One Day on Mars

there were no deficiencies in the materials bins. In other words, make sure the sewer didn't get too full of shit and that the officers had plenty of toilet paper. He also was in charge of keeping the ship's coolant flow systems operational. But, also being in charge of sewer duties meant that he often had to put up with a lot of shit—in more ways than one.

Joe prayed for the days where his spot in the flight deck cleaning rotation was due. On those lovely days he would get to walk back and forth on the upper flight catapults picking up trash, removing bird shit—those hybrid Martian vultures were nasty critters—and checking for exterior hull plates that were outgassing that weren't supposed to be outgassing. Yes, those days were bliss compared to his weeks at a time in the 'shithole.' Otherwise he never saw the outside of the ship.

Looks like another shitty day. His AIC told the same old, very old, joke that she had told him every day for the entire sixteen months of Buckley's tour on the Madira.

Yeah. Into the never-ending fray for God and Country we go. Forever protecting our best's and brightest's wonderful shithole! he recited. Mija, it looks like we are about to get really into the thick of some bad stuff so we better start running the combat readiness flush and purge sequences.

Buckley scrolled through the daily task orders in his planner. The battle drill was simple. Batten down all the toilet lids, which was a euphemism for turning valves to certain plumbing systems. And to close up the shitter so that when the ship started listing left, right, and up, and down that smelly stuff didn't burst out of the miles of plumbing throughout the massive ship or rupture the Olympic-swimming- pool-sized septic bladder.

Roger that, Joe, Petty Officer Third Class Mike India Juliet Alpha Kilo One Tango Edgar, 'Mija Kitty,' replied.

Buckley and Mija had been through hours of training classes explaining how any excess human waste in the plumbing system during high g-force compensation maneuvers could stress the structural integrity of the plumbing system and therefore create a smelly safety hazard during a combat situation. On more than several occasions they had been in the wrong corridor at the wrong time when the plumbing failed because some deck petty officer on a different shift neglected to flush the system, purge it with compressed dry air, and then lock it down before a maneuver. Buckley was often jeered at for having a 'shitty job,' and needless to say, he kept his immunobooster shot current and gave it a good workout. But Buckley took to heart the words the captain had proclaimed on several occasions in all-hands briefings, 'There is no job on my boat that is less important than any other. Remember, this is the flagship of the United States Space Naval Fleet.' Buckley repeated that to himself every night before he could manage to go to sleep. He managed to maintain a level of pride about the job he did. Hell, it was an important job. What if a flow system went out near some important electronics system? There were toilets, sinks, and disposals on every deck and getting the refuse moved around safely without damaging other complex technical systems on board the supercarrier was indeed serious business. Perhaps it wasn't a glamorous job like being a fighter jock, but his life expectancy was a hell of a lot higher.

Buckley was just finishing up the organization of his battle plan task list when the order of his tasks reshuffled and slipped each order down a notch on the screen in front of him.

'Aw shit. I just got those straightened out and prioritized. Now what?' He rolled his eyes, leaned back in his chair and sighed.

Looks like we have a new order request, Joe. It appears to be from the Mons City Rec and Redist AI, Mija told him. She was just as surprised as Buckley was.

Order number one was an information packet from the Mons City reclamation and redistribution tracking AI, of all places, marked 'Deliver to Captain Sienna Madira Immediately.'

Mija, can you open this? This isn't some kinda joke, is it? The hull technician petty officer third class had seen his share of tasteless jokes.

Okay, Joe. Here. Mija Kitty paused for a second. I don't think this is a joke!

'What the hell,' Buckley muttered to himself.

'That is un-fucking-believable, sir! And out-goddamned-standing if you don't mind my saying it.' Sergeant Jackson couldn't believe what he was hearing. This Senator Moore, as it turns out USMC Major Moore retired, had somehow managed to find a crack in the local Seppy jamming field and was in direct contact with the Sienna Madira's captain.

'You got that right, Sergeant. Tammie has Burner's AIC continuously linked with the Madira now. We do have an extraction plan. And we have a means to coordinate the other troops across the region back to the main fleet. I might have to move to Mississippi so I can vote for this Marine,' Second Lieutenant Thomas Washington said.

'Semper Fi, sir,' Kootie added.

Washington sat on the left shoulder of Burner's FM-12 strike mecha and Sergeant Jackson sat on the right. Each of them were straddling the forty-millimeter cannons mounted there, the barrels extending out between the armored e-suits' legs like giant and deadly robotic phalluses. Kootie and Shelly rode similarly on Boulder's transfigurable fighting mecha. The ten-meter-tall armored vehicles trotted and jumped from block to block in bot- mode, looking like giant gladiators hiding behind the city skyscrapers. A handful of the fighting mecha skittered around them in eagle-mode with their DEGs at ready in their armored left hands. Every now and then the AEMs could catch a glimpse of one or two of the fighting mecha in fighter-mode just above the city building tops.

'So what is the game plan, Lieutenant?' Corporal Shelly asked.

'We stick with the Killers all the way. They can cover the ground a lot better than we can. And they're better armed and sensored up.' Washington was a lot more hopeful of their chances of surviving this mission and actually being successful at it now that they had a complete squadron of Marine fighting mecha with them. Two dozen FM- 12s and four AEMs were a significant fighting force.

'Second Lieutenant Washington,' Burner interrupted.

'Sir?'

'I just got a map of the evac area downloaded and I overlaid it with our tactical plan.' Burner started explaining the plan as the topographical three-dimensional map was DTMed to all of the AEMs and mecha pilots. 'You can see here that just to the south of the extraction zone is a sheer cliff wall over a thousand meters of drop-off.' The image of the cliff wall highlighted in the DTM image.

'Roger that.' Washington instinctively nodded in his e-suit helmet.

'Worst case, if things go to hell, you AEMs hang on to one of us and we'll drop off the edge there for cover.