The Human Factor

By Steve Stroble

Mars Expedition I results in the deaths of its astronauts. Years later, Mars Expedition II seems headed toward the same disastrous ending, with its astronauts defying Mission Control's orders from Earth and the political agenda of the mission's chief scientist, Dr. Graves.
Already defeated while trying to manipulate the astronauts' selection process, Dr. Graves now uses technology to force his will onto those hurtling toward Mars to establish its first successful human colony. Astronauts Bill and Jackie want to accomplish Mars Expedition II.
But doing so is costing more of everything -- time, commitment, perseverance -- than the bureaucrats or computer models predicted.

The Human Factor is Book Two of the Victory to Dystopia series. The series covers the 150 years of American history from 1945, when the United States took on the mantle of the number one world superpower, until 2095, when it has descended into a dystopia controlled by soulless private citizen messianic technocrats and governmental bureaucrats and the computers and drones they use to control a no longer free people.
Book One is Day of the Bomb.
Book Three is You Will Be Like God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Stroble
• Release date: Nov 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311046802

Steve Stroble

Steve Stroble grew up as a military brat, which took him from South Dakota to South Carolina to Germany to Ohio to Southern California to Alabama to the Philippines to Northern California. Drafted into the Army, he returned to Germany.His stories classified as historical fiction often weave historical events, people, and data into them.His science fiction stories try to present feasible even if not yet known technology.His dystopian and futuristic stories feature ordinary heroes and heroines placed into extraordinary situations and ordinary villains who drain the life out of others' souls (their minds, wills, and emotions) by any means available.

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The Human Factor

Steve Stroble

The Human Factor Copyright © 2009 Steve Stroble. All rights reserved. Smashwords Edition

Cover photo, copyright Victor Habbick.

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

Lyrics from Gypsy, copyright Essex Music International, Inc. Used with permission.

To Jean

1

Waking up at the same time every day can be difficult, especially when the sun never sets.

But Bill had overcome that with his favorite music. On this particular day, the first sounds he heard were from Gypsy, a Moody Blues song from the previous millennium. As always, Bill sang along. Or as his wife Jackie would put it, You’re the only one I know that can sing in every key except the one that the song is in.

So? Just proves what range I have, he always would retort.

That’s every key during just one song.

Bill ignored all such criticisms. This particular morning he made up for his tone deafness with volume, lots of volume, as he sang along: A gypsy of a strange and distant time…. His voice almost blended in during the chorus: Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh, oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh, left without a hope of coming home.

Before the song had ended, Jackie, who was not scheduled to arise until four hours after her husband, awoke. Not again, she moaned. She valued the last four hours of each day when Bill was asleep and she was awake. Now, unable to return to her peaceful slumber, she would have a hard time tonight staying awake to enjoy her mental health time alone as she called it.

You know I need that time tonight alone, she berated him. You drive me crazy.

Alone? he shot back. Ha, ha, haaaaaaa! You won’t be alone as long as you’re with me on this tub, baby. He pretended to swing an ax and then did his best impersonation of Jack Nicholson’s diabolical grin leering through the splintered remains of a door. Heeeeere’s Johnny!

Stop it! Bill’s antics often gave her the creeps.

You can run but you can’t hide. At least not until we get there.

2

Launched four years earlier, Mars Expedition 1 or ME1 as it came to be known, came about when a totally different need than space exploration set a series of seemingly unrelated events into motion. That need was water. The events appeared to be coincidental. But those events would ultimately cause people, careers, and destinies to collide, gel, and come to fruition.

Ty Ranter rarely woke by the same time each morning due to his job’s demands. On this particular one it was the visionphone, not music, which jangled him into a state of semi-consciousness. An anomaly among many of those who surrounded him, he was faithful to his wife. He did not even watch the cybersex, complete with holograms that was so fashionable. However, the night before he had attended a boring perfunctory party that had kept him up until past midnight. This made the early call most unwelcome.

Soon he was driving to meet his boss. The clock on his hydrocar read 5:12 a.m. More expensive to operate, this vehicle often just sat unused, with the electrocar or petro/alcohol vehicle being the preferred way to keep within a budget. But the electrocar had not been recharged and the petro/alcohol vehicle had a gauge that read .51378 gallons remaining. Not wanting to risk stopping in the dark at a refueling center, Ranter chose the only option left. Like many owners, he had nicknames for each car and enjoyed talking to them to pass the time. They could even talk back if he set the on-board computer to the Vehicle Response Mode. So, Henry, how you doing this morning?

Fine. How are you, Ty?

Been better. The boss called. Doesn’t he ever sleep?

My data shows that he’s an early riser. It comes from his former occupation.

Yeah, I guess so.

Did he say why he called so early? This is the first time that you or Julie has ever driven me so early in the morning.

Nah. It was an automated call. He just pushes a button and I hear a message saying, ‘Ty, this is Clayton. Need to see you right away.’

Then it must be important. Would you like me to scan the news to see if I can find anything that has happened that is related to your work?

That’s okay. Just keep farting out your water vapor and plot the scenic route to work. I’m in no hurry. I don’t get paid by the hour. Wish I did, I’d make a lot more than I do.

I can obey the second command but not the first. Hydrocars cannot fart; they can only emit. Farting is a function performed by you humans and certain other species.

A faint smile and small laugh elevated Ty’s mood.

