Ch 1 P.2. The Bad Memory

“I don't give a flying fuck what Corporate says. You're on my ship,” shouted Rowan Boyle on day one. “Out here, there's me and the deep black. Take your pick.”

“You just need to calm your short ass down, station chief. I have the sanction of Corporate for my work. Corporate gets its mandate directly from CG. You know? The President?” Marle tried to keep his voice level, but he had just acquired an instant dislike for the little man.

“I didn't vote for him,” snapped Rowan Boyle. “On the Tin Can, there's only one station chief. That man's in charge of schedules and supplies. Let that sink in. I won't let idle experimentation put my station or my people at risk.”

Marle was set to snap an answer when he took a step back in his thoughts. Choosing a calmer tack, Marle replied, “I understand your position, but believe me, I know the station protocols. I wouldn't want to cause anyone harm, but as long as the ASD and FPT are below three, it's all good.”

“Mister,” said Rowan, his fat eyes bulging out in unmistakable ire, “I'll be the one to decide what's safe on the Tin Can. If I get a ASD or a FPT of two, I'll press the damned button. So, if you want your playthings intact, bring them in or kiss them goodbye. I don't give a fuck about them. If you want to do plants, you can help Miss Crawford in hydroponics.” The station chief struggled up from his seat and stared at Marle with belligerent eyes. “Get this straight, mister. I will not put this station at risk for a damned acorn.”

“I think you're being unreasonable,” said Marle, looking across the office desk at the little man. “How about I contact Corporate and have them explain the new game plan?”

“Fine with me,” answered Rowan. “I'll tell them the same damned thing. What can they do? They're on Earth, and we're all hanging by our balls between Mercury and Venus. How long did it take you to get here?” Marle blinked at the five-month trip, and Rowan concluded with a smug nod, “Yeah. That's what I'm saying.”

“Your tour has to end,” countered Marle. “What will you do when you get back to Earth?”

“I'll deal with those assholes when I get home,” said Rowan. “Out here, I'm the boss. Make yourself useful and don't rock the boat. Tow the line and we'll be fine. Trees outside the can, I'm not having it. So, don't be waving your PhDs under my nose. I got no use for them. Practical experience and hard work earn your meal ticket.”

The office door suddenly opened, and Steph Crawford walked in with a tray, two cups, and a carafe of coffee. Tall with red hair, green eyes, and freckled, her sunny disposition instantly brightened the cramped office. “Is our station chief giving the newbie a hard time?” she asked with a broad smile as she set the tray on the desk. She nudged Marle with an elbow and said in a conspiratorial voice, “He's just frustrated because Cleo turned him down.”

“Miss Crawford,” said Rowan with obvious irritation, “I'm holding an interview, if you don't mind.”

Marle followed Steph to the door with his eyes. She turned and winked merrily before pulling the door behind her. “Just saying,” she said.

Marle turned back to the station chief and said, “She's nice.”

Rowan replied, “She's a child. She goads me on purpose.”

Marle said, “Perhaps she and I should compare notes.”

Rowan cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes as an official warning. “I expect two things,” said the chief. “Keep your nose to the grindstone, and keep your nose clean. Any questions?”

“No. No,” answered Marle.

Marle left the office and closed the door. He had refused the coffee; he wanted nothing from the little man. He wanted to spit to get the bad taste of the interview out of his mouth. He turned to the closed door and considered a vulgar gesture. No, he thought as he turned to leave. That would bring him down to the chief's level. That's when Marle ran into a goddess. Hera, what a babe!