Sal reached out and snatched the servo from his hands, then set it down next to her keyboard. “Maybe, but the Foundation wouldn’t have any part of that. They take non-proliferation seriously.”
“Sure, but what if they were conned. The way they changed the Shackleton’s mission all of a sudden smelled mighty fishy to me. Maybe Donovan works for Blade Aerospace.”
Sal considered what she knew about Donovan and his Gypsies. He’d become one of Sal’s heroes over the past few years for his ability to get jobs done despite bureaucracy’s best efforts. He was a divisive figure in the Foundation for precisely the same reason, and there were always rumors flying around about him. But this was the first time she’d heard anyone accuse him of working for a military contractor. It was damn near heresy.
Kazuo had been a Carbon Corp soldier before he came to Mars though, and nobody slung conspiracy theories like military men. Every single one she’d met saw hints of secret dealings wherever he looked, and that fact disturbed her to no end.
“Let me see if I’ve got this right. You think that Marcus Donovan, a well known and respected astronomer, was hired by Blade to construct an experimental, not to mention illegal, warship in Earth orbit?”
“Plus or minus. Just tossin’ ideas at the wall, seeing what sticks.”
Sal was badly in need of an aspirin. “I guess that makes as much sense as anything else these days.”
The one thing she knew for certain was that this new vessel had to be fast, whatever it was. Fast enough to cross two-hundred and thirty million kilometers in three weeks. She was familiar with the Shackleton’s engines, and the ship just wasn’t up to snuff. It would need to accelerate for more than three straight hours to achieve that kind of velocity, and there was no way it could carry enough reaction mass. The math just didn’t add up.
Not that it was any easier to believe Kazuo’s theory. An advance in propulsion technology that revolutionary would be impossible to hide. The cost, the complexity, the testing. There would be too many people involved and it was just too big to cover up.
That was the thought running through Sal’s head when the alerts started to sound. Red lights and klaxons went off across the colony, and Kazuo jumped out of his skin. “What the hell’s going on?”
“God damn it!” Sal shouted over the noise, and she punched the keyboard. “Incoming asteroid. Big and hot.”
“What do we do?”
She shook her head. “Pray,” was all she said.
The blip streaked across the display and she watched it with wide eyes. It had to be ten kilometers long or more, and was coming at them like a bullet. It was a planet killer, and they should have seen it years ago. Her breath caught in her throat and her thoughts were eerily silent. Wasn’t she supposed to see her life flash before her eyes in a situation like this?
Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the object slowed to around two kilometers per second and dropped into orbit around Mars.
Sal started to breathe again. Kazuo was standing behind her with his fingers digging into her shoulders. “What just happened?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said, “but I hope that’s Donovan’s new vessel.”
It took ten minutes for someone to finally shut the alarms off, much to Sal’s chagrin. She still hadn’t found any aspirin, and her head was thumping something fierce. Another five minutes later, the colony received its first message from the object in orbit, confirmation that the massive thing was in fact Marcus Donovan’s new vessel. Somehow.
Donovan requested permission to land a small craft at Ares, and after a heated debate among the senior staff, permission was granted. The situation was too strange not to proceed with caution, though, and even if they were short on weaponry, the colonists decided that a show of strength was in order. Sal and Kazuo were chosen for the task.
Thirty minutes after first contact, Sal found herself in the southern mission readiness bay giving her MASPEC a quick inspection, with Kazuo on the opposite side of the room doing the same. Five other maintenance workers were pulling on pressure suits, a collection of aged and dusty rifles waiting beside them. It was a decidedly half-assed combat squad.
The bulky armor stood in front of her, the hinged panels of its back splayed apart like the petals of a mechanical lily, revealing the padded cavity within. It bridged the gap between suit and vehicle, giving its pilot the strength and durability of a machine, but Sal had never considered using them as weapons. They were an answer to a problem and nothing more — the efficient combination of worker and construction equipment in one tidy package.
She keyed in the power-up code then grabbed the rails above the docking clamp, lifted her legs up and lowered them inside. Once in up to her waist, she put her arms out in front of her and levered herself into the cavity, allowing her hands to slide all the way through to the ends of the mechanical arms. The MASPEC detected that she was safely inside, and it adjusted its own padding and braces to fit snugly, then closed and sealed the rear hatch.
Kazuo was ahead of her for once. Her docking clamp had just released while he was already taking a few warm-up steps, the heavily booted feet of his suit making hollow clanks that echoed throughout the bay.
She stepped away from the clamp and turned, and the rest of her impromptu squad stood at attention. “Everyone sealed up and ready to go?”
“All green, chief. Just waiting on you.”
“Good. Let’s cycle the lock, and get ready to roll out the red carpet.”
With that, they entered the airlock and proceeded to stand around doing nothing while the chamber depressurized. It took even longer than usual, and the wait was excruciating while her imagination ran away with her, inventing all kinds of alien menaces lurking on the other side of the door. She just wanted to get it over with.
Then Sal started to have second thoughts. She turned to Kazuo and asked, “If this goes wrong, you have any idea how to fight in one of these?”
