by Caldon Mull
Esteban ducked under a bulkhead as they padded through the plush synthwool-carpeted corporate suites to their adjoining rooms. His skull was perilously close to the ceiling once they had left the public hall landing and the foyer, and Esteban had to stoop while moving around in a space for the first time since he had left the city all those years ago.
Pele had found a clock-dock in the middle room and set himself up on charge and data, while the Doctor took the end room.
Esteban stretched out on the large bed, his calves extended off the mattress. Sighing, he lay diagonally and managed to fit.
Staring at the ceiling, Esteban tried to access the Channels, but there was only local content, and a cached update on the Earth space elevator’s Plumb-port nearing it’s final position from sometime in the last two months.
Local news had the latest lines of upgraded cyber-model optics, both in materials and color ranges; upgraded A and B skeletal-weave frames, and a version update of a new range of neural-bus compositors.
Cartagena was adapting their earth-tech to lower gravity conditions, different light levels and a new range of materials, including graphene and rigid gels, geocrete and alloys.
Esteban sighed, they were prosperous in a way that could not be on Earth. The Mega-corporation that represented Cartagena showed year-on-year growth and the various subsidiary organizations were liquid and more or less equitable.
Their cyber ware and med-mech was in demand, and their reputation was solid for the many numerous small scale production shops. What if the OutSystems dragged out their nanotech foundries and drove places like this out of business?
What if the human Standard med-mech was squeezed out by the OutSystems flesh-tech? They didn’t make things for people, they just grew more flesh and printed it from their portal-wombs and tanks into different configurations.
While all together on Earth, Gravity Well economics meant that the market items cost more or less the same to ship out of the Gravity Well. Up in space where there was no Gravity, the tholin and ooze raw materials were more suited to OutSystems cloning technologies than Earth-Standard augmentation technologies.
The markets were open, demand would shift to cost-sensitivity; and the InSystems Arcology would be finished. The last blow to an already fragile culture would be dealt. Esteban breathed out slowly, thinking. Ooze and Ice production, super-conductivity and the basis for their manufacturing followed a chemical restraint on heat. The OutSystems technologies could only come into full swing inside the chemical limit for Nitrogen Ices.
Esteban rubbed his face. Weather was a combination of electricity, chemical elements and heat systems. Throw in Geology to steer, constrain or channel moving atmospheres and fluids… expand it over a wide area, and simplistically... you had weather.
If human economies ran like weather patterns, and if you took the OutSystems strengths into account… then Esteban could eliminate Venus, Earth itself, Luna, Mars and Ceres from anyone with probable cause to shift the OutSystems economy and manufacturing strengths. It couldn’t be too dark, or too cold…
Neptune, Pluto and Uranus were not probable, everything was too small-scale and there was nothing particularly valuable to mass-produce out there, except fusion fuel. But if you had abundant fusion capabilities, you didn’t need the OutSystems.
Jupiter and Saturn were the only candidates to engineer something on this scale. They had vast resources that they could exploit, limited only by the speed of their ability to process it… it had to be.
Somewhere in those two planetary Systems, someone was plotting to end Esteban’s livelihood, his City’s livelihood and his very fragile InSystems culture. Somebody was preparing to make a mockery of the very reasons the first Fleets had fled Earth. No… not if he could do anything…
“Esteban?” The Doctor’s voice intruded on his thoughts.
“Si?” Esteban opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows.
“Do you want to go for a meal? You said you were keen.” she was wearing a simple tunic, set with 3-D holograms that cascaded over the smart fabric in the latest fashionable montage, currently popular in Cadiz.
“I am. Sorry, I was just thinking how we’re on the very edge of Martian life out here. How the storms rage and how very fragile we all are.”
“How so.” she blinked.
“I’ll just change, do you mind?” Esteban reached for his backpack, “It doesn’t go well to be seen stepping out in the same thing you were wearing during the day.”
“I’ve seen it all before, go ahead.” she smiled at him.
Esteban tugged off his coverall. “When the 3rd landed, we headed for the highlands, we needed metal and ores… But MF3-Mumbai headed up north, and settled in the flat plains.
