by S. J. Morden
That left him with electrical, and purely mechanical. It was down to battery power and brute force—or finesse—to do the job. His biggest concern was the aluminum bolts, which were notoriously easy to strip. Using a standard nut runner with torque control would work just fine, but there were a lot of nuts. And given that building the base had to happen before anything else could, to rely on two men in cumbersome spacesuits with a couple of torque wrenches, while the rest of the crew kicked their heels? It wasn’t the way forward.
Everyone was going to have to be involved in construction, and the only way of telling whoever was in charge was to talk to Brack, which was becoming his least favorite job of all. He’d rather run up and down the mountain, twice.
There wasn’t a mechanism for him to set up a meeting, either. Brack would simply appear, denigrate his efforts and whoever else was around, threaten to give him a ticket for looking at him funny, then disappear again. But he was Frank’s only point of contact with the decision-makers. The medics in the Blood Bank seemed entirely unconnected with any of the practical aspects of the mission, and utterly uninterested in anything he had to say.
He was trying to concentrate on maneuvering the single-axle trailer around a tight corner, when Brack decided to stand behind him. Frank momentarily contemplated the consequences of just keeping on going, but instinct cut in and he stopped abruptly, hard enough to shake his bones and rattle the chassis.
Marcy, who’d been stood watching, started forward, arms out wide in annoyance, ready to tear the interloper a new one, but then slowed when she saw who it was, letting her hands fall. Brack gave his idiot grin at her, then turned it on Frank.
Frank got down out of the buggy and walked to the back of the trailer. There was a buzz in his ear, asking why he’d broken his training. For once, he ignored it. If they knew he’d done that, they also knew why.
“What do you think you’re doing, Kittridge?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“You don’t get that privilege. All you get to do is say yessir and nosir and threebagsfullsir.”
Frank contemplated his boots for a moment, before looking up again. “I need everyone trained on construction. All of us. Otherwise, we’re screwed from the start.”
Brack reached out and patted Frank’s chest, almost friendly, until his fingers curled into the cloth and he tightened his fist around it. “You’re a prisoner, Kittridge.” He spoke calmly at first, but then his voice started to rise. “You do not disrespect me.” On that final, shouted word Brack started shaking Frank violently, backwards and forwards.
Frank planted his feet and refused to move.
“It is my opinion—my expert opinion—that we need to train the whole crew on building those shelters, to get them up and running as quickly as possible. Sir.”
Brack let him go, and smoothed the front of his overalls down. “That wasn’t too bad, was it, Kittridge?” He stared at the palms of his own hands, almost as if he’d never seen them before. “I’ll pass it on.”
And he just walked away.
“What does he do here?” asked Marcy. “He’s not coming with us, is he? Oh, God, don’t say he’s coming with us.”
Frank took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. “I don’t know. But I know for certain they already bumped someone.”
“I’m second to Zero. The small black kid. Farming. Except he calls it hydroponics. And he’s second to Zeus. Who’s the AB guy. They’re both still in. And us two.”
“They’ve put an Aryan with the blackest kid on the team? It’s like they want us to fail.” Frank screwed his face up. “Goddammit, what were they thinking?”
“It’s not as bad as all that,” said Marcy. “Before you came in that first time, Building Six, he stood up and apologized. For his tats, for his behavior. Said he was sorry.”
“If he ever bothers you—”
“He’d snap you in half, Frank.” She shook her head. “He seemed sincere enough.”
Both of them had simultaneous messages in their ears, telling them to get on with their allotted tasks: Frank, learning, and Marcy, teaching.
“We’re in charge of jack,” said Marcy, retaking her spotting position behind the cones. “We don’t get a choice who we work with, right? You said that yourself.”
Frank climbed to the bucket seat. “Hope he thinks the same about us.”
He wiped the sweat from his hand before settling it at the six o’clock position on the wheel. Trying to forget about everything else but which way he wanted the back end of the trailer to go. He twisted in his seat and looked over his shoulder. How long did they have before Xenosystems had no choice but to put them on a rocket? The longer he lasted, the less opportunity they had to can him. Where did the tipping point come, when he was more useful to them on Mars than he was in the Hole?
Had he just passed it, or had he blown his one chance?
“Whoa whoa whoa,” called Marcy. “Where d’you think you’re going?”
He stopped and shook his head free of the distractions. “It’s OK. I got this.”
But it was still in the back of his mind as he went through his paces, pushing and pulling various trailers, loaded and unloaded, backwards and forwards for the rest of the morning. If they tried to can him, what would he do? Would he have the mental strength to force them to kill him, suicide by cop style? Brack didn’t carry a gun, but Frank was certain that the guards down at the perimeter did. Perhaps his thought about crashing the fence and haring out across the flats wasn’t such a bad way to go after all.
He couldn’t get the idea out of his head. He got as far as lunch, after which he was summoned to Building Ten again. What would his monitor say about his heart rate, his blood pressure, his breathing? Did they know? Could they read his mind after all?
