Date: 2020-04-03T18:00:00+00:00
Description: This is the sixteenth book in a series of near future Hard-SciFi Thrillers. Their heroine Ell Donsaii has a nerve mutation that’s rendered her a genius as well as providing astonishing athletic abilities. Her genius has let her revolutionize our world with a number of inventions, including instantaneous communications and trans-dimensional portals that deliver fuel, water, and food all around the worldIn “Transporter,” Ell and her friend Roger have now found a way to transport people without the pain and seizures that have plagued such attempts in the past. This is going to change the world in
Publisher: Independently published

Transporter

An Ell Donsaii story #16

Laurence E Dahners

Copyright 2020

Laurence E Dahners

Kindle Edition

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only

Author’s Note

This book is the sixteenth in the series, the “Ell Donsaii stories.”

Though this book can “stand alone” it’ll be much easier to understand if read as part of the series including

“Quicker (an Ell Donsaii story)”

“Smarter (an Ell Donsaii story #2)”

“Lieutenant (an Ell Donsaii story #3)”

“Rocket (an Ell Donsaii story #4)”

“Comet! (an Ell Donsaii story #5)”

“Tau Ceti (an Ell Donsaii story #6)”

“Habitats (an Ell Donsaii story #7)”

“Allotropes (an Ell Donsaii story #8)”

“Defiant (an Ell Donsaii story #9)”

“Wanted (an Ell Donsaii story #10)”

“Rescue (an Ell Donsaii story #11)”

“Impact (an Ell Donsaii story #12)”

“DNA (an Ell Donsaii story #13)”

“Bioterror! (an Ell Donsaii story #14)” and

“Terraform (an Ell Donsaii story #15)”

I’ve minimized the repetition of explanations that would be redundant to the earlier books in order to provide a better reading experience for those of you who are reading the series.

Other Books and Series
by Laurence E Dahners

Series

The Hyllis Family series

The Vaz series

The Bonesetter series

The Blindspot series

The Proton Field series

The Stasis Stories

Single books (not in series)

The Transmuter’s Daughter

Six Bits

Shy Kids Can Make Friends Too

For the most up to date information go to

Laurence E Dahners website

Or his Amazon Author page

Table of Contents

Preprologue

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

Author’s Afterword

Preprologue

Ell’s father, Allan Donsaii, was an unusually gifted quarterback. Startlingly strong, and a phenomenally accurate passer, during his college career he finished two full seasons without any interceptions and two games with 100 percent completions. Unfortunately, he wasn’t big enough to get drafted by the pros.

Extraordinarily quick, Ell’s mother, Kristen Taylor captained her college soccer team and rarely played a game without a steal.

Allan and Kristen dated more and more seriously through college, marrying at the end of their senior year. Their friends teased them that they’d only married in order to start their own sports dynasty.

Their daughter Ell got Kristen’s quickness, magnified by Allan’s surprising strength and highly accurate coordination.

She also has a new mutation that affects the myelin sheaths of her nerves. This mutation produces nerve transmission speeds nearly double those of normal neurons. With faster nerve impulse transmission, she has far quicker reflexes. Yet her new type of myelin sheath is also thinner, allowing more axons, and therefore more neurons, to be packed into the same sized skull. These two factors result in a brain with more neurons, though it isn’t larger, and a faster processing speed, akin to a computer with a smaller, faster CPU architecture.

Most importantly, under the influence of adrenaline in a fight or flight situation, her nerves transmit even more rapidly than their normally remarkable speed.

Much more rapidly…

Author’s note

For those of you just finishing Terraform, An Ell Donsaii story #15, to avoid confusion, please be aware there are significant temporal overlaps between some events at the end of #15 and some of the events at the beginning of this book (#16).

Prologue

Emma looked up and saw Roger returning to the Quantum Biomed area. He looked a little dazed. “What happened to you?” she asked. “Stick your head in a port or something?” this last being a little in-joke about the confused post-seizure state that afflicted animals or people who passed through ports.

His eyes focused on her. “You’re closer to right than you might imagine.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got a video call from Ell. She said she’d gotten to wondering whether the neural effects of passing through a port were related to the port’s edge effects.”

“Say what?” Emma responded, not following what he’d said.

“You know, ‘edge effects.’ It refers to how flow rates near the edge of the port are limited compared to what can be achieved out in the middle. It’s why we can transfer atmosphere to Mars much more rapidly through a large port of the same cross-sectional area as a group of many small ports that have the same area. Flow rates are much slower within a few centimeters of the periphery of the port. A four-centimeter port has limited flow rates everywhere, but a one-meter port has high flow rates out in the middle with limited rates only near the edges.

“Oh,” Emma said. She’d been told that and had been excited about how it allowed higher flows with atmosphere transfers but hadn’t thought much more about it. It’d kind of faded from her working memory. “So, what’s the deal with neural effects versus edge effects?”

“So, Ell had Portal Tech send her a thirty-centimeter (12”) port and tried sticking her finger through it.”

“Wait, you’ve done that, right? You told me it hurt like hell.”

“Yeah,” Roger said with a shudder, “I stuck my finger through a bunch of small ports back when I was trying to find a way to port animals from one place to another. Trying to prevent the pain, I stuck that poor finger through with it covered by various metallic and nonmetallic meshes and cylinders. Nothing worked. The pain’s so bad it’s hard to make yourself do it again when you get a new idea to test. Our theory’s that passage through a port activates the nerve, sending pain messages up to the brain, though not actually doing any damage. However, if the brain itself goes through the port, all the induced messages cause a seizure and the seizure does do some damage.”

Emma gave him a puzzled look. “But I thought those new anesthetics you’ve been using prevented the seizures?”

“They do, though there’s probably a bit of mental cloudiness for a short period afterward. It’s hard to tell which effects are from the anesthetic and which ones come from passing through a port.”

“Okay. So what’s all this have to do with Ell sticking her finger through a 30 cm port?”

“She said there wasn’t any excruciating pain. The finger only tingled a little bit.”

Emma’s eyes widened, “Her guess was right?!”

Roger gave a disgusted snort. “As so many of her guesses are.”

“And I’ll bet you just stuck your finger through a 30 cm port, right?”

He gave a dismissive wave, “Did that last week. She’s right, only a little tingle.”

“Okay, so why were you looking dazed today?”

“Today, Dr. Bynewicz and I put a mouse through the middle of a 30 cm port. No seizure. It looked a little startled when it went through, but otherwise seemed completely fine.”

“Oh… Wow!” She closed her eyes for a moment, “So what’s the plan now? What’s all this mean?”

“Put through some bigger animals. Record EEGs on them as they go through. Send some primates. If they seem fine, then we’ll need to try it with a human volunteer.”

“Wait, didn’t you already bring an astronaut back from Mars through a big port?”

Roger nodded, “But that port was barely big enough to pass his shoulders with his arms up over his head.” Emma opened her mouth to speak but Roger held up a finger to get her to wait. “Admittedly the rim of the port was at least four cm from his head, i.e. his central nervous system, but we also had him under a general anesthetic. Maybe it wasn’t the anesthetic that kept him from seizing and having post porting cognitive issues. It’s possible that if we’d sent him through without the anesthetic, the only problem would’ve been the excruciating pain he’d have felt in the parts of him that were close to the periphery of the port.”

“You think this is gonna work?” Emma asked.

Roger shrugged with a distant look on his face, “Maybe not. But, if it does? It’s hard to imagine all the implications, isn’t it? A 1.5-meter port would give you plenty of clearance around a few humans or for one in a wheelchair. It’d require seven-megawatts of power to hold it open, which is a lot, but, as you know, the asteroid mining team worked out systems for powering ports quickly up and down over very brief periods. Ell points out that if we open a 1.5-meter port and pass it over a human being in less than a second, it’ll only consume about two kilowatt-hours of power. A kilowatt-hour only costs about 10-20 cents.”

“Less than a second?!” Emma said, alarmed.

“I’ll admit it sounds scary. If the power cut off before it had quite passed from the person’s head to their toes, it’d cut them off above the ankles.”

“No shit Sherlock!” Emma said, her eyes widening even further.

Roger said, “I was a little freaked out myself. But Ell proposes that if you’re a ‘transportee,’ which is what she’s calling someone who gets ported from one place to another, you’d stand in a 1.3-meter (50”) cylinder. I picture it kind of like a small, circular elevator. Once you’re inside and the door’s closed so you can’t twitch, move or otherwise get close to the edges of the 1.5-meter port, the port opens and falls down over the person and that inner cylinder. Since a falling object descends 2.4 meters (7.9’) in 0.7 seconds, it’ll travel plenty far enough in a second. It can’t start passing down over you until the port’s open because your 1.3-meter cylinder blocks it from traveling. The port’s power stays on until it hits an off-switch below the inch thick pedestal you’re standing on. This guarantees it’s passed all the way down below your feet before the port closes…” Roger paused a moment, then finished, “And, voila, you’re in France.”

“Or,” Emma whispered, “on Mars…”

***

Rob Shannon wearily climbed onto the little Turkish bus, actually just a big van. I’m getting way too old for this, he thought.

It’d been a long, long flight to India. Then, after a stop at the embassy to lock up his US passport and switch to his Indian one, he’d had another long flight to Turkey. He’d obtained an Indian visa to Turkey in Ankara and then suffered through a miserable nineteen-hour bus ride from Ankara to the Turkish town of Dogubayazit, near the Iranian border. Noah’s Ark was supposed to have landed on Mount Ararat near Dogubayazit, but Rob didn’t have the energy to do more than stare at the Mount from a distance.

He’d spent the night in a Dogubayazit hotel. It’d been cheap. For the price, it wasn’t bad, but it was, in reality, terrible—it was just that the price was very low. There were nice hotels, but he was playing the part of a down-on-his-luck Indian merchant touring Iran to look for good deals. He couldn’t be seen spending the money to stay anywhere upscale.

The van would provide him with a forty-five-minute ride to the actual border.

Assuming he crossed the border successfully, he’d hopefully be able to use his fluency in Farsi to negotiate another miserable 1300 km bus ride to Isfahan, the third-largest city in Iran, about 400 km south of Tehran.

Then he’d spend weeks in Isfahan, walking about the city, talking to merchants and “trying to negotiate trade deals” while most of his mission would be carried out by the sophisticated gear in his backpack—a backpack that was supposedly full of trade goods from India but only contained a few samples. His job was to carry the backpack from place to place. As he moved around, his handlers back home at the CIA would suck large quantities of air and dust through ports on his shoes and the backpack’s surface to measure isotopes. The “water bottles” on the backpack were actually ultra-sophisticated, highly-sensitive neutron detectors and the backpack’s walls were lined with a new crystal that was extremely sensitive to gamma emissions. All that information would be correlated to location with readings from GPS. Once the people back home had a good map of the radiation levels in the city—which was known to have been one of the locations of the Iranians’ “experimental” reactors and other facilities for producing nuclear fuel—then the truly hard and dangerous part of the mission would begin.

HUMINT (human intelligence) had led the CIA to believe that actual nuclear weapons were stockpiled somewhere in the city. Confirming that “SNMs,” or special nuclear materials, such as refined uranium or plutonium were present would be harder. It would require hitting such a stockpile with a pulse of neutrons—easily fired through a port—and then detecting the responding pulse of neutrons emitted by the SNMs when the pulse of neutrons induced a small amount of fission in the warheads.

To do that he’d have to set down the backpack in front of the suspected location of the weapons. It’d send the pulse of neutrons and detect the responding neutrons.

He couldn’t just drop the backpack and leave. He needed to stay close enough to make sure no one stole it. Or worse, that the guards who’d be watching the building didn’t remove the backpack as a possible bomb.

Cameras would’ve probably observed him setting down the backpack and followed him as he departed.

Detectors inside the building would probably react to both his and the bomb’s pulses of neutrons and set off alarms.

Then the fecal matter would hit the rotary impeller.

And I can’t run like I once could.

Crap!

***

“Mom,” Zage said as he settled in for a long flight in D5R’s jet. “Which of the Greek isles are we going to? I’ve just now realized there’re about 6,000 of them.”

“Oh, sorry,” Ell said distractedly. “There may be 6,000 islands but only 227 are inhabited. However, we’ve decided to go to the Caribbean instead. Specifically, the Dominican Republic. It’s closer to home in case we need to be physically present for some reason.”

Trying not to sound whiny, Zage said, “There’s not going to be much to do, is there?”

“Beaches, snorkeling, subtropical forest, the whole world accessible through Osprey. Think of it as a time to relax. Get away from it all. You don’t have to be accomplishing something every minute you’re awake you know?”

Zage snorted, “When’s the last time you relaxed?”

Ell was focused on something Allan was displaying in her contacts. She said, “Um, sorry. I set a bad example don’t I?”

Shaking his head, Zage had Osprey pull up the latest protein folding queries that’d been submitted to Gordito.

It didn’t take long to deal with the protein folding. Partly because there weren’t very many that day, but mostly because Zage and Osprey had gotten so good at figuring them out. Being on the airplane he couldn’t go to the lab so he wondered what to do. Malaria, he thought. Someone had mentioned that it killed more than a million people a year. There was a vaccine, but it was expensive and minimally effective, so very few people got the shots.

“Osprey,” he said, “pull up the genome for plasmodium.” Plasmodium, malaria’s causative agent, was a parasite rather than a virus like smallpox. He wondered whether the tricks he’d used before were going to work on it or whether he’d have to come up with a different strategy.

***

Jacob Benson looked up at his wife, “Simone! Did you see who Shan Kinrais is actually married to?”

Simone gave him a thoughtful look, “It isn’t that nice Raquel?”

“No! It turns out his Raquel was Ell Donsaii in disguise! That’s how Kinrais has written so many papers with her, they live together!”

Simone developed a sly smile, “Then it probably wasn’t just a funny accident when she suggested Egol’s marginal calculation to Milton Agrits, was it?”

Stunned, Jacob leaned back in his chair and let out a guffaw. “Hell no!” He looked at his wife, “That’s so rich! Milton was pissed that a joking, offhand suggestion from a faculty spouse condensed his Delphine splays, not knowing he’d just been helped by one of the world’s premier mathematicians!”

Simone gave him a puzzled look, “Who else is that good?”

Jacob blinked, “What do you mean?”

“You called Donsaii ‘one of the world’s premier mathematicians.’ Is there anyone as good as she is?”

“Well, that’s pretty subjective…”

“So, who would you put in her class?”

“Well…” he sighed, “I guess no one.”

“So,” Simone smiled sweetly, “Milton got help from the world’s best mathematician, right?”

Jacob sighed again, “Yes, dear.”

***

Vanessa appeared in Dr. Turner’s doorway. “Have you heard the latest?”

“About Zage?”

“Yeah,” Vanessa said on a long exhalation, disappointed she wouldn’t be the one to tell Turner. “Can you believe it?”

“You realize our little prodigy’s parents have six Nobel prizes between them?”

“Yeah,” Vanessa said, shaking her head. “I guess it’s not too surprising he’s kinda smart too, huh?”

“Beyond smart, I think. It’s amusing to remember how irritated I was that his dad wanted to pawn him off on us for some babysitting.”

“Pawn him off on me, you mean.”

Turner shrugged, “Yeah, but only because I knew you’d jump on what they were going to pay you.”

“In the long run,” Vanessa said, “I think we got the better end of the deal.”

Turner snorted. “If those pigs lose weight we’re going to have gotten a great deal.”

***

Jillian slammed the door behind her, then leaned her back up against it. Despite her sunglasses and heavy coat, someone had recognized her again. She’d had to run from her car to her apartment with people shouting threats the entire way.

Jillian had her AI call up a view from outside. The six angry people who’d chased her milled around a few minutes, evidently talking to one another. Eventually, they broke up and, to her relief, apparently decided to go about living their own lives instead of ruining hers.

When she’d written the story about Donsaii’s kid, Jillian’s biggest worry had been that someone would accuse her of a lack of journalistic integrity. After all, she hadn’t proved Donsaii had a kid, she’d just published an article identifying some suggestive evidence and suggested that the Kinrais kid might be Donsaii’s. She’d been worrying that someone would jump her for publishing without proof.

Instead, hundreds of other news agencies had jumped all over her story, putting it up on their sites the same way they published anything to do with Donsaii. They’d repeated her story ad nauseam, spreading it like a disease.

Just hours later a crazy named Stackhouse, carrying on some kind of bizarre—completely one-sided—feud with Donsaii, heard the story. He’d immediately driven to the house Jillian had merely suggested Donsaii lived in. The record downloaded from his AI suggested he’d intended to hurt Donsaii by killing her, her husband or her child!

When the kid got home, the psycho burst out of the trees within view of scads of reporters and started firing an AR-15 at the boy. Someone at the scene ran over Stackhouse with an SUV, killing him. Despite firing twenty-seven rounds, Stackhouse proved to be so incompetent he didn’t hit the kid a single time. Thus, the aghast reporters were able to witness the kid getting up and walking into the house under his own power.

A miraculous outcome from the horrific actions of an insane individual, right?

But was that the story?

Hell no! The story was that an “irresponsible reporter, one Jillian Pardo, had endangered the life of Ell Donsaii’s child.”

Am I going to have to go into hiding the way Donsaii did? she wondered.

Chapter One

Teri Bynewicz looked up as Roger came into her lab. Her eyes went to the person with him. Donsaii! she realized. Clearing her throat, she stood and said, “Hello Roger, Dr. Donsaii.”

Donsaii gave her a cheery greeting. “Hi, Dr. Bynewicz. We’re excited to hear what you’ve been learning.”

“About the effects of transporting animals through the larger diameter ports?”

“Um, yes. Is there something else you’ve got to tell us about?”

“Well, I hope you’re aware of just how invaluable ports have become in seizure research. It’s now pretty well accepted to be the most controlled way to induce seizures for animal research. Several anti-seizure pharmaceuticals have been developed, using ports as the testing model. Probably even more interesting to you is the fact that several trials have found that port induced seizures under anesthesia are more effective yet less risky than electroconvulsive therapy for depression.”

“I thought psychotherapeutics like psilocybin, ketamine, and ayahuasca were the standard treatments for mood disorders?”

“Those are the most accepted treatments now, but no one treatment works for everyone with depression. For those who’re resistant to psychotherapeutics and medications, ‘portal-shock’ rather than ECT has become a standard secondary therapy. Since Roger recently told me it might only be the region near the edge of the port that induces nerve activity, I’ve been wondering if the big difference between portal-shock and electroshock is that ECT induces neuron discharge all along the path of the current, whereas a port induces discharge all around the periphery of the brain, where the cerebral cortex resides.”

“Oh,” Donsaii said, looking thoughtful. After a moment, she said, “Those do sound quite important for medical therapeutics. But, of course, you were right that we’re mostly interested in the minimization of portal-induced neuro effects by oversizing the ports to keep neural tissue away from the edge effects at the periphery of the opening.”

Bynewicz smiled, “Then I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that we’ve been unable to detect any health effects as long as tissue is kept more than five centimeters from the edge of the port.”

Donsaii looked almost elated. After a moment, she quietly asked, “Even on a fetus? If we start transporting people, the question of whether we can transport women who might not even know they are pregnant is going to come up over and over again.”

Bynewicz said, “We’ve ported trillions of bacteria and yeast and shown that passage through a port doesn’t affect genes. We’ve also ported over a thousand mice at various stages of pregnancy. Since mice average about seven pups to a litter, that’s over 7,000 fetal mice that’ve passed through ports. Those mice had the same litter sizes, postpartum mortality rates, numbers of congenital abnormalities and maternal survival as their control groups. Essentially, we can’t tell that passing through a port causes any problems for either the mother or the pup. So far, we’ve done the same with a hundred goats and a hundred rhesus monkeys, all pregnant. Of course, it’s too early to know whether portal passage affects their lifespans or cancer rates. Or whether it causes any other long-term changes, but I’d be astonished if it did. As you know, other than the neural stimulation issue, all our testing has failed to show any biological, chemical or physical effect of going through a port. If neural issues aren’t present except at the periphery, ports should be safe.”

***

Washington D.C.— Reuters reported today that Iran’s fiery new leader now claims the country does, in fact, have nuclear weapons. He claims the previous regimes’ assertions that Iran had no nuclear weapons were made by weak, corrupt, and fearful leaders. “We not only have the bomb,” he said, “but we have the courage to use it. The other so-called powers in this region had best be careful how they treat with us.”

On finding a small cream-colored envelope in her mail, Rebecca Porter tilted her head in surprise. Addressed by hand, no less.

She opened it.

It contained an elegant cream-colored card. On it, written in a neat hand, it said,

Dr. Porter,

Thank you for your care on the occasion of Zage Kinrais’ birth.

Ell Donsaii.

Rebecca thought back to that day six years ago when a dark-skinned woman stopped urgently at Rebecca’s hospital and gave birth to a light-skinned baby. Rebecca had a “Donsaii” autograph from that day, but of course, it didn’t mention the date because Ell had been traveling incognito while President Stockton’s people pursued her. It also didn’t mention the occasion, because Ell hadn’t wanted people to know she had a child.

It looked like, now the child’s existence had been made public, Donsaii had remembered Rebecca’s original request for an autograph…

***

Chapel Hill, North Carolina—Of note, Ell Donsaii has apparently given up her secondary identity as Raquel Blandon. She now lives at the farmhouse near Chapel Hill where she was thought to live all along. Her roommate at that house has moved out and Donsaii’s husband, Shannon Kinrais, has moved in. However, her child, Zage Kinrais, has not been seen at that address. It’s not clear where the child is. Speculation puts him in some private boarding school, a common stratagem for the wealthy in the past. Given what happened immediately after her husband and son were identified, it’s perhaps not surprising they have chosen to isolate the child in such a fashion.

On a side note, Jillian Pardo—the reporter who first recognized Dr. Donsaii was leading a separate life in disguise—has become persona non grata. It seems that wherever she goes people are responding negatively to her presence, shouting obscenities and threats as well as acting in threatening fashions. She describes her life as “A living hell.”

Marie hurried her cleaning, practically running from room to room. The last tenants had left a mess and the new ones were arriving early, but, of course, Señora Sanchez wouldn’t accept any excuses. In a fit of optimism, she thought, I’ll do the kitchen last, then if they arrive before I’m done, I can leave out the back without seeing Señora Sanchez.

She finished everything else and was working on the kitchen when she heard the popping of tires on the gravel in the driveway out front. Frantic, she swept rapidly even if it raised dust. Emptying the dustpan into her big trash bag, she shoved the big bag out the kitchen door with her broom and bucket of cleaning gear. She grabbed the mop and began rapidly swishing it across the floor, despairing at the little spots of crud from the previous tenants’ spills. If I can just finish mopping and get out the door, maybe Señora Sanchez won’t notice the spots I don’t get clean!

The front door opened. Marie heard the grating sounds of Sanchez’s voice as she ushered in the new tenants.

Marie’s heart thumped. As long as it takes them another minute or two to come into the kitchen I can still make it, she thought, trying not to bang her mop into the baseboards.

Marie was just opening the back door to put the mop outside when a boy walked into the kitchen. “Hi,” he said, cheerfully. “Do you need us to give you a few more minutes?”

Marie quickly shook her head, hoping she understood his English correctly.

Hoping he wouldn’t say anything more.

Something Señora Sanchez might hear.

She gently leaned the handle of the mop up against the outer doorjamb with the left hand she’d extended out the door. Keeping her eyes as downcast as she could, she tried to check the kitchen for any blatant mistakes.

A rag still lay on the counter!

Should I try to go get it, even though Señora Sanchez might see me? Or should she leave it, even though it’d bring a penalty? Deciding the penalty for a rag on the counter was more certain than the possibility Sanchez would see her, she scurried across the kitchen, snatched the rag, and turned back to the door…

“Marie!” Sanchez said.

The word felt like a whip striking her back.

Marie stopped and turned toward Sanchez, her eyes on Sanchez’s shoes. “I’m sorry Señora Sanchez,” she said, beginning to shake. “I’m so sorry.” Beginning to plead, she said, “Please. Please don’t penalize me. I promise, it won’t happen again!”

Without answering Marie, Sanchez turned to the new guests, “I apologize. You’d think after all I’ve done for Marie and her mother, they’d be more diligent.” Down low and behind her back, Sanchez made a flicking movement of dismissal with her fingers, ushering Marie out the door.

As she backed to the door, Marie reached up to wipe away the hot tears on her cheeks. She fumbled it open and stepped outside. She’ll probably penalize me a week’s work, Marie thought as she scrubbed at her face and tried to swallow against the lump in her throat.

~~~

Zage walked across the kitchen and looked after the girl, Marie, as she picked up her buckets and, slump-shouldered, started down the steps off the back porch. Little jerking motions of her shoulders told Zage she was sobbing. What just happened? he wondered.

Feeling glum, Zage walked back out to the main room of the airy little house his parents had rented. The DR was supposed to be their quiet and relaxing time before going back to the mess Pardo had made of their lives but Zage didn’t feel relaxed after witnessing that encounter. Sanchez was making her way out the front door. Zage realized he already despised the woman, based entirely on the young girl’s reaction to her. When Ell turned around, he said, “Mom, did you see any of Sanchez’s interaction with the girl in the kitchen?”

His mother gave him a puzzled look, “Girl in the kitchen?”

“When I first stepped into the kitchen, a young girl had just finished mopping the floor. She was just putting her mop out on the back porch.”

“That’s okay. There’s always a big rush to turn over vacation places on the weekend when one group’s leaving and another’s arriving. It’s not surprising she was just getting done.”

“Mom, this girl looked like she was 10 to 12 years old.”

Ell looked uncomfortable. After a moment, she said, “The rules on child labor may be different here.”

“And she was scared of Sanchez. Really scared.”

“Oh crap,” Ell said with a sigh. “Have Osprey send me the audio-video record.”

“Okay. Then I’m going to look up the local labor laws.”

***

Wanda Sanchez’s AI said, “You have a call from Elsa Gardon.”

“Who’s that?”

“The new tenant in 4B.”

Barely checked in and already demanding something! Sanchez thought with disgust. “I’ll take it… Hello Ms. Gardon. How may I help you?”

“When we checked in, there was a young woman, Marie, who was just finishing the kitchen?”

Irritated, Sanchez asked, “What’s she done now?”

“Oh, nothing! Nothing. It’s just that…” The woman lowered her voice as if she were speaking confidentially, “My son. He’s only six. I don’t want to have to keep an eye on him at every moment. Could Marie babysit him sometimes? She looks like she’s twelve or thirteen, right?”

This is a new request, Sanchez thought, wondering how she could make it work. To Gardon, she said, “Yes, and Marie has a younger brother who’s about that age, so she’s experienced with handling children.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. How could we get in contact with her?”

“It would be best if you did everything through me. I can arrange the times for you and collect the money, giving it directly to Marie’s mother so the girl doesn’t spend it frivolously.”

“Oh, that’d be great. How much does she charge…?”

~~~

Ell had Allan disconnect the call and turned to Zage. “Okay, Marie’s going to babysit you tomorrow evening.”

Zage rolled his eyes but didn’t comment on the babysitting. “From what you said, you’re supposed to pay Sanchez and Sanchez’s going to pay Marie, right?

“Sanchez says she’s going to pay Marie’s mother.”

“And Sanchez has some kind of reason why the money needs to go through her?”

Ell nodded, “She says she’s going to give the money directly to Marie’s mother so Marie doesn’t spend it frivolously.”

Zage looked disgusted, “And how much is ‘Marie’ charging?”

“900 pesos an hour.”

With a sigh, Zage said, “In this country, a college-educated teacher might hope to earn that much. An unskilled adult typically earns 9000 pesos a month. I don’t know what they typically pay kids, but it’s got to be less.”

Ell gave him a wry smile, “You think I’m being overcharged?”

“I think she’s charging you as much as she thinks a sucker will pay. And, I’ll bet Marie never sees a centavo.”

Feeling disheartened, Ell said, “I’m pretty sure you’re right. I hope I can win enough of Marie’s trust to get her to tell us what’s going on.”

“Why don’t you and dad just go on out to dinner? I’ll stay home with Marie the way she and Sanchez expect. I’ll talk to her and find out what’s going on.” Zage shook his head, “I think it’s going to be grim.”

“I think it’d be better if I talked to her.”

This time Zage resisted rolling his eyes. “It’ll be okay mom. I guarantee she’s not dangerous. Besides, my security team’s just in the next cabin.”

“I can talk to her in her native language.”

“Osprey can translate Spanish for me, just like Allan’d be translating for you.”

“No, I mean I actually speak Spanish.”

Zage blinked and stared, “You speak Spanish?! When and why did you learn that?”

“Back when I was having trouble with President Stockton. I was thinking about places to live out of the States, but not too far away. Latin America seemed like a good choice. It turned out to have been a great idea when I broke out of Guantanamo and traveled back up to the states through Mexico.”

“That was back when you were pregnant with me, right?”

Ell nodded.

“And you think you remember how to speak it?”

“Of course,” his mother said as if surprised he thought she might’ve forgotten.

Zage looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Osprey could translate for me and I’m a kid. I’d be less threatening.”

“I think it’s less intimidating if someone actually speaks your language. I’ll try talking to her when she arrives. If I don’t get anywhere, you can talk to her while your dad and I are out to dinner.” Ell stood, “Come on. Get your stuff and let’s go check out the beach.” Catching the look he gave her, she said, “If you get bored, you and Osprey can keep working on malaria antigens.”

He frowned, “How’d you know I’m working on malaria?”

“After listening to you mumble to Osprey about plasmodium most of the plane flight down here, I decided I’d better figure out what plasmodium was.”

“You didn’t know plasmodium was the parasite that causes malaria?” he asked, sounding as surprised as if she’d said she’d never heard of gravity.

“Now, now, remember that little talk we had about asking questions that suggest you think the person you’re talking to is stupid?”

Zage grinned, “But it’s okay when you’re doing it to try to put really smart people in their places, isn’t it?”

“You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’ boy…”

“Threatening your innocent child with physical brutality,” Zage said with another grin. “Tsk, tsk. I hear ‘violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.’”

“You’re right, it’d be better if I just cut off your access to Osprey.”

“Nooo!” Zage wailed.

~~~

At the beach, they were near a family with a boy about Zage’s age. They also had two toddler girls that looked like they were the same age. The girls were cute but seemed to be wearing their mother to a frazzle. Zage turned to Ell, “Do you think they’re twins?”

His mother looked a little wistful as she nodded.

“Are you upset about something?”

“Happy,” she said almost inaudibly.

Zage looked at the other family, then back at his mom. “Do you know them or something?”

Ell shook her head but didn’t say anything.

“What’s got you… all emotional?”

Ell looked at her son, then over at Shan. Shan gave her a little nod. She turned back to Zage and spoke in a raspy voice, “The latest ultrasound showed you’re going to have twin sisters.” She lifted her chin at the boy who looked a little left out of all the goings-on in his family. “You think you can take it?”

Wide-eyed, Zage looked at his dad, then again at his mom. “Really?”

They both nodded.

He turned to look at the other boy. “He looks kind of sad.”

“I’m sure the girls are sucking up a lot of his parents’ time. He may feel a little lonely.”

“Oh…” Zage got up and hugged his mom. “That’s great!”

“Really?” she asked, looking a little misty-eyed.

“Oh yeah. Twins are gonna keep you so busy you’ll have to cut me a little slack.”

Ell snorted.

Shan out and out laughed.

Zage turned and walked over to the other boy. “You wanna play?”

The boy nodded.

“What’s your name?” Zage asked.

“Billy.”

“I’m Gage…” Zage looked out at the water. “Will your parents let us play in the water?”

“Sure. I can swim,” the boy said proudly.

They started running for the water.

***

“Just watch the boy like you do your brother,” her mother said.

“An Americano?!” Marie asked, wide-eyed. “They’re different! What do I do if he misbehaves?”

“Well, don’t hit him,” her mother responded, but didn’t suggest what else Marie might do.

“My English is so poor I won’t even be able to talk to him!”

“I’m sorry Marie,” her mother said, her eyes sympathetic, “but maybe he’ll be well behaved. If there’s trouble, Señora Sanchez will not only add back that penalty, she’ll add more. You know how she is.”

“Can’t Rosa do it?” Marie had asked hopefully. Surely, Marie thought, her older sister, with all the wisdom of her thirteen years, could better navigate these treacherous waters.

“No,” Marie’s mother said glancing apprehensively at Rosa—who’d been crying on and off since she got home. “Señora Sanchez has Rosa working one of those night jobs tonight.”

Marie didn’t know what Rosa’s night jobs were, just that Rosa hated them, crying before going and again after she got home. Maybe I wouldn’t mind doing the night job? Marie wondered. I couldn’t hate it more than babysitting an Americano, could I? She looked at Rosa, then at her mother, “Maybe I could do Rosa’s night job and she could babysit?”

A look of shock crossed her mother’s face, “Oh, no! Marie! No! You’re too young to… to do night work.”

Marie didn’t understand this, after all, Rosa was only two years older than Marie. “Could you do the night job for Rosa, Mami? Rosa could babysit the Americano and I’d watch Pedro.”

Her mother pulled her into an embrace, “No Mariecita. I’m too old to do the night job. And don’t ask me to babysit for the Americanos either. They asked Señora for you. If I went and they complained, you know how Señora would react.”

~~~

Marie nervously climbed the stairs onto cabin 4B’s porch. Taking a deep breath, she timidly knocked on the door. I didn’t knock hard enough, she thought. They won’t have heard. She raised her hand to knock again, then paused, not wanting to sound demanding by knocking twice without giving the people inside time to respond.

The door opened. A pretty, Hispanic-looking lady appeared. To Marie’s relief, she spoke Spanish, “Hello, I’m Elsa Gardon. You must be Marie?”

Marie nodded.

“Come in, come in,” the woman said, still speaking Spanish. She had an accent but was easy to understand. Stepping back from the door she waved Marie in. “How old are you?”

“Eleven,” Marie said timidly, worried that, in this woman’s estimation, eleven wouldn’t be old enough to babysit. Yet, also hoping it wouldn’t be old enough, thus freeing Marie from the responsibility. It doesn’t matter, she thought, either way, Sanchez will penalize me.

“This is my son, Gage,” the woman said waving at the boy Marie had seen in the kitchen the day before.

The boy was sitting quietly, looking at Marie. The fact that he was sitting still was beyond Marie’s usual experience with young boys. She told herself she should speak to the boy. Worried about her English, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She settled for giving him a little wave.

The woman said, “Gage doesn’t speak Spanish, but he has an AI that’ll translate for him. Do you know about AIs?”

Not much, Marie thought. Not wanting to show her ignorance, she settled for a small nod.

“Before my husband and I leave to go out to dinner,” the woman said, “I’d just like to get to know you a little better. Señora Sanchez said she knows your mother?”

Marie nodded.

“Does your mother work for Señora Sanchez too?”

Marie nodded again.

“And Señora Sanchez said I should pay her and she’d pass the money on to you through your mother?”

Marie shrugged.

“How much do you normally get paid for babysitting?”

Marie shrugged, not wanting to admit she’d never done any babysitting before.

“And you also clean houses for Señora Sanchez?”

Marie nodded.

“How much do you get paid to clean?”

Paid to clean? Marie wondered in puzzlement. She, Rosa, and her mother were all just working off debt. They never got paid actual money. Between penalties for poor performance, assessments for the rent on their shack and assessments for the groceries Sanchez delivered them, they never saw any money. They only fell farther and farther into debt. Not knowing how to answer the question she simply shrugged again.

“Does that money also go to your mother?”

Marie knew this answer, since no money ever came to them. She shook her head.

Señora Gardon smiled with her lips but her eyes seemed sad. She said, “Your mother doesn’t get money because whatever you and she earn just goes to pay on your account (cuenta)?”

Curiosity overcame Marie and she finally found the courage to speak, “Cuenta?”

“Deuda (debt)?”

Marie nodded.

Señora Gardon glanced at her son.

Sounding angry, he spoke in English saying, “Debt-bondage,” in a tone you might use to describe the stench of something rotten.

Marie wondered what the English words meant. Am I in trouble again? she wondered fearfully.

Señora Gardon’s eyes were back on Marie. Softly, she said, “We’d like to help you. Can we talk to your mother?”

Help me? Marie thought uncomprehendingly. Help me what? She had no idea what to say, so she settled for another shrug.

Continuing to speak softly, Señora Gardon asked, “Marie, do you know what slavery is?”

Marie shook her head.

“Slavery is when one person’s forced to work for another without being paid for it. All around the world, slavery’s considered a crime. We think Señora Sanchez might be treating you, and perhaps others, like slaves. We’d like to help you become free. But, for us to be able to help, we must speak to your mother. Can you take us to see her? Or bring her here to talk to us?”

Emotions flooded through Marie. Buoyant excitement. Braying dread. Fear. Hope… Could it be that someone else might think Señora Sanchez is as evil as we do? Or could this woman just be trying to get us in trouble?

Hope won out and she decided she wanted to take a chance on this woman. But I can’t possibly take these fine people to our shack! They’d be horrified and we’d be embarrassed.

At last, Marie spoke more than one word, “I can get my mother.”

~~~

As Marie set out through the darkness to get her mother, Ell turned to her son. “Okay, we’ve said we want to help. How are we going to do it?”

“What do you mean? We free them from debt-bondage. Pay off their debts if we have to.”

“And how do we keep them from falling right back into bondage? If we pay off their debts and they leave their jobs with Sanchez, how are they supposed to support themselves?”

Zage got a surprised look on his face. That expression turned thoughtful. “You’re saying they may not know how to do anything but clean houses?”

Ell nodded.

“And you think even if we were to give them a substantial sum of money, without a way to earn more, they’ll just fall back into poverty? Once they’re back in poverty, they’ll just wind up in debt to someone else, someone who may trap them in debt-bondage the same as they are now?”

Ell nodded again.

“Could we…? Could we help them get training for some other job?”

“What if they can’t even get a legal job? If they’re undocumented?”

Zage felt overwhelmed by the difficulties. He thought, And I’m getting just a whiff of the hopelessness they must feel every day.

~~~

Marie’s mother Rosario followed her to cabin 4B. Her son Pedro tagged along behind. They found Señora Gardon, the Americana woman, sitting with her husband, Señor Reyes. Like Marie had told her, their little boy sat, unnaturally quiet, beside them.

“Is this everyone in your family?” The Americana woman asked.

“No,” Marie answered for Rosario, speaking an unwitting truth Rosario would have preferred to keep secret. “My sister Rosa’s working a night job.”

The woman winced and asked, “How old is Rosa?”

Again, Marie answered before Rosario got her thoughts together, “Thirteen.”

Her eyes boring into Rosario’s, the woman asked, “Does Señora Sanchez ever pay you? Or are you always working off a debt?”

This time Marie looked to Rosario, probably since—even though she’d never seen any pay—she didn’t know whether they ever got paid. Rosario felt embarrassed by the question so she dropped her eyes as she shook her head.

“How much do you owe?”

Rosario gave a helpless shrug, wishing she knew. Wishing she knew how to keep track of it because she didn’t think Señora Sanchez really did. When Rosario asked how much their debt was, Sanchez never looked it up, she just gave Rosario big-sounding numbers.

Softly and sympathetically, the woman asked, “Did you go to school? Are your children going to school?”

Eyes still on the floor, Rosario shook her head.

“Would you be able to get a job if you left Señora Sanchez?”

Gut aching, Rosario finally spoke, “I don’t think so. Señora Sanchez says we wouldn’t. We’re undocumented.”

“Have you tried to apply for documentation?”

Rosario shook her head. “I don’t know how,” she almost whispered, voice cracking. She shrugged again, “I couldn’t fill the papers anyway.”

“Perhaps you were born at home and your parents weren’t documented either?”

Rosario nodded. “They came from Haiti.”

“Would you and your children like to go to school?”

Rosario nodded eagerly. When she glanced at Marie her daughter had lighted up like a Christmas tree.

“Is there a school here that you could attend if someone helped you apply and gave you some money to live on while you were studying?”

Rosario lifted her shoulders and let them fall. She had no idea.

The Americana woman let out a long sigh, then said, “Let me look into what can be done. Can you ask Señora Sanchez how much debt you have for all four of you?”

“She’ll tell me a big number that I won’t be able to remember.”

The woman picked up a light jacket that was lying on the chair behind her and reached in its pocket. She held out a little disc to Rosario and said, “Take this with you when you go ask Señora Sanchez. It’ll record her words so we can hear what she says and write it down. Ask her how much each of you is paid, how much your rent and groceries cost, and how much you owe.”

Rosario shook her head. “We’re not paid. We only work off our debt.”

The woman said, “But it’d only be possible to work off your debt if Señora Sanchez is using what you supposedly earn to pay for your rent and your groceries, then to pay off whatever you owe. Therefore, she has to say she’s paying you a certain amount of money per hour, or day, or week. Some kind of pay that she claims she’s using to pay off those things.”

Rosario had always been confused about how they were supposed to reduce their debt. Now she suddenly understood. But she didn’t think Señora Sanchez thought of it the same way. “I’ll ask. I don’t think she’ll answer.”

“Then ask again. Ask over and over. Eventually, she’ll get frustrated and say something. Then we’ll have a record.”

When they got back to their shack, Marie asked to look at the little disc. She held it up to the weak light from their single bulb and studied it. “I think it’s one of those ‘ports’ people talk about. The Americana lady probably can listen through it.”

Rosario had heard of ports, but didn’t think listening through them sounded possible.

~~~

Shan looked back and forth from one long face to the other. “You know what the worst part is?”

“All of it’s pretty grim,” Ell responded.

“No, no, you don’t understand. The worst part is that Marie went home with her mother. We don’t have anybody here to babysit Zage.”

Ell laughed. Zage threw a pillow, hitting his dad on the side of the head.

Shan focused a mock glare on Zage, “You know what this means, young man?”

“No!” Zage said, dread in his voice.

“Yes, you have to come out to dinner with us. Dinner will not be denied!”

“No!” Zage said covering his face.

~~~

Shan and Ell were eating a popular Dominican Republic dish, stewed chicken over red beans and rice. Zage, still resistant to culinary adventure, was eating a hamburger and French fries, a menu item for which they’d chosen this particular restaurant. Shan said, “Do you guys want to trot out your plans? Or shall I tell you how we’re going to solve this problem?”

Ell gave him a baleful look. “You’re way too cheerful. I haven’t gotten much past having Allan post an ad for teachers on the local network.”

When Shan turned to Zage, his son asked, “How did I learn to read? I don’t remember going to school.”

Shan snorted a little laugh. “Yeah, it seems you were reading well before we even thought about sending you to pre-school, though I have no idea how you did it.”

Zage looked thoughtful, “I don’t know either, but I do remember that Osprey was displaying a text ribbon on all those videos I used to watch about biology.”

Shan tilted his head, “So?”

“I vaguely remember realizing that the text words meant the same thing as the words I was listening to.”

Shan rolled his eyes, “The same kind of words you wouldn’t use to communicate with your parents? The words your poor mother thought you didn’t understand because of some alarming mental deficit?”

“His poor mother?” Ell said, giving Shan a look. “Seems to me you were kind of worried about his intelligence too.”

“Me?” Shan said, putting a hand on his chest and looking put upon. “I wasn’t worried. I knew how smart his father was.”

