Miranda's Demons

by Ian Miller

  "I don't know . . ."

  "I do," Misako interposed. "Haruhiko's right. This's a great chance. And if we don't now, when will we?"

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "We can't let the Brownshirts follow us, find our caves, and leave. And in any case, I would sooner surprise them than be surprised by them."

  "I suppose you're right," Griffith said dubiously.

  "I don't know for sure what's the right thing to do," Misako said, as she turned to face Griffith with a look of quiet determination, "but I know there is a problem to be addressed. I am the commander, and I have to decide, and rightly or wrongly, I'm deciding to do something rather than wait. At least here the geography is in our favour, so I'm going to use that advantage."

  * * *

  The sun was at last warming the ground and Haruhiko could turn down the heating in his pressure suit. It was already noon, and almost miraculously the air was almost free of dust. He was lying on a surface of a rocky hill projecting out from the side of the crater behind him. That the plastic flow of the spattered basalt had been long smoothed by the interminable sandblasting of the Martian storms had its advantages; there was no need to worry about sharp jagged rocks tearing his pressure suit. Ahead and several hundred metres below was the barren red desert, littered with large sandblasted rocks and small hills, rocky ridges and great wavelike dunes. Then he saw it; to the east, as expected, a small column of dust was rising from one of the valleys in the dunes. He watched it proceed in a northwest direction until he was certain which valley the group was in. He quickly scanned the barren terrain to the west, and noted an escarpment, which was probably the side of a small ancient crater, and which he could use to intercept the enemy. He quickly slid down the scree to his left, and climbed back into his tank.

  The two tanks emerged from their hiding place, and sped across the rocky terrain. Haruhiko had counted the number of valleys he had to cross, and he knew that the crater side he was following, being of more solid rock, was not throwing up a dust cloud. He arrived at the target valley with what he believed would be about ten minutes to spare. He then separated the tanks, stationing his tank two hundred meters north of the escarpment, and the other about five hundred metres further north.

  Fifteen minutes! Haruhiko shook his head in disbelief. He had blundered. The enemy must have seen him! The convoy was unprotected. Something had to be done. His hands began to sweat. His hand moved to the starter switch, but his co-driver pulled it back, and gesticulated angrily. Haruhiko felt almost ashamed, then he felt it, the dull vibrations of the approaching scout cars. He looked at the co-driver, who now looked totally embarrassed. With a sudden surge of confidence, Haruhiko reached for the switch. He waited until the scout cars had passed the other tank, then he ordered the tanks to the ridge tops. Haruhiko gleefully lined up the leading car, and fired into the sand in front of it. The patrol stopped, and the rear car turned and made as if to escape, but the northern tank fired a similar shot. There was no escape; the scout cars could not climb the sandy walls quickly enough to avoid the inevitable destruction. There was no choice but to surrender.

  There were five vehicles in the squad. Haruhiko ordered the crews into the oldest, and carefully estimated the required food, water and air required to return to Syrtis Major. He then offered the Brownshirts the choice of returning to their base and living, or refusing and dying. The choice was not difficult.

  The remaining four scout cars were linked to the rear of the tanks, and as the one car disappeared to the east, they sped to re-join the convoy, which by now would be approaching the interchange. Their route would be to travel west across the more darkly coloured Margaritifer Sinus. Haruhiko was overjoyed. It was a victory, and without bloodshed. The four scout vehicles would be a valuable addition to their resources, and most importantly, a significant loss for the enemy.

  * * *

  Spirits were high for much of the remaining journey. One of the captured scout cars was used to carry out reconnaissance missions, while the others were used to carry some of the possessions. The differences in available space were minor, but they seemed to make a big difference to everyone's spirits. The ground also became easier to traverse, so progress was reasonably fast. When the reconnaissance missions to the rear failed to find any sign of the enemy, everybody remained highly confident they were not being observed. Even when they struck the chaotic terrain, spirits remained high, the twisting and turning to avoid depressions was accepted, and interest was maintained by the illustrations of how the volatiles had been expelled into the Martian atmosphere. The twisted terrain, the huge vents, the small erosion channels, which everybody knew grew to quite huge channels elsewhere, helped to remind the settlers that the basics for life had come from the ground, and had rapidly gone somewhere. There was still the hope that enough of this material had not gone into space, and one day, perhaps, people could walk outside on Mars.

