Phobos Station

by D. M. Pruden

  Picking myself up, I take the briefest moment to check for any tears in my EVA suit, finding none. I pause. Willis smashed my control console, so I cannot verify that my suit’s pressure remains constant, but I don’t have difficulty breathing, and I don’t hear the whistling of a leak. My helmet visor is scratched but does not obscure my vision enough to prevent me from continuing.

  The signal of the tracer becomes stronger as I draw nearer. Ahead, a bright fluorescent light spills from around a corner. I force myself to slow down and not rush in like a mad woman. Purposefully, I check my weapon one more time, just to give myself a reason to reconsider what I am doing here.

  Doubt leaks through my resolve. I don’t know how to shoot a gun and hit anything. I’m delusional if I believe I am a threat to a killer like Willis. He will take one look at me and laugh. The thought infuriates me.

  “Fuck him.”

  I grit my teeth, take a deep breath, then step around the corner, weapon raised.

  The hangar is empty.

  Lying on the ground, in a place that is impossible to miss it, is the tracer unit. The asshole left it as a final taunt.

  I want to cry; to scream in rage. It’s all been an unmitigated disaster. Owen is dead, and Chloe may as well be now that Willis has slipped away.

  A movement catches my attention. Across the hangar, two men brandish automatic weapons. They spot me and move closer. They can only be Willis’s goons.

  With nobody left for me to vent my outrage at, I raise my gun and pull the trigger. I hit nothing, and the armed men dive for cover.

  Then, in horror, I realize what I’ve done. Turning on my heel, I rush back the way I came. I just catch sight of bits of rock exploding along the wall as I turn the corner.

  Sprinting doesn’t work; the gravity is too low. I end up taking long, loping strides, each step propelling me tens of metres at a time. More bullets chew chunks from the walls ahead of me. Miraculously, I’m not hit. Running and shooting at the same time under these conditions is probably difficult for them.

  I turn another corner and dig my heels in to halt my forward momentum. Turning, I point my gun around the corner and blindly fire off several shots, not trying to hit anyone; I just want to force them to take cover and buy myself some time.

  The gun’s clip empties. I turn and continue to run, praying I can lose them in the labyrinth of tunnels.

  It’s the only chance I have.

  I make my way back to where this whole misadventure began: the airlock where we all met, only a few hours ago. I don’t waste time with the door, remembering that it no longer functions. Instead, I recall Owen’s words that the abandoned mine entrance shaft is only a short distance down the tunnel.

  My pursuers are still behind me; I wasn’t successful in giving them the slip. Light from their headlamps bob up and down as they make their way toward my position.

  They stopped shooting at me some time ago. Maybe they are out of bullets, or perhaps they’ve decided to wait until they can be sure they will hit me. Given their initial response, I doubt capture is in mind. In hindsight, turning my gun on them may have been rash.

  Part of me hoped that Chambers and the others would be here. No such luck; I’m on my own and have only a half-baked plan to work with. I move past the useless airlock and begin to search for the entrance that Miller and Cervantes used. Fortunately, it doesn’t take me too long to locate it.

  A hole in the wall opens to a vertical shaft, about ten metres across. I poke my head in to see a circle of stars above and inky blackness below that continues down to the depths of hell. A ladder to my left along the wall runs up to the surface.

  After a quick check for my pursuers, I gingerly pull myself through the opening and reach over to take death grip on the ladder. I hate heights under the best of conditions, but the thought of slipping and plummeting god knows how far scares the shit out of me. Even under Phobos’s pathetic gravity, a long enough drop can still be fatal.

  It’s several hundred metres to the top, and I’m too chicken to do anything but take each rung one at a time. After a few minutes, I’ve made significant progress and dare to hope that I may have given the bad guys the slip. But an unexpected vibration of the ladder dashes that idea. I glance down to see two helmeted figures entering the shaft and starting up the ladder.

