I’ve had people come up to me and tell me that they knew something was wrong when they saw her out hacking everywhere. That’s real helpful, isn’t it? After your wife dies, they like to tell you they knew something was wrong.
No shit.
I finally talked her into getting some help from the doctor. He examined her and said that none of the tests for infection came up positive, and that it must be a virus. He recommended the standard isolation protocol that every sick person here has to do, productivity be damned. ICE can’t afford a big community illness, can they? The whole place would shut down.
Well, she listened to him better than she listened to me, but didn’t give up what she was doing. I should have talked to Epps then, when I realized how truly obsessed she was. But I thought it would just pass when the virus cleared up. She re-purposed some of the drone bees, almost like she was using them to look for something. I never even recovered them all after that. Heaven knows where she sent them.
That’s when the breathing troubles started, once the bees went missing. She couldn’t even catch her breath in bed. She had to sleep sitting up, and still then she struggled. I went to the doc right away. Told him he missed something. He came down to the house that day, but the damage had been done already. He said it was a bacterial infection in her lungs, that he hadn’t thought to test her for that before because it was so unlikely. He tried for a while to treat her. He even worked with that nut down in phycomyclogy on some new drugs to stabilize her. But nothing worked.
Then Jacobs said she had to be sent away. That this wasn’t right, and something serious had to be going on. Epps even checked with the other doctors at the other habitats. They all agreed she needed to go back to earth. They said it was for her, but I really think they just didn’t want whatever she had to spread around. That would be a production nightmare for Homestead IV.
And Epps was the one who sent her away. “Unspecified respiratory complications.” That was the reason he gave me. He just didn’t do the right test or something. And after she died on the trip back, he started trying to cover his tracks. He screwed up twice. The first time was treating her with that algae crap. That just wasted time. The second was deferring to those damned ICE doctors at the corporate habitats. They just walk the company line and don’t care about the people here. They can just order a new earthling to replace the dead one. Six months or your money back, right? By the time she got back to Earth she had been gone for so long there was no way to figure out what really happened.
That damned fool doctor killed her. I know it! And the other doctors helped him ship her away to hide the evidence. I tried for months to get him sent back home for incompetence. Jacobs and Chen are just as bad as those other doctors. They didn’t want to deal with the bad press and a dip in productivity without a doctor. But Epps was the one that killed her - either through negligence or incompetence. I would swear by it. He never even had the balls to apologize.
I miss her so much. We were together for thirty-eight years until he took her from me. She was the root of every great idea I ever had. I got famous for it, but she was the smart one. And she refused to take any credit. I would do anything to help her rest be peaceful. I know I can’t bring her back, but I try to live like she would want me to live. To make her proud.
She deserved to be here more than me. And now I am here without her. I know it isn’t nice to speak ill of the dead, but damn that man for what he did.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Moses processed the story on the way to his next destination. It was a lot to take. A grieving man who was broken. A brilliant woman obsessed with some unclear goal. And a death that made no sense. If it was a bacterial infection, it had to be coming from the algal work within the homestead. But how would it turn airborne and get into her lungs? The caustic aquatic version would have killed her immediately. It just didn’t make any sense.
When he reached the private quarters of Stephanie Idleman, he took a deep breath. Hopefully she went home for lunch everyday.
He knocked.
The door opened and the young algae research doctor was not happy to see him. Standing in the doorway, she questioned him about what he wanted.
“I’m just here to ask a few more questions. I hope that’s OK.” Moses tried his best smile, but he was still working through Petersen’s story and wasn’t sure he had been able to pull the smile off well enough to be believable.
“Questions about what? I let you have access to all of the files.” She was not smiling back.
“I just have questions about how all your research works. I find it very fascinating.”
This intrigued her. Everyone loved to talk about their passions.
“Come in - but I only have fifteen more minutes, then I have to get back to work.” Her living area was sparse but tastefully decorated with photos of what must have been family with snow in the background. They sat in adjacent leather chairs, both angled toward the other. Seeing her in normal clothing was a different experience than the rubber chemical-proof protective clothing. She was attractive and much shorter than he first thought. The rubber boots built in to the suit must have added a few inches. She waited for him to continue, wearing blue jeans and a brown sweater, hair pulled back loosely at the bottom of her neck, and pulling at the corners of her clothing to make sure it sat well while they talked.
“Is there any possible way that your modified cyanobacteria could randomly mutate?” Since time was limited he may as well jump right in.
She smiled, and he could see the excited scientist waiting to share with anyone willing to listen. “It’s designed to be prone to mutations. I’ll admit,” she added, “it can be difficult at times. Sometimes we end up weeding out a hundred strains before we find something worth exploiting for additional research. But in the end it’s quite worth the trouble.” She laughed nervously, some hair escaping and obstructing the right side of her face. She brushed it back behind her ear and looked back up at him, seeming to suddenly realize that she was letting her guard down and looking slightly embarrassed by it. Pinkness began to fill her cheeks. “We’ve managed to make significant discoveries that would have taken years longer if not for the high mutability of the base sample I developed. The mutations are where we make the breakthroughs, where we make big leaps in terraforming techniques, and where the company gets more money-making copyrights for use on mars as well as on earth.”
