BATTLEFIELD MARS
David Robbins
© 2015 by David L. Robbins
ENTITIES UNKOWN
1
Ten-year old Piotr Zabinski was almost to the airlock when his mother said, “Hold it right there.” She came over, knelt, and inspected his EVA suit.
“I want to go out,” Piotr told her, fidgeting.
“Hold still.” She checked the readout, and nodded. “Everything looks to be in order.”
“I know how to suit up, Mom. I’m not five anymore.”
She smiled and kissed him on the cheek, even though she had to know he couldn’t feel it through the faceplate. “You’re growing up much too fast. It seems only yesterday I was pushing you in your stroller.”
“Mom,” Piotr said impatiently.
“All right.” She stood and tapped the code for the airlock. “What are the rules?”
Piotr sighed.
“The rules,” she said again.
“Watch my air. Watch out for sharp objects. Watch the sky. Come right back in if the alarm goes off,” Piotr recited.
“What else?”
Piotr had forgotten the last one. “Don’t go too near the fence.”
“Because?”
“Can I please just go?”
“Because?” his mother said in that irritating way she had.
Piotr hated being treated as if he were dumb. “Because if I touch it, it will short out my suit.”
She raised her thumb to the pad, a green light glowed, and the inner pressure door hissed open. “Off you go. Have fun.”
Piotr went through the ritual of waiting for the inner door to close and the outer door to open, and at last he was outside. He gazed up at the orange-red sky, then at the barren expanse beyond the fence, which wasn’t really a fence at all but a series of poles that projected an invisible barrier.
Piotr never understood why they needed it. There wasn’t any life on Mars, other than the people from Earth. Yet settlers who lived outside the New Meridian dome were required to put a fence up.
Piotr began a circuit of their house module, looking for something to stir his interest. To the north reared Albor Tholus, an extinct volcano. Ever since he first set eyes on it, he’d wanted to go there to explore. One day, his dad had promised, they would.
The rest of the scenery consisted of rocky ridges, scattered boulders, and a plain. He’s seen it a thousand times. Nothing ever changed. Just all that rock and dirt, with no vegetation, no water. Compared to Earth, Mars was boring.
Grinning to himself, Piotr picked up a small stone and threw it at the security fence. It was against his mother’s many rules but the stone wasn’t big enough to set off the alarm, and he liked the crackle effect.
Piotr debated going to the agripod and down into the horticulture farm to watch his father work. Instead, he drifted toward the fence. He was halfway there when he happened to glance down, and stopped in surprise.
There were marks all over the dirt. Puzzled, he squatted and examined them. Each was the same. About half as wide as his hand, with a lot of small points around the edges, as there would be if his mom poked her knitting needles into the dirt.
Piotr wondered what made them. It didn’t occur to him they might be tracks until he realized a trail led toward the fence. He followed it, and was dumfounded to see a hole where there had never been a hole before, rimmed by freshly dug Martian earth.
It dawned on Piotr that something must have come up out of the ground, roamed around, and gone back down again.
Piotr grew excited. His mother and father never told him about anything like this. He started to turn toward the agripod to go let his dad know but the hole piqued his curiosity.
About the size of a tractor wheel, the opening went in at an angle. Piotr couldn’t see much. Kneeling, he placed his hands flat, and peered in. He heard a slight sound, and something moved. Before he could do more than gape in amazement, the thing was out of the hole—and on him.
2
Captain Archard Rahn smothered a yawn. If there was any work more boring than filing his daily report, he had yet to come across it. He glanced at the clock and saw it was only ten a.m. He needed to come up with something interesting to do for the afternoon.
Leaning back in his chair, Archard stretched. On the wall to his left hung the United Nations Interplanetary Corps banner. On the wall to his right was a map of Mars that showed the east and west hemispheres in bas relief. Near the door hung a large image, taken from space, of a bright blue pearl in the dark abyss of space
“Mother Earth,” Archard said aloud. God, how he missed her. Missed being able to go outdoors without a suit. Missed being able to breathe actual fresh air. True, New Meridian’s dome enabled people to do both, but only under its protective shell. And the air was artificial, supplied by the oxygenator and other components of the Atmosphere Center.
His desk phone chirped and he answered.
“Captain, this is Levlin Winslow.”
Archard sat up. It was rare for the Chief Administrator to ring him up. “Sir?”
“I’m sorry to bother you,” the C.A. said, sounding slightly embarrassed that he had. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Sir?” Archard said again. As head of security, it was his job to protect the colonists and maintain the peace. Neither required much effort, principally because there was nothing to protect the colonists from. Mars was lifeless. In the century and a half since the first colony was established, not a single indigenous life form had been discovered. As for lawbreakers, crime was as nonexistent as alien life. Not surprising, since every colonist went through a rigorous screening process. Those with sociopathic and/or psychopathic tendencies didn’t make the cut. Mars would never have its very own version of Jack the Ripper.
“Do you know the Zabinski’s?”
Archard brought up the personnel file on his screen, typed the name, and recited, “Family of three. Husband, Josep. Wife’s name is Ania. Occupation, farmers. One child, a boy, Piotr.”
