“I’m not ready to do that, sir.”
Now Petersen got angry. “What the hell do you mean, you’re not ready? You can’t bring something like this to me and not give me a say in what happens. Damn, boy, what’s wrong with you? You come to me talking about you think her pollinators are making people sick and you ‘have proof’ but don’t want me to tell anybody!” The parts of his face that weren’t covered in dirt from the farm were turning beet-red.
Moses calmly replied, “I would prefer to figure out all of the details before I report anything. I’m sure you agree that we would not be able to proceed investigating if the management decided it would be against the best interests of the homestead project to sweep it under the rug. Not to mention bad publicity. Then what happens the next time it spreads? What will they do then? Besides, a lot of people got very sick, some nearly died. What is to keep them from doing it for keeps next time? They might think it more beneficial to let those people die rather than risk them speaking out about the problem.” Once again, Moses allowed the silence to linger, letting the truth of what he had said sink in. “They can’t afford to have their pool of applicants dry up because everyone is afraid of getting sick.”
This would go one of two ways. Harold would keep interfering to prevent Moses Truman from finding out the real truth, or he would break down and allow him to keep searching for answers.
“Mr. Petersen, I respect you a great deal, and know that you’ve gone through a lot with all of this. But I need to find out what happened. And I need you to tell me how those machines work and how they are controlled. If we come to any concrete evidence we can take it to Jacobs together. Immediately.”
Harold considered for a while before answering.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harold Petersen led him through the farmhouse to what looked like a canning room. There were jars of vegetables lining the shelves on one side, and empty jars scattered around a counter with a deep pot that was connected to the counter with a heavy cord. Removing a panel on the floor revealed an inset hatch. As they released the hatch and climbed down the ladder, Moses had two thoughts.
The first thought was that there was a hatch to a hidden bunker under the Petersen’s home. Not only was that kind of weird, it was also kind of funny: a hidden underground bunker inside of an underground bunker accessible only by space-faring vehicle. He couldn’t even figure out how there was room between the levels for a bunker. But here they were. This definitely wasn’t on any schematics he had been shown in training before coming to Mars.
The second thought was that if the farmer wanted to hide his body, this was the place to do it. He had gotten nervous by the railing because it was a long way down. But now he was in a place that very few people, if anybody, knew existed. And he was with somebody that may or may not have killed a couple of people already. That was almost more frightening. Moses took a deep breath to calm himself down. He couldn’t remember if he had told Rebecca where he was going. That would be an interesting predicament. Man disappears from sealed underground facility with no way out. He started to wonder who would investigate that.
They reached the bottom of the short ladder and it was clear that the hidden level was just that: an entire level. That’s why there was no gap within the level below. There must have been some trick of the elevator to confuse the distance between floors. There were banks of monitors and a few chairs, but mostly there were rows of machines that assembled mechanical insects. It was jarring to be in artificial light; the architects of Homestead IV went out of their way to move natural light around to every possible area. It was unusual to have such a large area without windows or openings for mirrored-in sunlight.
“So what is this place, sir?”
Petersen sighed, either accepting the idea of a secret shared or committing to some path he didn’t want to take. He got very close to Moses and looked intently into the man’s eyes, his face still smeared with dirt and tears.
“This is where we produce and program our pollinators. Each unit has communication technology inside that synchronizes with the database here when they return, so the computer can then dispatch the next wave of units to areas that haven’t been reached recently. The coordination is vital to the operation, because each unit is somewhat independent. They have a small level of artificial intelligence that allows them to select plants with high levels of pollen, and then they move to places the computer has tagged that will be receptive to the pollen, maximizing battery life so they aren’t pollinating plants that aren’t ready to utilize the pollen.
“The trick is to make sure each wave hits different areas. If they overlap too much, they will be carrying pollen back to the plants that originated it. In an environment like this where there is no wind and no dramatic changes in temperature, and no rain because the plants are watered from beneath through our viaduct system, the plants behave funny. It took me and Adrie a few years to figure out how each variety of plant would behave in this non-native environment. Once we figured that part out, the rest was just programming.”
