The Imperative Chronicles, Books One and Two: The Mars Imperative & The Tesserene Imperative

by Mark Terence Chapman

  The lichens had no brains, and thus were not discouraged. All they had was the drive to eat.

  And hop.

  * * * *

  Three days passed while the recovery effort continued. James’ geology skills were of no use in that regard, but he was young and strong and able to work long, hard hours clearing rubble and searching for survivors. With so many inhabitants of Site 23 among the dead and injured, those were qualities in short supply—even with the help of all the volunteers from other MMR sites and those from competing mining outfits. The long, mind-numbing hours of lifting, digging, and scrabbling gave James plenty of time for thought.

  I’m so glad Janice isn’t here to get caught up in this horror. No one should have to go through this.

  On the other hand, it sure would be nice to see her smiling face right about now. I’m sure my mug must look as shell-shocked as everyone else’s. What I wouldn’t give to be able to lay my head on her lap and have her stroke my cheek and reassure me that everything is going to be okay.

  He snorted to himself. Grow up Jamie. You’re not a kid anymore. Mommy can’t kiss it and make it better. He put away such immature thoughts and redoubled his efforts at rubble removal.

  That evening, James gratefully crawled into his waiting bed, bone-tired and sore from head to toe. At least I’ve got my own room. That’s more than most of the workers can say.

  Fortunately, the hotel was one of the least damaged buildings in the disaster. With the influx of volunteers from all over Mars, every room was taken; most doubled up. But Tennant had pulled a string or two to ensure that James got his own room.

  He glanced over at the console across the room to see the message flag blinking. He sighed. Now what? Whatever it is, I’m too tired to care. Then he reconsidered. Ah, hell, it might be important.

  He called out, “Computer, play back v-mail messages.”

  The first was from Tennant. Damn. I guess I’ll have to watch that one.

  “Good evening, James. I know you must be exhausted, so I won’t take much of your time. Dr. Shallitt wants to talk to you and asked that you stop by his lab in the morning on your way to your duty shift. It shouldn’t take long. Thanks. Tennant out.” His image was replaced by the usual Save/Delete/Skip menu.

  Jeez, he looks terrible—like he’s aged ten years in the last few days.

  “Computer, delete message. Set alarm for 0630.”

  The next message was from Daniel. James immediately brightened up. Well, this is a nice surprise.

  “How’s it going, James? I know it must be awful down there. I offered to come down and help, but my boss said I was needed up here. You’ll be glad to hear that I just got my first permanent duty assignment; no more rotations. I’ll be working on the team designing and building the next extension to Barsoom. We’re adding a terraforming lab to help in the effort down there. Maybe we can get you some breathable air on the surface sometime in, oh, the next three or four centuries.” His face lit up with a big grin, then got serious again.

  “I know that’s too late for the people who died from the containment breaches at your site. I can’t imagine what it must be like down there right now, but you know you’re in my thoughts. If there’s anything I can do to help from up here, just say the word. I look forward to hearing from you. Daniel out.”

  James quickly sent a reply to Daniel thanking him for the message and bringing him up to date on the conditions in Site 23.

  “It’s only been a few days, so there is still a lot of work left to be done, but we’re making progress. The folks from Amalgamated who came over to help have been a godsend. I don’t know what we would have done without them and the others. There just weren’t enough survivors here to do everything themselves. It was scary to see the shock and depression in everyone’s eyes when I first got back. That haunted, lost look. It’s lucky we have Lee Tennant here to hold everything together. The man has more fire and determination than any two men I’ve ever known. He’s pulled everyone together and kept us so busy that no one’s had time to sit down and stew over their losses. I don’t know how much longer he can keep going himself, though. He looks like he’s ready to keel over from lack of sleep. But he just won’t let himself stop. It’s scary.” He shrugged, helplessly.

  “It’ll be a long time before things are ‘back to normal’ around here, but we should at least be a functioning mining site again in a few days.” He paused to stifle a huge yawn. “I guess that’s my cue to call it a night. I’ll be in touch. Give Kim my best. James out.”

