Bringer of Light, Chapter 41 (Part Two): A reminiscence
On Mars, present day, hydroengineer-slash-settler faction liaison “Sam” Weng realizes that his dreams may not come to pass…as he envisions the past influencing the future…
Luna Base, the Remembered Past
Cup of steaming coffee in one hand, I pause in front of an abstract painting in the corridor connecting the company cafeteria to my project’s team office.
I take a careful sip and contemplates the painting. No idea what it was meant to depict. As an architect, and a good one at that, I know I should have more appreciation and understanding for abstract work. But this one…
Was artwork in office buildings always chosen because it was bad? I wonder. Or did the fact that it was in an office building such as this one make the artwork look bad?
Little help from the lighting fixtures. No matter how much the company tried improved the frequencies, a lack of windows simply make it seem like they work in a hospital.
I sip the coffee again and quickens my pace. Best get to one of the outer sitting rooms before the coffee cools too much. Turn my right hand palm up. The semi-transparent organoplastic covering my right wrist projects an image on his forearm, reminds me not to keep my guest waiting.
I place a palm in front of a blue wall panel. The door slides open and glance around the sitting room. A few people here and there, in sets of three or four chairs surrounding small tables. Engrossed in their forearms, fingers of the opposing hand twitching as they expand screens, zoom, or open new connections to images only they can see.
I sip the quickly cooling coffee and walk slowly through the room. A row of ergonomic chairs faces the open windows of the outside wall. An older man silently sits in one, arms crossed.
“Mr. Bardish.”
The man turns to look at me.
“Sergey. Just Sergey.”
I forces an awkward smile. “Sergey. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Bardish grunts.
“I, uh…” I gesture. “Mind if I sit down?”
Bardish tilts his head. I sit wordlessly, holding the coffee carefully in my lap. I take another sip.
“Shall I get you a—”
“I’m not here to drink that soya-junk,” Bardish growls.
I set the cup on the narrow window ledge in front of them. The silence stretches for a few seconds before I try again.
“I heard they started up the World Cup again.”
“Football be damned,” Bardish suddenly snaps. “Why are you designing anything for, for those people?”
“Look, Sergey, I’m just.”
“You know what those.” Bardish stops himself. Others in the sitting room seem to have taken notice. He continues in a lowered, strained voice. “What those Russians did in the Eurasian Wars.”
I sigh and pick up the coffee cup again.
“I did not help you get this position so that you could—”
“Sergey, I’m very grateful for your—”
“—so you could stab me and my kin in the back.”
“—assistance in gaining the approval of the Moon Base Committee.”
“And to think that I trusted you with my family’s—”
“Sergey—”
“—future, with Clarissa!”
“Sergey, I had no choice!”
I stop, look around.
“Look,” I say forcefully. “I do not have any decision-making powers in terms of what projects I am assigned to do and whose buildings I am asked to design.”
Bardish slumps back in his chair and wags a finger. “You could have.”
“Refused?” I shake my head. “You might be able to. The savior of the Moon colony and hailed asteroid hunter can just snap his fingers and half the Council jumps. But me?”
Bardish falls silent.
I cradle the nearly empty cup, playing with the handle.
“I’m just an architect, Sergey. Not a retired Captain. Not a politician.”
The old hunter grunts. A good sign. I slowly breathe out.
“You know very well that I haven’t been exactly overjoyed at some of the design specifications that my team has been asked to work with. But work is work, and I have considered other options.”
Sergey raises one eyebrow.
“Not that I’m thinking of quitting. And I am very grateful that you put in a good word to the Council on my behalf.”
“It is a prestigious firm.”
“Yes, very prestigious,” I agree. “With many different divisions and departments. An opening may come up, one that will still involve Mars but in another capacity.”
“Ah. So terraforming no longer interests you, then?”
“No, no, of course not. I love it. It’s just.”
I sigh, stare out the window.
Bardish coughs into a fist.
“This landscape,” I say, waving a hand at it. “Does it appeal to you?”
“Appeal?” Bardish scoffs. “It works. I can breathe. What is to appeal?”
I close my eyes. “No, that’s, that’s not what I mean.”
“Do you mean, is it beautiful?”
I nod, vigorously. “Yes, yes, is it—do you like it?”
“No,” Sergey responds. Sits a bit more upright, folds his hands in front of his rather large midsection. He stares at the lunarscape. “I see green things. Water. Air. Clouds, on occasion. But…”
“But?”
Bardish pauses. “It’s not enough.”
“It’s not enough?”
“Not enough, no,” Bardish snaps. “It’s not like it was. Look, you want to say something, say it!”
“It’s not like Earth, is it, sir?” I persist. “It’s not like your memories, not like the place where you grew up. What made you who you are.”
Bardish opens, then closes his mouth with a grunt.
“Not like home,” I conclude. Sip coffee, make a face. Cold. I set the cup down and lean toward Sergey.
“Sergey, I know you meant well. And I am—have been—extremely grateful for just the chance to be here, in my current position.”
Bardish tilts his head. “What do you want?”
I sit back. “This place has no soul, Sergey. It looks alive, but the Moon is still a dead place. Green, yes, but still a lifeless rock.”
Bardish waits.
“Mars,” I say, “needs hydroponic engineers—“
“Nu?”
“—desalination operators, water control technicians, mechanics—”
“Water. Water! This is foolishness, utter foolishness!”
“Just get me on a team, let me get my foot in the door. On the Mars surface.”
“And then? What? You expect put in charge of some grand architectural project? Some artsy thing?”
“I don’t expect anything. I hope.”
I struggle to control my voice and avoid eye contact with the old Captain. “Sergey, I’m suffocating here, at Lunar Base.”
Bardish sits still, looking past the architect into nothing.
I look around. Heads had looked up from forearms. Our conversation attracted too much attention. I lean closer to Sergey, trying not to sound too desperate.
“Look, I’m, you know, I’m. All I’m saying is.”
He pauses.
Bardish looks at him, expressionless. “Mars. Water plant teams.”
“Yes, whatever it takes. Get me to the surface of the Red Planet. I know I can find a way to make the best of my, my talents. My abilities.”
Bardish closes his eyes and grunts.
“I just know, somehow, I can make Clarissa understand.”
Bardish’s eyes snaps open. “She has a life. In open space. Fiancé or not, she will make her own choices.”
I have no answer to that. I simply nod as Sergey stands, holding the chair’s arm for support.
“I will do what I can,” Bardish says. He points to the door. “Now you, go back to work. Whatever it is you are doing, for whomever it is, I don’t want to know. Just do your best, tak?”
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Sam sighed. The voice of Sergey had faded.
His best. For whom?
Next: Bringer of Light, Chapter 41: Weng makes his decision.
