8
Vacation
“In short, Senator Stutz, this proposal is good for the United States in several significant ways, as well as promoting the biodiversity of New Mexico and producing jobs in the Albuquerque. We’ll put much of the country’s significant biodiversity on Mars, which means American species will play a bigger role in developing this other world, and other countries will be encouraged to archive their various biomes in response. We’ll assist Consolidated Mining in significant ways because domes and power will be cheaper and more plentiful; and as you know, Consolidated has several significant operations in New Mexico.
“Finally, let me add a note about the potential bipartisanship this project represents. As you know, in some ways Mars has been out of favor in Washington for the last two years. I think with this project we have a chance to set the relationship on a positive footing again. It’s a project good for America and Mars; its good for Martian exports and American mining interests; it’s about as green a project as you can imagine, so it’s good for everyone’s environment. I hope we can count on your support. Let me know if I can answer any questions. Bye.”
Will stopped the recording, then hit send. He had followed the script on his screen perfectly and had sounded natural; he was getting better at the lobbying business. Stutz was a prominent figure in Congress and had been mildly against the project, though Louisa Turner thought he could be brought around.
He turned the page to the message he was to send to Senator Talcott. Will was most of the way through the Senate membership; customized two to three-minute messages for all the senators were taking almost two full sols of his time, especially since every office was acknowledging and some were asking additional questions that he had to answer. It was becoming a problem; he had a lot to get done before starting on his four-sol vacation. And Talcott would be a tough nut to crack. He had a long voting record of opposition to Mars exploration. Will skimmed the message Turner had tailored for him. She was a genius at making persuasive arguments and he had to admire her persistence and hard work. But the message would require a lot of care and earnestness and he was tired. He couldn’t handle it, yet, so he turned to his message box. Sebastian Langlais had written from Shackleton Station, a collection of regolith-covered habitats and other structures strung out along a crater rim near the lunar south pole, catching near-eternal sunshine. It would be a much more interesting and relaxing message to listen to.
“Good sol, Will,” he began. “I’m giving you a call to let you know that our director of ecology, Jaime Grondahl, will be contacting Lisa Kok about the larger biomes proposed for Bio-Archive. I’m glad to see the bill is moving through Congress. I’ve even called some of our supporters and told them to refrain from criticism. Because of geographical limitations, we really can’t host a project like this. In the entire south polar region there are only twenty peaks that get sunlight 75% or more of the time, and we can’t be tying up the peaks with biological archiving facilities. We’ve already got solar power or other facilities on twelve of them, and all twelve are the peaks within fifteen kilometers of the station. Where would we put a bio archive?
“But we do need biomes. Jacaranda Biome opens next week; it’s the first in the new fifty-meter line that you’re getting next year. I wish it had been as easy to build as yours! It wasn’t easy transforming Palmer Pinnacle. You probably remember it, I think you and David explored it pretty thoroughly back in ’16. We basically had to reverse the peak, digging out the middle and pouring the regolith and rock into a circular wall as high as the dome crest. It gives good micrometeorite protection, but we have only a few small windows so we can see outside. The circular walls and the track for the mirror above the dome were exhausting to build in spacesuits; the joke is that we now have the experience to build a lunar railroad. The mirror is pretty heavy, also, because it’s mounted on two big uprights forty meters high and is covered with micrometeorite-proof kevlar blankets. But it tracks the sun well. Overall, it was by far our most complex construction project. The results will be reasonably good; Jacaranda has sunlight continuously except for four periods of six, fifteen, twenty, and thirty-nine hours each. The last period of darkness needs low level artificial light, but the others don’t. Insolation varies from as high as terrestrial normal—which is really too much, twenty-four hours a day—to one percent, and it’s over fifty percent for about 75% of the month. It’s quite good for plants, though it’ll be strange for anyone to live in.
“But we really need bigger biomes. There are two peaks within 1,500 meters of here where we want to replace the solar power systems with biomes, and the peaks can accommodate biomes up to one hundred meters across. It’d be a waste putting something smaller up there. A cluster of four fifty-meter domes would be possible, but it would be complicated to build their mirror systems. So we want to coordinate biome plans with Mars. I assume you’re planning to manufacture biomes there, rather than hauling the plastics from Earth. We’ll have to buy more nitrogen from you, but our carbon supply isn’t bad now, between the dry ice we’re recovering and the sewage we’re hauling in. Let’s work together on this.
“Anyway, I hope you and your family are well. My son’s application for Columbus 7 has been accepted, so you’ll be shaking his hand in about 17 months. I just hope he comes back! Bye.”
Will paused to think about the message; he was intrigued. He hit reply. “Sebastian, I’m glad we can work together on biomes. Tell Jaime to call Lisa any time; he’s free to copy me as well. I think it’s a shame we haven’t worked together more in the past, but there’s a certain amount of rivalry in Houston between our headquarters, so admittedly there’s not a lot we can say. As a result we developed biomes, and you had to figure out how to adapt them to the moon; and you developed microwave power transmission, which we had to adapt to Mars.
