Weatherman Read online

  The MCN had requested the alterations when they picked up his contract all those years ago, and they were at least diligent in servicing to specification… a shape pierced the frosted shimmer, right on time.

  “Oh hey, I’m Candi… zOMG; it is true what they say about you. My friend Mille was your last week; she said you’ve got an UroQt as well… Everything as advertised… I just can’t believe I got your lottery!”

  “Yeah, well just rub it, it’s not going to fit anywhere in you.” Esteban slid down in the booth and angled his hips, “… unless you got synthetics?” he asked hopefully.

  “Nope.” Candi shook her head, mesmerized. Her hand covered less than half of his girth, “…and it’s so hot, like a heating element…”

  “I’ll keep it at blood temperature for you.” Esteban browsed to his internal controls, “Climb on top and get some frottage. You drive it… remember the UroQt is literally a quart, I’ll tell you when I’m close.”

  “Oh, this is going to be so great.” Candi wriggled into position against his scalding flesh. I’m going to get me some weatherman rain…”

  “It sure is, Candi… sure is… The network appreciates your support…” Esteban pressed the water to his lips as she rode his hips.

  #

  Esteban stared out of the window at the dry Martian landscape, dropping his clothes over the hanger. His hangover pounded in his meat-brain and his abs was still crusty from his ‘meet-and-greet’ with Candi.

  His med-mech company had to be good… you didn’t get this high up on the decks unless you were, here on the 114th story. Only the Hegemarch and the Mega-Corporation administration were on the next 16 stories… this was as high as you got in MF1-Cadiz. Esteban wondered which of the Doctors would get to see him today. Partridge was nice, Mukagee was professional, but Waspe was just a self-important snob.

  The Hellas Montes Canyon wall loomed directly before him, a few kilometers away from where the Arcology had settled… MF1-Cadiz was 1st Fleet and had touched down on Mars in 2110; while some had flown on to reach Ceres by 2115, others continued on to Jupiter in 2120, all around a century ago.

  MF1-Cadiz didn’t really have the fuel to continue and they, like MF1-Marseilles and MF1-Sao Paulo and MF1-Bremen were fairly low-status in the 1st Fleet. Landing on Mars was the best they could do.

  The 1st Fleet had disbanded in 2120 as was the age old custom, the ships dropping out along the way as they ran the Ecliptic Emigrant Trail.

  The Fleet achieved its goal with the last ship reaching its furthest point, for whatever reason; low fuel… ideal landing conditions, a crew or passenger mandate to touch down and end the run on the trail. They were doing well on Mars; it was a good decision in hindsight, for them. Primarily because they got the best spots first, and the Arcology that followed in the 2nd and 3rd Fleets had to adjust to their landing patterns accordingly.

  The 2nd Fleet had started from Earth to Luna some decades later, by at least 2140, and had scattered outwards through to Uranus by about 2160, exploiting existing outposts and creating additional ones… ever outwards. The richest and most powerful cities, Shanghai and Osaka were still headed for Triton in the Neptune planetary system, but there was no news of them landing or disbanding the 2nd so far.

  Esteban fretted in the geranium-scented room. Nobody seemed sure if the 3rd Fleet could be said to have landed anywhere specific; some had gone to Luna, some had come here… but they were welcome where-ever they went… for now; bringing in new tech and updating processes that may have gone stale in isolation, in the hundred-or-so years the 1st Fleet had been out of Earth’s influence.

  The Earth continued to empty out slowly… one Arcology Mega-Corporation after another admitting defeat on their home world, and following in the footsteps of those who appeared to be more successful. The rally for the 3rd Fleet had started on the centennial, and had launched from LaGrange in 2206. Esteban’s home Arcology of MF3-Cartagena had touched down on Mars in 2209.

  It had drifted in on the rumor mill that the 4th to the 9th Fleets were busy assembling now… running through contracts and terms of engagements… MOU’s and MOA’s pumping through New Houghton and Arcology after Arcology sniffed around for partners and Fleet candidates… not real news yet, but soon it would be if it were true. Only those GEN Arcology’s remained; the synthetic flesh and clone Society.