Moses was amazed at the change in the other man. He had gone from grizzled, foul-mouthed farmer to riveting agrotechnology professor in seconds. This subject was one Harold was passionate about and it showed. He was all business down here.
“This place is amazing. How many people know about it? I never knew anything was here.”
Petersen laughed, a deep, throaty hooting, and clapping his knee. “I forget how new you are here. Everybody knows about this place. Adrie would allow school groups to tour through here, though I just about had a heart attack every time one of those kids got close to our equipment. It’s not like we can call up the warehouse and get spares. Every habitat on Mars has one of these rooms now. Even the original ICE bunkers that were built before the Homestead Project began have been retro-fitted with MPCRs. Mechano-Pollinator Control Rooms. We trained at least a few people from every place. I go out and visit every one of them once a year. It was easier when Adrie and I could split up the load, but it still only takes a few days per month being away from the farm.”
Moses went over to the assembly machine to watch it work. They really didn’t even look like bees. He guessed they just got that name because of their job, although plenty of things pollinated on earth. Bees just had all the good press. They had a center mass with soft bristles along the bottom side, wings on top, and a small radio-antenna coming up between the wings. There was a smooth black area on the very tip of each side, cameras that allowed them to operate in either direction so that there was no front or back. The simple design is what made the comparison to bees amusing. No bright colors, no legs, and no honey.
“How complicated is the programming? Could someone capture one and reprogram it?”
Harold thought for a minute and brought his eyebrows down. “I suppose anyone with the right technology could rework the program, but I can’t think of why they might want to do that. These things are what allow us to function here without monthly visits from Earth. With these bees we can make it six months without a resupply. That drop in fuel and personnel are what made ICE decide we could come here en masse and get to work on this planet. But you know all about the damn resupply process, don’t you? You came on one of those resupply runs. Hell, you are a resupply. We needed a doctor and you showed up six months later.” He kept laughing to himself about that joke for a while.
“Can you show me the program? I’d like to see it.”
The farmer and the doctor huddled around a monitor as lessons were given on the ins and outs of mechanical pollinator programming. It was surprisingly simple and yet complicated in the thought process required to send each little robot to the right area of the habitat, maximizing fruitfulness in the various crops and flora throughout the facility. Moses tried to stay focused while also making a list in his mind of the things he would have to review with Rebecca that night when he finally got out. And it wouldn’t be until night, because he had finally found something that H
arold Petersen would talk about at length. He didn’t want to interrupt that flow now. It might help to be on good terms with a man he might have to condemn later. As the farmer talked, the doctor fingered the rough bristles on top of the tiny robot he had slipped into his pocket.
Chapter 9
Rebecca answered the door to her quarters after his first knock. She welcomed him inside and then struggled to find a place for them to sit down and talk. The rooms for ICE staff were apparently much smaller than civilian living spaces. The bed, a desk with attached chair, and a small table for eating were the only furniture that would fit in the room. There was no kitchen because all ICE employees were fed together in their mess hall in shifts. The quality of the food from that kitchen was legendary - and not in a good way. After removing several dirtied sets of ICE grays, they settled on a seating arrangement where Rebecca sat on the bed, awkwardly turned to face the desk where Moses sat sideways in the desk-chair combination.
For the first time, Moses noticed that she wasn’t wearing her standard drab gray uniform. Instead, she wore loose cotton pants and a black tank top. Her hair remained in the ever-present pony tail. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to identify her with anything other than that ponytail. It served her well, revealing beautiful cheekbones and tiny ears, a cross hanging in the center of her collar bone, along with strong neck muscles that were taut as she turned to look at Moses during their conversation about what exactly Harold Petersen was up to in his bunker.
