“Oh, don’t be so negative. Once we get the kinks out of building this first transport, things should get a lot better.”
“That’s not how I see it. The situation is going to hell in a handbasket, and as hard as I try, I can’t even slow it down. And, you know, I’m not sure I even give a damn anymore.”
Erica thought for a minute. “Tell you what, why don’t you take the rest of the shift off. I’ll see what I can do to work something out. You’re dismissed.”
When Zerk was gone, Erica turned to her computer and composed a short packet inquiry. The incoming electric rocket freighter would drop off two habitat modules full of technologists, then take on a full load of rare minerals. The ship had a small and cramped crew compartment, but they generally could squeeze in one or two more in an emergency. Erica hated to impose on the freighter crew for the eighteen-month trip back to Earth, but she didn’t see that she had a choice.
Erica eased down the climbway into the mass of onlookers peering down to the deck below, where she caught a glimpse of the station MD. She elbowed through the gawkers, then clambered down the ladder.
Dr. Santi looked up as she came down the ladder. “No use hurrying now. Erica. He’s been dead for hours.”
Erica looked up at the curious technologists. “All right, you’re not helping the situation. Back to work.” She turned back to Buzz Santi. “Cause of death?” she whispered.
“Suicide.” Dr. Santi pointed to the vents in the berth, which had plastic taped over them. “Blocked off his air, closed the door… then he opened this.” He held up a small nitrogen bottle.
Erica glanced at the makeshift bodу-bag. “Who was it?”
“Zerk Peterson.”
“Bloody damned hell. That’s who I thought it might be. He’s been having problems lately. Got into a helluva fight yesterday.”
Dr. Santi nodded. “I know. I had to stitch up his victim.”
Erica shook her head. “Poor guy. He was having trouble dealing with all the pressure we’ve been under. Turns out he lost all his savings to a lawsuit lately.”
“I know. Everybody knows.”
“Bad news travels fast.”
“Erica, that’s old news. You mean you just found out about it?”
“Guess I’m not on the gossip net. What I don’t get is, why did he do it? I thought we’d worked out a solution.” Dr. Santi shook his head. “That’s always the big mystery, isn’t it? From what I know and what his friends tell me, he’d been slipping into this state for a couple of months. He’d been indicating he thought there was no way he could improve his situation. Sometimes people kill themselves because they feel continued breathing is the only thing they have any control over.”
Erica nodded. “I kind of got that impression from him after our little chat yesterday.”
Dr. Santi cocked his head and looked at Erica. “What really mystifies me is that everyone says he cheered up a little after your conclave yesterday. He was joking around, even with Farouk. He was talking about working out a way to get his job back on track, and making the project work. Then a couple of hours later, poof, he’s in a blue funk again.”
“Oh, dear.”
“What do you mean, ‘oh dear,’ dear?”
“Excuse me, you may be right, stronger language is called for. Oh shit. I killed him.” Erica squeezed her eyes shut and slammed her right fist against the wall.
“All right, explain that.”
Erica kept her eyes shut as she slumped against the bulkhead. “A couple of hours after our little talk, I informed him that I’d booked passage for him back to Earth. It doesn’t take Freud to tell me I took away the last thing he had to live for.”
“Erica,” Dr. Santi said after a long pause, “this is the point where the wise old doctor tells the captain that it wasn’t really the captain’s fault. At the risk of triggering a similar incident, and hoping you are as strong as I think you are, I won’t lie to you. You came upon a fellow holding on to a ledge by his fingertips, told him you were there to help him, and then you stepped on his fingers.”
“Ouch. I deserve that.” She opened her eyes and stared at the medical assistants passing the body bag up the climbway.
“No, you don’t, but maybe you need to hear it. Erica, we’ve had a fatal pressure suit ‘accident’ there was no explanation for, dozens of fights, a couple near-fatal accidents and other work injuries due to people taking stupid shortcuts, and the crew’s morale is dropping steadily. We need to take a long, hard look at how we’re handling this project.”
“You know,” Erica said, glaring at Dr. Santi, “I really hate it when people say ‘we’ when they’re really talking about me.”
The lights were out in Erica’s tiny office when she heard a soft knock on the hatch.
“Come in.”
Raul Otoya stepped in and paused for his eyes to adjust. “Sorry to disturb you, Dr. Thompson, but I’ve been running some computer models and I think you need to see the results.”
Erica switched on a single work light on her desk and motioned for Raul to take a seat. “No problem. I was just trying to figure out where we’ve gone wrong.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Raul replied.
Erica directed a dirty glance toward Raul, but quickly followed it with an apologetic shrug. “You are looking, Mr. Otoya, at a sadder, but not much wiser, Erica Thompson. Between struggling to meet the schedule and worrying about crew morale, I’m flat beat. You got something to get us back on track?”
Raul started to say something and stopped to reconsider, “Well, I’ve made unacceptable recommendations in the past,” he said, cautiously. “Can’t say I’ve got anything new to offer in the way of solutions. I’d be happy to point out a problem, if you care to listen.”
“You and about everyone else on the station,” Erica grunted. “But I guess it’s your job to tell me just how badly I’m fouling up. What have you got?”
Raul moved around the desk to Erica’s computer. “You mind?”
Erica pushed her work-seat back. “Be my guest.”
“By any chance. Dr. Thompson, do you know what the first binary digital computers were used for?” Raul asked as he typed a string of instructions.
“I may have heard it somewhere,” Erica replied, “but if I did, I forgot.”
“One of the first applications was for early missile projects. I think it was the old Polaris or Poseidon project, back in the nineteen fifties or early sixties. It was so complicated, at least compared to any other development program to that date, that they had to develop a system for scheduling based on critical path analysis.” Raul flashed a graphic on the screen. It showed a complex parallel-path flowchart. “Each component had a lead time. Some had to be developed from scratch. Each subassembly had to be done on schedule, or it would foul up the schedule for the next higher assembly, and so on. Sometimes the process branched and came back together. Many different branches might need time on a single limited facility. They had to have a system for allocating resources, or they’d have half the work force sitting around twiddling their thumbs while the others were scrambling like mad.”
“Hey, waitaminnit,” Erica said with a scowl, “nobody here is sitting around, are they?”
“No,” Raul replied, “but a lot of projects are, while the people working on them are off handling some other crisis. Anyway, they came up with a system called PERT charting, and we still use something very much like it today.”
“Sounds marvelous.” Erica stared at the screen dubiously. “I’d like to think a computer program can solve all our problems.”
Raul struck two more keys and a graph appeared on the screen. It was low on the left, increased gradually for a while, then turned sharply up on the right and went nearly vertical. “Well, it won’t always solve them, but it can sure help you spot them. The flow-chart I just showed you was our original work-plan. It is, of course, quite obsolete. I’ve been trying to keep up with the organization and milestone changes. Entered the best approximation I could. Turned the crank and this popped out.”