MARS
Jack Knapp
The New Frontiers Series, Book V
MARS: the Martian Autonomous Republic of Sol
By Jack L Knapp
Books by the author:
The Wizards Series:
Combat Wizard
Wizard at Work
Talent
Veil of Time
Siberian Wizard
Magic
Angel: A Wizards Short Story
The Darwin’s World Series:
Darwin’s World
The Trek
Home
The Return
Defending Eden
The New Frontiers Series:
The Ship
NFI: New Frontiers, Inc
NEO: Near Earth Objects
BEMs: Bug Eyed Monsters
MARS: the Martian Autonomous Republic of Sol
Pirates
Terra
Hybrids (forthcoming)
The American Southwest Series
Jacob Jennings
Edward Jennings
Edward Jennings: War and Recovery
Edward Jennings: Cattleman
The Territory
Fantasy
The Wizard's Apprentice
Copyright
Book V, the New Frontiers Series
MARS: the Martian Autonomous Republic of Sol
Copyright © 2016, renewed 2023, By Jack L Knapp
Cover by Blair Howard
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.
Disclaimer: The persons and events depicted in this novel were created by the author’s imagination; no resemblance to actual persons or events is intended.
Product names, brands, and other trademarks referred to within this book are the property of the respective trademark holders. Unless otherwise specified, no association between the author and any trademark holder is expressed or implied. Nor does the use of such trademarks indicate an endorsement of the products, trademarks, or trademark holders unless so stated. Use of a term in this book should not be regarded as affecting the validity of any trademark, registered trademark, or service mark.
Table of Contents
Books by the author:
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Epilogue
Prologue
Bodies glistening, the aliens sloshed ashore and found places on the sand. A quick breath, exhaled through the port beneath their ribs, cleared the last water from their lungs.
"The humans do not sing," one sang.
"Our songs go on, but they cannot sing," agreed the Flicker to his right.
"But they live for only a short time anyway."
"It is so. But their few cycles mean more, because they have so few of them."
The discussion went around the circle, each contributing in her turn. They were leaders, the most-complete among their communities, and consensus could only be achieved if each contributed.
"Do we not owe them a duty?" Meesa asked.
"They are not of the people," Fal sang.
Meesa would have responded, but she would have to wait her turn to sing.
"Yet they are people. Do we not owe them a duty?"
"It is so. They risked much. Some reached completion on that day, and they had no songs to live on after."
"Isson reached completion on that day. The Terrans brought her body home, that she might reach final completion with the people."
"It is so. I can sense her song even now."
"But there is nothing the Terrans can do!" Her voice reached a high note, a crescendo. "Destruction comes!"
"It is so," Siol's voice sank low. "We must tell our people, lest the destruction fall on them as well."
"Some will stay," Meesa cautioned, her voice soft as she held the last note before allowing it to fade. "A debt is owed. The Terrans stood between us and the Fel. If the price is to reach completion with them, we will sing their songs as well as our own."
"We can do no less," Fal agreed. "They are people. Not of the people, but people."
"Should we warn them?" Mala asked.
"Why? Where can they go? Terra itself will be destroyed and the Terrans have only two worlds. Their primitive ships..." Aar sighed, her song tapering until it faded away.
"The ships will not be available. For the people, yes, but for the Terrans no," Fliss said. "It is not a kindness to tell them."
"They are a promising species! Given time, they might have progressed far."
"They should not be told. Some among them will reach completion without ever knowing that their species will soon end. The other Terrans? They will find out soon enough."
"What of the others? They are of the people, even though they do not sing our songs." The others looked down. Most had hoped the subject wouldn't be brought up.
"They are people, but they are not of the people."
"They sing their own songs." Fliss' comment ended the discussion. He was, after all, of the 33.
One by one, the others slipped into the water, heading back for their own communities. Their uneasy consensus was not what they had hoped for, but one fact remained paramount: destruction was headed for the solar system and there was nothing the Terrans could do to stop it.
Chapter One
The large mammal sensed the swirl behind it and finally took fright. It attempted to escape by hiding among the rocks on the seafloor, but to no avail. The sleek creature above matched him turn for turn until it was in position, then thrust. The long, barbed point entered behind the head and emerged through the creature's open mouth. Dead, the mammal floated toward the surface, guided by its killer.
Dragging it from the water was a chore, but at last it was done. A sharp knife made short work of skinning, gutting, and dismembering the animal. Choice bits were placed over coals to roast, while the rest of the meat was stretched over a frame. Smoke would complete the curing job within a day or two.
The extraterrestrials known to Terrans as the Flickers would have been horrified at the killing, doubly horrified that it had been done by one of their own kind. But while this one was related to the mainstreamers physically, mentally and emotionally he might just as well have been from a different species entirely.
Realizing they could never fit into a mainstream community, the rogue Flickers had chosen exile. Outcasts, they abandoned the pacifistic, vegetarian members of their species, searching for places where they could live as they chose.
The male Flicker, for such he was, put more chunks of the morela on to roast and waited. Minutes later, two females appeared at the edge of the clearing. Heavy net bags at their waists bore witness to foraging success. While they hadn't managed to spear an animal, they had collected more than enough fruits and vegetables to make for a memorable feast.
Roots went into the coals to bake as they chewed the fresh greenery and waited for the meat to cook. The male leaned back, arms around the females, and through his implant, contacted the ship parked halfway around the planet. Songs played in his brain, songs of his species that also communicated news. In this way, he learned of the attempted raid on an obscure planet far out along the edge of the galaxy.
A primitive species had virtually wiped out a large raiding party and captured two Fel ships in the doing? Unheard of! Not only that, a female of the people, a mainstreamer, had been killed! What had she been doing? Scanning further, Poss discovered she had not been alone. The primitive Terrans had somehow managed to convince several of the people to join them, even launching their boarding attacks from a ship of the people! How? It was unprecedented! Even the 33 had chosen to involve themselves!
Pausing for a moment, he transmitted the information to Bel and Rach, inviting them to join his small group in a communal swim. They would bring along Mona and Soa, perhaps others. It had been too long since they'd sung together!
The bone beneath his jaw flexed, the layer of stretched skin flashing bright gold for a second before disappearing back into the fold of skin.
The mysterious, savage beings called Terrans interested Poss as his own people no longer did. What would Bel and Rach make of them?
***
"Bobby—excuse me, Mister President—you have an appointment this morning with a Mister David Stein. He's an hour out and wants to know where you want to meet him."
"I'm still just Bobby! And Stein—right, he's the yacht buyer. I'll meet them at the factory. Give Gary a call, let him know we're on our way and to turn on his landing beacon."
"Well, as of yesterday you're Bobby Sneyd, President of Mars, Mayor of Mars City, CEO of New Frontiers Inc, and First Vice President of NFI Space Yachts, LLC. Indulge me!"
"I ought to paddle your butt! My dad wouldn't have let your mother get away with that, not that she would have tried! Adelheid Laaksonen was the perfect executive secretary!"
"She got away with a lot of stuff you never knew about! But Bobby it is, at least when only Martians are around," Adelheid's daughter Elsa replied.
"Better, Elsa, better. Call my hopper—no, cancel that. Have Joe bring Showboat around. We'll head for the factory as soon as I put on a shipsuit." Bobby, like most Martians nowadays, often wore only the tight leotard-like undersuit. It was not only practical, it had been designed from the beginning as a foundation for the shipsuit, which in turn served as the undersuit for the heavier vacuum suit.
"Anything else?" Elsa asked.
"No, that will do it. Thank you." Elsa smiled and turned away. Was that a bit of extra wiggle as she left his office? Extra hip motion or not, Bobby enjoyed the view.
Elsa, like most Finns or former Finns, believed in regular exercise. She had invited him to join her family in their sauna, but so far he'd refused; his withered legs were an embarrassment. He was aware that Elsa's family would have ignored the handicap, which thanks to Mars' low gravity was barely a hindrance; for that matter, Bobby himself rarely thought about his cerebral palsy. But around the disgustingly-healthy Finns he would have felt self-conscious.
Elsa had hinted she might enjoy a closer relationship, but Bobby kept his distance. His father had given him that bit of advice, to keep personal matters separate from business, and he understood Elsa would have no trouble finding someone. The population of Mars was roughly 51% female, but even among attractive people who benefited from light gravity, she stood out. Tall, blonde, and self-confident, Elsa would have her pick when she realized Bobby wasn't for her.
For a moment, he felt a pang. But really, what other choice did he have?
