On the Shores of Titan's Farthest Sea

by Michael Carroll

  © Springer International Publishing Switzerland 2015

  Michael CarrollOn the Shores of Titan's Farthest SeaScience and Fiction10.1007/978-3-319-17759-5_48

  48. The Creeps

  Michael Carroll1

  (1)Littleton, CO, USA

  The tech stood before Montenegro, apparently fighting the urge to wring his hands. “Sir, we found it just south of the docking bay, moored to the cliff base.”

  “Show us,” Montenegro said, rubbing the back of his neck. The tech stepped to the screen timidly, punching up several exterior views. Finally, the correct camera angle materialized. An inflatable bobbed by the rugged shoreline.

  Montenegro bellowed at Troy. “I thought you came alone.”

  “I thought so, too, but that’s my Zodiac, all right.” Troy’s tone lacked even a hint of intimidation.

  “Wonderful. Guess it’s a little late for us to be the rescue party of Mayda Station.” Montenegro turned to Clark. “Get the vehicles outside and prepare for a ground and air assault. How soon can we be ready?”

  “Possibly tomorrow morning, I suppose,” Clark said.

  Montenegro pivoted menacingly toward Troy. “As for you, I’d like you to lead everybody to the most susceptible point on that outpost and make yourself useful. And try to not shoot the place up too much. Remember that it will be an extension of this base when we get it squared away.”

  “Of course, sir.” Troy left to get his environment suit, but he realized that Montenegro’s forces had much more to worry about than orange fog leaking through a few holes in the wall. Those Titan versions of Nessie might well have their own plans for any land assault. The serpents were out of the lake now, roaming free. They had even spread to the north shore, appearing as soon as Troy had arrived. And everyone at Mayda and at the Northern Quadrant Base had seen them.

  (*)

  Demian Sable keyed the microphone while he could enjoy a moment of solitude. All of his incompetent minions were off bumbling his orders. It was time to check in.

  “Hello, Circe, my dear. Are you there?” He waited for the dozen seconds of light travel time between Titan and his voice’s destination, and another dozen for hers to return.

  “There you are, my sweet. Right on time.”

  Circe’s image was snowy, her voice like tin. The connection was lousy. How annoying. Before he would respond, she said something else.

  “When can I come out? I miss you.”

  “Of course you do. Not just yet, my queen. There are several other things to accomplish here before it’s safe for you to come. I want all to be in readiness for you. No loose ends. How does that sound?”

  The moments passed. Sable felt a pang of yearning, more than lust or even romance. He found himself surrounded by people ready to do his bidding, and yet he was lonely. Finally, her voice called to him. In the moment, it was the voice of Parthenope, a voice for which he would gladly do any bidding. The voice spoke. “What could you possibly need to get done? You have a veritable army there already. Have they taken care of things?”

  So much for his Siren. Sable slammed his palm on the table. “Woman!” he rasped to himself before hitting the mic button. “Now my dear, remember how we talked about open radio links? Let’s be discreet, shall we? There are some complications here, still much to be done. I will call just as soon as you can come, and then we will have a celebration on an interplanetary scale. There’s a good girl. I must sign off. Good bye, my sweet.”

  He didn’t wait for her reply. He shut off his side of the comm. Now, the only sound was the hum of electronics and the dripping of a melting wall somewhere. Dripping. Eroding away. Like his business empire. His status as tycoon had crumbled a bit when he went to prison. The courts and the TBI had systematically attempted to dismantle his corporate empire, although he still retained most of his personal wealth in off-world investments. Faux corporations and secret allies continued to build his interests. But they were skeptical. They had always been there, in the background. The naysayers. The cynics. The disbelievers. He had shown them once, building his—what had that Martian editorial called it?—“spiritual/financial kingdom.” That was it. The second-rate editorialist undoubtedly thought his clever label was a disparaging insult to Sable, but it really summed things up nicely, Sable thought.

