On Mars Pathfinder (The Mike Lane Stories Book 1)

by Jim Melanson

  Then she heard it. The most welcome and wonderful sound she could have heard at that moment. Hlef’s voice, “Well, aren’t you the stupidest bitch in the Universe.”

  Mike

  I had been having a very bad day. I stood in the airlock, outer hatch closed, inner hatch open, and my Activity Suit around my knees. I did some more of the just standing there, in despair. As I just stood there in despair, and noted an odd smell. I sniffed the air a couple times, lifted my arms and sniffed again. Yes, it was me. I realized that I hadn’t had a wipe down since I left the Jalopy, and I hadn’t had a shower in close to nine months. My mood brightened a bit. I had a shower here, just a few feet away.

  With my mood brightened a bit, I stepped out of the Activity Suit, hung it up, swapped out the air bottles, put the helmet and gloves in the rack, lined the boots up against the wall, and then sighed heavily. I trudged up the stairs and over to the COM panel. I looked at the three blinking red lights that told me: a.) there was no communication with Mar-Sat; b.) there was no telemetry connection with Mar-Sat and; c.) that I was quite possibly totally screwed. I punched in the command to establish a signal with Jalopy-Sat and was presented with:

  ErrNo. 1 - Lost Signal Lock

  Sighing heavily again I turned around and trudged into the L-Hab. Just inside the entrance, on the upper level was the washroom. Toilet, sink and blessed Martian shower! With a brisker pace, I went down to my room, grabbed one of the two bath towels I now owned, and went back upstairs, peeling off my long johns and t-shirt as I did so. Hey, no signal meant no cameras. Buck naked wasn’t going to be a problem. Of course, I forgot the Habitat cameras were recording to a local directory which would be spooled and transmitted when a signal with Mar-Sat was re-established.

  I went into the bathroom and shut the door, out of habit I guess. I stood there for a tick, remembering the last time I shut a “bathroom” door. I turned around and then opened and closed the door twice, just to be sure.

  I pulled the plastic wrap off the shower plumbing and primed the local pump. It took only a few seconds as the L-Hab had shipped with 100 litres of Earth water in its own buffer tank. As the two Habs were now connected, I had access to the main supply. At some point the air in the pipes would bleed out, but it would happen in its own time. It wasn’t something I had to concern myself with. As the pump primed, I loaded the packed plastic dispensers of soap and shampoo. It would be decades before the hydroponics farms of Agri-Mars Corporation would let us grow the items we needed to manufacture our own soaps and shampoos; so for now, I would be totally reliant on Terra for these luxuries.

  I activated the on-demand water heater, waited the requisite thirty seconds and then turned on the water flow. Nothing.

  Frak. I didn’t turn on the feeder valve. I opened the small access hatch and turned on the feeder valve, and the water started flowing. I stepped into the warm, low velocity water stream and let out a deep and relaxing sound of pleasure and comfort. I stood there for thirty seconds letting the water flow over me. I shut off the water at the showerhead, and then I soaped and lathered the body, soaped and lathered the hair. I turned the water flow back on, and rinsed all the soap off. As I ran my fingers through my hair, I decided it was time for a haircut.

  With a final rinse and the water turned off, I looked at the readout panel as I was towelling off. I had used a whopping 11.3 litres of water. These combat showers were supposed to use only 8 litres with our advanced plumbing systems. Luckily, the recovery systems would make that 0.17 litres consumed, but still, more than anticipated. That thirty seconds of bliss I started the shower with was something I couldn’t repeat … often. I turned off the on-demand water heater as it was a huge drain on my batteries. I wouldn’t have to worry about it once the wind farm was set up.

