Mission Mars (20 page)

Over the two-month journey to Mars, an intensive training and evaluation program had been conducted to determine who would, in fact, design the skyline. Most hopefuls would find themselves in much more mundane positions, such as overseeing the installation of septic tanks.

“You look like you didn't sleep at all last night.”

Steve pulled himself away from his thoughts and glanced up to his friend. “Hey, North. No, I didn't.”

Caroline North Henderson, ‘North', to most of her friends, was also a North Carolina native. She and Steve met on the shuttle to the transport ring and had become fast friends. She overcame her parent's creative naming to earn a bachelor's degree in Extremophile Bioengineering, and news of her rather specific interest in genetically-engineered ground cover had reached the director of the Botanical Technologies division of Iron Castle. North was one of the few people on board M301 who actually knew before they left what her job would be on Mars.

North sat down across from Steve and observed him a moment. “You shouldn't push yourself so hard. Life will be difficult enough at the colony.”

“That's easy for you to say. You know what you're going to do. If I don't score high enough, I could find myself designing
plasma exchanges or optimizing sewage systems. I want to shape the skyline. I want to design the soaring spires and intricate web of transport tubes!”

“You want to be an architect, I know. But come on, Steve. You're headed to Mars! It's a whole planet of opportunity.”

“You mean an opportunity to die.” Steve drained the last liquid from his cup and winced. “Out of the fifty ways to endanger my life that I memorized last night, for some reason, I failed to include coffee deprivation. This mud isn't even close to the real thing.”

North shook her head. “For once, I can't argue that.” She took a sip from her own swill and stuck her tongue out after swallowing the concoction. “Instead of torturing ourselves here, why don't we go pack up our stuff so we don't have to do it tomorrow morning?”

Steve sighed, almost as much at North's use of the term “morning” as he did at the idea of packing. Still, he reasoned, the activity would take his mind off of waiting for the computer to process his results and send him his assignment.

North perched herself on top of the dresser next to Steve's bed while he packed and complained. In the small room, there was little space for one inhabitant, much less for a guest.

“I just wish the results would come in already, so I would know what the next few years are going to be like.” His voice was muffled as he reached under his bed and managed to snag a fallen sock. He backed out from under the bed directly into the door of the tiny room.

North was prepared. “Well, you know what they say: ‘When a door closes, a window opens'.”

“That's generally a bad idea in space,” he replied.

Just then, a light electrical charge tickled Steve's wrist. He looked down at the tiny computer that was trying to get his attention. He yelped as he saw the subject. “The results!”

North was immediately quiet and watched her friend's face. “I'm sure you did fine, Steve.”

“You're wrong.”

“Well … it can't be that bad. Can it?”

“Yes, it can. Apparently I am average, academically speaking, that is, but have an exceptional knowledge of rules and regulations.”

“That sounds promising.”

“I am most suited to sewage system engineering.” He looked at North, whose face was straining to find a middle ground between sympathy and entertainment.

“I'm so sorry, Steve. That … well … that really stinks.”

M301 slid into orbit above Mars. Steve, along with the rest of the passengers, boarded the shuttles that would carry them to New America. As he descended into the thin atmosphere, he could see the lone Iron Castle tower that soared above the smaller towers of the inner city and the utilitarian buildings that formed the colony. The transition from the heavier but graduated gravity of the transportation ring, to the lighter but evenly distributed gravity of Mars, left him nauseated. He took a deep breath in hopes it would settle his stomach. At
least in the Martian gravity his baggage would be easier to carry.

While the shuttle was cleared to land, Steve refreshed himself on the conditions of his employment. No matter how dreadful ‘Sewage System Engineer' sounded as a job title, it was considered important and meant that he would work directly under a member of the Castle family—Cynthia Abilene Castle. Thus, his assignment afforded him premium quarters nearly two-thirds of the way up Iron Castle tower itself, in one of the nicest sectors.

Feeling slightly lighter on his feet, Steve disembarked the shuttle. The signage was simple but clear, and he found his quarters easily enough.

Although he packed light, it still took him a few hours to organize his belongings to his satisfaction. He was putting away his last pair of socks when the view screen on the wall buzzed. He answered the call and was greeted by North's smiling face. “Hey, Steve! How far are you from Iron Castle?”

