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RIDING THE STORM OUT


Martin L. Shoemaker


I looked between my feet and down into the crawler below, where Erica Vile stared up into the pilot pod.

“I’m ready to drive if you need, Chief,” she said.

I checked the navigation display. “Wow…Four hours of driving already.” I had not noticed the time, as I had been too busy dictating reports. I did not want to feel the trip was a complete waste.

We had accomplished our goal: we had picked up Brad Andreesen from the Gander Settlement and were bringing him back to Maxwell City to face charges.

But that was no job for the chief and the deputy chief. Sending us both out here would put us far behind on paperwork and processing. So I was trying to keep up as best I could.

I nodded. “That sounds good, Vile,” I said. I slid back the throttle, and the crawler came to a halt. We were in the middle of Mars’s Meridiani Planum, and in other circumstances I might have liked to stop and look around. But orbital weather control said there could be storms coming through, and I wanted Andreesen safely locked up before those hit.

“Deputy Chief Vile,” I said, “you have the wheel.” I clambered lightly down into the interior of the overland crawler.

As I stepped aside, Vile climbed up. “Chief Morais, I relieve you.” As she nudged the crawler up to speed, I went back to look at Andreesen and check his restraints. He was asleep, so at least I didn’t have to put up with his mouth.

Andreesen wasn’t to blame for my bad temper, not really. He was just an excuse. I was annoyed that Maxwell City had been taken over by a xenobiology conference, with Initiative security commandeering my troops. But it makes sense, Rosalia, Mayor Grace had said. The scientists are traveling from all across the Solar System. They want to know that interplanetary authorities are managing security, not locals.

That is foolishness, I had said. My officers know the city better than they do.

Chief Hogan knows that, Grace had answered. That’s why he’s deputizing your force. But he has to be in charge, not…

Not the police chief who let Andreesen get away, I had finished.

No one blames you for that. He eluded the Initiative, too. Andreesen has plenty of connections and money. It’s not your fault.

That is what she had said. That is what my husband, Nick, had said, and Vile, and even Chief Hogan from Initiative security. But space it! I did not believe it. We had been so close to making the case on Andreesen, and he had gotten away. On my watch. I took that personally.

I resisted the urge to kick Andreesen as he slept, instead sitting in the other couch where I could keep an eye on him. We had been shutting down Andreesen’s operations and his resources. We had cut off every contact and every stash of credits we could find. He could not get off Mars, and authorities in every settlement were looking for him. And sure enough, in the middle of the xenobiology conference, Gander Settlement had reported his capture. Since all of my team had been working for Hogan, Vile and I had taken the extradition assignment ourselves.

A gruff voice came from across the crawler. “Hey! I need a drink.”

I looked over at Andreesen as he lay on the bunk. He was tall and thin. His dark brown hair was tousled, and he bore a stubble beard, brown mixed with white. Not exactly the picture of the polished crime lord from his dossier. He had been living rough for weeks now. “You have a bulb,” I answered.

“It’s dry!” he said. “I think it has a leak. This cheap suit…”

I smiled at that. “Not up to your standards?” I stood carefully. Riding in a crawler on Mars is tricky. They are not fast, less than twenty kilometers per hour, so on Earth you would feel safe walking around in one. But on Mars you only have forty percent as much weight holding you down. It is easy to get tossed around if the crawler hits a bump. So I stood in a low crouch, and I gripped the safety rails as I made my way to the environment station and pulled out another water bulb.

I carried the bulb back to Andreesen. “Sit up,” I said. Andreesen made a show of it, groaning and straining as he tried to sit up with his hands cuffed. “Cut the act,” I continued. “You are not that injured.”

“I am!” he said. “Those goons you sent beat me. I’m going to sue!”

“I sent no goons,” I answered. “We just announced a bounty for your capture.” And it had worked. If Andreesen had had access to his funds, he might have bribed his way free. Instead the bounty hunters would get paid with some of Andreesen’s own money. “I cannot help that you resisted arrest.”

“An unlawful arrest, Chief. I’m going to sue you, and Mayor Grace, and the whole city. I’m going to own Maxwell City.”

I scoffed at that. He had nerve: on the run with all his funds cut off, beaten, captured, and he still acted like he was in charge. “You remember I said you do not have to speak without an attorney?” I asked. “This is a really good time for not speaking.” I snapped the bulb hookup closed, and stepped back.

Andreesen grinned, and I could still see the oily charm with which he had insinuated himself into the confidence of the gullible. “Are we a bit sensitive, Chief?”

“No, just bored with your noise. You should save your breath for when you see the magistrate.”

