4

Selection

Helmut practically skipped from Will Elliott’s office to his flat in Columbia Biome. He pushed the revolving door with extra pizzazz as he entered the cylinder and bounded up the spiral ramp to their third floor flat. He exclaimed “Open!” as he approached the door and heard it click. He pushed it open.

He and Clara didn’t have much. The flat occupied an entire floor of a ten-meter in diameter cylinder, and subtracting the ramp well, they had seventy square meters. But that was enough for a master bedroom, a small nursery for Charles, a bathroom, and a room that was partly kitchenette and partly living room. By custom it was called ‘the parlor.’ As he hurried in, Clara was sitting with Sebastian.

“It must have gone well,” said Sebastian.

“Oh, it did! I’m a bit amazed. I was afraid he’d be upset that we stayed an extra three weeks when we could have been back here working on Jersey Biome, but Elliott said the good will we had built with the Green World Community was worth it.”

“This way, they owe us a favor, I suppose,” said Sebastian.

“More than that; the sixteen of us had some impact on the eighteen of them,” added Helmut. “I think they understand and appreciate the Commission and its procedures better. I certainly have a better feel for GWC’s customs.”

“The six people who stayed here and worked in agriculture have been shaped by the experience, too,” said Sebastian. “What else did Elliott say?”

“That I apparently handled Rivers well. And he and I did manage together pretty well. It was a strange situation; I’m 33, he’s 41, and he’s practically viewed as a prophet by his people. So I insisted on having final say over all safety related issues, including life support loads on vehicles, length of work assignments, and who did what with whom. He didn’t like that much, but I let him decide what order we would do the various tasks. That caused the three week delay; after we got the shelters set up, Rivers wanted the cable footings installed for the B-160 rather than setting up the windmills and moving the old oasis. I gave him that authority and agreed we’d give him more labor, and he was thrilled. After that, he and I got along well.”

“It was a good tradeoff,” agreed Sebastian. “Did you actually install the dome?”

“Virtually. Once the cable footings were finished, the cables and the B-160 itself became available. They arrived two weeks ago. We placed the dome, installed the cables, inflated the dome to 0.03 atmospheres, anchored the skirt minimally with reg, and adjusted the cables so that the tension was even. They plan to inflate the dome to 0.25 atmospheres gradually over two or three months, adding water vapor as they go to freeze the ground underneath, and they’re gradually adding regolith over the skirt as well.”

“And the old oasis?”

“We move only parts of it: the solar power unit, the microwave rectenna, the hydrolysis and sabatier units, and half the methane, oxygen, and water tanks. We installed solar panels to give the place minimal power. What’s left is fifty klicks from Genesis; they’ll move the rest gradually over the next few months. We cleared a two kilometer road to Genesis Crater so that robotic trucks could drive over to refuel. GWC will also clear a new ten kilometer length of Meridiani Trail so that vehicles will drive straight to Genesis, and the new length of trail will be wide and smooth to serve as a landing strip for sunwings. They’re going to do our work, basically, and we helped them get their urgent work done faster.”

“Well, we bought good will, I guess,” said Sebastian. “I’m starved; let’s get supper.”

“What does Deseret have tonight?” asked Helmut.

“Never mind. The Patio has a pasta special and they have linguini with real clam sauce and a fettuccini primavera with alfredo sauce!”

“Oh? They’ve spruced up their fare?”

“They had to! The competition with Deseret is hot. I don’t know where the clams are coming from; maybe they’ll be impossible to find in the sauce. Prices have fallen ten percent, too. And wait till you see Silvio’s.”

“Then let’s go.” Helmut stood up, as did his father. Clara had been trying to prevent Charlie from napping; she handed the boy to Helmut, who patted him on the back and let him sleep.

They all headed down the ramp and across the biome to Main Street South, which took them straight to Yalta. “It was interesting being at Aram during elections,” continued Helmut, as they walked. “They watched the debates here on t.v. with some puzzlement. Ultimately, Rivers said they were in favor of universal health care through the Mars Council and everyone’s opinion crystallized in favor, and that was that.”