“How come that place wasn’t on my tour?” Moses asked, still a little upset that even school children knew about this hidden wonder that he had only learned of today. “I thought he was going to impale me with a pitchfork and feed my body to his bees.”
“Sorry.” She flushed as she laughed to hide her embarrassment. “The habitat I grew up in had one, and we went on school trips every year. It just got so boring. I forget that everyone hasn’t been over-exposed to that place like I was as a kid. Plus, my mom was the programmer in our facility, so I got stuck there even more than the other kids. Whenever my dad was working late or not around, I had to wait there in the beehive for Mom to finish work so I could go home. Let me tell you: there is no place for a kid to even get homework done there, not to mention have any fun! It was horrible.”
“I’m sure you’re scarred permanently.” He was smiling now, too. “The beehive?”
“Yeah, that’s what we called it. It fits, and it sounds cool.” She rubbed her neck. The awkward angle must be starting to feel uncomfortable.
“I wonder what old Harold would say if he knew about that. It doesn’t seem like there’s much that doesn’t bother him.” Moses considered for a little while, and then added: “Out of curiosity, how long did he push for an investigation into Mrs. Petersen’s death?”
Now it was Rebecca’s turn to think, looking to the opposite side of the room. She didn’t look back when she answered, instead laying back across her bed, exposing her navel in the process. “I don’t remember any word of him pushing for an investigation of her death, really.”
Moses challenged her, unintentional sharpness in his voice. “I thought you said he pushed to have Epps removed from his position.”
She sat up to meet his gaze again, apparently not noticing his tone. “I did. He fought to have William punished, removed, publicly censured. Anything he could think of. But he never once asked for an investigation into Adrie’s death. He just pursued justice and I guess he assumed guilt and took it for granted that the doctor was the one to blame.”
“Interesting.” After Moses accepted her answer, she laid back on the bed again and rolled to face him. He wasn’t satisfied with the explanation. “Don’t you think it’s strange that a man doesn’t ask to have the mysterious death of his wife - the love of his life - investigated? The report I found in Lamar’s files has just a basic summary of her condition and no real cause listed other than respiratory distress. And that really isn’t a good explanation of what caused her death, just the mechanism by which she died. Talking to him, it sounds like he is lost without her and depended on her heavily for his everyday life. For coping. It’s almost like they were one organism between them, if they really were like he says they were.”
Rebecca just looked up at him from her bed, but not seeing him. She got like this when she was getting an idea. Moses was getting used to it. It was best to let her focus and figure out the best way to say the nascent thoughts blossoming inside her head. While she deciphered her new idea, he tried to look everywhere except directly at her even though she never stopped looking through him. She was even more beautiful dressed casually than she was in uniform. He got up to walk around her room to distract himself and to get out of her direct line of sight. It didn’t take long to traverse the entire space and get back to the starting point. He gave up and sat back down.
“Thoughts?” he asked, urgent for something new to focus on.
“You’re right, you know.” She sat up and thankfully faced the wall directly in front of her, giving him a reprieve from her gaze. “Of course you are, but you’re right: it doesn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t he want to know how she died? Why wouldn’t he raise a fuss about that instead of just trying to pin everything on William. Did you ask him when you guys were hanging out?”
“We never really got around to that. I tried to focus on the programming and general working day of the bees. I would like to have a solid understanding of that system before I move on to the next phase of asking intensely personal questions of a man I don’t know.”
She ignored his sarcasm. “Why do you need to understand the bees?”
“Remember the discarded bee that I got from the box of Epps’ things? I’m pretty sure that was the delivery method for the toxic dose of spores. They would just have to be programmed to take a dip into the photobioreactor and roll around in the stuff before making their way to someone’s room. From my conversation today, I understand that such a program could be easily written if you were to over-ride the inherent pollination program.”
Rebecca looked at him, not through him this time, and said nothing. She let out a deep sigh and pushed off the bed into a standing position.
“Let’s go,” she said.
“Where are we going?”
