S Morden - One Way

He started dragging everything into place, so that they wouldn’t need to keep going back to the cylinder for components. Power cables for the wheel motors. The bucket seat. The steering column for the control board he could fix in right now, and given that the third wheel was on already, he could at least put it on hand-tight to the frame. The winch and the towbar assemblies would just have to wait. And the lights. And the roll cage. And the cameras.

If they didn’t start back in ten minutes, they weren’t going to make it. Fifteen, maybe. Those weren’t numbers he wanted to bet against.

Fourth wheel.

“You know, if you can do this a bit quicker, that’d be really excellent.”

“You want a wheel to fall off as we go? We do it right, first time, or not at all.”

“We’re running out of options, Marcy. Good enough is good enough.”

“Then start plugging things in, get the cables secure, and put on the seat. The fuel cell can go in last.”

He wrestled the cables out. They were stiff and inflexible due to the cold—as were the cable ties he was supposed to fix them to the tubing with. The connectors were necessarily now behind the wheels. Reaching them was straightforward enough, but pushing them home and securing the lock was harder than it needed to be. Haste simply made it more difficult.

And every time he needed to take a breath and steady himself, it was one breath fewer he had to take.

Marcy was done. She leaped up on the chassis and worked the bolts on the control panel. “Give me the seat.”

He half-passed, half-threw it at her. She slotted it home and laboriously began to tighten the nuts at each corner.

“I’m down to fourteen per cent,” said Frank. “Leave that. Help me with the power pack.”

She reluctantly put down the wrench and jumped down. Even that took too much time.

They heaved the fuel cell out of its drum. Packaging spilled out across the rust-colored sand.

“Seriously. Leave it.”

There was a cage at the front of the chassis, into which the fuel cell slotted, the idea being that there’d be preferential weight on the front wheels, making it easier to drive. It had a solid base, to protect the casing, and open sides for the connectors. There was even an arrow in red, telling them which way needed to point up and forward.

They manhandled it into position, and got the bottom edge inside.

“Slide it home. Nice and straight.”

Marcy fastened the cage opening with a cable tie and Frank plugged in the other ends of the power cables, one, two, three, four. Lock them in place. She finished securing the seat while he connected the controls. Push. Twist. Pull.

She pressed the on-switch, and lit up the console. The steering column looked like a video gamer’s steering wheel. It was only minimally attached. Things like the gas pedal and the brakes were controlled by grips inside the wheel.

Marcy flexed her fingers and took the wheel.

“If you’re coming, climb on. We’ll see if we can do better than ten miles an hour.”

Frank scrambled up behind her, and remembered to pick up the wrench from where she’d left it, balanced across two spars, and put it back in his belt. He threaded his feet through the open frame and leaned forward to grab tight hold of the seat back.

“Any time now would be good,” he said.

She squeezed the accelerator, and the buggy rolled ever so slowly forward. “I got this,” she said.

Marcy drove around in a circle, the wheels spinning up or down dependent on the direction of the turn. When she was pointing back down the crater towards the distant, low mound of the volcano, below which was their ship and their survival, she tightened her hold and they sped away, dust trailing in their wake.

[Project Sparta report, dated January 11 2039—recovered document headings, section 7]

7. Crew functionality

7.1. Comparison of robots vs human crew

7.1.1. Robots are task-specific

7.1.1.1. Human crew are multifunctional

7.1.2. Robots do not learn

7.2.1.1. Human crew will complete tasks faster and better with repetition

7.1.3. Robots are not resourceful

7.1.3.1. Human crew will become adept at doing more with less

7.1.4. Robots are unreliable

7.1.4.1. Human crew are self-healing or responsive to medical intervention

7.1.5. Robots are not reactive

7.1.5.1. Human crew will respond instantly to problems

7.1.6. Robots require significant electrical power

7.1.6.1. Human crew will require significantly less

7.1.7. Robots can be reprogrammed instantly

7.1.7.1. Human crew can be taught new tasks only over time

7.1.8. Robots do not consume resources

7.1.8.1. Human crew will require significant ongoing resource inputs in order for them to operate for the duration of the build phase

7.9.1. Robots do not require protected environments

7.1.9.1. Human crew will require significant front-loaded infrastructure commitment

7.1.10. Robots do not complain

7.1.10.1. Human crew will require psychological management

7.1.11. Robots do not tire

7.1.11.1. Human crew will require rest periods

7.1.12. Robots are emotionally expendable

7.1.12.1. Human crew will react emotionally to losses

The shadows had changed. Unregarded, the sun had risen high and started sinking again, back towards the horizon. They were driving towards it, and it was still only as bright as a dull winter’s day. The rocks on the surface were deepening in color, and the sky was turning from pink to red. The airborne dust seemed to hang close to the horizon, like a soft-edged blanket. As the sun dipped, the more shadow the dust cast.

Frank was coated with it. It was inexplicably sticky, a film that he could push about but not actually dislodge. He didn’t know how he was supposed to get rid of it.

And now he was worried about the build-up of dust on any machinery they might use. His sites had always kept the plant clean, because then it was easier to keep it in good working order and spot any faults, as well as being a good neighbor. He grunted as Marcy found the edge of a small, half-buried ridge of rock that sent a jolt through the frame and into Frank’s bones. She had the seat. He was hanging on behind her, hoping she hadn’t forgotten that he was there.

It felt like they were doing a damn sight more than ten miles an hour, though Frank couldn’t see the speedometer to tell, only the ground between his feet. Neither could he let go to find out just how much time in the suit he had left, because if he let go, he might be bounced off. At that speed, it seemed that the wheels couldn’t deform fast enough to absorb the shock of obstacles—even the smaller rocks were jarring. Slower would be more comfortable. Right now, his comfort wasn’t his chief concern. Just as long as Marcy could get them back before… before they ran out of air.

What would it be like? Would he even notice? There’d been an accident once, with fatalities, early on in his career and before he had his own company. They were demolishing an old gas station, clearing it for the developers to come in and slap some identikit housing on it. A couple of guys had gone into the old underground tanks, and that’s where he’d found them, just slumped at the bottom of the ladder. Heavy gas had settled in the tanks and pushed all the air out, and they’d lowered themselves right into the middle of it. He might have joined them, if older, wiser hands hadn’t restrained him.

They hadn’t suffered. Just gone to sleep.

He wasn’t going to do that. He had a base to build. And he had a promise that he’d make it back home again. But first he had to make it back to the ship, that was still invisible in the distance.