Free Mars Prime by William C. Dietz

fact, it would be many years before the Mars colony was self-sustaining, and many years after that before they could produce a surplus. So everything consumed aboard the ship was that much less for later on.
    There were psychological factors, too. What would people do during a nine-month voyage? A lot of shrinks had spent a lot of time considering that very question. And their conclusions weren't all that optimistic.
    Given the colonists' divergent cultures, religions, and languages, plus the lack of anything constructive to do, the shrinks had predicted everything from race riots to holy wars.
    And, although the possibility of a skeleton crew had been given serious consideration, the idea was ultimately rejected. What if they went bonkers? Cut power to the suspension chambers? Or disabled the ship?
    No, it would be better for everyone to take a nap and wake up ready to go. Providing they woke up, that is. It was a grim thought and Corvan pushed it aside.
    He saw people up ahead. There were med techs, suspension techs, and at least one administrative type. They hovered like ghouls around an open coffin. They looked his way. One waved. Corvan grimaced and waved back.
    Here it was, another interview with a carefully selected colonist, guaranteed to enter his or her chamber with a smile. His tenth or eleventh such interview in the last four cycles. All of which had been beamed back to Earth for consumption by the next shipload of starry-eyed dreamers.
    They weren't lies exactly, since some people did crack jokes as they climbed into their chambers, but there were other stories as well. Stories that Fornos and Jopp wouldn't allow him to tell.
    Like the woman who had been towed kicking and screaming to her chamber where she'd been sedated and strapped into place.
    Like the man who had played hide and seek with Paxton's security people for two days before they found him in the hydroponics section and forced him into a chamber.
    Like the woman who had entered her chamber calmly enough, but had gone crazy once inside and tried to scratch her way out. Corvan would never forget the bloody grooves that her fingernails had left on the inside of the canopy.
    He had gone to Jopp's office, forced his way pasther functionaries, and requested permission to include a toned-down version of the woman's story in his report. Jopp had looked at him as if he were out of his mind, raised a well-plucked eyebrow and said "no." The way she said it left no room for further discussion.
    The technicians said hello as Corvan approached, slapped the colonist on the back, and congratulated him on becoming a vid star. One man in particular, an administrative assistant named Hobarth, was especially effusive. He was tall, and in spite of the fact mat he was only slightly overweight, had three chins. All three of them jiggled when he spoke. The ridiculous tie that he wore drifted in front of his face. He pushed it out of the way.
    "Well here he is! The one-eyed wonder! Colonist Gormley, I'd like you to meet Rex Corvan, slayer of journalistic dragons. Rex, this is Colonist Gormley."
    Corvan drifted to a stop, took one look at Gormley, and shook his head in amazement. There were some poor specimens among the colonists, but Gormley took the cake. He was thin with malnutrition, had incredibly bad breath, and couldn't seem to focus his eyes. Gormley was ill or under the influence of drugs. Corvan assumed the latter. Not only that, but someone had fitted him out with an old-fashioned sleeping cap, complete with tassel. Strips of duct tape held in it place.
    Gormley smiled an idiot smile. "Hi, Rex."
    Corvan ignored him and looked at Hobarth instead. "And what the hell is this?"
    The smile disappeared from the administrator's face. His eyes narrowed and nearly vanished into creases of pasty white flesh.
    "This is what we pay you for."
    Corvan looked from Hobarth to Gormley and back again. "Wrong. I get paid to provide information about colonists. If you want interviews