Doom 3™: Maelstrom

by Matthew Costello

  “Yes, last year.”

  His father looked up. “I heard you had…an accident?”

  Ian smiled, betraying nothing. Jesus, he knows about that, too. “Someone went buggy. Fired a gun. Flesh wound. Nothing too big.”

  “Not too big, eh? The wound—or the fact that someone snapped? And maybe more have ‘snapped’ since then?”

  “It is…a problem. Not too sure what’s going on there.”

  “You have Campbell there now? That’s good. And your lawyer—”

  “Elliot Swann.”

  “He’ll at least be able to deal with damage control, if needed. But—where is the Armada?”

  The Armada?

  Ian had to wonder why his father was asking about that. Like most of the off-Earth operations, the Armada was a joint US and UAC venture. Technology and the actual engineering of the ships themselves—that all came from the UAC, while the staffing and most of the financing came from the government. The six interplanetary ships of various sizes patrolled the solar system, ostensibly for scientific and exploratory purposes. But they also served notice on any countries who imagined that the UAC didn’t control space as well.

  “The Armada is near Jupiter, and there is one small cruiser, the Centauri, in exploratory orbit above Europa. We have—”

  “Call them back.”

  “What?”

  “You want them closer. To Mars. Leave that one ship near Europa, but the other ships should prepare to rendezvous closer to Mars and Earth.”

  “That will raise questions.”

  “So? You…you need to answer questions? Since when?”

  Ian nodded. He could send an order through the military command in Colorado. The President would haul out the rubber stamp, not daring to question the move at all. The military high command might want to balk, but would they have the balls?

  “Just get the Armada closer, Ian. Until you find out what’s really going on…on Mars. Until you have your final reports. If you have to shut down the labs, if you have to remove people, if you have to make sure no one talks—you can’t leave that to Hayden and a few squads of space marines.”

  “So, in other words, make it seem like something routine. An exercise of some kind.” He took a breath. Then Ian Kelliher stood up in the great room. “I best get back.” He took a few steps away from the table, then turned around. “Thank you. And stay well—”

  “One more thing.”

  “Yes.”

  “What about…Ballard?”

  The undersea lab? Why was his father asking about that? “Nothing much new there. They continue their experiments, both those that are for public knowledge, and those that are not. But—”

  His father raised his right hand, levitating it with difficulty from the armrest of the chair, a single finger pointing.

  “There is something important there, Ian. Something that may be an even bigger secret…than what you have found with these experiments on Mars.”

  “How do you know that? They haven’t—”

  “Know? I don’t know it. But I do still have my instincts. The same ones—” Another barrage of coughs. His father waited. Then: “The same ones that led to the creation of the UAC. There is something ancient there. Don’t just forget them. Make sure that work continues. What that work tells you, you may need.”

  And here Ian had been about to pull the plug on Ballard. “Right. Guess we can afford to let them continue.”

  His father’s hand came down and pushed a button, and the chair rolled closer until father and son faced each other, inches away. A strange smell emanated from the man in the chair—the chemicals, the medicine, the aging flesh.

  “You can’t afford not to, Ian. Do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  And then without so much as a nod, or even a good-bye, Tommy Kelliher pivoted his chair and rolled away, back into the recesses of the mansion, the two nurses dutifully following.

  Ian hurried out of the room, out of the fortress-like mansion, out to fresh air and his car, waiting to take him back to Palo Alto.

  2145

  ARMAGEDDON

  7

  MARS CITY—THE RECEPTION CENTER 34 MINUTES AFTER THE FIRST OUTBREAK 87 CONFIRMED CASUALTIES, 38 MISSING

  PRIVATE JOHN KANE ALLOWED HIS EYES TO close.

  For a moment, the bright lights of Mars City Reception, now up to full power, faded a bit. He heard the steps of people moving about, some hurrying to their quarters, perhaps to hide, some looking for friends and colleagues—most of whom would likely never be seen again.

  And hovering in the back, the slow heaving and sobbing of the receptionist. Kane had only seconds ago informed her that her friend who had stepped away for a few minutes would not be stepping back.

  Then there were the smells. Of course the familiar—to Kane at least—smell of gunpowder, smoke, and blood—a heady mix that, once inhaled, was never forgotten. Not even the areas where people had “lost it,” tossing their cookies at the bloodshed, could cut through that smell. It was primal, powerful, and—though a familiar one—he never got used to it.

  Then the sounds and smells started to recede as Kane felt all the aches in his body pulling at him, tugging him into some dark hole that threatened to envelop him.

  The lights were now piercingly bright, the physical signs of the mayhem that had occurred there. He saw three other grunts starting to head in the direction of the marine barracks. Kane stood up, thinking he had to get to the infirmary and get some stimulants. This was just too damn hard.

  But first…

  “Hey, you guys! Where do you think you’re going?”

  One of the marines, a private first class, stopped and shook his head at him. “What the hell business is it of yours”—he looked at Kane’s name tag—“Kane?”

  Another marine spoke up. “We’re getting the hell out of here. Who knows what’s happening”—and here he pointed—“thataway.”