“If you knew how long my day was, you would have waited to bring me this news until tomorrow. As it is, I’m not going to get any sleep anyway. So you’re coming with me. If I’m not sleeping, you’re not sleeping. This is your fault.” She began putting her shoes on and grabbing a gray jacket as she took the short trip to the door.
Moses Truman stood there confused. “But where are we going? I don’t know what we’re doing right now. Would you like to share? Please?”
She stood in the doorway, turned to look back at him yet again, and answered as she zipped up her jacket.
“We’re going down to the algae labs to figure out if that is even something that could happen. Somebody is always down there. We’ll finally get some answers.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They arrived at the mycophycology lab in record time, largely because nobody was moving around the habitat at this hour. The elevator only had to stop one time on the trip down to the bottom levels, and there was no one waiting when the doors opened. Rebecca led them through the front rooms of the labs claiming that there was always someone on duty here, but Moses was having trouble validating her claim. It looked deserted. There were banks of empty workstations, displays on the wall glowing seemingly important information into the dimly lit interior of the rooms, and rolling chairs left empty.
After a thorough search, they uncovered a lone researcher resting comfortably at a console in the most isolated area of the lab that could be reached without passkeys and five digit access codes. Her head laid across her arm, short blond hair covering her glasses and drool running across her forearm. Rebecca cleared her throat in an attempt to gently nudge this exhausted worker to wakefulness unsuccessfully. She moved over and plac
ed a hand on the woman’s shoulder with the same result. Frustrated, she shot a look at Moses that asked if he could believe this woman. He could. He, too, was exhausted and could probably sleep just as soundly if given the opportunity.
Shaking her, Rebecca spoke loudly in her ear, finally earning incoherent mutters and eyelid flutters. As she lifted her head and began to complete the journey to consciousness, Moses was able to get a good look at her face before she was cognizant enough to realize he was looking. She had a pleasant, round face with a small upturned nose and long eyelashes that opened to reveal electric green eyes. Those eyes shone out even in her half-waking state. She had never come to the doctor, that’s for certain. He would have remembered those eyes.
“Good morning!” Rebecca spoke cheerfully, doing all she could to provoke the sleeping slacker to full awareness.
“Scheisse. I did it again!” Green Eyes shook her head gently. She noticed them for the first time, taking in the pair standing over her with surprise. “Who are you two? You shouldn’t be down here.” There was that company line Moses had gotten used to from his previous visit to the labs. Her face began to turn red, perhaps embarrassed by her choice of language.
In answer, Rebecca just flashed her ID badge brief enough to make sure the ICE logo was clear, but short enough that her title as orienteer wouldn’t raise questions. “We’re here to ask a few questions. If you cooperate, we may not tell Idleman that you were sleeping down here. I understand she’s not the most gracious of bosses.” She kept looking at the woman with condescension. She must have had a really bad day after all; he had never seen this side of his friend-turned-co-investigator.
It turned out the woman’s name was Mags Mueller (short for Magnilde) and she was a talker. Moses didn’t know if she was so scared of Idleman learning of her transgression that she couldn’t stop talking, or if she always had trouble controlling the extensive flow of words that such a tiny woman was capable of spewing out. He decided it must be normal for her, and got the idea that one should always budget an extra chunk of time when speaking with her. They learned that while sleeping in the labs during night duty wasn’t always appreciated, it wasn’t necessarily against regulations since the person on duty wore a haptic device that would shake them awake if any emergencies required their attention. Mags was a mid-level researcher in the mycophycology labs, and had been studying the conversion of certain types of algae as a food source to use in addition to the crops grown in the hab. She said that depending on the type of algae and how much genetic modification was used, you could barely notice it ground up and dissolved into the water - assuming it was done at the time of ingestion and not sitting in a holding tank awaiting serving. In the case of a delay, the algae could spread and turn the water a variety of colors all within the blue-green range.
The Homestead Page 10