We swayed a bit on the approach, then seated into the dock with a small lurch. No clunk, because the transport, like the dock, was in vacuum. Past the airlock, we were met by a low-ranking officer from StaSec and a Public Safety officer who volunteered to take us by the best route to MI. Once we were in the box, the fastest route was up Tchaikovsky Boulevard, then right along Rostropovich Boulevard to MI. The route to CI was similar, but with a left turn onto Stravinsky Promenade. Leilani and I could have led our teams blindfolded, but it was useful to have local guides to preserve the illusion that we were just maintenance workers.
I recognized the Public Safety officer and worried a bit that he might recognize me as well. There was not much to be done about it, so I remained silent.
He said there were Martian work crews in the box, but not too many. Most of the damage had been in the north and south high-G rings. More seriously, a search for traitors and enemies was in full swing. The first people off the Martian ships had been intelligence officers, who had fanned out through the station. The PS officer advised us to be careful, keeping our conversations short, polite and to the point, answering only the questions we were asked explicitly. I could not have phrased it better myself.
As anticipated, the streets were almost empty. It was unnatural to see so few people in streets that were normally crowded. The PS officer explained that the station had not lost much air, pumping it into storage as soon as everyone had reached their airtight rooms, but it would not be restored until all the holes had been patched. If nothing else, it was a good way to prevent people from offending the Martian officers as they struggled to learn their way around the station. We encountered only one work crew, a mixed team of marines and Martians, heading for the north face of the box to start plugging holes. We waved as we went by but said nothing.
Unfortunately, there was an agitated Martian officer at the entrance to MI, demanding entry. He was insisting with increasing anger that the station was now under Imperial control and he was authorized to enter every part of it.
I was impressed with the control the PS officer displayed. They had obviously anticipated the issue. He explained that the emoji attack a couple of days ago had disabled many of the senior officers, so only low-ranking staff were in the office now. They were not authorized to allow anyone to enter without pre-authorized clearance, but if he could call the DG’s office it could surely be arranged. Like bloody hell, of course; the DG had no authority over MI.
The man stormed off to find a secluded place where he could call the DG’s office without being observed, leaving us to cycle into MI and set up the opaque bags. We had just clipped in the last stretcher and sealed the bags when he returned with the required authorization. That puzzled me, until I realized that most MI officers would have been sent home to their airtight rooms like everyone else. The few still on duty had probably gathered in the DG’s office to simplify coordination until the station was airtight again. Half of the MI officers were probably Martian supporters, so he looked considerably more cheerful than when he had left.
The MI staff still did not want to let him in, but I told them to do it or he would become angry again. They stared long and hard at my face before complying. They unlocked the door, but the PS officer opened it and ushered him in. He smiled around and greeted everyone warmly. Until he saw us clipping the bags into a train for transport, when he became extremely suspicious. I let the PS officer handle the exchange.
“Who or what are in these bags, and why are they being moved without my authorization?”
“Excuse me sir, but these are people severely injured during the meteor shower who need immediate medical attention. Did the DG’s office not inform you of their removal to the Mao? It was approved by MI twelve hours ago. I believe they will be going to the big hospitals on the Moon, but they all work either here or on the Earth, so you will get a chance to talk to them in a few weeks when they return. In the meantime, it will be less work for us to deal with here.”
“I demand to see what is inside the bags.”
“Sir, the transport schedule is quite tight, with only one transport dock working. We have many more incoming transports from the fleet that will be delayed.”
“NOW!”
The attending doctor unsealed one end of one of the bags, which indeed showed five people’s feet, although their faces were obscured at the other end. They were obviously paralyzed for transport and a few showed cuts and gashes that may have been cosmetic decorations.
The officer grunted, and said, “Very well, but before you go, have any of you seen this man or this woman?”
He walked down the line, presenting some six-month-old pictures of Leilani and myself. Even our masks did not look much like that anymore, although he stared intently at my face before continuing down the line. Idly, I noted that the name on his suit was Gong Zi, Noble Son, written 公子 in classical Mandarin. I could not interpret his rank from the insignia on his shoulders.
“If you do, contact us immediately. These are the Ghost and his Ghost Wife, the most recent pictures we have available. They are notorious murders, terrorists who we believe may be responsible for much of the trouble on this station. There is a very generous reward for information leading to their arrests.”
The PS officer was visibly astonished, even through the faceplate of his suit. “You must be joking! I am sorry Sir, but we all know who the Ghost is, and he would be insane to come to a place like this, just as your fleet arrives. If I were him, I would be hiding in the deepest cave I could find in Antarctica. But surely, he is dead on Mars? I have heard that most of his collaborators were found dead in the desert, murdered in their armour. Surely he just buried himself somewhere under a dune and has not yet been found?”
The Martian officer was not impressed. “You are certain you have never seen this man or this woman?”
“Yes, Sir. When my sister’s kids were small, I sent them colouring books about brave Martian heroes fighting the Ghost. You can buy them in the toy store, one level up, called Tolstoy’s Books and Crafts. I assure you that the Ghost has no friends anywhere in human space, much less here.”
