Night Shift

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Night Shift Page 5

by Robin Triggs


  “I just—”

  “Just what?”

  God, this conversation had got out of hand so quickly. I was totally wrong-footed, could see no way but awkward honesty. “I wanted to know why the crew reacted the way they did – when you—”

  “That’s none of your damn business.”

  “You – wait, you think it’s not the business of the chief of security to know what’s happening on his territory?”

  “Your territory?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I’ve met people like you. People who’ve spent their whole lives – what was it, since you were six? – their whole lives in the Company system. No understanding of the real world. Think the sun shines out the Company’s arse.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You’re the new man, Nordvelt. I get the best out of this crew. If you’re here to get in my way—”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Listen,” he said. “I know these people and you don’t. I don’t mind giving them a little leeway…let them get away with a few things to keep the machine running smoothly.”

  Of course he did. “The wine we had with the meal last night: that was real, wasn’t it? Anything that rough must have been produced here. And the beers this afternoon. They were alcoholic too.”

  He looked away. “I didn’t see you complaining when you were drinking them.”

  “I didn’t know they were alcoholic. I might have got drunk—”

  “Got drunk?” He laughed, a bear’s roar of laughter. “God, you can’t handle a few glasses of wine, a few cans of weak beer? What are you—”

  “That’s not the point,” I snapped.

  “Listen, Nordvelt, I run this base so it works as efficiently as possible. That means keeping my staff as happy as possible. You’ve only been here for a couple of days; imagine what it’s like after six months. With another six to come. The tedium is…difficult. I recognize that. So I make allowances. As long as it doesn’t affect their work, I allow the personnel here a little latitude. You’d better respect that, or the next six months are going to be…unpleasant. For us all.”

  “Is that a threat?” The voice didn’t sound like mine. Maybe it was the beer. De Villiers was right: I wasn’t used to drinking, didn’t know what I could be like.

  “Not a threat. A warning. We need to work together, Anders—”

  “I should report this.”

  “Yeah, ruin everything I’ve worked for here? You really want to do that, kid? It might be hard for you to see, but I operate in the real world. I know what it takes to get things done out here—”

  “I can see just fine.”

  “Fine. See this. I want this place to thrive. I want to work with you. We’re on the same side, right? You want to prove you’re no Company shill—”

  “You want me to turn a blind eye to this.”

  He didn’t answer straight away. He just looked at me. “Did you want anything else?”

  That was it? That was all he had to say? “Where does it come from?”

  “What?”

  “The alcohol. And those damn cigarettes I saw.”

  He turned away slightly. “I have no idea.”

  “How can you—”

  “I have no idea,” de Villiers said again.

  I leaned back in my chair and stared at him across the desk. “Why did McCarthy leave?” I asked at length.

  De Villiers grunted. “Health issues. He had headaches and trouble sleeping. And he had terrible nightmares when he did get off – God, did he go on about it—”

  “You’re saying that it was nothing to do with your decisions?”

  He paused. “I think it’s fair to say that McCarthy and I never saw eye to eye.”

  “He disagreed with you over this.”

  “Not strongly enough to report me. But he was a military man – a United Nations peacekeeper, back in the days when the UN had teeth. He could never let go of that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he was arrogant and inflexible.”

  “Like you, then?” I regretted it immediately, but too late. The words were out there.

  But De Villiers just burst out laughing, the anger gone in an instant. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I guess the idea was for him to straighten my shoulders and me to round his. We got on all right most of the time, you know – found a way of working.”

  “Which was?”

  “He didn’t see our drinking. I made damn sure no one was drunk at work. Like I’d ever do that anyway. Lost enough friends at…at other jobs.” He glanced at a photograph on his desk. “Anyway, McCarthy, we’d have sorted out our issues, but he got these headaches, sometimes laid up in bed for days.” He shrugged. “Look, Anders,” he said, leaning forward, “I don’t have a problem with you, kid, I really don’t. But I don’t trust you. Don’t trust any Company lapdog.”

  I flushed but he went on before I could speak.

  “I want us to work well together. Maybe I should have told you the truth initially, but I wanted a chance to gauge you first, see what kind of person you are. I knew that computer block would bring you here, give us a chance to…talk. But Max and whoever else spoiled that plan by being so obvious.”

  “You’re asking me to condone actions that clearly violate Company policy.”

  “What I’m asking you to do is pretend you’ve not been indoctrinated in that damn orphanage and step into reality. We’re on the same side, Anders. We both want this place to succeed. The world needs these resources, needs the coal, the oil – and if Maggie can make hydroponics really work, then we can—”

  “Yes, I’ve read the mission statement.” I was dry, conflicted.

  “You really want to put an end to that? To put these people out of work?”

  I hesitated. I had no wish to cause trouble: I was going to have to work with these people for another six months. I hardly wanted to be the man who took away all their pleasures.

  And what if everyone just lied? Would my bosses even care?

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  “Good man.” The commander seemed to assume that he’d gotten my silence. “Now, was there anything else?”

  “You’ll remove the block on my computer?”

