Box

by Richard J Lowe

  Box

  by Richard J Lowe

  Copyright © 2018 by Richard J Lowe.

  All rights reserved.

  http://www.facebook.com/richardjloweauthor/

  Cover illustration: http://SelfPubBookCovers.com/Viergacht

  Dad

  This one is for you

  CHAPTER 1

  Kevin Maddock made sure the entire work party was in the caged elevator before he closed the gate and slammed his palm on the button that started their descent. The cage rattled and banged its way downwards alongside a large bore water-pipe which ran the length of the main entry shaft. The Mars colony systems were supposed to trap water and recycle it into the treatment plant. However, as the colony grew, the system had become less of a closed loop; wastage, coupled with the increased demand for drinking, washing, and growing vegetables in the agri-domes, kept Kevin and his coworkers in the water mining group very busy.

  He turned and looked at his five fellow passengers. He swore when he noticed that number five had some damage on one of its power cables where it connected to the drill servos. Damn it. That was sloppy. He had skipped the systems check on all the autonomous units this morning. That’s what you get for saying yes to Dimitri’s offer of a quick drink. His friend worked in one of the agri-domes and had access to vegetables that he used to make his infamous homemade rotgut. Christ knows where he had the still hidden. There weren’t many places you could get a private moment to yourself, let alone distil ethanol from fermented plants.

  The elevator continued to whirr and clunk its way down the shaft. Kevin pushed back the hood of his protective therms as soon as the air warmed enough not to risk frostbite. The surface was too cold to be roaming around in just your coverall; thermal support suits, therms for short, were the martian colonists answer to their perennial cold weather. At least they didn’t have to deal with snow; the martian weather system didn’t stretch to that much precipitation yet.

  With a none too gentle clattering bump, they came to a halt at the bottom of the access shaft. Kevin opened the cage and stepped out of the elevator.

  ‘All dig-units. Disembark.’ A microphone built into his mask picked up his voice and broadcast it from a small speaker.

  There was a chorus of bleeps of acknowledgement and the robots’ green action LEDs flicked on. Except for number two’s. There was a large dent and scuff mark around the housing where the light used to be. They’d run out of replacement bulbs, and it seemed replacement LEDs were a low priority. Since the number of ships making the journey from Earth had dwindled to one every few years, spare parts had been a problem. The colony’s fabrication facilities were prioritised to whatever was the flavour of the week for the council. He supposed the water mining operation would shoot to the top of the list if the council members couldn’t take a shower.

  The last of the robots exited the cage, and he shut the gate with a clang that echoed throughout the underground tunnels.

  ‘All dig-units. Follow me.’

  He led his charges down the dimly lit access tunnel. Underground on Mars did not feel as damp as on Earth. Everything was so arid. However, as they proceeded down the tunnel, following the water pipe, he could feel both the temperature and humidity rising until he emerged into the chamber that housed the extraction plant.

  Another man, his hood back and therms unzipped at the front looked up from a control panel. ‘Hey, Kev.’

  ‘Bannon, how goes it?’ Kevin patted the man on the back as he walked past him.

  ‘Been a cave-in in six. One of the digs got a bit bashed up. Laurie’s recovering it now.’

  ‘Right.’ Kevin took a clipboard from a hook on the wall and checked the work rota. He was down for sector seven today. ‘I’d best get started. No rest for the wicked.’

  The mine was relatively warm, and the balmy 15 degree centigrade temperature meant Kevin could remove his therms without fear of hypothermia. He still had to wear the mask and the tank-belt around his waist. Pale blue cylinders, the tanks, were fixed to the webbing of the belt and were linked together by short hoses. A longer hose ran from a mixer valve on the belt to his mask and supplied him with air that contained the oxygen he needed. There was an indicator light on the buckle which was currently glowing green indicating the supply was good and reserves were over fifty percent. This would switch to amber when half his tanks were empty and then flash amber when he was down to two. When on the last tank, the light would turn red and an alarm would sound, alerting anyone nearby to his impending suffocation. A constant red light indicated that it was too late, and the tanks had run out of oxygen.

  Kevin was supervising his charges from the sector seven control panel. His feet were up on the yellow-painted metal of the panel housing, and he was watching the screens as he occasionally lifted his mask to take a bite out of an oat bar. One flat panel screen was displaying the camera feed from number five. A microphone pickup provided the means for him to issue orders to the dig-units rudimentary AIs. There was also a screen that was displaying status indicators for all the units: tunnel temperatures, a seismograph and other bits of data the engineers who built it thought would be useful. These readouts were showing no problems, and the damaged power cable did not seem to be causing number five any trouble. The drill was boring its way into the rock face, throwing up a haze of dust which made the camera feed a bit pointless.

  Kevin had just finished eating his oat bar when several warning indicators for number five all came on at once, and the panel’s warning buzzer started to sound.

  Kevin swung his feet down, and leaned forward, peering at the display and frowning. He pushed the button which stopped the audible alarm. The indicators were still flashing various shades of red, orange and yellow. Turning his attention to the live camera feed, he saw that the drill had stopped. So much for the power cable lasting until the end of the shift. He confirmed that the other units were all still operational and then gave the order to shut them down.

