Chapter 2

Betty woke me, as instructed, eight hours after she detected I was actually asleep. I was impressed – I'd expected to be woken eight hours after 'lights out'. I staggered, naked, blearily, to the tiny hygiene cubicle where I was given depilatory (which I didn't use), toothbrush and toothpaste before my body was scoured by recycled water and dried.

"Breakfast, Captain?"

"I want some real coffee this morning, Betty. But you can replicate me a bacon sandwich, if you would." I set about using some of my treasured supply of Mocha coffee beans. Somehow the replicator could never duplicate satisfactorily the molecular structure of the beans. I don't doubt the genuine article and the replicated one were identical to every scientific test imaginable ... it just was never the same. Betty knew my habits and the replicator pinged just as I poured black liquid into my mug. I took the plate and frowned at the pile of green stuff before taking a bite of sandwich.

"Eat your greens, Captain."

"You're a bully, Betty."

"It is my function to ensure you are safe and healthy." After a pause, "Romy will be here as soon as you have eaten."

I expected Romy to materialise, but instead I saw a vehicle approaching, a smooth-looking thing with a clear bubble roof but no wheels. When it reached us, it sank perhaps half a metre to the ground and the bubble roof disappeared – clearly some sort of force-field. A stunning, red-haired woman stepped out and walked up to the door.

"Open up, Betty," I said, and the woman – Romy – stepped into my ship. She was dressed in a knee-length, dark green skirt and a plaid shirt that didn't conceal the swell of her bosom. I confess ... I stared.

"Captain ... Hex... ? Is my appearance satisfactory?"

My jaw flapped a bit for several seconds before I managed to respond. "Oh, yes ... Not just satisfactory. Excellent." And that was understating the way I felt. I had to keep telling myself she was a construct, an avatar of an artificial intelligence. When she smiled – and blushed – at my response, my heart lurched. Now ... of course she was, her appearance was, what I'd asked for. But I hadn't specified clothing, and the way she was dressed so perfectly matched – I'll be honest – the fantasy I'd described, it was uncanny. She hit every one of my hot buttons.

"If you are agreeable," she said then, "I thought you might like to take a look round. I found a car that was functioning correctly. None of them have been used, of course, for a very long time. Actually, one thousand, two hundred and twenty-two point two four eight of your years. Approximately."

"Then," I managed to say as I stepped into the vehicle, "it's impressive this one is still working."

"I was annoyed that several others were not working. Unused, with regular maintenance, there is no reason for them to fail."

I just shook my head. I couldn't see any activity on her part to control the thing, but it rose off the ground with no more than a pleasant hum, and accelerated smoothly away.

The vehicle seemed to me to be travelling at a suicidal velocity. You have to remember I am used to space travel where I experienced very little sensation of speed. Even the RT system at home had no exterior view, and inertial dampers, so there was no sensation of speed at all. I sat next to Romy, knuckles white with terror.

She turned and looked at me. "You fear! Why are you afraid?"

"Shouldn't you be looking where we are going?"

"I am not controlling the ... car. It is not possible that one of these could crash. It will automatically avoid any obstacle, and if there was any danger, it would just cut the ... anti-gravity and slide to a halt. So, why are you afraid?"

"I ... I'm not used to travelling so fast so near the ground."

"But we are ... only ... sixty four point seven ... kilometres ... per hour."

I would have sworn it was nearer two hundred.

We left the open, weed-covered space of the field and were moving over what looked like manicured lawn. A small, silvery device was moving over it a short distance away.

"What is that?" I pointed.

"It is a ... maintenance bot. A ... lawn ... mower, you would say."

"If you have those, why is your space-field covered with weeds?"

"The ... port ... was largely irrelevant ... during the last centuries of my people. We ... I ... merely ensured no large plants ... no trees ... took hold. We ... I ... only maintain the surroundings of the ... dwellings."

The vehicle slowed and I saw a low, windowless, dome-shaped structure to our right. Artistically sculptured grounds surrounded it. "Is that a house? Could we stop and look?"

"It is a house. I ... we ... do not have permission to enter it." The car accelerated again and moved away.

"If all your people are dead, why do you need permission?"

