'Oooh!'
See that tank there?'
'Tank.'
'That contains the sodium carbonate. Enough to run the plant when fully occupied for around three years. It has inbuilt P H monitors that control how much sodium carbonate is added to the incoming water. When the water is about seven P H, it is released into the filters to remove the organic and iron stuff. Then it goes through a final filtration unit, where chlorine is added to purify it. Finally, it goes to the main reservoir which is continuously circulating to keep it fresh, topped by treated water from this plant. I hope you are paying attention, Monkley. There'll be a test afterwards. Okay. I think we have two issues to deal with. First of all, the level of sodium carbonate needs tweaking up a bit. That will bring the end product back up to nearer the seven P H it should be.'
He studied the schematics for a moment. 'Water from the reservoir is continuously going through the system. That way, the treatment plant isn't trying to treat just the Martian water. The incoming is being diluted with the fresh stuff, giving the system a fighting chance. Now this pipe here, see, is divided into two. There are two pumps, running off solar energy panels on the roof. There are two pumps to provide backup and also so that the system can keep working, whilst repairs and maintenance are carried out. Each pump works in ten hour cycles.' He touched one pump. 'This one is working, the other one is ready to take over. Each pump has an outlet with a final filter. My guess is that one or both of these filters need either cleaning out, or replacing.'
Returning to the schematic, he studied the instructions. 'Ah!. It says here, they need to be replaced. They cannot be cleaned out.'
In one corner were two storage containers. One marked in green with the words new filter cartridges, and the other in red stating used cartridges only. Opening the container of new ones, he took out two. Taking the 'c' spanner off the wall, he took that and the new filters to the filter housings.
'I'm pretty certain water at this point is just that. Water. The rubber suits are for working on the rest of the plant. However. Just to be on the safe side...'
Hanging up on the wall were two rubber suits. He put one on.
'Does my bum look big in this?'
'Bum big, bum big.'
'Trust you to say that. Okay, pal. You step outside while I do this little job.'
Monkley stepped just outside, watching Foreman at work. Between the pumps and the filter housing were valves. On the pump that wasn't running, he turned the valve clockwise. Then using the 'c' spanner, loosened the retaining nuts either side of the filter housing. Removing the housing, he slipped the filter out. It was impossible to tell if this was the problem or not as the internals of the filter were inside its own sealed unit. The direction of flow was clearly marked with a black arrow. Foreman inserted the new filter and refitted the filter housing using the 'c' spanner. One done, one to go. On the wall was a switch to turn on and off the pumps by overriding the automatic system. He turned on the one he'd been working on and turned the backup unit off. He repeated the procedure on the second pump, turned it all over to automatic, checked for leaks, and took off the rubber suit. Finally, he adjusted the sodium carbonate input by the minimum indicated increase level. Job done.
'Come on, Monkley. Let's go take a look at the waterfall.' When they got there, he nodded, satisfied that the filter changing had served its purpose and the waterfall was running at full capacity. 'Time for a feed.'
Chapter 13
'I found these in the food store. They'll make a change from all that fruit you eat.'
Foreman poured some of the nuts onto a plate and placed it in front of Monkley. Monkley ate those as he watched Foreman with a protein meal. According to the label, it was meant to be chicken flavour. It wasn't like any chicken he'd ever tasted.
'All this stuff was shipped in from Earth. I suppose one day, the base will be completely self sufficient.' He was never sure how much of anything he said had any meaning to the GenMoP. Monkley as just a chimpanzee wasn't that far behind humans. Sharing ninety nine percent of their DNA with humans, put them right up there. Monkley had been trained from birth by Foreman, and with the artificial voice box giving him a wider vocal range than other chimps, he was able to express his thoughts and feelings to Foreman. 'I was thinking...'
'Ooooh!.'
'Don't act so surprised. I'd like to take a look at the crash site. Maybe place a marker. Not sure what. I'll think of something.'
