by Jaine Fenn
‘A stungun would be no good against your skinsuit. As for damaging the flyer,’ he lunged forward, and pressed the needler against Gregori’s ear, ‘it depends where the shot goes first.’
I have, since that day, worked through what happened next many times.
Firstly, I shouted, ‘No!’ How much of that was down to general stress and how much down to the threat against the man I was sleeping with I don’t know. Bit of both, I suspect.
Gregori threw himself forward. Again, I don’t know if that was a response to my shout or to Nico’s action or, most probably, a bit of both.
At moments like this everything becomes both so slow that every second is loaded with possibilities and so inevitable that you can’t do more than acknowledge those possibilities as they unfold. Nothing you do at the time, or later, will make any difference.
I’d love to report that my cute and dippy lover was, in fact, a master martial artist, and that he’d only been playing along with Nico, ready to react once he had the traitor’s undivided attention, slipping out of the line of fire to come up, somehow, in the impossibly small space between the three of us, then disabling Nico with a single killing strike. But he wasn’t. And he was still wearing his safety harness. He must have forgotten that. As a result he only ducked forward a little way before the harness caught him.
It wasn’t far enough. When Nico fired most of the supersonic needles hit their mark, and turned the back of Gregori’s head to bloody pulp.
At this point I took physical action, without any intervention from my conscious mind.
Nico’s head was between my and Gregori’s seat. I hefted the Eye of Heaven off my lap and rammed it back over my shoulder like a reverse shot-put, into Nico’s face. I heard his skull crack. The Eye, in its pack, slipped out of my hand, but Nico had fallen backwards, and wasn’t making any noise.
There was a noise in here though. A sharp hiss.
Beyond where Gregori dangled in his harness the side window showed an unpleasant spatter pattern of red and grey – and black. A peppering of holes covered an area the span of two hands. The window hadn’t shattered, but it was holed. And we all know what that means.
If I could have spared the breath I might have sworn then.
I stared at the flight console. I had enough basic knowledge to… to what? I wasn’t sure. I grabbed the joystick. It didn’t move. When I put a hand on the throttle panel it stayed dark. I touched, then hit, a couple more controls. Nothing. I was locked out.
Poor Gregori hadn’t been a martial artist but he’d known his way around vehicles. His response to Nico trying to take over this one had been to lock the controls. Smart move. No, stupid move.
The darkness at the edges of my vision began to creep back.
A small green light started blinking near to top left of the console. I wondered what that meant. It didn’t mean the atmosphere was fine, because it wasn’t.
I had to do something. I had no idea what. I wasn’t sure my body would obey me anyway.
At least, I thought, this makes sense now. I know how and why Shiv died. And I’d learnt a lesson on how the Triads operate here, though there was something Nico said, about not knowing what we’d really done, something I still didn’t get. I hate loose ends.
The darkness met in the middle and I was yanked up to heaven.
Six
Waking up was a surprise.
It was gradual, and I spent a while getting a feel for my body – which ached, but worked – before I risked opening my eyes. From the gravity it felt as if I was on Mars. Given recent events, being on Mars wasn’t a good thing. Beat being dead, though.
I screwed up my face, then opened my eyes. Everything felt muzzy and slow, like I’d slept too long.
I lay on a bed in the middle of a grassy plain; to my left the sun was setting in orange and gold. It had to be a projection, but it was a good one. I could even feel a grass-scented breeze.
A slender man in loose green clothing sat on a seat next to my bed. When I focused on him, he smiled down at me.
‘Hello there. I expect you have questions.’
He wasn’t wrong. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Sam Matheson, although we’re not very formal here, so just Sam will do. You like to be called Lizzie, yes?’
‘Yes.’ His last name registered. ‘Am I on Deimos?’
‘You sure are.’
He had a sort-of American accent. Which made sense, given the original Deimos Collective were Americans who left a couple of decades before that country ceased to exist. ‘Right.’ I could see past the evening scene projected around me now; I was in a small, square room. ‘And are you Mr P?’
