Helen checked the list again. NAV was right, she was supposed to change locations before the next sample. But she could’ve sworn that step hadn’t been there before. Serves you right for getting distracted.
“Of course, moving now.” Helen brought the sampling arm back in and began her slow roll.
“Confirmed. Noted.”
Helen held in her frustrated reply. She could go scream at her apartment walls after shift change if she needed to. One minor mistake after another was beginning to wear on her.
Maybe I wasn’t ready to get back out into a waldo just yet.
That poisonous thought hung in the corner of her mind just above the imaginary list of very real errors.
Moving the waldo, when she got the chance to do so, was a joy.
For a spherical waldo in low-g, there was no “up,” but there was a filter in place that kept the flow of information to Helen’s mind properly oriented. The crunching of the ice and the hissing of the lake in near-vacuum were not “sounds,” they were vibrations and structural data. Helen could turn them off, but the point of a human-operated waldo was the unconscious ability to process all that information as if one’s own body were present.
So when the ice under the waldo cracked, Helen reacted without thinking, she just jumped. A million miles away, her body jerked in response, even through the restraint of the supersuit.
“NAV, problem.” The two words were all she had time to get out. Helen’s waldo popped into the air a few centimeters. It tried desperately to interpret the signals coming from Helen’s brain and body, but it had not been designed to jump, only to roll. The new location she’d arrived at was a slab of ice that the eenies were already breaking down. It had been weakened, breaking it into independent chunks before turning it to a collectible gas. If she didn’t get to solid ice, she’d be dropped into the depths of the methane lake, something the waldo certainly was not equipped to handle.
I wonder what that would feel like. Helen dropped the errant thought as the NAV’s task list turned red, then got replaced with an emergency protocol list.
ENVIRONMENTAL INCIDENT
First mission out and I’m running emergency protocols again? The panic started to rise, but this time Helen was unconstrained. This time she was in her element, riding a waldo with an entire array of tools and actions at her disposal. Helen yanked open the interface and started digging for what she needed while the NAV chattered, unheeded, in the background.
A glance at the waldo designs told her it was way too slow to give her a proper shove off the failing ice. She had to find a way to use the mass of the waldo in her favor.
Helen pulled up the movement simulator and requested a speed and trajectory with all the waldo’s sensor panels open. Combined with the rotational force, they should give her enough traction to get to solid ground. While Helen ran the numbers, the ball continued to roll like a tire stuck in the mud. The friction melted the ice even faster.
NAV kept talking and the list changed to green again, back to standard protocols. It almost gave Helen pause, but the readings from the waldo said she wasn’t in the clear yet. Why the hell is NAV re-tasking the list? No matter, Helen was already into her sequence of actions, the waldo’s computer giving her speed and rotation data she needed.
Riding a waldo meant an OP felt every surface, every joint. Helen opened all the panels and felt the edges bite in, launching her forward as the rest of the sheet passed through liquid to gas. The waldo touched back down on solid ice with a bump and a shimmy.
“Operator Vectorovich, please return to protocol or this mission will be terminated.”
“Hold on, NAV, I need to verify the stability . . .”
“Beauchamp said you were a loose cannon, Vectorovich. Prepare for mission termination in five . . .”
What the hell? The NAV’s words over the past minute suddenly came through Helen’s action-oriented fog. The repeated demands to cease action made no sense, but the checklist flashed red in Helen’s line of sight, indicating a mission failure. If Cat Beauchamp had been talking to the NAV before or even during the mission, looking to sabotage Helen’s re-certification, then she had a whole different kind of problem on her hands.
“On what grounds?” Helen watched as the protocol shifted again. You don’t break mission. Ever. Sure, if an OP cracks, or the waldo explodes, but otherwise you just don’t do it. So what the hell is up with this NAV and why the hell has he been talking to Beauchamp?
“Mission is behind schedule due to OP’s failure to stay on protocol.”
“Stay on protocol? OP’s discretion here, NAV, I can’t take ice samples from the underside of the ice.” Helen stayed calm and collected. Now that she knew, or at least suspected, that she was being sabotaged, she could move to counter. As long as she stayed professional, the NAV would be the one getting all the questions if the mission failed.
“Joyriding around the surface is simply not allowed.”
“Of course not . . .” Helen took a deep breath and let it out to defuse the flash of indignation. The logs would bear witness that she was trying to keep the waldo from going into the drink. Because this was a training-level mission, everything would be recorded. If she could keep the NAV from pulling the plug, they’d both come out all right. If he declared a mission failure, they’d both be in the soup.
“The waldo’s back on solid ground now. I can proceed with the protocol. There’s only ten minutes left on mission, can we ride this out?”
There was a long pause.
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon . . . Off mission meant punitive response for both OP and NAV. An older, more experienced NAV would shrug off the black mark if things had truly gotten out of control. Helen was willing to bet this NAV didn’t know what Beauchamp was asking him to risk.
“I can get us back on schedule,” Helen wheedled. The waldo had a backup set of instrumentation she could put into play. She’d have a hell of a headache later, it would burn her out faster than normal, but she was willing to risk it to see if calling the NAV’s bluff worked out.
