Out
A series about Mars
by Daniel
E. Machado
Chapter 11
"Well it’s not palatial, but I guess it’ll
do." Blade would have been even more disappointed were it not for the knowledge
that the tiny cabin was at least three times the size of her originally
quarters.
"Hey, I’m happy." Fred says as he
pulls his personal effects locker through the door-way and into his tiny
cabin. "I can both stand up and and get a drink of water without having
to float half a click. These are probably the best quarters I’ve had in
months." Grinning like a child Fred looks around at the double-bunk cabin
that he's going to have all to himself for the next year and a half. With
the upper bunk locked up into the bulkhead there's at least two-and-a-half
full meters of overhead space. This extravagance alone makes up quiet nicely
for every indignity he's been forced to suffer over the past week.
Opening his recently augmented carry-on
baggage Fred dives into his locker like a child at Christmas. Most of this
stuff had originally been packed away in stowage. Only a fluke of scheduling
had kept some of it from being sent ahead into orbit. There's no question
as to what Fred wants to pull out first. But first he stands leaning up
against the bulkhead opposite his bunk. Eyeing up along its surface Fred
rubs his fingertips along the wall and soon finds a series of small threaded
holes just above head height.
"Good." Fred nods to himself. He had
hoped that some previous passenger had the same idea and done all the hard
work for him. Out in the communal living room Blade tries to talk her daughter
into lying down in the Girl’s Room as Fred gently begins to unpack his
most valuable possession; a holo-mural. Gently pulling the mural's long
silver tube from his locker he sets it down on his bunk.
Sure hope you didn't get frazzled
by the baggage apes. You cost me a small fortune.
After removing one end of the tube
Fred then pulls out a thin telescoping metal rail and extends it to just
over two-and-one-half meters. Then using the threaded holes that someone
else had so graciously made he fastens the rail to the wall with tiny flip-handled
thumb-screws. Once he's set the rail Fred then slides out a long silvery
tube and with practiced swiftness drops the holo screen down the wall as
he presses his thumb along the top edge setting it into the rail. After
retrieving and attaching the control box to the rail Fred presses its small
button and the silver sheet instantly clings stiff against the wall. The
screen begins to glows with a soft gray light that blurs its once shiny
surface.
"All right." Piling a few pillows
and blankets against the wall Fred throws himself down on his bunk. "Now
for the big test." From his handtablet he calls up the mural's controls
and then sets it for the current holo-public of a small hotel on a deserted
beach at the eastern tip of Baja. Out on the water's calm blue a growing
crescent of blazing sun rises over a pod of nursing humpbacks. The crooning
mother's blow as their calves bump and squeal under the darkened blue sky's
broadening pink horizon. Lowering the room's lights Fred bumps up the screen's
bass so that he can actually feel as well as hear the rumbled waves as
they pound against the hissing sand.
"Now, that’s one way to keep yourself
from getting claustrophobic." Blade's voice says from the open doorway.
"Looks like you could step right through and go for a walk; doesn't it?
A couple of UV lamps and some fans we could do Margaritas at sunrise."
"Well, when you're planning to spend
several years aboard space stations and IO tugs you’ve got to mind the
head. Besides." Fred smiles. "You’ve just got to watch football
on one of these. Puts you right there on the line."
"Oh, p-lease! Don’t tell me you're
going to go into some brainless head-butting testosterone attack every
Sunday!" Blade grins down a small tease. "I won’t have my child subjected
to that type of capricious violence."
"Capricious violence? And this from
a woman who takes a four-year-old out to Mars."
"She’ll be almost six by the time
we reach Mars. And besides." Blade looks down at him with all apparent
sincerity. "I’ve picked apart Atlantis Tower from every archive point in
existence. Seen every phase projection and contingency plan. The habitat
is sound."
"Hey, I didn’t…" Fred's offhand remark
has made Blade defensive, not at all what he’d intended.
"Yah, I know." She looks down without
so much as a hint of anger. "You were only joking. But I’m not. If I thought
even for an instant that this trip out, or the Atlantis habitat, or any
other single part of this deal was even in the least bit shaky, I’d have
never come. I mean, realistically I accept the potential for a certain
amount of danger out on Mars. But I don’t think that potential is exceptionally
risky. You do understand, don't you?" The tilt of Blade's face in the dim
Baja morning begs for some small confirmation.
"Listen, Blade. I have never for one
moment thought that you were ever risking your daughter’s life. At least,
no more so than taking her on a European intercontinental." Fred finds
words suddenly hard to grasp. Blade's soft drawn body in the brightening
sunrise makes him nervous. Babbling on without really listening to himself
he rambles on. "And, you sure a hell don’t need some dumb-ass jet-jockey
like me telling you how or even where you should raise a kid. I mean, personally
I think you've done a pretty good job so far. Your daughter may be occationally
a little bit headstrong, but I don't think anyone will ever call her dumb."