  But now, he had to prove himself all over again. How painful. He couldn’t count the sacrifices he had made over the years, in front of and behind locked doors. And the sacrifices of those around him had been great, too. Poor Circe had been the epitome of patience and kindness and grace. She had outsmarted them on more than one occasion during his incarceration. It was time for payback, for retribution. He would pay her back with kindness and the wealth of the entire Solar System. He would pay the cynics back with his iron fist.

  (*)

  In the dark, alone, in a storage closet on a distant moon of Saturn, an odd memory rolled through Abby’s mind. As part of her graduate lessons in meteorology, she had studied the global flow of the Tharsis influenza epidemic. She remembered watching a global Mars map, watching the unrelenting march of the microbial onslaught as it made its way across the Red Planet. For some reason, it gave her the creeps. She had not slept for days afterwards.

  Knowing that Demian Sable was just down the hall, so close, sharing with her the same oxygen in this little underground fortress, gave her that same cloying, creepy feeling. In her adult years, when she knew enough to pay attention, she had watched as his empire continued to grow, spreading across Mars like that earlier plague, then on to the interplanetary arena. She couldn’t shake the thought that now, finally, she could do something. All her life, Sable had been an amorphous figure locked away in a maximum security facility. True, her eyewitness testimony had helped to put him there. And at times, she had hoped for his redemption, some kind of miraculous about-face, a salvation of some kind. She had seen that happen with people, and she believed it could happen even to someone as heinous as Demian Sable.

  It seemed that Demian had gone through some kind of transformation. Just what had happened to him? He had been a charismatic, focused leader, a man of vision, no matter how dark that vision had been. He had been the tip of the spear for thousands of followers, both spiritual and political. He was a pied piper in the business world. But something happened to him in prison. Something must have snapped. He was not the Demian Sable she had known. The evil inside had turned rancid, if that was possible. Could evil come in degrees?

  And thinking of Demian’s descent into deeper malevolence, Abby had those other, darker times. Perhaps it was a damning reflection upon her that more often, she wished for his demise. She imagined that a judge would see clear to resurrect the death penalty for those who killed with design and without compunction. But sadly, people like Demian Sable seldom got what they deserved. They killed and destroyed and then got locked away to continue their business from a distance.

  And suddenly, Abigail Marco had the opportunity to do something about that. Now. After years of yearning for her parents, two very good and kind and brilliant people who had so much to offer the world, after agonizing over how they must have suffered in the terrible quantum waves from a weapon whose use was seen—even by most terrorist groups—as a crime against humanity. Sable sat there, in a cold little office scraped out of the ice cliffs of Titan, just ripe for the taking. For justice.

  And of course there was the other thing. Sable had associated himself—perhaps even been the force behind—this circus on the north shore of Kraken Mare, and these clowns were responsible for the death of her friend. Poor Kevin. What had he done? What did they do to him?

  Why did her palms ache? She realized that she had balled her hands into fists, and she was gritting her teeth. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She let the tension drain from her hands, from her neck, from her jaw. The coolness of her cheeks betrayed tears, but they would dry soon.

  She tapped on the closet door. It felt like sheet metal. It was reinforced, but the l
ock and hinges were probably light. She shoved her shoulder against it. Light seeped in along one edge of the door, the hinged edge. There was the weakness. She leaned away as far as she could and tried again. This time, her shoulder dented the door and left a fist-sized crack of light along the frame. In the cramped quarters, she pulled her shirt off, wrapped it around her hand, and grabbed the edge of the metal. She shook it furiously. The top hinge popped off, then the center. If she shoved hard enough on the top of the door, she could just climb out.

  She put her shirt back on—funny how those social mores kick in under any circumstance—bent the door away, and stepped gingerly through the ragged opening. The hallway was clear. Her first stop would be the armory. She reviewed the personal tour the guards had so generously given her upon her arrival. Although she had feigned drowsiness, she had paid close attention. At the first junction, she made a right and slammed into Marv Holliman’s chest. He grabbed her arms with gorilla strength. She wouldn’t be going any farther without his permission.

