Red Soil Through Our Fingers Page 3

  Mahela faced him square. “The reclamation process takes power from the generator, which takes methane from the Sabatier reactor, which takes hydrogen from a supply line, which is catalyzed and goddamn expensive. How long have you been out here, a month? Maybe back in your cislunar station you were used to long drawn baths. Hell, I don’t know, maybe your own personal vineyard out there in orbit around Old Blue, looking down at the poor people scrabbling on the surface. But we count the ounces out here, got it?”

  Now Ashok turned to face him, and Mahela could feel his own pulse was raised. He watched the other man closely, but Ashok’s expression was more confused than angry.

  “My family does not own a vineyard. We had olive farms and some other businesses.”

  Mahela shot him a wide-eyed sarcastic look. Well, that’s entirely different then, isn’t it?

  “You are not being fair, Mahela,” Ashok said. “You know I chose to come out here.”

  “Some of us didn’t have much of a choice coming out here, and don’t have the choice to go back either.” Mahela knew he was being hypocritical — he, after all, chose to come out here, though it had been a risky decision.

  “Is this about the MedEvac? I made a mistake Mahela. An expensive one, I know. I offered to ask my family for help paying off the cutter, but you said you didn’t want a handout. At least let me pay my own medical expenses. You should just fire me but do not hold it over my head like this. Why do you not fire me?”

  It was a good question, one that had been eating at Mahela for the last few days.

  “It’s your turn to make breakfast,” he said, instead of answering.

  “I would fire me. Except you have not for some odd reason, and so as long as I am here I will be trying to help undo all the mess I made.”

  “They’ll be up soon, you better get started. And what I am supposed to do in the meanwhile? You’ve got yourself injured and can’t work. I can’t afford another hand.”

  Mahela knew the rebuke stung, even though Ashok avoided his stare. He found it hard to sympathize with anyone who was — or even had been — on the other side of Earth’s class divide. Especially one who had, in some sense, deceived him.

  “I am so very sorry about all of this, Mahela. I thought that my knowledge of systems theory would make me an expert with all of the machinery. The difficulty of actually making real machines work under pressure took me by surprise. I cost you heavily and nearly killed us both. You should fire me and use my pay to hire someone else who can work.”

  Someone else who can work.

  Mahela turned back to the counter. After all he had been through to become master of his own space, to then fire a disabled worker over money. A new anger burned in him. An anger at a world that forced human beings to compete for basic dignity. An anger at himself for not seeing all the warning signs of trouble and double checking the work of a new, inexperienced hire. An anger at the fact that he always felt angry.

  No, he could not fire this man.

  “Forget it,” Mahela said, but his voice didn't make it sound like the matter was closed at all. “Just don’t forget. Next time, I mean. The heat.”

  Above them, the transparent ceiling of the Donut had turned from pitch black to a pale gray.

  Mahela plopped the tea bags into two rose-tinted, sandy ceramic mugs and drew exactly eight ounces of hot water from the electric boiler over each sachet of tea. Almost immediately the enclosed space began to smell like steeping dark wonderful hot beverage. He began to feel a little less cranky.

  “Maybe a few ounces of mistake isn't a big deal,” he finally said.

  “Well, I think you are a crazy man.”

  Mahela couldn't bring himself to turn around so he just kept stirring the tea.

  “When I was little,” Mahela continued, “My mother would punish us if she caught us wasting water. The part of Old Blue I grew up in wasn't so blue. No rainfall in the Mojave for decades now, and the groundwater long since sucked dry. The water they pipe in from the de-sal plants goes mostly straight to the spaceport. Not much left for regular people. Much less poor folks like my mother.”

  He could hear the faint hum of the environmental system and clink of spoon on ceramic. He heard no response and so he continued.

