0 comments/ 12821 views/ 2 favorites Mars Liberty By: martincain More than one level of the TIL arcology was filled with gardens. Light came through sunroofs, the slanting windows, or was piped in via fiber-optic line to the hydroponic tanks in deeper areas. "The Tachyon building is a self-sufficient work environment. We can operate independent of outside support if necessary. We can grow our own food and generate our own electricity," Leda said as she leaned out over the balcony railing around the catwalk surrounding the largest. They looked down through a light canopy of leaves into a large Koi pond. "Gardens like this one provide oxygen generation. A percentage of the organic wastes the building generates are used for horticulture, making us fully compliant with municipal codes." "It's beautiful," Ajax wondered aloud. Leda started his tour of the arco at the top. “It looks like paradise down there.” Ivy hung from the walls, broad-leafed shrubs stood in manicured rows, drooping palm-fronds nodded as the air circulated through. The atmosphere was moist, a result of the computer-controlled watering system, and warm, due to the massive ducts conveying heat and stale air up from the lower-levels. A curtain of water vapor cooled the warm, rarified, air for its return to the bowels of the arco. Company botanists in short-sleeved work uniforms inspected the plants, took notes and collected samples. One blossom caught his eye, something Lotus shaped but the size of a deflated rescue-ball . "What's that?" He said and extended his arm to point it out. "That's a strain of what we call the Fire-Flower," She said once she’d identified the subject of his inquiry. "It's a plant we bio-engineered to survive on Mars. This is what we got when we altered it for more optimal conditions. Pretty spectacular, isn't it." “Stunning is a better word. It’s unearthly.” "It's a test for potential colony worlds. If the Fire-Flower will grow in the soil then colonists will be able to grow the grains that we've developed. The first step towards colonial success is self-sufficiency." "I always thought that TIL just made engines," Ajax said, feeling foolish for not taking time to research beforehand. “I had no idea the company had so many interests.” "We’re big in the bioengineering and manufacturing industries. The arco was built to showcase our manufacturing capabilities in that area among others," Leda said, tossed a dead leaf over the edge of the balcony and turned away. "Though we also have considerable holdings in commercial transport." Ajax watched the leaf fall until it hit the water. "So what's next?" He said as she led off toward the lift. "Executive offices occupy the next twenty levels below this- all very boring," She said and pressed the ‘down’ button at the bank of lifts in front of them. "Are you hungry? I think it's time you met some of our people." *** The food service gallery was below the executive offices and above the levels where the various TIL directorates carried on operations. Salarymen and women of every ethnicity lined up to receive their meals much like the prisoners in SolMax did, only the dishes on display behind the counters looked and smelled like what they were labeled as. There is good quality Tofu-Loaf and some Near-Beef. The only animal products available were various local cheeses and fish fillets supplied from aquafarms beneath the waves off the Gulf coastal states. The price of the food was deducted from his meal allowance. All he had to do is show his ID card. "Attention everyone!" Leda said as she stood on her chair. Ajax sat beside her at a long table with a plateful of pasta and fish. Activity slowed as the people milling about them stopped to listen. "The TIL family has a new member today. This is Ajax Kinkaid. Please help him feel welcome." Leda tugged Ajax to his feet as the people around him smiled, applauding with sincere gusto. While Leda looked on, Carmen, from Lunar Operations, asked about his favorite astro-ball team. Antonio, from Customer Relations, invited him for Squash at the courts in the King's Island complex. Sharon, from Accounting, wondered what branch he had transferred in from. Ajax had never followed astro-ball and played competent soccer but not squash. When asked where he had come from, he named Alpha Centauri. His listeners seemed quite impressed, like they had never been outside of the arco before. Leda confirmed later that most of them had not. Ajax had seen most of the upper half of the TIL building by the time 5 o'clock came and the first shift ended. Leda confirmed that corporate lodging for him had already been arranged. “What’s the catch?” Ajax said as he piloted her vehicle toward the newly constructed Royal Churchill Towers, a short hop from mid-town in what used to be Parsippany, New Jersey: the VIP annex for mid-level executives escaping from arcology life. “There’s no catch,” Leda said. “Your focus needs to be on your job, not on how things are at home. We have a whole department working on making your home life the best it can be.” “For whatever it is that I’ll be doing.” He added. “Officially, what you’re going to be doing is working as an on-call pilot for the Security Directorate, courier type things which will have you making a lot of runs to Mars and Alpha Centauri. How big of a hull were you rated for?” “Anything up to five hundred tons.” Ajax said and eased the wheel right to avoid a pit in the roadway. "Here we are," She said as she accessed a file. "Utbird was the name of your last ship? What's that mean?" "It's a kind of ghost. Everything I've flown has been called Utbird. It was a good luck charm, until recently that is." "Really," She said as she closed the visor and looked his way. "Like now you see me, now you don't? Are you good at disappearing acts?" "It goes a little deeper than that," Ajax said. The trip odometer projected onto the forward windshield clicked down a fraction as the car rolled past another distance marker. “It was a job at the time.” When she realized that no more explanation was forthcoming she moved on. “How long has your certification been suspended?” “Less than ten weeks.” “We’ll have to do something about that.” Leda said and pulled down the sun visor, a telecom screen was mounted into the backside of it. She punched in a number code from memory. A man with graying hair and a blue TOC uniform appeared onscreen. “Directorate of Training and Certification, Captain Brewer speaking," He said in a rote, machinelike way. Dark crescents beneath his eyes were the price of a lack of sleep. "How can I help you, sir or ma’am?” “Donald, it’s Leda.” She said and swept the hair away from her face so that he could identify her. The TOC man visibly brightened. “La-leda. What can I do for you?” Captain Donald Brewer stammered. “But, ah, my manners. You look well today, as always.” “You’re too sweet, Donald, but I’ve got a real situation on my end. I have a man here just back from the frontier who let his pilot’s license expire while he was in transit. He’s supposed to take out one of ours as soon as the window opens and this didn’t come up until the last minute," She said in a voice that implied a stake and that she was tied to it with a dragon on its way. "I don’t suppose it would be possible to wave the red tape on this, would it? We have him on file. If you want it we can send it over.” “Anything for our friends at TIL,” Captain Donald said and grinned. Little dragons he could deal with. “It happens all the time. I’ll just need his name and Citizen ID number.” “Thank you so much, Donald, that’s another one we owe you.” Leda said and turned her head quickly to flash a smile at him. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember that someday I’m going to get around to collecting.” Captain Donald said. Ajax laughed when she flipped up the sun-visor, ending the call. "What's so funny?" She said. "You sure know how to get things done." "Of course," She said seriously. "Rule number twenty-three, know the limitations of your contacts. Donald is a little lonely but he’s also a real nice guy. He just wants to help.” “What’s rule number one?” Ajax said. “The three most important things: people-product-profit.” “In that order?” Ajax said as a right turn led them off of the expressway and onto a narrow, private-access road marked “Troy Hill Enclave- Residents Only.” Leda laughed and said, “Not always. It depends on which one is the most important at the moment. Those are usually the three finalists.” *** An armed guard wearing the TIL logo checked his pass once they’d reached the gate-complex. Leda directed him to the underground parking garage, then down two levels to space number 46, marked with the his name in bold letters. "So how much do you know about me?" He said as he killed the lights and the engine. “You certainly know more than what I put down on the job application.” “We like to be especially in touch with your needs.” Leda said as she threw her door open. “We have as much information as we need about you. Only the things the company considers relevant.” “Like what?” Ajax said and closed his door as she moved without further announcement to the nearest elevator. The elevator had no buttons to indicate desired floor. “Like you worry too much, but it results in a meticulousness that the company finds attractive. Floor forty-six, please,” She said and the doors closed. “And you have a lot of names.” “I’m sorry I asked,” Ajax said as the elevator started moving upward. “How much checking did you do?” “We got your psych eval. and physicals from military records. They were quite disappointed to lose you. We spoke with one of your old commanders who commended your natural talent. I hear you’ve been giving the Customs Authority fits.” “I’m not here to make trouble.” Ajax said “Interesting.” She said as the elevator doors opened as silently as the lift has risen. The teal plush under his feet looks new and Ajax feels immediately at ease surrounded by the pastel colors on the walls. His apartment was at the end of the hall, number 46A. Leda removed a key card from her purse and flashed it front of the retinal scanner that controlled the lock to the door. “Now place your eye on the scanner and input your employee number. After that you’ll be locked into the system. You won’t need a key.” A laser scanner swept across his retina, recording the pattern of blood capillaries. Patterns like fingerprints, unique to each individual, would prevent unauthorized entry. “Welcome home.” Leda said swept inside when the lock retracted into its housing. “Thanks. Where are the lights?” He said, and the domestic control computer responded by turning on the lights in the entryway, pre-set to a comfortable level. “I thought you were going to stuff me into something a little more low-rent,” Ajax said as Leda guided him through the apartment. “Is this what all your pilots get?” Off of the dining room was the living room with the modern holo-entertainment center and several plush couches. “Most of our pilots stay in the arco,” Leda said. “It’s closer to the spaceport. Did you read your benefits package?” “Yesterday I was living above a run down spacer’s bar outside fifth-gate,” Ajax said as he shook his head at her question. “Today I have a contract with the third largest company in the Northern Combine. It’s been pretty overwhelming, to say the least.” “So you didn’t then?” She said and tapped her chin with a finger. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t break any rules did I?” Leda lifted a hand to her mouth to cover her snicker. “Of course not,” She said. “Though I must admit, someone must’ve wanted your contract something awful to bring you in like this. These accommodations are usually for assistant directors and above. Read your benefits package, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” Attached to the living room was a den with faux-wooden shelves along every wall. Outside the den was a balcony, with a view more impressive than the one in the kitchen and a small spa tucked into a corner. The door to the balcony was in a small workroom next to the den, already furnished with a work-station and comfortable swivel chair. “If you haven’t read the benefits package then you probably haven’t read the employee handbook. All three hundred employee guidelines are listed in it, you’ll need to familiarize yourself with them.” “Are there any that can’t wait until morning?” Ajax said, looking into an empty hall closet that was as large as the bedroom above the Chief’s bar. “Rule number two,” Leda said as her ear-piece rang. She squinted her wristwatch, displaying the caller ID, then fixed him with a serious look. “You don’t talk about company business with anyone outside the company, period. You’ll need to sign a non-disclosure agreement.” “I figured that much.” Ajax said and Leda was herself again. “Sorry about the melodrama but privacy is one of the things we take very seriously,” She said as her comm-unit chimed again. “Excuse me, please, for just a moment.” “Of course.” She wandered back into the kitchen, muttering a stream of “yes-sirs” and “no-sirs” into the mouthpiece while Ajax continued to explore. He wondered where the cameras were. “So do you like it?” She said in his ear minutes later as he was examining the misting nozzle in the shower. “Yeah I like it.” He said and cut the flow of water to the showerhead. There was little of the precious liquid wasted. “Then you’re going to love this.” Leda kicked off her shoes and padded into the attached room. Ajax found her jumping on his king-sized bed. She giggled and collapsed while he looked around the room, opening the closets and the wide chest-of-drawers. “I love doing that. It just never gets old. People keep telling me I need to grow up. They can go to hell.” “All of this is mine?” He said and folds his arms skeptically. “No, it’s the company’s actually,” Leda said as she swept her hair out of her face and sat on the edge of the mattress. “This is just what your contract says you’re entitled to. This unit in particular may be reissued while you’re away but you’ll have one like it.” “God bless the company.” Ajax said and laughed. “That’s the spirit,” She said as she stood and straightened her clothes. “They should have your car ready by tomorrow morning. It’ll be in the garage. I’ll be by early tomorrow.” Leda made for the door but stopped and took out a business card, one cut from a thin wafer of silver alloy and laser-etched, laying it on the dresser-top. “Call me if you need anything,” She said, then collected her shoes from the shower-room. “Mister Cutter wants to get you oriented as soon as possible.” *** Two hours after leaving the Troy Hill enclave, Leda Montgomery arrived at her home in Freehold. She called a number from memory and a serious looking man appeared on tele-vid screen. “Well?” He demanded. Her report