“You’ve met them, then?”
Given the size of the colony, one hundred and twenty-one souls, Archard knew many of the people by sight if not by name. In this instance, “I went out to their farm when they first moved in to make sure their fence was up, as required. Small place. Two or three modules, the house and some sheds. Underground hydroponics. The usual.”
“Well, the mother called here about, oh, an hour ago, saying their boy had disappeared—”
“Disappeared?” Archard interrupted, suddenly all interest.
“The kid went out to play, apparently. A while later the father came in and asked the mother where the boy was, and she didn’t know. They both went looking and couldn’t find him so the mother buzzed my office.” Winslow paused. “My assistant took all this down.”
“Why did they call you and not the Security Center?”
“Probably because I’m the head of the colony, and the colonists all look up to me and respect me.”
Archard let that pass.
“At any rate, I wasn’t in. My assistant told them I would return their call as soon as soon as I got back. Which I just did a few minutes ago.”
“And?” Archard prompted when Winslow didn’t go on.
“No answer. Could be they’re still out looking.”
Archard frowned. Military EVA suits all had comm-links. Civilian suits weren’t required to; an oversight, in his judgment. But then, except for farmers and geologists and the like, few colonists ever ventured out into the real Martian environment.
“Was their fence down when the boy went missing?” Archard wondered. Sometimes a fence had to be shut off for maintenance or what-have-you, and if that was the case, the boy might have wandered off.
> “The mother didn’t mention anything about that,” Winslow said. “Anyway, I have to go. Council meeting. Will you check this out and report back to me at your earliest convenience?”
“Of course.” Archard was willing to bet a month’s pay that it was nothing. Kids would be kids. Even on Mars. Still, it was something to do besides paperwork. He saved his daily report to finish later, and turned to the communications console. “Heads up, people. Where is everyone?”
“Sergeant McNee here, sir. I’m in the armory.”
“Private Pasco, sir. The sarge has me mopping floors.”
“Private Everett. Target range.”
“Gear up, men,” Archard commanded. “We’re taking the tank out.”
“Some action, at last,” Pasco said excitedly.
“Don’t get your hopes up, buddy,” Private Everett said. “It’s not like we’ll get to shoot anything.”
3
Ania Zabinski was beside herself with worry. She and her husband had searched their entire farm from top to bottom and hadn’t found Piotr. Now, leaning against a corner of their house, she panted as much from fear as the running around they had been doing.
“Stay calm, will you?” Josep said. “The boy has to be somewhere.”
Ania didn’t care for his tone. “Of course he has to be somewhere.”
Josep scratched his helmet as if it were his chin. “This makes no sense. The fence is working. The boy has to be in one of the buildings.”
“Or lying out behind a boulder,” Ania said. The terrain around the house was flat and open, but to the north, in the direction of the volcano, it was broken and rocky.
“The boy wouldn’t go that far,” Josep said. “He knows the rules.”
“Then where?” Ania nearly wailed. She was close to tears. It was her fault they couldn’t find him. She’d let Piotr go outside unsupervised, which wasn’t an issue in itself. But then she had become busy with her analysis of the chemical effects of a new fertilizer they were experimenting with, and lost track of time.
Josep rubbed at his helmet. “We search again. Don’t worry. Help is on its way from the colony.”
“I hope they come quickly.”
“We’ll try the agripod again,” Josep suggested.
It made sense to Ania. They’d been down there once and shouted Piotr’s name but hadn’t gotten an answer. Now they would search the acres and acres of plants. Nodding, she followed her hulk of a husband, taking two strides to each of his.
As was his wont, Josep thought aloud as they went. “The boy wouldn’t stray off. He knows better. He wouldn’t have tried to go through the fence. He knows it would damage his suit. He wasn’t in the sheds. He has to be underground, in the fields.”
Ania recalled that back on Earth, fields were always on the surface. Yet another of the many differences between their own planet and this red one. “Could he have taken a tool and hurt himself?”
“Unlikely. The boy wouldn’t take one without permission. But I’ll check when we get down there, just the same.”
“Maybe he fell and hit his head on a seeding tray or a bin.”
“Stop your fretting. He was wearing his helmet. It would protect him.”
“He might have opened it. The fields are pressurized,” Ania reminded him. The artificial atmosphere was as close to Earth’s as possible.
Josep unexpectedly stopped and pointed. “Look. More of those strange marks.”
Ania didn’t care about stupid circles in the dirt. She would try to figure them out later. Right now all she cared about was their son.
The agripod airlock was larger than most to accommodate some of the equipment they used. A flight of stairs led down.
Before them spread the glory of their farm; wheat and oats, corn and potatoes, and more. The corn stalks were the highest.
Ania decided that was where she would look and took a step, only to have Josep grab her wrist.
“What in God’s name?”
Ania’s blood went cold.
Not two meters from the stairwell, a wall that should be solid had a dark hole, maybe a meter across, in the center.
“What could have caused that?” Josep said, sounding dazed. He went toward it.
