The Imperative Chronicles, Books One and Two: The Mars Imperative & The Tesserene Imperative

by Mark Terence Chapman

  “I like you, James. Most kids your age wouldn’t have the guts to stand up to me that way. You’re entitled, of course, to the bonus you earned under the commission plan for the beryl mine you discovered. What did you have in mind for the promotional appearances and such?”

  His voice sounded sincere for the first time since James had arrived, but James wasn’t quite yet ready to accept things at face value.

  “Much better. Okay, here’s the deal. I’ve been with MMR for less than two years, so I’m not going to ask for a big promotion or a corner office or anything like that. However, I think a substantial raise in pay is called for.”

  Carnoustie nodded. “I can go along with that. How does twenty percent sound?”

  “It sounds pitiful. I was thinking more like triple.”

  “Triple!” Carnoustie jumped to his feet again. “That’s completely out of the question! That’s highway robbery. Look, I’ll go as high as fifty percent, but no more.”

  James shrugged and stood. “Okay then, thanks for your time. I have an appointment over at Amalgamated Minerals headquarters. Maybe they’ll be more amenable.”

  “Wait! Okay, okay. Double then. I’ll double your salary. But I can’t go any higher. Triple would be more than your supervisor makes. How do you think she would react to that?”

  “Double will do,” James said, taking his seat. “That will take care of my ongoing compensation. But I do have one more request.”

  “More? Don’t you think that’s quite a lot already?”

  “Maybe so, but this company can afford it from all the future profits. The other item is non-negotiable. I want a cottage—for my parents. Nothing elaborate; just a small place on a few acres of land alongside a lake somewhere nice and peaceful out in the country.”

  Carnoustie ground his teeth. “Is that all?”

  James ignored the sarcasm dripping from Carnoustie’s words. “That’s all. I’ll have my lawyer contact yours to draw up the papers. It’s not that I don’t trust your lawyers, but, well….” He held up the data tablet. “I’ve seen your lawyers’ work. Do we have a deal?” he stood and held out his hand.

  Carnoustie’s lips pursed in thought. He stood, frowning, for a moment and then took James’ hand. “We have a deal.”

  “Thank you, sir. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. I’ll let myself out.”

  He turned for the door, leaving a bemused-looking CEO staring at his back. James maintained his composure as he left Carnoustie’s office, then the waiting room, and then the building itself. As soon as the outer doors sighed shut behind him, James’ face cracked into a huge grin.

  Damn, you were good in there! You could have backed down and taken the crumbs he was offering. Instead you gave him what-for and made him back down. I’m proud of you, James. Little Jamie is dead; long live King James!

  He kept the grin on his face all the way back to his hotel room—the plush room paid for by the company.

  * * * *

  James completed a whirlwind tour of twenty-three cities on six continents in forty days, terminating in his hometown. Finally, the media circus was replaced by two weeks of blessed peace with his parents, Jessica and Talmadge.

  “At least, there was peace once I used some of my book advance money to rent a private compound in the Rockies. Until then, the public attention was relentless—media, fans, crazies waving protest signs.”

  James grinned crookedly into the holocam. “The signs were pretty amusing, though.” He assumed a high-pitched “airhead” voice for the first one while bobbling his head from side to side: “So What’s Wrong with Earth Lichens?” Then a deep stentorian timbre for the next: “God Created Man in His Own Image, Not Lichens!” And finally, a raspy threatening tone: “Lichens Go Home!”

  He smirked. “There were a lot of signs like that, as if this marked the end of civilization as we know it. But, hey, maybe it’s the end of seeing ourselves as the center of the universe. If so, perhaps that’s a good thing. Maybe we as a species will stop contemplating our navels and start looking outward more. This one little solar system is an awfully fragile basket to put all our Easter eggs in.”

  James flashed a shy smile. “I guess that’s enough metaphysics for one v-mail. Getting back to the subject, the important thing is that the media hoopla is over for now.