  “Sure, I can move around easier up here. But that's not why I came. I came to get away from a system that kept a few million people in orbit rich by keeping twelve billion people on Earth poor. Hell, they found an asteroid with more embedded water than Earth itself, parked it in orbit. Could have changed lives down on the ground. But all that got sold to the highest bidder, to get the most profit. And you know damn well that the highest bidder wasn't Mojave Residential Water District 43A. So a company named Rekos-Breland owns my ass right now. But there's a clause in that contract that says I'm my own man with my own property, just as soon as I pay off that launch and relocation cost. And when that happens, no rich man in orbit somewhere is going to tell me what I can and cannot become.”

  Finally he turned around. Ashok's left arm in the sling rested on the table. His head leaned on his right hand, and his face was masked by the large brown fingers.

  The caf was steeped and Mahela took two steaming mugs of it in one hand and used the other to push off the counter towards the table. He set the mugs down and grabbed a handle at the same time, then pulled his limp legs around to slide in front of the bottom of the bench-like seat. He did it all without spilling a drop.

  Ashok refused to meet his eye.

  “Here,” said Mahela. “Caf?”

  The leaves were bred for deep flavor and roasted in the solar ovens. The only varietal grown so far had a nutty, smoky flavor to it, which took some getting used to, but Mahela liked it now. He still missed the dark roasts of home occasionally, but it was hard to argue with the powerfully delicious scent.

  The large man leaned forward and hooked two fingers in the handle on the cup. “I wanted to get away from it.”

  Mahela studied his companion closely. “Get away from what? I just never thought someone from Cislunar would ever want to get away. I mean, you had it all, right?”

  “Through my family, I had money and comfort, if that's what you mean.”

  “That's what I don't understand. Most people on Blue that I remember would have killed for either one of those things. Some people I knew pretty much literally did. So why leave?”

  Now Ashok lifted his bulky frame out of the bench with his good hand and walked towards the kitchen counter. Mahela started to grab for the handle to leverage himself over and help cook, but Ashok shook his head.

  “Because I think I'm more than just a few ounces of mistake.”

  Mahela started to laugh and then realized Ashok wasn’t, so he took a long sip of tea and coughed to cover it. Ashok didn’t seem to notice.

  Ashok continued. “My family has money. I went to some of the best universities. I have degrees in robotic space systems.”

  “I’ll be honest. I wondered why someone with your credentials was in the labor pool for a farming settlement on the ass-end of a mining colony.”

  “And what did you think?”

  “I don’t know, I figured you washed out somehow. Or were a runaway. Screwed someone over or got screwed over and had to get the hell out.” He shrugged. “Not my business, really. You had experience with complex machinery and you were cheap, so I went for it.”

  Ashok took a long sip of tea. “I am not on the run from anything.”

  “Then what?”

  “Have you ever had a fear, that you will someday decide that you are some kind of a fraud? That everything others valued about you was assumed based on who your parents were, where you came from, the letters after your name?”

  “Think about that real hard.”

  Ashok winced. “No, I suppose not.”

  “Sounds like you are running. From yourself. That’s fair. Seems like we’re all running from something out here. Maybe we have at least that in common. But if you’re expecting me to sympathize with the poor little rich boy story, you’re out of luck.”

  The other man frowned deeply, and Mahela wondered how aware Ashok was of how different his upbringing had been from anyone around him now.

  Ashok spoke next. “You wondered why I was cheap. I did not want to leave my old life behind and come all the way out here and end up working for the richest person on Mars.”

  “I’m not a charity case, Ashok.”

  “I do not mean to imply that you are.” Ashok gingerly got up and hobbled toward the kitchen.

  “Use the handles.”

  Ashok glanced down as if realizing the accessibility hardware was there for the first time. “Oh. Oh that is easier.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it is. That’s, you know, what they’re for.”

  “I suppose I thought they were just for… Actually I should use these all of the time maybe, even after the foot is better.”

  “Be my guest. Not like they get used up.”

  “The others will be up soon. I will make the breakfast.”

  They talked of farm matters while Ashok drew supplies from the pantry and cooked them. The breakfast started to smell delicious, and Mahela found that he was ravenous by the time it was ready.

