by Devin Hanson
A hundred thousand credits a month? Marcus stared at Anton in surprise. That was an incredible amount of money. He followed Anton numbly out of the faraday cage and back to the halls. There was a faint tinge of chlorine in the air, as if someone had just recently dosed their pool.
It took Marcus a minute to realize how out-of-place the smell was. On Earth it would hardly raise a comment, but there were no swimming pools on Mars.
“What’s that smell?” he asked.
“Gas bomb,” Anton grunted. “Only got a whiff of it myself, but it burned my throat something awful. Dr. Lenbroke, Vasco and Jimenez got the full dose. And that little bitch, Adora. Word to the wise: you corner Angeline, watch for your life. Fucking psycho killed her friend to escape. She’s dangerous.”
Marcus’ stomach turned and he swallowed convulsively, trying not to throw up. Anton was walking a pace ahead of him and didn’t notice his discomfiture. Marcus struggled with his emotions. This was all wrong! He wanted to scream and run, find the nearest policeman and plead for protective custody. But now, even that option was closed to him. Thanks to Anton, Esteres knew who he was. Marcus didn’t doubt for an instant that Esteres would have him killed if he tried to turn informant.
Once again, Marcus found himself forced into a role that he detested. Yesterday his biggest problem had been how to somehow make enough money to keep himself alive. Now that problem was handled, but replaced with the even greater threat of criminal involvement.
He wasn’t a bad man, Marcus reminded himself. He had been forced into some bad situations, that was all. Surely if he explained himself to Esteres, to Crade, to Dr. Bannister, they would understand and let him back out. He wasn’t a stranger to difficult business deals. Hell, it was a rare deal in big business that didn’t have some sort of unsavory attachment. He didn’t care what other people did. If Crade wanted to run a child smuggling operation, that was her prerogative. He just didn’t have the stomach to get involved himself.
But first things first. He was a problem solver. A facilitator. He was good at it. He had a knack for smoothing situations out, greasing the right palm here, dropping the odd compliment there. The current emergency was something he could work on. Maybe if he made himself useful to Esteres in that capacity, he could stay detached from the actual kidnapping and murder.
He had to do something to take his mind off the scent of death in the air. Time to get to work and find out where Angeline had gone.
“Is there a way we can get a map of the air ducts?” he asked.
Anton shrugged. “Probably. I don’t know how though.”
“It’s probably in a public archive somewhere. Is there a terminal I can use?”
“Why?” Anton asked, suspiciously.
“If we know the layout of the air ducts, we can figure out the routes Angeline might have taken,” Marcus explained patiently. “Once we know that, we can narrow down the search radius. It’s not likely she’s gone far. If I was a terrified little girl, I’d be holed up somewhere.”
Anton nodded. “Okay. Let’s go find a terminal.”
Marcus followed Anton, hating himself. He hated the inescapable situation he found himself in, he hated Anton, he hated Crade, he hated Esteres. He felt like he was betraying Angeline. If it were only these mindless thugs searching for her, she might just avoid capture and tell the police everything. Forget that. Marcus’ survival was inextricably bound to this kidnapping operation.
Anton logged Marcus into a terminal and stood looking over his shoulder. Marcus began searching, every keystroke like a nail in Angeline’s coffin. He didn’t have a choice. It was Angeline or him, and Marcus wasn’t about to die now. He had too much to live for.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
The outpouring of colonists to Mars in the wake of the December Protocol didn’t come to a planet unprepared to receive them. The colony domes were already in place, with the mechanism for creating more of them available and easy to duplicate. The first wave of new colonists had no difficulty finding a place among the existing domes, and they set about constructing more as fast as humanly possible knowing the burden of refugees soon to come.
