Killing Time On Mars Page 3

  Tobler’s parents later claimed they were worried at this point, but I suspect they were probably just as complacent after the car-cutting accident as before it. They said they tried to engage with him but he yelled at them to stay out of the loft. They probably just went on with their busy lives, satisfied that they had fulfilled their parental duty—their son had a steady job and wasn’t playing video games all day.

  It was probably the accident (or perhaps others like it) that first started to trouble Tobler. He must have realised that he was creating something very powerful, something that might put the most profound forces of the universe into the hands of soldiers or terrorists. I sometimes wish he had simply destroyed his work at that point, but instead he believed he could control its use.

  Soon after the accident, the entire inventory of Helium-3 was stolen from a high-security building at the institute where Tobler worked. Doors and locks throughout the building had been cut open. Video footage showed a thin man running down the corridors and aiming a bulky machine at each lock, entering the storeroom, unfolding a lightweight trolley from his backpack, and wheeling out four small bottles. The security officers arrived an hour after he had left in his father’s ‘borrowed’ car. Later they found footage of the vehicle and tracked it down, but by then he was gone.

  Tobler had constructed four of his engines and attached them to the four corners of a small plywood platform, which he reinforced with a light steel frame. He bolted an old car-seat in the middle of the platform and converted the control system from an old quad-copter to direct the thrust of each engine.

  Early the following morning, he flew up and over the loft railing, out through the garage doors, and over the suburbs to a large legal firm in the centre of Munich. Early-morning exercisers took grainy pictures of his flying platform that briefly went viral on social media around the world. They were all greeted with screams of ‘Fake!’ and other, more offensive comments.

  Tobler flew up to the loading dock of the head office of the legal firm and asked to see the most senior lawyer in the building about protecting his invention. A senior partner was arriving on his bicycle, saw the remarkable flying platform, had the security officer open the doors, and escorted Tobler to a conference room on the top floor. I suppose he must have flown the platform into the lift.

  Apparently, he spent two days in the conference room, working with the lawyers to figure out a way to legally ensure the peaceful application of his technology, through patents and licensing. He was focused on controlling the use of it and had not yet shared the details of the design. He spent every moment in the car-seat, even flying it to the disabled-access bathroom. He ate and slept in it, becoming increasingly tired and paranoid. He demanded security personnel to protect his invention, which the law firm provided and stationed in the hallway.

  From that point, Tobler’s story becomes less clear. The most common version is that eventually a government or military institution somewhere heard about the situation and decided to take Tobler’s invention by force. In the early hours of the morning, two days after he arrived at the law firm, some paramilitary personnel quietly parachuted onto the roof of the building. They broke in and quickly descended the emergency stairs to the conference room floor. There was a very brief and one-sided gunfight, as the soldiers killed the security guards in the hallway outside the conference room. The gunshots woke Tobler, and he realised something was wrong. As they stormed into the room, he flew out backwards through a full-length window. The glass rained down on him, hitting at least one artery—drops of his blood were found scattered across the pavement below.

  Maybe his platform then flew off into space. Maybe the soldiers somehow captured it, or perhaps it crashed into the ocean or a jungle somewhere. In the end, it didn’t matter where his prototype went. All that the scientists around the world needed to know was that it was possible, not exactly how.

  Months later, in a single extraordinary week, three of the world’s superpowers—the European Union, China, and the United States—independently announced that they had developed small-scale cold-fusion technology that would unlock the stars. The EU was first—their announcement rippled around the world, swamping the internet, only to be overwhelmed by another wave triggered by China’s announcement a couple of days later. Finally, the US made their belated announcement. They had enhanced an armoured vehicle, complete with a proton gun.

  The world flipped out.

  Governments announced heightened threat levels and security measures. War councils were hastily convened and ambassadors engaged with the three superpowers to try to secure the futures of their countries. India aligned with the US, Russia and most of the Middle East aligned with China, and most of Asia and Africa aligned with either the US or the EU. Australia made overtures toward America, but luckily didn’t sign any formal treaties in the heat of the moment.

  Fear spread around the world. An unprecedented global petition emerged on social media for a treaty on the peaceful use of the technology, which seemed to be supported by almost every nation and every person on the planet. Very few politicians opposed the petition publicly, although academics and military experts made the case that weapons needed to be produced, if only to counter rogue nations or terrorists. In the end, every nation signed a treaty, even the rogues. The superpowers brought down enormous pressure to pacify the world before the technology had even become fully operational.

  The world was obsessed with the story for weeks. There was a bizarre claim of ownership from the legal firm in Germany, and suddenly the grainy pictures of the flying platform no longer looked like a hoax. Tobler’s story swirled around, and the media started to use the term ‘Tobler engine’. The three superpowers realised there was little point in keeping the technology secret, and they all confirmed the underlying elemental reaction and the use of the Helium-3 isotope.

