Clifton nods, “It’s been too long.” Clifton and the other scientist file down the hall, a group of Marines greet them as they enter the loading dock. Clifton joins a few of his comrades, William Phelps and Dr. Regent Turbot as they gather around a red faced Marine sergeant by the name of Rivers.
“There are rules,” Sergeant Rivers shouts, with a bit of spittle sticking to his lips, “these rules are made to keep you alive, if you do not do so you will die. And if you don’t die I’ll shoot you myself, just to prove the fucking point, clear?” Clifton and Turbot chuckle and exchange eye rolls as if the Sergeant speaks about washing a dog the right way, Rivers notices the lack of enthusiasm and steps hard in their direction, “You contractor assholes don’t seem to comprehend what I am talking about.”
Clifton looks Sgt. Rivers dead in the eye, “I think we can comprehend Sarge if you can comprehend that we aren’t out here to take orders, we’re here to build a bunker to protect you ass and your unit’s collective ass and maybe if you back off us a little bit we might just make it so this thing’ll withstand the type of bombardment you’re apt to taking…clear?”
Sgt. Rivers pokes his nose up against Clifton’s, “I know who you are you little pissant and just because the president is your daddy doesn’t mean you get some kind of special treatment out here--”
Colonel Odom steps to the side of Sgt. Rivers, “I think it does Sergeant.” Rivers snaps to attention and raises his hand to his hat, “Colonel on deck!”
The other Marines snap to attention around him, Colonel Odom lets the burning heat seeping through the vents blister the Marines a little until he lets out a subtle call, “At ease Marines.”
The Marines lower their salutes and stand with arms crossed behind their backs. Colonel Odom looks to Clifton, “Son, welcome to the Bowl, I hope the greeting wasn’t too harsh.”
Clifton smiles, “Nothing I can’t handle sir.”
Odom nods, “I’m sure. You know why you’re here Clif, no engineer better to retrofit The Point--”
“No engineer dumb enough you mean,” Clifton replies.
Odom chuckles, “You can make your own assumptions on that. Sarge Rivers here is going to be your escort, consider him to be the German shepherd you never really wanted.” He looks over at Rivers, “We all know he’s an asshole, but he’s the best asshole, maybe the only asshole that I know that can take you out to The Point and bring you back alive. Isn’t that right Sergeant Rivers?”
“Sir yes sir,” Rivers replies through grit teeth.
Colonel Odom smacks Rivers on the back, “Now you two boys play nice.”
Sgt. Rivers’s steps back from Clifton, “Shall we?”
Clifton leads the way into the tunnel, Phelps and Turbot follow behind him, nearly heel to toe. Clifton looks around at the rusted metal that surrounds him. The fluorescent lighting flickers as the rest of the Marines form up behind Rivers. The soles of their boots tromp in unison over the steel grating that makes up the floor. A sign, lit a bit brighter than the rest of the hall states in bold blood red block letters, “Welcome to Mars, ‘A nice place to visit’.”
“Why the hell does everything on this planet have to have a “the” in front of it?” Turbot remarks as he points to the map. “‘The Sticks’, ‘The Bowl’, ‘The Point’, it’s like a sin to just have a normal name.”
“It’s Marine-speak,” Clifton replies as they continue their trek down the dim lit hall, “they don’t know how to create a name so they just stick a “the” in front of a word and make it the moniker.”
Phelps adjusts the Chicago Cubs ball cap on his head, “Can’t blame them for a lack of creativity, hell if I get my brains beat in by a ball busting Sergeant day in and day out I know I’d quit trying to be so damn intelligent and just focus on just staying alive.”
Turbot shakes his head, “Not me, intelligence is virtue, especially now, without intelligence would we be even standing here would half the people on earth even have the choice to ‘stay alive’ if they so choose.”
“That’s cute,” Clifton replies.
Turbot raises an eyebrow “What’s cute?”
“You actually think people still have the right to choose.”
Phelps steps into the conversation, “Things have changed, I’ll admit that, but that whole American spirit thing,” they step into a large garage where a lunar rover with an American flag painted on the side, a smirk comes across Phelps’ face, “it’s still around.”
The three geeks gawk at the hunk of all American steel, a rarity on earth, but the only kind you can find on Mars, and pity the poor fool who doesn’t realize the full potential of this hulking beast. The Marines file into the rover casually, as if there’s nothing exciting about the 900 horsepower beast with tires the size of a man. Sgt. Rivers stops next to the three men, “You boys gonna stand there drooling all day or are you gonna get in the heap?” Clifton leads the way once more, as Phelps can’t take his eyes off of the hydraulic thrusters.
The strap into the bench seat across from Sgt. Rivers, the Sarge chews on a piece of gum as he examines the wall next to Clifton’s head, “How long you been out here?” Clifton asks.
Rivers twitches his eyes to meet Clifton’s, “Been on The Red for a little over 2 years now.”
“Cool,” Turbot adds, “do you like it?”
Rivers spits a chunk of phlegm to the ground, “This shit hole is a deathtrap.”
Clifton leans back on the seat, “Sounds cozy.”
“Our last engineer didn’t say a damn word unless it was important,” Rivers shoots back.
Clifton scoffs, “Your last engineer was an M.I.T. drop out.”
Turbot whispers into Phelps’ ear, “Didn’t he drop out from Purdue?” Phelps covers Turbot’s mouth.
Rivers nods, “You’re right.” Rivers chuckles, “Our last engineer’s legs were found a quarter mile from his torso,” he reaches for his canteen attached to his belt buckle, “we never did find his head.” Rivers takes a swig and offers some to Clifton.
Clifton obliges, and takes the canteen from Rivers, “Never really used it away I guess.”
The two men share a laugh that dies into another deafening silence.
Turbot can’t bear the quiet; he looks to the other Marines, “So what do you guys do for fun?” They exchange glances.