Opening the door into the darkness, he walked out across the sand. The lights came on. It was just him: no Declan. That wasn’t a good omen, and it felt like a long way to the first module. Maybe he should have run already, because if they came for him now, then he couldn’t stop them from taking him down with tasers, binding him and hooding him and carting him away. He might be able to beat his own brains out with a wrench, but that’d be hard.
When he reached the module, he found a flight case, a big one, the size of a packing chest. He glanced around. There were tire tracks in the sand, leading towards the still-dark back of the hangar. He’d never explored down that end. He’d get to it. He flipped the lid of the case open, and pulled out one of six nut runners.
He pulled the trigger, and listened to the spindle turn. They had plenty of spare batteries, too. Did this mean what he hoped it did? That he’d been listened to, and he wasn’t going to have to do anything so drastic as try and kill himself?
The door opened. A silhouette appeared briefly before the rectangle of daylight was cut off. A single figure started towards him. What relief Frank felt that it wasn’t an XO snatch squad was tempered by his realization that it was the neo-Nazi giant.
This could be interesting.
“Hey, man,” said the giant. He clenched his fist and held it out.
“Hey. I’m thinking you’re Zeus.” Frank had to reach up to tap his own fist against the other’s. In comparison, his was tiny. “I’m Frank.”
“Good to meet you, Frank.” Zeus took in the modules with a slow sweep of his head. “Is this where we’re going to be living?”
“I’m guessing they’re going in kit form and we have to build them once we’re there. It’d be nice to be told, but seems like they’re holding back on us.”
“And you do this?”
“I do now. You?”
“Pipes,” said Zeus. “Plumbing. Used to work on oil rigs, so this is smaller-scale than I’m used to.” He reached into the case for one of the tools, spun it up and set it down again. “I can help you with this.”
“That’s what I hoped.” Frank kicked at the sand, and made up his mind. “I’m going to have to ask.”
&nbs
p; “Thought you might. You know how it is: blood in, blood out.”
“I know.”
“They’ve been looking to shank me for a while. Been on the PC for six months. Still not safe there. So when the suit came to me and told me he could get me somewhere else, where I wasn’t going to have to watch my back for however long I had? I took it. You can call it a coward’s choice: call it that myself sometimes. But seems God hasn’t finished with me yet.”
“You left the Brotherhood because you got religion?” Frank blinked. “I guess that would do it.”
From what he could see of it, Zeus had a Nazi eagle splayed right across his chest, as well as ink on his head. The letters he had on one hand were matched on the other. HATE/HATE. This man had been in deep.
“The kid, Zero. I bet you scare the crap out of him, don’t you?”
“I’ve explained to him like I’ve explained to you. I’ve asked for his forgiveness.”
“His … forgiveness? How did he take that?”
“It went well enough.” Zeus flexed his fingers and looked away. He shrugged one shoulder and gave a snort of laughter. “I suppose I shouldn’t expect miracles, should I?”
“That’s your turf now. It’s not mine.”
The distant door clicked open again, and two more shapes occluded the outside.
“Getting busy in here,” said Zeus.
It was the older woman, Alice, along with the curly-headed boy. She walked with all the assumed confidence of someone who knew that nothing and no one was going to hurt her, whereas he was just a child, pale and weak: his steps were jagged and hesitant, like he was terrified of his own shadow.
She rolled up. “Alice,” she said to Zeus. “If you hadn’t already guessed, I’m your doctor.”
The boy stood a little way away. He couldn’t take his eyes off Zeus.
“Dee-dee,” he said.
“Demetrius,” said Alice. “His name is Demetrius.”
“He can call himself whatever he wants,” said Frank.
Alice tutted. “He has a stammer. When he’s nervous.” She made it plain that she didn’t have time for a stammer, or nerves. Her bedside manner was going to be something to watch out for.
“Don’t mind Zeus. He’s—” Frank almost said harmless, which was self-evidently not the case. “—one of us. What’s your job here?”
“He does the computers,” said Alice, speaking for him again.
Frank felt irritation prickle across his skin, but he batted the feeling aside. It had been a long time since he’d had to instruct a team, and as long as they did the work, it didn’t matter.
The door opened again, and they all looked round. Frank picked out Marcy straight away, and the thin shape beside her had to be Zero. They waited for them.
“Marcy,” said Marcy. “Transport.”
“Call me Zero,” said Zero. “They put me in charge of your greens.”
“So what did they put you in charge of?” asked Alice of Frank. She tilted her head back so that she could look down her nose at him. “Us?”
He had to work with her, he had no choice. “When we hit the surface of Mars,” he said, “I’m guessing we’ll have nothing. Getting these oversized baggies up will be the first thing we have to do, before Zero can start growing, or Zeus put in the cans, or Declan—wherever he is—string up the lights. The quicker we put these together, the faster we can get out of each other’s faces. We get better food and somewhere to shit. That sound like a plan?”
No one responded.
“I’m not just saying this for my own health,” said Frank. “I’m in charge of exactly squat. You want to sit in a spacesuit for a week and watch a couple of guys bolt one of these together? Be my guest. I’m thinking that it might be more comfortable for us all, in the long run, if we at least pretend to pull together. Now, again: is this a plan or am I just wasting my breath?”
