“ We’re still trying to locate it. Any info you could give us would be helpful in tracking it down.”
“That’s easy, just follow our footprints back, it’s about 450 klicks straight out...”
“Thanks, that’ll help plot a course.” He cleared his throat.
“So, what exactly happened out there?”
I told him. Leaving nothing out except the topic of our conversation out there. I kept it concise and to the point knowing that I was being recorded. When I was finished there was silence on the other end.
“You’re thinking Mr. Fonagy.” He cleared his throat and spoke.
“Yes. Rather coincidental that the drone chip should go down and then the skimmer should fail like that, all in such a short period of time.” His voice held concern and curiosity mingled in equal measure.
“Murphy’s Law.” I said.
“Murphy’s what?” He asked.
“Murphy’s Law states that anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and usually at the worst possible time.” This produced a chuckle from him.
“That would almost explain it if we didn’t have the computer records indicating that Dave, Mr. Roose had put the wonk on that chip about a month ago, for exactly when you two would be on rotation for outside repairs. Put in a rather clumsy time delay for the chip to malfunction exactly when it did.”
It couldn’t have been Dave, no fucking way...
“Can you think of any reason that Mr. Roose would have for wanting you dead Mr. Dunn?” This set me back on my mental heels. It put a brake on my ‘Why me? Why did I live and Dave die?’ thoughts.
“No, none at all, we were becoming good friends, at least that’s what I thought.”
“Who knows what evil lurks in the heart’s of men? At any rate, we can put off your visit here till after the memorial service tomorrow, we would still like a statement on vid if that’s okay with you?”
“Sure, if I’m up to it. I’ll call you first.” Uncertainty in my voice.
“That’ll work. By the way, this conversation should be kept in the strictest confidence, as far as our suspicions at this time. Active investigation and all. Good day.” He hung up.
I started making calls while the Bot helped me into a fresh set of coveralls. First my wife.
“Hi honey. I checked in on you after my shift last night, but you were sleeping so soundly, and the doctor said that sleep is when the body heals, so I left you alone.”
“That’s all right babe, I definitely needed the rest, hey, have you heard from anyone, uh, official?” I figured the head of public relations would have contacted her by now as well as the full list of corporate fat cats. If she wasn’t so into her routine, she could have had a field day with them and taken all the time in the world off. They were going to come calling soon, the suck up wind would rate high on the storm scale.
“Oh, yeah, PR called, and the list goes from there. I talked to Dr. Wali, and he said you should be able to come home tomorrow. I can’t wait to have you to myself, I’m going to take a couple day’s off to nurse you back to health.” Her voice dripped honey and lust in a low growl similar to a tiger in heat. I had a feeling I was in for it. If I were a dog I would have licked my chops in anticipation.
“I can hardly wait. Hey, have you talked to Susan at all?” I was concerned for her, what with suspicion being cast on Dave and all.
“She’s holding up rather well, I spent the night with her the last two night’s.” One of my eyebrow’s went up.
“Doing what if I may ask?” She laughed a husky laugh, I knew they had gotten tight but...
“Consoling her!” Knowing my wife’s proclivities I had to wonder.
“I know you two were getting tight but I had no idea...” Wheels were turning in me.
“She’s devastated. I was just there for moral support, keep the tea warm and the tissue’s ready. I like that nasty streak of yours though, just keep it in check till tomorrow, OK?” I smiled a Cheshire cat’s grin.
“No problem baby, no problem. Will I see you tonight after your shift?”
“You bet hon. See you then!” She broke the connection. A thought popped into my head. Who would want me dead? And by extension, Dave? What if this mysterious ‘they’ wanted Dave dead and I was just a collateral byproduct?
The nurse emerged from the bathroom dressed and re-coiffed to help me back into bed.
“Thanks, for everything.” I smiled at her. She seemed taken aback by my utterance.
“You’re welcome. Just doing my job.” A shy smile back.
“Heck of a job. What’s your name anyway?” I was curious. Would it be a series name or one of her own choosing?
