Phobos Station

by D. M. Pruden

  There is no sign that the people I’m following are aware of me, but I keep my eyes on my HUD all the same, just to make sure the tracker signal remains a constant distance ahead. That’s no guarantee they haven’t figured out I’m here, either.

  Maybe this is a dumb idea, after all.

  I catch myself hyperventilating. My heart is trying to set a new speed record, and my throat is sticky because I’m breathing through my mouth.

  I know better. Proper breathing technique is one of the first things they teach you in EVA training. I need to calm down and stay on task. All these random thoughts aren’t helping.

  I decide that now is an appropriate time to retrieve the pistol from my pack. I’m not sure why I accepted the damned thing; I could never use it on a person.

  It slips from my grip and tumbles slowly to the ground.

  Still, not accustomed to the gravity, I lunge for it, and miss. My helmet bangs into the rock wall, and I fall clumsily to my belly.

  Shit! That was graceful, Destin.

  Keeping one hand on the tunnel for balance, I pick myself up and lean forward to retrieve the gun.

  And then I spot it.

  A boot connected to someone pointing a weapon at me.

  Shit!

  It’s Carson Willis.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  He says nothing, just waves his weapon, directing me to stand.

  He notices me glance at my dropped pistol, only centimetres from my hand, and steps on it as he repeats his signal for me to get up.

  After picking up my gun, Willis reaches over and pulls the control interface from my sleeve. He throws it to the floor and crushes it beneath his foot. He’s silenced me from attempting to contact Owen or the others and destroyed the transponder that would let them locate me.

  Strangely, even this close, when I should detect him, I can’t ping Willis with my CI. He must have deactivated his cortical implant or is covering the area with an interference field.

  He roughly grabs my upper arm and pushes me ahead of him. After a few paces, I glance back, worried he plans to shoot me. Willis is cautious. He walks about five metres behind me, his weapon levelled at my back. If he has a plan to kill me, it doesn’t seem fated to happen in this passageway.

  We continue for five minutes or so before his hand falls heavily on my shoulder, forcing me to stop before an airlock door. As I turn to face him, he backs away, and still training his gun at me, he reaches for the control panel. The door pops open, and he gestures for me to enter. He forces me to stand against the far wall while he closes the door and activates the pressurization cycle.

  My HUD is out of commission, but this airlock, and whatever space is behind it, was not on the map. That is problematic for Owen and the others if they come looking for me. I certainly hope they do.

  Willis motions for me to open the inner door and go through it. I step over the threshold and immediately feel the pull of gravity plating.

  He points to a small kitchen area across the small chamber. A plate with the remains of a meal are on a table, along with the cutlery. Before I can make a move to pick up the knife, or even the fork, Willis sweeps the surface clean with his arm, scattering everything to the floor. He then directs me to sit in the chair. Once I am seated, he taps my helmet with the muzzle of his gun and indicates I should remove it.

  Before I can set it down, he grabs it out of my hand and tosses it across the room.

  The sparsely furnished space is about two hundred square metres but appears comfortable for a single occupant. The air is musty, and a film of fine dust covers everything. The narrow counter is mostly occupied by a portable stove and a basin. On open shelves beneath are a few plates, cups, and packages of dehydrated food.

  There is a cot against the far wall that looks recently slept on. At the opposite end of the room is a toilet connected to a moisture recovery unit. A hose runs from it to a plastic tank half filled with recycled water.

  My heart beats wildly, but I can’t let him know how frightened I am. Something I learned a long time ago is never to show weakness to an assailant. A confident, nonthreatening approach will keep him guessing what I have up my sleeve. Of course, the tactic has an equal chance of backfiring on me, but it is the only form of control that remains to me.

  “This is a comfortable little bolt-hole you’ve got, Willis,” I say after he has removed his own helmet.

  “It is functional,” he says, as if he’s only invited me in for a cup of coffee and a conversation.

  “So, what now? Are you going to shoot me?”

  Amused, he slings the gun over his shoulder by its strap and removes his gloves. “Please make yourself comfortable, Doctor. You will be here for some time.”

  Relieved that he doesn’t seem to have my murder in his immediate plans, I take off my gloves too.

  “So, what are you going to do with me?”

  His smile is cruel, but he says nothing.

  “If I found you, the Jovian Collective can too.”

  “You found me? The only reason you learned I am on Phobos is because I permitted it.” He digs into a pocket and pulls out a small, familiar-looking object. He tosses the transponder to me.

  I examine it to make sure, but I’ve little doubt it is the one I attached to the cargo shipment.

  “How long have you known about this?”

  “Long enough.”

  “What was in the container?” I ask, trying to sound less interested than I am.

  “Supplies I required.”

  “For your nanite project?”

  His smile broadens. “Yes, I thought my test went rather well, don’t you?”

  “You’re a fucking psychopath.”

  He feints a pout. “Now, Doctor, that is a rash judgement. I’m asking for your scientific assessment of my experiment. You’ve had an opportunity to examine the results firsthand. I am hoping you will share your observations with me.”

  “Go fuck yourself, Chloe almost died because of you.”

