words or posturing. General Saunders, as scientific director, it is within my power to have you removed from this room. Please do not force me to do so. You must, I demand, stop badgering my android. And, you are absolutely forbidden to do him any further damage or I will have you arrested. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Harry?”
I whistled in amazement. “I musta been out quite a while, Doc. When did you grow those big cojones of yours?” I thumped him soundly on the back. “I’m proud of you, Doc. Glad to call you my friend.”
TWO
After the general left the area, DeJesus rested his hand on mine. He had a very soulful look in his eyes, almost sad. “Major Ryan, this is not a trick or a test. Please trust me on this. We have completed the transfer process. Everything has gone as well as can be expected.”
“Very reassuring, Doc. What, maybe you left my teen years behind, but you don’t know yet?”
He gave me a humorless grin. “At least your strange sense of humor transferred accurately. Very shortly, I will wheel you into the main laboratory. There, we can do a complete scan of your circuitry and a full set of diagnostics. Then, we can begin testing just how accurate a copy we made. But for now, I wish to speak plainly and from my heart.”
“Absolutely. Give it to me straight.”
“Major Ryan, you are an android. You are the first of your kind, a completely new species. Válgame, Dios, you’re not a new species. You are a new form of life.” He wiped his forehead. “I suppose the issue as to whether you are technically alive will be hotly debated in the future.”
“You and your brainiac-friends can debate all you like, Doc. But please do it later, after I’m well out in space. For now, I’ll state for the record I am alive, as alive as I ever was. So, make sure everybody treats me like I am.”
“Of course, Major. I’ll treat you the same as I am already treating the—” He let that thought trail off. After a sigh, he added, “Some things are best left unsaid. For now, it is important for me to know you believe you are The Transplanted Man. You’re a good officer and a good friend. It would hurt me if I failed to convey this fact accurately.”
Okay, I’m a robot. Buzz, buzz. Klaatu barada nikto. “No problem, Doc. I know you’re telling me the truth. Is the original me okay, too?”
He tapped his index finger against his lips to signal silence. Then, he asked, “Before we head to the lab, one question, Major, if you will indulge this old scientist.”
“Sure. As long as it’s not too personal.”
Surprised, he squinted at me, and said, “Too pers … Ah, you’re pulling my leg again, aren’t you?”
I pointed at his face. “I had you for a minute there.”
“Major, how do you feel? I mean to say, what does it feel like to be an android?”
What did it feel like? I wiggled my fingers and toes, and looked way up, then down. My high school English teacher was Mr. Pearl. I positively hated Brussels sprouts. My ex-wife farted almost every time we made love, one of the many reasons she quickly became my ex. The room was cool and buzzed electronically, like before they flipped the switch. I wasn’t hungry, but an In-N-Out burger sure sounded good.
“Honestly, Doc, I feel normal. If no one told me the switch worked, I wouldn’t know I wasn’t the old human me.”
For a moment there, the doc’s eyes looked, I don’t know, disappointed. But maybe it was a trick of the light. Not too convincingly, he said, “That’s good to hear, Major. After all, that was our goal, wasn’t it?”
“It sure was mine.”
He pushed my chair the thirty meters to the main testing and assembly room. Odd. In the years I trained, retrained, and re-retrained in this underground vault, I’d never seen this area. Guess there was never a need. Up until then, I wasn’t a robot. In the entire lead-up to the transfer, they’d actually told me precious little about the android unit itself. I was reassured it would be lifelike and that I’d be perfectly comfortable. But, come to think of it, how would they know that? Man, was I ever trusting. You know The Big Lies? I will respect you in the morning. The check is in the mail. I’m from the government and I’m here to help you. I prayed to God the newest Big Lie wasn’t, Trust me, you are going to love your new android body. Oh well, a bit too late for buyer’s remorse. There was a “no return” policy on this puppy.
The doctor walked over to a workstation and returned with an oversized electric cord that had a small adapter at the end. It was like a USB plug, just slightly thicker.
“Lift your right arm, please, Major.” Okay, odd request for a man holding a power cable. No problem. I raised my arm like I had a question. “Thank you.” He poked a finger in my armpit, which didn’t tickle like it should have. The rest of my skin functioned exactly like it always had before. He finally said, “There it is.” Then he pushed the adapter into my armpit. I felt a soft click, then a brief warm feeling. “Perfect. You may lower your arm for now, if you like.”
My first lesson in being a robot took place then. It required zero effort to keep my arm aloft, but I could sense my shoulder muscles tensing as they did their work. In fact, I quickly realized it didn’t matter physically either way, whether I kept my arm up or down. My new muscles weren’t going to fatigue. How cool. Or how frightening. Actually, how both. I knew anyone who saw me would think it strange of me to hold my arm up, revealing an electric cord plugged into my axilla, so I lowered my arm.