Ania was more bothered by deep scratches in the wall below the hole. “What are those?”
“Eh?” Josep bent, then caught himself and pointed off across their fields. “Look! The corn! It’s moving!”
Sure enough, the stalks were swaying as if to a mild breeze.
Ania put a hand to her throat. “Piotr!” Certain it must be their son, she raced down the center aisle. Josep called her name but she didn’t stop. All that mattered was Piotr. She flew past waist-high wheat and then the oats. Josep uttered another cry, not her name but something she didn’t catch. “I must find Piotr!” she shouted into her mic.
The corn stopped moving.
“Piotr?” Ania called. She parted the stalks and peered along the rows but didn’t see him. “Son, where are you?”
Only then did Ania notice another hole at the far end of the horticultural habitat. “Josep. Come here. Hurry.”
When there was no answer, Ania turned.
Her husband was nowhere to be seen.
“Josep?” Ania started back.
A profound stillness prevailed.
An uneasy feeling came over her. She tried to swallow but her mouth was dry. Licking her lips, she shouted, “Josep? Where are you?”
Ania was almost past the wheat plot when she realized that stalks out in the middle were moving. Specifically, several swaths were bending in her direction.
“Josep!” Ania yelled, scared. She ran until the stairs were in view. So was a figure sprawled on the floor, and the strange things swarming over it. Sheer horror brought her lurching to a stop.
Hideous creatures were ripping her husband to pieces. Already they had torn through his EVA suit, his clothes, his flesh. Blood was everywhere. Worse, one of his attackers was pulling his intestines out of his abdomen. Another raised Josep’s dripping heart aloft.
Ania nearly swooned. She stumbled, regained her footing, and turned to flee. She would hide until the things were gone and report them to…
Several more had come out of the wheat and were scuttling toward her.
Ania screamed. She was still screaming when one of the creatures launched itself at her, still screaming when one of its limbs speared through her suit into her throat. Her scream became a gurgle.
Then more of them were on her.
4
The ‘tank’ was a rover constructed to military specs. Armor-plated with a synthetic harder than the titanium of yesteryear, yet barely a third of the weight, its main armament consisted of a DEW array on top. Directed Energy Weapon systems varied. In this instance, the powers-that-be had decided all three tanks on Mars—one at each of the colonies—should have masers.
A decision Archard didn’t agree with. Microwaves were lethal but give him a laser any day. Quicker to power up, they sliced through anything and everything.
Standing beside the tank’s open bay, he waited for his men to file out of the ready room. He heard their voices, and turned, catching sight of his reflection on the mirror-surface wall.
His EVA suit was standard military issue, no different from those of his men except for the officer’s bars on his shoulders. It occurred to him how glad they should be that their streamlined suits had replaced the bulky outfits of the early space age. He’d read that getting around in those had been a chore.
A breakthrough in nanotech made it possible. Virtually a second skin, they fit as snugly as clothes.
Oversized helmets were a thing of the past, too. For the U.N.I.C, anyway. Theirs fit like a skull cap. All they had to do was press a stud and the flexi-glass faceplate extended to form a seal with the main suit.
With his crew-cut blond hair and blue eyes, his Individual Combat Weapon and his web belt and sidearm, Archard couldn’t help reflecting that he looked like a pos
ter boy for the Interplanetary Corps.
“Hop to it!” a gruff voice barked, and into the motor pool strode Sergeant McNee. From the East End of London, everything about the man screamed career military, from his buzz cut to his crisp uniform. Snapping to attention, he saluted, then turned and growled in his clipped British accent, “On the double. We don’t want to keep the captain waiting.”
Privates Everett and Pasco were still putting themselves together. Everett, who hailed from Kentucky, had been in the Corps five years now. Pasco, from Seville, Spain, was barely six months out of basic; he tried hard but bumbled and fumbled at nearly everything he did. His ICW wasn’t slung, and he nearly tripped over the strap.
“Get your act together, soldier,” Sergeant McNee said.
“Yes, sir,” Pasco said, then almost tripped a second time.
Yet another thing Archard didn’t understand was why the higher-ups sent a kid like Pasco to Mars. The entire planet was one giant inhospitable environment, with no mercy for the careless.
Archard stepped aside so his men could enter the tank.
“You mentioned a missing person, sir?” Sergeant McNee said.
“A ten-year-old boy.”
“Could be serious then?”
Archard knew what the non-com was thinking. They might actually get to do something useful for once instead of sitting on their asses cleaning weapons that never saw use. “Let’s hope not.”
“Sir?” McNee said, then blinked. “Not that I’d wish any harm to come to the tyke.”
Private Pasco had taken his seat and was adjusting the seatbelt. “I bet he’s fine, Sarge. I got lost a lot when I was a kid, and I’m still here.”
A look of annoyance came over McNee and he opened his mouth to reply but Archard shook his head and motioned him forward. “Systems check, if you would. Private Everett, seal the bay door.” He made for the front passenger seat. “I want us underway ASAP.”
“Look out, Mars,” Private Pasco said. “Here we come.”
Battlefield Mars Page 1