***
"Picked out a name for your new baby, David?"
"Not yet. My wife wants it to remind people of who I am, but I'm holding out for something playful. If they don't recognize the name..."
"David Stein, President of the Solar Union's Central Bank? It's not something you should be ashamed of!"
"I'm not, but banking's just business. For that matter, it's a relatively minor part of my business interests and I'm also interested in philanthropy. Did you know I stole a page from your father's book and opened my own school system? Only one university so far, but I think it's right up there with NFI's best."
"I've heard good things about it. NFI got a head start and we grabbed some of the best talent available, but you'll get there. My parents do that too, dabble in business but concentrate on philanthropy. They keep an eye on the company's schools among other things.
"There's more to it than simple philanthropy, of course; we educate a lot of people, but while we're doing it, we look for the best of the best. We offer them jobs and they're fanatically loyal to NFI."
"Don't I know it! I've tried to hire some of them, but even at twice the money they're not interested."
"I know; they tell us when someone tries to poach. It's not just the money, it's loyalty. Loyalty reaches down as well as up, and our employees have no incentive to leave. There are plenty of chances to rise within the company. It's simple, and it's good business; we take care of our people, they take care of us. A few leave, of course, but that's their choice. As a matter of policy, we don't ask why but they often tell us. They leave to start their own businesses."
David nodded. "I intend to follow Chuck's lead. I've got personal investments and I own a lot of companies outright, so I'm always in the market for outstanding people. I consider myself more entrepreneur than banker anyway, but as I said I'm also interested in philanthropy. The business interests support that. I'll keep an eye on our students, same as you're doing, and after they graduate I'm sure they'll want to work for Stein Enterprises. And just so you know, I intend to make you actually bid on some of your academic talent, not just casually pick from the herd!"
The two grinned at each other, then Bobby gestured toward the door. "Let's take a look at your bird, shall we?" He held the heavy door for David, then secured it behind them.
"My, my, my! She's gorgeous!"
The long dull-black shape rested on a cradle, barely visible even under the bright lights of the hangar. Not truly a needle, the pointed bow swelled amidships until the aft section was roughly twice the diameter of the forward half. Pairs of wings extended to the sides, half again longer than the hull was wide. David looked admiringly at the sleek shape, trailing his hand lightly over the skin.
"The fins work like wings in atmosphere, right?"
"Right, although if you leave them spread into the X configuration, you can't land until you fold them parallel as they are now. But don't worry about it, the computers take care of that. Just plot the course to your destination, they'll take the worry of getting there off your hands."
"That warranty seems unreal! You really intend to guarantee her for half a century?"
"Why not? She'll be flying a full century from now if that's what you want. The only reason we decided on half that time is because we expect technical improvements during the next fifty years. We're researching ceramic hulls right now that can survive almost anything."
"Even so, half a century?"
"Preventive maintenance works. The only way to void your warranty is by missing a maintenance deadline. If you're less than three months late, Maintenance Division will charge extra, but your warranty will still be good. After three months, you're on your own. Oh, we'll still do the work, but you'll be charged full price for facility time, labor, and replacement parts. Regardless of maintenance status, if we get a fault indication that makes your ship unsafe to operate—telemetry will let us know—we'll send out a tow ship anywhere between Earth and the Belt. Beyond the Belt, the first to respond will probably be one of the Solar Union's police cruisers, but I doubt you'll ever have occasion to go that far out."
"I doubt I will. Most of the time, I'll use it sub-orbital. I can reach North America from Brussels or my schloss in half an hour, Australia in forty-five minutes. Asia takes about as long. It not only saves time, speed is money."
"That it is. Where do you intend to hangar your bird?"
"In UNE's German region. I've got a schloss east of Aachen, very nice area, plenty of room for a private spaceport. It's also not that far from Brussels, so it's convenient to my office."
"You're not far from our Frankfurt shops either, about a ten-minute hop. I'd suggest you call there for whatever support you need."
"I will. I still think it's amazing! A complete tear-down, replace and upgrade as necessary, and do it again six months later..."
"It works, and it's economical in the long run. We've never lost a ship due to component or system failure. We've had to retrieve three, but the last one was more than twenty years ago. You can't improve on that record! As for being economical, consider the cost of your ship. Then compare that with maintenance costs. Cheap."
"The people who designed your system did a fine job."
"That they did. Dad got the press, but mom did a lot of the behind-the-scenes work. She also supervised the team that designed the interior of your bird. I think she liked the challenge, but whether she'll do it for the next one is questionable. Watch your step, the built-in hatch ladder can seem a bit strange at first. The flight deck is to your right, the entry hatch opens and closes automatically. It's a safety feature. Reclining seats for the pilot and copilot, leather upholstery, gold trim—some of it's 16kt plating, the rest is 12kt solid gold. It's easy to polish, just wipe it down now and then. It's also cheap on Mars. There's no reason to skimp, so we don't.
"The screen to your front selectively displays everything about the ship and her systems. It folds up when it's not being used. The window behind it is armored. Some still prefer to use direct visuals while landing."
"I'm one; I like to see where I'm going. Fairly sparse, isn't it?"
"Deliberately so. That's the selectivity feature; we display only what the pilot needs. If he or she wants more, they can split the screen and call it up.
"The flight computer will handle liftoffs and letdowns, but you'll want someone up here watching. The computers are triply-redundant of course, but regulations require that a human pilot monitor critical evolutions. Once you're out beyond Luna, there's not much traffic. You'll get a warning tone from the MMI, the Matrix-based Mass Indicator, if another ship approaches. If you don't respond within ten seconds, the computer will take necessary evasive action. It's an expanded version of ground car alert systems, but in this case based on the drive field. Mass causes a disturbance in the electromagnetic matrix, which in turn affects the field generated by the drive. The feedback alerts the flight computers. So far, the MMI is relatively short range; detection is limited to the volume of space-time that's affected by the matrix drive. We're working on a more sensitive detector, something that will give more than a ten-second warning. A long-range MMI would be a handy thing for a pilot to have. There's a smaller screen in the aft cabin so passengers can monitor what the pilot's doing. Ready to head that way?"
"Right, let's have a look. Speaking of pilots, I got my ticket a month ago."
"I know; the school notified us. Another one of those regulations, otherwise, I couldn't have delivered the ship unless you brought your own pilot. Your vector math's a bit rusty, by the way."
"I've been working on it," David said defensively. "Anyway, I intend to have a professional crew flying her. I only got the license as insurance. Pilots get sick, they might not be available, and I might need to get somewhere in a hurry."
Bobby nodded. "Most of our customers use a professional crew. If you can afford your own space-going yacht, you can afford a full-time crew. Let's look at the living quarters."
He led the way aft. "Per your instructions, she's a flying office as well as a comfortable way to get from here to there in the least amount of time. The table is teak, from responsibly-managed forests on Earth; just push the button, and it folds up against the overhead. The suspension system is similar to what's on the main screen in the flight crew's compartment and it folds up in the same manner. Same carbon-fiber inner hull lining too. The wood accents are teak, the chair arms and so forth. And again, we use gold wherever it adds to the esthetics."
"I like the color scheme! Teak, medium-dark brown leather, and gold. Old-fashioned, but tasteful."
"More of my mom's doing. The paintings are original oils or acrylics. John's wife Linda took care of that. We didn't skimp on quality, as you can probably tell."
"They're nice. Although, after a few months..."
"Linda will allow you to exchange them. Although you may decide to keep them as investments and just buy replacements."
"I may do that. Is that her signature?"
"Could be, I can't tell from here. But the other artists we use studied with her, at least for a while, so it's hard to tell without looking at the signature."
"What else?"
"Beyond the table is the living suite. Go on in, it can be a little cramped, so I'll explain what you're looking at from here."
David walked in and looked around. "Where is everything? Surely there's more than a table and two chairs! They're nice and look comfortable, but still..."
"Look at the control panel below the screen. The button on the right is labeled bed, it's stowed overhead at the moment. It gives you more room. Push that gold button, it descends. The pillars are part of the pneumatic system, and the overhead canopy is just trim. You can take it out if you want. Queen-sized mattress, teak headboard, gold accents on the frame—"
"What else?"
