“Cynthia originally said to have a plan by Monday. I mentioned I would be finished tonight, but now I think I’ll tell her it’s going to take a couple more days after all.”
North, suddenly more friend than business, eyed Steve with equal parts curiosity and concern. “What exactly are you thinking?”
Steve downed the last of his drink and plunked the now empty glass onto its coaster. He hopped off the stool feeling lighter on his feet than even the Martian gravity usually afforded him. “I think I’m going to go do my job.”
Steve worked late into the night and arrived at his desk again early Friday morning. Based on the quick retreat to her office, Steve guessed that Cynthia had hit the bars the night before. After absolutely no acknowledgment from her, he opted to send her a message instead of risking a face-to-face confrontation with her. In the message, he indicated that the plans would not be done early after all, but rather delayed to the original deadline. He received a curt reply asking why it would be delayed. Steve indicated he was making some “minor changes to better suit the needs of the colony,” and he assured her that the completion date would not change again. Overall, Cynthia seemed to take the change fairly well. There were no further messages, only a brief visit from her secretary confirming a meeting between Cynthia and him at 1600 hours Monday afternoon. “Make sure your plans are complete, and be prompt,” she said.
The safety regulations for sewage disposal posed a particularly complicated problem on Mars. The density of the buildings, and the existing equipment required to keep the environment safe and comfortable, meant a more complex system was needed to move the sewage out of the colony, and also meant less space for sewage pipes. The projects, up until this point, were designed to dispose of the waste as directly as possible, mostly by pumping it outside of the planned expansion zone.
Steve knew that in order to provide the rich nutrients the plants would need, separators and treatment facilities would need to be nestled in the few spaces still available between the buildings. Compared to the simplicity of just pumping the sewage away, this new challenge was a welcome one. Often, Steve had to reference expansion plans, study obscure rules, and rework significant parts of the infrastructure. Finally, the work was stimulating.
By Monday morning, he’d completed his plan. The new system was much more complex and would cost nearly thirty percent more to build. On the upside, it would also handle 20% more throughput, produce 60% less untreated waste, increase the eastern residential boundary by 11%, and (something Steve was particularly proud of), open up additional opportunities for farming that could piggyback off the waste treatment and disposal system. He calculated that the more expensive system would pay for itself in less than a decade, even without taking into account the use by the Botanical Technologies division. Steve arranged the two proposals into a simple side-by-side comparison chart that surely, even Cynthia Abilene Castle could understand. At precisely 1600, he was prepared and ready to face the queen on her throne.
“So, then what happened?” asked North.
She had rushed to meet him at Lone Crater when he called her after his presentation to Cynthia. He took a larger than average sip of his astronomically expensive drink.
“Apparently, she had promised the board of directors a presentation on Monday after I said I would be done early, which, in my defense, I didn’t know. She ended up having to postpone it. She said that made her look bad, as if she needed help. She also didn’t want the ‘headache’ of the more complex solution. She didn’t even fire me herself, she just screamed at me until she was hoarse and then had the secretary do it. Honestly, I think it’s because she couldn’t even remember my name!” Steve glared at his reflection on the bar top. His anger dissipated slightly. “Maybe it was inappropriate for me to threaten to take the plans to the board myself….”
“Are you going to?”
Steve shook his head. “She won’t let me get close to the board.”
“Tomorrow morning, I’m on a transport ring back to Earth.” Steve stared at the bottles on the wall behind the bar. He was still coming to terms with his rapid dismissal.
North looked pensive. “Can you get a copy of that proposal?”
Steve shook his head. “I don’t know why you’d want them, but it doesn’t matter. Besides, I can’t. It’s all on the computer at my desk, and if her highness catches me going back, I think she might have me beheaded.”
Frederick had just placed a drink in front of North. “Are you worried about Cynthia Castle?”
“Who else?” asked Steve.
The bartender smiled and leaned over the bar closer to Steve. “Miss Castle is currently getting plastered at The Astronaut. You get those plans, and I’ll take care of your tab.”
North grabbed his arm in encouragement and urged him off the stool. “Please, Steve?”
“Well, I guess it can’t hurt,” said Steve.
“So, get going. I’ve got an idea, too. I’ll see you later.”
Despite Frederick’s assurance that her Highness was getting drunk elsewhere, he wasn’t really keen on running into her again. He took every shortcut he knew as he hurried back to the office one last time.
To his relief, accessing the plans for North was easy. Cynthia, in her laziness, hadn’t submitted his change in employment to the IT department yet, so his sign-in credentials and access to the office still worked. Evidently, no one else knew about his dismissal either. Not one of the few people still there batted an eye when he sat down to work at his desk. Not only were they used to him working late nights already, but the heavy walls of Cynthia Abilene Castle’s office which silenced her violent sickness after a drunken night, had also prevented anyone from hearing her tirade against Steve and his subsequent firing.
After sending a copy of the plans to North, Steve edited the README warning on his desktop and added his name to the bottom of the growing list. When he stood up, he opened a game of solitaire and played a few hands, leaving it mid-game to protect the icon from prying eyes.