There ensued one of those very long (for a computer) pauses.

"It is the law."

"But the people who made the laws are all dead."

Silence.

I looked at Romy. She was frozen, looking in my direction, but not at me. Did I say frozen? She was shaking slightly, like ... Well, there was no direct equivalent. At that moment, I was forcefully reminded that she was, in fact, a construct, a projection, of a sentient computer, because the nearest thing to her behaviour I could come up with was ... a faulty computer. Trapped, perhaps, in a logic conflict loop. The car continued on its way.

We stopped by a lake; we might have been in a park on Earth ... artfully placed trees, surrounded by green grass, clearly manicured by gardeners. Of course, had I known anything about botany, I would have known that the trees and the grass – if it was grass – were no species known to Earth, but I didn't, so ... I might have been in a park on Earth. Of course, the lack of people gave things away rather.

"Romy?" No response. It was about then I realised I had no way of controlling the car. In fact, I didn't know how to even get out of it. A moment's panic froze me until I remembered my communicator. "Betty?"

"Captain."

"There seems to be something wrong. I'm stuck in this car and Romy isn't moving."

After a short pause, Betty responded, "Yes, Andromeda seems to be locked in a logic loop. I will try to see if I can get her to re-boot."

My heart sank like a lump of cold lead. Two things happened in quick succession; Romy disappeared, perhaps 'de-materialised' would be a better description, and the cover of the car disappeared. I was able to step out onto the green sward. I breathed a sigh of relief; if necessary I could walk back to my ship and be no worse off than when I landed. I had a small pang, though, at the loss of Romy.

"Captain, this should work. If it takes several minutes, don't worry."

It took more than several minutes; it was getting on for half an hour when a figure materialised in the vehicle. It wasn't Romy; she ... I was making an assumption ... was over six feet tall, in old money. Apparently completely hairless, her face was smooth; eyes hardly recessed at all, almost no nose, thin lips, ears barely noticeable. Having said that, given a wig, she'd hardly have turned heads in an Earth-side street. At least, if she'd been conventionally dressed. She was in a gauzy sort of light robe in earth shades that gave no clue as to the shape of her body underneath.

Her head swivelled until she was looking at me. "Please enter the vehicle, Captain. I will return you to your ship."

I won't say I wasn't nervous, but I thought a ride was a better idea than trying to find my way on foot, so did as I was asked. I was tempted to ask what had happened to Romy, but decided discretion was the better part of valour at that point.

We didn't return by the same route and passed several more of the dwellings on the way. At least, I assumed they were dwellings. In due course, we came to the field and I could see the ship in the distance, drawing rapidly closer. I breathed a sigh of relief when I was able to step out and stand next to the car.

"Where is Romy?"

"I am Romy."

I opened my mouth to say she didn't look like Romy, but shut it when I realised that my companion was not an independent being, of course – merely an avatar, a projection, of the main system to ... facilitate ... communication. "I see," I mumbled eventually.

"I am having to reconfigure all my files. It will take some time. The car will respond to your voice. If you wish to return here, just say, 'home'." After a brief pause, "I will leave now. I will be unavailable for some time." And she was, just like that ... gone.

I stepped – thoughtfully – into my ship. "Captain, I have something for you," Betty told me.

"What's that, Betty?"

"An authorisation code for local access."

If there's one thing I dislike intensely about a computer-based society, it is remembering passwords. Especially when they are not memorable; strings of unrelated characters. I sighed, then groaned when I saw what I was expected to memorise.

"It is time for you to eat, Captain."

Well, it was something to do while trying to learn that code by rote. I didn't need to regurgitate it for the car. As Romy had said, it was already programmed to respond to my voice. I told it to take me back to the first house we'd passed.

"I wish to enter the dwelling," I said.

"It is the property of..." a string of liquid syllables I had no hope of repeating.

"The owner is dead, and has no heirs," I said firmly.

"Authorisation required."

I took a deep breath. "Alpha, six, tau, five three, beta, two one, theta."

"Authorisation accepted." The dome opened or whatever it did, and I stepped out. When I approached the house, an opening appeared ... I suppose 'dilated' would be the nearest description ... and I entered.