"There's a sliding curtain that can close off the office from the living area. Most don't use it, but it's there. My father uses his to keep from disturbing my mother when he's working. The closet is to the left and aft of the bed. It's narrow but deep, so it's big enough to hold quite a bit. The galley entrance is next to the closet. It has the usual storage cabinets, stove, refrigerator, and microwave. The head is through the door to the right; the toilet has an electric furnace that dehydrates waste. All water is evaporated, filtered, disinfected with ozone and ultraviolet light, then reused. Dried residue goes through a converter, where it's stripped down to atoms. From there it's fed into the torch. You need monatomic hydrogen to get the torch started, but after that it burns almost anything. The vanity is only big enough for one person; we did that to cut down on overall size. That's also why the office furniture is designed as it is, foldable and storable when not in use.
"The bulkhead behind the head, closet, and galley is sealed. There is no access from inside the ship. It separates the occupied sections from the engine room. The engine room contains two class one fusion torches for power, two matrix drive units—they're scaled down versions of the ones that power our bigger ships—and a three-gee gravity compensator. It converts any acceleration up to three gees to one standard gee. Martians, including John and me, prefer no more than half a gee."
"Only one? You've got two of everything else."
"You can get anywhere you need to go by limiting your acceleration to one gee. The grav regulator is a convenience, not a necessity. We use two power plants and two drives for safety."
"Yeah, but for twelve billion SU bucks..."
"You can cancel, David. There's a waiting list if you don't want this one. We'll keep your 10% down payment to cover the cost of reworking the interior, but—"
"No, no, I'll take her! Hey, I was just seeing if you'd negotiate."
"We don't need to. This is a one-of-a-kind NFI-certified spacegoing yacht. She'll go anywhere in the solar system. Anywhere. Internal cubage is limited, but you can add external pods for consumables, clothing, whatever you might need. We rent those as needed. Most of the time, you don't want them; the ship is more-nimble without."
David nodded. "I doubt I'll have any reason to go beyond Mars. You mentioned that Chuck keeps his eyes out for a good investment. What about you?"
"Sure, but Stein Enterprises isn't all that great. No offense intended; your companies are stable, they're just not all that profitable. I think my sister owns stock in at least one, my parents too, but they're more conservative than I am. As for me, NFI is far more profitable. We've had problems in the past, you probably know about those, so the family decided it was better to diversify. But I have faith in my company."
"NFI's a good investment," David agreed. "Back then, I was with one of the banks that loaned your father money on several occasions.
"But suppose I intended to start up a new company? What would you say to that?"
"I'd say keep talking. Let's go back to your office. Got parking space there for my new baby? I'll have the rest of the money transferred to your accounts before we arrive."
"Okay. What say I fly as copilot? My pilot can bring Showboat back."
"Sure. You're a rated command pilot, you've got the wreath around your insignia. Captain, right?"
"I was captain of Apollo, one of our Giants, during the first survey trip to the Kuiper Zone. That's where I met the Flickers for the first time."
"But you're not still a captain?"
"Actually, I am. I took a leave of absence when I took over NFI. It saves having to answer questions."
"Okay. I'm flying in command?"
"Of course, but I'll just double check your course before you activate the flight computer. Not that I expect a problem; you did complete the course, despite the math issues."
"Hey, I've been boning up on math ever since! Well, when I had the time, I mean."
"That's what I thought. You input the course, I'll check."
Chapter Two
"So tell me about this new company," Bobby said. The two were drinking coffee in his office.
"At this point it's only an idea, something I started thinking about as soon as I saw your parents' house. Impressive, especially that glass dome! I thought you couldn't build on the surface?"
"Underground is cheaper and safer. My dad got around most of the issues by clever engineering. What you saw on the surface is only a part of their house; most of it's underground. It's cheaper to heat, has better protection from sandstorms and meteorites, and it provides convenient access to Mars City by using the subway. But mom liked the view on the surface, so dad added the dome for her. There's an enormous hollow underneath, and you can lower the dome in less than a minute. You don't even need power to lower it, just unlock the pillars and let it sink. Check valves control the rate of descent, and hydraulic pressure is diverted to the actuators that close off the opening. In less than a minute, there's nothing on the surface but a steel plate. You do need hydraulic pressure to raise it, but that’s no more than a convenience. The house is comfortable whether the dome is stowed or lifted so you can view the stars.
"The technology's not new, except for the automation and safety features. Remember reading about the old wet-navy aircraft carriers? They had elevators that did the same thing. This one is larger, but otherwise it's similar and it doesn't require as much hydraulic pressure. The surface part of the house weighs less on Mars than jet airplanes did on Earth."
"Still, it's an achievement. Tell me more about Mars."
"We're a member nation of the Union of Solar Nations now, formal title the Martian Autonomous Republic of Sol. We consider the current government, including my presidency, to be temporary, pending adoption of a constitution and election of officials. The only holdup is that Martians don't really care; they like the current system where I head the government, such as it is, as interim President. The fact that I'm also CEO of NFI doesn't matter. Martians understand that's my day job, being president takes up a couple of hours a day, if that. Most of the time I can combine business with politics.
"My office, where we are now, is near the center of Mars City, what used to be called Marsbase One. Not a lot of difference, but we're much more now than just a base. Total population exceeds 200,000 permanent residents and it's growing. Mars City is the capital as well as the main population center. Chinatown has about 70,000 residents, and there are a few smaller, settlements out past the smelter. We'll be moving that facility to orbit at some point which will free up some cubage, but the people will probably decide to stay where they are in "Smeltertown". It's not exactly remote; Mars City is half an hour's travel by subway.
"As for the other areas, we have extensive subsurface farms, many based on linked hydroponics and aquaculture, and each has its own settlement. They already provide more than our basic needs and we expect to add more cubage soon. We're not short of water; some comes from subsurface mines, but most of it is a by-product of asteroid refining.
"Plants not only feed us, they also recycle our air. For every thousand new settlers, we expect to add at least ten hectares of farms, and the farms are intensely cultivated. The farmers live near their farms. Mars appeals to people like that; as Earth changed over to vertical factory farms, farm families were left with few options. Tending plants in an urban skyscraper isn't their thing. Moreover, few vertical farms are privately owned. They pay off eventually, but the up-front investment is simply too steep for farmers." Bobby thought for a moment. "Not sure about the percentage, but I think most of our non-science employees have a background in farming and many own the cubage they work. Excavating the cubage and putting in grow lights is simple, and of course we generate excess electricity. The torches are very efficient.
"Water allows us to farm, and it's the feedstock for our hydrolysis plants. We use some of the oxygen to replace atmospheric losses, the rest is stored under pressure for our vacu-diesel heavy construction machinery. The main difference between the vacu-diesel engines and ordinary diesels is that ours are two-cycle and use injected oxygen as well as injected diesel fuel. They're reliable, powerful, and cheaper to operate than electric units. The hydrogen is equally useful. A fuel plant separates H2 molecules into the diatomic hydrogen the fusion torches use for startup. In addition to electrical power, the torches produce useful elements as byproducts."
"By separating molecules, you're talking about turning the molecules into a plasma," David observed.
"There's more to it than that. We have to cool the product before we can feed it into the torches, otherwise the plasma would rapidly erode the injectors. During the cooling process, we use powerful alternating magnetic fields to stabilize the hydrogen. The science is simple, the engineering is complicated. You'll understand why I don't want to talk about it."
"Indeed. You didn't mention Flickertown."
"Their status hasn't been resolved. For now, they're guests; they enjoy all benefits of citizenship, plus they have other rights as well. Within Flickertown, their rules apply. The only humans allowed to visit without prior approval are my parents, Robbie, John, me, and a few residents of Chinatown. The Chinese share farm cubage more-or-less equally with the Flickers; they needed farmland, the Chinese had it, and in return they helped us develop new plants that are adapted to Mars. We respect their rights, they understand this, so we're welcome. It also has to do with a sense of debt, I think; at one time or another, all of us have gone out of our way to help the Flickers."
"So you make your own air."
"Yes and no. I mentioned electrolysis, which gives us gaseous oxygen and hydrogen. We mine solid carbon dioxide at the poles and recover nitrogen and a number of other gases during asteroid refining. The farms need the nitrogen and carbon dioxide; bacteria convert the nitrogen into the nitrates, nitrites, amino acids, and ammonium that plants need. As for the carbon dioxide, plants metabolize the carbon and release oxygen. We supplement as necessary with hydrolyzed oxygen. At the moment, our habitats are held at 91% of Earth-normal surface air pressure. There's always a certain amount of loss, mostly from people cycling through airlocks. We recover what we can, but we never get it all. It's not a problem; atmospheric gas production exceeds our current needs, and we store the excess underground as an emergency reserve. We also maintain stocks of water, food, oxygen, hydrogen, and diesel fuel, enough to provide Martians with basic needs for thirty days. By then, the convoys will have had time to bring in supplies or evacuate people, whichever is necessary at the time. We've never needed to draw down the stocks, but we keep them as a kind of insurance policy just in case."
