by Devin Hanson
It was the grey offerings that attracted Jackson’s interest now. He tabbed through a couple of them, reading through the job description and checking on the supervisors. Most supervisors were fair; they were chosen partly for their ability to remain unbiased in their review of the work done. That didn’t stop them from occasionally developing a like or dislike for people, though, and adjusting their review accordingly.
He skipped past a few jobs that looked like more unpleasant work. Mucking out the aquaponic swirl filters, scrubbing the old carbon dioxide processing algae tanks, and the like were introductory jobs into eventually developing a vocation in H&H, the Health and Habitat sector. Those could be cushy, but only after long decades of hard work. Besides, growing plants had never been his thing.
Jackson’s eye caught on a job offering, one that he hadn’t seen come up before.
Surface Repairs Needed
Required: Knowledge of electronics and circuitry. Experience in performing maintenance on machinery.
Plus: Experience with environmental suits. Knowledge of and practice with exterior safety procedures.
Duration: 1 shift, with the option of preferred placement.
Credits: 250c
Crew Chief: Millicent Nicks
The computer had marked the required skills in green, recognizing his aptitude in performing similar tasks. The environmental suit line was a shade of blue, denoting a similar skill that could be easily translated. Jackson had spent a week, a few months back, clambering around in the cafeteria air ducts scraping congealed grease from the catchment cavities. It had been a long week half-suffocating in an oversized filter mask. Apparently, the computer equated that with wearing an environmental suit.
The last line, about exterior safety procedures, was cyan. Jackson hesitated. Cyan meant the chief was willing to teach someone the ropes. It was the opportunity he had been hoping for, but he wasn’t sure about the career path this type of job would lead to. Exterior engineers always received hazard pay, but there was a reason for that. How many stories had he heard of some poor bastard getting caught out in a sudden squall and having his suit melted to his skin by the acid rain?
On the other hand, two hundred and fifty credits was more than he could normally hope to earn in a week. If he took this job and performed well at it, there was a chance he could receive more of these types of jobs whenever they came up. It was the fast track to a vocation. With a profession in exterior engineering, he could afford his own apartment, attract a wife, and start a family. He could raise his children properly, without casting them out before they were ready. So long as he didn’t get caught out in a storm, or get blown off the habitat by a gust of wind, or suffocate because of a suit failure. And he wouldn’t even have to work every day.
The job offering blinked and Jackson was a little startled to realize he had tapped the acceptance button. The kiosk cleared and his tablet buzzed as the central computer sent the job details over. A little numbly, Jackson stepped away from the kiosk and let someone else take his spot.
What had he just agreed to?
He could still back out, but the computer looked poorly on quitting a job once accepted. It would result in the number of grey opportunity listings being cut down dramatically. With a growing feeling of dread, Jackson tapped his tablet and got directions to where the job was located.
Jackson had never been to the core airlocks before. His tablet buzzed with a new notification. The chief had seen his acceptance of the job and was already telling him to hurry. Trying to hold on to his cheerful mood, Jackson set off toward the lifts at a jog.
This was the first step to a better life, he reminded himself, and ignored the misgivings coiling in his gut.
Millicent Nicks was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman possessed of a vital exuberance Jackson hadn’t seen among the day laborers he normally spent his time with. She was shorter than he was by a few inches, but her blunt personality quickly stripped away merely physical impressions.
“You’re the new guy?” she demanded, the moment Jackson stepped out of the lift.
“Um, yes? I’m Jackson–”
“I know who you are, Jackson. If I hadn’t cleared you through Central, you would never have made it to the vac dock.”
Jackson swallowed and nodded, but the woman was already turning away, speaking over her shoulder.
“I’m Millicent Nicks. I’ll be your IC for the day. If you must speak to me, you can call me Supe, Supervisor, Chief Engineer, or Your Holy Radiance Nicks the Fourth.” She paused, eying Jackson’s wary expression for a moment, then sighed. “That was a joke, Harding.”
