They walked among the rows of huge, gleaming rockets, shielding their eyes as the glare from both suns reflected off the hulls. It would have been easy to get lost. Each group of ships looked identical and stretched back as far as Dez could see. Each ship had the stylized, crisp lines common to Io Industries and sported a bright, red vertical stabilizer emblazoned with the corporate logo – likely the most recognizable logo in the world. They turned a corner, the shadows from another group of rockets temporarily blocking the glare.
“Ya gotta watch ‘em, kid.” said Sam, nonchalantly, motioning to a bank of rockets. “Ya can’t let anyone in here. There’s monitors on both gates and along the fences.”
Dez, shorter and probably 15 years younger, feigned interest. Both men wore gray coveralls with SECURITY printed on the back. Both wore red IO industries hats, heavy boots, and belts with radios, MobileStuns, and zipcuffs.
“Perimeter searches are every two hours, six quadrants at a time,” said Sam, weary after a long shift. “Do the nearby quadrants on foot. It’ll help keep you awake. Take the maglev cart for Zones 3, 4, and 5 unless you want exercise. It’s a good five-k there and back. Charge the maglev at the end of each shift. If you don’t, I’ll hear about it. If I hear about it, you’ll hear about it. Questions?”
Dez nodded again, then realized Sam stopped talking and was staring at him. He didn’t have any questions. He didn’t even want to be there, his parents having ‘found’ him this job courtesy of their connections. He grudgingly went along with it since they’d threatened to cut off his housing allowance and battery credits and – even worse – now openly discussed him going to Academy. That wasn’t an option. He looked around, trying to think of something to ask. “Where do these ships go?” he said. “Who buys them?”
Sam half laughed, half scoffed. “No one. Why d’ya think there’s so many?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nobody buys these ships, kid. Nobody now, nobody next month, nobody next year.”
“Then why are they here?”
“Homeland incentivizes Io to build ‘em.”
“So,” said Dez, starting to get actually interested. “If the government incentivizes Io to build them, who are they for? Isn’t this some sort of staging ground? So rockets can be sent to different dealerships? For people to buy?”
Sam shook his head, took off his hat, then ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s not a staging ground. This is a graveyard. These ships’ll stay here ‘til they rot. Look,” he motioned Dez over to a nearby rocket. The two peered through one of the portholes. “See those seats?” he asked, pointing.
“They still have the plastic wrappers on them. Brand new.”
“Look closer. What else?”
Dez looked past the seats, at some of the controls, then he saw it. “Dust. Cobwebs?”
“The ships in this quadrant been here for three, maybe four years now. When you take the maglev out to the back, you’ll see ones there from a decade ago. None are spaceworthy anymore. Wiring’s all corroded. Rubber gaskets are brittle. There’s rust. Mice. We got at least three more shipyards like this, plus one on each moon.”
Dez scratched his head, looked around at all the ships, then back at Sam. “Why the heck are we building new rockets for nobody?”
“Kid, Io Industries is the premiere rocket supplier in the world, right?”
“I guess so.”
“This company is your meal ticket now, so you know so,” he said, correcting him.
“Right.”
“Io Industries is the pride and joy of Homeland. Makes our country look good. Gives us braggin’ rights and stuff, in the press and when our government meets with other countries’ governments. We got major international competitors, like PanTech. We gotta show that we can make more rockets than they can. Industrial productivity, y’know? This way we stay number one. A decade ago, Io was the biggest manufacturer of Maglev carts in the world – even in the outer colonies. Now, it’s rockets.”
“I remember! Were there lots full of maglev carts like these?”
“You’re standing on ‘em. We cranked out millions. Sold a bunch cheap so people would see them everywhere, then buried the rest in tapped-out Helium3 mines like this. Io registered every single one, buried or not. Homeland brags about how many registrations there are and how ‘upward mobility’ is something any citizen can reach for, thanks to their policies. After we buried the maglevs, we paved over it and started with the rockets.”
“Isn’t this kind of pointless? Who pays for it all?”
“No one said it’d be easy. We gotta stay on top. There’s other countries that’d kill to be where ours is. Homeland pays to keep us number one then we keep them number one. Everybody wins. Everybody has jobs.”
“But the government isn’t really paying for this – we are, when you think about it. Taxes and stuff. Plus, won’t we run out of space and resources?”
Sam paused and thought about it, scratching his head. He looked annoyed, then glared at Dez. “I gotta wife. Two daughters,” he said, jabbing his index finger at his chest. “All this pays my bills. Keeps my wife happy – my daughters off my back. They wanna go shopping? Go watch a holo? They can. Because of this job. I been runnin’ security on this site for 11 years now. No one’s gonna tell me my job’s worthless – that I’m worthless.”
“Sorry. I just…”
“You just nothin’! Watch the ships. Keep the perimeter secure. Don’t think so much.” Sam walked away, then stopped, relaxed his shoulders and turned back to Dez, smiling. “And kid, enjoy yourself. It’s the best job you’ll ever have!”
Dez watched as Sam left. Somewhere in Zone 4, a gleaming new rocket landed.
This story previously appeared in Sci-fi Shorts.
Edited by E. S. Foster.
Paul Cesarini is a Professor & Dean at Loyola University New Orleans. His fiction is published in 365 Tomorrows, Antipodean SF, the Creepy Podcast, Aphelion, Sci-Fi Shorts, Apocalypse Confidential, Tall Tale TV, Black Sheep, Intangience, Savage Planets, Andromeda, Freedom Fiction Journal, and Bewildering Stories, with additional stories in-press. In his spare time, he serves as the editor / curator of Mobile Tech Weekly.