With the meal finished, Foreman gave some thought to the problem. The idea of a cross came to him, but he wasn't particularly religious, and wasn't sure what beliefs his colleagues had had. History on Earth would place their names somewhere for posterity, he was sure of that. Assuming there was anyone left to do that. No. It was something he felt was important to do. The shallow grave he had dug was one thing, but somehow seemed inadequate. It had to be something durable for the Martian environment.
In the maintenance workshop, he looked around for inspiration. Stacked up in one corner were several offcuts of Luxotral pipe. Nothing was ever discarded in the base. Selecting a piece three feet long, he clamped it in the vice. With a marker, he wrote the names of the three dead astronauts on the pipe. Then, he got a drill and drilled small holes into the pipe where the letters were. All the time, Monkley was watching him, perched on a stool.
'This should last a few decades, pal. Now go and suit up.'
Foreman checked the air supply was full and that Monkley's helmet was secure. Monkley opened and closed the airlock doors and Foreman drove out.
'I'm pretty sure it's that way.'
It was impossible to use a compass on Mars, because the red planet has no magnetic field. The magnetic field on Earth is created by the inner core revolving inside the planet. The core on Mars did not revolve. This was one of the reasons the base was where it was, not far from Olympus Mons. The ship had orbited the planet twice and was on a gradual decent towards the mountain and the base.
Foreman drove the buggy up the ramp and headed left. It was early in the Martian day, so they would have plenty of time. If they couldn't locate the fallen ship, they would return before the air supply reached halfway. As they drove through the lifeless terrain, Foreman wondered at the attraction of the red planet. Who the hell would want to live here, anyway? Only idiots like him with no choice. But the bigger picture was to use Mars as a stepping stone for the rest of the solar system, and then beyond. Once the speed of light problem had been resolved, there would be no stopping mankind.
Finding the wreck was easier than Foreman could have hoped for. The blackened lump stuck out on the flat plateau like a zit on a nose. Foreman stopped the buggy a few yards from the remains. He sat and stared at it for a moment.
'Why? What the hell made it crash?'
'Crash.'
'Millions of miles of fault free flying, then the minute we get here, boom.'
'Boom.'
Phillips had given the order to buckle up for landing and Foreman had finished securing Monkley in his cage. He had been about to return to the cockpit and strap himself in, when they had dropped like a stone. From the tiny room where the cage was, Foreman had heard a muffled bang, a small explosion. He had been about to open the door to join the others, when the ship started spinning and falling. The sudden acceleration and the spinning had caused him and probably the others to black out. He doubted if being buckled up would have made much difference. The few seconds prior to the ship exploding would not have been enough for him to free the others and get far enough from the ship. But they were beyond saving. If the door hadn't opened enough to squeeze through, he and Monkley would have perished, also.
Foreman got down and Monkley followed him, cautiously, to the ship. The whole thing looked like some blackened work of surrealist art. Macabre, and permeated with death. The airlock door was still wide open, distorted from the intense heat. Climbing inside, Foreman's heart sank at the sight. The charred remains were barely recognisable as human beings. He could hardly distinguish
who was who. He had no intention of removing the bodies and burying them outside. The ship would be their coffin.
'Mind you don't cut your suit on the jagged stuff, pal.'
Foreman could see there was nothing worth salvaging from the ship. He'd have been surprised if there had been.
'I guess you three died doing what you loved most.'
He was about to leave, when something caught his eye. Something that didn't look right. From all the other damage, he saw something odd. Kneeling down for a closer look, low down on the instruments and controls, a small hole, roughly fist sized. The edges of the hole were forced outwards. Any holes made by things smashing into it would have gone inwards, not outwards. The conclusions he was coming to, confused him. But he could see no alternative explanations. Something had exploded inside the instrumentation, causing the destruction of the ship.
'Foreman. Get real. You got this all wrong.'
He knew the explosion hadn't happened before he had gone into the storage area where Monkley was caged. Somebody would probably have mentioned it. This was it. This had caused the ship to crash and kill the others.