“The debate here was a bit strange, and more contentious than any we’ve seen so far,” said Sebastian. “The Mormons were against the change, the Commission was neutral, the hospital finally came out against—because it feared a gradual loss of subsidies from the Commission—and the old timers were strongly in favor, because they are in the best position to cut back their hours and start businesses. The Mormons, rumor has it, tried to influence people behind the scenes.”

“Yes, we read that on the Mars This Sol website,” said Clara. “It isn’t true?”

“Who knows. The vote finally was sixty-five percent in favor of universal coverage; a pretty solid number. And as you know, those who stood up in favor of it were elected to the Borough Council and the Mars Council. Who was elected at Aram, anyway?”

“That was interesting,” replied Helmut. “The three person Council for Aram Borough is Rivers, MacLeod, and Alves; in other words, the prophet and his two assistants. Rivers made it clear he did not think it appropriate for someone of his exalted rank to sit on the Mars Council as a peer with others, so MacLeod is their rep.”

“Predictable,” agreed Sebastian. They opened the airlock door leading from the Main Street tunnel to Yalta and entered. Sebastian pointed. “You gotta stick your head in Silvio’s first.”

“Okay,” replied Helmut. He walked to the main entrance to the store and stepped inside. Gone was the small original space about the size of a convenience store on Earth; the entire thirty meter space was wide open, with pastel patterns on the walls and large signs hanging overhead.

“Wow!” he said.

That elicited a big smile from a Nigerian man named Simeon standing nearby. “Welcome to Silvio’s. How can I help you?”

“Oh, I’m just looking; I’ve been away two and a half months and heard this place was transformed.”

“Indeed it is. We have a whole new line of furniture, also; just go down the stairs to the basement level. Our armoires are on sale this week for only 5,000 redbacks. We also have a paperback book special this week; buy one and get one free, limit six. We need an hour to manufacture each book. And we have a buy-back special on used books this week; we’ll pay half the original purchase price.”

“Really?”

“Yes. The specials are listed on our website, also, up to three weeks in advance.”

“Thank you.” He looked around again. “Wow.”

“It’s something, isn’t it?” said Sebastian. “Let’s go, I’m starved.” Helmut nodded and stepped out of the store. “Silvio now has two full time employees and one part time,” he continued as they crossed the crowded patio and headed for the food service area. “Sam Anderson’s the part time help. One of the full timers is an accountant and marketing guy living in Dakka, Bangla Desh; he tracks sales and inventory, recommends specials, designs the marketing materials, and uploads everything to the website. He’s even got the Mars lingo down.”

“Pretty good.” Helmut looked at the food service area with great interest as they entered. “Wow, this is painted and rearranged, too! Very nice!”

“The glories of competition.” Sebastian picked up a tray and headed down the line, filling his plate. Helmut followed, balancing his son in one arm and a tray with plates for both of them in the other. When he put his tray through the pricing unit he was pleased to see the total for him, Clara, and Charlie was only 250 redbacks; meals had indeed gone down.

They found space at a table with John Hunter and his two children; Vanessa was in Elysium doing research on Martian microfossils for a month. Helmut helped Charlie eat and managed some of his own supper as well while talking to everyone.

“How is integration of the different groups going?” he asked.

“Depends on who you talk to,” replied Sebastian.

“The Nigerians are now coming to interfaith services and praying with non-Christians, so that’s progress,” noted John. “Two Sunsols ago I did a peace pipe ceremony and they actually seemed pleased with it.”

“They’ve been a good addition, overall,” added Sebastian. “They provided much-needed semi-skilled labor in areas where we have always had shortages and they live in the same housing as everyone else. They aren’t set apart.”

“The Mormons are okay, also,” added John. He pointed across the Patio. “Sometimes they eat here, sometimes at Deseret.”

“How have they responded to the competition?” asked Clara.

“They’re planning a big store and restaurant in Cochabamba,” replied Sebastian. “About twice the size of Silvio’s and the Patio. They’ll need the space in a few years anyway, if Aurorae keeps growing. Yalta is simply too small to be our commercial center much longer.”