  The last v-mail was from Janice. She looked almost as tired as James felt, but her smile lifted his spirits instantly. After so much destruction and desperation, it was wonderful to see a smile on anyone’s face, but especially Janice’s.

  “Hi, lover! I just got back into camp, so I thought I’d drop you a note to let you know I’m thinking of you. I know it must be awful there right now. I hope you’re holding up okay. I wish I could be there to hold you and take your mind off everything.

  “I volunteered to help, but Dr. Chow said you folks already had as many volunteers there as you could manage. I know I can’t hug you in person, but I can give you a virtual hug, anyway.”

  With that, she wrapped her arms around her own shoulders, squeezed, and with a grunt flung her arms wide as if to throw a hug at James through the holo pickup. She then blew him a kiss. James, for his part, held out his arms as if to catch the hug, then wrapped his own arms around his shoulders and squeezed. It was a silly ritual, but somehow it helped. He then blew a kiss back at Janice’s image, which had begun speaking again.

  “Good night, lover. I’ll try to call again soon.” She blew him another kiss as she reached for the Send key.

  Too tired to reply, but now in a much better frame of mind, James turned out the light and fell asleep with a smile on his lips.

  * * * *

  Several hundred lichens hopped, hopped, hopped. For the most part they went unnoticed. Unless someone happened to be looking directly at one when it hopped, it simply appeared to be a bit of litter left behind by a careless passerby.

  When a cargo lifter stopped abruptly, it tore a half-meter patch of floor sealant, exposing the durasteel beneath. Over the next hour, more than a dozen lichens found that patch and began feeding. Soon the patch was entirely covered with lichens, which continued to feed there.

  * * * *

  As requested, James showed up at the lab the next morning, still dragging despite nine hours’ sleep. He cut around behind a pile of rubble to avoid being run over by workers in an electric cart and was startled to see a flicker of motion in the shadows.

  What the hell? Mice? No, that’s not right. There aren’t any rodents on Mars. Roaches, maybe? They somehow managed to follow us here.

  Several of the shadows seemed to hop. Oh, hell. Don’t tell me.

  He entered the lab. “Mornin’, doc. You wanted to see me?”

  As usual these days, Dr. Shallitt was hunched over his console reading the latest test results from the lichens.

  “Ah, yes. Good morning, James, good morning. These lichens you’ve found are the most amazing creatures! In some ways they’re much like Earth lichens, and in others they’re completely different. They create food when there’s sunlight, by photosynthesis; in the absence of sunlight they act like scavengers, seeking out various needed trace minerals and leaching them from rock—or metals—via acids they release and then reabsorb. They hop around like insects, albeit slow ones, and in the presence of a breeze—artificial, of course, in the lab—they roll along like little wheels! Can you believe that? The Martian equivalent of tumbleweed, I guess. They don’t need oxygen to survive—in fact, they’re producers of oxygen via photosynthesis; rather they breath CO2, something Mars has in plentiful supply. All they really need to prosper is a warmer climate and enough humidity in the air.”

  James nodded. “Yeah, I think they’re prospering just fine in the passageways outside the lab. I just disturbed a flock of them,
or is it a herd? What do you call a bunch of hopping lichens?”

  Shallitt smiled. “‘Bunch’ works for me. ‘Bunch’ it is, then. Yes, one of my assistants already mentioned the lichens outside. We’ve rounded up a few specimens for further study. So far, they don’t appear to be a threat. They do seem ideally suited for living among humans, though. There isn’t as much CO2 in here as there is outside, but we produce more than enough for the lichens to thrive on. If we set up ‘grow lights’ everywhere as a substitute for sunlight, like they use in hydroponics farms, we might induce the lichens to meet a lot of our O2 requirements while simultaneously eliminating their need to dissolve anything to feed on.”

