Getting Established

With the line going dead, Minerva proceeds on with her work, turning on the terminal on her desk, she takes note of a series of small folders arrayed along the top right… maybe left by a previous Administrator..? But if so… what happened to them?

Minerva pushes these thoughts aside as she opens the folder, inside appears to be a list of what rests inside the warehouse, food, water, building supplies, all of it, diligently recorded and notated.

It appears that Paradiso has enough food and drinkable water to sustain its current population for 20 days.

A ring interrupts Minerva’s reading, the phone rumbling with each ring. Scooping up the receiver the voice of Colette can be heard through the line.

“Administrator Chambers, I have a Victor Coolidge here to see you, should I let him in..?” She asks, her voice hushed as though said individual is standing right in front of her desk.

Coolidge, if the sheriff is to be believed that’s the towns doctor, the towns ONLY doctor. Sooner or later Minerva will have to speak with him.

“Send him in, Colette.” Says Minerva as she leans back in her chair and after a short pause the office door hisses open, stepping inside is a man, dressed in the pants section of hospital scrubs and a tight fitting USCM t-shirt.

The man himself is lanky, standing around 6’0” and lacking much of any muscle definition, Minerva would clock him at 38, skin pale and beneath his green eyes hang thick bags, indicative of a lack of sleep.

“What can I do for you Doctor..?” Inquires Minerva, placing her elbows on the desk and steeple-ing her fingers together.

“Administrator, I don’t know if you’ve had a look inside medical since you arrived but the clinic is in rough shape; one physician, a razor thin selection of supplies, and all the equipment I’m working with are decades old.” His words are that of an exhausted man, not just from lack of sleep but from a constant strain on one’s mind.

“This is fine for bumps and bruises but if we have a serious disaster I simply cannot treat the patients, this means less colonists for you and should YOU ever end up on my table you’ll wish you’ve given me what I need to save a life.” He’s ****, that much is clear in his voice.

“This all sounds very tragic, doctor but what do you wish for me to do about it? More staff? More supplies? Better equipment…?” Asks Minerva as she leans back in her chair.

“All of these would be appreciated but I understand our budget is not limitless, right now what we need most is more staff; I can’t keep closing down the clinic every time I need sleep… but I’ve already canvassed the population, there’s no one here that could be of use but… I DO have an idea…” he says, combing a hand through his hair.

“Administrator, nearly every colony in the galaxy has an AutoDoc, ship ensurers don’t cover ships that do not have a functioning one in its Medbay… but our clinic doesn’t have a single one, if you could find a way to get me 2 or 3 Autodocs I can promise this colony will be in safe hands, yeah they’re no Medpods, but it’ll allow me to focus on the big injuries and infections, it’ll let me sleep so I can work at my best..! Just about anyone can use one!” He says, hope in his voice as he speaks.

“Right… and how much would this cost us exactly…?” This all sounds well and good but right now the colony is running on a shoestring budget.

“I used to work at an orbital hospital in the Galt sector, when that place got evacuated following the Synth uprisings a few people made off with the equipment, the thing is, they can’t just sell it to anybody and they sure as shit don’t need 4 AutoDocs all to themselves… if you give the word I think I could get them for 7,000 credits…” that’s an excellent price for what the clinic would be getting but 7,000 credits is damn near the entire current budget.

“And how do you know the machines aren’t broken? Or are even still around?” Asks Minerva, eyes slightly narrowed.

“I know this guy, he’s one of the doctors who got into the system to help people, if he still has them he’ll make sure they function first… and if he doesn’t..? No harm done, we don’t have to pay until we have the AutoDocs planet-side.

Minerva sighs, weighing the options, it’ll take time to come to a conclusion. “You’ve given me a lot to think about Doctor, I’ll let you know when I’ve made a decision.” Says Minerva, prompting the clinician to leave the room, leaving her alone once again to continue her work.

Minerva leans back in her chair, swiveling around to look out the large reinforced windows of her tower-like office, every so often she spots someone walk along, coming to or from the bunk house or clinic or warehouse or the primary building.

Now would be a good time to check the warehouse, after all that list of stored materials may have been written weeks ago assuming it was ever accurate in the first place.

Minerva rises from her chair, taking a moment longer to gaze along her new domain before exiting her office, Colette perking up in her chair.

“Administrator Chambers..! Is there something you need, ma’m..?” She asks, quietly clicking a button on her terminal.