“We’re arguing that Bio-Archive is practical if we can make the kevlar, teflon film, tefzel, and related plastics here. The hundred-meter dome you’re talking about would mass sixty-four tonnes, plus twelve tonnes more for support equipment; it isn’t practical to lift it from the Earth twelve tonnes at a time, even to the moon. But with twenty or thirty tonnes of equipment we should be able to manufacture one roughly every year. And with proper equipment you could, too; if you need carbon dioxide and nitrogen, remember Phobos is your closest source, in terms of delta-v. So we’d be happy to work with you.
“There’s another matter we’d like to collaborate on as well: power generation. We’re probably going to get a plant for manufacturing solar cells based on yours, but if you’ve been reading the news, the big idea here is building a reactor here at Aurorae using natural Martian uranium. Right now we’re being quiet about the idea because the Bio-Archive project is supported by many environmental groups, and they would definitely oppose the reactor. But I suppose a reactor is inevitable, now that we’ve found uranium reserves. Some geologists say Mars could be a source for Earth in a few decades. If there’s any place that needs a reactor, it’s the moon, especially out of the polar zones where sunlight is lacking two weeks a month. So we have a natural alliance where nukes are concerned. I’ll suggest that Rosa Stroger and Alexandra Lescov talk to your power and construction directors.
“I’m glad to hear Helmut’s coming here; we’re all looking forward to meeting him and making him welcome. All is going fairly well at the moment. Cassini’s set up, the mining equipment is finally working pretty well, and they’ve come up with a system of exploiting the very richest gold deposits, thanks to the muon scattering instruments. Our third biome, Riviera, is scheduled to be pressurized next week and the outer structures of the two buildings, including the rooftop gardens, are scheduled to be completed in three months; early September. Shikoku follows six months later and will be ready before Columbus 7 arrives. Otherwise, there isn’t much news up here. Marshall’s seven and Lizzie’s more than four and a half; she starts kindergarten this fall. They’re both excited by our plans to take a four-sol family vacation together up at the escarpment this weekend. It’s our first outside the Outpost, and Marshall’s going outside in a spacesuit, so he’s thrilled. Bye.”
Will sent the message. He was about to turn back to his work videomailing Senators when a new message popped into his box from Doug Morgan himself. Will activated the Commissioner’s videomail.
“Good sol, Will. You’re doing an excellent job contacting the Senators; we seem to have swayed two Senators already to vote for Bio-Archive. But now a new complication has arisen and I thought I should let you know about it. Three Senators from Montana, California, and Alaska plan to introduce an amendment to the bill tomorrow—on which their support will depend—insisting that the tax money be spent on American firms to manufacture the biomes or the equipment to make the plastics needed to make the biomes on Mars. As you know, the biomes now come from Canada, though the plastic manufacturing units can come from the U.S. The amendment will also specify that the equipment must have a use toward opening the gold fields at Dawes to American mining companies. The Bio-Archive would not have to be built at Dawes, but the biome making equipment would have to be used in some way to support a Dawes Outpost. This is a fairly underhanded way to get Dawes Outpost approved, and to strengthen the hand of Consolidated or possibly of Stanwood Mining if they follow through with their interest and negotiate a lease of mineral rights. I know this will be difficult for you, but we may have to accept it. Bye.”
Slightly horrified, Will immediately hit reply. “Doug, good sol. Please do anything you can to get this amendment killed! The logistics of supporting two outposts is difficult enough; three would be even harder, especially when you remember the gold fields there are at too high an altitude to use sunwings very much. We’d have to ship everything there by shuttle or robotic truck. Mars will barely have 140 people during Columbus 7. Cassini’s supposed to be taking up eight of my people and it’s taking up more like eleven. I’d rather not make resource allocation even more complicated. And don’t forget a small outpost needs about twice as much mass of stuff as the bare minimum to guarantee life support redundancy, whereas a larger outpost needs only twenty or thirty percent marginal capacity. It’s easier to double the size of Cassini than to build Dawes, and it’ll get us just as much gold! Bye.” He hit send and had to sigh. That was the danger of basing Mars exploration on politics rather than science and reason; the political process could cause as much havoc as benefit.
Will turned to his other tasks. Lately there had been some strange discrepancies between the daily gold production reported at Cassini—usually around 50 kilograms each for Consolidated and Muller—and the amount credited to the companies by the Commission. The discrepancy typically was less than ten grams and no one could account for it. Dan Shapiro emailed Will that the problem seemed to be caused by conflicting estimates of the gold production; the gold particles typically had a small quantity of silicate rock fragments stuck to them, and when that was accounted for the gold production had to be adjusted downward slightly. That struck Will as a strange explanation because the gold dust was thoroughly cleaned before weighing and not weighed again, so he forwarded Dan’s email to Yevgeny, with a request that he look into the matter as well. There were also complaints that the value of the gold was consistently less than expected, but it turned out that the insurance on the shipment back to Earth was higher than anticipated. He had already forwarded that concern to Silvio for checking.
