The Infinity Trap

by Ian C Douglas

  Albie continued, “Fusion cells leaking. Fire is ninety three percent probable.”

  Zeke struggled to undo his safety harness. His shoulder was wet and his left hand throbbing. He summoned all his willpower and pushed the pain from his mind. He turned to Scuff.

  “COME ON!”

  Scuff was slumped away from him, motionless.

  “SCUFF WE’VE GOT TO GO!”

  Scuff remained silent and still. Anger surged through Zeke’s body.

  “THIS IS NO TIME TO SULK! BLAME ME LATER!”

  Zeke sidled towards his friend, fuming at his attitude. In the flickering light, he saw Scuff’s face. The Canadian was unconscious. Blood was trickling down his bruised cheeks.

  Time froze.

  Yes, you did this. Now you save him.

  A burning smell clawed at Zeke’s nostrils.

  “Albie, what should I do?”

  “Suggest withdrawal to unidentified building. Six hundred and fifty yards at two o’clock. Utilise emergency kit to maximize survival.”

  “What kit?”

  A box beneath the console popped open.

  “Thanks, Albie.”

  “Master Zeke, circuits contaminated. Must close to avoid irreparable—”

  Albie’s tinny voice died.

  Desperately, Zeke rifled the kit and plucked out the night vision goggles. Would they see through a sand blizzard as well as the dark? He pushed on the fractured windscreen. It didn’t budge. The cockpit was heating up. An image of the two of them in flames seared through Zeke’s brain.

  Don’t panic, warned his inner voice.

  With all his strength he pressed against the windscreen. Again zilch.

  Think Fool!

  The latch! Zeke reached across and tugged at the lever. The windscreen half opened. The storm ripped into the cockpit. At least the goggles kept the sand out of his eyes.

  “Urgh!” he grunted, throwing an aching shoulder against the glass. Inch by inch he forced back the screen. Next he knelt down and unbuckled Scuff. He feared he was making his friend’s injuries worse by moving him, but they had to get out. An acrid reek of melting plastic was filling the Admiral.

  Straining beneath Scuff’s weight Zeke lifted him up and out. Next, Zeke clambered up into the roaring weather. He lowered Scuff onto the ground. Jumping down, Zeke hoisted Scuff over his shoulders and staggered a few steps. His knees buckled under the weight. He just wasn’t strong enough. It was useless.

  “SCUFF WAKE UP!”

  No response.

  Come on, use that brain!

  The gyro seats! He dived back into the cockpit. Frantically he reached underneath the upholstery, searching for the lever that would release his chair. The console was giving off enough heat to fry eggs. There was the lever! He tossed the freed seat out of the wreckage.

  Wait!

  Wait for what? Of course, the emergency kit! He hastily emptied its contents into his backpack. One more precious thing needed saving. Albie! He prised Albie’s disc from the hot machinery and dropped that in too. Flames erupted. In his haste to get out Zeke gashed his thigh against the broken glass of the windscreen.

  Out in the deafening, battering, stinging wind Zeke flattened out the seat. It became a sled with Scuff secured in its safety harness. But which way was the building? Albie had said two o’clock. If the nose of the gyro was twelve then two had to be in that direction.

  “Kshgthgaa!” he cursed.

  He had nothing to pull Scuff’s seat. The only way to move was backwards, bending over the seat and tugging by the harness. The discomfort added to his pain.

  Serves you right.

  Zeke trudged off in what he hoped was the right direction. He took one last look at the red admiral. Flames were dancing from the cockpit. Then the storm obscured it forever.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Location unknown

  The sandstorm gnawed at his face. Pain raced from his wrist to his shoulder. His back ached from the constant bending and the cut in his thigh throbbed. But Zeke didn’t cry. The sight of his unconscious friend stalled any tears.

  Zeke straightened his back and checked their bearings. He could see nothing but swirling sand through the green phosphor of his NVGs. But a miniature radar inside the goggles was registering a building-sized bleep.

  An outline formed through the dust clouds. That was it! With renewed energy Zeke grabbed the reins of the seat and hurried on.

  He came to a steel-ringed entrance. An airlock. This meant the place predated Martian terra-forming and had to be over a hundred years old. But the airlock was wide open. Zeke’s heart sunk. Was the structure abandoned?

