FORT LIBERTY: VOLUME ONE (14 page)

“Lieutenant Colonel Voss,” President Wexler finally walks through the door, his expression warmer than Voss anticipated. He’s tall and thin, but well-built for Red Filter, the model image of an aging politician, strong profile, salt and pepper hair, no glasses, nothing demure, his smile flashy and unapologetic.

“Mr. President.” Voss stands, shaking the man’s hand as it’s offered, catching a grip that’s probably supposed to bite, but doesn’t feel like much.

“Honor to meet you, Jared,” Wexler says.

Voss nods, unaware they were on a first name basis.

“Please, please, resume your seat,” Wexler adds offhandedly, walking around his enormous desk. “Something else to drink? Just speak up. No need for formality here. We’re talking as equals today. Anything you need?”

“No… sir.”

Wexler takes his seat, considers him a moment. “Damn fine work you did getting everyone here alive. Best anyone could do under the circumstances.”

It’s a wax of bullshit, and Voss figures they both know that, so no there’s need to pretend otherwise. “With respect, Mr. President, one of my men is missing, and we failed in our objective.”

“You should all be dead,” Wexler reminds him. “You
would
all be dead, on our own damn cruiser, if not for a critical decision you made. You survived a base assault and an unprecedented attack on flight path. You managed the situation, and everyone is on Mars now. It’s the outcome that matters to me, Jared, and the outcome here is that success is still achievable.”

“My team is ready.”

“Yes, I know. I read your report. I’m aware of how anxious you are to get out there, and I admire that. It’s in keeping with your exemplary service record, the choices you’ve made. The fact that a man of your age, of your considerable rank, still prefers to be in the fight, training the new guys coming up, keeping his boots on the ground… I like that.”

“Sir.”

Wexler keeps going, dancing with words in his politico way. “It tells me that you’re no-nonsense, no bullshit. It tells me that you can be trusted, and I don’t have many people around me that I can trust. The report you filed, which was immediately classified by the Security Council, describes an unknown strain of bacteria that your team discovered in Niri’s blood.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The existence of this particular organism is classified information, way above your clearance level. I intend to solve that problem today by raising the status of your team, your personal status and your pay grade, provided that you’re willing to be part of the future we’re building here, ready to stand by your oath and serve us in our time of need, with the loyalty and distinction you’ve shown to date. I need you, and your team, at Fort Liberty for the foreseeable future.”

Voss keeps his expression neutral, translating this glossy diatribe without much effort.
You know way too much now, and you might be useful; therefore, we’re promoting you in the hope that we can keep you close, that you’ll protect us and keep your mouth shut
.

Wexler is framing this as a choice, but they both know it’s not. Assaulters sign contracts. They serve at the pleasure of the president, so his response is automatic.

“You have my oath, sir.”

Wexler gives him a nod, man-to-man, a half-smile. “Good, good. I’m glad to hear it. On that note, I’m appointing you my new Chief of Security, with all the appropriate clearances, and the power to keep your team, and appoint your own staff. From now on, you take your orders directly from me.”

“Yes, sir.”

The president leans forward, props his elbows on the desk, searching for the right way to say what comes next. “Now for what you need to know… Niri is part of a test program. Her Earthbound mother was a covert volunteer, sworn to never disclose her participation, even to her husband, in exchange for her daughter’s citizenship. Niri’s DNA has been modified, as your medic noted, to host a strain of bacteria that we discovered on this planet about thirty years ago.”

“Bacteria native to Mars.”

“Yes, but it’s not widespread, even here. This strain only has one colony. It exists in only one place on the entire planet. It requires a warm liquid environment. It thrives underground, in an isolated cavern we call the Vault. The site is now a classified research facility, and that’s where Niri will go. In short, she’s designed to help us communicate with the colony.”

“Communicate with it, sir?”

“This isn’t standard bacteria, like the simplistic organisms of Earth. This colony has evolved beyond that. It has traits. It has a kind of collective intelligence.”

Voss stares at the man.

“This is first contact, Jared,” Wexler says. “The steps we’ve made along the way have been extremely difficult and time consuming, but we’re almost to the point of real communication. The girl is in no danger whatsoever. She was designed for this, and inherently, it’s what she wants to do. They change when they get here. They change completely. They recognize Mars as their home. They understand they have a purpose here. Contact with the colony soothes them.”

“Soothes them…”

Wexler slants him a sidelong glance. “It sounds terrible, I know, the mixing of human and bacterial DNA, but it happens naturally. There are over five hundred strains of bacteria that thrive in your intestinal tract alone. You can’t digest food without them. They contribute to your immune system. They’re on your skin, in your food, in your mouth… everywhere. Approximately three pounds of your weight is living bacteria. What do you think evolution is? It’s not a solitary thing, not just the survival of the fittest in regard to one species. In many cases, we’ve evolved right along with other species, evolved to host them living inside us, to our benefit. This will give us the opportunity to communicate directly.”

“And the risks, sir?”

Wexler nods, as if he expected this. “We’re talking about a select number of individuals with the capability to interact with another species. This advancement bears no threat to the general population, I assure you. Why do you think you and your men were not infected? It’s physically impossible for you to be. We’ve been working for decades to create a handful of truly compatible human beings to facilitate this level of communication. If we succeed, the breakthrough will move us into a world of greater human possibility, a way to better understand this planet and what good we can do here. It may have important implications for Earth as well, ways we can improve the environment and the situation there.”

“Improve the situation how, sir?”

“We’re just at the starting point,” Wexler explains, answering the question without answering it. “We can’t yet put a limit on where this technology will take us, what applications it may have. We need to make it work. Then we have a lot of research to do. It’s painstaking scientific work.”

