Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
The coffee shop was busy. Only a few tables were available.
But I found one with what I needed: table and seat, a smidge of privacy, ‘puter power.
I set myself up, turned on and tuned in. Then amused myself. When coffee shops and cafes are busy like this, I always entertaining a thin fantasy that we’re in a business on a starship heading to another planet.
No real reason for the fantasy except that I find it fun.
To recap. The Beagle is a colonizing starship that arrived at a new world, Feynman. Juancho Ferrado is a bureaucrat who lives and works on the Beagle who was selected as part of the Coronado landing party. Shortly after the Coronado’s successful descent to the surface of Feynman, the Beagle inexplicably exploded. All personnel onboard were assumed to be killed. That left the Coronado’s crew as the only survivors. Four years later, only Juancho remains when Roger Lancey startles Juancho with his sudden appearance on the Coronado.
Then Lancey disappeared.
Now, the tale continues. Don’t worry, it’s certified completely organic and vegan, GMO-free, non-fat, and with no added sugar.
###
“Hi, Vaughn.”
Opening his eyes wide, Vaughn Parks looked around Captain Mayhew’s office. Vaughn had once been a heartbreaker, a man with a slender, athletic build that prompted thoughts of grace, and green eyes that glistened like wet emerald jewels. Pronouncing, “I’ve seen enough of life, and now I want to experience death,” he’d chosen to age and die once they’d reached Feynman. “Captain.”
“How do you feel?”
“I feel like I was dead, and now I’m apparently alive again. I feel like warmed-over leftovers, something you may not know, Captain.”
Captain Mayhew chuckled. “I’m older than I look.”
“Probably.”
“I know what leftovers are. I like leftovers.” Captain Mayhew smiled at private memories.
Vaughn saw that and changed vectors. “Virtual stimulation via artificial intelligence?”
“What?”
“I’ve been brought back by virtual simulation via artificial intelligence?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We need your opinion.”
“On?”
“I’m about to impart that.”
“Sorry. I seem to think very fast.” Vaughn gazed up at the ceiling. “It’ really interesting, like I’m experiencing time on a different level.”
“Perhaps you can follow up on that when we’re done here.”
“Oh.” Vauhn swiveled his look to the Captain and grinned. “Yes, you brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? What sort of emergency has invoked the virtual regeneration? This is the first time I’ve been back, right?” Face crinkling with humor, Vaughn continued, “Never mind, I’m catching up with my records. Unless you’ve manipulated my records, this is my first time back since I died, just two years ago.”
His expression changed. “Just two years? We’ve been on Feynman for two and a half years, and now there’s a problem that you think I can help you with?”
“Correct.”
“Well, fill me in, then.”
“It’s Juancho.”
“Juancho.” Recognition flushed Vaughn’s green eyes. “The ship’s artificial intelligence?”
“Yes. You should have access to Juancho’s logs.”
Looking inward, and mildly squinting, Vaughn said, “I do.”
“Go ahead and read them.”
“I have.”
“Already?”
“They’re digital, I’m digital…there’s a certain digital sympatico taking place.”
“Oh.” Captain Mayhew looked interested. “That’s fascinating.”
“But something to pursue after this.”
“Yes, if you’re interested, and willing to stick around.”
“Well, we’ll see. So I’ve read the document….”
“Yes, you’ve read the document.”
“What do you think?”
“Of it? I don’t understand that question.”
“Well, Juancho appears to be fantasizing about the Beagle exploding, and essentially, being the last human on Feynman and living on the Coronado.”
“Yes.”
“Is there reason for us to be concerned?”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s A.I. Do you think Juancho will act on it?”
“Oh his fantasy?”
“Exactly.”
Leaning back, Vaughn crossed his legs and stroked his mustache. “I don’t know.”
Mayhew exhaled. “That’s not thrilling to hear.”
“Sorry.”
She stared at Vaughn. “This doesn’t concern me?”
“I’m still thinking about it.”
“What about the part where he pretends one of the crew members is looking for you, and doesn’t know where you went.”
“I thought that was interesting.” Vaughn grinned. “I wanted to know where I went.”
“Does any of this worry you, though?”
Slicking down half of his mustache with one finger, Vaughn uncrossed his legs, and replied, “No. It’s just simple fantasy. My take is that Juancho is a powerful A.I. system. He brought the Beagle across the galaxy to Feynman. That required tremendous resources. Now, I suspect, he’s bored.”