  Then the world realised that Helium-3 was very rare on earth, in limited supply on the Earth’s moon, but in abundant supply on Mars. Identifying sources of Helium-3 started as an interesting by-line in the cacophony of noise surrounding Tobler’s engine, but it gradually turned into the main story. People started asking pointed questions about whether any of the three superpowers were developing harvesting systems. All were forced to admit that they were each developing extensive systems for harvesting isotopes from Mars. It was another space race, but this time whoever won would have control of the most powerful substance in the solar system. Various countries and companies claimed ownership of parts of Mars, which only highlighted that, since nobody occupied anything, all of it was up for grabs.

  Once again, public opinion influenced the world’s politicians.

  “Why have three separate harvesting systems, when we could build one and share?” cried billions of voices on social media around the world. And so the Joint Solar Exploration Venture—or JOSEV—was born.

  The first challenge for JOSEV was to align all the initial activities of the three superpowers and agree on the best approach for the harvesting mission. Fortunately, all three were still in the early design stage, and they negotiated an approach that the scientists agreed was feasible and the politicians almost agreed was fair.

  One of the sticking points was the location of the spaceport to receive and distribute the Helium-3. All they could agree on was that it could not be in any of the geographies of the three owners of JOSEV or the countries that had hastily entered alliances. The solution came when Australia, which had important relationships with all three superpowers and hadn’t yet entered into a formal agreement, volunteered a vast tract of land in the desert at Woomera, in South Australia. They also offered to pay for the construction of the required infrastructure, in return for a supply of Helium-3 and the right to place some employees with JOSEV.

  To say the joint venture partners were distrustful from the outset is a spectacular understatement. They each knew that dominance of the solar system was at stake. Possibly even interstellar travel. If any of them could secure proprie
tary access to Helium-3, they could rule everything. The fact that they were all in the same situation forced them into a kind of prisoners’ dilemma, and they ultimately decided to collaborate, if only to stay in the race.

  That was the backdrop of my final year of high school, my exams, and the choices I made about my future. On the one hand, humanity was about to establish a new world and explore another planet. A new power source was going to fill the world with prosperity and life-changing inventions. Tobler engines and Mars captured my imagination.

  On the other hand, Earth had become an insecure world, full of fear and suspicion, with uneasy alliances and forced cooperation. The future was filled with unimaginably powerful engines, controlled by three massive and competing superpowers. This knowledge affected the way people thought and acted, and it permeated every aspect of society. Combined with the relatively recent loss of my brother, it crystallised my deep-seated need to serve and protect.

  4. THE CAVE

  On my first night in the colony, I met up with Pete again and we went to the dining room. The screens around the walls were showing news from Earth, and it wasn’t pretty. There was rioting across several locations in Europe, as protesters accused their political representatives of failing to exploit their Helium-3 as well as China and the US.

  Most of the people in the dining room were ignoring the news, but I noticed that the room was disappointingly segregated again. Single nationalities dominated many tables, though at least they were all interspersed across the room—there weren’t three defined areas like there had been in the separate meal rooms for each of the investor nations at Woomera.

  People were shuffling along each side of the buffet table. I quickly scanned the range—there were small whole potatoes, a few different kinds of bread, meat patties that were a lot like falafels (and obviously contained no actual meat), a curry, a casserole, a few salads, and some simple desserts at the far end. Cooking staff continually replaced and refilled the trays.

  After we had filled our plates with food, Pete led me over to a table full of Americans. They were all quite welcoming, particularly after they heard that I was Australian and not from one of the other investor nations. My new roommate, Tony, was at the table. He was taller and heavier than most colonists and had a lot of thick black hair, which made him seem even taller. He was missing the last knuckle of the index finger on his left hand, and there were a handful of scars on his face and hands, presumably from work accidents.

  After a few minutes of conversation, Tony said loudly, “God, you Australians are like a rash. We’ve been allocated one of them to our room and I just know he’s going to smell like crocodile. Wait a minute, what’s your name again?”

  He was having trouble keeping a straight face as he looked at me.

  “Hi, roomie,” I said, with a smile and a wave. I liked him already.

  “Oh, no,” he said, covering his mouth, and pretending to be embarrassed. “I can’t believe I said that. I’m so sorry.”

  “No problem,” I said, smiling wider.

  A moment later he finished eating, got up and grabbed his plate. I realised that he was probably the tallest person in the colony, one of the few people taller than me. As he walked past me, he leaned down and sniffed my head. I couldn’t help laughing aloud.

  After he left and the conversation moved on, I had a chance to properly look around the room. A nearby table was one of the few that had mixed nationalities and a beautiful Middle Eastern woman was the centre of attention. I briefly made eye contact with the woman sitting next to her and I suddenly felt like I was hit by lightning. My whole body tingled and I had trouble breathing. She had a soft round face and her jet-black hair was tied back in a flat bun on her head. Her little smile was playful, almost cheeky.

  I leaned over to Pete and quietly said, “Who is that woman at the table over there?”

  He looked up and said, “The one with long black hair? That’s Imani, the Head of Organic Manufacturing.”