"Fredy." Blade's sudden total intent
nails him in place. "I know that sometimes my daughter might seem a little
bit headstrong and stubborn and bouncy as a spring, but she’s my
springy stubborn spoiled headstrong brat. And I’m the only one who gets
to say so. Everyone else gets eviscerated. It’s that mother-tiger thing.
You know?"
"I’ll be sure to remember it, that's
for sure."
"So, you want to go get us something
to eat, or what?" Eyes twinkling Fred watches Blade shift into full-on
manipulation mode.
"What time is it?" The sudden sinking
feeling that he’s about to be forced up off his nice comfortable .5g bunk
hits him.
"About 23:50 ship's time. There’s
a commissary mess just down one section."
"Do I have to?" He pleads from
his bunk.
"Fred, we've both been going at this
hard all day, and we both need to eat. I'm completely starved. My alternative
is to wake up my spoiled rotten brat daughter and drag her cranky little
butt down the corridor to the mess hall. And were I alone that is exactly
what I would do. But as there's you..."
"So, what do you want?" Tucking his
handtablet into his thigh pocket Fred pushes himself up off his extremely
comfortable bunk. The Baja sunrise will just have to wait. "Rations, or
should I buy something?"
"Whatever you’re having."
Oh shit. Not this game again.
"At least pick a continent." Fred
insists.
"North America. That should be safe
enough."
"You forget my Mexican grandmother."
Fred says as he opens the cabin door. "Jalapanios at midnight were not
at all uncommon in my family."
The empty passageway outside seems odd to
Fred, especially considering the time of day. On long haul sailing ships
the daily routine harmonizes around two separate cycles, one on six-hour
shifts and the other on eight. The vast majority of ship’s crew keeps to
an eight hour shift. High stress duty schedules such as bridge control
and EVA maintenance keeps to the shorter six hour shift. Throughout a ship’s
day the shifts often flow through conflicting waves until 00:00 when both
fall into sync. Fred harbors a sinister belief that Blade had known about
this before sending him out for food. Consulting his handtablet Fred finds
the nearest crew mess one level down, just as Blade had told him. In the
past twenty-one hours the three of them haven't consumed much more than
two protein-yogurts and some rehydrated fruit juice. The thought of real
food suddenly becomes overpowering.
How come didn't she send me out
for food when we first got here?
Inside the empty lift Fred stands
studying his display when the doors slide open onto a loud rushing wall
of busy people all dressed in dark TransOrbital blue. Midnight shift change
always reminds Fred of morning in downtown Tokyo. Having often participated
in the ritual during his many training missions he finds a strange familiarity
in the crowded confusion. All the known mood profiles are there. Some anxiously
intent on getting to duty stations, other boisterously blowing post duty
stress. Fred again checks his handtablet again to decide if he should go
left or right.
"May I help you?" A young woman’s
voice says from beside him.
"Huh?" Next to Fred stands a pretty
young woman in ship's steward uniform. Even considering her tall thin frame
the woman's thick blonde pageboy bangs make her look far too young to be
ship’s crew.
"I, uh… I’m looking for the commissary/mess,
but I think I’ve, uh… got the ship twisted around."
"No problem," The young steward smiles.
"Follow this corridor anti-spinward one more intersection then turn aft.
You can’t miss it."
"Anti-spinward?" Fred asks.
"Left when facing forward." She smiles
and points up the crowded corridor. "Anti-spinward."
"Sort of like Ringworld?"
"Sort of like Ringworld." She nods.
"Do you happen to know if there’s
a lift nearby the mess. I’d like to avoid carrying our meals back through
this crowd if I could."
"Yes there is. You'll find a lift
just outside of the commissary entrance. It takes you straight down to
the Family Mess Complex. You should pass it on your way in. But, hopefully
by that time most of these people will either be in quarters or at station."
"Thanks." Fred nods in leaving.
"Excuse me." The steward says as he's
turning to leave. "You just came up from the Family section, right?"
"Yes."
"Part of a family-unit?" She asks.
He nods again. "Any children under ten Es?"
"One."
"I hope you don’t think I’m being
nosy, it's just that I'm also one of the out-bound instructors for ten
Es and under."
"Oh." A face-splitting smile breaks
across his face "How do you do? Fred Davis. I’m traveling with my cousins
Blade DeSilva and her daughter Roselene."
"Please to meet you." Her soft hand
fits warm and firm into his. "September Lee, but you can call me Tem. You
say the girl’s name is pronounced Rose-lene? I thought from the spelling
it was more like Rose-e-lene."
"Not according to her mother." Fred
grins. "So, if you’re the local school teacher how come you're out here
playing hall-monitor in a steward's jumper?"