“Jasmine 2,337. My friends call me Jazz though.” Hmm, J series, number 2,337. Self personalization indicated a budding personality, and friends, well, that wasn’t such a stretch with the advancement’s robotics had made just in the last ten years...
“Well Jazz, you’re doing a bang up job, and I’m gonna tell your super about it.”
“That won’t be necessary, but thanks.” She left after beaming me a smile with a slight wiggle in her walk that was almost a strut. Even a Bot could use a confidence boost apparently.
My implant comm link rang. It was Lou Chin, head of base public relations. His face appeared on the vid screen across from my bed, he was calling from Earth. The delays were short and almost comical.
“Mr. Dunn! How are you feeling today?” A hopefulness in his tone.
“Pretty chipper, Mr. Chin, pretty chipper.” Trying to sound more confident than I felt.
“That’s great, just great. The Doctor tells me you should be released, barring a relapse, early tomorrow.” I had to wonder if everybody in the city knew more about my condition than I did at that point.
“Well, you seem to know more about it than I do at this point. Anyway, what can I do you for Mr. Chin?” I didn’t want to waste too much energy, as I had a feeling this was just the first of several official conversations I’d have to have this day.
“I just wanted to touch bases with you, check in, see how our hero was doing. I’ve been briefed on the account you gave the Chief of Sec. Mr. Fonagy. Quite thrilling actually if a bit dry.”
Like my mouth at that moment. I took a sip of water. What was the point of this conversation I had to wonder. I kept quiet.
“Umm. Yes, well, the media is clamoring for an interview. The story of your heroic attempt to save your coworker and friend, Dave Roose, and your fight to survive the trek across the surface has riveted the populace of the entire system. The company, in hand with the union has set up a time for a system wide broadcast news conference day after tomorrow, if that’s all right with you and your wife.” Hopefulness tinged with confidence. How could I say no?
“Can I get back to you on that, say late tomorrow. I want to see how I feel after a little rest and recuperation at home.” Forcefully stated with an unwillingness to compromise.
“Of course. Take all the time you need. Just not too much time.” He laughed. I chuckled in return. Sympathetic responses sometimes work best.
“I’ll give you a call later tomorrow then.” Polite disengagement.
“I look forward to it.” He disconnected.
In the quiet that ensued I started to wonder. Me, a hero? Why? Why me? Why had I lived? Dave was younger, in better shape, had used better drugs for a shorter time of his life, enjoyed a more active sex life, had everything going for him, he was on the way up, whereas I was most definitely on the way down. It was then that something my Dad had told me, something that had been passed down through the generations, sprang up into the fore front of my mind. It was the words of my great-great-great-great Grandfather, who had survived combat in WW II. Passed down like a religious mantra in my family from father to son. Which was that when your number was up, you number was up. I had done my time in Lutheran Sunday School to learn the Golden Rule, a little indoctrination lite, only to be given a copy of the Tao on my 13th birthday and left to m
y own devices... My father had been raised to believe that religion, organized religion, was the opiate of the masses. A thinking reasoning man had the duty, the obligation to come to his own reasonable conclusions. I believed I was a reasonable man. The question was, could I use that reasoning to figure out what had really happened out there?
I left a message for my Union Rep, Sid Nyugen, telling him to give me a call at his earliest. The announcement bell rang then. It was Dr. Wali. He entered and strode directly to the monitor-scanning control panel.
“How are you feeling today Mr. Dunn?” Eyeing the readings on the panel.
“Pretty good, Doc, pretty good.” The red scanner beam passed over me from foot to head. He tapped the indicator lightly and looked up at me.
“Everything looks okay here. How are the legs holding up?” Real concern in his voice.
“A bit sore, a little stiff.” He shook his head in understanding.
“To be expected, what with the pounding they took. I’ll prescribe you a mid level pain killer, some muscle relaxers on your release tomorrow, that and plenty of bed rest.” He turned to leave.
“Oh, Doc?” He stopped in mid stride and turned to face me. Eyebrows raised.