"What about other installations?"
"NFI's the biggest employer, but we're not the only one. The difference is that most other free-enterprise businesses employ no more than two or three people. The company has a number of areas that involve manufacturing, assembly, research, and maintenance. All are directly or indirectly related to our primary business, the exploitation of space. Subways are free and fast, so most employees commute to work. The others live close enough to walk and they enjoy the exercise. A ten-kilometer hike is not a problem in a third of a standard gee.
"We had problems on Earth, almost all from governments, so you'll understand why that option no longer appeals to us. We still buy subunits from Earth, things like hull segments, but all production involving proprietary devices is located here on Mars. Our Manufacturing Division produces things like the fusion torches, matrix drives, and gravity regulators. On Earth, a factory would be crammed full of spies, but up here, security's not a problem because we know who we hire. Almost all of our technical employees entered NFI's schools as children and the company paid their expenses through graduation. Intermediate level employees such as pilots, floor supervisors, and foremen have at least a baccalaureate degree. They can start work immediately after they graduate if that's what they want, and most do. A few go on to do upper-level postgraduate work. That's where we find our scientists, engineers, research specialists, and senior managers. They've been with us since childhood, so as I said, loyalty's not an issue.
"The biggest installations in terms of cubage are the assembly plants, and we have several. Mars Contracting handles construction, and our engineers know everything there is to know about building on Mars. We also use our own custom-designed and built construction equipment, which reduces costs. For now, we purchase the units on Earth; they're shipped disassembled in our ships and we assemble them here. We also do modifications as necessary. I haven't checked recently, but I wouldn't be surprised if the assembly plant has a dozen units awaiting assembly. We'll assemble them when they're needed. Storage space, as you may have gathered, is cheap on Mars.
"The subway trains are maglev; they never touch the tracks between stations. The tunnels aren't pressurized or heated; the low pressure allows the trains to travel at high speed, and the low temperature reduces the thermal load on the superconductors. The train compartments are held at a comfortable temperature and pressure, of course. According to the engineers, they expect to reach speeds on the order of 1,000km per hour, possibly more, on long stretches. Other than following the curvature of the planet, the tunnels are absolutely straight. They have to be in order to achieve the speeds we expect. Eventually, all of Mars will be linked by high-speed subways and most settlements already are.
"We started from nothing, and except for the older part of Mars City, we're doing it right."
"I can see that, but I'm not really interested in infrastructure. Earth dwellers are interested in Mars, but not because of your subways."
"We welcome visitors," Bobby shrugged. "We also encourage immigrants, but they have to have usable skills and a work ethic. We can't afford loafers."
"About those visitors; where do they go?"
"Most come here, to Mars City. Prospectors looking to blow off steam head for the west side. There are bars and other facilities." Bobby's face remained bland.
"Casinos?"
"Not worth our time. A casino would cost too much and generate too little return on investment. Very few prospectors strike it rich, and if they do some head back to Earth, at least for a while. But sooner or later most come back here, to Mars."
"But suppose those visitors were well-heeled?"
"You're going somewhere with this. Cut to the chase."
"What about a resort? One that's exclusive to the ultra-rich? With a casino, a hotel, golf course—how far could you drive a ball in a one-sixth gravity field?—swimming pools, all the amenities they expect."
"Nothing in our charter forbidding it. Got cost estimates?"
"Not yet."
"Can you develop the property yourself? I'd be inclined to approve the project, so long as your design is Mars-safe. Hiring us to handle the construction would be a plus. As I mentioned, our engineers know all there is to know about building up here. You're talking about a surface resort?"
"What about a hotel built like your parents' home? With a section that can be lowered or raised hydraulically?"
Bobby chuckled. "Ever been to Antarctica? That's where Chuck got the idea."
"As a matter of fact, I'm already looking into building a resort down there," David grinned. "One of the buildings is mounted on hydraulic cylinders, not dissimilar to what your dad did with his house. They've been around since, oh, 2020 or so. Snow blows underneath them instead of piling up against the walls. Mars will be a piece of cake after Antarctica."
"So you'll be looking for investors for your Mars Resort?"
"Now that you mention it..." David's smile grew larger.
"I'll run it past my parents, my sister too; they'll probably want in. My partner John will and maybe a few others too. A few prospectors do get lucky; they end up with more money than they know what to do with and they're always interested in a gamble.
"I'll know when they strike it rich, they sell their discoveries to NFI Refining. As soon as they know my family's part of it, they'll invest."
David held out his hand and Bobby shook it.
"Just one thing. That pool you mentioned, it won't be cheap, but we might be willing to help finance it.
"Mars doesn't have a pool for its citizens; the Flickers do, but not humans. That needs to change."
"You're thinking of licensing our design?"
"More than that. I'm thinking the pool should be big enough that Martians can also use it."
"Out of the question. I mentioned the clientele would be among the really, really rich, the kind of people who can afford one of your yachts. They won't want company in their pool."
"Suppose we separate the Martian side from the exclusive resort side? Maybe by putting up a barrier?"
"Maybe. I don't like it, but it might be doable. The barrier would have to be high enough that even on the platform, our clients can't see over it. And of course, your people couldn't see in."
"Platform?"
"Absolutely. Imagine diving in slow motion from a ten-meter platform!"
"I see what you mean. Okay, tentative agreement depending on specifications and projected costs. I'll also want a list of prospective customers. Sound out your friends, I'll do the same. Let's see how many might be interested.
"Not just men, women too. A lot have boy toys they'd enjoy watching on that platform. Get me something I can show to my engineers and investors. If it looks profitable, we can put it in writing."
"Suits. I'll get a prospectus together within...let's say a month. You mentioned Mars Construction; you own that?"
"My family owns 60% of it. John owns about 20% and the rest is owned by other Martians."
"So you'll be doing the building."
"It's cheaper in the long run," argued Bobby. "We spent billions learning how to design and build construction machinery among other things. Our people are also used to working in low gravity. Convince me you've got a way around all that, we can talk."
"No, I'm sure we can work something out. No reason to reinvent the wheel."
Bobby nodded and stood up. "Ready to depart?"
"Yes, but keep my arrival time on Earth quiet. I've got a few people I'd like to surprise."
***
Far beyond the orbit of Neptune, in the region called the Kuiper Zone, NFI spaceships Goliath and Cigar waited to be relieved. Unusually, Thor and Stogie were late. Cigar's commander finally broke radio silence.
"Cigar to Goliath. Should we head back?"
"Negative, Felix. I just picked up a message, I'm passing it to you at this time. Thor picked up a glitch of some kind. He doesn't want to say more than that over the radio."
"Copy," Captain Felix Mendez replied. "I'll take station on you. You've deployed the last Breadcrumb, right?"
"This morning, before we began decelerating, so it's ahead of us now. I'll advise Rusty to beware after he takes over. Come on over, we'll share coffee. Mine's better than that crud you serve."
"In your dreams. Will I have to cut yours 50% with water before it's safe to drink?"
"You'll need more water than that!" Captain Gulczynski's chuckle was audible before he released the transmission key.
"I'm picking up two ships on radar, IFF says Thor and Stogie."
"Right, Rusty and Millie will be joining us."
Felix was finishing his second cup when the captains of the relieving ships arrived. Crews parked their scooters alongside Goliath and linked their tunnels to the boarding airlock. As soon as they arrived, Captain Gulczynski served coffee and offered his guests a fresh platter of doughnuts.
"What slowed you down?"
"A ghost," Rusty said. "We had your returns on our scopes, but there was something out ahead of you. We never got a good return, just a kind of disturbance out near the edge, but we both saw it on our scopes. Something was definitely out there. We diverted from our course, trying for a better angle, but never got a clear image."
Konstanty glanced at Felix. "You pick up anything?"
"Nope, I saw that Breadcrumb as soon as you launched it, but it and your ship was all I had on the display."
"Same here. None of the Breadcrumbs alerted, so whatever it was doesn't use impeller or matrix drives. Why would anything be prowling around this far out?" Konstanty asked.
"None of our ships," Rusty said. "I downloaded the schedules for every launch before we left Mars, including position reports from prospectors' ships. Better to know they're there than have to reduce speed later on. At first I thought that maybe one had gotten lost and ended up out here, but I checked the record. Mars Control keeps track and the SSPS satellites work as advertised, making it easy. A derelict wouldn't have triggered a Breadcrumb anyway; they depend on visible light from an active drive. But whatever it was, it should have shown up on radar."
