“So? I’ve gotten away with it up until now…”
“Up until now, exactly,” Jezzy said harshly, and Solomon was surprised at the schoolmarm attitude he heard from his combat specialist. Maybe they did things differently in the Yakuza, after all?
The group were ghosting through the mostly quiet streets of the city as the warning klaxons continued overhead. It seemed that Armstrong had an automated system, and that the Martian citizens wouldn’t come out of their pressure-sealed houses and shops until the all-clear was sounded.
Which meant that there was probably going to be safety inspections and regulations to fulfill, even out here on the frontier planet of Mars, Solomon recognized. Good. That bought them some time.
“So? What’s the point anyway? The Chosen are only making everyone’s life a misery, and the whole planet is going to be at war any day now, anyway.”
Any hour, more like. Solomon bit his tongue. They passed the plastic-sealed windows and doors of cafes and restaurants, everything looking eerie and strange. The Chosen haven’t told the people that there are two Confederate Marine Corps fleets in high orbit above the planet, he considered. That must be why the boy wasn’t panicking more.
“Like I say, kid. Every thief gets caught one day. You already did. It’s just the natural way of things… But the mark of a really clever one is what happens next. How do they get out of it? What can they offer? Trade? Do?” Solomon said. He couldn’t remember all the times that he had now been ‘caught.’ Not by the Confederate Enforcers of Earth—that had only happened once, and had set him on his path to here, after all—but he had been caught a whole heap of times by private security, or the American Mob, the Mafia, or the Yakuza. What had saved him was that he always had something to trade—a job for a job, information for his freedom…
“Look, you want to continue doing what you’re doing?” Solomon cut to the chase. “You want to be the best thief on Mars? Then start being smarter. There’s a water surveyor down in the hangars called Fela. Go and beg, plead, pray that she’ll take you on, and get yourself moving between the habitats for a living. That will keep you alive,” Solomon said.
If, of course, all of Mars doesn’t become a ball of smoking rock and ruins by next morning. He bit his lip.
“Really? Getting out of Armstrong?” The boy looked up at him with a new expression, and it looked like hope.
“Yeah, sure, why not?” Solomon said. “A smart lad like you should be able to make something work.”
The boy grunted and nodded, and that appeared to be as good a promise as any that Tomas would take his advice that Solomon was going to get. He hoped that he had managed to save the boy’s life, to get him out of the habitat before the war broke out for real…
“We’re here.” The boy stopped beside a large pagoda-like sealed tent that sat beside a dozen or so others, backed onto the stone buildings. They were in a long, cobbled avenue with more of the bay trees and Mediterranean shrubs in pots, and with a line of dimly-glowing LED lights set into the middle of the floor. As Solomon and the others scanned the area, the commander saw the detritus of what would have been a busy market if the entire habitat hadn’t been shut down by his actions: crisp packets and food wrappers beside scattered oddments and even a few credit coins.
“Ace!” Tomas quickly bent to scoop them up, before returning to the tented stall and hitting the plastic with the flat of his hand. “Marshal! Open up! It’s all clear!” the kid shouted, earning a groan from Karamov.
“I guess we’ve given up not drawing attention to ourselves,” he grumbled.
“We did that when the commander decided to shoot a stars-damned hole in the ceiling!” Kol mumbled, but Solomon ignored them both. He knew that he had to let them grumble. He wasn’t going to be one of those commanders who had to only hear positive things said about him all the time.
“Go away!” they all heard banging and shuffling coming from inside the plastic.
“Marshal! Get your lazy butt out here!” Tomas said again, laughing.
“I said go away, Tomas!” The old man wasn’t budging.
Solomon cleared his throat and stepped up to the milky-white plastic and spoke as loud as he dared through the pressure seal. “Marshal? It’s us. We’re friends of Fela,” Solomon growled.