She could see Kazuo’s face clearly in the multicolored glow of his heads up display, and he had an evil smile from ear to ear. He punched his left palm with his right fist, producing a heavy thud, and said, “The old fashioned way, Sal. Honestly, I’ve been waiting for a chance to bust skulls since the first time I climbed into one.”
“Great,” she said, and she wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not. Then the outer door opened and they marched into the light of day.
The launch facility was a hundred meters from the southern airlock, and amounted to little more than an east-west airstrip and a gantry with a decaying multi-stage rocket. There were a few steel cargo containers piled up to one side, but there was little else of interest. The facility was all but abandoned.
Sal and Kazuo stopped at the edge of the pad, the rest of the team flanking on either side, and they waited. For what, none of them knew, but they hoped for the best. They didn’t have to wait long.
“Heads up, welcome wagon. Subject inbound from the West.”
Sal scanned the skies and caught sight of a star plummeting out of the western sky. She keyed into a phantom keyboard, and the MASPEC’s display enhanced the image. “Confirmed, base. We have visual contact.”
The bright spot of light became an oblong vessel, and it came down at an astonishing speed only to suddenly halt over the pad, just as the mothership had done in space. Then, as it hung there in mid-air, it came about and gently lowered itself to the tarmac.
The greenish vehicle looked like nothing Sal had ever seen before, and if she hadn’t just watched it land, she wouldn’t even have guessed it was a ship. It was sixty meters from one end to the other, and only marginally aerodynamic, shaped something like the head of a squid. The segmented surface was covered with overlapping scales in some places, while other parts were smooth as pearl, and it stood on five insectoid feet. Mist rose from its every crevice and cavity.
“I can tell you right now Blade didn’t build that. What on Earth is it?” Kazuo asked. The phrase wasn’t common among long-t
ime colonists.
Sal had no idea. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s probably never been on Earth at all,” she said.
“And I’d believe you.”
She waved her people forward with a dreamy gesture and they marched on toward the strange ship, rifles at the ready. They moved slowly, apprehensively, at any moment expecting some savage race of aliens to explode from within and eat their faces. Much to their surprise, the attack never came.
When they were about six meters from the ship, a rounded structure on the side melted away like a hot tar bubble popped in slow motion. Sharp light came from inside, and when it subsided, Sal could see four people wearing standard white GAF pressure suits. The person at the front of the group gave a friendly wave.
Sal waved back.
The ship produced a ramp, and the four occupants stepped down it, moving with surprising comfort in Mars’ low gravity. Newcomers were always uneasy walking on Mars for at least a few weeks, but these were surefooted. Sal didn’t know what to make of that.
Their leader walked right up to her and looked her suit up and down in amazement. He looked small, but everyone did from inside a MASPEC. He was a black man in his thirties with a strong chin and a good spattering of grey in his hair. An orange device was barely visible through his face mask, attached to the side of his head and similar in style to his ship. It looked like a mechanical spider. The man was smiling.
“That suit is really something,” he said, his warm voice coming in over her crackling headset. “What do you call it?”
Sal blushed. “MASPEC. Mechanically Augmented Support Platform, Environment Controlled. It’s my own design.”
“You’re very talented,” he said. “Techs back home have been trying to build powered suits for ages, but they never got this far. Never anything this elegant. They killed plenty of test pilots in the process, too.”
“I know. I was planning to patent the design once I got all the bugs worked out, but… well, I guess that’s not going to happen now.” She pointed to him and furrowed her brow. “You’re Marcus Donovan, aren’t you?”
“As I live and breathe,” he said. “Now, if you’ll pardon me, I’ve been waiting all my life to say this. I come in peace, Martian. Take me to your leader.”
One of his men buckled over in laughter, while the other two shook their heads. Right then and there, Sal realized she was in for a strange day, and she’d need to find that aspirin soon.
Chapter 23:
Becoming Caesar
When Marcus Donovan was a child, he spent countless nights staring through his uncle’s rusty old telescope at the tiny reddish speck that was Mars, all the while imagining a fantastic world over-run with jungles and weird, ancient ruins. It was a world of adventure and unending surprises where dozens of savage species warred for supremacy. Somehow, despite Mars’ best efforts to the contrary, the fantasy never completely left him.
As he grew older, he collected images from all the unmanned probes which had been sent to scout the red planet. The old guard of space exploration—venerable names such as NASA, Roskosmos, JAXA and ISRO—had produced thousands of images from orbit and later from the ground. They uniformly described a desolate landscape interrupted only by rocks, but Marcus’ dreams plodded on unimpeded.
When he was thirteen, his parents let him stay up late to watch the first Mars landing live on TV. Six years later during his first year at university, he stayed up for two straight days watching the Ares Colony’s daring drop from space. He failed two finals because of it. Even then, with the reality revealed on a constant video feed, he continued to believe that Mars was the most interesting place in the universe.
Now he was sitting in a conference room perched on top of the colony’s main dome, surrounded on all sides by a three-sixty view of the Martian desert, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It wasn’t how he’d imagined it all those years ago, but he realized he hadn’t been fair to Mars. He hadn’t accepted her for what she truly was. The stark emptiness held its own alien beauty, whispering a long story of solitude, while hinting at an exciting future yet to come.
