by Corey Ostman
“The stuff your twofer won’t do? Sounds like my kind of job.” Quint grinned toothily, rose, and extended his hand.
Richard leaned over the desk and shook it. “Fine and proper! Let’s rejoin the others.” He stood. “You’re saving me time, boy, and that’s more precious than credits right now.”
Quint shrugged. “Least I could do. You saved me from those goons, and I appreciate that, sir.”
Richard felt guilty at that. Quint followed him down the hall and back into the dining room.
“Well,” said Richard as he looked around at the eager expressions. “Mr. Brown will be joining us.”
“All right!” Yvette cheered.
Richard noticed Grace’s frown and smiled. “He’ll work out fine. I’m very cautious about hiring my crew. Usually the captain does the hiring, but I’ve always supervised that aspect myself. I like the idea of deciding who will work aboard my ship. With good wages, light duty, and excellent food, I usually attract the best applicants.” Richard crossed the room and nudged Yvette off his armchair so he could sit. “I hope you’re ready, Quint. We’ll be doing many things the old fashioned way: under human power.”
“That’s the way I like it,” Quint said.
“Me too,” Grace admitted. She and Quint shared a brief look of sympathy. Maybe they will get along after all, Richard thought.
They left their building an hour later. Richard and Grace walked together, with Raj and Quint behind them. Yvette scampered beside the doctor, asking him which parts of the human body bled the most. Richard chuckled to himself.
“You sure my PodPooch is safe in the open?” Grace asked. “A crewman on our ship seemed to think he’d be a target.”
“I think so,” Richard said. “While dogs are rare here, some people do have them. And I doubt anyone would realize he’s a machine. He’s quite lifelike.”
“Why are dogs rare?”
“Cost. Few people thought of shipping them initially, and those who have them must pay air, food, water, and waste fees. Dome utilities are carefully controlled.”
“Hmmm,” said Grace. “Makes sense. Feels strange to me, though. I grew up on a cattle ranch.”
Richard nodded. “I’ve never seen a cow in person. There are no cows on Mars—they require too many resources.”
“Did you ever have pets?”
“None I didn’t make myself,” Richard grinned.
He looked over at the PodPooch. Tim had initially walked next to Grace, but one look from Yvette, and Tim had relocated to her side. Richard smiled. Intuitive programming.
“What sort of repairs does the Scout still need?” Raj asked.
“Well,” Richard began, “the engines themselves require two solid days, and then there’s the remainder of the systems. Last report, we still had about a hundred adjustments and about forty parts replacements, with subsequent testing.”
“Is that…normal?” asked Grace incredulously.
“Absolutely,” said Richard. “Once we leave the dome, we’re on our own until we return, so we need to be sure every checklist is followed.”
“Where would you get parts at a time like this?” Raj said.
“We have a lot of our parts in inventory, and the captain wants me to talk to the port foreman about the rest.”
“Who is your captain?” Grace asked.
“Captain Harmon Wragg. We were both born and bred on Mars, and we’ve both spent years on excursions out of the domes,” said Richard. “Best pilot I know, too. I’d trust his instincts more than mine.”
“And he’s willing to go on an expedition during a crisis like this?” asked Raj.
Richard laughed. “He doesn’t like being domed. Wragg’s happiest riding the dunes.”
They arrived at the Scout. Richard was happy to see three rim port personnel readying the cruiser for departure. Two were delivering parts while a third was inspecting the exterior. There was little activity around the other nearby ships. Good, Richard thought. I can use the extra labor.
A man in a black, military-style pressure suit was overseeing the operations. Richard waved. The man turned to them, nodding crisply, a glitter of expedition fever in his blue eyes. Richard was always happy to see Wragg. They had been on nearly a dozen voyages together, and shared a love of the unknown.
Grace required no introduction. She singled out Wragg immediately, and walked up to him.
“Captain Wragg?” she said, extending her hand.
“You must be Protector Donner.” Wragg shook firmly. “A pleasure.” He nodded to Richard and the others as they walked up the gangplank. “Good afternoon.”