  ‘All dig-units. Cease operation.’

  Then, continuing to follow the stipulated safety procedure for work face access by an operator, he pressed the button which switched off the bucket conveyor that was carrying the water-bearing rock to the extractor.

  Once the conveyor had shuddered to a halt, he spent a moment enjoying the silence, then sighed, picked up his toolbox, and headed towards the access tunnel that led to the work face.

  By the time he reached dig-unit five, the dust from drilling had settled out of the air, forming a gritty film over the unit.

  ‘Dig-unit five. Isolate drill unit power.’

  There was a beep, followed by the click of relays as the unit complied.

  ‘Now, let’s have a look—’

  Kevin stopped. His eyes were drawn to the rock face and something that shouldn’t be there. It was a smooth, gunmetal grey surface. What was left of number five’s drill was resting on it, twisted and broken. Kevin hesitated then touched his fingertips to the grey surface. It felt impossibly smooth. None of the grit from drilling had stuck to it at all.

  ‘What the hell?’

  He rapped the surface with his knuckles. A dull thunk. Whatever it was, it was solid. Kevin considered bringing another dig-unit over to clear more of the rock, then discarded the notion as another broken drill would be a disaster. He went to his toolbox and fished out a small pick he used for taking rock samples. He looked at it a moment and then considered the rock face. He’d need something bigger and some help.

  CHAPTER 2

  The sun hung in the sky, casting a wan light over the ruddy landscape. His brush daubed the canvas with swathes of red as he painted the rocky terrain he could see in front of him. Next, he would fill in the pale blue sky. This would take a little longer than it used to; these days there were almost always wispy clouds b
reaking up the thin blue of the sky. He glanced at his palette. There was even a selection of greens, the most recent addition to the colours required for landscape painting on Mars.

  Daniel Maddock had been chronicling the terraforming activity on Mars, via the medium of watercolour landscapes, for over thirty years now. Born and raised on Mars, he was a third generation Martian. In his lifetime, temperature, atmospheric pressure and oxygen levels in these low-lying areas had reached a point where more than just lichen could grow. Now, as well as the yellows and greys of lichen covering the martian rocks, there was a green carpet of bio-engineered moss spreading across parts of the landscape. You still needed a mask outside though. It would be his generation's great-great-grandchildren who would be the first to breathe Martian air directly. That is, unless the work of his daughter and her colleagues came to fruition.

  There was a light bonging noise followed by a calm female voice. ‘Simone will be arriving within five minutes.’

  They still used terrestrial time units on Mars, although a Martian day lasted 24 hours, 37 minutes, and 22 seconds, give or take a microsecond. As Daniel understood it, to prevent massive confusion over what time of day lunch was, standard colony time (SCT) had a twenty-fifth ‘hour’ which only lasted 37 minutes and 22 seconds.

  His daughter, Simone, was part of a team whose goal was to make it possible to play a round of golf on the surface of Mars without needing a mask. ‘The Program’, as they called it, was concerned with human gene editing to modify the genome of newborn colonists. The idea was for the next generation to have increased lung gas-exchange and their haemoglobin to have an improved delivery capability. The scientists had engineered a mouse that could scurry about on the surface without suffocating; Daniel didn’t think it could play golf. Human trials had not yet been given the go-ahead by the colonial council, and he was sure he’d hear all about how short-sighted the council were when his daughter arrived.

  ‘Doris. Coffee please.’

  He didn’t have to be polite to the hab-AI, but he spent so much time with her, he didn’t like to be rude.

  ‘Making coffee,’ said the ever calm female voice.

  He heard the click of the coffee machine switching on and waited in anticipation for the smell of brewing coffee to fill the habitat. Thank God they had managed to transport viable coffee plant seeds from Earth. In his opinion, of all the crops grown in the agri-domes, coffee was the true success story of Martian agriculture.

  The three chimes notifying Daniel someone was at the airlock snapped him out of his reverie.

  The hab-AI started to inform him of the obvious. ‘Simone is—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know. You only just told me she was on her way.’

  ‘—at the door.’

  ‘Doris, just let her in.’

  There was a buzz followed by a loud clunk as the airlock cycled open. He sipped his coffee, looked out of the window and listened to the sound of the outer door closing followed by a hiss as the pressure was matched with the inside. The final chunky metallic noise of the internal door opening was quickly followed by, ‘Hi, dad.’

  He swivelled around in his chair and smiled at his oldest child. She was dressed in the ubiquitous grey coverall of the martian colonist, and wore her chestnut brown hair, the same colour as his used to be, tied back in a ponytail. She had hung her therms on one of the pegs in the airlock.

  ‘Simone, come and give your father a hug,’ he said, rising to his feet, arms wide and welcoming.

  Simone crossed the room, and he folded her into a bear hug. ‘You don’t come down and see me much these days,’ he said, resting his chin on the top of her head.

  ‘I’ve been busy dad,’ said Simone. ‘The gene editing project keeps me and Jacob busy, you know that.’

  ‘How is that husband of yours?’