to him would be her last duty of her fourteen-hour day. She knew his day would last much longer. “Subject is behaving exactly as his psych model described,” Leda said, hating the necessity of her client psychological evaluations. Most were not industrial spies, but relatively honest people happy to have a comfortable job, but psi-evaluations were part of her job description. “No type three aversion. He’s wild, but I don’t think he knows it.” “Continue as his liaison and report any deviations from the psych profile or protocol. Bring him by the spaceport early tomorrow.” “Yes, Mr. Cutter.” *** Morning traffic was surprisingly light on the upper lanes of the Jamaica Bay Expressway South, both lower lanes were tied up by the traffic snarls around SOLCorp's massive HQ building. The trip to JBMS, normally a good four hours, took half that time. The spaceport was built on land that had once been at the bottom of Jamaica Bay. The Rockaway Inlet was sealed off at the Marine Parkway Bridge and the area behind it drained. The levy holding back the Atlantic was 800 feet thick at its base and meticulously maintained. A small, Lufthansa sub-orbital accelerated down the launch track as they exited from the JB Expressway, merging left onto the starport access road. The traffic bottle-neck at the barricaded main gate took up more time. A NYPD team swept their car for weapons, explosives, and contraband before letting them through. Posted signs directed them away from the passenger terminal toward the long columns of hangars that sheltered corporate hulls. As they drove along the tarmac, a white Avianca Tachyon came into view. Artemis Cutter leaned against the fender. “I wonder where his security boys are hiding?” Ajax wondered aloud. “Maybe he doesn't need them in this part of town.” “I'm glad to see that you appreciate promptness as much as I do,” Cutter said as Ajax pulled his electric vehicle along the alongside the more powerful Tachyon. “Follow me, please. I think it’s going to be a very exciting day for you, my friend.” Ajax opened his door as Cutter led off towards the hangar behind him. Something big was inside of it, a spacecraft, with a tarp covering the forward sections jutting out into the open. Technicians in coveralls moved in and out of sight around its base. “We’ve modified one of our survey ships to accommodate our enhancements," Cutter said as fell into step together. "They’ve been thoroughly tested. I’ll introduce you to our chief engineer. He’ll give you the specifics on all of it. Here he is.” A thin, nervous looking man was approaching them with a datapad clenched tightly under one arm. “Ajax, this is Ronald Devolte, our project engineer. Ronald, this is Ajax Kinkaid, he’ll be taking the ship out. I’ll let you two get acquainted," Cutter said, giving the engineer’s hand a shake then Ajax a punch in the shoulder. "You’ll both have to excuse me. I have a meeting with the accounting department to attend. Miss Montgomery, I'll need you there.” “What is it?” Leda said as Cutter turned on his heel and walked back towards the Tachyon with Leda trailing behind him. “Durham is making trouble.” “Good to meet you, old man,” Devolte said. “We’re glad to have you on-board. I understand you’re quite adept at giving the fleet fits.” “So I’ve been told,” Ajax said and twisted around so he could take in more of the ship. Survey ships, he knew, were rather slow and bulky, fitted with large sensor suites and larger cargo bays, mineral exploration missions might last for years. “I guess I gave them enough fits that they decided to do something about it,” He gave out a slow whistle. “Christ and Allah.” On this model there spikes and hull blisters indicating extensive sensor-suites, but the cargo holds were half normal size. There were four engines instead of the normal two and the nose of the ship, usually blunt, was gently tapered and rounded, like that of a shark. “She’s named the Bonventure, and I see that you’ve noticed the extensive modifications we’ve made to the standard survey hull. Did Mr. Cutter tell you about what she's got on the inside?” Devolte said as he began pointing out various features: a mad-scientist showing off his new Frankenstein. “The sensor suite is the advanced version of the Hughes-Unisys package the military uses on their fast recon ships. It's about forty percent more sensitive with twice the range. It won’t be on the open market for another two years." "So when do I get to meet the navigator?" Ajax said as he ran his hand along the smooth surface of the hull. They were heading for a hatch mounted on the undersurface between the lower engines. "Come now, old man, the company didn't think we needed one." "What? That's impossible. Mercantile Charter, section seven-seven-three. All merchant hulls of over three hundred tons require a navigator in case of computer failure," Ajax said, his voice rising slightly in protest. "This is at least three hundred tons. I can't do everything myself." Mars Liberty "Section seven-seven-three was amended while you were away," Devolte said and sniffed dryly. "Ships mounting class-four navigation suites or better are exempt." "So what happens if the navigation computer goes down?" “It won't. The navigation and the flight control systems are triple-redundant," Devolte said with unconcealed smugness. "Just program your destination into the navigation computer and the ship will get you there. The main computer is even controlled by audio interface so you can tell it were to go. " "Just as long as it listens,” He pointed toward two domes in opposition on the compact hull. “What are these?” "We carry two defensive turrets semi-recessed in the dorsal and ventral positions." Devolte said as if he’d not heard the comment. He guided Ajax under the belly, stopping to inspect the massive, shock-absorbing pistons on the landing gear before pointing out a circular bulge that Ajax had mistaken for a sensor dome. "Each turret mounts quad Condor hepacs. They’re mundane, but effective and the tracking software we’ve installed gives you multiple target engagement capability. Not saying that you'll need it. If you get in over your head you can use the Avatar." "You’ll have to be more specific." Ajax said, taking in the important things the engineer imparted. "The Advanced Tactical Response package. It's an auto-pilot program loaded up with combat protocols. It takes over command of the ship during battle if you're incapacitated. Not saying you'll need it." Ajax nodded at a cylinder jutting out from behind what appears to be the cockpit. He recognized it from his Skyfall days. “Is that what I think it is?” “An ARQ-one-twenty-four. We pulled it out of an old F/A-300 we got as scrap. It hadn’t been fully demilitarized, so we got lucky,” Devolte said and checked off an item on his datapad screen. “It puts out a lot of juice but don't worry about exposure, we've put extra shielding around the control cabin. The armor on the ship will protect you from cosmic and emitted radiation." "What about solar flares?" Ajax said with mild apprehension. Sun storms were often intense enough for radiation from it to penetrate conventional armor. "The ship's mess is shielded as well." "Why didn't you do the berths?" Ajax said, his curiosity getting the better of him. A shielded habitation compartment was a constant in all the interstellar designs he knew. "To save weight mostly, but in the event of an extended flare, the