War's Oversight - Chapter 05
#4 of War's Oversight
War's Oversight
Chapter 05
Sarah tipped her head back slightly and closed her eyes, listening to the gentle melody of an operatic aria over the computer speakers in her room. She rested a hand on her belly, which she knew intellectually was trim and toned but which felt a little bloated under the meal she'd finished recently.
Without the time pressures of evening work or anything to get caught up on, she'd been able to sit in the mess hall and eat her dinner at leisure. Instead of things she knew would sit heavily in her stomach and keep her distracted or feeling ill as she tried to run analyses of her day's rock samples, she'd for the first time in a while been free to sit and eat, pause, and eat some more.
I have to hand it to the cooks, she thought. They may get undeserved complaints about the quality of lunch, but they're up earlier than everybody else to prepare a decent breakfast, and on the supplies we receive they really do know how to make a virtual banquet.
She considered the state of her stomach for a moment, and then spoke in a deliberately clear voice. "Time?" she queried.
The computer muted the music playback just long enough to flash the numbers on her computer's screen and to speak the time aloud in a neutral, female voice. "The time is now twenty-four hours, fifty-eight minutes."
As the music swelled back into being, she made her decision, and opened her eyes briefly enough to locate the canister of beer on the edge of her desk. She grabbed it one-handed, brought it into her lap, and gripped it firmly as she gave the top a firm twist. There was a slight click! as the canister performed what would have required a refrigerator, centuries ago. That or an insulated box full of ice.
She glanced at the canister label, which proclaimed in the typical marketing language she'd seen all her life, "Stellar Artoisan -- We turn stars into constellations! Now with KoolKube!" Sarah had never cared for their advertisements, but she had to admit that the brewing company responsible for Stellar had made it possible for her and every other hard-working fool living on a backwater world to enjoy a cold (if somewhat light) beer that stayed cold for an hour or so, within reasonable limits.
The canister, having reached the required temperature, now displayed a number of stars on its label that had not been evident when it was at room temperature. Unlike a beer shared with her father or grandfather on a hot summer day, this had no reassuring feeling of a cool glass in her hand, with beads of condensation running down to meet her fingers. This was a canister made of a light metallic alloy with just enough polymer on the outside to keep her skin from getting chilled. She had never bothered to look at the inside of a canister of Stellar, but advertisements had mentioned the cube-shaped marvel of chemistry and engineering that drew in heat energy and produced little bubbles of carbonation. Funny that they were so proud of that, she thought, and they glossed over the problems they had with the first release of SAwKK, where the damn cube would rattle around freely and hit you in the teeth. The stuff is still full of preservatives, even after they fixed the obvious problems and settled the lawsuits.
She pulled the plastic ring which sealed the canister shut, and with a slight hissing sound the ring and the aperture to which it was attached came free. She sipped, feeling the cold liquid produce a minor twinge of temperature shock in her front teeth, and the slight burn as it hit her tongue and throat, but like all of the small pleasures in her routine she'd become accustomed to, she accepted these small sacrifices for the greater reward. Between the music and the slight glow of warmth that grew in her belly, she was thoroughly enjoying herself this evening.
At length, the light operatic strains were muted, and her computer announced firmly, "The time is now twenty-five hours, twenty-five minutes."
She kept her eyes closed this time, and released a sigh that was so quiet and short as to be almost inaudible, and set her beer on the desk again. She rose from her chair, taking a moment to stretch her arms up over her head and ease some of the tension still left in her shoulders. She bent to the floor, searching in the rear of her closet, and came up with a pair of shoes -- nothing as fancy as her boots, merely a pair to wear when she was off-duty. She sat again, slipping the shoes on, and then plucked her beer from the desk as she rose and headed for the door.
Communications occupied a small sector of Operations, which was at the hub of New Boston's main building. Officially, the building was referred to as Building One, as it had been the first building to finish construction during the colony's founding, but everybody referred to the building as Base, since there were no other buildings with permanent habitations other than the one. Storage was a glorified shed, in Sarah's opinion, just as Hydroponics was a glorified greenhouse and HazMat was a glorified underground bunker. She was fortunate, however, in that the wing of the base containing her quarters was connected directly to the base hub, and the connecting entrance faced Communications. And it faces away from Administration, she thought, so I can come and go without being accosted by Lt. Woods all the time.