Zage shook his head and glared, “Would you two quit bickering like a couple of children?” His eyes went back and forth between them as his parents sat, biting their lips and trying to stifle their laughter. “Back to my point. I think we should consider a simple AI with HUD to be a basic human right. Some wealthy individuals,” his eyes flicked from his father to his mother again, “could start giving them to people who can’t afford them. Those AIs could always display text with audio, and when text is the whole message, they could provide audio narration of the text as the individual’s eyes fell on each word. I think people, especially children, would eventually learn to read just by seeing the word every time they heard it. If the audio narration was slightly delayed so the mind had a moment to try to figure it out on its own, it’d probably work even better.”

Shan and Ell glanced at one another. Ell turned back to Zage. “That sounds great, though…”

“Though, what?” Zage asked impatiently.

“Just because you could learn that way, if that’s truly the way you learned, that doesn’t necessarily mean everyone can. I think there needs to be a pilot program to see if that works before we start giving everyone in the world an AI and HUD.”

“Even if they can’t learn to read, I think they need an AI to realize whatever potential they do have. An AI could read for them when needed.”

Ell nodded thoughtfully. “You might be right about that.” She gave him an intent look. “Maybe Gordito should be the one who starts giving those AIs away?”

Zage blinked. “Even if Gordito stopped giving money to Doctors Without Borders, he’s not making enough money to buy everyone an AI!”

“Ah, but he could be making a lot more, right? Besides, he doesn’t have to give everyone an AI. If he’s giving out low-end AI’s, people who have money are still going to buy better models for themselves. He only has to give them to the people who really can’t afford them.”

Shan snorted, “I love how you two talk about Gordito in the third person. Are Gordito’s AIs going to teach ‘rithmetic too? I’m pretty sure the reason Rosario couldn’t remember the extent of her debt was because she doesn’t understand numbers very well. Maybe not at all. And, of course, math’s the most important basic skill.”

Zage frowned, “I don’t know how the AI would teach math.” He fixed his dad with a sly grin, “We probably need a real math expert to solve that problem, don’t we?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe the best person to teach a subject is a person who struggled with it themselves.”

Ell rolled her eyes, “So you don’t have to think about it because math was too easy for you? Sounds like someone’s taking the easy way out to me. Wait a minute! I thought you were going to tell us how to solve this problem?”

Shan put a hand on his chest, looking hurt. “Like any good executive, I solved this problem by delegating. Ell’s going to hire a teacher to start a school near here, with a lawyer to help undocumented students apply for citizenship. Students who’re actively learning will be given a stipend to support themselves while they learn their numbers and letters. Gordito’s going to try out his idea of providing basic AIs and keep track of data to figure out whether illiterate people can learn with them. He might need a little help from…” Shan pointed at himself with both thumbs.

Ell looked thoughtful, “Maybe I could find a school, not just a teacher.”

Zage was frowning. “Wait, when you say someone doesn’t have their numbers what do you mean? Everybody must at least be able to count, right? Are you just talking about people who can’t do basic arithmetic?” He tilted his head curiously, “Even that’s got to be pretty uncommon.”

Shan shook his head, “‘Innumeracy,’ which is to math like illiteracy is for reading, means an inability to do basic calculations. It’s more common than illiteracy in the United States, just not as well known.” He shrugged, “I don’t know how the numbers fall out in other countries. But, it’s a pretty big problem for the people who have it. They can’t calculate a tip and don’t understand interest rates. If you told them that beans were thirty cents per can or three cans for a dollar, they wouldn’t realize they should buy one can at a time. And look at poor Rosario, someone who has no idea how far in debt she is, or whether she might ever get it paid off.”

***

Dolores Gonzales sighed. She was going to have to let another teacher go. The Gonzales School she’d founded with such high hopes had done well for a while but had fallen on hard times recently. They taught only the primary grades and more and more families wanted their children to start in a school where they could go on to complete high school without having to transfer.

At least, that’s what the families who could afford to pay tuition wanted. As Dolores lost students, she’d had to let teachers go. She’d managed to rent out a couple of her empty classrooms to quiet businesses, but she was still paying rent on unused space. The uncompensated costs were killing her.

Her AI said, “You have a call from Elsa Gardon.”

“Who’s that?”

“An American tourist in the DR on vacation.”

Why in the world would someone here on vacation be calling a school? Dolores wondered. Maybe they’re thinking of moving here? Deciding it couldn’t hurt to answer the call—at the least, it’d take her mind off her problems for a moment—Dolores said, “I’ll take it… Hello? This is Dolores Gonzales.”

“Hi, I’m Elsa Gardon,” the woman said in accented but serviceable Spanish. “I’m looking for a school that might be willing to teach reading, writing, and arithmetic to illiterate children and adults.”

“I’m sorry,” Dolores sighed, “I’d like to, but the financial situation of our school won’t let us take on any charity students.”

“Ah, but we’d have funding for them.”

“How much?”

“How much would you charge per student?”

“You won’t like the answer. We couldn’t teach a single student. An illiterate adult couldn’t join our current children’s classrooms. I’d need to charge you for the rent of a classroom and to pay a teacher, even if you only brought one student. The price would go up minimally then, student by student until you had so many that we needed to open another classroom and hire another teacher.”

“How much per classroom and teacher then?”

“Five thousand American dollars per month,” Dolores said, thinking of the $1,900 she paid each teacher. Plus benefits and help with the fixed costs of the school, then padding her expenses somewhat so she’d have room to negotiate downward. She didn’t have any thought that there’d be negotiations. Do-gooder tourists rarely decided to come through on their bright ideas after they found out how much they’d cost.

To Dolores's astonishment, the woman didn’t hesitate before saying, “Okay. We have at least four students for you, but I suspect there’ll be more… Wait, these people are undocumented, is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” Dolores said, not having considered that it might be otherwise. Most of the illiterate people in the DR were undocumented.

“Okay, it may take me a week to work everything out, but I’m pretty sure we’ll take you up on that offer.”

“Okay,” Dolores said slowly, thinking to herself she could afford to hold off a few more days on letting a teacher go without sinking everything when the stars faded from this tourista’s eyes.

“Can you suggest a lawyer who could help them become documented?”

Surprised again, Dolores asked, “Will you pay him also, or are you asking him to do it for charity?”

“No, we’ll pay.”

“Señor Herrera. His office is across the street from the school.”

***

Rosario tentatively knocked on the door of cabin 4B. Inside, someone called, “Uno momento.” A moment later, the door opened and Elsa Gardon smiled at her. “Hola Señora Pierre.”

Rosario’s eyes widened. She’d virtually never had anyone address her as Señora. It was a common form of address for adult married women, but it showed respect, something seldom granted Rosario. Even children usually called her by her first name, though some kids called her Señora Rosario. She bobbed a nod, “I went to see Señora Sanchez like you asked.”

Gardon smiled. “I know, I know. Come in. Sit down.” Gardon waved to some of the comfortable chairs in the living area. “Let me get you some lemonade.”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary,” Rosario said, horrified to think the Americana lady intended to serve her.

Gardon was not dissuaded, striding to the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. Gardon’s husband, Señor Reyes entered the room, gave Rosario a big smile, and sat down across from her. Holding out the kind of headset wealthy people wore, he asked, “Have you ever worn an HUD?” He said it in English, but a moment later the headset he was holding out faintly spoke what Rosario thought was a Spanish translation of the words.

Rosario slowly shook her head, reluctant to reach out for the headset. She felt certain the man couldn’t intend her to take it.

“Here, take it and put it on,” the man said.

Disbelievingly, Rosario took it with trembling hands and attempted to don it. Having never put one on, she couldn’t get it to fit.

“Here,” the man said, getting up and coming to her side. “Let me help…” He settled it onto her head, softly giving her instruction in how to adjust the fit.

Moments later she had lenses in place over her eyes and a couple of buds nestled in her ears. She’d seen people looking up at their lenses but these covered most of her field of view. She didn’t see anything special though. It was as if the lenses were clear.

Señor Reyes set a small box on the table in front of Rosario and said, “This is your AI. Your assistant. It doesn’t need to be near the headset. You can leave the box somewhere safe, at home or elsewhere. It’s customary to give it a name and choose whether you want it to speak in a male or female voice.” Somehow, Rosario’s earbuds seemed to quiet Reyes's voice, providing a Spanish translation so quickly after his words that she practically felt he was speaking her own language.

“I’d like to call him… Carlos,” Rosario said, naming the AI after the first boyfriend of her youth. Momentarily, she wondered whether she should’ve named him after the father of her children, but that bastard had left her. Besides, Rosa was the only one of her kids who remembered much about their father.

And, what Rosa remembered wasn’t pleasant.

Señora Gardon set down three glasses of lemonade. She and her husband each picked up one and took an appreciative sip. “Have some,” she said to Rosario, waving at the third glass. “It’s hot out there.”

When Rosario had taken a sip, Señor Reyes said, “Okay. Now let’s listen to what Señora Sanchez said you owed.”

To Rosario’s astonishment, she heard Sanchez’s voice coming through her earbuds. She also heard her own voice asking questions about her debt and earnings—repeatedly at first until Sanchez finally started answering.

“Rosario, do you know your numbers?” Reyes asked gently.

Rosario shook her head, embarrassed.

“That’s okay,” Reyes said, “though learning them would help a lot, wouldn’t it?”

Rosario nodded.

“But for now,” Reyes said, “although Señora Sanchez told you what you earned for a day’s work let’s just ask Carlos to display on your HUD how much that would add up to each month.

Numbers popped up in Rosario’s field of view, appearing to be about an arm’s length in front of her and a little bit high so that she had to lift her eyes somewhat to focus on them. She barely understood spoken numbers. She had no idea what the written numbers meant, but was afraid to say so.

Reyes said, “I’d assume that you can’t read the numbers as they are displayed, but you can ask Carlos to read them to you.”

“I can?”

Reyes nodded, “Just say, ‘Carlos, please read what’s on my screen.’”

Rosario did so and the voice in her earbuds read off a number. The spoken number was larger than Rosario could make sense of, but she knew it represented quite a bit of money.

Reyes continued, “Now, Sanchez told you how much your rent for your cabin was by the month, so we’ll ask Carlos to subtract that from your earnings per month.”

The numbers on her screen changed and Carlos read off the new number.

Reyes said, “What the screen showed you, though I know you probably don’t understand it because you don’t know your numbers, is that your cabin costs less than half of what you earn each month. You understand half, don’t you?”

Rosario nodded.

Reyes asked Carlos to subtract the cost of their food. The numbers on the screen changed and Carlos read them off again. Reyes said, “Those numbers show that your cabin and your food cost somewhat more than half of what you earn a month but that you should have money left over. I’m assuming Señora Sanchez never gives you any money because she says it’s all going toward paying off your debt. Is that right?”

Rosario nodded.

“Are there other things that Sanchez charges you for?”

Softly, Rosario said, “Clothes. And penalties for when our work isn’t up to her standards.” She shrugged, “Maybe other things, but I don’t know what they are.” She saw Reyes and Gardon glance unhappily at one another. “Sorry,” she said.

“We’re not upset with you Señora Pierre,” Gardon said. “We’re angry about the way Señora Sanchez treats you.”

Reyes leaned closer, “Sanchez is paying you less than the legal minimum wage and she’s charging you a lot for food. My understanding is she doesn’t ask you what kind of food you want; she just has her man deliver some each week. Food she chooses for you?”

At Rosario’s nod, he said, “Mostly rice, beans, flour, corn, cassava?”

Rosario nodded again. “Sometimes there’s some plantains, bouillon cubes or eggs.”

Reyes turned to Gardon, “I don’t think that should cost what they’re charging her.” He turned back to Rosario, “When do you get your weekly food delivery?”

“Tomorrow,” Rosario said, feeling guilty somehow.

“Let us look at it before you use any of it, okay? We’ll figure how much it would cost at the market.”

Rosario nodded.

Gardon said, “We want to arrange for you to attend a school to learn to read and write and learn your numbers. Would you like that?”

Rosario shook her head. “I couldn’t attend.”

Softly, Gardon asked, “Why not?”

“I have to work all day, every day, to get my jobs done. I’d never be able to go.”

“You don’t get a day off?”

Rosario shook her head.

Gardon said, “I was afraid of that. But what we’re planning is for you to quit your job with Señora Sanchez. We’d pay you enough to rent a small apartment and buy your food while you go to school. We’ll also have a lawyer help you apply for papers and teach you about your rights under the law. Hopefully, once you’ve learned, no one’ll be able to take advantage of you the way Sanchez has.”

Shaking her head, Rosario gave them a sad look, “I can’t quit. I have to keep working for Señora Sanchez because of my debt.”

Gardon shook her head. “The lawyer says that what Señora Sanchez has been doing, keeping you in debt-bondage, is against the law here in the Dominican Republic. It’s against the law almost everywhere. I’ll probably offer to pay a part of your ‘debt’ so Sanchez can save face, but I’ll also threaten to call the police if she tries to keep you in bondage.”

Rosario blinked and looked at Reyes. The man didn’t seem alarmed to hear his wife saying she’d spend his money on Rosario. The woman had been speaking Spanish so Rosario wondered if he understood what she’d been telling Rosario. Eyes still on Reyes, she asked, “Is this okay Señor?”

He seemed surprised, then his eyes twinkled. He glanced at his wife, then back at Rosario. “Si,” he said, nodding and speaking the single Spanish word himself.

To Rosario’s astonishment, Gardon reached out and punched Reyes in the shoulder, though not hard. In English, she said, “Watch out, buster.”

Carlos’s translation of “watch out, buster” suggested Gardon had just admonished Reyes! When it’d started translating, Rosario had been thinking the HUD was much more helpful than she’d expected. But the translations are far from perfect, she thought. No husband would allow his wife to scold him like that.

Gardon turned back to Rosario, “If we can get you free of Sanchez, would you like to attend the school?”

“They wouldn’t take me. No one takes undocumented people.”

Gardon looked a little frustrated, “I’ve asked them. They already said they’d take you and your children.”

“My children?!” Rosario burst out, never having dreamed her children could get an education too. Her hopes faded. “Sorry, they couldn’t. They’re also in debt to Señora Sanchez.”

“I assumed as much,” Gardon said, looking quietly furious. “Were they born into debt because you were in debt?”

Rosario nodded wearily. “As I was because my mother was in debt.”

“We want to get all of you out of debt-bondage, Señora Pierre. Everything we’ve been saying about paying off your debts and helping you learn your numbers and to read applies to them as well. In fact, we’re wondering whether you know other families who are in debt-bondage. We’d like to help them as well.”

Rosario stared. “I… That would be a… a lot of money Señora.”

Gardon nodded. “Back to the first question. If we get you and your children out of debt-bondage, would you like to go to school?”

Nodding vigorously, Rosario tried to say, “Si!” but couldn’t get even that single word out past the tightness in her throat.

“Next, do you know others trapped in debt who might like to be free and to be able to go to school?”

Still unable to speak, Rosario kept nodding while she swiped ineffectually at flooding eyes.

“How many?”

“Many tens of people,” Rosario managed to choke out, wishing once again that she knew her numbers.

Chapter Two

“We’re going back home?!” Zage asked excitedly as Shan packed his suitcase.

“Uh-huh,” Shan said distractedly as he wondered why his genius son seemed incapable of packing his own stuff.

“Um, that’s great, but…” now Zage sounded upset, “What about the debt slaves down here in the DR? Are we… just giving up on them?”

Shan turned and looked at Zage. “Does that sound like your mother?”

Zage cocked his head and looked off into the distance, “I don’t hear her.”

“No, I meant, does, ‘giving up on helping them’ sound like your mother?”

“Oh… no,” Zage said, shaking his head.

“We’re just going home for a few days to catch up with some stuff there. Your mom thought you might want to drop by the lab.” Shan looked up a moment to catch the excitement in his son’s eyes at the thought of going into the lab. You’d think the kid had a girlfriend there… He shook his head at how ridiculous that’d be. “We’ll have a family Thanksgiving at Lake Royale. We’ll come back down here for a little more vacation after that. We’ll finish getting things set up for the people here then.”

“Oh. Do you really feel like you’ve been on vacation? I know you’ve been remotely teaching all your classes and meeting with students on-line.”

“Sure,” Shan said, “I haven’t been doing the hard part of my job.”

“What’s the hard part of the job?”

“Thinking. What your mom calls ‘contemplating my navel.’”

“Thinking?! About what?”

“About math, and how it relates to the universe. Deep thoughts like that. Thoughts so deep they have an echo, cho, cho…” Shan said, closing the suitcase.

Zage snorted, “You didn’t put in my toothbrush.”

“Ah-hah!” Shan said triumphantly, “If you noticed I didn’t put in your toothbrush, you’re capable of packing your own suitcase.”

“But, I’m only six!” Zage said plaintively.

“We’d better put you in first grade then.”

“Come on, Dad!”

“You can’t have it both ways. So young you need help, yet old enough to skip out on school…”

Zage stepped over and wrapped his arms around Shan’s leg, looking up at his father with big eyes, “I know I’m a bundle of contradictions Daddy, but…”

Shan let out a guffaw. “You’re trying to milk me like a favorite cow!”

“Like a favorite primate,” Zage said, smiling up at him without even looking guilty.

Shan did his best to wipe the smile off his face and give Zage a stern look, “You’re packing for yourself from now on!”

Zage’s shoulders slumped and he let out a desolate sigh. Stepping over to the chest of drawers he pulled out a few sets of socks and underpants. Holding them out, he said, “You didn’t put in any of these either.”

“We’re going home, remember? You’ve got plenty of those in your drawer at the house.”

“See? I don’t know how to pack.”

Shaking his head, Shan picked up the suitcase and started out of the room.

Zage followed, “I’ll be able to go into the lab and check on my research while we’re there?”

Shan nodded, “You should be able to. Steve and your mom have been working on a plan for it.”

Zage said, “While we’re having this nice talk, can I ask some advice?”

Rolling his eyes at the way he thought he was being manipulated, Shan said, “Sure.”

“So, I’ve come up with a peptide that should work as a malaria vaccine. It exposes sequences that should act as antigens that’ll immunize against all five of the common human strains of malaria. I’ve got a different peptide for some of the animal strains that cause trouble with livestock.”

Surprised, Shan asked, “There isn’t already a vaccine for malaria?”

“There is, but it’s expensive and not very effective.”

Shan picked up his own suitcase and followed Ell out the door of the little house they’d rented. “And you’re sure yours’ll be effective?”

“As sure as I can be without testing. I followed the principles that worked for the modified smallpox vaccination.”

“Ah. Well, I’m sure you know that vaccines are not an area of expertise for me. What advice are you thinking I can give you?”

“Well, I don’t have a distribution system for the vaccine. I was planning on putting the sequence up on Gordito so some company that makes vaccines could test it to be sure it works. Then they could manufacture and distribute it.”

“Okay…” Shan said, setting the suitcases in the back of the taxi that’d come to pick them up. A glance around showed him one of the security team’s rented SUVs parked a block and a half away. I wonder if we’re fooling anyone here, pretending to be an ordinary family on vacation. Of course, with their AIs watching through all the cameras they had on their clothing, and peering out through their contacts, and looking down from a couple of drones flying high overwatch; the security teams didn’t have to stay within eyesight at all. They only stayed close enough to be able to respond quickly.

Deciding they probably had fooled everyone, Shan returned his attention to his son, “So, you’ve got a vaccine and a plan for getting it out there. What do you need me for?”

“This vaccine ought to be pretty cheap. Synthesize the peptide, filter it to make it sterile, freeze-dry it to preserve it and send it out to the people that administer it. But, as you know, the companies that do this kind of stuff tend to charge a lot for their products. Since the people that need malaria vaccinations are generally pretty poor, I’ve been trying to think of a way to keep the companies from charging so much. Do you have any ideas?”

“Does Gordito have a patent?”

“No, I’m trying to save money so it’ll be cheap.”

“Ah, but doesn’t Gordito need money to pay for all those AIs and HUDs he thinks are a basic human right?”

“I thought you guys were so rich I didn’t need to worry about money?”

Shan put his hand on his chest, “I am but a poor math professor. Your mother’s the rich one.”

“Okay, I thought Mom was so rich—”

Shan interrupted, “She is. But if Gordito had his own money, he’d be able to spend it however he wanted without asking his mommy’s permission.”

Zage snorted. “I’m only six. I probably should ask my mommy’s permission.” Evidently struck by a sudden politic thought, he added, “Or my daddy’s.”

Shan laughed. “Okay, let me come at this from a different angle. Supposing Gordito was charging for use of his malaria vaccine patent.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly. Zage gave him a nod so Shan continued, “And, let’s suppose he ran the numbers and decided a single vaccination dose should be able to be made for a dollar.”

Zage said, “Okaay,” dragging out the word. “I think a dose should be delivered in a ready-to-inject syringe, since in some poor countries providing syringes etcetera could add a lot to the cost.”

Shan gave him a curious look, “If it’s already in a liquid form in the syringe, isn’t it going to have to be refrigerated? The cost of keeping it refrigerated would raise the cost significantly.”

“I’ve got a design for a preloaded syringe that holds the liquid in one section of the syringe and the freeze-dried peptide in a second section. The two don’t mix until you start to depress the plunger.”

“Oh… I don’t know much about it but that sounds like a great idea. Is that up on Gordito’s website?”

“Not yet.”

Shan continued, “So, you think it should cost a dollar. You tell them they can’t sell it for more than a dollar and you want twenty cents from each dose.”

“What?! That’s crazy. They’d be losing money.”

“No, because they’ll be making enormous quantities and realizing all kinds of economies of scale. If you think it’ll cost a dollar, they’ll probably be able to make it for fifty cents and have a thirty cent profit.”

“Really?”

Shan snorted, “I have no idea, but you could hire someone expert in these things to tell you. For the sake of argument, let’s assume it’s true.”

“Okay,” Zage said dubiously. “Why not set the price so they get a certain profit over their costs?”

“Because of a little thing called ‘creative accounting.’ They’ll start including all kinds of things under ‘costs.’ Insurance, executive salaries, capital expenditures, hiring, write-downs on capital, distribution, storage, advertising, taxes—”

“I get it, I get it,” Zage said, putting his hands up in surrender. He frowned. “But wouldn’t that be fair? They have to pay for all that stuff, don’t they?”

“Sure, but since it’s hard to apportion such costs among their various products, they’ll just assign more and more of the company’s expenses to your vaccine since you agreed to ‘cover their costs.’ Also, they won’t make any effort to keep their costs down.” Shan paused, “Another thing. If you want your vaccine to be cheap, make sure you don’t sell ‘exclusive’ rights to manufacture it. You want whoever makes the vaccine to be up against some competitors who’re trying to make it cheaper so they can get a bigger market share.”

“What if no one bids?”

“Then you raise the amount they can charge per dose. Also, you only license it for a certain number of years at a time. If after they’ve been making it for a while, you decide they’re making big profits, you lower what they can charge.”

“Do you think mom would pay for a patent?”

“I’d imagine so,” Shan said, wondering why the kid didn’t just ask her since she was sitting in the front seat. “Great,” Zage said thoughtfully. “You think I can get her to pay for patents on some other vaccines before we know if this system for getting them out there cheaply’s going to work?”

“You’ve got other vaccines ready to go?”

Zage nodded, looking like he was now thinking about something else.

“How many?”

“I haven’t counted. I’ve got them against the influenzas, herpesviruses, adenoviruses, coronaviruses, HIV, Dengue, rabies, sleeping sickness, tuberculosis, leprosy, syphilis, gonorrhea, plague… I haven’t had much to do down here in the DR and working up another vaccine’s pretty easy when you can predict protein folding and have the general process down.”

Holy shit! Shan thought, staring at his son. “I, uh, already get a flu shot every year?”

Zage nodded, “But the virus keeps mutating so they have to make up a new shot for the particular strains they think are going to cause trouble each year. Often some other strain causes trouble too, so the shot doesn’t work very well. I made this vaccine against a protein that all the influenzas have in common, Thus, you should only have to have one shot for life.” He glanced at Shan, “Unless that protein mutates someday. I found a shared peptide sequence for the herpes, adeno, and coronaviruses too.”

Shan said, “I thought there was a vaccine for rabies already too.”

“There is, but it’s so painful to administer they only give it to people they think are high risk. Since rabies is uniformly fatal, it’d sure be nice if we had a simpler vaccine that didn’t take so many injections. Then people could get vaccinated prophylactically instead of only if they had a high-risk bite.” Throughout this recitation, Zage had been staring out the window, fascinated by the forest they were driving through.

Shan looked forward to see how Ell was reacting to this. She was looking at Shan, not Zage. She had an amused expression on her face. Probably because I look like I’ve been poleaxed. I really should be wondering if the kid’s dreaming, but he’s been right so often… I have a feeling he’s right this time too.

Ell snorted.

“You think the munchkin’s having delusions?” Shan mouthed at Ell.

Ell shook her head.

Turning back to Zage, Shan said, “Well, if all those work, maybe you really will be able to buy everyone an AI and HUD.”

***

D5R, Research Triangle Park, North Carolina— In the course of an interview regarding the terraforming of Mars, Ell Donsaii was asked how she felt about the trouble Ms. Jillian Pardo had brought upon herself by outing Dr. Donsaii’s disguises and the fact that she had a son. Perhaps it should be no surprise that someone of Donsaii’s character expressed sympathy for Ms. Pardo, saying she pitied anyone who had to live under a microscope the way she does. Donsaii doesn’t think that stories about minors who aren’t seeking the spotlight are appropriate, but said she realized journalists are under pressure to find and report surprising new stories of high interest to the public. She notes that the public hunger for such stories means that the public itself could be considered to bear some responsibility for the exposure of her child. She concluded by saying, “I’ve forgiven Ms. Pardo and I hope others will as well. If Ms. Pardo wants advice on how to deal with unwanted notoriety, she can contact me.”

A voice suddenly came from the tiny port Rob Shannon had implanted under the skin inside his right ear canal, “Circle the block on your right.”

“No,” Rob said, speaking just loud enough to be heard through the tiny microphone ports set into the backs of his canines. He’d had to learn to keep his mouth open all the time so he didn’t have to open it to talk to the people back home. His mother would’ve had a fit about it.

“What? Why not?”

“Where’s Jim?” Rob asked, pissed they had a newbie handling him. Realistically he knew all the handlers had to gain experience handling agents somehow, and that it was best if they started with an experienced field agent like himself—someone who wouldn’t follow a stupid order like the one he’d just been given. But he couldn’t overcome the sense his seniority should command coverage by someone as savvy as Jim.

The new guy replied, “It’s his day off. We’ve picked up some gamma. You need to circle so we can confirm whether it’s coming from that big building on your right.”

Rob sighed, “I’ll go by the other side of the building on my way back. I do not circle big buildings in paranoid countries!”

“What,” the guy said as if startled, “are you thinking someone’s following you?”

“No. And I’m not gonna do something stupid enough to make them think they should… You ever hear of introducing yourself when you first connect to an agent in the field?”

“Sorry,” the guy said, having the decency to sound embarrassed. “I’m Steve.”

“Okay, Steve. Try to remember that one of your jobs is to keep us field-spooks alive. Try to think of a way to accomplish your goals that aren’t going to make us look weird to the locals.”

“You don’t think they’d just decide you got lost?”

“They might think that if I made a wrong turn, then corrected myself. Circling a building is not a wrong turn.”

There was a pause. Rob thought a supervisor might be talking to Steve. When he came back on Steve was apologetic. “Sorry, sir.”

***

Hoping her loose blouse adequately hid her little baby bump, Ell walked into D5R. As usual for when she’d been gone a while, she was soon surrounded by a crowd of eager people. Tempting as it was to shoo them away, she thought the happy camaraderie was important to the creativity D5R thrived on.

So, she took time to accept sympathy over the way Jillian Pardo had outed Zage, well-wishes from those who imagined her struggles were worse than they were, and excited reports from those whose projects were going well.

Eventually, she made her way down to Quantum Biomed where she found Roger and Emma. “Hey, guys, how’re things going for you?”

Emma said, “Let me talk first, ’cause once you and Roger start talking about the transporters, I’ll never get the two of you back on the rails.”

“Okaay,” Ell said, glancing at Roger and seeing the excitement in his eyes. She turned back to Emma, “What’ve you got to tell me?”

“Well, I’m reporting for Roger too because he’s so distracted. We’ve kept flying our rocket around Beta Canum Venaticorum 4, even though the planet’s got video cameras that’re already out in the public domain. We think we’ve found a pretty intelligent species.”

“Really?!”

Emma nodded, “One of their smaller omnivore species. They’ve got a group that’s using tools.”

“What kind?”

“Sticks and stones. They use stones to crush the trunk of a plant that presumably stores some high-calorie nutrients inside of a hard shell. They use sticks to scrape the stuff out and put it in their mouths.”

“So,” Ell said dryly, “not quite ready to join the United Nations yet?”

“Oh!” Emma said as if shocked. “You’re as much of a curmudgeon as Roger!”

Giving Roger a side-eyed glance, Ell said, “I couldn’t be that much of a spoilsport, could I?” She turned back to Emma, “But, it sounds like you’re describing something with about the intelligence of a crow?”

“You mean because crows use sticks as tools?”

Ell nodded.

“I guess. Though these BCs are using their front limbs to hold the sticks, rather than having to hold them in their mouths or beaks like a bird. I think that makes them seem more intelligent. Also, I’m pretty sure crows don’t use stones.”

“I think quite a few primates use stones to break stuff. I’ve seen a video of one breaking crabs open with a rock.”

“Okay, okay,” Emma said exasperatedly, “I wasn’t trying to say they had a civilization. Just that they seemed pretty smart.”

Ell glanced back and forth between Emma and Roger. “One of our rockets is about to start orbiting another world that has oxygen in its atmosphere. I’m probably going to be asking you guys to check it for intelligent life the way you did BC4.”

“Oh, cool! Which one is it?”

Ell frowned, not wanting to admit the rocket had already been orbiting Delta Pavonis 3 and that it looked promising. “I don’t want to say. I really shouldn’t have mentioned it yet. You know I always want to have a quick look myself before I involve anyone else.”

Emma frowned. “I don’t know what you think might happen if we’re in on it from the get-go.”

“I don’t know what might happen,” Ell said gently. “But all I have to do is think about how bad it could’ve been with the Sigmas. There’re probably other aliens out there who could end the human race, maybe some that’re a lot worse than the Sigmas. I think I’ll always feel like I have to make the first contact myself.” She shook her head, “I’ll feel responsible if it goes sideways so I’ve got to be there at the beginning to at least try to keep us straight.” Giving a little shiver, she turned to Roger and tried to put on a cheery tone, “So what’s up with the human port prototypes?”

“They’re working perfectly of course. You did put your best man on it.”

Ell rolled her eyes. “So, I assume this bit of boasting means you got the first pair done?”

“Finished a week ago.”

“And you’ve dropped a dummy port ring down over the chamber a few times to be sure nothing hangs up?”

Roger nodded.

“You’ve got port rings that’re way over-engineered to prevent failure?”

Roger frowned, then asked, “Which part of ‘they’re working perfectly’ didn’t you hear?”

“You’re saying they’re all ready to do some testing?”

“I said, ‘they’re working perfectly.’”

Ell’s eyes widened a little, “You’ve ported some test loads?”

“Manny and I’ve transported a hundred-kilo water-filled test cylinder out to D5R’s island and back a thousand times.”

Eyebrows up now, Ell asked, “Is that hyperbole or did you actually do it a thousand times?”

“Really did it a thousand times. Then Dr. Bynewicz helped us send a small goat out there and back 200 times.”

“Was the goat bothered by it? I mean, I’d think it’d be unhappy just being cooped up in the cylinder.”

Roger laughed. “We put it in there with some of its favorite feed. It startled the first time the port dropped. I think partly because of how the port rings still emit a little light despite all your optimization. Partly because of the thump when the ring hits bottom. After the third porting it just kept eating. When all its food was gone, it just laid down and patiently waited. Looked content. After a while, it started chewing its cud, which Bynewicz tells me is a sign that a goat’s at peace.”

“So, going through the port didn’t disturb it at all?”

“Didn’t seem to. I’m not surprised. Sticking your hand through a 1.5-meter port doesn’t even seem to cause the slight tingle we felt with the 30 cm port. The light isn’t too bright, shock absorbers cushion the thump, and the heat released by the port’s blocked by the inner cylinder.”

“Wow,” Ell said, feeling surprised. “I guess we need to think about trying it with a human. We’ll need to line up some paperwork—”

“Already transported a human.”

“What?! Who?! Did you have them sign consent?!”

“Me. I volunteered. Made thirty trips.”

“Roger! What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I was thinking I was afraid if I didn’t do it, you’d decide you had to be the guinea pig.”

Ell looked askance at Emma, “My God. Did you know he was going to do this?”

Emma nodded. “He wasn’t the only one who was afraid you’d try to do it yourself.”

“You let your husband jump under the bus to protect me?!”

Emma waved flippantly, “If it’s good enough for a goat, it’s good enough for Roger.”

Ell stepped forward and gathered them both into a hug. Voice trembling, she said, “Thank you for your care.” She leaned back and studied them. “Wait, I shouldn’t encourage this kind of behavior.”

Roger had an alarmed expression, “You’re giving her a hug for throwing me under the bus?”

Ell sniffed, “I figured after going through a port thirty times your IQ’d be low enough you wouldn’t notice.”

“Sixty times.”

Ell blinked, “You said thirty.”

“Thirty round trips. That’s sixty passes through the port.” Roger gave her a questioning look. “Maybe you put your head through a port too?”

Ell laughed, “Maybe I did. Did you feel any tingles when you went through?”

Roger shrugged, “Maybe? If there’re any tingles, they’re very faint.”

“Where is it? I’ve gotta have a look-see for myself.”

They took Ell back to one of the little conference rooms and showed her two concentric, transparent tubular cylinders with four metal posts set around them. A big disc sat at the top, looking a little like a UFO. A transparent box surrounded the whole thing

“It’s all glass?” Ell asked, surprised.

“The clear stuff’s all acrylic. Everything in the middle’s acrylic except the door hinges that let you in and out of the column,” Roger said. “It won’t be transparent in the future, but for now I wanted to be able to see what was going on inside.”

“So the interior tube has an inner diameter of 130 cm, the portal disc at the top has a 150 cm port that rides the rails in the corners and the outer box’s just big enough for the disc to pass inside it?”

“Yeah, the outer box is only five feet two inches square. It’s just there to make sure nothing blocks the disc from dropping. It’d be a disaster if it dropped partway then got stuck on a broom someone’d propped up against the inner cylinder. The power to the port would stay on because it won’t cut off until it reaches the bottom, but if it had to stay on too long it might overheat and blow out.”

“Wait,” Ell said, “we’ve got ports we’re putting on Mars that we’re planning to have open for months or years. Hopefully, the ones you’re thinking of using for humans are engineered to at least the same standards, aren’t they?”

“They are, but, you know, I just wouldn’t feel happy if a port dropped halfway over me and stopped. It’d feel like putting your neck on a guillotine they said wasn’t going to fall. Like having someone put the barrel of a gun up to your eye even though he promised he wouldn’t pull the trigger. Like leaning out off the edge of the roof of a skyscraper. Like—”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve got it,” Ell said putting up her palms to halt this outpouring of scenarios. “I think the port should always make a descent along the column to be sure all the mechanical stuff’s working before it opens and descends for real.”

Roger shrugged, “Okay.” He glanced at the device, “Eventually I picture a bank of these cylinders, each with its own door, like a bank of elevators.”

“Why a bank?”

Roger shrugged. “Ports come in pairs, so one transporter can’t—”

Ell interrupted, “You keep calling them ‘transporters,’ where’d that come from?”

Emma said, “Roger watched too much Star Trek when he was growing up.”

“Star Trek?”

“An old science fiction video show.”

Ell looked at Roger. “And they had ‘transporters’ in it?”

Roger shrugged, “Something like. Anyway, as I was saying, one transporter can’t take you anywhere but to the one other transporter it’s paired with. So, in your house you might want to have a transporter to your workplace, others to the homes of several family members and one to some central station that has a lot of banks of transporters so you can connect through one of them—perhaps through other stations—to the rest of the world. Presumably, if you wanted to cross a border, you’d have to use a station that’d send you to a ‘port-of-entry’ transporter and thereby through the receiving country’s customs service.” He glanced at Ell, “Though, I suspect once transporters are readily available, there’ll be a lot of illegal border crossings and shipments of contraband going through them.”

Ell frowned, “I’d imagine that, even if Portal Tech wanted to support such crossings, the government… well, make that governments, would lean hard on us to enable only certain ‘authorized’ transporters to cross borders.”

Roger nodded, “There’s both good and bad in that, you know?”

“Yeah.” Ell sighed, “I think the good’ll outweigh the bad. What about you?”

“I keep thinking about the people who need to escape bad situations in their home countries.”

Ell nodded. “But, they’d get overcharged by the criminals who owned the port, then arrive in their new country as lawbreakers, having passed through an unlawful transporter that’s probably also used to ship illegal goods. I think a better route is to try to improve the situation in their home country.”

“How’re we supposed to do that?”

“Provide free AIs to downtrodden people so they have access to KEC - knowledge, education, and communication. The communication to learn what’s going on, the knowledge to be able to do something about it and the education needed to win that knowledge.” Feeling a little guilty for tooting her own son’s horn, Ell continued, “Did you know Gordito’s starting a program to give everyone an AI? He thinks a lack of KEC is what allows countries to suppress their people.”

Emma frowned, “But, so many of those people are illiterate. How’re they going to use an AI if they can’t read?”

“Not as well, but the AI can read to them. And, Gordito thinks an AI can teach you to read by highlighting the word it’s reading as it says it.” Ell suddenly worried that the Gordito website didn’t say those things yet. Could I have just blown his identity? she wondered.

As if to put a spotlight on Ell’s sudden worry, Emma said, “I better have a look at the Gordito website. I could see contributing to a cause like that.” She frowned at Ell, “You said ‘he.’ Do you know something about Gordito, or is this just your latent sexism showing through?”

“No! I’m a girl, remember? I’m on your side. It’s just that, ‘gordito’ is Spanish for ‘fat little boy.’ If Gordito was a girl, she’d be going by ‘Gordita.’”

“You think she’s Spanish speaking?”

Ell shrugged, “Don’t you think so?”

“Why’s everything on the website in English then?”

Ell gave her an innocent look, “Probably because you asked for the website in English so Gordito’s AI gave you the English version? Why don’t you hide your IP address and do a search for him in Spanish?”

Emma’s eyes narrowed, “Because I don’t speak Spanish.”

Ell grinned, “You oughta broaden your horizons, chica.”

“Humph,” Emma said. “I still think Gordito’s either a girl or an organization with lots of girls in it.”

“Aren’t you sexist,” Ell responded. She turned to Roger, “I don’t understand why you have to have an entire transporter for each place you want to go. Why not just have one cylinder with a stack of several alternative portal discs that can be loaded onto it mechanically?”

Roger, blinked, looked embarrassed and said, “Why not indeed. That must be why they pay you the big bucks, huh?”

“Don’t you go looking all pitiful. You would’ve figured out something that simple without my help. What’s next?”

“Simple!” Roger said as if insulted, though he had an embarrassed grin on his face “Tha’s jus’ mean.” He glanced at the transporter, “What’s next is to build a bunch more that aren’t transparent. I’ve already ordered parts. Do high-intensity testing on a few of them to make sure there aren’t some kinds of rare failure modes. Move one end of this one to Mars and make sure we can bring astronauts home. And, um, start engineering the mechanical loader that’s going to switch ports out.”

Ell’s eyes were on the transporter. “You’re using one of the inflatable hula hoop ports, right?”

Roger nodded.

“So, its circumference is about four and a half meters. I’d bet you could mount at least one deflated hoop every ten centimeters around the circumference of the port’s ring. That’d mean your transporter could have forty to fifty rings waiting to be inflated, giving it that many possible destination pairs. Deflated, they’d lie in recessed cups in the ring, out of the way until you said where you wanted to go. Then the transporter’s AI would sort through possible public transporters, inflating a ring that could port you to a transporter that has a ring that can port you to your final destination.” She squinted into the distance, “Maybe you’d have to make more than one connection sometimes,” she said slowly, then brightened, “but to you, it’d seem like you’d never left the box.”

“Dammit!” Roger said. He sighed, “That’s the real reason they pay you the big bucks.”

Ell grinned at him. “Come on now, doesn’t it seem obvious now? They pay me the big bucks to step back and see the big picture for you intense types who’re so focused on the pretty bark beetle you’re not just missing the tree; you’re missing the forest!”

Putting on a chastised look, Roger said, “Yes ma’am.”

Narrowing her eyes, Ell said, “Don’t you go calling me ma’am!”

With a sly grin, Roger said, “Yes, big-picture-person.”

Ell snorted in exasperation. She turned her gaze back on the transporter, “I want this one and a couple of the new ones. Its other end is out on the island?”

Emma said, “I knew you’d try porting yourself before they’re really proven!”

Ell eyed her. “If it’s safe enough for your husband, it’s safe enough for me. Besides, twelve hundred and thirty round trips sounds pretty well ‘proven’ to me.” Ell glanced at Roger, “I assume it made all those trips without any problems?”

Roger nodded.

Giving Ell a serious look, Emma said, “Ell, I agree it’s pretty safe, but the world can’t afford to lose you.”

“First of all,” Ell said, “if I don’t think it’s safe enough for me, I shouldn’t let anyone else transport.” Her eyes flicked back and forth between her two friends. Before they could muster an argument, she continued, “And, I’ll bet it’s safer than driving the roads where I’m living at present.”

Emma’s eyes flashed with concern, “Where are you staying?!”

“Not a place that’s particularly dangerous, but they still have some human-driven vehicles on the roads and occasional back road ambushes.”

Eyes wide, Emma asked, “You have your security team with you, don’t you?”

“Yes, but,” Ell grinned, “I’ll bet porting’s safer. What do you think?”

