Earthfall (9 page)

“Slow is a comparative term.”

“Hey, Spence!” Andrews barked as the MEP was locked down on SCEV Four’s back. “What’s the problem?”

Spencer looked tired but alert. He only had eyes for the rig, and he turned and scoured his high-tech baby for any defects related to the positioning of the MEP.

A dedicated man,
Andrews thought.

“No problem, Captain. We swapped out the number one engine and the particle separator, along with the forward differential, which we’d already talked about. I was just busting McCready’s balls. He moves like an old lady when it comes time to turning a wrench.”

McCready frowned. “Dude, that’s so not true.”

Andrews saw that McCready was just about run out from working God knew how many hours straight, and Spencer’s riding him wasn’t helping. He slapped Spencer’s arm with the back of his hand. “Hey, why don’t you knock off for some chow. I don’t want you guys getting so damned tired that you’re seeing double and making phantom adjustments.”

“Yeah, yeah, just let me check the pod. Once that gets squared away, we’ve got the green light as far as I’m concerned. Everything else after that just involves bold type safety checks.” As he spoke, he walked away from Andrews. He pulled an LED flashlight from inside his grimy uniform and shined it up at where the MEP joined the SCEV. He ran the beam all along the join, and Andrews knew he was looking for irregular gapping, something a junior technician could do.

“Spence, let someone else do that,” Andrews said. “We’ve got five other SCEV crew chiefs here. They can take care of the MEP.”

“My rig, my duty.”

“Spencer, this isn’t a gentle suggestion,” Andrews said. “Knock off for a meal. If you drive yourself into the ground now, you’ll be no good to me out in the field.”

“Just a second, sir.” Spencer hadn’t paused in his inspection of the SCEV for one second, and he gave no indication he was going to stop for something as pedestrian as a meal. McCready looked from Spencer to Andrews and back again.

Andrews took four quick steps and seized hold of Spencer’s arm, forcing him to stop and look at him. Spencer’s brow furrowed in annoyance.

“Hey, Captain, if you want this tub ready to leave on schedule then—”

“Let. Someone. Else. Do. This. You’ve been going at this for hours straight. I want you to take a break. Don’t fucking argue with me, Spencer,
just do it
.”

Spencer blinked. Andrews had never spoken to him like that before. He’d never had to. It shocked him as much as it did Spencer, but that was what it took to get through. Spencer nodded slowly.

“Okay. Okay, if you feel that strongly about it. No problem,” the burly crew chief finally said.

“Glad you see it my way. Don’t come back for at least twenty minutes.”

“Sheesh. Okay, Dad.” With that, Spencer walked off.

“What about me, sir?” McCready asked.

Andrews looked at him. “What do you do, again? Propulsion systems, right?”

“Roger that,” McCready said. “Transmissions, differentials, all that stuff.”

Andrews shrugged. “You don’t work for me, so if you’re done, you’re done. Check with your boss.”

McCready put his hands in his pockets and walked away. Andrews turned and looked up at the MEP that straddled his vehicle. He certainly had the chops to check for defective seals himself, so he grabbed a step ladder and went to work.

***

The hours passed slowly and, before he knew it, Andrews had spent twenty of them in the prep area, going over SCEV Four and, when time permitted, SCEV Five. Laird’s rig was in tip-top shape; it had undergone the full evaluations before SCEV Four had returned and was within days of jumping out. Little needed to be done except stock it with consumables, then it would be ready for the field.

“You look like hell,” Laird said at one point. “You should knock off for a while, man.”

“Can’t,” Andrews said. He felt exactly how Laird said he looked. His eyes were scratchy, and they burned as if they were orbs of flame. He felt at once jittery and bone-weary, and he was having trouble focusing. It wasn’t that he wasn’t capable of working long hours—in the field, everyone did. But the tasks he had to conduct required concentration and severe attention to detail, and performing such tasks back-to-back for hours only accelerated his exhaustion. He’d already cut his crew loose and instructed them to get some rest. Even Spencer had sacked out for a bit, albeit in one of the narrow bunks in the back of SCEV Four.

“Bullshit,” Laird said. “I watched you dismiss your entire crew, man. You need to get some shut-eye yourself, otherwise you’re going to be one messed-up cat when it comes time to jump out.”

