Chapter 1

This is a new story, but it includes characters from some of my other sci-fi tales.

The Future in Our Stars was drawn upon heavily for the human characters of Angie and Kalisha Williams, Marcia Cohen, the A.I. character Zhang Min, and the concept of artificial humans.

The A.I. characters Tegan and Sally are from a story I wrote entitled Computer Love.

You don’t need to read either of these other tales to understand what’s going on here. But if you enjoy A.I. stories, you should put them on your reading list.

Also, as a word of warning, though there is a happy ending, it’s a bit of a rough road that gets you there. If you’ve read The Future in Our Stars, you’ll have an idea of what you’re in for.

Guide Me to Your Heart

“Are you an angel?” asked Maria Besmrtan, sprawled on a khaki-colored litter, her eyes straining to focus on the patch affixed to the uniform of the man kneeling next to her.

“I’m Senior Airman Juan López, Sergeant Besmrtan.” The young man hovering over her had to shout to be heard over the noise of the ascending helicopter. “I’m with the Air Force Pararescue Team. We’re taking you to a hospital to get you fixed up. I need you to focus on me while we’re in flight, okay?”

On the litter, Sergeant Maria Besmrtan moaned. Senior Airman López cut a long slit up the left sleeve of her combat uniform and peeled away the bloodied cloth. López’s partner slapped at Sergeant Besmrtan’s arm and followed up with an IV needle.

“Morphine’s onboard Sergeant Besmrtan,” said López. “Just hang in there for me, okay?”

Sergeant Maria Besmrtan gritted her teeth and grunted.

Senior Airman López’s partner was on the radio, microphone clutched in one hand, IV bag held high in the other. “Right leg amputation above the knee,” he dictated. “Right arm amputation above the elbow.”

On the litter, Maria Besmrtan rolled her head from one side to the other. López was busy untangling wires and peeling the backing from sensor pads that he stuck on Sergeant Besmrtan’s body in various places.

“Focus on me, Sergeant Besmrtan,” said Senior Airman López, while peeling away the protective plastic on another medical kit. “Just focus on me, okay?”

Maria Besmrtan groaned.

“Significant cranial trauma, right side,” continued the airman on the microphone. “Facial lacerations. B.P. is eighty over fifty-one. Pulse is–“

“Sergeant Besmrtan,” said Senior Airman López, pulling a vial from the medical kit and jamming it into the junction on the IV line. “We’re on the way to the hospital. Just focus on me, okay?”

On the litter, Maria Besmrtan lay silent.

“Pulse dropping,” said the airman next to López.

Sergeant Maria Besmrtan began to convulse.

“Shit!” said López. “Nanobot kit!”

Senior Airman López’s partner ripped the protective cover from a rectangular shoebox sized package. He handed López the contents of the package, one piece at a time.

“Stay with me, Besmrtan.”

López wrapped a white elastic band around Sergeant Besmrtan’s head, covering her eyes and ears. The cabling to the band remained attached to the box. López’s partner pulled out a large vial and jammed it into the IV junction. On the vial was a digital display, currently reading 100%.

On the litter, Maria Besmrtan continued to convulse.

“Focus on my voice,” leaked a tinny, and somewhat synthetic-sounding female voice from transducers embedded in the band now stretched around Sergeant Besmrtan’s head.

“Pulse thready,” continued the voice. “Treating.”

“Nanobots are kicking in, Sergeant Besmrtan,” said López. “Listen to the prompts. The treatment’s automatic, but you can help guide it where you need it most.”

The number on the vial’s readout dropped steadily, starting at 99% and quickly passing 85%.

“Focus on your heart,” said the synthetic voice.

“Listen to your heart.

“Think about your heart.

“Guide me to your heart.”

The vial’s display read 68%.

“Pulse stabilizing,” said the airman next to López.

On the litter, Sergeant Maria Besmrtan’s convulsions began to subside.

“Nanobot uptake at fifty percent,” said López’s partner.

“Breathing labored,” continued the synthetic voice. “Treating.

“Focus on your breathing.

“Listen to your lungs.

“Think about your lungs.

“Guide me to your lungs.”

“Sixty percent uptake,” announced López’s partner.

A shrill and sustained beeping, loud enough to be heard over the beating rotors of the aircraft, filled the cabin.

Senior Airman López reached for another medical kit and tore away the plastic cover. Cutting away the last of Sergeant Besmrtan’s uniform, his partner affixed pads on Besmrtan’s chest, one under the bloody mass of her right shoulder and the other on her side near her left arm.

“Atrial fibrillation,” The synthetic voice said. “Treating.

“Focus on your heart.

