The Homestead

by G R Higginbotham

  “OK,” he said, and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Let me start at the beginning: it basically reports that Dr. Epps, a young male, was found on the floor in his quarters, had been dead for several hours when they got to him. No injuries or bruises to indicate a fall or violence. Upon examination, he was found to have suffered sudden cardiac failure resulting in death. No other cause of death found. There are some labs they ran once they got him to Station II, but nothing unusual considering what happened.”

  When Moses stopped reading he noticed she was crying now. Not sobbing, but more than just teary-eyed. Something else was going on that he didn’t yet have a grasp on. Through her tears she began to ask questions.

  “So how does a thirty year-old man, one who is perfectly healthy, just die?” She never bothered to wipe away her tears. They streaked down her face, leaving circles on her gray uniform. Her voice was strong and clear. No trembling or weakness, just a question that she needed answered.

  “It just happens sometimes,” Moses tried to sound consoling. In all his years practicing medicine it was something he never managed to learn. Some doctors were great at this. Moses just didn’t understand how to comfort someone while giving them terrible news. “Some people have a time-bomb inside and we never find out until it goes off.”

  “How do they know it was his heart? What could have caused it to ‘go off’ that day?” She was searching his face for answers he didn’t have.

  “They determined it was heart failure because there was nothing else wrong. It just looks like his heart stopped beating. And there isn’t always an instigating factor. Dr. Epps didn’t speculate as to cause. He just ruled sudden cardiac death.” As he spoke, she grew calmer, focusing more on what he was saying than her grief. “Asking why may be better suited to the religious experts down on level 58 instead of a doctor. We’ve been trying to answer that question as long as people have been dying. All we can tell you is the end result and the probable cause of death.”

  Rebecca took a deep breath and finally broke her gaze. It felt good not to be under her scrutiny for a second. Moses was feeling guilty for waiting until today to look at the file. He should have read it yesterday and had this conversation in private. He hadn’t known what it was about, or how she would react to it. This person he had only known for a short time was open to friendship with him. In spite of his inability to relate to others, he did want to honor her attempt. She deserved more than a public scene like this one.

  “Were you two . . .” Moses wasn’t sure if their professional relationship could survive too much probing, so he decided to choose his words delicately, “. . . seeing each other?”

  She began to wipe her tears away as she answered. “No, we weren’t dating or anything. Nothing physical happened. But we were close. He was kind to me when I first moved here from Station I, and helped me prepare for the ICE qualifying exams. He basically made it so I could get my job here. Without Will I would still be a civilian and struggling to find a way to serve the Homestead Agreement. They would be getting ready to send me to Earth by now if not for him.”

  Moses didn’t realize that someone born on Mars might risk being sent to Earth. He understood that outside of essential personnel like himself, civilians were required to meet the requirements listed in the Homestead Agreement. The criteria were simple: manage their plot of land in a way that brought success to the terraforming of Mars - either through financial success or having an effect on the actual terraforming process. It was a straightforward pact that all non-ICE personnel were forced to sign before boarding the transport to Mars. He was surprised that this included the small group of natives that grew out of the initial settlers. They never made an agreement with ICE.

  But someone born here would not have a country to take them in - no one familiar to welcome them to Earth. They would be forced to leave everything they had ever known and move to a new planet. It was one thing to make that move voluntarily. To intentionally move away from everyone you’ve ever known and live in relative isolation. Most of the Martians chose to move to Earth when they were of age. Mars was a hard place to live. But those that made the move did so out of their own motivations. An involuntary move would be terrible. He was starting to recognize how important the former doctor was to his this woman.

  “You feel like you owe him a lot. You want answers. That makes sense. I’m sorry your friend died.” He wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say.

  Rebecca gave him a small smile for his kindness. “I just miss him. He always made time for me, making time to help me pass the qualifying exams.”

  “I get that,” he said. “When was the last time you saw him? What did you guys talk about?”

  She smiled even more at the memory. “I found out I got the job here on Homestead IV. I got the message from the orbiting command center in the middle of the night. I was way too excited to sleep so I decided to go wake him up and celebrate.” She laughed. “I remember that I got tired of waiting on the elevator so I took the stairs. I always think people who take the stairs are crazy! Who wants to climb 86 levels of stairs? By the time I got down to his quarters it was just after five o’clock in the morning. He was not happy to see me!” She laughed at the memory. “But after I told him the news he insisted we have one drink to celebrate. He had some whiskey in his quarters, so he poured us each a shot. Then he hugged me and said he was proud of me. Then he told me to leave so he could go back to bed.”

  “How many days before his death was this?”

  “I found out he died later that day.” She looked off into the distance. “I didn’t know what to do with myself. It didn’t make sense.”

  Moses listened to her story as she recounted the details of her grief.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  It took Moses four days to be convinced that Bill Epps required a closer look. There was no persuasive argument that finally took hold. Yes, his sudden death was unusual for his age and condition, but there was no reason to assume that something nefarious had happened to him. What finally caused him to change his mind was Rebecca Martinez’ frequent questioning.