“Are you kidding? I live in it!”

North looked genuinely impressed. “Wow. Well, then, on your way up did you pass a bar called Lone Crater?”

“Yeah. You should see the prices. They may not be out of this particular world, but they certainly aren't down to Earth!”

North chuckled. “I know, but it'll be our last night before we begin work tomorrow, so we should celebrate. My boss provides the bartender with fresh botanicals from time to time, and in return, he gives us a special discount. You don't mind me buying the drinks, do you?”

Steve grinned and agreed to meet North in the bar within the hour. As he finished reorganizing his socks a final time,
the view screen buzzed again. This time it was only a simple text message from his boss. “No ned to arrriv eerly. Come aruund 1300.”

Considering the content of the message, Steve assumed computer problems were the cause of both the misspelling and the request for him to come in late. He closed the message, pulled on two black socks, hoping no one would notice that they didn't match, and headed down to meet North at the bar.

Lone Crater was one of the few places in the colony that didn't feel obviously like Mars. For the most part, the bar was frequented only by those affluent individuals who didn't care that the price of a drink on Mars was truly astronomical. As Steve walked into the bar, it took him a moment to notice North sitting at the bar talking with the bartender. He made his way across the room and slipped onto a stool. The stools were much higher than they were on Earth, but with the gravity just over a third of what he was used to, it was easy to lift himself to sit next to North.

Several shot glasses were spread before her, sparkling with different colored liquids.

“You must be Steve? I'm Frederick.” The guy dried his hands and reached over to shake Steve's. “Welcome to Lone Crater.” Steve returned his hand. The bartender had an easy attitude that Steve knew would always earn him early access to the best gossip in the colony.

North examined one of the glasses in front of her and turned to Frederick. “He'll need an introduction to your
unique methods. Make him a cocktail heavy on the bitters.”

Steve feigned indignation. “You don't think I can order my own drinks?”

Frederick smiled and came to North's defense. “It's standard procedure for new guests.” Seven shot glasses were placed on the counter in front of Steve and each were filled with carbonated water.

The bartender spoke as he worked. “When I arrived here, I didn't want to have just another bar. I wanted to serve something special. Susan Canton, the director of Botanical Technologies, provides me with these unique bitters, thereby making my drinks a cut above what you can get anywhere else.”

Frederick put several drops of various extracts into each of the shot glasses, and the carbonated water revealed the unique color of each bitter.

Steve and North enjoyed the unique characteristics of each flavor as quickly as they dared and described to the bartender what they liked or disliked about each. Once he was satisfied that he understood their tastes, he busied himself constructing a drink to suit each of their tastes, then left the two of them to talk.

Eventually, North signaled Frederick that it was time to close the tab.

Steve glanced at the clock above the bar. “It's getting late; are you sure you'll be awake in the morning?”

North grinned. “My boss told me to get a good night's sleep and come in around 1300.”

“Oh, that's good. I don't have to go in early, either. I'm not sure why, though.”

Absently, Steve brought up the message from Cynthia on his wrist. “I guess some kind of technical problems.”

As Frederick handed North her receipt, his sharp eyes caught the name attached to the message. “I suppose you could call being outrageously hung over a technical problem.”

Steve frowned at the bartender, and considered how much he was willing to trust his inside knowledge. Frederick continued, “Cynthia Castle is well known to the bars. She loves to drink. Frankly, she loves to drink more than she can handle. But you see, she has a system. If she's drunk before a certain time, she'll send out a message, just like the one you see there.” He motioned at the small screen on Steve's wrist.

“The idea is that she won't look so rough when you arrive at work in the morning. I'll give you some advice: pretend you don't notice. I've seen more than one skilled engineer end up on her wrong side for noticing—and that's a place you do not want to be.”

Steve downed the last of his drink and decided that if the bartender's advice was half as good as the drinks he made, he would be wise to listen.

Steve woke up early, despite the apparent reprieve he had been given. He wanted to explore his new surroundings and find out more about his new home. He had intended to take the equivalent of the scenic route to his office, but quickly discovered that wasn't an option.