In year 2352 a cone shaped transport hovered into position outside the domed city of Powlett, Mars. On opposite sides of the vessel ‘Solar Spaceways Cruise Coach’ flashed in bold, yellow letters. Hanging in the thin air, it sprouted a disembarking tube to connect to the round, sealed dock. Outside the dome was a typical Martian landscape with rocks and dust to the horizon, and a faint blue sunset decorated the dark sky. Inside Powlett there was not much more to see. The single-story buildings were made of stone, and the only sign of life was a crowd of people loitering near the circular hatch.
Yet, when the four sectioned metal seal slid open, the passengers were eagerly lined up to move in.
The first one to disembark was a short, thin man with light brown skin and neatly combed black hair topping his soft, round face. Unlike the pants, shirts, and jackets of the other passengers, he wore a three-layer beige robe with four green stripes on the collar. The neutral attire marked him as a seeker of knowledge, official representatives of Earth Management, and the four stripes gave him a high rank.
“Thank you for flying Solar Spaceways, Craster Krenne. Welcome to Mars,” a smooth, feminine voice spoke to him.
The message was from the ship’s pilot, but she did not know him personally. There were two hundred other passengers on this shuttle from Earth, and each received the same farewell with their own name. It was not his ears that received the message, but his brain-computer.
Deemed a human right in 2234, brain-computers contained a few parts of ceramic, plastic, and metal, but most of the device was grown from a person’s cells. It formed a truly personal bond that would work for no one else.
Craster’s brain-computer allowed him to connect to the Solar System Information Service, or the Big Sis as it was often called. It contained the accumulated knowledge of all humanity that spread throughout the solar system, centered on Earth. With the SSIS he could communicate remotely, learn public matters, and access the machines woven throughout society.
Without replying Craster passed over the threshold of the city entrance and stepped onto the dull landing platform. His brown eyes gazed over Powlett with calm confidence as he made his way to the level, stone ground. Ten yards away a line of people dressed in bright colors fashionable on Mars silently waited to fill in the empty seats.
Other than the pilot’s message, only Powlett’s musty odor greeted Craster, and he could not resist the thought that it was an alien scent invading his Earth raised nostrils. On the home world he had seen holograms of Mars with beautiful people lounging and playing next to enormous sparkling swimming pools and lush green foliage. In the background a violent storm wasted its strength behind the protection of a dome. Other commercials showed majestic floating barges with smiling people mingling and enjoying every luxury off the tip of Olympus Mons. The Mars tourism trade presented it as a planet full of exhilarating spots of the finest pleasures humanity could offer, but this was not that kind of place.
The small city of Powlett was arranged as neatly as a brain-computer could plan, and straight streets crisscrossed at regular intervals. The short, square buildings made of native stone stretched for miles into the distance with little piles of dirt lining the walls. Even the protective dome that covered the city seemed dingy compared to others he had seen. He paused to wait for his partner to catch up, and other passengers moved around him, some nodding in deference.
“Ugh, it smells like my grandma just before she died. One hundred seventy-eight years old, a record for my family,” Rex Chandley remarked behind him. In the prime of her life at 52 years old, his partner had dark brown skin with a thick mane of platinum curls. She wore a similar beige robe with only one green stripe on the collar. Half a foot taller than him, she took in a deep breath and then coughed it back out. “Yuck, I can even taste it.”
Craster casually glanced back, and saw Rex still had her arm around a pretty woman with pale skin and wavy violet hair. A native Martian, she wore a tight green bodysuit with bright blue ruffles sewn in rows across the torso and outside of the sleeves and legs. The two had latched onto each other during the ten-day trip from the Dallas Intersystem Spaceport, but he had not bothered to keep her name in his active memory.
“Yip, it’s from all the dust. First time on Mars? You’ll get used to it,” Rex’s companion said with an odd accent and clipped words.
Craster ignored her and said to Rex, “It’s 5:37 now and we lost almost an hour dodging that pirate cruiser close to Narsinyx. Let’s keep to our schedule.”
The couple broke their embrace and shared a wave before Rex followed him, never one to waste time with long goodbyes. Through the quickly dispersing crowd, the pair headed toward a bearded man with an orange robe and a green turban. Next to him a floating platform had two stacks of hard and soft cases of passenger luggage. After only a short wait in line they sent their access codes, and the attendant retrieved two identical black bags for them. Once Craster’s hand contacted the handle, his brain-computer scanned the lock and contents and found both intact.