Andrews rubbed his eyes. He knew Laird was right. Besides, he had about a gigabyte of regulations corroborating exactly that in his tablet. But he just couldn’t bring himself to knock off. SCEV Four was just in from the field, where it had been ridden hard, and now it was being sent back out before it had even entered the proper maintenance phase inspection. Andrews wasn’t sure he could sleep even if he
did
step out of the prep area.

He started to respond when movement in the cockpit of SCEV Four caught his attention. He rubbed his eyes again, then looked up at the thick viewports. Someone was sitting in the rig’s pilot seat.

“That would be Mulligan,” Laird said, following Andrews’s gaze. “Your newest, bestest pal.”

Andrews grunted. He hadn’t wanted Mulligan on the mission any more than he wanted Rachel. He was saddled with both of them, despite the fact that they would be at each other’s throats the entire time. To help alleviate this, Andrews and Laird had agreed that Rachel would crew on SCEV Five, while Mulligan crewed on Four. They would also work off-shift from each other; Mulligan would get the first shift, while Rachel would get the third. That would help prevent them from even hearing each other over the radios. Andrews thought it was all very childish, but he knew why Rachel felt the way she did, and there was no reasoning with her. Her wounds were years old, but the scar tissue was still extremely sensitive. Andrews didn’t need her picking at it any more than she already did.

“What’s he doing up there?” Andrews asked.

“Going over startup and shutdown procedures. It’s been a while for him, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Suddenly remembering something, Andrews turned to Laird. “Hey, Engineering was supposed to bring up two motorized dollies, one for each rig. We need them to—”

“Move the core supports, I know. And yes, both arrived, and one is in the aft storage compartment of each rig.” Laird nudged him in the ribs. “Dude, go take a nap, would you? I’ve got the duty on making sure your rig is prepped and ready to go for the next few hours, all right?”

Andrews looked around the prep area. Despite the hour, it was still humming, and SCEV Four was receiving most of the attention. Panels had been pulled open, and the equipment that lay behind them was undergoing thorough examination. Maintenance crews walked all over the top of the rig, checking antennae, infrared systems, lights, and high-frequency comms—anything they could get at.

He focused his attention on the figure sitting in the cockpit of his rig, and put his hands on his hips. He sighed, and Laird sighed as well.

“Man, you’ll have days to sit and chat with Mulligan. Get some rest, Mike.”

“I will.” He walked toward the SCEV’s open airlock door, the lower half of which formed a short stairway up into the airlock itself. As he mounted the stairs, he half-turned his head, just long enough to see Laird shrug and turn his attention to more pressing matters.

Andrews hauled himself inside the Self-Contained Exploration Vehicle. The quarters were tight; the airlock was supposedly big enough for two people fully suited in Advanced Mission Oriented Protective Posture IV gear, which was true—presuming one of them was a circus midget. The inner airlock door was open, so he was able to step right into the rig’s second compartment, which housed the engineering and science workstations, as well as the crew’s microscopic “living area”—the portion of the SCEV where they would eat and do whatever it was they fancied when not piloting the rig, conducting experiments, or sleeping. A small dinette was set against the left bulkhead, opposite the kitchenette, which consisted of an over-and-under refrigerator and freezer, a convection/microwave oven, a sink, and storage cabinets. When not in its stowed position against the overhead, a twenty-inch LED display could be lowered to face the dinette as well. The SCEV had thousands of hours of movies, games, and other programming available, though it was all over ten years old.

The compartment floor was opened up, and several technicians were going over the rig’s transmissions from the interior access points. Andrews saw the drive shafts that connected the rig’s multiple differentials. The panels were opened all through the vehicle, even in the sleeping compartment in the back, where Andrews clearly heard Spencer sawing wood despite all the activity occurring right next to him. The technicians held data tablets, which were directly linked by DIN connections to the SCEV’s maintenance access harness, and they compared settings.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “Mind if I step in?”

“You’re good to go, sir,” one of the technicians said, barely glancing up.

“Why aren’t you guys using the wireless?”

“It’s saturated, sir. We’ve got a couple of dozen techs working this rig over, so all the access points are taken.” The technician touched the cable connecting his tablet to the rig’s data bus. “It’s this, or nothing.”

