by Allen Steele
Ezra ignored the last as he took a seat across the table. “I’ve just been in touch with Joan. She, Otho, and Curt are aboard a maglev to the Tharsis region, and according to her, Curt has made contact with someone who may connect him with Ul Quorn.”
“I received much the same message just a little while ago,” Simon said. “From Curt.”
“You’re in touch with him?”
“I can always reach him. He has a neural implant like everyone else, but he doesn’t necessarily require a public Anni node to use it. He has another means of communicating with me.”
“That ring he wears?” Ezra asked, and was secretly pleased to see Simon’s eyestalks visibly twitch. “Ain’t hard to guess. When it looks like he’s linkin’, you can sometimes see him looking at his ring.”
“Very observant. Yes, his ring serves as an independent Anni node. He inherited it from his late father, and through it he can access virtually any communication system. What’s more, as long as he keeps it on his finger, it serves as a convenient means of tracking his movements as well. So we’re not dependent on local nodes to keep in touch with each other.”
“That’s good to know,” Ezra said, “and I appreciate your sharing it with me, ’cause I’d give odds that this is some sort of trap. Joan says this same lady followed her and Otho all the way from here, and that she waited till Curt was on his own before she sidled up to him.” He gave Simon a sly wink. “Apparently she’s a looker, too. That always helps.”
“Curt isn’t affected by feminine beauty,” Simon said coldly.
“Uh-huh. I’ll let Joan know. I’m sure she’ll be surprised.” Ezra leaned back in his chair and folded his arms together. “In any case, if this is indeed a trap, it may lead them straight to Ul Quorn. In that case, it’ll be to our advantage if we’re able to pinpoint your boy’s location and communicate directly with him.”
“I agree,” the Brain said. “I’m able to interface directly with the Comet’s navigation and communications equipment, so this should increase our range. And once this is done, I can interface directly with Vigilance’s mission intelligence systems. I assume this is what you want, yes?”
“Bull’s-eye.” Ezra cocked a forefinger at him and fired it like a gun. “And I assure you, if it appears that he and the others may be in trouble, the IPF and Solar Guard have authority under President Carthew to move in at once.”
“I appreciate that, Marshal. If there’s any reason to get in touch with you—”
“Don’t be afraid to ask.”
“I shan’t.” Simon’s impellors whirred again, and he rose from the table. “Well, if that’s all you’d like to talk to me about—”
“Ah, yeah, there is just one thing.” Ezra leaned forward in his seat and, clasping his hands together on the tabletop, stared directly at the Brain. “Senator Corvo’s ship from Earth is scheduled to arrive here within the next hour or so, and shortly after that he’s scheduled to shuttle down to the surface. His official itinerary calls for him to spend his time in Xanthe Terra, but if there’s a tie between him and Ul Quorn, I have little doubt that they’ll find a way to meet up. If they do, that’s sufficient cause for us to move in for an arrest.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s possible.” There was just a touch of reticence in Simon’s voice.
“In that case, I hope Curt remembers that he’s been deputized as a special operative for the IPF, and that apprehending Ul Quorn and placing him and Senator Corvo under arrest takes precedence over any notions of revenge.” As he spoke, Ezra let his smile fade and replaced it with a meaningful stare. “He may call himself Captain Future, but I don’t want no heroics.”
“You’ll have our utmost cooperation, Marshal Gurney.”
“Call me Ezra.” A grin and another wink, just to take the edge off what he’d just said.
“We’ll be in touch.” The Brain continued floating his way toward the manhole leading to the flight deck. “Grag, will you show our guest to the airlock, please?”
The moonpup was waiting for them when Grag led Ezra back down to the ready-room. The marshal paused to give Eek—what a name!—a scratch behind the ears, then he stepped through the airlock hatches and out onto the gangway. He’d nearly reached the hangar door when a sudden thought gave him reason to pause and turn back around again.
The Comet rested on its landing gear within the hangar, its blunt nose pointed upward at the closed ceiling hatch. It would not be able to lift off without anyone knowing about it … or at least it couldn’t if it was a normal vessel. But Joan had already informed him that the little racing yacht possessed some sort of invisibility device, and if that was so …
He’d better keep an eye on the hangar. Just to be safe.