“I’m happy with my bag,” Rex privately messaged after a few steps.
“We should visually check them anyway,” Craster replied as he checked around and saw no threats.
They stopped and balanced on one leg and set their bags on their upraised knees, keyed in their codes with their brain-computers and opened them. After only a few seconds of inspection, they closed them and continued across the gritty stone.
Rex cleared her throat as she looked around Powlett with disgust. She sent to Craster, “No wonder we got bonus pay for this job. Look at this planet scab. We’d better be able to find some decent food around this place.”
He glanced at his sulking partner. “Make a list of complaints and send them to Management when you get back home. Let’s find a taxi.” He started towards a group of men in bright orange robes with brown fedoras next to a line of round, flat, metal platforms with two rows of cushioned seats.
One of the robed men stepped up first and hailed them with a wave of one pale hand. “Hey it, you’re from Earth?”
“Yes, but we’re on official business. Diamond Ridge Hotel,” Craster told the man.
The smiling driver directed them to the closest platform. He reached for their bags, but Rex waved him off. After the pair were seated in the back bench with their bags in their laps, he took the driver’s seat. A sparkling wave of energy formed a field around them, and the egg-shaped vehicle sped away. This specialized field would allow them to exit, but blocked air and debris from coming through. They wove through streets that could fit three of the taxis side by side. They occasionally passed other vehicles, larger and smaller, some as sophisticated as the one they rode in, others floating scrap piles.
Craster sent to Rex, “Nice taxi. That’s promising.”
Rex squirmed on the seat next to him. “Yeah, if I close my eyes, I can pretend that I’m in civilization.”
The conveyance pulled up to a building that looked much like any other on the street. Hanging over the arched entrance was a stained black and white sign that bore the title ‘Diamond Ridge Hotel’. Craster held out his certified credit card to the driver, and the man swiped it over a flat, handheld reader.
Rex had already left the cab, standing in the arch, and glared at a cracked, descending stairway. The open arch at the bottom of the stairs was lit, but only a tiled floor was visible beyond. A single energy globe near the ceiling provided just enough illumination to see. Craster stepped from the taxi and Rex skipped down the steps with agile, flawless motions, her platinum locks bouncing as she went. With a more reserved pace, he followed. Once he reached the last step Craster crossed a specialized field, and the sound of the casino in the Diamond Ridge lobby washed over him.
The room was one immense rectangle, wider left to right than from front to back, with thick red upholstery on the walls. The ceiling was mirrored, creating an illusion that the lobby was larger than it was, and crystal chandeliers provided abundant light. Patrons sat at blue booths with gold trim that allowed them access to over a billion different games of chance, some connected for group play, but most holding a single occupant. Wagers and winnings were handled in the Big Sis. The wait staff wore matching tan bodysuits. One side of their uniforms had a line of different colored diamonds, and the other had lights in the shape of red dancing lizards marching down their bodies. They wove their way smoothly among the booths with permanent smiles, delivering refreshments to the casino’s patrons. A colorful mosaic of dancing lizards covered the left-hand wall, and between them a hallway led to the rest of the hotel.
Across from the entrance was a long, stone counter with a blonde attendant wearing a white robe with blue dancing lizard lights, smiling pleasantly as they approached. Behind him on the wall small screens flashed to life in a mosaic of jubilant faces. The features matched each of the wait staff, and with a brain-computer a greeting could be accessed with positive affirmations about how rewarding it was to work at the Diamond Ridge Hotel.
Rex leaned on the counter and gave a confident smile. “Checking in, name’s Chandley.”
“Of course,” the blonde clerk replied and stared at his terminal. “Room seven twenty-five is now attuned to your presence. Can I be of further assistance?”
Rex chuckled. “Well, that depends. Is there anything fun to do around here?”
The clerk’s polite smile faded, and he glanced at the multitude of gaming machines ten yards away. “That depends on what you call fun.”
She looked at her fingers and rapped them on the counter. “Oh, anything two people can do together, alone.”
The flirting might have continued, but Craster tapped her on the shoulder. “We’re tired; you can find your fun later.”
He turned to the hallway and the flanking holographic lizards. His brain-computer detected a hypnotic pattern in the faux creatures, and he analyzed the motions. He was relieved to know that the pattern was designed to stimulate calming centers of the brain. The logic fit that calm patrons were good for business, but still he asked the attendant, “Why are there so many lizards? Isn’t the name Diamond Ridge?”