“I’m fine, Colette I’m just stepping out for a moment to investigate the warehouse, if anyone comes looking for me, just tell them to wait in reception.” States Minerva as she heads down the short hall leading to the lift before pressing the button taking her back to ground level.

The doors open with a small creak of old metal, the colony is fresh but it appears the lift is far from it.

Down the hall Minerva glances into an open door on her way to the control centers airlock spotting a room lined with consoles and screens, every inch of space on them being dominated by blocky buttons and dials that click, in the room sits a lone man, frail looking, like he’s never had a full meal in his life or worked a day of labor, on his head rests a pair of headphones though he doesn’t appear to be speaking with anyone through them.

Minerva decides to break off course for a moment, stepping inside before the automated door could reseal itself, slowly approaching the man from behind.

Minerva starts at polite, clearing her throat to draw attention but when that doesn’t work she settles for a light tap on the shoulder, prompting the man to let loose a squeak as he jumps in his seat before swiveling around looking to reprimand the intruder when he recognizes Minerva.

“O.. oh… Madame Administrator..! I.. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you..!” He says a little too loudly before pulling off his headphones and rising from his seat, putting a hand forward.

“Keith Gallegos! I’m the comms guy around here..!” He says flashing a wide smile as Minerva politely takes his hands in a shake.

“I’m the one who patches incoming calls to their recipient and forwards outgoing calls to Shepherd Station for approval before they pass the call on..!”

“You have to send calls the space station for them to leave the system..?” Inquires Minerva, prompting Keith to grow more lively as he speaks.

“Well, yeah..! We don’t have the equipment to project signals past the system we’re in, the best we can do is send them to Shepherd Station who can then forward them out to the wider galaxy, you’d be amazed by the stuff the station jockeys get!”

“And these calls… are they monitored..?” Asks Minerva however knowing the company, she’s hardly surprised by the answer.

“Well… they CAN be, if there’s a state of emergency like a civil uprising or terrorist incursion, yeah they can monitor and trace every call I send them, but in a backwater place like this, the chances of either of those happening is slim.” He says, seemingly unbothered by both the question and the answers implications.

“I see… well, since I’m already down here, is there anything you need? Equipment..? Staff..?”

“Oh..! Well… um.. yeah, I could definitely do with some extra hands…. I.. uh… I kinda sleep down here nowadays… I can’t afford to leave my post cause a call could come through at any time… if I had some help… I could get some sleep…”

“Alright… I’ll begin canvassing the colonists for some assistance.” Replies Minerva, however as she speaks she notices an uncomfortable look pass over Gallegos’ face.

“W.. well administrator… I appreciate the office but… I… I don’t really like people… a.. and anyone you find, I’d just have to train them anyway…. I… I was hoping I.. if you were able… maybe you could send me a synthetic or two..?”

“Keith, do you have any idea how expensive Weyland-Yutani androids are? Just one Walter model would far exceed the colonies entire budget, we’d be driven into debt over it…” states Minerva, exasperated.

“I… I know that… b.. but we don’t HAVE to get Wey-Yu models right..? I knew a guy who worked as a tech at a Seegson warehouse, it eventually shut down and he was able to sneak out a few Working Joes and an APOLLO..!” Working Joes were deemed too dangerous for civil use years ago, after the Sevastopol incident it was ruled that all Working Joes models had to be replaced by Weyland-Yutani androids.

“Keith… you understand that the possession and use of Working Joes is Illegal, right..?” Says Minerva, consternation clear in her voice.

“What the company doesn’t know won’t hurt them… right..? Besides, with the colony running smooth right now they won’t waste the man power to monitor just one of our calls..!”

“And how do you know that this individual is going to give us functioning models? Or if he’s going to give us anything at all for our money..?” Say what you will about the Wey-Yu, but they always give the customer what they paid for.

“I grew up in the same habitation block as that guy, I know he’s good for it! Trust me, we’ll get exactly what we’ve been promised.”

“Even when they were the cheapest on the market, Working Joes were never THIS cheap, that’s to say nothing of a functioning APOLLO, to sell it all for THAT low? Something has to be wrong with them.”

“Administrator, you don’t understand, Seegson tech has always been bottom of the barrel, and now that you can’t even sell Seegson androids on the market, nobody will take them! He HAD to drop the price for us if he wanted anyone to take the risk! Trust me Administrator, they work fine, hell he might even be the one paying us for taking them off his hands!”

Minerva is quiet for a long time, eyes closed as she processes the request before nodding her head quietly.