"It could have been a Flicker ship. They're stealthy when the drives are off," Felix observed. "But why would one be out here? They abandoned Makemake. And why would they be hiding ahead of you?" Captain Mendez asked.
"No idea, but Bobby needs to know, the NAA president too. They'll notify Solar Union headquarters," Konstanty agreed.
"You want to do it?"
"As soon as I'm close enough. I can hit Mars with a tight beam in about a week if I hustle. Just for grins, you two are armed?"
"Just our railguns and lasers. There are four destroyers in the hold but no pilots, and anyway we no longer carry nukes. I suppose my copilot could take one of the destroyers out in an emergency, although a squadron of drones wouldn't do much against a big ship. Too bad we stopped carrying pilots."
"There was no need, we're not fighting anyone now. But I'll pass the word to NFI. Next time we come out, I intend to have a couple of extra pilots aboard. The destroyers will be hung outboard under the wings too, not stashed in the hull. Anything else?"
"Felix?" Captain Mendez shook his head.
"Stay alert," advised Konstanty. "Honest ships don't have a reason to hide. You might upload the latest set of codes just in case. Park the warning and duress codes on your screen next to the 'Send'."
The newcomers nodded soberly.
Mars would need to be warned, whether the sending ships were still around or not.
Chapter Three
David's most recent message had contained an extensive file, the preliminary sketches for the proposed luxury resort. Bobby had transferred it to his office computer and was now working his way through it while keeping a running tally of estimates. Just the excavation alone...
"Bobby, you know anyone called The Terran?" Elsa asked.
"Nope. Who wants to know?"
"There are three of them, Flickers. One seems to be the spokesman; he's the one that asked for The Terran."
"They're here?"
"Right here in the outer office."
Bobby sighed, saved the files, then closed the program. "Send them in. Maybe I can figure out what they want."
"Word of warning, boss. These three aren't like the others."
Curious, Bobby stood up as the trio filed in.
Different, indeed; Flickers who visited Mars City wore long robes as a gesture of respect to Terran custom. The male and his two female companions hadn't bothered. They were also larger and more muscular, but like the others the leader spoke English with the same high-pitched tone.
"We seek The Terran." The emphasis was subtle.
"I don't extend to the term," Bobby responded. "Perhaps if you told me more..."
The three conversed for a moment, high pitched voices creating a melody no human understood.
"The Terran is Most-Complete."
"I extend; I am most-complete among the Terrans on Mars, our name for this planet. You are safe among us."
Bobby pushed the intercom button. "I'm taking them to the Flicker suite. Have the cafeteria send water and a selection of foods. Coffee and sandwiches for me, please."
"Will do. They like our vegetables, so I'm sure we can find something suitable."
Bobby gestured to the three, who fell in behind as he left the office. Turning down a short corridor, Bobby came to a door and pressed the touch-plate that opened it.
The floor inside was thickly carpeted. The two chairs and a small table were for humans; Flickers preferred to sit on the carpet, disdaining even the pillows piled against the walls. The only other furnishing was a large display screen mounted against the far wall.
Bobby limped to the chair and sat down, his action a signal to the Flickers to make themselves comfortable.
"You are not The Terran. You are most-complete for this place, but you are not most-complete among Terrans," The male insisted.
Bobby tapped the keyboard of his communicator, waking the computer which fed the display screen. He called up the official photo of Marietta Porter, Secretary General of the Solar Union. The name had already been shortened in all but official correspondence from the longer 'Union of Solar Nations'. "This person is most-complete among all Terrans."
"She is not The Terran."
Puzzling. Bobby tapped the screen, changing the image again. "How about this one? John was mayor and most-complete among Terrans on Mars before me. He may be able to help. I'll give him a call." Bobby glanced at the females, who had remained quiet while the male acted as spokesman. "I'll also ask him to bring his wife."
The three twittered briefly, then resumed silence as Bobby called John. "Where are you?"
"At the apartment. I just got back from the plant; the new yacht will be ready ahead of schedule and under budget."
"Good. I've got a mystery on my hands. It shouldn't take long; can you come down to the Flicker suite?"
"Now? I did mention I just got back, and I was at the plant for almost a week. Getting the picture?"
"I intended to ask you to bring Linda anyway. Oh, and no need to dress up. Our guests didn't bother with a robe."
John's sigh was audible. "All right. You owe me one."
"Add it to the rest of my debts, partner." Bobby clicked off and explained to the male Flicker. "John has been here since the beginning. He knows more about humans...that is, Terrans...on Mars than any other Terran." Clumsy! But despite their command of English, the Flickers insisted on this form of pidgin. Was it their version of diplomatic-speech?
The door opened silently, and two cafeteria attendants wheeled in trolleys with food and drink. The selection consisted of raw vegetables, fruits, and water for the Flickers, coffee, doughnuts, and sandwiches for the humans. John and Linda entered as the waiters left. Each carried a lightweight chair; they unfolded them and sat down.
The Flickers watched expressionlessly.
"You are not The Terran." The male Flicker was looking at John when he spoke.
"I'm John Knox. I was most-complete among the community that built the first habitat on this planet. Bobby is now most-complete among the Terran community we call Martians." Acting on a sudden hunch, John turned to Bobby. "Put Chuck's picture on the screen."
They waited for the display to change. "Is that The Terran?" John asked.
"We extend to The Terran." The Flickers began conversing among themselves, their song-like speech sounding almost like whistling in their excitement.
"Any idea where he is, Bobby?" John's comment was low-voiced.
Bobby's response was equally subdued. "They're on Earth. Meeting of a cultural committee or something. I can call him."
"I've got a couple of questions before you do. Notice anything?"
"Other than the fact that they're wearing less than you or Linda?"
"No, but that's part of it; the ones from Flickertown don't dress when they're in their own habitat, they only do it out of courtesy when they're coming here. But your guests aren't eating. They're watching you."
"We offered apples, carrots, and celery, that's what the others prefer if they can't get their own food."
"Let's try something." John limped to the serving table and picked up the platter containing the rest of Bobby's food. Wordlessly, he handed it to the male Flicker.
The male glanced at it, then picked up a thin-sliced steak sandwich. The females took sandwiches of their own, one containing ham, the other tuna salad. They ate with every sign of enjoyment as Bobby looked on in astonishment.
"Let me try something else," John said. Bobby nodded. Facing the three, John carefully folded his legs under him and eased himself to the floor, taking a position similar to the three Flickers.
"You are not complete. He is not complete." A glance showed that the male referred to Bobby.
"No. I lost my legs a long time ago. I am not complete, yet in a sense I am." He tapped the prostheses. "You are not from the communities on Mars, are you?"
"We do not sing their song."
"The Terran is not here. We are most-complete among the Terrans on Mars. Ask what you will."
"I extend to The Terran."
"You following this, Bobby?" John murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I think so. He's from somewhere else and he wants to talk to my dad. But there's more to it than that, I think. He wants something, and if he asks my father he believes he's more likely to get it."
John nodded and resumed his normal volume. "You are safe among us. He is Bobby, son of The Terran we call Chuck. I am of The Terran's community, what we call close friends. We sing The Terran's song; ask what you will."
After a short exchange of low songs, the male turned back. "I am Poss. She is Hoah," indicating one of the females, then the other. "She is Feya. We extend to Bobby, son of The Terran, and his close friend John.
"We extend to the Terrans on Mars."
"They want to study us?" Bobby's voice was barely louder than a whisper. "Why didn't they extend to the other Flickers?"
John's voice was also soft. "They don't agree with them. That's what he meant when he said he doesn't sing their song. Remember what Chuck said about the ones that don't fit in?"
"You think that's what these are, outcasts?" Bobby asked.
"They have to be. They're outcasts who couldn't find a community, or maybe a better term is rogues. None of the mainstream Flickers would eat meat, but this trio didn't hesitate. If the other communities are like the ones on Flickertown, they would shun these."
"Advice?"
"I don't think they're dangerous. If he wants to study us, I doubt he'll find out anything the mainstreamers don't already know. They had those monitors in place for years."
John paused for a long moment, then continued.
"I advise meeting them halfway, but go slow. The mainstreamers already know a lot about us, we know very little about them. Even then, it's only what they choose to tell us. This group may see things from a different perspective. If they do, we might learn more about how the mainstreamers think by comparing the two."