“Interesting.” Moses leaned in closer, showing an interest for her benefit. “Who decides what strains to keep and which ones to get rid of? It must be a lot of work.”
“It is a lot, but I don’t mind.” She began running her hands across the top of her thighs, feeling the texture of the denim out of absent-minded habit. “Every project manager brings any potential samples to me for final approval. Some weeks there is nothing to report, some weeks I’m there for hours passed my shift to sort through all of the changes in the live samples. It tends to come in waves, for some reason. There’s no rationale for why it works like that, it just does. We’ve attempted to find the cause because if we could pinpoint it we could facilitate more mutations. More mutations mean -”
“-More money,” Moses finished, “I get it.” Her passion for this field of research was apparent. Her reputation showed that she was good at her job. She was a celebrated scientist, very well-regarded by her peers. Based on the progress she was able to gain for the terraforming project, she probably should have been known even outside of her field, but she wasn’t. “Does it ever transition from being aquatic to airborne? Or from toxic to safe?”
“Because of the base material it is very versatile. How thorough did they cover the basic beginning research in your orientation?” She raised her eyebrows, betraying a hope of coverage from the home office.
“Let’s just assume they covered it and I forgot everything they taught me.”
Stephanie hid her disappointment well. “OK. The research I was able to do while working on my doctorates allowed me
to combine your basic algal, cyanobacterial, and just a bit of additional fungal DNA into one new organism. It doesn’t like being so versatile, which is what makes it so easily mutable into other states. We fight it all the time, trying to strictly control the farms to get the results we want. It’s ninety-nine per cent effective in warding off unwanted mutations in the main growing fields.” She checked to make sure he was following her logic, which he was. “We have constant sampling from each vat with live data fed into the main workstation. We like to contain the experimental mutations to the experimental hoods in the labs. You saw those when you visited, right?”
“Yes. And what goes on in those hoods? What kinds of things are you getting or even looking for?”
She was becoming more animated, now talking with her hands excitedly. “We search for any new beneficial mutations. Any uses for aiding in nutrient recovery from waste and decaying matter. Any potential food uses - which we’re close to nailing down, by the way! Sometimes those mutations lean more toward bacteria. Some lean toward algae. Every so often we get that small piece of fungus showing up. When they appear as fungus, they tend to have a more airborne nature, and we try to stomp those out completely. Even with the air filtration, we don’t want to make more potential hazards for everyone. Those spores can appear inert when scanned, but be trouble later. Fortunately, we’ve never had one of those mutations escape and cause trouble.”
The doctor forced his way in to her rhythm to ask a question. “Is there any way something might sneak through your scans and make its way into someone’s lungs?” Moses was hopeful that she was so caught up in sharing her work that she wasn’t paying attention. Her upset at being interrupted by their visit to her labs was just due to being interrupted. If he was lucky, she hadn’t puzzled out why he was really asking questions. If she had figured it out then she wouldn’t share her answer so freely. She would be careful and shut him out. He made sure to keep the same expression on his face so that he wouldn’t tip her off.
“I mean, I guess it’s possible, but highly unlikely.” She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with either the idea or the direction his questions had turned. “It could be devastating if something like that got in to the general population. We might even have to evacuate the whole facility.” Her eyes widened, face going pale. Even the idea of something so catastrophic was disturbing for her.
He decided to redirect. “Well, then it’s a good thing you guys run such a tight ship down there, huh?” She looked at him through the side of her eye as she recovered from the shock of his earlier suggestion, color returning to her face.
She began taking deeper breaths and calmed down as they continued for several more minutes. Just as she began to check the time more frequently, he threw in one more question.
“What do you do if one of the mutations you want don’t last?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well,” he said, “in biology sometimes mutations are so different that the new organism can’t propagate itself. It can be fully functional, but die off after the first generation. I assume this can happen in your research as well. So what do you do if a mutation is extremely valuable, but unsteady?”
“We can recreate the mutations through splicing, and attempt to make them more stable.” She was getting up to go, walking him to the door as she finished. “Usually it fails, but sometimes that is where we get our biggest breakthroughs.” She smiled at him as they stepped out into the corridor. “Thank you for your time, and if you have any more questions just let me know.”
He knew this would be the last time he got to speak to her about her research. She was clearly disturbed by his last question, not ready for someone who could ask things at a level that went beyond what she wanted people to know. He would have to find someone else down in the labs who could help him with the technical questions that would undoubtedly come up as he investigated things further. They said goodbye and went to separate lifts. She went down to her hybrid plant-bacteria-fungus. He went back up in the direction of his home quarters and office. It would take some time to think through everything he had learned.