  “It’s good to see my family and my old friends again, but I really miss you, Janice. I’m glad this part of the trip’s about over. It’s amazing how you can travel millions of kilometers between planets without batting an eye, and yet flying a few thousand klicks on Earth can be so exhausting. Oh, by the way, I submitted my memoirs to the publisher last week. They say the book will require a fair amount of editing, but it’s already a best-seller just based on the advance sales. Who knew?” He shrugged.

  “Well, I have to run. My parents want to go horseback riding, of all things. I’ve never been on a horse before. I don’t think they have either, but that’s what they want to do. The place the company bought for them has a small stable and a few horses. Mom and Dad want to be ready for when they move in next week. And then I have a day planned tomorrow to catch up with my old friends, Dave and Mary-Anne. I haven’t seen them since I left Earth the first time. Whew!

  “I’ll be back on a ship heading for Mars in a few days and I’ll v-mail you again then. I’m dying to get back to my humdrum life of scrabbling for ore on Mars. Be safe; I’ll be with you before you know it. I love you. James out.” He reluctantly pressed the Send key and stepped away from the console.

  Yeah, only a few more long, interminable months locked inside yet another tin can. He sighed.

  Three days passed, and with it his final opportunity to breathe unbottled air. It was time to return to ODF Nautilus and catch the Space Racer. Despite the name, it was still a cargo tub, and therefore more of a slow boat to China than a racing yacht. It was going to be a long trip.

  But at least we have v-mail.

  * * * *

  James stepped off the suborbital shuttle in Macapá and squinted in the brilliant sunshine.

  Has it really been less than two years since I did this the last time? It seems like a lifetime ago.

  James smirked to himself. At least this time I’m dressed for the weather.

  A lightweight off-white pullover, khaki shorts, and sandals made up his ensemble. Even so, his face was beaded with perspiration by the time he entered the terminal to collect his duffel. He found his bag and turned toward the door leading to the port shuttle.

  Standing in the middle of baggage claim was an extremely damp young man: a gangly beanpole with spiky white-blonde hair sticking out in all directions, carrying a duffel similar to James’. He looked every bit as lost as James had, once upon a time, his blue eyes wide and panicky.

  This is like some sort of weird mirror déjà vu. He’s overdressed for the heat and he even has an elevator brochure sticking out of his shirt pocket, just like I did!

  Jeez; did I ever look that young and naïve?

  James shook his head and chuckled, drawing a dirty look from the other man. “Sorry. You just reminded me that I was in your shoes a couple of years ago. Are you trying to figure out where to catch the shuttle bus to Nautilus?”

  The other man nodded.

  “No problem. I’m going there, too. Follow me.” James turned and headed for the doorway marked Hotel Shuttles. “The port shuttles leave from the same place. My name’s James, by the way. James McKie.” He held out a hand.

  “Jan. Jan Johansen, but everyone calls me Swede.” He shook James’ hand.

  “Nice to meet you, Swede. You don’t sound Swedish.”

  “Yeah, well, by way of Denver. It’s a long story.”

  “Don’t worry; we’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted on the way up.”

  “James,” Johansen repeated, then his eyes shot wide in recognition. “Wait a minute. You’re—!”

  James grimaced. “Shh! Yeah, yeah, that’s me.” He made air-quotes with his fi
ngers. “‘Mr. Discoverer of Extraterrestrial Life.’” He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “Can we keep it down? I just got through six weeks of media hell and I’d like to keep a low profile on the trip back, if possible.”

  Still wide-eyed, Johansen responded softly. “Absolutely! I read all about your adventures on Mars, and watched your interview on GNN. My God. The kidnapping, the dust storm, the lichens, the bombing, the rockslide. It’s all so amazing. I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to you. This is a great honor, sir!”

  James’ eyes closed in pain. He sighed. “How old are you, Swede?”

  “Twenty-three.”

  James spoke sharply. “Well, I’m not quite twenty-five, so you can dispense with the ‘sir’ crap. Got it?” The look of shock and disappointment on Johansen’s face caused James to pause and soften his tone.

  “Sorry, Swede. It’s just been a rough few months. I guess I’m still a bit stressed out.” He shook his head. “Don’t let anyone tell you that fame is all wine and roses. It has its downside, too.”