"Good point." Bobby turned away from John and resumed his normal tone. "I extend to Poss, Hoah, and Feya. How can the Terrans on Mars assist you?"
"We have come far. We would swim in your sea."
Bobby glanced at John, who shrugged. "No idea what that means."
"We have no sea," Bobby said. "We intend to build one, but for the moment..." Bobby shrugged, imitating John. "Would you like to build your own? Our word for a small sea is 'lake'. We have plenty of water, so if you want to study us we will give you space for your own habitat. How many are you?"
"We are nine. Others will come. We extend to Bobby, most complete among the Terran people on Mars."
Bobby clicked the keyboard. Moments later his assistant answered. "Priority. I need a space where our guests can set up their own habitat, somewhere away from Flickertown. Far enough from Mars City to be private, but close enough they can commute as they see fit.
"Pass the word; the best thing we can do is ignore them unless they initiate a conversation. The new group doesn't wear clothing, that's how our people can tell the difference. Be polite, but leave them alone. I'm not going to hide their presence, but at the same time I don't see any reason to mention the new arrivals to Flickertown. Get with the engineering staff, see what equipment they can divert from other tasks to help the new ones build their habitat. They probably don't have equipment. They also intend to build a new lake, so pass to engineering that they can draw down the reserves on my authority. Got all that?"
"I recorded it, Bobby. I'll get back to you in a minute."
"Have the cafeteria send more sandwiches like the ones they brought me. Coffee, too. Include a bottle of scotch. I could use a drink, and I'll bet John and Linda could too!"
***
Linda soon left, unnoticed, leaving John and Bobby conversing quietly while they waited. The three Flickers sang softly among themselves, a counterpoint melody that more closely resembled a jazz trio than any other human music.
"I wish I was sure I'm not making a mistake. I just notified my dad." Bobby indicated the communicator. "He'll get here as soon as he can, but they won't be able to leave before tomorrow. They're raising money for museums that are dealing with budget cuts. The SU apparently doesn't have money for cultural affairs, so my parents are coaxing it out of people who have more than they can spend. It's not that they need the money, the ones I mentioned, it's a status thing. In that circle, the more money you have, the higher your status. Another status symbol is how much they can afford to publicly give, which makes them willing to chip in. They won't match Chuck and Lina, but just being on the same list is a plus in their circles."
"It allows them to play games with the big boys," John agreed. "That's the other part of status, knocking down the other players. The more they pledge, the more status points they gain, and since it's zero-sum, the fewer points the others have. Chuck and I have talked about it; he knows how to push their buttons and it's a lot easier after they've had an evening of good food and drink. I understand his not wanting to leave before he's squeezed them for donations."
"Plus they'll see Deuce," Bobby pointed out. "She's a flying palace after that last upgrade. We kind of went overboard."
"Flying sales catalog, Bobby," John corrected. "There'll be a couple of hundred people there, and if I know Chuck he'll gently mention how much fun it is to own your own yacht. We'll get a dozen orders, maybe more. Speaking of our future customers, what did you think of the concept drawings for that resort?"
"Grandiose, but doable. It doesn't appeal to my tastes, but David knows what he's doing. As long as our people get access to that swimming pool, I intend to let David spend as much as he wants. It's not to my taste, but I don't mind investing. After all, it's happening right here on Mars and the work will be done by our people using local materials for the most part. We'll get a big chunk of our investment right back." Bobby paused to see if the Flickers were paying attention, but they appeared to be involved with their own musical conversation. "It's all good," he continued. "We can use the extra income. Engineers and construction workers have to be paid. Private companies will get in on the deal too, the stonecutters and so forth. We'll eventually get more people and they'll need places to live, so every SU dime we earn will help pay for constructing new cubage.
"The good news, there are no natural barriers to stop us," Bobby mused. "The mountains have roots, part of their structure extends deep into the crust, but it's just rock. Different, but still rock. We're finding more water deposits, other minerals too, and as for waste material we'll add it to the orbital forts. Bigger is better. We'll have plenty of raw material. Chinatown wants more farm space too, much of it for Flicker-designed crops. We're already self-sufficient, but the new construction adds to our margin of safety. We can't ever forget that this isn't Earth. Too cold, almost no air, no open water on the surface..."
"Don't give up hope, Bobby. Maybe one day we can terraform the surface, even walk out without a vac suit. Maybe have trees, shrubs, wild-grown flowers. I'd be happy to even see a few weeds!" John's voice was wry. Living in reduced gravity had given him freedom of movement, but not without losses.
Bobby glanced at the Flickers, who had stopped singing. "We're leaving our guests out of the conversation." He addressed the male, the apparent-leader of the triad. "Poss, we'll someday have a lake of our own. It won't be complete, as your people understand the term, because we do not have your biologics. Our scientists are working to develop them, but it's going to take a long time. When our sea is ready, you're welcome to use it."
"Your sea will be for Terrans? The others will not use it?"
"The communities have their own lake. They won't need ours."
More singing for a moment, then Poss translated. "We extend to Bobby, most-complete among the Terrans of Mars."
***
Chuck and Lina made the rounds, gently urging, collecting pledges, casually mentioning the generosity of others.
"It's a shame, isn't it? Him losing his company, I mean."
The speaker was an older woman who, judging by her dress, tried to look younger.
"The idea! His wife and children just took it away from him!"
"I don't think it bothers him. Look at him, he looks twenty years younger! Even his hair has grown back."
"She obviously dyes hers. I mean, look at her! No wrinkles! Think she'll share the name of her surgeon? That's plastic work is as good as I've ever seen. It almost looks natural, although that hair...no, at her age it can't be her natural color."
"Suppose we went a little over the top with our donations? She would owe us, wouldn't she? We could hand her our cards, let her deduct the pledges right now. Then compliment her on how well she's keeping? I'm sure she'll want to brag."
"Well..."
***
An hour later two fuming matrons met in the ladies washroom.
"That witch! Claimed it was all natural! Why, she's as old as Chuck and he's obviously had work done!"
"I guess if you've got their money, you can afford the best."
"We hired the best! And mine charged a bundle, I'll have you know!"
"I know, Abigail. But maybe if we ask around, we can probably find who does their work. They may not want to brag, but their surgeons will."
"Let's! But no more donations! Damned robbers!"
Chapter Four
"Okay, people, settle down. We've got a lot to do." Bobby tapped his gavel to punctuate the statement, then waited for the noise to drop.
"I know you're wondering what you're doing here. The fact is, we're on notice from the Solar Union. The Russians have accused us of being a nation in name only, and they've convinced the Executive Council that we're nothing more than a large company town. We couldn't really argue the point, so the SU gave us a year and a day to come up with an acceptable government, and if we can't we face expulsion. We not only won't be on the Executive Council, we won't be part of the Union. We'll also take a major economic hit, and the Russians and Chinese are waiting to move in on our markets as soon as we're squeezed out. Speaking as president of NFI, I don't intend to let them get away with it!
"Mars needs to be part of the SU, and that's why you're here. You're going to design a government from scratch, write a constitution that's acceptable to our people, and you're going to do it within six months. If you succeed, it will give us a bit of leeway. It shouldn't be all that difficult, you can pick from the best parts of every constitution and every government on Earth. Not quite copy and paste, but not much different in the end. Adapt what you find to Mars, and you're well on your way.
"You're responsible people, line supervisors or at least influential within your communities. You're also educated people with at least a baccalaureate degree. You're not experienced in forming a new government for a new nation, but so what? The people that took over after every revolution were amateurs just like you! You've got an advantage, you're not only better educated, you're used to working with people. You're leaders! But we don't have a lot of time, so you'll have to get it right the first time. We don't know what their standards are, or what they'll claim they are, so we can't take chances. The Russians will do their worst, count on it, so you've got to head them off. As of today, you're on half-day status. You'll work mornings at your regular job, take your usual lunch break, then report here."
The hubbub rose to new levels. Moments later, several people stood, waiting to be recognized.
"Are you putting us on permanent part-time status?" The questioner was a supervisor in the yacht company's assembly section. "What about our pay?"
"You'll continue at your current salary, and the company will offer a bonus if you finish within no more than seven months. You're still full-time employees, it's just that you'll have different duties in the afternoon. Your next question is likely to be, why me? You represent every community on Mars. Some of you are construction people, some work at the refineries, others at the factories. You're as diverse as I could get, but at the same time I didn't want this group to be so large as to be dysfunctional. And again, you've got an incentive to work together, not just because of that bonus I mentioned, but because you want the best possible government Mars can have.
