The Worst Man on Mars
Don't Mention the Door

By the time HarVard’s holographic cart had reached the base, InspectaBot 360 was already inspecting. He had climbed a tall stack of drainage pipes and was examining the walls and roof of the BioDome. Then, as his eye stalk continued to scan the outside of the building, something stole his attention. The eye came to a sudden stop and zoomed in on the base’s front entrance, or rather, where the base’s front entrance was supposed to be. For, instead of a class III airlock, with pressurized seals and heavy opening wheel, there was ... nothing. Just a large, gaping hole. Gotcha, the inspector said to himself.

Like a panther pouncing on its prey, or a traffic warden espying an illegally parked vehicle, he leapt off the pipes, sending them cascading down a slope, and headed straight for the entrance. His intuition told him he was going to have a field day with this item alone but there was more amiss here than the absence of a couple of doors. Had he been capable of smiling, he would have beamed from ear to ear.

Laser range-finders on, InspectaBot set to measuring the frame, lintel, edging, neoprene seals, and threshold strip. Each measurement was checked against the base’s door-detail blueprints. As he worked, his yellow light flashed and his loudspeaker emitted a “Tut, tut” sound.

HarVard’s cart finally arrived, skidding to a halt right behind the inspector. “I can explain everything,” said his new avatar which, under certain lighting conditions, might have looked a bit like Basil Fawlty.

InspectaBot turned his bullet head. <Identify yourself!>

“Name’s Fazil Balti, hotel proprietor,” said HarVard’s holograph with a sycophantic bow and smile.

InspectaBot turned and pointed at the gaping hole where the airlock was supposed to be.

“I know what you’re thinking,” continued Balti. “There should be a door there. Those robots, eh? Tch-tch. What are they like? Useless, completely useless. I’ll get onto it right away.”

<Item 1 – Missing entry portal airlock door. Botany Base uninhabitable.>

“Uninhabitable?” Balti looked aghast. “Uninhabitable? Nonsense. There could be huge pockets of air in there where a human might survive for hours. Maybe days.”

InspectaBot turned back and continued inspecting.

At that moment, Dura arrived, his motors murmuring their clear need of a recharge, but otherwise seemingly unaffected by his recent fall. <What’s up?>

Fazil turned to him and said in a stage whisper, “Ah, Dura. Whatever you do, don’t mention the door. I mentioned it once, but I think I got away with it.”

Dura looked puzzled, but said nothing. Instead he watched InspectaBot working. It was an impressive sight – such doggedness, such precision, such attention to detail. It reminded him that, one day, he hoped to be upgraded to an inspector.

<There is a serious discrepancy,> announced InspectaBot at last, straightening to his full height and switching off the yellow light.

“What?” asked Fazil, looking totally mystified and indicating the doorway with his hand as though there could not possibly be anything wrong with it.

<Dimensions incorrect. They do not agree with the dimensions given in the plans. This door opening is too small.>

“Too small? Surely there’s some mistake.”

<No mistake.>

Fazil’s goggle-eyes looked from the inspector, to Dura, and then back again. “Are you sure you have the right plans?”

<Botany Base plans, version 73, revision 18.>

A cunning smirk flitted across the hotel proprietor’s face. “Ah, that would explain it. Wrong plans.” He grinned. “I’m afraid you can’t continue if you have the wrong plans. So, if you’d just issue us a certificate and be on your way. Thank you. Good day.” His arm indicated the direction away from the base.

InspectaBot’s processors considered this for a long time as his decision-circuits prevaricated. <This is Botany Base,> he uttered finally.

Fazil shook his head, a smug smile planted on his face. He pointed at a sign above the door lintel. The name “Botany Base” was there, engraved into the lintel in fine Roman lettering. However, two additional letters had been inexpertly painted in front of the first word: an ‘R’ and an ‘o’.

“See? This is Robotany Base. You must have the wrong plans. An easy mistake to make. Are you sure you’re on the right planet?”

InspectaBot 360 stared at Fazil for a long time as he calculated and computed and passed the data through his logic circuits. Lights on his chest panel played out various patterns, like a penny arcade machine. Finally, he transmitted, <I’d like to see the site foreman bot.>

Fazil looked dumbstruck.

<Summon him. Now.>

“Yes, yes, very well, very well,” said Fazil sighing and shaking his head.

Tude shot out of the base’s front entrance, his eyes bobbing on their stalks. <Is there an issue with the airlock?>

“Don’t mention the door,” Fazil hissed.

Tude came to a halt by the side of InspectaBot and looked up at him.

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<I am the correct size, built to spec and to within micrometre tolerances. Unlike this entrance.>

<The door?> asked Tude.