Not everyone that traveled to Mars was a recipient of the Womack Process. Many people leapt at the opportunity to pit their wits and fortitude against a new planet. For the wujin, life was precarious. Nearly ninety-five percent of all who survived the trip to Mars died within their first year. The other colonists took it in stride and gratefully added their bodies to the methane generators. Methane fuel and nitrogenous fertilizer were more valuable than human lives. Indeed, life on Mars would not have been possible if it were not for the tens of thousands of dead wujin providing biological material to grow crops and the fertilizer to run the algae tanks.
And not all the wujin perished. The early years were difficult, but those wujin who had the nature to persist and survive against all odds won through and grew even stronger.
Min Yang disembarked the tram at Acheron station, feeling as though a thousand eyes were watching him. Despite his imagination, only Shun Ruu was paying any attention to him. He walked past Geiger Rock and led Ruu off the platform and into the market district. It was nearing the lunch hour and the narrow passages between the stalls were a churning morass of humanity.
“Where are we going, Min?” Ruu asked.
It was a fair question. Once Min was lost within the flow of the lunchtime press he felt safer, but every instinct he had was screaming that Acheron was a trap. He wove his way through the press, using his shoulders to bull a path that Ruu could follow in. At every corner he checked behind him, looking for a face that appeared too often, or someone hurrying to catch up.
Ruu caught his mood and followed silently. Like Min, she was dressed in inconspicuous civilian clothing. Someone looking closely might see the bulge of a handgun riding in a shoulder holster, but that was it.
Min ducked into a noodle shop and swung comfortably up onto one of the too-high stools. If the proprietor felt any surprise at a pair of wujin dropping into his shop, he covered it well.
“What are we doing, Min?” Ruu asked.
“Eating. What do you want?”
Ruu shook her head but reluctantly examined the menu. “Is that real soya sauce?” she asked.
“This look like Tharsis Cluster? What do you think?”
“Whatever. I’ll have your special. Extra sauce,” she said, turning back to Min.
Min shrugged and held up two fingers, doubling her order. “I’m hungry,” he said, answering her accusatory gaze.
“We passed thirty places to eat, a dozen noodle shops before we got here. What’s special about this place?”
“I haven’t been here before,” Min answered. He didn’t tell her the real reason, that he didn’t feel safe in crowds since he had been attacked in Vastitas. Only after going through the crowd for ten minute watching for someone following did he feel comfortable enough to sit down and eat.
“That’s not a very good way of picking a restaurant,” Ruu objected. “Statistically, you’re bound to eat in a lot of shitty places.”
Min rapped the bar to get the attention of the proprietor, pulling him away from spooning thick green sauce over two bowls of steaming noodles. “Is this a shitty place?”
The man puffed himself up indignantly. “I make the best noodles in Acheron.”
“See?” Min said. “Best noodles. Served right here. What are the chances?”
Ruu rolled her eyes. They were served and Min split his chopsticks, watching as Ruu took a cautious mouthful. She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Huh. This is actually really good.”
Min grinned at her and took a bite. The extra sauce added enough punch to make sweat break out on his forehead. They ate in silence except for polite slurping. Ruu finished first and laid her chopsticks across her bowl. The server whisked the bowl away and she leaned onto the bar staring curiously at Min.
“I don’t get it. You always pick somewhere to eat at random?�
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“I enjoy the unpredictability,” Min shrugged, speaking between mouthfuls. “Even the bad places are a nice surprise. It makes me look forward to eating good food even more.”
“How old are you, anyway?” Ruu ducked her head after asking the question, blushing. It wasn’t really a rude question, but not a polite one either. Some wujin took offense to it, while others were proud of how young or old they were.
“I was born on Earth,” Min said. “I had my first Womack treatment there.”
Ruu’s eyes widened a little as she did the math. “So you’re… old.”
Min sighed. The food had suddenly lost its flavor and all he could taste was the sting of the spice. “How old are you?”
Ruu stiffened then realized she couldn’t take offense when she had asked first and wilted. “Fifty-three.”
“Most people wait to get the treatment until they’re older,” Min observed.