V
Straddling the equator west of the Valles Marineris are the Tharsis Montes, three volcanoes that came into being above a tectonic hot spot during Mars’s early history. With Olympus Mons, the largest volcano in the solar system, towering above the Amazonis Planitia, farther away to the northwest, the three smaller yet no less significant volcanoes forming a chain known as the Tharsis Ridge are Arsia Mons, southwest of the equator; Pavonis Mons, at zero degrees longitude; and Ascraeus Mons to the northeast.
Like a row of fire-breathing dragons who’d long ago gone to sleep, the Tharsis Ridge is a reminder that Mars was once an active, living planet. This is underscored by the presence of lava tubes. The lowlands are riddled with enormous, rimless pits resembling sinkholes except much larger, each plunging deep underground as openings to broad tunnels through which lava once flowed. The nearby volcanoes have gone extinct, but in ancient times the tubes allowed molten rock to escape beneath the surface during eruptions, exploding into the open many miles away.
Back then, lava tubes functioned much like relief valves for volcanoes. Many millions of years later, terrans and aresians found a new purpose for them.
The maglev made only a brief, ten-minute stop at Tharsis Station before proceeding on its westward course toward Amazonis Planitia. About twenty passengers disembarked from the train; Curt, Otho, and Joan were among them. They lingered on the elevated platform just long enough for their goggles and masks to get blasted by a faceful of red sand kicked up by the maglev’s rushed departure, then Curt turned to look around.
Several miles away, Ascraeus Mons loomed to the north, a massive rock wall rising thirty thousand feet above the surrounding terrain. From this direction it didn’t resemble a traditional volcano so much as it did a low, eroded mountain; its caldera was invisible from where Curt stood. But that wasn’t what drew his attention.
A little less than a mile from the station, a dirt road led to what appeared to be a giant anthill, a conical structure seventy feet tall and nearly six hundred feet wide, with several rows of slotlike windows along its rammed-dirt walls. Fat-wheeled cars and trucks traveled along the road leading to it, surrounded by windmills, solar and antenna farms, greenhouses, a landfill, and a small aircraft landing field. Several miles to the west, they could see stacks of another atmosphere plant upon the horizon, rising between Ascraeus Mons and Pavonis Mons.
When the first aresians moved out of the enclosed cities inhabited by terrans to start their own settlements, they borrowed a form of architecture from their Chinese ancestors: the tolou, a doughnut-shaped building in the countryside built by peasant collectives who then lived there as clans. The aresians discovered that tolous were particularly suitable for living on a desert world, especially since they could be built above lava tubes and therefore provide not only windbreaks and additional living space, but also access to underground aquifers from which potable water could be distilled.
As the terraforming project began picking up speed and atmosphere plants began to spread out along the equator, tolous were built by aresians working to tame the Martian wilderness. Now there were a dozen or more, connected to one another by a network of roads and maglev lines.
The Ascraeus tolou was their destination, the place from which the ares
ian who’d tried to sabotage the Comet, and presumably President Carthew’s would-be assassin, had come. If all worked well, this was also the place where Curt and the others would find someone who’d lead them to Ul Quorn.
Stairs led down from the station platform to a small parking area. Their fellow passengers were already there, climbing into cars that would carry them the rest of the way to the tolou. Curt caught a brief glimpse of N’Rala climbing into the back of what appeared to be a three-wheeled rickshaw peddled by a young aresian. She glanced up at the platform and for an instant their eyes met, then N’Rala gave Curt a sly smile before turning away to say something to the driver. He nodded and stood up on his pedals, and the cab began to pull away from the station.
“Your new girlfriend is hot,” Otho said.
“She’s not—” Curt began, then noticed the laugh lines around his friend’s eyes and the amused way with which Joan was regarding him. “Aw, shut up,” he said, and bent over to pick up his bag. “Let’s hurry and get another cab before they’re all taken.”
