Smith waved him off. “Just had breakfast, thank you.”
“Good. Best meal of the day. Very healthy habit. Good, good,” mumbled Frank.
Smith nodded and glanced up at the monitor hanging from the roof of the boulevard, gaudily flashing the news and analysis as delivered by some loud-mouthed talking heads and competing news ticker streams. Luckily, it was muted. Smith pointed up at the screen. “Can’t get enough of us back on Earth, can they? We’re celebrities. If only they knew what it was really like up here. All work, no play, no booze, no women. At least, none for me. Who the hell wants to get in the sack with a eighty-year-old man?”
Frank laughed gruffly. “Tell me about it,” before adding, tentatively, “so, you drank a lot before you got here?”
“A lot? Well, no, I wouldn’t say that. Just a beer or two after a day’s work. Welder,” he added, tapping his chest. “After a day of gluing aluminum prefab modules together, a man needs a cold one, you know what I mean? But do they think about us? Nope. Just their goddamned bottom line. That’s Interplanetary for you. Profit margins and stock prices. They’re up, the colony’s a success. They’re down, and we’re all horseshit, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, you said it, brother.” Frank nodded, watching the monitor switch over from Earth’s CNN feed to a locally produced news program. Hell, they even brought an anchorwoman up here. They were talking frantically about something, with earnest expressions. Probably the stock price. “Say, Ed—can I call you Ed? You getting good exercise?” He noticed the other man’s raised eyebrows. “Just wondering, you know.” He tapped his datapad. “For the job. You know they sent me up here to be a community health analyst, or whatever bullshit they want me to do. Honestly, I’m just here for the low gravity. Good for the joints. Arthritis sucks, man.”
Smith chuckled. “Yeah, ain’t that the truth.”
Frank nodded. “So? Exercise? Generally feeling pretty good? No major health issues?”
Smith looked mildly flabbergasted. “Well, I—”
His datapad chimed. A message from Earth, probably Samantha—the little girl must send him five video messages a week. Sometimes five a day. Earth was still close to inferior conjunction with Mars so the delay was only five minutes or so. God—he loved that little girl. He was half tempted at times to scrap the whole plan, just to have a few more years hosting tea parties with her and her stuffed fluffy friends. But no turning back now.
He tapped the pad. It wasn’t from Samantha, but a note from her mom, Ramona, his granddaughter.
Grumpy, have you seen the news? Is it as bad as it looks? I hope you’re ok.
The news? Smith was still talking, and Frank raised a hand to quiet him, while simultaneously waving at the monitor hanging from the transparent composite ceiling. “Volume up,” he said.
“—ently unknown how many casualties we’re looking at here. Reported injuries are ranging from minor to severe, and several colonists are still unaccounted for. Colonial engineering operations chief Cena said just a few minutes ago that the affected area inside habitation module twelve has been fully vented and now has a stable atmosphere, and first responders will soon be able to—”
Frank bolted out of his seat and started running down the boulevard. He heard a grunt behind him, and saw to his chagrin that Smith was trying to follow. “I’m coming! I can help! You’re right, I need the exercise anyway—” He cut off as he stumbled stepping from sidewalk to street.
Shit—the man was probably going to have a heart attack from the effort. Frank waved him off. “Stay. I’ll handle this. You go... eat a carrot, or something.”
Frank was out of breath when he arrived at the entrance to habitation module twelve, and if not for the adrenaline surge he’d have collapsed in a puddle of sweat, leg cramps, and geriatric back spasms. The scene was utter mayhem, with the colony’s emergency team, medical staff, engineers, and even volunteers rushing around, frantically carrying victims out of the habitation module, working on emergency equipment or tending to wounded people lying on the ground.
In a moment of panic, he tentatively approached a blanket-draped figure lying prone nearby. The thick cloth covered the entire body, head and all, and Frank felt the confusing chorus of emotion that alternated between grief for the victim underneath, and rage that he’d missed his chance. Dammit! He’d waited too long. He’d dithered and puttered and postponed his plan for weeks, and now it was too late. Someone else would be the first man to die on Mars. He half-hoped it was that smug self-righteous Su, before he remembered the first man on Mars wasn’t slated to arrive for another six months, at least.
He crouched down and, slowly, mournfully—for himself and for the stranger—rested a hand on the blanket-covered head.
“Agh!”
His heart jumped up into his throat and he yanked his hand away from the blanket, which flew off the head as the woman underneath brushed it away in a fit. “You scared the shit out of me!”
He grimaced. “Sorry! I’m so sorry, I thought... well, I thought—”
Her face changed, and he recognized the look. The look of an expression changing from ‘who the hell is this angry old bastard’ to ‘Oh my god, it’s Frank Bickham.’ “Mr. Bickham! I’m sorry I snapped. I’m just in a daze. Very tired. Very...” She started crying.
Looking up at the frantic scene all around him—first responders were just now carrying another dazed, bloody victim from the smoking entrance to the habitation module—he realized he’d be next to useless in the actual emergency response, so he knelt down and reached for the woman’s hand. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have startled you. Are you hurt? Can I help you?”
“Just frightened,” she managed to choke out in between heaving sobs. “I—i—it was so horrible!”
“It’ll be all right,” he said, stroking her hand, wanting to believe his own words. Please be all right. Please don’t die. Nobody die. That’s my job. You people better not mess this up for me...
He lost track of how long he knelt there with the woman, but eventually a medic stood over them both. “Mr. Bickham? Thank you so much for your assistance. Mrs. Doughby here was just in shock. We’ll take her into the medical center now, but I expect she’ll be just fine.”
Frank tried to keep his expression neutral, but concerned. “How is everyone else? Any casualties? Everyone alive?”
The question seemed to hang in the air for an eternity. Answer the damn question, man!
“Miraculously, everyone is alive. A few are in serious condition, and one in critical, but we’re hoping for the best.”
Frank struggled to suppress his glee, doing his best ‘concerned old guy’ look. “Please let me know how I can help. Consider me at your disposal.”
“Is that Frank Bickham?” said a loud voice nearby. To his chagrin, someone holding a large news camera swiveled his way, and the same anchorwoman he’d seen on TV earlier rushed over, cameraman in tow. “Mr. Bickham!”
“He’s been sitting with Mrs. Doughby here, soothing her,” said the medic.
The anchorwoman beamed at him. “Oh! Of course!” She turned to the camera. “Scarlet Paredes here with our own Mr. Frank Bickham, resident hero, and, if I may say so, an inspiration to us all. I’ve just been informed that Mr. Bickham responded immediately to the incident, and has been sitting here with a wounded colony member for the past hour,” she glanced down at his hand, still holding the trembling Mrs. Doughby’s, “consoling her in what must have been a chaotic and unthinkable situation. Mr. Bickham? Do you have something to say to our fellow Martians?”