“I won’t ever come before the magistrate. Not as a defendant. My lawyer will do all the talking when I sue. By the time he’s through with you, you’ll be done in Maxwell City, done on Mars. Your reputation will be fouled from here to Earth. I’ll bring you down.”

I laughed at that. Andreesen thought he was a big man, but admirals and billionaires had tried to crush Nick Aames and me in the past. Compared to them, he was an amateur.

Andreesen’s eyes grew wide. “You think I’m funny?”

I shook my head. “You are pathetic. Funny will be when I see you locked in the stockade for twenty to life.” I sat back in my couch, picked up my paperwork, and did my best to ignore Andreesen’s taunts. He was powerless, but persistent.

Eventually Andreesen lay back on his couch and closed his eyes. Vile’s voice called from over my head. “How’s our prisoner, Chief?”

“Quiet now. He tried to bait me for a while, but I ignored him.”

“Smart move,” she answered. “He’s manipulative.”

“Oh?”

“He made a pretty good push on me,” Vile explained. “He hinted at money, connections, and power. He even suggested I could have your job if I helped him.”

“Do you want it?”

“Hell, no! I work hard enough as it is. But it was fun playing along as if I was interested. When the player finally figured out he was being played, he got royally pissed. He dropped the façade, and he hit me with a string of invective that would make any drill sergeant proud. He’s used to being able to turn people, and he doesn’t know how to handle it when he’s out of power. I think he’s on edge. We have to be careful, he might blow.”

I nodded. “Speaking of blowing, what’s the word on that storm?”

I looked up just in time to catch the hint of a scowl. “I’m glad you asked, Chief. It’s not looking good. Orbital weather says it’s building up speed, and picking up a lot of dust. It’s ahead of their earlier track, and accelerating. I see haze on the horizon.”

I tapped my console to pull up a weather report as well. “What is the long term on that?” But I found the answer before she could respond. “Seven hours?”

“At least,” Vile answered. “It’ll get heavy pretty soon. What do you think we should do?”

I shook my head. “Vile, you are a better crawler pilot than me.” I had seen her records. Earthborn do not really grasp Martian storms. They underestimate or they overestimate. Some of them expect horrendous windstorms, like a tornado or a sirocco, at a hundred kilometers an hour or more; but they do not understand the low density of the Martian atmosphere, only 0.6 percent of Earth normal. The winds move fast but are so thin as to exert no pressure at all. They are barely strong enough to lift a piece of paper.

But can they lift dust! Martian dust is fine and powdery, and can be lifted high into the atmosphere. So much dust moving at that speed can blind you and interfere with instrumentation. It cuts off radio traffic for common communications frequencies, and it shuts down solar power.

So a traveler facing a dust storm has a choice. You can drive through it, dead reckoning and blind, and hope you run into no obstacles. That might work on a well-mapped path, since new obstacles were uncommon on Mars. Or you can hunker in place and ride the storm out. Assuming you packed reserve air and water and food, the crawler will be a safe place to spend to sit through an average Martian storm—if a bit cramped. The risk is that sometimes the storms run longer, even for weeks or months. Plus a storm can leave you buried so deeply that it takes you additional hours to dig out. The dust is fine, but it is heavy if it piles up deeply enough.

Still, hunker in place was the safer choice. Unless…

“Chief, there’s a settlement only twenty minutes off our path.”

“There is?” I checked my map. “I do not see it.”

“It’s new, and pretty small,” Vile answered. She pushed the data to my console. “There. It’s a scientific outpost. Everett Base. Founded less than a year ago, a corporate-university partnership.”

“Let me see.” I patched into the Initiative data network—noting that the performance was already sluggish from the storm—and pulled up survey information on Everett Base. Founded by a team of xenobiologists looking for historical signs of Martian life, led by Dr. William Everett, as well as a geological survey team and corporate laboratories. It had been under construction for a couple of Martian years with full operations starting ten months back. “It is small,” I said, “but they do have crawler garages. Give them a call, Vile, and ask if they have room to shelter us through the storm.” I looked back toward Andreesen’s couch. “And ask them if they have a lockup.”

* * *

Visibility was down almost eighty percent by the time we approached the crawler garage, the northernmost in a hexagon of domes connected to the Everett Base main dome by surface tubes. Satellite connections to the Initiative were completely down, and local comms were patchy. The air was filled with hazy streamers of dust, thick enough to sound like very soft static is it struck the side of the crawler. The stuff was fine, but it was fast, and ½mv2 said it carried a lot of energy.

The garage door cycled open, and we rolled inside. Once we cleared the door it closed, and the purge cycle began. The air in the garage was Martian thin, having been evacuated to let us in. Now the locals were pumping the air up to half pressure, while running giant fans to keep the dust circulating. Electrostatic filters along the wall and ceiling trapped the dust, cleaning the air for several minutes. Then the fans stopped and more air pumped in. Soon our external pressure light showed green, and two figures in suits without helmets approached the crawler.

