Nature Futures 2 (16 page)

“But it's thawing. In a week or so the ice will all be gone. What's going to happen then?”

“Good point. I didn't think of that.”

John Frizell was trained in biochemistry and works in ocean conservation for Greenpeace. In his spare time he walks, builds robots and sings.

Corrective Action

John Gilbey

I was the only passenger in the 16-seat shuttle for the last leg of the journey. When we finally landed at Sentinel Observatory — after a low-G ballet that left my lunch far too close to the surface for comfort — I watched closely as the airlock cycled through all three sets of checks before swinging open. Picking up my kit I unconsciously reached out for a hand that wasn't there, felt stupid and numb, and then stepped out of the lock.

In the service corridor, my host was waiting. He looked oddly like a lizard, perhaps appropriately for a corporate trouble-shooter. “You the safety guy?” he asked, despite the bold legend ‘SAFETY DIRECTORATE' on my flight suit and the orange Priority flashes on my luggage. I nodded. “I thought you people worked in pairs?” he went on. He obviously didn't know that I was currently the only Commission Safety Inspector on the Moon — so he must be a new hire, brought in to reassure the client universities and make the place look respectable.

I didn't know him, but there has been so much growth recently that us old lunar hands have been diluted — a bit like the safety regulations that supposedly protect the folk who do science here. It appals me that the Directorate goes doggedly on through the bureaucratic motions around fatal incidents, while seemingly being powerless to stamp out the lax corporate practices that cause such preventable loss of life.

The Facilities Manager took me through the standard stuff while the lizard looked on: service logs, safety briefings, stats on mean time between incidents, staff certification and policy review. It all looked perfect — even if the ink was still wet on some of it — all that was missing was an explanation of what had gone wrong.

The next formality was, of course, to view the corpse. I've lost count of the number of dead bodies I've seen since I shipped up here — clutching my brand-new PhD on Planetary Operations Safety — and I've yet to see one that looks happy about what happened to them. The medical tech looked bored as she rolled the storage rack into position. I suppose that, up until that point, some sort of defence mechanism made me think it would be a different ‘Pedersson, A' on the slab. It wasn't, of course.

Anna did not look happy, she no longer looked pretty either — in fact, she looked barely human. The decompression had been rapid, her death had probably been slightly less so. I stood silently for a moment, looking at the heap of ruptured plumbing that my partner of nine years — the only person on this rock who meant anything to me — had now become. Only her hair, blonde and tightly braided, was remotely recognizable. With a huge effort, I took the formal images for the report and noted the cremation and repatriation request from her HR file. Then, eyes brimming, I touched her hair in farewell. The tech made a bad job of hiding her impatience.

A couple of hours spent nosing around in Engineering brought grim understanding of the incident and a slow, dark realization of my preferred outcome. The operations logs showed lazily obvious tampering, intended to conceal the untreated failure of a vital software upgrade. I felt a deep, cold fury build as I ran the analysis: Anna had been doomed from the moment she started to run the routine safety test-cycle on the big cargo lock. In daily use it would run fine, and observation work would carry on, so who the hell cared that a safety upgrade of the portal controller to version 6.2R had stalled? That Shift Supervisor Clement didn't care was obvious — those clumsy edits had been made from his console.

Clement was like his work, crass and lazy. He tried to talk me into signing off the incident before we even got out of his office; he told me that he “was too busy to run around after every loose connection”. I managed not to hit him, but it was close, and eventually I got his fat arse out of his chair and down the access way to the cargo lock. Clement stomped around the battered, filthy space — swearing and gesturing — while I studied the controller. It obviously hadn't been touched since the incident; there was no sign that the interface patch had been opened for maintenance and certainly no ‘Upgrade' tag on the panel history.

I turned to Clement, resolved to finish this. “You killed a Commission Safety Inspector because you couldn't be bothered to do your job. If I hadn't been down with a virus you'd have killed me too. The Corporation will probably cut your bonus for that, and the Commission will no doubt fine them a few thousand dollars.” He looked at me shrewdly, almost risking a smile on one side of his face. “It's a tough world, ain't it?” he hazarded, with an edge of amusement.