“You wouldn’t know what caused Dave’s, uh, demise?” He frowned.
“I shouldn’t tell you that, not till the info is released to his widow, but, since you were there and tried valiantly to save him...” He looked over his shoulder before a taking a step closer to me and lowering his voice.
“We’re waiting for the test analysis to come back, to make it official, but right now it’s a dead heat between heat prostration and asphyxia. If the three hours of direct sun exposure to the suit didn’t do it, the fact that he ran out of oxy a good twenty, twenty five minutes before you entered the airlock did.” He smiled a sad smile then.
“Thanks Doc. That’s just tween you and me.” I was bummed. Fate? Karma? Superior will to live? Or just dumb luck?
“Anything for our resident hero. Oh, the Head of Admin. and the Chief of Ops are here to see you, they should be in here in a minute if it’s all right with you that is.”
“Sure, send ‘em in.” I was resigned to the intrusion of officialdom. Like a monkey on the payroll. Keep the keepers happy. Keep the food rolling into the slot.
Momentarily the base Chief of Operations, Nimrod Blamdin came in bearing a large stainless steel vase of yellow posies, yellow roses and yellow lilies all ikebana’d up and after placing them on a metal table next to the wall just to the left of the bathroom came to stand next to the Head of Administration, Joe Suh at the foot of the bed.
“Flower’s from the hubby.” Nimrod was married to Robert, ‘Bobette’ Smitson. A true simpering fag if ever there was one, but all in all, one of the nicest humans I had ever met.
A true caring person. A true woman trapped in a man’s body. This tour would more than pay for the ‘change.’ A couple months after their return to Earth and it would be a done deal. The flowers were lovely and I knew I would have to burn some incense for her success. It was said that ‘she’ was a big part of Nimrod’s success as head of Ops. Having such a complicated personal life made running the city of over two thousand engineer’s, redneck’s, tech’s, geek’s, nerd’s, neurotics and freaks,(not to mention the dozen different religions and their attendant beliefs and hang ups of the various sexual bents), and all the conflict and delusional behavior that entailed seem like a piece of cake.
He had patience and the ability to both listen, understand and the persuasiveness to get people of diverse belief’s and opinions to compromise. I didn’t know if he was a virgin saint or a company shill, but he did do one hell of a job at soothing ruffled feathers and getting the best out of his people. Production was up. Accidents were down. Bonus’s were rumored to be on the horizon. He was a workaholic. Understandable with the miserable home life. He wanted his ‘wife’ to be a woman as bad as she wanted to be a real woman. The base Med staff could perform some pretty amazing operations. But the base wasn’t equipped with the heavy cloning vats that were needed for this ‘replacement’ therapy. He lived for the company, one thing that was simple was the lack of politics and political upheaval and turmoil. No, everyone out here was out to keep the raw materials flowing to the Moon to keep Earth in the product’s needed to maintain it’s inhabitants way of life and to ultimately make the credits to improve their own lot in that life. So life went on...
“Thanks for the flower’s Chief, thank the Misses for me, tell her I think they’re lovely.”
“I’ll pass that along, she’ll be happy to hear that.” He said sincerely.
“How is Bob?” He looked up and with a faint smile said,
“She’s well, she’s with Susan right now, holding down the fort with Min.” He nodded at the Head of Admin, Joe Suh. Min was his wife. She was tiny, lovely and had the nickname, ‘Dragon Lady’. Joe had been seen visiting the Robo Ho’s fairly regularly in the last six months. The rumors had been going around that Min had been working her way through most of the male staff of the Admin and Support department during that time. I wondered why some people had an aversion to joining the ‘swap club’ on the base. I guessed there were some people who still had to get their kicks from ‘cheating’, as if the old morality, which still branded affairs as ‘illicit’ held sway. Different strokes for different folks. Joe was a buttoned up, buttoned down kind of guy. He was the ultimate pencil pusher. Nothing went by him if the t’s weren’t all crossed and the i’s all dotted. He was the de facto ruler of Doheny City. If you needed a spanner you routed it through his office, if you needed a day off to celebrate the Eid, you routed it through his office, if you needed to see a shrink for stress, or if a Robo Ho didn’t satisfy you properly, you called his office. Any complaints or suggestions, you went to Admin and Support. Not that you went to Joe, directly, no, he had flunkies to handle the underlings which was pretty much everybody on the base. I was surprised to see him there. Nimrod handled the dirty scut work. Which is what he probably considered this visit to be. Nimrod coughed.
