“Please state your name and job title,” the stocky Cogitare lawyer instructed.
Lars tapped his foot, nervously, under the glossy red table. He responded without meeting the lawyer’s eyes: “Lars, family Dexius, FRC Harvester Ship Operator.”
Lars studied the surface of the table, how the light glinted off its sheen. The table, floor, chairs, walls, ceiling—even the fixtureless blur of light above—were all red. Everything was red and it put Lars on edge. He guessed it was meant to do that.
At least the lawyer wore black, but Lars wished he’d sit down. The Cogitare's garb was a simple black robe—traditional—bearing a small purple insignia on the right sleeve. The circular symbol fluoresced in response to movement as the man paced around the table. He had introduced himself as ‘Tertiary,’ which Lars suspected was more of a title than a name. He’d explained that this meeting was preliminary, ‘a data intake,’ but Lars was skeptical.
“And how long have you worked for this company?” Tertiary continued, reading from a plasti-sheet dossier.
“Can you check my contract date?” Lars requested. The Cogitare had a reputation as sticklers for detail.
“I will, but for the recording, please.” Tertiary stroked his short black beard.
“It’s been about nine years?” Lars tried, worried they’d hold him to it. This was Continuance tech but not The Continuance. And any instance outside of that didn’t grant the usual privacy rights and protections. There was no recording device; the data was just theirs.
“FRC Standard?”
“Yes,” Lars confirmed, then added, “I think.”
“And what were your specific duties and responsibilities?”.
“My job is ship’s operator.” Lars gripped the edge of the table and felt along its edge. “I’m tasked with locating and acquiring a haul of List materials.”
“And this List is?”
Lars looked up. “The, uh, Conglomerate’s High-Value List? A lot of elements to do with power and shiptech. I’m not an expert on that though.” Lars shook his head and put one hand to the back of his neck. “There’s some sort of calculation about whether a planet meets threshold value for harvest, I think—but the AI does all that for you.”
“And what specifically do you do?” The Cogitare raised his eyebrows.
Lars splayed his fingers along the surface of the table, then withdrew them to his knees. “Uh, I, uh, monitor things? I suppose if something breaks that the automatic systems can’t restore, then FRC would send me instructions. There are the decision requests from the AI. I send status reports to FRC. The AI really does most of it.”
“I see.” Tertiary nodded still pacing the perimeter. “In your own words, tell me about the events that led up to the incident.”
Lars pressed down on his knee to steady the tapping foot which had crept up to shake his whole leg. “There was no data until the Code and then it was already in Phase-2 and too late.”
“Let’s walk through this one step at a time,” Tertiary assisted. “Start with when the planet was first detected.”
Lars did his best to recount the day, four years ago. A lot of the details were fuzzy, but he did recall the excitement of finally receiving the notification. The AI had added it to the normal status report, continuing in its dry voice like it was no big deal—but it was a big deal.
Lars had jumped up from his seat in the cockpit, banging his knee on one of the little dash panel knobs. His yelp had startled Grog and Lars had asked the AI to repeat the message three times.
‘Planet F-311246.3,’ that wonderful number was seared into his brain. This was what Lars had been waiting for, a destination, the opportunity to complete his contract, the opportunity to return home. He had asked the AI to show the planet on screen, replacing the exterior feed with that beautiful swirling white and blue. It was an approximation of course—a reconstruction from the data—but it was beautiful.
He had sat there for hours, watching those swirls with Grog. “That’s our ticket home,” he’d told the scaly pet, while he’d stroked Grog’s head. “Yes, you like that,” he’d cooed.
Lars recounted the overwhelm of emotion as they’d sat there, watching—happy yet daunted. It was difficult to explain. At that moment in the cockpit, Lars couldn’t really place everything he was feeling. And it was still a jumble, all these years later.
At that point, the planet was still four years out, and not yet a sure thing. It could have turned out to be a false positive. And then, too, the planet was only a halfway point in his journey. Even if it was confirmed, it would still take another nine—or more—years to get home.
The lawyer listened to his story, straight-faced, unaffected by the emotions that Lars was trying to convey. Am I saying the right thing? He could feel the hairs pricking up on the back of his neck.
Lars skipped ahead to the next milestone: it was two and a half years later that the confirmation he’d been waiting for—desperately hoping for—finally came in. Lars hadn’t realized how tense he’d been about the whole thing until he’d breathed that sigh of relief.
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He’d been told that contracts were typically fifteen to twenty-five years, although he’d heard rumors that some operators had gone twenty before reaching their harvest. It was a gamble. But Lars knew that when he’d given his retinal scan, agreeing to the contract. Detecting the planet so early felt lucky and, by The Five, Lars did not want to jinx it.
Finally, Lars moved on to tell the lawyer about the day of the harvest, how Grog kept complaining, and how he eventually discovered the beep. He swore he final-checked the data before going into The Continuance. He emerged on schedule too. But then, there was nothing that could be done. Days later, it still didn’t feel real.
“I see,” Tertiary acknowledged, stroking his beard. “And that’s when you reported the incident to FRC?”
“Shortly after, yes.”
“Shortly?”
“Well, I probably tried to confirm what was going on,” Lars clarified. “I’m not sure what order exactly. There was a lot happening.” Lars’ stomach turned over.
“Were you aware of any company policies or procedures that were violated in connection with the incident?” the lawyer asked.