  © Springer International Publishing Switzerland 2015

  Michael CarrollOn the Shores of Titan's Farthest SeaScience and Fiction10.1007/978-3-319-17759-5_49

  49. Chivalry Is Not Dead

  Michael Carroll1

  (1)Littleton, CO, USA

  It was over. She had been so close to Sable she could taste it, like the foul hydrocarbons that stuck to the insides of the airlocks. And now this bear of a thug held her in his paws.

  “I don’t think you want to be going that way just now.” Abby shook her arms. Surprisingly, Marv let go. He said, “Would you come with me, please?”

  She glanced down the hall, heard voices, thought better of fleeing, and took her chances with Marv. He led her to a rough-hewn room with a couple of crates for chairs, some computer cables draped across the wall, a bevy of screens, and the guy who had locked her up.

  “Gee, you don’t seem to have any locker jails in here. I feel so naked.”

  The huge man laughed. “You are funny, girl. I am Kinto, by the way. I’m sorry about that. It’s all gone south, I’m afraid.”

  “What has?”

  “That man in there.” Kinto jabbed the screen. Demian Sable, a.k.a. Montenegro, addressed the crowd.

  “What he means,” Marv said, “is that our fearless leader has gone bonkers.”

  “He was there already,” Abby said.

  Kinto shook his head, staring at the screen. “No, not like this. And I can’t say much for his musical taste.”

  “Yeah,” Marv enthused. “Who says we need mood muzak in a place like this? Besides, I never did go in for that Indian crap or whatever it is.”

  Abby listened to the silence. She looked at Kinto, and then at Marv. They both had the bloodshot eyes common to those at Mayda Station.

  Marv rubbed his temples as he said, “Anyway, it appears you may have some company, and whoever it is, they’re walking into a hornet’s nest.”

  “What do you mean, company?” Abby asked.

  “Have a look,” Kinto said, punching up another view. “That’s the south cliff face. Look familiar?”

  Abby nodded, but kept quiet.

  “One of your inflatables, I believe,” Marv said.

  Abby realized that there was no use denying it. “Who came in on it?”

  “We could probably find out,” Kinto said. He clocked through a few external views, then began to survey various closed-circuit shots of halls and rooms.

  “There,” Marv pointed. “There he is. Recognize him? Brave little bugger.”

  He is indeed, Abby thought. How chivalrous, Piers Wellington coming to rescue the damsel in distress! What was it that Troy had said about that rose in her room? Looks like someone’s peace offering. But he hadn’t meant he had put it there himself. Someone else had. Where would Piers—or anyone out here—get a live rose?

  He was a sweet guy. She only hoped he had brought help. And she wondered what these two were going to do about it all. About him.

  “Where is this?” Kinto asked.

  Marv checked his screen. “Outside the armory. Pull up the interior view.”

  Kinto called it up. Piers entered the room, shuffled down one aisle as if he was doing his last-minute shopping at a grocery store, and turned almost directly toward the camera. He had chosen a wicked-looking hand weapon, and something else.

  “Good choice,” Marv said admiringly. “MV-24s handle nicely.”

  “Not much kick,” Kinto added.

  “Lightweight, too,” Abby said. They both gaped at her. “What, I don’t look like I know my way around a firing range?”

  Marv squinted at the screen. “What’s he got in his other hand? Looks like a…”

  “Hammer,” Kinto and Abby said in unison.

  “Where’s he headed?” Kinto asked.

  Marv studied the monitor, and switched cameras to follow. “Maybe going to Montenegro?”

  “Sable,” Abby corrected.

  “Weird,” Kinto and Marv said in unison. Marv added, “I can’t get used to it.”

  Kinto keyed the screen. “Let’s just see what those two are up to.”