“Bored.”
“Yes.”
“That’s what some of the engineers suggested.”
“They’re probably right, I think. Let me ask you this.” Straightening his frame, Vaughn said, “Have you asked Juancho about it?”
“We tried to. We’ve sent people in, but he plays games with them. He will only permit certain people in, in the first place. For example, he wouldn’t talk to me.”
“Yes, yes, I read that. He said you were disturbing his muse.”
“Yes, exactly. That’s why we’re worried.”
“But, other than this fantasy, he’s functioning normally, and nothing has gone wrong.”
“Yes, but we’re worried. You can see why.”
“Sure, sure, I can.” Rubbing two stubby fingers together and looking at them, Vaughn inhaled. “What do you want me to do? Want me to talk to him?”
“Do you think that’ll help?”
Vaughn shrugged. “I don’t think it’ll hurt. Hang on a moment. I’ll be right back.”
Mayhew’s brown eyes widened. “You’re going to do it now?”
“Why not? You have a reason why I shouldn’t? I’m here, he’s there…let’s get it on.”
“Okay. Great. Do it, then.”
“Okay.” Eyes becoming lost in a nest of wrinkles, Vaughn smiled, flashing straight, white teeth. “I’ll be right back.”
Coming tomorrow: the conclusion.
I, Juancho, finished my first blackberry margarita of the day. It was so refreshing, but I drank it so fast, and I was anxious, that I clutched my handgun and ordered another, to drink more slowly.
The man had not returned to the break room. I thought he’d be back by now. The Coronado is not large. There is the quarters car, and the community car, where I sit in the break room, also called the social club, because there is a break room in the biz car, and another in the ops car. I don’t believe the utility car has a break room. I may be mistaken. I’ve visited it, because that’s where the utility vehicles are housed, and because Madi used to spend her time there. I watched her on the security camera. There was nothing else to do. I was waiting to see who would be last, and I worried that she might be a killer. I don’t know why I wished to stay alive, in this terrible situation.
Holding the gun in my left hand, and my drink in my right, I visited the security post in the room’s corner. From there, I can set down my drink, or my gun, and change monitors and look for people. The system has said that Roger Lancey is dead, so I don’t know if it’ll find him on the ship. I have no idea how he entered the car. No alarms went off. He entered the break room as though he’d been onboard all along. This, I know, is impossible. I, Juancho, have been on the Coronado for four years. The last six months have been alone. Before then, it was Madi and me. We were the last little Indians.
He’d been asking questions about his Uncle Vaughn. Yes, his Uncle was an important man. Apparently, he disappeared before the Beagle’s explosion. I don’t know what that’s about. Perhaps it’s meaningful; a number of the Coronado’s survivors disappeared without apparent reason. It scares me, Juancho, to contemplate the meaning behind these disappearances, and whether they can be connected.
The system does not find Roger Lancey. I, Juancho, am not surprised. I use the manual features to check the cameras, going from place to place. The engineer was looking for Commander Alves, so I look where he should look, at her quarters, and her office in the ops car. Roger Lancey isn’t at either location. I look in the control deck. He’s an engineer, and this seems likely as a location for him to go. He can attempt to contact the Beagle from there. It seems strange that he does not know about the Beagle. But, then, if he is onboard, and it exploded, he was killed. This is why the system calls him deceased.
Yet, he is here.
This begins me on a new tour of my private circle of hell. He is either a zombie, or I am insane. If I’m insane, I could be imagining him, or I could be imagining this entire story. In that regard, as I said to Ricardo before his disappearance, we could be in a virtual simulation or game, couldn’t we? We wouldn’t know. That seemed to greatly upset Ricardo. He disappeared within two days of our conversation. Deceased, the systems say.
I can’t find Roger Lancey anywhere. I think, perhaps he’s gone to the utility car to take one of the remaining vessels and leave. I, Juancho, can’t conceive of where he would go, but other engineers on the Coronado discussed that as an option before their disappearances. The cameras don’t find him there. The vehicles remain.
I, Juancho, am disturbed. He is gone, as he came, without clues or warnings. This seems too much for my personal systems. That cannot happen.
That cannot happen.
He must be on the Coronado.
Yes, I, Juancho, realized. He was hiding, waiting for me to come look for him, so that he can kill me.
That can be the only explanation of events.