"TransOrbital firmly believes in both
cross-training and the full utilization of available staff. I also happen
to be a fine ship's astronomer. But, for these first few days I pull a
little steward duty to help sort out any little Earthworms who can't tell
aft from anti-spinward." Smiling up a small mischievous wink Tem's almost
plain but pleasant face instantly transforms from merely attractive to
decidedly pretty.
"Well uh, thanks for the directions,
Tem." Fred shyness kicks in, never really knowing what to do when a pretty
girl actually flirts with him first. "I’m sure I’ll be seeing you at the
learning center. Now, it’s straight down one intersection then left; right?"
"No. Left, correct." September
smiles.
"Got it." Fred nods. "Any hints on
what’s good to eat? Or at least tolerable."
"Standard rations are tolerable as
long as we’re in orbit. But if you’re going to order takeout, be sure and
tell the mess-steward before you order. Trust me on this one. The
cooks get real cranky around double-oh-hundred." September's solemn expression
assures Fred he should value the advice. Fred's two shipboard rules of
survival are: a) never piss-off the medics, and, b) never piss-off the
cooks.
"Thanks again."
In the few minuets the two of have
stood talking the busy corridor has nearly emptied, but as he turns the
corner Fred finds what's left of crowd still in full swing. This crew commissary/mess
like all others has been broken up into standard continental configuration,
each region with its own kitchens, seating arrangements and decor. Finally
on familiar territory Fred puts his handtablet away and quickly walks through
the crowded common toward the North American standard rations counter,
right where it's supposed to be. And also per tradition the long dark line
of blue TransOrbital jumpers seems to move very slowly.
"Feel like you’re standing in the
wrong line?" A voice says from behind.
"How’s that?" Fred turns his ear toward
the sound.
"That bumble-bee AeroDyn jumper of
yours."
Looking back Fred finds no malice
in the man's broad friendly smile. For some reason this guy seems familiar.
Then a knowing grin spreads across the stranger's face.
"Do I know you?" Fred asks.
"I think so. John Forrest." His firm
palm presses into Fred’s. "We met a couple years ago at my brother’s wedding.
Jim and Barbara Forrest."
"Oh shit." Fred looks shocked.
"What?" John not quite whether he
should be offended.
"Blade." Fred looks back at him squarely.
"You mean the person you’re traveling
with. The young lady who danced naked and then decked her brother at the
wedding reception?"
"Yes. But I’ve been avoiding
the subject of that wedding like the plague." Fred shakes his head. "She
seems a little uptight just now about her perceived bimbo-factor. You will
be discrete, won’t you?" John looks back at him somewhat startled.
"Hey, look. I never even… uh. To tell
you the truth, I think I left just before the dancing started." A thin
smile curves John’s lips. "Think that'll fly?"
"No." Fred shakes his head. "Blade's
bullshit detector has been running maxed-out lately."
At long last Fred steps up to the
counter and nods at the cook's assistant standing at the terminal.
"To go. I need two standard number
threes and a child’s breakfast number six." Fred hands the cook three ID
data-points.
"What flavor on the child’s dessert?"
The cook asks him with a bored stare.
"Strawberries. No whipped cream."
Fred looks back at John. "You planning to eat here in the mess?"
"No." John shakes his head. "My cabin-mate
is out on duty so I thought I’d go back and relax."
"You want to come eat with Blade and
me in our quarters?" Fred asks. John looks back at him with cautious curiosity."
We've got a table that seats four, and Blade is going to want to say hello
to you. Also, I could really stand a little company right now." Fred watches
an even
more confused expression flash cross John’s face.
"If you don’t mind my asking, just
exactly what is you’re relationship with Blade? You guys are really
cousins, right?"
"It’s a lot less complicated than
you’d think." Another broad smile splits Fred's face. "Blade and I met
down at Edwards. She was going out in a double with her kid and I was outbound
econo in a hot-bunk. The two of us have just enough actual blood on common
to qualify as a family group, so we decided to team up and apply for better
quarters."
"Just long lost cousins, huh?"
"That's right." Fred nods. "And, that’s
the problem. We don’t really know each other. I mean, don’t get me wrong,
Blade’s bright and all, but this is still like living with a couple of
total strangers. And I'm starting to think that me being alone with her
and Roselene all the time is making her a little… uptight."
"And so you're thinking some kind
of… social diversion might put her mind at ease."
"I'm thinking a little company right
now might do both our sanities some good."
"Okay." John nods. "I'm game. To tell
you the truth, relaxing alone can be highly over-rated."
"Great." And as luck would have it
Fred pulls his handtablet from its pouch just as the mess steward slides
his three meal containers out onto the counter.
"What are you doing?" John asks as
he watches Fred clumsily contending with his handtablet while juggling
the small stack of meal containers. Fred cocks some sort of lame grin back
at him.
"Been a while since you’ve shared
quarters with a woman; hasn’t it?" Looking down at Blade's image on his
display Fred smiles.
"Hi, Blade. Guess what I found?"