Mission Mars (23 page)

The woman laughed. “You're Steve Merrit, aren't you?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She laughed again. “Steve, relax. I'm Dr. Canton, your new boss. Call me Susan. I went out on a limb to get you a job here so quickly, but North assures me that you'll be a valuable addition to the team, and, that Cynthia positively hates you. The latter is more than enough reason for me to keep you around.”

“Well, that sounds good to me … I think.”

Susan spent the next hour explaining to Steve what she expected of him. Unlike Cynthia Abilene Castle, she didn't need a script.

In order to make the colony more pleasant to live in, the Botanical Technologies division was to install gardens where possible and fill them with a mix of plants that were both aesthetically pleasing and productive. The budget was tight, and the old designs were inefficient and difficult to fit into the congested areas. Without an engineer, they were all they had to work with. Steve was to design new gardens that could fit in oddly shaped places and be cheaper to construct and maintain. “On Mars, it is the job of some to build the skyline, but our job is to make it grow.”

Steve was given a wide desk near a window, a serviceable computer, and instructions on how to properly brew the fresh herbal infusions the department provided for employees. Susan gave him the names of several people with whom he would collaborate to determine the needs of specific types of plants and where to find them in the complex. “You could use the view screen, of course, but I would rather you meet them in person. Walk around, stretch your legs, get familiar with the place. The office will be your home away from home for
the next few years, so make yourself comfortable here. Make North the last stop of your day. She has a new batch of bitters for Frederick, as well as the specs for open atmosphere gardens. You can discuss those specs over a drink, but please take care of yourself. I want both of you here on time tomorrow morning. Any last questions?”

“Actually, yes.” Steve wasn't sure how to phrase his question. “I … noticed a change in my title.”

Susan nodded. “Yes, I am sorry, Steve. I don't have the budget to hire a Civil Engineer. I know you are overqualified for this position, and you will be underpaid, but North suggested that you might not mind the change.”

Steve picked up the nameplate from his desk and nodded, unable to keep from smiling. “Actually, I don't mind at all.” He ran his finger over the engraved title. It read: Steve Meritt, Architect.

Over the next month, Steve became accustomed to his new job. Susan kept the employees in good humor, was quick to appreciate, and careful to judge.

One problem Steve encountered was with a genetically modified Pueraria lobata, also known as kudzu. One of North's early successes, the plant was only marginally useful besides being able to grow nearly twenty-five centimeters a day. It thrived even in Mars's harsh conditions, as long as it was protected from direct exposure to dust storms.

Steve engineered a simple Plexiglas guard and had it installed on the side of the Iron Castle tower just above the
office where he used to work. The cheap installation of the purple flowering vine was lauded as a success. Regrettably, the “unexpectedly fast” growth meant that the vines were constantly escaping the guard and falling over the oversized office window below the installation. Susan Canton apologized for not having checked the installation location and promised Cynthia Castle, whose window was the one in question, that she would severely punish the architect responsible. The reprimand, as it turned out, was merely a chuckle and a pat on the back. When asked to send someone to trim it back, Susan politely declined since all her employees were too consumed with other work. She could, however, always spare someone to ensure it was properly fertilized.

Each week, Susan had a meeting with the board of directors. Although she didn't present Steve's plan immediately, she asked him to keep it up-to-date with the latest construction. North helped finalize the part of the presentation concerning the organization of plants, and Susan herself crunched the numbers of how much the system would save the Botanical Technologies division. She explained that she wanted the plans to have a fair chance in front of the board. “If Cynthia recognizes the plans, and I assure you she will, they'll be rejected outright before I can defend them. The only way to present them fairly is to do it when she is running late.”

“The only problem with that,” said Steve, “is that she's so erratic there's no way to know.”

Susan winked. “I will know.”

One morning, Steve was woken at 0445 by a high priority
message from Susan directed to both he and North. Meet me at the office by 0500. I don't care how you look. At 0700, I will present the sewage system to the board of directors, and I want it to be perfect!

