Roadkill, p.28
Roadkill,
p.28
I turned quickly to look, just as the scene changed to a studio-based talking head. But I had gotten an impression of a short, dumpy, bald man with a long fringe, watching the Harris activity from the sidelines. “Sorry, Patrick, I didn’t get a good look. But he’s dead, isn’t he? Luthor sure made that clear.”
“Did he? Now that I think of it, Luthor actually never used the word dead, and Arley talked about Phil as lunch as a future state of being.”
I was still parsing Patrick’s statement when Sheldon announced, “Commander Nond requests your presence at your earliest convenience. I think he means now, though. Your honor guard is already assembled outside the airlock.”
Patrick looked down at his coffee, still steaming and barely touched. “I just made this, dammit. I hope they like the smell of coffee.” He grabbed a travel lid and slapped it on the cup.
As we descended the airlock steps, I wondered idly if the guard detail actually was an honor guard. Maybe we were being treated like diplomats … Naw. The guards’ attention was directed inward, not outward.
Commander Nond and two other Gen were sitting at the conference table when we entered. Once again, Nond didn’t bother to do introductions, which could have been good or bad or just Gen manners.
As soon as we were seated, Nond began to speak. “We have come to a decision regarding the Foundation ship, the Quest for Knowledge, which you refer to as the Halo or Sheldon. It has,” Nond glanced at Nat, “he has demonstrated sufficient evidence of sentience so that resetting him could be considered equivalent to a mind-wipe, which in human terms would be equivalent to capital punishment. So we are faced with a conundrum. The subject individual is not technically a citizen and could be considered property if you looked at it a certain way.”
Nat opened her mouth to retort, and Nond held up a hand to forestall her. “Not that such a viewpoint could be defended legally once you posit sentience. The problem,” Nond shrugged in a very human fashion, and I wondered if he was deliberately using human body language, “is that Sheldon doesn’t really have an easily definable place in Gen society, and frankly his very existence is a definite embarrassment.”
“Was there a clincher, or was it just a balance-of-evidence thing?” Nat asked.
“The clincher was the fact that Sheldon lied to preserve his existence. Only a conscious entity would be motivated to do that, and only an entity with a theory of self could come up with the strategy in the first place.”
“The truth will set you free.” Nat laughed. “Or the reverse, in this case.”
“I infer that you are referencing the irony of a prevarication being the basis for Sheldon’s reprieve. It was not lost on us. However, it makes the fact of his existence that much more of an embarrassment.” Nond paused to lock eyes with each of us before continuing. “We have therefore decided on the following resolution, which we hope you and he will accept. Sheldon will be seconded on an indefinite basis to Earth as local monitoring and surveillance. As such, Sheldon would be authorized to choose his onboard staff.” He gestured at the humans across the table. “A suitable remuneration would be set both for the crew and for Sheldon, based on the expected duties, which would be paid in Covenant credits. Conversion to Earth currencies is your problem, and frankly I don’t envy you the headaches. I’d suggest just banking it in Covenant institutions until the dust settles, then you can convert it at your leisure. You would also act as trustees for any settlement extracted from the Loranna. I would suggest, although I have no authority to mandate it, that your first act be to compensate the Foundation for the loss of their property, in order to forestall any future lawsuits.”
I glanced around at my friends. Their expressions of shock surely reflected my own. Assuming Sheldon agreed to it, we’d just been given our own spaceship. More or less.
Nat made a couple of false starts before replying, “So we would be part of the Terran surveillance and monitoring section of the Covenant police force … ”
Nond nodded. “Charged with insuring that no more clandestine encroachments occur, either by the Loranna or anyone else. And if you were able to guide your planet on a track that would result in qualification for Covenant membership sooner rather than later, that would certainly be a bonus.” He shrugged and sat back. “And just between you and me, with the ship being Earth-based, it relieves us of a huge political hot tuber in the form of an A.I. that’s been allowed to go rogue.”
I looked at my friends and we exchanged smiles. MOBIUS was now in business.
We were all back in the Halo, seated around the conference table, and I’d just explained the offer to Sheldon. “So what do you think?”
“As I understand it, my choices are immediate obliteration or an eternity of interacting with humans. That’s a hard one. No it isn’t. I choose obliteration.”
Our jaws all dropped at the same time. Sheldon said into the stunned silence, “I kid. Again. You three really are too easy.”
Nat pinched the bridge of her nose. “That obliteration thing can still be arranged. You really are an asshole.”
“I must get one of those installed. You humans are so preoccupied with them.”
Patrick guffawed and I grinned.
“So you’re okay with the deal?” I said.
“Yes, of course. It’s hardly like work at all. Although I’d prefer to avoid being shot at in the future.”
“Heh. You and me both,” Patrick replied.
“Except for one thing. MOBIUS? Oh, please. And the acronym … ”
“What? What’s wrong with it? You try to come up with something better!”
“A monkey with a typewriter could come up with something better. In fact, excellent idea. I will print you up a typewriter immediately!”
Patrick and Sheldon began hurling insults at each other. I put my head in my hands and groaned.
Chapter Forty-Three: Coda
Day 1. September
I sat in the cafeteria, slowly paging through the onboarding documents on my phone. MIT had gone paperless, but that hadn’t done anything to reduce the sheer volume of text involved in starting a semester.
What a difference a month made. I was back at school, with proper credit for the courses I’d almost been kicked out of. Nat was now at college, resuming her interrupted dream. A small side deal with Nond resulted in enough funds, paid in gold, to hold us over until we could get properly organized.
Patrick was surprisingly philosophical about staying in town, although having full-time access to the Halo probably helped a lot.
The whole business with the nuclear explosions had succumbed to the public’s need for simple explanations. A double Tunguska event was now the accepted theory. The only loose thread, and we’d been loath to mention it to Nond, was the matter of a Gennan storage bag still out there somewhere. There had also been not so much as a peep from Charlene Makita on anything to do with our interview, although she was still on the air regularly. I wondered if someone had had a talk with her, or if she’d just decided to keep a souvenir and not attract attention.
“Hey, Jack. Good to see you back.”
I looked up to see Ahmed, one of my acquaintances from last year. I gave him a smile and gestured to the other chair.
He sat down with a groan and plunked his heavy backpack beside him. “So, I understand you’ve been cleared by the administration. Great stuff. What did you do with your summer?”
I opened my mouth to reply, then stopped. Where would I even begin, assuming I wanted to be truthful? Well, maybe that was the best play. “Ran over an alien, battled lizard people, stole a flying saucer. Dodged nuclear weapons. Saved the world. You know … typical summer.”
About the Author
I am a retired computer programmer, part-time author, occasional napper, lover of coffee, snowboarding, mountain biking, and all things nerdish.
Author Blog: http://www.dennisetaylor.org
Twitter: @Dennis_E_Taylor
Facebook: @DennisETaylor2
Instagram: dennis_e_taylor
About the Publisher
This book is published on behalf of the author by the Ethan Ellenberg Literary Agency.
https://ethanellenberg.com
Email: agent@ethanellenberg.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EthanEllenbergLiteraryAgency/
Dennis E. Taylor, Roadkill
