The Omega Project (12 page)

Standing at one of four food stations in the galley like a fish out of water, I pretended to scan a computerized menu before selecting shrimp cocktail as my entrée, a juice pouch as a beverage.

Processing the request, GOLEM extracted the items from bins in the galley storage area using a ceiling-mounted robotic arm that resembled an elephant’s trunk. Designed by the automation company Festo, the robotic appendage was composed of three flexible polyamide coils welded as one to create a tentacle possessing a fluid motion. The trunk ended in three triangular fingers designed to grasp objects.

Selecting the items chosen, the bionic trunk placed the vacuum-packed meal and beverage on a conveyor belt for delivery.

I collected my lunch, then debated my next move. Eleven members of the crew were seated at the long rectangular table situated at the center of the galley. One empty chair remained. Heading for it, I set my food down at the place setting, only to be chided by Monique DeFriend.

“Sorry, Eisenbraun, that’s reserved for Commander Read.” She pointed to four bar stools set up by a snack bar. “Thirteen crewmen, twelve chairs. Guess you’re the odd man out.”

The other men and women stopped eating, waiting to see how I’d react.

“Thirteen’s always been my lucky number.” Grabbing my lunch, I walked over to the snack bar, eleven pairs of eyes following me.
No worries. Only two more weeks of playing the unwanted camper until these assholes will be tucked in for their thirty-day nap.

I made a mental note to piss in Monique’s cryogenic tub.

Inspecting my lunch, I realized the vacuum-sealed plastic container of shrimp was a lot tougher to open than I expected. Trying my best not to draw attention, I attempted to puncture the thick wrap with my fork, but snapped the plastic utensil in half.

My struggle summoned the Chinese-Indian woman. As she approached, ABE’s short-term memory aid identified her as Dharma Yuan.

“Hi. I’m Robert Eisenbraun.”

“Yes, I know.” Her hair was brushed, but damp, probably from having just taken a hot bath. Her long ponytail smelled of lilac, and it left a wet mark on her jumpsuit down to the small of her back.

“Do you remember what happened?” I asked, seeking her gratitude.

“I remember you nearly killed me.”

“What? No … I was the one who carried you inside. You were out on the ice, freezing.”

“I was in a transcendental state, my mind had transformed my body into a furnace. Your aura broke the trance.”

“It did? I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Are you okay now?”

“Of course.” Reaching into her jumpsuit pocket, she removed a small pair of scissors and, in one motion, sliced through the plastic wrapper of my lunch. “When you are finished, be sure to deposit the trash in the recycle bin.”

She glanced over my shoulder. I turned as a strapping man with a barrel chest and short-cropped dark hair strode into the galley.

ABE gave me the rundown.

READ, KEVIN, RANK: COMMANDER. BORN MAY 14, 1987. NATIONALITY: CANADIAN. GRADUATED WITH HONORS FROM THE UNIVERSITY OF OTTAWA WITH DUAL DEGREES IN HUMAN KINETICS AND ENGINEERING.

Enough!

At least I was taller than him.

“Good, everyone’s here, Mr. Eisenbraun too, I see. Dharma, why don’t you join us at the crew’s table?”

Dharma, God bless her, slid onto the vacant bar stool next to mine.

Kevin Read registered her small act of defiance with a false smile. “Since this will be one of the rare times we can assemble as a group, I wanted to welcome everyone aboard. We’ve all worked very hard to get to this day, but there are greater challenges ahead. GOLEM has set a rigorous training schedule, which you can find on your h-pads. Since Alpha Squad is still on day shift until eighteen hundred hours, I’ll need you to join me in fifteen minutes on the lower deck to unpack the equipment needed on Beta Squad’s first dive, set to commence at nineteen-thirty hours.”

He looked up at me, smiling like we were the best of friends. “We’re on twelve-hour shifts, six to six. GOLEM assigned you to Beta Squad, the night shift. You can pick up your jumpsuit, eating utensils, and h-pad in the ship’s store, that’s on deck two. We couldn’t squeeze your cryogenic pod into the science lab, but we did manage to find a suitable chamber.”

Chuckles from the other men around the table.

I ignored the inside joke. “Where do I sleep?”

“Good question. Anyone want a roommate?”

