by Guy Haley
“Hey, Holly! How’re doing?”
Holland gave Maguire a slack-jawed stare. “How am I? I’m bored, Maguire. Really, pissing bored!” He tossed his tablet onto his desk carelessly, knocking over four days’ worth of coffee cups. Congealed coffee spilled on the workbench.
“Careful there, Jensen will have a fit.” Maguire righted the cups, then checked the tablet and carefully set it down away from Holland’s mess. “This really isn’t like you, John.”
“Dave, I’ve been in here for nearly a fortnight, with nothing but the hooting of the damn wind and those” – he waved half-heartedly at his vivariums – “to keep me company.”
“What about Miyazaki?” The Japanese geologist was sat in a corner, crouched over his books.
Holland gave Maguire a doleful look. “Oh, he’s a blast.”
“Come on, though. Sure, you’ve had Cybele to be your friend. How are you two getting on?”
“I admit she’s been very useful, and it’s probably been good for me, as I’m getting past the whole ‘the robots are coming!’ thing, but then, she’s here on nutter patrol so it’s not really an even relationship, is it?”
“Counsellor/patient?”
“Prisoner/guard,” said Holland. “And anyway, she’s down at Deep Two today.” He sighed hard and rubbed at his face. “Come on, Maguire, when are they going to let me out of here? I’m sick of being cooped up. Surely there’s something I can do with the rebuild? I hate being useless.”
“No can do, Holly.”
“Oh, God,” he groaned. “I’m actually going to go insane in here.”
“Be happy, my friend; I do have something for you,” Maguire said enticingly. He produced a sample box from somewhere, like a magician. “Now, do you have a spare terrarium? We don’t want it to get away, do we?”
THE BUG RAN round the interior of the case, antennae flicking at the corners when it encountered them. It would pause, flick, flick, then move on to the next. It was already on its fourth circuit, six legs working robotically away.
“And you say they brought this up today? I thought Jensen was dead set against anything coming from down there.”
“Orson overruled him, said that this was like the rest of the life down there. Besides, it was found a ways from the artefact, so it’s doubtful it has any connection with it. I think he’s mindful of you going off your rocker, so he is.”
“Did you have anything to do with this?”
Maguire gave a half shrug and a smile. “Well now, that’d be telling.”
“Thanks, Dave.”
“Thanks? I bring you the first mobile, multi-cellular life found alive on the planet, and all you can say is ‘Thanks, Dave’? I was expecting something a wee bit more effusive than that!” He slapped Holland on the back. “Enjoy yourself!”
“Thanks, Dave. I mean it.”
Maguire walked out the door. “You know, you need to work on your thanks,” he called over his shoulder.
“Now what to do?” muttered Holland. He watched the bug run around and around the case. It was five centimetres long, with a light blue carapace. It had a small, armoured head; its joints were high on its legs, and hooked, knobbled feet sprang from their ends. Excepting that there was no join on the thorax carapace to indicate wing casings, to all intents it looked like a beetle from Earth, albeit of no kind that Holland was aware of. He didn’t find that peculiar in itself. The life found throughout the Solar System had been surprisingly similar to that on Earth, if sometimes with radically different base chemistry.
The case was bare, atmosphere the same as that down in the caves, although the beetle had seemed to struggle with the density, so Holland had increased the air pressure until it had begun to behave in what looked like a normal manner. “Oh, what the fuck do I know?” he said to himself. “I have no idea what normal is.” It did seem less agitated, though. That suggested to him that the beetle had come from somewhere else in the caverns. He glanced at the terrariums. He needed to find out which one it would be most comfortable in, and quickly.
“Cybele?”
