by M.A. Harris
Mars Intrudes
Paul looked at the tablet propped up on his breakfast table in disbelief and no little horror. He’d down loaded Primus Junction News.com, the local community’s little newsletter. It was one of those that was updated electronically as new things came in and then three times a week they did a paper layout and printed a few hundred copies for those still living in the dark ages without a com hookup.
Today it had a real headline.
Local couple killed in wreck
At about 12:30am last night the car driven by Major John VanDoone (US AIRFORCE RETIRED) crashed through the guard rail near the top of Rippers Canyon and fell two hundred feet to the canyon floor. The Major’s wife of twenty years, Jocelyn, was a passenger in the car. Both were killed instantly. Sheriff Mike Breton of Primus Junction was called to the site of the wreck around 1:00am and was able to reach the wreckage around 1:20. There are signs that the car was traveling too fast on the highway, hit the side of the canyon and spun over the edge.
The Major and his wife had no children and their parents are deceased. The next of kin have been informed. There will be a service at the chapel tonight. The bodies are at the county morgue awaiting a reading of the will by the next of kin.
This is the third fatal accident on this stretch of road in five years and once more an indication that the roadbed needs to be widened and the guardrail strengthened, though of course people traveling this piece of highway must exercise caution….
Paul’s senses seemed disconnected as his thoughts spun; he lifted his eyes and looked out over the edge of the plateau towards the ridge. It was craggy and steep, but the one to the west and north of Primus Junction was much higher and even more rugged. That was the direction the Major’s car had been coming from or going towards. The direction of Salt Lake City and the outside world unless you wanted to drive across a vast desert or had an airplane at the Primus Junction, or more realistically, the Aristide Industries, Airport.
Paul felt tears trickling down his cheeks; it was quite possible that he had indirectly killed two people. The only reason John VanDoone would have been heading towards Salt Lake City that late at night was to escape the shame he had felt in his failure during the MoonDream’s first flight. Paul sat and thought over the whole sorry affair. He could see that he could have been a great deal kinder to John, could perhaps have let him down easier. But his own dislike of the blustery Major had made him ruthless in the application of power and leverage to get his way at last in the crew assignments.
Sitting there in his sweat-stained running clothes Paul cried in grief and shame. A shame reinforced by the shocked realization that under his unhappiness he was still as adamant in his belief in his own rightness as ever.
There was also a tinge of fear because, though this could well have been a true accident caused by more of the Major’s bull headed rage, there was also the little tickle of doubt. The Major had raged at Paul and the others that they were fools and criminals and were going to get people killed soon if they didn’t mend their ways. It seemed possible that the Major had decided to act on that conviction, and go where he could find someone to do something about this, and had died because of that decision.
-o-
Paul walked into his office in the main building about ten minutes later than his usual seven o’clock. A few people were here already, most of the people would be here by seven thirty. Of course most of them would be here till six or later, one thing he’d never had to worry about here was slacking off.
As he walked down the hall Paul noted that the lights in his office were on so he wasn’t surprised to find that it wasn’t empty. Sitting in his chair was Arkan Olarik, leaning against the bookcase was a very handsome man dressed in khaki’s and a blue gray jacket, he looked like everyone’s idea of a fighter pilot, done in tones of brown. In one of the two other chairs was a striking dark haired woman with tanned skin and very dark brown eyes, also dressed in khaki and the jacket. The fourth person, in the same uniform, was a rather short and plump carrot top with very fair skin, freckles, pug nose, and very cold green eyes. There were no nametags, brass buttons or rank insignia but all four of them somehow emanated that aura one felt around active duty military personnel. Even the pudgy red head had the ineffable mark.
There was silence, as he looked them all over with as emotionless a face as he could make, then he looked at Arkan, “I assume you’ve found a fourth crew for me Colonel Olarik?”
The big Kazakh smiled with almost fierce approval, “Yes Mr. Richards, I have. Let me introduce Major Micah Tassinara,” the air force poster nodded coolly, “Captain Helena Yarina, and Major Terrance Maguire.” The woman and the cold-eyed red head nodded their greetings. “They have all flown a copy of the simulator Mr. Richards, a rather better one than you have in fact, and have done well on it, even with some ahh…shall we say serious problems thrown at them. I’d like you to work them into the rotation of crews so they start getting flight time before the MoonBeam comes on line in a couple of months.”
