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IMPOSTER
Page 1 of 2
By Donald H Sullivan
Terry Baker was one of the lucky ones. He would be safe in the Martian Terradome when the asteroid slammed into Earth. The huge asteroid was predicted to collide with Earth on September 23rd, 2046, leaving few--if any--survivors on the planet. In less than thirty-six hours Terry would be aboard a shuttle heading for one of the two ships--already in orbit--that would carry one hundred and fifty people to the Terradome of Mars.
Terry was one of the lucky ones, but he was unable to suppress his feelings of guilt. Of the billions of people on Earth, why him? In his own mind he tried to justify his position by reasoning that he had been selected because he was considered one of the best robotic engineers on Earth. He had no equal when it came to handling androids.
But guilt feelings gnawed at him, especially when he thought of the many talented people who had turned down the opportunity to flee to Mars. The president himself had declined to go, saying that it was his duty to remain behind.
The president named his scientific advisor, John Bishop, as director of the ultra secret project, dubbed Operation Red Ball. The president also gave Bishop authority to select the hundred and fifty people--from among several nations--who would go to the safe haven of the Martian Terradome.
Terry played a large role in the construction of that dome. Because androids could function in the thin atmosphere of Mars without life support equipment, androids made up the bulk of the labor force during construction of the dome. Terry was responsible for the programming, fine-tuning, and maintenance of the androids.
Terry was in his shop office getting last minute details ready when Phil Clark came in. Something was up, Terry thought. Phil, a noted scientist from London and one of Bishop's top lieutenants, was third in command behind Bishop and Oliver Slade, the other lieutenant. Terry met Phil on Mars during the Terradome construction, and the two became friends.
"Hi, Phil. C'mon in."
"Terry, I can only stay a minute. There's something I've got to tell you. I'm afraid it's bad news."
Terry noted that Phil was pale and appeared nervous.
"What is it, Phil?"
"You're going to be scratched from Red Ball. Slade recommended it to Bishop. Bishop said that you had a drinking problem and would be a poor risk on Mars. Bishop, who believes anything Slade says, bought it."
"Slade's a damn liar. You know that I don't have a drinking problem. I rarely..."
"I know that," said Phil, "and I protested to Bishop. But Slade has him convinced. But that's not all--I'm sure they plan to kill you."
Terry was almost speechless. "But...why on Earth..."
"Bishop is afraid that you'll seek revenge by blabbing about the project to reporters, possibly causing Operation Red Ball to be scratched. He doesn't want to take that risk. He hinted that he had a pal in military intelligence who could handle the matter.
I don't think they even plan to tell you, but to just have you murdered. My friend, I can't stay--it wouldn't be healthy for me if they knew I talked to you. Keep your eyes open."
With that, Phil rushed out the door.
At first, Terry was bewildered, and then angered, by what Phil had just told him. He tried to think of a motive for Slade's actions, but could think of none.
At least he was forewarned--thanks to Phil. He could hide until the ships left Earth, and then he should be out of danger. Once the ships were on their way to Mars, Bishop could not care less what happened to Terry. But even if Terry escaped Bishop's assassin, he would only be prolonging his life by a few months--until the asteroid hit.
He could take consolation only in the possibility that the asteroid might be deflected. Phil, an astronomer, once told Terry that Scientists had been warning governments for years of the possibility of a hit by a comet or asteroid. But no one listened until it was confirmed that a large asteroid was on a collision course with Earth.
By the time world governments were ready to deal with the problem, time was already running out. In the little time remaining, scientists hoped to drive the asteroid off course with a series of nuclear blasts. Phil had said that there was little chance for success. Official news releases, however, claimed the chance of success was a hundred percent.
The president went along with this deception, hoping to avoid panic. Besides, he said, if the asteroid were indeed intercepted and deflected, everybody would be happy--but if the scientists failed, it wouldn't matter anyway.