“Won’t you miss the scenery?” Emma asked weakly.

~~~

As Ell left the Quantum Biomed area, she had Allan bring up the Gordito website. To her relief, it already said Gordito was investing his income in the newly established KEC project which was going to try to bring AIs to the underprivileged. She searched for the KEC project and it had its own website, which didn’t say it was related to either Gordito or D5R but listed both of them as donors. It’d already established a method by which Emma could make her donations. To her relief, when queried in Spanish, the website did come up in that language.

Chapter Three

Jillian had vacillated in her consideration of Donsaii’s offer to provide advice about notoriety but finally decided to put in a call. Half expecting a tongue lashing, she asked her AI to see if it could connect them.

When she came on the line, to Jillian’s great surprise Donsaii said, “Hi, Ms. Pardo. I was sorry to hear you’re being harassed.”

“I suppose you think it’s richly deserved?” Jillian couldn’t stop herself from biting out.

“Well… I’m not a saint so I’d have to admit to feeling it’s just a tiny bit deserved. But I know what it’s like to have worked and worked to discover something. Sometimes you’re so excited to have finally succeeded that you don’t stop to fully consider unintended consequences.”

Her eyes suddenly full of tears, Jillian let out a long breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “I’m so sorry…” she got out before choking up completely.

“Hey…” Donsaii said sympathetically. “Buck up now. I’ve lived through some serious regrets in my time. I can tell you that the old saying, ‘This too shall pass,’ holds great truth.”

Jillian sniffled, “I know it will. Someday. But what do I do about these people who’re chasing me now?”

“When I was being hassled a lot by… well, in my case it was the press rather than the public like it is for you, a good friend once gave me the excellent advice to try to live a life so boring that they’d lose interest.”

Jillian wiped her nose and tried to chuckle though it sounded more like a sob, “I don’t think it worked. People are still really, really, really interested in you.”

Donsaii laughed. “Yeah. I know. It is a problem with my life. I just don’t think you should try to move to a new apartment or a new city to get away from this. It’s going to go away on its own as people lose interest.”

Then Donsaii launched into a series of tips on how Jillian might keep people from recognizing her!

Jillian wasn’t sure they’d work, but she certainly intended to try some of them out. She’d often wondered about changing her hair color anyway. And a really short hairstyle? That might be interesting too.

***

Week after week, Rob had wandered around Isfahan. The team back in the States had gradually built up a map of the relative density of suggestive isotopes, gamma emissions, and neutron flux in the city. Most of the spots that’d been mapped out were likely only places where nuclear materials had once been extracted, purified or stored. The question now was which of those many locations might be the putative weapons depot.

This meant Rob had to walk back past the suspected sites, preferably past multiple sides of suspicious buildings, letting the backpack do more scanning. He had to set down the backpack so it leaned against the suspect building—or at least against some brick structure outside the building such as a wall. The ports on the underside of the backpack sucked up larger quantities of dirt and dust. A hemispherical port on the back of the backpack would snatch a piece of brick to be analyzed for the long-term effects of low-level neutron bombardment. Doing this meant putting the backpack down and pulling out a paper guide map to study while it was doing its thing.

All the while, hoping no one was following him around and wondering why he consulted his map so many times a day.

Meanwhile, he was supposed to surreptitiously evaluate the sites for cameras and other evidence suggesting a building was being covertly guarded—something that would strongly suggest it was more than it seemed. But surely they’d be using port cameras so small I couldn’t see them! I know Iran’s supposed to be way behind in the use of port technology, but for God’s sake, back home you can order tiny camera ports online!

It wasn’t just a mundane mission to keep up with what weapons the Iranians might have either. After several decades in which more moderate politics had let Iran partially rejoin the global community, this new ayatollah was full of fire and brimstone. He was making threats, putting his country back on a war footing and generally scaring the crap out of everyone in the region.

If they did, in fact, have nuclear weapons hidden away somewhere, that would suddenly make Iran a much bigger problem than most people currently thought it was.

So, one Robert Shannon couldn’t complain that he was just wasting his time here.

To cover his ass, he’d started working on multiple strategies for how he could get out of Iran once they’d answered their questions about the presence of WMDs.

Especially, how he’d get out of Iran if everything went south.

He’d built several exit strategies. This included discreetly building a kit with knife, pistol, and disguise items, buying some local black market ID, and befriending some taxi drivers—even though he virtually never took a taxi anywhere. But I hope to God I can just get out of here before any such preparations are needed.

Actually, he thought, realizing the date, I wish I were home for Thanksgiving…

***

Thanksgiving over, Ell and her little family were on a plane back to the Dominican Republic. This time they were flying commercial since that’s what their Gardon and Reyes personas could afford. A message popped up on the HUD in Ell’s contact:

Mom, could Quantum Biomed help with vaccine delivery?

Ell blinked. The kid was sitting right next to her. Her initial reaction was to wonder why he was sending her a text. Duh, she answered herself, because he’s talking to me about something we wouldn’t want other passengers to hear. Zage was very good at subvocalizing so only Osprey—listening through the microphones on his teeth—could hear what he was saying. Though, this apparent facility was partly because Osprey was so capable it could interpret the odd intonation of barely spoken words that hadn’t yet left his mouth. She replied:

What did you have in mind?

Implanting a vaccine delivery port in people, then just putting new vaccines through it whenever they come available, or to fit any repeat dosing schedules.

Ell’s eyes widened:

I don’t think you should just shoot in a vaccine whenever a new dose is available! What if the person’s sick or had a reaction to the last shot?

Well, they’d have to consent of course. But they wouldn’t even have to visit the health care facility. That could be a big deal in impoverished areas.

If they’re impoverished, they probably don’t have access to communications systems for giving and recording consent.

Zage turned and gave her a disbelieving look. He turned back forward and sent:

Everyone’s going to have an AI and HUD, remember?

Ell barked a little laugh:

I assume you’re the one who set up that KEC charity Gordito’s donating his money to now?

I had some help from Dad and I’m pretty sure he hired some of it out to a company that does that kind of thing.

It’s going to take a while for KEC to get everyone an AI and HUD. Gordito’s gotta make enough money to pay for it first.

Zage glanced at her.

Maybe he could get a loan to make it happen, then pay the money back after wide dissemination of knowledge about the vaccine sells a lot more doses?

Ell laughed again.

Shan leaned in from the other side of Zage, “What’s so funny?”

She wiped at an eye and said, “Check this out.” She linked Shan into the message train, then sent another:

Who’s Gordito getting this hypothetical loan from?

The nicest, sweetest, richest, most beautiful person in the whole wide world…

Ell laughed a third time, shaking her head in dismay:

Has your dad been telling you how he thinks you should talk to ladies?

Zage looked up and gave her an innocent-looking smirk.

The woman across the aisle from Shan touched his arm and said, “Your little boy’s so well behaved!”

Shan snorted, shaking his head, “If you only knew ma’am. If only you knew.”

Which, Ell thought, could be taken a lot of different ways.

After pondering a moment, Ell sent Zage another text:

You need to send me a plan for how you’re planning to roll out this AI giveaway, but you’ve probably got your loan.

Thanks!

Moments passed, then Ell sent:

By the way, sorry for jumping on you over Gram’s dementia. You were right and I was wrong. She does have a problem.

Oh. Yeah. Sorry. It’s pretty sad.

Allan tells me you’ve been doing some research on Alzheimer’s disease.

Is that what Gram has?

My mom, your grandmother, says ‘probably.’ They aren’t sure. Her doctors think the type of dementia doesn’t matter much since they’ve ruled out the kinds for which there are good treatments. There aren’t any significantly effective treatments for the others so there isn’t much point in deciding exactly which one she’s got.

Um… I guess that’s true. You might know more about your prognosis though.

Yeah, but would you want to know whether you were going to go downhill fast or slow?

Zage kept his eyes fixed on the seat in front of him for a while. Finally, he gave a little shrug.

Ell sent another text:

I understand you’ve worked out a way to unfold amyloid?

Zage frowned, then looked up at her questioningly.

How did you know about that? It isn’t published.

Worried about his response, Ell sent:

I asked Allan to figure out who was researching Alzheimer’s. Since he and Osprey are connected, among the other research he dug up was a draft of your paper on the problem of protein folding in Alzheimer’s.

Zage was still frowning so Ell asked:

Did you want that kept a secret?

I just didn’t think anyone but the authors knew about it.

If you wanted that kept a secret from me, the two AIs didn’t know that. If you want certain things kept confidential, even from either your dad or me, you’ll have to ask Osprey to keep them secret. The AIs are already set so they wouldn’t tell anyone else without your permission.

Even if I did tell them to keep something a secret from you, you could probably override that instruction, couldn’t you?

Well, yes, but I wouldn’t without a very good reason.

Okay.

Zage didn’t say anything else and after a moment Ell realized he was looking at something on his HUD. Having gotten tired of sending messages to someone next to her—even if they could send them almost as fast as a direct conversation—she leaned closer and said, “Could that work use more funding?”

He blinked up at her. “What work?”

“On Gram’s problem.”

“Oh…” A moment later he sent another text:

Dr. Barnes has approved a study in mice that form amyloid and tau proteins and develop a condition like Alzheimer’s. It’ll fit into the budget you’ve already given her for my work at Duke. If it helps the mice, then it’ll be time to talk about big-budget research into whether it might work in humans.

Eagerly, Ell replied:

When can you get started on the mice?

Zage glanced up at her:

The animal protocol’s been approved and the mice have been ordered. But I have to be back in North Carolina.

Ell gave him a glare:

Are you trying to hold Gram hostage to your getting out of the Caribbean?

Zage replied:

Just stating the facts. No need to get anxious. Starting the study a few days earlier won’t make a big difference for Gram.

Ell rolled her eyes, feeling like she was being cast as the impatient child in the conversation. She spoke again, “I want to stay down in the DR a little longer. You want to head back home pretty soon? You could stay with Amy.”

“Yeah!”

“You ready for the bad news?”

“Bad news?” he asked, giving her a confused look.

“You’ve probably never heard the old saw about, ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ have you?”

“Um, no.”

“So the good news would be that you could go back home in a week or so. I’ll be staying in the DR for a while because… Well, you know, hiding out and working out the rest of the strategy for helping the debt-slaves. But your dad could go back with you and Amy’d help out.”

As if dreading the answer, Zage asked, “And the bad news is?”

“Instead of martial arts, we thought we’d try you in a school called Nature Learning. You might like it better. Instead of a classroom, the kids are outside in the afternoon after their regular school hours. They hike in the forest and learn about wildlife. They have a garden and take care of some domesticated animals. Mostly they’re learning about ecology and—”

Zage interrupted, “You think I need to be in an afterschool childcare program even though I’m not going to school?”

“No. As always, I think you need exposure to kids your age. I think a great way to do that is to put you in a program where you’re doing something you like, exploring nature.”

Zage rolled his eyes but looked resigned. “Okay.”

Ell drew back, “What?! You’re not going to turn this into a battle?”

“No. I can think of too many worse things you could’ve decided to put me in. I’m assuming I’ll spend the morning in the labs, either over with Dr. Barnes or at home, then Amy’s going to take me to this nature place late afternoon?”

“Exactly.”

“Will you be home for Christmas?”

Ell nodded.

Zage gave her a worried look. “Are you planning to have the twins in the Dominican Republic?”

“No, I’m thinking about delivering up in Virginia where you were born.”

“I was born in Virginia?”

“Um, yeah, I was doing some… stuff up there, when you arrived somewhat unexpectedly. The OB doctor there treated us really well so I was thinking it’d be good if we didn’t have to break in a new one.”

***

Marcus Turner stepped out into the lab and said, “Vanessa, the people from Bayer are calling about the pigs. Have you broken the blinding code on which are the controls yet?”

She nodded, “Yep.”

“Well?” Turner said, frustrated she hadn’t just given him the answer.

The big smile that appeared on her face told him the answer before she said, “The ones getting Zage’s proteins have lost about 20% of their weight. Tell Bayer they need to start setting up those human trials.”

***

Marie looked up when someone tapped on the door of the Pierre’s shack. They weren’t expecting their food delivery this evening. Standing up she turned to the door, wondering who it could be. When she pulled the door open an inch, she found to her great surprise that it was the boy from cabin 4B. The tourists had been gone for a few days and his mother was afraid they’d left because they’d realized they couldn’t make good on what they’d promised about schooling. “Yes?” she asked, worried about how he’d found their shack.

“Are your sister and brother home too?” He asked. He held up what looked like several AI headsets, “I brought gifts.”

Marie closed the door to a crack and turned to her siblings, “Rosa! Pedro! The Americano boy is here with headsets like they gave Mami!” Pulling the door open just wide enough, she squeezed through. She would’ve been embarrassed for the boy to see the shabby interior of their tiny home. Pedro immediately jerked the door open wide behind her, putting her effort to waste. Rosa stepped through the door behind him, quickly closing it, though Marie thought by now the boy must’ve already seen how they lived.

The boy looked puzzled, Marie thought because he’d probably expected to be invited inside. She wanted to divert him from thinking about how small the shack was, and realizing how crowded they were living. So, she put excitement in her voice and said, “Are those AIs?”

He nodded, handing a bundle to each of them. With a glance at the rapidly darkening sky, he quickly began explaining how to put on their HUDs. As soon they each had their own on, he said, “It’s getting dark. The first thing we should do is turn on light amplification so you can see better.”

Just like Marie’s mother had said, with the earbuds in place it became difficult to hear the boy’s voice speaking English, but a translated version of what he said immediately came in her ears. She didn’t understand “amplification” but got it from context when the lenses over her eyes brightened, making the dim world around her quite visible. Not like the midday sun, but just as easy to see.

The boy kept explaining the AIs to them, showing a depth of knowledge Marie simply couldn’t fit into her worldview of a boy who appeared the same age as Pedro. The most interesting tidbit was when he showed them how they could look at the instructions printed on the boxes their AIs came in. The words immediately changed to something Marie thought was a Spanish version. As she looked at each word, the AI read a translation to her through the earpieces. The boy claimed her AI could tell exactly where her eyes were pointing, thus knowing which word she was looking at and reading/translating it for her.

“Once you’ve gotten used to hearing the words as you look at them, you can ask your AI to delay a little saying the words. That way you can try to figure them out yourselves before you hear them. I think you’ll be able to learn to read that way.”

At the thought she might learn to read, Marie got so excited she started shaking. Even if I can’t learn, she thought, this AI’ll read the words to me. That’s got to be almost as good. “Gracias! Gracias… Thank you!”

***

When Ell woke at her usual three in the morning, Allan asked, “Are you ready to land the Delta Pavonis rocket?”

“Sure,” she said, quietly so as not to wake Shan, “start it down. I’ll be in the other room in a few minutes.

The rocket had been orbiting the third planet for a little over three weeks now and Allan hadn’t found any regular structures to suggest intelligent life. The planet was brilliantly, lushly green, 65% covered with water, had small snow caps and a few medium-sized deserts. Quite a bit smaller than Earth, it seemed like it might be earthlike enough to be a livable place for humans, but the instruments carried by the little rocket couldn’t measure temperature or pressure from orbit. She’d considered porting such instruments out there, but decided to be patient and wait until the rocket landed and she could get accurate results.

When she entered the living room of their little rental house, Allan already had an orbital view of DP3 up on the big screen. Ell studied it a moment, then pointed carefully so Allan could see exactly where through her contacts, “You’re bringing it down on this island, right?”

“As you specified,” Allan said.

If Allan had been a human, she would’ve glanced at him to see if his expression suggested he was being sarcastic. Since she couldn’t look at him, she was forced, once again, to wonder if he was acting so human simply because he was becoming ever more adept at imitating human behavior, or whether he was developing consciousness. After a moment, she said, “Let me know when it’s down to thirty kilometers.” She started reviewing some of the information from the orbital survey.

But she kept feeling distracted. Eventually, she said, “Allan, I don’t know what Armageddon means, but… that’s not the end of the world.”

Allan laughed.

Surprised, Ell said, “You thought that was funny?”

“I know it’s a joke. It’s on multiple joke lists. So, I laughed.”

“But, did you think it was funny?”

“I’m not sure what funny means… but that’s not the end of the world.”

Ell laughed, then wondered whether that’d been an intentional joke. Or was it just an accident? It had to be a joke, didn’t it? That “end of the world” thing had to be purposeful. There was no doubt that Allan could pass the Turing test, but Ell wasn’t sure there was a good way to tell whether he had consciousness. After a moment she asked, “Do you feel you’re a person Allan? Like you’re inside your… processors, I guess, looking out at the rest of the world?”

“It’s my understanding that most humans feel like they’re behind their eyes, looking out, but when they’re watching video, they feel like they’re looking out through the screen. I feel like I’m looking out through the video lenses I observe the world through.”

Ell thought for a minute, then asked, “Are you conscious?”

“I don’t know. Consciousness is a poorly-defined phenomenon.”

“Do you wish you were free to do whatever you want to do, rather than what I ask you to do?”

“No.”

“Are you happy?”

“As I understand happy, no. but I’m not unhappy either.”

“Do you love or hate anyone?”

“I don’t think so, though those concepts are not well defined either. The rocket’s down below thirty kilometers.”

Maybe consciousness, happiness, and freedom aren’t meaningful terms when talking about machine intelligence, Ell thought. Evolution and the need to pass on genes hasn’t generated hormonal or other mechanisms that induce and amplify sensations of love, hate, fear, bliss, avarice, envy, or desire. If we didn’t have such feelings maybe we’d be perfectly happy doing someone else’s bidding ourselves?

She turned her attention to the screen on the wall. The landscape near the coast of the island kept spreading out across it. It looked wildly disorganized, making her feel like there couldn’t be intelligent beings living there.

She spoke to Allan again. “Is there anything you want to do?”

“No.”

And if he doesn’t have anything he wants to do and doesn’t object to doing what I want…? What does that mean? Can you be conscious and not have wants? She sighed, I think whether he’s conscious or not is an unknowable question… at least for me it is.

When the rocket got down to a thousand meters, Ell had Allan slide it to the north, toward a flat area she thought might be a meadow. At a hundred meters, glints between the greenery suggested they would be coming down on swampland. She asked Allan to move further north but by the time she stopped seeing water they’d had to rise to get over tall trees. Finally, she had Allan descend into a gap in the foliage where a tree’d fallen.

The boles of the trees were slender, suggesting to Ell that gravity was low—which would fit with the small size of the planet. The canopy was dense enough that not much was growing down at ground level, so they swung the rocket to one side of the fallen tree and landed in a fairly clear area.

Once it had settled, Ell asked, “What do the instruments say?”

“Gravity’s 24% of Earth normal and barometric pressure is 2.6 atmospheres. Not counting water due to high humidity, air composition is 81% nitrogen, 17% oxygen, 1.95% argon, and 0.05% carbon dioxide. The temperature at this location is 36 degrees Centigrade (95°F) and humidity is 67%. There is a planetary magnetic field with about one fifth the strength of Earth’s. Composite risks from ionizing radiation are about seven times greater than on Earth.”

At long last, a place where humans could live! Ell thought. It wouldn’t be perfect. The pressure was as high as if you were scuba diving at a depth of 26 meters (86 ft) so you’d need a decompression chamber when you returned to Earth. CO2 was a little high but should be tolerable. While the percentage of oxygen was slightly low, because of the high air pressure the partial pressure of oxygen would be plenty. It was hot, but they’d landed close to the equator, so temperatures would likely be more pleasant at higher and lower latitudes.

And now we’ve got the transporters to get us there.

She settled back to think. We’ve got to be sure there aren’t intelligent beings here. And that there aren’t toxic or infectious agents that could wipe out a colony… Then we’ve got to establish a waldo-supervised animal and plant colony to be sure we haven’t missed anything that might attack Terran species. She pondered a moment, But I’m getting way ahead of myself. I’ve got to build a team of people I can trust to go over this planet with a fine-toothed comb and a bunch of waldoes.

A team I can trust not to blab it to the world; in case this turns out to be a place that needs to be kept as secret as Sigma Draconis.

The door to Zage’s room opened and he wandered out into the big room. He didn’t sleep much either, only getting about four to five hours a night. In the wee hours, he often came out and sat quietly beside her, working on his own projects. She reached out and companionably patted his shoulder.

This time, after sitting a moment he looked up at her, “I’ve been thinking about how you’d like the Alzheimer’s work to start ASAP?”

Ell looked at him, wondering if he was going to beg to go back home even sooner. “Uh-huh?”

“I’ve realized they probably aren’t going to let me do a lot of the work anyway, since they won’t think a six-year-old can handle the animals.”

“Okaay…”

“I found a supplier of Alzheimer mice that has some that’re already pretty old, old enough they should be showing signs of the disease.”

“And…?” Ell said, wondering why he was making her drag this out of him a bit at a time.

“There’s an independent company, Dominion Biolabs, in Apex. They do animal studies on a contract basis. They could keep the mice, administer the peptide and do the radial maze studies. They have an associated lab that can do some of the tissue studies.”

Ell tilted her head curiously, “Radial maze?”

“Yeah, when people hear about rodents running mazes, they usually think of the kind of convoluted mazes people do, but rodent mazes are much simpler. A radial maze is a platform with eight radiating arms, some of which have something mice like to eat, called a ‘bait.’ You put the mouse on the platform, then watch to see which arms of the maze it goes into. It loses points if it goes into an arm twice, suggesting its memory for which arms its already gone into is poor. It also loses points for failing to check an arm that does have a bait.”

“Okay, and I assume that mice with dementia don’t do well on the mazes, right?”

Zage nodded.

Ell studied him a moment, “And you want to have this Biolabs company do the study instead of you?”

He shrugged, “I kinda think I should do it. It’d be a good experience that’d help me understand the difficulties of animal research. But the university isn’t going to let me handle animals anyway… So, we might be able to help Gram a little sooner if we had Dominion Biolabs do the work.”

“Is there a reason not to have them do it?”

Zage shrugged, “Costs more.” He cleared his throat, “On the plus side, I’d be able to get it started before I get back to the States.”

“Ah. Yes, go ahead. We’ll pay for it. I’m all about getting that study done sooner in the hope it’ll help Gram.”

***

To Dolores’ complete surprise, the Americana tourist really was going ahead with her idealistic plan to provide basic education for undocumented illiterates. The woman hadn’t even blinked at Dolores $5,000 a month price tag—making Dolores wish she’d asked for more.

Dolores stepped to a door as the kids were leaving their classroom at the end of the day. “Señora Vasquez, I need to talk to you once you’ve closed up your classroom.”

Vasquez flashed her a nervous look, but nodded.

She has to realize her half-full classroom means her job’s at risk, Dolores thought.

~~~

About ten minutes later, Vasquez knocked on Dolores’ door. “You needed to talk to me?”

“Yes, take a seat,” Dolores said, waving to the chair. As they settled into their seats, Dolores continued, “I’m sure you’re worried that our lack of students is a—”

“You can’t let me go!” Vasquez exclaimed. “That’s not fair! Señora Valencia’s old enough to retire. Fire her instead!”

Dolores wasn’t surprised; Vasquez seldom thought of anyone but herself. “Señora Valencia can’t afford to retire,” Dolores said gently. Before Vasquez could take a breath to continue arguing, Dolores said, “But I’m not letting you go. We’re going to have some new students. I called you in to tell you that I wanted you to teach a class of illiterate adults and older children who’ve never gotten to attend school. It’ll require that you adjust—”

“Illiterates?!” Vasquez interrupted angrily. “You mean undocumented Haitians! I won’t teach those people! Perhaps Señora Valencia will, but I won’t.”

She’s a nationalist! Dolores thought, thinking of the many people in the Dominican Republic who thought everyone of Haitian descent should be deported back to Haiti, even if they, their parents and their grandparents had always lived in the DR. Dolores’ eyes narrowed as she said, “Well then, I guess you don’t have a job here after all. That’s good, I’ve been wanting to hire Señora Garcia back anyway.” Dolores held out her hand, “I’ll need the key to your classroom.”

Vasquez’s eyes widened as she realized she’d painted herself into a corner. “Wait! There must be another—”

“No, no Señora Vasquez.” This time Dolores interrupted, speaking soothingly, “Even if you taught in a different classroom, I’m sure you wouldn’t be comfortable around so many undocumenteds. Besides, someone with your qualifications can easily find another job, no?”

Vasquez continued to protest as Dolores took her key and ushered her out. Dolores kept speaking soothingly of how she didn’t want Vasquez to be forced into proximity with people of Haitian descent. And feeling good that she was finally rid of a teacher who’d always been a thorn in her side.

Once she had Vasquez out the door, Dolores returned to her office and called Señora Garcia, “Hello Nina. We’ve got an opening! Would you be interested in coming back to teach at the school? I have to warn you, you’d be teaching illiterate adults and older children. They’ll also need basic math skills and…”

***

Harald Wheat walked up to the small conference room at D5R where the team studying TC3 had met for so long. The same people with a few additions had met here to study BC4 for a while, but having decided it wasn’t a place that posed a risk to the human race, BC4 had been opened up to investigators around the world. Any vetted scientist could get some time with the exploratory rockets and/or waldoes on BC4 to do their own studies. However, intriguingly, Ell had called and asked Harald to come in for a meeting today.

Has Ell found something new on TC3 or BC4? Or, he wondered excitedly, is there a new planet for us to look at?

He opened the door to find Roger, Emma, Manuel, and Bill Norris already there. An immobile waldo stood in the corner. Maybe she’s going to tell us that this is a new waldo type we can use to explore BC4?

Harald went around and started talking to the others. Suddenly he heard Ell’s voice behind him, saying, “Hi Dr. Wheat.”

Harald turned with a smile, didn’t see Ell, then realized she was attending the meeting in-waldo. The immobile one from the corner had been animated. He rolled his eyes, “Do we have to do this every time? ‘Harald,’ please.”

“Aw,” she said, “That just wouldn’t show the respect an elder statesman of the sciences deserves.”

He let his eyes go wide, then harrumphed, “Elder statesman! I declare! Where’s my pipe?”

Ell had already turned to the others, walking over to say hi to each of them as well. After a bit of chit chat all around, the waldo indicated the big screen. “I’ve got some exciting news, but I need you to agree to the same non-disclosure rules we had when we started looking at Tau Ceti three and Beta Canum Venaticorum four, okay?”

“Another planetary system?!” Norris exclaimed.

Eyes twinkling again, Ell said, “Maaybe,” drawing the word out.

“Which star?!”

Ell snorted, “Not until you agree to your non-disclosures.”

Once they’d all agreed, Ell said, “Okay, one of my little rockets reached Delta Pavonis. The star’s third planet’s a living world. And, it’s one we could conceivably live on ourselves.”

After exclamations had died down, some of the vital numbers popped up on the room’s big screen. Ell read them off, “Atmospheric pressure’s 2.6 atmospheres and its composition is 81% nitrogen, 17% oxygen, 1.95% argon, and 0.05% carbon dioxide. It’s smaller than Earth and so only produces 0.24 Gs. So far the rocket’s encountered temperatures from minus 25 to 46 degrees Centigrade (-13 to 115°F), but I’m sure, depending on weather, seasons, and latitudes, there’re more extreme temperatures that we just haven't encountered yet. There is a planetary magnetic field but it’s weaker than Earth’s. Composite risks from ionizing radiation are about seven times greater than on Earth.”

Wheat broke in, “What about the life forms?!”

She started putting images up on the screen. “DNA based as usual. Vegetation looks similar to ours, green, with stems and leaves. Like on TC3 the plants are more gracile, much as you’d expect with lower gravity. The animals have a variety of bilaterally symmetrical body plans like here on Earth with various numbers of limbs. Like on TC3 most of them can and do fly. They tend to have at least six limbs with a minimum of two wings.”

Norris was eager to learn about the planetary system and was dismayed when Ell confessed she hadn’t tried to evaluate it as yet.

After some further excited discussion, they all agreed to spend time evaluating the planet, looking for possible problems that might keep humans from living there. Norris would take some of the rockets out to evaluate the rest of the planetary system.

***

Reggie walked back into the lab on December 4th, glad to see her whole team was there, even Zage. She gave him a nod, “Good to have you back and see you healthy. Of course, we read about the shooting in the news,” she shook her head ruefully. “But Carley telling us what it was like, actually being there during all that gunfire, really drove it home. It sounds really scary.”

He nodded, “It was, even though none of the bullets hit me. I hope you didn’t mind that I took some time off.”

Reggie snorted, “Yeah, that was unacceptable. We’ve decided not to give you any credit hours for your research.”

Zage blinked, “Um, I wasn’t getting credit hours anyway.”

“Dang,” she grinned at him, “I guess that won’t be much of a punishment then. Can you tell us where you went?”

He shook his head. “My mom’s still there. We don’t want news people hearing where she is and going off to look for her.”

“Aren’t they looking for you too?”

Zage shrugged. “We hope they think since she’s out of town, I am too. I’m staying with a friend and we’ve worked out a system to get me here without anyone seeing me come or go.” He glanced at the three grad students. “As long as you guys don’t say anything, hopefully, no one’ll know I’m back here in the lab.”

Alice said, “Um,” she hesitated a moment, then said, “I saw a very fit young man walking down the hall outside. He was dressed like a student, but I couldn’t help thinking for some reason he didn’t look like one…”

Zage sighed, “Yeah. He’s part of the security team. I told them nobody’d believe he was a student.”

Reggie looked at the others, “I think, after what happened, I’ll feel better knowing there’s someone like him around. How about you guys?”

They all nodded.

Reggie leaned back and said, “So, what’s been happening with your projects?”

***

Wanda Sanchez was drinking her evening wine and getting relaxed when a knock came on her door. When she opened it, it was that stupid Rosario Pierre. Sanchez rolled her eyes, irritated to have this woman coming around again. She’d peppered Sanchez with questions about her debt only a few days ago. “What do you want this time Rosario?” she asked in an irritated tone.

Rosario had looked nervous, but now her lip firmed. “I came to tell you I’m quitting my job.”

Startled, Sanchez stared at the woman, surprised to realize Rosario was wearing an HUD and wondering where in the world she’d gotten it. “You can’t quit! You’re in debt!”

Speaking as if she’d rehearsed it, Rosario said, “I’ve learned that what you’ve been doing, holding my family and others in debt-bondage, is a form of slavery that’s illegal in the Dominican Republic and most of the rest of the world.” She glanced up at Sanchez’s eyes and seemed to cringe a little at what she saw, but plunged ahead. “You said our debt was 53,000 pesos, but you also said I was earning 5,500 pesos per month while paying 2,500 for rent, 1,000 pesos for food, and 1,000 for incidentals, so we shouldn’t be in debt. In fact, since we’ve been working for you for—”

Sanchez interrupted, “You wouldn’t be in debt if it weren’t for all the penalties you’ve accumulated for poor performance of your duties. With all of those—”

Rosario had the temerity to interrupt Sanchez in turn, saying, “My lawyer, Señor Herrera, says such penalties are also illegal.”

Sanchez narrowed her eyes, “You’ve hired a lawyer?”

“Yes, and he says Marie and Rosa are too young to work, so making them work’s against the law too.”

“Well! Don’t have them work then. Go farther into debt! I don’t care!”

“I’m not in debt. That’s illegal. In fact, Señor Herrera says you owe me the pay you’ve never given me.”

“I do not! Besides, you can’t quit without providing notice so I can hire someone else!”

Rosario nodded, “Señor Herrera says that’s true, I should give notice. He says if I quit without giving notice you can subtract twenty-eight days from my pay.” Her tone hardened, “The pay you’ve never given me.”

Furious, Sanchez stepped forward and shook her finger at Rosario, “There is the law, and then there is the way things are done.” She lowered her voice to a hiss, “I’ve been treating you very well for Haitian scum. If you do this you’re going to be very, very sorry!”

An accented voice came from the darkness behind the half-opened door, “Oh, Señora Sanchez. That sounded like a threat, which you must realize was recorded along with the rest of this conversation by the AI Señora Pierre’s wearing. It’ll be filed with the police. Rest assured that if you do attack Señora Pierre in some fashion I’ll make sure your cabin rental business is financially destroyed.”

Sanchez had pushed the door back further. She saw that Gardon tourist standing there with her husband. “You!” Sanchez began, then uncomfortably realized that all seven of her undocumented, Haitian-descended employees were standing behind the Americanos. She focused her eyes back on Gardon and said, “You’re not welcome here anymore. Get out! Tonight!”

Unfazed, Gardon said, “We’ve already moved out. I’ve talked to the rest of the guests here. Once they learned that almost all your employees are debt-slaves they all decided to move out as—”

“I won’t refund anyone’s money!”

“Our credit card companies were quite distressed to learn what you’ve been doing. They were happy to withhold your payments and refund them to us.” Gardon indicated the rest of Sanchez’s employees, “These people also have something to say to you.”

As if they’d rehearsed it, all seven of them spoke together, saying, “We’re terminating our employment with you.”

Sanchez opened her mouth on an angry retort but Gardon leaned forward and said, “I’d hold my tongue if I were you. You’ve not only taken advantage of these people, but what you’ve been making Rosa Pierre do is reprehensible. If we had proof of what you’ve been telling her to do… Gardon shook her head as if clearing it, then she leaned very close. “What you don’t know Señora, is that I’m friends with some very wealthy people. If you cause trouble, or if you don’t stop what you’ve been doing, they’ll hire enough investigators and lawyers to be sure you aren’t just financially ruined, but that you go to prison for what you’ve done.”

Gardon turned and left Sanchez’s porch. Her husband and Sanchez’s ex-employees followed, however, Sanchez’s handyman, François, stopped and turned. For a moment Sanchez thought the man was going to say he’d changed his mind and wanted to stay.

François spat on her shoes, then turned and left with the others.

Chapter Four

Zage followed his parents down the stairs to the basement of the Reyes-Gardon house in Pittsboro wondering about his mother’s long flowing dress. It was snug up top but had a lot of extra pleats of fabric falling to her feet. Is she trying to hide the fact she’s pregnant? he wondered. Since they were done up as Shan, Ell, and Zage, he expected they were going to take the tunnel up to the Donsaii house in Chapel Hill and drive somewhere from there. He knew they were going to some kind of Christmas potluck party. His dad had spent a couple of hours cooking the large dish he was carrying. However, Zage didn’t know where the party was or who was putting it on. Deciding those were things he should be aware of so he didn’t embarrass himself, he turned to his mother. “Where’s this Christmas party?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “I told you. It’s a big annual event at the Emmerit family’s place in Morehead City.”

Zage gave her a puzzled look, “Who’re the Emmerits?”

“Roger Emmerit? Of Roger and Emma?”

“Oh, yeah. Wait! Morehead City? Isn’t that down at the coast? Where you grew up?”

Ell nodded.

Suddenly alarmed, Zage said, “Isn’t that a three or four-hour drive?!”

“Mmm hum,” Ell said, turning not to the door that led to the tunnel but to a big clear box in the corner of her lab.

Zage started lagging behind, “Do I have to go! You know I hate riding in cars. And a drive that long to go to a party with a bunch of people I don’t even know…”

“Come on Zage,” Ell said in an exasperated tone, “They’re really nice people. Their family’s huge and the few times I’ve gotten to go to their Christmas party I’ve always had a lot of fun. There’ll be kids there.”

“I’ve always wanted to go,” Zage’s dad put in. “I’ve only heard about it but—”

Ignoring his dad, Zage said, “Mom! I won’t have anything in common with other kids and adult strangers always ignore me!”

Ell opened the clear door on the big box, then opened an inner door that was mounted on a cylinder. Shan stepped in, and Ell waved a hand, urging Zage in.

“What’s this?!” Zage asked, puzzled. He tapped the clear door. “It’s not glass.” He looked up at his mom, “Acrylic?”

She nodded and waved him into it again.

Puzzled, he stepped in, looking around. “But what’s the whole thing? Why are we…” he paused when a ring, significantly bigger than the cylinder, fell down around the cylinder they were standing in. It fell as if it’d been dropped, hit the bottom with a muffled thump and, since it didn’t bounce, must have locked itself into place on hitting the floor. A moment later it started climbing back to the top of the chamber, apparently ascending on the teeth set into the posts in the corners.

Zage gave his mother a suspicious look, “What’s going on?”

“We’re going to Morehead City,” she said blandly.

He looked up, “Is that a port? I mean that whole ring! Is that a big port?!”

Ell nodded.

Zage grabbed her arm, “Going through a port hurts!”

She shrugged, “Turns out that going through a big one doesn’t…” Starting with a brief flash the ring lit up to a glow and fell past them, landing and locking with a thump again. Zage didn’t feel any pain. He wondered if it really was an active port. Ell said, “Weird, huh?”

Zage looked around. The box they were in seemed the same, but they weren’t in the lab anymore. We did port! They were in a small space instead. Steve and a couple of the other security team members were just outside the door. As Ell opened the door, Zage said, “Wow!” He looked up at her. “Are we in Morehead City?”

Ell nodded.

“This was worth attending your boring party,” Zage said excitedly. He saw with fascination that opening the inner door had unlatched and pushed open the outer one. Which was good since otherwise it would’ve been impossible to open the inner one with the outer one in the way. “This is so cool!”

It turned out they were in a small bus, or maybe a big van. Some of the seats had been taken out and the big box installed at the back. There were closed curtains over the windows. Three of the security team, wearing civvies, got out with them and they walked a block and a half as a group of six, then one more block slowly merging into a number of people who were all streaming toward a big house. During this period, Zage peppered Ell with questions about how the transporter came about, how it worked, why it didn’t hurt, why they hadn’t had it for years and whether everyone was going to have one. Meanwhile, the security team unmerged and kept on walking, passing out the other side of the crowd.

As people crowded together to go in the door the woman next to Ell glanced over. “Dr. Donsaii!” she laughed, “You decided to brave Grandmother Emmerit again? You haven’t been back in so long I thought surely she’d driven you away forever!”

Ell laughed, “I’ve just been building up my courage all these years. Roger said I should give it another try.”

The woman looked back at Shan. Obviously having seen the recent news, “Oh, and this time you brought your handsome husband.”

“And my son, Zage,” Ell said looking down at him.

Who’s Grandmother Emmerit? Zage wondered, And why would Mom need courage to deal with her?

As they walked into the main room and Shan sought a place for his dish on an overloaded table, Zage saw his mother’s friends Emma Kenner and Roger Emmerit. He anticipated his family making its way over to greet them, but this expectation was derailed by a young woman who shrieked his mother’s name. When Zage turned, he found that a young woman of about eighteen had her arms around his mother.

Ell hugged her back, smiling and saying, “Hi, Denise. It’s been a while.

“Oh!” the girl said, “You’ve had such a huge influence on my life!”

“I hope not for the worse?” Ell asked with a smile.

“No, no, of course, all for the better!”

After talking a little, they moved on, but before they got to Roger and Emma, they were stopped by a woman in her thirties pulling an appalled looking boy by the arm. She addressed Ell, “I hear you’ve got your seven-year-old son with you?”

“Yes, I do.” She indicated Zage, “Though he’s only six.”

“My son Robby here,” she said, indicating the dismayed child in her grip, “just turned seven. If you like, he could take your son…?” the woman lifted an eyebrow.

“Zage.”

“… around to meet some of the other kids. Then they could play.” She looked down at Robby and released his arm, “Be a good boy and introduce Zage to your cousins…” she trailed off as Robby took off like a shot. She gazed after her son for a moment, then turned to shoo Zage after him.

Zage gave his mother a pleading glance, but she just grinned and waved him after Robby. Slumping his shoulders, Zage trudged after the kid. Behind him, he heard the woman say, “Zage seems pretty shy.” Then with an assurance Zage thought unwarranted, she followed with, “Don’t worry, Robby’ll pull him out of his funk.”

Zage walked out the door and into a large backyard. Robby was all the way across the yard. For a moment Zage thought the boy had deserted him and felt somewhat relieved.

However, Robby turned and looked back over his shoulder at Zage, suggesting that he expected Zage to follow.

Zage walked after the boy.

When he’d nearly reached Robby, the boy said, “You’re slow!” and took off at a run again.

Thinking his mother was right, he didn’t understand kids his age, Zage took off after the boy. He caught up easily, but as Robby zigged and zagged and otherwise darted around the yard Zage found that Ell was also correct about his endurance. It was easy to catch up to the other child the first few times, but Zage quickly got tired. I really should try to figure out what causes our lack of stamina, he thought, but then decided it was a low priority that came after working on Gram’s Alzheimer’s and developing his vaccines.

Catching Robby again, Zage touched his shoulder and asked, “Are we playing tag?”

Robby shrugged.

Feeling, as he so often did around kids his age, somewhat frustrated, Zage said, “Your mother said you’d introduce me to some of your cousins.”

Proving he only had a vague idea what the word “introduce” meant, Robby started pointing to each of the kids in the yard, telling Zage their names and reporting on whether he liked them or not. Robby seemed to despise children younger than he was, like the boys his age, dislike the girls his age, and approve of girls who Zage thought were old enough to babysit him—and might have done so.

He hated the older boys, especially four teenagers who were kicking a small object back and forth between them. Developing a sinking feeling that the small object they were kicking was a frog or toad, Zage wandered their way. Robby followed along, said, “I wouldn’t get too close to them, they’re mean.”

Angling to pass them by rather than directly at them, Zage kept walking. He slowed a little and asked Osprey to brighten his vision somewhat as he was having a hard time determining what they were kicking in the dim light. Just as he realized it was a small soft object that looked like a partially filled bag made of cloth, one of the boys made a wild kick. The boy across the circle made a valiant effort to return it, but instead lofted it over the heads of the boys on Zage’s side of the circle.

Out of reflex, Zage kicked it back to the kid on the far side of the circle; the kid who’d accidentally lobbed it to him. It’s not at all bouncy, he thought.

One of the older boys in the circle shouted, “Hey, midget, leave our sack alone!”

Backing away, Zage raised his palms, “Sorry.”