“Sorry, uh, Su– Chief,” Jackson stumbled.
“Right. Central gave you a green on environment suits, so it must assume you’re not a total idiot. Fortunately for me, I have no such compunction. Until proven otherwise, I’ll assume you’re about as intelligent as a rectal amoeboid. We’re under a time crunch, so I’m going to make this fast. If you have the brains to keep up with me, then we can go places. If not, I’ll black-mark you and send you back to the hub.”
Jackson nodded. The protein bar in his stomach did a slow roll. “I’m ready, Chief,” he said, and put some conviction behind his words.
“That’s the spirit. Okay, here we go.”
Chief Engineer Nicks wasn’t the most graceful teacher Jackson had ever experienced, but she had an eye for practical detail and an abrasive humor that made even the most banal explanation stick in Jackson’s mind. Before a half hour had gone by, he was climbing into an environmental suit and was going through the safety checks under Millicent’s watchful gaze.
A handful of men and women had gathered in the room as Millicent instructed him, but Jackson didn’t dare do more than glance at them. The Chief pushed him hard and demanded his full attention. By the time the others had performed their own suit checks and had geared up, Jackson felt comfortable in his suit.
The environmental suits were simple, rubberized canvas with a hard-plastic face shield and a pack that contained the oxygen supply and carbon dioxide scrubbers. Jackson’s natural aptitude for machinery and his week in the grease pits made picking up the nuances of the suits rapid and easy. The suits didn’t protect from acid and weren’t even particularly air-tight.
Going out in Venus’s atmosphere without a suit wasn’t immediately fatal. The atmosphere made your eyes burn, but so long as you held your breath, you could manage. All the suit provided was a slight overpressure of breathable air that kept the Venusian atmosphere from getting in and making your eyes water.
Millicent did a radio check, and then started grilling him on exterior safety procedure. Every child growing up learned the basics of the three Fs. Fasten, Forethought, and Focus. It wasn’t dangerous, going outside the habitats, until it was. That line, from routine to death, was crossed with brutal abruptness only when one of the three Fs was neglected.
If one was careful to always remain anchored to the safety line, if one always performed a barometric weather check and verified it against satellite models, and if one didn’t get distracted, then going out on the surface of the habitat was no more dangerous than brushing your teeth. In theory.
One after another, Millicent threw scenarios at Jackson, and he answered them rapidly, sticking close to the three Fs and refusing to fall for the trick questions the Chief tried. Finally, Millicent nodded and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Okay, rookie. Grab your tools. We’ll do a quick surface walk and an easy repair. Then we’ll come back inside for a review. If you make a mistake that could get yourself or one of my team killed, then you’re gone. No questions, no second chances. All clear?”
“Perfectly, Chief,” Jackson grinned. His nervousness had faded, to be replaced by excitement. He was about to go walkabout on top of the hab! He had never thought to ever have the chance, and now he was being paid, and well, to do it.
Millicent scowled at Jackson’s grin. “This is not a game, boy. Focus!”
Jackson fo
rced the grin from his face and nodded, then hurried to collect a tool belt. Some day he could afford his own tools, but for now, the communal tools in the cabinet were all he had access to. The job details on his tablet had listed out the repairs that needed to be made, and he filled the belt with the tools he thought would be needed.
With attention on the second F, he tried to think of every possibility and the tools he would need to overcome the challenges. Unfortunately, he just wasn’t familiar enough with the task at hand. Would he need an impact driver? How about a breaker bar? Were the housings bolted on or were they slip-fit?
One of the crew joined him at the cabinet. “You’re the new wrench?”
“Sorry?”
“The new wrench. Mechanic.”
“Oh.” Jackson hadn’t heard that name applied before, but he kind of liked it. “Yes. I mean, I’m trying out for it.”
The man grunted and held out a hand. “I’m Polder, the Chief’s second. Don’t worry too much about the tools. I’ll be senior wrench on site, you’re just along to be a gopher and an extra pair of hands.”