Well, I, Juancho, laugh at that. I am a bureaucrat. We are conditioned to wait. We must be patient. Everything takes time. The systems, decisions, and events, cannot be hurried. We understand that better than others. I, Juancho, decided I will have another margarita, and wait for Roger Lancey to give up on his ambush and return to this room to find me.
And I, Juancho, will have my gun, and will be ready for him.
He’ll be sorry that he plotted to ambush me.
I, Juancho, was concerned.
Science may explain many things, but not everything, not everything. Even the scientists will tell you so.
I am concerned when science and technology tells me the person addressing me is dead. My sanity may be abridged, or they may be a zombie. I lack the wherewithal to address my sanity. If I am insane, then I am insane. I inhabit a bubble of impressions and thoughts, do I not? Someone must help me from the outside.
I don’t know how to even think about how I can be insane. If this man is here, from the Beagle, but —
But, you see, but, I, Juancho, know that we on the Coronado know that those on the Beagle passed away. All were gone, killed for reasons we don’t know.
So I believe, if, I, Juancho, am sane. Perhaps I’m insane, and the Beagle never exploded and killed all onboard. Conversely, perhaps, I, Juancho, am as sane as I thought I was before this man appeared, and he is a zombie.
I, Juancho, am just a bureaucrat. I have shot weapons with sufficient accuracy to be awarded points and a carry permit, but that’s no matter, as I’m not armed.
The man across from me doesn’t appeared armed, either. He is wearing a standard Beagle utility uniform, the sort worn by engineering corps on the ship. The consistency of my possible insanity impressed me. “We have arrived at a frightening crossroads,” I said.
He watched me with narrowed eyes. “What crossroads?”
“My systems tell me that you’re deceased. If you were onboard the Beagle, then you must be dead.”
He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing more, a suspicious and irritated expression. “I was onboard the Beagle. I don’t see how that would make me dead.” He sounded petulant and childish.
Tread carefully, I, Juancho, told myself. “Do you know what happened to the Beagle?”
He became as still as a person can. I’ve seen such stillness in other aspects of my position when sharing news that surprises other people. He did not know what had happened to the Beagle. But, of course, if he was onboard it, it may have exploded and killed him without warning.
“What happened to the Beagle?” he asked.
“I, Juancho, can show you. We have records. I’ll show you.” I watched him carefully, and vowed that I would keep wary eyes on him. Whether he died onboard the Beagle or not, that was four years ago, if the Coronado’s records were correct. Where has he been in the interim?
Although he didn’t appear the least decayed, he could still be a zombie, which made him a threat to me. I, Juancho, could still be insane. It’s a conundrum. I feel haggard, and wish for a drink. I still have alcohol. The systems can compile it from collected materials, and has been doing so. If he’d arrived later in the day, I would have already been enjoying my afternoon alcoholic buzz.
“Let us go look,” I said. “This way.” I indicated for him to walk.
He eyed me. “You first.”
“No, I insist. You go first.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Nor can I.”
“Then I guess we can’t go.”
“Then we will remain at a troubling, frightening crossroads.”
His obstinance irritated me. “First you won’t tell me your name. Now, you refuse to go see the records which will show to you what happened to the Beagle.”
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
“I do not believe you would believe me.”
He shrugged. “Why should I?”
“Why should lie to you?”
“Because you’re alone on the Coronado.”
“Clarify what you mean.”
“I mean what I said. You’re alone on an exploration vessel that should have a crew of thirty. You’re being evasive and obstinate.”
“I am not being obstinate. You’re being obstinate.”
He smiled. “I don’t see it that way.” Standing, he stretched, flexing impressive muscles. “I’ve had enough of this. I think you’re a troubled individual. I wish I could stay and help you, but I need to get back to the Beagle. I’m going to go find someone who can help me, because you, obviously, can’t – or won’t.” He shrugged. “The difference is immaterial, because the outcome is the same.”
He walked off, a smug, muscular, broad-shouldered blond man in a tight Beagles engineering corps utility uniform.
I did not like him. I decided that despite the hour, I would get a drink. I decided that I would also get a weapon, because he, the prig, would be back, and I, Juancho, wanted to be ready.
The prig could still be a zombie.
I, Juancho, stared at the man. “Why are you telling me this?”
