Far Side of Midnight

The Voyage of the Wayfarer

By: W.D. Wilcox

MARS

“Captain Slaton? Can you hear me?”

The eyes on the broken face fluttered.

“I woke you up because you appeared to be having a dream no one would care to continue.”

The woman focused on the bright lights--the intense pain. She moaned softly as she turned her head to one side.

“Don’t try to talk, Captain. Rest now. I was able to awaken you. You have been dead for three days.”

On command, one of a myriad of robotic arms attached to the ceiling dropped down like a spider toward the operating table; it whirled around and carefully pulled a shiny silver thermal blanket up to the woman’s neck covering her nakedness. The motion caused the woman’s brown eyes to blink open. She looked around confused and uncertain--frightened. Her breathing quickened, sending billows of hot breath into the freezing cold atmosphere of the room.

“Please, relax, Captain. You are in no danger.” The flat robotic voice droned on inside her head, oblivious to anything but its own intent. “I will try to do more repairs later, but bringing you back to life has been a drain upon my systems. I am now working at half power.”

The computer checked and rechecked the woman’s life signs, measuring her brainwaves and rapid pulse.

“You are reborn, Captain Slaton: stronger, smarter--more than human. I have rebuilt you. Of course, I had to borrow parts here and there as I went along, but once installed, you began to function properly again.”

A jet of steam erupted from the wall as if the machine were sighing. “Can you understand what I am saying? I had to redesign you. But I’m sure you’ll see what I mean once you have fully awakened.”

In an instant, the computer scanned all of its systems as they began to come back on-line.

“Do you know where you are, Captain?”

Jane Slaton’s lips quivered. Her voice made a gurgling sound as if she had lost the ability to speak. As she attempted to focus on her surroundings, she sensed that something was terribly wrong. She recalled fighting to stay alive, and as her adrenaline peaked, she was instantly awake, flailing her limbs in an effort to escape the certain death that had already taken her. Her eyes bulged and strained in their sockets. She attempted to twist her head, struggling to look in every direction at once.

She was in the medical lab—lying on one of the operating tables. The voice continued inside her head. “I know you can hear me, Captain Slaton. I know everything about you--inside and out. We are going to become very close friends—like family.”

She struggled to rise, but nylon restraining straps held her firmly to the table. The sudden movement caused the blanket to slide from her and she gazed upon the mangled corpse that had once been her body. She felt strangely detached from it—saw nothing familiar that she could use as a point of reference, yet she knew that the cracked shell of a human form was hers.

Panic gripped her and she tried to scream, but the sound of her voice was no more than a horrifying groan that rattled in her throat like a broken machine. The room spun wildly, and darkness covered her eyes.

“You must relax, Captain. I have given you something to help ease your pain and make you sleep. Rest, we will talk again later.”

EARTH

Captain Jane Slaton sat nervously tapping her pencil upon the metal table of the briefing room. Sitting across from her were Howard Thresher, the Head of the United States Space Program; Jack Campos, the Project Manager; and Doctor Amel Hugo, the world-acclaimed robotics engineer.

“Captain Slaton,” said Thresher, running his hand over his bald head, “we’ve secretly built a brand new type of spacecraft, and we want you on its maiden voyage.”

Jane waited without speaking. She turned a questioning stare toward the Project Manager, observed the tightening of his jaw. Jack was an ex-pilot--ex-lover. He sat across from her in his robotic wheelchair, staring at the table and stubbornly refusing to return her gaze.

Thresher continued speaking, elated as a kid with a new toy, “I tell you, Captain, this is the boldest damn thing we’ve ever attempted. And we’ve spared no expense.”

Howard Thresher always loved to hear himself talk. Jane could have sworn that with all his overly grand gestures, he probably practiced his speeches in front of a mirror.

“We call her Wayfarer, and she cost more to build than I even care to think about. But right now, the future of the space program hinges on her success, and that’s where you come in, Captain.”

Here it comes, she thought.

“I’ll be honest with you, we’ve gone out on a bit of a limb here,” he said enigmatically. “Not only have we spent every last dime of grant money on this project, but we’ve also broken just about every law concerning free-thought computers.”

