VISUAL EFFECTS / CH. 20:MEMORIES
10A.M. MONSOL, 18TH AUG, 2270, MARS COUNCIL OFFICES
“Sorry to call you here on your first day, Alice,” Eloise said, “But I did want to thank you in person, and the rest of the month is going to be utter chaos.”
“Really?”
“You see all those ships in orbit? Some of them have been empty for days, as we give priority to disembarking passengers. Others are just arriving, full of passengers who are wondering why their ticket says they should have arrived yesterday, and whether they've got a claim to the extra 25 hectares. That's called brain-dead flight scheduling by MarsCorp followed by traffic, and the answer's no, but I expect some will want to argue. The Jupiter's finally arriving the day after tomorrow, which is of course good news that it made it here, but there's still the whole political mess surrounding Captain Kirkley. And so on.”
“There seemed to be a fairly long delay between the Celestia arriving and the next one. Is that normal?”
“Guess what happened in those hours.”
“Surely all the cargo didn't get unloaded in just four hours?”
“It most assuredly did. The guys and gals up there earn their pay.”
“Wow!”
“Unloading's easier than loading, of course, but yes.”
“And Captain Kirkley's still resigning?”
“Entirely off the record, I've heard that the offer currently on the table is that he gets five times his normal salary for taking it back to Earth, and then a free trip out on anything he likes. His counter proposal was apparently that they give an eighty five percent share of the Jupiter to the crew, with shares proportionate to their relative salaries. Plus the free ride back here.”
“I take it Mars Corp declined that one?” Alice guessed.
“They have indeed.”
“So what's the fall-back plan?”
“Temporarily designate it a crewless drone vessel.”
“Hey, that might work!”
“Except that it's not been designed as one, approved as one, or anything else. ISTA are refusing, unless MarsCorp declare this a proving run, which means no cargo, and another ship along side it at all times with a salvage crew.”
“Well, that'd get it back to Earth.”
“Any idea what acceleration the Jupiter would be capable of empty? The salvage vessel would have to have the same or better engines and weigh less. So far the only candidate is another gas-giant class, with uprated engines or cargo handling equipment stripped out. Mars Corp are saying it needs ballast cargo, ISTA are saying, no, that's the second proving run.”
“So, Jupiter's going to be in orbit around Mars for a while?”
“It shouldn't be in orbit when the next string of comets arrive, it'd be an impact hazard. And once Captain Kirkley retires it can't go anywhere.”
“I can see this one running and running.”
“Exactly. Rumour has it that the only option that's going to be left soon is drop it,” Eloise said.
“Drop it?”
“Sent on a Solar impact trajectory. Assuming ISTA agrees, they can declare it derelict, attach a space tug to it and send it up for a Jupiter flyby which ends up with it falling down the gravity well such that it misses everything except the sun. A competent crew could then try to rendezvous and salvage it, but if they miss then bye bye to the Jupiter. Which makes Captain Kirkley's offer sound quite reasonable.”
“Oh wow. Except that maybe he gets arrested for blackmail?”
“I'm sure my brother's thought of that too, yes. But that links back to me wanting to thank you. Firstly, my brother sends his thanks. He says your saying a certain word helped him reach a very important decision in the currency negotiations.”
“Did he tell you the word?” Alice asked.
“I had to look it up: villeinage.”
“Oh, I thought it might be that one. I had to too, actually. Other, more familiar, terms weren't quite right.”
“I found all sorts of different definitions, so it was still rather confusing to me.”
“The state of being a villain, a land-owning serf, or the land such people own. According to something I read, in some feudal societies, villains were able to buy and sell amongst themselves, but not really to people outside the manor. And of course they were unable to move from one manor to another without paying a large fine. It struck me that Mars Corp has rather been treating this planet in those sorts of ways.”
“I see the connection, yes.”
“So, your brother has made some right choices, Eloise. I'm glad he's glad he's made them. I do wonder if there'll be any political pressure to move him out of his job in the next shareholder's meeting, but his conscience ought to be letting him sleep at night.”
“You also sent me a helpful little hint about a photo.”
“Yes. That's a longer term goal.”
“You've got a clear copy? What I have is mostly unreadable.”
“I have a clear copy, and more importantly so does my editor.”
“But you've not published yet.”
“No. To my mind, there's too much ignorance on Earth about this place. People think Martian equals Crim.”
“I know.”
“So, I plan to shatter some false impressions before I interview people Mars Corp says don't exist.”
“Pardon?”
“According to a Mars Corp press release from a few years ago, there's no one alive to take advantage of those clauses. All the Firsters have died, of course, and unfortunately all their heirs too.”
“That'll be news to some people I know.”
“So, to the Earth people's minds, at the moment, the wording of those missing clauses is very much irrelevant. Mars Corp have done an extensive search of their records of births deaths and marriages and there are no living descendants.”
