“Koulikov’s was declared sane months ago and has been living with the Madden family ever since. They know.”
“But they can’t prove it. No, Madden will want to scout the terrain before blundering into the unknown publicly. His lawsuit isn’t going anywhere. That’s probably why he requested a private meeting later today, after the committee.”
“What?”
“Relax, he booked it five minutes ago. Look at you, shaking like a leaf. You really need a vacation.”
“Will the others be there?”
“Only you and me. It’s a private, off the record request.”
“Do such things still exist?”
“We’ll see.”
* * *
The meeting room was filled almost exactly as it had been three years ago. Of the gathered crowd, only a few faces had changed. The two spacers were dressed in similar uniforms and sitting in the same chairs. Gravity was still one third of a G.
“Ian cleared his throat. “Thank you all for being here, especially our esteemed guests from the worker’s union.”
A few nods replaced the timid claps of the previous historical meeting. The two spacers stared ahead without expression, apparently waiting for the meeting to get under way.
“Let’s not waste time getting to the heart of the matter,” continued the president. “We are here to renew a work agreement with over 15,000 sons and daughters stationed all over the solar system. The present situation, settled by arbitration 35 months ago, is coming to an end. We know that our esteemed space workforce desires an earth standard. According to our calculations, under a multitude of scenarios, such a thing would be totally unsustainable by both our Moon facilities and world markets. So here it is, the reason why we’re all here.”
After a few seconds, Mark Madden spoke without leaning forward from his reclined position in his seat. He looked like a quadriplegic.
“Thank you, Mr. Roberts, for that objective summary. I assume that all present are up to speed on both the last negotiations and the company’s performance since the changes put in place three years ago?” The man was looking at the ceiling while addressing the room. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Considering Space Alloy’s fantastic results, its production increase, its domination on world markets, its takeover of two competitors—all of this taking place despite the horrendous predictions on work conditions change—we are convinced that Space Alloy will continue to prosper with the proposed changes: an earth standard.”
“If I may, Mr. Madden,” said Glen Johnson, vice-president of finance.
“Oh, I know what you’re going to say,” cut in Madden with the tiniest head movement. “You’re going to talk about favorable market conditions, the exploitation of Ganymede finally delivering results, restructuration of Moon and Earth facilities, and all sorts of other unrelated company facts that are expected knowledge from competent management. In short, your job is to present the situation as positive despite the work condition changes. I’m sure that you have irrefutable evidence showing much higher results without the changes, am I right?”
“We do have comparative charts clearly highlighting the production loss.”
“And income loss, no doubt.”
“Well, yes.”
“And shareholder earnings, with and without the changes?”
“All valuable decision making tools.”
“Of course. And these tools are used to create your scenarios of doom, should an earth standard for offworlders ever come in place?”
“This line of thought is pointless,” cut in Ian.
The spacer’s shoulders, neck, and head never moved. Only his eyeballs rolled toward Ian. “This is a game. You know it, I know it, we all know it. We throw numbers at each other, speculate about future conditions and theorize on possible outcomes or events. Nothing’s real. It’s all for show, like a political campaign. At the end of the day, you might be able to delay by a few years, but an earth standard is unavoidable.”
“It will never happen, for the simple reason that it is totally unrealistic.”
“We disagree on that, obviously.”
“What you call a game is in fact hard work based on cold facts. This is how we do business and how we build cases.”
“Cases. Right. Well, go ahead, Mr. Johnson, fire away!”
The spacer tucked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
* * *
Ian sat on the cushioned couch and crossed his legs. He straightened an invisible fold in his neatly pressed pants.
“Well, Mr. Madden, we are all ears. What would you like to discuss?”
The spacer had crashed into the opposite couch mere seconds after entering the room. Nell stood to the side while reviewing notes from a personal electronic folder.
“Is this to be a private, off the record discussion?” asked Madden.
“Of course. This lounge was designed for maximum privacy.”
“Then let’s talk about Vladimir Koulikov.”
Ian smiled and winked at his assistant.
“Something funny, Mr. Roberts?”
“Not at all. How is Mr. Koulikov these days?”
“Exceptionally well, considering his predicament.”
“Predicament?”
“He does find himself stranded on Mars without the means to support himself, alone and without friends.”
Ian waved as if an insect was buzzing around him. “What would you have me say? I can’t help but feel helpless at the whole mess. This lawsuit, by the way, is a work of fiction.”
“Mr. Koulikov being insane was a work of fiction.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Are you really?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because of what Space Alloy did to him.”
“And what is that?”
“Have him diagnosed as insane in order to avoid honoring his contract.”
“Ah, the phantom contract.”
“How could you possibly think that you would get away with it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The old days are gone, you know, when you could have someone declared insane and locked up for the rest of their lives. Even on Mars. I’ll grant you, it was a trendy thing to do when medicine couldn’t help. Wasn’t it President Lincoln’s son who used this convenient trick to have his own mother, the former First Lady, convicted of lunacy by a group of lawyers and doctors?”
“Spacers are insanity specialists,” said Ian to the standing woman while making a circular motion to the side of his head.
“Which brings us back to the phantom contract,” said Madden. “You must have known that it would come back to bite you on the ass.”
