One Day or Day One

DATE: Year 322-B. Sol 345

LOCATION: Windhuk Settlement (Qaddafi Mars Authority)

Nothing on Mars is free.

The Windhuk settlement was one of the oldest north of the Outflow Channels, and one of the few still remaining under the jurisdiction of the Qaddafi Mars Authority. It was north of the Live Line, how far from the terraforming infrastructure at the north pole it was still hospitable on the surface outside of a dome. The line was shifting north fast enough that the QMA had a dome built over Windhuk about a generation ago.

They’d been trying to recover the cost ever since. The latest idea was sending in an MTC Auditor.

So now the Duke of Windhuk waited. He stood on the observation deck of the main docking ring, his hands clasped behind his back. Below him, the pressurized seals of the primary airlock vented a plume of recycled nitrogen.

Beyond the reinforced glass, the Martian horizon was a bruised gray, the sun hanging low and small at the start of the Martian fall in the Northern hemisphere.

It was the first day of the B year. The Martian year was divided into two to better match the length of an Earth year. After the Rip, when humanity lost contact with the Earth, the Earth calendar fell out of use, but humans couldn’t get used to a Martian year nearly twice as long as Earth’s. So it was divided into two. Nobody really celebrated the start of the B-year the way there were new year’s celebrations when the A-years started, but it was an opportunity for governing authorities, business concerns and other organizations to start new initiatives, programs and agendas.

That’s why Ephim Adams had arrived today. He was next to the Duke, checking a glowing data-slate. The MTC Auditor looked a lot cleaner than his surroundings.

-The shuttle is late by twelve beats, Adams said, his voice sterile. Inconsistent logistics are the primary indicator of a failing asset, sir.

The Duke looked at the grime in the corners of the window frame.

-In Windhuk, we measure time by the survival of the scrubbers, not the ticking of a clock, the Duke responded. You’d do well to remember that once the ink is dry on our contract.

The Duke was already regretting the deal, but support from the Qaddafi Mars Authority had been thinning and the MTC Auditor promised new efficiencies and streamlining. The MTC had started to set up some operations just outside the settlement, and would cover the settlement’s operating budget for the year, during the course of the audit.

He’d been encouraged by the QMA bureaucrats to leave Windhuk during the Audit, to ensure Adams had the authority he needed and settlement workers wouldn’t turn to the Duke when things got tough, which they suspected they might.

The airlock cycled open. A small group of travelers emerged, most of them Dwellers with the hunched shoulders of those who spent too much time in low-ceilinged habitats.

But in the center of the group was a woman who stood with a straight-backed grace that felt alien to the mines, even though she carried a cane to support her left leg.

She wore the charcoal fatigues of the West Mars Republic, a heavy rucksack slung over one shoulder, and a bundle of physical books strapped to her chest.

-Teacher, the Duke called out.

The woman looked up. She was young, in her early twenties, though age was hard to tell, no one aged particularly well.

-Welcome to Windhuk, the Duke said as he stepped forward to her, standing between her and Adams. We are very grateful for the help of the West Mars Academy with our schooling system this year.

-Yes, the woman responded. We are optimistic our work here will be fruitful, she continued.

For many settlements, the WMR concluded it wasn’t worth sending teachers like her. Instead they arranged to ship devices to distribute to local children. Sometimes they’d send a teacher just to identify children that could be brought back to the WMR and enrolled in the Cydon Academy.

It was important for Windhuk that the WMR teacher was here, and it was unfortunate the QMA had hoisted the MTC audit on him at the same time.

Adams looked her up and down.

The Duke turned to Adams, his expression hardening.

-This is the teacher from the West Mars Republic, here to help the Ursulines with setting up a centralized school, the Duke explained to Adams. The schooling system, the Duke reminded him, is not part of your authority. It is independent.

He stressed the last part. Adams offered a weak smile.

-Sure, as long as the WMR does not interfere.

-She is here to help teach, the Duke insisted.

The Duke led her away from the Spire, descending into the lower levels.

They reached the repurposed supply hub that would serve as the new centralized school. A small group of volunteers was waiting, a few parents and three of the Ursuline sisters that had been responsible for all of the formal education offered in the settlement.

A woman stepped forward from the volunteers, her hands calloused and a scavenger’s rosary of mismatched washers wrapped around her wrist.

-We’ve been waiting for you, Teacher, she said, her voice filled with a desperate kind of hope. I’m Juyiet. We’ve cleared the central room as best we could.

The young woman looked at the sisters, then at Juyiet, and finally at the Duke.

She reached out and touched the doorway, her fingers lingering on a weld joint.

-Thank you, she said, smiling for the first time since arriving in Windhuk. But let's skip the honorifics. You can call me Clara.