“The Iranian Shi’ites have worked out well, also,” added John. “Ruhullah apparently vetoed a few candidates, so really extreme people were not sent. All twelve of them are very capable professionals. The women are more ‘liberated’ than most people had expected; I think I’ve seen only one of them cover her hair. Two are accountants and one is an attorney, and we needed those skills. One teaches history, literature, and wants to teach religious studies at Mariner Institute of Technology.”

“What about the monks?” asked Helmut.

“They’re the most controversial group right now,” replied Sebastian. “Alexandra Lescov says that a dome with no plastic bottom is dangerous and should not be rated for habitation, nor should tunnels that are simply spray-painted with a plastic sealant. The monks disagree, but so far she has refused to budge.”

Nigel Stanfield approached the table. Helmut saw him and smiled. “Dr. Stanfield, I thought you were at the pole.”

“No, I’m back for a few weeks. When did you get back?”

“Just a few hours ago. We were in Aram for nine weeks.”

“A long time. So, are you a member of GWC now?” Stanfield said it slightly humorously, but there was perhaps a bit of seriousness in his voice as well.

“No, but they’re someone we can work with. I’m glad you’re here; maybe we can meet tomorrow to talk about my dissertation?”

“Sure, anytime in the morning. I’ll be in my office. Just stop by.”

“Because I’ve been working about 70 hours a week, so I have at least a month off coming; it’s a good time to get some writing done.”

“Finish the analysis first! I’ve been pushing you for six months about that. The core sections you’re studying will reconstruct the climatic history of the Oligo-Noachian, and based on the stratigraphy exposed in the central Marineris valleys, it was a pretty active period. We need your data.”

“I’ve got to finish up the thesis soon,” agreed Helmut. “I’ll talk to Roger about taking a leave of absence so I’ll have the time to write it up.”

“Especially since the Ceres mission’s staffing will be announced in two weeks. If you’re on that mission, training starts in January. You’ll want to have the thesis done by then.”

“I agree. There’s now evidence of ice deposits at the Ceres south pole, too, so my expertise will be relevant.”

“Not to mention your geological experience here, on Phobos, Deimos, and two asteroids. You’ve got talent, Helmut.” Nigel smiled at Sebastian as well, who smiled back; no question that he was proud of his son. “So get your dissertation done and become Dr. Langlais!”

“Okay, it’ll be my priority for the next few months,” Helmut agreed.

“Good. See you tomorrow. Ciao.” Stanfield turned and walked back to his table.

“He’s right; you’ve got to finish the degree. It’ll make your credentials even better,” said Sebastian.

“Besides, I want to pursue a management degree, and the time to start has come,” added Clara. “And I can pursue it halfway to Ceres as well as here or on Earth.”

“I know; enough said!” exclaimed Helmut, with a smile. “What else is new around here anyway, John?”

Hunter shrugged. “Garbage pickup. It starts next month once they can make the plastic garbage bags.”

“Really? We’re becoming a consumer society.”

“With throwaway packaging,” added John. “It’s a byproduct of the competition between the stores.”

“There’s another push to shorten the work sol, too,” added Sebastian. “Fifty-five hours per week is a lot. I think the Commission will at least drop Satursol mornings and move to a five-sol, ten-hour work week.”

“What will that do to your work?” John asked Sebastian.

Sebastian shrugged. “I don’t know. The Asteroid Belt Commission doesn’t have much staff here, and I already work more than fifty-five hours a week! Crew in flight training or in flight will work all sorts of strange hours anyway, and—.”

There was shouting two tables over that interrupted Sebastian’s reply. They all turned to watch as Jeff Duncan, a Commission employee, rose from his seat and point his finger at Tobin Chalmers, one of five members of the Green World Community still residing at Aurorae. “Why don’t you just go to Aram and create your stupid para… para. . . paradise rather than trying to spread nonsense about Father Mars around here!”

Chalmers rose. “Your problem is that you can’t stand a serious intellectual challenge and seek to dismiss everything by calling it a name!”

Duncan suddenly swung a fist at Chalmers. He dodged it and swung back, hitting Duncan in the face and enraging him. They both began punching each other.

“Break it up!” shouted Will almost immediately, while dashing over to the problem. “Restrain them both! Break it up!” He imposed himself physically between them and the two men immediately stopped swinging; Elliott’s presence was a sharp reminder of reality. Others jumped forward to grab the men in case they were still violent, but fortunately did not have to lay on hand on either of them.