“Fine. But stick to the list.”
“Of course. Next item coming up.”
And then I’m going to have to go have a little talk with Catherine Beauchamp.
CHAPTER TEN
“They’re going to make you fight the reprimand.” Keller passed Helen a soda-bulb from the vending machine. “Sorry, HR changed vendors again.”
The vending machine offering was his way of taking the edge off her attitude. Helen had stormed into his office to read him the riot act about saddling her with an incompatible NAV. Three weeks into the required retraining sessions and every NAV had been a mismatch since day one. She stuck her tongue out at the generic red label before popping the top.
“It’s not that I care so much about the branding, it’s that the knockoffs never actually taste like what they’re pretending to copy.” Helen took a sip, then made a face, showing the beverage’s brown carbonated bubbles between her teeth.
“Ugh.” Keller waved her off. “That’s disgusting.”
“I’m not worried about having to fight the reprimand.” Helen took a moment to suck in the offending bubbles, then followed with another sip. “I’m worried about wasting time having to fight dirty.” She paced the floor of the cubicle, trying to work off her agitation. “I’d rather just be better at being an OP, rather than being 80% OP, 20% politician. Beauchamp is trying to make sure I don’t get back out there and I don’t understand why.”
“She wants your spot.” Keller shook his head. “She’s got the skills, you can’t deny that. The only thing keeping her from being added to the Line Drive team now that you’re down is the fact that Ivester’s sequestered the group.” He rocked back in his chair. “You’re going to have to figure this out like a pair of grownups.”
“So why am I dealing with the procedural bullshit? It will take a
week to appeal the reprimand, if I get paired with another toxic NAV . . .”
“You need an advocate. You’re not the easiest OP to work with.”
“A crap NAV who goes to all the right parties.” Helen ignored him and continued her pacing. The bad training mission had her on edge. Weeks out and she was still finding her way through the knots of checklists around getting her certification back.
“Ted wasn’t a crap NAV,” Keller pointed out quietly.
Helen felt a quick stab of guilt. She took a long, slow breath, waiting for the prickle of potential tears to subside before saying anything. Mentions of Ted did that, brought emotion to the fore, out of the space in her chest where she kept them locked away. They didn’t wiggle their way out, it was more like they had a fast track to her brain. Feelings she’d thought she had a handle on waltzed past all her defenses like they weren’t even there. One second she was fine, the next she could barely speak. Get your shit together.
“You’re right,” she said finally. “Ted was an excellent NAV. He was also the one who knew everyone, who to talk to, what to say. I handled the hardware, he handled the people. I can’t even get my head around replacing him.”
“I can set you up with a computer NAV for the next training session, it’s allowed, but that won’t solve the problem of finding you a NAV to get you back on rotation for the Golfball,” Keller said gently.
Helen scrubbed her fingers through her hair in a gesture of frustration. “After today’s mission, I’m open to more options.”
“Oh?” Keller looked surprised. “It was that bad a match?”
“I’m up for review due to mission outcomes. Five separate incidents in one mission.” Helen held up fingers to match. “FIVE. When was the last time you had a senior operator get five write-ups? It was punitive at best, and the mission tapes will back me up.”
“Five? What the hell did you do?” It was clear Keller had been imagining a single reprimand, typical NAV/OP conflict stuff. Now that Helen had dropped a number, he was suddenly much more interested. He pulled up the mission logs and threw them up on the wall so they could go over them together.
Helen grimaced. “I’m an asshole, I get that, but not a five-incident asshole. It was a routine sample collection. Some combination of bad circumstance and shifting conditions.”
“So what, your NAV changed protocols too fast?”
“Do you think I’d have trouble keeping up with a rookie NAV? I’m in the middle of a course change because the ice was going right to gas under the waldo, and he’s harping on me to get back to sample collection.” Helen called up the last fifteen minutes of her shift and projected them onto the wall, highlighting the protocols as they popped up along the timeline.
“Could he have been getting bad feedback from the waldo, maybe?”
“Maybe, but we’re supposed to have a certain amount of discretion up there. The NAV is supposed to trust the OP. Instead I’m getting dinged for trying to save the waldo rather than grabbing samples according to schedule.” Helen blew out a long, exasperated breath. “Sorry. It’s just, not enough time in a coffin, and I was expecting a nice, vacation-y stroll across an asteroid on a training-level mission. Now I’m just vexed.”
“I’ll run through the mission logs, put a different perspective in the report,” Keller offered.
“Logs will bear me out, but it was weird.” She waited a long moment before her next statement, aware of how it might sound. “Couple that with the fact that the Beauchamp’s been talking behind my back.”
“Hah. So you think she’s gunning for you? She set the NAV up to wreck your mission?”
“Maybe, maybe not, but I just want it on record in case this kind of thing happens more than once. No point in leaving my backside unprotected.”
“Beauchamp’s going to be playing on the rumors.” Keller closed the files, packaged them up again. “Since your line about the Golfball getting ‘eaten’ got leaked, some of the NAVs have added you to their ‘incompatible’ list.”