I nodded slowly, and turned to the panel. “So you are happy that all the safety work on this system is now up to date?” I asked him over my shoulder. “Of course,” he blustered, “I signed it off myself.”

“Liar,” I thought. I typed in the code for the full system check that Anna had performed, hit ‘Enter' and paused over the ‘Confirm' tag. “Are you sure?” I asked him. At the last moment he realized I was really going to do it and lunged towards me. By the time he hit me I had already confirmed the command and, as Anna had so fatally discovered, hitting any number of ‘Emergency Stop' patches would make no difference.

When the outer door cracked open, Clement was hammering bloodied fists on the toughened glass of the observation window. Sudden, roaring mist flooded around us and I reached out my hand for Anna — knowing she wouldn't be alone much longer.

John Gilbey is a science and science-fiction writer who lives in west Wales. An environmental and computer scientist by training, he is keen to point out that his model organism, the University of Rural England, is wholly fictitious and — sadly — does not award degrees. He can be emailed at [email protected] or you can follow him on Twitter @John_Gilbey.

Health Tips for Traveller

David W. Goldman

Since the short time from mutual greetings of worlds, many Earther wish to visit the lovely world of the Pooquar peoples. This explainer before so will bring yourselves a voyage most lovely.

Within the transit

The travel via cross-continuum portal will be novel to many Earther. Hydration is a paramount for not having the small problems of liver, marrow, blood tubes and self memory. Also good before your trip is to make fat, especially under the skin. The scrawny traveller should begin preparation many week prior.

Portal going is sudden and then done. But many Earther say after that they think the journey is very very very long and never to stop. Thus is Earther brains supposed bad attuned to one or more of the interim journey continuum. For thus, non-conscious makes for most lovely travel. Means of non-conscious both pharmacological and percussive are on offer by helpful Pooquar portal agents.

As the early days

Because subtle differences in physics regulations from what most Earther are parochially accustomed, the traveller is suggested to acclimate in the ‘horizontal' position until local niceties of unreliant gravity, time-keeping and atmospheric presence become appreciated. Acclimation such will entertain you for no more than 2 — or for some traveller, 20 or 30 — ‘days'.

While thus occupied with your appreciation of localness, helpful Pooquar hostelry staffpersons will provide you with lovely hydration and fat-making nutritionals. For your best healths, stint not on your consumption.

Touring the out-vicinity

While you delight yourselves in the appreciation of very-known scenics as the Flowing Up Falls of Nagbaf, the Lesser Half Dark Big Hole, the Plain of Many Breath Sucks and other such lovely vicissitudes, some attention to health and safeness are ordered.

Firstmost, if urgent advised by helpful Pooquar tour leader, immediately disobey not! Your very life endurance may happen. This is especially as pertains to stepping away from lovely trails, consuming unadvised nutritionals, perusing explainers offered by exiled dissident non-persons, or providing unsolicited refreshment to local fauna/flora/other life-beings.

Next, maintenance your lovely all-enwrapping tourist jumpsuit and coverall always. The presentation of the skin, even a small only piece of the skin, is discouraged for health. This from the fad of local life-beings to reproduce by injecting seed-forms into passing faunas, later to germinate and partake of the subcutaneous lipids in achieving bigness. Thus is best always your jumpsuit and coverall with integrity. (Small note: in the event of any rash of discolour or tendrils from the skin please notify immediately your helpful Pooquar tour leader for the swift extirpation.)

In finality, avoid districts of elevated temperature and humidity. In these grow the grubs of local life-beings, who may exhibit unsolicited hunger of lovely Earther visitor.

After leaving the out-vicinities, you should place the above-spoken biologic factual concerns far from your self memories.

Of the urban jollity

In welcome for subsequent your joyful tours of the out-vicinities, the Pooquar peoples of the citified regions will ply you unsparingly with lovely bring-home curios and appliances and also nutritionals without betterment for taste and skin-fat-making. Enjoy all these with loveliness!

