Mars Prime (25 page)

Redfern must have been thinking similar thoughts, because he gestured toward the moon's barren surface and said, "Fun, huh?"

"Yeah," Corvan replied. "A thousand laughs. Well, no point in standing around, we might as well get to work."

The shuttle had dropped them a quarter of a mile away from Dr. B's pre-fab shelter, and it seemed like a logical place to begin.

Sunlight glinted off the flower-petal-shaped solar collector as it tracked the sun. Using that as a marker, Corvan wound his way through a maze of basaltic boulders and out into a sizeable crater. A muddle of footprints showed where the scientist or the first pair of investigators had walked. It took about five minutes to cross the crater, climb the other side, and arrive at the edge of Dr. B's tiny outpost.

The encampment consisted of a small semi-rigid inflatable dome, a cigar-shaped 02 tank, a pile of beat-up equipment cases, a twenty-foot com mast supported by three guy wires, the still functioning solar collector, and some armored storage cells. All were untouched. Well, no surprises here.

As Corvan approached the dome he noticed hundreds of footprints. Most of the footprints were small, but some were larger and overlaid those made by the scientist. The larger prints had been left by the shuttle crew during their rather limited search. Limited because the larger tracks were few and far between. A sure sign that they hadn't looked very hard.

The deduction was satisfying somehow and made Corvan feel halfway competent.

"Which do you prefer?" Redfern asked politely. "The shelter? Or the rest of this stuff?"

"I'll take the shelter," Corvan replied. "Even though it's a waste of time. The shuttle crew already looked inside."

Corvan approached the dome, bent over to enter the lock, and pushed the appropriate button. An atmosphere was pumped in but the reop kept his suit sealed. He didn't plan to stay very long.

The inner hatch opened and Corvan stepped out into a medium-sized room. The
only
room. It looked pretty much the way he'd expected it to look. He saw boxes of neatly labeled rock samples, a sophisticated perscomp, a comset, a scattering of clothing, and a rudimentary kitchen that consisted of a duraplas storage case with a single two-burner stove on top. A pot, half full of congealed chili, sat next to it.

So, while there was no sign of the scientist herself, there was plenty of evidence that she'd been around for a while; Where had she gone? And why?

There was no obvious answer, but Corvan was of the opinion that the most mundane theory would be the best one to pursue first, so they would proceed accordingly. If Redfern agreed, that was.

Corvan walked over to the perscomp, ejected the hard drive into the palm of his hand, and dropped it into a pocket. The chances were slim that it contained anything more than scientific data, but it wouldn't hurt to check.

He emerged from the lock to find that Redfern had completed an inspection of the surrounding area.
 

"Nothing?"
 

"Nope. You?"
 

"Ditto."
 

"So what now?"

"Well," Corvan replied, "let's assume that she went out on some kind of routine errand. Like a trip to collect rock samples or check instruments. Then let's assume that she had an accident of some sort, a fall or a problem with her suit."

"Sounds logical. So where do we start?"

"With these footprints," Corvan said, gesturing toward the ground. "There's no rain to wash them away, and no wind to obliterate them, so it should be relatively easy."

"Maybe," Redfern said doubtfully, "and maybe not. It could take hours to follow all these tracks out and back."

"Got a better idea?"

"No," Redfern admitted reluctantly.

"Well, neither do I. Let's get started."

It took hours to sort the tracks, follow them to their ultimate destinations, and make their way back. Not just once, but time and time again.

It was tempting to split up and double the amount of work accomplished during a given amount of time, but dangerous as well. For example, low gravity made it easy to move but caused problems, too. Redfern jumped a small boulder at one point, put a little too much energy into it, and floated for about five minutes before he finally came down.

So they stuck together, unraveling the geologist's wanderings like threads from a sweater, waiting for the moment of truth. It seemed as if most of her trips involved samples of one kind or another, because the tracks would head outward from the camp and terminate at a boulder, crater, or other landmark where disturbances in the dust, or scars on the rock, offered mute testimony as to the scientist's activities.