When the sun began to shine across the floor of the bridge and into his office he knew the sun was getting fairly low and it was time to go to supper. He didn’t even need to use a watch to know it was about 6 p.m. He headed for Yalta to play with the kids for half an hour, then take them to supper. After they finished eating, Alexandra stopped at their table.
“So, swimming and hiking, huh?” she said to Marshall.
He nodded. “I can’t wait! We’re going outside!”
“Well, you’re a big boy now.”
“I hope so,” added Will, looking at his son worriedly.
“And Sammie’s going along?” asked Alexandra.
Marshall nodded. “And Corazon, and their parents!”
“Oh?” She hadn’t realized Érico and Carmen were going on the trip as well. She had known about Roger and Madhu.
Ethel nodded. “It’s more fun for the kids. The boys will share a bedroom, the girls will share a bedroom, and they’ll have a grand old time. We’re also doing a virtual tour of a few cities and of Disneyland Paris. And Will has promised to do most of the cooking.”
“Not most! I said suppers!”
“Whatever,” replied Ethel. “I’m advocating some vacation space at Cassini; we’ll get away from our responsibilities and still have a cafeteria where we can eat.”
“Of course, if we go to Cassini I’ll have meetings,” replied Will. “Besides, I’m not sure I’d fly kids that far. Our transportation system isn’t safe enough yet.”
“That’s a good point,” agreed Ethel.
“Well, have fun,” replied Alexandra. “Yevgeny and I went up to the dacha last month for a week and it was marvelous to have a change of pace and some peace and quiet. And Will, don’t worry; everything here will be fine.”
“Oh, I’m sure the Borough President can handle everything,” he replied. He had appointed Alexandra the Interim Commander in his absence.
“Things should be quiet. The construction is all enclosed now, so it’s safer. And tomorrow’s conjunction, so communications with Earth are quieter.”
“Not much,” replied Will. “Magellan Station will relay half of our usual traffic for us.”
“It’s not a vacation time any more,” added Ethel. “Communications don’t drop noticeably. I think the better time for vacation is opposition, when one needs time to talk to family members!”
“Most people took some vacation then,” agreed Will. “Anyway, Alexandra, my communications will work normally, so you can always reach me.”
“Better not send emails or videomails; I won’t let him look at them,” added Ethel.
“Thanks for the warning. I agree, you all need to relax. Four sols isn’t much, either. Have a good time.”
-----------------------------------
Two sols later, three families climbed into two rangers loaded with their food and clothing for four sols and drove up to the “dacha” on the top of escarpment. The facility had improved in some ways since it had first been built two years earlier, though the size had not increased significantly: inside the thirty-three by eight meter bubble was a building in the middle with a great room, kitchen, and sauna on the first floor and four bedrooms each on the next two floors. Plans to build a second building for guests had been scrapped; the initial facility had proved large enough, and when more space was needed they would probably add another bubble. A garage for three rangers had been built on the east side of the building; its roof, “the deck,” serving as a dance floor or sports area; it had a basketball hoop. The open area to the west of the building now had a large swimming pool; for most of the first year every ranger going to the dacha had hauled up a tonne of ice, which was melted and added to the pool. Around the pool was a patio where people could sit in the sun to read; the bubble’s protective films screened out the ultraviolet. The far western tip of the crescent-shaped bubble had potted trees and flowers and was a nature corner. Part of the transparent floor extended beyond the cliff edge, so one could literally stand in the air to look down and outward at Aurorae. That corner rested on a small promontory that extended beyond the usual escarpment edge, giving one a view of the canyon system on three sides.
The children were thrilled to visit the dacha and immediately ran to the western edge to look at the canyon; the little girls wouldn’t stand on the transparent floor and were teased by the older boys until Roger came along and stopped them. Everyone went to their rooms to unpack and settle in a bit.
“Let’s go outside!” shouted Marshall, running through the second and then the third floor, once he was unpacked.
“Hey calm down!” exclaimed Will, irritated. “Don’t worry, we’re just about ready.”
Ten minutes later, Roger, Madhu, Érico, and Will were suiting up and helping Marshall and Sam, seven and six years old respectively, to do the same. The boys had special suits that adults could control remotely; all the suits could be connected together with hoses for “buddy breathing” if necessary. Under such circumstances it was safe to take the boys outside, though they had a rule that there always had to be one more adult along than the total number of children.
It was a simple excursion, but thrilling for the boys. They walked about a half kilometer eastward along the rim, though back from the edge most of the time; when they reached the point where the rim turned northward and followed Little Colorado Canyon—the accessway they had driven along to reach the top—they turned as well and walked about a kilometer to the north until they visited the natural bridge; then they walked southwestward across the plateau for about a kilometer to a crater about 140 meters in diameter and went down to walk around. Finally, they walked back to the dacha. Sammie was utter exhausted; Marshall was pretty tired, too, but both boys were thrilled by the experience. Other than a few ranger rides and one other excursion outside before the dust storm season, they had never been out of the terrestrial environment before.