There was another loud bang and a very audible swear word from the other side of the tent, and then a hiss and a zipping sound as the plastic was rolled up by an aging black man in a simple vest top and baggy trousers, with a tool belt and crossed-over bandolier of gadgets and equipment. Marshal had long dreads in a braid down his back that had long since given over to gray, and he had speckles and blotches on his cheekbones under somewhat rheumy eyes.
He doesn’t look like the sort of secret operative to help us infiltrate the hideout of the Chosen of Mars, Solomon thought, but then again—considering what he and his Gold Squad were wearing—looks could certainly be deceptive, couldn’t they?
“Good day, Marshal,” Solomon said with a tight smile. “I think we’ve got some work to do, right?”
The old man looked between the bedraggled, tired, and wary-looking Outcasts in their Martian civilian clothes for a moment, before stepping back and beckoning them inside. “I guess you’d better come in, hadn’t you?”
9
Instincts in the Dark
“You know why we’re here.” Solomon looked at the old man surrounded by his benches of electronic gadgets and spare parts as he hurriedly pulled the plastic seal back down to the floor. It appeared that the tables here were the ‘front’ of Marshal’s store, and a door led into the stone-built building which—presumably—was the man’s workshop and inventory.
“I do,” Marshal said severely, not stopping as he squeezed past them and through the open door. “Come on, the war won’t wait for the likes of us,” he said over his shoulder, and Solomon and the rest shuffled through to find themselves in a small room with a narrow pallet bed on one side, a tiny kitchen stove, and more crates and boxes.
“I take it that was you then?” Marshal nodded up to the ceiling.
“We had, ah…a difference of opinion with your local constabulary,” Solomon hazarded.
“They shot a hole through the habitat, Marshal! These guys are crazy!” Tomas said exuberantly.
Wonderful. If that is the only lesson that he takes from this… Solomon sighed, drawing a hand over his face.
“Huh. Guess it’s all the same one way or another…” Marshal shrugged. There was a general air of malaise around the old man, as if he had already given up hope that he would get out of this alive.
“We’re going to stop this,” Solomon said. “With your help, that is.”
“My help?” The old man laughed abrasively. “You’re going to need a lot more than that, let me tell you…” He bent down to pull aside a dusty but intricately patterned rug to reveal a metal trapdoor. After opening the code lock, he pulled it open to reveal that the house lay over a dark, brick-built tunnel.
“Geothermal vents that heat up the city in the night and cool it down in the day. Pretty ingenious really,” he said.
“They’re pressurized?” Solomon frowned. The trapdoor was no airlock. There were no pressure seals that he could see.
“The entire city is. Even the vents and tunnels underneath it. Easier for workers to go down and clear out any cave-ins or work on the fans,” Marshal said.
“Commander… We really don’t have any time for planetary architecture…” Jezzy murmured beside him, already pulling out her pistol in one hand and a flashlight from her pack in the other.
“Right. What can you tell us?” Solomon asked the old man.
“Head straight, Follow the tunnel to a T-Junction and turn left, then another right, and then right again. That brings you up to the first Chosen checkpoint,” Marshal stated.
“What?” Kol burst out. “Checkpoint? I thought the point was that we could bypass the guards…not walk straight into them!”
The electro
nic engineer shrugged. “That’s the best I can do. But what I can tell you is…” He turned to one of the plastic crates, pulling it out to move bits of equipment back and forth, this way and that, until he found what he had been looking for.
“Amp converter. But one that I’ve set to receive about sixty percent higher output than the habitat regulations allow,” he stated.
“Right... And how does that help us?” Solomon said.
“Well, beyond that checkpoint is the main generator station for the Arceos District,” Marshal said.
Solomon looked at the man in bemusement.
“I was brought in by the Chosen and paid a very high fee to help install a few subroutines in that generator,” Marshal explained. “And that requires some very careful measurements of amp and wattage being used and produced… And Arceos, which is a pretty normal district just like this one, with shops and warehouses and residentials— Well, it requires about fifty percent more energy than any other similar district…” Marshal stated.