They were keen for farmlands. It was all they could think about. But their Arcology was stressed, they had packed it with thousands beyond its safe capacity for the trip to Mars.” Esteban smoothed his penis flat in the suit and pressed the seal button at the base of his spine. The garment slowly folded closed as he flexed and shifted for comfort. The smart fabric glimmered and scrolled images matching hers.
“They only saw the land, they didn’t think that as the soil heated up, the plains would turn to swamp. Technically, the permafrost would warm to quicksand and then liquify. MF3-Mumbai started to bend on it’s spindle and then just broke apart in the first big northern storm. They had not reckoned that they had landed on top of a frozen ocean that would one day be tens and hundreds of meters under water. They wanted to solve a problem now, and hang the consequence.”
“All Martians know this. The ‘Mumbai tragedy’ was the worst loss of human life on Mars, ever.”
“It’s a train of thought, let me finish.” Esteban grumbled.
“Go ahead.” she smiled again.
“The survivors moved to the foothills below us on the Tempe Terra, away from the plain and set up homesteads… Esteban tugged on his boots, “they had nothing left… but these guys had made it here. We contracted them for mine labor, helped set up ruggedized homesteads and gave preferential rates on GM cereals. Now most of the food in MF3-Cartagena is some of the finest and freshest on Mars. Our school programs for them provided some of the finest technicians we have. What I’ve learned is that these guys are committed. There is no other option for them.
“Their archaic hunger for land was an just an expression of status that was achievable from a limited perspective… an Earth perspective. On Mars it meant nothing, nobody had the skills for Mars agriculture.”
“I hope this train moves on quickly, Esteban. You must be starving.”
“The other Arcology treat them like… meat, spare parts. I think that if Mars is going to succeed, we should learn some lessons from what people are doing on the edge of the world to make it work.”
“That’s… a very nice thought Esteban.” She moved to the door and opened it.
“They’re adapted to our type of InSystems, they’ve contributed back to MF3-Cartagena in a way that has forced adjustments in both our mindsets. Where they lived on Earth for thousands of years, the son of a farmer would only ever be a farmer; here on Mars a farmers’ son could be a lawyer, an engineer or anything they have aptitude for… because MF3-Cartagena needs skilled labor.” Esteban ducked under the doorframe and sauntered towards the restaurant with the doctor.
“There’s a ‘but’ here, Esteban. You wouldn’t be chewing this bone for this long if there wasn’t one.”
“InSystems must completely assimilate them before we become identified with their misfortune, and treated in the same way that they are. Their initial way lies with subsistence and even further isolation. Individuals that are isolated and ignored have no chance by themselves. Being on contract and being indentured, or being viewed as a ‘thing’ are almost the same thing these days.
“If a culture is to survive, it needs to take care of its collective individuals. If an individual is to survive, they have to maintain and invest in ‘their’ culture�
� and that’s what I’m not getting a sense of, from the Mega-Corporations and Mega-Collectives that the InSystems Arcology are represented by.”
The Doctor stepped off the escalator on the mezzanine landing. Esteban was relieved he could stop stooping. “All I’m getting from them is more and more outrageous displays of arrogance. It’s like they’re eating their own shit, but they’re forcing us to dig around in it for whatever we need before they eat it.”
“That’s a delightful thought before your dinner.” she smiled.
“I’m using ‘shit’ as a metaphor for the economic and social relationship, Doctor. Consumers don’t choose the Corporation production strategy. If all they have access to is shit, then they’ll eat it, wash in it, decorate their homes with it and be happy that they have so much of it. Anyway, here we are.”
“Esteban… what is that smell…? Its wonderful.”
“Ah, that’s the carvery. There’s lamb, turkey and ostrich, leafy greens and cheeses… Our pride of place is potatoes. Mars and potatoes were made for each other. Have you never eaten fresh produce before?”
“No, MF1-Cadiz only has processed food.”
“I think we’ll start you with small samples first. Follow me…”
#
“Oh, I’ve eaten too much.”
“You haven’t touched a thing!” Esteban gestured at her plate, “Not really more than a teaspoon of anything, it’s the variety that makes your gut think so. Different rates of digestion give you the illusion of being full.”