“Their records?”
“Yes. Clever, eh?”
“Very. Oh, My brother tells me I should ask you about a helpful A.I. telling you about spelling.”
“Did he now?” Alice asked with a laugh, and retold the story.
“And that convinced him you were trustworthy?”
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“I guess so. That and telling him I could destroy MarsCorp and the Martian economy, but wasn't going to.” Then Alice explained about the 'insurance package.'
“But your insurance package isn't valid any more, is it? With the currency re-based as it is?”
“That was only a part of it Eloise. What I've told you about the missing clauses and the deliberately misleading claims is in there too, plus there's more.”
“Care to share?”
“Not really.”
“Fair enough. Mars being Mars, the council thought you ought to be issued an official certificate that you're a journalist, with your rights listed.” she handed it over.
“Thank you.”
“And this is a little thank-you from the people of Mars for your part in helping the currency reform go smoothly. I don't know if Evangeline's read her mail, but she's going to be getting something similar too. Please do ask her to come in today if possible.”
“I don't know I deserve this,” Alice said looking at the certificate. Fifty hectares of thanks.
“Then trust that council knows best, and accept it.”
“Thank you.”
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“Evangeline? Alice here,” Alice said into her wrist unit.
“Hi, Alice, found out what Ms Maugh wanted?”
“Yes, mostly chat, but she also wanted to give me a piece of paper she called 'a little thank you'. And she wants to give you something too, apparently. She says please come today, before chaos descends.”
“Oh, right. I'd better persuade Chris to stop talking farming with Adam, then.”
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12.45PM, DOME 57, AISLE 32, ROOM 27C.
After a morning shift at dome building, Cecilia was tired, hungry and not at particularly happy to see a familiar figure leaning on her door.
“Hello, Cecilia. You're quite a hard woman to track down.”
“I don't remember asking you to, Barry.”
“You didn't need to, it's in my contract. I have one final duty to you as your purser. Restoration of property.”
“I accidentally failed to throw away a used tissue on the Celestia and you decided to use it as an excuse to come visit?”
“No. You failed to register a destination for your cargo to be delivered to, so I had to spend the morning tracking you down when it should have been my shore leave.”
“What cargo? I didn't pack any cargo. I brought a few sets of clothes, my toothbrush, toothpaste and journey provisions.”
“Someone packed some for you then. Please enter your address here, and sign at the bottom of the form.”
Bemused, Cecilia did.
“Thank you. Your cargo pod will arrive in approximately ten minutes, at which point you may make an official complaint if it's someone else's personal possessions and nothing to do with you at all. And no, I wouldn't say no to a cup of tea or coffee, thank you for offering.”
“I didn't offer, but OK, I'm thirsty too. Don't you get any ideas about me inviting you into my room, though.”
“Far be it from me to intrude.”
“Only because you don't want me really ruining your day,” she retorted.
“No need to get threatening.”
“Hmm. That depends, doesn't it?”
“Cecilia, I like you, I'm not going to attack you.”
“Good. I had a really good chat with Evangeline's brother yesterday, by the way. He's way younger than you, and it turns out we've got all sorts of things in common.”
“OK, OK, I get the message; you're not interested.”
“Finally. But you've said that before. Anyway, have a glass of water. No tea or coffee available, I've not been shopping yet.”
“You didn't forget to get a receipt, did you?”
“No. And just because you're drinking my water, that doesn't give you the right to ask about my bodily functions.”
“Sorry.”
“And take one step backwards Barry Braithwaite, because I've said you're not coming into my room.”
“Yes, maam. So what have you done since leaving the Celestia?”
“This morning, building work; last night, became a Christian; yesterday afternoon, had a four course picnic with Evangeline's family and a lovely long chat with her mad scientist brother.”
“You became a Christian?”
“Yes. God's been really good to me, if you notice. I know I've been noticing. I committed my mortal body and immortal soul into his loving care and service last night. See? You don't stand a chance with me,” she said, echoing his thoughts. Then added, “certainly not if you don't make a similar commitment to serve the living God. Probably not even then, of course. Something to do with the ten-plus years age gap, things like that.”
“All right, all right. I get the point.”
“You've said that before, too.”
Silence reigned for a while. For once, he couldn't think of a single piece of repartee, or anything. Then there was the whine of an electric motor, and a smallish cargo pod arrived, about the size of two large suitcases.
“Hopefully this is your luggage, Mademoiselle,” he managed.
“More likely someone else's.” Cecilia predicted.
He asked the crew of students to hang around, rather than rush off, because there were some doubts about it. Then, seeing Cecilia hadn't moved, he said, “Well, open it!”
“I don't know how.”
“Ha, I'm good for something then.” He slapped and twisted the catches.
