Back at the station, the chief lab technician, Sarah Franklin, sat in her small room, a picture in her hand. The photo was wrinkled and faded from it’s years of being smuggled and hidden. It was a snapshot of a man, about 45 years old, with gray and golden hair, sitting on a bench, his arm over the shoulder of a pretty woman with sparkling green eyes, slightly younger. They appeared to be at a small house in the country. They were smiling.
Sarah was crying. She wiped tears from her cheek, trying not to make any noise that might be picked up by Command. She had been struggling against absolute despair. The couple in the picture were her parents, and the snapshot was taken shortly before the so-called “third uprising” against the Unification. It was the last desperate attempt at overthrowing the new government. It became the final, decisive demonstration of its power.
Her parents had opposed the revolution from the start. Sarah, who was at the medical university at the time, had disagreed with them. She was convinced that the revolution would usher in a new age of universal peace and prosperity. Her parents were afraid it would be at the cost of freedom, and they worried about such a gross centralization of power.
Unfortunately, they were also outspoken—and stubborn. After the third uprising, they refused the implantation of the new CommandLinks. That’s what had gotten them enrolled in the “education” program, and they disappeared soon after.
Sarah had been grieved by her parents disappearance, but she had also been convinced that it was brought on by their own stubbornness and erroneous views. She had actually been angry at them and their “foolishness.” She had submitted gladly to the implanation, happy to be a part of unity and progress.
But Sarah soon found that her parents were right. Soon every detail of her life was monitored and dictated according to the Unification’s scientifically designed plan for the progress of humanity. Shortly after the implantation, she was “selected” by Command for training as a scientist and Martianaut, assigned to the Exploration Division, and relocated from her country home (country homes were no longer permitted) to a tiny hovel in Dallas. She was instructed as to her diet and leisure activities, and she was even assigned a mate, one selected to ensure compatibility of lifestyle as well as genetically suitable offspring.
As part of a higher “caste”, she was trained to receive direction from the higher levels and issue directives to the lower. She was a link in a great network of data acquisition and command execution. She had ceased to be Sarah Franklin. She was now part of a great colonial organism, and just as a hive of bees cannot afford to have free individuals, neither could the Unification.
Now, Sarah sat there on the small couch, 78 million kilometers away from home, and cried. She had changed her mind about the Unification, and she would never have the chance to tell her parents they were right. Now she sat in a pioneer station on Mars, her life utterly controlled, and nothing to look forward to but a mind-controlling implant, the next stage of the “peaceful” revolution. She did not know how much longer she could go on. She picked up the bottle of white powder she had brought secretly from the lab. She opened it up and smelled it. The faint odor of bitter almond, characteristic of cyanide, repulsed her, and she closed the cap. “No,” she thought, “this is not the answer.”
Her CommandLink came to life, “Officer Franklin… Are you crying?.. Is there a problem?”
They must have heard her. “I’m sorry, Command. I stubbed my toe on the table.”
“Officer Franklin, why are you in your room?”
“I’m sorry, Command, I had forgotten to take my aclimatization pill today, I will return to the lab at once.”
“Thank you, Officer… Please continue with the atmospheric experiments according to the program. Update us as soon as you have new data.”
“Yes, Command.”
#
It was the next day. Jim had just finished breakfast and needed refuge from the din in the dining hall. He had enjoyed the coffee and imitation bacon and eggs, as well as the company of Sarah Franklin, the attractive Chief Lab Technician, but he had little tolerance for the talk offered up by the others at the table.
Sarah was in her 40s, with blond hair and deep green eyes. She was the only person among the 24 station inhabitants that he could relate to at all, and he had often wanted to bring her into his confidence. He would have liked someone to talk to. He sometimes fantasized that she might be Resistance material, but it was too risky. The hard reality was that the vast majority of people were Unification loyalists, and Sarah’s assigned mate, Wesley Wallace, was a true believer. He was there, too, sipping his tea and pontificating. A tall, blond-haired administrator-scientist with evasive blue eyes, he was pretentious and insecure. He was younger than Jim by about ten years, and their personalities clashed.
To Wesley’s left was Marcus Johansen, the brawny young technician, and a few of his peers, here to tend the wells, pumps, and electrolyzers. Like most of the so-called worker “caste,” they were happy as larks with the Unification as long as they got their daily rations of pills and virtual reality entertainment.
The group had been discussing the new UniLinks, that horrible replacement for the CommandLink that would read thought and transmit questions and commands directly into the host’s consciousness. Jim could imagine nothing more horrible, yet he knew it was only a matter of time before the higher “castes” were fitted with them. Then, control would be complete. It was unbelievable that many longed for the day, looked forward to being “fitted” with these tiny, horrible things. Most of the others at the table were excited, eagerly awaiting the implants, the last step toward unity, a giant leap of progress.
Jim had had trouble hiding his disgust and anxiety, and he knew that Wesley was a self-appointed spy for Command, so he politely took his leave of the table. As he did, his eyes met Sarah’s. They looked at each other for no more than a few seconds, but he wondered if he saw in her eyes the same pain he felt inside. Wesley caught them staring at each other, and Sarah looked down at her plate. Jim nodded to Wes and walked away.
As Jim walked down the hall toward the lounge, his CommandLink came to life, “Director Fox… Are you ill?… You did not participate in this mornings conversation at breakfast.”
“I’m fine, Command,” he said, “perhaps a bit tired from yesterday’s hike.”
“Please increase your daily exercise time to 1.5 hours until further notice. We will increase your food ration and vitamin supplements for the next week. Please see the station physician at 10:00 and report any further irregularities. And Director Fox….”
“Yes, Command.”
“Please review the motivational module tonight in for your educational exercises.”
“Yes, Command.”
Jim shook his head as he entered the lounge. He was glad to find it empty. He walked across the room to the window and looked out across the stark, pale brown desert. A shadow was falling over the landscape as a looming cloud of tawny dust blocked the sun, flashes of lightning illuminating its dark underbelly.
“Marcus,” Jim spoke, knowing his CommandLink would automatically direct the message to the proper individual.
“Yes, Sir.” Marcus was still at breakfast, his mouth full of food.
“Marcus, secure the wells, there is a whopper of storm brewing.”
“Yes, Sir,” he replied, then, “Umm, Sir, I’ve been working on the control module on well number five and will not have time to properly secure it. I will install the storm covers on all of the wells, but if number five’s cover goes, there is no primary protection. It may get damaged.”
“Understood, Marcus, but it’s not likely. Let’s hope for the best.”
The Command Link chimed in. “Director Fox…be sure to secure the station… transmit weather and damage reports as soon as they are available.”
“Yes, Command.”
Jim alerted the technicians in the air lock and garage bay, “Secure the station, severe dust storm approaching.”
“Director Fox, if the storm continues later than 11:00, you will reschedule your sampling trip for tomorrow.”
“Yes, Command.”
Jim stood there quietly for a moment, still looking out the window. As he looked up at the filtered sun, growing dimmer with each passing moment behind the thickening haze, Jim imagined himself a dinosaur, an ancient stegosaurus gazing stupidly at its dark doom.
Marcus drove the rover from well to well, checking the storm covers. The great dust storm was like a massive breaker about to crash down on the metallic dome of the station as it shined like an iridescent shell on the beach. Lightning cracked the darkness below as Jim wondered about the connection between this storm and the dust devils. He watched Marcus as he hurriedly got into the rover and fled across the dunes.
The air lock and bay techs secured the entrances to the station after Marcus returned. “All set Director, and just in time.”