“Get rid of these people!” exclaimed Duncan angrily, but he slurred his words a bit as well.

“Have you been drinking?” asked Elliott.

“Commander—Commissioner—it’s Frisol evening!”

“Just because it’s Frisol evening doesn’t mean you can lose control, and there is no excuse at all for resorting to violence, either of you! I suggest you calm down and wait very patiently, because Constable Bytown’s on his way.”

“Bytown!” exclaimed Duncan.

Will nodded. “Both of you are under arrest, because six years ago the Borough of Aurorae swore me in as a deputy, so I am authorized to place people under arrest. Both of you are under arrest.” He pointed up. “And the cameras up there capture all activity here in this public area. As soon as the imagery arrives in Houston, it’ll go to the Security Division and they’ll make a videotape and email it back to us. Anything viewed by those cameras is admissible as evidence in the Borough Court. Both of you will have an appointment with Judge Diponte tomorrow.”

Just then Kent Bytown hurried into the biome; he had been at home when the Outpost’s environmental management computer, sensing the emergency in Yalta Biome, called him. He saw the crowd and hurried over.

“What do we have?” he exclaimed. He saw Will.

“I’ve placed them both under arrest for fighting; they both took swings at the other. There may be alcohol involved,” replied Will.

“I see,” replied Kent. “Well, gentlemen, you both look sober and serious enough right now. It sounds like we need to make a trip to the hospital to get some breathalyzer tests. By then we’ll have a videotape. I suggest you say nothing to me or anyone else right now about the incident, because you may regret your words later. Judge Diponte will view the tape and ask you some questions. Will both of you cooperate with me and do as I tell you, or should I handcuff you both and deputize some people here to come along to maintain control?”

“No, I’ll cooperate,” replied Duncan sheepishly, realizing he was in a lot of trouble.

“Me, too,” agreed Chalmers.

“Very well,” replied Kent. “Let’s go to the hospital and get those tests.” He pointed toward a particular exit and led the two men in that direction.

The entire Patio had become very quiet over the event they had witnessed. As the men walked out, everyone started to talk. “Wow, that was something,” commented Sebastian.

“We haven’t had anything like that happen for six or eight years,” added Helmut.

“I guess it answers your question about how well everyone’s getting along,” said Sebastian.

“Yes; it also means we’ll all now have to take a class on diversity sensitivity and tolerance!” noted Helmut.

--------------------------

Helmut’s prediction proved true; the next two weeks were filled with emails and classes about tolerance and a lot of informal discussion about why tensions had gotten so high that a fistfight had broken out. Many people—including some Commission employees—came forward with stories about how they had felt marginalized because of their race, cultural background, religion, gender, or sexual orientation. It caused a lot of soul searching, some cynicism, and some changes in attitudes.

“I hope we don’t have to do this again soon,” Will said to Alexandra Lescov one afternoon. “It’s so exhausting emotionally.”

“I think it might have been easier to just punish the two for fighting and leave it at that,” replied Alexandra.

“But we did punish them; they both spent a sol in jail and were fined a month’s salary. That wasn’t enough for many people, who were rightly concerned about structural and cultural causes.”

Alexandra shrugged. “The cause of the problem was a strong difference in outlook and worldview. We can expect that Mars will have that and that it will cause tension. Add some alcohol to the tension and you get a bloody nose. That’s all the happened. I don’t think we can expect people to suppress their emotions about differences. In fact, I think it’s good that people feel passionate about their beliefs; it’s natural! GWC holds to a lot of beliefs about Mother Earth and Father Mars that those of us with scientific training will find to be nonsense. It’s even bad myth! They have to get used to that reaction, and we have to get used to their holding these weird beliefs. But if anyone goes beyond private smugness and uses their fists, that’s inappropriate behavior and should be punished.” Alexandra slumped back in her chair. “But that’s a politically incorrect position, Will; I can say this to you, but not in public! And that’s frustrating.”