Cecilia almost fainted in surprise at what was in it as she lifted the wrapping. She ran her hands over the clothes, she recognised dresses she'd worn for her trial, and giving evidence at Ralph's, two years before. Things she'd felt didn't suit her at all, back then, but they were beautiful. “Oh wow. Oh wow!”
“Does this cargo pod contain your possessions, Ms Thornthwaite?” Barry asked, formally.
“I guess so, yes.”
“You seem in some doubt.”
“I thought they'd only been lent to me. I hope they still fit.”
“Right lads, looks like the lady does recognise her finery. Do you want to unload it now, Cecilia, or do you want them to collect the pod in an hour or so?"
Barry got what was almost the shock of his life when she grabbed him in a fierce hug. “Thanks, Barry! That's for being persistent beyond the call of duty, and making me very happy. Can you lend me a hand, boys?” she then asked the confused students, “Bothersome Barry here might get the wrong idea if I go asking him into my room. Especially since I've just given him the hug he's been after for more than a month. Bye, Barry, Have a good life.”
“Good bye, Miss Thorny.” he said.
“I guess I deserved that,” she grinned. “See you around sometime, I expect. Try praying, Barry. God is very good.” She picked up a bundle of clothes and exclaimed “Oh wow! My books, too!”
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15:00, MONSOL 17TH AUG, LETTER TO FORMER FOSTER PARENT.
Dear Mrs Winters,
I know that I wasn't exactly an ideal foster child, and that my constant rebellion was throwing your care for me in your face. You might know that I chose to move to Mars after prison, initially thinking that I'd be with Ralph. To get here, I had to sign some papers and as you know, I was never very good at reading things before I signed. One thing I signed was an agreement that I'd not make contact with him. I was devastated when I read that on the second day on the Celestia (the ship out here), but in the last two months, surrounded by the unjudgemental care of Christian friends on board the ship who helped put me back together, I've come to see the wisdom of that. I know you told me Ralph was bad news, but I only finally accepted it about a month ago. Thank-you for trying, sorry I was so stupidly stubborn.
My rejection of him was put to the test and confirmed for all to see on my arrival here, when the clever MarsCorp people let him see me. I managed to not look round at him, even when he was alternatively screaming that he loved me and that he'd rip me to shreds if I didn't. Eventually he got stunned and shipped off to maximum security jail. So, progress at last! He's a nasty piece of work, assuming he's still alive. I say that, because I was doing some of the manual labour we have to do in exchange for our lodging here this morning, and one of the pieces of gossip was about how a 'crazy crim' with a posh-sounding name 'Was it Russel, or Ralph or something like that' had tried to run from the maximum security prison to the spaceport, after only arriving yesterday. So, it sounds like the brain-dead thing he might have done, thinking he could out-run an almost vacuum. But I'm not going to check. He's dead to me anyway, and I feel like a new person. Especially since last night I told God I wanted to serve him.
I got a lovely surprise today when the cargo pod that I assume you helped pack for me arrived. I didn't know I was being sent with any cargo at all, beyond my toothbrush. Maybe I did get told, but if so, my brain had turned off by then. The other pleasant surprise was that we were one of the last ship-loads of immigrants to get 75 hectares of Martian land. The population is now over a million and new arrivals 'only' get 50 hectares now. The extra 25 hectares is not much use to me, of course, since even big families only farm five or ten, unless they're farming for sale to rich spacemen. I met someone who does just that, the big brother of one of the Christians who befriended me. (She'd been studying on Earth, and has just come home with her new husband.) So, I've now tasted what ought to be some of the nicest food on Mars (fresh-cooked rabbit stew, yum!) with my friend's family, and also some of the most boring (gloop — served to all the busy little worker bees who live in the big domes). It tastes like cardboard packaging, only without the flavour or texture, but it's supposed to be very healthy. I've got a regular invitation to my friend's family, so I don't think I'll go crazy before my first harvest comes in. Almost everyone grows tomatoes, for some reason. I'm currently planning to rebel against that and grow hot peppers instead. I think I could sell quite a few of those around the dome here, to liven up the gloop.
Another brother of my friend is more of the mad scientist type than serious commercial farmer, (not saying his farm is doing poorly, but he's not quite as dedicated as his big brother), and based on yesterday we do seem to get on rather well. He's a committed Christian, and if his grand plan works out he could well have a very reliable income stream for the rest of his life. Right now, even, I think he'd be able to make money from what he's worked out, if only he had a clever business manager. Since I'm planning to study business and chemistry at university here — can you believe it's going to be free with my grades? — then well, my imagination is running wild and I'm seeing all sorts of possibilities.
Thank you so so much for the dresses. They still fit and I'm just working out which one to wear to go and tell Benjamin — that's his name — that I've become a Christian.
You were a wonderful foster mum to me, sorry I was too idiotic to notice.
Cecilia