"Starting today, you are appointed as the interim legislature. No more than seven months from now, I intend to hold elections, including an election for president. That gives you time to agree on a constitution and submit it to the people for ratification. I've got a few ideas, but as of now the ball is in your court. You need to design a constitution that will make the election legal. I suggest you start by looking at the Constitutions of Earth's republics. We filed our original paperwork as a republic, but without a functioning representative legislature we really can't be. That's the argument the Russians used.
"About those Constitutions; keep the best features while avoiding the mistakes. All constitutions include mistakes, but you might be able to design the first one that has none."
One of the men stood up and waited to be recognized. His name was Jaime something and he worked for the division that built the yachts. "Let's say I choose to run for representative," he said, "what kind of salary will I get? What about expense allowances? Will I be paid enough to quit my job?"
Bobby grinned. "Easy answer, nothing. No salary, no perks, no allowances. Start with taxes; that's what pays salaries and expenses for Earth politicians. You may have noticed this isn't Earth. How much tax did you pay last year?"
There were a few thoughtful looks at that; Martians had never paid taxes.
"So how would you propose to pay yourself, Jaime? Tax NFI? I suspect that's what the Russians are hoping for, but it's not going to happen. If necessary, I'll move the company headquarters to Ganymede or Titan, maybe set up my own enclave on Ceres. There's a reason and I'll explain why in a moment. You can try taxing the people, but if you do you won't be elected and whatever interim laws you've come up with will be repealed. Get used to the idea; if elected, you'll serve because that's where you're needed. You'll do the job because you want to help your nation and just possibly influence history. Since you won't be getting paid, you'll have an incentive to cooperate with others and get the job done. I mentioned learning from other governments. You're not being tasked to reinvent the wheel, just make our version roll smoother. A lot of what you're being asked to do, things like studying those other Constitutions, can be done from home via your communicator. As for NFI, the company still needs your services. Ideally, you'll serve a term, a year or two at most, then go back to working full-time at your regular job."
A different person stood and waited to be recognized. Bobby nodded at her.
"Even if we're not getting paid," she said, "we'll need funds to operate."
"So you will, but you'll need to raise what you absolutely must have by going to the people. That's part of the reason why I won't allow you to tax NFI. Up to now, Chuck and John did the planning, John put people in charge, and NFI provided the money. I've been doing the same thing, and within limits I expect that to continue. But how much we provide is up to the company, not you. More than half of all Martians work directly for NFI, the rest are involved indirectly, so everyone on Mars has a financial interest in how well the company is doing. Whether NFI will fund your operations or the projects you come up with is an open question. If it benefits the company, we'll pay, but if it's a worthy project that affects the citizenry at large, ask them to accept a tax for that specific purpose. Tell them what the money will be used for, and if they okay the tax make it happen. No diversion to pet projects, no diversion to pay yourselves for doing the people's work.
"NFI will likely contribute as well, but we must retain the right to choose. A bright fellow named Webster once pointed out that the ability to tax is the ability to destroy. NFI will not grant you that power, nor will we submit to an effort to take it. NFI currently operates more than fifty undergraduate academies and a dozen universities on Earth. Most of you are graduates. You paid no tuition, paid for no expenses. NFI funded the program, and it's been worth every dollar. Some companies train employees, we educate large numbers of people and select the best. It's how we grew and how we keep on growing, but it's not cheap. In terms of benefits versus costs, the company profits, but just barely.
"Back to taxation. You probably know that my family engages in philanthropy by supporting causes we believe are in the best interest of humanity. Not so long ago, Chuck borrowed every dollar he could when Earth was threatened. He had to put up company assets as collateral to secure those loans. Had a taxing entity decided that NFI should pay for, say, a sports stadium in Albuquerque, the financial drain might have been enough to sink the company. It was that close. At the very least, we wouldn't have been able to finance the Breadcrumb system, the Solar System Positioning Satellites, or the Outposts. NFI not only funded them, we're still paying for upkeep."
Bobby paused to let the information sink in. "But back to your question about operating funds. Let's say you want to form a committee to plan he future development of Mars City. Housing isn't a problem, but what about open space and more facilities for recreation? Where do you intend to put the parks? What other facilities are needed? Maybe a place large enough for, say, a thousand? What about larger sports venues or music performances? After you've built the projects, who will administer the new facilities? Get the idea? Convince Martians those things are needed, they'll pay. Assuming NFI has the funds available, we'll almost certainly help out.
"Which brings up another question; what about property rights? NFI built your apartments. You're tenants living in company housing, but wouldn't you like to own your own? If so, how would you pay NFI for what we've invested? Think about it, maybe come up with a public corporation that would work in partnership with NFI. We'll need our own Bank of Mars, our own finance system. Figuring out what's needed and how to make it happen is part of your new job, and it needs to be part of the Constitution.
"People who work full-time for the new government will need to be paid eventually, but I don't think you're going to convince Martians to pay you to do what should rightfully be a part-time job. I carry the title, but how much actual time do I spend being president? Generally, a few minutes a day, and some days not even that. Most of my work involves company issues."
Bobby looked around, making eye contact with as many as possible.
"One committee might be concerned with urban growth and development. We've already got several communities and there will be more, so whatever you plan should include all communities. We all use the same air and water, depend on the same farms, so what one community does affects the others. Some of you live in Chinatown. You'll need to contact that community's leaders, because unlike Mars City they actually have a government. It's irregular, but it suits them. Whenever Chinatown is involved I start by meeting with Cheng Li. We're allies, not adversaries. He's a full-time farmer, not an NFI employee. He might choose to consult with Chang Jiang when something comes up, but that's up to him. Get the idea? Consult with other Martians.
"You'll need a committee to draft the Constitution. Because of NFI's unique position, as president and CEO I'll approve or reject the first draft before you submit it to the voters. It will be an up-down decision; I don't intend to micromanage and send you back to the drawing board half a dozen times. I don't have time for that, and neither do you. I'll have my legal experts look at what you come up with before I decide. Again, I have to balance your interests with the company's interests.
"Future elected leaders will have to live with what you put in the Constitution. Among other things, I suggest you remove some of the stumbling blocks that earlier Constitutional Conventions missed. Start with committees; define what they'll do and set the rules for how they go about it. It's absurd to permit them to decide for themselves how they'll do our work!
"I also suggest that the Constitution specifically address the right of the initiative, whereby citizens submit suggestions that the government must address in a timely manner. As an example, if a draft proposal involves courts or the legal system, it would go to that committee. Because it comes directly from the people, the initiative should receive priority consideration. The committee would have a set time, say a month, to respond by recommending approval or disapproval. I suggest that 'tabling' an initiative would not be in the public interest, so make sure it can't happen.
"Regardless of what the committee recommends, the initiative would then go to the full legislature for consideration, say within no more than two additional months. Because it comes from the citizenry, I suggest that no amendments be permitted without public approval. That's easy enough to request; every Martian has a communicator. Send the notice of intent, allow a week or so for comments, then vote to approve or disapprove the amendment. But this should not be used as a stalling tactic. From receipt to approval or disapproval of the initiative, I suggest a maximum of three months. Speaking of amendments, I suggest you remove an invitation to corruption. Adopt a rule that no amendment can be added to a bill unless it is germane to that bill. A financial amendment could only be added to a bill dealing with finance."
Bobby picked up his water glass, drained it, and refilled it from the pitcher. The delay gave others an opportunity to speak.
"What about term limits? We don't want professional politicians handling our government." Jaime Fortis; that was the man's name. He was a relatively new hire, a recent graduate of NFI University-Shreveport.
"I agree," Bobby grinned. "Me more than you, if that's possible!" His tone became serious. "Professionals always want more. More power, more individual wealth, more of everything, and the only way they can get it is by taking it away from the people they're supposed to be working for. I suggest you stop that before it begins. I suggest one general election to start with, and after that, the official will serve until he or she decides to quit or the people toss him or her out."
"How is that even possible?" Jaime asked, combining skepticism with interest.
"I propose an annual referendum. One ballot, distributed to every voter on Mars via communicator. Every permanent resident will be registered to vote. Your passports are numbered, so let that number be your citizen ID. On a date chosen by you, the referendum will be sent out to every citizen. He or she will have a day to respond. That gives everyone an incentive to keep up with what their government is doing, but it also prevents last-minute politicking to try to remain in office. You earn the people's trust by how well you do the job, not by a last-minute sales pitch.
