Red Soil Through Our Fingers Page 2

  Access tunnels branched off of the plaza to all sides, leading to clusters of white-domed buildings that bubbled out of the red soil in various sizes and proportions. Antenna spires spiked toward the sky. Beyond the domes were other clusters, and even further beyond stretched the cold red desert.

  Dao was the branch point for the all-important supply lines connecting the resource extraction station in the low-lying Hellas basin to the settlements and farms in the highlands to the northeast. With a population just over a hundred thousand, Dao was a medium city by Earth standards, but a veritable metropolis here on Mars. Combined with having the largest spaceport in the southern hemisphere and the planetary headquarters of the Rekos-Breland Xenomaterials Corporation, Dao was the center of something new and big. And that meant Sun-Hee wouldn’t want to find herself anywhere else.

  She had seen bigger, of course. This was her third week on the job at RBX Mars, having transferred to an executive position directly from headquarters on Luna. Earth’s moon was a far more elegant, densely packed, and bustling center of commerce than this place.

  The fledgling colonies in the Outers were still little more than outposts. Mars was the last place worth a stop on the way out to the frontier, and rapidly becoming the clearinghouse for all goods, people, and equipment heading between the inner and outer planets.

  Sun-Hee took a direct path through the crowd towards the cafe. She normally yielded to others only if they were better dressed than she was. With these provincials, that meant she walked in a straight line.

  The man she was looking for sat at table near the plaza.

  “I wanted to be among the first to congratulate you on your promotion, Sunny.” He shot her a disarming smile over his steaming hot drink as she approached his table. She blinked in surprise that his words were in English – the language of casual, friendly, even intimate encounters, to be expected in popular entertainment, sporting events, farm fields and manufacturing floors, and the seedier ends of the marketplace. To her, it was not the language of legitimate business. It set a tone for the conversation that made her wary.

  She carefully responded in the language he chose. “I'd prefer you call me Sun-Hee, please. Ms. Yoo is fine too.”

  “Oh, I'm sorry,” he said, not looking at all sorry. “I was just talking to Cam, at Mining Division, last night and she just referred to you as —”

  “Cam is my friend. You aren't. Mr. Boyce.” She sat down across from him and adjusted herself.

  “Please, call me Karl.” He extended a pale, but strong hand. Blue-gray eyes looked her over under carefully sculpted mouse-brown hair. “I worked with your predecessor, Gareth Barnes, on the M-GPS network for ground navigation. We went back a long way. Shame about that accident at the refining plant, but I'm glad to meet you and I hope to get our relationship off on the right foot.”

  What a schmoozer. She hated playing this kind of game, but smiled anyway. “I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Boyce. But if you wanted to discuss your company's bid, you certainly didn't have to come to Dao. I would have been happy to set up a video conference with you.”

  “Oh, I like coming to the big city. The SolStream offices on Phobos get so boring sometimes. Just going around the planet over and over.”

  As if he wasn’t obnoxious enough, now he was bragging too. After a developer dumped a few trillion into reinforcing the moon’s structure, the corporate office spaces on Phobos had become the most sought-after business real estate outside of Earth’s gravity well.

  He gestured to the scurrying people on their way to work. “I like seeing all the people. Look at them. All out here on the bold new frontier, looking for something. Can I order you a hot drink? Something to get you going in the morning? On me.”

  “Very kind of you, but no. Let’s get to the point.”

  “You're all business. Okay, I get it, no problem. Then let me lay out for you, Madam Director of Operations. SolStream wants this contract.”

  Of course you do. That’s why you submitted a bid. You better not be trying to butter your way to a better position, asshole. “Naturally, Mr. Boyce. And I assure you that my office is reviewing your proposal along with the other two bids. I have rigorous standards for how they will be evaluated and I’ll be sure to contact you if I have any questions.”

  “Easy now, follow me on this. On the surface, this bid is about SolStream becoming RBX's communications carrier.”

  “This contract is only about SolStream becoming RBX's communications carrier. Anything additional is not covered by the Request for Proposal.” Sun-Hee pressed her lips together. Time to call him out. “And if you're trying to influence the selection process in any way —”

  Boyce's eyebrows shot up and his mouth opened in a superb enactment of surprise.

  “Sunny — forgive me, Ms. Yoo — please don't throw around wild accusations. Everything I would ever discuss with you is on the straight and level.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “If you'd let me finish, my dear... I want to talk about Deimos.”

  Sun-Hee glanced at the auto-search node in the corner of her vision and her glasses rapidly displayed several company files on the outermost of Mars' two moons. She blinked through them rapidly.

  “We own the place. So?”

  “You've notified the corporate net that Rekos-Breland intends to develop it, and you've landed some hardware.”

  “So we own it.”

  “For now, yes, those are the same thing. But the recent hearings by the UN Office of Outer Space Affairs could change that.”

  Sun-Hee stared at Boyce through the informational text and icons rapidly flitting past her vision.

  “A measure to administrate space under international authority?” At this she laughed and shook her head. “Various Earth governments have been talking about this for decades. Talking and not agreeing on a damn thing, while industry has been doing.”