  He waved an arm vaguely. “I’ll sort it when I have a moment.”

  I stood to leave.

  “Anders,” de Villiers called after me. “Don’t worry. Don’t stress, kid. You’ll have a good time here, maybe even make some friends – reckon you could do with a few, right? Think about what I’ve said.”

  * * *

  I wanted to go for a walk. I wanted to consider – or to not consider – on my own, to throw off any lingering effects of the beer and work out what I was going to do. It was what I’d always done before, when I’d prowl the late-night concrete cliffs that used to be home.

  No chance of that here. Too dangerous outside, especially with a blizzard coming.

  So I stomped round in circles and replayed the conversation I’d had with de Villiers. It was clear now why he’d been suspicious of me; it made sense. He’d been encouraging rule-breaking and was scared I’d report him, maybe even get him removed. He saw me as an automaton, a Company drone. Question was: was he right?

  Yeah, I’d been through the system. Yeah, I thought the Company was our best hope as a species – they’d basically bought the world, and the world was a better place for it.

  Nice of de Villiers to point out my need for friends. I didn’t know if he’d inferred it from my personnel file or from my Psych reports, or if he’d just worked it out over the course of a few meetings, but I’d never really been close to anyone in my old life. My friends lived in film and in fiction, so far removed from this age of decay that we could have been on different planets.

&nbs
p; When my feet took me to the rec room, and when I saw that the crew were watching an old movie, I felt such a desire to sneak in and watch from the back of the hall. I wanted to be carried away. I wanted to be somewhere else, someone else.

  Instead I went back to my room, accessed my memcard and let my mother sing me to sleep.

  * * *

  I was awakened by an alarm from my computer. It took me an effort to rise; my limbs felt heavy, my mind unrested. I’d been dreaming. I remembered the emotions – fear, anger, determination. I’d had a mission, something that would have given me peace. But that accursed alarm – the memory fled, leaving only a vague sense of anxiety, of unrightness.

  There’d been something of my last interview in there too: something of having a problem to solve, one that I couldn’t quite grasp, couldn’t shift…like the puzzle box that sat next to my compscreen…something I had to do…

  I shoved the sensation from my mind and forced my body to move. I was stiff and had to roll onto the floor before I could get to my feet.

  The alarm was in response to a Priority One message – the type only to be used in critical situations. I wondered if it was one of the crew messing me around, a practical joke for the new boy. But I couldn’t ignore it. I silenced the noise and accessed the message.

  It was de Villiers. “Nordvelt, get the hell out of bed,” he said. It was a visual recording, dated just half a minute earlier. On the screen, his face looked lined and worried. Not a joke, then. “We have a situation at the comms building. Get here at once.”

  I dressed hurriedly, grabbed a caffeine tab from the kitchen and strode out.

  * * *

  The comms building was half a mile to the southeast, on the track up to the minehead. Why they’d built it out of the main complex I wasn’t sure; maybe the builders had thought the extra height gave a clearer signal. I looked up, the slope rising sharply before me, but I couldn’t see beyond the courtyard. Keegan had been right; heavy snow had fallen overnight. It was still falling steadily.

  Three sets of half-covered footprints led away from the barracks in the direction of the garage but I ignored them and went straight for the hill. A half-track would have been quicker but I was yet to drive solo and this wasn’t the time to try.

  The climb took around twenty minutes – it wasn’t too far but it was steep – and I was once again glad of my warmsuit and mask. My boots gripped easily on the snow-dusted ice. I was anxious.

  After just a few minutes, I intersected a rough road created by the tracks of successive vehicles. I walked in them for easier footing, and after only a quarter of an hour more, I could see figures up on the hillside: two of them, and a parked half-track. A few yards to my right, a conveyor wound around a massive outcrop. Silently the wide belt carried coal to the courtyard from the minehead above.

  What I couldn’t see was the comms building.

  At first I thought it must have been obscured by the snow. Then I thought I just wasn’t close enough.

  One of the figures saw me, and beckoned for me to hurry up. In their suits it was impossible to tell who they were, but one of them must have been de Villiers. I started to walk faster, using the treadmarks I was following as a sort of stairway. I stumbled; I’d tripped over a piece of metal half-buried in the snow. It was too big to belong there, and, curious, I scraped away at it with my foot as I regained my breath.

  A horrible realization crept over me. I looked back up the hill.

  What I had tripped on was bent, buckled and broken. It had been a radio mast. It lay on and under a field of snow-covered bricks.

  I couldn’t see the comms building because it wasn’t there anymore.

  I couldn’t see the comms building because it was beneath my feet.

  * * *

  De Villiers, Max and I sat in the commander’s office, each of us cradling a coffee, each of us ashen-faced.

  “Okay. So we’ve got emergency lighting up there. We’ve got everyone we can spare clearing the rubble, and you’ve had a look, Max. So what’s the prognosis?” de Villiers asked.