  “Those tanks you've been working on are going to be our ticket to guaranteed stability,” Mahela was saying as Ashok served the plates, which were piled high with breakfast food.

  There was a loaf of lichen bread, baked from local strains here in Hadriaca that powdered nicely into a protein and vitamin rich flour. There was butter churned from milk secreted from specially designed bacteria. They topped it off with one of Mahela’s favorites — engineered Martian varietals of potato and tomato, sliced and fried in the oil of a pressed fatty leaf that grew well in every soil c
ulture they used. And the whole lot was seasoned with herbs from the community greenhouse. The meal had quickly become the quintessential Martian breakfast since the early days of colonization.

  “It is so much risk,” said Ashok, as he sat down across from Mahela. “It is going to take a long time to pay down the debt from... recent expenses. Not to mention the investment in this new infrastructure.”

  “Well, alright. How about I let you pay for the cutter you damaged, and you let me take the hit for the medical as your employer, and we call it square. Mokhtar’s down in Coronae has a smaller one available for rent. It’ll be a pain in the ass to get it up here, and the digging is going to take longer, but at least we’re not totally screwed.”

  Mahela took a bite of his breakfast. His taste buds twinged with delight and he found himself almost immediately in a better mood. “We can pay that down, and you wanted to be useful? You're going to help me, Ashok. Those tanks... I want you to program them to be a self-managing little aquaculture. Once we get that all tested out and those trout arrive, we are golden my friend. Real living fish protein, now that is a delicacy. Not just here at Dao Colony, but Mars-wide they will be wanting our fresh fish. And then the Company can take their cut and export it out to the edge colonies they want to set up in the Belt, and boom, we pay that debt down like nobody’s business.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. They signed me on for twenty years, but they didn’t know who they were getting. I planned to pay that contract off in twelve. So what if it’s now thirteen. That’s still earlier than before and you know, we can pay this down even faster if we put our minds to it. I think this crop is going to be one of our best cycles yet.”

  Above them, the sky through the Donut's ceiling windows had turned into the pale, rosy-white glow of the morning. They heard a commotion from the dormitory spokes as the three other residents of Ranasinghe Farm awoke and began a strict regimen of daily startup. There was only one shower unit for everyone living in the farmhouse — water conservation was not the only reason for quick showers and an efficient morning routine.

  Mahela, a habitual early riser, was generally the first into the shower and out into the Donut. Farm bioengineer Taliyah Mitchell and renters Lester Cooper and Jozsef Paskalev would head directly to the kitchen for breakfast before showering next. Though Cooper and Paskalev often slept together, Cooper had a habit of savoring every last minute of sleep, and often did not wake up until the shower was finally free. Six more hands lived and slept in another building.

  Taliyah stepped out into the Donut first, and Mahela glanced up. Her dark eyes were set like brown glass in her coffee-colored face. Thin black braids fell sinuously in the Martian gravity against taut cheekbones. She was younger than Mahela, and a little less worse for wear — but the world-wise eyes and a few scars made clear that she had been through her share of trials. Full lips used to laughter opened wide in a yawn, and then smiled when she saw the two men seated at the table. Mahela gave her a half-smile back.

  “Always up at the ass crack of dawn,” she said. “Leave any for me?” She moved to the stove and shoveled food onto a new plate, bringing it to the table where Mahela and Ashok were just finishing up their own breakfasts.

  “We cook you breakfast in that ass crack,” said Mahela. “You’re welcome.”

  Ashok giggled while drinking the last of his tea and snorted, clutching his now dripping nose. Taliyah cackled at Ashok’s expression and slid in next to him.

  “I like this one. Say anything mildly off-color and he giggles like a tickled baby. Hey baby, the stuff you snort doesn’t come in cups.”

  “I just told him not to waste the tea. Now he’s snorting the stuff.”

  “Ooooooh, stop it,” gasped Ashok, one hand pinching his nose and the other clutching his chest. “Laughing. The ribs. It hurts so much.”