crew would need food and latrines more than their beds." Devolte said with a smile. It widened as they drew up to the hatch. He paused, almost dramatically, after he opened the hatch and drew in a breath. The inside of the ship smelled like new electronics and fresh paint. “These engines are prototypes of the next generation of Starhorses,” Devolte said. “I-two-thousands with integral jump drives and gravitic rudders, strictly test-beds. There’s nothing like them in all of known space.” “Wait, you’re giving me a technology demonstrator,” Ajax said and growled with sudden comprehension. “I never agreed to be a test pilot.” “Rule number one-hundred-twenty three,” Devolte said offhandedly. “If you go shopping for a test pilot, people will begin wondering what you’re testing. It’s just common sense, old man.” “And what if one of these new engines decides to turn me into a radioactive particle cloud?” Devolte shook his head and said, “I assure you that the performance of these systems was modeled for reliability at every stage of construction.” “Is the company going to be able to send me a replacement if something happens?” “We can fabricate parts on-board,” Devolte said, his eyes getting large and frog-like as he leaned in close. “Now what would you say if I told you that this ship has enough power to run all of the systems; including the main computer, ARQ, weapons, shields, and scanners using only half of our reactor output?" “I’d say you were crazy or a liar. We don’t have reactors capable of producing that kind of power. That would take a dozen of the best ones we've got and there's not room for any big reactors in here.” “You see, old man, that’s where you’re wrong.” Devolte said and climbed the short ladder into the engineering compartment. There were several techs working inside at various stations when they emerged. The compartment was cramped. "About which one?" Ajax said. Devolte pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose and scrutinizes him through heavy lenses. "No wonder Mr. Cutter likes you so much, you're a funny fellow. Follow me please." He led off toward the reactor compartment, pointing out various systems that Ajax only vaguely recognized. The tour ended at two large, cask-shaped black cylinders stamped with the TIL logo instead of the usual vat-sized Confederated Fusion designs. “These make it all possible, our new IMAX reactors- that's Improved Matter Anti-matter Exchange,” Devolte’s said quietly. “Would you like to know how they work?” “Absolutely,” Ajax said. “But first tell me what they do.” Devolte stopped as he came to a supply locker. He punched his ID code into the keypad next to it and the locker door slid open. A box full of code-disks and a small data-pad were inside that the engineer removed. “You’d better get started,” Devolte said as he shoved them into Ajax’s hands. “Concentrate on the flight and navigation systems, don’t worry about the reactor. That’s what we’re here for.” “How about an explanation in layman’s terms.” Ajax said pensively when Devolte stopped for a breath. “Layman’s terms, right,” Devolte said, then turned and pointed at two metal boxes the size of Old Earth steamer trunks mounted to the bulkhead. “Those are fusion reactors, forty-thousand megawatts each, used to power-up these,” Ajax followed Devolte’s finger as it traced the path of conduit lines leading from the reactors to the large cylinders mounted nearby. “Centrifuges. They pull the anti-matter out of the magnetic vault below our feet and accelerate it into light and heavy anti-particles.” “Then the heavy elements are transferred magnetically into the anti-matter injectors,” Ajax said, pointing to where he imagined the systems were, mounted on the sides of each reactor. “Where they are shot into the reaction chamber and combined with the matter, hydrogen, injected from the opposite side. The reaction produces energy as well as by-products. That’s when the light anti-matter is injected to react with what’s left. Improved matter, anti matter exchange, you see? It’s a dual-stage effect. There you have... in layman’s terms.” “Yes, that’s about it,” Devolte said as he folded his arms and grinned. “You’re a quick study.” “Are they safe?” Ajax said as a courier approached with a datapad in his hands. Devolte stopped to examine the information stored in the device and pressed his thumb into the ID reader when he was done. “As safe as we can make them. The startup reactors and colliders are fueled by Deuterium. Harmless in itself, not like those Hydrazine monsters from the old days when a fuel leak needed a hazmat response team.” “Variable-speed centrifuge uptake? ” Ajax said. Reactions were controlled at one of two places. “No, but not a bad guess, the reaction itself is controlled at the matter/antimatter injectors. In the event of an emergency, the colliders will go off line and the injectors will shunt the antimatter out into space. That leaves only the reactants still in the chamber and the magnetic vault, which can be easily managed. You can jettison the vault if you need to. The Starhorses will run off of the start-up reactors, it'll just take a lot longer for them to charge. We should have all the bugs under control by the time we leave for Alpha Centauri.” “We? You mean that you’re coming along?” Ajax said after drawing in a breath thick with the ozone smell of molecular welders and the sharp tang of lubricants. “Of course. This ship needs a chief engineer. Noone knows more about it than me. Mister Cutter has already approved it. Me- going into space.” Devolte said as he closed his eyes. “And my career development profile said I’d never go anywhere." Ajax smiled. “I know the feeling.” *** SOL-4/Mars Constellation circled Mars in a high, equatorial orbit, and by looking out the viewports on the planetward side, she could see the massive extinct volcano Olympus Mons, it’s top jutting out of the thin Martian atmosphere. The Olympus spaceport was built on the very top, which made docking for the merchant ships that visited the planet very easy. The domes of the Goddard settlement were visible at the base of the mountain, far below. Huge funiculars carried cargo up and down the rust colored slopes- the human type was taken by train. “Did you see that maniac!” Jena turned away from the portal and looked toward where Lt. Marris, the young blond standing watch with her, was pointing out the glowing drives of a small merchantman as it went past. Wisps of reaction mass angled it for a steep approach into the spaceport. “We almost had a collision with that pirate,” She raged. “He missed us by dozen feet, maybe less. Should I report him?” “Did you get his hull number?” “Negative.” Jena shook her head and said, “Mars is the busiest port of call in Sol system. I’m sure they have enough to worry about. Besides, if some merchie wants to buzz our hull and gets too close, we outmass him by a few thousand tons at least.” Marris seemed surprised and said, “Even busier than Earth? How can that be? Earth is the capital.” “Fuel costs money and it takes less to get to Mars from the outer system. Earth is the homeworld, Mars is the capital. Most of these merchies are bringing in raw materials from the asteroid belt and outer colonies. They load up with food, water, and finished goods and take them right back out. It’s just business.” Marris pushed away from the forward viewport. The crew of Constellation was being ferried planet-side