“I’ll think about it Keith… I can’t promise anything more than that, ok..?” She states eliciting a wide smile from the young man as she turns and leaves the room.

Arriving at the airlock, Minerva’s suit still remains up on one of the many hooks along the western and eastern walls, sliding it on Minerva is once again struck by the immense weight of it, it’s so hard to move that its almost impossible for her to flex her fingers, let alone perform fine motor work like using terminals, key pads or handling sensitive objects.

With great effort she pulls the switch on the panel near the door, causing the air to be flushed out of the room, before the door slides open with a silent hiss.

Snow descends from above in a light but persistent stream, the breeze throwing the snow against the visor of Minerva’s helmet in gelid waves.

One of the few blessings of the suit being the immunity to the biting cold of the planet, even in doors there’s always a persistent chill, something not even Wey-Yu tech can remedy.

Minerva arrives at the Warehouse/Garage connected together side by side like a duplex, one large door leading to the warehouse and the other leading to the garage, thankfully a third door, one much smaller sits to the side, leading into an airlock similar to the command building, offering Minerva a few blessed moments to free herself of her rubberized, steel reinforced confines.

The airlock closes as air rushes into the room through vents, allowing Minerva to strip off her suit before proceeding into the warehouse.

The shelves are sparse and surprisingly well organized, along one long shelf rests piles of food, largely consisting of protein drinks and prefab meals; freeze dried meatloaf, soups, pastas and something that only APPEARS to be cornbread, further down the line are crates and barrels, featuring the spoils of the hydroponic farm that’s eluded Minerva thus far.

All in all it looks like the fresh fruits and vegetables make up 5% of the food supply at best, the rest is processed slop that offers only enough nutrition to keep a colonist functioning a while longer.

“Hm… I wonder if there’s any fish beneath the ice…” muses Minerva, thinking back to the data pad detailing what little the company knows about the planet, so much water, surely SOMETHING has to be down there…?

The sound of hydraulic hissing followed by the sound of heavy boots on concrete pulls Minerva from her musings, turning around she spots a man, older, white skin and blue eyes, brown hair that’s speckled with grey, a short, shaggy beard covers most of his lower face.

His maintenance jumpsuit is faded with age much like the man wearing, calluses cover his large hands but despite his obviously physically demanding occupation, he’s more than a little overweight.

“The fuck you doing in here..? You new or something…?” He asks, his voice gravelly as he rubs soot from his hands with a stained rag before hanging it over his shoulder.

“I’m Minerva Chambers, the new Administrator of this colony.” She states, expecting him to go into shock similarly to the deputy from earlier but he hardly seems fazed.

“Alright, Administrator, the fuck you doing in her?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares down at Minerva.

“I’m taking account of supplies, I’m assuming you like to eat..?” She asks, pointedly glancing at the mans midsection.

“Fair enough, but if you want to step foot in my garage, you don’t touch anything, yeah..?”

That’s a rather silly thing to say to a colony Administrator, most colonists never OWN their places of business, most barely own their the beds they sleep in.

“I’m sorry, who are you..?” Asks Minerva, finding it hard to stop herself from laughing in the face of this ridiculous comment.

“Frank Sullivan, I’m the colony’s head mechanic, meaning if you want that Daihotai to run or any other engine around here, you’ll stay out of my business and leave me to my work.” His words are cold, his voice stern, he’s isn’t just testing the new Administrators boundaries, he’s setting conditions.

“I think I’ll go wherever I damn well please Sullivan, I think I’ll do with your garage what I like, Sullivan. And I think you’ll bow your head and say ‘Yes Administrator’ or otherwise I’ll go find a grease monkey who will…. Sullivan.” With each utterance of his name, Minerva takes a step forward until she’s staring up at the man mere inches from him, daring him to escalate the situation. The man grimaces, eyes narrowing as his fists tighten in a white knuckle grip.

“Don’t fuck with me Mr Sullivan… now, is there anything I can do to help you in your work..?” Minerva waits there, hands folded behind her back as she stares up into his eyes, curious what will happen next.

Finally through gritted teeth the lumbering mechanic speaks. “I’ll get back to you on that…” this answer suits Minerva fine, she’s accomplished her primary task for today.

Minerva turns on her heels, beginning her stroll back through the isles and towards the airlock. “If you think of anything, do let me know… I’m here to help.”

And with that the airlock seals, Minerva dons her suit and steps out into the snow strewn streets, this time instead of her office she heads for the habitation block, interested to see her room.