“How long are we likely to be on lockdown?”
“It depends… We’re thickening the atmosphere, essentially dragging moisture out of the soil while we’re heating the planet… It used to be weeks of global dust, now it’s just short of that. I mean, look at MF1-Cadiz and MF1-Marseilles in the Hellas. In a hundred years the air pressure at the bottom of the Planita is half of that of earth-standard, you’ve got running water into a pooling lake.
“At the top of the Hellas crater, and most elsewhere, the air pressure is five percent at worst, or ten percent on average. In another hundred, you’ll live on the shores of a sea that’s the size of... the Antipodean Ocean on earth, you know the one that used to be the Arctic Ocean, when north was still north. So weather in the Hellas is more like weather.”
“What do you think? You’re the weatherman.” she pressed him for an answer.
“Maybe another two days? It’s been sweeping south for about a week already, so there’s not much more to sustain it once it buttresses against Tharsis. It should drop all the ices really soon, which would then slowly melt and universally cool the atmospheric layers to an equilibrium different from the hotter, wetter air and the underlying thicker, cooler moving wedge.
“All the GM lily-pads have been also been disrupted. They’ll land and seed where they fall, but while they’re been blown about in the storm, their dark color will trap more heat from the sun while they’re up there, and they’ll rot where they land.”
“Decomposition usually involves some heat.” she pushed her plate away from her.
“Yes it does, in another decade the whole Boreal Planita will be swampy. When the permafrost goes it’ll release methane gasses in huge quantities, more or less at once. That doesn’t seem likely during this storm, so factor the lilies into the equation, two... maybe three days.”
“That’s something to look forward to.” Doctor snorted. “Eruptions of rotting vegetation gases.”
“Most of the homestead ranchers and farmers should be safer by then, permanently relocated along the higher plains of the Tempe Terra when that happens… I hope. MF3-Cartagena must transplant the MF3-Mumbai claimants to fulfill their allotments as quickly as possible. As soon as that is done, we will be twice the size of any single landed Fleet Arcology.
“If we can show the utilization and development of the Marscape we gain more say in the Martian tribune, according to the Senatorial Charter. MF3-Mumbai was doomed from the start, they chose all the wide open land that was easiest to allot to their tenants… not realizing that all of the Northern plains would eventually become sea-bottom as Mars warmed. They hoped it would take centuries, not the decades the land is submerging at the current rate.
“Are you saying MF1-Cadiz’s hydroponics don’t count in that allotment equation?”
“Not really, it’s mostly automated and it consumes limited resources from the city. You’re on the canyons above the Hellas lake. You would need human settlers along the shore to get your extensions. EarthGov’s Charter rewards settled humans consuming resources with Tribune seats… wait a minute…”
“What?” she looked up as he dialed a privacy-secure shield around their booth.
“How many Tribune seats would the EarthGov cede to that Terraformer Australian during the transfer… the one that Pele mentioned?” he said softly as the background noise vanished under the shield.
“I don’t really know, our ‘net is on lockdown so I can’t check.”
“I know of at least ten facilities… so… he gets to start in Mars with maybe a dozen seats.” Esteban leaned forward.
“That’s more than the number of cities on Mars. You think this is what it’s all about?” she matched his hushed tone of voice.
“Doctor… this is news, this is a breaking story. We might be getting a Martian Senator!” Esteban whispered excitedly.
“Esteban… just think on what you’re saying… If that… Argyre thing… gets out, he’ll be indicted in some or other criminal case and his assets would all be foreclosed. This is too big for us. We can’t let this slip out.” The Doctor waved her hands in a ‘down boy’ motion.
“You’re right. As soon as Pele is finished uploading, we’ll have to speak to him. See what he plans to do.” Esteban sat back in his seat and pondered.
“How many Senators are there currently?” she sipped her water, looking at the translucent shapes beyond their shield.