  There was always that dynamic; smaller Arcology linking up with wealthier or more useful ones until the best fit for a successful Fleet, the right set of conditions for a launch into space for the Mega-Corporation Joint Venture that had been formed and agreed.

  Still, Esteban couldn’t complain… he wouldn’t be here otherwise. Here… it was three minutes after his appointment, where was this damned Doctor?

  Here, on Mars… MF3-Cartagena would never have been represented in the 3rd Fleet if this dynamic hadn’t have been the case… it would have drowned on the shores of the Atlantic with all the other buildings that used to be the landed city when the Tides had changed.

  At least they had a bit more social cred than MF3-Mumbai. All they had were human bodies, more people than could be safely fitted into an Arcology tagging along, acutely aware of their last place in the Fleet. They had made it, barely, what had happened afterwards was…

  “Oh, you’re here, Mister Perez.” Esteban hadn’t met this one before, “I’m Doctor da Silva, and I’ll be doing your maintenance this time.”

  “Please, it’s just Esteban.” Esteban regarded the tiny woman, “Are you sure you’re my med-mech…?”

  “Is there a problem?” She regarded him clinically, “You seem distracted, agitated.”

  “No… of course not.” Esteban groaned.

  “Good, I don’t like it when I get dismissed out of hand. I assure you I’m a fully qualified mech-engineer as much as I am a Doctor. So, you’re a Pondsmith-05 Mark-3 commissioned in 2205, before Earthflight.”

  “Yes, with some modifications and some cosmetics. I didn’t really have much choice after the model-05 modifications were completed, my contract was picked up by the MCN and the cosmetics were part of the terms and conditions for them.” Esteban shrugged. “The cosmetic mods were added in 2210, when I took up service here in MF1-Cadiz for the Channel.”

  “At least you’re entirely functional… mostly cosmetics just waste my time. You might be my first Pondsmith, but I assure you I’m very good with the mech part of my job.”

  Esteban grinned, he rather liked Doctor da Silva, “I’m not really utilizing my full functionality though, Doctor. I haven’t submerged to specification often enough since I got here. Even the MF3-Cartagena reservoirs are bigger than here.”

  “1st Fleet or 3rd Fleet design specifications? You look a bit young to be 1st Fleet, early thirties, I’d say. There would be no reason to upgrade to ‘archaic’ tech” She scrolled through the foil.

  “No, almost all 3rd. I had the conversion done on Earth before the last Fleet consignment. I suspect my browser bus might well be 1st Fleet. I spent the trip maintaining the water tanks on the city-ship during the trip. MF3-Cartagena is my home. Every other Sol I am supposed to do inspections and repairs to the cisterns for all the Mars Arcology and their associated World Domes. I’ve got a tour scheduled this Sol that will keep me busy for about two months after next Easter. My OHSA dicates another diagnostic run before then.”

  “I’m local here. 4th Generation MF1-Cadiz. Isn’t MF3-Cartagena where that monsoon is heading?”

  “Yes, since they decommissioned from the Fleet they have other problems. This monsoon is just the least of them.” Esteban shrugged.

  “Gills?” the Doctor poured through the sections and waved Esteban to a diagnostic slab.

  “No, a sterile osmotic skin. It’s cleaner and more reliable under intense pressure, you know like sub-crustal oceans.”

  “The whole skin? The entire organ?”

  “Yes, peeled off and completely synthetic. There is an osmotic sub-dermal weave that allows respiration and pressure
resistance. I’m good for kilometers down.”

  “Skeletal Frame?”

  “Modifications upgrade to D-Frame… I have a graphene bone-lace. Size makes all the difference on cold submerged missions. To keep my core hot, and to work longer before risking hypothermia, I had to exceed two and a half meters in length. I’m two point seven meters; I put in a minimum tolerance spread.”

  “Hmmm, that explains your size. How tall were you before the frame?”

  “I was one point seventy.” Esteban felt a ghost of an ache waft through his bones.

  “Must have hurt like a bitch then, that extra meter.” She looked up, re-appraising him.

  “It did.” Esteban sighed; at least his hangover was receding. “But I wanted the Pondsmith; it fit everything I wanted to do out here. It’s useful… I’m useful. I want to be useful.”