The AI’s voice immediately replied, sounding as always as if it came from thin air. “Yes, Dr Holland?” Her voice had made him wince only a few weeks ago, and he was surprised how quickly he’d got used to it. No matter how wary he’d been of AIs back on Earth, there was something about Cybele that he instinctively trusted, like he knew she would never harm him. It could be the name, humanising her, but then a lot of the AIs on Earth also had names. His comfort with her disquieted him; he was hoping he’d eventually stop feeling so nervy around AIs, but for it to happen so quickly felt unnatural, a betrayal of his emotional baggage.
“Are you busy at the moment? I’d like some help. I need you to run a DNA profile on this lifeform, to help me figure out which micro-habitat it’ll be best suited to.”
“I will be available in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, fine. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
“And, Dr Holland?”
“Yes?”
“I am glad that you have asked me so freely for assistance. I had hoped that we would become friends. If I may be so bold as to say, I believe that we are already well along into the process.”
Maybe it was that she sounded genuinely happy about that. She’s just a machine, Holland. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too, Cybele.” He ruefully realised that he meant it.
HOLLAND MADE HIMSELF a cup of coffee, and prepared to take a sample off the creature. He transferred it to a box fitted with thick rubber gloves so he could get at it without exposing himself to harm. A quick scrape of the chitin on its thorax should be enough. He could just ask Cybele to take an airborne sample, but there was too much risk of contamination there.
“Okay, little fella, hold still.” He held up a small dish, and a scalpel which he’d blunted to prevent him from accidentally slicing into the insect. He herded the bug into a corner with them, and scraped its back. Its tiny mouth hissed, and lunged at him. It sank its mandibles into his finger. He smiled at its boldness, a smile that turned to a round ‘O’ of pain as its jaws went through the heavy glove into his finger. “Ow!” He snatched his hands out of the gloves, waving the offended hand around, resisting the temptation to suck it. “You little...” Blood welled up in three bright spots by his nail. “Damn.” He went for the medical cabinet. “Miyazaki? Could you help me...”
The lights shut off. Emergency lighting came on.
“It appears that we are having another problem,” said the Japanese man. “Please, I will get you a bandage.”
“Everyone stay put, looks like we got another surge, Cybele’s down again,” Orson said over the intercom. “Jensen will have us back to power shortly.”
Holland turned his finger this way and that. It throbbed.
A voice, quiet, called his name. “John!” He glanced up, and his eyes widened. In the box, crammed in like a contortionist, was the girl with the blue skin. Her palms and knees pressed up against the glass. “John! You have to take me back! Take me back to the place where you found me! Take me back!”
Miyazaki was by the first aid cabinet, humming tunelessly. He appeared not to have noticed the blue lady in the box. Holland looked incredulously from him back to the girl. She was gone. The bug was in her place. It stood in the middle of the box, vibrating and emitting a high scream.
“Miyazaki...” he said.
The bug exploded with a violent, wet pop, splattering the box with its insides.
The lights came back on. “Aha! Dr Jensen is a most effective engineer,” said Miyazaki. He came to Holland with a bandage. “There you are, Dr Holland.”
“Didn’t you see it?”
“See what?” said Miyazaki, wearing his perpetual, polite smile.
Holland raised his hand to point to the sealed box, and collapsed into a dead faint.
When he came round, Miyazaki was standing over him. “Are you all right, Dr Holland? Did you fall asleep?”
He was sat in a chair
in the kitchen, a cup of coffee cooling next to him.
“What? What happened?”
“I am afraid I have some bad news,” said the little Japanese man. “So sorry, but your sample has expired.”
“Of course it did, we both saw it,” said Holland. He stood up. His joints popped. He was lightheaded. He yawned broadly, covering his mouth unconsciously – Miyazaki brought the manners out in everyone. “It exploded.”
Miyazaki looked puzzled. “I was sure that it was alive when you left to make your coffee. It has not exploded. It is dead upon its back in the terrarium.”
Holland was suddenly wide awake. He frowned. “Was there another blackout?”
“Why, no,” said Miyazaki. “You came to make coffee forty minutes ago. You must have sat down and gone to sleep. It is quite expected; we have had a very hard pair of weeks.” The little man became concerned. “Have you been dreaming?” he said.
