The Saffron Malformation (10 page)

             
Quey watched her eyes looking up into his, there was something in them and it took him a moment to realize it was fear.  She was afraid of him.

             
“Finally they decided to start from the beginning, on a smaller scale,” she was saying. 

             
“Yes,” he broke in.  “They began looking for planets that were close to earth in as many ways as possible.”

             
“They looked for temperature, density, gravity, and elemental properties,” Ryla elaborated.  “And from there they were able to form the worlds into something humans might survive on. 

             
“Yes, I know,” he told her.  “And even though the Mars test project left the planet unusable the data collected was invaluable, and the martyred planet is remembered as a beacon of a hopeful future,“ he told her and she peered at him, cocking her head slightly.  “I did a report on it in fourth grade,” he clarified with a smirk and added, “Though I suspect the men who died there might look on it differently.”

             
“Men who didn’t believe the project had failed even as it happened,” she added.  “The men who followed were equally as short minded when they made the first colonies, assuring everyone progress from then on would be swift, despite what it took to come that far.  Another hundred and twenty years went by without a breakthrough.  Finally, in an effort to keep their funding and their jobs, the scientists rushed a new form of technology that would take a lifeless rock and transform it into a livable environment.  It worked on paper and in early simulations but so had the new worlds project.”

             
“What’s your point?” he asked, annoyed.

             
“My point is that all of those men stood on dying ground and made the same claims as you.  It wasn’t until TQ793 broke up into an asteroid belt that information of a negative nature made its way to the public.  Saffron is dying, no one denies it, they just deny they’ll be around to see it, much like the first colony citizens who were forced into transports to escape a toxic world, or the people of earth who came before that, carelessly burning through their planet.”

             
Quey felt his knees weaken.  Ryla may have been a lot of things, might even be a bit nutty, but there was no denying her intelligence, and he also got the sense she wasn’t prone to lying or speaking without certainty.  Besides, she was right.  People tended to turn a blind eye on inconvenient things, especially if the effects of them didn’t exist in the here and now.

             
“You’re serious,” he trailed off.

             
Ryla didn’t respond and that was worse.

             
Everyone knows the end of the world is inevitable but you never think you’re going to live to see it.  Suddenly all the things he’d missed came bubbling to the surface and each one he thought on turned into a knot in his guts.  He felt himself scale down to his actual size, a tiny thing wandering aimless through a pointless existence, scurrying about and carrying his shine across the roads of one tiny grain of sand floating amidst an endless beach.

             
“You look strange,” Ryla told him, noticing his complexion growing pale.

             
“You’re sure about this?” he asked again, hoping she would say anything other than what she did.

             
“As I said it’s a rudimentary calculation but the terraform is degrading at a geometric rate.  Soil is loosing the nutrients plants need to grow.  Insects are dying off do to sterility and other side effects from the water, and then there’s the weather.  The atmosphere is loosing stability.”

             
Quey nodded solemnly, “We’re going to burn.”

             
“It’s going to get cold, actually.  But that’s later.  Plants will stop growing and everyone will starve to death first.  I have the data here if you’d like to see,” she offered, reaching toward a device on her wrist.  Quey shook her off.

             
“How long have you known?” he asked, his voice a ghost.

             
“Eight months ago I finished my calculations.”

             
“You didn’t say anything?”

             
“I sent a report to Blue Moon.  They thanked me for my concerns and told me they had people handling the problem and that I shouldn’t worry.”

             
“I’m sure they have it in hand,” Quey said desperate for hope.

             
“That’s what I want to find out, but I won’t know until Geo gets the results from his study.”

             
Quey looked at her.

             
“I better go check on your truck.  If you go through those doors,” she said pointing to the lone set on the left wall, “You’ll find the elevators.  Use the ones to your right and press three.  The Botler can show you to your room.”

             
Quey nodded and Ryla turned and walked through one of the other sets of doors.  He stood there for almost a minute, still and contemplative.  He hoped what she’d told him was a mistake.  He hoped that Blue Moon had a handle on things, a plan to stabilize the planet.  He hoped he’d live to see middle age.  Of course he knew it was likely she was right.  He didn’t know how smart she was, if she could calculate the time the planet would die to within a few years but the fact remained that the planet was dying, that it had been dying since before he was born and it was going to happen eventually so why not in five years?  Or seven? Or ten?  He didn’t want to believe it but deep down he’d known it and it was just as good a time as any.  The only reason, he knew, not to believe was because it was so close.  It didn’t leave time for him to live the rest of the life he intended.  He’d be near forty, and in a time where people often lingered into their early hundreds that was too young.

             
He chuckled a bit when he thought that he could stop running shine.  He’d kept it up because the money was good.  He planned on quitting when he was thirty six, had calculated he’d have enough money stowed by then to live till well into his hundred and twenties if he managed that.  Now what he had was more than he could spend in the time given.  Something about that tickled him as he started for the doors and the third floor.