Jackson nodded with relief. “Okay. Thanks. Uh, I’ve been doing mechanical and electrical repairs for nearly a year now, but I’ve never been outside.”
Polder shrugged noncommittally. “The Chief says you’re cleared for it. Here, let me see what you’ve grabbed so far.”
After a minute of examining Jackson’s tool selection and having him put half of it back, Polder waved to the Chief and announced they were ready to go. Jackson joined the others in the airlock. The small pressure chamber was barely large enough to fit them all.
As the piston banged away, sucking the air out of the chamber, Jackson felt the pressure build up in his sinuses and in his ears. Pressure turned into stabbing pain and it grew hard to breathe. He was about to complain about it, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Millicent gestured at his chest readouts and he realized he had to pressurize his suit.
Feeling a little foolish, he triggered his suit’s life support and stale, bottled air rushed into his suit, relieving the pressure on his ears and sinuses. The rubberized fabric puffed out, straining at the seams against the low pressure in the chamber.
Then, with a pop and a hiss, the exterior door unsealed and the atmosphere of Venus rolled in.
CHAPTER
THREE
The Matriarch Manifesto
Tenet Five
The purity of the Matriarchs can only be maintained through unmitigated adherence to the standards of admittance. Reasonableness leading to a polluting of the Matriarchs cannot be allowed. Every Matriarch that is created must be considered as being part of our society for the rest of eternity. It is up to us, and us alone, to limit the creation of new Matriarchs only to those whose standards of inherent ethics meets our requirements.
Once a Matriarch is created, they can never be destroyed. No law or punishment can be leveled against a Matriarch. The act of a Matriarch breaking the law, or acting beyond what would benefit all mankind, must be an impossibility. Only through selecting women who will follow the strict codes contained within this manifesto will we guarantee a society that will last for the duration of our lives.
Jackson braced himself against the airlock housing and looked out onto the Venusian vista. The sun overhead was harsh. Reflections against the exposed metal surfaces stabbed at his eyes and made him hold up a hand to shield face.
The others of the repair crew were already stepping out of the airlock and snapping onto the safety lines. Jackson fumbled at his belt until his gloved hands closed over a carabiner and he snapped it over the taut line. The first F, fasten, meant he must have at least one carabiner clipped to an anchor line at all times. Good practice was to have two clipped in case of failure.
He noticed none of the others had two carabiners clipped, and after a moment, decided it was better to be safe than sorry. He didn’t know what to expect out here. Only when he was double anchored did he finally step out of the airlock.
The blue of the sky overhead was perfect, from horizon to horizon. The arch of the habitat roof seemed insignificant, a drifting mote lost among towering columns of clouds. The last F dragged his eyes back down to the cable under his hand and the repair to be made. Losing focus would lead inevitably to accidents.
Solar panels were mounted on brackets everywhere he could see. The hexagonal units were meshed together, with gaps only where repair crews had to travel. He knew from diagrams that the footpaths crisscrossed the surface of the habitat. It was a maze someone could get lost in. How many people had died out here because they had missed the airlock and ran out of air?
Jackson hurried after the others, keeping one hand on the cable as he went. The anchor cable was twenty mil of braided steel wire, encased in a durable rubberized coating that was impervious to sulfuric acid. Every ten meters, the cable ran through a pylon anchored to the surface of the habitat. As Jackson moved along the cable, he had to unclip at every pylon, move his carabiner to the other side, then repeat with the second carabiner.
It was slow going. Without the need to fasten himself to the cable, he could have easily made twice the speed. But, as Millicent had pointed out, haste was only necessary when foresight had been lacking. As he went, Jackson started to develop a rhythm and he was able to keep pace with the others without having to rush between pylons.
After around ten minutes of travel, they reached their destination. A clearing in the solar panels made room for the segmented glass dome of a sensor array. The repair to be made was immediately obvious: several of the glass panels had been shattered.
