“The seed and genetic banks?” Thiou asked.
“Exactly. One day we’ll be able to use them to recreate Earth itself, out on the surface of Atlantis. We’re already preparing facilities to recreate some of the lost species from the DNA we have, as well as modifying our farm animals. It’ll never be the same, of course, but we believe that we can create a functioning ecosystem in less than a thousand years. I’ll never live to see it, but I don’t have to.” He smiled, and added, “We’ve got VR simulations of that, as well. Projections of what we hope will be, someday.”
“I’d love to see them,” Mitchell said.
“The records,” Thiou replied. “How extensive are they?”
“A complete copy of the Library of Congress, as it existed in 2042, as well as a complete download of the National Archives and the European Data Institute. We took everything we could. As well as a couple of billion hours of films, television, music. Our greatest prize.”
“My God, it’s all here,” she said, looking up at the building. “Colonel, you’re describing the greatest dream of four generations of Martian historians, and you’re telling me that it’s all here, waiting to be accessed?” Racing from the car, she added, “I’m going to need….”
“We’ve already arranged for an office for you, Doctor,” a short, stout man said, walking down the steps with a smile on his face. “And knowing the temperament of researchers as I do, I took the liberty of putting a cot in there. From what the President told me, it’s the least we can do for the woman responsible for bringing us back to the Galaxy.” Holding out his hand, he said, “I’m Doctor Clayton, Director of the Museum of Earth, and Acting Science Minister.”
“What happened to Arianne?” McGuire asked.
“Maternity leave. As I understand it, she and her husband were quite surprised.” Running his hand through his hair, he added, “Not that I mind too much, though it’s a little frustrating not to be able to make significant policy changes.”
“Doctor Clayton is one of our leading historians,” McGuire said, “and not coincidentally, a big supporter of the manned space program. I have a feeling that you’re going to be as interesting to him as your archives are to us.”
“I don’t know about that,” Clayton said, “but I certainly want to know a lot more about your ship, and the history of Mars. I’m interested in the comparisons between our two worlds.” Pulling out a battered tablet, he added, “I’ve already taken a look at the data you gave the President, and I confess that I have a lot of questions.”
“With luck, we’ll be able to answer them,” Mitchell replied. Glancing at Thiou, he added, “Though I think we’d better get the good Doctor to the archives first. She’s been waiting a long time for this.”
“I suppose so,” Clayton replied, leading the way up the stairs. A pair of guards stood on either side of the entrance, standing to attention when they approached, and he added, “Not my idea. The Space Minister insisted. Just in case anyone finds out that you’re here.”
“Are you expecting a riot?” Mitchell asked.
“A crowd, say. Though it might be hard to tell the difference. A week ago, we thought that we were alone in the universe, that we were the last outpost of humanity. Now we know that we have brothers out among the stars, that humans still live on Earth.” Cracking a smile, he added, “I’d like to see Arianne oppose Project Translight now!”
“Your hyperdrive program?”
“Yes, and…” he paused, then said, “I probably shouldn’t be talking about it. Nothing personal, but it’s all classified at the moment. Though it really should be out in the open. We need to get people fired up about going back to the stars again.” The doors slid open, and they stepped inside, Mitchell’s eyes widening as he looked up, seeing an ancient space capsule hanging from the ceiling. “Gemini 10.”
“That’s an amazing replica,” he said.
Shaking his head, Clayton said, “That’s not a replica. That’s the real thing, right from Earth. We took it with us for the trip.” Taking a deep breath, he added, “It still takes the breath away, every time I see it. Space was at a premium, but we wanted to save at least some of Earth’s treasures. Everything we could take. Our gallery has a Matisse and a Rembrandt. We have Magna Carta, and one of the Dunlap broadsides of the Declaration of Independence. The flag Peary flew at the North Pole. A hundred things like that. The first settlers thought that it was important for us to know our roots, where we came from. To preserve at least some of what was lost.”
“It’s incredible,” Thiou said. “Unbelievable. To think that ship had travelled so far, further then the men who flew her could ever have dreamed they could go.”