“Roger that. I’ll leave you guys to it, then.”

The technicians didn’t acknowledge him further, so Andrews stepped over the gap in the floor beyond the airlock and turned to his right. Squeezing past the engineering and science stations, he made his way to the cockpit. The door was very narrow, so he had to bend slightly and rotate his shoulders. He knew Mulligan was sitting in the left seat—the command seat—so he turned toward the copilot’s seat on the right side of the cockpit.

“Sarmajor,” he said, slipping into the cockpit and lowering himself into the confines of the copilot’s seat.

“Evening, Captain,” Mulligan said. His voice was its usual basso rumble, and he turned his clear, green eyes toward Andrews, watching as he slipped into the seat. “You’ve been at it for quite a while, sir. Shouldn’t you be getting some rack time?”

Andrews waved away the suggestion. “I’m good, Sarmajor. What are you up to?”

Mulligan pointed at the forward instrument panel, where the wide touchscreens glowed. On the center display, the computerized checklist was up and available, and several items had already been marked green.

“I’m going through the safety checklist. Even though we were instructed to skip the nonessential checks, I’m going through as many as possible. When I leave the cockpit, I intend to leave it sterile—with your permission, no one gets in or out until we’re ready to jump out. That way, we’ll preserve the vehicle status.”

Andrews grunted. “Uh, you
are
aware that the rig’s still being torn apart and put back together, right, Mulligan?”

Mulligan looked at him expressionlessly. “Yes, Captain, I’d caught onto that. This is how we did things back in the day, when there was the chance we wouldn’t have time to run through checklists and the like, but recognized there was a high-threat level that could mandate equipment use right off the cuff.”

“I understand, Sarmajor. But these vehicles are going to be accessed right up until we leave …”

Mulligan shook his head. “Untrue. We’ll go into a rest cycle before we jump out. I’ve already been over that with General Benchley. He agrees that we’ll need a bit of downtime before we leave, after everyone’s been burning the candle at both ends trying to get these vehicles ready for departure.”

Andrews blinked, surprised.
Just how much pull does Mulligan have, anyway?

“I don’t see how that’s possible, Mulligan. We need to get to California ASAP and—”

“The
successful
completion of the mission is what’s important, Captain, and if Harmony can give us six hours to get some rest to increase the chances of mission success, then the command group is all for it. After all, we’re the last card these people have to play.” The big man paused for a moment. “I take it that Benchley or Walters haven’t talked to you about this yet?”

“No. Not yet.” He tried to keep his composure, but he was already getting irritated with Mulligan. What he said made sense, but he should have discussed it with Andrews first before going to the command group. As the mission commander, Andrews was the one who should be lobbying for such things, not a command sergeant major, even one as storied as Scott Mulligan.

Mulligan must have been able to read his mind. “You and the other officers were all wrapped around the axle trying to get the rigs up and mission capable, sir. I decided to go to the command group on my own initiative, figuring that it was something you wouldn’t have time for. Sorry if I stomped on any toes.”

Andrews was mollified a bit by his apology. “No … no, that’s cool, Sarmajor. Thanks for doing that. I hadn’t even thought about it.” As soon as he said the last bit, he felt a surge of embarrassment.

Mulligan didn’t appear to notice. “No problem on this end, Captain.”

“Yeah, well … thanks again.” Andrews hesitated for a moment. “Listen, Mulligan. I wanted to talk to you about Rachel.”

“All right.”

“You know what her problem is with you, right?”

“Sure,” Mulligan said without looking away. “I killed her parents.”

The big enlisted man’s response was so casual, he might have been discussing the merits of his favorite color. That flustered Andrews even more; he was so taken aback, all he could say was, “You
did?
”

“They were in SCEV One with me, Captain. Is that what you want to talk about?”

Andrews considered that for a moment. “Do you want to tell me about that?”

“No, sir. I do not.”

Andrews nodded. “I just wanted to tell you that I know there’s going to be friction, so Laird and I are working to keep the two of you apart. Separate vehicles, separate shifts, all that stuff. If we can manage it right, you guys won’t even have to talk over the radio.”