“What the hell do you mean, Howard?” Jane asked in dismay, her anger beginning to flare.

“Well, the thing is, Wayfarer has been equipped with the latest advances in artificial intelligence and robotics. In a sense, we’ve built a ship that is totally, well, for lack of a better word--alive.”

Jane slammed her hands on the table. “Artificial intelligence? Do you mean a living computer, Howard? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Look, Slaton,” he scowled, playing his trump card, and going straight for the throat, “the simple fact is--you work for us. Now I can make your life a living hell if you want to start that insubordinate attitude of yours. In fact, I can make damn sure your feet never leave the ground again. Do I make myself clear?”

Jane knew he could do just that, and worse. She swallowed her anger, but stared defiantly at him. “Just spill it, Howard. What’s this all about?”

“All right, then. Our good doctor, here,” he continued, laying a hand upon the doctor’s shoulder, “has made an astonishing breakthrough in programming free-thought computers and . . .”

“Forget it!” Jane shook her head and abruptly pushed herself away from the table. She sensed something wrong. The whole thing felt too much like a setup, and she didn't want any part of it. She stood to leave.

Thresher’s mouth literally dropped open, and then his face reddened like a fresh sunburn.

Before he could speak, Jane met him head-on, her fury rising into a shout. “I’m not putting my life at risk with some goddamned experimental computer you guys have dreamt up! I don’t care what you do. You’ll just have to get yourself another pilot.”

Jack Campos reached across the table and covered her hand in his. “Captain Slaton, please. Hold on a minute.” He patted her hand as if she were a child; his eyes begged her to stay. “Just hear him out, Jane. We really need you on this one.”

She groaned to herself, took her seat again. Damn it, Jack. What have you gotten me into this time?

Howard released a sigh of exasperation, cleared his throat and continued, “Project Wayfarer, Captain Slaton, has been kept under wraps for the past five years. Now, we all know the use of free-thought computers has been outlawed for obvious reasons.” His eyes darted toward Jack’s wheelchair and back toward Jane. “But, Doctor Hugo has come up with something truly remarkable.

Jane folded her arms across her chest, sat back in her chair. “I’m listening.”

“He has created a device that is capable of recording all of the knowledge and personal experiences of a human being. He imprints this information directly into Wayfarer’s computers. In effect, the computer becomes that person, or in this case, those people, that Doctor Hugo has chosen to download into it. Each subject is a highly trained individual in his or her own particular field. Every one of them methodically gleaned for their special skills and abilities.

“Did you bother to add a pilot?”

“Well, yes, of course, several as a matter of fact. Doctor Hugo also assures us that this new breed of artificial intelligence will be incapable of causing another person harm. It is, in effect, a person itself, with all the morals and beliefs every human being possesses.

“Oh, really, and what if one of those people you downloaded just happens to have a secret perversion that you’re not aware of? Wouldn’t those traits also be present in the computer?”

“That could never happen, Captain.” Doctor Hugo said flatly. “Each person has been carefully screened.”

Jane did not trust the look of Hugo. She had always been a good judge of people, and his demeanor was setting off every alarm in her head. Nevertheless, her curiosity had been aroused, so she pushed her instincts to the back of her mind to consider later. “Okay, so why do you need me? It sounds like the damn thing can fly itself.”

Doctor Hugo had all the charm of a dead man. His voice sounded as if he were unaccustomed to human speech. “Oh, it can, Captain. Make no mistake about it. It can.”

Jane looked into his eyes for the first time, and if looks could kill, Hugo would have been withering upon the floor begging for his life.

“In fact,” he continued, unhampered by her cold glare, “you are only going along at the insistence of the people who funded this project. I have already explained to them that it is not necessary in the least. Wayfarer has more than enough memory to complete this mission without you.”

“Oh, really.” Slaton gave a frosty smile to the arrogant doctor as she sized him up.

The man appeared to be disheveled and pale looking, accustomed to being cooped up alone for long periods of time and not at all in the habit of mixing with the lower life forms.

He wore thick glasses that kept slipping off the bridge of his pug nose. Above his weak chin sat an overly small mouth with pursed and pudgy lips. His most notable characteristic was his voice: it lacked any vitality or human emotion and had a monotone quality to it that Jane could only associate with that of a computer.

