Matt had been one of the engineers supervising underground workings at Erebus Mine in the year of the accident; it was his second tour of duty there, and he had been doing well. They had been exceeding the productivity targets set for his section, and there had been talk of him being promoted to assistant manager on one of the smaller Martian glacier mines.
All that had changed after the accident.
He remembered reading the final report of the investigation board, and the conclusion that the personnel themselves had been to blame. After the initial shock, came the anger – how could they possibly have come to this conclusion?
It was inconceivable to Matt and anyone else who had worked there, that the mine personnel had not followed procedures. Safety in mines, and especially planetary mines, was paramount; it was a way of life that was drummed in from the first day. Along with several other PMI employees, Matt had gradually become involved as an expert witness for the various relatives’ action groups, in their long search for the truth, and for some kind of closure to their pain.
At first, PMI had been tolerant, warning Matt that he was treading a narrow line. The rumoured promotion had not materialised, however, and then when Matt had been caught accessing a confidential internal file on the accident, PMI wanted him out. Worse still, PMI attempted to use the incident to discredit him as an expert witness.
About nine months ago, however, PMI seemed to have had a slight change in attitude. Maybe the endless letters and reports that Matt and others had written over the past six years had had some effect; at any rate, PMI’s position had shifted from simply ignoring them, to detailed rebuttal. The lawyers for the relatives seemed to think this was significant; perhaps PMI were less certain of their position.
Matt heard his name mentioned, and he snapped back to the voice of one of the speakers addressing the audience, but his name was just being listed as the author of a report that the sub-committee had examined.
There was nothing in the chairman’s demeanour or body language that gave any clue as to which way the board was heading. Trent sat back in his chair at the centre of the table, listening to the presentations, occasionally glancing at the papers spread out in front of him. He seemed determined to make everyone there wait and listen to the full presentations of each of the expert groups, before giving any hint of the verdict of the board.
It was going to be a long session.
CHAPTER THREE
In the first recess of the day, Matt left the committee room to get some fresher air.
The doors of the committee room opened straight out onto the mezzanine level of the building, and he went over to stand by the marble balustrade that overlooked the main staircase. In the lobby below, a steady flow of people was coming in from the street to form lines at the security scanners, while others were heading down the stairs and through the revolving doors to the outside world.
All around him, on the walls of the atrium and on tall marble plinths, were displayed monuments to the history of the air and space ages.
Propeller blades from ancient B-17s, B-24s and B-29s lined the staircase, like swords in an armoury for giants.
A J-2 engine, from the second stage of a Saturn V booster, stood opposite a Space Shuttle Main Engine, on either side of the mezzanine floor. A thruster from one of the first Martian landers was displayed on the far wall, alongside the nose gear from a spaceplane.
As he looked around, Matt thought about the other exhibits, the bent and burned parts of aircraft, rockets and space vehicles that were kept locked away in warehouses scattered across the country. These were the exhibits that the public never saw, except in thousand-page accident reports – the careful reconstructions of broken wreckage, with black circles on them where people had died.
‘Improvements in safety have been made’ – Matt had heard this so many times during the last few years, but he could not see what had changed for the better following the accident at Erebus Mine. A few procedures had been altered, inspections had been tightened up, but nothing fundamental had changed.
Once
He came out of his thoughts, and realised someone was standing next to him.
‘Matt.’ A tall man in his forties, dressed in a dark suit and holding a sheaf of papers, extended a hand.
‘John! I’m sorry, I was miles away. Good to see you again,’ Matt said, shaking the proffered hand warmly. John Laker was the lead attorney for the second-largest group of relatives in the class action. ‘How do you think it’s going?’
Laker didn’t respond immediately, but instead steered Matt away from the busier area of the mezzanine, to a corner where a pillar screened them from view. Laker tucked his papers under one arm and took a brief drink from a cup of coffee before answering.
‘Sorry, really needed that. These investigation presentations are interminable.’ Laker spoke in short, clipped sentences, keeping a wary eye open for anyone wandering past that might overhear. ‘How is it going? It’s difficult to tell. Trent’s hard to read. On the outside, he’s presenting a very objective attitude, a very measured picture, but—’ Laker raised a finger, ‘we heard something this morning on the grapevine. Might be interesting.’ He took another sip of coffee.
‘Word is that PMI have done a deal to cooperate with this investigation, in return for the FSAA relaxing some of the restrictions on their mining permits on Mars. I’ve also heard that they might be getting back some of the space tug slots that they lost in the last antitrust hearings, if they don’t get in the way of any further investigations.’
Matt smiled ruefully.
‘And there I was, thinking that we’d pressured them into it.’
‘Right.’ Laker watched the entrance doors to the committee room for any signs that they needed to go back. ‘And let’s face reality. PMI knows that even if a mission goes back to Mercury, it could take years to review the evidence. Before any liability could be proved. My guess is that they’ve done their sums. They’ve figured out that those permits and tug slots are more valuable than the potential liability. That’s why I think—’
Laker broke off suddenly as he spotted someone at the top of the stairs. An older woman, dressed in a business suit and carrying a briefcase, was talking to one of the security guards, who appeared to be unwilling to let her through. She produced some document from her briefcase and held it out, but the guard was shaking his head.
‘Excuse me.’ Laker darted off to the stairs. There was some hand-waving and more talking, but eventually the guard nodded and indicated that she could go through. Matt watched as Laker led the woman up to meet him.
‘Matt, I wanted you to meet Rebecca Short. Rebecca, this is Matt Crawford. Rebecca represents one of the relative support groups.’
‘Mr Crawford.’ Short shook hands with Matt. Below the greying hair, her eyes were careful and assessing. ‘It’s good to meet you at last. Your work has been so valuable to us. We’d never had got this far without you.’
‘Yeah, and my former employers know that,’ Matt said with an ironic smile. ‘They haven’t exactly made it easy for me.’
‘Have you been able to find a new job?’
‘It’s not been easy.’ Matt looked down for a moment. Short seemed to realise that she had touched a raw nerve, and hesitated before continuing.
‘There have only been a few people who have helped us. The rest – people who could have made a real difference – they’ve just looked the other way, or threatened us with legal action. You don’t know how much difference you’ve made.’
‘I’d feel happier if I
Short shook her head emphatically.