“It doesn’t help that I’ve been muzzled because of the investigation. I can’t get out there and plead my case; everybody thinks I’ve been locked away in this weird ‘not on the team’ space because of the damn NDAs.”
“So just step up, take the promotion. Let Beauchamp have the seat.”
NAVs and OPs were allowed to blacklist personalities they didn’t mesh with. It didn’t always get you out of working with someone. Far Reaches didn’t particularly care if you liked each other or not, but it went on record and was factored in if a mission went sideways. Known bad matches were kept off high-value missions like Line Drive. Helen couldn’t afford to wind up on too many blacklists, and she couldn’t break the NDA to defend herself, otherwise she’d never get back out to the Golfball. She was losing the battle and she knew it.
“Dammit, Keller. I need to get back out there.” Helen started to pace again, repeating the five steps from one side of Keller’s office to the other.
“Look, Analysis wants you full time. You’ve picked up on the mission files faster than anyone expected of a waldo-jockey. Why don’t you take the pay bump and run with it?”
“Oh hell, Keller, I don’t know.” Helen dropped into one of the room’s empty chairs. “It just feels like I am being handled rather than having earned a new spot.”
Keller chuckled. “Of course you didn’t earn it, not if you think about it like your rotation seat. The earning comes after.”
“Are you sure that’s soda you’re drinking?”
Keller eyeballed the label suspiciously. “Is anybody ever really sure what’s in one of these things? I mean, it says 10% juice, but that could be eyeball juice or tuna juice for all I know, as long as it tastes good.”
“I think you’d be able to tell if it was tuna juice.”
Keller pulled the conversation back onto the rails. “There is no ‘earning’ once you get out of rank. It’s more like a convergence, especially if you move up within the company. You have skills X and Y2, they have an opening that needs X2 and Y2, they respect your skills, don’t think you’re an HR hazard, and pop, you’re in the new gig.”
“I think that’s a gross oversimplification.”
“It absolutely is. But the point is, a certain percent of the ‘earning’ comes after. Rather than fight like the dickens to get the spot like you do as an OP, now you have to fight to keep the spot. If you’re missing a skill, you have to learn it. If your team moves on to some aspect out of your wheelhouse, then you find a way to become enough of an expert to keep the rest of the team moving forward.”
“That’s . . . That’s worth thinking about.”
“Of course, that means you have to give up your seat to Beauchamp.”
“See, you just shut down your whole argument with one, single sentence.”
“You really hate Beauchamp that much?”
“Not at all. She’s an exceptional OP.”
“But?”
Helen paused, considering her next words. Ted would have known how to phrase it for best effect, how to get Keller to actually listen. “You already know this, Keller. She’s cutthroat, she plays favorites. The senior operators set an example for the rest. I can only imagine what’s going to happen to flight operations if she ends up being the benchmark.”
“One woman is not going to turn a hundred OPs into cutthroat reprobates.”
“I hope you’re right about that one.”
“Well, you’re going to have to either fish or cut bait pretty damn quick. If you can’t get re-certified, she’s getting your spot.” Keller polished off the soda bulb and chucked it, without looking, at the recycle bin. It rattled off the counter and wall before clattering in. There was a quick whiff of ozone as the eenies inside returned it to feedstock for recycling.
“We have an eight a.m. meeting on the final checklist for the return mission, and I
could do with a couple hours shut-eye.” Keller stretched his arms to towards the ceiling.
Helen checked her own schedule. “I’ve got it in for 8:30. Are you sure you’re right?”
“Your friend Dougal booked it in.”
Helen held up her tablet to show him. “See, 8:30.”
“Well, one of us has the wrong invite.” Keller scrubbed his calendar back and forth, looking for another.
“Ugh. I’m having a string of minor, stupid things going wrong, this is just another one on the list. This morning I had to wait an hour outside the lab for Dougal because my chip wasn’t recognized. I better get there early, just in case.” Helen closed up her files and jammed the tablet into her back pocket.
“It will give us some alone time with the breakfast selection.” Keller tapped fingertips together in mock anticipation.
Helen laughed. Keller lived off-site, and his preference for the prefab, identical servings the commissary provided was nearly legendary. One of the other OPs had joked that anyone who hired Keller away would have to match dining contractors as part of the package.
Helen paused at the cubicle door. “I’ll let you know what the committee comes back with.”
“I’ll get the review expedited. If you’re staying on Line Drive, then we need you cleared as soon as possible.”
“Thanks. See you at eight.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“So is this going to be an ongoing problem with you?” Helen got right to the point. She didn’t have the time, or the patience, for dancing around. She’d found Beauchamp, and her angry aqua pouf of hair, holding court in the commissary between shifts, seated at one of the tables in the back, telling stories to a handful of younger personnel. The other OP collected newly minted OPs and NAVs the way birds collected shiny objects. She was experienced enough in her own right, but she supplemented that skill by keeping a finger on any up-and-coming talent. If they got in her way, she encouraged them to make career-ending decisions under the guise of advancement.
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