“I,” Lars hesitated. “I don’t think so. Operators are encouraged to spend time in The Continuance. The AI was in process, I followed my routine.” Are they going to put this on me? How did I get here?
“And at what point did you initiate the planetary scan?” came the next question.
“Uh, after?” Lars struggled. It was feeling like such a blur.
“What led to the planetary scan?”
“I, I’m not sure?” Did the AI offer the option, or had he come up with it? Lars was becoming less certain of everything.
“You’re not sure?” Tertiary challenged.
“I don’t remember?” He started tapping his foot again.
“Then what do you remember about the scan?”
“I remember that there wasn’t much time,” Lars said, not meeting the Cogitare’s eyes. “The AI found all these rich media records and some sort of primitive network. Once it figured out the conversion, it was like a gift. It was so much easier to just port all that over. We just scanned the population that met baseline and was in range.”
“Less than one percent of the population…” The Cogitare thumbed his chin and referenced the plasti-sheet. “It says here you were in proximity to land masses they referred to as North America?”
“I guess so. If it says that.” This was the first time Lars had heard that name.
“I see,” Tertiary continued. “Have you been disciplined or terminated by your employer as a result of this incident?”
“I’m, I mean, aren’t you going to tell me that?”
“My role here pertains to the legal case,” the lawyer clarified. Then he re-asked, “Have you been disciplined or terminated? Please state for the recording.”
“Oh,” Lars faltered, somehow feeling both better and worse. “I have not been terminated. I’m on restrictions and have been told things are under review. They said no Continuance access pending resolution of the case. Um, I’ve been told to continue transport and await further instructions.” Today was his first day back in the tank since the incident. As unwelcoming as this red room was, Lars missed it.
“Thank you.” Tertiary nodded. “And have you been contacted by anyone other than FRC representatives or myself regarding the incident?”
Finally, a more straightforward question. “No, I have not,” Lars replied forcing himself to meet the man’s eyes.
“Good.” The Cogitare stopped pacing and finally pulled out the red chair opposite Lars. He sat, resting both arms on the table, and clasped his hands. Eyes hard, he spoke slowly, “You, Lars, family Dexius, have put FRC and your homeworld in a precarious position. This will be the case of my career. Remain honest with me, and I will do everything I can to ensure fair treatment.”
Lars stared back at him in silence, and then averted his eyes to study the table.
Tertiary continued, “Per your employment contract, you are prohibited from revealing any details of an ongoing legal matter with anyone outside of the FRC and its legal representation. Please confirm your understanding.”
“I understand,” Lars responded, still looking down.
“Good. While your Continuance access remains restricted, you will be permitted use of secure video transmit for up to five standard hours per week. Your immediate family has been pre-authorized. Beyond that, additional contacts must be screened and approved by my team. Be advised that all transmits will be monitored and recorded. Please confirm your understanding.”
“I understand,” Lars said.
###
A few hours later, Lars accepted his first video transmit.
“This is highly irregular!” his mother scolded through the cockpit of the ship. Lars had set the side panels to his usual exterior feed and then set the center one for video. Her face took up the entire frame and was distorted from being too close to the lens.
“I know, Mother,” Lars capitulated.
“Your uncle is worried about what this will mean for the family. They haven't released details to the public yet, but they’re going to find out eventually.”
“Mom, can you maybe step back a little?”
“What?” She moved even closer to the lens.
Lars sighed. “Isn’t it nice to see that your son is okay though?” He paused, then hefted Grog. “And you get to see this little guy.”
“Rah,” said Grog.
“Isn’t he so cute,” Lars cooed, setting Grog on his lap and stroking his head. Then, Grog launched himself up onto the dash.
“You know I always like to see you,” his mother chided. “It’s just unseemly to meet like this. When will the restrictions be lifted?”
“They haven’t told me that yet.”
Then his mother spoke in a whisper, “Constables came by the compound this morning. They asked strange questions about you, your life, our family, our finances, whether you had dealings with any Ufpries—”
“Mom, this is being recorded.”
“They said the hosting fees are costing our government a lot of money!”
“Mom, it’s being recorded!”
“Well, then what can you tell me about all of this?” she asked, exasperated.
“Not much, unfortunately” Lars grimaced. “Harvest is complete and I’m on my delivery trajectory. The design of this ship is pretty impressive, the way the aft expands.”
Lars thought back to that day in the hanger bay when he saw the ship for the first time—his beautiful ship. “I finally got to see it, well, through the feed.” Lars offered a half-hearted smile. “There’s so much bulk there now, but the trip back is only negligibly longer. It’s really amazing tech—”
“Yes, yes,” she hurried, “and what about the case?”
“I’m not allowed to share any of that.”
“But I’m your mother!” she insisted indignantly. Her eyes, cheeks, and nose filled the entire screen. “I heard there is a Cogitare—”
“I can’t, Mom, I’m sorry.”
“I see how it is.”
Lars sighed again. “There’s nothing really to know anyways, I promise.”
“Well, listen,” she started up again, “the Constables kept coming back to the money things. Our government—”
“Mom…” Lars warned.
“It’s fine, they said to tell you. Of course, I told them that my son is a good boy, and—”
“Enough, Mom. Please, the recording.”
Lars wasn’t sure which grilling was worse, the lawyer or his mother. He reached up and stroked Grog’s head, as his mother fired off more questions that he couldn’t answer.