“Earth, Venus, Jupiter and Saturn at present. There’s talk about a seat for Luna and Ceres coming up, especially in the next few years when Luna has para-terraformed. As soon as that Dome goes up, it’s eligible for one. They could pressurize that whole place in twenty years flat out. Ceres is almost entirely dependent on Luna for supplies and shipping, but if Mars were to come on-board…”
“… It would break the deadlock between the Gas Giants and Earth.” The Doctor nodded, “Or re-align Ceres to Mars... or to Jupiter.”
“Exactly!” Esteban whispered, “Whatever happens, things get to move and shake.”
“… Or it would balance out a single Luna-Ceres candidate seat, either way.” she sighed deeply. “So if the OutSystems flee Earth, then it’s the Jovian’s… and if they stay, then it’s the Terrans? That seems overly simplistic. Real life isn’t usually like that.”
“I suppose when you say it like that, it sounds stupid.” Esteban groaned.
“That might be so.” The Doctor stood and Esteban dialed down the shield, “That doesn’t mean you’re stupid, unless you want to shout that out to everybody you meet. That would be stupid... and unwise.”
Esteban stood and motioned to the waitron “Cheque, please!”
A couple staggered towards where Esteban stood, “I know you, you’re that weatherman from ‘MCN Naked Weather’. We’re subscribers.”
“Hullo there. Yes, I’m Esteban Perez.” he looked them over, both were young and obviously high.
“I’m Heinz and this is Anne.” Heinz grinned at Esteban, “We’ve just got married, we’re on Honeymoon in Cartagena.”
“Well, congratulations!” Esteban smiled his ‘special smile’ at them, “I hope you are happy for a long time together.”
“So, ask him already!” Anne giggled at Heinz, “Go on, you said you would. For me.”
“Okay [hic] O[hic] kay.” Heinz grinned at Anne, “So go on take it out, let me see it.”
“I’m sorry?” Esteban could feel his smile freeze on his face, “What?”
“Your c
o[hic]ck.” Heinz pointed at Esteban’s crotch, “Take it out. I have an application on my subscriber account that’s been granted by MCN. Look here...” Heinz shared a token from his internal mail queue.”
“Oh, I see.” Esteban checked the authenticity, and took a deep breath, “Sure thing, Heinz. Might I say on behalf of MCN that we value every subscriber from MF1-Bremen.” Esteban reached back and pressed the seal of his suit, which peeled off of him and gathered at his ankles.
“Mein Gott in Himmel...” Heinz blinked and reached for it, “Here we go, my darling. I’m going to make it rain for you, all over you. Just li[hic]ke you asked for.”
“Oh [hic] you’re the best, Heinz.” Anne clapped her hands and bared her breasts as Heinz closed both hands around Esteban’s girth and started to pump.
Esteban was grateful that his skin couldn’t blush, he half-closed his eyes as Heinz tugged on his foreskin, rubbing and retracting it, squeezing his girth and rolling it with his sweaty hands.
Out of the corner of his vision, he could see the Doctor watching him clinically; the waiters expressions and those of the other diners... some with horror, others with disgust and a few with appreciation.
Esteban checked the MCN token Terms and Conditions, then dialed up his UroQt orgasm sensitivity to maximum, why prolong this any longer than was necessary?
Esteban groaned as his ejaculate erupted. The first and second jets covered Anne’s breasts, her face, her new husbands face, hands and his suit; the third arced over them and spattered over a table cloth of the elderly couple dining behind where they stood, the fourth to the sixth of his spasms splashed to the floor with a series of thudding sounds.
Esteban panted as he announced to them, “MCN appreciates your continued subscriber loyalty” as his knees trembled and he struggled to stay standing. He might not have bothered as the newlyweds kissed each other fiercely, smearing each other with his fluids... but a contract was a contract and he had fulfilled his part.
The waitrons’ clean-up crew swarmed down the aisle as Esteban pulled his suit up and sealed it and moved past the tables to the pay-station. Two security clocks were escorting the nearly-oblivious newlyweds out of the restaurant in a tangle of limbs and lips, and the senior waitron was drawing a privacy shield about the gesticulating elderly couple. Esteban couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes; and under his synthetic skin, he could feel his cheeks and ears burning like fire. A small hand folded into his and he looked down as the Doctor tugged him towards the pay-station.