  Her friendship had been entirely unexpected. Moses Truman normally remained aloof from the people around him. He was a close observer of his environment, and this included the people that came and went into that environment, but he rarely engaged. Rebecca, through her constant enthusiasm and unyielding assumption that everyone in her proximity shared that same enthusiasm, had refused to take his hints. His self-imposed social isolation was so foreign to her that she failed to acknowledge it. That would usually result in his amplification of signals to keep the most social of his neighbors away, paired with an increasing annoyance at the necessity for working so hard to be alone. But she was different. She seemed genuinely excited to see him. She wanted to know his thoughts and was pleased when she got to show him new places and things around Homestead IV.

  How, then, when confronted with a person who managed to penetrate his bubble without causing it to explode, could he decide to ignore her pertinent questions about the death of her friend? He couldn’t. And so it was with anxiety about stirring up controversy with the powers-that-be that he began to seriously consider the possibility that Bill Epps, town doctor to a village of pioneers and homesteaders, had been killed. And the more Moses looked at the information he had at hand, the more he began to buy into the idea of something that didn’t quite fit.

  He couldn’t know for sure whether there was the death was natural, intentional, or accidental, but it was certain there was a conspiracy to hide the truth. And that is what hooked Moses. It was impossible that the information in the reports was accurate in light of Rebecca’s late visit to his quarters. Even a short visit would have shown him in distress at the very least. And so something was out of alignment.

  Moses considered all of these things as he grudgingly came to the realization that this was going to be a lot bigger than he ever wanted. Laying in bed, listening to the hum
of the air recirculators and the buzz of the cleaning robot rolling across the floor of his bedroom, he braced himself for the coming weeks. Moses disliked controversy, and hated being the cause of it even more. But when faced with a situation that was hiding the truth or obfuscating to avoid consequences, it was in his nature to dig in deep. He despised injustice and always sought out a way to bring truth to the light.

  He began to rehearse his next conversation with Rebecca, imagining her responses and how she might react to his decision to help. She had been respectful yet consistent in requesting his assistance. He would have to remind her to keep their search a secret until they had enough information that whoever was behind it wouldn’t be able to make things harder for them.

  Sighing deeply, he rolled over in bed and tried in vain to sleep. There was going to be no end to the freight train running through his head. The wheels were spinning and would not stop for anything except total exhaustion. If history was any indicator, that exhaustion would come exactly three hours before he had to wake up. And he absolutely had to wake up on time. The backlog of people waiting to see him was enormous, and saying that he needed more sleep would not assuage the masses or diminish their demands. Tired doctors made mistakes. These people deserved a doctor who would listen attentively to them and do his best to help them be their healthiest.

  Besides, that was his sole purpose here. The International Conglomerate of Entities in their grey uniforms weren’t overly concerned with the well-being of the people on Mars who worked to terraform the planet into a habitable utopia. Their primary concern was the productivity of those workers. Fortunately, the health of those workers happened to coincide with their productivity. Sick terraformers could not effectively manage to change the environment of the red planet. They needed to be strong and clear-headed. Ready to tackle any unforeseen delay. And it was Moses who was responsible for the people in Homestead IV.

  Every facility had their own physician. That doctor oversaw the workers and their families of whichever habitat they shared. In fact, the doctor of each habitat was one of the few civilians within that was not held accountable for the effectiveness of their assigned domicile. Instead, the doctor was judged by the overall health of their charges. It didn’t matter that a few hundred people living together in a closed system with recycled air and water were essentially sharing a petri dish of bacteria and viruses. Supposedly the scrubbers would clean the internal environment from those dangers. But Moses knew that there was no such thing as a fool-proof filtration system. And yes, ICE was very careful about sterilizing all incoming cargo from hitchhikers, both micro and macro. There had been no major insect infiltration in the entire history of the program. All of the immunological issues had been minor, with only insignificant delays in overall productivity. And that was planet-wide.

  And Moses didn’t want to be the first doctor to break that streak. He finally gave in and took something to help with sleep, and shortly afterward drifted off. Still thinking about his impending chat with Rebecca and the terrifying thoughts of an endemic outbreak that would end in his expulsion from the red planet.

  Chapter 2

  Moses rushed through the rest of the next day full of hacking coughs and aches and pains while attempting to keep some semblance of a bedside manner. He had always been better with patients than with his relationships outside of work. The clear expectations of a patient-doctor relationship didn’t leave any questions about peoples’ pre-conceived ideas. It wouldn’t do for the good people of Homestead IV to begin to dislike their new physician in his first month. The crowd of people waiting to see him was still large, but not as large as the day before. He looked forward to a time when the workload leveled out. As it was, he just had to wait for the flood of sick and injured people to begin to get better.