  “Sit down there for me and spread-eagle on the diagnosis platform. This is good, high quality sophisticated work. Are you really a meteorologist?”

  “Double PhD. Meteorology and Oceanography.”

  “And the cosmetics…? Surely the penis…”

  “The network wanted to project a certain reliable, identifiable image… whether it was in freezing water or out of it. I customized the function of the fluid mechanics they wanted cosmetically, and used that to enhance my heat tolerances. I can transfer and expel heat while submerged and extend my usefulness in hot environments for awhile.”

  “Still, thirty centimeters by twenty? Mar’s most famous organ?”

  “It’s worth an extra ten degree Celsius tolerance.” Esteban squirmed on the diagnosis table.

  “Brainwork? What am I dealing with?” The Doctor scrolled through the projections.

  “Coms capability, Bluetooth, buffering and cache, low-light optics, onboard camera and sub-vocal broadcast Sonics. Those are all solid 3rd Fleet.”

  “Echo-location?”

  “Si, full range of sonar. I have receptor-lines through the skin-weave. Sub-Crustal Oceans are bound to be dark.”

  “Full-seal system?”

  “Si. All orifice and meatus included. I can’t expel any heated liquids below 300 meters of pressure, so I’m limited in hot environments in a range extent. Cold environments limit me to duration, mostly.”

  “Impressive, actually impressive.” The Doctor snapped the diagnostic panels shut as each displayed green lights.

  “Thank you, Doctor. Muckagee doesn’t like me much, though.” Esteban sat up, towering over the woman.

  “He’s a purist.” She smiled. “He’d object on principle to any contemporary aesthetics. He’d say ‘it’s a gateway route to fetishism’…” she imitated his voice perfectly.

  “Si… I’m not sure I like that as much as all the other work. It does get messy to maintain. Luckily the MCN has gone out of their way to take responsibility for that.”

  “The ‘make him rain’ lottery?” Doctor da Silva shrugged, “It seems a bit callous to me.”

  “It’s their property; they can monetize it any way they want.” Esteban muttered softly.

  “Yes, well… you’re completely functional and in good order.” She updated Esteban’s file, “Your biology is perfect. You’ve taken an Aquamarine Ooze dose?”

  “Si, last Sol. It’s good for a hundred years, they say.”

  “That’s right. It’ll only be wear and tear on your synthetics and cyberware we’ll need to check until your dose runs low. Your meat won’t even need checking for another sixty years. I should reschedule you for every three Sols, instead of every other one…” Da Silva blinked into her lens. “That’s odd, I’ve just been booked out by the Starmind… to you, but we’re finished here.”

  “I have no idea what you mean.” Esteban shrugged, “I’m offline, like I’m supposed to be during maintenance modes.”

  “That’s exactly right. Just stay on the table, I’ll get the booking for the centrifuge.” Doctor Da Silva sighed. “This is a priority override. I’ll prepare the Mass ooze and the nanites.”

  “What do you mean? What procedure?”

  “How much do you mass, what’s your body fat percentage?”

  “Two-eighty kilo’s and six percent like in the contract.” Esteban was puzzled, “What override?”

  “I’ve been instructed to take you to three-ten kilo’s and to four percent fat.” The Doctor dialed appointments and scheduled materials. “I have to thicken your biological muscle, and there is a lot of it.”

  “Those are sub-crust ratios for the Pondsmith.” Esteban blinked while doing calculations, “That’s a six degree or less environment.”

  “Someone has plans for you, Esteban. I’m just doing what I’m told. It’ll be quick, I’ll put a protein drip on you after the centrifuge injections, you can go online and hopefully… someone will fill you in. That someone has just bought a week of my time to attend to you.”

  Esteban sighed. “Sure, whatever… You just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

  #

  “Sorry Esteban, I couldn’t wait.” The veep connection informed him as soon as he was back online.

  Esteban stretched out on a recovery bed, a sonic drip-bit buzzed above his vein; feeding liquids into his system. His back teeth ached as the feedback scratched at his echo-location module, but the Doctor had assured him it wouldn’t be very much longer.

