NOVEL NEXT Chapter 82: Vetting
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Marie: I made forks. Turns out sintered aluminum forks are the worst. Where are they? A plate, now. That one, with the fur-de-lis on it. Feel sorry for me, Gordon. During my apprenticeship, I had to make so many plates.
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Sol 498 FY 26, 06:10 Mars Time, Bonestell Crater Colony, Hab Layer, 9.32.002.B
They walked into the industrial hall. It was the highest ceiling yet. Glowing presses. CNC cutters. Smelters and hoppers. Sparks and thunder. Gordon paused beside a row of unfamiliar machines. Mills, presses, rollers, lathes, but none of it was quite what he thought it was supposed to look like.
"AI-designed," Marie offered. "Built in-situ. They work. Supposedly hard to get used to. We can do everything but high-end circuit boards. Those still come from Earth."
He watched the robotic arms move, fluid and fast. Hydraulic pistons. Pneumatics. The rhythmic scream of metal.
"They could build robots," he murmured. "Unlimited robots. But for the want of brains."
Marie shrugged.
"So what's next," he asked her, lifting their clasped hands above a cart stacked high with aluminum bins full of various sizes of screw, "Do they serve breakfast down here or what?"
"We'll get to that," she said mysteriously. "First, there's one more test you need to pass."
"I'm passing tests, now?"
"You don't get to date a girl without meeting her friends, Gordon," she said primly. "It isn't done."
He nodded. That sounded about right.
"I remember when Claire brought home Harry to introduce him to Karen for the first time," he commented. "Lots of pageantry for two people who already hung out socially, but I understand it's a . . .thing."
"It's a thing," she agreed solemnly. "She's apprenticed under the same teacher who taught me pipe fitting. Little bit younger than I am–but, you knew that."
It was inevitable. Only young people on Mars would be at least six years younger than Marie. Which would make them. . .19, now.
"Bizarre that people have grown to adulthood since Dad designed the twin suns engine," Gordon commented. "Other than me, I mean. I feel sort of . . .part of the system, with all the work I do on them –"
"Woe is me," she said dramatically, fake fainting as she typed an eight-digit code into the security door in front of them, her other hand dramatically up on her forehead. "I am Gordon and I have slaved on fusion engines her entire life!"
He shrugged. "I didn't mean it quite like that. And no, just . . .the last ten years."
"Gooooordon, feel bad for me." She collapsed in his arms. He caught her weight easily. "I, a mere weak Mars girl, have done metalworking these last nine years . . ."
"Really?"
" . . .seven years," she conceded. "Carrrrryyyy me, Earthman!" she wailed.
"You're asking me to princess-carry you to meet your friends?"
"I am unworthy!" She was enjoying herself, he could tell. "No. . .drag me. It is my destiny."
He had a wicked idea.
"Hey ,wait no, that's. . .okay, now I'm upside down. You jerk."
As it turned out, it was pretty simple to carry a 42 lb Martian woman by the ankle. It was no more difficult than carrying his suitcase on Earth. She managed to climb up far enough to get one hand on his collar by the time they had company.
Jillian turned out to be a tall, wiry-looking woman with curly red hair, freckles, and sparkling mischief in her blue eyes. She was drinking something that looked suspiciously like beer, and snorted it out of her nose as she caught sight of his prize.
"Buahahaha! That's not what I expected to see," said Jillian. "You should probably put our biosystems engineer down though," she added at Marie's betrayed expression.
"Probably should. I was looking for something tall to put her on top of, though."
"Unfair!" Marie squirmed lazily.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"She can park it on this tank I'm welding while I show you her baby pictures," Jillian suggested.
Marie's sounds of pathos followed them down the hall.
It's pretty simple to carry a 42 lb Martian woman by the ankle, as it turns out. Like carrying a suitcase.
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Marie was perched on top of the tank, seven feet off the floor, and was preening.
"This is not what I expected," Gordon said wryly.
