“Gentlemen,” I’ve said, “I’ve studied the maps,
and if what I am thinking is right,
There’s another new world at the top of the world
for whoever can break through the ice.”
[Aboard the TCV Frozen Alchemist]
[Gemini Scopuli, Mars]
Wiping the sweat and grease from her goggles, Meredith Abendroth stared out beyond the working deck’s safety rail, braced against the control panel for the deployment cranes. She took a deep breath, cold air stinging her nostrils through the respirator, exhaled into her mask. She rubbed her hands together for warmth, then raised them above her head, practically touching the electric heater hanging above her workstation to release the numbness in her fingers. The heater offered her nothing in return for her praise. She grabbed the console again and frowned.
The vastness of the Martian ice shelf was not lost on her. Thousands of kilometers of frozen ice, ready to be turned into an ocean now that a greenhouse-grade atmosphere had finally taken hold after decades of trying. An Aldyne First, she thought to herself, locking eyes on a nitrogen dioxide pump on the horizon. Lot of those going around lately.
In her reverie, the slowly pulsing yellow light on the release switch had changed to a steady red. A klaxon roared across the working deck. The ship began to shudder, bucking back and forth, control thrusters attempting to compensate. She magnetized her boots reflexively as the smooth mechanical whirring of the crane became a violent kick, metal groaning even louder than the warning siren. Just as quickly as it had started, it stopped.
“MARY! The godsdamned drill crane’s stalled again!” came a voice over the headset. She checked the control panel.
///IMMEDIATE ATTENTION REQUIRED - CYCLE HALTED ///Hydraulic Fluid Pressure Tolerance (High) Reached @ CT+14m:42s Fault Signal Detected: Hydraulic Line 3 (WARN) Fault Signal Detected: Hydraulic Line 5 (WARN) Fault Signal Detected: Hydraulic Line 6 (WARN) Fault Signal Detected: Stabilizer 1 (ERR) Fault Signal Detected: Stabilizer 3 (ERR) ///Travel Speed Tolerance (High) Reached @ CT+14m:42s MASTER ALARM - OVERTRAVEL - Stabilizer 1 (CRIT) MASTER ALARM - OVERTRAVEL - Stabilizer 3 (CRIT) ///Crane Travel Cycle @ 73% Of Destination ///MANUAL POSITION CONFIRMATION REQUIRED BEFORE CYCLE RESTART PERMITTED
“SONOFABITCH!” she bellowed across the deck, punching the ALRM ACK button on her console and heading for the manlift. She pushed the all-call button on her datapad and growled into her headset. “I warned you to keep the hydraulic pumps warm! We had this problem in the goddamn simulations! Now we’re losing time, fluid, and we have to reset the position sensor on account of the shuddering ratfucking halt your incompetence brought this thing to. God dammit, Hawkins!”
As she pressed the button to carry her up to the crane, Dwayne Hawkins’ reply came over the radio. “Sorry mum, we’re on it. We had a heat pump stall out and couldn’t correct ‘er in time. Malcolm’s purgin”er lines now.”
She tapped back. “You’d better hope to God we didn’t blow any teeth on the crane gears or your team’s back to pumping dome sulfur!”
The lift gates opened and Meredith stomped over to the crane’s drive assembly, several workers already having removed part of the outer housing to inspect the gears.
“How’s my crane,” she blustered.
“Oh, looks fine,” her assistant Harriet replied. Her rosettes were clearly not in any sort of twist; sweet as she always was, in contrast to Mary’s sour. “A little fluid-poor, but the temperature at the gearhead is okay, it’s just slowing things down. We won’t need to flush it but, before we restart, we might want to circulate the fluid a bit. How’s Dwayne’s team handling it?” Harriet said, cooler than the winds whipping about the upper deck of the Alchemist.
“Changing hoses,” Mary barked, voice thick with congestion and canyon-deep. “What about the drillhead position?”
“Given the bucking I figured you’d ask about that, Dr. Abendroth. Drone surveys appear to confirm we’re only a few meters out of position, nothing that a minor cautionary offset won’t fix. We can probably bypass the resurvey. All we need is 90% accuracy to pop the cork, ma’am!” Harriet replied, gray-flecked tail whipping back and forth.
A drill tech yelped as metal clanged loud on the deckplate, some tool or another skittering across the ground and causing a ruckus. Mary’s fur stiffened, then relaxed, locking eyes with her assistant, letting the snow leopard’s smile wash across her like a warm summer breeze.
“Harriet…” she began, almost complimentarily, “please keep me posted. And thank you.”
“No problem, ma’am!” Harriet cheerily responded.