‘The man behind the job? Yep. That’s me. And I was very impressed with how you carried it out, given the various setbacks.’
‘Yeah, about that. Why aren’t I dead?’
‘You were, for a while. Your heart had stopped by the time we picked you up, and you were seconds away from brain-death.’
‘I… Just how did you pick me up?’
‘The skyhook worked fine, even though your end of it was automated.’
‘Right,’ I said again, trying to think past the cotton wool in my brain. The plan had been for an orbital lifter to dip to its lowest operational altitude just as our flyer reached its highest operation altitude. The lifter would snatch our flyer from the top of Mars’ atmosphere. A bit like those fishing eagles on old documentaries snatching a fish out the water, although that didn’t end too well for the fish. Also, in this case, at the last moment the flyer would release a balloon, giving it that last bit of lift, and providing a tether for the lifter to snag. The lifter had a flexible docking rig to get us out of our flimsy vehicle, at which point I’d have handed over the Eye, and the lifter would have taken us to the orbital station or moon of our choice.
Unless I was in a particularly cruel and unimaginative afterlife, the lifter had picked up the flyer, so someone must’ve made contact then set a course to the orbital rendezvous. My final sensation of being hurled heavenwards had been the jolt as the balloon released.
‘Gregori.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Our pilot, his name was Gregori.’ I had to ask, even though I knew. ‘Did he… He didn’t make it, did he?’
‘I’m afraid not. When we made contact with the flyer he opened a one-way channel while he prepped for the pickup. We heard what happened.’
‘So what about…?’
‘Your other companion survived.’
Shame. ‘And where is he now?’ If Nico was anywhere I could get to him, he’d better be well enough to run.
‘We ejected him.’
I stared at Mr P – Sam. ‘Really? Thought you Deimons were pacifists.’
Sam laughed, a little bashful. He was about Gregori’s age, and more informal in the flesh than his Mr P persona. ‘No, not like that. Sorry, I wasn’t clear. We patched him up and sent him on his way in a lifepod.’
‘Some might say that was a waste of a lifepod.’ But Nico had only been doing what he had to do. And getting angry at him wouldn’t bring Gregori back.
‘Perhaps. We told Everlight where to find him.’
‘That’s quite… expedient, in its own way.’
‘I guess it is.’ Sam put his hands on his knees, ready to move. ‘If you’re up to it, there’s something you’ll want to see.’‘What sort of something?’ Not that I didn’t trust him.
‘Simpler if I show you. It’s not far. Feel free to ask questions on the way.’
I didn’t have much choice. I sat up slowly; head a bit fuzzy, but otherwise in good shape.
I declined Sam’s offer to help me stand, and got off the bed by myself. He was a good thirty centimetres taller than me. I was dressed in loose trousers and a tunic, both mauve; they felt like natural fabrics. When Sam, who wore the male equivalent in green, saw me checking out my duds he said, ‘You’re welcome to have the skinsuit back, but it’s not in the best condition. Or we can find you
something else.’
‘This is fine for now.’ What wasn’t fine were the straps on the side of the bed. They were coiled up into recesses, but I wondered what they were for. ‘This is our recovery room,’ Sam offered.
‘Recovery from what?’
‘Simple medical procedures. We’ve also got open wards and an ICU. We have to be self-sufficient up here, for everything.’
‘How many of you live on… I mean in Deimos?’
‘Five thousand four hundred and sixteen. Follow me, and watch your step. Things are… somewhat in flux right now.’
The door slid open as we approached, giving onto a circular tunnel-cum-corridor with a dark grey walkway down the centre; the walls were coated with a opalescent material which reminded me of the Eye; they glowed, illuminating the corridor. Sam walked alongside me, leaving just enough room to pass a man about my age with Hispanic heritage, who was coming the other way. He wore black and orange – I was reassured to see he wasn’t dressed identically to Sam – and carried a small bunch of pale yellow flowers. ‘Hi,’ he said as he approached.