He measured me with annoyance, which irritated me. That’s how it always happens. We bureaucrats deliver truth, and others take it personally. The truth here is, I didn’t care about his missing Uncle Vaughn. I knew who Vaughn Parks was, yes, he was a distinguished person, but he was on the Beagle. They’re all dead. I’m surprised this man was alive. That’s who concerned me.
“You asked me how I came here, so I was telling you my story.”
“Your story is gibberish. It’s garbage. Why are you spewing garbage at me? What have I, Juancho, done to you? I asked you a simple question, “How did you get here?” And you give me garbage. Stop giving me garbage.”
“It isn’t garbage, I’m telling you how I came to be here.”
“You haven’t even told me your name.”
He looked insulted. “Why should I tell you my name? Your system should have picked it up.” A frown of deep thought and suspicion creased his forehead and mouth. “Isn’t this the Coronado? Aren’t you from the Beagle? I thought you were. I pinged your systems. They tell me that you’re Juancho Ferrado, and that you’re assigned to the Beagle, and you’re on — we’re on — the Coronado, which was a Beagle research vessel commanded by Commander Alves that was sent down to Feynman.”
He was correct about all of those things. “Very good,” I said. “What’s your name?”
Glancing around, he reared back. “Say, where is everyone else? Where is Commander Alves? She’s a personal friend of mine. I’d like to talk to her, or her second.”
I saw his mind look for Cark’s name. I could have given it, but I let him ask his systems, or think of it for himself. Why should I help him, when he was being such an arrogant asshole? “Lieutenant Commander Cark. Where is he?”
“You haven’t told me your name,” I answered.
I saw the fury grow on his face like black mold. I refused to capitulate. I wanted him to tell me his name so I could watch his face and look for the truth. Our systems will indicate when others are lying, but I believe the systems that nature gave me remain more capable. Those technological systems can be cheated and misled, I assure you.
“Why can’t you ping my name?”
“I want you to tell me. Why can’t you tell me?”
“Why should I tell you when I can ping it?”
“Because I’m asking you, human to human, to speak your name to me. It’s the way we prefer to do it in my culture.”
“What’s your culture?”
“That doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said that. Forget that I did, please.”
“I can’t. You can’t put your words back in your mouth.”
“Just tell me your name, please.”
“No. I want to speak to Commander Alves.”
“Very well. Ping her.”
“I have pinged her.”
“I’m sure she’ll be here at any moment, then.”
He stared at me.
I smiled back. “See, I know what’s going on,” I said.
He scowled. “Where is everyone? Who are you, Juancho Ferrado?”
“See how easy that was? You said my name. It was very easy. Why won’t you say your name? What are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding anything, and I’m not going to answer any more of your questions.”
“Fine, don’t. Then I won’t answer your questions.”
He sputtered with indignation. “I’m a Level Ten Engineer. You’re just a bureaucrat. I outrank you. I order you to answer my questions, or better yet, summon Commander Alves for me. My systems seem to be malfunctioning, so if you would just summon her….”
“Summon her?” I showed him my amused derision.
“Yes, or point me in her direction.”
I chuckled. “What will you do if I don’t summon her, or point you in her direction?”
He stood. “Never mind.” He looked around. “I”ll find her myself. I know the Coronado. My systems know it, too. I know the operating deck’s location. I’ll go find her, myself.”
“Very well. Go, go find her. Tell her hello from me, Juancho.” I laughed. “Tell her, I, Juancho, say hello.”
He was snubbing me, walking away like he was a king. I was furious. “Of course, it’ll be difficult to do,” I shouted. “Because she’s dead.”
That drew him up enough to slow his step and prompt him to turn back to me. “Commander Alves is dead?” He appeared shocked.
I gave him the best mocking smile that I could summon. “Didn’t your systems tell you that?”
He came back more slowly. “No. No, it didn’t tell me. She’s deceased? How did it happen? When?”
I stared at him. His response surprised me. I pinged Commander Alves for myself. “Commander Alves is not available,” my system said. “She is deceased.”
“Your system isn’t telling you that?” I asked him.
“No.” He looked genuinely disturbed. Either this was real, or he was an actor worthy of awards.
I pinged his system to confirm his name. It gave it to me. Then I asked my system, “What is his status?”
“Deceased,” my system responded.
Vaughn was killing me. He kept saying, “Where’s my starship?”
Sometimes, I answered him, trying to get him to understand, “This is your starship. The Beagle is the only starship here.” I tried every tone that could be used, and exhausted every level of patience in me. He was enervating me. I pinged the medical systems for an update about his problem. Then I noticed the silence.