It was ironic, Terry thought, that the twenty-eight androids he had programmed would be safe on Mars when the asteroid hit, but Terry himself would remain on Earth. Sixteen of his androids were now on Mars as caretakers, and the remaining twelve would be on the ships to Mars seeing to the comfort of passengers during the six-week trip.
He wondered who they would get to replace him. There weren't that many in the field of robotics who specialized in androids. Terry was one of the few who could fine-tune an android to the point that it seemed almost human. If it weren't for the bald heads and black uniforms of androids, many people couldn't tell the difference. Before he grew a beard, Terry once shaved his head and donned an android uniform as a joke on friends.
It occurred to him that if he shaved his head and beard, he could pose as one of his own androids on the trip to Mars. And why not? What could they do if they caught him? No worse than they'd planned to do to him anyway. Suddenly, his guilt feelings about going to Mars melted away.
He left his office for the day and walked toward the parking lot. On his way to his apartment, he'd stop at the drugstore for clippers and a tube of permanent depilatory cream. He couldn't afford to let his hair and whiskers grow once he began posing as an android.
He got into his car, but as he started to insert the key into the ignition, the last words of Phil echoed in his mind: "Keep your eyes open." This was a high security compound on a military reservation, but his prospective killer would feel at home here--maybe he even worked here.
He got out and walked to the front of the car. He opened the hood, and although he was expecting it, the sight of the bomb sent shivers through his body. He closed the hood and looked around.
Two security guards were in full view--one manning the gate to the compound, and one walking the compound perimeter as a roving guard . Whoever planted the bomb had to be someone with authorization--or fake authorization--to enter the compound. Fake ID would be easy for an intelligence agent.
There was a PX a few blocks from the compound where he could buy the items he needed. He walked to the gate and presented his ID to the guard.
"I'm going to the PX," he told the guard. "I'll be coming back shortly since I have to work late tonight."
"Something still wrong with your car, sir? The mechanic said he fixed it."
So the agent had posed as a mechanic. "No, it's fine," he said, "but I'll walk. Need the exercise."
"Very good, Sir."
He showed his special status civilian ID at the PX entrance, entered, and purchased the depilatory cream as well as clippers and a pair of scissors.
He was alone in the robotics building. Even the usual late workers were gone for the day. He entered the men's room.
Using the scissors and clippers, he trimmed his beard and hair as closely as possible. He smeared the cream over the stubble, waited ten minutes, and then wiped the hair away with a damp cloth. He looked at his bare face and bald head in the mirror. I'd better get used to it, he thought. It'll never grow back.
He entered the robot holding point to find all robots and androids deactivated, as he expected. He surveyed the twelve androids that would make the trip to Mars. After arriving on Mars, the twelve were programmed to perform duties as food service workers, plumbers, and hydroponics tank tenders. The sixteen already on Mars would be handling other duties, such as electricians and life-support techs.
Terry must now choose which android he would replace. The choice boiled down to either hydroponics or food service--these were the only jobs that would not require duties in the deadly Martian atmosphere outside the dome.
He chose to replace a hydroponics worker--food service was too risky because there were too many humans to deal with. There were two hydroponics workers, Alpha Six and Alpha Seven. He would pose as Alpha Seven.
He pressed a spot behind Alpha Seven's right ear and activated the android. He ordered the android to remove its coveralls, then removed his own clothing and switched with the android.
"I have a mission for you Alpha Seven."
"Alpha Seven is at your service, Mr. Baxter."
Terry never ceased to be amazed at an android's ability to recognize humans, even in disguise. Android sensors detected the unique sound of each human voice.
"Alpha Seven, you are to leave this building and go to an automobile parked in slot number thirty. It is directly in front of the door, five rows away. Do not leave the building until your sensors tell you that the parking lot is clear of humans. You are to get in the car and start the motor.
He gave the android a few more detailed instructions, gave it the key, and sent it on its way.
A few minutes later, the building shook from the blast. Terry knew that Alpha Seven was only a machine, but oddly, he felt a tinge of remorse. Moments later, he heard the approaching sirens.
