Colony Mars Ultimate Edition

by Gerald M. Kilby

  12

  Black-Coat Man

  Somewhere deep within Mia's unconscious brain, synapses fired to test her physical state. It established that her pain response had lessened to a point that would be bearable, and, other than a lot of bruising and surface trauma, she was mostly intact. So, it decided it was time to bring her back to consciousness.

  She awoke slowly, aware of cold at first, then light, and finally that she was tied to a chair in an empty, nondescript room. But she was still alive. That was something, at least.

  As she came to, Mia tested the bonds that restrained her, pulling and twisting this way and that, but they held fast. She then moved on to examining the room. The light was dim, and the room big enough that she could not see its outer walls. On the floor she could see scraps of wrapping strewn around, as well as loose and torn straps. She was in a storage room, probably not far from where they were apprehended.

  Gizmo, she thought, and looked around again, trying to find some evidence of the droid in the room. But there was none. "Shit," she shouted out in frustration, and tried again to break her bonds, tugging and twisting with all her strength. But it was no good. She wasn't getting out of this on her own.

  She heard shuffling sounds coming from deep within the gloom. "Gizmo?" Mia strained her ears to hear. The shuffling sounds continued, getting closer. Finally, out from the darkness stepped two men. One wore a long, black coat that wafted around his legs as he moved. The other wore the black uniform of Montecristo security. She could not make out their faces, as they were encased in complex face masks.

  "So, you're finally conscious." The voice had a low, hissing quality to it. Mia could not see who spoke, but assumed it was the black-coat man.

  "Screw you. Where's my droid?"

  "Your droid is spare parts, or soon will be. As for you, let's have a little talk."

  Mia clenched her fist and strained the bonds holding her down as black-coat man came closer, stopping less than a meter from her.

  "Do you know who I am? There will be hell to pay for incarcerating an MLOD agent." She tried to put some venom in her voice.

  He folded his arms and considered her, tilting his head slightly to one side. "We know who you are, Major Mia Sorelli, so let's not pretend to be all indignant and self-righteous. You're all alone here, with just me and my friend." He gestured at the armed security guard. "So, care to tell me who else knows you're here?"

  "MLOD HQ back in Syrtis, for one. And they are going to be so pissed with you when they find out—" Mia didn't get time to finish her sentence, as she was whacked across the face with the back of a gloved hand.

  "I'm going to ask you again, except this time let's make it a little bit more interesting." He reached inside his long, black coat and pulled out a sleek-looking plasma pistol, then took a moment adjusting something on its side. "Amazing technology, when you think about it, these PEP weapons." He held it up to the light and admired it. "Such delicate control over the levels of pain that can be administered. You know, back in the day, they used to use ballistic weapons. Small bits of metal exploded out from a barrel. Very crude, no finesse." He held the weapon up again. "But these, on the other hand, are the very pinnacle of pain-delivery technology." He turned it sideways in his hand, brought it closer to her so she could see it, and pointed at a small, thumb-operated dial. "You see here, this setting is certain death." He then turned the dial all the way down and showed it to her again. "But this setting here won’t kill you, just inflict excruciating pain. Although, I've always wanted to know what would happen if someone took a direct shot to the brain." He stepped back a little and held the weapon to the side of her head. "Only one way to find out, I suppose. So, one more time—who knows you're here?"

  The barrel pressed hard against her temple, and Mia heard the faint squeal of the weapon charging. She may survive a single shot, but her brain would probably be fried.

  "Dan Frazer."

  There was a momentary pause as the man in the black coat tried to make sense of this answer. "The MLOD agent? He's dead." He leaned in a little closer to Mia. "That's what happens to people who get too nosey and go poking around where they shouldn't." He gave a laugh and looked across at his colleague.

  So, there it is, thought Mia. Mystery solved. This guy or his associates must have killed him.

  "Why?" she ventured.

  "I'm asking the questions here." He pressed the gun’s muzzle harder against her temple and held it there for a moment before suddenly taking it away and reaching for his earpiece comms. "What?"

  There was a pause as he listened to some message.

  "No, I'm fucking busy..." He turned his back to Mia and continued listening to the message. Whoever was communicating with him was not taking no for an answer.

  "Okay, give me five." He sighed as he turned to face Mia again. He aimed the weapon at her forehead, and Mia considered that this might be it. Game over. She gritted her teeth and held his stare for what seemed like an eternity, until he suddenly shoved the weapon back inside his long black coat. He pointed a finger at her. "We're not done here yet, you and I."

  Mia breathed again as he turned to his colleague and gestured to him. "Let's go." They walked out the way they came, back into the darkness.

  Mia's heart raced, her body pumped adrenaline, her breath came in gasps. She had been given a reprieve, nothing more. She was still trapped with no way out. Again, she tugged and twisted the bonds that held her, but this time it was with a demonic fury that she did not realize she possessed. But it was futile; she was only doing herself harm. Eventually, she gave up and tried to examine the chair more closely to see if there were any structural flaws she could utilize.