On the floor in front of him was a small grid of duct tape. Not the greyish stuff he was used to–tape, for making ducts from. Aluminum with adhesive on it. Every alternate square was fully filled in, or else empty, with the anodized aluminum floor beneath visible. Stripes ran along the floor in various directions. Gordon had noticed it before–it reminded him of hospitals–but he had no idea which color mapped to what.
In each square was some combination of nuts, bolts, and washers.
"She's reigning chess champ," Marie explained. "Prepare to get that muscley butt whipped."
"Aww she has a crush!" cheered Jillian, moving her 'queen'. "She likes his butt."
"At first I thought you were talking to me," he said wryly, moving a pawn.
"Nope!" she said. "Walls have ears on Mars, you'll figure it out."
"Martian mysticism," Marie said vaguely. "The AI is always listening."
"For?"
"Words like 'help me' in an unambiguous context, or . . ."
She paused. "Builder, what time is it?"
"06:22 hours, Marie." said the air. Gordon couldn't tell where the voice came from.
"Anyway, sometimes we talk to the AI," Jillian admitted. "The oldest kids do. Nowadays it's not as much of a thing."
The way she said 'the oldest kids' sounded–hardened. Like she'd survived something horrible, and Marie was co-sufferer, co-survivor.
"The bad old days?" he asked.
"Lonely," Jillian said shortly. "Got your rook."
She was merciless.
"I'm getting slaughtered," he admitted freely. "Chess isn't my game. I'm guessing you two play a lot?"
"She won't do it," Jillian said brightly.
"She usually plays with wagers in effect," explained Marie.
Jillian elaborated: "Beer, coffee, . . .sexual favors."
He took in her reaction to his calm study after she'd said that. Reddening, but also a little stiffening of posture, squaring of the shoulders. She was testing him. And. . .no Karen. He might win yet.
"You're blushing," he said mildly, to cover his renewed interest in the board.
Bishop-backing-pawn assault for queen-king split. Hopefully she hadn't noticed it yet.
"If she's this confident in winning I guess I can understand that approach, though," he said instead. "Sorry Jillian—no drinks on hand to wager. I'd have to ask my girlfriend."
Jillian looked at him aghast, while it was Marie's turn to cackle like a witch from her overlook. Red eyebrows crinkled, and she quickly moved her rook again. Maybe she hadn't noticed. If he played smart, maybe he could keep it that way.
He was pretty sure his poker face was still in place.
"Set the stakes!" cheered Marie. Gordon got the impression having her friend on the back foot was unusual enough to be worth exploiting to the fullest.
She had definitely not noticed. His pawn was in position. His bishop was in position. If he moved a knight, he'd be ready.
A tiny pulse of pink climbed Jillian's neck. She hadn't expected him to volley it back, or Marie, either. "Marie!" she said loudly through her teeth, like it was meant to be a whisper or subtext. Breaking character. She glared at her unrepentant friend.
She'd seen him move the bishop, but thought he wanted her rook. She moved up a pawn to cut off his access.
"Check," he said.
She glared at the board. "You did that on purpose."
"Guilty," he admitted, taking her queen.
Marie cackled. "His friends on Earth are much worse flirts than you are, Jill."
"Shoulda warned me."
The game became a lot more serious after that.
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He won. He'd suspected he would—she seemed eager to get it over with. But it was close. He'd had to chase her king around with his own king and a knight.
"Fine," said Jillian, "Beer it is." She handed him a beer. "Taking that out of you later," she threatened Marie.
He sniffed it. It smelled . . .floral. Herbaceous, and a bit bitter. An IPA for sure, and a strong one, but he didn't recognize the prevailing note.
"Bottoms up, Earthman," Jillian jeered.
"So how were you going to make him pay if he lost?" asked Marie thoughtfully. She'd swung herself down from the tank like a monkey the second the game was over, favoring Gordon with a kiss and Jillian with a triumphant grin.
"Favors, to be redeemed by the best friend of yours truly," Jillian said without missing a beat. "I'd have run interference."
Gordon suspected she'd been considering that potential question during the end of the game—it had lagged slightly at the end there.
He took his prescribed chug like a man. It was refreshing. Tangy. Very, very herbal. Green.
"Marie, is this algae-derived?"
"Got it in one."