  Taliyah flashed another wide grin. She grabbed some breakfast in one hand and pulled out her datapad with the other.

  “Quick eats for me,” she said, thumbing her datapad at intervals. “Thought I’d start laying the new soil culture for the northwest crop lines. If you want soy in there by the end of the month, Mahela, the microfauna need time to establish themselves.”

  Cooper and Paskalev, their renters, came in next. Cooper, the taller of the two men, stopped in the door to yawn and stretch. Paskalev, with a gentle touch that belied the gruff look of his unshaven face and squat, swarthy demeanor, guided his partner into the Donut. He grunted a good morning and gave the giggling Ashok a look of disdain.

  “Jesus, you outta your head superman? One fall out on the rocks and he’s fuckin’ lost it.”

  “Maybe he hit his head too,” said Cooper, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

  Ashok contained his laughter, but didn’t respond to either man. Instead he turned to Taliyah and cleared his throat.

  “Taliyah, I am wondering if you are busy early this afternoon. I would like to learn more about the nutrient systems you have in place, to see if I can understand and optimize them. I do not understand the biology well, but the systems side is right up my thing.”

  Taliyah laughed as she finished her breakfast and headed towards the spoke that led up to the garage and surface. “It is your thing, or it’s right up your alley. I don't think I want to know what you've got up your thing. I’m happy to show you around the piping after siesta, but I think you’ll find it already pretty efficient.”

  Mahela downed the last of his tea. “Any chance that can wait until tomorrow? I wanted to get some drilling done. I'll need your help, Taliyah, and maybe a couple of the other hands too. Ashok has to lay off the hard labor for a few weeks.”

  Mahela heard muttering and then muffled snickers from the direction of the stove. Ashok wrinkled his nose but said nothing.

  “Easy fellas,” said Mahela to the two renters. Cooper and Paskalev didn’t look up from the food they were serving from the stovetop. “What happened to Ashok could have happened to anyone. Running the ground carver is no joke.”

  Cooper smirked but didn’t say anything. He tried to nudge Paskalev with his elbow, but the other man waved him off. Taliyah shot the two of them dirty looks before responding to Mahela.

  “Sure. I've got time to head to town and get the latest shipment of soil base. Ashok, want to come with? It will give you a chance to see more of the caldera, and we can talk about the systems more on the drive. We'll do the tour tomorrow.” She glanced at the two renters. “Don't let the likes of these two get under your skin either.”

  Taliyah turned and walked out of the Donut towards the garage. “I'll get the truck ready.” In moments they could hear the airlock cycling as she went out to work.

  The tanker crewmen annoyed Mahela, but they were more restless than rude. It was hard to blame them. Their nitrogen tanker, normally running supply routes between the gas giants and the inner solar system, had been down for repairs in an orbital yard for the past month. Lacking their normal quarters on the tanker, the two men had posted a request to the local net for a place to stay, and Mahela jumped on it — rent money was rent money.

  “You should try running a Class III tanker,” said Cooper. “Now that’s a real machine. One that goes out into space. Better than grubbing around here in the dirt and tripping on your ass.”

  Paskalev turned on his partner. “The hell is wrong with you? How about you shut up about our hosts and eat your breakfast?” He turned to Ashok. “Sorry. Gets anxious when he’s not going somewhere. Don’t mind him.”

  Mahela kept his mouth closed and ran his tongue across his front teeth. “When is your tanker due repaired again?”

  Cooper stared sullenly at his breakfast and chewed. Paskalev swallowed. “This week they say.”

  “Well,” said Ashok. He seemed to be trying to choose his words carefully. “I hope someday to be able to see what a Class III tanker looks like.” He got up and went towards the garage to suit up.

  “Take it easy on those ribs, Ashok.” Mahela watched his farmhand disappear towards the airlock.

  It was time to start planning the afternoon’s drilling operation, more carefully than the first one. Mahela made a mental note to bring an extra winch this time.