Miranda's Demons

by Ian Miller

  It seemed to take ages to persuade everybody to re-embark, but finally Misako was satisfied that they were ready, the first switch was thrown, and the first of the giant transporters lumbered towards the set of airlocks. It was then that Misako realized it would take hours merely to get the convoy out of the dome.

  "There's a message here from a Mr Groza," someone offered. "He notes it would have been quicker if the transporters just carrying machinery and supplies had been sent out sooner."

  "Thank Mr Groza for his timely advice," Misako scowled.

  "Er, yes," came the frightened reply. The face disappeared.

  Misako was startled at the sudden retreat. She paused and took a deep breath. That had been silly; things were not going well, but that meant she had to work harder. Nominally she was in charge; now it was important that she was seen to be in charge.

  As the convoy left the dome late in the afternoon, there were mixed emotions from those leaving Hellas. A glance out a window would show the thousands of faces of those who preferred to stay. Most of those staying waved encouragement, and there were banners making statements such as, "GIVE THEM HELL". It was only when she saw these banners that Misako realized the enormity of what she had started.

  For others, however, the emotions were different. Behind was the only extensive green on Mars; behind were their homes and their fields. In front of them was the red of Mars, the dust, and the roads. There was a trek of approximately eight thousand kilometers, which would take almost fourteen days, during which everyone would have to remain confined to their vehicles. The vehicles would not stop, day or night, and the people would have to sleep through the constant vibrations of the Martian roads. Then, when they arrived, they would be confined to the caves, always under threat of attack. Finally, there was a high probability that at least one attack would be mounted on the convoy.

  The proposed route was to follow the InterMars highway system for as long as possible, then turn off and travel cross-country at the last reasonable point. The roads across Mars were made of gravel, compacted by special machinery and by transporters, and frequently levelled by a number of road graders. They had the advantage that the ridges and depressions were smoothed and some of the sillier obstructions had been removed, however the roads were distinctly of the frontier type; the population of Mars simply did not permit better engineering. In any case, Mars did not provide the materials for better quality highways. Concrete was available, but so far no suitable material had been found for tyres. The wheels of the transporters were steel, and what smoothness there was could only be obtained by giant shock absorbers. The difficulty with them was that overloaded transporters tended to require stiff shock absorbers, hence only the greatest shocks were absorbed.

  The transporters could travel on any terrain and this had led to some discussion. Some had proposed that the convoys travel directly west, to the Argyre basin, then head north to the eastern end of the Valles Marineris. The Defence advisor had spoken against this suggestion. While he admitted that this route kept the convoy at a maximum distance from Syrtis Major, and hence their adversaries, the route crossed the most difficult terrain on Mars. Progress would be so slow that the enemy could be in place long before the convoy emerged, and the time would take so long that the coverage from space could not be maintained. Worse, there was no guarantee that they could carry sufficient fuel and feed the population for such a long journey. The best strategy, he suggested, was to move as quickly as possible, to cover as much terrain as possible before the enemy could find them, and then should they be found, action could be taken. "What action?" had been the counter, and although this question remained unanswered the strategy had been adopted. The important point was, while the roads might not be good, they would be considerably faster to travel across than the countryside, and very much safer.

  Progress was uneventful on what was left of the first day. The flat of Hellas and the well-formed roads allowed the transporters to travel at a good cruising speed with minimum vibrations and almost no turns. The familiar landscape, while reminding people of home, unfortunately had a disappointing effect. Even leaving Hellas seemed to take so long, and there were no significant landmarks. All they could see was the never-ending barren flatness, red, poxed with row upon row of black-brown blobs, also known as the Mars cactus. The occasional gardening android walked between the rows, watering and fertilizing. They would stop what they were doing, look up, and sometimes give a desultory wave. So, they were wished luck by tin cans!

  A sense of despondency fell across the convoy. By nightfall, tempers became badly frayed. The transporters were grossly overcrowded, and the people had brought far too many personal belongings. This led to the problem of where to sleep. To get an adequate space, free of stuff, required drastic rearrangements, most usually involving other people's belongings. Eventually sleeping space was found, but through the night the constant vibrations moved the rearranged belongings, and items fell down on the sleepers. The lower gravity of Mars meant that nobody was injured, but on the other hand they were sorely irritated, and each time this happened the response to being woken was guaranteed to wake everybody else in that transporter. By next morning the first landmark was achieved; they had climbed out of the northern range of the Mars cactus. In front was the red desert that was Mars, to be viewed by equally red eyes. Almost everybody's clothes began to feel sticky and a very stale smell began to pervade the transporters. The despondency grew deeper.

  For Misako, the problem of boredom was replaced shortly after lunch.

  "What's this?" she asked, as a pile of paper was put down beside her.

  "Problems of the day," Griffith grinned, then he turned away and made for the hatch.

  "Wait!" Misako implored.

  "You're the boss," Griffith called. "I'm just the advisor, remember?"

  "Then advise!" Misako cried out, but the hatch had closed, and Griffith was gone.