“We just wanted you to know Drew, how glad we are that you survived. We wanted you to know that we have started an in depth investigation of the cause of this tragedy and that no expense will be spared to get to the bottom of it, the root cause, what ever that might be.” He glanced at Joe who nodded.
“As official representatives of the Company, we wanted to let you know that you can take as much time as you want, as you feel necessary to get well. When you and the doctors feel you are fit, after whatever length of time, you will transferred to a different section, no more outside work assignments for you, and your job will be ‘light’ duty. Rest assured of that.” He glanced at Joe who shook his head and said to him,
“We’d better get back to work and let Drew get his rest.” He nodded to me.
“Right. If you have any questions or you need anything at all, call me or Joe at any time.” He came over to shake my hand. Joe followed up with a brisk handshake and made for the door.
“Thanks guy’s, I’ll be sure to do that.” Nimrod turned and waved before exiting with a warm smile. Joe stopped at the door and turned. He looked at me.
“Remember Drew, anything, at any time.” He sounded almost grim.
“Sure thing, I will.” He bowed slightly, turned and left.
My implant rang practically before he was out the door. It was Dr. Lynette Barber, Chief of Base Psychiatry, in charge of the station’s mental health unit, Head head shrinker. She was also the only Frenchwoman on the base. Looked like I had moved up in the world all right. Wonder when I get to talk to the President? The day was still young.
“Yes Dr. Barber, how can I help you?” A big smile on my face. I always took perverse satisfaction in beating people to the punch. Or punch line. Which ever came first.
“You sound very chipper there Mr. Dunn.” Nonplussed. I had a feeling she had my personality profile pulled up on her screen as she was talking to me.
“Wel
l, who wouldn’t after speaking with the head of security, the head honcho of the planet, his number two man, and them fawning over me, and his Doctor, all in the first hour or so of his or her day?” I practically giggled with glee. Except for the fact that someone had tried to kill me, I was almost giddy.
“So I take it the Doctor gave you good news?” Inquisitive in an earnest way.
“Barring a relapse, which ain’t gonna happen with the level of care I’m receiving, I should be released to my wife’s care tomorrow morning.” Relief in the break of tension.
“That’s wonderful, I’m so glad for you. I’m so happy you lived, which is why I’m calling...I was wondering if I could schedule a visit for you here at Mental Health, it’s standard operating procedure to run an evaluation on anyone who’s survived a traumatic experience, company policy really. Just to make sure you’re okay.” Hopeful I would co-operate. Sure, why not, having another connection in the upper echelon’s wouldn’t hurt if I was going to have a chance at finding out who had killed Dave and tried to kill me...
“Sure, why not, you’ll be handling my case personally, right?” She was a known bombshell of a woman who had come to the station unmarried and single, and was not known to play the field at the base. She was five seven, red hair, green eye’s, 40 kilo’s or 120 pounds, 40-28-36, and by all accounts brilliant. She oversaw a staff of fifty living therapists, and over one hundred administrative Bot’s. She worked tirelessly, well, with the aid of base stimulants, on her study of the effects of living and working in close quarters on small groups of humans in space. She had worked on Luna for two years but had transferred to Mercury at the first opportunity. The moon had over one million inhabitants whereas Doheny City had just under three thousand. The smaller number made it easier to refine her findings. So base gossip had it. I wondered if I was going to be her new lab rat. I could hear her lick her lips.
“Certainly. When do you think you’d be available for an appointment?” Impatient, with a hint of caution.
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