I started cycling both doors on our airlock as Vile climbed down from the pilot pod. When the door slid open, I stepped out to meet the pair: a young, redheaded man and a tall, graying Asian woman. “Greetings,” I said, “I am Police Chief Rosalia Morais of Maxwell City. Thank you for offering us shelter.”

The woman reached out to shake my hand. “Welcome,” she said. “We’re glad we could help. I’m Dr. Iwa Sakura, and this is Dr. Jacob Fletcher.” She pointed to the man, and we shook hands as well.

I looked back as Vile stepped out of the lock. “This is Deputy Chief Erica Vile. Vile, Dr. Sakura and Dr. Fletcher.”

More handshakes all around, and then Sakura said, “Your message mentioned a prisoner?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding. “Extradition from Gander Settlement. I can push you the authorization and the case files, just so we are clear.”

Sakura shook her head. “We’re just a small scientific base, Chief,” she said. “Just a tiny, tight-knit community of academics—plus a few corporate researchers. We don’t have law enforcement here, and I wouldn’t even know how to read your paperwork. But your credentials check out, so we’re good.”

Vile’s eyebrows rose. “No law enforcement? How does that work?”

Fletcher chuckled. “We’re scientists,” he said. “If there any serious disputes, there’s an Initiative judicial team that runs a circuit through the frontier bases. But really, we don’t need it. The only disputes we have here are academic, and those get settled in the journals.”

“And in the conferences,” Sakura added. “I’m sure Dr. Everett would be happy to welcome you here, but he’s actually at the xenobiology conference in Maxwell City.”

“Presenting two papers,” Fletcher added, a broad grin on his face.

“Yes,” Sakura continued, “so we’re holding down the fort while he’s out. Experiments don’t stop just because the prime researcher is away.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “We do all the day-to-day work, anyway.”

I checked some readings on my comm. “We are definitely grateful you could take us in. If we could purchase some air and water to replenish, that would be good. We can bunk in the crawler. No need to put anyone out.”

“Nonsense!” Sakura said. “Have you checked the storm track? It moved into the major storm category before we lost satellite contact. The current estimate is it’ll last thirty hours, and there’s another front behind that. If those merge, you’re looking at fifty, even sixty hours. Why would you want to spend that in the crawler?”

“Well…There is the matter of our prisoner.”

“We thought of that,” Fletcher answered. “We have an outside equipment shed, left over from the construction of the base. If you take him out there and don’t leave him a suit, he can’t go anywhere, right?”

I paused. “What do you think, Vile?”

Vile shrugged. “You’re the chief,” she said.

At last I said, “Let’s take a look at it, check the security. It may work.”

Fletcher grinned. “I’m sure you’ll find it suitable,” he said. “And we have some visiting scholar quarters for the two of you, just inside the tube to the main dome. They’re much more comfortable than being cooped up in that crawler.”

* * *

Vile and I had inspected the locks on the utility shed. Neither of us was as good with data security as Officer Moore, but we were not inexperienced, either. We confirmed that the lock could not be operated from the inside—and there was nothing inside that Andreesen might use as a weapon or tool—and we uploaded our own security algorithms into the door lock. We agreed that this was a safe, secure place for Andreesen to ride out the storm. We might have to blow a path out to him after it passed, but he would have food and water and air, and he would be able to flex his limbs a bit. I did not like the man, but there were still standards of prisoner treatment that had to be maintained. So we suited him up, led him in, checked the supplies that Dr. Fletcher provided, took his suit, and left him there.

Then we went back to the garage to fetch our bags. I peered through the dust, trying to see the layout of the facility. Besides the main dome and the six big peripheral domes, I could see three smaller domes. I could only guess how many others might be around the far side. A network of wide tubes connected the domes.

Fletcher led us to the visiting scholars’ wing near the garage. Our lugbots followed closely with our bags. He showed us two compartments in a row of doors on the west side of the tube, gave us security keys, and let us settle in. “But Dr. Sakura would like to throw a dinner party in your honor. We don’t see a lot of new faces around here.”

“It has been a long day,” I answered.

“Count me in,” Vile said. “And Chief, you haven’t had a day off in a month. You really could use it.”

“Maybe,” I said as I closed the door to my quarters. I took advantage of the shower, glad to get out of my suit and freshen up.

But Vile’s words stuck with me. I looked through my duffel, trying to decide which of my clothes were most festive.

* * *

Vile had already left for the party by the time I headed south through the tube to the main dome. While the doors along the east wall had no markings, the west doors were labeled for different corporations. The last door in the line, heavier than the rest, was marked simply MAINTENANCE.