  “Yes, your unique solution to arrest the progress of my nanites is exceptionally ingenious.”

  How the fuck does he know so much?

  “Were you hanging around the hospital, admiring your work?”

  He doesn’t answer and just keeps smiling in the same infuriating way. I want to hurl myself at him and scratch his expression from his face.

  “Why her?”

  “My choice of Chloe Cabot was nothing personal. I like the young woman. Her family connections doomed her, I’m afraid.”

  “You poisoned her to send a message to her father?”

  “He needs to be shown how costly pursuing me will be.”

  “Wasn’t almost killing her in an explosion not a strong enough message?”

  “That was never intended for your group to discover. It was my hope, when I permitted you to see that video sequence, that things would proceed differently.”

  “You wanted me to find the Martian agents in the morgue. You were hoping I’d realize how dangerous it is to track you.”

  “Yes, but you insisted on following matters up and investigating the tunnel. If we look at this objectively, your decision to follow me precipitated the events leading to Miss Cabot’s present condition. It is your fault that her life now teeters on the precipice.”

  This asshole is enjoying this too much. My eyes dart about the room, searching for something to attack him with. They fall briefly on the table knife lying on the floor about two metres from me.

  “Please don’t try anything stupid, Melanie. I really do not wish to hurt you.”

  “You shot at me on the Moon!”

  “That was a regrettable decision by one of my associates. If I knew you were with Vostok’s group, that would not have happened.”

  “You’re a homicidal maniac. Why do you want to keep me alive?”

  “Name-calling is beneath a woman of your intellect. You live because you serve a purpose.”

  “Care to enlighten me?”

&n
bsp; “Not, I think, today.”

  “Since you’re so chatty, why don’t you humour me and tell me if there is a cure for what you infected Chloe with?”

  He straightens his back, and his expression becomes one of a man pondering a problem.

  “Very well, Doctor, I shall indulge your curiosity, but not with an answer to your question.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your purpose, and the reason you will not die today, is that Miss Cabot depends on you to survive. To put it more succinctly: if she dies, so will you. If not by her father’s hand, then it will be by mine.”

  “You are insane.”

  “Tsk, unfounded accusations are not worthy of you.”

  “Then let me take a scan of your fucking head, and I can confirm my diagnosis.”

  “You are amusing, Doctor.”

  Before I can lose my shit and start to scream at him, the airlock pump starts up. We both stare at the door. Willis pulls his weapon around.

  “Save your breath, Melanie. The door is soundproof. They won’t hear your warning.”

  Does Willis have a partner or employee? From the way he cradles his gun, I suspect he may not have thought of locking out the controls.

  Whoever is coming is walking into a trap.

  The pump starts up again to pressurize the airlock. In a minute, the door will open, and bullets will probably fly. My gaze shoots to the knife again as a crazy plan begins to take shape in my head.

  Willis doesn’t pay attention to me, his focus being on the only entrance to this place. My timing will have to be perfect.

  I tuck my legs under me and put my weight on my toes. When the door opens, I will jump toward the knife...and probably get myself shot.

  What the hell are you thinking, Destin? He has an automatic weapon, and you think you’re going to be able to do something with a goddamned butter knife?

  The pressure pump stops.

  The latch turns, and the door pushes open.

  Someone steps through.

  My heart sinks.

  It is Owen.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Owen! It’s a trap!”

  Not thinking, I spring from my chair and dive for the knife on the floor. As I grab it, I become keenly aware that no shots have been fired.

  Confused, I look up to see Owen watching me, his gun in its holster. Willis has lowered his weapon and is also looking at me, amused.

  Owen turns to close the airlock door then removes his helmet. He approaches me and extends a hand to help me up.

  I wave him off and scramble to my feet. My pathetic weapon is still gripped tightly in my hand, and I hold it up threateningly. My gaze moves from one of them to the other.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  “Mel,” says Owen, “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to be here.”

  “What do you mean? Are you working with him?”

  Under other circumstances, the pathetic look of guilt on his face would be endearing.

  “Just put that down and I’ll explain.”

  “Fuck that.” I point it at him.

  “Please, Mel?” He extends his hand.

  Willis just stands there wearing a smug expression. He’s slung his gun back over his shoulder.

  “Shit!” I say as I give my ridiculous weapon to Owen then sit again at the table.

  He shoots a look at Willis that I can’t interpret. Is he pissed off with him or embarrassed that I’ve learned of his secret betrayal?

  “Is it ready?” Willis asks him.

  He appears to deflate. “Yes, everything is prepped as we discussed.”

  A self-satisfied smile spreads across Willis’s face. “Then, there is nothing left but for me to leave you two to sort out your relationship.” He turns to retrieve his helmet from the bunk where he tossed it.

  “You’re just leaving?” I ask.

  “What did you expect, Melanie? Did you think I would behave like a fictional villain and depart while my henchman dispatches you? I told you, I wish you no harm.”

  I turn to Owen, who still appears uncomfortable. “What about it? Now that I know your secret, will you kill me after this asshole leaves?”

  He shakes his head. “No, Mel, I intend to disappear too. My cover is compromised.”

