Just then, a dog trotted down the lane next to the little meadow they were towing the kid around in. The kid rolled off the sled, came to its feet, and took off after the dog running hell for leather. The parents ran the kid down, but it looked like a minor challenge chasing the kid down. Jenny’s boy looks like a spaz compared this kid, he thought. The way this kid moves, he has to be a lot older than 14 months.
Max told the car’s AI to take him back to his own condo.
***
Allan said, “You have a call from Carter DeWitt.”
“I’ll take it,” Ell said, “Carter, I see the big tunneler’s started out of orbit on its way to Mars!”
“Yes Ma’a… Ell. It should be there in July. We’re kind of worried that, for some reason, it won’t function as well out there as it did here on earth.”
“Welcome to the real world. Problems arise at every turn. You sent some waldos out with it if I remember right. Hopefully, whatever goes wrong will be something the waldos can fix with some material ported out there from earth.”
“We hope so too,” Carter said somewhat fervently.
“Have you figured out what was wrong in your little farm?”
“Um, yeah. It was kinda stupid.”
“Well then, you gonna have to tell me so I can bring it up the next time you guys get too big for your britches.”
“Um, well you remember we were watering them on a schedule to match good growing seasons here in North Carolina?”
“Yep.”
“But we were growing them in a chamber walled with the melted soil-ceramic that the tunneler makes?”
“Oh ho! So the water wasn’t draining away and your plants were swimming in stagnant swampy mud?”
“Yeah,” Carter said, sounding disgusted, “you must think we’re mentally challenged.”
Ell laughed, “I didn’t get it either ‘til you gave me those big hints. So what are you gonna do? Install drainage or try to grow hydroponically?”
“Well, we did suck out the excess water and, once the roots weren’t sopping, the plants started looking healthier and they are growing some now. But, our consultant thinks we’ll do better growing hydroponically, which it turns out is different than just waterlogged. After all, the tunneler, being round, makes troughs anyhow. If we just have the tunneler digging slightly deeper as it goes along, there will be a natural flow from one end of the trough to the other that the hydroponic nutrients can flow through.”
“That’s a great idea!”
“The big tunneler has a cross section like a Roman arch, so that it produces a flat floor. That’ll be more convenient for the living spaces. Our plan for the farming area was to run the tunneler back and forth in parallel rows, gradually getting deeper to promote flow of the water. We’d leave walls between the rows to hold up the roof. Then we’d cut big holes in the walls to leave a large open area held up by columns. But if we don’t cut the holes in the walls all the way down to the floor, it’ll still leave big, flat bottomed troughs the hydroponic solutions can run in.”
“Hmmm,” Ell said followed by a pause long enough that Carter began to worry. “I’m a little worried that if you try to form a large space held up by columns, it might turn out the columns aren’t up to the job. Didn’t you start your tunnel down near the bottom of the Valles Marineres?”
“Um, yes. AJ and I have realized that that’s just asking for trouble. Even in the low Martian gravity, starting at depth like that will mean there’s a tremendous amount of pressure trying to collapse our tunnels. Our plan for the big tunnels is to land the tunneler on a big ledge we found closer to the top of the Valles. That way we won’t have so much overburden.”
“Well that should improve things quite a bit. However, I’m still concerned that the columns you’re leaving behind might not be sufficiently strong considering they’re made out of melted dirt.”
Carter laughed, “That would be pretty bad. We brought back some samples of the rock at the ledge we’ve chosen though. It turned out to be a form of Martian basalt which has pretty good compressive strength. The tunneler will still melt it so we should be able to work with it.”
Ell said, “Great, I’d still suggest however, that except for when you really want a large chamber for social purposes or something, you keep your chambers small. That will tremendously decrease your risk of a catastrophic collapse. For instance on your farm, I don’t see any reason why you should try to make a large field. Sure, that’s the way farms are here on earth, but in theory you could just have a single long straight tunnel for your farm on Mars. That’s not actually what I would recommend you build. I’d double it back and forth and make small connecting tunnels between the loops so that someone working the farm could get from one end to the other without walking the entire length.”
There was a pause while Carter considered her suggestion, then he said, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We would like to have some large chambers where people could gather to socialize. But that’s exactly the worst place for a collapse to occur, what do you suggest we do about that?”
“Hire a mining engineer with underground experience. I’ll bet the engineer will tell you that, close to the surface, in basalt, under low Martian gravity, that the risk of collapse will be very low. If there’s any question you could get Gary to make you some inflatable bracing.”
“Inflatable bracing?” Carter sounded incredulous.
“Yeah, he can make you a brace the size and shape you want out of Styrofoam, coat it with graphene, then dissolve the Styrofoam out of it. After he deflates it, he can give you something easily small enough to port to Mars. Once you’ve got it there, you put it about where you want it, softly inflate it, adjust its position, then really pressurize it. Highly pressurized graphene tubes are extremely strong.”