“We’ve got the original launch as a VR simulation,” he replied. Pausing, he added, “That’s the most popular part of the museum. We have school trips almost every day, and watching the kids as they see Earth for the first time, walk out under open skies, is amazing.” He glanced up, and said, “This was the first major building constructed. It housed the government for a while, before we expanded again. It had to be special, though. Nothing but the best will do.”
Thiou frowned, and said, “How much information have you got on spaceflight?”
“Everything in the NASA and ESA databases when we left. It’s been gone through pretty well over the last couple of decades, though. You’d be surprised how many of their unflown projects we’ve put into production. The Dyna Soar II team got their start right here, a trio of engineering student digging through the archives. I was there for the first test flight. Hell of a day.”
“Hell of a day,” Neville replied, nodding in approval. “We should have more days like that.”
Glancing at his watch, Mitchell said, “The President’s supposed to make his speech in a couple of hours. I suppose I’d better view it.”
“I’ll be watching it in my office, Lieutenant. You’re more than welcome to join me. I’ve got a bottle of something special that I’ve been saving for the last few years. I think this qualifies.” Turning to him, he added, “I know a lot of people in the Government are afraid of what might happen because of your visit. I’m certainly not one of them. There’s going to be change, uncertainty, of course, but sometimes, that’s a good thing, not a bad. We’ve been in danger of stagnating. So focused on our own world that we haven’t looked out at the others. One way or another, that’s about to change.” He paused, then asked, “One thing. I’ve got half a dozen astronomers asking about that deep space scanning network you’re putting in orbit.”
“How did they find out about it?”
“I figured it was better that I briefed them ahead of time, rather than watch stories about UFOs on the news tonight when the observatories picked them up. Are we going to be able to use them for civilian applications? I know the SETI teams are interested in the possibility of long-distance detection of hyperspace traffic, for a start.”
Mitchell looked at Thiou, shame creeping into his stomach, and replied, “I’m not sure. That’ll be down to the Captain, and ultimately the High Guard, I suspect. Our priority has to be the Coalition, at least for the time being.”
“Of course, of course,” the historian replied. Gesturing to a door, he added, “If you go through there, Doctor Thiou, one of my staff will show you to your office. Top floor. I thought you might like the view. Though I somehow doubt that you’ll be paying much attention to it for a while.” Turning to Mitchell and Neville, he said, “I thought we might take a tour of the facility, Lieutenant. Among other things, we have Colonel Neville’s capsule on display.”
“Lead on, sir,” Mitchell asked, looking around the room. Mars had preserved the worst of Earth. Atlantis the best. Every passing moment added to his doubts, but with the satellites in orbit overhead, his government committed to the conquest of this world, there was nothing he could do, no matter what his personal feelings were. Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile, and allowed the two eager men to guide him through the wonders of their world.
/> Chapter 31
“All decks, attention. Presidential shuttle arriving. Presidential shuttle arriving. Honor guard to the hangar deck. Honor guard to the hangar deck. That is all.”
DeSilva looked up, redoubling her pace down the corridor. They’d received orders to prepare the shuttle for a fast turn-around, Fitzroy anxious that the meeting should go without a hitch, and Nguyen had been able to hand-pick the work crew to be entirely comprised of rebels. The best chance they’d have to get to the President would be as soon as he arrived, right after the ceremony, while he was being given a tour of the hangar deck.
Naturally, Fitzroy had snatched that honor for himself, the other members of the senior staff on the surface, doubtless anticipating that it would his first step towards a governorship, as soon as the Tyranny began to exercise direct rule over the planet. Something that could happen very rapidly, once the missiles were positioned in orbit.
Behind her, Zhao followed, toolkit in hand, a wry smile on his face. He patted his pocket, the brief note resting within, ready to be transferred to the President. They’d be attempting the switch under the very noses of Ship’s Security, and the slightest failure would mean a short trip out of an airlock for all of them. The usual tricks wouldn’t work, not in an area like the hangar deck, constantly monitored with multiple redundant systems.