He came back along our line of bags and stared at my face again. “You, why is your suit a different colour?”
I stammered in Russian, “Sir? I am a maintenance worker. I have worked in MI before and am the only one on this team pre-authorized to enter. The suit is a new design. Do you like the colour? It is supposed to make dust and smudges less visible.”
“This looks like armour. Why do you have armour at all?”
“Sir, we work in dangerous places outside and get hit quite often by hard, sharp pieces of broken machinery. The armour helps prevent injuries.”
He grunted again, and said, “Fine, carry on. Up a level and called Tolstoy’s Books and Crafts? I will see what they have.”
I hazarded one more comment, “Thank you, Sir. I think you will find the Martian cause has far more support than you might have been led to expect. The aid you are giving us today will boost the Emperor’s prestige greatly amongst people who never even thought about Mars before.”
He just grunted again, so we resealed the bag, linked all four bags into a train, and pulled them out the door. As we entered the vacuum of the hallways, the bags inflated into taut sausages. We headed back to the dock, slowly so we did not bash the unconscious delegates as we passed around corners and through doors.
A second Martian officer confronted us at the entrance to the dock. He was angrier than the one we had met in MI, perhaps because Leilani’s team had arrived before us. He obviously thought she looked suspiciously like his old photo, but she refused to answer any of his questions in a language he understood. I heard a lot of Spanish, a few words of Serbian, a short greeting in Quechua, and a sentence in classical Greek that he puzzled over but could not quite fathom. Then she went back to Spanish with lots of arm waving.
Our PS officer, properly primed by now, intervened and straightened out the confusion, repe
ating the explanations I had offered. The man was too angry for discussion about colouring books, and still wanted to examine the content of the bags. The PS officer explained that they contained injured people who would die if we opened the bags in the vacuum of the hallways. He was not mollified. Before he got too excited, I stepped forward waiting to be addressed.
“What? Who are you, peasant?”
“Sir, I am a humble maintenance worker. An officer has already inspected and approved the contents of these bags. I believe the name on his armour was Gong Zi, Sir.”
“What? Speak clearly, peasant. What was his rank and name? Do not foul it with your filthy pronunciation.”
On the side of one of the bags I stroked out the two characters.
“Stinking peasant, how dare you act familiar with Detective Gong! Are you too base and ignorant to recognize his rank, or just too insolent to honour your superiors?”
Regardless, he now knew who to ask. I listened impassively as he called over the comm to Detective Gong, thinking that they really needed to improve their encryption. If I thought I could get away with it, I might be able to ingratiate myself to the Imperium by advising them to use the standard encryption library, but someone else would probably do it within a few days and I would be dead long before that if I tried. He turned back to us and waved us through to the dock without another word.
As we waited in line for our transports to arrive, another officer came by with the same pictures, but we pointed to the officer we had spoken to out in the boulevard and she left without giving us a close inspection. Three officers, one of whom was openly hostile. Three chances for someone to detain us for closer questioning. Three chances for an accidental slip, or deliberate treachery. I stayed completely impassive until the transports docked, except to insist that Leilani’s team had to be the first to load.
As we pushed the bags into the transport, the PS officer came over, tapped his helmet to mine so we could talk without using the comm, and said, “I am going to be damn glad to see the last of you people. This was supposed to be my retirement job. I take it the rest of the delegates are not controversial and will go back to the Earth by shuttle in the next few days?”
I told him, “Yes, and I expect we will be heading to the Moon almost immediately. I have no idea how the ones coming with us will ever get home.”
The Ghost remained in control on the way back, but slowly loosened his grip. I did not know whether the PS officer had recognized me, or only that I was an MI officer important enough to order the MI staff to open the door. Either way, he had not revealed my secret. I was myself again by the time we unloaded on the Mao and took off our helmets and masks.
Doctor Marin met me, hopping mad that I had defied her orders to stay out of action, but at the same time hugely grateful that we had rescued her colleagues, the cosmetic surgeons from MI and CI who had modified our bodies and now risked execution for that crime.
Then she told me the bad news. While we were away, there had been an assassination attempt against the Ministers. It had not succeeded, but Morris, Singh and three other ministers had been shot in the legs and arms. The attacks would have been fatal if they had not been wearing torso-armour. Two marines had been arrested, one of them Mateo Osterburger and the other his friend Lucas Maori.
With that context, I suddenly remembered why it was wrong for Morris to visit the marines. Marine Mateo Osterburger had been having an unusually large number of conversations over the comm with the MI officers before they had been arrested. Morris had probably identified himself to the man who had just tried to kill him. If I had only thought to warn someone about those conversations, the attack could probably have been prevented.
Context, always context! I could remember so many things, but they were meaningless without the right context! Morris and Singh had almost died because of something I knew but did not recognize!