Sam returned the greeting then added, ‘Give your cousin my congratulations, okay?’
‘Will do.’ And he was gone, having spared me a nod and a smile.
‘I lied earlier,’ said Sam.
‘You did?’
‘Yes, the population, as of this morning, is now five thousand four hundred and eighteen. Jaime’s cousin had twins.’
The corridor led into a low-G gym, like the one on the ship that had brought me to Mars. The fixed cycles, rowing machines, pull-straps and treadmills were crowded in, and the walls and ceiling were studded with bolts, ratchets, gaps and other obscure fittings.
As we picked our way through the gym equipment a pair of willowy teenage girls walking side-by-side on treadmills smiled and waved; an older man busy bench-pressing what looked like his own bodyweight was too distracted to notice us at first, then called out ‘Hiya!’
Everyone seemed very friendly; disconcertingly so, perhaps. Part of me wondered what the catch was. Happy drugs in the aircon? Then again, with the exception of five childhood years at the LunaFree, everywhere I’d lived had either been corporate or, to some degree, criminal. Cynicism came naturally.
Beyond the gym, more white corridors, though after a few metres Sam indicated we needed to head up, climbing a vertical access tube narrower than the corridor; here, the walkway material formed sturdy rungs. I decided to hold fire on more questions until we stopped. I wanted to get a feel for this place. There was something odd here and I couldn’t quite work out what in my current state.
At the top of the short tube, we set off again. As we passed a side corridor I caught a whiff of frying chilli and garlic. I stopped and inhaled.
‘Oh,’ said Sam. ‘I guess you must be hungry.’
‘Yes, I am.’ I had a thought. ‘How long have I been unconscious?’
‘Three days.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘Nope. The medics didn’t want to wake you until they were sure you’d fully recovered. We’ll get you some food soon, I promise.’
We came to a section of corridor where the walkway had been laid over a circular hole.
‘You’ll need to watch your step here. I’ll go first.’
As I followed Sam over I looked down into a shaft similar to the one we’d just climbed up; it was unlit, but it appeared to go off at a diagonal angle. ‘What’s going on down there?’
‘Not a lot. We’re remodelling, due to… Well, you’ll see. The grandmarms always planned this, but we kind of let the community grow organically. Some corridors are becoming redundant.’
‘Redundant because…?’ I’d come up with an explanation but it was pretty far-fetched.
‘Like I said, you’ll see. It really is easier to show you.’
I planned to hold him to that. ‘The grandmarms? Are you Lena Matheson’s great-grandson?’
‘Great grandnephew. Not that being a direct descendant makes me any more or less important than anyone else in the community. Everyone calls them the grandmarms.’
We stopped at a door with the number zero on it, gold on white. The door opened for us, leading into a wide oval room whose walls consisted of wrap-around screens. I was aware of people, and furniture, scattered around, but the view projected across the curved wall in front of me demanded my attention. The Rainfall comet filled half the room, its surface black and glossy in the sunlight; behind it I glimpsed the red curve of Mars.
‘O-kay,’ I said slowly. ‘I’m guessing this is what you wanted to show me, but I could use some context.’
‘At the risk of sounding pretentious, you’re looking at a real-time feed of history in the making. Can you see the landers?’
‘Those bright points?’ What looked like two drops of mercury were visible on the comet’s dark surface, one near the top, the other at the bottom.
Before Sam could reply a voice called out, ‘Imp One payload away.’
I looked over to the speaker, a woman who sat at the oval table in the centre of the room, manipulating a 3-D display. A man sat opposite her, also working hard on what looked like projected trajectories flanked by columns of figures. In the middle of the table sat the Eye of Heaven.
I pointed. ‘What’s that doing here?’
‘I’ll explain in a minute,’ whispered Sam. ‘You need to watch now.’
The top bright point was spreading. Recalling my recent experience with the camouflaged flyer I asked, ‘You’re dissolving the nanowrap?’