'It must have just been a piece of faulty instrumentation, right pal?'
Not prepared to accept the alternative, he peered into the hole. From what little he could see, the internal damage emanated from a single point. Everything from that point had been forced outwards. An electronics engineer would have been able to get to the bottom of it, but he had limited knowledge on such things. His gut feelings were telling him this wasn't a piece of faulty equipment. The systems had been checked out hundreds of times prior to take off. A horrible and terrifying word came to his mind. Sabotage. This was no accident. Three people had been murdered.
Feeling the anger about to consume, he had to get out. His mind was racing, confused and angry. Somebody was responsible. He leaned on the buggy, staring at the ship. He felt nauseated, but one of the first things he was taught was never vomit in a space suit.
'Bastards.'
'Bastards.'
'Somebody wanted us dead, pal.'
'Oooh!'
Taking the length of pipe, he secured it to the wreck. Then he saluted. Monkley copied him. They got back in the buggy and with the mountain as a guide, they returned to the base.
Chapter 14
'I need to talk to somebody, dammit. Foreman to Earth. Foreman to Earth. Don't make me come down there and kick ass. Listen. I don't give a shit if it's just the cleaner. Just bloody talk to me.' Two hours of talking to the box and listening to static was not improving his mood. He turned the set off. 'Nothing personal, pal, but right now, I never felt so alone. I need a drink.'
The fruit wine had cleared to a light pink colour. Using a cup, he scooped some out. He sniffed it.
'Smells okay.'
The first sip of the deep citrus flavour made him wince. By the third, his taste buds were accustomed to it.
'You know? For a first attempt, not too bad.'
'Me some, me some,' said Monkley, slapping his chest.
'Okay. Just a drop. Go get a cup.'
Monkley got a cup and handed it to Foreman who scooped up a half measure.
'Just sip it.'
Monkley sniffed the brew and took a little sip. He pulled a face at the sharp taste, but it didn't stop him finishing the cup. Foreman filled both cups and they went to the small pool and climbed into the hammocks.
'I can't get my head around it, pal. I hope I'm wrong. Shit. I hope I'm wrong. I can only use my eyes and brain and let my imagination fill in the blanks. That tiny explosion brought the ship down. It had to. It didn't happen during the crash. It caused the damn crash. But assume I'm right about this. Why? And more important, who?'
Monkley belched.
'I would sure like answers, pal. But if it was deliberate, and my instincts are screaming it was, who could gain from it?'
Monkley belched again.
'Somebody wanted us dead. But why? It isn't like we were about to do anything out of the ordinary. The whole point of the mission was one of plant maintenance and to see how you reacted to the new environment. Nothing to gain from stopping us doing that. It doesn't make any sense. And all that stuff on Earth. The I S F base was being attacked. We heard that going on. We haven't been able to reach them since that happened. If it had been an isolated thing, say, just the I S F, somebody would have taken it over. Unless we are being deliberately ignored, somebody would have tried communicating with us. That's a worry, pal. It makes me think whatever happened down there was bigger than that. Much bigger.'
The only reply he got was Monkley snoring. Getting out of the hammock as quietly as he could, Foreman returned to the container of fruit wine and drank several cups of it, as the dark depressing thoughts swirled around in his mind. Somebody had wanted them dead.
Chapter 15
Hard work helped Foreman keep it together. He put in twelve hour days, clearing the jungle, taking cuttings, turning over compost heaps, cleaning. When he wasn't doing that, he exercised, jogging back and forth along the central path between the jungle and the quarters. A small gymnasium had some basic equipment, and he had at least one workout each day.
Monkley contributed by taking care of the laundry, basic food preparation, working alongside Foreman and generally being there to support. Several hours each day, he would take to the trees, swinging from branch to branch, eating and sleeping. In the evening, they would sample the wine and have a smoke. Feeling slightly stoned, he jumped down off his hammock and joined Foreman on his.