"It works like this, starting with me. 'Shall Robert 'Bobby' Sneyd be permitted to continue in office as President of Mars?', followed by a yes-no choice. Unless the voter responds by choosing 'Yes', the default answer is 'No'. There will be a choice, yes or no, but if the majority answer is not 'Yes', I will resign as soon as there's a successor. Set a limit between the time the vote is counted and when the dismissed official must resign or be dismissed, say a maximum of thirty days. A new circular will be made up within that time, listing every vacated position. Those who think they want the job or who want to recommend someone will have a set time to respond, say a week. A computer will then combine the names to generate the new ballot. It will include every nominee, although nominees should have the option of declining. Unpaid, remember? So include on the list only the names of people who've agreed to serve if elected.
"No printing or other costs; just have the computer list the names in the order they're received and send it to every communicator on Mars. You'll probably need several ballots, one for each community, but you can circulate a new one every two days until you're down to no more than, say, five names. The top vote getter will be the new official, number two takes over in case the winner becomes unable to serve. Again, he or she would serve for no more than a year before their name comes before the voters via the referendum.
"This is off the top of my head, so it's up to you to refine my idea into a system that works. Or if you've got a better idea, use that. Let's say you want my job, Jaime. If so, you'll need to find people who will support you. On the day of the referendum, you and your supporters would vote "No", or at least not vote "Yes" by my name. As soon as the final results are tallied, assuming I lose, I will have a month to resign. Within that time, say after two or three weeks, an election will be held.
"Your job during that time is to see that your name is on that ballot. You and your supporters can then try to convince people they should vote for you, rather than Portia over there." Bobby nodded at a slight woman who looked uncomfortable at being singled out. "Include as many on the initial ballot as are willing to run. Don't automatically exclude anyone who will be at least 18 years old on the day of the election. All results will be tallied by at least three computers, most likely NFI's mainframes, but if the legislature can find the money I suggest you buy your own computers. Just make sure they can't be hacked. Have the election code written by an AI program, make sure it's transparent and as foolproof as this group can make it."
"What will NFI's real role in all this be, Bobby?" The speaker was Linda, John's wife. John had chosen not to attend.
"Good question. We've been talking about a kind of utopia, establishing the most perfect system of government possible. Now let's talk practical politics. NFI is the largest employer on Mars. We own the refineries, factories and assembly plants, and we also own the infrastructure. That's not going to change. We will reserve surface space for the company's future needs, but NFI will not claim land that we don't have a projected need for. After that, it's up to you what you do with the remaining real estate. I suggest sale of surface rights as one way you might raise money. It's your government, but in practical terms the government and the company must work together. Keep in mind that the company is here by choice, and we reserve the right to relocate if it's in the company's interest.
"For example, we might decide to set up orbital stations around Venus. I don't know if you're aware of it, but the plants we seeded in the Venusian atmosphere are reproducing. There's more free oxygen already, which means less carbon dioxide, and the temperature has begun to drop. Eventually humans will be able to colonize Venus. It might take centuries, but terraforming is underway. That's just one possible solution if the company feels it has to relocate. But back to the question of property ownership. So long as you live in company housing, you're not independent. You will need to work out a way to transfer ownership of NFI-owned cubage to the people currently occupying it. It's your choice, of course; if you want NFI to continue as your landlord, that's a possible option. We'll work with you to find a solution. Figure out what an apartment is worth, based on location and cubage, and make sure the price is fair. If you decide your apartment is only worth a dollar, the company would refuse to sell to you and will auction our property, built by our employees using our money, off to the highest bidder. Including people currently living on Earth, so if you set the price too low you could end up selling Mars cubage to Earthers."
Bobby noticed looks of shock on some of the faces; others maintained a poker face, but clearly none liked the idea.
"What about the Flickers?"
"Another good question, Jaime. I invited the mainstreamers to be part of this, but they declined. You can't coerce them any more than you can coerce NFI. If you try, they might exercise the same option the company has, simply pack up and leave. They've done it before, perhaps many times. All that will be left behind is a huge hole in the rocks, and as you may have noticed we dig some pretty big holes ourselves. Their cubage is essentially worthless to you, in other words. I've been talking about the mainstream Flickers, but there are others. I've agreed to let a small group of outcasts settle here. We gain by having them. I suggest you leave them alone, let them live as they choose."
"I'm going to want to pick your brains, Bobby," Jaime interrupted. "I don't want this job, but now that you've handed it to me I'm going to do my best."
"I might have to limit my involvement because I still have businesses to run," Bobby warned, "but I'll find time for you."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Jaime said. "I want to be on that Constitutional Committee; I agree, the right of petition has to be clearly spelled out and this time put into the Constitution so that the government can't ignore it."
"You might also want to run for chairman, Jaime. It will be up to the committee members to pick a leader, why not you?"
Bobby paused for a moment, then turned his attention back to the group. "Don't get carried away. I expect you to pull your own weight at your regular job; NFI gets full value half the day, and after that you can spend half a day working on whatever committee and whatever job you volunteer for. You can't be on all of them, so choose wisely. As you get close to finalizing committee work, consider opening your ideas up to the other committees. My comm techs will set up a channel that you'll have access to, so let everyone have a say. You'll have a lot better chance of getting the draft Constitution approved if you do. You're the ones drawing it up, but that doesn't mean you can't discuss what you're doing with others and the more open you are, the better your chances of being elected. Assuming you choose to run, of course.
"Which triggers another thought. I'll set up a Mars-wide channel before the election that will include the Flickers, mainstream and outcasts; it will be up to them whether they choose to take part. You might also pay attention to your colleagues. If they aren't doing their share, let your colleagues know. Let me know; I'll find a replacement. Not everyone can do what I'm asking of you. Those who can't will still have their regular jobs, and there will be no repercussions."
Bobby stood up, then added a final comment. "I'll leave you to it. It's your job to design a government that will last, but at the same time make it something that can be modified based on changing circumstances. You're writing your own history as well as the future history of Mars, so make sure it's a good one. I'll be back tomorrow, but some days I won't be able to attend." Bobby laid the gavel down and limped out of the room.
He checked his communicator as soon as he left the chamber. There were a number of messages, including one from his father, so he opened it first. 'We're heading for Mars. If you're not busy, how about dinner with us tomorrow?'
Bobby tapped the assent on his screen, then went on to the next message. This one was from Elsa, his executive secretary.
'Your visitors are back. I put them in the Flicker room.'
Bobby acknowledged that one and decided not to reply; he would find out what they wanted soon enough.
Chapter Five
Bobby was met by a smiling Elsa when he arrived. "I wasn't sure what time you would get here, so I put them in the Flicker Suite. I told them not to expect you right away."
"They just showed up, Elsa? How are they getting in?"
"It's not as if the airlocks are locked, Bobby; anyone can open them. They probably have spacesuits stashed somewhere. Want me to have someone check?"
"Don't bother. Are they the ones that were here before?"
"No idea. They're so similar that I think you have to spend a lot of time around them before you can tell one from another. Anyway, they were waiting when I came in, so I ordered water and sandwiches and put them where they'd be comfortable. I haven't seen so much naked skin since the last time I was in a sauna! My, my...they're different! Are you changing our dress code, Bobby?" Elsa teased.
"We've got a dress code? Someone should have told me!" The two grinned at each other.
"You'll find out if you ever take my parents up on their invitation! There's definitely a dress code in the sauna!"
"One of these days, Elsa! I suppose I should see what they want. Do I have any appointments?"
"John will be in this afternoon if you have time for him, and you're meeting your family after work. They're expecting you for dinner."
"I knew about that one. Coffee?"
"I had a pot delivered to the Flicker Suite."
"Thanks, Elsa, you're the best." Bobby smiled and headed off to see what the rogue Flickers wanted.
Just as well; he'd been so busy with the new 'Legislature' that he'd barely thought of the outcasts since the first meeting.
***
"You are safe among us." Bobby extended the greeting that had become common when interacting with the extraterrestrials.
The response was equally commonplace: "We extend to Bobby, son of The Terran."
Bobby sat down, poured a cup of coffee, and sipped. The Flickers waited politely. Today's delegation, if such they were, consisted of two males and half a dozen females. Bobby felt a momentary pang; like the ones in Flickertown, they were superbly healthy. Did any have swollen joints and wrinkled skin? Or birth defects? He glanced up and found one of the males studying him. Was that an expression of sympathy? Had the alien realized what he was thinking?