Carmen had prepared a feast while Ethel had played with Lizzie and Corazon. They all ate together, the boys looking more and more bleary-eyed. After lunch the kids all went to take a nap. After the adults washed the dishes, Will looked at his watch. “So, we have what? Another hour before they wake up?”
“About that,” agreed Carmen, glancing at her attaché. It showed a picture of the bedroom upstairs where the two 4 ½ year old girls were sound asleep. They had been able to get permission from the Outpost to transmit the picture from the room’s camera to her attaché, to serve as a sort of baby monitor.
“Let’s go outside and enjoy the sunshine,” said Ethel, leading the six them out to the patio by the pool. They carried the attaché and glasses of iced tea to a table and sat facing south and the spectacular view of Aurorae valley stretching from a meter or two away from them all the way to the horizon.
“I hope the kids don’t sleep too long,” said Madhu. “They’ll want to stay up and play all night, and there will trouble tomorrow.”
“We’ll take the boys out on another excursion,” said Roger. “That’ll prepare them for another nap!” He stood and took off his shirt, then sat on his chair again to enjoy the sun.
“They’re growing so fast,” remarked Will. “It’s hard to believe. Marshall and Sam will graduate high school and begin university in eleven years.”
“Yep,” agreed Roger. “And I’ll be 62, and will have to wonder whether the family should go back to Earth now or never, because I won’t know how long I’ll be able to fly.”
“Older than 62, my dear; there have been 75 year olds in space,” replied Madhu.
“I wonder whether the kids will want to go to Earth for university?” said Ethel. “MarTech should be pretty good by then, though I suppose Earth will have an allure to it.”
“Marshall’s already fascinated,” agreed Will. “It’ll be hard to keep them here. By then I hope we have a free round trip policy; say, one trip every 17 years.”
“It’d be the stuff of a movie,” quipped Carmen. “Imagine an 18 year old arriving on Earth, never having driving in an automobile before, never having seen an ocean or big animals.”
“Not to mention having weak bones and virtually no immunity to terrestrial diseases, and no familiarity with muggers and con artists.” Ethel shook her head. “I’d rather have them stay here.”
“I can’t see it,” replied Roger. “They’ll learn. They’re human beings; they have to experience the mother world, because that’s the only world human beings know, except a tiny handful.” He looked at Madhu. “I suppose we’ll go back then as well.”
“If Will can arrange that free round trip, we could go back for four years while Sam’s in university, then fly back here,” said Madhu. “I think I’d rather be here, health problems or not. I love the art I can do here. No place on Earth can give a similar inspiration.”
“Where do all of us want to be in ten or fifteen years?” asked Will. “I’m curious.” He looked at Carmen.
She scowled. “Will, you always want to plan, plan! We’re on vacation, remember?” She paused and saw that he didn’t seem fazed by her complaint. She shrugged. “I enjoy engineering and running our communications systems. If Corie wants to attend a university on Earth, maybe we’d go back, or maybe we’d stay here and beg her to return. There are plenty of careers here, after all. If the place keeps growing and attracting young, bright people, it’ll remain exciting.”
“True, and there will be fairly good choices for spouses here by then,” said Will. He looked at Ethel.
She shrugged. “There are always new jobs to do here, and some pretty interesting people. And after being here twelve years I have roots here. The roots on Earth are much weakened.”
“That’s true,” agreed Roger. “Say, Will, when are we going to update that Martian geology text we promised to update? It won’t earn us royalties pretty soon if we don’t produce a second edition! I’d rather stay and continue the research. I’ve been bitten by the exploration bug.”
“Let’s schedule some time later in the summer,” replied Will. “I think my life will be in more of a routine by then. This columbiad started out crazy, as they usually do, and has gradually settled down.”
“As always,” agreed Roger.
“You know, I never thought I’d like this place,” said Érico. “When Columbus 2 left Earth I was counting the sols until I’d be back, and famous in all of Brazil. But here I am, settled down and doing good science and good engineering. I’d just like a few more expeditions, Roger.”
“We have a lot of chiefs and not many Indians,” Roger replied. “Besides, with your seniority I give you as many expeditions as Carmen will let you take!”
“Thanks; blame me!” said Carmen, though she knew it was true.
“I wish you wouldn’t go out, either,” Madhu said to her husband. “Expeditions are still dangerous. Let the younger ones go out while you stay at the Outpost to coordinate and write.”
“You know how bad I am at coordination,” replied Roger. “So, Will, you’re not off the hook.”
“Me?” Will thought a moment. “I suppose we’d go back to Earth if the kids wanted to go back. It’s a dangerous place for a pair of Mars-raised kids. The bigger question is, what will I do for the next eleven years? I’ve already been Commander for almost eight. Should someone be commander for nineteen years? But can I retire from being Commander and stay here and loaf around? Should I retire at some point and go back to being a geologist?”
“You’d have earned full retirement,” said Ethel.