There were other trips as well, to inspect instrument packages that she had placed here and there, and to sightsee, or so they supposed, because some of the rails ended nowhere special and were overlaid with the tracks made during her return journey.

But none of the trails ended at a crumpled space suit or other evidence as to the geologist's fate, and with their oxygen running low, the men were forced into the shelter.

It took time to service their suits, rehydrate some dinner, and check in with Scheeler via Dr. B's comset. Theirs was in good working order, but both had agreed to conserve it.

Scheeler seemed reasonably cheerful, but somewhat guarded, since all their conversation took place on a widely monitored frequency.

Still, Corvan got the impression that while the murder investigation was stalled, "other activities" were underway and expected to go well. The reop assumed that "other activities" referred to the Dubie Long investigation.

It had been relatively easy for SIS to establish the linkage between Long and Barbu Sharma. The two were thick as the thieves that they probably were. But why? Why were they messing around in Mac's data banks? And why follow Martin? That's what Scheeler wanted to find out, and Corvan had little doubt that she would.

There were two not especially comfortable cots— the one that Dr B had slept in and the one that her partner had never arrived to use.

Corvan chose the geologist's bed and lay down not expecting to sleep right away. But a hard day's work, plus the steady hum from the recycling system, put him out like a light.

Corvan woke six hours later to the smell of coffee and retrydrated eggs. He sat up and looked around. Things were just the same, except that Redfern was dressed in the long-john style undergarment that most of the colonists wore under their E-suits and was crouched in front of the stove. He had ajar in his hand and was ladling some of the contents in with the eggs.

"What the hell's that stuff?"

Redfern sealed the container and put it back in a box with the rest of Dr. B's cooking gear.

"Good morning to you, too. Salsa. It'll put a smile on your face and some flavor in your eggs. The doctor knew how to cook."

Corvan gave a grunt of acknowledgment, made use of the chemical toilet, and wiped himself down with some towelettes. He considered shaving, decided to let it slide, and accepted the cup of coffee that Redfern handed him.

"Thanks."

"Think nothing of it. Mars security. Service with a smile. That's our motto."

Corvan laughed. "I'd like to see you tell
that
to the people on Scheeler's chain gang."

Redfern scooped some eggs into a bowl and handed it to Corvan.

"Well, it's like the boss says. ‘You can't please everybody.' "
 

"You like her?"
 

"Like who?"
 

"Scheeler."
 

"She has great legs."
 

"Yeah . . . you can say that again."
 

"She has great legs."

Corvan laughed. "So, do you like her or not?"

Redfern ate some of the eggs. He looked thoughtful. "Yeah, she's damned good at what she does. I like competent people. How 'bout you?"

Corvan shrugged. "Not at first ... but I like her now."

Redfern nodded, and the two men finished their meal in companionable silence. An hour later they were suited up and ready to resume the search. They had found various ways to identify the trails already followed and were careful to avoid them.

Corvan picked a new set of tracks at random, motioned for Redfern to follow, and headed outwards toward a spire of rock that they had named "the Dork" for obvious reasons.

He felt better today, more confident, and was actually enjoying himself. The moon's horizon made a black jagged line against the soft glow of the planet below. Air whispered against the back of the reop's neck, an occasional burst of static came in through the helmet speakers, and the activity felt good.

Dr. B's tracks followed along the edge of a sizeable crater, folded back on themselves where she returned to inspect a chunk of rock, then wandered towards the Dork.

It rose from the rock around it like some sort of primeval obelisk. A skirt of rock fragments, some the size of ground cars, indicated that the spire had been bigger once, and rounder, until the cumulative effects of heating and cooling had sheared material away and left what they saw now.

Sticking up from the surrounding landscape as it did, the Dork had been almost sure to catch Dr. B's eye, so the footprints made sense.

They came to an end right at the base of the up-thrust rock. Redfern was the first one to notice what should have been obvious.