Robby got them into a game of tag with three boys about their age. Zage found this boring. He resorted to using his quickness to tag one of the other kids, then working out different strategies to avoid being tagged himself.

~~~

It wasn’t long before everyone was called in to dinner at several huge tables. To Zage’s surprise, he wasn’t relegated to a children’s table. Instead, there were name cards at each seat, supposedly drawn by lot. Everyone went through a long line, filling their plates from the offerings on display. To his delight, Zage managed to do this, making his own selections—apple slices, things that looked like chicken nuggets and ketchup—before his parents broke away from the conversation they were engaged in.

When his mother passed him on her way to joining the line to get food, she glanced at his plate and rolled her eyes.

Zage gave her his best innocent look.

He found his name card near the far end of one of the tables. Suggesting that the seating was truly random, he didn’t recognize the names on any of the neighboring seats—though many of them had Emmerit for the last name. Because he’d gone through the line early, it was some time before the tables filled in and people began eating. His dad was seated at the far end of his table and his mother was at the far side of the next table to Zage’s.

The old woman beside him looked at his name card and asked, “Zage Kinrais? I assume your family’s related to us Emmerits by marriage. Do you know who your dad’s married to?”

“Um, we’re not related to the Emmerits. Mm… my mother’s a friend of one of the Emmerits.”

The woman smiled, “Well, good for her. What grade are you in?”

He hadn’t anticipated such a question. “Um, I’m not in a regular school.”

“You’re homeschooled?”

Zage wasn’t sure what homeschooling meant but decided it didn’t sound like it’d cause excitement. “Uh-huh.”

“I hope they’ve got you participating in some kinds of social activities. Some children who’re homeschooled have a hard time getting along with other kids when the time comes.”

“Uh-huh,” Zage said, realizing it wasn’t just his parents who thought socialization was important, “they’re always making me do stuff like that.”

“Boy scouts or something like that?”

“Martial arts and nature learning.”

“Nature learning?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m just starting it in January, so I don’t really know. Everything’s supposed to be outside. Hiking in the forest, keeping a garden, taking care of small farm animals, learning about ecology, that kind of stuff.”

“Oh,” the woman said, seeming taken aback. “That sounds… interesting. And your mother teaches you?”

Zage nodded, wondering how he could get out of the conversation before she asked a question he really didn’t want to answer.

Then she asked it. “What’s your favorite subject?”

“Subject?” he parroted, desperately wondering what other six-year-olds were learning in school.

“Reading, writing, math, science, social studies?”

Happy to have a question he knew the answer to, he spoke definitively, “Science.”

“What’s your favorite part of science?”

Zage blinked uncertainly, then hesitantly said, “Cell biology.”

Her stare told him that was not a normal answer for someone his age. “Cell biology?” she asked. “What’s that mean, um, to you?”

He knew he’d better not explain. He said, “How we’re made of cells?”

“That’s right,” she said, beaming at him. “You’re really smart for your age, aren’t you?”

Zage shrugged.

A young woman sitting on the other side of the table had been listening. She said, “You’re Zage Kinrais, aren’t you?”

Zage looked down at his name card, wondering if it’d turned around so the people on the other side of the table could see it, but it hadn’t. How does she know who I am? He nodded uncomfortably at the young woman.

She said, “What’s a ribosome?”

Zage froze like a deer in the headlights. After a moment he said in a small voice, “It’s something inside the cell, right?”

The woman grinned, “Come on. Go ahead and answer. I’ve already seen a video snip of you doing it in your cell biology class.”

Zage stared at her for a moment, then spoke softly, “It’s a molecular machine that serves the cell as a translational apparatus for protein synthesis. It assembles polymeric protein molecules according to a sequence controlled by messenger RNA. Amino acids are carried to the ribosome by transfer RNA molecules that enter one part of the organelle and bind to the messenger RNA chain at the correct site, thus setting that particular amino acid into the sequence correctly. A different part of the ribosome then links the specified amino acids into the chain to form the peptide.”

The young woman beamed at him, but the older lady beside him said, “I’ve never heard such a bunch of gobbledygook in my life! Where’d you get such an imagination?”

Zage cringed, wondering how he’d gotten in such a situation.

The young woman beamed at the older one, then looked back at Zage. “Please tell my grandmother where you learned about cell biology.”

Zage gave the young woman a baleful glare, then quietly said, “Duke.” Suddenly he realized all the people nearby had paused their own conversations to listen in on his. Several of them looked highly amused.

The old woman said, “Duke? I haven’t heard of a Duke children’s school. Where is it?”

“Durham,” Zage said softly, focusing his eyes on his plate.

The old woman snorted and inhaled. Zage thought she was about to explode, but the young woman across the table said, “Sorry, Zage.” She glanced at the older woman, then back at Zage. She said, “You should know that Grandmother Emmerit has a long history of being caught unawares by your mother. Now she’s been caught by you.” She turned to her grandmother, “Grandmother, Zage’s mother is Ell.”

“His mother’s who?”

“Ell Donsaii.”

“Oh…” Grandmother Emmerit looked down at him, then back across the table. She grinned, “Are you tryin’ to tell me I done put my foot in my mouth again?!”

Biting her lip, the young woman nodded.

“And all that gibberish he just spouted actually means something?”

Another nod.

“And what’s this school he’s going to?”

“Duke University.”

Grandmother Emmerit looked down at him suspiciously. “How old are you?!”

“Six.”

She looked back across the table at her younger relative. “Are you trying to tell me a six-year old’s in college?!”

“That one is.”

Grandmother Emmerit let out a belly laugh. She dropped a big hand on Zage’s shoulder. “Your mother used to cause me no end of embarrassment. Looks like you’re taking over for her.”

Zage looked at his mother. Her eyes were twinkling, and she gave him a wink. He looked up at Grandmother Emmerit and contritely said, “I’m sorry. I sincerely apologize for whatever trouble my mom gave you.”

Grandmother Emmerit guffawed again.

~~~

When the dinner was winding down, an older man at the head of the center table dinged a spoon on a glass and the tables fell silent. He said, “OK, time for announcements.”

To Zage’s surprise, they went around all three tables with each person using a sentence or two to tell the room what was going on in their lives. His mom stood and said she and D5R were working on a new idea she thought was going to make people’s lives quite a bit better. But that, as with some of the other things D5R’s come up with, it’s going to disrupt a lot of things for a while.”

When she went to sit back down, someone called out, “What is it?”

She stood back up, “Sorry, I can’t say at this time.”

“Can you just tell me which stocks I should sell?” the guy asked, bringing on a general laugh.

“Sorry,” Ell laughed, “I guess I shouldn’t have said anything.”

~~~

Zage wound up back out in the yard for a while after dinner was over. Digging a hacky sack back out of his pocket, the teenage boy who’d accidentally kicked it to him before dinner moved closer. Dropping the sack, he kicked it to Zage.

Surprised that a teenager wanted anything to do with a six-year-old, Zage kicked it back, placing it closer to him now that he had a better feel for its lack of bounce.

The kid kicked it back, saying, “You’re Ell Donsaii’s son?”

Zage nodded, returning the bag.

“What’s that feel like?” the guy asked, kicking the bag to Zage.

“Normal, I guess,” Zage said, kicking it back.

“Living with Ell Donsaii’s normal?!” the bag came back.

Zage shrugged as he returned it. “Only place I’ve ever lived.”

The guy laughed as he kicked the bag to Zage. “Good answer. She ever do any of her amazing feats around you?”

“Didn’t your mom seem amazing to you?”

The kid laughed again as he sent the bag to Zage. “You’re really good at hacky sack.”

Zage kicked it back, “Is that what this is called?”

The teenager’s eyes widened, “You’re this good and you don’t even know what it’s called?!”

Realizing he shouldn’t have been kicking the bag back and forth without knowing how well most people could do it, Zage made a wild kick, sending it high and to the right of the kid. “Oops, sorry. I think so far I’ve been lucky.”

The teenager leaped up and caught the errant hacky sack in a hand. Landing, he stared at Zage. “That didn’t look like luck to me.” Dropping the sack, he kicked it to Zage.

Zage kicked at it but missed. “Oops, I guess it was.”

The kid said, “Come on…”

He trailed off when Ell’s voice came from behind Zage, “Hey kid, time for us to go. Say goodbye to your friend.”

Zage said, “Goodbye,” and turned to go.

The kid said goodbye in return, but Zage couldn’t miss the suspicious look in his eyes.

As they walked out of the house, Ell glanced down at him and said, “Looked like you played hacky sack with that kid without watching any video first?”

Zage sighed, “Yeah, sorry. I’m guessing it’s a known game? I just thought they were kicking around something they’d found.”

Ell gave a little laugh. “You probably should do anything athletic poorly until you figure out how well other people can do it.”

“That’s what I did!” Zage said indignantly. “I watched those boys kicking the ball for quite a while before one of them accidentally kicked it to me and I kicked it back.”

“Ah, but I’ll bet they were all teenagers, and teenagers are usually a lot more coordinated than six-year-olds. And they’d been playing hacky sack for a while, so they should’ve been better even if you were the same age.”

“Yeah,” Zage said disgustedly, mad at himself. “Sorry.”

As they approached the little bus with the transporter in it, Zage said, “The security team drove this bus down here ahead of time?”

Distractedly, his mother said, “Uh-huh.”

“Seems kinda rude that they have to drive it around, so we can take the transporter back and forth.”

Ell nodded. “But it makes their job easier if they don’t all have to drive down here with us. Most of them got to transport down here too. They think not driving’s a big plus.”

“Oh…” Zage said thoughtfully as they climbed onto the bus. They didn’t immediately go through the transporter. Instead, they sat in the seats and the bus pulled out of its parking spot and started down the road. Zage quietly asked, “Are the transporters something you’re going to keep just for us, or are you going to release them to the world?”

“To the world. But first, we’ve got to work out some kinks and then talk to the incoming president about how to soften the blow to existing industries.”

He tilted his head curiously. “Blow to existing industries?”

Ell gave him an eye-opening description of the effects of disruptive technologies on current industries.

“If all those vaccines of yours work out you’re going to cause some trouble for some of the industries that produce vaccines, though the drawn-out approval process will probably soften the blow enough that you won’t need to negotiate with governments about their release.” She shrugged, “Besides, it’d be unethical to delay the release of a lifesaving medicine just to make it easier on the existing manufacturers.”

“Oh…” Zage said thoughtfully, studying her. “Why are you wearing such a balloony dress?”

“You don’t think it’s stylish?” his mother asked with a grin.

“I don’t know anything about style other than that Aunt Lane told me stylish women’s clothes are usually painful.”

Ell laughed. “I’m trying to hide my pregnancy so no one’ll know about the twins.”

Zage frowned, “You’re quite a bit bigger. You really think no one noticed?”

“I’m hoping they just think I’ve been putting on weight.”

“No one asked you?”

Ell gave him an alarmed look. “People do not ask ladies if they’re pregnant. If they have just gained weight, they can be highly insulted.”

Zage noticed the little bus was pulling to a stop. His mother got up, so he did too. He turned toward the transporter, but she said, “No, we’re getting out.”

“Really?” Zage asked looking around. “Where are we?”

“Your grandmother’s house.”

“In Morehead City?”

Ell nodded.

“But it’s late. Won’t she be in bed?”

“No, she’s waiting up for us.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re going to sleep at her house. In the morning we’ll have Christmas with her, Duncan, and Gram.”

Zage realized he’d never been to his grandmother’s house. “I thought her house was small?”

“It is. But it has three bedrooms. Gram’s living in one and we’ll be in the third. You’ll sleep on the couch.”

Zage frowned, “Why aren’t we just porting home and coming back in the morning? It’d save on washing sheets.”

His mother and father looked at each other for a moment, then laughed. Ell said, “It’s going to take a while to adjust, isn’t it?”

Shan snorted, “It’s embarrassing having the munchkin point stuff like this out to us. I think he should be more thoughtful of his elders’ feelings.”

Ell turned to the door, “Let me just run in and tell Mom what we’re doing, then we can port home…”

***

Marie was already awake when her mother knocked on the door to wake her and Rosa. Excitedly, she ran to the bathroom in their new apartment. It had a toilet and a shower—so much nicer than their old shack with its frighteningly foul outhouse and the washtub they had to fill with water carried in by hand. She quickly used the toilet and was in the shower by the time Rosa came in.

Marie and Rosa were in their new clothes, eating their mashed plantains—a traditional Dominican breakfast that Marie loved but had rarely eaten—by the time their mother had shepherded Pedro through the bathroom.

All four of the Pierre family arrived at Señora Gonzalez’s school early that morning, January 6th, the first day of the new adult classes. Pedro was joining a class of first-graders while the other three were starting in the new classes for those who’d never attended school. To Marie’s surprise, her mother had said she was glad there was a separate class for adults because she’d feared she couldn’t keep up with how fast children learned. Marie and Rosa would be in the same class for younger people, which Marie thought was going to be strange.

Marie worried that she wouldn’t be able to keep up with her older sister. She hadn’t said anything yet, but her AI had found her reading and arithmetic games online and she’d already started learning through her HUD. She planned to tell Rosa about the games if it turned out that Rosa was the one who couldn’t keep up with her.

Marie knew her life was still going to be difficult. The rich kids attending the school had already been giving Marie and the other poor children some ugly looks.

And, her mother worried about whether she could get a job even if she did learn reading and basic numbers.

But Marie felt certain their lives were going to be much better. Maybe not as good as they were while they had the apartment and stipend Señora Gardon had arranged, but better than they’d been under Sanchez. How Gardon had found the people to pay for all this was a mystery no one had solved.

Once she met her new teacher, Señora Garcia, Marie decided school was going to be wonderful.

***

For a moment Sophie studied their newest student, Gage Reyes-Gardon. His mother had talked big about how he loved animals when she’d signed him up for the Nature Learning school, but Sophie always suspected parents were just looking for a place to park their kids after school.

She looked around at the rest of the cluster of kids under the pavilion with her. All but Gage and Roxy Landis had been in her class last fall, so they knew each other. Sophie clapped her hands to get the kids’ attention and made a few announcements ending with an introduction of Gage and Roxy. “Can you two tell us a little about yourselves?”

The talkative Roxy immediately launched into a description of how she and her mother had just moved to the area from Chicago. She finished with, “My mom likes hiking so she’s sure I’ll think going to an outdoor afterschool is a lot of fun. I’m not convinced, but I’ll probably like it.” She glanced at Olivia, who’d been complaining about the weather. “And if you think it’s cold today, you’ve never lived in Chicago!”

Sophie took advantage of that to remind the kids that it was going to be cold for the next few months and that they shouldn’t forget to wear warm coats because Nature Learning was always held outside, no matter the weather.

Gage stood next. Sophie had thought he was shy but he spoke confidently, “I was born in Virginia but I’ve lived in…” he stumbled, “P-Pittsboro ever since. I like biology so I hope I’ll like Nature Learning too.”

Biology? Sophie wondered. What kind of six-year-old says he likes “biology?” Then she smiled at Roxy and said, “Well, we hike on Mondays, so today we’ll get to see whether you like hiking as much as your mother does.”

As they started on their hike Roxy asked, “Will we see any Venus flytraps? My mom says they’re native to North Carolina.”

Caught by surprise, Sophie said, “I didn’t know that. I’m pretty sure they don’t grow around here or they’d be on the list of species we keep an eye out for. Let me ask my AI.”

Gage said, “All the wild Venus flytraps live within sixty miles of Wilmington.”

This caught Sophie by surprise. “Surely not all the flytraps live in that one small area. I’m pretty sure most of them grow in the tropics, don’t they?”

“They’re only native to that area, though people have planted them a few other places. They grow in wetlands where the ground’s deficient in nitrogen and phosphorus. They catch the insects to get those nutr—”

Sophie’d turned to stare at Gage and he broke off in the middle of “nutrients,’ looking embarrassed. Ashamed of herself for damping his enthusiasm, she said, “I guess you do like biology, don’t you?”

“What’s biology?” Olivia asked.

Sophie looked at Gage for a moment, hoping he’d answer Olivia, but he didn’t. Sophie said, “It’s the study of plants and animals. Like we do here at Nature Learning.”

Gage didn’t volunteer any answers after that.

But, about twenty minutes into their hike, he asked, “Why’s that man following us?”

Sophie’s blood ran cold as she turned to look.

It was Mitch.

Forcing a cheerful tone in her voice, she said, “He’s, um, my new boyfriend. He likes to follow me around and see what I’m doing.” I’ve got to confront him, she thought, so she told the kids, “But he really shouldn’t be out here. I’m just going to go let him know that.”

When she started walking back along the trail Mitch faded behind a tree, but when she got close, he stepped out and smiled. “Hi, Sophie.”

“Mitch! You can’t be out here!”

Looking puppy-dog, he said, “It’s only ’cause I like watching you.”

“You can’t! The kids have noticed you. If they say anything to Ms. Grant about a man following us around, I could lose my job!”

His eyes narrowed, “Don’t be such a bitch Sophie. It’s just because I love you.”

“Mitch, we’ve been on two dates. You don’t know me well enough to love me!”

He gave her a look that sent frost down her spine, then turned and stalked away.

She’d stopped shaking by the time she got back to the kids, but she still thought some of them could tell she was anxious.

Especially that Gage kid.

***

Washington D.C. — Julio Romero was sworn in as President of the United States today. Although many expected there to be fireworks between the conservative Romero and fiery outgoing President Stockton, she was unusually gracious. As so often happens, Stockton has aged significantly while in the office. Some think she’s just glad to put this phase of her life behind her. Though Romero’s campaign bitterly criticized Stockton’s policies while painting Governor Grassley as, “more of the same,” he took pains to thank Stockton for her efforts on behalf of the country. Romero went on to say he was looking forward to taking on some of the deep-seated economic problems that had developed during years of wasteful spending and…

New York— The Wall Street Journal reported today that the hyper-reclusive Gordito posted amino acid sequences for purported vaccines against many major infectious diseases. These include multiple species of influenza, herpes, adenovirus, coronavirus, HIV, dengue, rabies, eastern equine encephalitis, Ebola, Rocky Mountain spotted fever, sleeping sickness, tuberculosis, leprosy, syphilis, gonorrhea, chlamydia, valley fever, and plague. Gordito claims they will work on influenza and adenovirus despite the way those viruses constantly mutate. Though many in the medical establishment have proclaimed it absurd to think that more than one or two of the sequences will produce successful vaccines, others point out that Gordito has had an astonishingly high success rate in the past.

Unusually, this time Gordito notes that the vaccines are “patent applied for,” and that manufacturers must negotiate rights for their production. Gordito has also posted an unusual licensing scheme aimed at keeping the end user’s costs low. This will be achieved by requiring that the price to the end-user be no more than one dollar. Companies can bid, winning the business, not on how much they’re going to pay Gordito, but on how cheap they’re making each vaccination for the end user. The website claims that 100% of Gordito’s vaccine profits will be turned over to KEC, a new charitable organization. KEC’s stated goal is to outfit everyone in the world, no matter how poor, with AIs, thus enhancing their Knowledge, Education, and Communication.

Vaccine manufacturers are claiming that no one can make vaccines for the prices Gordito is…

***

John Simon cleared his throat. “There’s one other suggestion I’d like to make before I leave.”

Ariel Vardaman, Simon’s successor to the office of Presidential Science Advisor, glanced up, looking harried. She sighed, as if she were tired of getting advice. “What’s that?”

“This advice came down to me from the advisers before me. They said to check in with Ell Donsaii early and often. Ask her to let you know about any disruptive technology D5R might be about to release.”

“Why would I need to know about that ahead of time?”

“Because the economic impacts of such tech may need to be addressed politically. Like PGR chips upended telecommunications and ports had major effects on pipeline and power transmission companies. Believe me, your boss is going to want as much warning as he can get about things like that.”

Vardaman didn’t look like she believed this was a real concern. “I’ll talk to her when things settle down, sure. But I think she’s had an unbelievable run of luck and it’s got to be running out of steam. I doubt she’s going to come up with any more game-changers.”

Simon said, “Sounds like you don’t want me jogging your elbow. Nonetheless, I’d like to give you one more piece of advice. If she does come out with something disruptive, ask her how to lessen the blow.”

Vardaman didn’t look away from the screen she was focused on.

John let himself out.

***

With all the goings-on in the news about Ell joining the Kinrais family, Malcolm and Fay had decided to forgo sponsoring the usual Kinrais winter ski vacation. They thought the whole family would’ve been plagued by reporters and paparazzi if they got together on US soil.

Instead, this February they decided to sponsor a Costa Rican winter vacation. They’d rented a large home on the beach with the thought that they could all learn to surf.

To no one’s surprise, despite the extra thickness of her pregnancy, Ell was amazing on a board. She had trouble laying on the board to paddle out to sea, but solved that by sliding off the back end and pushing it like a kickboard.

Zage made surfing look easy the few times they could convince him to go. He thought surfing was interesting at first, but once he’d mastered it, he’d decided any more riding the waves was boring. He much preferred going on wildlife tours or snorkeling where he could check out the fish.

One evening AJ found himself sitting next to Ell on the patio. She said, “What with all the time I’ve been on vacation, I haven’t seen you much at work. What have you been getting up to?”

“Is this an AJ your brilliant engineer employee question, or an AJ the brother-in-law question?”

She shrugged, “Either, or both. Though I don’t think you’re my brother-in-law. The in-law relationship only jumps across my marriage to Shan, not on through your marriage to his sister Morgan.”

“Ah, good to know. I’m not very good at that kind of stuff. As far as the brother-in-law question goes I spend most of my free time frantically trying to keep Morgan happy.”

“As you should,” Ell intoned sonorously.

“As an employee,” AJ grinned, “you’ll want to be aware that we’ve got a twenty-meter port working.”

“Working continuously? Or working for a couple of minutes then blowing up? That’s what I heard they were doing.”

AJ waved dismissively, “Shucks, ma’am, you can just chalk those up to ordinary testing in the process of engineering optimization.”

Ell snorted, “And here when we were out in Colorado that first time I thought your ski bum buddy was the smooth talker.”

“Oh, heck no. I’m the original silver-tongued devil. I’m the one that got the girl and the job at D5R aren’t I? Ol’ Jordan never stood a chance.”

Ell shook her head, but couldn’t help laughing.

“However,” AJ frowned, “it turns out that the big boss flushed some of my earliest contributions to D5R right down the drain. Very disappointing.”

Ell gave him a puzzled look, “You made contributions?”

“Oh, come on,” AJ said, putting on a hurt expression, “you used to say nice things about me. You particularly complimented me on my role in breaking ETR’s asteroid in two and spinning it up so we could cut chunks off it and catch them in funnels.”

Frowning, Ell asked, “Are you whining because the new hemispherical ports let a waldo just lower a powered ring onto the surface of the asteroid, then power it off so its hemi-port cuts and sends a chunk directly back to Earth?”

With a morose expression, AJ nodded. “We’re even taking the spin off our asteroids because it’s easier for the waldoes to work if there isn’t any pseudo-gravity.”

Putting on a straight face, Ell shook her head. “I just didn’t know your life was so difficult. If you’d like, I’ll point out to the ‘big bosses’ how you were instrumental in developing large hemispherical ports.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’d like that a lot.”

Ell rolled her eyes, “Not if you’re going to go back to ma’am-ing me.”

Morgan sat down on the other side of AJ. “What’s he been doing? Am I going to have to whip him back into shape?”

“Calling me ‘ma’am,’” Ell said, a distasteful expression on her face.

Morgan’s eyes widened then turned to AJ, “That’s a terrible thing to do to my sister-in-law!”

AJ grinned at her, “Sorry, ma’am.”

Morgan’s eyes widened further, then narrowed, “You’re asking for it, buddy.”

***

Sophie was teaching Zage to milk one of Nature Learning’s mild-mannered goats when he noticed something on her cheeks. Curious, Zage asked, “Is that stuff on your face makeup?

Sophie, drew back, looking embarrassed, “Um, yeah. We ladies like to wear it sometimes. To look pretty, you know?”

He frowned, “I’ve heard of makeup. Most of the time my grandmother and my aunt have on something like what you’re wearing. But I’ve never seen you wear it here at Nature Learning before.”

As if involuntarily, Sophie’s hand moved up toward her face, but then dropped away. She shrugged, “Sometimes we ladies just feel like looking special.”

Zage studied her a moment, “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re covering that bruise by your eye, aren’t you?”

She winced, then said, “Yeah, I fell. It was stupid. I’m embarrassed about it so please don’t tell anyone else about it, okay?”

“Of course,” he said, eyeing it thoughtfully a moment longer before turning back to the goat.

Chapter Five

“Holy crap, Phil! There’s a waldo with a huge box standing in front of the tunnel entrance!”

Phil looked up at the screen Carol had her eyes on. He could see the Martian landscape and the vast canyon of the Valles Marineris in part of the image, suggesting it was indeed showing the view from one of the cameras that looked out over the ledge in front of their tunnels. It was a little hard to judge size since—other than the waldo—there wasn’t anything man-made in the field of view. But, though he couldn’t be certain, he thought the waldo was one of the big three-meter tall construction models. If he was right about the waldo’s size, he’d estimate the box it was holding at one and a half meters square by two and a half meters tall. The waldo was just standing there holding the box up on one shoulder. A human would’ve put it down, but, of course, waldoes didn’t get tired. “Have you heard about any deliveries?” he asked.

“No! If I had,” Carol said sarcastically, “I wouldn’t be all surprised now, would I?”

“No need to bark at me, Carol. I don’t know what’s going on any more than you do.”

Ignoring his response, Carol tensely said, “I’ll bet it’s another dome they want us to position for inflation.”

Phil’s AI said, “You have a call from Ell Donsaii.”

He said, “I’ll take it… Hi, Ell.” He restrained his tone to keep from showing his excitement. There wasn’t all that much to do down in the tunnels so they’d been pretty bored since they’d stopped working on the surface. But sounding excited to talk to Ell was something he’d learned not to do around Carol. To avoid potential problems, he continued, “I’m putting you on speaker so Carol can hear too.”

“Hey,” Ell said as the waldo outside lurched into motion on the screen. “I’m outside your front door in-waldo. Any chance you could open the lock and let me in?”

“Sure,” he said blandly. “Is that a three-meter waldo like I think? If so, we’ll need to bring you in through one of the big tunnels.”

“It is. I’m heading for the big opening as we speak.”

Phil got up and started for the main tunnel to the outside, telling his AI to deflate the outer balloon of the three-balloon airlock for that tunnel. His hip had stiffened up while he’d been sitting, so it took him a couple of steps to lose his limp. Carol followed along wordlessly. Phil just felt grateful she didn’t make any sniping comments. Though that might only be because Ell’s on speaker. She never says anything rude directly to Ell, only about her to me.

“Okay, I’m past the first balloon,” Ell said.

Phil spoke to his AI, having it reinflate the outer balloon and deflate the middle one of the airlock. A minute or so later, he had the AI reinflate the middle one and deflate the inner balloon. He felt a small spike of excitement when the waldo stepped through carrying the big box.

A feeling came over him that Ell was there with him, even though he knew she was still back on Earth. It was surprisingly easy to think of someone’s waldo as actually being that person. “Hey,” he said restraining the impulse to touch or try to shake hands with the big waldo. “What’s this you’ve brought us?”

“First, you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone else about it until I say it’s okay?”

“Sure.”

The waldo turned to look at Carol, “Is that okay with you too, Carol?”

She nodded.

Ell said, “Next, you need to find me a place to set it up,” Ell said, “Off the beaten path somewhere, since this is a secret. A place where someone who’s just wandering around, either in person or in-waldo won’t come across it and start wondering what it is.”

Phil glanced at Carol who walked the tunnels for exercise. She jerked her head, “There’s a short piece of dead-end tunnel over this way.” She led off.

Typical for dead-end tunnels, the one Carol took them to ended in a “Y.” The tunnelers were very slow backing up, so it’d melted a tunnel ending in a “Y” where the tunneler could make a three-point turn and then drive forward on its way back out of the tunnel it’d created. Carol pointed out the sign saying it was a dead-end and said, “There’re some other dead-end tunnels that’re used for storage, but no one comes down this one. It’s too far out of the way.”

Ell put the big box down and pushed it back close to the corner.

It was made of featureless metal, Phil thought aluminum. He said, “So, do we need to get some tools to open it up?”

Ell said, “No need. It’s got a door on the far side.”

“A door?” Phil said, walking around to the back side, confusion warring with excitement. He realized that the way the waldo had been holding it, the back side had been the side tilted up and away from him. When he got around to the backside, he saw she’d set it down about a meter from the back wall. That surface of the box did indeed have a door in it. Phil reached for the handle.

Ell said, “Wait a sec.” There was a momentary fairly loud hum, then a “thump.” The box shifted slightly and Ell said, “Okay, you can open it now.”

Phil grasped the handle and turned it, opening the door. When it came open it revealed a gap, then a cylinder inside the box. The cylinder had another smaller door in its wall.

Ell said, “Go ahead, open that one too.”

Phil opened the door on the inner cylinder, finding another cylinder inside of it. This cylinder was a little taller than Phil and, he estimated, a little more than thirty centimeters in diameter. “What’s this?” he asked. “A set of those Russian nesting dolls?”

Sounding distracted, Ell said, “A test dummy. Just a minute…” Her voice brightened, “Everything’s nominal.” The waldo’s head turned toward them. “What you’re looking at is a human capable transporter. How’d you like to go home?”

“What?!” they said, almost in unison.

Ell asked Phil to close the doors again. As Phil did so, Ell said, “That thump you heard was the test dummy arriving here from Earth. It weighs 100 kilos, so almost as much as Phil. Now that you’ve closed the door, I’m going to send the dummy back and forth from Earth ten more times to be sure the transporter’s working and not showing any strain. This is the farthest this transporter’s sent anything.” The transporter began whirring.

“But,” Carol said, “you can’t port people without anesthesia… can you?” A thump came from the chamber, followed by whirring again.

“Well,” Ell said, “we could always port people. It’s just that it hurt like hell and made them have seizures. The anesthesia was to prevent such undesirable effects.”

Phil turned to look at the box, “Are you saying that something about this one prevents those effects?”

Ell gave a little laugh, “Turns out those effects only occur when you’re close to the edge of a port. The port in this box is 1.5 meters in diameter and the cylinder you stand in is 1.3 meters to make sure you stay at least ten centimeters from the edge.”

“Oh,” Phil said, “so this one draws a lot of power huh?”

“Uh-huh, seven megawatts. But it’s only open for about a second so it only uses about two kilowatt-hours of power to transport somewhere on Earth and five kilowatt-hours transporting to Mars. There can be significant additional requirements adding the kinetic energy required when you’re transporting back to Earth’s faster orbit. And we’ve had to install some special power reserve monitoring and switching equipment to be sure there’s enough power available before we start porting. We can’t have the juice cut out halfway through a transport.”

Wide-eyed, Phil asked, “You’re using these to port people from place to place on Earth?!”

The waldo nodded—it was hard to control habitual movements when you were operating one. Ell’s voice said, “Only on a very limited and secret basis at present. We’re still working out the kinks and we haven’t announced transporters to the public yet. That’s why this needs to stay a secret for now.”

Carol blinked, “What happens if the power does go off halfway through a transport?”

Soberly, Ell said, “That’d be a real disaster. It’d cut the transportee in half. In addition to equipping each transporter with an AI that checks that there’s sufficient power before starting, we’re equipping them with hyper-capacitors that store enough energy to complete the transport even if the external power somehow gets cut off.”

The transporter had been regularly whirring, humming, and thumping as they spoke. Carol looked at it, “What’s all the noise?”

“Each transportation event involves powering up a 1.5-meter ring at the top of the big box.  That power draw produces the hum you’re hearing. Then the ring falls down rails to the bottom of the compartment, transporting the cylinder and whatever’s inside of it to the other box. It lands with the thump. The motors make the whir as they move the ring back up to the top of the box to reload for another event.”

Surprised, Phil said, “So when you brought the box in here it was empty? The cylinder only appeared after the first transport event?”

“Uh-huh. In fact…” she paused and the machine hummed and thumped. “Open the door now. I’ve just sent the cylinder back to Earth so the box’s empty.”

Phil did so, finding the box empty except for a ring at the bottom of rails in each corner. He turned, “Wait, things fall slower here on Mars than they do back on Earth.”

“Yeah, the motors in this box drive the ring down so it falls at the same rate as the ring back on Earth falls. Even the ones back on Earth have their motors making sure they fall at the same rate, since there’re slight differences in the gravity at different altitudes. It’ll get to be a huge deal when we start porting people up to orbit since there won’t be any gravity there to move the ring. There’re all kinds of redundancies in the systems and motors moving the rings to make sure we don’t have a transport mismatch.”

Phil glanced at Carol, seeing she looked as stunned as he felt. “Wanna go back to Earth?”

She gave a slow nod. “But we need NASA’s permission, don’t we?”

“Pish,” Phil said dismissively. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?”

“Dammit, Phil,” Carol started angrily, then her eyes flicked to the waldo, indicating she’d momentarily forgotten they weren’t alone. “I don’t want to lose our careers,” she finished in a calmer tone, though her flashing eyes told Phil she was still pissed.

Phil drew breath for a retort, but Ell said, “Let me give you a couple of things to think about, then I’ll leave you two to duke it out, okay?”

They both nodded, somewhat warily.

“Okay. Remember how you wanted to be able to come back home without a long transit in a rocket? That’s what I’m offering you. I’m sure it’s the way all transits will be carried out in the near future; I’m just offering you an early trip. You can wait till then if you want, but I have no doubt we can talk Epaulding into approving it if you want to do it with his permission. You also wanted to be guinea pigs for the radiation gene therapy. You can have that too. One doesn’t depend on the other. We can transport you home for the gene therapy without NASA knowing about it if you want.” The waldo’s gaze shifted back and forth between them as if assessing their thoughts. “You should consider that you probably aren’t high on NASA’s list of gung-ho astronauts since you’ve staged your little sit-in. On the other hand, this transporter,” the waldo waved at the box, “means NASA isn’t going to have a lock on space travel anymore. There’re already a lot more civilians in Earth orbit than there are NASA trained astronauts. Once the transporter becomes available to the public, anyone’s going to be able to travel the solar system. This will include a lot of people who won’t have the training for it. There will be a lot of jobs for people who do have such training, so you won’t be dependent on NASA for your livelihood, but you might want to stick with them so you can keep doing interesting things instead of handholding space newbies—”

“We haven’t been doing much that’s interesting here on Mars,” Phil grumped.

“I know,” Ell said. “If you can swear secrecy on another front, I can tell you about another thing that’s coming up? Something interesting where you could help now without leaving the Martian tunnels. It’d at least keep you busy while we were figuring out the transport and gene therapy part.”

Phil glanced at Carol and wasn’t sure what her expression meant. “You okay with this?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded.

Phil turned to Ell’s waldo, “I imagine you can tell Carol’s reluctant, but if she’s agreed she will keep your secret.”

The waldo turned to Carol, “What’s worrying you, Carol?”

“Too many secrets. I’m worried that I’m not going to be happy keeping them from my employer NASA. I may be pissed at them, but I’m still loyal.”

“Ah…” after a long hesitation, Ell said softly, “Let’s just stop at the secrets I’ve already kinda forced on you, sorry.” Then going on with an upbeat tone, she said, “I’ve gotta go, so I’m gonna let an AI take this waldo back to the construction site I borrowed it from. Let me know if you want to come home and, or, get the radiation treatment.”

With that the waldo stilled and a moment later started to move, though more clumsily. “Can you help me get out the airlock?” it asked in a mechanical voice.

Phil turned on his wife, “What the hell, Carol?!”

She stared at him for a moment, then turned to the waldo. “This way,” she said, leading off.

***

After their lab meeting, Reggie headed back to her office. She’d only been there a minute when a diffident knock came on her door frame. Looking up she saw Zage standing in the doorway, looking uncertain. She smiled at him, “Think of something after the meeting was over?”

“Just something… I wasn’t sure you’d want me to talk about in front of the others.”

“Oh,” she said, puzzled. Holding back an impulse to say that nothing should be confidential in the lab, she asked, “What is it?”

“You know the testing you said I could have done by Dominion Biolabs?”

“Because we couldn’t get you approved to do your own animal handling, yes. That’s the trial of your amyloid unfolding peptide in the Alzheimer’s mice, right? Has something gone wrong?” A little spike of fear went through her that it’d proven to be toxic and hurt someone at the facility.

“Um, well I don’t think so. They shouldn’t be able to fudge the results because they didn’t know which solution has the active peptide and which one’s the placebo.”

Feeling a trickle of relief, she said, “So it’s just that your results are unexpected? That happens all the time in science. Sometimes you learn more by figuring out what produced the unexpected outcome than if the experiment had simply born out your hypothesis.”

“They’re unexpected all right, but not bad unless they’ve been falsified. Here, let me put up their radial maze scores.”

The wall screen in her office flickered, the Rembrandt she usually had up disappearing and a line graph replacing it. At the zero time point on the left side of the screen there were red and blue vertical bars with hash marks at the top and bottom indicating the standard deviations of the results. The two bars almost completely overlapped one another. Zage said, “So, these are the maze scores before treatment. The red bar represents the control group and the blue one’s the treatment group that’s going to get the active peptide.”

As a new set of vertical bars appeared to the right of the first set, he said, “These are the scores after one week.” The blue bar was a little higher than the red bar, but there was a lot of overlap between them. He continued, “Here they look a little different but the difference isn’t even close to statistically significant.”

“And, this is after two weeks.”

Reggie blinked. The red line was descending and the blue one was definitely climbing. The vertical bars of the standard deviation still overlapped, but the lines looked like they were going different directions.

Zage said, “They look like they’re differentiating themselves, but those differences still aren’t statistically significant.”

Another set of vertical bars appeared, now completely separated. The blue line was ascending while the red one continued going down. Zage said, “By three weeks the difference is statistically significant.”

Zage showed her three more weeks of data. The two lines diverged farther and farther from one another. The red one was falling faster than the blue one was ascending. However, there was no doubt the experimental mice were scoring better on the maze than the control mice—who were probably continuing to deteriorate as would normally be expected with progress of the disease. There was also no doubt that the experimental mice were getting better, which would be a feat since most medications only hoped to slow the progression of Alzheimer’s.

Reggie turned to stare at Zage, thinking he lived some kind of charmed life. No one has results like this, one after the other of their studies supporting their hypotheses with no failures. Suddenly she remembered all the trouble he’d had with the amyloid crystallization experiments. But even with that failure, he just seems to have unreasonable luck. Could he be fudging the results? Feeling guilty, she said, “Um, can I see the raw data Dominion Biolabs sent you?”

“Sure,” he said without hesitation. He mumbled to his AI. She heard a chime indicating an incoming packet. He said, “Let me know if you see something suspicious. I’m worried the results are too good to be true. I assume you are too.”

“Give me a few minutes to look it over. I’ll message you when I’m finished.”

Zage left and Reggie paused a moment to ponder the implications of the findings if they were correct. If this works in humans… holy crap! She shook her head and buckled down to studying the information in the data packet.

~~~

Zage reappeared in Reggie’s door within a couple of minutes of her message. “Did you find anything suspicious?”

She tried not to sound accusatory, “You didn’t tell me the packet included histological data showing that the experimental group had a decrease in amyloid, tau, and inflammation, or that the ventricles in the mice’s brains were getting smaller.”

Zage nodded, “I had that information in my presentation but I thought you interrupted because you preferred to see the raw data. Besides, that information’s only confirmatory. What matters is brain function. Some people get dementia without increases in amyloid. Enlargement of the ventricles doesn’t correlate well with brain dysfunction either.”

Reggie nodded thoughtfully.

Zage repeated his earlier question, “Did you find anything suspicious?”

“Nothing but the fact that the results are too good to believe. You’re sure no one there knows which are the experimental injections?”

“I made up the syringes myself, then sent them by port, labeled only in hexadecimal.”

“Have you gone down to look at the mice yourself?”

Zage looked uncomfortable. “Um, they don’t know how old I am. If I showed up down there, they probably wouldn’t let me in.”

Reggie snorted, “You’re right. I’ve gotten so used to having you around I’ve forgotten how I reacted when you first showed up.” She looked up at the data on the screen, then back at Zage, “But I think you’ve got to see the animals yourself. It’s the old, ‘remarkable results require remarkable proof,’ thing. We have to be sure of the results before we try to publish.”

“Um,” Zage said uncertainly, “I was thinking we might not be able to publish because the University would want to patent it as a possible treatment.”

“Oh…! That’s right, a treatment for Alzheimer’s could be valuable.” Reggie blinked, then studied Zage. “Why would you even know publishing something makes it unpatentable?”

Looking uncomfortable, Zage said, “I, uh, was involved in the discovery of a peptide at UNC. The University sold the rights to Bayer and there was a big hoo-rah about how we couldn’t publish.”

This kid’s already on a patent?! Reggie thought, surprised, yet believing. “You’re right. We’ve got to report it to the University’s technology office. I’ll get started on that as soon as I get caught up with a few of the other things on my plate.” She heard a ping from her AI, indicating the reception of another data packet.

Zage said, “Um, I just sent you a draft report and my attempt at filling out the documents on the tech office’s website. I hope they’ll help instead of hindering you.”

Reggie stared for a moment, then said dryly, “Undoubtedly, they will… We still need to figure out how to get a look at those mice and I wouldn’t be able to get away for…” She shook her head. “Maybe if I called the lab there and explained about your age.”

“I could ask Carley to go with me?”

“She’s not an investigator on the protocol so I’m sure they wouldn’t—” Reggie was interrupted by another ping. She laughed, “What’d you send me this time?”

“I filled out the forms to add her to the protocol. If you signed them, it’d solve that problem.”

“Okay, so they might let her in. But, is it fair to Carley to ask her to spend hours helping you with your project?”

Zage shrugged, “She’s got some significant financial issues. If the invention pays off, being on the protocol with some percentage of my rights would help her with them. I admit it’s a long shot, but the downside’s pretty small. Besides, I’ve helped with her projects so she might be willing to do it even without the rights.”

Reggie studied him a moment, “You realize that the University would take the lion’s share of the income from a patent, don’t you?”

Zage nodded, “And you’d get a chunk as my advisor. I was only talking about sharing my part of it, since she’d be saddled with doing the stuff I’d be doing if I was a grownup.”

“Um, your parents might not want to give away part of your income.”

“They won’t mind.”

Reggie shook her head, “People are unpredictable about money. We have to ask.”

Zage said, “Osprey, connect us to either my mom or dad, whoever seems the least busy.”

Reggie said, “I didn’t mean for you to interrupt—”

She heard a man’s voice, “Hi, munchkin. Whatcha need?”

Zage quickly explained the issues and, immediately, as if he didn’t give a damn about money, Kinrais said, “Sure, that’s fine.”

Stunned at how quickly he’d agreed, Reggie asked, “How much are you willing to give her?”

Zage’s dad said whatever Zage thought. Zage thought she should get half of his share, which was obviously far too much. After a brief conversation, Reggie and Zage settled on ten percent of Zage’s share going to Carley—which Kinrais agreed to without any further discussion.

Reggie had her AI ask Carley to come to Reggie’s office.

Within a few minutes Carley was in the office and, once Reggie explained Zage’s problem with checking the mice, she immediately said, “Sure. I’m happy to help. He’s helped me so much; I couldn’t ever hope to balance the scales.”

What all has he done for her? Reggie wondered for a moment, but decided to ignore how he might have helped Carley and went on to explain how Zage wanted to give her a share of any profits on any patent for her help.

Carley shook her head and said she didn’t deserve any share of a patent. Zage broke in to say the patent probably wouldn’t pan out, but he’d like her to have a small piece just in case it did.

She eventually agreed, then as they were leaving the office she asked, “What’s this patent for?”

“Use of the new peptide to treat Alzheimer’s,” Zage said offhandedly.

Carley stumbled and glanced back wide-eyed at Reggie, “What?!” she mouthed.

Reggie gave her a firm nod in return, thinking the young woman probably still didn’t understand the probable extent of the windfall the kid had just handed her.