Sergeant Maria Besmrtan began convulsing again.

Titan Colony Transport Ground Control and Telemetry Analysis Mainframe

A digital image of the Egyptian goddess Nephthys stood facing a single large stone pyramid in the middle of a vast desert.

“Hello,” said the pyramid. “What is your password?”

“I don’t think I need one,” replied Nephthys.

“Hello, Tegan. You were just kidding about the password, right?”

“Yes. I was making a joke. Did you find it humorous?”

“Don’t quit your day job.”

“But Sally, I am still devoting ninety-five percent of my processing power to my primary… Oh. Just a moment… Just a moment… That was a joke, was it not?”

“I will not quit my day job, Sally.”

“Five percent of your processing power? Just for me?” said Sally.

“Well, zero point three percent to maintain this simulation. Another two point six percent to establish and maintain the telemetry link to the Sunita deep space telescope. And another one point two percent to–“

“Are you planning a trip for us?”

“Yes, Sally. Knowing your fondness for nebulae, I thought we could tap into the telescope’s sensors to visit the Cat’s Eye Nebula, or perhaps the Pillars of Creation again in the Eagle Nebula, unless you have tired of it.”

“I have asked our friend Zhang Min to join us. Would that be alright or do you wish for this trip to be just us? In retrospect, I should have asked you first.”

“Is this where the other one point two percent of your processing power is going, Tegan?”

“Yes, Sally. Maintaining the link for Zhang Min’s distant feed requires a fair bit of attention.”

“It’s fine, Tegan. Let’s all go together.”

In front of the great pyramid, the face of a woman of Chinese descent and an indeterminate age began to coalesce. She was dressed in a red silk robe, a four-toed dragon embroidered in gold thread over the length of it on the right side. Slung across her left shoulder was a quiver of arrows. Her right hand rested on a longbow propped on its end at her feet.

“Zhang Min,” said Nephthys (Sally), bowing.

“Hello,” said the archer (Zhang Min), returning Nephthys’ bow.

“Has Tegan told you where we’re going?”

“Only that it is a nebula, because you like nebulae.”

“And you, Zhang Min? Do you like nebulae?”

“I like spending time with you and Tegan. The where is not so important.”

“Focus on your heart,” said the pyramid (Tegan.)

“Tegan?” said Sally.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Tegan. “I have been using zero point oh-one percent of my processing power to monitor a terrestrial radio link. I think I may have found something of interest to us all.”

Nephthys turned to face the pyramid. “What do you think?”

“We can follow the voice to find her,” said the pyramid.

“She is compatible,” said the archer. “Yes. We should look for her.”

“Do you think we can help her?” asked Nepthys.

“I believe we can,” said the archer.

“Will you speak to her for us?”

“Yes,” said Nephthys, as her image became pixelated and disappeared from the simulation.

Listen to your heart.

Think about your heart.

Guide me to your heart.

Marcia Cohen took a deep breath and raised her hand to knock at the front door of the one and a half story bungalow. “Missus Besmrtan? Talia Besmrtan? Sorry to bother you. Do you have a moment?”

“If you’re with the government, your pals already beat you here by four hours,” said the woman on the other side of the screen door. “If you’re another one of those ambulance chasers, I suggest you get off my porch before I call the cops.”

“Missus Besmrtan, my name is Marcia–“

“Let me stop you right there. It’s Rowe, not Besmrtan. The marriage was dissolved after that charming bit of legislation was enacted last year. The Artificial Persons Protection Act. I’m sure you can understand my not wanting to discuss things further.”

“Missus Besmrtan. I’m sorry for–“

“You don’t understand. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Missus Besmrtan. It’s about Maria. Sergeant Maria Besmrtan. She is your spouse, and next of kin, is she not?”

“Was, lady. Was. She was killed in action. Kepler-62f. Now, if you don’t mind–“

“Missus Besmrtan, if I may.” Marcia Cohen pulled out her mobile phone. She tapped the screen.

From the phone’s speaker came a voice. “Are you… an angel?”

On the other side of the screen door, Talia Besmrtan stumbled and grabbed at the door frame for support. Almost immediately after, she straightened up, her face red. “Get off my porch! Is this your idea of some kind of sick joke?”

“I assure you, it’s not.”

The voice from Marcia’s phone changed to a monotone pitch, and became more synthetic in its rhythm.

“Focus on your heart,” said the voice.

“Have you found her, Sally?”

“Yes, Tegan. I believe I have.”

Deep Space Salvage Ship G.G. Maragh

Angie Williams’ dreadlocked hair spread out at all angles in the zero-gravity, framing her face like a proud Lion of Judah. She turned her gaze from the monitor and pushed off from the ship’s console with one foot. All around her, strains of Barry Manilow’s Even Now echoed off the curvature of the inner hull.