The woman spoke again. ‘Imp Two dis-cat also away.’ That answered my question. The Deimons were about to unwrap Everlight’s shrink-wrapped dirty snowball.
A second pale patch appeared at the bottom, spreading over the comet’s pitted surface. My brain was chugging away, trying to work out the how and the why, even as I watched the comet being revealed before my eyes. I also registered the noise in here: a murmur of terse commands and information exchange between the dozen or so people working on consoles and displays around the room; and something else, an odd rhythmic beep phasing in and out of the susurrus of voices.
It only took a couple of minutes for the two pale patches to meet. A minute more and what had been a black spiky shape was a grey-white spiky shape.
The man at the table spoke again, ‘Switching Imp functions; prepping for burn.’
I turned to Sam, who was grinning like a loon. ‘Now you’ve unwrapped Everlight’s prize comet, what exactly do you plan to do with it?’
‘Drive it into the atmosphere. The landers become pushers. Some of it will sublime, hopefully enough to up the atmospheric water content a little bit.’
‘And the rest?’
‘The bulk of the comet will land in the Helles Basin.’
The MTT had a clause stating that, at some unspecified future point, the participating interests would crash-land enough water onto Mars to form a liquid sea. Helles, lowest point on the planet just as Olympus was the highest, was the obvious place for this, which was why no one was allowed to live there.
‘And you’re sure it’ll make landfall in Helles?’
‘We’ve planned this with a lot of care.’
He’d claimed that about stealing the Eye of Heaven. But that had relied on people who were not what they seemed. I was pretty sure the Deimons were exactly what they seemed. This place reminded me of the LunaFree Community, though cleaner and less crowded. ‘It’s still going to be… disruptive.’
‘We’ve run a lot of simulations. It’ll be coming in slow, and this isn’t Earth, with high grav and a dense atmosphere; there’s no risk of the old dinosaur-killer scenario. Worst case, we trigger some sandstorms. But rather than have people panic, we’ve told everyone what we’re doing.’
‘I bet Everlight were pleased.’
‘There’s nothing they can do about it now.’
‘So the plan was always to let Everlight bring in a comet which you’d then steal?’ And there was me thin
king I’d pulled off an impressive heist with the Eye.
‘We’re not stealing it, we’re… redistributing it.’
‘Very altruistic. I’m surprised Everlight didn’t put in countermeasures.’
‘They had no idea we could do it.’
‘I don’t think anyone did. This is a game-changer.’
‘We hope so. But that’s not what I meant. I mean, they didn’t think we had the technology.’
The penny dropped. ‘You – I mean your founders – came up with the original nanowrap formula didn’t you?’
‘Uh-huh.’ He was still smiling.
‘But not the dis-cat to dissolve it.’
‘Right again. Everlight kept tight control of that tech. If we’d tried bringing the comet down while it was wrapped then we could’ve been looking at the disaster movie scenario after all. We needed to free the water. Allow Rainfall to, well, rain down.’
‘And how did you get hold of the dis-cat formula for the nanowrap?’
‘You stole it for us.’
I looked over at the speaker, and saw that the woman at the table had pushed her display to one side. She was Caucasian and about my mother’s age. Her open expression and plain features, combined with her oatmeal-coloured shift, reminded me of some peasant worker used to toiling in a field, though as a low-grav native she didn’t have the build for that. I wasn’t fooled about what was on the inside either: hard determination shone in those soft brown eyes. ‘Why don’t you come and sit down?’ She gestured to the free seats around the table.
‘All right.’ The Deimons had done nothing to deserve my suspicion. Unless you counted upsetting the geopolitical balance of the solar system, but that wasn’t personal. ‘Thanks.’
As I approached I glanced behind me: the rear half of the room-screen showed a star field. A floating golden zero marked the exit.
‘I’m Marcia. Pleased to meet you, Lizzie.’ She gestured in welcome but didn’t offer her hand; I saw now that it was gloved, or possibly augmented, with interface tech. I suspected the steel behind her eyes wasn’t entirely metaphorical.