  Both Kinto and Marv were observing intently. Neither seemed interested in letting Montenegro know that Piers might be on his way, or even that he was within the confines of the base. It puzzled her.

  On Kinto’s screen, Sable and Clark were looking directly into the camera. It was disconcerting. “Get us a different view of their ugly mugs,” Marv complained. “We got any audio on that thing?”

  From a camera over their shoulders, the trio could watch what Sable and Clark observed. They had spotted Piers, too.

  “He’s armed,” Clark was saying.

  “He obviously came for the nuke thingy. Bring it here.”

  Clark hesitated.

  “Now!” Sable stormed around the room until Clark arrived with the mechanical assembly, the unique piece of machinery that could save Mayda Research Station.

  “I know what they’re up to. We can’t let them have Mayda at any cost.”

  “True,” Clark said, holding up his hand in warning. “I’m just thinking, Admiral, that for our future plans, we—”

  Sable pulled a pulse weapon from behind the little desk. “Fire in the hole!” he called out. He fired once. The shot went wide. The piece of equipment spun around next to a blackened hollow on the desktop. He fired a second time, directly into the center of the delicate technological marvel. It morphed into a pile of slag and fused tubing.

  “No!” Abby said, her hands over her mouth. It was the same thing all over again, a rerun of twelve years’ past: the killing of innocents. First her parents. Now this. Over a hundred men and women at Mayda. Engineers, scientists, friends, lovers. They would all be dead in days, perhaps hours. She buried her face in her hands.

  “Where’s our rescuer now?” Marv asked, apparently oblivious to what Sable had just done.

  Abby looked up, trying to compose herself. The monitor displayed a fuzzy view of a darkened hallway. At the edge of view, Piers hunched over an access port and played with some buttons or controls of some kind. A display lit his face from inside the wall. “He appears to be tying into the security system, looking for our friend here.”

  “The man’s pretty handy,” Marv said.

  “And it looks like he found us. Wave to the camera.” Kinto and Marv waved. Abby stood motionless, her skin clammy. Piers ran out of the camera’s field of view. Moments later, they heard his pounding footsteps in the hall outside. He lunged into the room, gun pointed, hammer held aloft.

  “Abigail, get over here!”

  She slinked sideways along the wall, keeping out of the line of fire. “Piers, you’re amazing.”

  “I really, really don’t know what I’m doing,” he wheezed. “I’m very nervous, so nobody make a move.”

  Abby kept a forced smile pasted on her face. Through clenched teeth, she told Piers, very quietly, without taking her eyes off of Marv, “The safety’s on.”

>   “Pardon?” He waved the pulse weapon around as he spoke, shifting his eyes quickly from Marv to Kinto and back again. He hadn’t blinked since he had entered the room.

  “She’s telling you you’ve still got the safety on, bub,” Kinto called from across the room.

  “Look,” Marv said. “At this point, we’re on the same side. Far as I’m concerned, the two of you can just go on your way. We’ve got all sorts of problems of our own here.” He wagged his chin toward a monitor that displayed a horde assembling in the large chamber, their leader at the front.

  “Here, here,” Kinto agreed.

  “All right. Thanks, guys,” Abby said, heading for the door. She paused and turned around. “Can I ask you guys a question?”

  “Shoot,” Marv said.

  “Probably a bad choice of words,” Abby said, gently pushing the barrel of Piers’ weapon aside. “Have you two seen the…creatures out in Kraken Mare?”

  Kinto shook his head. Perhaps they did not have whatever was ailing the team at Mayda. He fixed her with his eyes, continuing to shake his head. “I’ve done a lot of travel. Been to the Amazon and the rain forests of Madagascar, and I come from the big continent, after all. I have never, in all my travels, seen anything like them.”

  Marv added, “They are amazing.” He massaged his forehead.

  © Springer International Publishing Switzerland 2015

  Michael CarrollOn the Shores of Titan's Farthest SeaScience and Fiction10.1007/978-3-319-17759-5_50