Whatever. Looks like the course that you chose won’t get me there any time soon. Maybe we can even see a little daylight before work starts.

Yes, sir.

An hour later he greeted his boss, who as always, was ready for him.

Coffee?

Yes, please. That would help.

I’m the one that needs help. Another dam failed last night.

Damn! Not again. Is the water going over the top or did it break?

Just over the top, at least for now. That makes three dams in the last six months. They just can’t contain all the rainfall at once. Their capacity isn’t enough anymore.

At least the water’s only going over the top. When that dam broke in China, over a million people died. Montana, the Dakotas, Minnesota, and Wisconsin get twice as much rainfall and snow than they used to while everything to the south gets less and less every year. Crazy weather. The northern parts of the Missouri and Mississippi rivers get more water than they can handle every winter and then flood everything downriver. Then a couple months later there’s not enough water for the Plains States to grow much of anything.

The first farmer elected as President since Jimmy Carter the century before, President Clayton empathized with the plight of the farmers more than most politicians occupying state legislatures or Congress. Even those of his party rarely backed his farm policies. I’m giving a speech tomorrow night.

Right. Dana let me read it. She did a good job.

Well, with water going over the top of Fort Randall Dam and people losing their lives and homes, I need a new topic, and I need a new speech by noon tomorrow. I need you to paint a picture of a project to transport water from Ft. Randall Dam’s reservoir, Lake Francis Case, through Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, and ending in Texas near Dallas. Needs to be finished in a hurry.

Sir, Dana is the science expert. I’m no engineer or scientist. She can do this speech much better than I can.

No, she can’t. She left on vacation to the South Pole yesterday.

Ranter moved to the large map on the wall and calculated the distance of the project. That’s almost a thousand miles. It can’t be done! Maybe you can build something as far as North Kansas.

It has to give Dallas and Fort Worth water. We can’t keep trucking water to them and sending it in by rail. That costs a fortune. Besides that, Nebraska, Kansas, and Oklahoma aren’t just feeding us; they’re helping to feed the world. Used to be California was first in agriculture. But with their open border policy, their population is almost 60 million now and too much of their farmland is gone. First they legalize pot; then they open their border. They might as well just become their own separate country. They must all be smoking that weed out there. Look, the Plains states need to pick up the slack. To do that they need water, lots of it. Clayton then spent 15 minutes detailing the project that would make or break his presidency.

But…. was all Ranter could manage after hearing and relaying the plan to Henry’s recorder.

No buts. You just write the speech. Tell them that this will give the farmers and cities the water they need and flood control downstream on the Missouri and Mississippi. The Missouri dumps way too much water into the Mississippi and then it breaks levies or ends up in the Gulf. It’s a waste.

Sir, when you hired me, you said I could speak my mind. There’s never been a project like this before.

What do you mean? The Romans built aqueducts thousands of years ago. Aren’t you from California? They built their aqueduct over 50 years ago.

But that project was initially only about 500 miles long. You want twice that for your project.

So? That one only goes through just one state. This one will go through four states and deliver water to a fifth one. So what if it’s twice as long? You know how much our construction technology has advanced in just the last five years? The lasers have cut construction times in half. Just get in touch with one of the engineers that built that California canal if you need help.

But they’re probably all dead.

Then find someone else. Time is short. We’ll start it at hundreds of spots at once and connect it along the way. It’ll be called the Great Plains Water Project.

So that’s what you’re calling it? Ty knew that once Clayton had a name for an idea that there was no turning back.

Yeah. Look, I’m sorry about the short notice. This has been brewing on my back burner for a while. With all this flooding now and then there’s another drought forecast for this summer, I have to do something. You just paint the picture. I’ll make the speech. Just help me sell it.

Ty shook his head. I’ll try…

Talk to that pretty wife of yours. She knows more people than anyone I ever met. Maybe she can hook you up with someone for some of the engineering details like how many new and existing lakes can be fed by the project. First, we’ll fill up that big lake in Oklahoma north of Dallas. It’s almost bone dry. The President’s intercom buzzed and he barked at it.

I told you, no interruptions.

Sir, the agriculture secretary is here about the drought crisis.

Okay, okay. Sorry. Send her in.

Well, I have work to do, Ty headed toward the door.

Remember, start with your wife.

My wife. Ranter grumbled softly as he headed out of the Oval Office. I’ll just call… As usual, his sleep deprived mind went blank. Back inside of Henry he wearily gave directions. Plot the way to the nearest Caffeine Universe.

Yes, sir.

Speeding through the drive-through of the top rated coffee vendor in D.C., Ranter grabbed a 32-ounce jomoco, a drink made from genetically modified cocoa and coffee beans that soon raised his blood pressure by 20 points. Feeling invincible, he started making calls.

The first three that he contacted lived around D.C. None of them could recommend anyone who might help him. Desperate, he called someone from his home state, even though that meant possibly waking him up.

I’d like to help you out but that would mean helping Clayton. He’s so out of touch when it comes to open borders. The feds need to give us more money to implement our open border policy, protested the fourth one called. And what’s wrong with smoking dope? All that fuss about the secondhand smoke is just a smokescreen. Most of the pot used here is baked into something and then eaten. Who’s going to get high on the byproducts of that? The sewer workers?

Maybe the fish get high on the THC once the waste goes through the sewage plants and then into the rivers? Ever think of that?

"Big deal. Then they’ll just get the munchies