Chapter 6
Moses related Petersen’s sad story to Rebecca later that night over dinner. She listened without interruption. After the tale was finished, the silence that filled the room demanded to remain unbroken. Rebecca looked at the floor, Moses studied her face. She was deep in thought, he could tell. Tumblers clicking through different ideas. But what were her ideas? Underneath her welcoming face, she was smarter than she believed. She was capable, insightful, and clever. She was suitable for much more than just the welcome wagon job.
“So, what are your thoughts?” Moses wanted to know at least enough to break the spell the silence cast. “Do you think he was being honest?”
She looked back up at him, still sorting puzzle pieces in her mind. With some distraction in her voice, she replied, “I think that he thinks he was being honest. That is, it was how he perceives the chain of events. But I remember how angry he was right after Adrie died.” Her brow furrowed at the memories. “He would grunt and holler at anyone he thought could get rid of Dr. Epps. He wasn’t just angry, he was in a rage. He did just enough work to stay productive so they couldn’t send him home, and spent the rest of his time up in the executive offices of ICE and the civilian leadership. He was so blinded by his fury that there is a strong possibility the events became twisted in his mind.”
“How do you figure?” Moses asked. He never considered that the farmer would be genuinely confused about the passing of his wife. Something that big, and you assumed that those closest to her would get the details correct.
“I remember when I was in secondary school, and there was this girl -”
Moses interrupted. “Really? That’s how your defending your view?” He smiled.
“Shut up. Yes, now let me finish.” She fought against the embarrassed smile that crept onto her face, but allowed enough through that one corner of her mouth lifted despite her efforts. “There was this girl, Maria Archuleta. She was brought up in a very proud earth family who loved their heritage. All of that is great. Good for them. But she thought it was fun to mock my Martian birth. She called me tribal, and mocked me for not having my own nationality. After the fight -”
Moses couldn’t help himself. “The fight? I need more detail on that, don’t skip to after the fight!” At this point, a grin stretched across his face as well.
“I said keep quiet. I was only fourteen after all, and so my reasoning was not the best. Keep that in mind.” She blushed. “When they were picking her up off the floor, I swore she hit me first. But everyone there - and the security footage - clearly showed me throwing the first punch.”
“Was she okay? Were you okay? This is incredible, but I’m not sure how it helps your case.”
“It turns out that there was only one punch.” Moses was speechless at her revelation. “And that’s just it: I don’t remember the fight. Never did. I was so angry with her that the details of the day were all a mess.” She finished with a “so there” look on her face.
Moses hated to bring her down from the moment, but had to disagree. “I am certain that you were running on adrenalin, not rage. There is no way that Harold Petersen functioned on adrenalin for - how long? Two years?”
“Yes, Bill didn’t die for two more years. But the adrenalin of the first few days as Mr. Petersen ran around the hab was definitely enough to alter his truth of the days leading up to her being sent out and then passing away.”
Moses considered this. Maybe there was something to this theory.
“How altered do you think his take is on the whole thing?” Moses had never really questioned Rebecca on the death of Adrie. He had wanted to get the story from Harold, and just assumed it would be accurate.
Rebecca considered briefly, then added, “I’m sure the process of her disease is pretty close to Harold’s story. But the behavior of others? Not so much.” She went back to her deep though
ts as they both considered the situation.
Moses decided to blurt out his craziest theory. “Do you think that the old man who made civilian occupation of the terraforming of Mars possible through his direct contributions over the last sixty years would be capable of killing your friend, a full two years after the death of his wife? Would he still be that upset?”
“I heard that he said he would do anything to get Epps off the station, but you don’t think that means he killed him, do you?” she asked, shock on her face.
Moses was careful of how the rest of this conversation played out. He walked her through the steps. “The man’s wife got sick. They take her to the doctor too late for him to fix the problem with the facilities here. She gets sent home by a team of physicians whose job is not only heal, but ensure the success of the project as well. Maybe their definition of “success of the project” caused them to lean a little too heavily on good public opinion. After all, who would willingly move to a place that was incapable of saving one of it’s most influential researchers? Not only does it look like your pal Bill was trying to protect his reputation, but possibly put the life of a woman at risk - and ultimately forfeited that life - to do so. Is that enough to make a mad scientist go over the edge and plan a long, drawn out murder?”
Moses watched as she processed his words, adding them to the cogs already working overtime in her head. She didn’t answer for a good minute. But he could tell she was close. Whatever she had been ruminating on for all this time was getting nearer.
And then she had it. Of course it would be her to put things together. She was much more familiar with the case of Epps’ death than he, and the information he had access to was limited.
“A mechanical bee!” She said, standing with a sudden jolt of violent energy.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“A mechanical bee. There was one near the body.” She was clearly proud at having finally gotten to the thing evading her thoughts, discovering the memory she was searching for.
The Homestead Page 6