Paul shrugged and nodded, he knew he had no real option so why fight it, but, “Colonel, I assume that you are not removing me as the Chief Pilot?”
“You assume correctly, why?” his voice was flat, waiting.
“Then I would appreciate that the two majors and the captain go through the evaluation process like everyone else so I have some idea of their abilities, and if during the familiarization and work up any of them fail to perform to minimums I will ground them. I assume you will back me up on that as long as I have cause?” Paul kept his voice flat.
The big Kazakh hesitated, his lips pursed, the three crew members all stiffened and lost some of their arrogant calm, Olarik finally nodded, “Fair enough and appropriate. Yes Mr. Richards.” The other three shifted a little; there was suppressed anger in all three pairs of eyes as Paul glanced around, along with a little shock.
Paul smiled around, “Good, I’m sure they’ll be real killers.” The flat eyed looks he got confirmed their antagonism but that was fine by Paul, “Colonel would you care for a cup of coffee?”
The wide ex fighter pilot hauled himself up, “I certainly would, Micah, I will talk with you and your crew later.”
The sun was still not over the rim of the hollow as the two men walked into the little coffee room set aside for the senior staff. The coffee was hot in the carafe; they both poured it hot and black and sat down by the window.
“So you took the time to look me up Mr. Richards, Howard said you probably would. Conti thinks the world of you, you know. I’ve known the old roughneck for a lot longer than I’ve worked for Mr. Aristide, and he’s rarely had nice things to say about engineers.” The big brown eyes smiled faintly.
“That’s because he is one and knows all the failings of the species, Colonel.”
“Really? I didn’t realize, somehow I assumed he’d worked his way up.”
“Texas A&M, but he did work his way up, only way to do it in that business really.” Paul hesitated then dived in, “Colonel, why the military flight crew? Is there something I ought to know about? I understand the facts of life, I know what we’re doing is illegal, though in a rather mild way, and I have really tried not to think about where all the money for this is coming from, but I feel responsible for a lot of people’s lives, one way or another.”
The tall ex-Russian Air Force officer looked at Paul broodingly, “Mr. Aristide wants to make sure what he is creating here and on the moon lasts, and he believes that the only things that last are things of value that are protected. We are the protection for Luna Haven Mr. Richards. We expect there to be a violently negative reaction to the establishment of Luna Haven in some places and a literal gold rush as the secret of the Paaly Stack becomes common knowledge, which it will, eventually. We want to protect our investment.”
Paul sipped his coffee and nodded quietly, “So there will be Colonel.” Paul didn’t specify which part of the Arkan Olarik’s speech he was agreei
ng with. “But even if the Plateau is seized we can still get supplies. The Moonships can go anywhere in the world they want, and we can pay by putting things in orbit, at least till the secret’s out, we can also probably sell scientific data, moon rocks etc. Enough to keep us going, and we should be able to avoid getting too close to people of bad repute?”
“Very true Mr. Richards,” the big shoulders shook with internal laughter.
“Of course the ability to land two main battle tanks anywhere in the world in a few hours would also be of considerable use, to some people.” Paul said quietly.
“Indeed it would, and some people would pay a lot for a service like that. Again it’s only going to be for a relatively short time, but it should be a rather interesting and lucrative sideline, don’t you think?”
“It’ll make a lot of people hate us, Colonel.” Paul said quietly.
“They already hate most of the world and would probably hate us for our access to the stars anyway, Mr. Richards.”
Paul shrugged sadly, “As you say Colonel, though I’ve been lucky and missed that sort by and large.”
“It’s a figment of you American’s imagination that the world’s a nice place with a few bad apples Mr. Richards. The world is a cesspool whose inhabitants will pull you in and drown you if you let them.” The eyes were flat and expressionless.
Paul nodded, “They make good coffee here, don’t you think Colonel?”
The eyes were flat for a long moment as Paul looked into them, then they lit up as the shoulders shook, “Indeed they do, for Americans; I still prefer my coffee harsh but sweet.”