  When Misako saw the effect of these speeches on the settlers, when she saw that the prospect of a future could even make people forget the stench of the overloaded latrines, she decided to add to the journey slightly by directing the convoy along an alternative route to the south, eventually to drive along a ridge where, further to the south, the great expanse of the Ladon Valles could be seen. The view of the great expanse of channels, even though no explanation of their origin was offered, suddenly gave the settlers an appreciation that there was more to their planet than they had realized. The traverse of the valley system lasted for over one hundred kilometers, revealing yet again the great paradox of Mars: such a small planet, such a seemingly dead planet on which nothing seemed to happen, yet it had such gigantic features. Most of these were relatively unchanged after nearly four billion years, yet before that, in a fit of frenetic activity, there had been immense turmoil. If only traces of the agents of such change could be liberated and controlled. That was the dream of Mars.

  The cheerfulness fell on the dawn of the fourteenth day. As once again they had begun to climb, they were soon to get their first view of the Valles Marineris system. Their route would initially take them along the top of the southern face until they reached the Coprates Chasma. There they would descend down a tributary valley at the side of the Coprates Catena into the Melas Chasma.

  The convoy stopped, and those who were interested were permitted to suit up and go outside, to see from above the landscape that would dominate their lives for the next few months.

  Wifts of white cirrus-like clouds streaked across the pink sky. Before them, the reddish ground drifted towards . . . nothing. If one walked to the edge and looked down the valley on their side, the almost vertical cliffs were heavily rifted, with great mounds of harder rock and piles of collapsed softer rock smeared along the valley side. On the floor far below, flat topped islands projected above the ghostly fog that chilled the very spirit of the settlers. Over two kilometers below, a great river of white was pouring down the valley at a terrible speed. The fog would be over a kilometer deep, sixty kilometers wide, a harsh white truly alien river of cold. On such a planet, only such a chillingly life destroying force would disrupt the universal red.

  A day later the convoy reached the point of descent. This was the most nerve-wracking part of the whole trek: the transporters had to descend three to four kilometers down a theoretically viable route without losing control. In principle a route was available: the computer, with access to all the satellite data, said so. The problem was that computers could not tell precisely how firm the terrain was, and while some miners had gone down this way, they used small specialist vehicles, and transporters of this size had never used this route. The ground was supposed to be stable, but nobody could be that certain. One thing was certain: it might be possible to descend, but it would be impossible for such an overladen convoy to climb out. Once they started there was no turning back.

  Groza had already sent a message complaining that this route was lunacy when there was a perfectly respectable route by entering the mouth
of the Valles Marineris. Misako shook her head in despair and consigned the message to trash. Of course entering the mouth of the Valles Marineris was the safe route. In fact it was the only safe route, and when the inevitable Brownshirt reconnaissance expedition showed unambiguously that nobody had used that route, they might believe they had gone elsewhere. On the other hand, if they found the inevitable signs, they would certainly know the base was in the valley, for it would be impossible to go in and climb out.

  Irrespective of any such issues, the decision had been made. Having arrived at the head of the Coprates Catena there was no option but to descend into the fog below. The convoy slowly moved down between the giant rocks, bumping its way towards the sea of ghosts, a sea that would eventually flinch from the sun and show, over three kilometers down, that red was still red.

  * * *

  Great cheering greeted the arrival of the convoy. Groza remarked sardonically, "They're pleased to see the food arrive. Wait 'til they count the mouths to eat it." But the cheering was genuine; the crowd was only too fully aware that the end of the M'starn occupation had arisen solely because of the Hellas uprising, and Misako and Haruhiko found they were folk heroes. This had been partly helped by the stories Akiro had spread.