  “Doc, I’m not sure whether Lee would be more happy to hear that the lichens aren’t eating through our stuff anymore, or more horrified at the thought of them possibly multiplying even faster in a more lichen-friendly environment.”

  “Knowing Lee, probably the latter. Don’t get me wrong. He’s a good man and a gifted administrator, but he’s not exactly visionary. I wouldn’t expect him to see the big picture regarding Mars.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Imagine a few centuries from now: we’ve stabilized the atmosphere to the point where it’s breathable and has enough greenhouse gasses to trap heat and block radiation. In other words, the surface of the planet is livable without protective suits. But then you look down, and all you see is bare rock. No soil, no plants, no animals. We’ll need something that can grow here. I’m sure we can genetically alter Earth plants to grow, but we’ll still need simple life forms like mosses and lichens to help build arable soil from the regolith. And what could be better than a lichen that’s already adapted to the environment? Plus, the fact that they mature so quickly and can get around on their own will help speed up the “seeding” process significantly. The entire planet could harbor life again within years instead of centuries. Of course, we wouldn’t have to wait until the atmosphere is able to sustain human life before we begin the process. These lichens will be capable of retaking the surface long before we are.”

  “Hmm. You know, Doc, if Lee were here right now, I have a feeling he’d be saying, ‘That’s what I’m afraid of!’”

  Dr. Shallitt chuckled. “Maybe so. But I’m afraid Lee has more on his mind right now than just lichens.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. He’s sure the man behind the bombings is Doug Jardin. I’m afraid he’s gotten a bit obsessed with catching him.”

  James frowned. “Tell me more.”

  * * * *

  During the night, the lichens ate through a small section of durasteel plating, breaching air containment. Within seconds an alarm sounded, disturbing the sleep of everyone in Site 23 who wasn’t on duty. Within two minutes a repair crew had responded and arrived at the site of the breech, half expecting to find indications of more sabotage.

  Jimmy Dolan jumped down from the electric cart and consulted his handheld sensor. “The leak is coming from over there, Mike.” He pointed. “It’s not too bad. I wonder how it happened right in the middle of the road like this?”

  Mike Woodruff approached the spot of the leak. “What’s this mat doing here?

  Dolan shrugged. “Beat’s me. Maybe someone thought they could seal the leak with it. Anyway, this is the spot. Move the mat and let’s get to work.”

  “Right.” Woodruff grabbed an edge of the mat, which seemed to break off in his hand. Then the piece…moved. Startled, he dropped it and jumped back. “Jesus! Did you see that?”

  “Sure did. That was the damnedest thing I ever saw! It must be one of them lichens we were told to watch out for. We’d better report in and see what they want us to do about them. After we take care of the leak.”

  CHAPTER 22

  History of Space Exploration: Life on Mars—Mars has no police force, partly because there is no central government to run it and partly because it is not needed. Each mining company operates under U.N. charter and each is self-policing, abiding by the rules of international law. Recognizing the potential for gross human rights violations, the U.N. in 2117 enacted the Martian Rights Accord, establishing the same rights for people off Earth as on. The accord also set guidelines for police activities.

  In general, crime is low and each company takes care of its own problems internally. Background checks and intensive psychological profiling up front eliminate most of those with criminal tendencies from consideration for off-world employment. The companies have enough problems keeping workers alive and well in space and on Mars without having to worry about rampant crime.

  By and large, this arrangement works well. Still, no system is perfect. Despite the best efforts of the mining companies to screen out those with criminal or violent natures, the occasional crimes of passion do occur. Minor offenses are handled locally by a combination of fines and the curtailment of such privileges as v-mails and packages from home. On the frontier, these things are considered precious and not to be taken for granted.

  Serious crimes are referred to a special magistrate on the nearest ODF for adjudication, with convicted felons being returned to Earth for incarceration.