She stopped just short of the doorway and took stock of herself for a moment, straightening the casual shirt she was wearing, and checking that she hadn't spilled anything on herself. Rick is a nice guy, she thought, but I have to keep him thinking I'm always on top of things. She didn't worry overmuch about the two-thirds-empty beer in her hand, since she was off-duty and nobody had ever been fined for bringing food or drink into Ops. Staffing levels being what they were, she knew that it was a foregone conclusion that everybody, even Rick, and even Lt. Woods, had all needed to eat a snack at their post when there had been no relief scheduled for them.
The door to Ops. slid open, and she saw that Rick was sitting at his usual desk at the far right of the row of workstations, headset on and eyes glued to the screen in front of him. The other four positions for Comms. duty staff were empty, save for the one occupied by Jean Phillips, who did glance over at Sarah past Rick's head and waved in her friendly way as she was simultaneously engaged in a quiet conversation on another Comms. channel.
Sarah smiled, waved back with her free hand, and slowly walked over to stand to one side and slightly behind the viewscreen on Rick's desk. As soon as she was in his field of view, he did glance up briefly, and on recognizing her, his expression brightened and he turned back to his screen, touching the left side of his headset as he did so. "Just a sec, Sarah." He dropped his good hand to the desk for a moment, tapping something out on the virtual keyboard in front of him. As he finished, he turned slightly in his seat so he could see what Jean was up to. After a moment, Jean leant a fraction closer to her screen as she spoke, read something quickly that Sarah couldn't see, and then turned to the two of them to make confirmatory eye contact and gave them a thumbs-up.
Rick gave a quick thumbs-up in return, tapped a few more locations at his desk surface, shed his headset awkwardly with one hand, and placed it on the desk before rising. "You know Jean, right?" he asked, waving vaguely over his shoulder as the two of them walked to the middle of the Comms. sector.
Sarah nodded. "We both signed on at about the same time, just as the base construction was finishing up." She shrugged. "She's usually never off-shift when I am, though, so we don't get to socialize much."
"Yeah," Rick agreed, "it's a pain to have this many acquaintances and not enough friends among your co-workers."
As they walked, she reached into her trouser pocket and came up with his ration card. "Just in case you forget to ask for this back," she offered.
He gave a wry grin. "Thanks," he said, as he pocketed the thing. "I'd forget my sling if it didn't keep this arm of mine from hurting."
They reached a wide open spot in the otherwise labyrinthine tangle of cubicles and corridors that made up the base hub, in the middle of which was a large viewscreen set into the top of a table. Rick approached it and tapped at a few places on the surface until the image blanked and then produced an overhead view of what was labeled "Omicron Kappa Geologic Survey Site 16." Sarah took a place to Rick's right, so as to be clear of his good arm, and observed the animation on the screen as it showed a three-dimensional image of the site as though being orbited by a circling aircraft. It was an oddity on the planet's surface -- a roughly circular area of high, jagged peaks and rock formations tumbled about the perimeter, as though some vengeful stellar god had found a small mountain he didn't like and decided to take a few whacks at with an immense sledgehammer. It was a blemish in an otherwise fairly featureless landscape, and stood out
"This is what's so important that Woods wanted me to handle?" she queried, looking over at Rick. "It's got to be no more than five kilometres across."
Rick waved in the direction of the image. "Whatever it is, it's one of the few formations of rock we haven't already surveyed that looks like it might have been formed volcanically," he explained, "but it doesn't look nearly as weathered. So it's one of the few places we might be able to get an idea of the mineral content of the planet's mantle or core without drilling down a ways."
She nodded to herself.
"So," she continued, leveling a deliberate glance at him as she took a sip of the remainder of her beer, "you said that you had this all worked out?"
Rick gestured at the screen in front of them, and tapped with his uninjured hand at a few controls. The image changed back to a simple overhead view, and zoomed out to include both the site, and the colony as well.
"The shuttle leaving at 1500h has just enough payload space and margin in its time to make a brief stop at this position here ..." he indicated, "about two hours' hike from site 16. It'll drop you off and then head for orbit, so there won't be time for long goodbyes."