Vaughn wasn’t there.
“Vaughn?” Walking around, I scanned for him. “Uncle Vaughn? Where are you?” Then, venting anger, I added more softly, “Answer me, you crazy shit.”
Pangs of guilt swept me. He couldn’t help who he’d become. I owed him a lot, like, being on the Beagle. “Vaughn.” I scanned again. “Where the heck are you?”
Null.
I felt sick.
It was impossible. He had to be on the Beagle, but he wasn’t showing up. I walked my memories for a logical explanation, ran diagnostics on everything, and hunted again for Vaughn.
Null.
It was impossible.
After repeating my actions about seven times, I sucked air and called security.
##
A veep showed up after almost five seconds. I didn’t know him. Hito, his name ping said. “About time,” I said. “I was ready to call you again.”
“Sorry.” Hito didn’t look or sound it. “What’s the problem?”
“My uncle is missing.”
“Missing from where?”
“The Beagle, where else?”
“Your uncle is missing from the Beagle.”
“That’s what I said,” I replied, as my system said, “You’re being scanned.” Yes, of course the cop was scanning me. Looking to see if something’s adulterating my senses.
The cop veep sighed. “Who is your Uncle/”
“Vaughn Parks.” That should get their attention. The cop might not know me, but I think everyone on the ship knew Vaughn Parks.
“Vaughn Parks?”
The hitch in Hito’s voice pleased me. “Yes. Vaughn Parks.”
“He’s your uncle?”
“Yes.”
“Ah.” The veep shifted his stance. “Missing can mean a lot of things, different things to different people. What do you mean when you say, your uncle is missing?”
“I mean that I can’t find him.”
Bored skepticism crept into Hito’s expression. “Have you scanned the ship?”
“Of course, I scanned the ship. That’s the first thing I did. I scanned it several times.”
“Your system’s probably having issues.” Hito almost chortled. I swear, if he had, I was ready to attack him, if he did. “Let me check,” he said.
I waited. I hoped he was right, that my system was fucking up, but I was doubtful. I’d done diagnostics. But I was hopeful. Diagnostics could be flawed, too. I believed, like Hito, that Uncle Vaughn had to be on the ship. Nothing else made sense.
It was taking longer than I expected. “What’s happening?” I asked. “Did you find him?” I admit, I was a little mocking.
The veep cleared his throat. “Not yet. Excuse me.” He went into private mode.
I fumed. While I fumed, I checked for Vaughn on my systems again.
Then alarms went off. As I jumped from the interruption, the ship’s security systems informed me that a lockdown was in progress. Movement was restricted. Sections were being closed. Everyone was to shelter in place.
It had to have something to do with my missing uncle.
“Excuse me, I have to attend this alarm,” the veep said.
I was dubious. “They’re recalling you?” He was answering, “I’m afraid so,” as I was protesting, “But why? You’re a virtual presence. Why the fuck do they need to recall you?”
I guess he didn’t like my tone or question. If his eyes were energy guns, I’d been vaporized. “Yes, sir. We’ve gone to LERTCON Alpha, so we need to consolidate and conserve energy. Someone will get back to you when they can.”
He was gone but I still shouted, “But what about my uncle? What kind of security alert is it? Maybe it has something to do with my missing uncle.”
But he was gone, and there wasn’t any answer.
Assholes.
Before there was Starship, there was Jefferson Starship. Before that group, there was Jefferson Airplane. They made some great songs.
This is not one of them.
This song came out in nineteen eighty-five. I didn’t like the song, but it frequently streamed into my head and found an infinite play loop. I didn’t know anyone who claimed to like this song, but it found a lot of airplay, and was proclaimed the number one hit for a period. Since then, it reached number one on several lists of worst songs. I felt better that I was not alone in not liking it.
The song, by Starship, is “We Built This City.” The rest of that line goes, “We built this city on rock and roll.” I used to sing, “We built this city while we were stoned.” I have nothing against Jefferson Airplane and the groups that came after them, nor against people being stoned, in general, or San Francisco. I enjoy San Francisco.
I just dislike this song.
Why, then, is it today’s theme music? Well, I awoke from a weird dream, and there it was, playing in my head. Damn, I gotta get it out.
By the way, today was the first time that I’ve seen the video. Consider it my gift to you.
Michael Seidel, writer 