She watched as he pulled off his oval glasses and cleaned them with his crumpled tie. Even his clothes appeared slept in, and it was obvious his thinning gray hair had not seen a comb in days. He slipped his glasses on again--crooked. Jane’s impression was that the man looked like he had a head full of sky and no balls. She also noticed that he appeared to be just going through the motions--his nostrils flared and sweat glistened on his upper lip. He was nervous, and obviously hiding something.

“Everything will be run by my computer,” he added, as though he were explaining himself to a dotard, and weary of it. “Nothing like this has ever been done before. It is but the first step toward creating a superior human being.”

Jane sighed to herself. She had heard all the arguments before about the benefits of living computers. The pilots were always the ones thrown into harm’s way, while the eggheads sat safe and secure in front of their computer screen.

“Wayfarer has the ability to assess any situation and react to it quicker than is humanly possible: it’s a pilot, navigator, science officer--even a doctor.”

“What the hell does an automated ship need with a surgeon?” she said cynically. “Look, Hugo, it’s my job to see to it that nobody ever needs a doctor. That is the difference between humans and machines--we don’t cut our losses. We figure out how to prevent them from ever happening in the first place. This whole thing seems like an awful waste of time and money to me. Living computers cannot be trusted to prevent loss of human life.”

“You don’t understand. Wayfarer will have all the characteristics of a human being—hundreds of human beings. There will be one leader--one dominate mind that will run most of the systems. It’ll be like having that person right onboard with you. I have recorded many others too. But the computers deeper knowledge--its personality, is that of only one person.”

“And whose brains did you pick for that job?”

“Well, mine, of course.”

“You don’t say.” Slaton felt her anger rise. “And just what else have you been slipping into the old computer, Doc?”

“That’s enough, Slaton,” Thresher warned.

“That’s quite all right, Mister Thresher,” said Doctor Hugo as he pushed his runaway glasses back onto his pudgy face. “You don’t like computers, do you, Captain?”

“I don’t like you. I don’t know you, and I definitely don’t trust you. Listen, Doc, five years ago, one of the best pilots I know lost his entire crew and both his legs because of some damn computer glitch.” She hesitated, and gave Jack a long, probing look. “Do I like computers, Doctor? No, I don’t. But it’s not a matter of whether or not I like them. It’s all about trust. And these onboard computer--these living, thinking, evolving machines that people like you have built--have proven time and again that they are unsafe, unsure, and unreliable.”

“But think about it, Captain,” Thresher injected. “We’ll be able to finally reach planets we’ve only dreamed about going to. Wayfarer has the knowledge of many pilots stored into its memory banks. It has the ability to change course at a moment's notice, land and take off again without the lag-time and signal delay back here on earth. It will never need to eat, sleep, or breathe air.”

“Of course, a computer like this will make astronauts obsolete,” Hugo added joyfully. “Be honest, Captain, isn’t that what you’re really afraid of?” He spit out the words as if they were an insult.

“Pilots.”

“Pardon me?” he asked, pushing his glasses up.

“Pilots--we like to be referred to as pilots, Doctor. The term ‘astronaut’ went out twenty years ago. But it seems to me that you should’ve known that.” She gave him a curious look. “What else have you missed in the real world, Doc? You know, that place called reality.”

Before Hugo could answer, Jack Campos jumped in, “Your job will be simple enough, Captain. Just make sure the ship comes back in one piece. We can’t afford to build another one.”

Jack had been a damn good pilot, and Jane had a lot of respect for him. She knew in her heart, that out of everyone in the room, Jack was probably the only straight shooter of the bunch.

“So, it’s a baby-sitting job, then?” she asked him.

“Basically,” Jack said. The long scar running from his scalp to his chin jumped as he talked. “You’ll take a free ride to Mars--slingshot around it, and then head back home. All you’ll have to do is observe and report on the performance of the new automated systems. Hell, you won’t even have to push a button.”

“And what if Hugo’s super-computer catches a virus or something?”

“Preposterous, that could never happen,” Hugo said angrily trying to defend his creation. “The main computer is programmed to protect itself from any type of threat, no matter how big or how small.”

