Hidden Links

In all the inhabited worlds there were fewer than five people who had more than a passing acquaintance with Kia Tyler. Her direct supervisor, Adama, was perhaps the one who knew her best, and they never saw each other outside of work.

The most important thing that Adama knew about his employee was that her skin was very sensitive, and she was, according to her, “allergic to damn near everything in the universe.”

With mandatory genetic counseling, this sort of trait was all but unheard of, making her uniquely suited to her job. It wasn’t difficult, or physically demanding, but she often ended the day with contact dermatitis around her nose and mouth.

As the only manufacturer of masks for low-oxygen environments that didn’t require full vac suits, the lives of nearly everyone on Mars depended on his product. Adama felt his company should do everything in their power to ensure their product was not just safe and effective but comfortable as well. That’s where Kia’s sensitive skin came in.

Kia wore an oxygen mask in her testing office. Since she didn’t require extra oxygen in the environment of the dome, the mask delivered slightly cooled room air. Thermal cameras recorded any leaks of the mask. A certain amount was allowed, but she would automatically fail any material that was less than 98% effective in the proper size or 90% if too small or large.

The new compound of the mask seal she was testing passed the leak test with flying colors. Despite trying it on in every size available, even the masks too small and too large maintained a seal above 98%. Her face, however, was not happy.

It began as a faint itch, progressing to a burning sensation. Less than an hour after donning the mask, Kia was forced to remove it. She looked in the mirror at her desk. The edges of the mask were clearly marked by what appeared to be an angry red burn; bumps beginning to form.

“Compound Z-443-alpha-2, wear test negative. Allergic reaction positive. Wear time: forty-eight minutes.” She saved the results and pulled the seal off the testing mask and tossed it in the recycler. Kia made a point of cleaning her hands, then her face, and finally, the mask.

There was no more testing that she would be able to do for the day. Before treating with an antihistamine, her face was sensitive to any contact, including the rush of air caused by her breathing. After treatment, her face would be completely insensitive to any sort of allergic assault for at least twelve hours.

#

Miria loved her job, traveling across the Martian landscape far from any domes, checking the progress of the bacteria and fungus that had been engineered to release oxygen from the iron oxide in the soil. Her rover had food, water, and oxygen for twenty days. She would spend fourteen in the wild.

She was required to post regular reports to the terraforming commission, but never had to deal with them face-to-face. Her reports were signed by her employee number. Miria didn’t mind being a small cog in a large machine.

The thing she loved most about her job, though, was that she was completely alone. Not one given to idle companionship, she preferred the company of her “little world changers,” as she called them.

Two dozen mask seals, labeled Z-799, were stored in a cubby above her three masks, near the airlock. One primary, and two backups. Ten oxygen canisters provided enough for twenty hours outside the rover and could be refilled in the rover itself.

She stopped at the grid coordinates for her inspection and pulled on her mask. Cycling the airlock, she stepped out into the cold, thin atmosphere. She found the marker flag, bent over by a windstorm at some point, and straightened it back up.

Yellow lichens clung to every rock larger than a couple centimeters. Miria took samples of the lichen, the surrounding soil, and one deep soil sample. She paused to lift her mask and take a drink from her water canister. The air was sharp, acidic. She lowered her mask and took another breath.

“Someday, you will make the air sweet here,” she said to the lichen sample. “I’ll be out of a job then, but I’ll probably be over a hundred, so it doesn’t matter.”

Back in the rover, she made use of the mobile lab and compared the genome of the current bacteria and lichen versus those originally seeded. The faster reproducing of the current bacteria had a lower oxygen toxicity threshold than was desirable. Miria would have to find a way to give the more oxygen resistant bacteria a leg up, so to speak.

The lichen, however, was doing its job superbly. “Strain 613-gamma, code name whirlwind, maintaining stable genome and positive nitrogen production,” she added to her audio log.

#

Zane planted pale yellow lichens around the base of the new hybrid rhododendron in the Capital City Park. He took a deep breath of the air, sweetened with the scent of roses and the moisture from this morning’s watering.

“You need some of this to help you get enough nitrogen,” he said to the plant. He liked tending the plants in the park. The Martian atmosphere was thin, but high enough in oxygen for daily life. He had seen holos of the early settlers more than a century prior. First with their fully contained suits, then, after millions of tonnes of Venusian atmosphere had been mined and dumped on Mars as CO2, with their masks.

He stepped back and admired his handiwork. It made him proud that thousands of people admired his work every day, even if they never knew it. Zane prided himself on planting and pruning in such a way that the garden looked like it just happened to grow that way.

With a check of the time, Zane gathered his tools into his carrier and made his way to the hidden gardener’s shack. The carrier hovered a few inches above the ground, not leaving any tell-tale wheel marks. He’d had the idea when he first started of planting a hardy, low-growing moss on the path to the shed. Any footprints would be gone within minutes, leaving no trace that a human had been anywhere other than the paved path.

In the shack, Zane put away the tools and checked his supplies. He’d need to order more whirlwind lichen starts soon. The respirator he used when spreading fine particulate like mold spores still had good filters, and he had plenty of spares. He checked the seals and ordered another dozen 799 grade face mask seals.

His day done, Zane logged his time out in the shack, and left by the door that led to the employee gate. He looked up at the sky, where the morning sun reflected off the few, high clouds. It was going to be another beautiful day on Mars.