for liberty. Ellison was as good as his word: after her watch, Jena would have 36 hours of shore leave to enjoy while Constellation was topped off with fuel, air, and other provisions. She yawned and flicked her eyes to the clock above the hatch. Another two hours and she’d be packing for holiday. Jena accessed her personal account in the Constellation’s computer mainframe, opening her video-mail, but was disappointed to see that nothing new had been received from him, the pilot she’d met at Freedom Point. Why do they have to play games? She thought and sighed, surprised at her own gullibility. The men she’d met never communicated well. She was about to close the mail program when something popped up in the “new” bin. There were two items; one an advertisement for Hostel in the center of Goddard, the other a person-to-person transmit from the USS Ranger. She opened the latter message with the press of a button. “Jena, hi, it’s Hog… uh, Dale. I keep thinking about that conversation we had back at Freedom Point. I really hope that you’ll still be able to meet me. I found a place on the surface with space still available. I’ll be there by the time you get this message. You can contact them through the link I sent you and let them know if you’re coming. I’ve got all the arrangements taken care of already. Well, I’ll see you soon, I hope. Leave me a message if you can- one way or the other.” She opened up the mail from the Hostel and noted the dome it sheltered beneath, as well as the specific block address. Goddard was home to some 50,000 rugged souls, the largest of the dozen settlements dotting the landscape, Martians lived in the tightest possible quarters, especially rentals. “Jena!” A voice called from behind her. She turned and saw Tali floating through the open hatchway. She’d been so absorbed in her work that she failed to notice it opening. “I’m so glad you’re here. Listen, I’m heading planet-side and I found a great hotel, but I’ll need someone to share the costs. Can I count on you?” Jena closed the mail routine and decided the question without even thinking. “I’d love to but I have plans already. Maybe we can meet up on the surface and do some exploring.” Tali seemed pleased with the idea, “Who’s the lucky guy-or-girl? It’s not a sexbot of some kind, is it? That’s just not living up to your potential, girlfriend.” “I met him on the observation deck at Freedom Point. If this is the first and last time I ever see Mars, I’m going to have to make it a visit to remember.” “Take lots of holos,” Tali said as she shrugged and rotated 180 degrees, making for the nearest pressure door, stopping herself with a handrail bolted next to it and glancing over her shoulder. “We’ll be in cold sleep for a long, long time so you better make it count.” “I’m planning on it.” Jena said. “Once I make landfall, I’ll find you. Check your V-mail.” “I will.” *** The base of Olympus Mons was 700 Km in diameter, the top rose 25 Km up, far enough to leave the Martian Troposphere and was so massive that is sported its own impact craters- two on the slopes, at least three on the peak. A speed of only 5 Km per second was required to escape the planet’s gravity, still very few cargo vessels ever touched the surface, the spaceport built onto the top was close enough to space. It was where the first Martian colonists had started nearly two centuries earlier, working their way down the slopes, laying the lifeline of a light grav-lev guideway behind them to bring supplies to the town they settled on the eastern side of the mountain base. Olympus spaceport was built into a crater 80 Km across. Her shuttle lacked windows so Jena looked down at the television monitor at her side as she felt the braking thrusters on the tail fire, slowing them for descent into the spaceport landing field. She could see that the northern-hemisphere of the red planet was enveloped in a gigantic cloud of dust that obscured the continent of Tharsis, the Chryse Plantatia to the east, and the Isidis Plantatia to the west. The Martian winter had set in. The Martian colonists referred to it as “Kronos Cyclonos,” the time of storms. “Oh God, I’m gonna be sick.” The woman in the seat beside her swallowed an anti-emetic capsule as gravity returned, holding her plastic vomit bag close just in case the medicine failed to work in time. Jena winced and turned away in time to avoid watching an eruption of stomach fluid and half-dissolved rations. “Are you all right?” Jena said and ventured a look on the retching had stopped. She offered over her own dose of vomit suppressant which the woman gratefully accepted. “Space Adaptation Syndrome can be rough the first couple of times. It wasn’t for me, but it hit some of my friends pretty hard.” The woman smiled, grateful for the kind words. Jena smiled back, thinking of how sick Tali had gotten and how difficult it had been to hold her hair back while she vomited into the vacuum toilet on their first training ship. “All passengers prepare for arrival,” The voice of the pilot surprised her as it came over the public address system. The rumble of the shuttle main engines was getting louder. She felt her seat lurch as the tricycle landing gear unfolded from the housings built into the sides of the shuttle. The engine noise reached a crescendo just before touchdown. “Please wait for the lander to settle before exiting your seats.” Jena unclipped her 4-point harness as the noise died away, reaching over her head to open the storage locker with her travel pack stored inside. Her movements came much easier than she could remember on Earth, the planetary gravity only a third of what she was used to. The pilots climbed down from the controls in the nose and made for the attendants waiting at the hatch. One of them opened an observation panel, letting in the harsh glare of naked sunlight, but in it she could see something moving. A massive tundra-type crawler rolled up to the side of the lander and extended a conduit tube that shook the spacecraft as it connected with the primary hatch. Once the pressure in the conduit equalized with that of the shuttle, the hatch slid open and the pilots exited. “Once again, welcome to Mars, a member state of the Outworld Alliance ,” An attendant said through a small, cordless broadcaster, she had the gaunt build typical of native Martians. “All visitors are encouraged to review colony rules and regulations at their earliest convenience, available through any public information kiosk. Please have a safe and pleasant visit.” Bags in hand, the passengers filling the circular compartment queued at the hatch, each one welcomed in turn by the senior attendant who passed out small maps of Goddard settlement. Jena unfolded it as she slung her bag over a shoulder and stepped into the semi-rigid conduit, which swayed disconcertingly under her feet. In awe of the panorama outside the filtered windows of the crawler, Jena counted a dozen spacecraft in the processes of arriving, being loaded or unloaded, fueled, and departing in the time it took to reach the rail terminal building, the only structure left from the original colony. A steady stream of passenger transports rolled to and from the landing fields along well-worn tracks. Workers in orange pressure suits followed their own, delineated paths from the terminal to the ships in need or repairs or other services. Once they reached the terminal, the crawler stopped beside a hatch and