  Misako stared at the pile. A rattle in the condenser system on transporter three. Transporter five had forgotten to pack filter cartridges. Three of the transporters wanted to know what to do about soiled nappies. Howling babies and fractious children were almost universal problems. The list went on. Misako stared at the pile of papers, then suddenly she had an idea. She reached over to the intercom system.

  "Lieutenant Griffith to the command centre please!"

  "As you reminded me some time ago," she smiled sweetly at him when his head finally appeared through the hatch, "I'm in command, and you're the advisor and the assistant. Correct?"

  "Correct," came the slightly more apprehensive Griffith.

  "Good. Then make a list of the technicians and engineers, divide them evenly through the convoy, and allocate transporters to them. They're responsible for fixing these sort of things," she said, as she passed the pile of mechanical requests to Griffith. "Then make a command structure within them. Make the best one you've got the senior engineer, and make sure the technicians pester him before the problems get to me. OK?"

  "I'll get on to it," Griffith nodded.

  "Wait!"

  "Yes?"

  "Get each of the transporters with children to appoint an entertainment coordinator. Then, if they come up with anything that works, tell them to report here. We'll gradually feed the ideas out into the other transporters. With any luck, all the different ideas can be spread through day by day to keep us going for a while.

  "Right."

  "Don't go yet," Misako ordered. "There're some problems like these nappies."

  "That's hardly military," Griffith began to protest.

  "Don't worry, I'm not going to get you or your soldiers to wash them," Misako laughed at his expression. "It's just that some transporters have these problems, and some don't. Get someone to find out what the ones that don't are doing."

  "And spread the message," Griffith nodded.

  "Exactly. Although, what you'll probably find is that some have brought washers, and others haven't. If that's the case, we're goin
g to have to rearrange the occupancy, or get those with them to do the washing for those that haven't."

  "They'll love that," Griffith remarked drily.

  "I know," Misako shrugged, "but what can we do? We can't not wash them."

  "That might be a solution," Griffith mused, "at least not every time."

  "What?"

  "Hang them outside," he shrugged. "In the vacuum they'd be dry and sterile. We can even get them heated. Most of the stuff will sublime off or fall off."

  "Sounds awful," Misako shuddered.

  "Please yourself," Griffith shrugged, "but I'm ready to bet there won't be too much spare washing capacity, and I doubt the recycling units will be able to deal with too much washing. These vehicles weren't designed for this."

  "You're right," Misako replied. "I'm sorry. Get someone to try it and see if it works. We're going to have to use every good idea we can."

  "The convoy's going to look pretty weird dragging its washing behind," someone sniggered.

  "Nobody's going to see it," Misako countered.

  "If anyone does, then we've got real problems," Griffith nodded.

  * * *

  It was evening when they reached the pass leading out of Hellas. In a little over two hundred kilometers they had to climb over four kilometers. They drove through the night, and few saw the darkened shape of the crater Niesten pass by closely to the west. The road would climb and when the last of Niesten was past, they would swing slightly west. When dawn broke, they were in a relatively flat sector, just over twenty-five degrees south, and they were heading directly west. Misako hoped that with the sun behind them a sense of progress would be felt, and the convoy's spirits would rise. It did not happen. Most of the settlers did not even recognize the change of direction. To lift spirits, Misako ensured that each of the convoy navigators should report progress regularly to their passengers.

  In transporter seventeen a seal on the heat exchanging system broke, and before it could be turned off, litres of fluid spilled. The room was cleared, then the limited carpeting and those personal belongings that had been contaminated and could not be cleaned had to be jettisoned. The hopelessly overcrowded passengers who had lost their precious belongings were almost uncontrollable. Meanwhile, engineers desperately tried to make repairs. These were carried out, yet while all visible signs of the glycol were gone, a persistent smell pervaded the transporter and the air purifiers seemed unable to deal with it. The food always tasted of glycol and the smell seemed to amplify the vibrations, giving a feeling of nausea, and making deep sleep totally impossible. Lack of sleep and the glycol smell lead to constant headaches, sore eyes and fractious tempers.

  Dissent was increasing, and the worst dissent came from those with the most experience of living in transporters. On the afternoon of the second day a complaint about overcrowding came from the vehicle carrying the cactus processors from Hellas. A petition had been drawn up, requesting that more room be made available.

  Misako took it upon herself to visit the transporter. She donned an external suit and left the command vehicle via a small scout vehicle, letting the convoy overtake her until the vehicle in question drew up. As she boarded it, and was taking off her pressure suit, she was struck by the strength of the smell of unwashed overcrowded people. She was met by Karl Groza, who had been elected spokesman.

  "I am very sorry for the congestion," Misako started, "but there isn't anything we can do about it. There're only so many vehicles, and so many people to fill them. Everyone's in the same boat."

  "Transporters eighteen to thirty-five have very few people in them," Groza pointed out.

  "They're carrying the food and the machinery," Misako replied. "Those vehicles are loaded more heavily than any of the others."