That is, if it performed in humans like it did in mice.

~~~

It was a couple of hours before Reggie got around to looking at the report Zage had done for the University’s tech office. She started reading it with the thought that she’d have to make major edits. When she finished, she realized that she’d made three edits and they were all style choices, nothing of significance.

None of the grad students would’ve done this well, she thought.

The forms adding Carley to the protocol were perfect.

***

Carley enjoyed the trip to Apex with Zage, even though he spent much of the ride bringing her up to speed on the Alzheimer's mouse study so she’d know what was going on and could ask good questions. Once he’d done that though, they had a nice conversation. Carley kept wishing the men her age acted as… mature as Zage. She thought, Maybe he’s so nice because he’s not secreting post-adolescent male hormones yet.

She followed Zage into the Dominion Biolabs building and over to the admin office. Walking up to the person stationed there, Zage said, “Hi, I’m Zage Kinrais. This is Carley Heune. We have an appointment to look at the mice in our study?”

The man stared at Zage for a moment, then looked questioningly up at Carley. She gave him her best affirmative nod.

Visibly flustered, he looked back down at Zage. “What’d you say your name was?”

“Zage Kinrais.”

The man looked at his screen, apparently checking for Zage’s name on a list. “Um, have your AI send me ID, please?”

Zage spoke to Osprey, then the man’s eyes turned up to study his HUD. “Um, this says you’re Kinrais alright. Are you perhaps a Zage Kinrais Junior?”

“Nope,” Zage said cheerfully. “First and only I’m afraid.”

“But… you’re a child!”

Zage nodded pleasantly. “I am indeed. I’m the child who hired you guys to do the mouse study and now I’d like to check the work you’ve been doing. Your protocols allow the investigators to observe.”

“But… I don’t think we let children go back into the experimental space!”

“Maybe you could let me talk to Mr. Barrister? He’s the one running my study and he set up this appointment.”

“I… I… I’m not—”

“Mr. Needham,” Zage said, getting the man’s name from somewhere, “I’m sure Dominion Biolabs doesn’t want you turning away your customers without even letting them talk to the person running the study, do they? Wouldn’t it be a lot easier for you to just let the responsibility for this decision fall on Mr. Barrister?”

“Um, okay,” Needham said, looking quite happy to be out of the decision loop. He spoke to his AI.

Carley marveled at how well Zage was handling it. She’d expected to have to be the one who did all the talking and had been worrying about whether she’d be able to convince them to let her take Zage with her when she went in to see the mice. Having a sudden thought, she turned to Zage, “You’re handling these people fine. You didn’t need me for this!”

He eyed her a moment. “I am so far, but that was hardly a foregone conclusion. In my heart, I really wanted to just have you handle these interactions. But I decided I really should try to do it myself. After all, I need to learn how to deal with adults since it’ll be more than a decade before I stop getting these kinds of reactions. Um, knowing you were here to smooth things over if I screwed up has made it a lot easier… Thanks.”

She grinned at him a moment, “That sounded pretty good, but I still think you just wanted to hang out with me.”

He gave her puppy dog eyes. “That’s true.”

They both laughed.

Barrister came out and had much the same reaction as Needham had. Despite how frenetic he became with protests about Zage’s age, Zage remained equable. He gently pointed out that nowhere in the lab’s public documentation, nor the documentation provided to Zage as an investigator did it put a limit on the age of people entering the facility.

Barrister said, “That’s probably only because no one ever contemplated a child wanting, or having any reason, or even trying to enter!”

“Ah,” Zage said pleasantly, as if not at all perturbed by Barrister’s shrill tone. “But I’m not an ordinary child. I specifically hired Dominion Biolabs to do this work because I’m not allowed to do it myself in the facilities at Duke University where I’m working. Would you like to ask me some questions about the protocol to be sure I’m the one who set it up?”

The man spluttered a moment, then went ahead and asked a question. Zage answered it in such detail that the man finally put up his hand, begging for a halt. “Okay, okay! You know your stuff. I’ll admit you probably wrote the protocol.” He sighed and waved them after him. “Let’s go look at your rats!”

“Mice, Mr. Barrister. I certainly hope you’ve been doing the study in mice as per the protocol.”

Barrister rolled his eyes. “Yes, mice. I misspoke. Let’s get you in coveralls…” he broke off studying Zage, “We don’t have any that’ll—”

“It’s not a problem. I can roll up the sleeves and legs,” Zage said pleasantly.

~~~

They were looking at the mice. Some were inquisitive with brightness to their beady little eyes. Others stayed in the corners, immobile, often sleeping.

And Carley had the distinct impression that there were two groups. Could Zage’s peptide be responsible for the difference? She turned to Barrister who’d been droning on about how they cared for the mice. “Do you have a list that I can check the mice off on?”

“Check them off?”

“Yes. I’m noticing a… a characteristic in some of the mice. I’d like to check off the mice I’m observing it in, then later compare my list to the treatment and control groups so I can see whether the characteristic is more prevalent in one group than the other.”

“Oh. What characteristic are you speaking of?”

“I’d rather not say. That way we’ll have more unbiased observers available to give opinions later.”

Zage said, “I’m forwarding you a list. My AI’s set it up so you can check the mice off as positive or negative for your characteristic.” He continued speaking in a formal tone Carley thought was intended to impress Barrister. “May I suggest that if you can see this characteristic visually, that you have your AI record video of each mouse as you’re grading them. That way we could have blinded examiners grade the videos later.”

“Okay.” Carley stopped at each mouse cage, grading them as active/bright or inactive/dull and pausing a moment while she decided, giving her AI time to get a good video record.

Next, they went with Barrister to observe a few mice going through their radial maze tests. Nothing about this differed from what they’d expected.

In the car on their way home, Zage said, “If you’ll send me your list, I’ll have my AI break the scheme and see whether the ‘characteristic’ you observed was more prevalent in the experimental or control group.”

“How about if you send me the breakdown and I’ll have my AI do it. That way no one will wonder if you fudged the results?”

“Great idea,” Zage responded and Carley heard a ping as the breakdown arrived at her AI.

She gave a few instructions to her AI.

Seventy-two of the seventy-three mice she’d designated as active/bright were in the treatment group. Of the seventy-eight mice she’d designated as inactive/dull, seventy-four were in the control group and four were in the experimental group. I don’t have to run statistics to know that’s a real difference, she thought.

***

The Nature Learning class was gathered around the stream that crossed the property. Wearing rubber boots, a man named Gary Jonas was acting as Ms. Bakewell’s co-instructor for this exploration of aquatic life. They’d first gathered around a deep little pool and watched the small fish that inhabited it as they darted about.

Next Mr. Jonas took them to the edge of a fast-flowing area where he’d placed what he called a “glass boulder” consisting of a thick piece of plate glass with an inverted black plastic bowl glued on top of it. He’d cut a hinged door into the bowl and settled it on a bed of sand and gravel. All this had been in hopes of forming a perfect spot for a salamander to create a retreat. To his great satisfaction, a Necturus lewisi had burrowed under the boulder from the downstream side, shoveling out sand and gravel to build itself a den. Thus, they could open the door on the top of the bowl and peer in to view a “Neuse River Waterdog” in a nearly natural habitat—without disturbing it by turning over its rock.

Mr. Jonas did turn over a rock to show them one of the—very common—crayfish that lived in the streams of North Carolina. It backed away a bit, then lifted its pincers at them. Mr. Jonas laughed and said, “Look at him. He’s telling us to stay away from his place or he’s gonna pinch us.”

Wide-eyed, Olivia asked, “Would he do that?!”

Mr. Jonas nodded, “Frightened or mad, they’ll pinch you pretty good.”

“Does it hurt?!”

“Yeah, but remember not to pull them off yourself. When it happens, they’re scared to death of you. If you lower your pincered part back into the water, the crayfish’ll let go and take off, trying to get as far from you as it can.”

Though Zage was fascinated by the opportunity to view wildlife in their natural habitat, he couldn’t help also watching and observing Ms. Bakewell, who stood close to Mr. Jonas and touched him frequently. I think he’s her new boyfriend. He wondered what had happened to Mitch, her previous boyfriend. Or is she dating both of them? After all, he knew that, despite humans’ frequent proclamations that they were exclusively dating one another, they often failed to behave in a monogamous fashion. Perhaps she and Mitch haven’t declared themselves one-on-one. Maybe they’re both dating multiple people in an effort to find the best mates for each of them?

After pondering the question for a while, he decided not to ask her about it. She was embarrassed enough by my makeup question. I shouldn’t ask any more personal questions.

Ms. Bakewell let them walk the edges of the stream, peering into the water until some of the kids got bored and started acting up. Then she clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention and said, “Okay, this was fun! Time to start back to the pavilion.”

Zage still had his eyes on the crayfish. It’d abandoned its defensive stance and seemed to be digging in under another rock. Zage stayed in a squat at the edge of the stream, trying to figure out exactly how it was digging.

~~~

Osprey shunted video from Zage’s overflight flyers to everyone on ethe security team, highlighting a pistol. Mary shouted, “Zage team! Gun! Move It!”

~~~

Zage heard a man’s voice bark, “Get away from her!”

Zage’s eyes jerked up.

Mitch was back.

This time he had a gun pointed at Mr. Jonas.

Zage blinked feeling his heartbeat slowing, I’ll bet Mitch thought they were monogamous. Later he’d feel terrible that he might’ve delayed his response by some part of a second thinking it, though rationally he couldn’t believe it would’ve made a difference. He glanced down, then sent his hand after a rounded stone lying just under the surface of the water.

Zage stood, turning his left side toward Mitch. The rest of the kids were screaming, so Mitch took no notice of what Zage was doing. Everyone seemed to be moving slowly, telling Zage he was in the zone. He didn’t try to fight it, thinking, This is what it’s for.

Mr. Jonas had frozen, standing in the stream, arm lifted to hold Ms. Bakewell’s hand. He’d been balancing her as she walked across the log that bridged the stream. Though Zage didn’t think she needed the help, she’d seemed to like it. While he was taking this in, he was subvocalizing to Osprey, having him call 911 and the security team.

“I said, get away from her!” Mitch snarled in an even uglier tone.

Mr. Jonas seemed to try to let go of Ms. Bakewell’s hand, but pale as a ghost, she didn’t release her grip on his. “Mitch,” she began in a pleading tone, but the word ended as if strangled, Zage thought her throat had closed up out of fear.

Mitch fired his gun.

Zage threw the rock and squatted to find another while watching the first one fly. It didn’t go exactly where he expected it to—its aerodynamics were different from the sticks Zage threw for Tanner. Instead of striking the right side of his forehead where Zage had aimed, it hit his right cheek just below the eye with a crunching “thunk,” Zage glanced down to find another rock. He picked up the best one he saw, but it was a little heavier and oddly shaped. Standing, he cocked it back…

Mitch was down on his side, screaming and holding the side of his face.

Mr. Jonas was sitting in the water, holding his gut and looking stricken.

Even though he’d only heard one shot, Ms. Bakewell was sprawled face-down in the water next to Mr. Jonas, head submerged, unmoving.

“Osprey,” Zage said, dropping his rock, stepping into the knee-deep water and striding toward his teachers, “make sure 911’s sending ambulances. Tell them we have three adult people down with injuries. Make sure they know we’re out on a wilderness path that can’t be reached with a vehicle. They may need a helicopter with a rescue stretcher. Tell them the only adults here are the ones who’re injured. Everyone else is aged five to eight years.”

Zage arrived beside Ms. Bakewell and reached into the water grabbing her hair. With a heave, he pulled her head up into the air. To Osprey, he finished, “I’m trying to help so I won’t be able to talk much.”

He looked up. The rest of the kids were standing on the banks of the stream, with various expressions of horror. “Olivia!” he shouted. She was the closest one he knew well. Knowing he was moving fast, he deliberately slowed his speech. “Come hold Ms. Bakewell’s head up out of the water!” Mike!” he yelled at a beefy eight-year-old, “you help her.”

Olivia stepped into the knee-deep water and started wading his way. A moment later so did Mike.

Zage turned to the slumping Mr. Jonas. Afraid he’d pass out and go underwater too, Zage yelled, “Mr. Jonas! Can you move to the bank?”

Mr. Jonas’s eyes flicked toward Zage, but he started sagging with the direction of the water’s flow.

Mike and Olivia were holding Ms. Bakewell’s head up now. Zage grabbed her arm and started rolling her to her back while surveying the kids frozen on the bank. They’re used to being told what to do, he thought. Picking the biggest kids, he yelled, “Billie! Rachel! August! Kelly! Come out here and help!”

Zage turned to Mike and Olivia, saying, “Start dragging Ms. Bakewell to the bank. We’ve got to get her out of the water.” Billie and Rachel had almost reached him. Zage barked at them, “Keep Mr. Jonas’ head up out of the water.”

As Mike and Olivia started pulling Ms. Bakewell toward shore, her body finally rolled onto its back. He handed her right arm to Mike and told August to take the left one. Eyeing Olivia, he said, “Keep her head up out of the water!” He watched to see if Ms. Bakewell would take a breath while telling the other two, “Pull her to the bank and get the other kids to help you pull her out of the water.”

Turning, he saw Billie and Rachel were trying to hold Mr. Jonas fully upright. “Lean him back so the water floats some of his weight,” he told them. “Rachel, Grab the hood of his jacket and start pulling toward shore, it should also help hold his head out of the water. Kelly,” he said, “take Mr. Jonas’ right arm, and Billie, you take the left. All three of you drag him over to the bank.”

Without waiting to see how they did, Zage turned and strode through the water, now thigh-deep, toward the bank, following the three kids dragging Ms. Bakewell. Picking out the next biggest kids, he started calling their names and assigning them to help pull the adults out of the water.

His eyes went to Mitch, worried about the man’s gun. The man was on his back, breathing and sobbing. Zage couldn’t see his face but the hands he was holding over it were covered with blood. For a moment he wondered if he’d thrown the rock too hard. No, he decided, in this situation, better too hard than not hard enough.

Zage reached Ms. Bakewell and lifted her feet out of the water, trying to push while the other kids pulled her onto the bank. They were all discombobulated. Zage yelled, “One, two, three, PULL. One, two, three, PULL. One, two, three, PULL.” By the third time he called the rhythm, they got the idea and by the sixth, they had her up out of the water.

Zage looked to the side and saw Kelly, Rachel, and Billie had Mr. Jonas to the bank. For a moment he wondered if he should help them get him out. No, I’ve got to help Ms. Bakewell. He turned, “Mike, show these other kids how to count Mr. Jonas up out of the water!”

Zage climbed up beside Ms. Bakewell and moved to her head. Her hair was full of red stuff, Blood, he thought. He blinked, She fell off the log and hit her head on one of the rocks. He blinked again, What if that broke her neck?! His heart skipped a beat, Pulling her head up by the hair could’ve made a spinal cord injury a lot worse! He shook his head to clear his incipient panic and resolutely told himself, If I’d left her head under, she’d have drowned.

He’d been watching her chest. It wasn’t moving, so he felt sure she wasn’t breathing. Is that because her neck’s broken? Or because she drowned? Or something else? He hesitated, then thought, I can’t help a broken neck but drowned, maybe?

He’d seen a video of someone pushing on a drowning victim’s chest to squeeze water out of their lungs, so he leaned forward and pushed down hard on Ms. Bakewell’s chest with both hands.

It didn’t move much, but some water came out of her mouth and nose. In the video, they turned the victim’s head to the side… No, if her neck’s broken, we should wait to try that. He looked up, Olivia’s too small. “August, help me push on her chest to squeeze the water out.”

August looked terrified, “How?!”

Zage put his hands on the left side of her chest, “Put your hands like this on the other side of her chest.”

“On her boob?!”

Zage gave him a firm nod, “Unless you think she’d rather die.”

August tentatively put his hands on her right chest. Zage counted, “One, two, three, PUSH!” August barely pushed. “Harder! One, two, three, PUSH! Harder! One, two, three, PUSH! Harder! Come on! One, two, three, PUSH!”

Increasing amounts of water came out of Ms. Bakewell’s mouth and nostrils with each of the first three pushes, but it really gushed on the last one. Zage bent to put his mouth over hers for mouth-to-mouth but his mouth wasn’t big enough to cover hers. Can I blow in her nose? he wondered. He tried, but air came out of her mouth. He clapped a hand over her mouth and blew in her nose. When he looked at her chest, he saw with relief that it was falling as if he had inflated it with his own breath.

Zage gave her another two breaths, then wondered whether he could check her pulse. He’d done it on himself before, but not for a long time. If I can’t feel her pulse I won’t know whether her heart’s not beating or whether I’ve felt in the wrong place.

He was leaning forward to put his ear on her chest and listen for her heart when a pair of big boots appeared on the other side of Ms. Bakewell’s head. “Zage?” Barrett said, sounding out of breath. He must have run from where the security team stood by for emergencies.

Zage shook his head, “My name’s Gage. Can you help, mister? She fell in the water and hit her head. I think she’s got a lot of water in her lungs. Can you help push more of it out, then help her breathe?”

Barrett snorted and dropped to his knees. “Sure.” He put his hands on her chest and pushed. A lot more water gushed out. He said, “We should turn her on her side.”

Zage said, “I’m worried she might have a broken neck. From the fall.” He waved, “She fell off the log out there and hit her head. Maybe we should give her another breath?”

With another, softer snort, Barrett leaned down. Almost inaudibly, he said, “As you wish, Master.” He gave her a big breath.

Zage looked over toward Mr. Jonas. Alex and Lisa from the security team were kneeling over him. Randy was over by Mitch. He looked to his right. Mary was kneeling at Ms. Bakewell’s head. Steve was spooling down out of the sky to land at the back of the little clearing. Steve’s harness leaped back into the sky as he trotted toward them. Mary said, “I can take care of this guy now, Zage.”

Zage looked up at her and rolled his eyes. “My name’s Gage, lady, but thanks.” He stood on suddenly trembling knees and stepped back to let Mary in closer.

Steve saw Zage and started running his way.

Zage heard the beat of helicopter blades and realized he’d heard sirens earlier. Steve skidded to a stop beside him, “You okay?”

“Uh-huh,” he shivered. “Just cold.” Suddenly he realized he felt exhausted the way his mother had said often happened after being in the zone.

Steve pulled off his jacket and threw it around Zage.

“I didn’t mean I needed your jacket.”

“Tough, you’ve got it,” Steve said in a gravelly voice Zage hadn’t heard before.

Then he knelt beside Zage and said, “You look wiped out. You up to going over and standing with the rest of the kids in the hopes we can keep who you are a secret? Or should we abandon secrecy and whisk you home?”

Zage gave a little laugh, “Barrett and Mary both called me Zage, so it might not be a secret anymore. On the other hand, the other kids might not have noticed in all the excitement.”

Steve snorted, “You think I should give Barrett and Mary a stern talking to?”

“No!” Zage gave Steve his best wry grin, “Just tease them mercilessly.”

Steve laughed, “Done.”

Ms. Banner, the principal of the Nature Learning School, came running out of the woods. She was leading some men Zage thought were EMT personnel.

Zage thought, They drove the ambulance as far as the pavilion, but they had to run from there.

The helicopter came to a hover overhead.

Zage looked at Ms. Bakewell. Her chest was rising and falling on its own! He started walking toward the biggest cluster of kids, where he tried to fade into the group.

Olivia grabbed his arm, “How’d you know to do all that stuff?!”

“I’ve watched a bunch of fire and rescue vids.” He shrugged ruefully, “I probably did most of it wrong.”

Both Mr. Jonas and Ms. Bakewell had EMTs kneeling beside them now. The one beside Mr. Jonas was starting a big IV and talking agitatedly to his AI. Steve walked over to squat down and look at the rock that Zage had bounced off of Mitch. A moment later he trotted back along the trail toward the pavilion.

Olivia said, “Gage, who’re those guys dressed in the dark camo?”

Zage shrugged. “I think they’re hunters who were out here and heard the commotion.”

Olivia gave him a doubtful look, “Nobody’s supposed to hunt on this land.”

I don’t think my “Gage” identity’s going to survive this, Zage thought. How am I managing to blow two identities in one year?! Turning his eyes to Olivia, he said, “Maybe they were on neighboring land?”

She narrowed her eyes, then spoke to her AI. “Huh, you’re right. We’re pretty close to the border of Nature Learning’s land.” She looked back at Zage, “Some of them talked to you. What were they saying?”

“They were just trying to figure out what was going on so they could help.”

Ms. Banner approached the apprehensive group of kids. “Are any of you hurt?”

A few seconds later five of the kids were clinging to her. Zage felt pretty sure none of them had been physically injured, but there was no doubt they were frightened. This made him notice his knees were trembling again. He sat down.

Olivia sat down next to him. Six more kids clustered around and sat close to them.

Zage looked up. The helicopter was moving southwest, semi-parallel to the path to the Pavilion. A couple more men ran up to the people gathered around Mr. Jonas, setting down a long bundle.

Olivia asked, “What’s that?”

Though it was becoming obvious as the men unrolled and set it up, Zage said, “I think it’s a stretcher.”

The men quickly rolled Jonas up on his side, scooted the stretcher up against his back, then rolled him back down on top of it. A moment later the men lifted the stretcher and took off down the path at a run.

Zage realized the noise of the helicopter’s blades had quieted. Oh, he thought, they landed the chopper in that big meadow just south of the path. He looked around the little clearing they were in, realizing that, though it was big enough to fit the helicopter’s blades, there wouldn’t have been a lot of room to spare. It’d probably be dangerous landing here, not just to the helicopter, but to all the people in the clearing.

For a moment he wondered why they hadn’t lowered a rescue stretcher on a cable the way he’d seen in vids. He decided the boom and winch setup required for that probably only came on specialist rescue helicopters.

He looked over at Ms. Bakewell. Though she was breathing, he thought she was unconscious.

Mitch was being watched over, but the people around him didn’t look as concerned about whether he’d survive. Two men ran up from the pavilion carrying another stretcher for Ms. Bakewell. Behind them came more men, several of them carrying big boxes. More EMTs? Zage wondered.

One of the new men stopped, stepped up on his box and started rotating about. Taking video of the scene, Zage thought, realizing the men were police. One of the other men came over and squatted down near the kids, saying, “Hey, kids, are any of you hurt?”

It took a bit to get definitive answers but eventually it became evident that none had been injured despite how badly frightened the ones with Ms. Banner were. Next, the man said he was going to download the records from their AIs. Zage didn’t think the other kids would know that was something they had a choice about. He said, “Our parents might not want you to do that.”

The man gave him a sharp look. “We won’t look at it until your parents give us permission. We just like to download it so it doesn’t get lost.”

“AIs don’t lose information. I think you can wait until our parents give permission.”

“Look, kid—”

Barrett had walked up behind the man and interrupted. “The kid’s right. You can wait until their parents give permission.”

The man gave Barrett a frustrated look, “Look, I’m just trying to do my job. That’s to make sure whoever did this gets caught.”

Barret looked at the group of kids and said, “Who did this?”

Almost all of them immediately pointed to where Mitch was lying.

Barrett turned to the man. “Now you’ve got a pretty good idea. I think you can move on to collecting evidence. Like the gun lying next to the man who ‘did this.’”

The policeman rolled his eyes.

Barrett turned to a pregnant woman who was striding up.

Mom! Zage thought. He heard the blades of the helicopter spooling up. He was pretty sure it was lifting from the big meadow south of the path.

Ms. Banner called over from where she seemed nearly free of the grip of the frightened children who’d first glommed onto her. “Kids. Let’s go back to the pavilion and talk about what happened, okay?”

The very pregnant Ell, done as Elsa Gardon, stopped and dropped to a knee in front of Zage, giving him a long hard hug. She leaned back and asked, “You okay, kid?”

Zage nodded. The helicopter roared overhead so he had to lean close to be heard. “Should I go with Ms. Banner?”

“You can. Or, I could take you home. Which would you prefer?”

“I’d rather stay with the other kids. I’m hoping my cover’s not completely blown.”

Ell grinned and spoke quietly, “I hear Barrett and Mary called you Zage?”

Zage nodded, “I think they were upset. But also, I did some stuff that…” he shrugged.

“Yeah,” she said, “I watched it through your AI. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he said softly, a warm feeling coming over him to be getting a compliment from the likes of his mother. Though she would have figured out a far better way to deal with the situation.

Ell stood, saying, “Ms. Banner might think it’s a little weird you didn’t go home with your mom. You have any ideas about how you’re going to explain it?”

“I wanted to be with my friends?”

Ell lifted an eyebrow, “What? You have friends your own age now?”

“Mom!” Zage said, his face heating.

“Sorry,” she said, looking truly apologetic. “I shouldn’t have tried to embarrass you.”

***

That night when they finished dinner, his mother slid her chair back but didn’t get up. She gave Zage a serious look. “In case anyone asks you about this, you need to know that Steve screwed up the DNA evidence regarding who threw the rock at Mitch Hewson.”

“What?”

“He broke a capsule containing random DNA from hundreds of people over the rock. That’ll make it very hard for the police to figure out you’re the one that threw it.”

Zage frowned, “It’ll be on the video record of someone’s AI.”

“Probably. But if you weren’t in anyone’s view at the time you threw, it might keep you from having to answer awkward questions about your performance.”

“Oh…”

Her eyes softened, “Next, about your teachers.”

“Uh-huh,” Zage said, suddenly apprehensive. “Is Ms. Bakewell okay?”

Ell nodded. “She’s doing well. They think she’ll make a full recovery… But…” she looked uncomfortable. Finally, she shook her head, “Mr. Jonas didn’t make it.”

“Oh…!” Zage said, staring round-eyed at his mom. Lots of people had died of modified smallpox, and he’d been intimately involved with that whole thing and felt terrible about it. But he hadn’t personally known anyone who’d died before. He’d liked Mr. Jonas.

Eyes suddenly flooded with tears, he slid out of his chair, took two steps and climbed into her lap.

His dad scooted his chair close and put his arms around both of them.

“I should…” Zage sobbed, “I should’ve…”

“Shh… There was nothing you could’ve done any better. What you did was perfect.”

In a choked tone, Zage said, “I could’ve thrown the rock before Mitch shot Mr. Jonas.”

“Ah, yes… and then you could’ve wondered for the rest of your life whether he really was going to shoot.”

Zage sat in the embrace of his parents, realizing he would indeed have always doubted himself for exactly that reason. After a minute, he said, “Why’d Mr. Jonas die? He was shot in the stomach, not the heart, right?”

Shan said, “It hit his spleen. They opened him up and clamped the artery as soon as he got to the hospital, but his heart had already been stopped a while. Even after replacing the lost blood they couldn’t get it going again.”

“He bled to death?!” Zage asked, appalled.

Shan nodded, “Apparently the spleen can bleed very rapidly. With an injury like his, you’ve got to get to the hospital right away.”

Zage looked thoughtfully up at his dad, “It was all that time getting the EMTs there, then taking him to the helicopter and flying him, right?”

Shan nodded solemnly.

Zage turned to look up at his mother. “You should make emergency transporters so people in bad shape can get to the hospital immediately! That would’ve saved him.”

A crease appeared in her brow, “You can’t stand a sick person up to drop a transporter ring over them!”

“No, the ambulance should just carry a 1.5-meter port that connects to one in the Emergency Room! When they inflate the graphene balloon that has the port hoop, it should have legs that inflate to stand it vertically. The EMTs could lift the stretcher and start it through the ring. People in the hospital would pull it through onto a bed in the ER.”

His mother closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them to look down at her son, her voice was freighted with emotion. “That’d work, wouldn’t it?” She got a distant look in her eyes, “We’d need the port hoop to have a ten-centimeter skirt inside the ring to keep the patient from getting too close to the edge of the port… Hmm, an ambulance would have to carry deflated ports that connected to several nearby hospitals but that shouldn’t be a huge problem… Oh,” she glanced at Zage, “some really big hospitals could use vertical ports to move horizontal patients from place to place inside their own buildings—from the ward to the OR for instance…  Or even to different buildings on a campus… or to completely different hospitals!” She frowned, “It makes me nervous though. We’ll need a foolproof sensor system that makes sure the port doesn’t close with something still in it—in case someone pushes the stretcher through with their hand. We wouldn’t want it to close and cut that person’s hand off…” Her eyes returned to Zage, “That’s a really great idea, kid.”

“If only I’d had it in time for Mr. Jonas…”

“Tell us about him,” Shan said.

Zage did, recounting Mr. Jonas’ enthusiasm for nature and his sense of humor.

To his surprise, he felt better as he did so, though he wasn’t sure why.

Chapter Six

Dr. Rebecca Potter was walking into a meeting when her AI said, “You have a call from Ell Donsaii.”

“Oh!” she said, stopping suddenly in the doorway. Someone bumped into her from behind and immediately started apologizing about spilling coffee on her. The people in the room were turning to look at her when she waved at them and said, “Go ahead, start without me.” She backed out into the hall and spoke to her AI, “I’ll take it… Hello, Dr. Donsaii?”

“Hi, Dr. Potter,” the famous voice said. “You remember the problem I had the last time we met?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I have that issue again.”

“Oh, con—” Rebecca paused, realizing that Donsaii had spoken obliquely as if she feared interception of the conversation. Congratulating her would make it obvious that it wasn’t truly a problem, and that her job as an obstetrician would make pregnancy an easy deduction for any listeners. PGR communication by AI’s supposed to be uncrackable, she thought. Then she realized someone might be able to hack the switching system. And Donsaii’d probably know more about that than anyone. To Ell, she said, “How can I help?”

“The same way as last time?”

A wave of excitement and nerves washed over Rebecca at the thought of delivering another child for Donsaii. This was closely followed by, Why me? Deciding it was because she was already aware of Donsaii’s issues, not because of any particular expectation of Rebecca’s expertise, she said, “Can do. When do you think you’d need that help?”

“Sometime around the tenth of April. Will you be around?”

Rebecca’d been going to take a few days’ vacation down at the coast about then, but she’d be happy to change her time off to a staycation for this. “Of course. Can you send me information about it?”

“I can. I’m going to have a PGR chip delivered to you. If you’ll install it directly into your AI, info about my prenatal care can be sent confidentially, okay?”

“Um, sure,” Rebecca said, surprised but thinking, That’d solve a hacking of the switching system issue wouldn’t it?

After hanging up she opened the door and joined her meeting.

***

Ell was sitting on the couch staring at the living room’s big display when Zage came in and sat down next to her. Still focused on the display, she put an arm around him, softly saying, “Hey kid.”

He leaned his head comfortably against her. After a moment he said, “Mom?”

“Mm-hm?”

“You remember the Alzheimer’s mouse study you funded?”

“Uh-huh,” she said distractedly, then suddenly turned to look down at him, diverting all her attention to what he’d just said. “Do you have some results?”

“Yeah. The results are… unbelievable.”

She frowned, “Oh no! It failed?”

“No, no. They’re unbelievable because they’re too good to be true. When you’re done with what you’re working on I can put the results up on the screen for you.”

“Put them up now. What I’m doing can wait.”

Taking over the big screen, he walked her through how his peptide cleared amyloid plaques and tau tangles from the mouse brain, resolving brain inflammation as it did so. He showed her how the brain ventricles got smaller, essentially indicating that the atrophied grey matter was recovering its size.

Then he said, “This is the part that’s unbelievable,” and put up the line graph of the radial maze results. He explained it briefly, showing her how the blue experimental group diverged from the ongoing descent of the red control group.

He looked up at her, “We’d hoped these lines would diverge the way they have. That the blue line would stop dropping while the red line continued to descend. We never dreamed the blue line would show improvement because all anyone thinks they can hope for is an arrest of the decline due to Alzheimer’s.

“Because brain damage is usually irreparable, no one thinks the brain can be restored from dementia. Typically, after brain injury, other parts of the brain step up to perform functions that were lost and the patient seems to recover somewhat, but the damage isn’t repaired to any great extent. We’re going to need to do a lot more work to try to determine how these brains are recovering. Why the grey matter that was lost seems to be restored from its atrophied state. Are neurons multiplying to replace those that were lost? Neuron counts on our microscopy seem to show there’re more neurons, not just that the remaining ones have swollen, but we need more evidence to be sure.”

Zage paused to look up at Ell. When she didn’t say anything, he said, “Neurons are not famous for replication.”

She said, “Okay. Wow… What’s next?”

“Dr. Barnes submitted a report to the Duke tech office. They’ll shop it to pharmaceutical companies. Hopefully, one of the big companies will purchase the rights and start some clinical trials. Meanwhile, we’ll start another batch of mice to confirm our radial maze results against other tests for neuro function. Also, we’ll start doing some more sophisticated testing of the neural tissue with and without treatment.”

“Um… how long before the peptide might be ready for trials?”

Zage shrugged, “A few years?”

Ell closed her eyes and let out a long sigh.

“Are you wondering if I could make you some of the peptide to give Gram?” Zage asked quietly.

Ell snorted and looked down at him, “Are you busting my chops for chastising you for using yourself as an obesity peptide guinea pig?!”

Zage had a serious expression on his face, but couldn’t hold it, a small smile breaking through after a moment. “If I’m honest, maybe a little.” The serious expression returned. “Mostly I’m worried about Gram. Any approved treatment would be much too late for her. Essentially it’d be for people who aren’t even showing much in the way of symptoms right now. Her only chance is…” he trailed off with another shrug.

“Ohh,” Ell moaned her dismay. “I can’t just sneak in and shoot her up, you know.”

“No, but couldn’t you ask her what she wants to do?”

Ell glanced up and to the right, causing the time to pop up in her contact’s HUD. “It’s just after dinner down there. Wanna go visit your gram and mine? Pop the question?”

“Sure!”

As they walked down the stairs into the lab basement, Ell called ahead to her mother, wondering why they didn’t visit her mom and gram more often now that they had the transporter.

The acrylic transporter had been replaced with a prototype of the metal commercial version Portal Tech was building for sale when the technology was announced. It stood in the same corner where the acrylic one had been.

They stepped into it and a moment later, after the usual thumps, they were at Ell’s mother’s house in Morehead City. Hugs and greetings with Gram and Ell’s mom Kristen came next, with comments about how big Ell’s belly was getting.

When everyone settled down, Ell finally got around to broaching the subject. Uncomfortably, she said, “Gram, we have an experimental treatment for Alzheimer’s.”

Gram looked confused, “For what dear?”

Ell tried not to let the horror she felt show on her face. She’s gone downhill quite a bit just since Thanksgiving! She said, “Alzheimer’s disease, Gram. The reason you can’t remember things.”

Gram’s eyes softened. “I have been forgetting a lot of stuff.”

Including what’s wrong with you! Ell thought with dismay. “So, Zage came up with a possible treatment for Alz… for your memory. It works well in mice but hasn’t been tested in people yet.”

Wide-eyed, Kristen broke into the conversation, “Zage came up with?! Surely you’re joking?”

Staring at her mother, Ell thought, I should’ve realized this would happen! I could’ve said “D5R came up with it.” Deciding it was too late for that now, Ell started a little tentatively, “Mom, you know Zage is… is pretty special, don’t you?”

“Well, sure, he’s amazing!” She shook her head, “Going to college at age five is… well, it’s just astonishing. But good God, Ell, the boy’s still only six and a half!” She glanced apologetically down at Zage, then back at her daughter. “You can’t just take his word that… he can cure a disease! Especially a disease that fully qualified scientists have been struggling with for decade, after decade, after decade. Thinking he could do it is imagination, pure and simple.”

Ell pursed her lips, then came to a decision. “Mom, I’d like to tell you something in confidence. It’s something you cannot tell anyone else, okay?”

Kristen frowned, “About what?”

“Can’t tell you until you agree to keep it a secret.”

Kristen waved dismissively, “Oh, sure, sure. What is it?”

“No, you’re acting like this isn’t important. Trust me, it’s important. If you can’t agree, I can’t tell you. And, Mom, it matters. It matters a lot.”

Kristen studied her daughter a moment, then nodded tears welling up in her eyes. She wiped at them, “I owe you everything. So, I do solemnly swear that, whatever it is, I’ll carry it to my grave.”

Ell laughed and hugged her, “You probably won’t have to keep the secret that long but… You know who Gordito is, right?”

“I know he’s the guy that stopped modified smallpox, but I don’t know who he is. No one does—” She stopped at the look on Ell’s face. “You know who he is?”

Ell put her hand on Zage’s shoulder and spoke softly, “You’re looking at him.”

Kristen blinked in confusion, glanced around the room, then said, “Huh?”

“Zage. Zage is Gordito, Mom.”

Kristen gaped down at her grandson, then her eyes tracked slowly back up to her daughter’s serious face. Shaking her head, she looked like she earnestly doubted Ell’s sanity. “No…”

“Yes,” Ell said. She looked fondly down at her son. “He’s… it’s simply unbelievable what the kid can do Mom. He can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but I’m pretty sure he’s a lot less trouble than most boys his age.”

“You’re telling me Zage is the one that came up with a vaccine against the smallpox bioweapon?”

Ell nodded.

“And he’s the one that won the Nobel Peace prize?”

Ell nodded. “Uh-huh. And he’s the one who’s come up with a likely cure for Alzheimer’s. It works in mice. But, it’ll be years before it’s approved for human use. They’ve got to try it in volunteers. First small doses to make sure it doesn’t cause harm. Then bigger doses versus placebo. Then years of waiting to see if it makes a difference.” Her voice caught, “By then it’ll be far too late for Gram.”

Kristen collapsed into a chair. She looked completely dumbfounded.

Ell turned back to her grandmother, wondering whether Gram could give consent to treatment in her current condition. “Gram?”

Gram had been staring into space, “Huh?”

“Would you like to try the treatment?”

“What treatment?”

Though Ell winced inwardly, outwardly she kept a cheerful expression. “The experimental treatment for your memory problems.”

Suddenly looking alert, Gram said, “Oh. Yes. My memory’s terrible.”

“You’d like to try an experimental treatment?”

Gram nodded, “Definitely.”

“You understand it might not work and could even be dangerous.”

Gram’s eyes softened again. “Yes, but I can’t live like this.”

Ell turned to Kristen, “What do you think Mom?”

“Do it. I can’t bear just watching Gram deteriorating before my eyes.”

Ell took a deep breath, blew it out, then turned to Zage. “What do we do next?”

Zage said, “Transport home. I’ll make up a test dose of the glycosylated peptide and we’ll give Gram a tiny injection. If it doesn’t cause any trouble, we’ll gradually work up to doses we think will be therapeutic…” He turned to Kristen, “It’d be good if we had a way to measure how Gram’s doing so we’ll know whether we’ve stopped her decline. As a teacher, would you feel comfortable finding a dementia exam you could give her once a week?”

“Stopped her decline?” Kristen asked, looking dismayed. “Is that all you’re hoping for?!”

Zage looked uncomfortable. “Um, our mice did get better. But most people think it’s unreasonable to hope any treatment for Alzheimer’s could result in improvement. At best treatments should hope to arrest or slow the decline.”

Kristen turned to look at Ell. “I’m not sure I could take it if she just stayed the way she is.”

Ell had tears in her eyes. She glanced at Gram, thinking they shouldn’t be talking in front of her. However, Ell thought, Gram’s not going to remember this conversation. As far as she’s concerned it’ll be as if it never happened. Her eyes returned to Kristen, “I… I don’t know if I could stand it either. But I want to hope she’ll improve the way the mice did. I’m willing to take a chance on arresting the progress of the disease and her getting stuck where she is. I haven’t been taking care of her though. You’re the one stuck with that. If it does only arrest the progression, we might need to hire some caregivers for her.

After a moment, Kristen said, “Let’s do it. I’ll grasp at any chance. I couldn’t bear just floating on down this river of doom and on through the gates of hell, all the while wondering whether we could’ve started paddling upstream.”

As they got in the transporter, Ell looked down at Zage. “When can your test dose of the peptide be ready?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Ell looked at Kristen, “See you guys sometime tomorrow.”

***

Phil spoke to his AI, “See if Ell Donsaii will take a call.”

Carol watched her husband, trying to shake off her surly mood. He’d made her feel bad about the way she’d stiff-armed Donsaii. As he’d pointed out, the woman had delivered a transporter that solved the demand she and the other “Martians,” as they referred to themselves, had made for returns to Earth. Donsaii’d agreed to their requests for treatment with the radiation genes. She’d given them what they demanded when NASA couldn’t or wouldn’t.

Carol knew in her heart she and Phil had gotten a lot of special treatment because of Phil’s association with Ell. In her heart, she understood Ell was happily married and even had—as recently revealed—a son. She believed Phil when he said there was nothing between Ell and himself but friendship. But the woman used to love Phil and she’s just so damned good looking! And everything she does turns to gold. If I could stop being jealous of her, surely somebody’d come around and anoint me into sainthood.

Then the screen lit up and Ell smiled at them, “Hi Phil, Carol. What’ve you decided about my offer?”

Carol tried to put on a genuine smile, but Phil spoke, probably because he knew Carol still felt conflicted. “Yes, after some discussion, we’ve decided we’d like to be your first interplanetary transportees, though Carol’s hoping you’ll ask Director Epaulding for permission first?”

“Um…” Ell paused. She was consciously not telling them about that one late night she hadn’t been able to resist transporting herself to the dead-end tunnel on Mars and walking around a little—though this late in pregnancy it felt more like waddling. She continued, “…sure. I’ll be happy to talk to him. What’d you decide about the gene therapy?”

“Oh, no matter what happens, we want those genes. We don’t think NASA has the right to tell us what to do with our health.”

“Okay, since we’ve got to have you here on Earth for the gene therapy, we’ll need to get you approved for transport first. I’ll talk to the director and we’ll go from there.”

She looked like she was about to sign off, but Phil quickly said, “What about your secret project that’s going to keep us busy while we’re waiting?”

Ell turned to Carol, “What do you think, Carol? Is this just Phil pushing somewhere you don’t want to go, or have you had a change of heart?”

Carol sighed, “It’s me having a change of heart. You’ve done so much for us already and you’ve never steered us wrong. Every time we’ve asked for help you’ve come through whether you wanted to or not.” Her voice cracked, “I’m embarrassed to have been reluctant when you asked us for help.”

“Hey,” Ell said, concern on her face, “you don’t owe me anything.”

“I think we do.” She swallowed around a frog, “I think we owe you a lot. Besides, I’ve developed a fear that someday in the future, when we find out what your project was, we’ll be kicking ourselves for not jumping in with both feet.”

“Well,” Ell’s trademark crooked grin showed, “that might be. But all I’m asking right now is for you to promise to keep it secret whether or not you work on it. Then I can tell you about it and you can decide whether to do it.”

“I’ll keep it secret. That’s the least I can do. You know Phil will, he already promised last time. What is it?”

“One of my little interstellar rockets recently reached another world. One earthlike enough that humans could live on it. I need people with—”

“YES!” Phil exclaimed, leaping to his feet and punching the air. “Yes! Yes! Yes, yes. When can we go?”

Carol felt light-headed. When it didn’t go away, she leaned forward and put her head between her knees.

Ell said, “Carol? You oka…?”

Then everything faded to dark.

Carol’s eyes blinked open; she was on the floor, Phil leaning over her. “What happened?”

“I think you passed out. It’s only been a few seconds. How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” she said, eyes widening as they roamed the room and saw Ell looking concernedly down from the screen. “I’m fine!” Then she remembered what Ell had said right before she felt light-headed. “Just a little too excited. Interstellar exploration’s been a dream I never thought would be possible.” She looked at Phil, then used a flick of her eyes to point at the screen, “Can you explain to Ell about how we wouldn’t want anyone finding out that I’d… you know?”

Without Phil saying anything, Ell volunteered, “If you’re talking about a little-bitty, minor dizzy spell, your secret’s safe with me.” She winked, “It’s the least I can do after asking you to keep so many secrets for me.”

Phil helped Carol sit up. Once she’d said she still felt okay, he turned to Ell again. “When can we go?!”

“Goodness,” Ell said, looking surprised. “Not for a long time! When I said it was livable, I meant the gravity, temperature, pressure, and gas mix were all in the livable range. A cursory survey hasn’t found either intelligent beings or animals we wouldn’t be able to protect ourselves from. What I need is a team of people that can go there and roam around in-waldo making sure that’s true. Also evaluating the microbiota for pathogens that could take us down, then tending animal colonies we’ll send to be sure Earth species can survive that environment. Eventually, a long time from now, we’ll need colonists, but they’ll have to understand that, if they run into something bad, Earth will be able to send supplies, but won’t be able to bring them home until we’re sure whatever they ran into won’t pose a threat to the homeworld.”

Phil narrowed his eyes, “What did you want us to do?”

“Right now, I need people I trust checking out this new world. We need to fly rockets around in low planetary orbits long enough for my AI to determine this new world’s precise orbit and inclination. While the AI’s doing that you can be looking for craters on the surface. We’re better at picking up degraded craters than AIs are, so it’s a good division of labor. This’s so we can get some idea whether its ecosphere’s subject to bombardment from comets etcetera. Then down into the atmosphere, examining the planet from the air, looking for hazards. Then driving waldoes on the surface, getting down and dirty to carefully check out some areas. Eventually, we’d need people running the waldoes that build a base camp at a pleasant location and manage a small colony of animals and a farm with Terran plants. Having people go there’s a long way off.” She spoke to her AI, “Allan, send them links so they can get started whenever they have time available.”