“I... I must have. I’m sorry,” Holland picked up his coffee cup and slurped a big mouthful down. It was tepid. “Thank you for coming to tell me.”
Miyazaki gave an uncertain smile and a small bow, and left.
“Dr Holland,” said Cybele. “I have run the tests you asked me for and now have the results.”
“But I haven’t given you a sample yet!” he said.
“You have. You did.” His tablet beeped on the countertop. Footage ran of the lab, him taking a scraping of the beetle in the glove box, putting it back into the terrarium, placing the sample into an analyser and telling Miyazaki he was going to make coffee.
But I was going to do that – I did do that – after I made my coffee, not before. He kept this to himself. “Yes, sorry, of course, I’m a bit muzzy, just woke up. What are they?”
“I am concerned that I may have made a mistake. I do not see how. I have double-checked, and it appears the results are accurate.”
“Why?” Holland picked up his tablet. The data played over his screen.
“See for yourself.”
He watched for a moment. “But – but this is terrestrial DNA. Where are the Martian markers? What does this mean?”
Cybele was silent for a moment. “I have no idea,” she said.
Cybele was a machine. She had complete control of her intonation and modulation. She could sound how she wished, from the voice she employed to its non-verbal informational content.
So why did he think she was lying?
He put his coffee down. It was undrinkable.
Only then did he see the three tiny puncture wounds on his left forefinger.
BY THE TIME the incoming Marsform rover was close enough for them to pick up its messages through the storm on their short-range radio mast, it was practically on top of them. Orson called the entirety of the base’s remaining personnel together to Mission Control, Holland joining them last. Disturbed by his experience in the lab, he tried his best to keep his worry off his face. He needn’t have bothered; everyone was as antsy as him. There’d been two deaths, after all, and no one liked it when the company brass came out to their station. It was a reminder to them all that this place was not their home, but corporate property. Orson had them all scoot round and tidy up as quickly as possible, and this time he did not complain that Cybele was helping.
They gathered in the atrium, a ragged, furrow-browed welcoming committee. Nobody said much.
“You’re all intelligent people,” said Orson, “but I’d be mighty happy if you kept your mouths shut when the company’s here. This is my watch, it’s my responsibility, and I don’t want anyone talking until they’re asked, understood?”
There was a murmur of assent from everyone, although Orson was mainly looking at Maguire.
There was a long wait until the visitors came through the inner airlock. There were six of them. A high-ranking company wonk in an actual suit, an engineer, and three stern looking mercenary types sporting sidearms and long kitbags that could only contain more weapons. The company had a small army on Mars, all ex-servicemen. Their presence at Ascraeus made the team nervous, but not as nervous as the android doing the speaking.
It opened with no greeting or preamble. “I am the Class Six prototype Delaware X4,” it said, in a smooth, androgynous voice. It wore an equally androgynous sheath, with the appearance of sculpted marble. “I am here to assess the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the artefact,” it went on. “You will present any and all documentation and records from Ascraeus Base immediately.”
Orson began to speak.
“Please, Commander Orson,” said Delaware. “I will interrogate your base artificial intelligence. The time for talking and subjective recollection will come after I am in possession of all the facts. AI Designate 3-122987/10/12/77, please confirm that you are online and ready to begin data transferral.”
“I am ready,” said Cybele. Her voice sounded crude in comparison to this Delaware.
“Then begin,” said Delaware X4.
The company man finished looking round the atrium. “It all looks in order to me,” he said. His accent was faintly French. He gave a reassuring, professional smile. “I’m Jules Lasalle, director of personnel for Marsform’s surface science division. This might take a few minutes.” He motioned his hand to the stationary AI. “The pickup here is appalling. I see your long range mast is down, which I suppose explains why you didn’t answer our hails until the last minute. Delaware was getting suspicious!” He laughed, but there was a threat in it that Delaware was still suspicious.