“How are things with the Scout?” Richard asked.
“We’re getting her fixed up.”
“I’ll speed things along,” Yvette said.
The captain knelt and gave Yvette a hug. “Always pleased to have you aboard, Miss Yvette.”
“Not just me,” said Yvette, grinning. “Look what else I got!”
The PodPooch trotted up to join them. Wragg raised his dark eyebrows at Tim Trouncer. “That’s no dog! Another robot aboard, Richard? Isn’t one enough?”
“He’s mine,” Grace said. “And I’m not normally fond of robotics, either. But he’ll make an excellent companion for Yvette.”
The captain considered Grace for a moment, then nodded. “Likely.”
“Very likely,” amended Yvette adamantly.
Wragg chuckled, turning to Richard. “So, what’s the status of our personnel? If you want to repair en route, do you have assistants in mind for Chief Engineer Hobbs?”
“You have a Chief Engineer?” Raj asked. “How big is the crew?”
Wragg smiled. “We humor Hobbs. He used to work a big mining cruiser and had two dozen engineers under him. Still fancies himself a king, though his only subject is Mazz.”
“As far as techs go, I’ve brought Quint,” Richard said.
“Need one more,” Wragg rubbed his chin. “You remember Alan Nutter?”
“He’s available?” Richard asked.
Wragg nodded.
“Get him,” said Richard. “And take Mister Brown here below and have Hobbs get him prepped and primed to get to our cert list.”
Wragg nodded and waved for Quint to follow him. They disappeared into the ship.
Richard motioned to Grace and Raj. “I’ll need to go to my cabin and speak to the port foreman. This won’t take long. Why not have Yvette take you around the ship?”
“Shouldn’t I stay?” Yvette asked.
“No,” Richard said, smiling. “I think I can handle negotiations with old man Pimm.”
“Remember, Poppy, just throw money at him!” Yvette took Raj by the hand. “Let’s go see the engine room. It’s my favorite place.” She turned and spoke to the PodPooch. “Come, doggy.”
Richard grinned as they left. He headed toward his cabin, fingering his ptenda. Seconds later the harried face of the port foreman appeared.
“Pimm, I need to be out in two days’ time.”
“Mr. Archdale. Afternoon. Impossible. There are no additional workers since the twofers cut out.”
Richard smiled as he sat down at his desk. Here we go.
“My engine work has to be done end of day, or tomorrow at the latest,” Richard said.
“Guaranteed nine days. Most likely seven. Four days for the engines, the remainder for fitness checks. Rules are rules, Mr. Archdale. Twofer malfunction or not.”
Richard fingered his ptenda. He saw Pimm glance down, and his eyebrows go up.
“Maybe tomorrow, Pimm?”
Pimm frowned. “Engines in three days. But the checklist, Mr. Archdale—that’s Authority talking, not me.”
Richard wasn’t annoyed with Pimm, because he knew the man would eventually agree. It would take a hefty sum, of course. Over the years of Pimm’s tenure, casual tipping had morphed into outright bribery. Richard sweetened the deal a bit more. Throw money at him, Yvette had said. That child was two for two.
Pimm�
�s frown lengthened. “Hmph. Day after tomorrow. Best I can do.”
“And we can cert those other issues while in transit. Thank you, Pimm,” he said.
“Hmpf.” Pimm vanished.
Richard reached over to the comm panel on the desk and leaned forward to make a ship-wide announcement.
“Good news, everybody. We leave port in two days.”
Chapter 7
On the morning of the Scout’s departure, Grace sat at the table in the cabin she shared with Raj and Tim. An hour earlier, she had received word that Pimm had cleared the Scout with unprecedented haste. She had heard the bang and rustle of provisions and parts being stowed all morning. Tim and Yvette had rambled in and out of her room after breakfast—all other hands were preparing for departure.
Grace had little to do. She wasn’t a technical expert, nor a navigator, nor an engineer, so she sat down to attend to her messages. It would be some time before any further contact with places off-Mars.
“Grace! Have you been up all night?”
She turned to see Raj stretch and rub his eyes.