“Yeah? Well, if I don’t like what it’s doing, I want to be able to pull the plug. Understand?”

“Absolutely. If the ship is threatened in anyway, you have the authority to take over and fly it straight back home,” Jack said.

“I’ll be in command, then--I’ll have the last word?”

“That’s why we chose you, Slaton,” Thresher said beaming a big smile. “You’re the best we’ve got. Besides, it’s more money than you can shake a stick at.”

Jane rolled her eyes. Sarcastically she said, “Really, Howard? How much more?”

“A lot more. Quarter of a million.”

Jane whistled. Thresher always did know the way to a girl’s heart. “Look, fellas, what’s my guarantee that this damn computer of yours will even listen to me? I mean, I want it to know right from the get-go who’s the boss.”

Hugo said nothing, but Jane could feel his eyes all over her body. His gaze made her skin crawl.

“Doctor Hugo has informed us that there is only one way for Wayfarer to obey you explicitly,” Campos said.

“All right, what’s the catch, Jack?”

He looked down, as if afraid of what he must say to her next. “Your mind has to be downloaded directly into the computer.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“It’s the only way you will be able to instantaneously communicate with all of Wayfarer’s systems.”

“A painless process, Captain, I assure you,” said Hugo with a smirk enjoying her discomfort. He opened the collar to his shirt, turned around, and showed the back of his neck. “A small port is surgically installed here at the base of the skull. It’s hardwired into different areas of your brain. In this way, the computer will be able to access you directly: your memories, your thoughts, and your orders. It will obey your slightest command even before you speak it.”

“No—fricking—way!” She felt a cold chill run through her. “This is more than I bargained for, Howard. I’m not going to let some damn computer jack into my brain. Besides, what are my guarantees that I won’t be turned into some kind of a vegetable or something?”

“There is no danger, Captain,” chimed in Hugo. “Even Mister Campos has had the procedure done.”

“What? Tell me you didn’t, Jack. You let this computer geek hack into your brain? Why? What could they have possibly offered you?”

Campos shrugged. “Look at me, Jane. In case you haven’t noticed, they don’t let paraplegics go on missions. This is my last chance at ever getting out there again. It’ll be like I’m actually there.”

Hugo chimed in smiling like a dead puppet, “Yes, you have instant access to the lives and memories of over one hundred people. The experience is quite . . . stimulating.”

Jane lost it. Hugo’s condescending attitude sickened her. “I don’t need a machine to stimulate me, Doc. Unlike some people, I’m sure.”

Campos ran interference. “Look, Jane, we don’t anticipate any trouble. Ninety days to get out there and another ninety back. You’ll be our ace in the hole just in case anything happens.”

“Something always happens, Jack. You know that. If you don’t anticipate trouble, you wind up dead.”

MARS

Jane Slaton opened her eyes.

The room leaned in toward her, slowly spinning one way and then the other. She tried to wet her mouth, but her tongue felt thick and useless. She suffocated with pain and fear, as an overriding memory churned within her--a memory of death and disfigurement.

She moved, her face unmistakably revealing the excruciating pain. Fighting to stay conscious, she raised her head and looked down at her naked body stretched out upon the operating table.

The shriek started out as a low rumble in the back of her dry throat, and then built in intensity. When she could no longer contain it, the scream roared out of her mouth like a wounded animal. She howled and moaned, thrashing uncontrollably against her restraints. Her eyes bulged with the strain as if she had gone blind with terror and abhorrence. She felt defiled—corrupted, her body no longer her own. Whimpering as if her mind were broken, she studied the computer’s handiwork.

She was horribly bruised and discolored as rot and ruin. Hundreds of fresh stitches crisscrossed her body like the scoring of claws from a savage beast--blood drying around the edges. As she scrutinized her body, she saw more and more places where she had been cut.

Her left breast was gone.

In its place, a robotic arm was attached to the protruding bone of her bloodied shoulder. A steel plate, surgically connected to her chest and left side, helped anchor the arm. The mechanical limb gleamed under the bright lights.

In a maddening frenzy, Jane strained against the straps that held her captive to the table. Suddenly, her new arm lifted with such force that the restraints easily snapped.

Cont --->