John Karr - Detonation Event

Devans didn’t know about the other members of the crew, but he wasn’t in the mood to sue anyone. Not now, anyway.

Now it was a matter of SCONA finally going through the motions of airing it out, and what better place to do it than the convention center, or, as he liked to think of it, “The Hall of Grandiosity.” Did they really need a three-story theater on the moon, taking up air and heat resources?

Need, no.

Want, yes.

Along with the towering housing facilities, it was a testament to the company’s prowess, and he used to approve wholeheartedly. Show off the capabilities. Let the EFF see what forward-thinking minds and willing bodies could do. He almost wished he were a casual observer, instead of someone thick in the crap-storm of terraforming Mars.

Were he younger, he might have wondered why the SCONA board of directors chose such a venue, or why they were going to transmit the show to the entire solar system, but he was far from being that young anymore.

Nothing like cleaning the dirty laundry for the entire species to see, Devans thought.

He’d analyzed the events that had occurred on Mars from every angle he could imagine, and it all led to the same conclusion.

Gallows time.

Career-wise, anyway.

The company wasn’t going to deny jeopardizing him and his crew on the surface of Mars. They were going to say the demise of PS-9 had forced their hand to save T2. A project that had cost billions. The lives of five humans were valuable—but not as valuable—and all had signed on to accept the risks. There would be no legal recourse.

The transport arrived at one of several terminal connections just outside the security gate to the expansive hall. This was the lunar face of the very successful mining and asteroid busting company, and as such Devans found it overblown. Three main corridors met to allow the employees and visitors to stride onto the grounds leading to the Hall of Grandiosity. The main building was shaped like an asteroid of odd dimensions and made of a composite of melded space rock, all symbolic of the company’s goals. Tall black columns at each corner rose almost to the first protective dome.

The ten thousand seats were rapidly filling inside, according to the flashing notices on the jumbo holos. The crowd here was thickening outside as well. These people would watch from outside, yet still get a sense of witnessing the event. A digital countdown was being projected for the broadcast live feeds to Earth and space.

Finally they were going to get answers from the SCONA board of directors. Devans was getting his mind set. He wanted to go in and rage, but knew he had to exhibit restraint, if for no other reason than to remain coherent.

Nuro emerged from the crowd.

They fist bumped.

“Gonna get ugly,” Nuro said.

Devans shrugged. “Already is. This is resolution. One way or another.”

Nuro looked away, then over his shoulder. “Yeah, one way or another.”

They moved with purpose toward the main security gate. Guards were stationed before the scanners and after, plasma guns holstered at their waists. The plasma rounds were designed for biological damage and would not penetrate the domes, even at point-blank range.

Still, not a great sign, Devans concluded.

The security guards worked only one security gate for the crowd of lunar workers, residents, and visitors to enter through. Devans found this odd. And normally the events were free. Now, evidently, you had to have a ticket to get in. The line was long.

“Screw this,” Nuro said. He clapped Devans on the shoulder but didn’t wait for him to follow. He was a head taller than almost everyone, and his larger body parted the crowd with ease. “We’ve earned the front of the line!”

He got no argument from Devans.

Members of the security team either saw them or were alerted by tracking chips. In either case, two of them moved well into the crowd and escorted Devans and Nuro to the security gate. They held up the general public for them.

Distractedly Devans watched his old friend.

Nuro handed his portable computer to the security analyst, then his large hands moved to the back of his thick neck, where he unclasped the onyx necklace and handed it over as well. He paused three seconds at the white arch, waited for the green light, then walked through to gather his two belongings. After putting the necklace on once more, he slowed and turned slightly to one of the guards. They didn’t appear to exchange words, yet both nodded and held out their hands in an almost clandestine manner.

They shook hands the ancient way, palm-to-palm. Devans didn’t know the analyst, but evidently Nuro did. He put one hand on his hip and was about to do the same with the other, but instead of going directly for the hip, that hand lingered at a pocket first. Nuro’s form blocked the view, but then both hands lowered. They engaged in a brief verbal exchange, then Nuro took a step toward the large doors of the convention center.

Devans didn’t spend much synapse time on the casual observation. Thoughts were firing rapidly now. There were pressing matters dead ahead. Not the least of which was what the hell came afterward.

Inside the theater, the ceiling maintained its three-story height, only it appeared open due to the glass and darkness of space beyond the protective domes. The walls were inlaid with tiny lights, giving the appearance of being among the stars.

The crowd was in full discussion, creating a soft roar that filled the large chamber.

The guards accompanied Devans and Nuro to a roped area near the stairs. The sign on the wall read “Presenter Platform.” This was for the survivors of PS-9 . Shannon Burroughs, Alicia Hamilton, and Trent Wagner were already seated in the reserved area.

Fres was seated just outside it. His wife of thirty years sat beside him. They stood. Renee hugged Devans tightly, and the support sent a message to the world and beyond. She patted his chest to emphasize her words and let the tears fall unabated.

“These fools, Ry! I’m so damned sorry! Brad and I are going Earthside. Risk in space is one thing, but we’re not working for a company willing to sacrifice its people!”

Devans nodded, smiled a little. “I’ll catch up with you guys on Earth, then. You take care of yourself and the fossil you took pity on and married.”

“Come with us!” Renee said.

Devans eased back and gently pulled at her arms. “I’ll catch up after a while, Renee. Thanks for coming, and for this.”

“We know you don’t have much family. You don’t need to be alone in this. Get off your ass and come with us,” she repeated.

He smiled. “Got a few things to handle first, but I’ll check in and see how you guys are doing in your soul spot.”

“You’d better, Ry Devans,” Renee said, sitting and blowing her nose in a tissue.

Devans and Fres regarded each other.

“Quit making my wife cry, old man.” Fres said finally. He held out his hand, and they shook the old-fashioned way.

“Hit a few rounds of boring-ass golf for me, fossil boy.”

“You know it.”

Devans looked around. “Quite a crowd.”

Fres shrugged. “If you’re easily impressed.”

Devans couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, however it goes…” Fres said, his features somber.

“…always there,” Devans finished.

Fres clapped Devans’ shoulder with force, then moved over to Nuro, who stood a few feet away, staring straight ahead as he had since arriving. Fres put a hand on Nuro’s shoulder, who shook his head and turned away. Devans was surprised and then irritated at what appeared to be a brush-off from Nuro, and the quick look of hurt that passed through his oldest friend’s face before it was contained.