“It’d set a bad precedent,” replied Roger. “The other question is, at what age can the kids fly back to Earth? Maybe in six more years the radiation shielding will be better and it’ll be safe.”
“But I don’t know whether I’d want to fly back to Earth in six years.”
“What about if they made you Commissioner?”
“I’m not sure they would; the Europeans will want a European to succeed Morgan. Besides, if there’s any goal to aim for, it’s to reverse the current order of the chief officers. The Commissioner of the Mars Commission should be on Mars, with the Vice Commissioner on Earth.”
Roger laughed. “But when do you think that’ll happen?”
“Do you really think we’ll see the transfer?” added Érico. “Because what you’re talking about, essentially, is a form of independence.” He leaned forward in his chair, very interested.
“It would be a kind of independence, though without national sovereignty. I don’t think it’ll happen in a decade or two. It’s unlikely, but I wouldn’t rule it out. Our gold output gives us a gross domestic product larger than a few nations. The gold has had collateral effects; nations are more willing to sponsor citizens here than ever before. Columbus 7’s seats are filled and there’s a waiting list of people who will probably go on the Columbus 8 list. You can predict that Columbus 8 will be bigger again; maybe fifty people will fly here instead of forty. And it’ll be even cheaper. The new interplanetary habs are cheaper to build because, after eighteen years, the technology’s mature. The inflatable annexes that have to be emptied and collapsed to aerobrake behind an ITV provide even more space at less cost. The new Mars shuttles that will be needed will be cheaper and better for the same reason. Let’s say Consolidated and Muller manage to export eighty tonnes of gold, between Columbus 6’s departure and Columbus 7’s arrival. That’s a billion dollars of production in two years. They’re likely to manage 100 tonnes in the two years after that, and if another half billion in equipment arrives, and another sixteen workers, the next columbiad could see the export of 180 tonnes. That’s over two billion dollars in sales, plus it makes imports cheaper, it makes other exports cheaper, it makes more national and corporate money flow in. . . you get the idea. The economists say we won’t depress the price of gold until exports hit four to six hundred tonnes per columbiad. That’s almost five to seven billion dollars.”
“Even Columbus 7 will be cheaper,” said Ethel. “What’s the estimate? Under fifty million per person?”
Will nodded. “For the first time, especially if Bio-Archive sends more cargo our way. In six columbiads—2043—we could be receiving 75 colonists per columbiad at a cost of twenty million each, and Mars could have 400 people. That might be a good reason for Marshall and Sam to stay.”
“But we have a long way to go in building our community here,” replied Roger. “We’re all very excited about Mars’s steady growth, but we still have a lot of cultural differences, issues of language, issues of inclusion, and these aren’t easy to resolve.”
“We’re trying,” replied Will. “There have been a lot of meetings and forums this columbiad about these issues.”
“Too many meetings!” replied Roger. “I think we’re talked out!”
“Especially town meetings,” agreed Carmen. “It’s been killing almost every Sunsol afternoon, lately.”
“It’s been a problem,” conceded Will. “The web discussion forums have helped digest a lot of legislation, but the last four or five months have demanded a lot of time anyway; we’ve had to shape a legal code for this place, after all.”
“It’s been important work, even though not everyone is interested in it,” agreed Érico. “Roger’s right; we’re all optimistic about this place and its future, but we haven’t resolved the issue of creating community.”
“Neither has anyone else,” replied Will. “I agree, we have a lot of work to do. But we have made progress. We have more community than one might think, considering that there are people here from thirty-seven nations. Some of it is generic democracy and some of it is science and consumerism. And we have a fairly good support system; some of it is modern psychiatry and some of it is old-fashioned friendship. And all the meetings have been a part of it.”
“We have to develop a new culture here,” said Érico. “Maybe we’ll manage to create a new synthesis that is compatible with our existing values—religious and secular—and it’ll be a example to Earth. Or maybe we won’t.”
“It’s a utopian dream that Mars will become an example to the old world,” said Will. “We will manage some social and cultural innovations here; we already have. But we’ll never be a utopia, and while we’ll contribute to humanity’s social evolution, we’ll never solve its problems.”
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Alexandra was busy inside Riviera’s building bubble one, supervising the robotic welding of one of the first steel beams of the building’s structure, when her communicator urgently beeped. It was Kent Bytown.
“What is it, Kent?” she said, answering immediately. He was running the bridge at the time.
“Communications with Earth just went down completely. The systems are supposed to be able to cope, but as you know, with the Earth on the other side of the sun for the next two sols, communications traffic is cut in half. Demand has overwhelmed the circuits.”
“Well, shut down the requests for television shows, recreational websites, and videomail and get the rest up.”
“That’s what I’m doing. Shall we call Will? Or Carmen, since she’s the communications coordinator?”
“They’re on vacation; let’s try to manage without them first.”
“Okay. We have communications filters; I’ll set a few more of them in place to weed out more communications requests, and let you know how it goes. Bye.”