“I had an… autoimmune problem. It was either get the treatment or live in a cleanroom for the rest of my life.”
Min nodded, pushing his bowl away and letting the server take it. He tossed a credit chip on the counter. “And Ping?”
“She got the treatment with me. A show of support.”
“Sorry. I had to know.”
Ruu brushed away a tear. “It’s been eight years,” she said shakily with a tiny smile at Min. “You’d think I’d be over it by now.”
Min shrugged. “I’m not judging.” He stood up, feeling satisfied but not full.
Ruu stood too. “Thank you,” she said to the proprietor. “Your food is delicious.”
The man beamed. “I told you I make the best noodles.”
Min led the way back out into the market. The press of shoppers had lessened and they could move easily through what crowd remained. Ruu walked by Min’s side now. Min glanced down at her, feeling an unusual degree of camaraderie with her.
He couldn’t stand most wujin. They were grasping, self-centered, egotistical assholes for the most part. Most operated in a sort of messiah complex, holding themselves above the unwashed masses, interacting with untreated humans as if they were the second coming of Christ.
Ruu was different. She hadn’t gotten the Womack treatments out of some sense of personal entitlement. She was still relatively young, and hadn’t yet become hopelessly cynical and bitter. Min had long since given up on finding a woman he could love. He didn’t like wujin, and normal humans were too transient. They grew old and died, or whined at him to support their treatments.
It was a pity that Ruu batted for the other team and was clearly still hung up on the death of Ping. If they both lived through the day, maybe Min would look her up in a hundred years and see if anything had changed.
As far as Min knew, there weren’t any wujin like him left. He had gotten the Womack treatment in the line of duty. He had never wanted to live forever, but had received the treatment so that he could go undercover and investigate officials who were suspected of corruption. Only by becoming albino could he gain their trust…
“What’s next, Min?”
Min blinked, pulled out of his reminiscence by Ruu’s voice. “Sorry, I was lost in thought for a moment. Ninth level. Back to Lenbroke’s place.”
Ruu frowned, her brow furrowing. “That sounds like a really dangerous move,” she said.
“Yeah. They know we’re coming for them.” Min unconsciously checked the pistol in its armpit holster. Extra clips heavy with ammunition gave balance to the webbing.
“That’s it, then? We just walk in and hope their aim is poor?”
“We already talked about this,” Min said. “We don’t have time to call in the cavalry. And even if we did, the marines would carry out their own investigation. Your involvement would come under scrutiny and we both know how that would end.”
“I know. I just… I wish there was a better way.”
“If it’s any consolation, they probably won’t shoot first.”
“Not really.” Ruu reached for her own pistol, caught the movement, and firmly tucked her thumb into her belt. She scrubbed her free hand against her pants to wipe away the moisture. “Shit, I haven’t done this kind of thing in years. I’m nervous as a new whore.”
“It’s like riding a bike,” Min said, suppressing a grin. “It’ll come back to you.”
They reached the escalator and stepped onto it together. Down the tunnel, new strips had replaced the failed biolumin.
“I’ve never learned to ride a bike,” Ruu groused. “How can you do this all the time? Aren’t you afraid?”
Min took a deep breath, feeling the muscles in his chest stretch pleasantly. The bruises he had received in his fight against Anton and his men were gone, along with the rib broken by Jiahao, healed by the Womack serum. He felt fresh, rejuvenated. He was ready to fight. “I don’t know,” he said with a smile. “I never wanted to live as long as I have, but I’m not ready to die just yet. I’ve been telling myself that for two hundred years, and I’ll probably keep telling myself that for another two thousand.”
“That’s your big secret? You just aren’t ready to die?”
“Statistically, it’s worked out so far,” Min turned away from Ruu slightly, cutting off her next question. It was subtle, he didn’t want to offend her but he also didn’t want to continue down that topic of conversation. Ruu took the hint and clamped her mouth shut.
It was a long ride down to the ninth level.
