Back on the Stations, success was a simple concept, something he understood as a transaction. This kind of work, executed in that fashion, plus a little bit on the sides, would have the desired result. For him, that meant an assured place in society and a guarantee of safety and comfort, neither of which he’d always had while growing up.
Most people didn’t know that Morgan Martin was from the Quads.
But a change of station—from Neilson to Enceladus—a little bit of system hacking to change his name and demographics, and a lot of independent study to learn things he hadn’t been taught in school, all gave him the edge he needed. Government work was secure, if undistinguished, and it always meant new contacts who could help with any side projects or special assistance that might be needed. He’d already been a minor success when a fact-finding trip down to Earth had led him to literally stumble across the amazing woman who became his wife. From there, his star had steadily, if quietly, kept rising.
He also never imagined that a short assignment as a liaison to a crackpot project, one built around a mysterious disease that might or might not even exist, would be anything other than a small step on that ladder. Or that his road to major success would be permanently interrupted mid-stream.
That was when he truly understood how precious his wife really was.
The first night they’d been trapped on G889, she’d built a fire to keep them warm. He hadn’t known such a thing could even be done. Education on the Quads was largely technical training, and his self-designed curriculum of success hadn’t included camping, or even life outside of temperature-controlled circumstances.
Later, when they’d joined the Advance team, she gave him the latitude he needed to adjust while she pitched in with whatever work was required. It was through her gentle prodding that he, too, began helping. At first, he insisted on doing it his own way and in his own time, but after everyone forgave them for the incident with the morganite, he felt his attitude shifting.
Still, every day that passed was one more day when his chances for success slipped away. There was nothing safe or comfortable about life on G889, and he knew that on the Stations, his name would have long since been forgotten. He was also well aware that he wasn’t able to contribute much to the Advance team, although he gradually took over managing all of the computerized systems and communication.
Oddly enough, it was that annoying creature, True Danziger, who gave him a pathway out of his morose thoughts.
She’d sat down beside him after breakfast one morning. “My gear isn’t working. Dad took a look at it, but he couldn’t figure out what was wrong. But he said you probably could.”
“Me?” he’d asked.
“Yeah. Something about the programming. Look, if you want, I’ll check with Cameron or Mazatl, but—”
“No,” he’d said, startling himself as well as her. “Let me see it.”
It turned out to be a simple error in the comm link between the gear and their main computer. A refresh and reboot, which took all of five minutes, had restored the connection. “There you go,” he’d told True. “Good as new.”
She’d blinked. “Just like that?”
“Just like that. Now go do…” he drew a blank. “Whatever it is you do all day. Schoolwork?”
True had shuddered. “Not all day. Just another hour or two. Then I’m going to help Dad rewire the solar connections on the Dune-Rail. He’s teaching me all about electronics and power generation, so that maybe one day I can take that over as my job. Unless I decide to be a doctor like Julia. Sometimes I think that’d be more fun, but there’s so much science to learn first.”
It made sense; before the advent of widespread formal education, children often learned a trade from their parents or other members of the community. He’d shaken his head at dinner one night, commenting sourly to Baines about all the skills they didn’t have teachers for.
“Tell me about it,” came the reply. “But Yale and Devon used the computer systems to design me a little study course on frame construction, and she’s also taught me some of the design stuff. Structural strengths and all that. We’re going to need to do a lot of building at New Pacifica, without prefabs, I mean, so someone needs to know how to do it.” He’d shrugged. “Keeps me busy if nothing else. And I’ve been teaching Cameron about heating and cooling systems, almost as though he were my apprentice.”
Apprentice. The word brought back memories: he’d worked with the Stations’ apprenticeship office for a while. It’d been a small role, but one he relished since it meant he was able to help other Quad-rats find and train for skilled jobs. Good jobs, the kind that would ultimately help them settle their lingering transport debts and crawl out of obscurity without needing to hack the system the way he had. Not all of the people admitted to the program were youths, either; a good handful had been his age or even older.
Each one, teach one, had been a slogan used around that office.
Nobody, he thought, was better than him at computers and communication systems. And nobody else, he thought, was as good as his delightful wife when it came to questions about living without such technology.
That evening, as they settled into bed, Morgan asked, “Bess, would you be willing to take me on as an apprentice? And maybe let me teach you in return?”
Her answer was a smile he’d never forget, and he’d finally understood that there was more than one pathway to the comfort and safety that came only with success.