As I entered the main dome, I heard laughter, conversation, and clinking utensils. The dome had a high ceiling, nearly four meters, and the space was divided into rooms by partitions only two meters high. No one but a tall loonie was likely to see over those, but sound could travel. A blank partition faced me as I entered the dome, forcing me to choose left or right.

Instead I raised my voice and called, “Dr. Sakura?”

“In a minute, Chief,” she called back. It took her far less than that to appear from the right and lead me through the maze of rooms and corridors. The compartments were all empty. Everyone must be at the party.

Finally Sakura brought me into the assembly hall in the center of the dome, where a few dozen people were engaged in laughter and conversations. I saw one cluster around Vile, and people laughed at some story she told.

Sakura raised her voice above the din. “Everyone!” The voices quieted. “I know you’re all having a wonderful party, but I wanted to introduce you to Police Chief Rosalia Morais from Maxwell City. The putative reason for this party.”

“I thought I was the reason,” Vile said, and people laughed more.

“You both are,” Sakura answered. “And now this party can really get started. Clear away from the tables so we can bring the food in. There’s plenty for everyone. I contacted Dr. Everett, and he authorized open rations for tonight.” At that, there was a scattering of excited conversation, and a few broke out into applause. “Enjoy it, because it’s back to work in the morning.”

With that, conversation resumed, and I was distracted as staff introduced themselves and asked about Maxwell City. After several minutes, Sakura pulled me away and led me to the food tables.

The fare was plentiful, if simple. Frontier research bases like this operated on carefully rationed food and air and water. There were a few well-funded research bases, but not many on Mars. The focus on academics over exploitation meant that a place like Everett Base operated primarily on grants and fundraising efforts—and dedication and faith. They might celebrate today, but they’d be back to the budget tomorrow.

And the alcohol…that I found myself sampling, encouraged by a medium-built, jovial man who introduced himself as Dr. Burke. “A real doctor,” he said as he handed me a tall glass.

I took a sip. “Pretty good gin,” I answered. “It must cost a lot to import.”

Burke smiled and shook his head. “No, I distill it myself. Strictly for medicinal purposes, you know.”

I nodded. “So you’re the doctor for the doctors?”

He smiled at my small joke. “I lead the clinic staff. There are four of us here. For anything major, we summon a hopper from Maxwell City. But we’re good with lesser injuries, allergies, and the occasional infection that slips through quarantine. Oh, and bad lifestyle decisions.”

I sipped some more gin, and then gently inclined the glass toward him. “Such as hangovers?”

He laughed. “Too many of those. There’s not a lot of recreation out here in the frontier. A lot of it comes down to what you can put in your body or do to your body. Or do to somebody else’s body. That has consequences, too.”

I chuckled. “It has been known to.”

“Good and bad.” He smiled. “We’ve had a few fights, usually friction between the university people and the corporate folks.” He finished his drink and poured another. “We’ve also had three pregnancies since we arrived. Two mothers transferred to Maxwell City for better obstetrics facilities. The third is still making up her mind. So I might get to deliver a baby in five months.”

I smiled. “I hope you do.”

“We’ll see,” he answered. “Dr. Everett would really prefer we stay child-free.”

“Oh? He doesn’t like kids?”

Burke shook his head and lowered his voice until I almost couldn’t hear him over the din of the party. “I didn’t say that, I just…Budgets and rations are tight. He won’t make parents leave, but it’s easier if they do.”

Again I contemplated the tight margins on the frontier; but before I could ask more questions, I was cut off by the sound of musical instruments tuning up. I looked across the hall, and a small band had set up.

“This should be good,” Burke said. “No one hires researchers for their musical skill, so we take what we can get; but these four have some talent.”

The musicians started playing, and it took only a few bars for me to hear what Burke meant. When the second song started, partiers pulled aside tables and chairs to make a dance floor in the middle of the hall. Dr. Burke stood up. “Chief, may I have this dance?”

“Certainly, Doctor.” I never passed up a chance to dance, one of Nick and my favorite pastimes. Dr. Burke wasn’t nearly as good as Nick, but he was enthusiastic. We started with a fast, improvised routine as we got to know each other’s steps. Next was a slow number in three-four, and we settled into an easy waltz. The band picked up the tempo after that.

It felt good to relax and unwind for once. I looked around for Vile so I could admit she had been right.

I could not see her. Vile is a taller woman than me, and she often stands out in a crowd in Maxwell City; but a lot of the researchers at Everett Base were tall, probably loonies, and I couldn’t see her.

I scanned the crowd. “What’s the matter?” Dr. Burke asked.

“I was just looking for Vile. I do not see her anywhere.”