Let the investigators figure that one out, he mused. By the time they figure out that it was an android in my car, I'll be on the way to Mars. He also knew that officials would greatly hamper any investigation by stamping a Top Secret classification on everything to do with the incident. The asteroid would hit before the Top Secret classification was lifted.
He went to the mirror to double check his appearance. He knew androids well enough to mimic their mannerisms, but there was something about his appearance that bothered him.
He stared at his reflection trying to find something out of place--and then he saw it. The diamond-shaped tag above his breast pocket identifying him as Alpha Seven was missing. The tag, held in place by Velcro, must have snagged on something and pulled off during the clothes swap with the android. He hurried back to the robot holding point.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the tag in the area where he'd made the swap. He reattached the tag to the Velcro gripper above his pocket.
There was no turning back now; he could not leave the robot holding point. Whenever people were around, he must sit on the bench with the androids and pretend to be deactivated until someone "activated" him.
Even if he were to make a slight movement, he wasn't worried. People were always saying they saw deactivated androids move, or smile, or even sneeze.
He walked along the bench and activated the androids scheduled for Operation Red Ball. When they were all activated, he faced them.
"By my special order, from this point on you will regard me as another android and address me as `Alpha Seven.' But this special order will apply only when humans are present. This order will be in effect until I tell you that the special order is rescinded."
Everything was working for him so far. He saw no problem with his appearance. As a hydroponics worker he could sneak baths and perform human functions. He would not be called upon to work outside the dome. Sneaking food was his only problem.
There would be no problem sneaking food during the trip to Mars, since the androids would be serving food in their capacity as stewards. But he would have to think of a way to sneak food after arriving on Mars.
He deactivated all the androids except Alpha Six. "Alpha Six, you are to awaken me when a human approaches."
*****
The following morning he recognized his replacement when the man entered the holding point. Although a skilled robotics engineer, Kevin Sanders had little experience in working with androids. But now Terry understood why Slade had blackballed him; Sanders was among Slade's circle of friends.
Terry watched as Sanders studied the program sheet to familiarize himself with each android's duties. Sanders studied the sheet for about ten minutes, and then walked up to the bench where the androids were seated. He walked along the bench, activating each android.
Terry felt the slight pressure behind his ear. "Alpha Seven activated. All systems operating. I am at your service, sir."
After all androids were activated, Sanders stood before them. "I am Mr. Sanders, and from now on you will address me as such. I am your new commander. For any of you who may feel an allegiance to Mr. Baxter, I can assure you that he is dead."
Terry almost laughed. Sanders was talking to the androids as though they were human, with human emotions. They felt no allegiance to any human--they simply obeyed instructions. They were programmed for more complicated tasks than standard robots, but they were robots nevertheless.
Sanders went on. "Be ready to board the ship at 1000 hours this morning. You will be taken to the ship to prepare it for the human passengers, who will board later."
Terry almost laughed again. Be ready? How does an android get ready--pack its bags? But I can't laugh, he thought. Even I think of them as almost human sometimes.
*****
The shuttle lifted off without fanfare. No one paid much attention, since liftoffs were routine--almost a monthly occurrence at the base.
The ship set out for Mars on June 30, 2046, and arrived on Mars on August 10, 2046, forty-three days before the asteroid was due to hit Earth.
Scientists disagreed on when Earth would again become habitable after the impact, but Phil was among those who estimated it to be less than a year. The cloud kicked up by the impact, he told Terry, should cover the planet about six months.
Terry wondered if he could keep up his pretense for a year--provided that Phil was right in his calculations. It would be tough to keep from slipping up for such a long time.
The first four weeks on Mars went well. Terry had no trouble tending the hydroponics tanks. He ordered the food service androids to sneak food to him.
Once he'd had a narrow escape when caught in the bathroom, but simply pretended to be doing maintenance work there. Another time he sneezed and a woman stared at him, but nothing came of it.
He had settled down into a comfortable routine when the accident happened.
Conclusion on Page 2
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