Marin juiced me with a small dose of sedative and told me I was not responsible for every murder in the world. It still felt like it, but Leilani finally freed herself from the crowd of well-wishers welcoming her back from the Khrushchev, pushed over and grabbed me in a bear hug. With both of us in armour, the neck rings for our helmets kept our faces too far apart to kiss comfortably, so I hugged back, looked at Marin over the shoulder of her armour, and said, “Better than any sedative ever invented.”
Leilani finally choked out, “The Martians are hunting us already and want to torture us to death. They have our pictures. Brian rescued me when I did not know what to say, and never even raised a suspicion. And he did it twice. I am never going to war again. And Brian, if that is your idea of a walk in the park, I am never going walking with you again. I do not like your choice of parks!”
Without the Ghost in control, it was hard to focus on anything outside Leilani’s embrace. Randomly, quietly, I asked, “Why were you speaking Spanish? You speak Mandarin perfectly well.”
She murmured back, “I realized with his first order that the bastard was a self-righteous aristocrat who believed we were his personal property. I have dealt with a few of those in Europe. If he thought he could understand my answers, he might have detained me just for the fun of stripping me during the interrogation. The moment my helmet came off, he would have found the mask and recognized our deception. Then we would all have died. I preferred to be an incomprehensible peasant.”
I took a deep, long breath. I had not even considered that possibility, and neither had the Ghost, for which I chastised him severely. Finally, I replied, “That sounds like one rescue for you and one for me. The one in the dock was just a bit of indirection. I think we are even. But I agree about the park. I never want to go back there again.”
“Brian, do not trivialize this! All morning I have been staring Hell in the face, and on the Khrushchev, it stared back into me. It knows me and is coming. Have you been facing this for years? How can you stand it?”
Over the private comm, just between me and her, I said, “My Love, it has been part of me ever since I left Mars. It is almost an old friend. And it is not Hell, just a bunch of suspicious Martian officers. The Ghost has a plan, a good plan, and I require that in all his plans you will be safe. The team will keep you safe. There are wonderful things still waiting for you. I will give you the chance to do them. Do not trust the Ghost, and never trust the Assassin, but in this they agree, that you must live and love again. You are everything to me. Absolutely everything. Tell her Ghost. Tell her now.”
I could feel the shift, and I thought Leilani could too, just in the way my body stood, because she almost pulled away. The Ghost spoke through my comm unit without taking full control, “Yes, Leilani. I will keep you safe, if you will follow my lead.”
Then he faded into the background again, and I relaxed back into myself. Out loud I said, “I want to get out of this armour so I can feel your arms around me.”
Marin interrupted, “You might want to keep it on a bit longer. Ministers Morris and Singh are asking for you, so get yourselves down to the infirmary. With assassins on the loose, we all must travel under guard, and you will need fewer of our guards if you are in armour. Osterburger and Maori are in the brig, but who knows if there are others? We had to ship the full quota of marines to the Khrushchev to cover up the assassination attempt while we have so many Martian warships around. There are hardly any marines left. The sailors are doing double duty and I am glad we only need to travel as far as the Moon.
“Oh, and there are not enough people left to guard Mindy. She is paralyzed and cannot move anything below her neck but has been moved into our room so we can watch her. We need two people, not including Katerina, awake in the room, all day, every day, until we can get rid of her. Have a nice afternoon.”
We both said shit together. Doctor Marin, anti-cupid. I could not really blame her, though. It was that kind of day.
As we moved towards the door I took Leilani’s hand, which felt right even though I could not actually feel anything through the suit. The door, of
course, was too small for us to fit through together so we had to let go. We grabbed each other’s hands once we were through, joined our sailor guard and wafted down to the infirmary together. At least we did not have to be carried any more.
At the infirmary, we were met by Marine Sa’id who was guarding the injured ministers, alone because so many marines have been transferred to the ESK. His was the first personally friendly face we had met since we came back and was a huge relief after the high tension during the evac. I asked how the ministers were faring, but he only said that the surgeons were glad they had been wearing torso-armour. He thought Morris and Singh were still awake, but high on pain killers. The military used drugs that were effective and had acceptable side effects, not drugs that were socially acceptable.
Morris was hyper-jolly, Singh was hyper-morose, and the other three ministers were asleep. Singh’s first comment was, “They are coming to kill us.”
Morris laughed, “So we get to play hide and seek in the hallways! It was you, Douglas, wasn’t it? Who told us to wear armour? Jazaka Allahu Khairan! May He reward you with a place in paradise.”
I thought to myself I would not worship a god who did not send me to the hell I had earned. But nobody else should have to join me there.
Singh was bordering on drug-induced hysteria. “They are coming to kill us and they know where we are. Why are we still alive? They should have destroyed the ship by now. Why are we still alive?”
I tried to catch Singh’s attention, but it is hard to talk to people on drugs. “Minister Singh, they do not know where we are, or that we are still alive. I do not think they even know there were assassins on board. I think those two were just traitors who took the opportunity to win themselves points with their new masters before they were transferred to the Khrushchev.”
Lord Banshee- Fugitive Page 15