  ‘Oh, he’s fine.’ Simone pulled back and helped herself to a seat on the battered grey sofa.

  ‘And—’

  ‘And, no, I’m not pregnant yet.’

  Was he that predictable? ‘Right, yes. Good. I mean, I’m sorry to hear that.’

  Simone fiddled with an ancient solitaire set on the table by the sofa, moving the milky marbles from one semi-spherical hollow to another. ‘I’m not going to be until the program is ready. The council are stalling. Again.’

  ‘Can’t you just have one the old-fashioned way? What’s wrong with that?’ asked Daniel.

  Simone stopped her random marble movement and looked up at him. ‘We want our child to breathe the air outside without a mask.’

  ‘Yes, I know. It’s kind of hard for me to believe that’s going to be possible so soon.’

  Simone nodded. ‘I know. We've made amazing progress over the last ten years. We’re so close, which makes the council’s refusal to let us run our trials very frustrating.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll come round. Coffee?’

  ‘Please.’

  Daniel poured two coffees and returned to sit in his favourite armchair. It was even more worn than the sofa. It had come with them when they had moved out of the communal hab into one of the private habs. A private hab was one of the advantages of being a council members family. Simone had offered to replace the chair, but he had gently turned her down. It had been with him since he and Doris had married and reminded him of the happy times they had spent together after Simone had been born and they were allocated a family room. The new hab, he still thought of it as new even though he had been here for over a decade, was larger and, since the accident, lonelier. He’d changed the name of the hab’s AI to his wife’s name during one drunken evening of lonely misty-eyed reminiscing. He still couldn’t bring himself to change it back to the descriptive, but soulless, default ‘Habitat-AI’.

  ‘Dad, are you alright?’

  ‘Mmm? Yes, sorry.’

  ‘You spaced out on me for a moment there.’

  ‘Just thinking about your mother, dear.’

  ‘Oh, dad.’ Simone came over and sat on the arm of his chair and put her arm around his shoulders. ‘I miss her too.’

  ‘What is it they say? She’s in a better place now.’

  Simone said nothing and just hugged him a little harder. She then stood up and brushed the wrinkles out of her clothes.

  Daniel noticed his daughter’s eyes were damp. ‘Now look what I’ve done. I’ve upset you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, dad. I’m just remembering mum too.’

  ‘She’d be proud of you, you know. She really believed in your work.’

  ‘The Program wouldn’t have got off the ground without her support on the council.’ Simone picked up her coffee and took a sip. ‘I do know one thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘She’d have something colourful to say to the rest of the council.’

  ‘She would, wouldn’t she?’ Daniel chuckled.

  Simone smiled. ‘That’s better. Less of the frowny face.’ She went back to looking slightly concerned. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve not seen much of you lately.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ said Daniel. ‘You two are busy, I understand that. There’ll be plenty of family time when you give me that grandson I’ve been after.’

  Simone laughed. ‘You don’t give up, do you? Why don’t you go hassle Kevin for some grandchildren?’

  ‘Your brother? He’s even less likely to have kids.’

  ‘Point taken,’ said Simone. ‘Maybe one day, he’ll look up from the rock face and realise there’s more to life than the water mines.’

  Daniel raised his eyebrows at this. ‘Glasshouses, stones, pots and kettles.’

  Simone threw a cushion at him, which seemed to bring the well-worn conversation about grandchildren to a close.

  CHAPTER 3

  It was two weeks after the council had once again turned down the application for human trials that Simone visited her brother on site. Kevin had found the article describing the decision buried in the depths of the colony news feed. The reporter had spun the story in th
e council’s favour, painting them as protectors of the purity of humanity. He wondered how long it would be before the program was shut down for good. The mining operation in sector seven had been shut down, but this was in the name of science. It seemed that the council had no problems with the study of alien artefacts. Kevin had been assigned to assist the scientists as required, which had mostly involved enlarging the excavation to accommodate the equipment and personnel involved with examining the object.

  Kevin and Simone were standing in the area that had been designated the visitor viewing gallery. It was some distance from the object, and a metal handrail had been fitted to denote the start of the restricted area. She had come down after the last work period of the day, so nobody else was around.

  ‘Is it always this warm down here?’ asked Simone.

  She was looking at her wrist and the temperature reading on her cuff. These were worn by all colonists, resembled a wristwatch, and, as well as telling the time and the temperature, functioned as a communicator when connected to the colony network.

  ‘Yes. Double-digit Celsius all day long. The rock’s a good insulator, so heat generated by our operations here doesn’t go anywhere fast.’

  ‘Huh. I never knew.’

  Kevin shrugged. ‘Why would you?’ She had never visited him at work before and probably never would have if it weren’t for his discovery.

  The object looked like the bottom corner of a giant grey cube, buried in the rock. It was smooth and featureless, and a good five metres of height and width had been exposed. However, it was still partially buried, so they did not know exactly how big it was. They had been going slowly with digging it out, like archaeologists on Earth excavating ancient remains. Actually, Kevin thought, that was exactly what they were doing. They didn’t know how old it was or what it was made of as the object had so far resisted all attempts to obtain a sample.