In the cities is no great harm for concern of health. But be full of alert to avoiding speech from irksome disagreers with lovely policies of the governings of the Pooquar peoples. Such talkers of stupid are not amiable with the lovely Earther to travel of yourselves across continuum and returning with lovely Pooquar guests. If approached by busybody of imbecile forebodings regarding Earther traveller, heed not but call loud and with strident!

Many are the friendly Pooquar peoples who find lovely the Earther holding of limb extrusions in greeting. When such friendly Pooquar enjoin with protruding outstretched, please enjoy the removing of any encumbrance glove, sleeve or trouser legs for sharing in the lovely joint-holding of limb parts. Stay fast so long as to experience lovely sensation of pleasant tingling, warmth and small piercings. All is joy then for your new friend and yourselves.

In rarity, the Earther of sympathy and astute may note a small beautification of the skin with lovely colour or perhaps small out-swellings. When such occurs within urbanity, please request of any apothecary for much cream of obscuration, so as to prevent envy and jealous from other Earther during your remaining voyage and after return.

For your final days of the lovely world of the Pooquar peoples, enjoy many sights and tastings while arranging your self memories for later saying to lovely Earther friends to make soon visits of themselves.

After the returning

To follow your restore of conscious after portal journey, seek out many Earther friends to say of the joy of your most lovely voyage. Remember also to share the many discount travelling coupons provided to you by helpful Pooquar disembarking agents.

After some days from your voyage, many Earther feel a big sad of missing for the lovely world of the Pooquar peoples. This sad may have big heavy of the limbs, paining in abdomen, inside the head strikes, blood-making from here and there, and other such small emotions.

Best for this sad is to retreat with quickness to special place for to arrange your self memories to loveliness. Your special place should have elevated temperature and humidity. Also it will be most healthful to be a place where nearby pass many lovely Earther.

For your lovely voyage

From these small Health Tips for Traveller the governings of the Pooquar peoples wish yourselves a voyage for joy always after in your self memory. Also having hopes of long joy for the Pooquar peoples to visit the lovely Earth.

David W. Goldman is a software developer, thus squandering his advanced academic degrees (as his mother will attest). More of his published stories can be found at
www.DavidWGoldman.com
.

The Chess Players

Dan Gollub

Advances in biomedical technology had not been in the forefront of Paul's consciousness when he entered the spacious living room of Stacy Ashland's home. He'd been wondering if he might find a girlfriend at her party. The odds, he knew, were against it. He was struggling to earn a living as a chess player, and the other guests at her party were likely to have a higher status in society. And anyway, his introverted personality and an overall lack of experience in relationships tended to thwart his chances of romance. But all such thoughts vanished from his mind when he saw a woman present who'd been much in the news lately. Rather, she and Jarvis McKnight together had been featured in newscasts, interviews and other media presentations. In the centre of the room, surrounded by a dozen or so friends and admirers, was Lena Adrian, with Jarvis's head transplanted onto her right shoulder. “Phenomenal breakthrough,” a popular newscaster had said.

Stacy was amid the partygoers surrounding Lena and Jarvis, and she saw Paul and waved at him to come over. “Jarvis,” she said in her extravagant socialite's voice, “this is the chess player I mentioned to you. He's been teaching chess to my son the past three months.”

Jarvis's head nodded sombrely. “Chess has become more important to me recently.”

He had a deep voice, Paul noted. The transplantation hadn't changed that aspect of his physiology.

“I'm sure the two of you will get along fine,” Stacy commanded. She joined a nearby group of people and, as the hostess, was instantly welcomed into the conversation.

“Chess has an addictive side to it,” Paul said. He saw that Lena was talking with a slim, long-legged man with a tattoo of a soccer ball on his arm. “Sometimes that's good, I suppose. And sometimes I lie awake after chess tournaments thinking about the moves I should have played differently.”