  With no other option, I redouble my efforts, risking a jump up two rungs at a time. I soon realize that won’t be enough when the ladder’s increased shaking prompts me to look down. The man in the lead does not appear to share my trepidation. He takes full advantage of the low gravity and pulls himself upward by his arms like a monkey in a space suit.

  My heart pounds as I turn and scramble desperately. There are only another fifty metres until I reach the tunnel opening. The star-filled opening seems to hang above me.

  Something grabs my ankle.

  Monkey man has a grip on me and tries to pull me down.

  I hug the ladder tightly and kick like a mule with my other leg.

  In his effort to grab me, he didn’t plant his feet on the rungs, and my stomping hits him at just the right angle to push him off balance. He loses his hold on me and falls.

  I watch him bounce off his companion, who makes a valiant lunge to catch him. In silence, the hapless fellow tumbles into the abyss beneath us.

  The other man is momentarily stunned by the loss of his comrade. I don’t wait around to offer condolences and continue to clamber upward.

  My stupid plan, if it even qualifies as one, was to lose these guys in the tunnels, make my way to the surface, and trek back to the docks, following the route Cervantes and Miller took. I didn’t count on two angry men trying to kill me.

  The second fellow has overcome his shock and resumed the chase. He is much more cautious than the other one and makes his way one rung at a time. He is either confident that he can catch me once on the surface, or more likely, he still has bullets in the automatic weapon slung over his shoulder.

  I reach the top of the ladder and pull myself out and onto the dusty ground. Acting from instinct rather than rational thought, I sit, and balance on my ass as I bend my knees.

  When a white helmet pokes above the rim, I kick with all my might.

  The man is ready for me and dodges my feet, taking only a glancing blow.

  He reaches up and grabs one of my legs.

  Panicking, I flail at him with my other foot as he tries to pull me back down the shaft.

  My hand closes around a rock. I hurl it in his face with all my strength.

  He’s stunned enough to loosen his hold on my leg. I kick myself free and scramble on my hands and knees away from the pit. He grabs my ankle, and I fall to my face.

  I roll over to watch my attacker climb out of the hole. Through his visor I see his angry face. He stands over me and reaches for the gun slung over his shoulder.

  Rational thought finally comes to me, and I realize where I am. I seize both of his ankles and lift him effortlessly.

  The man releases his gun as he flails his arms to catch his balance. He weighs so little that I easily lift him above my head then hurl him into the open mine shaft. He bounces off the far edge and tumbles down into the darkness to join his companion.

  Stunned, I stand there, motionless. I stare through my fogged visor at the gaping hole in the ground that has consumed two men like a hungry mouth.

  I should feel remorseful for what I’ve done, but I am unashamedly relieved.

  After a few minutes of relishing the precious gift of life, I peer about until I spot two sets of footprints approaching the pit from the horizon.

  I begin to follow them back to Requiem.

  Chapter Thirty

  Chambers and I sit in silence at a table in the noisy bar. We both have untouched drinks before us, neither of us in the mood to make the effort required to get drunk.

  I want to forget. If only for one night, I want to numb myself to the memory of Owen’s bloody body in my arms.

  And, of c
ourse, Chloe.

  With Willis once more in the wind, any hope of finding a cure for her falls to me, and I don’t have the first notion of where to begin.

  “Our clearance ticket is for tomorrow,” says Chambers absently as he stares into his gin and tonic.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I dunno. Anywhere will be better than this place.”

  “I can’t say I’ll miss Phobos,” I say as I reach for my glass.

  I may have been the one who had to fight for my life, but Chambers is the one who looks like shit. He pushes his drink away.

  “Sorry, Mel, but I’m not going to be good drinking company tonight.”

  I don’t hear him. I’ve spotted someone across the bar staring at me.

  Umbra picks up his glass and walks toward us. The expression he wears is less self-assured than when I met him on Terra. He stands at our table, saying nothing, clearly waiting for me to introduce him to Chambers.