  It was strong and heavy, but with a certain amount of effort she found that she could move it, but only slightly. Yet it was the only thing within her control; she had no other options. But move to where? The storage room was sizable, too big to see its full dimensions in the dim light. To explore it would take more effort than she had in her. Maybe she could find something on the floor that she could use to cut her bonds. This might be possible. The floor was littered with the detritus of packing cases. It might be possible for some scrap of metal to be lying around. She started moving, one tiny increment at a time.

  It took her a few minutes and a considerable amount of effort just to rotate her position in the space a full 180 degrees. She wanted to get a view of what was behind her, in the hope that there may be something lying on the floor that she could use. But as she scanned the area, she saw nothing useful. She rested for a moment, gathering her strength for the next effort, when she heard the shuffling return.

  Goddammit, she thought, they're back. Mia figured she would’ve had more time, but it was not to be. The game was finally up. Yet the sounds were different—lighter, softer, and more numerous. Mia's brain was trying to work out what, or who, might be making them when a masked faced came around from behind her, holding a long, serrated knife. She stiffened in response. The figure reached up and removed his night vision goggles and mask.

  Mia looked at him in shock. "Lloyd?"

  He put a finger to his lips.

  "How the..." she whispered.

  "Long story. Let me get you out of here first." He proceeded to cut her bonds.

  She rubbed her wrists to get some feeling back and stood up. She was very shaky and unstable, and rested a hand on Lloyd's shoulder. Two more people came into view, both well-armed. One signaled to Lloyd to hurry up.

  How is he here? she thought. How did he survive the explosion at the warehouse? All these questions swelled in her head as she began moving across the storage space. But they would have to wait. The fact was he was here with some of his crew, and she was getting out. Getting answers to her questions could wait.

  "Gizmo," she croaked. "I need to find Gizmo."

  "It's over by the entrance." Lloyd pointed ahead. "But it’s scrap metal now. The power cell was removed—it ain't going anywhere."

  As they moved th
rough the dim space, Mia could see it wasn't completely empty. Stacks of packing crates appeared from the gloom. This led them into a workshop area when Gizmo stood, silent and mute, wires sprouting from its innards.

  "Gizmo, what have they done to you?" She raced over to it as fast as her battered body would allow.

  "Come on, leave it. We gotta go," one of the others called over to her.

  "I'm not leaving without it."

  "Are you totally crazy? It's just a droid. You can always get another one."

  "It may just be a droid to you, but to me it's a friend, and I'm not leaving it."

  "Shit, I knew this was a bad idea, Lloyd. Her brain is fried."

  "Come, we'll carry it between us." Lloyd rushed over to where Mia stood and ran his eye over the droid. "These old G2 units are heavy bastards."

  The others reluctantly complied, and between the four of them they hauled the droid out of the storage area and into a dimly lit corridor.

  As they moved, Mia noticed that Lloyd was listening to messages coming in on his earpiece comms. Somebody was coordinating their escape, possibly someone on the inside—someone looking at the security feeds and directing them when to move and when to stop.

  They made their way without incident to an airlock, and it was only then that Mia realized none of them were wearing EVA suits. She had woken up in the storage area without hers. Presumably they had taken it off her when they found all the components she had risked so much to obtain. The evidence was now gone, unless Lloyd and his crew had managed to acquire some, which meant her mission here was all for nothing. Without the components as evidence there was little she could do to kick-start any formal investigation.

  The outer door opened, and they all piled in. It was a tight squeeze with the droid, but they managed it. Mia had that momentary feeling of panic that people who live a pressurized life on an alien planet get when stepping into an airlock without an EVA suit. Will there be pressure on the far side? The others all looked calm, so she assumed they had come here with transport. The outer door opened, revealing a cramped rover interior. They piled in, closed the door, and the machine disengaged, moving off slowly.

  After a few moments, Lloyd and the crew began to relax a little. Weapons were put aside and face masks removed. It was only then that Mia could see it was Anka and Milo who had accompanied Lloyd on this rescue mission.

  Mia rubbed her face and glanced over at Lloyd. "Okay, so how the hell did you guys survive that explosion?"

  "Ah...it was us that blew the place up. Took out a lot of Montecristo security in the process." A wide grin grew across Lloyd's face.

  Mia shook her head. "I thought you were all dead. I thought myself and Gizmo were on our own."

  "We knew this sol would come, knew they could attack us," said Lloyd. "We had an escape plan in place."

  "So how did you find me? How did you know I was in the Leighton waystation?"

  "Your EVA suit. I put a tracker on it." He gave her another broad grin. "Hope you don't mind."

  "Not from where I'm sitting. All I can say is thank you. I was sure I was a dead woman. I couldn't see a way out."

  Lloyd nodded. "Happy to be of service."

  Mia looked around the rover's interior. "I thought you didn't have a working rover?"

  "We don't. We stole this one from Montecristo." He winked.

  The rover began to slow, and Mia realized that something must be up, as Lloyd stood up and moved into the cockpit where Marcus was at the controls. Anka and Milo were picking up their weapons, and the mood changed to one of high alert. The rover finally stopped just as Lloyd stuck his head back into the cabin. "Panic over. Marcus just got lost."