  Akiro had done an excellent job. The sands of Mars were now liberally sprinkled with thin sheets and coils of iron. Additionally, around the Noctis Labyrinthus, and some other potential places for bases where a convenient valley could be found, great sheets of thin metal moved around a course of threads, powered by solar energy. They always followed the set courses, but as was pointed out by Akiro, if a vehicle was caught in the open, travelling in such a course would possibly confuse the space surveillance long enough for the vehicle to reach the relative safety of the valley walls.

  Akiro was also an excellent storyteller. The accounts of life at Hellas were understated; everybody knew what life under the Brownshirts was like. Consequently, his gross exaggerations of what happened during the uprising were thought to be further understatements. This was especially so since he made virtually no reference to his own actions. Misako and Haruhiko were ushered triumphantly to one of the most comfortable rooms available within the caves.

  The people from Hellas were the last to reach the huge caves. There was formal accommodation for about eight hundred, and this was the prestige accommodation, largely reserved for the administrators, the "important" people, and those with young children. There were enormous workshops, some of which had been rearranged as large living quarters and these had been reserved for the deserving, the more senior, and those who had some special call on receiving the comfort of solid walls. The rest had to improvise; some had to remain living in the transporters, some were living in rooms constructed of any flat surface that could be put together, while others put up tents wherever they could find free space. Armed guards were required to keep the campers away from the area reserved for the military vehicles and for access. Tents were placed almost anywhere, some were forced to camp on the side of a giant scree of silicon, a by-product of the metals extraction that had been carried out by Defence. There was, of course, no requirement for weather protection, but there was a need for privacy. Nobody had genuine privacy, but everybody tried for what little they could achieve.

  Chapter 6

  "Once upon a time, this was one of the most beautiful spots I have ever known," Gaius noted wistfully.

  "You knew there would be change," Marcellus said evenly.

  "My father's house was over there," Gaius went on, without seeming to hear. "About where those traffic lights are. There was a row of fruit trees there, and some vines, and over there . . ."

  "The past is gone."

  "Not entirely," Gaius shook his head. "The Actium's sensors tell me the cave in the hill is still there, but the mouth is under that house. The cave holds my inheritance."

  "The cave could easily have been entered. Everything could have been stolen."

  "The cave mouth was filled and planted over. Nobody's found it, I know. "

  "You can't possibly know."

  "I have a feeling my property is still there. I also have a feeling of death. Anyway," Gaius added, "I know all this sounds stupid, but I have to find out."

  "Then why don't you get started?"

  "How?" Gaius muttered bitterly. "I can hardly walk up to the house and ask the owners to let me in, so I can spend a few days digging up their floor to see if I've got some lost property in the middle of the hill."

  "Why not? We can repair the floor. There's no harm done."

  "Marcellus. On this one, trust me. This is not Ulse."

  "Equally you can't sit on this footpath for ever either. Why not try to . . . what do they say? Make a deal?"

  "I don't think that's much of an idea. I haven't even got any money," Gaius pointed out.

  "Perhaps a service."

  "And what am I going to offer? If you let me pull up your floor and spend a few days digging up the ground under your house, I'll run some errands? That's going to sound appealing."

  "With the power of the Actium behind you, you might well have something to offer."

  "I can't use that, and you know it," Gaius said, with more than a touch of frustration in his voice.

  "Yes you can, as long as they don't know what you're doing. Just do a miracle. No need to tell them how it's done."

  "Wouldn't that be . . . ?" Gaius was now quite surprised.

  "You're retrieving your own property. As long as you don't hurt anyone, what's wrong with that?"

  "Just about everything. What can I offer that'd do enough? "

  "There's sorrow in the house. Who knows?"

  "How do you know that?"

  "There's a lady at the window weeping."

  "It is not correct to impose on a death."