“I said, don’t mention ...”

InspectaBot shushed Balti and turned to Tude. <The entrance is too small.>

<No way.>

<Explain this.> InspectaBot transmitted the door detail specs to Tude, who studied them for a while. The others watched as the site foreman scratched his head with his telescopic claw. He approached the doorway, checked its dimensions, a baffled look on his thick-jawed face. Then suddenly he swivelled round. <Aha!> he said, a light bulb literally going on atop his head. <I think I see what’s happened.> He returned from the doorway, nodding sagely.

<Explain.>

<I bet those plans are in ‘new metres’.>

<Correct. New metres. Standard unit of measurement.>

<Thought so.>

<And?>

<That would be it, then. We work in old metres. That would explain it, wouldn’t it, Dura.>

<You’re right, Tude. New metres vs old. A schoolbot error by Mr InspectaBot.>

InspectaBot stared at them in disbelief. <Explain the meaning of ‘old metres’.>

Tude and Dura exchanged glances. <Well, old metres are old metres. Like in the old days. They had a different name then.>

Dura butted in. <’Yards’, Tude. They were called ‘yards’.>

<That’s the ticket! Yes, ‘yards’.>

InspectaBot continued to stare, as did Balti, the latter’s eyes almost popping out of his head. “You what?” he shrieked.

<Standards,> said Tude, flicking his appendages. <Must have standards. Without standards you have chaos and madness. Here on Mars, our standard working measure is the old metre.>

InspectaBot performed a quick calculation. <Adoption of Imperial system of measurement would result in Botany Base being 86.4% of required size.>

Tude and Dura exchanged glances again.

<Possibly,> said Tude, adjusting his high-viz jacket. <Quite possibly.>

“You idiots!!” Fazil was bawling at them, tearing at his holographic hair. “You complete and utter idiots.”

Tude and Dura stood with heads bowed, scuffing their caterpillar tracks on the dirt.

InspectaBot, yellow light flashing, was preoccupied with one of the windows. He was tapping on it with some sort of ultrasonic wand which he then scanned round the aluminium frames. <Tut-tut,> he muttered gleefully. <Window. Failed.> He added it to the list.

“Mr InspectaBot, your lordship,” said Balti, advancing towards him with a fawning bow. “Perhaps you would like to inspect the inside of the base now? I am sure you will find much to admire in there. And you can meet some of the fine constructorbots who have been working flat out to get this base ready for the humans.”

<This base will never be ready for the humans,> stated the inspector with confidence.

“Please walk this way.” HarVard’s cart, with Fazil Balti bowing and scraping and beckoning the inspector to follow, wheeled its way to the entrance. InspectaBot’s decision-making processors kicked in again. Then, with what – for a robot – counted as reluctance, he followed.

“That’s right, follow me.” The hologram entered the base’s entrance hallway and then, before he could call “Mind your head” he heard a sharp crack. Balti stopped and, with a wince, turned to look back.

InspectaBot 360 stood in the doorway, his now dented forehead up against the door lintel, his broad metal shoulders pressing against the left and right frames either side. A sound like “Grrr” was coming out of his loudspeaker.

<Forward progress not possible,> stated InspectaBot.

“Can you bend down a little?” asked Fazil, with a helpful show of bending down a little.

<I do not bend.>

<We could give you a bit of a push,> suggested Dura.

“Yes, yes, yes,” urged Fazil. “Good idea.”

<Heave!> Tude was saying, pushing on InspectaBot from behind.

<Heave!> Dura responded, pulling from in front.

They had turned the oversized robot sideways and then tipped him to an angle of about 60º, pushing him along on the edge of one of his pantaloon leg-bottoms. One of his range-finders wedged itself on the inner doorframe.

<He’s stuck,> said Dura.

<Right a bit,> called Tude.

<Got it.>

<Turn to me.>

<Got my grippers stuck.>

<Back a bit, then.>

<That’s better.>

<To me.>

<To you.>

<To me.>

<To you.>

InspectaBot remained quiet throughout the entire operation, possibly in a state of electronic shock. The only time he made a sound was when a protruding screw scraped a nasty gash across his shiny pate. After several minutes of struggle, including a hairy moment when Dura nearly dropped the giant robot, they had him standing upright in the entrance hall, the light atop his bullet head just an inch from the low ceiling.

Tude and Dura scuttled off down a passage to find a recharging point while InspectaBot tried to get his bearings. There was no sign of HarVard’s cart or his avatar. The last sight of him had been as Joe Hur, a distant relative of Ben, riding a Roman chariot at full gallop down another passage.

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