Curt had dressed in layers when he’d woken up earlier this morning, putting on the gear Otho had brought him from the Comet and covering it with a sweater and his parka, and that meant he was able to abandon the smaller of the two bags he’d carried aboard the maglev. Together with Otho and Joan, the three of them looked like what they were pretending to be: young adventure travelers from Earth, using the maglev to see the sights of the red planet without resorting to package tours and the like.
—Simon, are you there? Curt asked.
—I’m here, Curtis. The Brain’s voice sounded a little faint; he was apparently reaching him through a weak Anni node. —I’m tracking you, Otho, and Joan.
—Good. Try to keep a fix on us—and if we move from this location or I give you the signal, you know what to do.
There was a pause. He and the Brain had discussed their options last night, in private, without Otho or Joan tapping into their Anni link. Simon didn’t like what Curt had come up with, but they’d agreed it was only to be used as a last, desperate measure.
—I understand, Simon said at last, and I’ll await your signal. But … think twice before you do this, all right?
—I will, Curt replied, and let it go at that.
Ten minutes later, a cab dropped them at the tolou’s main entrance, a keyhole door with mandarin ideograms inscribed in the red sandstone wall above it. There was no airlock, only a bamboo door that pushed aside on well-oiled hinges. Curt led the others through a short, dimly lit passageway that cut through the structure’s thick outer walls, and suddenly they found themselves within the tolou’s interior.
From the inside, the habitat resembled an immense drum that had been laid to rest above a deep hole and had its skins removed. The tolou was about six hundred feet in diameter, the same width as the lava tube entrance above which it had been erected, and had three tiers of covered balconies around its circumference. Beneath this lay a shaft approximately eight hundred feet deep, separated from the tolou by a natural stone ledge that ran around the edge of the pit. More tiers had been carved out of the rock walls along the sides of the pit, while narrow suspension bridges arranged every other tier provided easy access from one side to the other. At the bottom of the pit, a broad courtyard surrounded what appeared to be a groundwater pool fed by runoff from gutters spiraling down the surrounding walls; in this way, morning dew forming on the balcony eaves was collected as drinking water.
Everywhere he looked, Curt saw aresians. Mars natives dressed in handwoven serapes and hooded capes strolled along the walkways and relaxed on balconies, while their children chased each other from one tier to the next. The tolou walls reverberated with the echoes of their voices. There were nearly no terrans to be seen. In fact, Curt began to notice the curious glances being cast in their direction, along with a few hostile glares.
“Perhaps we ought to find the inn where we’re staying.” Joan had noticed the same thing; her voice was low and wary.
“I agree.” Otho looked around, saw a young aresian walking in their direction. “Pardon me, sir, but would you—?”
The aresian muttered something obscene and stalked past them. The next resident to walk by was only slightly more welcoming; at least she didn’t say anything nasty. It wasn’t until Otho and Curt both stepped in front of a local and politely but firmly demanded directions to the inn that they were grudgingly told where it was located, on the opposite side of the tolou, up on the third tier.
“Not very hospitable, are they?” Curt remarked.
“No,” Joan said quietly, “and there’s a reason for that.” She pointed to the wall beside them. “Look.”
Painted in bright orange on the sandstone wall beside the entrance was a symbol Curt hadn’t noticed until then: a circle with a small pair of horns at its top and an equally small cruciform at its bottom. He recognized it immediately as the ancient Greek symbol for the planet Mercury … otherwise known as the Starry Messenger.
Curt raised his left hand and removed his glove, allowing his ring to be exposed. He held it up to the wall. —Are you seeing this, Simon? he asked softly.
—I am indeed. It’s obviously there to serve notice that this tolou is under Starry Messenger protection.
“Oh, nice.” Otho rolled his eyes as he caught sight of the symbol. “So much for a warm welcome.”
“I don’t care if they like us or not. All I want is Ul Quorn.” Curt dropped his hand and turned away from the wall. “C’mon … the day’s getting late. Let’s go to the inn and park our bags, and then find the King and Queen of the Desert.”