  Boyce gestured to the server robot and placed an order. He looked back at Sun-Hee, raised his eyebrows, and leaned in, a serious look on his face.

  “Those are some fancy glasses, Ms. Yoo. Whether or not the old rock is finally getting a cohesive public space policy together, it’s going to happen eventually. What your glasses can’t tell you is that when it happens, it will be very hard for them to force private entities to leave territory they have already developed.”

  Sun-Hee shook her head. “You’re making this out to be a war when there isn’t one. Every company out beyond Earth has a huge interest in keeping Earth as a market. Platinum and methane and water don’t mean anything without demand to consume it. If regulation is coming, it’s coming. We just need to make sure it’s on favorable terms. As for Deimos, RBX could start mining it at any time. What does SolStream and your bid have to do with this?”

  The server dropped off two steaming mugs of something hot and caffeinated, and Boyce pushed one of them towards her. She hesitated a moment before pulling it closer.

  “We've done the numbers too,” he said. “Deimos has barely four cubic kilometers of rock, most of it’s not worth the energy it would take to extract and refine. As a mining site, it's a poor investment. But as a relay station...”

  Sun-Hee took a careful sip of the hot beverage. A dark, spiced tea with subtle fruit flavors. It was divine, and probably imported from a cislunar plantation. She made a mental note to look into the brand and order a kilo for her apartment.

  “You want to turn Deimos into a satellite broadcast tower.”

  “Not just commercial video, Ms. Yoo, but the hub for data and communications for Mars, and a relay from Earth to the outer solar system as well. Think about it. Cislunar Earth orbit is heavily developed, the Moon is close to claimed. It's not developed because people are spending their resources grabbing as much as they can before others, especially a government, can reach it. Companies are making land and resource claims as fast as they can get rovers and probes out there. As for Deimos, we’d need to invest in hiring one of those new fusion-power
ed asteroid tugs to get it into a polar orbit, but it would be beyond worth it. Being the major data center for the inner solar system is going to make whoever owns it very, very powerful.” He took a long sip and smiled. “And with some killer stock options. Good tea right?”

  Sun-Hee frowned. Something wasn't adding up.

  “Why tell me this? What's stopping me from going straight to Olsen and recommending that RBX's crews immediately build a data center on Deimos?”

  Boyce laughed. “You don't have the in-house expertise in long-range quantum computing relays. You don't know how to build them, you don't know how to maintain them, you don't know how to optimize them for different ranges and types of data. After reading the Request for Proposal that you wrote, Ms. Yoo… forgive me, but I think I can say that without those nice glasses of yours, you have no clue what long-range quantum computing relays are, do you?”

  Sun-Hee's lip twisted slightly and she hoped her cheeks weren't burning. She set her mug down on the table and glared at her counterpart. “I may be new to this position and this planet, Boyce, but I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am.”

  “Right back at you. How about a deal? You put the glasses down on the table and turn them off. And in appreciation for talking with the real you, I’ll be completely forthright with you.”

  “I very much doubt that, Mr. Boyce.” But she removed her data glasses and folded them. The power light in the corner dimmed, blinked, and went out.

  Boyce smiled. “Look, I'm just trying to do business. Rekos-Breland and SolStream both benefit from this contract. I benefit from this contract.” His voice dropped low. “And off the record, I'll have you know that Gareth benefited from a lot of contracts too.”

  She stared at Boyce, her pulse racing. This guy is actually trying to bribe me. She couldn’t imagine this ever happening in the clean halls of corporate headquarters, open to the investing public on Luna.

  Boyce made a grand sweep of his hand towards the other side of the plaza, and Sun-Hee followed his gesture. Through the north wall of the plaza dome she could see the rugged ridge lines to the northeast climbing upwards towards Hadriaca Caldera. She tried to keep her breathing even.

  “This is the frontier, Ms. Yoo, and we're all out here looking for something. There's a lot to be gained for those who know how to listen when opportunity knocks. Believe me when I say that I can make sure you get whatever it is you're looking for.”

  She thought back to all the long hours she spent climbing the ladder at corporate. She worked hard to take advantage of every interview and networking opportunity that her parents were able to arrange with key players. The thought of taking or giving a handout disgusted her.

  She stood up, politely thanked him for the drink, and stepped away into the plaza.

  “Ms. Yoo.”

  She turned.

  “Your glasses?”

  He held them out to her in his hand and smiled as she took them.

  As soon as she powered them up and put them on, a private message notification popped up in the corner of her vision.

  “My secure number,” he said. “Encrypted. In case you ever want to talk.”

  She nodded and turned without saying anything, and walked away toward her office.

  Three

  It was three days after the accident, and Mahela could see the faintest of pale auras leaking through the windows on the ceiling of the farmhouse. The rest of the interior was in blackness.

  It was too damn early. Or rather, he had stayed up too damn late — agonizing over what he should do with his newest farmhand.

  Taliyah had raised the possibility of suing Ashok, but Mahela had disagreed. It didn’t seem right to him to sue a member of his team, no matter how new. And anyway, seeking damages against anyone was next to impossible for cases that involved events outside of Earth’s gravity well. Ashok was the only one with rights in that judicial system, being a citizen of the United Nations. Mahela didn’t exist, as far as Earth was concerned.