  "I'm not lost—I know exactly where we are. I'm just taking the scenic route is all," Marcus shouted back from the cockpit. "You try finding your way in this shit."

  Anka and Milo put the weapons down again and relaxed. Lloyd returned to the cabin and sat down opposite Mia.

  She leaned in, elbows on her knees, hands clasped, and started telling him what she’d found. "We located the unit they were using to store the components. At least, Gizmo did." She looked over at the forlorn robot for a moment. "But it was only when I entered that I realized the extent of the crime. Crates and crates of components, stacked floor to ceiling. We're talking thousands of components."

  "Are you serious?" Lloyd looked genuinely shocked.

  "That's not all. You guys have been working on the assumption that they were somehow breaking the embargo, finding a way to bring in direct shipments from Earth."

  "You're saying they're not?" said Anka.

  "All the components we found were from intervention stock," said Mia. "They’re siphoning off the supplies coming in as emergency aid."

  "Holy shit." Anka was stunned. "This is serious. The people have to know about this. There'll be even more riots once this gets out."

  Mia shook her head. "Who's going to believe us? We have no hard evidence, just my word against Montecristo. That's not going to get us anywhere."

  "Did you grab any of them when you were in there?" said Milo in a soft, almost apologetic voice.

  "Sure I did. I stuffed a load into my EVA suit. But then we got caught, and, well...you know the rest."

  "So, we're back to square one," said Anka.

  "Not necessarily," said Lloyd. He was looking over at Gizmo. "Dragging that droid out of there might have been a good idea after all." He looked back at Mia. "The droid would have recorded it. If we could get it operational again, or even tap into its datastack, we might get something we could use."

  "That would be something," said Mia. "But it's probably not enough."

  "Well, we may not even get that." Lloyd shook his head. "Things have developed fast since you've been gone. The situation in Syrtis is deteriorating rapidly."

  "Why?" said Mia. "What's going on?"

  "Montecristo have sent a large cohort into the maintenance sector. They're trying to take it over—by force. Our people have taken up arms to defend themselves, so there are pitched battles going on all over the sector."

  "What about the MLOD?" said Mia. "Are they not trying to stop this?"

  "Ha...you forget that the MLOD has contracted Montecristo to deal with security on the streets," said Anka. "Their hands are tied, so they're turning a blind eye to everything that's going on."

  "I don't believe this. What about the MLOD in Jezero?" Mia continued.

  "What about them? They don't care about us." Lloyd waved a hand in the air.

  Mia sat back and pointed a finger at Lloyd. "You get me a comms link when we get back, and I'll get you some law and order. You have my word on that."

  "Even if you can persuade Jezero to intervene and send people, it's going to take a while." Lloyd was not convinced. "It may be too late by then."

  "You just get me that comms link."

  "Okay, but I have to warn you...we may be heading straight into a shitstorm."

  13

  Vance Baptiste

  Vance Baptiste gave a long, satisfied sigh as he relaxed in his oversized jacuzzi, letting the water jets work their magic, massaging his ample body. To his annoyance, he noticed that his fingernails still had a noticeable layer of dirt, which had accumulated after his short visit to the planet’s surface to meet with Chief Becker and that troublesome Major Sorelli from Jezero. He sighed again, this time with a hint of resignation, and went to work cleaning them. He found that even the briefest of visits to the surface always resulted in him needing a thorough and comprehensive decontamination routine.

  Fortunately, the meeting had been short, and he had wasted no time in returning to his private orbital, preferring the comfortable one-G environment and the clear, pure air to the filth and poverty of the planet’s surface. How anyone chose to live there was beyond his understanding.

  Back when he agreed to undertake the job of Director of Advocacy for Montecristo Industries—a contract with such ludicrous remuneration and side benefits that he simply couldn't
turn it down—he did so on the proviso that he would not have to spend any more time on Mars than was humanly possible. So far, this had worked out reasonably well; mostly he ran all operations from the comfort of his luxury space station, where he could enjoy all the pleasures of opulent living without the need to physically expose himself to the squalor of the masses.

  Montecristo needed him because they had a problem. For all their power and influence on Mars, the one prize that had eluded them was control of the governing council. Yet they were close, very close. They had spent well, buying off those who could be influenced by money, funding those who were sympathetic to their mercantile ambitions, and eliminating roadblocks where needed. But one sector stood in their way, a sector where no amount of corporate spend had any impact on its citizens—and without them, Montecristo Industries would always be one district short of complete and absolute control of the governing council of Mars.

  To break this deadlock and inject some fresh thinking into the problem, they sought out the talents of one Vance Baptiste, a man who had achieved startling results for the Valdivian Corporation on Ceres, not to mention several others on Earth. His job was to do what the entire board of Montecristo had so far failed to do, and that was to subjugate the citizens of the maintenance sector to their dominion. And, as good fortune would have it, the worst dust storm ever encountered on Mars had just kicked off, leading to Montecristo—and by extension, Baptiste—having primary control over all shipments of vital spare parts, the one thing that everybody wanted. It was better than money, it was power. And Baptiste relished every moment when he could wield this power. That was, until the fly that was Major Mia Sorelli had decided to embed itself firmly in the ointment of his ambition.