the transfer process was repeated. When she stepped out of the conduit into the terminal proper, it was backwards into time. The building itself was modular in design and showed white lines of caulking around old seals. Messages on the wall, left by the first colonists and preserved under clear Lucite, encouraged hard work and embracement of their new home. The place stank of paint, and sealant, and of oily, sweaty humanity. Jena carried her bag through the security gate, a model obsolete on Earth for decades, and tried to find a seat in the crowded traveler lounge area beyond, estimating that half of the people she saw there were of military association. The rest seemed to be an even mix of corporate personnel, free merchants, civilian tourists, and spaceport staff. When the next train pulled in, the crowd seemed to grow even thicker, ignoring posted instructions to form an orderly queue. Passengers boarded through an airlock and spread out toward the front and back. Jena found an empty seat in the last car and got her gear stowed just as the train began to move. A man in corporate attire dropped into the seat next her as she was strapping in. The trip to Goddard was expected to take more than an hour as the train snaked down the mountainside. Several travelers around her immediately dropped off to sleep but she was too excited to do the same. Looking out the window, she could see the front of the train, and beside that, the Sun setting, casting a fiery glow into the Martian sky. Groups of solar collectors erected on the slopes beside the track turned to catch the last rays of daylight before the onset of the night- 36 hours long. Visibility dropped to near zero as the train passed into the thin atmosphere and was swallowed by an airborne ocean of red dust. Her first taste of Mars came from a plastic bottle of the local brew, Ares Prime Lager, purchased from a passing attendant with a cart. The Goddard settlement was a closed system that recycled everything possible out of the waste generated- water especially. Drinking it in beer form helped everyone not to think about who the liquid had passed through before reaching their own lips. She’d finished and disposed of 3 bottles before she saw lights outlining buildings through the dust and felt the train begin to slow. As if on internal timers, the sleeping passengers around her began to rouse. Moving quickly, Jena stood, removed her bag from the storage compartment and moved briskly toward the front of the car. When the train stopped and the airlock opened, she was the first to egress. Mars Liberty Her initial impression of Goddard was that the air smelled stale, stagnant, and was in need of Oxygen recharging by way of the nearest greenhouse or agri-dome. She had to take several breaths before her lungs felt full but it was enough to keep her moving. Peeling paint had been scraped off the walls and never replaced. The few patches that were left had faded so much that she could only guess that the original color was anything but gray. There were travel conduits, spokes branching off of the hub that was the terminal, each one leading to a different section of the colony. A digitized counter beside the entrance to each one kept track of the people moving in and out, ensuring that critical life support systems would not be overburdened. Jena checked her map of the colony against the address that Hurricane had sent and uncertainly angled for the transfer conduit labeled “Mars University/Goddard Museum/Palladium Gardens/Cultural District.” The “X” marking the spot she’d made on the map was in the Cultural District. Two people could walk shoulder to shoulder inside the conduit, a large half-pipe made of a translucent material she assumed was thick Plexiglas. A steady stream of people moved single file in each direction, one every three feet, for as far as she could see in front and behind her. There was no pushing or shoving and everyone seemed to be yielding the most possible space to the other, as if the narrow confines induced a form of politeness not found on Earth. There was a junction a kilometer down the pipe, where a new line joined and ran south toward the lights of a large dome she could see through the dust-storm. Digitized arrow signs directed the pedestrian traffic right, then down the new line toward “Mars University” or straight toward “Goddard Museum/Palladium Gardens/Cultural District.” Jena moved with the people going deeper into the colony, following the air she could smell becoming more fresh with each step. The conduit led into another hub, this one more massive than the rail terminal had been; a dome 300 feet in diameter filled with green, broad-leafed plants, humidity, and heat. Banks of UV projectors hung from the dome supports, providing light that the dust-storm had obscured. Those same supports were covered with clinging vines, as if to maximize all available space for Oxygen generation. Jena stopped and took a deep, pleasing breath. The Gardens rejuvenated her and the myriad of colorful blossoms put her at ease. She dropped her pack and slumped against the wall, mimicking the Martian natives she saw already ringing the dome, smiling as she breathed in her fill. Flashes of color from the garden were teams of botanists tending the green mass, pruning back areas that were overgrown, taking cuttings for gardens elsewhere, and collecting genetic samples to examine in laboratories. A thin man with a salt-and-pepper emerged from the conduit marked “Goddard Museum” and dropped his satchel beside her. “This is your first sojourn to Mars, yes?” He said in fractured English as he lowered himself to the ground, dusting off his patched coveralls. Jena nodded her head. “I just arrived.” Jena said and tried to decide what sort of pleasant fragrance he was wearing. With water in such short supply, very little of it was used for bathing on Mars, forcing the use of scented oils to cover what proper hygiene could not subdue. “Truthfully I didn’t know what to expect.” “I am Dumant, yes?” “Jena. Jena Mitchell.” Dumant smiled and gave the Martian greeting, thumping his chest lightly with his hand. “We share our air, water and food, Jena Jena Mitchell. Earthers and Martians are not so different, yes?” Jena nodded and said, “Except on Earth we don’t have to share our food or our air. We can eat and breath as much as we like.” Dumant roared out a friendly but insane-sounding laugh as he opened his satchel and removed a small, foil sealed food-bar. He tore open the packet and broke the bar in half. He offered one half to Jena, who at first refused but relented when Dumant insisted. “Martians can live on less, but can always adapt to more,” He said and smiled as he bit into his portion. Jena took a bite of hers and found it good; a morsel made of nuts, berries, puffed rice, and sugar. “Like air. Martians need less air over time. We adapt to what Mars gives us.” “You speak as if it were a living thing.” Jena said as she chewed. “Earth lives and Mars lives, yes?” Dumant said and nodded sagely. “But is just sleeping. Our job is to help Mars awaken. Not now- but someday.” “I really should be going,” Jena said and picked herself up. “I’m meeting someone in the Cultural District. It’s not far is it?” Dumant shook his head and pointed toward a conduit that disappeared into the base of Olympus Mons. “One kilometer, but watch yourself, yes? The colony can be confusing to newcomers. It has many