The room remained silent.

“You can share my quarters,” volunteered Andria. “I’m on Alpha Squad; you’ll sleep while I work and vice versa.”

Commander Read stared at her, looking as disappointed as if she had announced she had just started her period. “Maybe hot-bunking it isn’t such a good idea. GOLEM has Eisenbraun rotating squads on week two.”

“He can share my suite after the shift change,” Lara Saints volunteered, upping the ante and drawing a scowl from Andria.

“Thank you, ladies.” I glanced back at Kevin Read, eyebrows raised. “Problem solved. Anything else?”

The commander locked eyes with me, then returned to his itinerary. “GOLEM requested that Mr. Eisenbraun rotate stations on a daily basis—”

“It’s professor.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wouldn’t call you Mr. Read, please don’t call me Mr. Eisenbraun. Professor or doctor; Ike is also fine. I’m just saying.”

“May I continue?”

“Please.” I smiled innocently, enjoying the ease at which I could get under Captain Courageous’s skin.
By next week, he’ll be calling me a lot worse than Mr. Eisenbraun …

Commander Read finished his debriefing then left, accompanied by the rest of Alpha Squad, my former fiancée included.

Dharma stood. “I must join them. Perhaps next week when you switch over to Alpha Squad you can tell me why you seek to provoke Commander Read?”

“I’ll tell if you’ll tell.”

She acknowledged my wit by tapping my forehead with her index finger, then left the galley.

“Professor Eisenbraun.”
The grapefruit-size neon-blue orb mounted along the ceiling crackled to life.
“Please finish your midday meal and report to the science lab for your debriefing.”

“Acknowledged. And GOLEM, it’s called lunch. You sound like a bad sci-fi movie.” Squeezing the surprisingly tasty contents of the shrimp and mango sauce pouch into my mouth, I tossed the wrapper into the nearest recycling bin and left the galley for the main corridor. Turning left, I followed the curved hallway until I arrived at the science lab, the double doors opening to greet me.

The dimly lit, pie-shaped chamber was twice the size of the galley, its walls converging to meet the transparent central vertical column housing GOLEM. The shaft was vacant, the computer apparently occupying another level. A ceiling-mounted light bathed the liquid-filled tube in a luminous golden hue. The rest of the room was dark, save for four violet recessed lights, giving the lab the look and feel of an after-hours nightclub.

To my left were the cryogenic pods. Set in four rows of three, each seven-foot-long by four-foot-wide acrylic capsule was housed inside a rectangular steel base mounted to the deck. Dangling from the ceiling above each row of machines was a robotic trunk identical to the appendage in the galley. The mechanical arms appeared lifeless, awaiting the neural commands of their master.

Occupying the opposite side of the chamber was a surgical suite. Two more steel appendages hovered above an aluminum operating table. These robotic arms appeared far more sophisticated than the others and were equipped with a rotating wheel of surgical instruments from scalpels, probes, and forceps to a laser used to seal wounds.

Set along the wall was a pair of ten-foot-high, twelve-foot-wide sliding aluminum doors. Curious, I reached for the handle of the door on the left and slid the panel open.

It was an immense walk-in refrigerator. The walls were lined with shelves that were stocked with IV bags, plasma, and an assortment of medications. Resealing the door, I tried the next compartment, surprised to find a blast freezer harboring a similar layout.

My eyes caught movement—GOLEM was descending silently through its tube.

Sliding the freezer door shut, I cut through an aisle of cryogenic pods and was standing by the vertical tube as GOLEM hovered just above eye level.

“Good afternoon, Professor Eisenbraun. How are you feeling?”

“Fine, GOLEM. How are you feeling?”

“I am functioning within expected performance parameters, thank you.”

“That’s good to hear, however the question actually pertains to your emotional state. Please refrain from using your automated linguistics program and respond appropriately.”

“Emotions are part of the human condition. The GOLEM matrix is not programmed to experience emotions.”

Seizing the opening, I decided to probe the computer’s level of cognizance. “Define ‘GOLEM,’ please.”

“GOLEM is intellect, programmed to protect and preserve the human species.”

“How can GOLEM protect and preserve the human species if you cannot comprehend the human condition?”