“Bye.” Alexandra closed the circuit and turned back to the robot, which had stopped work; it had needed instructions and, failing to get them, had stopped. She turned back to her attaché, pulled up the robot’s controls, and checked the problem. She gave it a command and it resumed its welding. She checked another robot welding another beam nearby; she could run both at once.
Then Kent called again. He was having trouble with the filters; too much had accumulated and he was trying to postpone items without deleting them. In mid sentence, the screen went blank; before Alexandra was able to panic, the call reestablished itself.
“What happened?” asked Enrique, who was standing next to a robotic cart that had stopped in its tracks.
“Communications are down!” She turned to the attaché; Kent’s image was grainy and low-resolution, which meant that her attaché was connecting to Kent’s directly or via intermediary attaché’s. “So, are we in self-networking mode?”
“Yes. Shall I call Carmen?”
“Yes. O, wait; you can’t, they’re too far away.”
“Right. We’ll get everything back up, then. I’m calling in all the Prospector drivers to help.” They were on the other side of Habitat 1 and served as emergency monitors when needed.
“Excellent. I’ll be right there.”
Alexandra hurried to the bridge, cursing that such a disaster would strike while she was in charge. Houston would be freaking out, especially with a round trip communications link taking over forty minutes. It would hit the news, no doubt. Meanwhile, up in orbit, the ITVs and communications satellites would be switching to Cassini for control purposes. They’d have to be switched back. With no competition from Aurorae, Cassini would quickly hog the communications lines that were open via Magellan Station in Venus orbit and via, or all places, the Jupiter communications satellite system, a billion kilometers from the two worlds, which had given up some bandwidth for very slow, routine communications between Mars and Earth.
A similar problem had developed during Columbus 3’s conjunction, before the Venus communications satellite system had been established. But Alexandra soon discovered that the collapse was much worse this time; Mars was a much bigger operation and communications had expanded even faster than their population. Magellan was far less adequate than they had thought it to be. Just like restoring an electrical grid, restoring a communications grid was fraught with complications and sudden surges in communications demand. Though internal communications were restored in half an hour, the link to Earth remained unstable and difficult to control the rest of the sol. Alexandra was in a fowl mood when she went to the patio in Yalta for supper. When she found that her favorite main course had run out before her arrival, her mood was not improved. But Yevgeny tried hard to cheer her up and as she contemplated her after-dinner coffee, she was feeling better. When Lal and Radha stopped by briefly, her mood improved; their two-month old baby Aditi, the thirteenth child born on Mars, was cute, even if it had a mild case of Downs Syndrome. A little later, Silvio ambled up to the table and looked at both of them. “Have you any time after supper? Maybe fifteen minutes?”
“Sure. I suppose. Why?” replied Alexandra, assuming that Silvio was speaking to her.
“I want to show you some results of the financial investigation I’ve been making. I want your opinion before going to Will about them.”
“Okay,” said Alexandra.
Silvio was looking at Yevgeny in particular, since he was in charge of exports. He nodded. “No problem; let us finish our coffee. Ten minutes or so?”
“Sure, just come to the store.”
Yevgeny nodded; Silvio headed back to the store. “So, did he want your opinion or mine?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
Alexandra shook her head. She stood up with her tray, returned it to the kitchen, and got a cup of coffee. She returned to her table, stretched out, and tried to relax a bit.
But a movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Kevin Dunbar was making a beeline for another table, walking with a purposeful, determined step that was worrisome. She turned and saw he was walking straight toward the table where Jennie, his ex-wife, was seated with Ernesto Gomes. She could see that Jennie and Ernesto were flirting; they had been flirting a lot lately. But Kevin’s attention was focused on their son Jake, who was almost three. When he reached the table he leaned over and scooped up the boy. “Come on Jake. I don’t want you to forget who your father is.”
Jennie’s eyes opened wide in anger. “Hey, I’ve got him tonight!”
“Then pay attention to your son and not other people!”
“Look who’s talking!” Kevin, after all, had been sitting with Andrea Shelton, whom he had been courting for months.
“You mind your business!”
“Then you mind yours!” Kevin walked away with Jake, who began to cry. Everyone in the patio had stopped their conversations.
Alexandra scanned the crowd and her eyes locked with Martha Vicker’s. She nodded; the psychiatrist stood up and headed to Kevin’s table.
Shinji was seated at the next table; he leaned over and said to Alexandra, “I think Martha mostly works with Jennie, not Kevin. Greg’s been counseling Kevin.”
“Greg?”
“He has counseling training and is a man. I think Kevin needed to talk to a man.”
Alexandra scanned the crowd. Greg wasn’t there. She grabbed her attaché from her belt, unfolded it, and dialed his number. It went to his message center.
“His attaché’s off,” she grumbled.
“Many people turned them off all afternoon and haven’t turned them back on,” noted Yevgeny.
“I’m sure. Computer! Emergency condition yellow. Please locate Gregory Harris.”
There was only the briefest pause. “He’s in the laundry area.”