Burke looked around as well. “Maybe she left the party.”

I shook my head. “It is not like Vile to leave a party in full swing. She works hard, but she knows how to unwind.”

Burke’s mouth turned up in a slight grin. “Maybe she didn’t leave it…alone?”

I mentally kicked myself for overlooking the obvious. I was Vile’s boss, not her big sister. If she wanted a little privacy with a scientist, that was her decision. Let her enjoy herself.

I turned my attention back to the dance, with Dr. Burke and with other willing partners through the night. And I had more fun than I had had in months.

When the band finally packed up, I said my goodnight to Dr. Burke and navigated my way back to my room and into my bunk.

I was just settling into a light dreaming state when the voice of Dr. Burke intruded over the comm. “Chief Morais, come to the infirmary. Immediately, please.”

* * *

I stared through the plexi wall and into Vile’s isolation chamber. “She’s all right,” Dr. Burke said. “For now.”

Vile’s face had a blue tinge to it. “You’re sure?”

Burke shook his head. “I won’t be sure for a while. This isn’t Maxwell City General. We’ve got some damn good bio labs, but they’re not set up for medical work. I’ve got teams reconfiguring them to test her blood for what did this.”

“So you don’t know?”

“I know her oxygen uptake is deficient. She’s young and healthy, that shouldn’t be an issue. Maybe if I had her medical records…”

“Can’t you get them from Maxwell City?”

“Still can’t cut through the storm,” Burke answered.

“What about her suit comp? Her medical records should all be encoded there.”

Again, Burke shook his head. “That’s the other bad news. Her suit comp was missing when we found her.”

“What do you mean, missing?”

“She was in a conference room not far from the party, just lying in the dark in a corner. A maintenance drone stumbled upon her about twenty minutes ago, recognized a possible medical emergency, and summoned help. I checked her vitals, got her on oxygen, and hauled her in here. But there was no comp on her.”

“So this is not an illness.”

Burke’s tone was bitter as he nodded. “What are the odds she caught a mysterious illness at the same time her comp mysteriously disappeared? It’s a toxin, I just don’t know what yet. With all these labs around here…”

I was only listening with half my brain. Vile’s suit comp had the encryption keys for the cyberlock on Andreesen’s storage shed.

Space it! I needed to be in three places at once. I needed to check on Andreesen, I needed to find out who the hell had poisoned Vile, and I needed…

No, I did not need to keep an eye on Vile. There was nothing I could do there that Dr. Burke couldn’t do better. He was a stranger, a dance partner for a few brief hours. I did not really know him at all. But I had to trust somebody in Everett Base; and if I could not trust him, then Vile was dead anyway. So it would have to be Burke.

“Doctor,” I said, “find out what did this to her, and who had access to it or could make it. I am counting on you.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” Burke said. “I am not going to lose her.” Then more softly he added, “But you take care of yourself, Chief.”

“What?”

“I can see what you’re thinking,” he explained. “This is Andreesen’s doing. Somehow he got to somebody. He’s probably already escaped.”

“I know, that is—”

“But whoever did this won’t just be after Vile,” he interrupted. “If they expect to get away with it, they’re gonna have to get rid of you, too.”

“I do not—”

“With you gone, their odds of getting away with it go up. They’ll have an easier time covering their tracks then.”

“They will have to get rid of all the evidence. The samples…Vile…and you, as you know too much.”

Burke gave a thin smile. “They can try.” With a fast, subtle motion, he had an automatic pistol in his hand. “I’ve worked frontier bases my whole career, Chief. Sometimes you’re too far from any protection but your own.”

Again, I had no choice but to trust Burke. If he could not protect himself, I certainly could not protect him and secure Andreesen. So I wished him well, and I headed back to my quarters to suit up.

But when I made my way to the crawler garage, the inner door would not open. I tapped my comm. “This is Chief Morais of Maxwell City. My access code is not working for the garage.”

A female voice answered. “This is access control, Chief. I see your guest credentials are valid.” She paused. “Oh, here it is. The garage is under Mars pressure. We don’t know why, but the outer lock is open. The inner door won’t open until the garage is at normal pressure.”

I cursed inwardly. “It is vital that I get to my crawler right now. Is there a lock to let me cycle into the garage under Mars pressure?”

“There is, Chief, let me see if I can authorize you. It will take a second.”

As I waited, I wondered if I had made a mistake. I could have gone through a surface lock and gone straight to check on Andreesen. But my instincts told me that he was gone already. This scheme made no sense unless he fled quickly, dust storm be damned. I needed the crawler and its drones so I could find where Andreesen had gone.