They’d checked the whole tour, but it was clear that Captain Ikande was almost expecting the rebels on board to intervene, had arranged it carefully to avoid any parts of the ship not under close surveillance. That meant they’d have to do this the hard way. As she stepped into the hangar, Fitzroy glared at her, pristine in his dress uniform, sword in his belt, nestled in its scabbard. She looked up at the tracking screen, watching as the shuttle smoothly glided into position, ready to be caught by the elevator airlock and brought inside the ship.
She moved over to the side, out of the way, and glanced around, belatedly spotting Wagner in the gathering crowd. She frowned, quickly looking away. He wasn’t supposed to be here, had no good reason to be present. Then, as the shuttle began its final approach, it hit her.
The saboteur.
This was a perfect target. A chance to ruin the relationship between the ship and the surface now, before the network could be deployed. All three of her suspects were here, ready to strike, and all of them were dispersed around the room, preparing to make a move. She looked at Thakur, standing by the door, rifle in hand, ready to lead the honor guard.
If she broke cover, and she was wrong, all the resistance fighters on the ship would be dead. Fitzroy would have none of the compunctions of Romanova. He’d pump her mind for all the information he could find, then toss her empty husk out of the nearest airlock. Then he’d do the same to half a dozen other people, most of whom had nothing to do with the saboteur.
She looked at Zhao, standing by the door, waiting to move forward. No sign of a weapon, but he had the training to build something concealable, hidden, something that might even evade the security detectors for long enough for him to take a shot. Then Nguyen, holding a heavy toolkit. He’d need the equipment to reservice the shuttle, but it was large enough for anything to be hidden inside. Then Wagner, part of the growing crowd. She couldn’t get a proper look at him, and he was moving about, pushed from side to side as technicians gathered.
That was a mistake, as well. The Captain had wanted a spectacle, wanted the President to get a good look at the crew. They were to be dispersed as soon as the brief ceremony was over, but that might be too late. If her guess was right, President McGuire had only a handful of minutes to live. Behind her, the door slid open, the banners of the Commonwealth of Mars fluttering back and forth, and Captain Ikande stepped onto the deck, flanked by a pair of recently enlisted guards, stepping through the crowd.
Less than a minute to go. DeSilva looked around the hangar deck, not knowing what to do. She might be wrong. She prayed she was. Zhao was moving to her side now, his hand drifting to his pocket. There was no weapon there. And Zhao wasn’t the sort of man who would make a good assassin. He’d be unable to mask his emotions, and right now, his face was implacable.
The shuttle slid into position, docking clamps locking on, and the mechanism engaged to bring it through the double hatches, and she knew that she had only a few seconds to make her decision. Fitzroy stepped forward, flanked by his thugs, all wearing their dress uniform with weapons at their sides. All DeSilva had was a toolkit.
The shuttle rose to the deck, hatch slamming shut beneath it, and as the Stars and Stripes played, echoing though the overhead speakers, the airlock slid open, President McGuire stepping through the hatch, a beaming smile on his face. Ikande and Fitzroy stepped forward, and DeSilva glanced around, finally spotting what she was looking for. Wagner had moved to the side, a glint of steel in his hand. A pistol, sliding from a concealed pocket in his sleeve. There could only be one target.
“Get down, Mr. President!” she yelled, racing forward, hurling herself at the elderly dignitary as the crack of a bullet echoed from the walls. The two of them tumbled to the ground, falling into the shuttle, and a fusillade of shots rang out, Fitzroy’s guards retaliating, firing into the crowd, firing wildly. The air was filled with screams, the stink of cordite as the bullets hammered into the walls. Sirens wailed, the room bathed in red light as the emergency systems kicked in.
She looked around, the deck covered in bodies, some of them writhing in pain and anguish, some of them terribly still. The blast doors had slammed down at once, sealing them in, but Wagner was nowhere to be seen. He’d had an escape route planned, all the time. She reached up to her shoulder, and her hand pulled back covered in blood, her eyes widening as she looked up to see the President sprawled on the deck, a bullet wound in his shoulder, one of his aides dead by his side.