***
Art Vinson, codename Brick, walked along Pennsylvania Avenue. Brick had recently been laid off by Palmetto Electric Cooperative as more and more of PEC’s customers had their power delivered by port. With power delivered by port and the power lines coming down, the Coop needed fewer and fewer line repairmen. PEC had given him a severance package that included tuition intended to help him get a different job, but Art had little love for schooling. With no job, Art had plenty of time to be one of the SCDF’s scouts in Washington.
Still, he’d been observing the White House for days now and couldn’t see any way that a force, even a suicide force five times as large as the entire SCDF, could penetrate the defenses here to take out the President. The approaches were blocked to vehicles. Men on foot had even less chance. Overflight was impossible.
Worse, Crossbow wanted a plan that would allow them to capture the President. Killing her would be almost impossible, but capturing her? No way!
Crossbow wanted to hold her and make demands intended to improve the plight of America’s true, died in the wool loyalists. Once concessions had been granted, the SCDF was supposed to make its escape, but Brick couldn’t imagine how that could be done.
In fact, such a plan seemed so unlikely to succeed as to border on the ridiculous. Brick had no way to know or determine the Secret Service’s plans for protection of the President in case of an assault on the White House, but it seemed likely that any such assault would immediately result in their spiriting her away through some kind of tunnel system at the first intimation of the attack. In their place, Brick would have set up such a plan.
He had no illusions about the Secret Service’s ability to make better plans than he could.
As Art stood disgustedly considering the impossibility of the mission he’d been set, a line of big black SUVs suddenly started rolling out of the White House grounds. Not really expecting an answer he said, “The President going somewhere?”
A burly man standing next to him grunted, “Yup.”
“Where? I didn’t know she had any trips planned.”
“Golf,” the man said disgustedly. “Plays at least once a week. Probably costs us a few hunnert thou’ e
ach time she does.”
Brick’s eyebrows went up, “Where does she play?”
“Different courses. Mostly the course at Andrews Air Force Base, but hell, sometimes she leaves town and plays in Florida or North Carolina. That’s when the bills really pile up.”
“North Carolina?” Art asked, astonished.
“Yeah, she likes to play at Pinehurst in the spring and fall, Florida in the winter and up in the Catskills in the summer. Firin’ up ol’ Air Force One really racks up the dollars.”
“Is there a published schedule for this?”
“Naw. They’d be afraid some terrorist would use that. Though,” the man tilted his head, thinking, “she is scheduled for a week’s vacation in Pinehurst the first week of October.”
***
Viveka walked over toward the area Allosci had reserved at the park. The April morning had been cool but the afternoon was warming up. The trees were budding in green leaves, the sky was a brilliant blue and overall it was shaping up to be a very nice day. The area they had reserved had some picnic tables, a barbecue grill, and a small playground for the children who had come with their parents. Several of the kids were already running, shrieking, and playing enthusiastically. The adults seemed to be gathered around a small barrel which sat inside a tub.
Curious Viveka walked up to the group to see what it was. When she arrived Cindy handed her a cup filled with a foamy liquid. A quick sniff told her it was beer. Cindy said, “Sorry, this one’s mostly foam, the keg’s just been tapped.”
Viveka didn’t want to drink it; she’d had enough bad experiences with other people who were drunk. She considered handing it back but thought that might be rude, so instead she decided to carry it around with her for a while. She wandered over to watch a group of men who were cooking something on the barbecue grill. There were several of them gathered there watching the meat cook. Since they were talking enthusiastically about something, she expected them to be discussing the best way to barbecue. After listening for a bit it became obvious that they were discussing sports, the outcome of some event called “March Madness” being the main topic.
Having no reference for this conversation she quickly became bored and wandered on, stopping to watch the children playing in the little playground. Matt’s voice came from behind her, “Hey Viveka, is that a beer I see in your hand?”
“Uh,” she said, glancing down at the cup in her hand, “it is. I didn’t want it, but someone handed it to me and I thought it would be rude to refuse it. Would you like it?” she held it out to him.
“Sure, mine’s still mostly foam.” He took it from her and sipped it with obvious relish, “Ah, that hits the spot. I’m thinking we should find you some Coke?”
“I’d like that,” Viveka said, looking around.
Matt pointed, “I’ll bet there’s some Cokes in that big cooler over near the keg.”
He started in that direction so Viveka followed him. Once he’d dug a coke out of the ice in the cooler, popped the top, and handed it to Viveka they stood uncomfortably. Since their disastrous date, they had been having more and more difficulty carrying on an ordinary conversation. Fortunately it didn’t seem to have affected their ability to work together; they just didn’t seem to socialize well anymore. Viveka found that she didn’t dislike him, however she no longer had any thoughts of a romantic nature concerning Matt.
She saw Dr. Pace glance her way several times. Each time she hoped he might come and talk to her, but he always looked away again and found someone else to talk to instead.
“Hey, I need to talk to Cindy about something. I’ll catch you later,” Matt said, turning and walking that direction.
Viveka felt alone and wondered whether she was ever going to make more than a few friends here in America. She saw Alex, one of the fabricators working on the VLGC with her. She didn’t think he had much education, but he certainly had a genius for working with his hands. He always spoke pleasantly to her so she tried to drift his direction, hoping he would strike up a conversation. She hoped she wasn’t being too obvious about it because she couldn’t think of a topic herself.