“And just what does that even tell us?” Solomon was confused.
“That Arceos is running some pretty heavy computers down there…” Kol, who was their technical specialist, explained.
“This one’s got it,” the old man said appreciatively. “Arceos is where the Chosen have got all their servers and mainframes, I promise you.”
“How do you know?” Solomon didn’t move. “There could be another reason. A secret project. Something you don’t know about…”
“I’m a trained planetary habitat engineer,” the old man stated. “I helped out on the schematics and electrical overflows and shortages of this entire habitat. I know what’s running where, and I know when there is something pretty suspicious, and what’s going on in Arceos is it,” he said, with a touch of iron in his voice. “And besides, time is running out and I’m the only one who was willing to talk to Fela, so…”
“So, you’re all that we’ve got.” Solomon nodded, looking at Jezzy and the others of his team a little warily. Marshal was right, and the commander knew it. He was their best lead, and they didn’t have time to start scouring the city for another way into the Chosen’s database.
“Fine.” Solomon came to a decision. “Just what are we supposed to do with this converter thing of yours, anyway?”
“Get past the checkpoint and install it on the generator. It’ll cycle through the usual power outage, but it’ll force the generator to take sixty percent more than even it is used to. It’ll blow the batteries, forcing Arceos to go dark,” Marshal stated. “Whatever servers the Chosen are running will go offline, and whatever checkpoints, cameras, security systems or transmitters operating out of Arceos will go dark too…”
“Until they fix it,” Kol stated, looking at the round, tubular contraption with wires and cables splaying out of either end.
“Yep, until they fix it. But by then, you’ll have gone in and done what you need to do, won’t you?” Marshal said severely.
“I guess we’ll have to,” Kol muttered, frowning. Solomon could see that this inelegant solution wasn’t what his finetuned technical brain approved of, but that was Mars for you. Solomon sighed inwardly. It was a rough and ready place, full of cheap austerity fixes and cobbled-together technologies.
No wonder the colony worlds hate us so much, the brief thought flashed through Solomon’s mind. The Confederacy was doing everything it could to keep them poor, while it profited off their riches. Only Proxima—far away enough and large enough, with a fully breathable and sustainable eco-system—came close to breaking free of Confederate control…
Anyway. Solomon shook his head. “Jezzy, you’re with me. We’re lead contact.” He crouched down to be the first to jump down into the tunnel below. “Kol, you back us up. I want you ready to install that converter thing of his at the first opportunity.”
“Got it, sir.” Kol took the device from Marshal’s hand, turning it over once or twice and looking at it with apparent disdain before slipping it into one of his trouser pockets.
“And, Karamov, rear guard. You know the drill… Protect our backs, jump in if we can’t get the job done, and be ready with your medical kit when we need.”
“Absolutely, Commander.” Karamov even gave a small salute.
“What about me?” came a younger voice. It was Tomas, looking between all of the much older and much larger Marines with a sort of earnest desperation on his face.
“What about you, kid?” Solomon paused. “You already have a job to do, don’t you? See Fela. Do it now.”
“I can help. I’m quick. I’m smart…” Tomas started to argue.
“Tomas, no.” This came from Marshal, settling a wrinkled and much work-scarred hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We’ve done our bit. Now we have to let them do theirs.”
“But I can help. Much better than pretending to be a water surveyor!” Tomas shrugged the old man’s hand off.
“No, Tomas.” Solomon was adamant, looking hard in the boy’s eyes until his face flushed and he was forced to look at the floor. “You know what I said about being smart? That you have to be smarter? This is one of those times. We’re the ones who can get this job done, not you.” And I really don’t want anyone else to die because of me, Solomon thought.
“You need me,” Tomas stated indignantly.
“No, kid, we don’t…” Jezzy shook her head, impatient to get going.
Actually… A thought crossed Solomon’s mind. “Look, you really want to help?” he asked, and then explained what he wanted the kid to do. It was still dangerous—very dangerous, perhaps—but it was still safer than going up against the Chosen in the dark tunnels under the city, or having bombs dropped on his head by the Rapid Response dreadnaught far above.