“Well, I disagree with some of your points, but I will defend to the death your right to express them, even in public! I think there is something else going on than just a clash of passions; there’s a polarization, a we-versus-they that is set up. We’re still a comparatively small population and we have to be able to pull together in an emergency. We can’t afford polarization, disaffection, a breakdown in community. That’s the point of the emails and classes.”

“Hum. I don’t know; maybe you’re pursuing an elusive ideal, a dream. At any rate, Columbiad 11 is bringing 350 people and even more diversity, right? With a population exceeding a thousand and with so many separate domes, I don’t see us facing a major emergency, and I don’t see a village mentality persisting. Community will have to change.”

“You’re probably right about the inevitable trend. Columbiad 11 is looking even more diverse, too. The Saudis can’t stomach the thought that Mars has more Shiites than Sunnis. They have their funding and their plan in place this time; we’ll be receiving 20 conservative Sunni Muslims. The women will be veiled and won’t appear in public much. But they’re undergoing intensive training in all sorts of skills they can use via a women’s cooperative, such as embroidery and various handicrafts. So they will be profitably occupied and we will see yet another increase in expensive, high-quality, locally made consumer goods. The men will have some very useful skills in science, engineering, and business. GWC is sending another 24 folks and will be expanding Aram. It looks like the Universal Church will receive ten more arrivals and there may be a few more Mormons. The Chinese government is sending twenty-four staff to their South Pole Station and the Americans are sending twenty to their North Pole Station; these people are mostly transients in training for the Jupiter missions. They’ll be replaced every columbiad, and both governments have promised that eventually they will turn over the facilities to us to maintain. So that’s positive. I think the Chinese will allow and expect some of their people to stay, which will boost their representation here and counteract the growing Japanese influence.”

“Is the Zen monastery receiving more monks?”

“Maybe four or five; they can’t afford sending more people here. The ones probably coming are receiving some specialized industrial training in mould making.”

“Oh, we could use that! It’s too bad they can’t send a dozen mould makers. I’m amazed that all the seats haven’t sold.”

Will nodded. “I was surprised, but they’re still relatively expensive; five million per person. Lufthansa and United Space Express are both adopting the new fast 110-day trajectory so they can get their equipment back to Earth and use it to fly tourists back and forth to the moon. This puts the moon on a rather unusual cycle of eight months when tourism and other passenger traffic is slow, then eighteen months when it is faster and heavier, but that rhythm will also allow for refurbishment and expansion of facilities. With equipment used constantly, costs will decline; Columbiad 12 may see round trips costing seven million redbacks.”

“I’m skeptical. I’ve heard about the idea I don’t think the moon can handle the fluctuations in demand efficiently. Furthermore, Lufthansa and United may find other private carriers undercutting them. But we’ll see. Have you heard that Lufthansa has agreed to buy a caravel for Columbiad 12?”

“Yes, and congratulations about the contract for the outer structure of the new LEO Hilton. That’s cool.”

“We’re pleased. We can get forty-tonne pieces to LEO; the Swift shuttle just can’t do that! Any progress with the proposed new Venus Station?”

“Not yet; they don’t have the funding in place to raise the crew to twenty-four. A lot of government officials are just saying ‘why?’ But Venus science will eventually win the day, I think. It may be four or five years. The contract will include a massive cosmic radiation shield of water tanks. We may get a contract for an expanded Mercury surface station first.”

“Really?” Alexandra smiled.

Will nodded. “The public has become interested in Mercury science and American scientists are beginning to complain loudly that they’re largely shut out of the work. So I suspect the U.S. government will raise its profile in the Venus-Mercury Commission, and that means an infusion of American cash and an expansion of the facility to accommodate American astronauts.”

“Good!”

“But I didn’t invite you here to debate about diversity or future construction contracts. Alexandra, we have to resolve the issue of rating the monastery’s dome. They finished it almost two months ago, they’ve had it inflated to standard pressure for a month—they’ve even inflated it thirty percent above standard—and they’re tired of walking around inside in pressure suits. I know there are some valid issues about the reliability of ‘bottomless’ construction. I’ve heard people predict that in a deflation event, the ground could explode because of trapped gas or vaporizing underground water. But that hardly strikes me as an objection against the mode of construction because if one of our domes depressurized, the ground above the underskirt could do the same thing. I don’t want us to compromise safety, but I also hope we can think clearly about what the safety issues are and set a timetable or some sort of expectation.”

