Another Girl, Another Planet Read online

  “Yes, you have,” he said. He spoke to the second one. “Get out of that stupid tape!”

  The robot broke the inch-thick wrap of duct tape with a loud snap! followed by a thud as the wad of tape fell to the floor.

  The attorney, contractor, and robots left.

  The room was very quiet for a moment, until I spoke up. “Damn, I didn’t know those things were so strong.”

  “For the robot to have done exactly what you instructed it to do—immobilize the wrists—it would have had to use a lot more tape,” said the Eastern European worker.

  “I did say, ‘cannot be separated,’ I suppose,” I said with a grimace.

  The third worker, the one who hadn’t spoken during the arbitration, finally opened his mouth. “You don’t know who you’re messing with,” he said.

  “Yes, I do,” I said. “Some cheapskate who wants to save a few bucks.”

  Thompson sidled up to me. “Anyone who rents robots on a regular basis has Kurland’s ear,” he said. “He has a lot of clout. You should learn to pick your fights.”

  I didn’t respond but turned to the workers and the union people. “Everyone happy then?”

  They laughed. One said, “Everyone except Kurland.”

  “Maybe Mister Kurland needs to be cut down to size.”

  They all laughed, but I thought, I better smile and pretend I know why they’re laughing so hard, though I don’t.

  They all stopped to shake my hand on the way out.

  “You’re like a breath of fresh air,” said the shop steward.

  “Thank you for being so fair,” said the union rep.

  Even Rumyantsev smiled, very thinly. “It’s nice to see an American bureaucrat who takes his job to protect the proletariat seriously.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Thompson headed to the door. “I need to get back to the office. I have some pressing work.”

  “I’ll see you back at the office,” I said rather cheerily. He scowled as he left.

  One worker hung back. After the others left, he came up and pumped my hand vigorously. “Thanks, boss!” he said with a broad smile.

  “For what?”

  “For taking me seriously, when I mentioned the duct tape.”

  “You look like a practical guy with lots of good old-fashioned American know-how,” I said. “I bet you’re good at fixing things.”

  His eyes twinkled and he beamed from ear to ear.

  “The best! But the others, they say I’m slow.”

  “Baloney! Slow and steady wins the race. Hey, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure!”

  “Are all androids that strong?”

  He had curly red hair and it bounced as he shook his head.

  “No, those are retread construction robots. They may have come from the Moon. They were used for the early heavy construction here.”

  “No wonder they’re so clumsy!”

  “Yep, which is why we thought we were being gypped. There’s no comparing the quality of the work,” he said. “That guy wanted to do a half-assed job, then haul ass and disappear when things fell apart for the new tenant, who wouldn’t see the slapdash duct work because it would be hidden.”

  “We don’t need parts of the colony just falling down because people do a shitty job,” I said. “I hope I sent a little message today.”

  “You sure did,” he said.

  “Hey, they introduced you at the start, but I don’t remember your name.”

  “Jake Lingvall, from Muncie, Indiana.”

  “Great to meet you, Jake. You know, it’s great to know a good handyman. Can I call you if I need any help?”

  He beamed. “Any time! Anything!”

  “Great, then,” I said, shaking his hand again.

  “Gotta run,” he said, heading toward the door. “It was great to meet you, Mister Shuster.”

  As he reached the door, I had a thought. “Hey, Jake, if it’s tight …?”

  “WD-40!” said Jake.

  “And if it’s loose?”

  Jake reached in a pocket and held a roll up high. “DUCT TAPE!”

  “Good man! Have a great day.”

  After he left, I gathered up my papers at the table and slid them into my briefcase, as I got a solid feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  I know I made enemies that day, but I already was coming to the conclusion that, with a new governor and lieutenant governor on the way, I would probably get the blame for anything that went wrong in the interim—even stuff I didn’t know about—once they got here, so they could start fresh.

  That’s the way office politics goes. “Well, what the heck,” I muttered to myself. I realized this wasn’t going to be a very long-term assignment.

  Things had drifted under Governor Wilder. Bureaucrats were taking payoffs, and a corporate tycoon with his fingers in every pie was manipulating the whole business structure of the colony for his benefit.

  This place is a mess, I remember myself thinking. What to do? Let’s roll the dice and see what comes up. What did Mark Twain say? “Do the right thing. It will gratify some people and astonish the rest.” Sounds like a plan.

  “Not a good plan,” I mumbled as I left to return to the office, “but it’s a plan.

  Plus, I thought as I hopped the transport, I may have made some enemies, but I also made some friends, who may come in handy down the road.

  Chapter Eight

  As a result of that experience with the labor dispute arbitration, I did some belated reading and research over lunch that day on how labor disputes were handled on the Mars colony. One side benefit was that I learned Andy Coltingham—before he entered law enforcement—had been involved in the British labor unions.

  That’s why he was acceptable to the Soviets, I thought. British unions were much more left-wing in the U.K. than they were in America.

  On my way home that night, as the transport was crossing a viaduct, the speaker was playing the megahit from a couple of years earlier, “What Do All the People Know” by the Monroes. That song had been incessant during the summer of 1982, so much so that many stations stopped playing it because of overexposure. I hadn’t heard it in a few years myself, and somehow hearing such a common song again in such a strange place seemed eerie.