dark areas and not all Martians have such goodwill.” “Thank you, Dumant.” Jena said as she shouldered her travel bag and moved off in the direction he’d indicated, taking several deep breaths of the rich air before it inevitably became stale, she could cover a kilometer in ten minutes at a brisk pace. The Goddard settlement of Mars colony was a growing thing. Through the transparent conduits, she could see large earth-movers appearing and disappearing outside in the swirling dust. The heavy machines were landed in pieces and assembled on the ground, shifting massive piles of red soil and rock, preparing sites to build domes upon. The hab-complex was built into the side of the mountain, underground, for safety’s sake. The atmosphere of Mars was too thin to burn up incoming meteoroids. The twice-yearly Tiberius Meteor Showers were tense weeks. It had only taken one cracked dome to plant worry of another catastrophic impact forever into the hearts of Martian settlers. Permanent, pressure sealed structures were being built from pre-fabricated construction blocks beneath some of the larger domes, but until they were completed, the mountain was much less vulnerable. Lost in thought, Jena came upon the cultural district sooner than she expected, looking up as the pedestrian flow began to slow. Four smaller conduits branched off the main line, two on each side. The crowds were splitting off evenly into the tubes labeled “East Market,” “West Market,” “Promenade,” and “Understreet.” “Jena!” She stopped and looked around as someone called her name. “Over here! Jena!” Jena smiled as she saw Hurricane waving from down the line. He was dressed in a synth-fabric jacket and casual ensemble of faded green-gray thermal togs. She waved back and began pushing her way through the crowd between them. A few Martians grumbled at her back but most, accustomed to such rudeness and disruptions from off-worlders, simply made way and continued on once she’d passed them. “I’ve been waiting here for almost an hour. I thought you were never going to come,” Hurricane said once she’d gotten close enough to hear him at regular volume. “Were the directions all right?” “They were fine,” Jena said and dropped her travel pack to wrap her arms around him, enjoying the firm squeeze he delivered. “I just had to stop at the gardens for a few minutes and catch my breath. The crowds here came as something of a shock.” “The population density for Goddard is higher than most cities on Earth,” Hurricane said as he picked up her bag and slung it over his shoulder, leading her away from the crowded interchange toward the habitation areas. “And there’s usually one or two tourists here for every native Martian. The colony is a closed eco-system but whoever designed it knew their job. Sure, the air gets a little stale every now and again but nothing serious. Urban planners allowed for population growth of a couple thousand every year.” “That doesn’t seem like much. Not when Martian years are twice as long as Terran standard.” Jena said and gawked a Martian woman approaching wearing what could only be described as festival-wear- something made out of silver beads and artificial Peacock feathers supplemented by the woman’s smug grin. Jena turned after they’d passed and saw her turn down the conduit labeled ‘Understreet.” “It isn’t,” Hurricane acknowledged. “Especially when you consider that live births account for a large percentage of those available openings, but anyone who wants to move here can apply. They hold a lottery drawing to see who gets in. Those that don’t have to wait until the next year to try again. If an off-worlder can get a native sponsor it helps their case.” “It’s not like Earth is having any kind of massive relocation,” Jena said as they passed from the conduit into the hab-complex, where a large, lobby area was built into a massive, natural cave excavated from the mountainside. “At least not like the first exodus.” She counted twelve terraced levels, each one draped with a curtain of green leaves basking in the heat of Ultraviolet lights. Two lifts ferried passengers from one level to the next. “Most of the slots go to Outworld Alliance people,” Hurricane said and veered toward the lift on the nearest side. “Look around you, there’re some that have lived their entire lives on large asteroids, or on Jupiter moons. This is as close as they’ll ever come to having a home-world.” “Why not settle back on Earth?” Jena said and stepped into place beside him on the lift, taking the circular hand-rail around the edge in a firm grip. “The gravity on Earth is too much for them.” Hurricane said as the lift began to rise, making her feel heavier for the instant it took the muscles in her legs to compensate, reminding her that 1G standard of gravity only happened on Earth. “Anyone could adapt over time, even if they were born in micro-gravity, but who wants to go through all that hassle? It’s just easier this way.” “How did you handle it?” Jena said and was surprised when Hurricane winced. “It hurt.” He said as the lift stopped. He led her off, pulling a key-card from one of his many pockets. A group of uniformed children, led and trailed by exuberant teachers, filed onto the lift they’d just vacated, data-pads clutched tightly in their little hands. The room he’d reserved was just steps away. Jena was underwhelmed when she saw it. Her cabin on the Constellation was smaller, not by much, but two people could share it comfortably. “This is it?” She said as Hurricane produced a second key card and offered it to her. A large bed took up most of the floor space, leaving a 2-foot wide break around the edge for guests to walk around, but all the amenities were present. There was a large viewing screen beside the door, drawers built into the bedframe for her things, and an attached water closet that contained both a commode and a misting-type shower stall. “I know it’s tight. This whole structure is modular,” Hurricane said as he dropped her bag onto the floor. “The building was manufactured in Earth orbit and shipped here over the course of a few months. Once they got it down the mountain it snapped together just like a model kit.” “Where are you going to sleep?” Jena said and laughed as she collapsed on the bed. Hurricane scratched his head and looked at his feet, judging the distance between the foot of the bed and the wall. “Well, if it’s an issue I can always grab some extra blankets and sleep on the floor. It wouldn’t be the first time.” “Be good and we’ll see,” Jena said and patted the empty space next to her with one hand. “After all, this might be my only chance to see Mars.” Jena shrieked as Hurricane let himself drop onto the bed. Newton’s 3rd law catapulted her toward the ceiling in the weak Martian gravity. He was there to catch her when she fell. Hurricane had an itinerary already planned for the time they had together. Each had a thirty-six hour pass and very few of those hours were to be spent sleeping. There would be time enough for that, he reasoned, when they jumped for the frontier and went into hibernation. The first stop was East Market. The Zaggat’s guide he kept on file rated the few eateries there as the finest in all of the Outworld Alliance. The East Market dome was divided into quarters, each slice was an establishment of sorts. One sold clothes, cut in the Martian style. Another had shelves filled with electronic devices: Oxygen and radiation counters, Global