"Look, Rex! No return tracks!"

Corvan looked around. Something heavy fell into the pit of his stomach. The other man was right. The tracks led right up to the base of the spire, crisscrossed back and forth over each other, and merged with an area of disturbed soil. No tracks led away.

But that was impossible! Where was the body? Some sign of the geologist's fate?

This particular part of Deimos was exposed to the sun, but the shadows were extremely dark, so both men had activated their helmet lights. Corvan used his to inspect the patch of disturbed soil. He saw a glint of reflected light.

Careful to keep his eye on that exact spot, the reop dropped to his knees and brushed at the dirt. Metal appeared, bright shiny metal, like that of a brand new coin.

There was no need to say anything. Redfern saw the metal and dropped to his knees as well, scraping away with both hands until a large disk was revealed.

Suddenly a tiny pencil-thin beam of bright white light shot out through a hole in the metal and made a dot on Corvan's helmet. The reop jerked away. The opening grew larger and larger until a beam shot straight up to be lost in space.

Squinting down into the glare, Corvan saw a vertical shaft about three feet wide, and four feet deep. Something, another disk from all appearances, blocked the other end. Thousands of dust particles floated straight down into the interior of Deimos.

Corvan looked at Redfern. "What the hell?"

The other man shrugged. The gesture was invisible outside of his suit. "Beats me. Are we going in?"

Corvan thought about it and realized that the decision was already made.

"I am."

"Me too."

"Good."

"So who goes first?"
 

'' The most expendable."

Redfern nodded agreeably. "That would be you. Go for it."
 

"Thanks tons."

Corvan knee-walked his way over to the opening, swung his boots down into the shaft itself, and looked back over his shoulder.

"Well, here goes nothing!"

He barely felt the four-foot drop.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eighteen

 

 

Barbu Sharma looked around. His E-suit was half-covered with wind-blown soil, and billions of flying sand particles made it difficult to see. Both ground and sky had given way to an all-encompassing reddish-brown haze. Mars Prime appeared and disappeared like some sort of gigantic ghost.

The storm had raged for five hours now, ever since the sun's heat had cut through the planet's tenuous atmosphere and warmed dust particles in the air. The result was a convective cell and winds that exceeded 125 miles an hour. Lethal on Earth but little more than a stiff breeze on Mars, thanks to the extremely thin air. A pain in the butt, but perfect for an attack.

Sharma swore under his breath. This was it, the moment he'd been dreading, when all his hopes rested on a single roll of the dice. Loaded dice, to be sure . . . but dice nonetheless.

The original plan had been better and more elegant. Subvert Mars Prime from within. Hook a large number of the colonists on alien drugs, feed them heavy doses of his phony religion, and use them to take over.

Once in control there were two ways to go, and Sharma wasn't sure which he liked best.

The first plan involved setting himself up as King of Mars. Not as stupid as it might sound, since there was no one to stop him. There were no police outside of Scheeler's glorified rent-a-cops, no army beyond what the opposition could patch together from volunteers, and no external force capable of reaching him in anything less than a year.

They could cut off his supplies or establish a second colony, however, and that raised the possibility of plan number two. He could take over, submit phony reports to make it seem as though things were okay, and unearth the alien lander.

After that he could ambush the next colony ship, load the alien spacecraft onboard, and return to Earth. The spacecraft and the technology that it represented, would be more than enough to buy himself a life of luxury.

So what would it be? Total power on Mars? Or a life of luxury on Earth? Both were his for the taking.

"Boss?" The voice was insistent. "Didn't you say that we should attack at seventeen-hundred straight-up?"

Sharma sighed. Dubie Long. Loyal, hard-working, and stupid. It was Dubie that had been caught looking for information in Mars Central's memory banks, Dubie they had started to investigate, and Dubie who had forced him to move early.

"Yes, and I also told you to keep a lid on it when I'm thinking."

"Sorry, boss."

"All right," Sharma said wearily. "Put out the word. Let's get it over with."