The woman’s voice returned. “Chief, security has a lockout because cameras are out in the garage, but I got my manager to authorize an override. You should see a blinking light over the maintenance door in your tube.” I looked back just as the light started blinking. “It will lead behind the corporate quarters and to a small personal lock. From there, you can cycle through into the garage.”

“Thank you!” As soon as I reached the maintenance door, it opened. Beyond was a tight corridor filled with mechanical and electrical access panels. I reached a simple air-lock door at the end, and I checked my suit seals and cycled into the garage.

Once inside, I saw the problem. “Everett access control, can you still hear me?”

“I can,” the woman answered.

“I cannot explain the cameras, but I can explain your door. There is a personal crawler parked in the doorway. The outer lock cannot close.”

“That sounds like this was deliberate.”

“I think it was.” But I said no more. She had been helpful; but there were only two people I trusted in the base, and one of them was unconscious.

I ignored the personal crawler. It suited me just fine to have the door propped open so I could launch scan drones. I hurried to our crawler.

I cycled inside and went straight up to the pilot pod. The scan drones were operated from there, giving the pilot extra eyes and sensors for Martian surface conditions. I sped through the checklist and launched all six drones. They floated out through the open door, and I followed behind at crawler speed.

One drone reached the storage shed in under a minute, while the others spread out, searching for heat trails and other signs of escape. That would be difficult, with high velocity dust obscuring the readings, but it was all I could do.

The first drone did a sweep around the shack, and I was not surprised when I saw through the swirling sands that the panel was unlocked. But I could not assume anything. Andreesen was crafty. He might still be hidden inside. So I parked the crawler by the shack and got out to check. I had my automatic at the ready.

Before I operated the external lock of the shed, I summoned two more drones to join me inside the airlock. When they were ready, I closed the outer door and started the pressure cycle. Then I stepped to the side of the door, reached over, and slapped the button to open the inner hatch. As soon as it was open far enough, the drones zoomed in and gave their reports. I followed through their video feeds.

The scene inside was grim, but probably safe. All that blood on the floor was still warm, so Fletcher probably was not faking as he lay in the middle of the pool, a big gash in his head.

The rest of the shack was empty, so I came in and inspected. Vile’s comp lay next to Fletcher’s body. There were boot tracks in the blood. Fletcher’s helmet sat on a rack by the door. If the fool had had enough sense to keep the helmet on, Andreesen would not have been able to whack him with Vile’s comp.

Or maybe it would not have mattered. Fletcher did not look like much of a fighter. Andreesen was not, either, relying on others to do his violence. But he might have found another way to overpower him.

Somehow Andreesen had got to Fletcher and offered him a bribe big enough to tempt him. Fletcher had poisoned Vile, grabbed her comp, and taken a suit out to Andreesen. And now Andreesen was gone…

But where?

The next step in my investigation was back in the garage. I left my overland crawler parked outside, and I walked up to the personal crawler. The haze had thickened again. Though I could barely see, the crawler hatch hung open. Vehicles that small did not have airlocks. You depressurize the entire crawler, and then you enter or exit. I climbed into the personal crawler and backed it out of the doorway. As soon as I did, the outer hatch started sliding shut.

From old habit, I was disinclined to leave the personal crawler in the middle of the garage. I saw where more crawlers were parked against the southeast wall, so I steered in that direction. I approached marked parking lanes for the six personal crawlers that were already there and spaces for two more. I also saw a much larger parking slot for an overland crawler like my own. The overland was gone, no doubt to take Everett and his team to their conference. But after I parked the crawler, that left one unfilled slot. The odds were good that Andreesen was driving that crawler right now.

There had been too many security breaches. It did not add up. I wanted to talk to Dr. Burke, but I did not want to distract him from Vile’s treatment. Plus I was not sure if that channel was secure. So instead I went back to my crawler, clambered in, and went up to the pilot pod to check communications.

Space it! Still too much particulate interference. I had no channel to Maxwell City nor to orbit. No one I could turn to.

So I pulled up an onboard database of settlements and locations. It included brief reports of all staff nearby, because you never knew when you might need a hydrologist or a chemist in an emergency. It was not as good as full personnel records, but I would take it.

I checked Fletcher’s record. The man had been a skilled geologist with no indication of any aptitude for chemistry or biology. Nor for computer security, for that matter. I could not see a timeline where he could have done everything necessary for Andreesen’s escape. He was a scientist (and an administrator, according to the file), but not the right kind of scientist.

So I ran a search for someone with advanced biological skills and also computer security skills; but no records matched. Fletcher would need at least two accomplices, maybe more, to have freed Andreesen.

But then I thought again. If Fletcher was an administrator, he would not need to break security. He could just turn it off and wipe the records.