DeJesus was over at a control panel, flipping switches and typing like a madman. I let him be. He was, after all, trying to make sure I didn’t short-out or blow a gasket. Time for a self-test. I looked at one of his computer screens. There was a chaotic stream of figures and symbols scrolling by rapidly. I closed my eyes. What had I just seen? I tried to visualize the exact images. Nothing. Then I asked myself, “What did that display show?” Again, nothing. What good was it being a robot if I didn’t have a photographic memory and perfect recall? Poo. I had hoped I would be like Colonel Steve Austin, The Six Million Dollar Man. Remember how his robotic left eye could focus in, and there was that cool electric dit dit dit dit sound effect as it did? I got nothing.
Coming out of my daydream, I realize that the doctor was talking to me. “ … as normal as I could have hoped. Of course, further testing will be needed.” He shuddered. “Wouldn’t want to miss any decay changes or other unanticipated snafus.”
“I don’t recall the concept of ʽdecay’ being discussed when we went over the pros and cons of my going android.”
“We don’t expect such things to happen. I was, er … just thinking out loud.”
“Doc,” I said, shaking my head, “I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed.”
He looked shocked, as if I’d told him his puppy just got run over multiple times. “What, Major? Is there a malfunction?”
“I don’t know if it’s that, but while you were over there checking out my systems, I did a little experiment. I studied one of your screens, but couldn’t capture any more information than I could have before.”
“And you’re saying—?”
“Where are my superpowers? I mean, what’s the point in being a machine if I don’t get superpowers?”
At first, he was uncertain, then he said, “Oh, I understand. You expected to have super-human abilities?” He scowled. “Like Colonel Steven Austin, The Six Million Dollar Man?” He put his hands on his hips.
“Like who? The Six Million Dollar Man? Doc, seriously. I’m a grown-up. That was Seventies TV. Really? No, I’m just curious if I function differently now.”
“Would you like me to upload the silly dit, dit, dit, dit sound effect we heard when he employed his six-million-dollar abilities, Major? Perhaps I can play it through one of your ancillary speakers, so everyone will hear it, also?”
“Doc, that’s just plain silly.”
“Hmm. Didn’t I tell you we were starting you off in ʽsafe-mode,’ Major?”
“I don’t believe you did. No, and I think I’d recall if we had that discussion.”
“We elected to boot you up in a safe mode. We did not want to risk overloading either your circuitry or your senses.”
“Sounds prudent. So,” I twirled my hands in the air, “eventually, I will be—I don’t know—better, stronger, faster?”
He groaned, then said, “Very soon I will be adding in functionalities. If all goes well, Colonel Austin will be suing you for copyright infringement.”
“Whatever. I just want to be totally aware of what I’ve gotten my ass into, that’s all.”
“I’ll have someone get me the recording of those sound effects.” He sounded disgusted.
I held my hands up. “Don’t go to any trouble on my account.”
“I think we’ve accomplished about all we hoped for today. If it’s all the same to you, Major, all of the staff, and certainly I, for one, need to get some sleep.”
Uncertainly, I replied, “Sure, Doc, whatever you need to do.” He was rubbing under his eye. Me, I felt great. I couldn’t imagine taking a nap.
“Fine. As an additional precaution, I will place you in a sleep-mode. I wouldn’t—”
“A what?”
Focusing on me intently, he said, “I will be placing you in sleep mode. After considerable discussion, it is our consensus that, early on, you should not be left awake and unattended. There are simply too many variables.”
“You’re going to turn me off?”
“Major Ryan,” he said with some irritation, “I will be doing nothing of the kind. Please stop reacting so … so … so much like yourself.” He stopped when it hit him how perverse that sounded. “I will initiate a program which simulates sleep. Later, you can do it yourself, if you so desire. But for now, I will override your ability to block the routine.” Wearily, he added, “I hope you won’t mind.”
“Do I have an option?”
Impatiently, he said, “No, you do not.”
“Well then, goodnight, Doc. Sleep tight and don’t let the—”
**********
“ … bedbugs bite.”
“Good morning, Major Ryan.” I looked up to see Doc smiling down on me. Then—and I’m certain I’m right about this—he asked with considerable mischief in his voice, “Did you sleep well?”
I furrowed my brow. “Sleep? We were just talking and I was giving you a hard time. You said something about sleep, but now you’re—” I looked around the room. I was supine, while I’d been sitting up a microsecond ago. There were restraining straps over my chest, arms, and legs. “How long was I off?”
