A woman said, “You’ve already suffered one death. Each life is infinitely precious.”
“Indeed. But it was a risk freely chosen by an informed adult.”
“You won’t be allowed to put people at risk. People are assets to their countries.”
“No!” said Martin, forcing himself to be civil. “People are free individuals, not assets or subjects. This is freedom: to use the gift of life as we are called to do, not by any earthly authority but by the dictates of our own conscience.”
The woman paused for a moment, but persisted. “But people don’t always see that ‘calling’, and choose to take unacceptable risks. They need to be protected from making the wrong choices.”
“Madam, you’re wrong.” He had no desire to get into this topic, and shook his head. “Next question.”
Martin was pleasantly mobbed after the talk ended, and was soon booked for several meals with businessmen and potential hires. It seemed his trip was a success in both main goals: finding more hands with technical skill, and raising interest in Castor among those in a position to help.
The actual interviews he conducted with possible employees were not so encouraging.
“Will I be able to keep my health care?”
“What about pensions?”
“Paid leave?”
“I’d need coverage for my family—”
“Free boat—”
“Housing on shore—”
“Enough!” said Martin to the latest candidate. “I’m not sure you understand what I’m offering. You get a room on the station, access to onboard facilities, food, a little money, and an occasional ride.”
“But what about health care? You have to offer that. It’s the law.”
“For United States companies. I would have to shut down if I met all the US requirements.”
“But that’s not fair!” the engineer squeaked.
“When a machine breaks, do you accuse it of unfairness?”
“Of course not. I ask someone what to do.”
Martin chugged the rest of his glass of water and reached for the restaurant bill. “We’ll be in touch.”
His head spun from the weekend of social contact. He’d seen far more people than he would have on Castor, so that he struggled to remember everyone’s names. Not a hire among them, though.
Someone asked, “Excuse me?” Martin looked up from taking notes. The man who’d spoken was barely audible over the clatter of the hotel restaurant. Another, younger man stood nearby, twisting a newspaper in his hands. “You’re Martin Gil, aren’t you?” the first asked.
“You don’t happen to be engineers without inflated egos, do you?”
“No. No sir. We’re in the food industry.”
The other one said, “Brent Dentrassi, sir. It’s a pleasure.” He fumbled the newspaper into his left hand so he could shake.
“I’m Vaughn. His older brother, you see.”
Martin looked them over. Vaguely Greek, college age, and terrified. He waited for them to talk, until Brent elbowed his brother to make him blurt, “That is, we want to start a restaurant. At your place.”
“I’m not sure you two appreciate our situation. There are only a few dozen people there on any given day, not enough to support anything like this.” He waved a glass at the spacious restaurant around them. “Also, it’s dangerous.”
“We know. But you’ll be expanding, yes?”
Maybe they had some foresight, but they didn’t understand. “I doubt we’d be enough of a market. We’re cash-poor and we can’t be ‘eating out’ every day. I don’t think you could do it.”
“Let us try, sir,” said Brent. “We’ll even work your farms part-time.”
“You’d get no insurance, no pension, no bail-out if you fail.”
“We won’t.”
Martin was getting annoyed. Why was everyone so bull-headed this weekend? “Listen. You could die out there.”
The brothers exchanged a look, but then they both said, “We’ll do our best not to.”
Martin re-appraised the Dentrassis. They were still here after all his threats, and actually willing to get their hands dirty?
He sat back in his chair. “You’d also have to cut me in.”
14. Garrett
The trouble began with a smell. Garrett was poring over Castor’s financial books in more detail than he’d ever done before. After that rebuke about the Pilgrims’ contract, he didn’t want to be caught ignorant again. He had to pay attention to the legalese and numbers that scrolled past his bleary eyes. Castor was as much a conceptual structure as a physical one, and both aspects needed maintenance.
When he sighed, resting his head on his hands, a sweet smell reached him. He jumped out of his chair and sniffed around the room, tracing the scent to an air duct.
“Hell.” He pulled on a headset and said on a private channel, “Noah, where are you?”
“Dockside.”
“Meet me upstairs. I may need you.”
“What is it?” Noah said, taking advantage of the silent-talking feature of their headsets.
“Marijuana. Some idiot brought it aboard, probably the tourists.”
A young couple had shown up at Castor in a boat of their own, and offered the going rate for a rented room. They weren’t even divers; they just wanted to gawk. By now Garrett had dealt with plenty of divers and a few other tourists interested in the science and engineering, but having visitors arrive on their own was a novelty.
Garrett let Zephyr and Phillip know what was happening in case there was more trouble. He and Noah went down to the tourists’ door and knocked.
“Occupied.”
“Wrong answer,” said Garrett. “Let us in.”
There was bickering from inside, a giggle, then the creak of the door opening. The tourist man leaned against the door, high, with the pot smell wafting from a joint on a table. “Hey, Cap’n, can’t we get some privacy?” His underdressed fiancee sat on the bed and tried to find a good spot to hide the joint, and the bag of pot beside her.
Garrett swore. “What do you think you’re doing? I can’t have drugs on this station!”
“Lighten up,” said the man. “We’re doing our thing, not hurting anybody.”
Noah muttered, “Dumbass.”
Garrett said, “Your fumes are getting into the vent system.”
The man wheeled to look at the air duct. “Oh, oh, I’m sorry, man. I’ve got a towel. You got some duct tape?”
“Yeah.” Garrett reached for one of his tool-stuffed vest pockets by instinct, but stopped. “Wait. No. I can’t let you do drugs.”
The woman said, “Why not? You’ve got no rule about it.”
This was true. There was a posted list saying in fancy language, “No killing, no stealing, and no destroying stuff”, plus the occasional joke someone added like “No fraternizing with dolphins”. But that list didn’t rule out being a fool and hurting yourself. Garrett sub-voiced to Noah, “It’s not against the official rules. I can’t bust them.”
“Sure you can,” said Noah out loud. “You’re the law around here.”
The tourists were watching. Garrett was within his rights to punish them, wasn’t he? Still he hesitated, thinking. Am I an administrator, or a tyrant who changes the rules on a whim?
Noah said, “You’re not.”
Had he voiced that? “I can’t rightly punish you, this time, but I think this is check-out day.”
“Can we get lunch first?” they said.
Garrett sighed; at least their money was good. “Noah, would you mind being these people’s ‘tour guide’ until they leave in the next few hours?”