“It’s mid-morning, Raj.”
“Ah…right. So good morning, then.”
She turned back to her ptenda. “I can’t believe you slept through that.”
“What?”
“Noises,” Grace muttered, trying to read.
“Did you eat breakfast? You’re grumpy today.”
“Just busy, Raj.”
A thud of Raj getting out of his bunk. Then clumping feet. He looked over her shoulder.
“Messages?”
“Yeah,” Grace said. “I finally decided to read through my backlog. Four messages from Dad, one from ITB. Good news from Dad and—well, news.”
Raj nodded. “What did ITB have to say?”
“Oh, that. Human Resources. I’m fired. With a fully paid contract, though. Mango?”
“What did it say?”
“Housing credits: transferable. Meal credits: transferable. And I have an option to reapply, considering the circumstances. Pending a hearing I missed, of course.”
Raj shook his head in disbelief. “You know, every time you get kicked out of something, you end up getting paid or landing some mango gear.”
“Stick with me, then. Maybe your luck will get better.”
“Ha. The other messages?”
“Dad.”
“What did Dan have to say?”
“You’re nosy as hell, you know that?”
“Just trying to get some of your luck,” said Raj in a long-suffering voice. He moved to inspect the jumble of electronics she’d left on the table. He lifted her gun. “What’s this?”
“Point it away from you, Raj.”
“Oh. Right.”
Grace shook her head in exasperation. “Among other things that I’m not going to tell you, my dad sent me schematics. Helped me modify it.”
“Modify it, or dial it back to the stone age?” Raj turned her gun over, inspecting it. “Did you just turn Martin’s state-of-the-art phasewave into a slug thrower?”
“I turned it into something I like,” Grace said firmly. “Dad’s modifications allow for a semi-auto, auto, or three-round thrower assembly that nestles underneath the p-wave barrel-cone. So I get my slugs. Plus infrared.”
“Does it still work like a phasewave?” Raj asked, handing the gun back to her.
Grace nodded. “A little. A small manifold allows the explosive sonic force of the phasewave to be channeled to the slug chamber, pushing the slugs at high speed along the extended barrel. Tim adjusted the calcs for the gate. I can attenuate the noise from the sonic exhaust or make it really, really loud.”
“How much of a kick will it have?”
“Hard to tell without trying it out. And on Mars, maybe different. Probably a big one, though,” said Grace. She turned the gun over in her hands. “I was thinking…I’m going to call it Marty. Do you think Martin would mind?”
“Absolutely not. He’d probably consider it an honor.” Raj leaned over and gave her a hug.
“Thanks, Raj,” said Grace.
“No worries,” he said.
A clang resounded in the cargo hold. Raj jumped.
“That’s not the signal for breakfast, is it?” Raj asked.
“Lunch. And no, I think it’s the signal for heavy lifters to help lift.”
“Well don’t look at me. I’m not a twofer.”
Grace rose and stretched her arms above her head, willing her fingertips to the ceiling. She looked down at the black, armored protector jumpsuit she wore.
“I guess I won’t need to keep my jumpsuit ITB standard anymore,” she said.
“Dump the ITB logo for sure,” Raj suggested.
“Yeah. And maybe add a hood.” Grace extended her arms, examining the mimic sleeves. Would there be enough material?
“How about something in orange, red, and green, with shoulder pads and blousy sleeves?” Raj grinned.
Grace’s mouth dropped open.
“I do not want to look like some kind of tropical salad, Raj. No offense,” Grace said. “Shoulder pads? Red and orange? Stick to science, tech, and gothic horror stories ending in ‘stein. The next upgrade you get should correct color blindness.”
Raj snickered and picked up his ptenda.
Grace grabbed her own ptenda and fiddled with the coding in her clothes. First, she considered olive—still military-looking, and the locals seemed fond of green. Discarding that, the fabric morphed through white, dark blue, desert camouflage. Then the jumpsuit turned oxblood. Grace nodded, pleased. Red for Mars. Her knee-high boots morphed into mid-calf, black waffle stompers. And a red hood flopped out of her collar in the back. She adjusted her gun belt and holster, black against red.
