Chapter 15
Hard work helped Foreman keep it together. He put in twelve hour days, clearing the jungle, taking cuttings, turning over compost heaps, cleaning. When he wasn't doing that, he exercised, jogging back and forth along the central path between the jungle and the quarters. A small gymnasium had some basic equipment, and he had at least one workout each day.
Monkley contributed by taking care of the laundry, basic food preparation, working alongside Foreman and generally being there to support. Several hours each day, he would take to the trees, swinging from branch to branch, eating and sleeping. In the evening, they would sample the wine and have a smoke. Feeling slightly stoned, he jumped down off his hammock and joined Foreman on his.
'Story. Happy story.'
'Not sure I'm in the mood, pal.'
'Story.'
Foreman stroked Monkley's head. 'Remember when you were a baby? You could be a bit of a handful. You got out your cage one night. Boy. Did you make a mess. My old boss was not amused. She said, “That GenMoP is more trouble than he's worth”. She never called you Monkley. You were on thin ice, I can tell you. But I knew it was because you had a lively mind. You got bored easily. So, that night, we made a deal. If I told you a story, you would be a good boy. So I did. Every night, I'd make up some stupid story and then you'd yawn and sleep like a baby.'
'Story. Happy.'
'Okay. There was a cute little chap named Monkley.'
'Monkley.'
'And one day, he went up in the sky all the way to Mars.'
'Mars.'
'We'll skip the landing part. Anyway, we found this jungle, with lots of trees and cool things like bananas.'
'Oooh.'
'And Monkley became the king of the jungle. And he would play and climb trees and eat and sleep.'
'Hmm. Monkley.'
'And he had a best friend called Andy.'
'Monkley.'
'But he wasn't king of the jungle. Monkley was king of the jungle.'
'King.'
'King Monkley, yeah.'
Foreman spoke softly and in no time, Monkley was fast asleep, and they lay together, Foreman trying not to dwell on the events, trying not to feel angry. Out there in the Martian sand, three people, bright, young and supremely talented were nothing more than charred remains. If it had been an accident, mankind pushing everything to the limit, he could have accepted that. He also knew it was entirely possible, he and Monkley could die millions of miles from home, never knowing why somebody wanted them dead. He felt helpless and vulnerable and there was nothing he could do about it.