  For his part, Roy glares at him. “Can I help you, buddy?”

  “This is Umbra, the guy I told you about,” I say.

  The slightly built man does not wait for an invitation and sits down with a wry smile. He extends his right hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain.”

  Chambers hesitates then grudgingly shakes Umbra’s hand. “What can we do for you?”

  “If you don’t mind, before we get into that, I would like to conclude my contract with the good doctor.”

  “By all means,” says Chambers. “Do you two want to be alone?”

  “I don’t believe it necessary, is it Melanie? There are no secrets here, are there?”

  Chamber grunts and takes a sip from his drink.

  I stare at Umbra. I’m just as inclined to scratch his eyes out as conclude our business; I’m not in the mood for his games. But I can always use the money. “It was Carson Willis who received the cargo.”

  He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you certain?”

  “He admitted it to my face,” I say.

  Umbra pulls something from his pocket and tosses it on the table. It looks like a high-tech dog collar.

  “What’s this?” I ask as I pick it up to examine it.

  “It is a holo-mask emitter.”

  “Yeah, Willis used it when he signed for the shipment.” I toss it back to him.

  He pushes it back to me. “Keep it. Consider it a trophy. The truth is that you actually did not know it was him until he told you.”

  “Are you going to pull a technicality on me to cheat me out of what you owe? I fulfilled my part of the bargain.”

  “You did much more than that, Melanie; you exceeded the terms of our agreement.”

  “Huh?”

  “You could have just reported the cargo was retrieved and sent me an image of the recipient, and no more would have been expected of you. Instead, you pursued the matter to confirm your theory that it was Willis. The result is that you saved me months of follow-up investigation to identify him.”

  “So, I did you a favour. Big hairy deal. If I had known I could have gotten away with the bare minimum, lives might have been spared.”

  “Please accept my condolences for the loss of your friend.”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  As expected, he winces at my profanity. Chambers smirks, enjoying the little drama unfolding.

  “I understand your anger. You lost someone, and for that I am sorry, but in discovering his association with Willis, you have uncovered some previously unknown players.”

  “Who do you work for?” I ask.

  “Haven’t you surmised?”

  Until this moment, I thought my guess he is with the Jovian Collective was the case. Now, I’m not so sure.

  “Humour me?”

  He reaches for his drink but pauses and turns his arm to show us a holographic tattoo on his wrist.

  “What about it?” I say.

  “It means he’s Custodes Martis,” says Chambers.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Your friend is a member of the Guardians of Mars, an elite counterespionage unit.”

  “And how the fuck would you know that?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve had dealings with some of his coworkers and leave it at that, okay?”

  “Your captain is correct,” says Umbra. He touches the tattoo, and it vanishes.

  “Aren’t you breaking a spy code by telling us this? Do you have to kill us now?” I say it like a joke, but I’m only half kidding.

  “Not if I don’t have to,” he says, his expression sombre. Then his eyes twinkle and he grins. “Of course not.”

  “Oh, you’re a funny guy. Hardy-har-har,” I say. “Don’t quit the day job.”

  Umbra sits back in his seat and sips his drink. “The balance of funds is in your account. Our arrangement is concluded.”

  “That’s it? We’re done?”

  “Absolutely...unless...”

  “Hah! I knew there was more. Well, fuck you and the horse you rode here on.”

  I push my chair away from the table, ready to leave. Chambers grasps my wrist.

  “Hold on, Mel. I’d like to hear what the man has to say.”

  “Are you nuts? Haven’t we lost enough following his breadcrumbs?”

  He fixes me with a cold stare. “The way he tells it, our trouble happened when you went off script.”

  “Please, Captain,” says Umbra, “don’t be too hard on Melanie. It is that characteristic that makes her invaluable. All I ask is that you both listen to my proposal before you reject it.”

  “Sounds fair to me.” Chambers turns to me. “Mel?”