  Towelled and dried, I dug out the shaving equipment and started scraping the hair from my face. A razor shave was a welcome luxury as the Jalopy only provided an electric space shaver hooked up to a small vacuum. It was better than nothing, but it was still annoying. As I stood there in the mirror, performing the manly ritual from out-of-time, I continued reflecting on the day’s events. While I was still overjoyed to be on Mars and the adventure of it all still thrilled me, I was also getting tired of all this alien crap. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone on Mars but me! Dammit … I cut myself. I pulled out the styptic pencil and tooted it with some hot water remaining in the pipes, first blotting the cut with my towel, and then dabbing the styptic pencil on it to stop the small amount of blood flow. As I watched myself in the mirror performing this remedy, I remembered my father. He had taught me the manly art of shaving. He had given me my first styptic pencil way back when. The small plastic tube my current styptic pencil was in, was the same plastic tube he had presented me with forty years ago. I remembered my adolescent self, wearing with pride the little dabs of dried white powder, because it meant I had been shaving; shaving peach fuzz of course, but shaving nonetheless. It was a rite of passage. As I paused, hand in mid-air, looking in the mirror, I could see my Dad’s face. I thought about what he would say about today’s events, “Well son, you’ve got a job to do don’t you? Do you want to sit down and wait for someone else to do it or do you want to be a man? If you got a job worth doin’, it’s worth doin’ right; no matter how hard it is.”

  Teviot Vallis

  “Hlef, not now,” came Lt. Col. KamPen’s quiet voice in the din of snarling drones.

  Achael stood there staring at the Trigla as the drones suddenly peeled off her, and spread out forming a wide skirmish line, four deep, in front of their Master and his guards. The Trigla guards weapons stayed pointed behind her. She turned to look at her sister, then smiled and winked. Three of the Eben Darts were hovering inside the hangar bay. They had passed through the magnetic curtain unrestricted. The Eridani had never closed the outer doors when Achael arrived. Given the remoteness and lack of any indigenous life forms, the Eridani had never installed any point defense weapons at the entrance. Outside, through the magnetic curtain, she could see one of the Heavy Battle Cruisers, a ground pounder, coasting into position in front of the entrance. Its forward rail guns were now pointing directly down the middle of the hangar bay.

  Spread out in a loose formation were ten human Special Forces, kitted up in armour for heavy surface combat, armed with low-atmo modified and highly favoured FN SCAR assault rifles. Perhaps even more daunting, ten armoured Eben warriors carrying Shil-7s. The impressive Shil-7 was an Eben weapon with heavy, high velocity 87-grain, exploding tip, discarding sabot rounds. It was less gun and more like a semiautomatic personal mini-missile launcher, but with magnitudes more destructive power than a shotgun could have. It looked very similar to the Austrian Steyr AUG, but the barrel was fatter and it had a 50 round canister clip instead of a banana clip.

  She also saw, with great satisfaction, her three brothers in addition to her sister, all kitted up like the True-Blood Eben. Along with the Base Commander, they were the hybrid contingent. All of them had their inner eyelids shut, and looked all the more dangerous for it.

  The human and hybrid warriors had .50 Cal modified Desert Eagles Magnums on their hips, just like Achael did, though she hadn’t drawn hers yet. The Desert Eagle had too much kick back for the True-Blood Eben, but they were deadly enough in their own right, with the knives in scabbards on each hip, to care about not having a handgun.

  Achael turned back to face the Eridani Master, “Shock & Awe” had arrived. Push had come to shove. The effect of the predominantly Eben arrival, on those in the hangar bay, was unmistakeable. Now free of the drones grasping hands, she stepped back a few feet and finally drew her sidearm. She stopped beside Hlef who had her own Shil-7 pointed right at the Eridani Master.

  Now focused on the job at hand again, without looking at her, Achael said to Hlef, “Glad you made it. Things are just getting interesting.”

  “So we can see.”

  “Really, something’s going on here. Something is wrong.” She paused, “Did
I tell you how glad I am you’re here?”

  Hlef rubbed her cheek with one hand, “Wasn’t me Turkey. It was KamPen.”

  “Really? KamPen? I thought he’d let me rot after our little tussle in the conference room.”

  Hlef, smiled without taking her eyes off the enemy, “He talked to Earth and got his marching orders. Came out of his office full of piss and vinegar. This isn’t the only place something odd is going on.”

  Achael reflected quietly on that for a moment. The USAF had been all about keeping the détente, not pissing off the Eridani, and maintaining the status quo. It would have been almost sacrosanct USAF policy to not come after a rogue operative, especially one that flew willfully into the middle of an enemy stronghold. Something had indeed changed.

