S Morden - No Way

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Frank had three passengers: Jim, Yun, and Leland. Enough so that no one really talked to him, and he got to drive. The trailer was loaded with seismometers—which Frank did understand, coming from California—and other equipment, which he didn’t. He did know that none of it would take kindly to being thrown about, despite having been launched on top of a rocket from Earth, crashed through the atmosphere of Mars, and dropped onto the surface from a height of around thirty feet.

They had, collectively, decided that the disappearance of Station seven was down to natural processes. And that threw Frank, because he was convinced that M2 had stolen it.

But if a bunch of highly trained scientists, backed up by whoever NASA could corral, thought there was an explanation that didn’t involve someone turning the weather station off, and taking it away for parts, then maybe they were right.

In the clear light of day, perhaps he was the one who was wrong, and he’d fucked up. Lack of sleep? Sure. Paranoia? Understandable. PTSD? OK, the list of his neuroses would keep Leland occupied for months.

There was enough doubt in the situation to send a man crazy, and he had little leeway on that score.

What was certain was XO’s threat to him, and to the astronauts. That wasn’t his imagination. That was real, M2 or no M2.

When they got to the outpost, Frank spent some time outside. He told the others that he wanted to check the hab over, tighten things up, make certain there wasn’t any wear. He did that, but he also searched the ground for tracks that he hadn’t made, and bootprints where he hadn’t stood.

Now that it wasn’t just him, it made things more difficult. The usual crew of Jim and Yun walked around the summit quite freely, and sometimes they had a buggy up with them to reach more distant features. The wind tended to erode tracks quickly up on the top, though. Fresh, unexplained marks might tell him that M2 were still active, still looking for things, still probing north.

And maybe they were. Frank couldn’t tell. Tire tracks started and finished in the thin dust almost at will. Scuffs that might be made by boots were everywhere, and when he examined them, nowhere.

Natural. M2 could have had nothing to do with Station seven. He might have jeopardized his trip home over nothing. From now on, he was going to have to tell XO—and tell Luisa—nothing. He was going to bottle it up tight, no matter what, no matter how much he’d come to rely on her. His one prop had been deliberately knocked away, and he was going to have to wear that, because doing anything else was going to get her, and the NASA crew, hurt.

He’d hit the bottom, and he still had to function, still had to put on the Lance Brack show for everyone. He readjusted his face, and came back in through the airlock.

“Everything OK?” asked Leland.

Frank reminded himself that this wasn’t a trick question. He’d been outside to shake the hab down. That was what Leland was inquiring about, not the state of his mind.

“It’s holding up fine. It gets colder up here. More thermal expansion in the day, but the bolts seem to be taking it.”

“If it fails, what will it sound like?”

“Sound like?” Frank frowned. “I’m guessing it wouldn’t sound like anything, because all the air will be too busy escaping to carry sound.”

Leland laughed, and it seemed like such an odd thing to laugh about. “I guess you’re right. I meant before that.”

“Oh. You might pick up the bolt heads shearing off. But that depends.” Frank pushed himself out of his suit into the cold air of the hab. “You’ve done your drills, right?”

“Down to twenty seconds. Of course, that’s practice. They don’t test you under conditions where you might die.”

Frank covered his annoyance by turning his back and disengaging his life support. XO hadn’t treated him half as well. He was disposable. He still was.

Yun and Jim were testing batteries with a meter down on the ground floor, unpacking them and making sure they’d take and store a current before repacking them for the trip out.

Leland’s slow Southern voice was gently coaxing. “So where did you work after serving? JPL? Lockheed? Boeing?”

Kittridge Construction. He was figuring Leland had never heard of it. “You know I can’t answer that.”

“Doesn’t that frustrate you? Us kids getting up in your face with our degrees and doctorates and experience, and you not sitting us all down and schooling us on just what you’ve seen and done?”

“I got my orders, Leland. And that’s that. No point in getting antsy about it. And you’re not ‘kids’, either. You got to be, what, thirty-five? Forty?”

“Thirty-seven. That’s two years younger than Neil Armstrong when he first walked on the Moon. He pulled off a landing like Lucy’s, too. History could have been hella different.” Leland hefted his own life support, and put it against the staging on the upper level. “But you’ve got plenty of years left in you. You’ll get back to Earth and you’ll pick up where you left off. You got a life, right? Kids, maybe. A career for sure. You’re obviously a senior guy, a consultant, a trouble-shooter. You’ll make a good living back Earthside, with XO, or any other company.”

“What’s your point, Leland?” Frank stacked his life support, and grabbed a fresh pack that they’d brought with them.

“This is our pinnacle, the best thing we’ll ever do, and we all signed up knowing this could be the end of us, one way or another. We’re here because we think it’s worth it, despite all the different ways we could die. But you don’t seem to have that same enthusiasm, and I guess I’m trying to work out what you think you’re getting out of this.”

Hell, they’d been ready to just kill him and fire him into the sun. But now, maybe, just maybe, he might get to live and go home. “Talk to me about it when you’ve been here nine months, Leland.”

“That’s fair comment. Well, whatever they’re paying you, I hope it’s enough.”

Frank heaved his new life support pack into place and pushed it home. Making XO pay seemed a pipe dream now, compared with what he’d hoped to extract from them. Having said that, the tables might suddenly turn again and put him on top for a change.

“I’m ready.”

Yun handed up the battery packs, and Jim followed.

“Leland, tell me you remember how the seismograph fits together.”

“I remember just fine.”

“Me and Yun will handle the siting on this side of the volcano. If you and Lance can take the buggy over to the south and west. Meet back here in… four hours?”

South. Why did it have to be south? And why did it have to be Leland? Better than Jim, admittedly, but Yun was good company. He got her, understood her drive, and she didn’t ask him personal questions or dick around.

“What about what happened to Station seven?” asked Frank. “Shouldn’t we be avoiding that area completely?”

“Sure. If you look at the map, the sites are further south and further west. Give where Station seven was a wide berth—five hundred yards for now. I’m still betting on a subsurface collapse, related to the secondary caldera, marked CT-B, at seven o’clock.”

Frank had been there, right there, two days ago. There’d been no sign of a new crater, and he knew it, though he hadn’t labored the point. He was still betting on M2.

“What if the whole area is lousy with holes?”

“That’s kind of what we’re trying to find out. This is a one-off. Just bad timing on our part. And you’ve got a buddy now. Leland will keep you right, won’t you, Leland?”

“I do share Lance’s concerns. But you’re the geologist. You wouldn’t ask us to take any risks you wouldn’t take yourself.” Leland put in his own fresh life support and propped the suit up, prior to climbing in.