  Lawsuit or not, it didn’t make much sense to hang onto this guy. So why was he waffling about cutting him loose? The apparent irrationality of it bugged Mahela, but, for some reason, he was still reluctant to let Ashok go.

  A sudden realization of something awry distracted him from morning brain’s ramblings — it should have been chilly in here. Farm rules were to keep heat on only where it was needed, and everyone had a room with a much more efficient volume than the large central chamber.

  “Lights, gradual,” Mahela said quietly, and they complied. The thermostat said 21 C. He frowned. Something wasn’t right.

  He stood in the hatchway between the central toroid of the farmhouse — what they all called the Donut — and a spoke leading out to a cluster of three bedrooms, including his own. There were three other spokes radiating outward from the Donut — another identical dormitory spoke opposite his own, then a long back spoke that led to storage, and a short utility spoke towards the front that terminated in the garage and airlock to the surface.

  The majority of structure was underground, except for the top of the Donut and the garage. Underground structure made radiation shielding cheaper. Not everything could be made of the special-treated fiberglass of the Donut top, or barricaded under the water tanks like the garage.

  Living quarters were barely ten cubic meters. Anywhere possible, volume served two, three, even four purposes. Wall panels folded down into workspaces, on which pads could be unrolled to form beds. Sinks folded up to reveal toilets. Couches and other seats all doubled as storage containers. Everything was cramped.

  Mahela leaned heavily with one calloused hand and rubbed the other against the dark stubble on his face.

  He reached out for one of the handles on the side walls. They hadn’t come standard with the place. That was a custom job, one of many he had been forced to do himself. He had helped his mother install the custom handles in the family home on Old Blue too. The handles were definitely useful, but they also made it feel like home.

  A slight hop with his feet augmented a strong tug with his arms, and he sailed feet-first around the outside of the Donut from handle to handle towards the kitchen quarter.

  But in mid-float on the last hop towards the dry goods pantry, he suddenly started at a human shape slumped over the kitchen table. Staring hard at the sprawled body, he forgot completely about catching himself until he heard the metallic clang of his left leg brace striking the magnesium facing of the pantry.

  Mahela’s mouth didn’t have time to complete the world “shit” before colliding with the cabinet as well. He whirled to face the unknown person, then let out a breath and muttered a curse.

  Ashok was groggily blinking and trying to lift himself into a sitting position. He moved stiffly with his left arm in a cast and sling, and Mahela could see the leg cast propped up on the chair across from him.

  A half empty mug sat on the table, next to a datapad and a protein bar with what looked like two bites taken out of it and abandoned. Waste.

  Mahela felt the first flares of temper flickering inside him. The fact that his mind was still sluggish from the early hour kept him from shouting.

  “Late night?” he said, instead.

  Ashok yawned. His wide face moved like molasses.

  “Ah goddamit,” he said, tapping every consonant on the roof of his mouth. “Yes. A late night. I wanted to read more about the tank design.”

  Mahela hooked a leg brace to a clasp on the wall in order to secure himself and free up both hands. He opened the dry goods cabinet and rummaged in the large metal container up near the front.

  “Should have read more about compression winches. I thought you were an engineer.”

  Ashok frowned. “Yes, well. My degrees are more on the systems side than hardware. That was the first time I ever —”

  “Well, figure it out.” Mahela couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his voice. “You having some caf?”

  Mahela wanted coffee, but there was no coffee. Real coffe
e was still deemed too water-intensive a crop to grow up here in the parched, stubborn soil of Mars, so it was all imported from Old Blue and quite expensive.

  In the meanwhile, there was caf. A few farmers down in Coronae grew it, a black tea gen-modded to be dark, gritty, and loaded with caffeine. Mahela picked up a packet of tea between his thumb and forefinger and smelled it, letting his nose tickle along the plant-based mesh that held in the dark dried leaves. No, it wasn’t coffee. But it did have its own particular loveliness. And caffeine. It had caffeine too.

  Ashok lifted his mug and frowned at the cold liquid at the bottom. He got up and headed for the waste disposal.

  “Yes, I will have another. But Mahela, for forty trouts… plus the additional recommended recreational volume for swimming, feeding, —”

  Mahela gave the counter a deft push and sailed past Ashok, nabbing his mug before the larger man could dump its contents into the disposal.

  “No recreational space. The hydro is too expensive. Which is why your leftover tea is going in the reclamation drain, and not in the trash. Goddamn. Why’d you brew a whole cup in the first place if you were going to waste it?”

  Mahela set the mug on the counter and took down an autosiphon. Manually pumping the lever, he sucked up all of the liquid, careful to capture every last drop that he could, and pushed it down the drain of the main sink. The gray-water recycler would process it back into the main supply tanks over the garage. Somewhere underneath it a small electric pump hummed on.

  He turned back to Ashok with a hard look.

  Ashok remained standing at the point of mug interception, looking at Mahela sideways.

  “I fell asleep while studying the tank structure, Mahela,” he said, “And there is no point getting upset over a few ounces of water. It all gets reclaimed, right?”