  “WAR!! THIS IS AN ACT OF WAR!! YOU ARE ILLEGALLY TRESPASSING ON OUR SOVEREIGN TERRITORY!!”

  “This is not an act of war, Master Voiya”, replied KamPen who was now standing directly in front of the Eridani Master, with only the skirmish line of drones separating them. Of course, his Shil-7 was also pointed right at the middle of the Voiya’s head, “We are here solely to recover our operative who was on an unsanctioned mission. I’m also to offer my apologies to you for any inconvenience she may have caused.”

  Achael’s skin around her onyx black eyes crinkled a little bit at that. She held her position though, she gave no further reaction to the fact that she suddenly felt like she was being spoken of as an addled little school girl sitting outside the principal’s office.

  “SHE INVADED SOVEREIGN TERRITORY!! SHE MUST BE PUNISHED!! WE DEMAND SHE BE KILLED FOR HER TRANSGRESSION!! WE DEMAND SHE GO IN THE ACID TANK SO WE CAN WITNESS THE PUNISHMENT!!”

  “Not going to happen my friend,” replied KamPen. His gun and body never wavered, “The terms of the accord clearly state that each of our bases will offer unfettered landing privilege to each other during time of crisis or emergency.”

  “NO CRISIS!! WE WERE DEFENDING OUR BASE!! HUMAN NOT PART OF YOUR BASE!! WE KILL, TO DEFEND OUR BASE!!”

  “She had one of your damaged vessels attached to a rescue cable. She had one of your drones in her craft. She returned the Drone and the vessel to your compound. In our definition, that constitutes a rescue which by definition, would have been initiated by a crisis. Because the Drone could not survive for long in a damaged vessel, she was responding to an emergency situation. So, Master Voiya, since it was both a crisis and an emergency, you were doubly obligated to accept her request for admittance, and treat her with the respect and hospitality that the détente demands. The only one here that is out of line is the one that first pointed a weapon. Based on what I saw when we entered your hangar bay, you Eridani were the only ones pointing weapons and your drones were restraining our operative, also against the terms of the accord. The only one that deserves to be punished is the master of all this mayhem AND THAT, MASTER VOIYA, IS YOU!”

  There was an uncomfortable pause. The arriving OpFor and the Master’s personal Trigla guards held their opposing positions rock steady; the Voiya seethed; the Vesna huddled and gestured silently; the other Trigla guards all held their weapons slackly, and looked like they wanted to be anywhere else they could think of; the drones all chattered and gnashed their teeth making wild gestures of battle invitation with their arms, heads, and bodies.

  “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing today,” KamPen finally said. The Eridani Master, the Voiya so full of himself, said nothing.

  Finally Achael cleared her throat and said, “Master Blitowyn of Chernasai.”

  KamPen cocked his head to the side, and thought for a moment then looked up again at the Eridani Master, “Rillixiwen’s little brother?”

  The Voiya screamed with rage, his whole body vibrating with the emotion, his permanent headache had to be piquing. His personal guards didn’t move, they weren’t that stupid this close to a shooting match. The drones however all started to slowly advance on KamPen. Four True-Blood Eben along with the hybrids all stepped in closer and brought their weapons to bear on the Eridani Master, and the Vesna. One of the True-Blood Eben spoke up much louder than you would have expected, “Shri shesk shlom-pac!”

  The Vesna Mahal looked at the True-Blood Eben and nodded. The drones stopped moving, obviously reacting to the Vesna’s telepathic command. The drones moved back closer to the Master’s podium.

  Sighing with impatience, KamPen continued speaking to the Voiya in front of him on its raised platform, “Like I said, fathead, the only one in violation here is you. Shall we fulfill all the terms of the treaty and execute the one responsible for failing to fulfill the terms?”

  At that, the Mater’s personal guards chose valour over reason, a truly stupid decision given the situation. They stepped forward and brought their rifles around to point at KamPen. It was less than half a second after this, that the six bodyguards dissolved, mostly, into sprays of fine mist as eight Shril-7’s erupted all at once.

  As the remaining goo slagged to the bottom of the hangar bay and pooled around the Master’s platform, the Eridani Master looked like he was about to have a heart attack. The older guard commander, still standing there with his hands up, had his eyes and mouth clenched shut. His platoon members that had been standing behind the Master, were now all standing with their hands and arms straight up in the air, their weapons clattering to the ground in front of them.