He grinned. “You were in sleep-mode for ten, nearly eleven hours.”
“You’re shittin’ me?”
“Watch your mouth, soldier. This is all being recorded.”
Ah, to awaken to the dulcet tones of General Saunders. What could be a more perfect start to my day? Hopefully, next, I’d receive an ice-cold enema. Next, maybe a pox or, at the very least, boils. Or toads. “General Saunders, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Couldn’t you have erased his lame sense of humor, Professor?” said Saunders.
Doc looked at me peevishly. “That thought had occurred to me.”
“Oh yeah, gang up on the robot why don’t you? You fleshies, you’re all alike.”
Saunders frowned and asked, “Does he at least have a mute button?”
“No, General, but I’m thinking of installing one right away.”
DeJesus came over and began releasing my restraints. “All right, my funny friend, we have a lot to accomplish today, so let’s get started.” When I was free, he said, “Please try and stand up. Slowly now.”
Tentatively, I sat up. No clanging alarms or fireworks. Cool. I dangled my legs over the edge of the gurney, even swung them around slowly. They didn’t fall off and I didn’t get lightheaded. Very cool. The doctor steadied one elbow and a technician the other, to help me stand. I checked his insignia. I’d assumed he’d be a Med-Tech. Nope. Aerospace Ground Engineer. It was official. My employer saw me as a mechanical asset and not a human being. Oh boy. I was listed alongside engines and industrial cleaners. If I’d had a heart it would have broken.
“There we go. Now we will release you.” I stood as unsteadily as a corn stalk in a strong wind, but I remained upright. “Excellent. Now, take a few steps. Let us steady you.”
I was able to walk without any difficulty or discomfort. Also, I did so without any effort. That was the weirdest part. It was like with my arms yesterday. Effort no longer took any effort for me. What a gas. In a few minutes, it was clear I was steady on my own, so the two guys let go. Though they hovered close, there was no way I needed them. When I abruptly jumped up and down, I thought the doctor was going to need another of his nitro tabs. After that stunt, he put me in a chair and attached a bunch of cables. Oh well, it was worth it. The Hendrix song Freedom from long ago popped into my head.
Over the next few days, Doc and lots of other scientists tested me every which way but loose. They never told me much in terms of their findings. When I asked how I looked, mostly they just grunted or grumbled. White coats. The nerds had no social skills whatsoever. Not one of the scientists who worked on me had a prom date—I guarantee it. They did finally turn on the last of my senses. Smell. Marvelous, rich, enticing smell was mine again to enjoy. They tested me with peppermint, soap, and coffee, which was divine I had to say. I got them all right. I was a stud right out the gate.
After a few days, Doc was comfortable enough with my status to leave me on my own for short snippets during the day. The first chance I got, I headed straight to the locker room where I’d changed clothes just before the transfer. I remembered it had a full-length mirror. I needed to see exactly what I’d literally gotten myself into. People had always told me I was a fairly good-looking man. I’d definitely stayed in top shape and was six-feet two with eyes of blue. Time to check if I was going to be pleased with the results.
As a man who’d shaved every day of his adult life, looking at the reflection of my face was no big deal. Still, like a scared kid, I inched slowly toward the mirror’s edge, as if I was peeping around a corner looking for the Bogeyman. Finally I stood in full view of myself. Nothing violent happened, which I took to be a good sign. Damn if I didn’t look exactly like I had when I was human, the very spitting image of Jon Ryan. Nice work, Doc. As I leaned in, my baby-blue irises dilated smoothly. I tugged at my cheeks and looked at the inside of my eyelids. The skin was soft, pliable, and moist. My inner lids were slightly pink. I pushed my nose back and forth. It felt like my nose. The scar I got in flight school was there on my forehead. Crazy.
I looked around quickly to make sure I was still alone. Then I pulled my sweats down to my knees. Yep, the merchandise was all present and accounted for. Life size, too. I grabbed hold of the floppy parts and gave them a tussle. They felt just like they did before. What a relief. I turned around. Man, did I have a cute butt or what? Okay, I could live with this body, no prob. And, as it would never age, I was actually kind of jazzed.
One evening, Doc told me we’d be going to Saunders’ office the next morning to meet a few VIPs. Nice. A break in my up-until-then boring routine would be a treat. When Doc “woke me up,” I was, for the first time, unrestrained. I took that to mean that I must be making good progress. I vaulted off the table, mostly to get Doc’s goat. Then I recalled with some guilt that he has a bad ticker. Better can the antics, at least with him.