Amira Saladin—the woman with the striking eyes who’d met them in her powered suit—was the administrator’s daughter and the colony’s chief engineer, and Marcus found her just as intriguing as the planet she called home. Considering her age, he’d normally have assumed her rank was the product of nepotism, but he’d seen evidence of her talent first hand. The colony relied on technology more than a decade past its prime, but she kept it running and upgraded to the latest spec. She could probably build a radio out of two rocks and a seashell if she had to.
Ms. Saladin had given Marcus and his team a quick tour of the facility before bringing them to the meeting room, and when she was finished, he asked her to stay. She looked confused, but with a little coaxing, she obliged.
Then they waited. Marcus would’ve hated the wait if not for the view.
Faulkland and Juliette were seated to Marcus’ left, and Rao to his right, while Ms. Saladin was half-way around the large table. Marcus thought her choice was a safe one, like taking a seat in the back of a class.
“Your father must lead a very busy life,” Faulkland said to her after a bit.
Marcus was looking off toward the eastern horizon, trying to find any hint of Olympus Mons in the distance, without luck. “No,” he answered for her. “He’s the type to make his guests wait. Gives them a chance to reflect on how important he is.”
Ms. Saladin didn’t respond, but her smirk told him he was close to the mark. “That’s alright,” Marcus added after a moment. “I’m not sure how many important people we have left. A little reflection couldn’t hurt.”
Another minute passed in silence, and then the administrator came through the door, flanked by a pair blue-suited advisers. Administrator Saladin was the absolute image of a statesman, dressed in a fine graphite suit with a red-and-white sash across his barrel-chest, decorated with dozens of medals accumulated during his long career. He was a heavy set man, and had no doubt been exceptionally strong and stout even as a youth. The weight had since become ornamental, but he would probably still place well in an arm-wrestling contest.
Everyone stood. Marcus took a long stride forward and shook the administrator’s hand. His grip was firm but not crushing, and he had the same penetrating eyes as his daughter.
“Administrator Saladin, it’s an honor to finally meet you, sir.”
“And you, Doctor Donovan. I’ve always heard you’re a surprising man, but the rumors hardly do you justice.”
Marcus smiled through his embarrassment. “I must apologize for our rude approach to your planet. We’re still learning, Mister Administrator.”
“Think nothing of it, Doctor. But in the future, perhaps a little warning would be in order.”
“Absolutely, sir. Warning, and more.”
With a smile, the Administrator motioned toward the table. “Please, have a seat everyone. And perhaps the Doctor will tell us how he came to be in possession of such an astonishing vessel.”
For the next hour, Marcus told them the whole story from beginning to end. How he discovered Zebra-One by accident, and the years of research he conducted in secret, one short glance at a time. The gamble he took in deceiving the Foundation, his team’s arrival and initial exploration of the vessel, and how he came to have an alien interface plugged into his brain.
Then, as if the rest of the story hadn’t been fantastic enough, Marcus told the administrator what he knew of the ship’s origin, of Eireki history and their desperate fight against the Nefrem. He revealed how the human race itself came to be, and when it was all over, he was badly in need of a glass of cold water.
The administrator and his two lieutenants were left in a stunned silence, while his daughter had a look of utter disbelief on her face. It was the look of a little girl who’d just been told that unicorns were not only real, but also the source of hamburger meat.
“This is… it’s quite a lot
to take in all at once,” Administrator Saladin finally said in his gruff voice. “And you believe the invaders to be these… Nefrons?”
“Nefrem, sir. And to be honest, neither Legacy nor I know for sure, but until we know one way or another, we should assume so.”
“A very sensible thought. And what of the war you told us to prepare for?” The administrator exhaled sharply, with a hint of a growl, and shook his head. “I understand you have some kind of warship, but that hardly seems enough. Fill in the missing pieces, Doctor.”
“You’re right. It’s not enough, sir. That’s why I’m here.” Marcus recalled the plans he’d sketched out with Legacy, and she echoed them distantly from orbit. He felt her presence there in his head even planet-side, but she was faint, and he felt oddly empty without her.
“Legacy is vastly powerful. We’re only just beginning to understand the extent of her abilities. But I neglected to mention that she also houses a factory equipped with technology which far outstrips our own. The skiff that brought us here is just one example of the fleet already under construction, and it was built in just two weeks, if you can believe it.”
“Impressive. So you’re going to build your own armada?”
“Much more than that, sir. Your colony is little more than a frontier town right now, and our first step should be to transform it into a fortress. A safe haven for humanity. With your permission, we’ll establish a second factory here and a handful of mining facilities. With our enhanced manufacturing, your habitat can be improved and expanded, giving your population room to grow. Meanwhile, Legacy will build orbital defenses to prevent the kind of attack that devastated Earth.”
“And then?”
“Then we build a proper fleet and liberate our people, sir.”
The administrator had never stopped shaking his head. This was going to be a tough sell. “I have seven thousand men, women and children living on this planet. These people are colonists, Doctor Donovan. Not soldiers. Tell me, what kind of liberation force could that amount to?”
Stars Rain Down (Biotech Legacy) Page 16