“What the hell is happening?” he gasped.
“This was a trap. All of it. Someone tried to assassinate you.” A bullet slammed into the ramp, ricocheting into a bulkhead. “Endurance came here to conquer you. The satellites hold nuclear missiles, capable of planetary bombardment. If you let them be deployed…”
“Damn it,” McGuire said, looking up, the pilot peeking through the hatch. “Vira, we’ve got to get out of here, right now!”
“I can’t,” she replied. “We’re locked down, stuck inside. There’s nothing I can do from here, not while the elevator airlock is engaged. They’re jamming communications, as well. I can’t call out.”
Looking at the command panel, over on the far side of the bay, DeSilva replied, “I can make it. I’ve got access enough to release your ship. Assuming I pull it off, burn right for the surface. Don’t wait for anything and keep out of Endurance’s firing arcs. I don’t think anyone is crazy enough to shoot you down in plain sight, but I can’t assume anything today.”
“I’m with you on that,” McGuire said. “Get me into the cabin. Then get me a first aid kit.”
Shaking her head, the pilot replied, “You need medical attention, Mr. President, and a damn sight more than first aid!”
“There’s no time,” he said. “If we don’t get out of here, the party’s over.” Looking at DeSilva, he said, “Watch yourself, Spaceman. There are about eighty million people counting on you to pull this off.”
“No pressure,” she replied. She spotted Zhou hiding behind a gurney, components scattered on the deck all around him. “Just make it count, sir. That’s all I ask.” Without warning, she sprinted across the hangar, weaving from side to side, bullets hammering through the air all around her as she slid into position next to Zhao.
“Did you pass the message,” the rebel asked. “What the hell went wrong?”
“Wagner’s working for the Coalition. Guess he hoped to take us all down, leave Atlantis open to invasion. We’ve been played for fools.” She looked around, trying to get an idea of the state of the deck. The blast doors were still down, Fitzroy and his thugs in the Deck Chief’s office, covering the whole room. Ikande and Mizrahi were caught behi
nd a shuttle, both with pistols drawn, his steward lying dead by his side. A dozen bodies were sprawled on the deck, others scattered around. Most of the crew had found cover in the other elevator airlocks, but if Fitzroy was able to bring in reinforcements, they were as good as dead.
“What’s the plan?”
“We’ve got to get the President out of here. Then we need to deal with Fitzroy. That bastard’s going to burn for what he’s done today.”
“No argument here,” Zhao replied. “You armed?”
“No, and I don’t want a pistol, either. I’m going to be too busy. Cover me.”
He nodded, clapped her on the back, and replied, “I’ve got your back. Good luck.”
She glanced at him, smiled, then looked back at the President’s shuttle, the hatch slamming shut. She’d have only one chance to pull this off, and it was a thirty-meter run to the panel. Less than ten seconds, easily, under normal circumstances. But with no cover to protect her, it might as well be thirty miles. She took a deep breath, then vaulted over the gurney, sprinting towards the control panel.
At first, nobody seemed to notice, everyone enraptured in their own part of the battle, but as she dodged around a transfer shuttle, Fitzroy’s men opened up on her, bullets ringing from the deck plating on either side, shrapnel raining into the air. She reached out for the panel, knowing that she might only have a second to release the ship before she died, then felt herself falling, cables tangling her feet, and she sprawled helplessly to the deck. Fitzroy looked at her, lining up a shot, and she tensed herself for the end.
Only for a pair of strong hands to grab her, pulling her into cover, roughly dumping her behind a spare parts bin. She looked up to see Thakur, an angry gash over his forehead sending blood running down his cheeks, rifle in hand.
“Crazy,” he said. He looked at the shuttle, and said, “You’ll never make it.”
“I’ve got to make it, and you’re not going to stop me.” She balled her hands into fists, and he looked at her with a withering stare, shaking his head.
Exiles of Earth: Rebellion Page 25