  "You won't know unless you ask."

  "I can't just walk up to a complete stranger and –"

  "Gaius! You're talking like an Ulsian. Your own words: You'll do anything to do nothing. What would your father say?"

  "Marcellus. That's not fair!"

  "If it were fair then, it's fair now!"

  "Then we shall go. Do not smirk, Marcellus."

  "I would not smirk," Marcellus replied as they approached the entrance. "That is not my role."

  "I know," Gaius nodded, "and, as usual, you are right."

  They crossed the road, and walked towards the front door. Gaius had little doubt that he would not be welcomed, but the reception he did get surprised him totally.

  "Get out of here! Get away, you corporate leeches!" The scream from the window became an unintelligible deluge of swearing and abuse. The front door opened, and a giant of a man appeared.

  "The mistress is dying. Can't you wait another day!"

  "If she is dying, obviously not," Gaius replied imperiously. "I am not a leech, and as yet, you owe me nothing. I merely wish to talk to your mistress."

  "I don't care for your corporate threats. Tomorrow you do what you like with me. Today, you leave us alone, or I throw you on the road."

  "The master may cure your mistress," Marcellus replied.

  "Impossible!"

  "I can beat you at wrist wrestling!"

  "Impossible!"

  "Then we try," Marcellus shrugged. "If you win, you can throw us out, without complaint or penalty. If I win, the master sees the mistress this evening."

  "This's ridiculous!"

  "You're all hot air!" Marcellus retorted.

  "Then to the table, you skinny imbecile! I crush your hand as well!"

  They sat at the table. Marcellus braced each leg against a table leg, braced his left hand under the table, and offered his right hand. The giant's hand smashed against it, and pushed with the force of the thrust. Nothing happened. The veins pushed out on his arms, his temples, his face puffed up, but nothing happened. Then his arm began to retreat. He raised himself for additional leverage.

  "I think that is cheating," Marcellus said quietly, "but no matter."r />
  The arm went further back, until suddenly it was flung flat on the table.

  "I win." Marcellus said evenly, his arm still pinning the giant's. "Admit it."

  "You win."

  "I shall return at seven o'clock," Marcellus said, "with a special bed. If the Mistress is still alive, we shall cure her. There are two further conditions."

  "Now what?" the man scowled.

  "The first is, when the mistress is cured, nobody will tell anybody anything that you have seen. Fail on that, and the mistress dies, as does whoever talks."

  The man stared at him incredulously. "Why not?" he frowned.

  "For various reasons which do not need elaboration," Gaius interrupted, "I have no intention of informing MediCorp of –"

  "Oh!" the man interrupted. "No problem there."

  "The second condition is that you grant a favour. It will seem silly to you, but not so silly when you see the result, and it will not harm you."

  "Oh, I see. Now's the sting. I grant the favour and never see you again!"

  "It's after the mistress has been cured," Gaius pointed out. "You get your benefit first."

  "I think you're mad," the man said, "but I guess I did agree."

  "You won't regret it."

  "What I don't understand," Gaius said as they walked away, "is how do you know the woman will still be alive then?"

  "You never saw the spy probe?" Marcellus grinned.

  "You devious . . ."

  "Go on! Say it! Lump of metal!" Marcellus taunted.

  "And there's no point in my denying that the thought crossed my mind," Gaius frowned. "You were peeking, weren't you?"

  "As were you before."

  "Yes, I had to know where this was going and –"

  "No need to explain," Marcellus laughed. "That's what you're supposed to do. Now, let's get organised for this evening."

  * * *

  In one sense it was unusual for a delivery of large objects to be made without a delivery truck appearing. It was also unusual for two people, one dressed in a gleaming white toga, also to appear seemingly out of thin air. Gaius, Marcellus and the objects simply appeared at the gate, and the stealth-camouflaged vehicle drove away, back to the waiting shuttle, under control of the Actium. Marcellus took the downhill end, and they walked towards the door.