             
The third floor was just as cold as the previous two but it was made to resemble a home.  He entered into a small hallway that led to a kitchen and sitting area.  There were hallways leading off in the four directions and as he stepped forward he noticed the walls.  They were painted with elaborate murals depicting all manner of things.  There were landscapes with trees and rivers.  One had a snow-covered mountain in the distance.  There was a man dressed in green and brown holding a sword and shield.  Golden triangles appeared here and there on that particular wall, along with the same pig man that was on one of the robots.  There was also a woman in a purple and white dress who wore a circlet of gold and jewels.  The paintings were all very good, quite lifelike.

There was a white leather couch in the middle of the room with a rectangular coffee table in front of it and chairs at the ends
—they matched the couch.  Across from them was a stand with a holoscreen projector, one of the newest models.  They claimed you couldn’t tell the difference between it and real life.  Above, painted on the ceiling, was an amazing night sky.  There were stars and nebula and planets and moons that covered the ceiling and spilled down onto the far wall.  A blue and white planet sat in the upper left corner, as if it’d been folded in half then folded again.  Amidst that space, between the folded planet and an asteroid there was a tiny space ship.

             
The spaceship seemed to have a gravity his eyes couldn’t escape and before he knew it his body was caught in it.  He stepped slowly forward, watching the ship as if it might actually move.  He was reaching for it, wanting to touch it, wanting it to be a real thing and not just globs of paint arranged elegantly on the wall, when he heard the whirr of a robot behind him.

Quey turned and saw the robot roll out from the hallway past the kitchen on three tires.  Its torso was painted to look like it was wearing a tuxedo.

              “Good day sirrr,” the bot said as it approached.  “What can I help you with?”

             
“My room?  A… maybe a shower.”

             
“Very good sir,” the bot replied and rolled back toward the hallway just past the kitchen.  As it went its round head looked over its shoulder at him and announced, “This is the kitchen.  Feel freeee to help yourrrself.”

             
“Thanks,” Quey said, feeling a bit silly about talking to a robot.  He followed the bot down the hall and looked at the paintings that continued, it seemed, throughout the third floor and into every room.  The Botler led him to one of three guest rooms.

             
“You’re room sir.”

             
Quey stepped into the room.  Bed.  Dresser.  Desk and computer terminal—an object about the size of a Rubik’s cube that would project a holoscreen and interface.  Window overlooking the wastes.  Dragons and knights on the walls and a castle opposite the windows where a princess with long blonde hair stood in a tower. He nodded and the Botler said, “We don’t have much of a selection but I placed our male clothing in the dresser.”

Quey stepped to the drawers and pulled the top one opened.  A set of neatly folded shirts lay stacked on the right and two pair of paints lay on the left.

“Anything else sir?” Botler asked.

             
“This’ll do,” Quey said, contemplative.

             
“Very good.”

The bot turned on his wheels and Quey realized what pricked his curiosity.  He called, “Botler?”  It stopped and turned its head toward him, “You rang?”

              Quey touched the folded clothes in the drawer and looked over at the neatly made bed.  “Why did you do all this?”

             
Botler remained still for a while.  Finally he said, “I’m sorry sir, I don’t understand the question.”

             
“Did Ryla ask you to make the bed and get these clothes?”

             
“I was to make up the room for you, is it not satisfactory?”

             
“It’s very satisfactory,” Quey said.  “But why did you put these clothes in here?  Why did you fold them?”

             
“You tested male and your current garments tested filthy.”

             
Quey nodded.  “Does Ryla know you put these clothes in here?”

             
The Botler clicked as it processed.  “Impossible to know sir.”

             
Quey nodded.  He took Botler's answer to mean she didn’t.  If she had ordered him to fold the clothes and place them in the drawer then his answer would have been yes, and that’s what Quey was trying to get at.  The bots were capable, at least to a degree, not just of independent reasoning, but of abstract reasoning as well.  “Thank you, Botler.  I think I’m good for now.”

             
“Very good sir,” Botler said and then he started off, the whirr of his engine vanishing down the hall.

             
Quey selected the pajamas over the jeans or T-shirts.  He rubbed the fabric between his fingers and smiled.  He had a pair at home but they weren’t as soft as these.  Maybe he could sneak them out when he left.  Though—he thought with a chuckle—that might violate a defense gate thingy.

             
Botler was whirring around somewhere in the main area when he went to the end of the hallway and found the bathroom, large and bright with a massive porcelain tub and sink.

He started up the shower and spent some time on the porcelain throne
, thinking and looking at the fairies and what he guessed were goblins painted on the walls.  It was a curiosity of his, how Ryla had come to this place.  It was no mystery how she was able to keep it, she’d put that second floor to good use, churning out some of the most advanced robots he’d ever seen.  Centuries ago, he learned in school, there had been massive breakthroughs in robotics technology but a great deal of that had been lost when people fled to the first colony planets.  There wasn’t much profit in that sort of thing, as most people couldn’t afford the level of robot that was being built at the time and it turned out even that market was fairly dry as people tended to get nervous around robots that looked too much like real people.  When earth was abandoned, so was that line of tech more or less.  Robots became more like appliances and preformed menial tasks.  In this building, however, Ryla was building things that would rival even the old robots.  Of course then his mind began to dwell on the curiosity of how she had come here to begin with.

             
As he finished up and stepped into the shower he decided he’d ask her, though he suspected she wouldn’t answer.