“Will, you never heard the worry about exploding ground from me. That’s a possible danger in our domes, too, but people will be out of harm’s way long before that can happen. My problem is determining what sort of safety standards to set; it’s as simple as that. Our first dome was designed after an eighty million redback investment by the Mars Exploration Society, and we’ve had to reinforce it twice when new studies revealed possible design flaws. Our biomes represent an accumulated investment of over 1.5 billion redbacks in design and safety. But there’s a total of fifteen million redbacks of investment in this new bottomless design. We haven’t equipped the new dome with sensors so that we know how much air and water is leaking downward into the ground, at what rate solar heating is penetrating into the ground and thawing the ground ice, at what rate ground ice is forming, whether the ice ‘ball’ under the dome is uniform in thickness or whether it has long protuberances into the ground along persistent leaks. . .in short, we know nothing about the mechanism holding in the air. The dome may be perfectly airtight for months and then suddenly fail catastrophically if a potentially major leakpoint, sealed by a small plug of ice, opens up suddenly because the ice melts from accumulating solar heat. So how can I say the dome is safe for people without suits?”

“I understand the point. What can we do about it? We have sensors; could we drill around and under the dome and install some? Could we use a steam injector and create an ice curtain around the dome down to about thirty meters or so? They’ve already spread a plastic cover over the ground within fifty meters of the dome; could we require the zone to be bigger? Should we install sensors under the ground cloth to detect slow leaks? Inside the dome, could we require some safety procedures like working within thirty seconds of a safety shelter?”

Alexandra hesitated. “Will, I’m not against the ‘bottomless’ design, but I think we need a few months to plan the safety procedures. I’m not sure the monastery wants to pay for a bunch of sensors, either.”

“Maybe we should ask? Because this doesn’t just effect the monastery. We can do something about the monastery because it’s just a few kilometers away, but the dome at Aram is outside this borough. It must operate under the same safety restrictions as the monastery’s but how will we enforce the rules a thousand kilometers from here? Furthermore, the GWC has ordered twenty-six thousand square meters of straight-chain polyethylene plastic with an ultraviolet coating for delivery over the next two years. They’re planning to erect cylindrical domes thirty meters wide and a hundred fifty meters long, separated by thirty meters of buried membrane. They want to extend the line of cylinders almost indefinitely across the Aram central plateau! They plan to use this system on a massive scale. If the system has defects they could have a serious accident, and they’re a thousand kilometers from here.”

“Then stop them, Will! I think we have an obligation to maintain safety anywhere on Mars, not just in Aurorae Borough.”

“Alexandra, we will have to safety rate their domes, but they could choose to ignore the safety rating and if they have an accident we will still have to help them, and we’ll still look sloppy. I’d rather see us pursuing this actively than moving slowly and slapping on restrictions that may get ignored.”

“So what do you propose?”

Will paused. “I want a plan from you; you’re the expert and have access to the experts. But the plan could involve elements like these: we’ll install and pay for the sensors under and around the monastery’s dome because we want to do the research; we’ll image the ice barrier under the dome periodically using radar or sonar; we’ll install a partial pressure curtain around the dome through steam injection and compare leakage on that side with leakage on the side without the curtain; the dome can be used without pressure suits or partial pressure suits if the users can evacuate within one minute; the dome can be used if an emergency oxygen tank is installed, or an emergency CO2 tank is installed to maintain air pressure. . . these are the sorts of possibilities I had in mind.”

“They’ll cost us money.”

“Yes, they will, and we can bargain to recover some of it. But we are the ones who need the data because we’re responsible. We knew they planned to cut up the bottom of the dome and convert it into an exterior skirt. Furthermore, if this ‘bottomless’ construction works, we will have to try it. If Aram can construct farmland at, say, a quarter the cost of our farmland, they can raise food more cheaply and sell it more cheaply. Do you want that? They could get a big chunk of the Bioarchive contracts that we have been unable to fulfill properly to date.”

“Hum.” Alexandra thought about that a moment. “Frankly, I wish that were a reason to ban this form of construction; I don’t trust it or like it. Properly manufactured multilayer plastics can hold air in reliably; clay and ice cannot!”