  “Nice,” whispered Hlef.

  No sooner had she said that, the large access door at the back of the Hangar bay opened. Armed Trigla, armed Vesna and a few hundred more drones started pouring into the open space that was suddenly growing smaller.

  Mike Lane

  I was showered, finally smelling clean, and my skin felt invigorated and tingly after months of no water to shower in. I had put on fresh long johns and t-shirt, and then I checked the COM panel one more time (still showing errors). I looked at the chronometer and couldn’t believe it. It was only 21:50 hours local. I grabbed my tablet off the desk, and went back to the lower level of the L-Hab. In my room I mounted the tablet in its cradle near the head of my bunk, crawled into the sheets and was asleep in seconds.

  Around 05:00 hours local the Com unit beeped, burbled, and buzzed a bit; and then clearly gave a chiming notification sound. I came clear of the pillow with wide eyes, looked at the COM panel and mumbled, “COM’s are back. Awesome.” I collapsed back onto my pillow, instantly asleep again.

  Mission Control: 18 Minutes, 24 Seconds Ago

  The telemetry techs at the front of the room all jumped up, raised their hands in the air, and yelled at the same time, turning in unison like a perfectly choreographed ballet, “Telemetry is up again!”

  Numbers were pouring into all the idle consoles, and techs raced to get back to their stations. It had been hours since a signal had been received from Mars, and everyone had been milling around sipping coffee and impatiently whispering about what was really going on, on Mars. The large screen at the front of the room started scrolling biosciences and atmospheric numbers at the bottom edge. The static jumped on the left side of the screen (Mar-Sat), and with a few stills in between the bursts of static, finally resolved into a steady Hi-Def picture.

  Many people gasped at the sight, Hans among them. Hans had promptly come in a few hours ago after being called in the middle of a sound sleep by his brother, Karl. Jayden, it seemed, never left the place. They stood with Karl at the back of the room, watching with everyone else. It was still Karl’s shift.

  The video feed showed the Habitat structures and the site of the supply drops. The gasp was the site of the most recently arrived supply drop. There were faint wisps of smoke coming from underneath it. It stood canted over to one side, obviously missing a nacelle. There were two broken landing struts hanging uselessly at odd angles. The aeronautical engineers in the room, on loan from the manufacturer, surmised that the undercarriage support legs, to be used after landing to support and level the supply shipment, had stopped the supply drop from tipping completely over
. A later examination by Mike would reveal that the explosion of the engine nacelle had damaged the controller for the landing struts, and the two on that side had started extending on their own. Had they not, the one hundred million Euro cargo of sample return vehicles, the real money makers, would have been completely lost. For now though, it appeared they may be salvageable, but that wouldn’t be confirmed until Mike could do a proper inspection.

  “Carrie,” Hans spoke loudly across the room, “Any sign of him?”

  She and Arno were huddled over their screens, panning and zooming on the available feed. They both shook their heads and kept on with what they were doing. Karl was about to ask her a question when she turned around and said, “It looks like the COM unit is re-initializing, we should have internals in a few minutes.”

  One of the Habitat support techs turned in his chair with his arm in the air, “We’re getting gas exchange telemetry from the L-Hab. He has to be inside.”

  Nodding at this piece of good news, Karl stepped away from his brother and Jayden, and slowly walked over to the other side of the room. He was staring at the floor as he walked, chewing on an unlit cigar, and rubbing his small pot belly under his cardigan. With a furrowed brow, and obvious mental machinations in overdrive behind his unfocused eyes, he stopped behind Ernst and Freddie. They both sat there, unable to do anything. They had no image and no telemetry.

  Finally Karl looked up and saw Ernst, chair turned sideways, starring back at him through his black rim, 1950’s style glasses. Karl spoke in French, as he knew none of the telemetry techs nearby spoke that language. “Étrange, non?”

  Ernst nodded his head but never took his eyes off Karl, “Oui, c’est étrange.” Ernst had already reached the conclusion that he suspected Karl was now reaching. He and Freddie had already had a whispered discussion on it.