The radio had been silent during the trip out, but now Millicent’s voice came over Jackson’s headset, giving crisp orders and assigning tasks. Polder went to work with a reciprocating chisel, cleaning out the housing of broken glass and the epoxy remnants. The two others that Jackson hadn’t met yet were put to work policing up all the broken shards.
“Harding, start mixing epoxy. We need to patch all the holes in the surface of the habitat as well as anchor the new panels.” She slung a satchel to the ground at Jackson’s feet. “Resin and hardener. We’ll need the first batch soon, so get mixing.”
Mixing epoxy was a routine Jackson was familiar with. He checked the bottles to verify the mixing percentages, carefully measured out the volumes, and started mixing. Epoxy was stronger the more it was mixed, so after reminding himself that he wasn’t in a hurry, he set about trying to produce the best epoxy he could.
He lost himself in the task. It was almost pleasant, kneeling on the ground, mixing batches of epoxy. The others would come by where he was working every few minutes and take away what he had mixed. His arms were beginning to tire when Millicent had him go help Polder set the new panels in place.
Taking care to keep himself fastened at all times, Jackson made his way around the lines to Polder’s side. Up close, he could see the charred divots in the ground where something had smashed into it at tremendous velocity.
“Micrometeorites,” Polder supplied tersely. “We’ll be repairing panels and fixing holes for weeks because of it. Word is, some daft bastard knocked free a slag heap from the orbital smelters. Just shit luck that the dome was hit. Normally we do this sort of thing by remote, but the glass is finicky. Here, hold this in place.”
Jackson braced himself and held the panel while Polder applied epoxy around the edges. After, Polder ran a UV torch around the epoxy, then declared it cured. Warily, Jackson released the pressure and found the panel was firmly anchored in place.
“One down,” Polder announced. “Three to go. You’re lucky, Wrench. This is an easy outing for your first time.”
Polder was applying epoxy to the last panel when Millicent cursed quietly. “I hope you two are done,” she called, “because it’s time for us to go.”
“What is it?” Polder asked. His hands moved with the same steady pace they had been a moment earlier, squeezing the epoxy out in an even bead.
“There’s a low-pr
essure bubble coming up under us. We’re in for some turbulence.”
Jackson stared around at the others. Fear lurched in his gut. What were the odds? His first time out and a freak weather anomaly was going to hit them.
“Oy! Harding, don’t shift the panel or we’ll have to start over again.”
Focus. Jackson pulled his eyes back to the panel and did his best to push the fear to the back of his mind. What was a low-pressure bubble, anyway? There were storms, occasionally, that made the habitat sway and bob drunkenly, but Nueva Angela had enough mass that storms of that strength were few and far between.
But the Chief hadn’t said a storm was coming. He knew enough about the weather patterns on Venus to understand the terminology, at least. The mechanics were simple enough. Heat rises, so a pocket of hot atmosphere had formed down below the cloud cover, and was now rising toward them, searching for equilibrium.
The surface of Venus was well over four hundred degrees centigrade. What had happened to create a hot spot amongst such extreme temperatures?
Polder’s steady pace ground on Jackson’s nerves. They needed to be heading back! The senior wrench drew out his UV torch and started playing the violet light along the seam.
“I know you’re impatient,” he said quietly, “but if we rush it now, we’ll have to break the panel free and chisel the housing out again. We’ll be here for another ten minutes, rather than another thirty seconds.”
It was good advice. Still, Jackson watched the slow creep of the torch with his pulse hammering in his ears. Polder’s estimated thirty seconds seemed to drag out indefinitely. Was the wind starting to pick up? What would turbulence be like, exposed as they were?
The light was out! Jackson eased off the pressure he was holding on the pane and sighed with relief when it held in place. He released the suction grips and stowed them. The others were tidying up, securing the last bits of refuse and bagging away the used epoxy cups.
