West of Nothing

60. Party Balloons

When they emptied out of the sand-colored building, the X-Bot team just stood there gaping as if they had just emerged from an underground shelter for the first time in weeks, which wasn't far from the truth. Mason had at least had his trips to the Hab, but some of the others hadn't seen daylight since the start of the project.

Major Zeus led them across the paved loading zone to a bulky gatehouse where a guard took their badges and ran through a ritual on his computer. When he was through, he hit a switch and a large gate clanked open with the sound of a drawbridge.

Major Zeus shook each of their hands on the way out. "Thank you for your service to your country. It has been an honor working with you."

Mason nodded in return, grateful for once for the stiff, military protocol. He had no idea what to say to the man who had dragged him into this wonderful clusterfuck of a project. It was impossible to separate out his feelings of distrust, sympathy and admiration.

As the gates closed, the major, now on the other side, struck a salute then turned sharply and walked away.

"What just happened?" Mason asked.

"I think he just released us," Corny said.

"Damn," Mason said. "I never did get to find out where he got the name Zeus from."

She gave him one of those Were you raised on Mars? looks. "From his father, I expect. Didn't you see the nameplate on his desk? It's spelled Z-O-O-S-E."

"Guess I missed that. What do you think will happen to him now?"

"Hell if I know." Then, in a softer tone. "Nothing good I expect. Our project wasn't exactly a smashing success. Looks like the aliens are about to take over the world."

"I'm not sure how things can get much worse than a desk job at this place," HotDamn said. "God, I hate the desert."

"Didn't you say you were in the Reserve Officers' Training Corps at one time?" Doogie said.

"For all of two weeks. I collapsed on a training run and they discovered I had a heart murmur. I was advised to take up less physically demanding pursuits. Speaking of the worst military jobs, without a doubt it has to be ROTC drill instructor. It's like running a marching band for idiots, only without the musical instruments."

"Recruitment," Doogie said. "Trust me. It's a fate worse than hell."

Requisition officer, read Gabby's chest tablet. I once bid for a government contract to write an online purchasing system. Talk about anal retentive. You have to fill out a purchase order for every box of brass buttons.

"Forced early retirement," Skunkworks said.

"We're talking punishments, not rewards," Doogie countered.

"You have no idea what it's like to be on the outside looking in on the place where you used to be some big shot. All you can do is watch while these dumb-ass kids run around and fuck things up."

"Hey, I got one," Mason said into the awkward silence. "Body cavity search officer." He turned to catch Corny's reaction, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

They were now in the public parking area where pizza deliveries arrived and exes waited on their estranged husbands to hand over the kids for visitation weekends. Evening was coming on and color was returning to the desert. The air had a dry bake quality. A breeze carried scents of aloe, prickly pear and sand. A high school science teacher had once told Mason that sand didn't have a smell, it being just tiny chips of rock, mostly quartz. It was the biological detritus mixed up in the sand that gave it its aroma, which was mostly just the stink of decay. But weren't the impurities also part of the sand, Mason disputed. There were no deserts anywhere made out of only clean sand. His teacher disagreed. If it washes out, then it doesn't really belong.