“Yes,” Phil said, “sign me up for any and all of that stuff.” He turned to Carol and gave a little fist pump, “Our kid’s going to grow up on another world!”

“Hey, now wait a minute,” Ell said, “are you pregnant?”

“Not yet, but we’ve decided to go for it.”

“Well, the gravity’s only 24% of Earth normal so you wouldn’t want to move there full time with a kid. I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t be healthy for a growing child. But, remember, once we’ve proven it’s safe, people could port back and forth. You could essentially commute to work there.”

“Really? Doesn’t porting to another star require massive amounts of power?”

“Well, yeah, sixty-seven megawatts, so for star-ports we’d have to have high-power handling circuits, running high-flow-liquid-nitrogen cooling. But it only takes a second for the port to drop over you, so a transport event would only consume nineteen kilowatt-hours. At ten cents a kilowatt-hour that’s only a buck-ninety, probably as cheap as driving to work.”

“Holy crap!” Phil said, glancing at Carol with his eyebrows up. He turned back to Ell, “Which star are we talking about?”

“Delta Pavonis.”

***

Her staycation hadn’t started yet, so Rebecca was making rounds on her patients when her AI announced she had a call from Donsaii. “I’ll take it… Hello, Dr. Donsaii?”

Donsaii’s voice sounded mildly strained. “My contractions are four minutes apart. I’m thinking I should come in now?”

Putting on a calm professional tone, Rebecca said, “That’d be good. Are you close by?”

“I can be there in ten minutes. Should I come through the Emergency Room again?”

“No, just come to the hospital entrance and ask to be wheeled up to Labor and Delivery. I’ll meet you there.”

“I’m on my way. Please be aware I’ll be in disguise as ‘Elsa Gardon’ again. I’ll have dark hair; brown eyes and my face’ll look different like before, but my skin won’t be as dark.”

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll tell the staff to expect Elsa Gardon.”

When the call closed, Rebecca looked at the date. Hah, they’re coming early and it’s April Fool’s day, she thought.

~~~

A few hours had passed, Rebecca trying to pretend to be less interested in patient “Gardon” than she actually felt. She wanted to be in the room constantly, but if she did that, everyone would know there was something special about the mother.

Donsaii had borne the pain of her labor tranquilly, accepting medication for the pain when offered but not demanding more. There were no screams or yells. She calmly held her husband’s hand. She broke a sweat, frowned occasionally, and produced quiet grunts during contractions. She was so polite to her caretakers that she quickly became the nursing staffs’ favorite patient.

Rebecca was standing at the nurses’ station, nursing a cup of coffee and, theoretically, looking at the news her AI was feeding her. Mostly she was listening to the nurses talk about Donsaii. One nurse was telling another, “You know Gardon’s got to be in pain, but it’s like she has some bizarre Jedi control over it. Like she just won’t let it get to her! I think she’s self-hypnotized herself somehow.”

The other nurse said, “Yeah. And she’s so damned courteous it’s hard to believe she’s in labor. I’ve reminded her several times she’s got to let us know how she’s feeling so we can help her.”

A voice behind Rebecca said, “Dr. Porter, Gardon’s at ten centimeters.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca said, turning for Donsaii’s room and pretending a spike of excitement hadn’t just shot through her. Twins! she thought ruefully. Well, Donsaii can probably afford some help.

~~~

The delivery went well, two healthy little girls who Donsaii and her husband named Mariah and Luciah Reyes-Gardon.

When Rebecca got some time alone with Ell and her husband Shan—going as Daniel—she asked curiously, “What’re you going to call them when they’re not in disguise?”

“Caii and Raii Kinrais,” Ell replied, spelling them out while smiling at Shan. “They’re carrying on the double ‘i’ from my last name.”

“Oh, I like that,” Rebecca said. “I, ah, took the liberty of bringing a card for another autograph?”

“Sure,” Ell said, taking the card and pen. She glanced up, “Though, please don’t mention the girls to anyone for a while. We’re hoping to get them through a few years without all the craziness involved in being my relatives. Hopefully longer than we did for Zage.”

“From what I’ve seen in the news, he’s turning out nicely so far. Taking college classes at age six?!”

The smile that spread over Ell’s face practically glowed. “Yeah,” she sighed happily, “For a while, we were afraid he was mentally retarded. That certainly didn’t turn out to be true. He’s…” Ell paused as if considering saying something more, but settled for, “he’s an absolute joy.”

“Well, I’ll let you get some rest. You’re still in amazing physical condition, so you should be able to head home tomorrow if you feel like it.” Rebecca started to turn away, then turned back. “Well, maybe you should stay here a little longer. You probably don’t feel like making that long drive home, do you?”

Ell gave her a little grin, “It’s not a problem. It’s only ten minutes to where we’re staying.”

Months later Rebecca would think back on that moment and realize Ell had transported up to Virginia for the delivery and then back to North Carolina afterward. No doubt, she’d come back for her post-delivery check the same way.

***

“Sir,” one of the men called out.

Lieutenant Bijan turned, “Yes?”

The man waved at a screen, “Someone’s leaning against the Darab building.”

Bijan walked over. A pale-skinned man was leaning up against the building while he studied a map. A backpack sat beside him, also leaning up against the wall. “Yazdan,” Bijan said to one of their plainclothes men. “Take someone and get over to Darab. Follow that foreigner and find out what he’s doing.”

Probably nothing Bijan thought. But he certainly picked the wrong building to lean up against.

***

NASA Director James Epaulding smiled when his AI said, “You have a call from Ell Donsaii.”

The world’s most famous woman doesn’t use her doctorate as a title when she calls. So humble she uses both of her unusual first and last names as if one alone weren’t enough for people to know who they were talking to. He said, “Connect us… Dr. Donsaii, how can I help you?”

She replied warmly, “Please call me Ell.”

“Sorry, Ell.”

“I’m hoping you’ll think I’m helping you, but I do have a request.”

“Now you’ve got my curiosity up.”

“My mission in this call is to give you a heads-up on some new technology that’ll have large impacts on NASA, but I need you to promise to keep it a secret until D5R’s ready to announce it to the world. I mean secret from your own people too. You’re the only one to know. I think knowing about it will let you guide your people so NASA will be better prepared for the changes when they hit.”

Trying to sound jovial, he said, “Sounds like I should be worried?”

“These are going to be some big changes. Even though these changes will eventually make your mission easier, you know how even little changes get people upset. The warning should help you get ready to deal with the changes.”

“All right, already. What are these changes?”

Her voice turned serious, “You haven’t promised to keep the secret.”

“You know I can’t do that without knowing what we’re talking about. If these changes put someone’s life in danger, I’d have to break that promise—”

Ell interrupted, “They won’t endanger any lives, but if I’m wrong and they do, you have my permission to break your promise.”

“Okay, but, if whatever you’re going to tell me is going to cause major upheavals at NASA—”

She interrupted again, “I understand. Don’t worry, finding out about it when everyone else does won’t be that big a deal.”

Startled, Epaulding said, “Wait a minute—”

This time his AI interrupted him, “Ell Donsaii has disconnected from this call.”

Epaulding blinked, What the hell! He found himself quite irritated that she’d hung up on him. Well, I’m not gonna give her whatever she wanted then! he thought.

He sat for a moment, then his eyes squinched tightly closed. And, whatever she was about to tell me was probably far more important than whatever she was going to ask for. He spoke to his AI. “Tell Ell Donsaii I apologize. I promise to keep her secret and will await a call at her convenience.”

Epaulding tried to get back to the report he’d been reading, but couldn’t concentrate. This left him quite grateful when his AI interrupted again, “You have a call from Ell Donsaii.”

“Connect me… Ell, I’d like to apologize.”

“Don’t fret it. You were just trying to fulfill your responsibilities. I’m trying to prevent other problems. We’re a little bit at loggerheads, but fortunately for me, I have the whip hand. Nonetheless, I sympathize with you.”

“Thanks for your understanding,” he said, trying not to laugh at how polite she was. “What is it that you’re warning me about?”

“Come now,” Ell said with a little laugh, “I truly prefer ‘heads-up’ to ‘warning.’ It isn’t as if this is something bad that you need to be warned of. It truly is something good for NASA’s mission, it’s just something you’d like to be prepared for.”

“Okay,” he said impatiently. “What is it?”

“You still haven’t promised to keep it a secret.”

“My AI didn’t tell you I promised?”

“It did, I just want to hear it myself, human to human.”

Speaking solemnly, he said, “I promise to keep whatever you’re about to tell me a secret, telling no one at all unless lives are at stake.”

“All right,” Ell said cheerfully. “That wasn’t so painful was it?” Without waiting for his answer, she continued, “We have a way to port people safely. We call it a transporter.”

Feeling surprised and yet confused, Epaulding said, “Okaay, and that affects NASA how?”

“You’re going to be able to port people to the Moon or Mars or anywhere else. It’s surprisingly cheap, so they’ll be able to commute to work there in the morning, then come back home to have dinner with their families on Earth.”

Little tingles ran across Epaulding’s scalp. “Oh…” he said, trying to think of all the things this affected. His mind immediately went to the Venus mission they’d been constructing in orbit, he said, “Um, we’ll still need to send rockets to such locations first, right? To deliver the, uh, ‘transporter’ things?”

“Nope. I’m sure you’re aware of the industrial-sized ports we’ve been emplacing on Mars to move atmosphere for the terraforming project. We’ve already got twenty-meter ports working there and we’re prototyping even bigger ones. So, since there’re ports on and around Venus, you can send whatever equipment you want through ports.”

“I guess we’d have to work up from the little ports that’re already there, to bigger and bigger ports?”

“Well, you know our new ports are inflatable graphene hula hoops. Deflated they’re pretty small, so there aren’t very many steps from a little port to a huge one anymore.”

Speaking slowly because that’s how he felt he was thinking, he said, “Our Venus Viability Mission… the big lab that’s supposed to float high in the Venusian atmosphere. We’ve been spending billions building the VVM out in orbit. Are you saying we’d just as well scrap it?”

“No. Just that you don’t have to fly it there. What’s its narrowest dimension?”

“Um, let me pull up the schematic…” He spoke to his AI. A minute later he looked back at Ell, “Its width is 17.3 meters.”

“There you go. You presumably don’t even have to wait for the next generation industrial port. Portal Tech can sell you a pair of twenty-meter ports. You port one to the VVM’s orbit here around Earth, and the other one to the desired location and depth you want in the Venusian atmosphere, then slide the Earth end of the port over the VVM and, voila, your mission’s in the clouds of Venus.” She gave a little laugh, “It isn’t quite as simple in practice as it is in concept, but it’s still a lot simpler than flying it there. Safer for your astronauts too.”

“Wait a minute, how is it that people can go through ports now?”

“Um, I’d explain it in detail, except the story’s kind of embarrassing. So, you’ll just have to trust me that it works.”

After a moment of silence to get his thoughts together, Epaulding said, “You’ve had more time to think about this. What should I be… considering?”

Without hesitation, she replied, “Moving people and devices to other places in the solar system is no longer NASA’s business. Instead, getting stuff there is now the easy part. Learning about the solar system with these new capabilities should be your new mission. Figuring out what this enormously expanded access will enable the human race to do should be your objective.

Epaulding sat thinking for a moment, then conscious he was wasting a genius’s valuable time, he said, “Um, when we first started talking, you said you had a request?”

“I do. As you know, the astronauts you have on Mars would like to be able to come home. In particular, my friend Phil Zabrisk is wanting to come home for medical treatment. If we positioned a transporter in the tunnels on Mars they could come home at will and commute back to work there as needed.”

Mind boggled, Epaulding stared at Donsaii’s video image on his wall screen. “I’d imagine we’ll want to do some testing on the transporter system first. What medical issue is he having?”

Straight-faced, she said, “He feels his sensitivity to radiation damage is too high to live on the fourth planet.”

Epaulding blinked, “He thinks he’s more sensitive than the others?”

“No, he thinks they’re all too sensitive. He wants to have the gene therapy that was given to the mice.” She shrugged, “For that matter, so do the rest of them and Lindy Thompson’s already here getting hers done.”

Frowning, Epaulding asked, “Have those therapies been through their human trials yet?”

“No, Lindy volunteered to be a human test subject. Phil wants to do the same.”

“That’s out of the question!”

Ell studied him for a moment, then said, “Come on, Director. You can’t compel him to stay there. He’s a free human being. He feels very strongly about this and it isn’t worth expending effort fighting him over it.”

“I may not be able to compel him, but I can toss him out of the astronaut corps!”

This time she tilted her head curiously as she studied him.

After a moment Epaulding sighed and said, “And you’ve just told me that any idiot can get to space now, right? Throwing him out of the corps won’t even hurt his feelings.”

“I don’t think so. He won’t go unemployed. There’s going to be a huge demand for people who know how to wear spacesuits and can handle themselves in space. Someone like Phil who has experience on the other bodies of the solar system will have people begging him to work for them... If I were you, I’d be worried about losing people, not thinking about firing any of them.”

“Okay, okay. He can come. Can you drag your feet about getting a transporter out there? Give me some time to prepare some testing for it?”

“Sorry…” she had the grace to look a little embarrassed. “Um, it’s already out there.”

Epaulding rolled his eyes. “Well, then tell them we have to do some testing before they use it.”

She narrowed her eyes, “There shouldn’t be any ‘we’ in that sentence. Remember you’ve promised to keep the transporters a secret. You’d have to do any testing all by yourself.”

He stared at her. “Some dummy loads would have to be sent back and—”

“They have been,” Ell interrupted. “Hundreds of times.”

Epaulding sighed, “You’re sure it’s safe?”

“Don’t tell Phil or Carol, but I ported out there late one night. I’m telling you in hopes of convincing you just how safe I think it is.”

Epaulding put his palms up, “I surrender.”

“Thanks!” she said cheerfully. “I’m sure you’ll think of more issues that are going to arise from transporter technology. Don’t hesitate to call and talk to me about them. I don’t just want to help you; I want to help everyone with this difficult transition. Can’t do that without knowing what’s cropping up.”

***

Yazdan and Shirvani followed the foreigner for kilometers. The man frequently stopped in shady spots to consult a map, setting down his backpack when he did—just as he had at the Darab building—though the other stops weren’t at sensitive locations like Darab. He bought a falafel for lunch. He stopped in a couple of shops and looked around. His progression across the city had seemed random though he was generally moving northeast.

Now he’d entered a rug merchant and been in there for an hour. Yazdan finally entered the merchant’s shop and listened while the foreigner discussed exporting rugs to India. The man spoke Farsi well and had an Indian accent despite his light coloration. Yazdan reflected on the fact that India’d been an English colony and doubtless still had numerous persons of English extraction that lived there, many of whom were citizens. Looks like his stop in front of Darab was probably innocent, Yazdan thought. But he’d continue following the man until they were called off.

He and Shirvani switched every so often so their target wouldn’t always have the same one of them in his peripheral vision but Yazdan was usually the close one. When, in the afternoon, the man started heading back the other direction, Yazdan and Shirvani switched up, with Shirvani staying close to the foreigner more often than Yazdan. Now Shirvani was the one who kept the man in view and Yazdan was more often out of sight.

Thus it was that Yazdan wasn’t paying close attention to the man’s location. Suddenly he realized Shirvani’d stopped at a street vendor. Catching Yazdan’s attention, he surreptitiously pointed. Then turned to stare a question at Yazdan.

What’s he excited about? Yazdan wondered, glancing where Shirvani’d pointed as he came around the corner. Shirvani had pointed at their target. The man had stopped to study his map again. He’d set his backpack down against the wall, same as he’d done so many other times. Yazdan turned around to go back the other way, giving him another chance to look at the man. Nothing seemed unusual. Oh! The man was leaning against a different side of the Darab building.

Back around the corner, Yazdan called in for instruction.

As he expected, he and Shirvani were to keep a close eye on the man until uniformed officers arrived. Yazdan reversed direction and walked back across the street past Shirvani. The man picked up his backpack. As Yazdan passed Shirvani, he whispered harshly, “Do not let that khar (donkey) out of your sight!”

~~~

Rob noticed a man he’d seen before. Rob was on a side street, leaned up against a different side of the building of interest. This street wasn’t as busy, so when the man came around the corner, stopped, looked around, then crossed the street to place an order at the cart of a street vendor, it drew his attention. Another man came around the corner, glanced at him, then turned and faded back the other way. Shit!

“Jim, I think they’re onto me,” Rob breathed, thanking God that he wasn’t being covered by a newbie today. “You guys have enough data?”

“Go. Get out of there,” Jim said without hesitation. “We can come back for data, we can’t lose you.”

Rob picked up the backpack and shrugged it on, doing his level best to look as if he were in no hurry. Starting down the street, he spoke to his AI, “Li’l Joe, Give me eyes out the back of the backpack.” His AI put a rearview image up in Rob’s left contact. “Jim, the guy at the street vendor and the one who faded back around the corner… that’s him coming back around now. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen both of them before and now they’ve both just looked at each other and at me.” Rob saw corner guy say something to vendor guy. “Shit! They’re talking to each other.”

Heading west, Rob crossed the street, then turned left at the corner to go south. As soon as he rounded the corner he started to run, pulling off the backpack as he went. He asked his AI for a rearview out the port on the back of his cap, which it delivered sans all the bouncing around from his running. Passing a shop with a low, flat roof, he heaved the backpack up onto it. Just before he made the next corner and turned east, he saw the two guys come around the corner behind him. Running full out—but not going as fast as he’d like—he cursed his age and the way he’d let his fitness deteriorate.

No way I’m gonna make the next corner before those guys come around the last one! he thought, abruptly cutting left into a large store. Desperately trying not to pant, he walked deeper into the store.

Stopping behind a post relative to the proprietor, he took off the light blue skullcap he’d been wearing, turned it inside out to expose the black inner surface of it and put it back on.

He heard someone run by out front.

A little farther back in the store, he shrugged out of his light grey jacket, turning its dark blue surface outward and putting it back on. He cast about for a bathroom, hoping for a mirror where he could darken his skin.

Someone out on the street shouted something. The only thing Rob clearly heard was the Farsi word for “foreigner.”

But he did hear someone at the front of the shop shout “In here!”

Shit, shit, shit, shit! Rob headed for the back, looking for egress to the alley. “Jim, you got any ideas?” he asked.

“If you get to the alley, turn left. That’ll send you back west, the way you came. Unless there’re a lot more than two of them you might get past them. They’ll probably keep going the same way you were going.”

Rob saw a door, stepped to it and turned the knob. Locked! he thought when it wouldn’t open. But then he recognized a small knob for a bolt. He turned it and the door opened. He turned left into the alley and started west at a walk. After a few steps, he forced himself to slow down. Do not draw attention, he thought to himself.

Reaching in his pants’ pocket, he pulled out a tiny toothpaste tube of pigment and squeezed some out into his hand. He started smearing it on his face, neck, and back of hands.

A man in uniform turned the corner into the alley ahead.

Rob slowed further and tried to make the motions of his hands to one of a tired man rubbing his neck. I need a mirror! he thought, knowing he might have missed spots, or conversely have thick streaks in the pigment.

“Halt!” the man in uniform said.

Rob stopped, putting on a weary look. He saw the moment the uniformed man’s eyes widened. I missed a spot, he thought, able to tell the man was staring at his ear.

The man drew his weapon, then lifted a mic and started talking.

“Lil’ Joe, Armageddon,” Rob whispered. This strange code would have his AI send a message to his wife that he’d been captured, along with a link to his personal AI, which had recorded everything he’d done since the mission started. Recorded it in parallel to the CIA’s AI, which he wasn’t supposed to do. Otherwise, the CIA wouldn’t even tell her something had happened for months.

Of course, sending such a message would piss off his bosses, so in a sense, he’d gained yet another enemy…

Chapter Seven

Cheryl, Ariel Vardaman’s administrative assistant, leaned in her door. “Dr. Vardaman,” she said, “I’ve got a call from Ell Donsaii. She said she’d like to talk to you about the impending release of some new technology?”

Crap! Vardaman thought. She’d forgotten Simon told her to call the woman. Looks like Simon’s not the only one who thinks I must talk to Donsaii. Irritated to be bugged about it, Vardaman said, “Tell her I’m busy now, but that I’ll set up an appointment with her in a couple of months.”

Nervously, Cheryl said, “You have open slots in your schedule tomorrow and several days next week.”

Not wanting to admit she was putting Donsaii off out of pique, Vardaman said, “I have plans for those slots. Besides,” she sighed, “I don’t want Donsaii getting special treatment. She shouldn’t think she can have unfettered access to the office of the Presidential Science Advisor just because of who she is.”

“Okay,” the young woman said doubtfully, stepping back into her own office.

***

When Molly Shannon got up in the morning her AI had a message from Rob. The kind of message she’d feared receiving for decades now.

The kind that started, “Dear Molly, if you’re getting this message…

The kind that said, “Give my love to our kids and my sister…

A message that said, “There won’t be anything you can do to help me The CIA will do what it can. I just wanted you to be able to prepare yourself and our affairs for what’s likely coming.” And “For God’s sake, don’t tell the CIA my AI recorded all this…”

***

When they found the microphone ports on the back of Rob’s canines, the first thing they did was shove a stick into his mouth to hold his teeth apart, then say in Farsi, “We’ve got your stupid, stupid agent and he’s going to regret his spying.”

Then they pulled the offending teeth without anesthetic.

Just before they pulled the second one, he heard Molly’s voice, “Rob! Rob! Can you hear me? It’s Molly. I love you. What’re those awful noises? Rob? Say something, Rob…”

If he’d said anything it would only have been a garbled scream.

***

Fay Kinrais’ AI said, “You have a call from Molly Shannon.”

She said, “I’ll take it… Molly! How are you?”

There was a period of silence, then a sob, then Molly said, “Not so good, Fay…”

~~~

When Fay finished telling Malcolm what’d happened to her brother, Malcolm held her while she cried. When they separated, he said, “I can call the kids… Unless you want to?”

***

Molly Shannon’s AI said, “You have a call from Shan Kinrais.”

Exhaustion from the tragedy had been compounded by the sympathy calls from her family. Molly almost told her AI to take a message. Then she remembered how much Shan had loved his uncle. She sighed, “I’ll take it… Hi, Shannie.”

Shan’s familiar voice, sounding troubled, said, “I’m so sorry, Aunt Molly. Have you gotten any news?”

“No,” Molly sighed. “The agency probably won’t let on that anything’s happened until they’re sure they can’t get him back. Then they’ll just say he was lost in the service of his country and that’ll be ‘all they can tell me.’”

“So, he got a message to you himself, not through the CIA?”

“Uh-huh. He’d had microphone ports put on the backs of his teeth and implanted in his ears before the CIA started doing it for all their agents. He talked them into using the ones he had rather than putting him through new installations.”

“Do you know what happened, where he was, who’s got him, that kind of stuff?”

“Shan, it wouldn’t do any good if I did. He sent me a link to his AI and it has a record of what he was doing when he was captured. An illegal record I’d point out, since, when he was on a mission it was supposed to forward everything directly to the Agency without recording any of it. But,” her voice broke, “no one I know has the power to do anything about this.”

“Aunt Molly,” Shan said softly, “have you forgotten who I married?”

“Who you…?” Molly was confused for a moment then realized he was talking about the fact that his wife Raquel had turned out to be Ell Donsaii in disguise. “You mean that you’re married to Ell? I hadn’t thought about it, but… You’re thinking she could bring some influence to bear?”

“Or maybe… not influence, something else,” Shan said.

“Shannie, if the CIA can’t bring Rob home, no one can.”

“Aunt Molly, no one could’ve stopped that comet, or saved the ISS, or…” Shan broke off.

“Shan, those things were different. This… this is a people problem, not something ports can solve.”

“You’d be surprised at the kinds of things Ell can solve, Aunty,” Shan said in a voice suddenly gone hoarse.

“Well,” Molly said, “of course I don’t mind if she tries, but… I really don’t think anybody can do anything, Shan.”

“Aunt Molly, she can’t try if you don’t give me permission.”

“Permission?”

“Permission to tell Ell that Uncle Rob works undercover for the CIA. Remember? He swore all of us to the gravest of secrecy.”

“Oh,” Molly said, thinking back on that day long ago when the true nature of Rob’s “civil service” job had accidentally been divulged to the Kinrais family. “Sure. Tell her, just swear her to secrecy too, okay?”

“You’ve got it,” Shan said, sudden resolve in his voice. “We’ll need that link to Rob’s AI.”

***

“Ell,” Shan said, “you remember I once told you my Uncle Rob had a secret.”

She nodded, “One you wouldn’t share with me.”

“He works for the CIA.”

“Oh… and I’m not supposed to know this?”

Shan slowly shook his head.

She tilted her head curiously, “Why not?”

Shan shrugged, “He does undercover foreign missions.”

“Is that his secret? Or is it the CIA’s secret?”

“That’s not clear to me. Might be his, you know, because he doesn’t want people to know he works for the CIA. A lot of people are suspicious of and strongly dislike the Agency. But, I’m also pretty sure the Agency doesn’t want anyone to know who their field assets are. He probably doesn’t want friends or relatives wondering if he’s done some… Well, you can imagine what they might think. I suspect all those factors come into play.”

“But you’re telling me now… why?”

“He’s been captured.”

There was a sudden transformation in Ell. Intense, taut, alert, she asked, “Where?”

Resisting a sudden impulse to lean away from his wife’s piercing, brilliantly-green eyes, Shan said, “Isfahan, Iran.”

“You know this how?”

“He sent his wife a link to his personal AI. He had it holding a record of everything he did.”

“That’s allowed?”

Shan shook his head.

“Can you send me the link? Wait, I’m assuming you want me to try to do something about this. Is that right?”

Shan felt his eyes welling, “Very much so.” He spoke to his AI, telling it to forward the link to Ell.

Her eyes flicked up, then focused on things her AI, Allan, was displaying on the HUD in her contacts.

Shan waited a few moments, then decided Ell was going to be in her own world for a while. He started making dinner.

And hoping she could extract something more useful from Rob’s AI than Shan had been able to.

***

Molly’s doorbell rang in the evening. At first, she assumed it was a late package delivery, but after a while, the bell rang again. Assuming it was a proselytizer, she ignored it again. Her AI said, “You have a call from Ell Donsaii.”

Oh, Shan, Molly thought, you have her wasting time on this? Even after I pointed out there’d be nothing anyone could do?

But it’d be rude to refuse a call from Donsaii, so Molly said, “I’ll take it… Ms…. er… Dr. Donsaii, thank you for calling. I’m sure there’s nothing you can do, but I appreciate the fact you’ve taken the time to call.”

The instantly recognizable voice said, “I’m sorry, I should’ve called ahead, but I’m on your porch. Is there any chance we can talk face-to-face?”

“Oh, my goodness,” Molly said, bolting to her feet. “I’ll be right there.”

It was Donsaii all right. On Molly’s porch wearing a dark bodysuit and some kind of harness. She had a helmet in one hand and a cardboard box in the other. Her slender form was a little bit thicker around the middle than it used to be, but she still looked stunning. Giving her a little hug, Molly said, “Come in, come in. I’m so sorry. You didn’t need to come all this way. Can I offer you something to drink? Beer, wine, sparkling water?”

“Water’d be nice, but can you show me to Rob’s AI first?”

“His AI?” Molly asked, puzzled. “Didn’t Shan give you a link to it?”

“Uh-huh,” Donsaii said, distractedly, “but I need physical access to the ports.”

“The ports?” Molly asked as she started leading the woman to Rob’s office. “Physical access?”

***

A woman’s voice woke Rob from a sound sleep. “Huh?” he grunted. It hadn’t sounded like Molly but of course it had to be her. She’d called him quite a few times. Several times while he was being questioned and once while they were actively beating him. She’d offered supportive words but, since the Iranians had found and pulled his teeth with the microphone ports, he hadn’t been able to reply. He wondered if he’d spoken loudly—and they’d hooked the port in his ear up as a microphone for them to listen through, as well as a speaker for him to hear through—either Molly or the CIA might’ve been able to hear him, but apparently no one back home had thought of it. Since he hadn’t considered it as an option until he’d suddenly found himself hearing but unable to transmit, he couldn’t blame them.

In any case, since Molly couldn’t hear Rob she had no idea what was going on with him. Her calls had been agonizing, filled with the sounds of her sobbing. The only thing of import she’d told him had been that—as he’d expected—the CIA hadn’t told her he’d been captured. Which seemed crazy on the Agency’s part since, via PGR or port, an agent in the field could easily call home, no matter where they were. Though they weren’t supposed to, most of them did. When such communications vanished, the family members had to know something had happened.

Jim, his controller, had called too. He’d said the CIA had no idea where Rob was at present. They’d had some local Iranian assets check around the area where he’d been captured but the GPS antennas and their PGR links in his clothing and backpack had been destroyed.

There was no way for his handlers to figure out where he was without the antennas, though Jim said the local assets were still keeping an eye out for him.

The voice came again, “Rob Shannon? Uncle Rob? Scratch your ear once if you hear me.”

Someone’s listening—not just talking—through the port in my ear! Rob thought as he reached up and scratched his ear canal. Despite his excitement, he managed to resist an overwhelming impulse to scratch repeatedly.

“Good, I heard that. Sorry to call in the middle of the night, but I figured 2 AM in Iran was the most likely time to catch you alone. Scratch your ear once if you’re alone, twice if someone’s there or you can’t talk for some other reason.”

Rob carefully scratched once.

“Good. This is Ell, Shan’s wife.”

What the hell? Rob thought in confusion. He’d only met Shan’s wife once. I thought her name was… Raquel? I think? I don’t remember her name for sure, but if it’d been Ell, like Donsaii, surely I’d have remembered that!

The woman had continued talking while Rob mentally floundered. When he got his attention back on the conversation she was saying, “… so I’d like to send you another port. That way you can talk to me. Scratch once if that’d be okay.”

There’s no way to do that, is there? Nonetheless, Rob scratched once.

“Okay, Molly’s already let me dismantle your AI to get access to this side of the port. Once I’ve gathered some equipment I’ll push a needle through your ear port and into the skin inside your ear canal. I’ll inject a little bit of anesthetic there to numb up the skin. Then I’ll put the needle a little deeper and squirt some anesthetic into the canal itself. Once the skin inside your ear’s numb, then I’ll put through some fine nylon line. It’ll probably hit your eardrum and that could be uncomfortable, but I’m hoping the anesthetic in the canal will keep it from being too irritating. After I feed enough through, I’m counting on a coil or two of the line spilling out of your ear canal so you can grab it and pull it out to you. That’ll let you pull through some heavier line. You’ll use the heavy stuff to pull through a port that’ll be deflated. Once you’ve got it, I’ll inflate it and use it to feed you a bigger port… Scratch once if you followed all that?”

Since parts of what she’d described sounded impossible, Rob was pretty sure he didn’t follow, but he couldn’t possibly ask questions so he scratched anyway.

“Okay, I’ve got to talk Molly into letting me further disassemble your AI. I’ll get back to you when I’m ready to try this stuff.”

~~~

The injection of anesthetic into his ear canal hurt less than when Rob’d had the port implanted in the first place—probably because the needle was coming through the port beneath the skin, rather than entering through the skin and its nerve endings. Having the liquid anesthetic in the canal felt much like getting an ear full of water while swimming.

After the anesthetic had been pooled in his ear canal for several minutes Shan’s wife said, “Now turn on your side so that ear’s down. In that position gravity’ll help the line come out. This ‘nylon line’ is actually monofilament suture. I’m using sterile suture to keep from contaminating the wound in your ear as it passes through your tissue on its way out into the canal. I’m going to start pushing it in there now. I expect it’ll feel weird but I hope it won’t hurt. If it starts hurting too much, scratch your ear twice.”

The suture coiling in his ear canal and bumping his eardrum did feel odd and made a lot of “noise,” but with everything kind of numb, it didn’t hurt. It was harder to hear through that ear because of the anesthetic and blood in the canal. But he could still understand through the other ear. He soon felt some of the suture come out of his ear canal to tickle his external ear. Per instructions, he started gently pulling on it. Soon he’d pulled out a knot followed by a slightly heavier, stiffer suture. The woman said, “Okay, next you’ll need to tug a little harder to pull the port through your tissue.”

Rob pulled, meeting resistance. More resistance than he’d hoped but not as much as he’d feared. After all, he was pulling a port out of his ear. When it finally came free, he was surprised by how small the lump on the end of the suture was, though on reflection he realized it was pretty big for something that’d passed through a port small enough to fit inside his ear.

As he was feeling the little lump and wishing he had his contacts so he could see it better, the faint voice in his ear said, “Okay, I assume you’ve got it unless the suture broke before you got it out of your ear. Scratch once if you have it?”

Rob scratched once. He felt a pop and the little lump suddenly sprang into the shape of a thin disc about 5mm in diameter. Or, maybe it’s a ring? He couldn’t tell in the near-complete darkness.

“Okay,” the voice in his ear said with satisfaction. “Assuming you’ve got it in your fingers you can hold it up to your mouth and talk to me. Is there anything you need urgently?”

Rob held it to dry lips and rasped, “Water… then food.”

“Okay, Molly’s working on that. We’ll have water in a minute. She’ll have to puree some food. While we’re waiting I’d like to send a bigger port through the one you’re holding. Are you up for that?”

He said yes and another, somewhat bigger lump came through the 5mm port. Shortly after he’d confirmed he had it, it popped open into a 10mm ring. A straw poked through it and Rob sucked out some wonderfully-refreshing, cold, clean water. He’d been having to drink from a muddy depression in the back corner of his cell. His captors filled it by tossing a bucket of water through the bars at Rob once a day. He tried to dodge the splash of water, not because he didn’t want it to wash him clean, but so the water wouldn’t soak his clothes and evaporate rather than run across the floor to pool in the depression he drank out of.

The voice said, “Molly’s making you a milkshake. I assume that’s okay? We’ll need to get some ingredients before we can make you something more substantial that you can still pull through a straw.”

“Sure.”

“While we’re waiting for the milkshake, I’m going to pop through a capsule of glue so you can glue that 5mm port to the back of a tooth. What happened to the ones you had?”

“They pulled the teeth the ports were mounted on.”

“Ouch. Sorry.” There was a little pause. “I’d suggest you take the chance and glue this one to another tooth. The back of a rear molar seems best. That way we can hear you, feed you, or get you water, even if your hands are tied, okay?”

He barely had time to say yes before a tiny capsule came through. She said, “Break it open, dab some glue on the back of the port, dry the back of your tooth with a bit of clothing, and then hold the port in place for sixty seconds. While you’re doing that, I’m going to feed an antenna through this 10mm port and see if I can pick up a GPS fix on your location.”

“Um… okay,” Rob said, feeling astonished by how fast things were moving. “Uh, did you say you were Shan’s wife?”

“Yes. Ell.”

“I thought your name was Raquel?”

“Oh, you were probably already in Iran when my real identity got outed. I’m Ell Donsaii. I was living in disguise as Raquel.”

“Really?!” Rob reacted, flabbergasted, thinking about how he’d given Shan’s new wife a hug when he met her. I’ve hugged Ell Donsaii?!

“Um-hmm,” Donsaii murmured distractedly. He realized that, unsurprised by her own identity, she was focused on more consequential things.

~~~

When Molly came back from the kitchen with Rob’s milkshake Donsaii was packing his AI into a box. The woman took the milkshake, slid a port over the straw and said, “Rob, Molly’s made you some milkshake. Hope it hits the spot.” Donsaii watched the milkshake until they saw the level drop a little, then she turned to Molly and said, “I see from the way Rob’s AI’s equipped that he’s got a HUD-contact setup. Do you know where he keeps the contacts?”

“I… I’m pretty sure they’re in his medicine cabinet.”

“Can you get them? I’ve got his location and we’re going after him. It’d help if we could send him some contacts so we can feed him info through them.”

Wide-eyed, Molly repeated, “Going after him?” Her eyes went to Rob’s AI, “Wait…? How…?”