"Just as well," she said, nodding. "I've met Gutierrez before, and she doesn't really like anything except her work and that shuttle of hers."
Rick continued. "The only heavy thing you won't need to drag with you into the site is the comms. repeater, which you'll need to set up at the drop point. Without it we won't be doing a whole lot in the vicinity of Site 16, since most of the rock formations are below-the-horizon from Base."
She frowned, and upended her canister to swallow the last of her beer. Bitter dregs, she thought. _Poetic._She glanced briefly in the direction of where she had seen a recycling bin to be, and tossed the now-empty canister to rattle its way to the bottom. "What am I supposed to do if the repeater fails?" she asked.
Rick shrugged with his one good arm. "Set up shop at the drop site and wait, I guess." He smiled, and shook his head. "Nobody's expecting you to go in without any support, Sarah. If anything goes wrong on this assignment, you play it safe."
He gestured at the map again. "If the repeater works successfully, it'll take you at most two-and-a-half to three hours to make your way through site 16 to about this point here." he continued, indicating a point on the edge of the site's boundaries. "You should be able to drop all of your surplus equipment there, where it's relatively sheltered from the wind, and begin your scans."
"How much data does Woods want me to collect?" she asked.
"Scans around the perimeter," Rick replied. "'Mostly preliminary, just to confirm what we've got from satellite data. 60-degree sweep of visual and infra-red from these three points," he continued, cycling through the points in order, "UV if you can cut through the dust. But most essentially the data before the temperature drops too far. Anything being emitted or reflected by those rock formations will drop off to nothing if it gets down far enough. That's why it's got to be done first."
"Great," she indicated, sarcastically. "I have to hike for up to three hours and then hurry around for another hour before starting sampling?"
Rick looked apologetic. "After those four hours I've made sure you'll be able to take a breather." He traced a finger along the map projection to elaborate. "Once you have the scans, you can retrieve your gear and pick out a site for your base. These spots here_and _here look as though they have decent shade and shelter from the wind, so you might want to keep those in mind -- but it's up to you. Maybe you'll find something better."
"I doubt it," she replied, deadpan, "although if I find a taco stand I'll mark the location and bring you back a copy of their menu."
He chuckled. "So if you find an uncharted resort town with a five-star hotel and restaurant," he ventured, "you're gonna keep that to yourself?"
She glanced at him and grinned. "Of course! Why would I want all of my co-workers able to visit me while on vacation?"
He smiled. "Fair point," he agreed. He gestured at the map again. "As for samples of the rock, pick whatever sites you feel are representative of the rock formations and any unusual mineral clusters you find. Lt. Woods wanted to get a total of thirty-two samples, 500 grams each. You've always produced reliable data in the past, so I'll leave the selection of the samples with you." He traced a few random patterns with his index finger through the low-lying regions of the site. "Traverse the area however you want -- you should be able to get all your samples well before the temperature drops too far." He gestured at his right arm, slung as it was across his chest. "Take my advice -- don't go climbing anything unless you absolutely, positively have to."
"Don't worry," she asserted, "that far from Base I'm not going out on a limb for anyone."
"Now, the incoming shuttle at 1400h the next day will be able to make a brief stop at the repeater to drop a Type-C rover there, before it heads here with the rest of its cargo ..."
"Remind me again," she interjected, "why I'm not getting flown back to Base?" She tapped at the map image where the initial drop site was plotted. "That rover weighs more than a ton. If it's being dropped there, why can't the shuttle take me aboard and leave the rover to haul my gear and samples back?"
He shook his head and pursed his lips apologetically. "Believe me, I asked Gutierrez the same question when she offered what she could do, and she said something about fuel state and something-or-other overload." He gestured between the drop site and Site 16 on the map. "I crunched the numbers to be sure, and even if you were to leave when it was still freezing outside, you might not make it back to the drop site for pickup. I asked Gutierrez if she could wait, and she said she couldn't."
"Besides," he continued, "there are benefits to doing it this way." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in approximately the direction of Hydroponics. "One of _our_rovers would have to make its way out there on autopilot, with an aging powerplant and after having those guys in Maintenance fiddling with the software all year."
She snorted quietly. "No thanks," she declined. "It might decide to go off on its own and draw patterns in the dust that you could read from orbit."
