Charlie7 found himself, more and more, the bearer of bad news. It was a peculiar burden he carried, willing to shoulder the unpleasantness of conversations that robots and humans alike shied from, all because he’d seen and been through so much worse.
No one had a zero day as bad as Charlie7’s.
Today’s onerous errand drew him back to the shadow of his own home beneath the Arc de Triomphe. Paris had taken its global prominence in the Second Human Age thanks to his residence there. A shy, tentative Eve had made it her home to lean on him for advice and protection—better protection than Plato gave her, despite his best intentions.
But others had settled in the city as well. Phoebe had made it her life’s work to breathe life into the wildflower fields that had overgrown the grand old Roman city of Lutetia. Titus Labienus had conquered it from savage tribes. Saint Denis had died on that hill over yonder. Joan of Arc, Louis XIV, Robespierre, Napoleon, and Charles de Gaulle had all walked these lands.
It had been a shame to see them reclaimed by uncaring nature.
It was one of the oldest residents in the city that was the target of today’s errand. Only Charlie7 himself, a scattering of robots, and her own mother could lay claim to more years than Abbigail Fourteen among the locals.
Charlie7 hated disturbing her.
At some point, humans crossed a threshold between hale vigor and clinging to the driftwood of a sinking life. Eve was closer to her end than Charlie7 cared to admit. The old bird knew it, too, and fought back every step of the way, plodding forward with her official duties as the Grim Reaper stubbornly clung to her ankles, wishing he’d gone into some other line of work. The humans of the Second Human Era were a resilient lot.
Eve and Plato had been young—in the early blossoming of that hale stretch of life—when they’d adopted her. In relative terms, Abby wasn’t that much younger. However, at the moment, what Charlie7 needed was a Madison genome body with a few extra years less wear-and-tear. If he couldn’t present the hostage takers with Eve, at least he had the next best thing.
He left his skyroamer parked in front of the house, strode up to the front door, and rang the chime. “Abby, it’s me, Charlie7, I—”
The voice came through the door-side speaker. “Just a minute. I’m almost done.”
Charlie7 pressed the chime again. It wouldn’t alert Abby again so soon but served as a switch to open the mic at the door. “Can I come in? I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”
He was tempted to use an override code he wasn’t technically supposed to know and force his way in. This was a matter of life and death, and whatever Abby was in the middle of could certainly wait.
“I said just a minute, and I meant it. I already know why you’re here.”
“If you know that, then you also know that timing could be critical.”
“That’s why I’d prefer if you’d stop yakking at my door and let me finish up. Let yourself in if you must. It’s not locked.”
Charlie7 scowled but activated the door release. This wasn’t like Abby, who was as jealous of her privacy as any human he’d known since Olivia. ‘Quiet was a writer’s best friend,’ she always said.
“Is something the matter?” Charlie7 asked as he stepped into the quaint foyer decorated in the style of a Victorian sitting room. Dark, polished wood and ornate embroidery contrasted with modern touches such as a video screen and a cybernetics tuning kit left open beneath the shade of a faux-gas lamp.
Abby bustled through the foyer, depositing a suitcase at Charlie7’s feet on her way past. “Stow that, if you want to make yourself useful.”
“Stow it where?”
“Your skyroamer,” Abby replied gruffly. “I presume you’re here to take me to Mars.”
“Take you?” Charlie7 asked dubiously. “We have a situation on Mars, but we’re looking for a negotiator, not a rescue.”
Abby called out from down the hall, voice raised but forcing Charlie7 to up the gain on his audio receptors to hear her. “Well, damn good thing you came here since I’m about ninety years past prime rescue mission age. As for negotiating, that business only gets anything done face to face. I haven’t been on Mars since they added a second colony dome. Hadn’t anticipated ever seeing it again up close and in person. But… well, you know as well as anyone that plans never survive contact with the enemy.”
“You… think I’m taking you to Mars?” Charlie7 said. His intention had been to bring her to Philadelphia, where a team of advisers could coach her on the situation and work back channel solutions with the Curiosity officials on site at Arthur Miller Theater.
“Fat lot of good it’ll do me talking to them from Earth,” Abby said. “Those twitchy brats have had about their fill of transmissions from Earth making promises and telling them what to do. You do this for me: get me carte blanche from the Human Welfare Committee to do what needs doing up there, and I’ll leave you in peace to pilot the spaceroamer.”
“Are you sure you should be traveling interplanetary—?”
“At my age?” Abby finished for him. “Look here, Charlie7. Those de-evolving apes took my little Kaylee hostage. I’m planning to do whatever it takes to get her out of there safely. She’s got a good eighty to a hundred years left to live, and if I have to trade my last few for her to live them, so be it. But I think I’ll not shatter like porcelain taking a quick hop over to get there.”
Charlie7 just shook his head and carried Abby’s bags. She was all fire where Eve was calm and deliberate. Even Eve’s anger was less intense than a typical conversation with Earth’s premier playwright and author. Ned Lund and his pals were going to have a public relations disaster on their hands if they harmed this particular negotiator.
Abby had all Eve’s fame, a way of persuading with words that was as subtle as a tropical breeze, and none of her mother’s political baggage. If it weren’t for that iron will of Eve’s to impose her judgment on others and break their resolve, Abby might have been his first choice to handle negotiations.
As he slung her bags into the back of his skyroamer, now with a short trip home for a spacefaring model as their destination, he wondered at the possibility that the trip would prove too much. If Abby didn’t survive the trip to Mars, Charlie7 decided he’d conduct the negotiations personally.