Wife and grandchildren, Fu and Ming still liked to do it on the floor.
'Congratulations,' said Fu.
'Why thank you,' said Ming taking his arm. 'Where's Achmed?' Achmed was Ming's Number Two Husband.
'He got called out on a job,' said Fu.
They walked arm in arm towards the house.
'Today?'
Fu laughed. 'A structural failure at one of the projects. It could have waited but he was too German to leave it. The kids are at school and Aunty Shmoo took Bridgette shopping.'
'Do they know?'
'That's why they went shopping.'
'Ah,' said Ming as they pushed through the front door together. 'That leaves just you and me alone then.'
Bay Fifteen - Olympus Mons West
Blondie was still shaking as he followed Old Sam down the ramp to Bay Fifteen. The floater would have been easier to pull but Blondie preferred to keep it, and the bags piled on it, between him and the old veteran. The floater's handles were at knee height which kept Blondie stooped down as he pushed, the pain in his back helped him control the shaking.
Booms and clanks echoed up the ramp from the bay. Big engineering sounds as Fat Mama was lowered on to the friction field. There was a giant cough as the MHD turbine kicked over a few times and then accelerated. Over the noise Blondie could hear Credit Card and Lambada shouting at each other.
The servo motors started up again as Blondie emerged from the ramp, creaked like arthritic dinosaur bones as the cradle lifted back into the ceiling. The sounds ticked off the far walls and the ceramic finish of the old trains. Bay fifteen being where old trains went to die, lined up in dust-covered ranks down its thousand metre length. Blondie was grateful that the bad accident wreck was hidden out of view at the end.
As far as STS's accounts subsystem was concerned Fat Mama was also a dead train. A pre-war Chinese tank engine that had been cannibalized years ago, nothing more than a collection of barcoded spare parts, keeping old trains on the branch lines serviceable. The maintenance log knew different, as did the more stupid bits of storage records. Every fifty-two hours the system network would have a brief internal argument about the current status of Fat Mama but intelligent baffles put in by Credit Card kept the dispute from being flagged for management intervention.
Fat Mama was a twelve-metre engine built to pull cargo wagons in the period before friction fields and split-section tunnel integrators. Its field generator was powerful enough to shield ten wagons and then drag them through a gateway. The body shell was built around an MHD turbine that provided the power such an inefficient set-up required. Fat Mama had started off ugly and thirty years of Dogface's DIY hadn't improved its looks none.
Lambada leant out of a hatch near the water front end and gestured to Blondie to stop the floater where it was. Instrumentation light flushed her face red as she looked back into the cab and yelled something.
A chunk sound came from the mid section of Fat Mama and the loading doors swung open. Blondie noticed that they were at least five centimetres thick with two deep holes for the mechanical locking bolts. Dogface was standing in the doorway, he glanced at the bags piled on the floater.
'Where's the kitchen sink?' he asked.
Old Sam picked up the first bag. It was made of linseed plastic and very heavy. Old Sam handled it easily, transferring it from the floater to Fat Mama's deck. Watching him started Blondie shaking all over again.
'I didn't know what we might need,' said Old Sam.
Veterans were strong even without the drugs, made that way for the Thousand-Day War. One thing to know that, another to have Old Sam lift you off your feet with one hand and threaten to rip off your face with the other. Answering the questions, because he couldn't think of a cool reply, because he was scared shitless, and because loss of face meant nothing when Old Sam was willing to turn that into a sick joke. 'What moneypen? I don't know
'Congratulations,' said Fu.
'Why thank you,' said Ming taking his arm. 'Where's Achmed?' Achmed was Ming's Number Two Husband.
'He got called out on a job,' said Fu.
They walked arm in arm towards the house.
'Today?'
Fu laughed. 'A structural failure at one of the projects. It could have waited but he was too German to leave it. The kids are at school and Aunty Shmoo took Bridgette shopping.'
'Do they know?'
'That's why they went shopping.'
'Ah,' said Ming as they pushed through the front door together. 'That leaves just you and me alone then.'
Bay Fifteen - Olympus Mons West
Blondie was still shaking as he followed Old Sam down the ramp to Bay Fifteen. The floater would have been easier to pull but Blondie preferred to keep it, and the bags piled on it, between him and the old veteran. The floater's handles were at knee height which kept Blondie stooped down as he pushed, the pain in his back helped him control the shaking.
Booms and clanks echoed up the ramp from the bay. Big engineering sounds as Fat Mama was lowered on to the friction field. There was a giant cough as the MHD turbine kicked over a few times and then accelerated. Over the noise Blondie could hear Credit Card and Lambada shouting at each other.
The servo motors started up again as Blondie emerged from the ramp, creaked like arthritic dinosaur bones as the cradle lifted back into the ceiling. The sounds ticked off the far walls and the ceramic finish of the old trains. Bay fifteen being where old trains went to die, lined up in dust-covered ranks down its thousand metre length. Blondie was grateful that the bad accident wreck was hidden out of view at the end.
As far as STS's accounts subsystem was concerned Fat Mama was also a dead train. A pre-war Chinese tank engine that had been cannibalized years ago, nothing more than a collection of barcoded spare parts, keeping old trains on the branch lines serviceable. The maintenance log knew different, as did the more stupid bits of storage records. Every fifty-two hours the system network would have a brief internal argument about the current status of Fat Mama but intelligent baffles put in by Credit Card kept the dispute from being flagged for management intervention.
Fat Mama was a twelve-metre engine built to pull cargo wagons in the period before friction fields and split-section tunnel integrators. Its field generator was powerful enough to shield ten wagons and then drag them through a gateway. The body shell was built around an MHD turbine that provided the power such an inefficient set-up required. Fat Mama had started off ugly and thirty years of Dogface's DIY hadn't improved its looks none.
Lambada leant out of a hatch near the water front end and gestured to Blondie to stop the floater where it was. Instrumentation light flushed her face red as she looked back into the cab and yelled something.
A chunk sound came from the mid section of Fat Mama and the loading doors swung open. Blondie noticed that they were at least five centimetres thick with two deep holes for the mechanical locking bolts. Dogface was standing in the doorway, he glanced at the bags piled on the floater.
'Where's the kitchen sink?' he asked.
Old Sam picked up the first bag. It was made of linseed plastic and very heavy. Old Sam handled it easily, transferring it from the floater to Fat Mama's deck. Watching him started Blondie shaking all over again.
'I didn't know what we might need,' said Old Sam.
Veterans were strong even without the drugs, made that way for the Thousand-Day War. One thing to know that, another to have Old Sam lift you off your feet with one hand and threaten to rip off your face with the other. Answering the questions, because he couldn't think of a cool reply, because he was scared shitless, and because loss of face meant nothing when Old Sam was willing to turn that into a sick joke. 'What moneypen? I don't know
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