  "You could dump a lot of that stuff and come back and get it," Groza grumbled.

  "And the Brownshirts could collect the lot, and we'd starve."

  "Well, you've gotta do something. These conditions are insufferable," Groza went on.

  "We're not dumping food or equipment," Misako said pointedly.

  "Then give us a transporter, and we'll go back to Hellas."

  "I'm not giving up a transporter either," Misako said firmly. "I think you should start to grow up. There're hundreds on this convoy worse off than you are, and they're not grumbling."

  "And there's some kids in the command vehicle having it very easy, thank you," Groza countered.

  "You're trying to say something?" Misako said angrily. Part of what Groza said could be considered true. The conditions were easier, but the command staff had to be awake when required, and they had to have the additional room to ensure the weapons and other fighting equipment were in good condition, and quickly available. Finally, the command vehicle had to be free of distractions. If Groza were there, decision-making would be impossible.

  "It's nothing," Groza mumbled.

  "Good," Misako flared. She took her leave and left. She knew she had not handled that at all well, but she also realized there was no immediate threat of any rebellion. She was extremely popular amongst the population of Hellas, as she was recognized as one of the original liberators. The difficulty was not with the present, but with the future. If those men were like this on day two, anything could happen by day eight. It was a problem requiring attention, and she realized this was one problem where her youth would not be an advantage. Groza had called her a kid. The trouble was, she realized, it was partly true.

  It was when she returned to her own transporter a new realization dawned on her. It was a different type of stink, but stink it did. Each of the transporters was developing its own peculiar variety of stench, a stench not noticed quite so much by those upon whom it had crept. This was a problem for which there was no solution.

  * * *

  By noon, they reached the next key pass, and gradually began to swing north. By now, the problems of feeding people on the move had been largely overcome, and the organization was better. With a good lunch inside them and the cleaning tasks completed, there was little to do in the afternoon. To the west was an excellent view of the rim of the great crater Schaeberle, and Misako quickly arranged for explanations of crater formation to be played in each of the vehicles. This proved exceptionally popular. Apart from the miners, few of the Hellas settlers had left the Hellas basin, and they knew surprisingly little about the planet that was now their home. Spirits began to rise a little.

  That evening, they also slept better. This was partly because they were getting used to the continual vibrations, partly because they were so tired that their bodies were far less interested in reasons not to sleep, but also partly because at long last a level of cooperativeness had appeared, and people were storing their own belongings in places that would not fall on a neighbour. The spirit of being part of something big was growing, and this was not the time to be small-minded.

  The next morning the convoy had reached the wastes of the Sabeus Sinus, and they were making excellent progress. So far there had been no sign of any other party but then, as they reached longitude 318o the first chill struck. Just as they were about to turn northwest, a dust trail was spotted to the south. Not the expected direction!

  The convoy increased its speed to maximum for the transporters. The vibrations increased, the irritations increased, people became nauseous, but the grumbling stopped. Suddenly, everybody realized they were running for their lives. It was then that Haruhiko Takado received his first command; he was given two tanks and he was ordered to assess what this dust represented. The convoy continued to travel west at top speed, then at longitude 320o the road swung back to the south-westerly direction, along the bottom of a cliff face. Haruhiko's tanks crept along the cliff face until finally they spotted a route up. They climbed the face, and as they watched the convoy disappear to the west, the tell-tale dust trail of two vehicles shadowing the convoy could be made out.

  The two dust streams crawled their way along the InterMars until they momentarily moved behind a bluff.
Haruhiko grinned slightly, banged his fist against the wall of the tank, and ordered the main gun to be lowered. Two isolated vehicles could not cause too much trouble. When they re-emerged, his enthusiasm was dampened. It would be impossible to hit them; the gun simply would not lower that much. By the time he could start driving back down the track, the angles would be wrong. He cursed, then remembered the viewer. He switched it on, and flipped up the magnification.

  There on the screen were the two clouds of dust, and in front the two vehicles.

  "What are they?" a voice behind him asked.

  "Dunno," Haruhiko replied, without any expression. "At least they're not tanks."

  "Can't see any guns," the voice offered.

  "No armour either," Haruhiko shrugged.

  "How do you know that?"

  "Too many bits sticking out, square corners, hatches. It's a wonder they're airtight!" Haruhiko replied, rather pleased that he could demonstrate his superior knowledge. The fact that he was not exactly accurate in his assessment of their worthiness was not pointed out to him.

  "What do we do?"

  "When's Phobos up?"

  "Five minutes," came the reply, after quickly keying in the request to the navigational computer.

  "Scan all communication bands then," Haruhiko commanded. "Keep the directional aerial on them, so we know what they're saying, and jam Phobos. Meanwhile, we're going after them."

  Haruhiko was rather pleased with himself as he drove down the bumpy track. That was an easy decision. He could find out what the enemy were saying, and prevent the message getting through. His junior was less pleased. To jam Phobos, he had to have the jamming aerial pointed exactly at it, which was nigh on impossible as the tank bounced its way across the rugged terrain.