  He hauled his friend through the depressurisation chamber into a ready room. As Zeke left the storm behind his NVGs began functioning more clearly. He could make out the pegs where pressure suits once hung. Each peg had a name card.

  A long corridor littered with debris ran away into pea-coloured darkness.

  “HELLO!” Zeke shouted. He listened keenly for a reply. None came, other than the moaning of the gale.

  It was still too windy. He pulled Scuff through the nearest door into some kind of office. A large empty desk dominated the room and there were shelves and filing cabinets. The windows were shuttered. A thick layer of dirt covered everything.

  Zeke closed the door. At last relief from the elements. He retraced his steps through the filth to his friend.

  Scuff made a pathetic sight. His hair was matted with sand and blood. His face was dirty and swollen.

  “What have I done to you?”

  A terrible thought suddenly gripped Zeke. How did he know Scuff wasn’t dead? Zeke threw himself down and placed a hand on Scuff’s chest. With a sigh of relief Zeke found a steady rise and fall. He examined the head wound. The bleeding had stopped, in fact the airborne sand had helped it clot.

  Next Zeke sorted through his backpack.

  “Rotten second-hand survival kits!” he cursed.

  There was no rescue beacon, nor any medical supplies or food. It did contain a foil blanket which he tucked over Scuff. Other than this, most of the items were useless: a bottle opener, a cigarette lighter, cards and toiletries.

  “What kind of emergency are these for?” Zeke wondered aloud.

  CLICK.

  Zeke wheeled round. The door had shut! Yet hadn’t he already closed it? Zeke leapt to the door and opened it. He peered down the corridor into the darkness. No one.

  “HELLO? ANYONE THERE?”

  Nothing stirred but the sand, billowing in from outside. Obviously the door had simply blown ajar. Zeke was letting his imagination run away with itself. He turned back into the room and stopped dead in his tracks.

  A book was sitting on the desk. But when he had first entered the room the desktop was bare. An icy sensation crawled the length of Zeke’s spine. He checked the corridor a second time. Gloom, drifting sand, broken sticks of furniture, and nothing alive.

  Zeke closed the door very tightly. Peering through his NVG’s he inspected the book. It was leather bound and embossed on the front.

  Beagle UK Research Station Logbook. Year 2090

  Zeke skimmed through the handwritten pages. It was exactly as it said on the cover, the journal of a research team stationed there one hundred and sixty odd years before. Most of the daily entries were signed by a Dr Tom Ganister and recorded the various experiments by his colleagues. Occasionally the handwriting changed, when a Dr Jed Wiley or a Dr Veronica Skye took turns to pen the reports.

  That lump of ice seemed to have lodged at the base of Zeke’s skull. There was something spooky about reading the words of the long dead. He glanced at the door. It remained as he left it.

  He continued flicking through the well-thumbed pages. An unusually short entry caught his attention.

  July 12th

  This is the most amazing day of my life! Silverman and Welt found something.

  They were digging for possible uranium deposits, after the Geiger counter picked up high r
adiation. Instead they unearthed a perfectly formed stone sphere carved with unfathomable markings. Something made, not natural.

  The entire team are buzzing. Have we uncovered evidence of Martians? This discovery could change everything!

  Dr Tom Ganister.

  Zeke wolf-whistled softly. Had he stumbled on a record of the finding of the first ever Hesperian artefact? And it sounded very much like the Orb of Words. This journal might be of tremendous historical significance.

  A noise outside disturbed Zeke’s concentration. Just the weather, he told himself and returned to tattered pages.

  The entries became more irregular after July twelfth. Pages were torn out, others were heavily stained. Zeke picked one at random.

  Aug 2nd

  The sphere’s missing! Wheeler went to lab 4 after breakfast and the containment unit was empty. Unlocked! I’ve searched the base and nothing. It has to be stolen, but who? And why?

  “Uhhh…”

  Zeke dropped the book in fright. It was only Scuff, vomiting onto the floor. Zeke knelt beside him.

  “How are you feeling, um, bro?”

  “Like a meteor impact crater…crashed.”