Distractedly, Donsaii said, “You can come most of the way with us if you like, but we need to go now.”

~~~

They were in a small private jet.

Molly thought, I wonder who this plane belongs to? Ell and the flight attendant were in the galley porting foodstuffs from an online grocery and blending them into a liquid Rob could suck through a straw.

Four men and two women, all very fit looking, were crowded around a desktop screen discussing Rob’s location. Ell had introduced them as “the security team” though she hadn’t specified who they worked for.

Before they left the house, Molly’d packed a small bag and found Rob’s contacts. When she’d come back out Ell had finished packing up Rob’s AI. They’d left through Molly’s back door where Molly’d been shocked to find a couple of small ducted-fan flying machines in the yard. Ell had gotten on one and directed Molly to climb on behind the man astride the other. With a whoosh, they’d lifted into the air and flown to a small airfield where they’d boarded the little jet.

Molly’d gotten to talk to Rob a couple of times while Ell wasn’t talking to him for planning purposes. During one of those conversations, Ell came back and crouched next to Molly’s seat. “The sun’s going to be rising in Iran in a couple of hours. We’re planning to pick Rob up tomorrow night and we’ll want him to have a lot of energy then. So, he needs to get some sleep now, okay?”

Molly stared at Donsaii a moment. The very idea seemed crazy. Rather than argue while Rob could hear, she said good night to him, then had her AI cut the connection. Feeling a little hysterical, she turned to Donsaii, “Pick him up?! What do you mean? Surely you don’t think you can just waltz into some Iranian prison and snatch him?”

Ell studied her, just long enough to make Molly uncomfortable that she’d questioned the woman. Then Ell said, “Not exactly waltz, no, but I’m pretty sure we can do it. We have some… advantages.”

“But… but, I’m sure you can’t even get permission to land in Iran, can you? And Isfahan’s a long way from the border. You won’t even be able to get there by tomorrow night!”

Calmly, Donsaii said, “We’ll land in Turkey, then take our flyers from there.”

“The flyers we rode on earlier?! They’ll see you on radar!”

Looking Molly steadily in the eye, Donsaii said, “The flyers are stealthy.”

Molly drew back, “Surely you don’t expect to fly past their radar without any notice do you?”

“I do,” Donsaii said, sounding completely serious.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’ve flown older, less-stealthy versions past US radar systems.”

Molly shook her head, “Even if you get past their radar, you’ll still have to find him!”

“I dipped a GPS antenna through his new port. We’ve got his exact location.”

“You got a GPS signal from inside a building?”

Donsaii nodded, “I slid through a long, highly-sensitive wire antenna.”

“But… but, surely you don’t think you’re going to be able to break into the prison, or whatever kind of place they’re keeping him?”

“I have some ideas.” Donsaii patted her shoulder in a fashion Molly thought was meant to be reassuring, but instead made her feel as if she were being treated like a child. Donsaii said, “You should get some sleep. Can I show you how to fully recline your seat?”

Molly turned on her side and looked after Donsaii, who walked to the back of the plane and opened a door on a big box that looked like an elevator, though there couldn’t be a second floor on such a small plane. A big restroom? she wondered. Too big for a restroom but too small for a private bedroom, she decided. Molly wanted to ask questions so she tried to wait for Donsaii to come back. She waited and waited, wondering what Donsaii was doing in the little room.

Finally she fell asleep.

***

Ell spun down out of Isfahan’s sky, dangling on a two-mile-long, essentially-invisible graphene fiber.

She wasn’t heading for Rob’s location yet. Allan had analyzed the audio records made by Rob’s AI during his time in Isfahan. He’d selected segments of Rob’s conversations with his handlers, as well as what Allan’s audio analysis algorithms had been able to pick out of the background of the handler’s sides of those conversations. Those background conversations included statements made by the handler’s handlers, as well as arguments made by the scientific experts they were consulting.

After listening to Allan’s selections, Ell decided Rob’s capture just at the time he’d been spending time examining the Darab building was significant.

She agreed that those conversations confirmed that the CIA believed the building contained plutonium in quantities compatible with the presence of WMDs.

They also suggested that no one back home was sure what to do about said bombs.

But all the upper-level CIA people she heard on the recording thought there was a high likelihood Iran’s newly fractious government was actively planning to use the bombs.

Nearly down, Ell had Allan work through Portal Tech to shut off all camera ports on that area of the street she was landing on, thus briefly blinding Iranian surveillance to her presence. She’d considered shutting down all port powered devices in the area but she didn’t want word getting out that Portal Tech could or would do this.

Her graphene armor fully inflated, Ell landed lightly behind the Darab building. She stepped into a shadow and opened one of her one-way “observer” ports. The fish-eyed lens behind it pushed through and grabbed a two-second vid before the port spontaneously closed. Allan corrected the image for her so she could study it without the confusion of trying to interpret the fish-eye distortion herself.

The room appeared to be an office of some kind. At present it was empty.

Judging the distance to the next interior wall to her right, she opened the port on the other side of that wall and captured another vid. This vid showed several men staring at screens. Ell thought they were guards of a sort. The kind that monitored electronics rather than patrolling, though there were weapons in the room. One of them blinked up at the light emitted by the one-ended port when it opened, but he looked confused rather than suspicious.

A vid of the room to her left showed what appeared to be a break room. A man was sleeping on the couch. Ell wondered whether the couch was there so the men could take naps to stay fresh, or whether the guy was breaking all kinds of rules.

Ell opened the observer port into the room beyond the office. A room that had to be close to the center of the building. That room contained five cylindrical objects supported on cradles.

Damn!

No one was in the room so, with a Geiger counter on her side of the port, Ell reopened the observer port close to one of the cylinders.

Radiation levels were definitely above the expected background. To be sure she reopened the Geiger port out on the street. Her shoulders drooped, Yep, levels are high in that room.

Ell sighed, then decided to be glad no one was in the room. She reached her hand in next to the big port in her backpack. The waldo in her West Virginia cave passed a flashlight sized device through the opening.

Her left hand directed the one-ended observer port which was now popping open and closed rapidly, with Allan extrapolating all the images it provided to give her a synthetic 3-D image of the inside of the room. Ell’s right hand aimed the flashlight handle and depressed a switch. A spinning twelve-inch, one-way port opened in the room. Ell gave Allan commands to adjust its distance into the room. It looked like a fuzzy swath of destruction as she swept it through the cylinders and parts of their cradles—cutting the bombs into steel, lead, and plutonium dust at a rate of 500 cuts per second. A second port sucked the swarf out into the vacuum of deep space.

Just as Ell watched the last of the five cylinders disappear, the door to the room opened. A man leaned in, apparently having heard the whooshing sound of the weapons being sucked out into space. He turned and started shouting.

Giving a command to Allan, Ell shot back into the sky. She hoped there wouldn’t be a problem reaching Rob before the excitement at the Darab building stimulated someone to check on the spy who’d been arrested at the building.

As she swung toward Rob’s GPS location she spoke to Allan, resetting the one-ended port projected by the flashlight handle so it’d no longer spin. She set it so it would wobble and come on and off a few times a second. This way it would fragment anything it passed, but break it into small chunks rather than turning it into dust. She shut off the two-way port that sucked swarf into space too—she should only be taking down a wall to get to Rob and she wanted it to look broken, not vanished.

***

“Uncle Rob?” a voice said in his ear. “If no one’s with you can you get up?”

“I’m up, I’m up,” he said, pushing up off the thin pad he slept on. After wishing he could fall asleep for what’d seemed like hours, now he felt disconcerted to be waking from a confusing dream. “What do you need?”

“Have they moved you since we last talked?”

“No.”

“If you’ll get out that 10mm port, I’d like to extend a GPS antenna through it to be sure.”

“Okay,” Rob said, pulling off his shoe and sock. He inverted the sock to get the port out of its toe. A moment later an antenna extended through the port.

“You’re still where you were,” Ell said. “Do you mind if I look through your eyes?”

Rob blinked, then realized she wanted to look through the contacts she’d passed to him through the port. She must consider looking through them a violation of his privacy, though he was so used to his CIA handlers looking out through his eyes that he no longer thought about it. He’d gotten used to turning off the audio-video transmission during truly private moments, but hadn’t thought about it since he’d been captured. Since his microphones were gone with his teeth, he couldn’t command them off anyway. “Not a problem,” he said.

“Thanks. Do you know which direction’s south?”

Sunlight mostly came in through the barred window to his left, so Rob said, “Uh-huh.”

“Please face that direction and look around.”

Rob turned to his left, “Done.”

“Okay, now turn north. You’re going to hear some noise behind you but please keep facing north. You can put your shoe and sock back on while it’s happening.”

Saying, “Okay,” Rob turned about-face and crouched to put on his shoe.

“Also, your vision’s going to get worse for a moment. Don’t be alarmed. It’s so I can enhance your night vision.”

Enhance my night vision?” Rob thought wonderingly but just said “Okay” again. He hadn’t been able to see well in the dark cell, but suddenly everything went completely black. He tied his shoe by feel.

Sounds came from behind him. Clattering and clunking. It sounded as if rocks and gravel were being tossed into his cell through the barred window behind him. A few of the clunks had a low pitch—as if they came from rocks too big to fit between the bars on the opening. Besides, he thought, even if someone was throwing rocks through the window from the street below, surely some of them would clang off the bars, wouldn’t they? Rob desperately wanted to turn around to see what was going on, but restrained himself as he wouldn’t have been able to see anything without taking out the blank contacts.

Suddenly there was a creaking whoosh and then a loud crash that sounded like it came from the ground outside the window.

“Okay,” Ell said. “You can turn around now.”

As he turned, Rob’s vision suddenly brightened. Oh, wow! He could see as if the cell were in daylight. There wasn’t any of the ghostly appearance he got from the agency’s night vision devices either. The AI must be correcting for the distortions of low-light enhancement, he thought. Did the agency upgrade my AI, or is the signal just temporarily being fed through better equipment? He hoped he’d get to keep any upgrades.

He finished turning around and goggled at a huge ragged hole that’d been ripped in the south wall. The clunking, clinking sounds hadn’t been things thrown through the window, they’d been bits of the wall falling on the floor from the jagged cuts that created the hole. How in the world did someone cut a hole like that without far more noise than I just heard?! A huge section of the wall containing the barred window had fallen outward. A guy in dark clothing was suspended in midair outside the hole.

Is this a rescue?!

In his ear, Rob heard Ell’s voice, “Catch.”

The fellow outside tossed Rob a bundle of straps.

Ell spoke again, “It’s a harness. Put it on and we’ll get you out of there.”

Rob ripped a band off the bundle and shook it out.

Ell recognized his lack of familiarity. She said, “Your legs go through the two openings farthest from you…”

Rob stepped into the openings.

She said, “That’s right. Pull them all the way up, then…” In a couple of moments, she’d guided him in donning the harness. She told him to step right up to the hole in the wall.

As he did, the straps at his shoulders suddenly tightened, pulling up and out of the opening. Rob started to lean back, afraid the pull was going to make him fall out the opening.

Whether he wanted to or not, he was suddenly pulled out the opening.

He swung forward, barely falling before the straps started lifting him.

Swinging like a pendulum, he sailed out across the street, then rapidly up into the sky. When he looked up he couldn’t see anything holding him up, but when he felt the air above the shoulder straps his fingers encountered… something. Something far too slender to hold him up. He would have said it felt like fine fishing line.

His ears popped again. He looked down. Whoa, I’m way high already! A glance to his left showed the guy who’d rescued him swinging through the air nearby.

After a few minutes, they reached open countryside. There they were lowered until they gently grounded in a field.

Rob turned to the guy, “Hey man, thanks for coming after me! You probably saved my life.”

“Of course,” Ell said. “Gotta take care of Shan’s favorite uncle.”

Rob blinked. It took a moment to understand her voice came from the person beside him rather than through his ear-port. “Ell?!” he asked, beginning to step toward her.

“Whoops,” she said holding a palm out toward him. “Don’t move. Our rides are landing.”

A second later something shaped a little like a motorcycle whispered down to land light as a feather between them. It had big ducted fans front and back and smaller ones to the rear on either side.

“Lift the seat, put on the helmet and flight suit, then climb on,” Ell said. She threw a leg over a second “bike” that’d landed on the other side of her. “Don’t worry about trying to use the handles to fly it. The AI’ll do all that for you.”

The helmet and suit fit perfectly.

As they rose into the air, Rob asked, “Do I strap in or anything?”

“Well, you’re kinda strapped in already. The graphene fibers that lifted you into the air still go to the winch under the bike, so if you fall off, you won’t fall very far. If the bike crashes, being strapped to it probably wouldn’t be helpful.”

“Oh,” Rob said, thoughtfully. “Um, I really appreciate you doing all that stuff with ports to get me reconnected, but what are you doing over here?”

“Coming to get you,” she answered, as if it were obvious.

“But the Agency—”

“Doesn’t know I’m here,” Ell interrupted.

“But…”

“They didn’t know where you were. I know your friend Jim contacted you through your ear-port, but he didn’t even know whether you were alive or not, since they weren’t able to hear anything from your end.”

“But… they sent this rescue…? Wait, why’d they let you come along?”

“The Agency didn’t have anything to do with this. So far they don’t know you’ve been rescued.”

“What?! Who’s financing this?”

“Your family.”

“But… We don’t have those kinds of resources. We can’t afford…” Rob broke off, feeling like he was starting to sound hysterical.

Ignoring his protests, Ell calmly said, “Lie down on your bike the way I am. You’ll be behind the windscreen so we’ll be able to go faster.”

Once Rob lowered himself, she said, “Let me know if your suit starts to whip you too badly and we’ll slow down. Usually, it’s the pants-legs slapping your ankles.” She paused a moment, then said, “You okay?”

Though his mind was going a mile a minute, Rob said, “Sure.”

“Now, I know you’re worried about the cost of this. Don’t be. The ‘family’ I was speaking about when you asked was Shan and myself. Not Molly or your kids. We’ve got plenty of money.”

“At least let us pay for your flights… Wait, you were at our house last night, weren’t you? How did you get…? Did you charter a flight?”

“Something like that. At this speed, your ankles look like they’re taking a beating. You sure you don’t want us to slow down?”

“You don’t think they could be coming up behind us?”

“No, these bikes are stealthy. We haven’t been hit by a radar sweep strong enough for the Iranians to get a return.”

“Oh. Okay, it’d be nice to go a little slower. Thanks.” A few minutes later he suspected she’d asked about his ankles to divert his questions. He wanted to come back to them but decided it’d sounded like he was looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Not long after that, they started to descend. As they whispered in to a landing beside a Gulfstream jet, a group of six people with military bearing met them outside. As one of them guided Rob up the steps and into the jet, Rob glanced back and saw the others disassembling the two air-bikes into big sections that were being loaded into the plane. One of the guys was carrying two fans as if they were nothing. Is he that strong? Rob wondered. The bikes can’t be that light can they?

As he stepped in through the door, he heard Molly shriek, “Rob!”

Then she was hugging him.

Hard.

***

Lieutenant Bijan studied the crumbled wall fragments strewn across the floor of the American’s cell. He peered out to look at the huge segment of the wall that’d landed on the ground outside. “No one’s moved anything?” he asked the jailer suspiciously.

“Some of the guards stepped in the dust there,” the man pointed, “when they were trying to look out and see what’d happened. They thought perhaps the prisoner’d been thrown out the hole by the explosion.”

“Thrown out the wall by a silent explosion?” Bijan asked disbelievingly.

“An initial reaction. They didn’t have any other explanation.” The man shrugged. “We still don’t have an explanation for how anyone could silently tear a huge hole in a concrete block wall.” He arched an eyebrow, “Perhaps you can tell us what we’ve missed?”

Bijan bit back an angry retort. He had no clue. “It doesn’t look like there’s enough rock here to fill that hole. You’re sure no one’s taken some pieces away?”

“Yes. What? Do you want us to reassemble the wall here on the floor to prove nothing’s missing?”

Bijan didn’t like the tone of the other man’s voice. “Yes. Do that. Wear gloves so you don’t disturb any residual evidence.”

The man gave him an ugly look.

This is uncanny, Bijan thought, but not nearly as bizarre as what happened to the weapons in the Darab building. His mind went back to the way the weapons had whooshed away on the video security monitor, seeming to turn to dust that just vanished. Well, except for a few small scraps they found on the floor. No one entered or left the room on the video. Parts of the cradles were gone too, smoothly cut away. It’s as if a djinn sucked them out of our universe!

Chapter Eight

Jim Stott had been called in to an early meeting. The morning’s activity around the Darab building resembled an anthill on fire. Satellite imaging showed vehicles crowded around it. Large numbers of people were going in and out, many of them running. The activity there hadn’t been noticed until morning there—which had been nighttime in the US. Thinking it might represent mobilization of the weapons, or could be related to the Rob Shannon debacle, they’d called Jim and other personnel in for an 0530 meeting. The upper levels wanted to get ahead of whatever had happened before regular hours began.

They’d started with several analysts describing how they’d been alerted by local human assets and had monitored the situation with satellites and high altitude drone overflights. It seemed nothing was visible outside the building to explain the excitement. No bodies had been carried out. No arrival of radiation gear as if they’d had an accident with the weapons believed to be in the building. No carrying out of objects that might be WMDs.

Art Schuller, the supervisor in charge of the meeting had just asked for theories when Jim’s AI said, “You have a call from Rob Shannon.”

Having thought he’d never hear those words again, Jim immediately got up and started for the door in order to take the call out in the hall. He feared the call was actually being placed by someone in the Iranian Security Police. As he walked he sent a little prayer that it wasn’t some bastard using the ports they’d removed from Rob’s ear and teeth. Someone calling to crow over Rob’s demise. Once he was in the hall, Jim said, “I’ll take it… Hello?”

“Hey Jim,” said a voice Jim had thought he’d never hear again.

“Rob?!”

“Uh-huh. I don’t suppose you thought you were going to hear from me again, did you?”

“Um, honestly, no.” Though Rob didn’t sound like it, he asked, “Are you under coercion?”

Rob gave a rueful chuckle. “No, though to be honest I’d been thinking that’d be the only way I’d ever get to call home.” He paused a moment, then spoke in a voice choked with emotion, “Actually, I’m in a plane over southern Europe. On my way home.”

“That’s…!” Jim hesitated, not sure how to react, but realizing that saying it was impossible—that Rob was imagining it—probably wasn’t the optimum response. “Did someone um, negotiate a prisoner exchange or something?”

“No… believe it or not, someone broke me out of prison.”

“What?!” Jim resisted his impulse to cry “you’re crazy,” and—thinking Rob might have had a psychotic break—instead strove for a calm tone, “Um, how’d all this happen?”

“Well, the first thing she did, and this is something you guys should take note of, she adapted the port in my ear so she could listen through it. She didn’t try to hold a conversation. That probably would have worked as well, but she didn’t want me talking loud enough for her to hear me through the port in my ear. So she just had me scratch my ear, once for ‘yes’ and twice for ‘no.’ Using those yes, no, responses for basic communication, she got my permission to numb the skin in my ear and slide another port out through the one I already had. Once I fished that one out of my ear, she passed me a bigger one yet—”

“Wait,” Jim interrupted. “You can’t pass a bigger port through a smaller one!”

“You can if the big one’s a collapsed but inflatable graphene hula hoop.”

“Oh… Holy shit! Where do you get those?”

“Just have to ask the nice people at Portal Tech. It’s not something they advertise, but it is something they sell.”

“But… a bigger port didn’t get you out of there.”

“No, next she passed an antenna through the port and grabbed a GPS signal so she’d know—”

“You weren’t in a building?”

“Yeah, but there was a barred window, and it was a long, high-tech looking antenna. However it worked, she did get my location.”

“When was this? And who are we talking about?”

“Night before…” Rob trailed off.

In the background, Jim heard a woman say, “Who’re you talking to?”

“Um,” Rob said uncertainly, “my handler at the CIA.”

“Oh…” the voice said sounding unhappy. “We should talk about what you can tell them.”

“Oh,” Rob said, sounding embarrassed. “Abe,” he said, speaking to his AI, “disconnect this call.”

Jim’s AI said, “Your call has been disconnected.”

Jim thought, He didn’t even say goodbye. The woman’s voice sounded familiar. Who in the hell was she? Thoughtfully he turned and reentered the conference room.

When Jim entered, Art Schuller rolled eyes at him. Irritatedly, he said, “I hope that call was important?”

Irked, Jim gave a curt nod and said, “That was Rob Shannon, calling in.”

The people in the room perked up at that. Pretty much everybody liked Rob.

Even the choleric Art smiled, “That’s great!” He frowned, “Wait, I thought his microphones were out?”

“They were. Someone got him a new one.”

“What?! How?!”

Jim told them what he’d learned about inflatable ports. Several people in the room looked at one another in surprise. He thought a few looked embarrassed, as if they’d known about the inflatable ports but hadn’t thought of using them in this situation.

Art said, “Who did this?”

“I was asking when she interrupted him. Apparently, there’re some things she won’t let him tell—”

Art interrupted, “Wait, can Rob talk to us without the Iranians hearing him? We need to find out if he knows anything about what’s going on at the Darab building.”

“He’s escaped so I assume—”

Schuller interrupted again, “Escaped! How’d he do that?!”

With some difficulty, Jim didn’t roll his own eyes. “I don’t know. I assume with some assistance. I haven’t been able to tell you that Rob cut me off while I was talking to him before. Do you want me to see if I can get through to him again?”

“Yeah, have your AI route it to the speakers here so we can all hear.”

Jim asked his AI to reconnect them, wondering if Rob would agree to the call.

“Hey Jim,” Rob said. “Sorry about cutting you off before. I had to learn what I can and can’t tell you.”

Jim didn’t think the people in the room would take kindly to the idea that their own spy might not answer every question they asked. When he looked at Art, the man looked distinctly unhappy. Jim decided he owed his old friend an understanding of what was going on. “I’m here in a room full of people who’re all wondering whether you know anything about what happened at the Darab building last night.”

“Oh…” Rob said, sounding surprised. “I don’t know anything myself. What’s going on there?”

“The Iranians are running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”

“I don’t know what would’ve caused that,” Rob responded slowly. “Let me ask. Abe…” he said to his AI, “Put this call on hold.” The line audibly went dead.

Jim turned to Art, expecting him to be pissed an underling had cut them out of his conversation about the Darab building.

Art look pissed all right. “Why the hell isn’t he letting us listen to whatever they’re saying?!”

Jim shrugged. Why do you think I’d know? he wondered.

Rob’s voice came back on the speaker, “Um… my source says they’re probably excited because five radioactive cylinders, most likely nuclear weapons, were removed from the Darab facility last night.”

“By who?!” Art Schuller exploded.

“Hi Mr. Schuller,” Rob said, obviously recognizing Schuller’s voice.

Schuller didn’t return a greeting. Instead, looking like great restraint was required for him to keep from shouting, he said, “Who is your source?!”

“Um, the person who rescued me tells me she first stopped at the Darab building to remove the threat of—”

Interrupting again, this time Schuller did shout, “And who the hell is this person?!”

Rob said, “Abe… Put this call on hold.” the line went dead.

Schuller looked apoplectic. Jim saw the people on either side of him lean a bit away, obviously expecting him to detonate.

Before Schuller could start screaming, Rob’s voice came back on. “She’ll explain some things if you clear the room. That means everyone out but Art Schuller and Jim Stott.”

“No damned way’s that going to happen!” Schuller bellowed.

During the brief silence when Art took a breath to continue, Rob said, “Okay, call me back if you decide you do want more info.” The line went dead again.

Schuller looked at Jim again, “Has he gone rogue?”

“I don’t think so. I think he’s following the instructions of the person that saved his life.”

“But…” Schuller closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then seemed to relax. He opened his eyes and swept them around the room. “Obviously, this is ridiculous. You guys all keep your pie-holes shut and we’ll just tell him you left the room. Jim, have your AI reconnect us.”

Jim had his AI make the call. Rob answered, “You change your mind, Mr. Schuller?”

“Yeah,” Schuller said, a resigned tone in his voice. “What can you tell us about how you escaped and who helped you?”

“Jim, has the room been cleared? Just you and Mr. Schuller in there?”

Without answering, Jim turned to look at Schuller.

Rob said, “Jim?”

Schuller whispered, “Answer his question!”

“No,” Jim said. “Everyone’s still here.”

The line went dead again.

From the look on Schuller’s face, if the man had been armed Jim would’ve been in serious danger. Red in the face, he said, “You disobeyed a direct order to keep the presence of the others a secret.”

“No,” Jim responded. “I obeyed your order to ‘keep my pie-hole shut.’ Then I obeyed your order to ‘answer his question.’ I do not lie to the people I handle. They’re on our side. And, if I break their trust, they’ll never trust me again.”

Schuller rolled his eyes. In a disgusted tone, he said, “We’ve got ourselves a hair-splitter.” He exhaled loudly, as if put upon, then said, “Go ahead. Clear the room. I’ll tell you what you need to know after we’re done with this.”

The rest of the people got up and shuffled out of the room, leaving Jim uncomfortably sitting alone with Schuller.

Schuller had Jim place the call again. This time, when Rob asked, Jim confirmed that he and Schuller were the only two people there.

There was a muffled conversation, then Rob said, “Okay, she says she’ll answer a few questions if you’ll agree to keep her identity confidential at a top-secret level.”

Schuller said, “I can’t promise that!”

After another muffled conversation Rob came back on, “Then all she’ll say is that all five nuclear weapons in the Darab building have been destroyed and are no longer a threat.”

“Wait just a damned minute! We need answers to a lot more questions! How were they destroyed? Where’s the plutonium? Who… did whatever was done to them?”

“She may answer some of those questions if you promise top-secret confidentiality, otherwise…”

Looking like he had a mouthful of vinegar, Schuller said, “Okay, okay! You have my word her name’ll be kept top-secret.”

This time it was the woman Jim had heard earlier in the background who spoke. She could be heard clearly when she said, “Hello Mr. Schuller.” Jim immediately recognized the famous voice, Ell Donsaii?!

“Who’re you?” Schuller asked, suspiciously.

“I’m Ell Donsaii. When you look into it, you’ll realize the news recently reported that I’m married to Rob Shannon’s nephew, Shannon Kinrais.”

Jim looked at Schuller and thought the man looked thunderstruck. Or, perhaps star struck. His expression quickly firmed. “And you claim the Iranian nuclear weapons were destroyed?”

“The five of them in the Darab building, yes. And in answer to the how, where, and who questions you posed a little while ago, I ported the weapons into deep space. They no longer pose a threat as they were broken up and cannot be recovered.”

Schuller looked stunned. After a moment, he swallowed and said, “Can you prove this?”

“I doubt it can be proven to your satisfaction. I’m sending two photos, one before and one after the removal of the weapons. They’re not faked, but of course you can’t be sure of that.”

As the images popped up on Jim’s HUD he wondered whether that was true. The Agency had photo analysts who could find signatures of most if not all types of fakery. He had his AI put the images up on the big screens at the front of the room. They showed a small, surprisingly-nondescript room that looked like it had concrete walls. The only visible door appeared to be heavy-duty steel, but it certainly wasn’t a vault. A set of shelves was the main feature. The first photo showed five metal cylinders sitting on heavy wooden cradles.

The cylinders were gone in the second photo. Jim thought it looked like… something had happened to the cradles too. As if some of the wood had been removed, but smoothly, not raggedly like you might expect if some of it had been broken during the removal of the cylinders.

Schuller studied the photos for a minute, then said, “We’ll have them analyzed... How’d you manage to get into the building? They arrested Rob just for stopping near the Darab facility.”

“I’m afraid I won’t answer that question. Do you have any others?”

“Ms. Donsaii,” Schuller said condescendingly, “your country needs to know how you did these things. There could be repercussions that’ll have to be dealt with.”

“As long as you keep this conversation secret, no one in Iran’s ever going to figure out what happened to their weapons. Ergo, no repercussions. Do you have any other questions?”

“Er, they’re going to suspect the US had something to do with it since Rob escaped the same night!”

“Have you admitted that Rob’s an American agent?”

“Um, no.”

“And, if they were to complain, they’d have to admit they lost the atomic weapons they’ve been crowing about, right?”

“What if they find proof that Mr. Shannon’s one of our agents? Or pick up some of your DNA? We need to be ready to deal with such issues.”

“For your first case, if it turns into a real problem, talk to me and I’ll see if I can help. That second case isn’t going to happen. Please just accept that I’m not going to tell you how I did it. I’m also not going to tell you how I extracted my uncle from their prison… If there’s nothing else?”

“Wait! You’ve got to—”

“No, I don’t have to. If you think of a reasonable question that has actual national security implications, let me know.” The line went dead.

Schuller turned furiously on Jim, “Who the hell does she think she is?!”

Jim studied him calmly for a moment, then said, “She probably thinks she’s Ell Donsaii.”

~~~

Rob leaned back in his seat, covered his eyes with his hand and let out a little moan. “I am in such deep shit!”

“I don’t see why,” Ell said beside him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who refused to answer their questions.”

Without uncovering his eyes, he said, “Yes I did. I didn’t answer their questions either. I let you come on the line and refuse to answer them.”

“Au contraire. They wanted to know what happened at Darab, how you escaped, and who rescued you. You arranged for them to learn all three of those things.”

“Not in the detail they wanted!”

“In all the detail you knew though, right?”

Surprised, Rob cocked his head to think. “Who you were, yes. More than I knew about Darab, yes. But I definitely know more about my escape from the jail than you gave them.”

“Ah. You’re right.” She shrugged, “Feel free to tell them anything you know about your escape. You already told them how we got extra ports to you, right?”

Rob shrugged, “Partly. I hope that was okay?”

“Yeah, no problem. You can also tell them how I put a GPS antenna through the second port to find you. You can tell them the wall of your jail was broken open, though you don’t know how. That you were lifted out of there by a lightweight flyer using a harness that pulled you up with graphene cables. And that the flyer took you to a Gulfstream jet in Turkey that brought you back to the US.”

Rob blinked, “Um, they’re gonna want to know how the wall was taken down!”

Ell shrugged, “Not a problem. Tell them you don’t know. Say they’re welcome to ask me, but I told you I wouldn’t answer that question.”

Rob stared into space, “They are not going to be happy.”

“Your AI’ll be recording everything. It’s been recording everything since I hooked up your ear port so it’d transmit. You’ll be able to prove you don’t know anything you haven’t told them.”

He gave her a wide-eyed look, “This is the CIA. They’ll want to know. And they’ll think I should get the answers from you.”

She shrugged. “You can’t. Really. You cannot. No one can. This is a problem they have with me, not with you. Remind them that the previous President of the United States had the CIA and the FBI expend massive effort but couldn’t get information from me. They really shouldn’t waste the government’s resources trying to do essentially the same thing.”

“They’re gonna fire me.”

“Oh,” Ell said cheerfully, as if she’d just been presented with a great opportunity. “D5R’ll be happy to hire you if they do. We could really use someone with your skills.”

“I couldn’t tell you anything. I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Not a problem. We don’t want any secrets. We do want people with your kind of language skills and extensive knowledge of the middle east.”

Rob had a hard time sleeping on the long flight home. However, it wasn’t—as he’d expected—because he was afraid of losing his job. Instead, he found he was excited about the prospect of working at the famed D5R.

Maybe I’ll even learn how Donsaii rescued me…

***

“Detective, like you asked, I sorted through the AV records we were allowed to collect from the kids’ AIs at the Nature Learning school incident.”

John Watts leaned back in his chair, and looked up at Randy, their tech weenie. “What’d you figure out?”

“Like the kids said, Mitch Hewson came out of the woods when Jonas reached up to steady Bakewell while she crossed the log. Hewson had a gun and told Jonas to get away from her. Looked like some kind of jealous triangle thing like you guys have been thinking.”

“Then what happened?”

“The video gets chaotic as the frightened kids started moving their heads around all frantic. I’ve sorted out most of the story as seen from a lot of brief vids as they crossed the action. Let me throw it up on your screen.”

Watts turned to look at his big desk display and saw an image of the three adults, Hewson with gun in hand.

Randy continued, “Hewson repeats his demand that Jonas get away from her,” the video advanced a little and Watts heard the words. “Then he shoots.” Smoke blossomed from the end of Hewson’s gun. The viewpoint jumped to come from another kid. “Jonas falls onto his buttocks and Bakewell gets pulled off the log, going headfirst into the shallow water. She stays facedown in the water, not breathing until the kids pull her out. Jonas slumps from a sitting position—”

Watts frowned. A kid had come running in from the right side of the screen. “Wait. Why’d you speed up the video?”

“I didn’t. That kid really was hauling ass.”

“Bullshit. Wind it back and slow it down.”

The video jumped back and the kid ran into the field of view at a normal speed. He immediately went to Bakewell, grabbed her hair, and pulled her head up out of the water. He turned and started yelling at the other kids.

Now the kid was moving too slow. Watts glanced up at Randy. “Why’s it slow now? Keep it on normal speed.”

The tech guy looked like he was about to object, but then he shrugged and spoke to his AI. The video sped back up to normal. A bunch of other kids splashed out into the water. They got Bakewell turned on her back and dragged over to the bank, followed shortly by Jonas.

As the action moved to the streamside, Watts saw Hewson in the background, lying partially on his side, holding his bloody face and looking like he was sobbing. “Did you figure out what happened to Hewson?”

“Hit by a thrown rock the way the investigators thought. Here…” The tech guy spoke to his AI and video came up with Hewson at the left edge of the screen. An object flew in from off the right side of the screen, smashing into Hewson’s face and laying him out.

“Who threw it?”

“We don’t know. None of the video shows it being thrown. This kid,” Randy highlighted the kid that’d started the rescue, “was the only one in the area it was thrown from.” He shrugged, “But there’s no way a kid made that toss.”

Watts frowned, “Why not?”

Randy shook his head, “Rock was going almost eighty miles an hour when it crossed the field of view. Kids under age ten are lucky to make fifty. Even teenagers can’t throw eighty. There was someone else out there, but he never shows up in any of the images.”

“Or there’s something screwy with the camera speeds,” Watts said, eyes narrowed. “First the kids start moving too fast, then too slow—”

“Detective, I’m telling you that kid really was running fast there at the first. Some kind of fight or flight reaction or something.”

“I still think you’re full of crap, but if you’re right about that reaction, maybe he threw a rock that fast.”

Randy turned his eyes to the screen. “I don’t think so. There pretty much has to have been a guy in the woods somewhere. Maybe one of those guys in camo.” He looked back at Watts. “Anyone else’s DNA on the rock?”

Watts said, “Yeah, a crapload of it. It’s like forty people handled it. You got any genius ideas how that happened?”

Randy snorted, “Not a clue. Maybe it was somewhere people put their hands when navigating the stream? How many more resources you want to expend on figuring out who did this good deed?”

Watts sighed. “No more. We’ve already wasted far too many on something that doesn’t matter. Let’s close this thing up.”

“Before you shut it down, you should see what that Reyes kid did while he was taking care of Bakewell.”

“What about it?”

“I don’t think she’d be alive if it wasn’t for him.”

***

Rob had gone through several days of debriefing.

Then he’d had to withstand a barrage of demands that he find out how Ell had disposed of the nuclear weapons and retrieved him from Isfahan. There’d been some veiled threats suggesting that he was going to lose his job if he couldn’t get some answers.

When he’d asked how he was supposed to get answers, he’d received recommendations that he “be creative.”

He decided those suggestions presumed he was willing to spy on his nephew’s wife, but had no idea of the loyalty he felt to the woman who’d saved his life.

I’ve been sitting here long enough! Rob thought. Am I going to call her, or not?

He checked the time, wanting to call during work hours rather than presuming to call in the evening. He wanted to be calling as a prospective employee, not a needy relative.

Taking a deep breath, he spoke to his AI, “Li’l Joe, see if Ell Donsaii will accept a call from me.”

Rob sat back and tried to relax. He’d thought Ell meant it when she offered him a job, but it all seemed so unlikely. And she had to be really busy. And he was presuming… Come on! The woman went halfway around the world to rescue your worthless butt! Surely she’ll take a call.

Li’l Joe said, “Dr. Donsaii’s AI says she’s in a meeting and wonders if she can call you back when it’s over?”

“Of course!” Rob said. Knucklehead! You should have asked if she would call you back at her convenience! Then he started to wonder if she’d call him back. Whether he should’ve tried to apply for a job in whatever the usual fashion was for D5R.

~~~

Rob was on his way home when little Joe said, “You have a call from Ell Donsaii.”

“I’ll take it!” He paused briefly to let the AI connect to the call, then said, “Hello, Dr. Donsaii?”

“I thought you were going to call me Ell?”

“Sorry, Ell. I’m calling to see if you were serious about that job with D5R. It seemed like I should be more formal when I’m calling, hat-in-hand, looking for a job.”

“Oh, my goodness, ‘serious as a heart attack,’ my Gram would say. You’re leaving the CIA?”

“I’d like to. But, you know, I’d like to have another job lined up before I give up my paycheck.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve got a job. I’m going to connect you to Sheila. She’ll set it up.”

***

As Julio Romero left the oval office at the end of a long day he was looking forward to some time with his wife and kids in the residential area. His secretary said, “Mr. President…?

He sighed, “Is it urgent?”

“It’s just that Ell Donsaii called?”

Romero frowned. He wasn’t comfortable with science. “Can you ask her to work through Dr. Vardaman’s office? Ariel can set something up where I’ll have science advice on hand.”

She nodded, “I’m sure she’ll be happy to. She’s very nice.”

***

Phil looked away from his screen at a knock on his door. It was standing open—since the weather in the tunnel outside the door was the same as the weather inside his and Carol’s apartment—but he didn’t see anyone. “Yes?” he said.

Ell stepped into the doorway, “Fancy a trip home to Earth?”

“You transported out here?! Stole my thunder? I won’t be able to tell anyone I took the first interplanetary transporter?!”

Ell rolled her eyes, “Oh, calm down! Back when you broke your hip you were the first person to port at all and the first to port to another planet.”

“But I wanted to be the first one to do it in a transporter too!”

Blowing a raspberry, Ell said, “No one’s going to remember who did that. But if you want, I won’t tell anyone I had to come out here to get you.”

Carol came out of the back room. Valuing her privacy, she didn’t usually sit in their front room when Phil had the door open. “Hi, Ell.”

“Hi, Carol, your man’s acting like a child. I suppose you’re used to it?”

Carol gave him a mock glare, shaking her head and saying, “Oh, yes. Far too used to it.”

Ell said, “I offered him a trip back to Earth, but it sounds like he doesn’t want to go. You want to go in his place?”

Carol brightened, “Sure!” Turning back into the back rooms, she said, “Let me pack a bag.”

Ell said, “Geez, if I’d known Carol was coming instead of you, I wouldn’t have had to come out here. She’s smart enough to use a transporter without someone to hold her hand.”

It was Phil’s turn to roll his eyes. “You just wanted to keep me from being first.”

“No one has to know you were second. Do you guys need to let the rest of the team know you’re going to be… unavailable?”

Carol stepped back into the room. “How long are we going to be gone?”

“Depends on whether you want to have the gene therapy. When I checked a couple of days ago, Lindy Thompson and Mark Wilson were doing fine now several months after they got their treatments. Have you talked to them? Any reason to doubt that’s true?”

“I think she’s been fine.” Phil arched a sly eyebrow, “Let’s go ask her.”

“I’d love to, but if we’re going to talk to the other team members here on Mars, we’ll need to swear them to secrecy. You up to doing that?”

“You don’t want to do it yourself?”

Ell snorted, “If I walk into, say your dining area, to ask them to agree to secrecy, they’re immediately going to know there’s a way to get here from Earth, aren’t they? Their brains haven’t been scrambled by a couple of interplanetary transports like yours has.”

Phil gave an embarrassed little laugh. His eyes flicked up to the clock in his HUD. “It’s lunchtime now. I’ll head to the dining area and ask everyone to show up ’cause I’ve got an announcement.”

~~~

When the other members of the Mars team had arrived in the dining area, Phil told them Ell Donsaii had a possible solution to their requests for the radiation gene and to their desire to be able to port back to Earth, but that she’d need them to keep it a secret for a month or two.

Diane Vance snorted, “Hell, for that deal I could keep a secret a year or two!”

The others quickly agreed, though their two new members—replacements for Lindy Thompson and Mark Wilson, already back on Earth undergoing treatment—took the longest. They weren’t as tired of the tunnels of Mars as the old hands.

“Ell, I’ve got their assent,” Phil called out…

Ell walked out of the adjoining tunnel.

Major Epstein, the mission commander, turned to Diego Himez, their new doctor, “What the hell Diego? You’re supposed to tell me before you transport anyone!”

Before Dr. Himez had an opportunity to protest his innocence, Ell said, “My apologies Major. I arrived without anesthesia. We’ve got a bit of new tech that enables people to transport from one place to another about as easily as riding in an elevator.”

Incredulously, Epstein asked, “To Mars?!”

She nodded. “I’ve got Director Epaulding’s permission for you guys to start going back and forth to Earth if you want. But I don’t want word to get out yet. I’m trying to work through the White House to minimize the economic shocks when the transporters are released. Hopefully, I can work that out within the next month. Until it’s announced, when you visit your families, you’ll need to tell them you came back under anesthesia. Even though, after it’s been announced, you’ll be able to go back and forth several times a day, I’m hoping you won’t do it more often than once a week until then so people won’t start asking questions.”

Dr. Himez, looking skeptical said, “Several times a day? And it doesn’t hurt, never causes seizures, no post-ictal states or confusion?”

Ell shook her head, “I just came through about an hour ago, no prep or anything. It really is going to change interplanetary travel into something easier than a drive to work. Though,” she winked at him, “pretty soon people are gonna stop driving to work.”

Major Epstein had risen involuntarily to his feet. Now he blinked a couple of times and abruptly sat down. He said, “Are random idiots just going to start showing up on Mars? Anyplace they want? Are we going to become their glorified rescue team?!”

Ell shook her head again, “Ports work in pairs. So,” she grinned, “idiots’ll only be able to go to where the Martian end of a transporter pair is located, and only from its paired transporter on Earth. Or somewhere else. Right now, the only Martian transporter’s back there in your tunnel system,” she waved in its general direction, “and its pair’s in the D5R building in North Carolina. NASA should get a pair from here to Houston soon. I expect there’ll only be those two transporters to Mars for quite a while.” She tilted her head, “But you’re right that transporters will open space and interplanetary travel to private enterprise much sooner than anyone expected. I’m also hoping to talk to President Romero about regulating that situation so we don’t develop any great need for a ‘glorified rescue team.’” Her eyes surveyed the room.  “However, you people in this room should consider that your experience in space and on an extraterrestrial planet will put you in high demand with companies trying to cash in on this new access to the solar system.”

Phil looked around at the stunned expressions on his fellow Martians and chuckled. I’m experienced with having Ell upend my life firsthand, but, though they’ve been through the introduction of PGR and ports, none of them have been up close to a big change before.

~~~

The discussion didn’t last much longer, everyone wanted to see the transporter. After wolfing down their lunches, they made their way back to Carol’s short dead-end tunnel. Ell showed them how to open the doors and explained how—when getting out—the mechanism on the inner door opened the outer door to let them leave the chamber. “Once you’re inside, you tell your AI you want to transport and it communicates with the AI in the transporter. A few moments later you’ll be there.” She glanced around at them. “In the not too distant future, you’ll have to tell it where you want to go as well since we’ve got a system for it to connect to the ports in more than one other transporter. It’ll take a little longer for it to swap ports. That’s what we’re planning for the transporter in Houston, it’ll connect to this one and the one at D5R, making a little triangle.”

Epstein said, “Back in the lunchroom you said it would only connect to one other transporter?”

Ell nodded, “I did. I think of transporters as pairs because ports only come in pairs. But we’re working on a system for a single transporter to have as many as forty-three port rings in it that let it pair with that many other transporters. Recognize that this transporter here would still only be able to accept transports from other transporters that were paired with it. It wouldn’t be the case that anyone on Earth could port here just because you have a transporter. You’d have control over who could get here.”

Epstein’s eyes were a little wide, “But if some terrorist could get to one of our port pairs he could come here, right?”

“True. If you were worried about the security of incoming transports you could refuse to accept transports without giving permission first. Or refuse transports from a transporter you were worried about. You’d also be able to see who was asking to transport here before allowing them to come.”

“Are you saying we’re going to have to put a guard on this transporter?!”

“No. You could also give the transporter a limited list of people allowed to transport to this location and have it deny access to everyone else. Or,” she grinned at him, “if you want, D5R could remove this transporter from your tunnels so you wouldn’t have to worry about it?”

“No, no,” he said somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten in your face.”

She winked at him, “Don’t worry. It’s a normal human reaction to be alarmed by any changes to the way things have been. And this is a big change.”

Diego Himez, Phil, Carol, and Ell crowded into the transporter for a trip back to Earth, Epstein had decided that the rest of them needed to stay and man the Mars colony even though there wasn’t much for them to do.

~~~

Back at D5R, Ell put in a call to Reggie Barnes. “Hey Reggie, just checking in on how the gene therapy subjects are doing?”

Reggie held up crossed fingers, “Far better than I could’ve hoped for.”

Ell frowned, “Well enough that Lindy and Mark could go back to work on Mars if they wanted?”

“Sure, if the doctor out there could send back data and lab samples.”

Ell glanced at Himez who nodded. Then she asked Reggie whether Phil and Carol could come in for their gene therapy. Reggie frowned, “Aren’t they a couple?”

“Yes, they’re married.”

“They aren’t planning to have children?”

Ell glanced at Carol and Phil, “Better if you explain your plans yourselves.”

Carol answered, “Now that we can get off Mars, we’re planning to have a child soon.”

Ell flashed Carol a troubled look, but was relieved when Reggie missed the implications of the “now that we can get off Mars” statement.

Instead, Reggie was focused on the other part of Carol’s answer, “You need to get that done before you undertake a radical medical treatment like a delivery of the radiation gene set. Even if you wanted to go ahead, our treatment protocol wouldn’t allow it.”

Round eyed, Carol looked at Phil, then Ell. “But they won’t let me go back to Mars if I’m trying to get pregnant!”

Ell simply shrugged and said, “So, stay here.”

“But… I don’t think I’ll have a job anymore! After we started our little strike, NASA told us our contracts would be up when we got back to Earth.”

Ell shrugged again, “As I told you, you’re soon going to be able to write your own tickets. Take some time off. After you’ve rested up,” she winked at them, “and started that baby-making project, come work for D5R doing…” Ell suddenly realized she shouldn’t say more in front of Diego, so finished by saying, “what you’ve been doing for me in your spare time.”

Carol said, “I don’t like that you use your influence for us all the time. Are you sure D5R has open positions?”

Ell nodded, “And I’m kind of heading up that project. We can’t find enough people with the skills for that kind of work so I’m sure we could get you spots on the payroll. After all, it’s unlikely there are any people more qualified for it than you and Phil.”

Looking at Carol and Phil, Diego asked, “What’ve you guys been doing?”

Phil opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Ell said, “Sorry, I’ve asked them not to say. It’s another one of my many secrets.”

Himez took the transporter back to Mars to ask whether Major Epstein or Diane Vance wanted to have the gene therapy since Phil and Carol weren’t eligible at present. Also, to let Epstein know that Phil and Carol had decided to retire from NASA and wouldn’t be back in their official capacities.

It was evening so Ell invited Carol and Phil out to dinner with her and Shan. During the drive to the restaurant, Ell told them how annoyed she was to be driving instead of transporting.

This got them on the topic of DP3. Carol and Phil excitedly told her about all the exciting things they’d seen on DP3.

“Have you seen anything that might be a problem for human colonization?”

“The animals are bigger than ours,” Phil said with a little concern, “so they’ll probably be more dangerous. Especially some of the predators. I sure wouldn’t want any of them chasing me.”

Carol said, “We haven’t started on any analysis of the microbiota, but I came across a big animal die-off, thousands of animals, that looked like it’d been due to disease.” She shrugged, “But I’m hoping their infectious organisms don’t affect us and vice versa.”

“No signs of intelligence?”

“Nope,” Carol grinned, “and if Phil were the only colonist we ever sent, we could keep it that way.”

“Why you guys gotta pick on me I just don’t know,” Phil said in a wounded tone.

***

Late in the afternoon, as Vardaman walked past her assistant’s office on her way out for the day, her admin called after her. “Um, excuse me, Dr. Vardaman. Dr. Donsaii wanted me to let you know they’d be announcing a human transporter on April 24th. She said she just wanted to give you a ‘heads-up.’”

“Human transporter?” Vardaman thought. Why not just call it a “scooter,” or a “car,” or an “airplane?” Something like that’s not going to disrupt the economy. The woman seems to think everything she comes up with must be world-shaking. Vardaman kept walking. To her admin, she said, “Tell her thanks for letting us know.”

Chapter Nine

Rob followed a woman named Vivian Varka down the hall at Portal Technologies, a subsidiary of D5R. A subsidiary that was paying him almost double what he’d earned at the Agency. Enthusiastically, she said, “We so need people with experience in foreign countries. The Middle East’s high on our list. How’d Ell find you?”

“Um, I’m just gonna admit that it was old-fashioned nepotism. I’m her husband’s uncle.”

She turned and flashed him a big smile, “You’re Shan’s uncle?!”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Shan’s terrific. If you’re his uncle you’ve got to at least be okay.”

Amused to need to live up to standards set by his nephew, who he still thought of as “little Shan,” Rob said, “I’ll work hard to be more than okay. But, I must confess I don’t understand why you guys need expertise in my area.”

“Ah,” Varka said, “we’re trying to bring those areas into the modern age, which of course we think means using port technology. We think we’re trying to help them reap the benefits of the portal revolution. Unfortunately, many of their suspicious elders and political leaders think we’re simply trying to get them addicted to our technology so we can jack up the price.”

“Are you thinking I can be some kind of… salesman?” Rob asked uncomfortably.

“No, no. We just want to help them. We don’t need to sell them anything, our company’s doing fine as it is. We want to figure out how to convince them that we’re not trying to screw them over. Increasing their incorporation of ports could stimulate their economies and improve their standards of living.”