  She shrugged. “We’re completely cut off. We’ve no way of getting in touch with Tierra del Fuego. The only sat-phone we had was mangled in the wreckage. Comms still work for each of the buildings individually, but we can’t get word from the minehead, or the oil well, to the barracks without someone making the journey. I could probably link hydroponics into an internal system, given a bit of time.” She smiled humorlessly. “At least then Abi could call Maggie and Greigor in for dinner.”

  “So we’re isolated,” de Villiers concluded.

  “And we’re not expecting another transport until the spring.”

  “Can someone not drive back to the port at O’Higgins and send for help?” I asked.

  “Even if it wasn’t insanely dangerous,” de Villiers snapped, “none of the vehicles we have here have the range. Even if we loaded them with petrol, strapped barrels to the back and roof, they’d barely make it a third of the way. If you can’t say anything helpful, Anders, shut the hell up. If you had any other duties, I’d tell you to get out and get on with them.”

  “But there must be an automatic contact signal. Surely a plane will be sent when it ceases?”

  De Villiers ran a rough hand across his brow. “Sure, they’ll know – Tierra’ll know, but no planes will be able to land here in winter. And no boats can dock at O’Higgins; the port freezes up. There’s no help coming from outside, kid.”

  “So we’re stuck.”

  “Well, it’s not that bad, is it?” Max said.

  “Can you repair it?” de Villiers asked.

  She laughed. “Sure, I can repair it – we’ll just dig out the rubble, hope to salvage some undamaged electronic components. Then I’ll use the industrial forge I just happen to have in my pocket to knock up a few new aerials.”

  “Sarcasm isn’t helpful, Max.”

  “Well, I’m sorry. What I might be able to do is restore communications to the minehead.”

  “I’m more concerned about being out of contact with Tierra.”

  “Can’t help you there. But it shouldn’t matter, should it? We were expecting to be self-sufficient all winter, and the loss of our comms doesn’t affect that. Tierra will send a crawler out as soon as it’s warm enough, whether they hear from us or not.”

  De Villiers grunted an acknowledgment.

  “What actually happened out there? What caused that?” I asked into the resulting silence.

  He sighed, wrinkles making him look his age. “I don’t know. Weng alerted me – don’t know the time, it’ll be on record. She told me – what were her words? – ‘there has been an unusual seismic event.’ Eventually got an explanation out of her.”

  “An earthquake?”

  “Don’t know,” the commander said. “An avalanche, maybe.”

  “Weng would’ve known if we’d built the comms unit on an ice fissure,” Max said. “And this place was supposed to be geologically stable.”

  De Villiers rubbed at his beard and got to his feet. “Okay, I can’t see any point in endless talk. Anders, you wanted something to do with your time. Go and talk to Weng. Max, borrow Greigor and Abi and salvage what you can from the wreckage. Be careful – I don’t want any more accidents. I’m going to the minehead; got to make sure there’s no damage there. We’ve got to keep the coal and oil coming or there’s no point us being here at all.”

  * * *

  I found Keegan first. His blond hair was still wet from the shower, weathermen not being obliged to put in an early shift. I’d only really called in because his door was before Weng’s, and I wanted to be sure that the weather couldn’t have caused the building to collapse.

  We talked in his office – much more a working room than my own stark, cold and bare little cell. His had maps and computer projections, and paperwork all over the desk and
the floor. It didn’t look terribly organized, but he must have had a system.

  He had very little to say. He greeted the news with amazement, and confidently asserted that there was no way that last night’s blizzard could have caused an avalanche.

  I left him to wake up properly and went on to see Weng.

  As I stood before her door, I wondered if I should mention last night’s visit. But she answered the door before I decided.

  It was clear that, unlike Keegan, Weng had been up for some hours, and that she was already at work. The walls of her office were taken up with maps and charts, all professional and some annotated in a careful hand – a mix of Chinese characters and English letters. A chess set was on one end of her desk, the pieces arrayed mid-game. A small machine on top of her filing cabinet buzzed to itself, a digital readout showing a black jagged line.

  She took me in, her eyes expressionless. She looked back to her papers and spoke to them rather than me. “You are here to ask about the event that, at four twenty-seven, caused the destruction of the comms building. You want to know what caused it.”

  “Yes.” There didn’t seem much else to say.

  She pointed to the machine. “Look.”

  I went over. “Is this a seismograph? What am I looking for?”

  Finally, she set down her work and came over to join me. Another person would have sighed, or somehow expressed impatience, but not her. Maybe she saw dealing with idiots as part of her job.

  She deftly manipulated the controls and the display changed – showing, I guessed, the time period she was looking for. “Here.”

  It was obvious even to me: steady lines, steady and flat. And then, at precisely four twenty-seven, a sudden spike, a mountain of activity.

  “My machines are rigged to alarms that woke me. I realized that the seismic shift was very, very close and so alerted the commander. In case there was damage. And the doctor, in case there were injuries.”

  “So there was an earthquake? An earth tremor?”

  She smiled mirthlessly. “Do you know what I do here, Mr. Security Chief?”

  “You’re seconded as medic, should anything happen to Dr. Fischer. But your main role is as base geologist—”

 

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