“Computer, privacy override condition yellow. Please transmit the image of the laundry room and activate the room’s intercom system.”
“Acknowledged. Please wait.” In a second the screen flickered, then the image of the laundry room appeared from a camera located in an upper corner. Greg was sitting and sewing ripped clothes; he had quite a pile, too.
“Greg, can you hear me?”
He jumped when her voice sudden came out of the intercom. He looked up, then turned to the camera, assuming she was watching as well. The laundry room, after all, was a public area and not under the same privacy restrictions as private quarters. “Yes, Alexandra. Is there a problem?”
“We’ve just had a personal incident here in Yalta; can you come down?”
“Right away.” He rose and hurried out of the room, abandoning the clothing for another time.
Alexandra went to talk to Jennie; she was visibly upset. “He sleeps with Kim, then gets mad when I sit and talk to Ernesto with Jake present? He is such a self-centered, possessive idiot!”
“Greg’s coming down to talk to him; we all agree that Kevin has some issues to work out.”
Jennie laughed at Alexandra’s phrasing. “I want Jake back; tonight’s my night.”
“Martha’s working on that, I’m sure, and Greg will, also.”
“I hope so.” Jennie looked at Ernesto, who put his hand on her shoulder.
“It’s not easy, sometimes,” he said.
“Thanks,” she replied.
Silvio came out of his store and looked at Yevgeny and Alexandra rather urgently. He had missed the incident. Alexandra shook her head; Yevgeny rose and walked into the store.
It was another minute before Greg showed up. He went to talk to Kevin; Martha walked over to talk to Jennie. A few minutes later, after hearing from Jennie about Jake, she walked back over to Kevin and returned a few minutes later with Jake, who was still red-eyed from crying. At that point Yevgeny appeared at the door of the store, beckoning her.
It was difficult to believe anything could be more urgent than the situation she was engaged in, but the worst appeared to be over. Kevin and Greg appeared ready to walk to Greg’s office. She apologized to Jennie and walked to the store.
“What is it?” she said, irritated.
“This is pretty important,” replied Yevgeny.
“How’s that possible?”
“Come on; that crisis is mostly over.” Yevgeny turned and went back inside; Alexandra followed. Silvio was sitting at a little table in the back of his office looking very solemn, almost depressed. There was a spreadsheet open on the screen of his attaché
“What is it?” she repeated.
“I’m afraid Yevgeny gave me some pieces of the puzzle I didn’t have; or maybe I should say that together, we found some pieces of the puzzle neither of us had before. Did you hear about the shortfall between gold production and gold logged into the accounts?”
“Yes. I thought it was a bookkeeping artifact.”
Yevgeny shook his head. “That’s what we thought,” replied Silvio. “But it appears Daniel Shapiro is responsible instead.”
“Why? He can’t smuggle gold back to Earth.”
“Maybe he can,” replied Silvio. “So far the mass shortage is thirty kilos; well inside the personal mass allocation of a return flight, especially if you have a partner helping you.”
“Ruth,” replied Alexandra, referring to Daniel’s wife. “But he’d have to steal some of the accumulated gold before the final weigh-in and transfer it to his luggage.”
“Unless he has an accomplice somewhere at Gateway or ISS, who could steal some of the gold after its arrival in Earth orbit.”
“Thirty kilos of gold is worth $360,000.”
“Not a vast fortune, but a tidy sum,” said Alexandra. “How much could he ship to Earth as personal property without going to Earth himself?”
“We will allow a few kilos of personal property to be shipped back, and people can purchase more mass at $1,000 per kilogram,” replied Yevgeny. “If he stayed here and shipped fifty kilograms back to Earth every columbiad, it would be a nice fortune in a few columbiads.”
“But the personal property has to be explained and described,” noted Alexandra.
“And we never verify,” replied Yevgeny. “After this, I guess we will verify.”
“I think so,” agreed Silvio.
“This is still hard to believe,” said Alexandra. “It really doesn’t make a lot of sense. This is a high-risk, relatively low gain effort. His annual salary is $300,000, after all.”
“It doubles his salary,” replied Silvio. “And it’s tax free. People have funny motivations to do things like this, sometimes. There’s a thrill to fooling people.”
“Now, how sure are we that Dan is the culprit?”
Yevgeny looked at Silvio. “There is some computer checking we could do, to be sure the data was changed from his computer, for example.”
“We had better do that.”
“We have to nail this down unambiguously,” said Alexandra.
“Come to think of it, back in December he came into the store wanting to purchase a very strong but light garment bag or duffle bag,” replied Silvio. “I didn’t have anything but suggested he talk to someone in fabrication whether they could make something for him.”
“That rings a bell; I turned down a request to make a duffle bag while I was in Cassini,” said Alexandra. “Interesting.”
“Should we talk to Will?” asked Yevgeny.
“Yes,” replied Alexandra. “But I suggest we pursue this matter as much as we can, first.”