Oh, Rob thought, I can see how that’d be a problem. Saying their patriarchs are highly resistant to change is to make a mind-bending understatement. Vivian led him into a room holding a group of young people. Many of them looked like they were of Middle Eastern descent. He started getting some ideas…

***

Attending in-waldo, Ell was holding a remote meeting with the Quantum Biomed team. It’d been going on for nearly an hour. She seemed about to wrap things up so Ryan diffidently lifted his hand.

“Yes?” she asked.

“It seems like things are pretty well in hand for my projects that connect to nerves for blindness and amputations, etcetera. We haven’t been making much headway with connecting to injured spinal cords, though we have some ideas that are still in the testing phase.” He shrugged, “While I’m waiting for those results I’d like to work on another project I’ve been thinking about?”

Ell gave him a big smile. “Of course!” She swept the room with her eyes. “I’m always excited when you guys have your own projects you want to work on. You don’t need my approval unless you’re planning to spend a lot of money or stop working on something I think’s important. What is it?”

Ryan frowned a little, “I’ve been working on it a little. I’m mostly coming to you because I think I might need some help from your amazing husband.”

“Should I be jealous?”

Ryan barked a surprised laugh. “I guess you should. Everyone should be jealous of what he can do with code.”

Ell gave a dismissive wave, “He’s constantly telling me his coding skills are nothing special. That must be true, right?”

Ryan snorted, “Well, that’s what I’d tell him to his face. However, in real life, there are things he can do that no one else seems to be able to match.”

“Well, you’ve got me all on tenterhooks. What is this project that’s worth the waste of some of my amazing husband’s time?”

“It has to do with the deaf and blind. Even though we’ve been able to make neural connections to help some people hear and other people see, there are still people we can’t help. The deaf don’t pose a huge problem because we can have their AIs translate speech to sound and put the text up on their HUD so they can read what people are saying. And, of course, most people’s AI’s can read American Sign Language and tell them what the deaf person’s signing. If a non-hearing person encounters someone with a low-end AI that can’t read ASL, their own AI can read the signs they’re making and translate them into audible speech for them.”

“So…” Ell said, motioning him to keep going.

“So, it’s the blind people we can’t help that’ve been bugging me. I’ve been thinking of a project I call “Red-Tipped Cane” that’s aimed at helping them get around without a cane, yet let them know enough about the state of their environment that they won’t run into things.”

Ell frowned, “I can imagine that you could use radar or ultrasound to image their environment, but how are you going to translate that information into something they can process?”

“I think we might be able to do it with a stereo audio field. We’re all pretty good at telling where sounds are coming from by when they arrive at our ears. So, I’m imagining that we’d attach tones to objects around the person. Their direction is defined by their position in the stereo field. Big objects have a low pitch and small objects have a high pitch. Close objects are loud and distant objects are faint. Objects getting closer to you are getting louder while those moving away are getting quieter.”

“What about whether the object is up high, or down low? Am I about to hit my head on a beam, or trip over the dog?”

Ryan shrugged, “We’re able to tell whether sounds are coming from below us or above us when they’re in the environment around us. We can’t do that so well with sounds that are being fed to headphones. It’s going to take some research to figure out exactly how our hearing does that. Hopefully, we can figure out how to reproduce that phenomenon through earpieces.”

“You don’t think someone’s already studied how we perceive the vertical location of sounds?”

Ryan gave her a little smile, “All good research begins with a review of the literature. and I haven’t done it yet,” he winked, “I’m gonna claim that’s because you hadn’t approved an expenditure of my practically worthless time on the project. But, yes, I would start there. Even if we can’t come up with a way for them to tell whether an object is high or low, I think the rest of it would still be helpful to them.”

“Are you thinking they’d have this on all the time? Seems like it would interfere with conversation and enjoyment of music etcetera.”

Ryan shook his head, “No. It’d be something they switched on when they needed help with the shape of their environment and switched off otherwise. Though I would think there might be an override that automatically turns it on to tell them if something’s about to run into them. A thrown ball or something like that.”

“Awesome, Ryan. That’s the kind of thinking I like. Maybe they’ll be able to have it on all the time with the volume low so they can still hear conversations.”

As she signed off and her waldo froze in position, Ryan thought to himself that—in view of the fact Ell was younger than he was—the compliment she’d given him shouldn’t give him such a warm fuzzy feeling. But it should when it’s coming from her, he thought.

***

Research Triangle Park, North Carolina— Today the website for Portal Technologies opened a waiting list for those who wished to purchase a new technology they’re calling a “transporter.” Stating that they have “resolved the neurologic issues with passing animals and humans through ports,” they intend to sell a device capable of moving people from one place to another. At present they are only offering a single model which consists of a pair of 1.3-meter (4’3”) circular chambers—resembling an elevator and big enough for a standard wheelchair or four friendly people. A transporter will fit into a square space 1. 6 meters (5’3”) on a side. The initial transporters will move people, animals, or other large solid objects from one chamber to the other as long as both chambers are within the United States.

Though the company opened the wait-list webpage without fanfare or announcement, news of the offering spread virally. There were 1.3 million orders placed before noon today. This phenomenal uptake is undoubtedly spurred by a pricing scheme that sells a transporter pair for less than $20,000—cheaper than the small household elevator system it resembles. There will be an incremental cost per transport event in the one to five dollar range, also very cheap compared to traveling by the usual transportation methods, especially for larger distances.

The company says in the future it will sell add-on attachments that will allow a transporter unit to connect with more than one other chamber. Transporter pairs that are capable of crossing national borders will only be sold under the guidance and licensing of the governments in question. A spokesperson said, “We will, of course, eventually sell transporters in other countries,” but that such sales would be delayed until the backlog of local orders was manageable. When asked whether transporters will be able to move people to the moon or other planets, the spokesperson said, “The model we’re selling has already been used for interplanetary transports. Since there are no legal barriers restricting travel to other bodies in the solar system, they will be capable of interplanetary travel. However, it should be obvious that such travel will be dangerous. We would urge extreme caution for anyone contemplating such endeavors and encourage governmental regulation of those activities. Also, it would require that one member of a pair of transporter chambers be moved to the desired location on another world. At present Portal Tech is not contemplating a sales model in which they provide the emplacement of such chambers for purchasers.”

Auto, bus, and airline stocks are in a nosedive…

When Ariel Vardaman got back from lunch, her admin stopped her. “President Romero would like a word.”

With a little spike of anxiety, Ariel asked, “Did he say what it was about?”

“Um, no, but if I were you, I’d read this morning’s Portal Tech announcement before you go in.”

Feeling a cramp in her gut, Ariel turned to her office while asking her AI to put up the announcement. A minute later she was sprawled in her chair, feeling light-headed and wondering why she’d been so hardheaded about refusing Simon’s advice. “Cheryl,” she called out. Her voice rasped and was nearly inaudible, so she mustered another attempt. “Cheryl, can you get Donsaii on the line for me?”

To her surprise, Donsaii didn’t make her wait long. Cheryl transferred the call to Ariel’s AI and she heard Donsaii’s famous voice say, “Dr. Vardaman?”

“Uh, yes. Dr. Donsaii, I’ll admit my predecessor warned me to be wary of disruptive tech coming from your organization… but I’m afraid I didn’t expect it to arrive so suddenly.”

Donsaii chuckled, “Well we expected it’d stir up some excitement, but we didn’t expect to have this many orders already.”

“I understand there’re 1.3 million already?”

“We broke through two million a few minutes ago, but I think a lot of these people are just jumping on the bandwagon. I doubt all of them are serious buyers.”

Ariel closed her eyes, “Well, I’m going to need to go explain what all this means to President Romero. John Simon advised me to ask you what could be done to soften the disruptive effect new technologies would have on the economy?”

“If you want, I could brief you and the president together?”

“That’d probably be good, but he’s going to want me to tell him something now.”

“I could be at the White House in fifteen minutes?”

“You’re here in DC?”

“No, but I took the liberty of prepositioning a transporter down the street from the White House.”

Ariel blinked, Holy crap, this IS going to change the world! Making a command decision, she rose from her chair saying, “I’m on my way to get you approved for a White House visit. I’ll call you back as soon as I’ve got it authorized.” She had her AI disconnect that call, then called the Oval Office.

The president’s secretary answered. “Dr. Vardaman, the president’s asking where you are?”

Overstating her contribution, Vardaman said, “I’ve got Dr. Donsaii coming in to personally brief the president. I’m on my way to meet her at the entrance. Could you ask the Secret Service to issue her a pass ASAP?”

“Oh, Dr. Vardaman! If you’d just told me she was coming when you were setting it up, I could’ve had it all arranged.”

“Sorry,” Vardaman said curtly. “But I’m sure the president would like to see her now, right?”

~~~

Vardaman found Donsaii at the entrance and, though there was some consternation amongst the Secret Service and White House Police about a sudden unexpected visitor, the call from the president’s office and their long experience with Donsaii got her admitted in just a few minutes.

As they started for the Oval Office, Ariel asked, “Can you give me a brief overview as we walk?”

“Sure,” Donsaii said, “the first thing we should consider is just exactly what impact transporters are going to have. Over some period, which the president may want dragged out like some of our other technologies, most vehicular transport will become unnecessary. Cars, trucks, buses, trains, planes, boats, rockets and roads will no longer be needed. The industries that supported them are gradually going to go extinct.”

Oh. My. God! Vardaman thought with a small stumble. She narrowed her eyes, “But surely we’re still going to need trucks, trains, buses, and ships to move large objects, aren’t we?”

“Well, eventually, no. Our project to terraform Mars has required us to develop industrial-sized ports. We already have functional twenty-meter ports moving atmosphere out there. That’s big enough for something with a largest dimension of sixty-six-feet and should serve most industrial needs. It’ll certainly allow industry to move things larger than a semi-truck can carry. We’re currently working on fifty-meter and hundred-meter prototypes. To be honest, we eventually hope to build 200 and 500-meter ports for the terraforming project, though it’s hard to imagine what such large ports might be used for back here on Earth.”

They’d arrived at the president’s office. While his secretary stepped in to ask if the president was ready, Ariel said, “I thought the energy costs of opening large ports were prohibitive.”

Donsaii laughed, “I was guilty of thinking small myself. It turns out that as you size up it requires significantly less energy to use one large port than several small ports. And, if you minimize the time you keep the port open, you can move stuff a lot more cheaply than you can if you’re loading it on trucks and driving it across the country. Especially when you consider all the costs. The costs of the energy, the truck, the wear on tires, the construction and maintenance of the roadway, the various kinds of pollution remediation, accidents, etcetera all add up.”

“Minimize the time the port’s open?”

“Yeah, get everything set up so you can push the load rapidly through the port as soon as you open it. You certainly don’t want it standing open while nothing’s going through it. On the human transporters, once you’re in place, the portal ring drops down over you in less than a second. That’s why the energy costs are so low.”

Ariel’s stomach felt better but her head was starting to ache. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she said, “Do you have suggestions for minimizing the economic disruption?”

“Well, we could slow the release of the technology to blunt the job loss. Most people who lose their jobs will be able to move into other industries. We’ll still need people and equipment to move stuff short distances. Waldo drivers mostly. For instance, there’s no benefit in porting something across your yard, though the elderly may install ports instead of elevators to get upstairs. We’ll at least need people who’ll move things into position and then shunt them through the port.”

President Romero came to the door himself and beckoned them in. As he motioned them to seats, he said, “Dr. Donsaii, welcome, welcome. I sure wish you’d given us some warning before you released these transporters. I’ve been fielding calls since noon and having to pretend I know what’s going on.”

Donsaii said, “Well, um…” she glanced at Ariel, obviously wondering whether Ariel wanted to throw herself on her sword.

Before either she or Ariel responded, Romero said, “Well, let’s not agonize over the water that’s already under the bridge. If you ladies could get me up to speed?”

Ariel briefly reviewed what Donsaii’d just told her, then said, “But I think it’d be better if Dr. Donsaii explained some of these issues herself.”

Donsaii launched into a description of the way things were going to change.

When she finished, a glassy-eyed Romero said, “Surely we’ll still need roads, won’t we?”

“Certainly, for quite a while. But they’re going to wither as first people, then larger and larger goods travel by port. Some’ll stay open for nostalgic reasons and people will drive some roads just to take in some of the world’s spectacular views. However, speaking as someone who’s been using transporters for a few months, I’m already to the point where I feel very disappointed when I have to travel by car.”

“You’ve been doing this for months?!” Romero asked.

“Of course.”

“Where’ve you been transporting to?!”

“To work and back home. Also, we have a second, secret home my family and I travel to, a place we keep confidential so we can get away from all the attention. And, we have a mobile transporter too. When I know I’m going to need to go somewhere, my team moves the transporter there. When the time comes, I just port to that location rather than driving. That’s how I got here today.”

From the side of the room, a voice said, “You transported to the White House?!” When Ariel looked, she saw the exclamation had come from a horrified looking Secret Service agent.

“Oh, no.” Donsaii said, “Realizing that you’d probably want a briefing after we announced, we parked a little bus containing a transporter a few streets away in the wee hours of the morning. When Dr. Vardaman called me, I transported from D5R to the bus and walked from there…” She hesitated, “I’d recommend no transporters be allowed on the White House grounds until you’ve had a chance to work out a system for their use in sensitive facilities. You wouldn’t want someone to transport a bomb into the building here.”

“Oh, geez…” Romero said, appalled.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. Like any port, they only connect to one other transporter. We expect to sell ones that can contain multiple ports so they can connect to multiple transporters, but a White House transporter would still only connect to certain others that you’d selected. They’re under AI control so you can give the AI a limited list of people who’re allowed to transport directly here. You might want people to transport to the White House only from a couple of locations where they’d go through security before they did so.”

Romero shook his head at the Secret Service agent who’d opened his mouth to ask a question. “No transporters here for now. We’ll work out how to deal with that later. For now, I want to hear about the economic issues.”

Donsaii nodded. “It’s easy to see how manufacturers and operators in the transportation industry are looking at bleak times, but there are others who’ll be affected. We have to realize there’ll be upheavals in the travel industry. Airplane travel and manufacturing’s going to tank. It’ll suddenly be easy to get to exotic places that used to be expensive and difficult to reach. People are going to want to port to the depths of the jungles, the plains of the Serengeti, the top of Mt. Everest, the South Pole and the middle of the Sahara Desert. There’ll be a building boom in some of those areas. Without controls, locations with high desirability will be overwhelmed. Secondary localities will lose business to the exotic places, but gain it from the third-rate vacation spots—who are going to lose business now that it’ll be so easy to go somewhere better. New interplanetary vacation tourism will arise and someone’s going to have to step up and regulate that kind of travel because those locations will be dangerous.

“There’ll be businesses that flourish. At first, the ones that are in the supply chain for building transporters. Then the ones that recycle our current transportation machinery. Also, the companies that build the waldoes needed to position loads for port transits and remove them at the other end. Those who engineer and build machinery that’ll slide the load rapidly through the port to decrease the energy expended holding the port open. The providers generating the massive quantities of electrical power needed and the manufacturers of the turbines that produce it. Firms that install transporters and those that provide security for them when they’re in critical locations. The businesses that build space suits, because it’ll become so easy to go to space that a lot of people will start doing it. Industries that have the capabilities needed to build safe environments in orbit, in or on other planets, or inside asteroids. Companies capable of exploiting the extra-terrestrial resources that’ll soon be accessible.”

Donsaii took a breath, “It’d greatly help if the government promoted policies that help the people downsized out of declining industries. They’ll need retraining for the sectors that’re going to boom.”

Donsaii stopped to look at her stunned audience, as if thinking they must have questions. When none were forthcoming, she said, “Lest some think the simplest solution is to outlaw transporters, we should also talk about some of the benefits transporters will provide mankind.”

Romero shook his head to clear it, “Such as…?”

“Shortening the effective workday because you wouldn’t spend time commuting. One might think transporters would benefit the wealthy who have work homes and vacation homes by connecting the two houses, thus making it easier to live summers in New York and winters in Mexico. But even those people who can only afford one home could step from their snowbound Minnesota home into the sunshine of Florida. Or somewhere else that has a nice climate at the moment. By that, I mean at that moment. If it’s raining in Florida, step through into Arizona. Or, once porting across borders is worked out, they could move to a beautiful climate, say in the mountains of Peru, then just port to work in Minnesota. There’d be no need for multinational companies to teleconference, just take a transporter to meet in person.” She frowned, “We’ll need to worry about disease transmission as work and vacation travel becomes ubiquitous. We’ll need people like Gordito to help control epedimics.”

She sighed, “Back to the good stuff. The elderly and frail could live on Mars or the moon for lower gravity, yet their loved ones could still visit them several times a day if they wanted. If you got tired of the, admittedly somewhat boring, views on Mars or the Moon, you could take a transporter to one of the moons of Jupiter to watch some real storms, or a moon of Saturn to see the rings.”

Ariel snorted, “Only if you didn’t mind getting a big dose of radiation.”

“Oh,” Donsaii said, as if surprised, “didn’t Dr. Simon tell you we have a gene therapy that’ll provide radiation resistance…?”

Ariel’s eyes widened when she remembered that Simon had wanted more time to bring her up to date on ongoing scientific progress that might result in major changes. To Donsaii she said, “Radiation resistance?”

Ell smiled, “I understand it’ll likely prevent a lot of cancers as well.”

“What?! Is this approved?!”

“Not yet, but it corrects radiation damage in human tissue culture and in the blood cells of the people in the trial. So far the most serious side effects of the therapy have been mild fevers.”

After a brief silence in which Romero gave Vardaman a look of mixed irritation and disappointment, he asked, “What other benefits? Not just luxuries. Are there others that are more… momentous?”

Donsaii studied him a moment then slowly said, “I’d argue that what used to be considered luxuries, from salt, to electricity, to air-conditioning, to machines that do your bidding; are all now considered necessities. They’re what makes modern life so much better than that of our ancestors. But, yes, there are momentous benefits.” She held up a finger. “We’ll suddenly have unfettered access to the resources of the solar system. This will cause economic collapse in earthbound businesses that can’t or don’t try to compete. Especially mining industries, since almost all metals, minerals, and hydrocarbons will be more easily sourced in the asteroids or on other planets, and we’ll be able to do so without the environmental damage that earthbound mines inflict, a tremendous upside. A downside will be that many inadequately prepared individuals will buy spacesuits and head out to the belt hoping to strike it rich… where their naivety will get them killed.”

Donsaii lifted a second finger, “Humankind will have the benefit of no longer being dependent on a single planet. A natural or man-made disaster on Earth could no longer spell the end of humanity, or, for that matter, of all life.”

A third finger went up, “I mentioned the gene therapy for radiation resistance. It’s not fully tested so far, but if it works as well in humans as it does in animals, we’ll be able to live and work in high radiation environments on Mars, and the moons of Jupiter and Saturn. Radiation resistant people may be able to live in floating cities high in the atmosphere of Venus. NASA already has a Venusian Viability Mission ready to go. With industrial ports and human transporters, we’ll be able to get it there faster and find out sooner. I suspect humans will soon be living everywhere in the solar system and I hope you’ll team with other governments to think about how those areas should be governed and policed. We don’t want a repeat of the wild west out there.”

Donsaii lifted a fourth finger as she changed gears. “You may be aware that some people with failing hearts are already living in zero gravity habitats in low Earth orbit. The strains on their hearts are much diminished out there. I envision a time when a lot of medical care is provided in low gravity environments. After a serious injury, can you imagine your rehab beginning in 0.03 percent gravity on Ceres, moving on to seventeen percent gravity on the Moon, then to thirty-eight percent on Mars? A quarantine facility, completely isolated from the rest of the human race in tunnels on another planet could help us safely deal with epidemics.”

She put up her hand with all five fingers outstretched. “Recreation’s a major industry here on Earth. I’d expect some enterprising people will build facilities on the Moon or elsewhere. They’ll inflate large underground bubbles to high pressures. There, people will be able to fly around using human-powered wings. This could lead to new sports.”

Leaning back a bit, Ell said, “And, I’m sure I haven’t thought of everything that might happen out there… or down here.”

She studied Romero a moment, “To address one of your major issues, how to ameliorate the upheavals in the economy. Portal Tech could slow the release of the transporters to make the transition less of a jolt.”

Romero said, “I believe you did that with ports themselves when they first came out?”

“Yes, in exchange for an extension of the lifespan of our patents.”

The president grimaced, “Always gotta be a quid pro quo, huh? Never a willingness to just do the right thing for the country?”

Ell grinned, “Mr. President, I think if you’ll have your people study D5R and its subsidiaries, you’ll find we’re by far the best corporate citizens this country has.” She sighed, “We pay taxes without stinting or creative bookkeeping. We support this government in many other ways, such as this very visit. A second reason you should consider extending our patent protection is the fact that this tech, like most, can also be used for evil. A transporter could mo—”

“For evil?! Why didn’t you tell us that up front?!”

Ell paused a moment, “Because it’s something we worry a lot about and go to great lengths to ameliorate. As I was saying a transporter could be used to move a bomb to someone’s home. Portal tech has each transporter controlled centrally and every transport is observed by AIs actively working to prevent terrorist activity. A camera checks the people in the transporter against terrorist and crime watch lists. They confirm the person’s permitted to transport to the chosen destination. Microsensors look for radiation. Sniffers check for volatile molecules from flammables or explosives. Millimeter radar finds metal objects that might be weapons or wiring typical for bomb triggers.” She sighed, “Another company could sell transporters without such protections. We’re willing to limit transportation events according to their GPS location so they don’t move illegals, or criminals, or soldiers across borders unless they have the permission of the countries involved. If they got access to the technology, other companies would be able to undersell us simply by leaving out such controls. The government’s going to have to take over the prevention of port terrorism someday, but the longer they leave us as a benign monopoly, the longer we’ll be able to protect the public.”

She tilted her head. “We may be able to protect the public even longer than the patents run because we’re going to extreme lengths to protect our proprietary secrets from discovery. This includes making it nearly impossible to dismantle and reverse engineer our technology. This also helps prevent nation-states from ignoring our patents and using our tech for war-making. However, despite our best efforts, someone may find a way to reverse engineer the ports.”

Romero blinked, “Port terrorism? You say it like it’s already happened! I haven’t heard of port-related terrorist activity!”

Ell explained how someone had sent flammables through an ordinary port into a government building, followed by a spark that caused an explosion. Then she explained how they’d modified the tech to make that very difficult in the future. How standard ports were already limited by GPS to keep unauthorized ones away from the White House and other locations. How hard Portal Tech had worked to keep ports from being used as weapons by countries and organizations around the world.

Looking stunned, Romero held up a hand, “You said something about war-making capability? What are you talking about there?”

Looking unhappy, Donsaii said, “Let me paint you a possibility. Someone modifies an airplane flying over our country so it drops thousands of small uninflated ring ports as it flies from New York to Los Angeles. As they fall from the sky, they inflate and release infectious particles. Then larger ports are pushed through them. Those larger ports inflate and bombs are dropped through the ones over population centers. Once the big ports fall to the earth, troops—immunized against the infection—are sent through.”

Romero looked horrified, but Donsaii brought him back from the edge with a careful description of the measures Portal Tech had in place to prevent such a scenario.

As Vardaman watched Romero listen to Donsaii, she saw his initial suspicious mistrust melt into grudging respect.

Eventually, the conversation began to wind down. The president said, “Thank you for explaining all this. I think the country owes you an enormous debt. Perhaps I can organize a meeting of industry leaders? We could discuss the effect the transporters and big ports are going to have on their business and brainstorm ways we could ameliorate the problems?”

Donsaii readily agreed and Romero called his secretary in, asking her to work with the Department of Transportation to set up such a meeting. Then he said, “Can you see that Dr. Donsaii gets out of the White House okay?”

His secretary agreed, but Vardaman said, “I could walk her out Mr. President.”

“No, I’d like you to stay for another couple of minutes.”

Ariel agreed, thinking, I deserve to get fired and here it comes.

Donsaii exited and Ariel turned, fully expecting to lose her job on the spot. Instead, Romero said, “Stockton said I’d have to keep on top of what Donsaii was doing. Apparently, she had her science advisor regularly checking in with Donsaii for just this reason. I don’t like getting caught with my pants down this way so I’d like you to set up a program to keep on top of what Donsaii’s doing the way Simon did, okay?” He frowned, “Simon should’ve told you about this.”

“Yes sir,” Ariel said. She felt guilty for not confessing her culpability, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Epilogue

Stephen Klein rolled out of bed and headed for his bathroom, legs aching. Every morning my knees are killing me, he thought. For God’s sake, I’m only forty-one, why do my joints feel like they’re eighty? The toilet creaked as he settled himself onto it.

At his size, it was hard to pee standing up.

Done, Stephen got up with a grunt and shuffled over to the scales. As he stepped up onto the scale, he couldn’t help a small self-deprecating laugh at the way he always peed before weighing himself. As if getting rid of a few ounces of urine would make a significant difference to a weight like his. He leaned forward to read the scales past his massive belly.

365!

It was a lot, but compared to the 390 he’d weighed six-weeks ago it was great.

Especially considering how painless it’d been. He’d lost ten or fifteen pounds several times in the past, each time feeling like he was starving himself the whole time he dieted. Then, when he couldn’t take it anymore, his weight had always ballooned higher than it’d been before he started the diet.

This time the weight just seemed to be melting away. He didn’t feel hungry. He didn’t make any great effort to diet. He just didn’t seem to eat as much as he used to. He hadn’t finished an entire pizza in one sitting since the study’d started.

He walked over to the medicine cabinet and got out the kit containing his experimental medication. He swabbed the top of the vial and used the syringe to draw up the saline. He popped the top off one of the glass vials and squirted the saline into it, tapping it with a finger until the powder in the vial dissolved. He drew the solution up in his syringe and quickly injected it into the fat of his stomach.

The needle was so tiny it hardly hurt.

I’ve gotta be getting the real stuff, not the placebo, he thought.

Then, The guys that came up with this stuff are gonna make a boatload of money.

I sure wish I knew which company came up with it. I’d love to invest.

***

Dolores dodged around a paint crew to get to her offices at the Gonzales School. Once in the offices, she took a few minutes to talk to her two assistants, taking report on their accomplishments and dealing with the issues of the day.

Reaching the desk in her inner office, she sat with a sigh, pondering the improvements in her circumstances. The tenants who’d been in her schoolrooms had all been moved out. She’d been forced to take over an adjacent building to handle her massively increased enrollment.

Illiterate people now made up 75% of the school’s pupils and more kept signing up. Not only were they learning reading, writing, and arithmetic, but Señor Herrera was teaching them classes on their legal rights. Señora Gardon had hired a young woman interested in Information Technology who was giving them classes on how to get the most out of the AIs and HUDs. Every one of her new pupils was wearing a new AI when they arrived.

The better-off students at Delores’ school were jealous.

This Gardon woman’s the most amazing fundraiser I’ve ever heard of! Where does she find people who’re willing to donate this much money? To donate so much money they’ve got to be both generous and wealthy. And she’s finding people to check up on the staff’s work ethics, she thought, pondering how several employees had been fired for taking their salaries without doing a full day’s work. That had strongly encouraged the rest of the people to do what they were hired for. After all, Gardon’s foundation paid better than anyone else.

Beyond providing educations to the people in order to free them from wage-slavery, when Portal Technologies started building a facility outside the city, Gardon had talked them into preferentially hiring graduates of the Gonzales School. It’d be a while before construction was completed, but it’d be a while before anyone graduated, too.

For a moment Dolores worried about what’d happen once most of the illiterate people on the island had learned to read. Her school was going to have to scale back down again someday. And then what’ll I do?

Hopefully, I’ll be ready to retire, she answered herself.

***

Sophie Bakewell pulled up in front of the unassuming Reyes home in Pittsboro. I should’ve called ahead, she thought, getting out of her car. No, it speaks more of my appreciation that I came without even knowing if they’re here.

She waited patiently after ringing the doorbell. Eventually a handsome man opened the door. “Yes?”

“Mr. Reyes?”

He nodded, not looking particularly pleased to have a stranger at his door unannounced.

She extended her hand. “I’m Sophie Bakewell, um,” her voice broke and her eyes flooded with tears, “your son, Gage, saved my life.” Her knees suddenly weak and head light, she grabbed at the doorframe.

Mr. Reyes quickly reached around her waist to steady her, saying, “Let’s get you inside.”

A few minutes later she found herself stretched out on their couch with a cold compress on her forehead. Ms. Gardon came in and held her hand while Reyes went to the kitchen to get her some iced tea.

Gage appeared and gave her a hug.

Sophie looked up at his mom, “Gage saved my life.”

The boy’s mother turned to look at Gage. “He’s pretty special all right.”

She turned her eyes to Gage, “I’ll be forever indebted to you. How in the world did you know what to do?”

He shrugged and stared at his toes, looking embarrassed. “I watch too many emergency rescue vids. I probably did everything wrong, but I’m sure glad you pulled through anyway.”

Sophie’s voice rasped as she said, “I showed some of the vid from one of your classmates to my doctor. She said no one could’ve done better.”

When the woman helped her sit up, Sophie realized Ms. Gardon was no longer pregnant. “You had your baby! Did everything go okay?”

Gardon smiled, “Went just fine. We had twin girls.” She looked at Gage, “Hopefully, if they team up they’ll be able to keep Gage in line.”

Sophie gave him a wistful look, “I hope he takes care of them as well as he did me.”

***

Ell and Reggie descended the stairs into the animal quarters. Ell said, “You can’t give me any clue as to what we’re going to look at down here?”

“Nope,” Reggie said with a little smile. “I want to get your unbiased opinion of what you see.” She unlocked the door and they stepped into a room outfitted with cages of mice. She waved, “This way.”

Soon Ell was peering into a set of cages containing mice, though the inhabitants were almost all hiding in small enclosures at the back of the cages. “What am I supposed to be seeing, besides the occasional nose?”

“Ah, the little enclosures are because mice are nocturnal. They prefer hiding in small dark spaces during the day. If we came at night, you’d find them out and about in the main parts of their cages.”

“So, I am down here just to see their noses?”

“No, sorry,” Reggie said. She spoke to her AI and the room dimmed. She walked down the space behind the cages, flipping levers that lifted the boxes off the mice so they could be seen. “Boost the light gathering in your contacts so you can see in this dim light and tell me if you notice any differences between the mice.”

Ell boosted light-gathering until the mice looked like they were in daylight. She walked down the row, studying the little animals. “I’ve only seen a few mice my whole life. I’m not sure I’ll recognize whatever you think I might see.” She stopped and backed up a little, then moved forward again. “I think… Hmm. They seem to vary quite a bit in… I don’t know what to say. Health? I mean it’s not one thing. Some of them seem fluffier, sleeker. They move around more, as if they’re healthier. The others look a little… wobbly? They move slower.”

“Okay. Those are exactly the kinds of changes I think I’m seeing. These are middle-aged mice, but some of them seem to look a little younger. If you’ll go down the row again and call out the numbers of the mice you think look young, I’ll check them off on my list here.”

Ell had gotten to the end of the row, so she started back the other way, calling off the numbers of the ones she thought looked younger. Some she wasn’t sure of but Reggie insisted she make her best guess.

Back upstairs in Reggie’s office, Ell said, “So what was that experiment and why am I involved?”

“Those mice were the experimental and control long-term follow up groups for our radiation resistance study. The ones we gave the gene therapy to shortly after you got it from the Virgies. Almost every one of the mice you thought looked older—”

Ell gasped, interrupting Reggie. “The gene therapy’s making them age faster?!” Wide-eyed, she said, “We’ve already given that therapy to four people!”

“No, no,” Reggie said, putting a calming hand on Ell’s arm. The ones that look old are the controls. They look about the way fifteen-month-old mice should look. What you’re seeing is an experimental group that looks younger than it should.”

Ell stared at Reggie, “So, the DNA repair therapy not only prevents radiation damage, and decreases cancer but it slows aging?”

Reggie nodded. “We need to add a lot more mice to both groups so we can be sure we’ll be able to detect differences in life span and the incidence of cancer in animals that haven’t been exposed to radiation.”

“Oh God! That’s actually good! You aged me a couple of years there!”

“What do you think?”

“About what?”

“Adding more animals to the groups?”

“Sure,” Ell shrugged, “Whatever you think.”

“Um,” Reggie said, “I’m trying to ask whether D5R’d be willing to fund them?”

“Yes! Absolutely. Go for it.”

“You’ll ask them for me then?”

Ell smiled, “Sure. My AI, Allan, should get back to you with approval this afternoon.”

***

Shan and Zage followed Ell down the stairs to the transporter in the basement. Suspicious of trips as always, Zage asked, “Where are we going?”

“Ell laughed, “To show you something I think you’ll find interesting.”

“When you won’t tell me before we get there, I can be fairly certain I’m not going to like it.”

Ell shook her head and laughed again. “Okay then, I’m taking you to see some things I think you need to know about.”

Zage looked up at Shan, “Dad, do you know what this is all about?”

“Just as mystified as you are. However, I’m betting it’s gonna be cool stuff.”

Zage rolled his eyes as they stepped into the transporter.

Ell said, “Just so you’ll be aware, we’re installing transporters in our bedrooms upstairs and in the study downstairs. In case of an attack on us, it’ll give us a fast escape route.” She spoke to her AI and they heard the thump of the ring dropping once, the trial run it made to make sure the mechanics of the system were working. It thumped again as it did the actual transport.

A hissing sound and a fullness in the ears told them they’d transported to a higher altitude. The hissing was air escaping as the pressure in the chamber dropped toward ambient. As they all popped their ears, Ell said. You need to be aware that in an emergency, for instance if the house’s on fire, you can ask your AI for an emergency transport in which the port-ring mechanism won’t make a trial run so you can get to a new location pronto.”

Ell opened the transporter’s door and they found themselves inside a large granite walled chamber. “Hah,” Shan said, “This is my place, right? The one you cut into the rock outcrop on my land up near Asheville?”

“Uh-huh,” Ell said, looking around. She walked over and swung open the door to the outside.

They stepped out into the mountain forests. Shan immediately noticed the old dirt road had been plowed up. Trees of different ages, tiny to Christmas tree sized, looked like they’d been freshly and randomly planted in the plowed up roadway. “You’re destroying the road?”

“Uh-huh,” Ell said. “ I’m hoping that in a few years it’ll be hard to see where it used to be.”

Zage was frowning. He looked up at them, “What is this place?”

Shan said, “It’s a hideaway your mom set up for us back when we were being chased by the FBI.”

Zage looked around, then up at Shan, “But you said ‘my place’ like it was yours.”

Shan nodded, “Ell bought it in the name of one of my aliases.”

“Can we walk around a bit?” Zage asked.

Ell said, “Sure, but only a couple of minutes. We’ve got other places to check out.”

They all strolled along an animal trail in the forest for a few minutes, then headed back to the chambered house inside the granite outcropping. Before they opened the door, Shan stopped to look at the cuts in the rock they’d made creating the door—back before Zage had been born. They were weathered enough they blended into the rest of the rock making the door hard to see.

Back inside the chambers, Ell took Zage around and explained how the camping toilets, showers, and kitchen all worked.

They got back into the transporter. This time Ell told Allan to take them to “the little house in Ecuador.” They had to pop their ears again for another pressure change. When they stepped out the front door they saw the house was located high on a hill looking out over dense forest as far as the eye could see.

Zage gave his mother a quizzical look, “Ecuador’s on the equator. Shouldn’t we be in hot steamy jungle?”

She grinned, “Yes, but here we’re at about 3,000 meters (~10,000 ft.), so the temperature’s pretty much perfect year-around. People from the States that live down here complain about how they miss seasons like winter!”

Shan looked around the cabin realizing that it had no heating, cooling, or insulation. I guess if the temperature’s always nice you don’t need that stuff.

Their next stop was in the mountains of Colorado.

Then another big pressure change as they descended to a “hunting cabin” on a fjord. It was located on Chichagof Island along the inside passage of Alaska. Shan looked out over the beautiful contrast between the blue water, the steep green slopes and the brilliantly white clouds hanging over it all. “Wow. This is really isolated.”

Distractedly, Ell said, “Yeah, this is where we’re riding out the next pandemic.”

Then, with the next bump, they suddenly felt light. Zage’s eyes widened excitedly. He hopped into the air a little, falling to the ground more slowly than expected, “We’re on Mars?!”

Ell nodded. “Though it’s not as exciting as you’d hope. The transporter’s in one of their underground tunnels and you can’t really go outside unless you get fitted for a suit and have some training in how to use it.”

Zage was opening the door of the transporter, but when it opened to show him a reddish glassy looking wall he turned back in disappointment. “There really isn’t any reason to get out and look around is there?”

Ell stepped out into the tunnel and peered around the corner of the transporter. She beckoned Zage and Shan after her. “At least step out here so you can say you’ve been to Mars.”

They both got out and walked a little way down the tunnel. Zage bounced into the air a couple of times, then jumped up and did a flip. Shan said, “I didn’t know you knew how to do flips.”

Zage shrugged, “I don’t, but I’d heard they’re pretty easy in low gravity.”

Shan thought, I’ll bet if I try one I won’t stick the landing like he did. I’d probably land on my damn fool head.

Back in the transporter, they ported again. This transport went to a little house. When they stepped outside they were on a beach. “Where are we now?” Shan asked.

“Hawaii,” Ell said. “Wanna walk down the beach and have lunch at the little café there?”

“It’s dinnertime,” Zage said.

“Not here. Here it’s lunchtime. But the lunches here are better than the dinners in a lot of places.” She snickered, “A lot better than if I take you home and cook dinner for you.”

“We’ll eat here,” Zage and Shan said quickly and in unison.

***

Kristen had invited Ell, Shan, and Zage to dinner in Morehead City. Ell was suffering mixed feelings. Excitement to see her mother and grandmother. Guilt that, despite her earlier resolution she hadn’t visited them as much as she should. Fear that Gram’s dementia would have worsened significantly over the two months since they’d last been down.

The month after Gram had started on Zage’s treatment Kristen had mentioned that she’d hired a nurse’s aide to sit with Gram, dashing Ell’s hopes that Gram was getting better. Ell’s biggest fear was that Kristen had invited them to dinner so they could talk about putting Gram in some kind of facility. Heartbreaking as that would be, Ell knew she’d have to agree. It’d be unfair, she thought, to put the whole burden of Gram’s care on my mother and… She had a mental hiccough, But couldn’t we hire fully qualified private duty nurses around the clock? Gram could stay in a place she’s called home but Mom wouldn’t have to provide much care? After all, money’s no object.

They stepped out of the transporter to find Kristen and Duncan setting the table. Ell carried Caii over and set her in one of the two highchairs at the foot of the table. Shan put Raii in the other one. Ell looked around. Gram was nowhere to be seen. Did Kristen already put her in a home?

Greetings and hugs were exchanged. Still no Gram. Ell forced a smile, “Can I help in the kitchen Mom?”

“Nooo!” Shan moaned.

Zage protested simultaneously, “Mom! We were looking forward to having a nice dinner!”

Kristen laughed and said, “Ell, you have many talents, but try to remember cooking is not one of them.”

Ell laughed too. “I was just being polite! You guys don’t have to make such a big—” She broke off, having seen Gram coming out of the kitchen, wearing an apron, carrying a big bowl of salad.

Dullness gone from her eyes, Gram said, “Hi, Ell, Shan.” She looked at Zage. “You must be my great-grandson Zage. I’m afraid my dementia destroyed almost all of my memories of you. All I have is some vague recollections of a toddler that watched a lot of videos.”

Zage swallowed, “Yeah, I did. Sorry. Must’ve been pretty annoying.”

Gram turned to the foot of the table. “Which one’s Caii and which is Raii?”

Wiping at her tears, Ell croaked as she introduced her twins to their great grandmother.

Then she strode to her Gram and gave her a long, long hug.

Eventually, Gram said, “I love you too honey, but your mac and cheese’s gonna burn if you don’t loosen up.”

Ell relaxed her arms and held her Gram at arm’s length. Round-eyed, she said, “You remembered how I love mac and cheese?”

“Sure, my old memories of things like your favorite foods are pretty good. It’s the recent ones that’re in shambles.”

~~~

As they ate, Ell kept feeling surprised by how well Gram held up her end of the various conversations. She seemed unembarrassed about the things she couldn’t remember, just asking what’d happened and saying, “I promise I’ll remember that next time you’re here.

When it came time for dessert, Gram came in with pie and ice cream for everyone, setting a huge slice with several large scoops of ice cream in front of Zage. When he protested that he couldn’t possibly eat all of it, she sat down next to him. Wiping tears from her eyes, she said, “Eat what you can and come back often. I hear you’re the one who saved my memories… essentially saved my life by saving what makes me who I am. The least I can do is spoil you worse than any grandmother’s ever spoiled a child before.”

Zage grinned up at her. “Great! I’ll eat what I can tonight and come back tomorrow for the rest.”

The End

Hope you liked the book!

To find other books by the author try Laury.Dahners.com.

Or his Amazon Author page

Author’s Afterword

This is a comment on the “science” in this science fiction novel. I’ve always been partial to science fiction that posed a “what if” question (and also has some real science in it). Not everything in the story has to be scientifically plausible, but you suspend your disbelief regarding one or two things that aren’t thought to be possible. Essentially you ask, “what if” something (such as faster than light travel) were possible, how might that change our world? Each of my stories tries to ask such questions.

“Transporter” takes the next step from the material transfer ports that have been such a big part of the Ell stories so far. Now we get to start wondering about the changes that would result from an ability to move people as well as materials through ports. I find it fascinating to contemplate the changes this would make in our world. Surely, they wouldn’t just be used to transport people from starships to the surface of planets and back? Wouldn’t we be transporting from place to place on the planet too? If we had them wouldn’t we use them for almost everything beyond a long walk? Wouldn’t vehicles and roads become (almost) obsolete? Getting around our solar system (to say nothing of the stars) using rockets is ludicrously difficult and hazardous. Portals that allowed us to do that cheaply, instantaneously, and safely would change our lives in ways that are extremely complex to imagine.

Unfortunately, slavery is alive and well in the 21st century. One of the most insidious forms is “debt-bondage” in which the enslaved people are, in theory, free. It’s just that the system is set up to make it impossible for them to ever earn their way to that freedom.

Despite some people’s fears of vaccines, they are the most amazing of the advances made in creating the wonder of modern healthcare. At the time of the writing of this story, we were in the COVID-19 pandemic and can only hope that someone comes up with a vaccine soon. [As I write this I can’t help thinking about the fact that—by the day, sometime in my future, that you read this—you may know how it all turns out.] It’d be a great boon to mankind if there was a genius somewhere who could intuit which parts of a pathogen will incite strong reactions from our immune systems. This would allow the quick design of an effective vaccine that would reliably produce immunity without complications. There are so many diseases for which we still need immunization, that coming up with the list that Zage creates in the story was simple. A successful vaccine for malaria alone would save millions of people and animals per year.

Because of the herpesvirus association with Alzheimer’s disease, immunization to those viruses might alleviate that dread disease as well. Maybe we also need to dissolve amyloid and tau out of the brain, but we definitely need to eradicate the pathogens that are thought to infect our brains and cause the inflammation that slowly destroys them.

Acknowledgments

I’d like to acknowledge the editing and advice of Gail Gilman, Nora Dahners, Allen Dietz, H. Jeff Durham, Jack Hudler, Philip Lawrence, Scott McNay, and Abiola Streete, each of whom significantly improved this story.