  As my mind wandered, I looked down to the next lower level. Something caught my eye. Again, it took me a second to consciously realize what I was seeing. It was Desiree.

  I stared, but it was her. I was sure it was her! She looked exactly as she had at the bank Open House back in New York. Her sidewalk was moving toward the transport viaduct. I ran to the back of the MarsTran car to get a better look as she passed beneath. She must have noticed the sudden motion above here, because she looked up. I was sure it was her! I could never forget those jet black eyes! It was just a brief moment, and we never made eye contact.

  When the transport stopped, I ran out. I doubled back down the platform and then went down to the train station. Unfortunately, by the time I got there, the train had left. I looked around helplessly.

  I rubbed my forehead. Am I losing my mind? Am I seeing things? I thought.

  Then I remembered how the page of the newspaper had changed and the update about the search for her had disappeared. This whole place stinks and something fishy is going on. And I’m going to find out what it is, I thought.

  I resumed my trip to my apartment as the outline of a subtle plan of action began to form in my mind. My mind kept churning. “First thing, I need to yank that constable’s chain. Something tells me that if he isn’t a part of this, I’m sure he’s close.”

  * * *

  The next morning, I checked in with Sherry briefly and then went straight to see Coltingham. His office was in Dome Three, where his law enforcement services were most likely to be needed. It sat at the bottom of a large segment of offices.

  When I walked into his office, I saw a perky-looking young lady wearing a police uniform behind the desk.

  “May I
help you, sir?”

  “Yes, I’m David Shuster, interim base administrator. Is Constable Coltingham here? I’d like a word with him.”

  “He is, sir, but he is on the telephone. If you have a seat, I’ll buzz you through as soon as he’s free.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t have an appointment. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I know, sir, that’s absolutely fine.”

  I sat down and noticed how placid she seemed. I read her badge: “Jenny Constabulary.” All service androids were given surnames reflecting where they worked.

  She’s an android, I thought.

  I stared at her. She looked like a thinner and taller version of the actress, Sean Young, who had starred just a few years earlier in the film version of Philip K Dick’s famous novel, “We Can Build You.” She had coal black hair in bangs, and opalescent blue eyes.

  She noticed I was staring. “Can I help you with something, sir?”

  “Are you an android?”

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “Well, I don’t know if a machine can appreciate a compliment, but you are very life-like. I had to look twice to realize you’re an android.”

  “Your observation as to the verisimilitude of my features is noted,” she said. “Unfortunately, my heuristic analysis is insufficiently sophisticated to recognize a compliment.”

  “Then classify it as a testimonial.”

  It was interesting to see that “register” in her expression. She looked at me. “Thank you. That is useful feedback.”

  “You learn something every day,” I said.

  “Yes, that is true.” She repeated, “You learn something every day.”

  “I know why you have the last name, but why Jenny?”

  “I believe it is related to popular music.”

  “Popular music. You mean like The American Top 40 and Casey Kasem?”

  “Yes. If there’s a name in a song that is popular at the time an android is programmed, it often is given that name,” she said. “It’s random, and does provide some type of chronology. For example, I was programmed in January 1982. The Number One song at the time was named ‘Jenny.’”

  “Ah, yes, by Tommy Tutone,” I said. “The song about the phone number on the wall.”

  “Yes,” she said. “To illustrate, the name ‘Jamie’ may be used for any androids programmed this week. It is the title of the Number Seven song, by Ray Parker, Jr.”

  “Yes, and it works for both male and female androids, also.”

  There was a click from the phone on the desk and she looked down. “He is off the telephone.” She went to buzz Coltingham on the intercom, but he stepped outside first.

  He narrowed his eyes and suppressed a scowl.

  “I heard chatter out here,” he said. “Mister Shuster, what brings you in to the constabulary so early in the morning?”

  “I have a question about missing persons reports from Earth,” I said.

  “I may have an answer.” He gestured for me to enter his office. “Please step inside.”

  “I was impressed at how lifelike your Officer Jenny appeared,” I said offhandedly as I sat down.

  “Yes, Jenny is one of the best models of androids made by Tesla,” he said, sitting down across from me on the other side of his desk. “Her services have been loaned to me as a community service by the corporation.”

  He sucked in his breath and swiped on a fake smile. “So, what’s on your mind?”

  “Do you get missing persons’ bulletins from Earth?”

  “No, not normally. It’s not part of my regular teletype feed. How would someone who goes missing on Earth turn up on Mars?” he asked. “Influx is restricted and tightly controlled.”

  “I’d like you to get a copy of a bulletin then, for me,” I said. “A young woman named Desiree Carvalho Hausler. She was taken hostage as part of a bank robbery in New York City, and has not been seen since.”

  He was taking notes. “Very well. May I ask why? Is she something to you?”

  “We were a couple in college. I saw her the night before I left Earth, in a local restaurant. The robbery and kidnapping happened a week after I left, and in light of that, I feel some sense of obligation to do anything I can to help find out what happened to her.”

