S Morden - One Way

He turned to look behind him, and Declan was standing there, poking around, sizing up the space, seeming to be working out where to put the cable runs and string up the internal lighting, but he was also watching Frank.

Frank raised himself up, and Declan made a show of concentrating on the floor, lifting out the square tiles and running his finger along the length of the floor trusses.

“We’re going to be working together, you and me,” said Frank. “Working together a lot. We need to make sure we can do that, right?” He didn’t know how much Xenosystems could see or hear of what he and the other cons did, but it was safer to assume that it was everything.

“I can do… that,” said Declan. “I don’t have a problem with you, if that’s what you’re asking. Do you have a problem with me?”

Given who else might be listening, he took a moment to come up with a reply. “We’re good here. Let’s see if they’ve left us some tools and we can try and take one of these things apart. Surprising how much you learn when you do that.”

[transcript of audio file #14855 5/21/2038 2354MT Xenosystems Operations boardroom, 65th floor, Tower of Light, Denver CO]

BT: No. Just no. This isn’t working. No matter how many times you say it will work, it’s not working now. We have seven years left. And we need an alternative plan.

AC: You said it right there. Seven years. We can fix all the problems in two, and have five years to practice. I don’t think you appreciate just how far we’ve come. Paul said that himself.

BT: Paul is an ideas man. I have to deal with implementation. Look. Let me take you back to this part… just… here. OK. Now you say that your hydraulic mechanisms will automatically deploy the hab. And they do. On Earth. As soon as we tested them under Mars conditions, they failed.

AC: But those components aren’t rated for space. This was just a prototype. We didn’t need vacuum-rated pistons for it, just off-the-shelf parts we’re going to swap out later. I didn’t authorize those extra tests, and I don’t know who did or how they found their way to your desk. They’re meaningless. Just meaningless. I don’t know how else to say that.

BT: We have to face the facts. The fully automatic system you want? It’s just not practical.

AC: But that’s the bid. That’s the specifications we’ve all agreed on.

BT: Look out of the window. Look at the city. Something goes wrong, and people will come out and fix it. How long do you think it would take for all of this to break down? One set of lights? Two, maybe? Followed by gridlock.

AC: You can’t be serious. The whole mission is designed around the premise that the base builds itself. We put it on the Martian surface, and it does the rest.

BT: There are too many critical failure modes, Avram. And one is one too many. If we don’t deliver the base, we don’t get paid. Putting a dozen cargo landers on Mars would be a success in anyone’s book, a real achievement. But unless we can guarantee—guarantee—that the base will be habitable by the time NASA need it, XO is history. You appreciate that, yes?

AC: Yes, but…

BT: I’m sorry. I’ve been asked by the board to seek alternative opinions. You’ll receive your full severance payment, and you’ve already signed the non-disclosure agreement. I’ve no doubt that your expertise will be invaluable to the right company.

AC: You’re firing me?

BT: Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be, Avram. The contents of your desk are already at reception, and these gentlemen will escort you out.

AC: I don’t believe this. I just don’t believe this. Ten years. Ten years I gave you.

[Anonymous—call him Security 1]: Dr Castor? If you could follow me.

AC: Get your damn hands off me. I know the way. My work won you this project. Don’t think this is the last you’ve heard from me.

BT: I think it is the last I’ve heard from you. You might not have read the NDA, but I have. You’ll want to consider what we can take away from you if you try and breach it. Now, please. You’re trespassing.

[Sounds of a brief fight? Difficult to make out]

[Door closes. Pause.]

BT: Paul? It’s Bruno. Sorry to disturb you, sir, but you wanted to know. It’s done. No. Everything went smoothly. No trouble at all. I’ll start bringing in new people tomorrow.

[End of transcript]

Frank was still thinking about assembling the base while he was supposed to be doing driving practice, about how different it was going to be to anything he’d previously experienced.

He knew from the training videos that the equipment that he was familiar with on-site wasn’t going to work on Mars. Anything pneumatic or hydraulic, for a start. Not that hydraulics had the best reliability on this or any other world: hoses invariably leaked or came loose. But fluid that needed to come from a supplier ten miles away could be replaced. Not so easy where he was going. Oil designed for lubricating something on Earth would boil away on Mars. Water-cooled cutting machines were right out, along with anything he’d normally rely on a two-stroke to power.

That left him with electrical, and purely mechanical. It was down to battery power and brute force—or finesse—to do the job. His biggest concern was the aluminum bolts, which were notoriously easy to strip. Using a standard nut runner with torque control would work just fine, but there were a lot of nuts. And given that building the base had to happen before anything else could, to rely on two men in cumbersome spacesuits with a couple of torque wrenches, while the rest of the crew kicked their heels? It wasn’t the way forward.

Everyone was going to have to be involved in construction, and the only way of telling whoever was in charge was to talk to Brack, which was becoming his least favorite job of all. He’d rather run up and down the mountain, twice.

There wasn’t a mechanism for him to set up a meeting, either. Brack would simply appear, denigrate his efforts and whoever else was around, threaten to give him a ticket for looking at him funny, then disappear again. But he was Frank’s only point of contact with the decision-makers. The medics in the Blood Bank seemed entirely unconnected with any of the practical aspects of the mission, and utterly uninterested in anything he had to say.

He was trying to concentrate on maneuvering the single-axle trailer around a tight corner, when Brack decided to stand behind him. Frank momentarily contemplated the consequences of just keeping on going, but instinct cut in and he stopped abruptly, hard enough to shake his bones and rattle the chassis.

Marcy, who’d been stood watching, started forward, arms out wide in annoyance, ready to tear the interloper a new one, but then slowed when she saw who it was, letting her hands fall. Brack gave his idiot grin at her, then turned it on Frank.

Frank got down out of the buggy and walked to the back of the trailer. There was a buzz in his ear, asking why he’d broken his training. For once, he ignored it. If they knew he’d done that, they also knew why.

“What do you think you’re doing, Kittridge?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“You don’t get that privilege. All you get to do is say yessir and nosir and threebagsfullsir.”

Frank contemplated his boots for a moment, before looking up again. “I need everyone trained on construction. All of us. Otherwise, we’re screwed from the start.”

Brack reached out and patted Frank’s chest, almost friendly, until his fingers curled into the cloth and he tightened his fist around it. “You’re a prisoner, Kittridge.” He spoke calmly at first, but then his voice started to rise. “You do not disrespect me .” On that final, shouted word Brack started shaking Frank violently, backwards and forwards.