“I’m in an awkward position; Will asked me to audit the books, but I am also Aurorae’s judge and therefore have to approve requests to obtain records,” said Silvio. “We’re a small operation, so it’s hard to avoid conflicts of interest. I suggest we turn over the actual investigating to Kent. He has the skills. He can make requests to me for, for example, computer records from Ruth’s personal area.”
“Okay,” agreed Alexandra. “I think we had better talk to Morgan and the Commission’s legal department in Houston. We can do that without bothering Will’s vacation.”
“Except the entire Commission headquarters in Houston has a big staff training day tomorrow, because of conjunction,” replied Yevgeny. “Don’t forget that. Then it’s the weekend there anyway. This is a lousy time to bother them with a matter like this.”
“We’d have to use emails instead of videomails, too, because of the communications limitations,” said Alexandra. She shook her head. “Okay, let’s gather information, then. When Will comes back from the escarpment direct communications with Earth will be restored anyway, unless there’s a solar storm, and none is forecast.” She sighed.
“This has been quite a sol for you,” observed Silvio, with a smile.
“Tell me about it! Communications breakdowns, a near fight at supper, and now an embezzlement. Will gets one of these once a month, and I get three in one sol!”
“And I’m sure he’ll be grateful you handled them, too,” added Yevgeny, with a smile.
-------------------------------
Up on the escarpment, the interruption in communications wasn’t even noticed. Once the kids woke up, the afternoon was devoted to the pool. Roger had once been a swimming instructor as a teenager and resurrected his skills to teach the two boys how to swim. The little girls were content to splash each other in a plastic wading pool Ethel set up for the purpose. The others watched or changed into bathing suits to enjoy the rather small pool. The exception was Will, who turned to the gourmet dinner he had planned.
After dinner they sat outside by the pool in the Phobos light, wearing sweaters against the chill, telling stories. The kids went to bed quickly. It wasn’t until the next morning when Will called up the New York Times on his attaché when he learned of the communications snafus of the sol before.
The next three sols followed a similar pattern; hiking in the morning for the boys and play time for the girls, a nap, pool time, dinner. The other evenings they watched a movie outside, under the stars. Everyone was very sad when the time came to pack up the rangers and drive back down to Aurorae. Will hadn’t been inside Yalta Biome five minutes when Alexandra called him. “When can you get to your office?”
“Office? I suppose in a few hours, why?”
“Because Silvio, Kent, and I are all here waiting for you. There’s a serious criminal matter we have to resolve, and you have to be involved.”
“Criminal?”
“Yes; I had better not say anything more over the phone. We’ve got the proof and need to brief you right away. As soon as an arrest is made, it’ll hit the media, too.”
“Alright, I’ll be right there. Bye.” Will closed the connection. Ethel looked alarmed.
“Sounds serious.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. I have no idea how long it’ll take, either.”
“So much for the afterglow of vacation.”
“No such luck,” Will agreed, and he headed across the biome for Clarke Dome, and from there, to habitats 4, 2, and 1. The three of them were waiting in his office. “Okay, I’m here. It sounds like I missed quite a lot in four sols.”
“You don’t even know about the incident on the patio between Kevin and Jennie, either,” replied Alexandra. “Silvio and Yevgeny have been checking gold production and storage records, insurance records, bank records, and a few other items.” She nodded to Silvio.
“It turns out that Dan Shapiro has been skimming a few dozen grams a sol from the gold production figures, hiding the difference in a “detrital silica” allotment, and depreciating the value of the gold by hiding the difference in a “detrital silica compensation” allotment. He has also fiddled with the gold production figures in the insurance reports so that they agree. He’s already set up a personal mass allocation for himself and placed thirty-two kilograms in it, which happens to be the mass in the detrital silica column.”
“He’s scheduled to fly to Cassini twice in the next few months,” added Yevgeny. “Perhaps he planned to steal the mass of gold while he was there—I’m not sure how he planned to get into the storage facilities. Or perhaps he planned to steal the gold after it was transferred here. We’ve started making those transfers already. We’ve checked the gold stored here and the mass is all accounted for.”
“Is Dan on the passenger list for Columbus 6?”
“No,” replied Yevgeny. “It appears he planned to ship the gold home as a personal allotment, and stay, presumably in order to steal more.”
Will shook his head. “This is extraordinary. Incredible.”
“We have been immensely saddened and shocked by this,” agreed Alexandra.
Will nodded. A tear appeared in one eye. “This is a massive violation of trust. He’s such a bright, capable man.”
“A man with a flaw,” replied Silvio. “He has a shoplifting record in Massachusetts, where he attended M.I.T. and Harvard. He didn’t report the record to the Commission and somehow the background check didn’t pick it up. We hired a private investigator and he found it.”
“You have been busy!”
“We haven’t slept much in the last three sols,” agreed Alexandra. “Here, let’s show you the evidence in detail.”
“Yes,” agreed Will, with a sigh. “That’s important. Kent, can we set up another system for house arrest and confinement?”
“We have to,” replied Kent. “So we’ll do it.”
© 2004 Robert H. Stockman