  It was the only way to complete the procedure, seeing and his skin had a Kevlar-weave as part of his sealed systems rig. Esteban’s hangover was only contributing to his discomfort, and he was in a particularly foul mood to boot.

  “Starmind… what’s going on?” Esteban responded tartly, “What’s this about?”

  “I really need you to do something for me… on the down low. How are you feeling?”

  “A centrifuge really fucks up my Sonics… sick as a dog, actually.” Esteban snapped.

  “Sorry, I had to do it. I couldn’t take a chance that your specifications didn’t match, and I have to cover up my actions in case what I’m doing generates unwanted attention.”

  Esteban relented, “Just don’t fuss… it was like this when I got the conversion. I did it before, I can do it again. It’s not something I’d do lightly, though.”

  “That’s why I booked the Doctor for you, as your Body Guard.” Starmind sounded pre-occupied, “I’m also going to send Pele with you. Hopefully that will cover all the bases. The three of you shouldn’t be able to mess things up for me too much.”

  “You’re very kind. So, what next?” Esteban felt a killer case of cotton-mouth starting and reached for a water-bulb.

  “There’s a transport leaving in an hour from the Flight Bay. I’d like you and the doctor to be on it, Pele will run with the mission.”

  “My duties with the MCN…” Esteban was beginning to resent the Starmind’s attitude.

  “…overridden and compensated, there is no contractual conflict at all. You’re mine for a week. Remember that I am MCN, I hold your existing contract and the temporary contract you and the Doctor are now seconded to, and any others that I might be inclined to issue.”

  “Starmind, can you do this?” Esteban felt a creeping dread as to what this was all about.

  “Yup, I can.” Esteban’s Sonics could pick up a brittle note his otherwise flippant remark, “I need a diver and you’re the best I’ve got. I’ll send the doctor the Transport Bay number and the departure time. Just you two get there; I’ll download Pele_Starmind to a clock and meet you there.”

  “Starmind, you’re really working on my…” Esteban snapped.

  “One hour… you’ll understand later.” Starmind just dropped the call.

  “Fucking, fine! Whatever!” Esteban said to no-one in particular.

  The drip buzzed and shut down; it dropped from his arm onto a cushion on the recovery couch. Esteban stood and moved to retrieve his clothing when Doctor da Silva walked into the room.

  “How do you feel…?” she asked as he stepped into his leggings.

  “Like shit, but I
’ll live. My skin feels really tight, though.”

  “It’s the mass nanites, they’ve run their course, and the rest of you will catch up in a few hours. Although your skin might look like a normal, perfect summer tan; it really is a semi-rigid mesh. You’re actually very tough to treat without specialist mech tools.”

  “I’ve heard this all before, the Pondsmith isn’t for everyone.” Esteban sighed, waiting for his outfit to recalibrate to his new dimensions. “At least I haven’t changed a size.”

  Doctor da Silva watched while Esteban tugged on his boots. “I’ve just got an address and a time in-mail, but nothing else. Do you know what this is about?”

  “Probably no more than you. I ran my eCalendar… and it’s true. I’ve been booked out by an anonymous client for five days… It’s the Starmind, that much I know. He wants me to do something and he’s been cagey about what it is. Apparently, you’re part of the package.”

  “Starmind? The Mars AI? Pele_Starmind?” she blinked in confusion.

  “They might have different Persona… Apparently there is a difference between shells and cores and…” Esteban groaned, his hangover was amplified by the sudden aches in his body as his new muscle fiber pushed against his skin. “…Yup. Same. That one.”

  “It makes sense, nobody else can afford my rates… so much for so long. It’s only that… Esteban, I’ve been assigned to a ‘quantitative asset’ and you’re a person like me, not a thing.”

  “Well now Doctor, that’s an interesting discussion…” Esteban took tentative steps, trying to balance his new weight, “…that the more money I spend on myself the less free will I have. I don’t want to think about that too much, I’d rather not miss that flight. I don’t even know where it is going to, but you do. Starmind is keeping the information streams separate. In my personal experience that is never a good thing.”

  “Compartmentalizing information… mitigates risk.” The Doctor shrugged, “I have the mobile toolkit ready for your make and model, we can go anytime you’re ready.”