Positioning receivers, communicators, micro-cameras and datapads. The next shop sold things of a more practical nature: pressure suits (new and used), mining tools, waste water recovery systems, first aid kits, work-boots, and other essentials. The restaurant was the other quarter, and through its windows was usually a stellar view of the settlement, still obscured by the storm. Zaggat’s Travel gave “Ruby’s Red Harvest House” 3 stars out of 5, noting that, “Although the menu list is somewhat brief, each course is prepared with a meticulous determination to pleasure the palate, indeed, all the senses. Even the most basic fare will never disappoint, delivering a side of Mars that leaves a pleasant feeling in the belly.” Jena closed the data-file and handed the small datapad back to Hurricane. Ruby had been a member of the original settling party. “What do you think?” Hurricane said and stowed the device into the carrying case on his waist belt. “The guide said that the house specialty was something called Smleck,” Jena said as they examined the place through the door that the smell of food was coming from. “Any idea what it is?” “Sure, it’s… it’s like Escargot,” Hurricane said after hesitating a moment to consider his words. “Except bigger, much bigger, and they don’t serve it cooked in butter. It’s pretty much just ground meat patties.” “That doesn’t sound too bad,” Jena said and pushed her way through the door. Heads at several of the table around the small dining area went up as the pair came in. “I’m so hungry I could eat rad-waste.” *** “With only guidelines, but no ultimate authority to decide right or wrong,” Hurricane was saying as Jena frowned at the arrangement on her plate, still trying to convince herself that ground slug-meat might taste good. “The cold logic of computer-modeled simulations allows us to determine, freedom of choice aside, those actions that are the most right or most wrong. It takes the bother of making personal, biased choices right out of the loop.” Jena sighed and lifted a forkful of gray meat to her lips, thinking that perhaps Hurricane liked to hear himself talk, for he’d been going non-stop since he finished his own meal. “Surprising, it tastes like an Oyster patty,” Jena said as she chewed, reaching for water glass, the contents inside it more expensive than a good wine on Earth. A few quirks of Mars were its desert-like surface and underground aquifers. “It’s a little rubbery though.” “You shouldn’t have let it get cold,” Hurricane said and smiled. “In any case, despite that we can determine the success/fail probably of nearly any situation through modeling, society continues to bifurcate into camps of us and them. Take the EuroCons and the NorthCom for example.” “That’s because the only way we can advance is through an adversarial relationship with a foreign power,” Jena said and pushed her plate away. “Naïve dreams of a classless society are always buried because without some outside threat to stimulate development, we’d be living…” She let the sentence trail as she through of an appropriate similarity. “We’d be living in huts.” “Studies have shown that aboriginal tribes have fewer wars than more advanced cultures. Rousseau argued that it was the perfect state.” “Living in a hut, to me, is not a perfect state,” Jena said and signaled the hostess for an APL. “He also argued that women are prey creatures and should be objects of communal lust. I guess perfection can be a little one sided sometimes.” “I think that was Marx.” “Shut up, Hurricane.” She said and took a large swallow of beer when the bottle arrived, washing the taste of cold Smleck down her throat. Hurricane brayed with victorious, nasal laughter. “It’s alright, Jena. Let’s talk about Mars. I was thinking about how to really show you the planet,” Hurricane said and looked out at the swirling dust-storm. “The meteorologists say this smelck is gonna last for another couple days. Noone’s allowed out on the surface, but I have an idea that might appeal to the adventurous type.” “We’re leaving for the frontier and you don’t think I’m the adventurous type?” Jena said, giving him an incredulous look, part amusement and part confusion. “That’s the main reason I decided to leave Earth. I find it to be a place of very stagnant ideas.” “I think you’ll find Mars very different,” Hurricane said as the bill arrived: a price handwritten on a square of scrap paper. “Have you heard of the Hellas settlement?” “No. Should I have?” “It’s on the southern-hemisphere,” Hurricane said. “Founded a few years after Goddard settlement by surveyors who wanted to get an early mining claim in. It’s built in the Hellas Impact Basin. They say the object that caused it was almost the size of Earth’s moon.” “There are dozens of mining settlements across the surface of this planet,” Jena said and stood as Hurricane paid the bill with a swipe of his ICE card. “What makes this one so special?” “I’m not going to tell you,” Hurricane said and joined her at the Red Harvest entrance into East Market. “But if you’re willing to let me show you, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.” “Show me.” Jena said, bringing a smile to his face. *** After procuring passage south and travel supplies they departed promptly. A large airship was being secured from the dust-storm and readied for flight as they boarded. As the storm abated, the airship lifted off, into the thin Martian atmosphere before the dust had settled. The cabin suspended beneath the gas-bag was divided into two parts: the pilot sat in the front and was already asleep, the auto-pilot guiding on the radio signal from Hellas settlement; Jena and Hurricane reclined in the rear cargo area. The only equipment loaded for the trip was a boxy mainframe computer, leaving plenty of room for the two units of live cargo. Jena looked out of the single viewport in the cargo area and noted a line of cargo crawlers moving south from Goddard, following a rail line under construction toward the other settlements and homesteads scattered across the Tharsis Bulge. She got Hurricane’s attention and pointed out the window at the movement below. He nodded and reclined against the forward bulkhead. “Most of the settlements in this region depend on Goddard for supplies. I don’t know how long the storm lasted but if it was more than a week, some of those outlying clusters are probably reaching critical levels for food and water and things.” “It must be tough to live like that,” Jena said and watched the convoy bounce over the rough terrain until it was out of sight. “I don’t think I’d ever get used to it after living on Earth for so long. It just doesn’t seem civilized.” “That’s the beauty of it,” Hurricane said and opened a bottle of Ares Prime Lager, offering it to her but Jena had already had several and waved it away. “People don’t come to places like this because it has all the grand trappings of civilization. They come here because they’re fed up with every that’s wrong with it and try to start again.” “What about the frontier?” Jena said and laid back, her head on his chest. “If all the planets out there are like this, I don’t think I’m going to enjoy them very much.” “Pax and Avalon are terrestrial,” Hurricane said and stroked her hair with one hand. “They’ve got Oxygen-Nitrogen atmospheres, just like Earth. Out there people can walk on the surface without pressure suits, like here maybe a thousand years from now.”