“There never was a contract with the terms he mentions. Come on, how could a company pay its employees if it promised each one a controlling interest? The entire notion is silly.”
“Don’t you feel some remorse for Dr. McArthur? After all, the enormity of his fault made him kill himself. “
“Remorse? His diagnostic was beyond my control.”
Madden sighed deeply. “You are going to pay a heavy price for all your crimes, Mr. Roberts. You feel absolutely no guilt.”
“You can’t prove any of this, so go ahead, keep trying to sue me.”
“What about your young assistant? You’re going to drag her down with you.”
Ian got up and yawned. “We’re wasting time. Unless you have something new to add…”
“I do.” Madden quickly ordered a file on the wall screen. Vladimir’s Koulikov’s contract.
“A fake,” said Ian immediately.
“Not at all. A certified original copy.”
“You’ll have to prove that.”
“It’s already been validated by three independent legal experts.”
“Since Koulikov’s contract was erased from his file when he was declared insane, and there were no other copies, this has to be a fake. Where could it possibly come from?”
&
nbsp; “No other copies? Let me explain, or better yet, let’s have the explanation from the man himself.” Madden gave another crisp verbal command.
The contract was replaced by images from space showing an astronaut leaving a shuttle through a hatch. The spacer reached a rocky surface and instantly, with an obviously familiar movement, caught a guideline.
Ian recognized the calm voice instantly and sat down as if his legs had given up on him.
“…it is strange to be back after all this time, but one last thing remains to be done on B-114. After spending more than 150 years on this rock, I left a lot of mining equipment on it. I figured that these little drones would leave a testimony of my work to future spacefarers. A time capsule of some sort.”
Koulikov was moving through a tunnel and reached an intersection. A dust covered drone was tied down next to a few rocks. The astronaut patted it like a man would pet a dog.
“Call it paranoia, but I made backups of my work files on all of the little guys I was leaving behind. I just never imagined having to come back here to get paid. So I guess it was ‘good’ paranoia. So here you have it, Mr. Roberts, my full contract. My legal representative, Mr. Mark Madden, will fill you in on how I expect to be remunerated.”
The video ended and Ian stared ahead as if in shock. “The mining drones,” he whispered.
“Who would have thought?” Madden was using his portable.
The lounge doors opened and two security officers calmly walked in. They stopped near Space Alloy’s president and one of them officially informed him that he was under arrest under criminal charges.
“This is absurd,” said Ian. The officer raised his voice and plowed on with his enumeration of legal rights, cutting short any possible discussions.
The accused man stared at his personal assistant.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed without sound.
“Sorry for what?”
The young woman looked away and wiped tears.
“Nell, I’ll pull us through this, don’t you worry. I’ll—”
“Your wrists, sir,” interrupted the officer while presenting plastic manacles. Space Alloy’s president complied automatically, still staring at the crying woman.
Without moving, as he had done during the previous meeting, Madden spoke with his eyes turned to the ceiling.
“Criminal accusations have been brought up against you, Mr. Roberts. I suggest you get a good lawyer. You’ll need one.”
“This is a travesty of justice.”
“Tell me, was it hard to convince Dr. McArthur to commit Koulikov?”
“Wild speculations.”
“Like your financial projections?” Madden leaned forward with a predatory expression. “This is how we do business and how we build cases. No wild speculations, just facts that speak for themselves. And to think that all this could have been avoided by simply neutralizing a badly directed mineral packet.”
Ian stared at Nell.
“I’m so sorry,” she mouthed again.
“You sold me out, you little bitch!”
“An admission of guilt, if I ever heard one,” said Madden. “Once I spelled out Nell’s options for her, she made the right choices. Of course, she knew the contract was going to take you all down.”
Ian’s eyes blazed, and he signaled to the officers that he wanted to leave. He paused in front of the young woman. “I’m extremely disappointed in you.”
“You were right about never underestimating freaks,” she whispered. “Unfortunately, you didn’t think it applied to you.”
He left with the officers and the door hissed shut.
Once alone, an uncomfortable silence lingered.
“Was it true, that Lincoln story?” She finally asked.
“Of course. What’s funny is that Robert Lincoln didn’t get away with it either. His mother got out, her name was cleared, her fortune restored.”
“Why would a son do that to his own mother?”
“The timeless classic, money. It justifies the old adage: the more things change, the more they stay the same.”
“What happens now?”
“I’m going to take a long shower and record a message to my wife.”
“I mean to me.”
“That will have to wait until Vlad gets here.”
“Vlad?”
“Mr. Koulikov, our new boss.”
“What about the charges?”
“They might be dropped, depending on your continued cooperation.”
“I see.”
“I think that Vlad might want to keep you on the payroll, but who knows. Think you could work for a freak?”
Nell ran a hand through her hair. “Sure.”
“It might not be so bad.”
“Oh, I know.” She bit her lip. “The future looks promising.”
###
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Written with rigorous attention to the limitations of the harsh space environment in the tradition of Arthur C. Clarke, with a blend of Michael Crichton's use of untested scientific theories, the novel takes readers on a wild ride to the near future over a period of 30 years and exposes humanity's darkest side.
About the author
Steve Grant lives near Montreal, Canada, where he raises a family and reads a bit of everything. His hobbies include video games, hockey, camping and playing with the kids.
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