VI
The Ascraeus Oasis, the inn where they were staying, was located on the tolou’s highest tier, nearly nine hundred feet above the pit floor. Their rooms were pressurized to Earth-normal and warmer than the ambient temperature of most aresian domiciles; the inn was one of the few places in the tolou built to accommodate offworld visitors. Curt, Joan, and Otho enjoyed the luxury of being able to remove their masks and respirators for a little while. After ordering food and drink, they took turns napping and using the shower, with Joan given the privacy of a separate room.
By evening the three of them were fed, rested, changed into fresh clothes, and ready to find the King and Queen of the Desert. The innkeeper—another terran, a short and rotund gent with a Santa Claus beard—seemed surprised that anyone would want to go there. When Curt asked for directions at the front desk, he shook his head. “Not a place you want to visit, son. I’ve got a nice bar here. If you and your friends stay, the first round is on the house.” But he reluctantly gave directions to the nearest elevator, with the parting advice to have a quick drink and leave before the regulars noticed them.
The tavern was located on the tolou floor, at the bottom of the pit above which the settlement had been built. The elevator that carried them there was open-sided, little more than a wooden stall that traveled up and down the shaft on nanofilament cables. Night had fallen, and as they made the ride down, lanterns were coming to life along the balconies and crosswalks, turning the tolou into a barrel lined with multicolored lights.
The King and Queen of the Desert could have been a beer joint anywhere, except that it had been excavated from the pit’s rock walls with a wooden façade out front. As Curt and the others stepped off the elevator and walked toward the tavern, he noticed a tunnel in the wall on the other side of the pit. It was a good guess that this was the entrance to the lava tube. The entrance was barred by a gate, but what appeared to be light fixtures suspended from the tunnel’s rock ceiling led away into an unknown distance.
—Simon, is there any indication how far back the lava tube goes? he asked.
The pause that followed was unexpectedly long, and when he finally heard the Brain, his voice was faint. —I’m sorry, Curtis, but I’m having trouble receiving you. The node you’re using is—
Abruptly, there was nothing but silence.
Curt stopped, looked at Otho. “I’ve jus
t lost Simon,” he said quietly. “Try your Anni, see if you can reach him.”
Otho nodded. While Curt and Joan waited, he lowered his face and closed his eyes. A few moments passed, then he looked up again. “Not getting through. Not a peep from Anni, either.”
“Same here,” Joan said. “Something’s interfering with our uplink.”
Beneath his airmask, Curt frowned. This could simply be a natural consequence of being so far underground, but the fact that he’d heard the Brain at all, even for only a couple of seconds, made him suspect that their neural-net interfaces were being deliberately jammed. Someone didn’t want them to have contact with the outside world.
“We’re on our own,” he said quietly. The others nodded, yet there was little they could do about it except find out what awaited them inside the tavern.
On the other side of a solid-looking door was a large, dimly lit room with battered furniture, a couple of billiards tables, and a bar running the length of the far wall. There was no airlock or any other concessions to offworlders. As soon as Curt, Otho, and Joan walked in, every eye in the place turned toward them, and save for the shrill sound of aresian music—flutes, drums, and sitars played serpentine harmony by a group squatting on rugs in the corner—for an instant it seemed as if the entire room paused to take a deep breath.
“You ever get the feeling you’re not welcome?” Otho said softly.
“No … do you?” Joan gave him a sidelong glance, and then crooked her arm through Curt’s elbow. “C’mon … buy a lady a drink.”
Curt said nothing. He wasn’t about to admit to her that this was only the second time he’d been in a bar. He very seldom drank, and in most places he was underage anyway. He caught a slight nod from Otho giving him tacit permission to do so, though, and he’d just started to walk Joan to the bar when someone moved to block their way.
“Guns,” he growled.
“Pardon me?” Curt asked.
The figure standing before them was a jovian, not quite as tall as the average aresian but more than twice as wide, with arms as thick as his legs and a black beard falling to the middle of his massive chest. He glared at Curt with smoldering dark eyes that suggested there was little he’d like to do more than break his neck and throw his body out into the desert.