“Define: To protect. To keep from harm. Define: To preserve. To prevent extinction. GOLEM is functioning within expected performance parameters.”

“Define the human condition.”

“This line of inquiry does not pertain to the purpose of this briefing.”

“What is the purpose of this briefing?”

“To comprehend how Professor Eisenbraun will determine which male member of the Omega crew suffers from a psychological disorder and whether that psychological disorder is a threat to the success of the mission.”

“Define the ‘human condition.’”

“The human condition: Physicality flawed by mortality. Emotions flawed by ego.”

“Now define ‘sociopath.’”

“Sociopath: A human lacking conscience. Exhibiting disdain for human beings. Sociopaths believe others exist for their own pleasure and benefit. Possessing superficial charm. Manipulative and cunning. Possessing a grandiose sense of self. Pathological lying. Lack of remorse, shame, or guilt. Shallow emotions. Incapacity for love. Early behavioral problems—”

“Stop. Analyze crew observations conducted over the last twelve months. Which male member of the Omega crew has not exhibited at least one of the sociopathic traits you just listed?”

“None. All male crewmembers have exhibited at least one sociopathic trait.”

“Draw a conclusion from the prior analysis.”

“Conclusion: All male members of the Omega crew are sociopaths.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “An interesting conclusion, but quite false. According to comprehensive psychiatric evaluations conducted by the Space Energy Agency, at least five of the six male crewmen are not sociopaths. How do you explain your error?”

“GOLEM lacks an adequate comprehension of both the human and sociopathic condition.”

“Correct. And now you know why my presence is required onboard
Oceanus I.
Any other questions?”

“How will Professor Eisenbraun determine which male member of the Omega crew suffers from a psychological disorder and whether that psychological disorder is a threat to the success of the mission?”

“Through personal observations of the male members of the Omega crew conducted over the next two weeks, at which time I will submit my conclusions to GOLEM. Are those terms acceptable?”

“The terms are acceptable, provided GOLEM receives periodic briefings.”

ABE must have registered my sudden spike in adrenaline, because I felt my blood vessels dilate. “Justify the necessity for Eisenbraun to periodically brief GOLEM regarding Eisenbraun’s daily crew observations.”

“Periodic briefings are necessary for adaptation and reevaluation of GOLEM algorithmic DNA solution strands regarding ongoing observations and evaluations of the human condition as it relates to the Prime Directive.”

“Acknowledged. GOLEM, Eisenbraun is fatigued. Do you have any objections to ending this briefing at this time?”

“No objections.”

I headed quickly for the exit, my nerves rattled with the suspicion that the computer may have been testing me—using my responses and tactics in our conversation to reconfigure and evolve its solution strands. Clearly, I had to watch what I said.

The steel doors opened. Before exiting the lab I turned back to the computer’s liquid environment. “GOLEM, which stateroom belongs to Andria Saxon?”

“Andria Saxon has been assigned to Stateroom Two.”

*   *   *

The note was taped outside the door.

Ike:

The computer will allow you entry into my quarters. Shifts run from six to six, allowing for twenty minute breaks at twelve. Sleep until the 5:45
P.M
., then report to your first post, which can be found on your duty roster on the h-pad inside.

—Andie

I crumpled the note and entered the stateroom, the automated door hissing closed behind me.

“Nice.”

The suite was surprisingly spacious, divided in half between a living room and kitchen area, with the bedroom and bath concealed behind a door on my right. The furnishings were modern, the sofa, chairs, and kitchen table all mounted on rollers that could be locked in or released from various settings on the imitation beech-wood deck. Adorning the far wall on my left were bookshelves lined with books and micro-discs and a flat-screen television wired to a MD player.

For some reason, the sofa and chairs were facing the curtained forward wall, not the television. Pressing a control, I opened the drapes, revealing a ten-foot-high curved aero glass wall and the Ross Sea, which appeared dark, save for rotating beacons that cut swaths of blue light through the blackness.

“Very nice.” I entered the bedroom where the view continued before a queen-size bed, built-in drawers, and a recessed bathroom equipped with a shower, sink, and toilet.

On the bed was a new h-pad still wrapped in cellophane and an orange jumpsuit—more prison uniform than astronaut apparel. My duffel bag had been left on the floor by the bed. Bastards had no doubt searched it.