  He slumped back into unconsciousness. If only they had water and food. Zeke cursed their bad luck. They were trapped in a remote location in a hurricane which could last days. Scuff had a serious concussion. And it was all Zeke’s fault.

  Think, think!

  Could there be anything salvageable in the station? Dr Ganister’s team had lived there one and a half centuries before. But maybe others had been there in the ensuing years? Supposing there was some food to be left behind? After all, organic matter lasted much longer on Mars, due to the low levels of bacteria, fungi and humidity. A brief image of his mummified body being found by future explorers sneaked into Zeke’s mind.

  “Where’s my stiff upper lip when I need it!”

  Zeke made a mental list of what to look for: preserved foods, bottled water, a radio, a heat source. He propped Scuff on his side, in case he threw up again. Zeke took a deep breath and left the office.

  ~~~

  The corridor branched out in two opposing directions. Zeke rubbed the grime from a sign on the wall. To the left were the laboratories and research facilities. To the right were the living quarters and kitchen. That sounded more promising.

  The passage was cluttered with all kinds of junk. Zeke squeezed around broken chairs, wooden crates, bits of machinery. What on Earth, or rather, what on Mars had happened here? Perhaps gangs from the mining companies had ransacked the place. Zeke had been on the planet long enough to know of their terrible reputation. Or had the citizens from Gagarin Freetown stripped the valuables? Living in the bleak Mariners Valley taught everyone the value of recycling.

  He focused his NVGs through an open doorway. The interior was nothing but a murky emptiness. Another sign proclaimed this was the kitchen.

  Don’t go in!

  Zeke suppressed his inner voice. There was no such things as bogeymen, ghosts or…well, now he came to think of it, there were Martians. Zeke had come face to face with the Dust Devil. If that had survived through the millennia, who knows what else had?

  “Anyone there? I come in, um, peace.”

  Silence. Even the wailing of the storm had faded. Zeke reminded himself of Scuff’s injury and stepped into the blackness.

  The vague shapes of storage containers and refrigerators emerged from the nothingness. His foot kicked against something metal that skidded away. Probably a cooking utensil.

  Zeke swung slowly round, trying to make sense of the jumbled scene. Then, there among the straight lines of the kitchen, he spied something curved. Something crouching in a corner. Something with eyes.

  Zeke fled. He scrambled back down the passage, banging against the maze of hardware. His heart was in his throat. His lungs worked overtime. He raced back to the main corridor.

  THUMP!

  Zeke ran head first into a huge, shadowy figure.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The Abandoned Research Station

  The broad shape pinned Zeke’s arms to his ribcage. With only his legs free Zeke kicked like a mule.

  “Stop struggling or I’ll smack you.”

  He gazed into the face of his assailant. Even though the man’s eyes were hidden behind NVG’s, Zeke recognised the moustache and strong cheekbones.

  “Lieutenant Doughty?”

  “One and the same, boy.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Doughty released his iron grip. “Rescuing you. And why the hell are you running like that?”

  “There’s something after me. A monster.”

  They both glanced down the dark corridor. Nothing.

  “The storm’s got you spooked, kiddo.”

  “How did you find us?”

  “Radar. Ultra-wideband of course. Capable of detecting a flea up a dog’s backside from fifty miles.”

  “I have to get to the Noctis Labyrinthis.”

  “Then meet the Noctis Labyrinthis express.”

  Zeke’s jaw dropped.

  “Young man, I’m putting a stop to Magma’s plot.”

  Finally! Someone believed him.

  “So where’s the fat boy?”

  “In there. Concussion.”

  “I see. Best we leave him here. I’ll radio his coordinates back to HQ. They’ll send a med team.”

  “Lieutenant Doughty, Sir, we can’t leave Scuff behind.”

  “Where we’re going is too dangerous for an invalid. He stays.”

  Zeke’s mind raced. The future of all mankind depended on stopping Magma. What was more important than that? Yet could he leave his best friend, alone and injured, in this ill-fated ruin?

  “Sir, I’d better stay. I’m responsible for Scuff’s condition.”

  Doughty was silent for a moment. Zeke gazed into the blank NVGs and wondered what the soldier was thinking.

  “Never leave a comrade behind. Very commendable. Come on then, my Bronto’s outside. The fastest, toughest transport on Mars.”