I walked down the long hallway with Doc by my side, him as nervous as a bridegroom. He even let me push the elevator button. I felt like a big boy. We were greeted by the general’s chief of staff, a good-looking iceberg of a woman, Captain Gia Partee. She may have been of Irish extraction, but gee-a-party she was not, at least not concerning yours truly. She seemed to have an unusually large stick up her butt that morning, even for her.
After she escorted us into the office, I understood why. President Marshall sat behind Saunders’s desk. The head of the Joint Chiefs, Saunders, and leaders from both houses of Congress sat across from him. Marshall had just begun his emergency-enacted third term as president. Seemed that since the world actually was about to end, politics took a backseat to the good of the nation.
Marshall rose and extended a hand. “So proud to meet you, er … Major Ryan. Again, that is.” He batted his hands at me. “Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President. No problem.” For the first time in as long as I could remember, my anal sphincter tone shot to infinity plus one. Since declaring martial law—affectionately know as Marshall’s Law nowadays—I was looking at the most powerful man in human history. At age sixty-three, he looked to remain in office another fifteen to twenty years, directing the evacuation effort. His wishes were everyone’s commands.
“Major,” he began, “we’re here to meet you firsthand. The survival of the world,” he shook his head ominously, “rests on your shoulders.” Pointing to the other three, he said, “If we four are satisfied that you are ready for prime time, we are going to unveil you to the world. We can use the positive PR. You’ll lighten the hearts of billions of people.” He raised his hands as if to frame a picture. “ʽThe first human-android goes in search of humankind’s new home.’” He stood and handed me a small box. “I presented one of these to the other you not an hour ago.”
I opened the lid. The Congressional Medal of Honor. Holy crap, President Marshall just handed me the CMOH. Okay, the bladder control on this robot worked perfectly. “Thank you, I mean, seriously, thank you, Sir.”
“We expect the world of you, but we must also acknowledge your courage, Colonel Ryan.” He handed me a second box.
Dude. I was a full-bird colonel. Skipped right past being a phone-colonel to get there. Sweet.
“I will do my level best, Mr. President. You can count on me.”
Saunders spoke. “Professor DeJesus, why don’t you brief our guests as to the colonel’s functionality and progress to date.”
Doc turned an unhealthy shade of pale. Reflexively, he patted the vest pocket of his lab coat to reassure himself that he brought his nitroglycerin along. He stood. “Very well.” He bowed his head in turn to the others. Gesturing to me, he said, “As far as we can tell, we have downloaded a precise copy of Colonel Ryan. Additionally, the android seems to be working exactly as planned. I could not be more pleased.”
“Is he ready,” asked the senator, “to function autonomously and alone for the better part of a century?”
“Yes, he is. Actually, a good deal longer I should suspect.”
“How long might the unit last?” asked the admiral.
Doc shrugged. “Hard to say for certain. We have installed redundancies and repair options that the colonel can perform, and spare parts are housed in the body. So, physically, it can last thousands of years.”
The congresswoman scoffed. “No machine can last that long.”
“The android is powered by two palm-sized fusion reactors. These can generate power indefinitely. Along with conventional computers, he is equipped with a prototype biocomputer that will have the plasticity to allow itself to grow and adapt.” He raised his arms toward her. “The world has never seen a machine like this one, Congresswoman.”
Marshall moved to wind the meeting up. “Professor, we all trust your judgment on these matters.” He turned to the others. “If there are no further questions, I believe we can green-light the colonel’s introduction to the public.” No one raised an objection. “Very well. Colonel Ryan, you have been assigned a full-time public relations officer who will help with those matters. You’ll meet with her a little later. In about an hour, you and I will share a press conference where I’ll break the story of the world’s first android. Tomorrow, you will do the Today show, the Nightly News, and appear live with some talking head from CNN. She’s cute as a button, but doesn’t have two braincells to rub together to spark an original thought. You up for all that, Ryan?”
I nodded. “Sir.”
Marshall began to rise, but rested back. “Colonel, a delicate point, if you will indulge me.”
Me indulge him? I guess I could try. “Anything, Mr. President.”
“We live now under the most powerful microscope possible. What we do and what we do not do will be remembered for a very long time. Hopefully forever. History can be a harsh critic.”
“Sir?”
“What I’m getting at is that, over time, you’ll become the only person left who’ll have known me personally. People will come to you and ask what kind of man I was. Did I do everything possible to save our people? Was I a good man? As it turns out, these things are very important to us figureheads. Be kind, if you will, Colonel Ryan.”
“It will be my privilege to tell anyone who asks that you were a great man and a visionary leader, Sir.”
He smiled grimly. “A visionary leader. Humph. I’ll have to tell my press secretary to write that one down. Thanks, Ryan. I can use all the help I can get.”
“Anytime, Mr. P.”
Sorry, Mom.