Alex was sitting on one of the picnic tables with his feet on the bench bolted to it. She saw that he had on those odd shoes called “cowboy boots,” and a topic had suddenly presented itself. Before she turned to ask him about them, however, he said, “Hey, Ms. Janu, it’s good to see you out here away from work. Do you like barbecue?”
“I don’t know. I don’t believe I’ve ever had it. I’m eager to try it though.”
“Well,” he winked, “it may be these guys don’t know how to barbecue. If you don’t like what they’re cookin’, you’ll have to give mine a shot.”
Viveka smiled at him, delighted to have someone to talk to. “You like to barbecue?”
He affected a strong drawl, “Ya cain’t be a good ol’ boy if‘n you don’t barbecue!”
Viveka laughed, “I’m not sure I even understand you when you talk like that.”
He grinned and spoke normally, “Well then, the answer to your original question is, yes, I like to barbecue.”
Viveka found herself with no way to continue that conversation, so she said, “Are those cowboy boots?”
“Yep,” he grinned again, “also required, if you wanna be a good ol’ boy.”
A pretty young redheaded woman approached them, “Hey Alex, your turn to watch the rug rat.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the playground.
“Aw man,” he chuckled, “there ain’t no rest for the wicked.” He got up and headed towards the playground.
The redhead plopped down where Alex had been sitting and smiled up at Viveka, “I’m Patti, Alex’s wife,” she said, staking a not too subtle claim on Alex. “You work at Allosci? Or are you here with someone?”
“I work there. Your husband is a genius with his hands.”
“Oh, are you the Indian lady he’s been working for?” Patti’s eyes drifted up and to the left for a moment, “Janu?”
“Yes ma’am, Viveka Janu, though I’m not his boss. It’s more like we’re working together.”
Patti’s eyes drifted over Viveka, “He didn’t tell me you were beautiful.”
Startled, Viveka said, “I’m not!”
Patti snorted, “Sure you’re not.” She glanced to the side, then back at Viveka, “Don’t look now, but the big boss has his eye on you.”
Viveka’s eyes widened, but she kept them on Patti. “You mean Dr. Pace?”
“Umhmm,” Patti said. “Now he’s walking this way.”
Viveka wiped suddenly sweaty palms on her jeans.
Patti grinned up at her, “You two have something going on? He looks all nervous, and I swear you look like you’re about to pass out.”
“Uh, no,” Viveka said, uncomfortable talking to Patti, but not wanting to turn to face Dr. Pace.
Then Pace’s voice came over her shoulder, “Viveka?”
“Yes?” she said, turning to face him and feeling somewhat relieved to be out from under Patti’s gaze.
If Patti’s eyes had made her nervous, Dr. Pace’s intense focus was even more intimidating. He said, as if casually, which his eyes belied, “Hey Viveka, I was hoping we could talk?”
“Sure,” Viveka said starting to move away from Patti, who she didn’t want hearing any conversation they might have. “What’s the issue?”
Dr. Pace’s mouth worked, but he said nothing for a moment. Then, “Maybe this isn’t the best time.”
Viveka’s heart skipped a beat. It sounded like it must be serious.
Once again she worried that he was about to tell her that she was fired. The last time she had thought she was about to be fired was many months ago. She had worried about it for days afterward, but nothing had ever come of it. She wasn’t sure she could stand worrying about it again like she had before. Shakily she asked, “Isn’t the best time for what?”
“Uh, how are you and Matt getting along?”
Viveka blinked at him,
why would he be asking something like that? Did bosses in America normally take interest in their subordinates’ relationships? Did she have to answer?
After a few moments with no response, Dr. Pace suddenly blushed and said, “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.” He turned to leave.
Viveka touched his arm lightly, “Matt and I work together well.”
He gave her a strained smile, “Of course you do. And that’s all that really matters. I’m sorry I tried to interrogate you.”
He moved off, leaving Viveka with a sick feeling in her stomach. It just doesn’t seem possible that that whole conversation was about how Matt and I are working together. Is he trying to fire me, but just can’t get up the courage?
***
Art Vinson stepped into the coffee shop and looked around for Crossbow. They always met in a different place and he’d never been here before. Pretty froofy for Art’s taste, it looked like Art was going to have to drink some barista constructed coffee concoction instead of the simple black coffee he preferred. He got in line, seeing Crossbow sitting against the back wall and Redman sitting halfway along the window wall.
Once Art had his coffee he headed back to the table Crossbow sat at, glancing at, but not acknowledging Redman as he walked by. He nodded to Crossbow and pulled out the chair across from him, sitting down. The man appeared to have shrunk somewhat since the FBI killed Cola. But it was as if Crossbow had shrunk down to a hotter, more concentrated kind of the same fire he’d had before. His eyes could be frighteningly intense when they focused on you, making you feel like you couldn’t look away. Art desperately didn’t want to disappoint the man.
Rescue (an Ell Donsaii story #11) Page 13