Min picked out the guards watching the escalator before Ruu did. The guards were facing away from them, scanning the crowds. He jogged Ruu’s elbow and she glanced up at him then followed his gaze out onto the open plaza. A slight intake of breath told Min that Ruu had spotted them too.
“What’s the play?” she asked.
“Just… follow my lead.”
Min stepped off the escalator at the bottom and moved to the side so they weren’t blocking the flow of traffic. The guards bracketed the escalators, one on each side to guard both the up and down escalators. Min loosened his pistol in its holster and stepped up behind the guard covering the up escalator.
The guard was a man in his late thirties wearing red eyeshades and a drooping mohican. He turned around at Min’s approach and glared at him. “The fuck you want, cabron?”
Min looked up and stopped in mock surprise. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”
The guard glared at him for a moment and distant recognition exploded dimly behind his eyes. “Hey, you’re the–”
Min drew his pistol and held it close to his body so people passing by wouldn’t see it. “Take it easy,” he warned. The guard boggled at him then twisted his head to look toward his companion. “Ah ah, none of that,” Min said calmingly. “I think you better take a bathroom break.”
“What, I can’t… no!”
He went for his gun. Min was waiting for it, and it was almost comically slow. He blocked the draw with his free hand and swept his gun around in a tight arc, punching the guard in the throat. He staggered backwards choking, and Min swept his legs out from under him, catching the man’s weight as he went down and lowering him the last foot to the ground gently.
People were starting to look in their direction with mixed levels of concern and outrage.
“Get the other one,” Min grunted to Ruu. He trapped the man’s gun arm with his knee and kneeled over him with his back to the second guard. Louder, he called out, “Help! This man is injured!”
Footsteps came running, followed by an “Oof!” and the crash of a man taking a dive onto the hard concrete. Min turned his head enough to see Ruu twisting the second guard’s arm up, one foot planted in his armpit and using both hands to twist his wrist around at a painful angle. She kicked the man’s gun away and jerked viciously as he tried to break free. There was a crunch somewhere in his shoulder and he yelped.
Min turned his attention back to his guard, confident that Ruu had things under control. The mohican was just getting his breathing back and gasped for air. Min put
his knee on the man’s solar plexus and leaned his weight in, watching with a critical eye as the man burbled around his bruised throat and fought for air.
“Here now!” a woman shouted. “Get off that man! I’m calling the police!”
“Shit,” Ruu said.
Without turning around, Min fired two rounds into the ceiling. The reports echoed around the plaza. There was a moment of silence, then screams and shouting broke out in a clamor. Min released the pressure on the man’s chest and snugged the hot barrel of his pistol up under the man’s chin. With his free hand, he grabbed the man’s hair and hauled his head up until he was looking directly into his eyes.
“Do I have your attention?” Min demanded, and got a frantic nod in response. “Good. I’m looking for a girl. Angeline. Do you know of her?” Again the nod. “Where is she?”
“Du– do– don’t know!”
“Min!” Ruu shouted. “We have company!”
Min let the man’s head fall back to the concrete and stood. The mingling traffic of people carrying out their lives had vanished. A few discarded bags and tumbled crates marked where people had bolted for safety. Down the wide hallways leading to the plaza, Min saw a few people running toward them. Min fired a round into the man’s chest and stepped back fastidiously as he shrieked and coughed blood.
Ruu was looking at Min, her eyes wide, and then her gaze hardened. With a twist of her shoulders, she broke her captive’s arm in two places and kicked him hard in the head. He slumped back to the concrete twitching and moaning quietly.
A bullet ricocheted off the concrete floor and buzzed angrily through the air. Min leaped at Ruu and pulled her down to the ground as more bullets screamed through the air about them. “Get to cover!” he shouted and threw himself toward a pillar. He scrambled behind it as more bullets dug into the stone, spraying puffs of rock chips through the air. Min glanced over and saw Ruu had taken cover behind the metal escalator railing.