  “Was I set up by Vostok? Did he know you worked for this douchebag when he gave me your name? I want to know how bad a judge of character I am.”

  “I... I...”

  “Oh, really,” says Willis impatiently. “He killed and replaced Vostok’s man about a month before you arrived.”

  I stare, incredulous, at Owen. “Is this true?”

  “Mister Page is my agent, but it appears he has been trying to deceive us both. He never mentioned to me that he knows you, Melanie.” He affixes his helmet but leaves the visor open so he can continue to speak. “As matters stand, his is not an inconsequential transgression.”

  Willis pulls his weapon back over his shoulder, levels it, and fires a burst into Owen’s back.

  I scream as he tumbles forward into my arms.

  He coughs up blood as I lay him gently to the floor. I look up at Willis and shout, “Why?”

  “He deceived me. I cannot tolerate such a thing from one of my agents.” He says it calmly, as if explaining why he was late for dinner or something.

  “You’re a murderous psychopath!” I move to rise, but Owen gurgles, and I settle back to hold him.

  Willis is at the airlock. “I bid you farewell, Doctor, until we next meet.”

  “Next time, I’ll gut you.”

  He smiles. “Of course.”

  He steps through the opening and closes the door behind him. Seconds later, the pump activates, but I barely hear it as I turn all my attention to Owen.

  “Don’t move,” I say as I reach to take the knife he still holds.

  I try to cut open the front of his EVA suit, but the damned blade is dull and won’t pierce the fabric. Desperate now, I grope for the zipper so I can get at his wound. He reaches up and grips my wrist to stop me.

  “Mel, don’t. I have to tell you something.”

  Wrenching my arm from him, I continue to struggle with his suit. “You can tell me after I’ve saved your life.”

  He coughs up more blood; a lot of it. His chest rattles with every laboured breath. Owen tries to stop me again, but he is weak. I abandon my effort and hold his hand. His chin is smeared with bloody sputum, and his chest is stained red. He smiles weakly.

  “I’m glad we found each other.”

  Tears obscure my vision. “Shut up. You can blubber like a sentimental old man after I get you fixed up.”

  “I’m sorry I deceived you. I really did want to help you find Willis, but...you know.” He grimaces in pain.

  “Yeah, I know; a professional conflict of interest.”

  “I took a risk that I could put you on a false trail, but you’re too smart, Mel.”

  “How did you end up working for him?”

  “He was my benefactor; he got me off Terra; trained me. He’s the closest thing I could imagine to having a father.”

  “You’re in serious need of a better role model,” I say, the joke falling flat. I feel totally helpless as he bleeds out before me.

  He coughs, spraying me with blood, but I don’t care. I tighten my hold on him.

  His grip on my arm tightens. “Listen to me, Mel. There is something you need to know. Willis...has the cure for your friend...hidden...”

  “Where is it?”

  He weakly tries to shake his head. “Don’t know.”

  I want to say that it doesn’t matter, but we are well past the stage for empty comforting words. He won’t last much longer, and any information he has may be the only chance to cure Chloe. I feel heartless and guilty for thinking this way, but I continue to press him.

  “Please, Owen. It’s important. Is there anything you can tell me to help me find it?”

  He doesn’t seem to hear me. “He is going to a secret hangar
...not far from here. I prepared his ship for him...but I put a tracer on it.” He fumbles for his pocket. “The receiver is...it’s...”

  I grasp his hand. “It isn’t important.”

  “Yes, it is. He’s going to...a vault—I don’t know where. If you can pick up his signal, you can track him there.”

  I can’t think of anything to tell him to ease his passage, so I cradle his head and rock him in my arms.

  His eyes close, and his laboured breathing shallows until it finally stops.

  Tears stream down my cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so terribly sorry.”

  If not for me, Owen would still be alive. I look at his serene expression, and memories of the young boy I met so many years ago come flooding back. He had no reason to like me, let alone to put himself in danger to help me. But that was his way. He was a friend I never realized I had, and I was never worthy of. And now it is too late.

  I study his face, trying to burn his image into my memory. I need to remember this moment when I track down Willis and blow his fucking brains out.

  Gently, I lay my friend’s head to the ground. I search his pocket and find the receiver. When I turn it on, it obediently beeps and displays a map showing the transponder’s location.

  I pull Owen’s gun from his holster and check that it is loaded. With grim determination, I retrieve my helmet and gloves and put them on.

  As I enter the airlock, I take one final look at my friend.

  “I’ll get the son of a bitch who did this to you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  All reason has left me as I follow the tracer signal through the labyrinth of tunnels. If I were thinking like a rational person, I would leave Willis to go his way and pick up his trail once he’s departed.

  But the image of my dead friend is still fresh in my mind. Carson Willis must pay for all the harm he’s done. If I don’t stop him, he will continue to wreak havoc on still more lives. He’s dangerous and needs to be put down like a mad dog.

  But not before I wring the location of Chloe’s cure out of him.

  He has a significant head start, so I discard all caution and hurry, heedless of the potential for colliding into a wall. I lose my balance and careen into the jagged rock face.