Chapter 25
"Davis?" The man behind the counter
looks up at Fred with bored disinterest.
"That’s right. Davis. Frederick Emanuel
Davis. Down from the SS Flying Jib. You've got to have me in there
somewhere."
The irritation is beginning to wearing
on Fred. All he wants is a secured locker, some food for his severely neglected
stomach, a bed for his gravity sore back, and a nice long nap before dinner
time.
"I’ve been trans-orbit for nearly
an M. This isn’t exactly a surprise visit, you know."
"All I know is what I see here on
my display, and my display tells me your quarters were given to
some stand-by employee name of D. Neufield. So you can't really be here
now, can you?" The man's hard space-worn face almost wrinkles a smile.
"Unless of course you swam."
"Funny. Ha ha." Fred squints down.
"As the secure-cache in my tablet clearly shows, before leaving Edwards
I met my cousin and we formalized a family-unit contract. All I did was
change quarters, that's all. It’s all right there. There's corporate encryption
seals all over it!"
"Yes, I can see that. But, your tablet's
files don’t sync up with the data on my display. So you’re still not here."
"This is bullshit. I want to talk
to somebody! Who's in…"
"What seems to be the problem, Baker?"
Stepping through a small side door an older gray haired woman with short
rounded curves filling her black AeroDynamic jumper moves up to stand behind
the counter.
"Another show-up." The man grins up
into Fred’s perturbed squint. "Says he put through a quarters transfer
back at Edwards. Some groundhog down in Group Quarters logged him in as
a no-show. Third one this week."
You asshole! You knew all along.
"Well, Crewman Davis." The woman’s
solemness troubles Fred. "It seems you have bigger problems than a mis-entered
records file. Matter of fact, we
all have bigger problems."
"Like what?"
"Well, for starters, all but a few
of our very newest Ricktoven reactors have been recalled from service."
"Say what?" Fred’s jaw drops. "But…"
"That's right. The V39 Ricktoven reactor
powers almost every GM triship AeroDynamic flies. Nearly seventy percent
of our fleet has been dry-docked until GM can ship out enough replacement
reaction chambers to..."
"Reaction chambers?" Fred squints.
"Something's happened that didn’t hit the nets. What?" From Baker’s expression
the man is obviously bored of the repeated explanation and turns back to
his display. The human-resources lady maintains her professional neutrality.
"One of our triship’s reactor unexpectedly
went critical on approach to one of the command stations near EML-X. Six
triships and much of the station were destroyed. Under a UN watchdog a
deal has been struck between the company, GM, our insurance carriers, and
representatives of both the Earth Mining League and the System Stock Exchange
to collectively seal the archives under a copyright umbrella for the two
Es allowed by law. All casualty estates have been settled under existing
non-disclosure contracts. No sense in having two of the system's largest
corporations go broke through litigation. They feared an... ah... negative
systemic impact on the Solar economy. Not to mention several anticipated
negative social factors."
"No doubt." Fred stands there dazed.
"So, what happens now?"
"Wish we knew." A wane smile tugs
at the woman’s lips. "But I do know what happens to you, that is
at least for the next M."
"And what’s that?"
"Nothing." The woman lets the word
soak in. "All new triship crewmembers have been placed on administrative
leave pending further notice. Your employment contract is still in effect,
which means you'll need to maintain all scheduled out-bound training. Other
than that you’re on your own." The woman grins. "You just earned yourself
a Mars vacation."
"Huh?" A faint smile jars Fred’s shocked
stupor.
"Now hit him with the punch-line."
Baker gruffs, the man's face still down in his display. The woman quietly
clears her throat.
"Ahh… Of course, this means that for
the duration of this emergency you’ll be on base-salary. No crew-time or
bonuses until this is over. Your accrued contract-time however remains
current."
"Is there housing?" Fred's voice gives
a slight squeak.
"Well, due to the sudden influx of…"
"No!" This time Baker actually
looks up. "Betty, just tell the man ‘no’. And to save you the trouble of
asking the next round of stupid question; no, there are no other
jobs around the corporate office. Look at me, duffus! I’m a triship pilot
with over ten Es in the belt and they got me sitting here playing receptionist!
Right now over half the corporate crew-roster is sitting around Asimov
Station trying to make like nothing’s wrong while Utopia Planitia can't
build new triships fast enough. You wouldn’t happen to have someplace else
on Mars to be for the next M, would you?"
"Uh… well." Fred’s head shakes.
"Too bad." Baker glances back down
at his display. "On the other hand, there is some obvious good news."
"Like what?" Fred asks still a bit
overwhelmed.
"I take it you don’t spend a whole
lot of net-time worrying over your financials." Baker’s finger-tip taps
quickly at his display.
"Hey listen, I just got off the boat.
I haven't had time to check on anything. Trans-orbit band-width gets kind
of expensive, and there’s not a whole lot to spend your money on aboard
ship. As long as my dirtside data accounts don't post me that they've hit
critical then why bother?"
"Because Corporate stopped both your
regular pay and extra-duty transorbital pay when they classified you as
a no-show back at Edwards. They say they tried to notify you via registered
mail, only you forgot to leave an Earthside forwarding address. You’ve
been living off existing accounts and interest for over an E."
"So just exactly how does that make
for good news?"
"Corporate mistake, newbee. You get
back-pay plus prime-rate, plus a twenty-percent penalty. It’s all in your
contract. You should read it sometime. Makes you an extra seven-hundred-thirty-six-thousand
US plus change. Tax-free. Bad news is you’ll probably have to spend it
all down here before you get an engine under your ass and some ice-bonus
back in your accounts."
"Any suggestions?" Fred asks with
little hope of an answer. "Hotels, hostels?"
"I wouldn’t stay in Asimov if I were
you." The old spacer tells him. "It’s gotten real expensive around here
lately. You might want to check the classified postings from some of the
outlying production stations. I hear one or two of the power-towers are
still looking for service help. Sometimes excess quarters go for fairly
cheap."
Then, as if some strange sensation
from an alternate universe, Fred hears his tablet quietly chime for a livelink.
"Excuse me." Fumbling the smooth rectangular
tablet from its thigh-pouch Fred thumbs the device active and finds himself
staring down into Roselene’s frowning blue eyes.
"What’s wrong, Sweety?" Fred asks
without greeting.
"Cousin Fred, they made us go off
to ‘Lantis Tower before dinner." Lower lip aquiver Roselene’s drowning
blue eyes slowly leak tears. "We didn’t even get to say good-bye." These
last few words blubber off into a lingering whine as a familiar female
hand enters the frame to wipe the girl's snot-bubbled nose.
"Don’t cry, Shorty." Fred soothes
at her through his display. On the back of his neck Fred can feel the heat
of a constant stare. Not even planetside two hours and already this place
is giving him a headache.
"We'll work something out, Sweety.
I promise. Now let me talk to your mommy."
Chapter 26
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