That was harder to search. It took me over twenty precious minutes to write the query. Finally I got a list and cross-referenced it with biology skills. Again, Fletcher was not in the intersection. In fact, the set was practically empty. It had only one name, the second in command of the base: Iwa Sakura.

I connected to local comms and entered my chief credentials. Soon I had a secure channel. A young male voice answered, “Infirmary.”

“This is Chief Morais,” I said. “I need to talk to Dr. Burke.”

There was a pause, then Burke came on the line. “What’s up, Chief?”

“How is Vile?”

“She’s…her body is fighting, but she’s losing. I can give her six hours, and hope the tests come back in that time.”

“But if you knew what it was…?”

“That would be a whole different story. She’d have a great shot.”

“Then let’s give her that shot. You should know what it was in a few minutes.”

“What? How?”

“A few minutes, Doctor.” I ran through the comm directory until I found Assistant Director Sakura. I opened the channel, and when she answered, I wasted no time. “What did he pay you, Sakura?”

Sakura’s face showed puzzlement. “I don’t understand, Chief.”

“Space it! Sakura, Vile’s dying, and Fletcher’s dead!”

Her mask dropped. “Fletcher—”

“You idiots trusted Andreesen. For that, Fletcher deserved what he got.” Maybe not, but I wanted to hammer her hard. “So that is one death on your conscience already. When Vile goes, that will be two.”

“No!” she said. “I was going to let the lab ‘discover’ the answer in a couple of hours. I didn’t want anyone to die. I just—”

“You just what? What did you want, Sakura? Money?”

A tear ran down her left cheek. “Not money, independence. He offered so much…we could’ve held off the corporate teams for five years, maybe longer. We would’ve been able to do pure science.”

“And all it cost you was your soul.”

“Damn it, Chief, I didn’t know he was a killer!”

“He was a desperate, wanted man, and you knew that. Tell Dr. Burke, now, what the toxin was.”

“I’m…sending the message now. Chief, you have to believe me…”

“You had better hope that Vile makes it through, or I will personally see you up on murder charges.”

“You can’t—”

“I damn well can. You are already an accessory to murder for Fletcher.”

“No…”

“It’s going to get worse, Doctor,” I said. “Think what this will do to the reputation of Everett Base.”

“No, please…”

“All of your research will be tainted.”

“No…”

“The base will fail, Doctor. The only way it will survive at all is if corporate interests come in and take over.”

“You can’t do this to us! The others…they had nothing to do with it!”

“None of them?”

“Just me and Fletcher. He kept up with the news. He’d read the reports about Andreesen and thought we could make a deal.”

“He paid for his stupidity, and now you will pay for yours.”

“But not the others! You have to do something.”

“Doctor, I will tell the authorities that you have been cooperative if you’ll do two things. First, you will turn control of the base over to Dr. Burke and turn yourself in to him.”

She swallowed. “And?”

“I need to know—and do not lie to me—is Andreesen in your base, or is he out on Mars? I do not have time to search both.”

“He’s gone. There have been no unauthorized entrances back into the base.”

“Not even using Fletcher’s credentials?”

She paused. “No, security reports him still…Why would he kill Fletcher? We were helping him!”

Why would Andreesen kill the young geologist? And where would he go? In the middle of the storm, he was as blind as me and as cut off from communications. And he certainly had less range. Overland crawlers were built for journeys of thousands of miles, personal crawlers for journeys measured in hours. So Andreesen could not plan to meet a confederate, even if he somehow had a chance to contact one.

I turned my attention back to Sakura. “You arranged a crawler for him. How much oxygen did you give him?”

“Eight bottles. That might be good for sixteen hours.”

And the storm might last double that. I tried to remember how much surface experience Andreesen had. An experienced explorer knew to keep plenty of margin on air, but would he?

But then my thoughts turned back to Fletcher. The geologist. “Doctor, where did Fletcher do his work?”

* * *

I checked the dead reckoning against the few landmarks that I could see through the storm, matching them to my map. It was hard to tell when one rock pile could look like another, but my calculations said that DR was not off by more than two meters. I assumed four meters just to be safe.

So I stopped five meters short of the edge of the chasma, the deep Martian canyon indicated on the map. This was where Andreesen had an advantage with his smaller crawler. The overlander massed more than ten times his. There was a switchback trail down into the chasma, but it was unsafe above a certain mass. My crawler was four times that limit. If I got closer, I would go in for sure.

Somewhere in that chasma was Fletcher’s geology station. My guess was that Fletcher had offered it as a hideout, and then Andreesen had killed him so that no one would know where he was. The station would have food, water, and air for a single person for weeks, maybe a month.

I sent the scout drones ahead as I packed up the lugbot. They could give me the lay of the land.