“It’s a plan,” said Marcy. “What do you need me to do?”
“I’m not sitting around, watching other people work.” Zeus hefted one of the nut runners. “I don’t think anyone will.”
“Their choice, big man,” said Alice. But after a few moments’ silence, she relented. “I don’t see I can help much, but why not?”
Assent from Demetrius and Zero came in the form of a single nod. Still no sign of Declan, but it was his job to assist Frank. Hell, it was his job to replace Frank if anything happened to him. His co-operation was a given.
“OK? Marcy, we need to work out what we’ve got. Pretty sure there’s a buggy somewhere at the back of this hangar: there are tire tracks heading that way. Could you take a look?”
“Sure,” she said, and started out across the sand.
“The rest of you, grab one of these, and I’ll show you how to use one. Safely.”
Once he was sure they weren’t going to hold on to the moving parts of the nut runners, he let them loose on one of the completed rings lying on the floor. They unbolted it so that the sections were separated out, exploded like an engineering diagram, then they started bolting it all back together again.
“You’re going to be living in something you’ve helped put together,” he said. “You’ll be relying on it not to leak or fall apart. Chances are, if you cut corners, someone dies.”
A couple of them resented his advice. Zero, and Alice. He’d have to watch their work, give it a proper assessment. Zeus, on the other hand, just got on with the job. He was probably more used to the labor and the setting—an ocean rig was going to have similarities to a spaceship or a Mars base—but the man’s skills were going to be an asset. And a spacesuit was going to hide the swastika on the back of Zeus’s neck.
Frank had never meant his life to be like this. All he’d ever wanted was a quiet existence, unremarkable and uneventful, getting up, going to work, having his family around him. Now he was going to spend the rest of his life on Mars with an ex neo-Nazi for company, not to mention whatever it was the others had done. Murderers, some of them. Murderers like him. As if this world didn’t have enough crazy, they were now exporting it to other planets.
Marcy drove back across the hangar. She’d found a buggy, and was towing a long cylinder on a trailer.
“We’ve got this,” she said. “I’m guessing we have to do something with it.”
Between them, Marcy and Frank got the cylinder off the trailer and onto the ground. She glanced around and pulled him close. “How are they doing?”
“Getting on like a pressure cooker. Zeus is the least of my worries. Least of yours, too. Hell, we’ve all got some corners we can afford to have knocked off.”
The cylinder was closed by releasable bolts recessed into the outer shell and protected by pull-up hatches. Frank pressed on the back of the first hatch so that it lifted proud of the surface, and wedged his fingertips under the leading edge. He pulled, and the spring-loaded mechanism snapped it into the upright position.
Zeus was there, doing the same thing on the next, and Zero beyond him.
The restraining bolts were screw-thread, big wings on the heads, released with a twist and pull. The cavity they extended into was just about large enough to get a hand in. Not Zeus’s hand, but he could help open the other hatches while someone smaller—Marcy, in this case—worked the bolt. A tool for this would be useful, but they didn’t appear to have one; Frank made a mental note to mention it later. To someone. Maybe even Brack.
Beneath the shadow of the cylinder, the cargo bay door popped, under pressure from inside. Zeus and Frank and Marcy heaved at the door, and it opened up fully. The cargo inside was neatly packed into drums. Zeus was already reaching in for the first, and Frank grabbed one of his own, rolling it across the sandy floor and parking it on open ground.
Each drum was a standard size to fit into the standard cylinder, seven feet across, six feet tall. They were big, and heavy. On Mars, gravity was one third of Earth’s. Something that weighed three tons here would weigh just one there.
When all the drums were lined u
p, Frank went down the row, reading the labels on the outsides to locate the things they’d need first: the end rings and outriggers, and, critically, the airlock, which came in one complete piece and had its own procedure. “OK. This one first.”
The drum opened with simple latches around the circumference of its lid, but it took two crew members to pull the lid off and carry it away. Everything needed to build one section of habitat appeared to be present. It was time to go to work.
“OK,” said Frank. “From the top.”
He laid out what was required for the inner ring, and let the rest of them put it together.
Wrestling the plastic sheeting to the ground was incredibly hard work. The end panel was a flat disc. That was fine. The tube was terrible. He burned a dozen cable ties making sure it didn’t just unfold again before he got it in position. Maybe it’d be easier with no air.
“Don’t walk on the plastic. Don’t cut the plastic,” he warned them. They bolted the outer ring, one section at a time, to the inner ring. Then, awkwardly, trying to make certain that every part of the plastic was caught safely and firmly between the seals.
Zero was lining up the bolts and spinning the nuts onto the thread, accurate and quick with his fingers. Demetrius was less so, and the banter between them had tipped quickly from good-natured to cruel. These were going to be the only people on the planet, at least until NASA turned up, and it wasn’t his job to discipline them. He couldn’t fault Zero’s work, though.
“Demetrius, give me a hand with this,” said Frank, and started to drag out the base mat for the finished module. The kid was good with computers, that was why he was here. They needed him as much as he needed them. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t good at building things. He was young, though: and he acted young. What the hell had he done to have ended up getting drafted into this mission?