"Exactly," he agreed. "This way, we take delivery of a brand-new rover, and you get to put it through its paces before you bring it back here. New engine, full battery charge, no cracks in the hull. Hell, if it doesn't want to move after you've unpacked it, the pilot's cabin is a sight more comfortable than your overnight shelter would be."
"Mhmmm," she agreed.
"Plus, if you wanted to be flown back, you'd have to hurry to catch Gutierrez, and then be back here in minutes. This way, when you're finished checking out the rover, you just -- " He turned around and leaned against the table edge, poking a finger in midair at an imaginary button. " -- set it on auto, tilt your chair back, and relax."
She nodded, and cocked her head slightly. "Not bad," she agreed. "You really did work this out."
"'Least I could do," he explained, putting a hand to his chest, "being as how you're the one going out into the cold."
She nodded a few more times in approval. "Okay," she said, "you sold me on the schedule for this. What about equipment?"
He turned again and tapped a few more times at the screen. "Lightweight rucksack ... standard survey tools and sample containers ... medium-duty power cell ... emergency power cells times four ... multi-spectra imaging apparatus ... cold-weather suit ... deployable shelter ... portable heater ... lamp ... field rations times four ... medkit ... signal flare rockets times three ... operational checklist for the Type-C Rover ... " He paused, and began running through the list a few times to himself, silently.
Just about everything, she thought, except ...
"Sidearm," she extrapolated for him.
He turned to her, surprised. "Really? C'mon. You won't need --"
She held up a hand. "'Doesn't matter," she insisted. "If I'm going anywhere outside of comms. range_and_ where a shuttle can't get to me in ten minutes flat, I'm taking a sidearm." She held his gaze for a few silent seconds, keeping a firm and serious expression on her face. "Hell, I should be taking a rifle ..."
"Rifles are for base defense," he said, quietly, "in case the Tabbies attack."
"They've never attacked here!" she said, a little exasperated. The last thing she wanted was to get in an argument with Rick over slim probabilities. "If you're going to use that logic, then I should get to carry the sidearm, at least, in case_the Tabbies attack _me." She pointedly tapped the edge of the table to indicate the generality of the Base in particular. "Ten rifles for the fifteen personnel trained to use them, when all the Tabbies would have to do is drop a warhead on Storage. Boom! Battle over! Someone find us a white flag."
"Shhh!" Rick insisted, putting a finger to his lips. "Quiet down a bit, 'kay?" He looked around for a second, checking over his shoulders in turn. He sighed, briefly. "You're right, of course. But don't be saying stuff like that where it might get back to Woods."
She rolled her eyes for dramatic effect. "What's the matter, Mr. Bayer? Worried that the Lieutenant might put us on report, or pass you up for promotion? Where's he going to promote you to? Hell, where's he going to demote me to?"
He pursed his lips until they were a thin line. "Look," he said, running his good hand through his hair, "you're right -- under regulations you're entitled to the sidearm, you're right -- it's not like we don't have a surplus of the things, and you're right again -- all they do is gather dust." He sighed, and gestured through a nearby wall at where the opposite part of the Base hub would be. He dropped his voice to just above a whisper. "Everybody here -- especially Woods -- wants to think that the equipment we have and the plans we have in the event of an attack are adequate. You know they're not, I know they're not, I'm sure even Woods knows they're not. But it's bad for morale to be joking about how undersupplied and how shorthanded we are -- even if it's true."
She arched an eyebrow at him. "He actually had to sit you down and give you the military's position on civilian free speech?" She chuckled good-naturedly and put her left hand on his right shoulder, causing him to wince. "Rick, I get it. I'm fully behind the military, and I know how important morale is." She cast up her free hand in a carefree gesture. "I figure ... well, if we're stuck here with only ten rifles and militia forces to defend us, we'd better be able to laugh at our predicament and carry on with our jobs. Otherwise the fear is going to eat us up."
He smiled weakly. "Everybody except you," he asserted.
"Damn right," she replied. "But even I plan ahead. And that means the sidearm. And the field surgical kit to go along with the medkit, by the way."
He nodded, his humor restored. "See? Now this is why I like being your supervisor." He began tapping at the screen again to expand her list of allotted equipment, before glancing back at her and giving a conspiratory wink. "You work so well with no supervision at all."