An hour later, Steve found himself back in his room. The adrenaline wore off, he sobered up, and the full weight of the situation began to sink in. Steve repacked his bags that had just barely been emptied a week and a half before. Part of him wished he were back at the bar having more of Frederick’s excellent concoctions. Even if he had to pay for them, the cost was trivial compared to the risk he’d taken in not heeding the warning left by his predecessors, which now had cost him his job.
There were no jobs lightly offered on the barren planet. Quarters were assigned by job, and an employee who was fired didn’t even have one a single day to try to find alternate employment. To indemnify the Castle family businesses against just such a loss, everyone seeking a job on Mars also accepted the risk of having to pay their own return flight to Earth. Steve would be in debt for a decade, and would have to take whatever boring job he could find to pay it off. So much for his adventure.
With the last of his socks roughly matched and stuffed in his bags, he pulled off his wrist computer and set an audible alarm for early in the morning. The perfectly recycled air of his room felt heavy in his lungs. He would miss the playful banter with North, and the too high stools at Frederick’s bar. He stared at the ceiling, wishing that at least once in the short time he was on Mars, he had taken the time to admire the two moons, Phobos and Deimos, as they swung across the sky.
He closed his eyes, each breath as difficult as if he were outside. In time, he drifted off to sleep. As the last of his consciousness slipped away, reality mixed with his dreams. North held a blazing drink that grew to fill his mind. Ice settled and became dirt, thin foam became wispy clouds, and the glass became Iron Castle tower backed by a cold sun. He sat on top of a transparent aluminum transportube watching a Martian sunrise. Slowly suffocating in the lack of oxygen, he slipped from the deathly dream into empty sleep.
The beeping of his wrist computer woke Steve early enough that he could afford to hit snooze a time or two. As
he turned over and disabled the alarm, he noticed his view screen blinking. Stiff from sleep, he got to his feet and turned on the screen to find no less than seven unread messages.
The first was his ticket to board transit ring M282. The second was a message from Susan Canton thanking him for sending North his plans for the revised sewage system. The third was a copy of the message North had sent to Susan explaining he had been fired over the plans. The fourth was a copy of the emergency request Susan had sent for an immediate personnel transfer. Steve’s heart skipped a beat. The fifth message informed him that his ticket to board M282 had been cancelled. His hand was shaking as he tapped the sixth message hardly able to believe the implications. The sixth message was an official welcome from Dr. Susan Canton of the Botanical Technologies division asking him to come in at his leisure, but before 1300 (please), to start his new job. This message Steve read three times before remembering there was one more unread. He opened the last message. Since his job had changed, so had his quarters. He scrambled to his feet, his head spinning from both the jump out of bed and the incredible news. Even without starting work at the usual time, it would take him most of the morning to figure out where his new quarters were, move in, and get to his new job. He laughed out loud that the adventure wasn’t over yet.
Finding his new quarters was not as easy as it had been to find in Iron Castle. In the agricultural sector, halls were narrow and windows were rare. The air had a metallic bite that clawed at his lungs when he breathed too deeply. His new quarters were small and sparse, but at least they were clean, and thick walls kept the ambient noise to a low hum. He unpacked as quickly as possible and freshened up. If he had any difficulty finding the Botanical Technologies offices, he knew he would be late. He just hoped no one would look closely enough at him to notice that one of his socks had a hole in the back.
The Botanical Technologies office proved to be more of a complex. Steve entered into a dome, lined with crunchy, silver insulation. Small round windows, tinted with cheap radiation coating, dotted the sides and ceiling. Furniture was the simple, serviceable kind that afforded much more spacious desks for the employees. To his surprise it seemed that everyone was smiling, something he’d found was alien to the employees that worked under Cynthia Abilene Castle.
A voice to his left startled him. “I thought Cynthia was exaggerating when she said you were always late.”
He turned to see a woman with a loose pile of silver hair, and no taller than North, smiling at him.
She continued. “Arriving at 1304! Let me guess, you have some unbelievable excuse involving drunken management, unexpected quarters transfers, and getting lost in the transportubes on your way to work.”
“Uh well….” Steve wasn’t sure what to say. He had thought he had escaped being treated like garbage.
The woman laughed. “You’re Steve Merrit, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She laughed again. “Steve, relax. I’m Dr. Canton, your new boss. Call me Susan. I went out on a limb to get you a job here so quickly, but North assures me that you’ll be a valuable addition to the team, and, that Cynthia positively hates you. The latter is more than enough reason for me to keep you around.”
“Well, that sounds good to me … I think.”
Susan spent the next hour explaining to Steve what she expected of him. Unlike Cynthia Abilene Castle, she didn’t need a script.
In order to make the colony more pleasant to live in, the Botanical Technologies division was to install gardens where possible and fill them with a mix of plants that were both aesthetically pleasing and productive. The budget was tight, and the old designs were inefficient and difficult to fit into the congested areas. Without an engineer, they were all they had to work with. Steve was to design new gardens that could fit in oddly shaped places and be cheaper to construct and maintain. “On Mars, it is the job of some to build the skyline, but our job is to make it grow.”