“You think you can do that?” Solomon asked.
“Easily.” Tomas grinned, and was already making his way out of the room, and back out into Armstrong to get started.
“You reckon you should have done that, Commander?” Karamov asked doubtfully.
Solomon opened and closed his mouth, before saying, “Probably not. But I was just like him once. Still am, maybe. Young and dumb. Wouldn’t listen to anyone. And I would get myself into more trouble on my own than I would if I had a job to do. At least this way…”
“At least this way, he’s helping his fellow Martians free ourselves of that terrible First Martian business,” the old man broke in, his tone serious. “The war is going to come to all of us—young and old, loyal, criminal, or Chosen alike. It’s good that he has a chance to play his part,” Marshal stated, and that was that.
But as Solomon threw a quick salute at the old engineer and dropped down to the stone floor below with a light thud, he couldn’t help but wonder if it really was a good thing that people like Fela and Marshal and Tomas got sucked up into the Confederate-Colony war. They were normal people, like he had once been, after all. When were they ever going to get to lead their own lives and not be pawns of one side or another?
Of course, Specialist Commander Solomon knew that who he was really thinking about was himself, but he knew that there was nothing he could do to get out of his situation yet, anyway.
“Was it first right or first left?” Jezzy breathed into the dimly-lit tunnel. It was broad enough for two to walk side-by-side and hewn out of rough yellowish sandstone blocks with an uneven rock floor. The Outcast Marines could feel a gentle cooling breeze meet them as they moved through the shadows, with just the light of their handheld light for guidance.
“First left, then two rights,” Solomon said.
“Oh yeah, I forgot you were Mr. Quick Thinker…” Jezzy grumbled.
Oh, you’re still mad at me, then? Solomon thought, before he stepped out in one smooth movement with his gun and light raised in crossed-over hand positions. Blind and shoot, his training told him. When you were working in situations like this, the Marine Corps strategy was to act fast and to overwhelm the opponent. No time for second-guessing…
But of cou
rse, there was no one waiting there down the tunnel. No light. No sensors. No cameras. Just more leagues of featureless dark.
“Look, Jezzy…” he breathed as he nodded for her to move past him and then followed. “I’m going to sort it out. Your father. I promise.” I just have no idea how to, yet.
“My father’s on Earth. We’re on Mars. Or Ganymede. Just what do you think that you’re going to do?” Jezzy snapped at him, breaking her usual stony concentration when on a mission.
She must really be hurting, Solomon realized. Of course she was. This was her father they were talking about. “Please, Jezzy, just trust me. I’ll…” He still had no idea what he was going to do. Jezzy was right—a few hundred thousand miles separated them, and last time he checked, the ex-convict army of the Outcasts weren’t allowed holidays.
And as soon as I try to enter any of Earth’s space elevators, then the Enforcers will probably jump on me and ship me off to Titan… Solomon cursed. What was worse was that Jezzy had hit the nail on the head. He was supposed to be the smart one. That was why the colonel had forwarded him for the command specialism, and why he was the one to lead their squad and not Jezzy herself, or Arlo Menier, the Outcast bully who had been the first to get the hotseat, until he had blown it in front of the colonel.
But what good is all of my supposed brilliance if I can’t even save my friend’s father? Solomon berated himself. It was probably this that led him to miss the first sign of danger. Jezzy hissed, suddenly grabbing his arm and forcing him back against the wall with a heavy thump.
“Hey!”
“Look!” Jezzy pointed down to the side of the wall, where one of the cracks between the blockwork was a little larger than the others, and as she pointed her light at it, something glinted in the darkness.
“Oh. What is that?” he said, breathing hard. It was roughly at the level of his ankle, and even though Jezzy had forced him back against the wall, he couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t walked in front of it.
Outcast Marines Boxed Set Page 46