  I pull my wrist free of his grip. “Fine.”

  Umbra leans forward, elbows on the table, and lowers his voice. We move closer to hear him. “I have reason to believe that Willis went to Saturn.”

  “Owen said something about him having a secret vault that contains the cure to his nanobot virus. Could it be hidden there?”

  “It sounds like he’s headed to Rhea’s Vault,” says Chambers.

  “You say it like I should know what that is,” I say.

  Umbra replies before he can. “It is a Jovian Collective archive. Your captain is correct. If Willis has something that he wishes to keep well-guarded, Rhea’s Vault is the most secure facility in the solar system.”

  “If so, how does that help us? We can’t exactly knock on the door and expect them to let us in.” I look from one of them to the other. “Or can we?”

  “No,” says Umbra, “but if you agree to assist me, I can facilitate your access to it.”

  “It seems to me that if you are able to get us into something as preciously guarded as this vault, you hardly need us. Especially if you have the resources behind you that tattoo implies.”

  “She’s got a point,” says Chambers.

  Umbra hesitates, as if he’s embarrassed about what he plans to tell us. “I have good reason to believe that Willis has compromised my unit. Those men you examined in the morgue were Custodes Martis. They were betrayed and led into Willis’s trap.”

  “So, you can’t trust your own people?” I say.

  “No, I’m forced to recruit outside agents; capable operatives who can function on their own initiative and who haven’t been compromised by Willis.”

  “Um, hello? I’m a doctor, and he’s just a ship’s captain; I can’t even shoot straight. I’m hardly what you call a capable operative.”

  “What do you mean by saying I’m just a ship’s captain, Mel?”

  I suddenly realize how little I know about Chambers. The armoury in his quarters; his shady connections; his knowledge of arcane Martian military units; it is all adding up to something I’m not sure I want to know more about.

  “I didn’t intend it to sound that way, Roy.”

  “To forestall a falling-out,” says an amused Umbra, “I am intimately aware of both of your backgrounds and qualifications. Please trust that I know what I am doing. It’s sort of my job.”


  “If we help you, what’s in it for us?” I say.

  “I will put the ample resources behind me at your service to locate the captain’s missing sister.”

  “And to cure Chloe Cabot,” I say, “or else no deal.”

  I glare at Chambers.

  “Yeah,” he says after some consideration. “What she said—plus money; lots of it.”

  “You shall have all of that,” says Umbra.

  Chambers and I look at each other for a moment. I turn to Umbra and reach out a hand. “Assuming we can hammer out the details, I guess we’re in.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I switch off the transmitter then turn to address Chambers.

  “That was almost too easy,” I say.

  “You’re pretty convincing wearing that thing.” He points at the object around my neck. “It’s actually kind of creepy. Do you mind?”

  “Oh, sorry, I forgot I had it on.” I reach up and deactivate the holo-mask device.

  “Do you think Cabot bought it? Did he think you were Chloe?”

  I shrug and toss the collar to the desk. “It was worth the shot. What did we have to lose?”

  “Um, our lives?” Chambers says, miming hanging from a noose.

  “I think we’re better off if he thinks his daughter is safe and sound on Requiem,” I say. “If he gets a whiff of what has happened to her, we’re fucked.”

  “Well, technically, she is alive and aboard the ship.”

  “I don’t think being frozen and stored on life support in the cargo bay counts,” I say.

  “We couldn’t leave her on Phobos.”

  I sigh. “No, we couldn’t, and I can continue working to find her a cure in case, or when, this wild goose chase to Rhea ends in disaster.”

  Chambers places a hand on my shoulder. “Have some faith, Mel. It will work.”

  I pat his hand, mostly because I’m too tired to start an argument about it. Besides, the time for debate is long over. If I was going to say no, it should have been in that bar when Umbra offered us this gig. Now, I’m in; a part of the team, for better or worse.