  After work he took the lift to the top levels. It was a long ride but not overwhelming. He was fortunate that the designers of the facility placed the medical offices and places of worship in the middle levels to allow the fastest access possible to the furthest inhabitants. When the stainless steel lift doors opened, the doctor was prepared the for the sea of stainless steel and galvanized metal that meant he was entering the administrative offices for the International Conglomerate of Entities on Homestead IV. If he wasn’t already sure of that, the giant metal sign riveted onto the shiny wall would have let him know. As well as informing him that the area was restricted to ICE officers and their support employees.

  There was a small sliding window built into the wall directly across from the elevator with a less-than-helpful young man sitting behind it. The last time Moses was here he did not have the pleasure of talking to this stubborn man because he was on the inside of the wall preparing to enter into the body of the facility for the very first time.

  “Good afternoon,” Moses said, smiling more than he felt was necessary. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

  “How can I assist you, sir?” asked the young man in gray, never looking away from his screen.

  “I am Moses Truman, the new doctor. I’m here to see Chief Jacobs.”

  “Did he send for you? Because I can tell you now that if he didn’t ask to see you, you’re wasting your time.”

  “What was your name again?” Moses kept his smile spread across his face, hoping to break this guy with kind aggressiveness.

  “I’m Aarav. Nice to meet you.” His tone said that it was most certainly not nice to meet him.” Were you sent for?” Aarav’s expression never changed. He kept his eyes on the workstation to his right without a thought for civility. He was perfect for this job.

  “I wasn’t, actually. But this is important business concerning the medical operations division. I’m sure he would want to see me.” Moses managed to hold on to his smile in spite of losing a little hope. “Plus, he told me to feel free to drop by any time.”

  “Uh huh,” Aarav said, “he tells that to everybody. Nobody assumes that he means it.”

  Moses kept the grin in place, playing the fool. “I’m pretty sure he meant it when he told me, though.”

  “Wait right here.” He somehow continued to look at his screen as he got up to leave, waiting for the last possible moment to take his gaze away. As he turned, Moses saw Aarav sneak a glance in his direction. He was clearly hoping Moses would give up and go away.

  There was nowhere to sit in the waiting area. This expressed an overt desire for people to stay away at all costs. But the next step was too important to be shoved off so easily. Not only important to Rebecca, but it was quickly becoming important to Moses as well.

  The door opened inward without a word from Aarav, who appeared eager to be rid of this man who interrupted whatever vital work he was doing behind the window. Fortunately, Moses remembered how to get to the hallway that held the Chief’s office through the maze of stainless steel desks and gleaming office doors spread around the central work area, because nobody was going to show him the way.

  He knocked at the door that was labeled “Shane Jacobs, Chief of Operations.” After a deep breath, Moses entered the small office. The desk sat pushed as far against the wall as possible while still leaving room for the chief of the habitat to fit behind it. The top of the desk was a brushed metallic finish that must have been very cold to the touch, with a screen sticking up from the center of the workstation. There were no decorations or knickknacks adorning the area. Built in to the wall on the left side of the desk were a few displays with constantly changing numbers, bar graphs, and rolling text. Moses decided it would be untoward to try to figure out what anything was on those displays.

  Affixed to the remaining walls were the only points of color in the small office, pictures taken of the Martian surface in varying shades of red. One of them was a dramatic photo of a dust storm undoubtedly rushing quickly toward the camera. The others were rocky landscapes of famous Martian landmarks like Olympus Mons with the sun at a dramatic angle, refracting its light across the lens of the camera. These landscapes, in contrast with the dust s
torm, were taken by hand. There was no way a computer program managed to frame those shots so well.

  As Chief Jacobs took his place cramped behind his small desk, Moses had a seat in the middle of three surprisingly large and plush chairs opposite the desk, now with his back to the door.

  “Moses Truman, how are you adapting to life on Homestead IV?” Jacobs asked, his gray hair almost indistinguishable from his sharp gray uniform. The Chief was a pleasant man up front, but there was a hard edge to every sentence and even held his body in a way that said he was ready to spring in to action at any moment. It made conversations with him feel rushed and frantic, not allowing time to gather your thoughts and consider your responses to his questions. Although this one had an easy answer.

  “It’s coming along, sir. There were too many patients waiting for treatment to justify the suggested four weeks of facility orientation time, so I got to work after the second week. There are still a lot of places I haven’t gotten to see yet. But Martinez has been doing her best to get me everywhere. She has a plan.”

  “Glad to hear it. I hope it keeps going smoothly for you. Tell me what you need to see me about.” This was not a question or even a suggestion. Moses shifted in his seat across from the older man.

  “I have questions about the passing of Dr. Epps. Some things just aren’t adding up about the information I’m getting. I’d like permission . . .” And that was as far as Moses got.

  “This was all settled long before you got here,” the Chief broke in. Frustration spread across his face and through his tone of voice. “There aren’t any questions left to answer. Dr. Lamar handled everything. I thought his report looked complete enough.”

  “Yes, sir, but I was wondering if I might have permission to do some follow-up.”