  ~~~

  Zeke half-expected a robotic dinosaur as he helped Scuff stagger outside. Instead he found a gigantic torpedo-shaped vehicle on caterpillar tracks.

  “Open up,” Doughty barked above the choking winds.

  A circular hatch slid across. The boys climbed into a warm chamber heavy with the smells of coffee and bacon. They collapsed onto a soft, welcoming couch.

  “This is the ready room. To the back is the fusion core. I’d keep out of there if I were you. Up front is the Bridge. You fix yourselves some rations while I get cruise control sorted.”

  Doughty squeezed himself out through the bulkheads.

  “Food! Now!” Scuff snorted.

  “You’re clearly on the road to recovery.” Zeke smiled and busied himself in the kitchen. A low pumping noise reverberated through the steel walls before a sudden lurch threw Zeke against the cold fusion oven.

  “We’re off then!” he said.

  “FOOD!”

  Soon they were devouring toasted bacon sandwiches.

  Scuff eyed Zeke angrily. “Strictly speaking, I’m not speaking to you, bro. You nearly killed me.”

  Zeke lowered his head. “You’re totally right. I made a pig’s ear of the whole thing.”

  “A pig’s ass is a better comparison, don’t you think?”

  “Is there anything I can do to make it up?”

  Scuff chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful. “I’ll let you know when I think of something. In the meantime I forgive you, seeing we’re on a mission to save mankind.”

  Zeke sighed with relief. “How’s the head wound?”

  “Tender as a newborn babe. Do I look anywhere near as bad as you?”

  Zeke observed his reflection in his knife. His clothes were spotted with blood and his cheeks were raw, as though scrubbed with sandpaper. “I cut my thigh in the crash, but it’s not serious. The sandstorm burned our faces.”

  Doughty c
alled to them. Gulping down the last of the grub they hurried to the Bridge.

  “Wow!” Zeke cried, gawping at all the beeping and bleeping hardware. Although the Bridge was smaller than he expected, it was clearly state of the art. Doughty sat before a series of screens, digital, infra red, thermal, radar, sonar and several more beyond Zeke’s knowledge. Everywhere else was crammed with computers. Doughty glanced at them impatiently.

  “Take these nano-pills to speed up the healing process. You boys have some nasty scratches. And these green ones are painkillers.”

  The boys swallowed the drugs.

  “Why is it called a Bronto?” Scuff enquired.

  “Biometric Rapid Overland Environmental Theatre of Operations.”

  “That doesn’t spell Bronto, Captain,” Scuff replied.

  Doughty gave him a cold look. “There’s an N in environment, I believe, and it’s Lieutenant.”

  “Pardon me, Mr Lieutenant, SIR!” Scuff gave a sarcastic salute.

  “What does biometric mean?” Zeke said, hastily changing the subject.

  “This Bronto only responds to me, my retinal scans, my DNA or my voice patterns. In case of capture the enemy can’t do squat with it.”

  “Cool.”

  Scuff had more questions. “So why were you tracking—” but before he could finish a yawn overwhelmed him.

  “Two naughty runaway boys? I’ve had Zeke under surveillance since we first met.”

  Zeke frowned. Doughty’s tone wasn’t as friendly as usual. Scuff was obviously annoying him. Scuff annoyed a lot of people. Zeke shifted uneasily.

  “Scuff. We ought to thank Leopold for saving our—”

  Scuff dropped like a brick onto the floor.

  “He’s sick!” Zeke shouted.

  “Not at all, healthy as a barnyard animal. It’s the knockout drops.”

  Their eyes met. Zeke’s brain couldn’t process the words he was hearing.

  “Knockout drops?”

  Doughty gave a sadistic smirk. “Three, two, one and good-night.”

  Zeke felt himself falling into a bottomless pit. Then came unconsciousness.

  ~~~

  For a sickening moment Zeke thought he was in a coffin. Then he realised it was a kind of sleeping berth. He was lying on a hard mattress, with the upper bunk a few inches above his head. To his right was a porthole, revealing the orange haze outside. On his left was a long hatch. He pushed it back and slipped out into a narrow aisle lined with more berths. This led back to the Ready Room.