  Kane nodded. Too true. Having gone in search of the missing receptionist and found—what?—some creature that walked like a dog but whose head opened up like an exploded basketball to reveal rows of teeth instead of a hollow center, he knew they had a point.

  But orders were orders, and Sergeant Kelly had told them to secure this area. And a good decision that was, too. Mars City Reception was a central hub, where a number of wings of the sprawling lab and work areas came together. People would gravitate here, looking for protection, help, something. And if the marines weren’t here for protection, then what the hell were they here for?

  “We have orders. To secure this area, to keep—”

  “Fuck that, man. Until I know what the hell’s going on, this ‘area’ can secure itself.”

  Kane had moved a few feet into their path, not necessarily a hostile move, but certainly something they’d have to go around—or through—if they were going to get to their barracks. Not the first time Kane had faced nervous troops. Even rebellious troops. In the nasty wars that were waged all over planet Earth these days, such things were common.

  But that was when he was still a lieutenant, before he disobeyed a direct order in Terekstan and tried to save some marines that Central Command had decided were politically expendable.

  Still, lieutenant or no, Kane wasn’t sure in the next few hours, or days, if rank would mean much up here. “We have an order, and we’re going to follow it.”

  One of the grunts in front of Kane kept walking to the side of him, muttering to himself, hurrying—and not doing a terribly good job of hiding his fear. He passed on Kane’s left. Kane shot his arm out. He felt the sting of the gouges and scratches that he’d received without even being aware of them—scars from his nightmare journey from the old Comm Center and the bowels of Mars City, back to here.

  Still his arm moved, obeying the brain’s instruction. As did his hand as it locked pincerlike around the man’s throat.

  At the same time he saw the other two space marines start moving their weapons.

  Hi
s left hand closed just a bit around the man’s windpipe.

  “One little squeeze, and you’re dead. No discussion, no more orders to follow, and”—he looked at the other two with their weapons nearly at the ready position—“if you two idiots decide to actually point those weapons, then he’ll get to see me blow holes in you so fast that, well, on the plus side, you won’t even know what the hell hit you.”

  The weapons stopped in mid-motion.

  “Good. Everyone listen real well now, and I’ll tell you what will happen. You will get back to patrolling your perimeter.” Kane pointed to a hallway leading off the far end of Reception. “Two of you take one way, one go the other. Meet in the middle. Oh—and I don’t give a damn who gets left on his own.”

  Kane released his hold on the marine’s throat. The young grunt coughed, gulping at the air.

  “You check in with me every ten minutes or so. I don’t hear from you, then I think something bad has happened.” Kane took a breath. This, he thought, was almost fun. “But that ‘bad’ thing better not be that you found another way to leave your post.”

  One of the marines, a taller one who looked as though he might still be evaluating some resistance to Kane, took a step forward. At least the muzzle of his gun is down, Kane noticed.

  “Why should we take orders from you?”

  Kane looked at him. This marine might be an ally if things kicked in again. Soldiers had many sides, from the craven to the heroic, and the person who led them had to know all about that.

  “Two reasons: First, Kelly asked me to get things under control here. And until someone shows up who outranks me”—Kane looked at the two stripes on the other private’s arm—“really outranks me, then that is exactly what the hell I’m going to do.”

  Kane looked around Reception. A sense of stillness filled the area. The few civilian workers consoling themselves, a few other marines standing on guard but also looking at this scene as it played out.

  “But there’s another reason. You see, I want to live. I want to get off this planet someday, somehow, alive. And trust me, I will do all I can to make that happen. If that means saving as many of these people as I can, then that’s exactly what I will do.” Another beat. “And so will you.”

  Then—an amazing moment—the three of them nodded. The taller grunt—Kane took a look at his name tag: McCullough—said to the other two rebellious marines, “Come on, let’s go. We’ll do the damn patrols.”

  They turned and headed down the hallway—where, Kane had to admit, who knew what the hell awaited them?

  8

  UAC HEADQUARTERS—PALO ALTO 38 MINUTES AFTER THE FIRST OUTBREAK MARS COMMLINK FULLY REESTABLISHED

  IAN KELLIHER STUDIED GENERAL HAYDEN’S FACE. Campbell stood to the general’s right, just out of view. Kelliher could pan the camera to see Campbell, or pull back to view them both.

  But for now he wanted to get a close look at the general in charge of Mars City as he tried to describe what he had just called, for the tenth or eleventh time, “the situation.”

  If the general was streaming bullshit from Mars down to this office on Earth, Kelliher wanted every chance to be able to detect it.

  The same mechanism that allowed interplanetary travel at heretofore impossible speeds also allowed near synchronous and contemporaneous communication between Earth and Mars. Save for odd moments when a bit of delay would kick in—some random fluctuation that Kelliher’s scientists had not been able to eradicate. Something to do with the solar winds was their latest theory.

  Hayden’s face, lined, overly bronze from the officers’ spa and the artificial sun, told Kelliher a lot of what he needed to know. The military bastard was scared.

  “So, General, there are still sectors where you are not getting any information?”

  A pause, and this time it had nothing to do with solar winds. Then: “All the units have checked in with their status, and the situation—”

  That damn word again….

  “—reported is that all areas are under control.”