“Yes,” said Orson. “There have been developments.”
“Developments?”
“Deaths. Two. Dr Vance never recovered from her coma. Dr Stulynow killed himself. He sabotaged our comms, then blew up the transmitter. If the weather were clear, we might have got through with our smaller mast, but we’ve had no way of calling it in.”
Lasalle sucked his teeth. “Right. Okay. That’s not good. We’re going to have to be here a while, you understand?”
Orson gave a taut nod. “Of course.”
“Okay, good. Don’t worry, commander, I’m on your side. All I want to do is get to the bottom of this, and let’s face it, this could be quite the find, tragedy or not. We’re going to need quarters.”
“Sure.”
“And I want you to arrange a space for Delaware’s base unit here. It’s in the back of the rover currently. Your heavy lifting equipment is in order?”
“All of it,” said Jensen. “We can set him up in the atrium, there’s not much room here.”
“That sounds fine. You’re Jensen, right? See to it immediately. Maguire?” Lasalle motioned to the station manager. “Why don’t we get my men installed in their accommodation? We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us here. And you, Dr Van Houdt?” – this to Suzanne – “I could do with a cup of coffee, can you do that for me? Coffee everyone?” His men nodded and said yes.
Suzanne nodded. “I will see to it.”
“Merci, cherie,” he said. He clapped his hands “Okay, people! Let’s go!”
The room started into life. Holland looked at Orson and saw his command of the situation drain away from him. His aura of authority had vanished.
They were in company hands now.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Stone Hunt
Year 5, Post-War Period
IT HAD BEEN a long time since he was so far up the mountain. Not many came out here any more, truth be told. There was no reason to. All that was there before had gone, all those places up on Olympus. Wreckage and bones carpeted the land. “Dawn of a new age.” Who were they fucking kidding?
Olympus. So much had changed here, but that name has stood the test of time. Even in a society of immortals, language changes. Olympus would change with time too, eventually. People change the way they express themselves, people forget. He hadn’t.
He didn’t know why, maybe it was the many rebirths and fast-growths he underwent in the war – veterans who survived encounters with the Stone Kin with their minds intac
t were recycled quickly, the better to employ their experience against the foe – but he remembered more of his pasts this time round than was the norm. He knew this, because he remembered not remembering in other lives.
He’d tried to explain this in the bars in the camps, but not many got what he meant. People who had fought in the war in this life were getting old or dying, and those who’d come back were babes in arms, to be allowed a normal life now the war was over. But someone – who, he was not sure, for he spent his nights in a stupor – had said it was because the spirits had amplified the memory recall, so the veterans would remember how to kill the Stone Kin. Trouble was, it brought everything back, too much for many people to handle.
That’s why, the man had said (he was pretty sure it had been a man, he had smelled bad enough), a lot of the veterans of the Third Stone War were crazy. Rumour was that when they went back into the stacks next time, some would not be coming out again – too damn unstable.
He thought it unlikely. There’d been two other Stone Wars, and he’d fought in both, and he was here, wasn’t he?
He remembered bright eyes and winey breath as a face leaned in to confide this information. It was a strong recollection, that moment, sharp with sensation, but if it had occurred last week or five years ago, he had no clue.
Kaibeli would understand him, broken or not; she always had, no matter what life he’d had forced on him. That’s why he was here, up on the slopes.
Looking for her.
The mirror suns made the slopes of Olympus hot. His broad-brimmed hat kept the worst of it from his eyes. Prevailing winds were east-west – he used the movement of the clouds above to keep track of where he was. The clouds came off the ocean, hit the line of the Tertiz Mun to the east, dumped their rain, and that’s that, nothing left for poor old Olympus or the area around it. Desert. Hot as sin. It had been unbearably dry on the Tertiz before the war. With the Veil of Worlds made manifest around the base of the mountain, it was worse.