  At Johansen’s confused expression, James chuckled. “Tell you what, to make it up to you for snapping like that, how about if I share some of the wisdom I’ve acquired from my two years in space and on Mars?”

  “Really? That would be wonderful!”

  “Good. Stick with me and you’ll get a good head start on what you need to know to thrive…” he waved one hand vaguely in the air, “…out there.” He gestured for Johansen to follow him to the port shuttle.

  James spoke as they walked. “So, Swede, what’s your field of expertise?”

  “I just got my masters in spatial engineering from Georgia Tech.”

  James nodded and smiled. “I have a good friend who’s an engineer. I think you’d like him. I’ll tell you about him on the way up. You can hear first-hand how we jumped from Barsoom to Phobos.”

  A delighted gleam lit Johansen’s eyes.

  Just as Daniel Lim had done with him on James’ first elevator trip, James took the slightly younger but infinitely greener Johansen under his wing. The two took the shuttle to the hovercraft, and thence to the elevator platform. They boarded the elevator car and sat together.

  “You play chess, Swede?”

  “A little, but I’m not very good.”

  “No problem; I can help you. We’ve got a couple of days to kill before we get to Nautilus.”

  “Thanks, James. I suppose I’ll have lots of time to practice aboard ship. I’ll be working one of the deepspace refinery ships—the Gilt Comet. Heard of her?”

  “Can’t say that I have, but I don’t pay much attention to the deepspace vessels. I pretty well limit myself to in-system ships. So what’s your job on the Comet?”

  “RO.” At James’ puzzled expression he continued. “Sorry. Refinery officer; at least at first. I’ll primarily run the equipment that refines the ores extracted from moons and asteroids. Working on the engine and other ship’s systems is secondary. I’m hoping it’ll be a steppingstone to a deepspace prospector. That’s where the real fun is.”

  “Fun? How so?”

  Johansen smiled. “Simple. The prospectors are always the first ships in a new system. If there’s anything interesting to see, the crew are the first humans ever to see it. And I figure as big as the universe is, there are bound to be other star-faring races out there somewhere. Eventually humans will run into one and a prospector crew will most likely be the ones to make first contact. What could be more fun than that?” His eyes shone with the zeal of youth.

  James had to smile at the other’s enthusiasm. “I’d hope your aliens would be more interesting than lichens; assuming, of course, the aliens don’t vaporize you at first sight.”

  Johansen chuckled. “Well, sure. I don’t suppose getting vaporized would be all that much fun.”

  James snorted. “No, I’d guess not.” He glanced at the wall chrono. “Better buckle in. We’re about to head up.”

  Johansen did as instructed. “I don’t mind saying, I’m a bit nervous about this. Doesn’t it bother you how flimsy-looking the cable is?”

  A slow smile crept across James’ face at the memory of events past. “It did, once upon a time. But no longer. I’ll tell you about it later. For now, just relax; it’s a piece of cake. Oh, and keep your eyes on the window. You won’t believe the view!”

  * * * *

  Forty-eight hours later, the Fasten Safety Restraints sign lit and the recording intoned, “Arriving at destination in two minutes….one minute thirty seconds….one minute….” in a repeat of the departure procedure. The flight attendant checked everyone’s restraints before securing herself.

  “Say Swede, are you supposed to report to Murtagh for orientation?”

  “Yeah. I’m set to meet him in a couple of hours. Orientation starts tomorrow.”

  “Good. You have time, then. Let’s find your quarters first, drop off your bag, then get you a haircut.”

  “A haircut?”

  “You don’t know? Didn’t they tell you about Murtagh back home?”

  Johansen frowned. “Tell me what?”

  James shook his head with a frown. “That figures. Someone’s pulling a fast one on you—you know, haze the rookie? Let me tell you, Murtagh’s retired old-school British military; a hard-nosed SOB….”

  I’ll probably pay for this in my next life; but hey, who am I to break tradition?

  EPILOGUE

  Engineering Marvels: Terraforming Mars—With the introduction to the Martian landscape of various Terran/Martian LICHEN hybrids, the terraforming efforts quickly began to take hold. Many scientists believe that humans will be able to live unprotected on the surface of Mars within a century.