  — Excerpt from Encyclopedia Solaris, 2176

  * * * *

  Without proof of involvement, Tennant couldn’t have Doug Jardin arrested. All he could do was voice his suspicions to the other site foremen. Some of them greeted the news with knowing nods, having suspected Jardin all along. Others treated Tennant coldly or even with outright derision. Tennant grimaced after the fourth such rejection.

  It’s not hard to guess which foremen are in Jardin’s pocket. The others will have their security teams keep an eye on Jardin when he’s in their bailiwicks. That’s about all we can do for now.

  Jardin’s not as smart as he thinks he is. He’ll screw up eventually, and I plan to be there when he does.

  An icy smile, lacking any trace of humor, played on his lips at the image of Douglas P. Jardin cowering in a corner like a trapped rat.

  Watch your back, Dougie, I’m coming for you.

  * * * *

  The passing days were a blur for James. His routine was the same: wake up and grab a quick breakfast; put in ten to twelve hours clearing rubble and searching for bodies—snatching a sandwich off a food cart along the way; grab something hot in the temporary mess hall after his shift; then fall into bed and sleep until it all began again the next morning.

  Despite all evidence to the contrary, James still couldn’t shake the notion that somehow this disaster was his fault; that it was related to “his” spores. It was this fear that haunted his dreams and drove him to work harder and longer than anyone else. After a week of this, the strain clearly showed on his face. He leaned over the bathroom sink in his hotel room, propping himself up with his arms and staring at his reflection in the mirror.

  A haggard stranger stared back. His once neatly groomed light brown hair was now stringy and nearly black with grime from the day’s rubble. It hung down over a forehead scratched and filthy. Bloodshot eyes that had seemingly aged years in the last seven days peered out above sunken cheeks. The innocence of youth, the spark of mischievousness that had flashed in his eyes before, was gone.

  James felt old beyond his years and weary beyond words. His muscles ached from overwork coupled with inadequate diet and a lack of restful sleep—the nightmares took care of that. As he stood before the mirror, his legs trembled with the effort of supporting his weight.

  I desperately need a shower, but I don’t know if I can stand up that long. Maybe I should just skip the shower and go right to bed. I can grab a shower in the morning.

  In the end he compromised, drawing a bath instead; fortunately fresh water wasn’t at a premium as it was in the outlying camps. After briefly scrubbing his face and body, and with a head full of shampoo, James lay back, luxuriating in the steamy bathwater. As the heat teased the ache from cramped and strained sinews, he had a chance to finally stop and think for the first time in days.

&nb
sp; Maybe they’re right. There doesn’t seem to be any indication that anyone was trying to steal or destroy the lichens—especially not with them hopping all over the base. Maybe Lee’s correct and it’s Jardin’s doing, looking to teach Lee a lesson about playing along. If so, he’s gone way too far.

  James shook his head at the thought. He must be insane if he thinks mass murder is going to ensure cooperation. I know Lee’s consumed with rescue and repairs right now, but what’s going to happen once that’s behind us? He’s not going to just let this go. I’ve seen the fire in his eyes when he mentions Jardin. This isn’t over; not even close.

  James’ eyes closed of their own accord and within seconds he was sound asleep, his rhythmic breathing creating shallow ripples in the water.

  * * * *

  He awoke an hour later, chilled in the now cool bathwater; a thick, dark, greasy ring had formed along the waterline. He quickly rinsed the dried shampoo from his hair, rose and toweled himself off, shivering. When he emerged into the bedroom, he saw the message flag blinking on the console, accompanied by a soft pinging. He peered at the message log on the screen.

  It’s from Daniel! “Accept.”

  “James, ol’ buddy, I’ve got good news. Apparently all my pleading and begging finally paid off. Old man Winters finally agreed to let me join you down there to help in the rebuilding phase, where my engineering talents can be put to good use. I’m going to hop on the 21:00 elevator car. Figuring in the time from the terminal to your site, I should be there sometime between 23:00 and 23:30 tomorrow evening. I’ll have to find a place to stay when I get there. See you then!”

  James’ face lit up at Daniel’s words. He’s coming! Fantastic!