I pondered what to expect. Killing was new for Andreesen. Fletcher might have been his first. He had always been a manipulator behind the scenes, one who ordered killing, not one who did it. The man was desperate, and I had to keep that in mind.

I loaded the lugbot with extra first-aid supplies, air bottles, and ammo. Then I called one scan drone back from the chasma to check out the area around the crawler. There was no sense being ambushed before I even got down there. When I saw that the way was clear, the bot and I cycled through the airlock and onto the surface. I started toward the switchback trail. The lugbot followed on its treads.

Tracking on Mars is difficult. Vid dramas make it look easy, with long red Martian dunes and one set of wheel tracks crossing them. But the Martian surface is never the same place twice. Storms will wipe out any track as they pass. And right now, with the dust in the air, I had nothing but intuition to tell me I was on the right track.

If Andreesen was not at the geology station, I could not see where else he could be. So I navigated the switchback on foot; and as I did, I grew more confident. Dust blows away, but rock remains. The wall of the chasma was layers of shale-like rock—solid unless you stressed it. As I hiked down the slope, I saw distinct tracks of cracked stone all around me. Some of the broken rock looked fresh. It still had sharp edges since it had not been eroded by high velocity dust.

I needed to look ahead and see what the drones saw. I pulled up their feeds just in time to catch a bright flash of green on drone four’s feed. Then the image developed a series of dark spots. I quickly pulled the drones back.

I ran diagnostics. Drone four’s forward camera was practically useless. The most likely explanation would be a high-powered laser. Those were often used in geological excavations, because they were faster than a trencher.

So Andreesen was armed.

But he had made a mistake in his choice of weapon, one common to people who did not understand armaments. Despite years of science fiction vid shows, lasers had never displaced traditional firearms for personal defense. Lasers had their advantages, but their energy consumption was prohibitive. You could not pack enough power in a handheld pack for more than a shot or two.

What Andreesen had must be a scientific tool, not handheld, probably mounted on a power cart. That gave him limited mobility, and I assumed he was not familiar with the weapon. Plus a laser was a poor choice in the middle of a massive dust storm. A geological laser should have burned drone four out of the sky; but the beam was scattered so much by the dust in the air that the power had been cut to a fraction. Enough to blind the sensor, but not to get through the drone’s armor.

But my armor wasn’t as thick as the drone’s. I might survive a hit from the attenuated beam, but it was a risk I was unwilling to take.

I ducked behind some rock fall, just to be safe. I fed the drone stream to a modeling analyzer to build a 3D model of the chasma floor. Once I saw where Andreesen was now, I knew where the geology outpost was. I could even see the crawler parked at the outpost lock. Andreesen could not move far from that location, given the storm. He could, however, cover the switchback and the chasma wall, if anyone climbed down that way. Assuming he could see them, of course.

The next move was mine. And I had only one choice.

* * *

I watched Lieutenant Kilgore of Initiative Rapid Response as he marched Andreesen up the switchback. For the next hour or two, the air would be almost free of dust.

I called Kilgore on my comm. “What’s he saying, Lieutenant?”

Kilgore chuckled. “Let me patch him in, Chief.”

There followed much sputtering and profanity. I let it go for over a minute before I said, “Problem, Andreesen?”

“Fuck you!” Then he paused for breath before continuing, “I had you. There was no way you could get me. I could blast your drones out of the sky.”

“No, you could not,” I replied.

Ignoring me, Andreesen continued, “I had the laser. Better range, deadlier. No matter how you came at me, I had you!”

“Andreesen, you are an idiot. You do not understand violence and risk. This is not stock fraud, it’s life and death. Did you expect me to just come at you?”

“I—”

“You did! You thought this was a vid, some showdown in the canyon.”

“You—”

“I was angry. I might have killed you if I could, but I did not need to. I had more range, more supplies, better intel, and better weapons for the conditions. All I had to do was wait out the storm and call for assistance when it broke.”

Andreesen had called for assistance, too. Two hoppers had launched from Gander Settlement not long after comms cleared. But by that time, three Rapid Response hoppers had been in flight. Whoever had been piloting his hoppers, they had changed course immediately. Nobody smart messes with Rapid Response Teams.

Andreesen’s people had been smarter than him when it came to violence. He had planted crude booby-traps, geological charges on tripwires. Amateur stuff that had not even slowed down the RRT. He did not know how to do his own dirty work.

I cut off Andreesen’s channel. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” I said. “I shall tell Chief Hogan that your team did an excellent job.”

“Wasn’t nothin’, Chief,” Kilgore answered, and he cut off.

I switched back to my other channel. Right after reaching the Initiative, I had contacted Dr. Burke, and he had set up a comm channel inside the isolation unit. I smiled at the new color in Vile’s face.

I said to her, “Got him!”


The End



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