'Story. Happy story.'
'Not sure I'm in the mood, pal.'
'Story.'
Foreman stroked Monkley's head. 'Remember when you were a baby? You could be a bit of a handful. You got out your cage one night. Boy. Did you make a mess. My old boss was not amused. She said, “That GenMoP is more trouble than he's worth”. She never called you Monkley. You were on thin ice, I can tell you. But I knew it was because you had a lively mind. You got bored easily. So, that night, we made a deal. If I told you a story, you would be a good boy. So I did. Every night, I'd make up some stupid story and then you'd yawn and sleep like a baby.'
'Story. Happy.'
'Okay. There was a cute little chap named Monkley.'
'Monkley.'
'And one day, he went up in the sky all the way to Mars.'
'Mars.'
'We'll skip the landing part. Anyway, we found this jungle, with lots of trees and cool things like bananas.'
'Oooh.'
'And Monkley became the king of the jungle. And he would play and climb trees and eat and sleep.'
'Hmm. Monkley.'
'And he had a best friend called Andy.'
'Monkley.'
'But he wasn't king of the jungle. Monkley was king of the jungle.'
'King.'
'King Monkley, yeah.'
Foreman spoke softly and in no time, Monkley was fast asleep, and they lay together, Foreman trying not to dwell on the events, trying not to feel angry. Out there in the Martian sand, three people, bright, young and supremely talented were nothing more than charred remains. If it had been an accident, mankind pushing everything to the limit, he could have accepted that. He also knew it was entirely possible, he and Monkley could die millions of miles from home, never knowing why somebody wanted them dead. He felt helpless and vulnerable and there was nothing he could do about it.
Chapter 16
'I just can't get it out of my head, pal,' said Foreman, putting clean sheets on the bed, because frankly, Monkley was rubbish at it. 'I keep trying to come up with some logical explanation. If it was deliberate, what's the motive? How could anyone possibly gain from it? Pass me that blanket. Thanks. Could it be political? I don't see it. Mars belongs to nobody and everybody. Just about every nation on Earth contributed, and those who couldn't afford to, gave it moral support. The project was so huge, it stopped war in its tracks. For the first time in human history, the whole world was working
together.'
He sat on the bed, and Monkley jumped up beside him. Monkley stroked Foreman's beard. In all the years together on Earth, Foreman had been clean shaven. The hairy face intrigued the GenMoP. He stroked Foreman's beard and then his own hairy face.
'Don't worry. I'm not turning chimp. You're the king of the jungle.'
'Monkley. King.'
'But you just remember, pal. You might be king of the jungle, I'm still emperor of Mars. Hey. I kinda like that. Andrew Foreman, Emperor of Mars. And my teachers at school said I'd never amount to anything. Hmm. Not much of an empire. A dirty red rock floating around in space. Maybe we should open up a bed and breakfast place. I can just see the blurb. “Tired of the same old resorts? Reinvigorate yourself on the Red Planet. Miles of uninterrupted beaches. Bungy jumping off Olympus Mons. Plenty of parking. Five star cuisine by our experienced chef, Monsieur Monkley. Speciality dish, raw banana.”
'Banana.'
'Of course, we'd soon have to franchise. Venus, Neptune. Today the solar system, tomorrow the galaxy.'
'Oooh!'
'That's your answer to everything. Oooh!'
'Oooh!'
'Come on. I've got a special little job for you, pal.'
In the maintenance room, one area was dedicated to the storage of seeds and potting. From a storage locker, Foreman took out a plastic container from which he removed a small soft tipped paintbrush.
'Brush.'
'Brush.'
'Good. Now. I recently discovered, we've been damned lucky to have the fruit that we have had. I just sort of took things for granted. No bees in the base. It turns out, we need to give nature a helping hand.'
'Hand.'
'Exactly. To be more specific, your hands. This is a job eminently suited to you, my little tree climbing friend.'
'Oooh!'
'I thought you'd be impressed. Now come with me.'