“How do you know, Alexandra? Air can leak laterally through the ground and escape, but how much will that happen if an entire square kilometer of ground is covered by buried plastic sheeting? If we were a small outpost with two or three domes and a few dozen people, we couldn’t afford to lose fifty tonnes of oxygen a year into the ground; but we’re big enough now to accommodate losses much bigger than that. We’ve got twenty thousand tonnes of liquid water in the reservoir and enough installed electrical capacity to electrolyze ten tonnes of water a sol, if need be. The issue driving everything is how to save money, not how to create a completely closed ecology. We have to function in a new commercial, cost-competitive market, and frankly we’re getting killed right now.”

“Killed may be the operative word, too!”

“I agree, there is more danger of a serious accident on Mars, or on the way to Mars, than ever before. And at the same time there are new forces driving cost reductions that promise genuine, permanent, and safe savings. I need you to be looking at innovations critically, rigorously, and free from prejudice either for or against them. I don’t like hearing an idea criticized because you don’t ‘like’ it. And I don’t want us to look indecisive. Give me a plan for safety rating the monastery dome that will tell the monks what they can do and will be responsible.”

“Okay! I get the idea. I agree, it’s important. If we could start building downward under our domes, we could acquire a lot more usable space, and we badly need it. Preparing for Columbiad 11 will demand over half our construction capacity and I’d like to reduce that as much as I can. I’ll prepare a draft of recommendations in two weeks.”

“Fair enough. We’ll need cost figures for a monitoring program so we can negotiate with the Zen monastery and GWC.”

“I think safety drills showing they can evacuate the dome in one minute will be sufficient to allow use. The B-160s can’t depressurize very quickly; they’re just too big! Regulations for the use of tunnels under the dome are more tricky, though, and may take longer. I gather they aren’t planning to move into their cave habitation for six months or so.”

“Let’s try to have some safety rules ready before then, though. Start with the dome, but give me draft regs for the tunnels in four to six weeks; is that doable?”

“Yes, I think so.” Alexandra rose. “I’m not happy about this, but I can live with it.”

“Me, too. Life is never predictable and it doesn’t always go the way you want it to. There are outside forces at work on us and we have to accommodate them sometimes.” Will saw a flashing icon on his screen. “Oh, and speaking of outside forces, I see the Asteroid Belt Commission has just released its flight roster for the Ceres mission. Shall we look?”

“Oh, yes. Thank God Yevgeny decided he was too old and settled to go gallivanting across the asteroid belt.” Alexandra walked around the table to Will’s side while he clicked on the link taking him to a web page. They scanned the 24 names, smiling.

“A lot of congratulations are in order,” Will said.

-------------------------------

Helmut, Clara, and Sebastian sat around the table in Helmut and Clara’s flat waiting for the email. When it popped into Helmut’s in box precisely on time, they all took a breath.

“Click on it,” said Clara.

Helmut did, and they scanned the crew roster. Then Clara squealed. “There we are!”

“We made it!” said Helmut. “Wow!”

“Congratulations!” exclaimed Sebastian. “I guess I’m happy for both of you. I feel really torn; I don’t want you going, but I’m proud you were selected by the task force!”

“Thanks, dad.” Helmut leaned over and hugged his father. Clara kissed him on the cheek.

“Don’t worry about Charlie; he’ll be fine.”

“I’m alright with him going along; I really am. I had the radiation task force look at the question of children on board extra carefully. There are four crew quarters that are located under the liquid hydrogen fuel tanks and snuggled against internal water tanks. A child residing there will have reasonably good protection against cosmic rays and full protection against solar radiation. It’s not an ideal situation, but it appears to be manageable from a health point of view.”

“Dad, it may be better than staying on Mars,” added Helmut. “Studies on lab rats over at the hospital have shown that airborne dust is a low level carcinogen, and there are still some concerns about trace elements in the Martian soil. The cancer rate here is somewhat higher than the radiation models predict and no one is sure why. The caravel may be just as safe for him.”

“Perhaps,” said Sebastian. “Perhaps. Let’s hope so.”

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