  “Oh, right,” I said. “No, sorry, I actually meant the woman on the right, her left.”

  “Oh, er, that’s June. She works in Colony Development.”

  I said, “Thanks,” and finished my meal. Don’t do it, I thought to myself. Not here on this planet, not in this job, not now, maybe not ever.

  I stayed chatting to the Americans for a while after dinner and then went back to my room. Tony was playing a game on his visor, waving his arms around and yelling at other players, but he stopped and flipped his visor back as I came in.

  “Hey,” he said with a grin.

  “Hey,” I replied, returning his smile. “You playing a game? Don’t let me stop you.”

  “Nah, that’s cool, I can do that any time. Not every day you get a new roomie.”

  “I guess so. No Pablo?”

  “Out with the girlfriend. He’ll come back much later. You might get to meet him in the morning.”

  “Oh, right,” I said. “Actually, I was thinking of hitting the gym very early.”

  “Oh, yeah. You’re new and not on the roster yet. Wanna use some of my spots until the new roster opens?”

  “Thanks, but I reckon I’ll be okay. I might take up the offer if it doesn’t work out.”

  He lay back on his bunk and nodded. I realised his offer was the first generous thing anyone had said or done since I arrived. He seemed at ease—not as troubled or anxious as almost everyone else in the colony. He was relaxed, laughing through life and helping others out.

  “So, how did you end up here?” he asked, and then added with smile, “What were you thinking?”

  “Well,” I said, collecting my thoughts. I was about to give him the standard answer about wanting to be part of a new civilisation, wanting to help the world and my country, wanting to explore and discover, and so on, and that would all have been true, but instead I chose to give him a more honest answer. “Partly I wanted to serve my country and do something good, but mainly I had to get away. Far away.”

  He looked at me as if he was seeing me for the first time, and he said, “Yeah, I reckon a lot of people are here to get away from something. A lot more than would admit it.”

  “What’s your story?” I asked.

  “You mean how I got here? Or what am I getting away from?”

  He was obviously comfortable talking about himself. He was very secure, almost too secure—a large ego.

  “Both,” I replied.

  “Okay…I grew up in Breitport, Louisiana, just outside New Orleans. Ever been there?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “Well, don’t sweat it. We were poor, you know, properly poor. My mum was a teacher, but my dad just tinkered with his cars. He was a mechanic for a while, when they were still around, but one day he lost his job and then there just weren’t any jobs for a dude with his skills. He helped out people around the ’hood every now and then, but nothing steady. I would hang out with him in our garage, you know, after school and on the weekend. That’s where I learned about pipes and power and wiring and tools, and everything mechanical. He had an old Chevy with a big-ass block, which kept blowing cooling pipes, until we replaced all of them with custom mesh.”

  “Okay…” I said, and nodded, despite having no idea what he was talking about.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “I mostly stayed away from the gangs, got a job recovering electronic parts from old machines and did well at school. Well enough for my folks to apply for a grant for college. Man, it was tough, but I kept my head down and got it done. Engineering. Not cum laude or anything, but I didn’t fail. The whole time I’m thinking I gotta not end up like my dad, you know? Gotta get a degree and push up into the next class. Turns out it only got me an unpaid apprenticeship in a plumbing engineering firm outside Jackson.”

  “Hmm,” I said with a frown.

  “Yeah. But then we had that bad hurricane season, remember that? When Hurricane Alpha smashed the coast from Panama City to Port Arthur? The unbreachable levies were breached, all the
old levy pumps failed and everything flooded. Homes, businesses, infrastructure, everything. The President declared a national disaster and sent in the army, and they sub-contracted every engineering company within a two-hundred-mile radius. I got loaned out to an engineering combat unit. We were the first to go into bad places, where there was still looting. We secured the area and got the pumps back online to dry everything out.”

  “Didn’t people die?” I asked, remembering footage from the time.

  “Yeah, it was pretty bad. We were wearing haz masks and there were some nasty diseases going around. But you got used to the smell after a while. Anyway, turns out that most of the pumps were fossil-fuel technology and I knew more about that than anyone in the unit. I was learning quickly, too, getting to know how the drainage and sewer systems worked, the power grid, everything.

  “We were working sixteen, twenty hours a day and just doing whatever needed doing. I really liked the CO—she was sharp and funny and didn’t mind that I wasn’t army. She must have liked me too, ’cause after a few weeks they tried to get me to join the unit as a private contractor. I knew that wasn’t gonna work and I told them so. They took it okay and eventually I went back to Jackson.”

  “No!” I said. “You didn’t go back to the unpaid apprenticeship?”

  “Nah,” he said with a smile, “they had a word with the boss and I got a proper job. Didn’t stay long, though. Hurricane Alpha was just before Tobler and a few months later I was nominated to join JOSEV. Somebody important must have remembered me. I was happy to come here, particularly as it fixed up my folks for life. Anyway, we landed and I’ve been fixing toilets ever since.”

  “Nice work if you can get it.”

  “True, though I am back to unpaid work,” he replied with a grin.