  “It sounds like you still carry a torch for her,” he said rather snidely.

  “No, it’s more like guilt. We parted on very bad terms, but that was years ago and we were both young. I had hoped someday I’d have the opportunity to properly apologize.”

  “You carry a torch,” he repeated, shaking his head with a trace of a smirk. “Yes, then, is this just for your personal enlightenment? Is there anything you think would be in the official missing persons report that you haven’t learned from the press?”

  “I intend to distribute the bulletin here, in this colony,” I said.

  “Whatever the fuck for!” he blurted out loudly, then looked embarrassed at his outburst.

  “I think I saw her yesterday afternoon, on my way home,” I said. “She was catching the train between domes. I couldn’t catch up with her, but I’m sure it was her.”

  He looked up. “Here? On Mars? That’s preposterous! Must be a look-alike.”

  “Nevertheless, can you get me a copy of the bulletin from the NYPD?”

  “Always willing to help our American allies,” he said dryly. “It will take me a few minutes to prepare a fax transmission.” He called back into a room behind him, “What’s the current transmission lag to Earth?”

  Deputy Constable Mattern stuck out his head. “Seven minutes.”

  He turned to me. “I will get a cover sheet made up and make the request for a special feed,” he said. “But I think it’s a great big wild goose chase.”

  “Well, then, it’s my wild goose chase.”

  “Make a big bloody fool of yourself, then. But I assure you, people can’t just sneak in and out of this place. If that girl was here, you’d know it. You checked all the incoming passenger manifests?”

  “Of course, that was the first thing I did.”

  “I suppose there’s always the possibility of something amiss at customs,” he said “But you’d have to talk to Comrade Lielischkies about that.”

  “Oh, I plan to, believe me. But I first want to distribute some of these bulletins, to beat the bushes and see what pops out.”

  Mattern had been looming in the doorway. “What are you both talking about?”

  “Mister Shuster believes he saw a young lady who was kidnapped on Earth in a crowd of people here,” said Coltingham.

  Mattern knitted his brow. “That would be most unlikely,” he said seriously.

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” I said as I stood up. “If for some reason someone wanted to keep a kidnapping victim hidden from Earthside authorities, how much farther away could they be?”

  “That’s a lot of work to do,” said Mattern.

  “I know from observation that cops tend to get into certain ways of thinking,” I said. “You don’t know what you don’t know. All I know is that I saw her. Besides, if I’m wrong, what’s the harm? You just wasted some time handing out bulletins.” I cast a glance at his waistline. “You could stand to get out of the office more.”

  Mattern sucked in his breath.

  “No need to get cheeky,” said Coltingham. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Let me know when you get the bulletin from Earth,” I said.

  “I will do that,” he snapped.

  As I walked out, Officer Jenny said, “Have a nice day, sir,” with a fairly normal smile.

  I stopped. “You know, I have a question for you, since you’re the first android I’ve chatted with on Mars.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “What does an android do in its free time?”

  “Self-improvement, sir,” she said with a smile again. She lifted up what she was reading. It was the Classics Illustrated comic book adaptation of Robur the Conqueror by Jules Verne.


  “Wow, ask a silly question, get a stupid answer,” I said.

  “What was a silly question, sir?”

  “Nothing.” I gave a mock salute. “Officer, carry on.”

  “Yes, sir, I will.”

  I thought a lot on the way back to the office. There were a number of questions wracking my brain. Was Coltingham right, and was I being silly because of a torch I still carried for Desiree? Was the person I saw really a look-alike? Then why did she look exactly the same way she did the last time I saw her at Tom’s? Women changed their make-up and hair over time, but the person I saw at the train station looked exactly the same. Was she in hiding for some reason? Was I about to blow her cover?

  Was I seeing things?

  Maybe yes to all of them.

  * * *

  A courier delivered a copy of the missing persons bulletin after lunch, with a note from Coltingham.

  “I would be grateful if you modified and reproduced these in your own office, since this is your request, and return same to me,” he typed. “I would prefer not to deplete my supplies.”

  I was sitting down. Sherry read the bulletin over my shoulder. “Are you sure you’re not having some kind of obsession about her?”

  “Look at that photo,” I said. “Can you imagine the things that might have gone wrong?”

  She peered at the picture. “I get your point. There’s any number of things that can go wrong with a hostage taking or kidnapping, and with her, there might have been something sexual,” she said. “Still, you are acting like some kind of avenging angel.”

  I looked up at her. “So, what’s wrong with that?”

  She looked serious. “Why don’t you let the law enforcement system do its job?”

  I chuckled somewhat sardonically.

  “On Earth, or here? New York City is overloaded, but there’s nothing I can do. I can do something here, if by some chance she is here. Or should I leave it to the pair of Brits at the constabulary?”

  She grimaced. “This place is a lot like a small town, lots of inertia.”

  “My point exactly,” I said. “Besides, I’m only distributing a flyer. Is Bill Bauer in his office?”

  She craned her neck. “Yes, he is. I’ll go get him.”

  Bauer was a young man with a dark pompadour and a second-hand vest. He looked like he followed the latest fashions from home. I showed him the bulletin.