Steve was given a wide desk near a window, a serviceable computer, and instructions on how to properly brew the fresh herbal infusions the department provided for employees. Susan gave him the names of several people with whom he would collaborate to determine the needs of specific types of plants and where to find them in the complex. “You could use the view screen, of course, but I would rather you meet them in person. Walk around, stretch your legs, get familiar with the place. The office will be your home away from home for the next few years, so make yourself comfortable here. Make North the last stop of your day. She has a new batch of bitters for Frederick, as well as the specs for open atmosphere gardens. You can discuss those specs over a drink, but please take care of yourself. I want both of you here on time tomorrow morning. Any last questions?”
“Actually, yes.” Steve wasn’t sure how to phrase his question. “I … noticed a change in my title.”
Susan nodded. “Yes, I am sorry, Steve. I don’t have the budget to hire a Civil Engineer. I know you are overqualified for this position, and you will be underpaid, but North suggested that you might not mind the change.”
Steve picked up the nameplate from his desk and nodded, unable to keep from smiling. “Actually, I don’t mind at all.” He ran his finger over the engraved title. It read: Steve Meritt, Architect.
Over the next month, Steve became accustomed to his new job. Susan kept the employees in good humor, was quick to appreciate, and careful to judge.
One problem Steve encountered was with a genetically modified Pueraria lobata, also known as kudzu. One of North’s early successes, the plant was only marginally useful besides being able to grow nearly twenty-five centimeters a day. It thrived even in Mars’s harsh conditions, as long as it was protected from direct exposure to dust storms.
Steve engineered a simple Plexiglas guard and had it installed on the side of the Iron Castle tower just above the office where he used to work. The cheap installation of the purple flowering vine was lauded as a success. Regrettably, the “unexpectedly fast” growth meant that the vines were constantly escaping the guard and falling over the oversized office window below the installation. Susan Canton apologized for not having checked the installation location and promised Cynthia Castle, whose window was the one in question, that she would severely punish the architect responsible. The reprimand, as it turned out, was merely a chuckle and a pat on the back. When asked to send someone to trim it back, Susan politely declined since all her employees were too consumed with other work. She could, however, always spare someone to ensure it was properly fertilized.
Each week, Susan had a meeting with the board of directors. Although she didn’t present Steve’s plan immediately, she asked him to keep it up-to-date with the latest construction. North helped finalize the part of the presentation concerning the organization of plants, and Susan herself crunched the numbers of how much the system would save the Botanical Technologies division. She explained that she wanted the plans to have a fair chance in front of the board. “If Cynthia recognizes the plans, and I assure you she will, they’ll be rejected outright before I can defend them. The only way to present them fairly is to do it when she is running late.”
“The only problem with that,” said Steve, “is that she’s so erratic there’s no way to know.”
Susan winked. “I will know.”
One morning, Steve was woken at 0445 by a high priority message from Susan directed to both he and North. Meet me at the office by 0500. I don’t care how you look. At 0700, I will present the sewage system to the board of directors, and I want it to be perfect!
When Steve arrived, he found North there looking as tired as he was. Only Susan seemed alert as she practiced her lines for the presentation
North joined Steve as he fixed himself a strong cup of tea and filled him in. “Last night was Cynthia’s birthday. She held a private party at Lone Crater. About half way through the night, Frederick switched the ingredients in her drinks to the lowest quality he could find. She was too drunk to notice. He wasn’t
able to tell Susan until 0430, when Cynthia finally passed out drunk across the bar and was carried back to her quarters. There is no way she’ll be on time today, but Susan has asked to present first, just in case.”
The plans were ready to go at 0630. Susan told them to take the day off for their efforts and she would fill them in the next morning. Both returned to their quarters and slept soundly, confident in Susan to deliver a flawless presentation.
Cynthia woke with a throbbing headache. The drinks at Lone Crater had never left her so hung over before. She didn’t even bother to attend the board of directors meeting. They were such boring affairs anyway. Her father would reprimand her, but, she reasoned, that would be the worst of it. What was the worst that could happen? She relieved her stomach of souring alcohol and went back to sleep.
When she finally awoke, long past the Martian sunset, she picked up her portable view screen and settled down to enjoy a vodka martini on her enclosed porch. The two moons cast alien shadows across the skyline. She opened a message from her father, Dr. Leopold Castle, president and CEO of Castle Industries.
Cynthia Dear,
It seems you did not see fit to honor us with your presence today, but so much the better. Your lack of progress on the sewage system is holding up the progress of the Botanical Technologies division. One of Susan’s employees, an architect, who is also a qualified civil engineer, has proposed an innovative solution for their department, and for yours. Effective immediately, Steve Meritt, of the Botanical Technologies division will oversee the construction and maintenance of the colony’s sewage systems. You are to recognize his authority on the subject of sewage management, provide him with whatever resources he requests, and do whatever you can to aid him in the completion of his projects. I do hope that this will relieve some of the pressure on your department.
Mission Mars Page 15