  Hayden blinked. A leathery-looking tongue snaked out and took a stab at wetting his lips, but to no avail.

  Scared, and he isn’t telling me everything. And maybe he isn’t telling me everything because he just doesn’t know.

  Kelliher touched the keyboard floating like a lamp to his right, and the camera pulled back to show Campbell standing beside Hayden. Kelliher had questions for him.

  “General, I want to ask you a question and it’s very important that you give me as truthful an answer as you can. Do you understand?” Like talking to some goddamn kid.

  “Yes, of course. I wouldn’t do anything but—”

  “So again: Are there sectors of Mars City that you currently have no information about, places where you don’t know what the ‘situation’ might be? And if so, what are those places?”

  Again Hayden looked away, gathering his thoughts. The fact that Campbell stood beside him—Kelliher’s own man sent up to assist Elliot Swann with his evaluation of the whole Mars City operation—might force Hayden to be honest. If nothing else, it felt good to watch the general squirm.

  “We know that Alpha Lab is secure. We have taken losses there—heavy losses. But it is secure….”

  Kelliher also wanted to review the security vid with Hayden to get a handle on what might have happened, or what might still be happening. But that could wait for now….

  “And I have had a marine return from the lower section leading to Old Communications. As far as we can tell, that is now clear. But there are so many chambers, tunnels, down there, it’s hard—”

  “Go on.”

  “The monorail station, and the pods connected to it, all look quiet. The reception area and loading bays are all fine. The main access points to the exterior also report nothing happening. Further, the Hydrocons have all been checked, with new guard units there, and—”

  Enough of this crap, Kelliher thought.

  “Delta, General. Delta. I do hope you haven’t forgotten about the area in which I have invested an amazing amount of the UAC’s resources for the past ten years?”

  Kelliher panned the camera up and over to Campbell. There was no way that anyone in the room could tell that Kelliher was jumping around, zeroing in here and there, pulling back. But he imagined that Jack Campbell, who knew Ian Kelliher about as well as anyone, would assume that Kelliher was studying his face for some reaction to Hayden’s dodging of the big question….

  What the hell is happening in Delta?

  Hayden shifted in his seat, nodded.

  “Yes. Delta. I—I was get—” The communication system hiccoughed, and Hayden’s nervous words were further stilted by the tiny breakup.

  “—ting to that. Delta. It’s an area…an area of some concern.”

  Hayden waited a moment. The general probably hoped there would be questions, but Kelliher wanted him to speak, wanted to keep him roasting.

  9

  MARS CITY 41 MINUTES AFTER THE FIRST OUTBREAK

  PRIVATE MARIA MORAETES LOOKED AT WHAT was left of the squad as Andy Kim came to her side. “Bad news, Maria. No one left here who outranks you. There is one guy”—Kim turned away so his words couldn’t be detected—“that has some more bars, even an Earth-side battle ribbon. But from the look in his eyes, I wouldn’t bother knocking on that door.”

  “Great. So you’re saying there is no one here to run this outfit?”

  Kim smiled. “No one except you.”

  They both looked back toward Alpha, where Deuce had been ripped to shreds before their eyes as if they lived in some crazy vid, a game where such things could happen, Except they could do nothing but stand there as his skin opened up like ripe fruit and blood sprayed the hallway like a painter gone mad….

  There were a dozen or so soldiers milling about, all appearing as if they had just awakened to the sickest nightmare of their lives. Not good, she told herself. She turned back to Kim. “Look, Andy, we have to get these guys back into pat
rols, into some kind of formation. Just—just standing here isn’t working.”

  Andy Kim licked his lips and his eyes darted from the group and back to her. And she knew that Andy too might be in a place inside his own head that he’d never dreamed about. But if Kim should fall apart, that would really leave her alone. And what’s holding me together? she wondered.

  “Okay, fine, here’s what I’m going to do,” she said. “Get them into some kind of grouping, get a patrol to head back to Alpha—”

  Kim’s eyes widened. Not going to be an easy task, that.

  “Don’t worry,” she added quickly, “I’ll take the lead on that.”

  Kim nodded.

  “You start a patrol here. We’ve got—what?—three different areas converging. Some kind of regular patrols. And listen—we check in every five minutes, got that?”

  “Okay,” he said quietly.

  “And lastly, we leave a few guards here. They can see all three paths, got a really good view. And again, they can check in every five minutes too.”

  Maria knew which post she’d want if she had her choice: staying right here, gun at the ready, looking down those long hallways to see what might be coming.

  Kim cleared his throat. “How’s everyone’s ammo?”

  “Good point. Best to check. Everyone was firing as if the goddamn supply was endless.”

  “And if low?”

  Now Maria took a breath. “Okay, um, we have to send someone to get some ammo.”

  “I guess so.”

  “All right, no point in waiting. Let’s start talking to them.”

  Maria turned to the grunts, mostly men, but including two women, who stood to the side, and started walking to them.

  “Hold on, hold on—just listen, and—”

  One of the group turned to the others. “We should stay the hell here! Until we get orders. Until we hear from Sarge, or someone”—he looked right back at Maria—“with some bars on their shoulder.”