When Steve arrived, he found North there looking as tired as he was. Only Susan seemed alert as she practiced her lines for the presentation

North joined Steve as he fixed himself a strong cup of tea and filled him in. “Last night was Cynthia's birthday. She held a private party at Lone Crater. About half way through the night, Frederick switched the ingredients in her drinks to the lowest quality he could find. She was too drunk to notice. He wasn't able to tell Susan until 0430, when Cynthia finally passed out drunk across the bar and was carried back to her quarters. There is no way she'll be on time today, but Susan has asked to present first, just in case.”

The plans were ready to go at 0630. Susan told them to take the day off for their efforts and she would fill them in the next morning. Both returned to their quarters and slept soundly, confident in Susan to deliver a flawless presentation.

Cynthia woke with a throbbing headache. The drinks at Lone Crater had never left her so hung over before. She didn't even bother to attend the board of directors meeting. They were such boring affairs anyway. Her father would reprimand her, but, she reasoned, that would be the worst of it. What was the worst that could happen? She relieved her
stomach of souring alcohol and went back to sleep.

When she finally awoke, long past the Martian sunset, she picked up her portable view screen and settled down to enjoy a vodka martini on her enclosed porch. The two moons cast alien shadows across the skyline. She opened a message from her father, Dr. Leopold Castle, president and CEO of Castle Industries.

Cynthia Dear,

It seems you did not see fit to honor us with your presence today, but so much the better. Your lack of progress on the sewage system is holding up the progress of the Botanical Technologies division. One of Susan's employees, an architect, who is also a qualified civil engineer, has proposed an innovative solution for their department, and for yours. Effective immediately, Steve Meritt, of the Botanical Technologies division will oversee the construction and maintenance of the colony's sewage systems. You are to recognize his authority on the subject of sewage management, provide him with whatever resources he requests, and do whatever you can to aid him in the completion of his projects. I do hope that this will relieve some of the pressure on your department.

- Your loving Father,

Dr. Leopold Castle

P.S. Dr. Canton heard that you weren't feeling well and sent you some Stellaria media tea. Isn't that nice?

At Lone Crater bar, no one could hear Cynthia Abilene Castle's distant howls of rage. There, three members of the Botanical Technologies division and a bartender raised their drinks in a toast of celebration.

The sky was thick with brown static—too early in the season for a storm this bad. The tall, blue graphene sails of the storm baffles vibrated in shimmering ripples as the winds railed against them. Electricity sparked an erratic light show on the fabric, and even through his suit, Mason Gheitley could hear the sand on the sails hiss through his teeth. Mount Olympus was above him, somewhere, but he couldn't see any hint of it—the sky was that dark. At least the rads were dropping, and his suit could vent what it had absorbed.

Each year, the storms bit down harder. Rebel terraformers were still pumping water vapor and CFCs into the air, in spite of the anti-terraforming laws. Still fighting on the wrong side of an old war, their attempts to thicken the air made the storms worse. As a Redpaw Enforcer, his job had been to hunt down and destroy the Rebels' pump houses, but after tonight, he would be in the Advanced Scouts, hunting the Rebels themselves.

He leaned against one of the sails' struts. His heads-up display read only 87:17, barely ten centisols past dusk. He wouldn't be relieved until 3000—at five past dawn. Captain Ford had warned him that the locals came out at night to steal the dust that piled up under the sails during storms.

At his last briefing with the Enforcers, Geitley was issued a stunner and ordered to dissuade anyone from stealing city property. The dust was city property. So stupid.

His parents had once been forced to pay a crippling fine after they dug a well for their village. They had mixed that excavated soil into concrete to cover a newly built hab, just like villagers had done for generations. And that was the issue. The Mars Council wanted villagers to buy the endorsed and recommended brand of ExoTerra rad shielding, not to make their own. It was for their own protection. The infodocs clearly illustrated that Martian concrete didn't protect against all wavelengths of dangerous radiation. But since villagers couldn't be forced to buy ExoTerra rad shielding—this wasn't the Fascist government the Rebels claimed it was—the excavation fees had been imposed to dissuade them making their own.

To get around the fees, villagers now braved the storms to collect the dust that piled up under the baffles. Technically, the villagers weren't excavating anything, but since the baffles were within the city limits of New Dublin, the dust belonged to the city as soon as it hit the ground.

Getting villagers to do what they were supposed to was like trying to patch a leaky, old suit—the seals kept popping open. And now his job was to stun them and cart them off to jail for stealing the same dust that covered the planet.