Voss nods, knowing that painstaking scientific work is not his area of expertise, and not the reason for his instant promotion either. “Do we know anything about the attacks, sir?”

“Information on this program has leaked out, obviously, and now we’re faced with a group of violent saboteurs intent on destroying it. They don’t like the fact that we’re developing technology they can’t control, and that it may have an effect on industry, power structure, or profits in Red Filter. They’ve killed people. They’ve damaged property, and the worst part is that they’re here somewhere. They’re not Earthbound terrorists, though it seems they may be working with a few. They’re homegrown. They have sophisticated weapons, spies, all of it financed by someone within my administration, or within the Block 12 companies, I don’t know who yet.”

He looks away, his attention drawn to the window and its view of his sprawling capital, one of many cities in his planetary empire, its twilight hues deepening as night approaches. “When the War of Last Nations destroyed Earth, everything changed for the people of Red Filter too. We organized, constructed a society that would not make the same mistakes, incorporated the Block 12 companies to rebuild the mother planet. Now we are the only thing preserving what was lost, the only hope for mankind to rebuild and reach its potential. We will not have a war in Red Filter. Not on my watch. We will not have our advances wasted, our innocent slaughtered… not here too.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I need you to help me protect these people, Jared.”

“I am here, sir.”

“Yes, yes, you are.” Wexler seems genuinely grateful for a moment. He draws a sharp breath, nods, reorganizing his thoughts. “About twenty minutes ago, one of our drones spotted the outline of a concealed shuttle near the derelict tunnel settlement at Arsia
Mons.
I want you to go out there and investigate it personally. I’m arranging a contingent of guards, and a pilot, for you as we speak. I’m afraid we haven’t got much, in terms of assault equipment, but take whatever you need from the armory.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you discover that the smuggler is there, I need you to extract Niri, and bring me everyone responsible for hiding her, Petra especially.”

“Petra, sir?”

“Yes.” Wexler looks back at him, taps the pads of his fingers on the desk, a gold wedding band catching the light. “She’s involved herself in a classified operation. She helped get you here alive. I recognize that, but she’s had plenty of time to come forward, as is her legal obligation, and she’s chosen not to, which puts her non-citizen merchant license at serious risk, not to mention her life, and the life of the girl she’s holding. We allow her to operate because she contributes. She provides certain luxuries to high-profile people, and we allow that. But she’s crossed the line, and there’s a price. She has to be arrested, debriefed and held until I can determine how much she really knows and what to do with her.”

Voss nods, expecting as much.

“I’ve tried to keep this as quiet as possible,” Wexler adds. “But the preparations for your departure will likely be noticed. Odds are, no matter what precautions we take, the enemy will be alerted the minute you leave Fort Liberty. If they can, they’ll attack you with everything they have. They don’t take prisoners. They’ll try to kill you, your men, and everyone at that station.”

“Yes, sir,” Jared rises from his seat. “I expect they will.”

DERELICT SETTLEMENT “PIONEER”

ARSIA MONS REGION

MARS DATE: DAY 10, MONTH 10/24, YEAR 2,225

The Arsia caldera at dusk is no place for humans seeking comfort. Once a well of fire and molten rock, it’s now the parched remains of a shield volcano, hollowed out and howling with the force of storms, a windswept bowl of stone overlooking barren plain. The sun sets in contrast hues, haloed blue on the horizon, the sky turned pearl and losing its luster… ghost lands melting into shadow.

Petra grimaces through the thick gloss of her visor, watching from her vantage on the summit as that cold sun sinks even lower, the temperature now at minus eighty-two and dropping fast, darkness seeping into the frozen cracks and rifts around her, night coming too soon.

“Sentinel One feed,” she says.

“One sees nothing,” Clara’s voice replies over the comm.

Nothing.
Petra glances across the summit, spotting the closest sentinel drone in its hiding place. It’s concealed itself well, crouching among the ancient crevices like a giant mechanized spider, its legs drawn up around its ammo cage, shield plates extended to help it resemble the pale rock around it, the barrel of its machine gun, and dark, iridescent lenses of its cameras, hidden between its armor.

“Sentinel Two?”

“Nothing.”

“Three?”

“Also nothing.”

And that would be the way, wouldn’t it? Nothing on radar. Nothing visual on the horizon. Nothing detected by the three sentinel drones sitting along the summit, positioned just above the station, with their diverse spectrum of sight, thermal, motion and otherwise…

Gut says there’s someone watching, someone waiting, but the best technology she can afford, and her own her own eyes, see nothing.

“Not right,” she mutters.

“You’re just spooked,” Clara replies, patience wearing thin. “You’re always spooked when hiding at First Settlement, you know that. History of this place, and history of you in this place, is no good. You got to stop pissing around and get back on the elevator. Station’s all warmed up. We got direct feed from the sentinels. No one’s going to sneak up on us.”

“Something’s here.”

“Yeah, your imagination, is what. You’re sitting among the first dead, you’re thinking of dark moments, and you’re losing it.”

Petra frowns, unable to argue that, or form a proper comeback, because there might be too much truth in it. The first dead, the ashes of a few hundred early settlers, are entombed along this same lonely section of the summit. Hundreds of iron markers bear the names of those who first set down here centuries ago, eagerly unloading their white habitat kits, rolls of silver insulation and electrical cabling, using what machines they had to tunnel deeper into the open lava tubes, create their own primitive human refuge.

Most died, but those who didn’t left everything, a fleet of spindly terrain rovers half-buried in the silt outside the station’s elevator platform, a warren of interconnected habitat modules down in the lava tubes, generators which still run when the antique cells are changed, computers which still blink on and grind through lines of hard code to run life support.