  — Excerpt from Encyclopedia Solaris, 2183

  * * * *

  “Dr. McKie, Dr. McKie, over here!”

  “Dr. McKie, just a few words, please!”

  “Can we get a few quick holos of you and your wife, doctor?”

  “Sorry, no time.” Thirty-one year-old James McKie held Janice’s upper arm in a firm grasp as he bulled his way through the throng lying in wait in the lobby of the Martian Terraforming Project headquarters. The underground complex was located not far from the Barsoom elevator.

  “Damn newsies,” he muttered as he approached the desk of Dr. Sennheiser’s personal assistant. James’ hazel eyes flashed with anger at the relentlessly persistent media.

  “Drs. McKie, good morning,” Ms. Rodgers said. “Dr. Sennheiser is expecting you both. Please follow me.” She stood, turned and went through the door beside her desk, holding it open for the McKies.

  “James! Come in, come in! Or should I call you Dr. McKie now?” The gangly, sandy-haired Sennheiser strode toward James with hand outstretched.

  “James will do for the moment. Give me a few years and you can call me Your Highness.”

  Sennheiser laughed. “Janice, it’s nice to finally meet you in person. V-mails don’t do you justice.” He returned her smile as they shook hands.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Jerry.”

  “Please, sit, sit.” He pointed to two of three chairs around a low table.

  Sennheiser paused while his visitors seated themselves. “I heard you were passing through on your way back to Earth and I hoped you’d be able to stop by and see what progress we’re making here.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Jerry. I’m constantly amazed by the reports I hear. I had to see what you’re doing for myself. It’s been what, a couple of years since I was here last? It seemed like a good time to visit.”

  “I’m glad you did. By the way, it’s good to see that you’re finally getting the scientific recognition you deserve for your fine fieldwork—in addition to all the public acclaim. Congratulations!”

  James shrugged. “Thanks, but I could do without all that acclaim. And a bunch of honorary doctorates don’t really mean that much.”

  Janice reached over and squeezed James’ hand. “My husband’s too modest.
He often forgets to mention that he earned the first one on his own.”

  James smiled at her and shrugged. “It took me long enough. You’ve had your doctorate for years.”

  “Sure, but I had a head start. I was already working on it when you got to Mars.”

  Sennheiser nodded toward the door. “I heard all the hubbub outside. What was that all about?”

  James shrugged again. “The usual. Every time someone discovers something interesting on Mars, the newsies feel obligated to track me down for a comment. I guess there aren’t a lot of ‘celebrities’ on Mars to ask.

  “Someone discovers a unique Martian mineral on the far side of the planet, they want me to comment. Someone finds a small pocket of water ice in a cave, they want me to comment. Someone reads in one of the news rags that a woman in Peoria gave birth to a two-headed alien baby, they want me to comment. I swear I never get a moment’s peace! And poor Janice suffers by association.” He looked over at Janice with a sad smile. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  She smiled back. “You’re the one who gets roasted in the glare of the limelight. I just get a little sunburned by the reflection.”

  Sennheiser chuckled. “So what have you two heard about what we’re doing here?”

  “Well,” James began, “I’m no expert on the subject, but it sounds like your project has managed to adapt lichens for all sorts of environments.”

  “Quite right. As I’m sure you recall, a lichen is a symbiotic relationship between a fungus and a photosynthetic partner—a photobiont, either a green alga or a cyanobacteria. Your Dr. Shallitt performed some groundbreaking experiments early on with one particular alga. Since then, we’ve taken his work and expanded upon it with dozens of different algae and bacteria. We’ve found combinations that will survive almost any condition found on Mars.

  “Some, of course, are designed to grow in human-habitated spaces, to provide us with oxygen. Others are designed to thrive at the poles, where water is plentiful, but frozen. Some can extract water from the scraps of ice found locked in the soil. Those combinations can survive the extreme cold of the surface. Others do better in the somewhat warmer conditions of underground caverns where we set up grow lights and farm them. The amount of oxygen we are releasing every day now rivals what we released in a year less than a decade ago. A decade from now it’ll be thousands of times more than what we can produce currently.