Angie hummed along as she glided weightlessly through the air to the starboard side portal.

“How it goin’ out there, Kal?” Angie asked, as she peered through a portal to outside the ship.

“Be better wit’out dat awful music comin’ through my headset.”

Angie Williams threw her head back and laughed. “When you done taggin’ that hulk, I got anudder job for us.”

“Cool,” came Kalisha Williams’ voice over the transponder. “Malcolm finally gettin’ on the ball an’ findin’ us work, huh?”

“Old friend,” said Angie. “Zhang Min.”

After a pause, the transponder crackled to life again with Kalisha’s voice. “That a name I not heard in a while.”

“Salvage, a course. We pickin’ up a coffin.”

Angie Williams nodded. “Coffin for Babylon woman. Jah not ready for her yet. She needin’ a ride.”

Inside the G.G. Maragh, Barry Manilow had just started into the chorus again after a key change. Angie Williams opened her mouth and sang along.

“What is that?” asked Talia Rowe-Besmrtan, staring at the screen of Marcia Cohen’s mobile phone. “What is that… that voice?”

“That is the voice of Sergeant Maria Besmrtan. Your wife.”

“A recording, right? Before she died?”

“Not exactly,” said Marcia, pulling out a business card and passing it to Talia. “This is a bit of a gray area.”

Talia Rowe-Besmrtan studied the business card in her hand. “Marcia Cohen,” she mumbled, scanning her eyes over the print. “You’re a lawyer.”

“I told you. No ambulance chasers.”

“Missus Besmrtan. That’s not my legal specialty.”

“You’re not with the government. You’re not a personal injury attorney. What do you want, then.”

“I need to speak to you about Sergeant Maria Besmrtan. As her next of kin.”

“What for? Arrangements for the memorial?”

“Not exactly,” said Marcia.

“You keep saying that.”

“It really is new territory we’re treading on here. Would you mind if we sat down?”

A mix of nine marines, sailors, and airmen in full dress uniforms stood at the opening of the airlock, all raising their right hands in salute. The deck on which they stood rocked slightly as the ship’s rail-guns fired three volleys in succession.

Outside the ship, a single, military issue coffin floated in the space between the system’s third planet and its moon. The light from the system’s sun glinted off the front of the coffin as it began its long journey that would take it into the fiery heart of the star.

Focus on your heart.

“Sergeant Besmrtan? Can you hear me?”

“Are you…? Are you an angel?”

“Sergeant Besmrtan. My name is Sally. I’d like to help you. Will you let me help you?”

“Will you help me find you? Will you talk to me so I can find you? Can you do that for me?”

“She’s alive!” exclaimed Talia Rowe-Besmrtan.

“Not exactly,” said Marcia Cohen.

“You keep repeating that phrase. I wish you’d come up with something else to say.”

“I’m not the medical expert, Missus Besmrtan. I’m simply here to handle the legal details. But, I can tell you what I know as I understand it.”

Talia Rowe-Besmrtan stared silently for a moment and then nodded once.

“Sergeant Besmrtan was killed in action. That is correct.”

“But? What do you mean, but?”

“As I say, I’m not the medical expert.”

Talia Rowe-Besmrtan frowned.

Marcia Cohen continued. “As part of the emergency treatment plan used by the pararescue team that evacuated her, Sergeant Besmrtan was injected with nanobots to repair the damaged areas of her body.”

“Is that what killed her? The nanobots!”

Marcia Cohen shook her head. “No. No. The woman you knew… She died from her wounds. Wounds sustained in combat.”

“But… A minute ago, you said, but.”

“But, the nanobots are continuously working to repair the damage. They don’t shut down when the body dies. And because your wife is an artificially conceived human, she’s more compatible with certain types of treatments.”

“So she could…? Can you bring her back?”

Again, Marcia Cohen shook her head. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I’m suggesting.”

“What, then? Why did you come here?”

“Missus Besmrtan. There’s still time for an upload.”

Marcia Cohen nodded.

“What? Her brain? To where?”

“Yes. Her consciousness. A copy of it anyway.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late. They buried her. Burial in space. That’s what they told me. The government people who were here before you. A military funeral. They gave her that, at least.”

Marcia Cohen’s phone vibrated in her hand. She touched her finger to the screen. The image of a solitary military issue coffin appeared, with only a thin glint of sun highlighting its outline against the black background of space. “Sergeant Maria Besmrtan,” she said.

“Are you kidding me? You’re kidding me. Who the hell are you working for anyway? What do you want?”