“You have no imagination, Grace.” Raj muttered as he returned to his ptenda.
“I could be more daring if I had a little more privacy. Can’t you read somewhere else?”
“What?” Raj looked up. “Seriously? I’ve already had to pull you buck-naked from a medical pod.” Still, he turned his back on Grace and leaned against the side of his bunk with a snort.
Grace fingered her ptenda and tweaked the suit, adjusting it to a tighter fit. She’d noticed in the lower gravity of Mars that she preferred her clothing to be more form-fitting. She marveled as the mimic fabric instantly reconfigured. It would have taken hours back in cloister, where such modifications were made with needle and thread. She wondered if Martians harbored any anti-tech sentiments at all, as technology permeated their lives. Quint didn’t seem too pleased about working with a robot, at least.
“Have you had any conversations with Quint, Raj?”
Raj started to shake his head, then held up a finger.
“No—well, yes. Wasn’t much of a conversation. It was yesterday, after lunch. He showed me his mechflesh hand and he asked about my arm. Not so much a question, either. More of a comment.”
“What’d he say?”
“‘At least it doesn’t make the decisions and the incisions.’” Raj hooted. “I’m going to use that one at a seminar sometime.”
Grace was thoughtful.
“I can relate to that sentiment, you know?” she said. “The part about not wanting a machine to make important decisions. Quint would fit well in cloister.”
“That isn’t a compliment,” Raj interjected.
“Self-reliance can be a strength. Yesterday, I tagged along with him and Nutter to help with repairs. Nutter insisted Mazz double-check his work, despite his complaint that ‘twofers run everything.’ Quint preferred to run through his tasks, start to finish, without help from Mazz. He was done faster than Nutter because of it.”
“That’s saying something, considering he’s new to the ship,” Raj said approvingly.
Grace nodded. “Quint has skill and he’s confident. If he weren’t a baby—”
“We’re about to get underway, everybody,” Richard’s voice boomed over the ship’s comm. “Please report to the bridge.”
Chapter 8
Raj followed Grace onto the bridge. He surveyed the winking control panels and grinned. Marvelous, he thought, tugging on his lower lip. The largest display was assigned to tactical and teemed with location and telemetry data from each ship at the rim port. Raj took a step closer and noticed a smaller nav display to his right. It showed a high-resolution terrain map of the northern hemisphere. As he watched, it slowly rotated to show a jagged low-altitude course to the south pole.
“The doctor is enjoying our gadgets,” Wragg noticed.
“Yep,” Richard laughed.
Richard and Wragg stood together. They had been looking out the main viewport. They were about the same height—which was tall, a Martian norm—and about the same age, or so Richard had said. But they differed in almost every other way. Where Richard was soft like Raj from a lifetime at a desk or console, Wragg was lithe and well-muscled. Richard’s voice was in the tenor range; Wragg was a baritone-bass. Richard had a full head of gleaming silver hair; Wragg was bald, which made his dark blue eyes stand out all the more. Neither had mechflesh that he could see. Raj wondered what he looked like, standing next to them. Younger, he supposed. Upgraded.
Rapid movement caught his attention and he turned. It was Yvette. She was alternating between a map display showing their route and attending to Tim, who sat in his own seat—a black, furry mascot.
Mazz hunched over a control panel, its two hands dancing over a glowing circuit. The robot held replacement parts in its left hand while its right deftly yanked presumably defective components and made the switch.
The robot lowered the console and snapped it into place.
“Done, sir.”
“Thank you, Mazz,” Richard said. “Now get below with Mr. Hobbs. Nutter and Brown may need your help,”
“Yes, sir.” Mazz whizzed by Raj and Grace.
“Mazz is quite an extraordinary robot,” Raj said. “At least it seems that way to an Earther like me.”
“Mazz has been in the Archdale family from the beginning,” Richard said. “Not that it’s the most upgraded unit available, but it’s one of a kind.” He nodded at a series of readouts Wragg indicated to him, then turned back to Raj. “Interesting story about Mazz, if you want to hear it.”