The clerk shrugged and glanced from Craster to the holograms. “The owner likes his lizards.”
Craster’s brain-computer analyzed the clerk’s body language and deciphered that there was another meaning behind the reptile images beyond personal preference. He flagged the thought for use in case he later deciphered a pattern in the Martians around him. Rex gave Craster a sideways glance and the clerk one last smile before the two went to find room seven twenty-five.
Beyond the lobby the hallway had green walls with gold lines in diamond shaped patterns. A few other guests in bright red, loose-fitting suits sauntered past. After a few dozen steps the pair came to a set of elevator doors, with four patrons waiting. Closest to the elevators were two men with identical black spiked hair linked arm in arm and wearing black and green striped bodysuits. Behind them, whispering to each other, were a man and a woman with shaved heads wearing dark red-orange, silk robes with diagonal bright orange stripes.
Craster and Rex took a place nearby and after a loud ping and a flashing white light the vertical split door slid open without a sound. They stepped through in turn and found a lift large enough to hold twenty people comfortably and another dancing lizard logo moving across the floor.
“This place doesn’t look too bad,” Rex admitted after she and Craster stepped to the center of the descending elevator with their backs to the other four. “From the outside I thought we would be walking on stairs and sleeping on ugly little cots.”
“Og-ni-loa,” the robed man said behind her.
She and Craster twisted their heads as one to look at the bald couple.
“What was that?” Rex asked.
“It was Martian, it means our value lies under the surface,” the robed woman explained with a grin.
Rex’s face scrunched in confusion. “Martians have their own language?”
Craster chuckled and after a moment Rex joined him, followed by the two spiked hair men. The robed man fumed but said nothing while his companion’s smile turned nervous, and she looked away. There was no more conversation as the elevator came to a stop on their floor and they stepped into a hall with an identical color pattern. Synthetic wood doors were spaced out and lining the walls between them were various sculptures made from Martian rock. With no visible signs or numbers, Craster’s brain-computer showed their room lay to the left, and they quickly found it.
“Why do they do that? Make it look like wood?” Rex asked, motioning to their room door.
“Psychologists did thousands of studies on the effects of shapes and colors on the subconscious. They found that familiar shapes like wooden doors upset people the least, and you know how Management hates to upset people.”
“We have metal and glass doors at home.” Rex rapped on the surface, and it made the familiar sound of knuckles on wood.
“Yes, but we do have trees on Earth. Did you see any on the way in?” With his brain-computer he commanded it to slid open and stepped past her into the room.
“Why can’t they grow some?”
“They do, but since they help provide breathable air, plants are extremely valuable on Mars. Martians produce them in sealed, protected vaults. Plus, the hotel doesn’t want anyone spending a lot of time admiring the greenery. They want them at the games, gambling. This is one of the lower cost casinos, but there are others that have accessible gardens. Patrons to the casino can wander through them for a fee.”
Craster went immediately into a small room and a single glass booth that he stood in with clothes on. Activated with his brain-computer, beams of gleaming energy trailed down over him, gently scouring away dirt and harmful microbes. After he finished, she took her turn.
Waiting on Rex, he looked over their furnishings in their room with dull grey walls. Over a dozen pairs of metal panels adorned the space. The panels that stood on the floor were the largest, with two smaller pairs next to a glass table that had one leg balanced on a point. He walked over to one of those pair and sat. A construct of visible white energy formed a comfortable chair and caught him.
Rex emerged from her cleansing finger primping her thick curls. “Hey, I haven’t downloaded the file for this one, yet. Do you mind sending it to me?”
Common information could be accessed with the Big Sis, but sensitive files, such as those that detailed their mission, were contained within brain-computers.
Craster put his hands on his knees and sighed audibly. “It’s very possible we could have been separated travelling this far and then who would you download from? Without the file you don’t know what you’re doing. Why don’t you acquire the file before we leave and not let every stranger you fancy go poking around in your head?”
“But the fact that I don’t know them is what makes it exciting,” Rex responded. After a short pause of staring at each other she clapped her hands and beckoned with her fingers. “Send me the file, quick it.”
With a sour scowl, he mentally linked with her and sent the information over the remote connection. He held back portions of the file, however, and it did not bother him that it was some petty way of punishing her.
Rex smiled at him after the share was complete. “You sound jealous of my little flings. You’re not so old, you could find a little mind-babe if you wanted to. How old are you, Cras? A hundred?”
“Ninety-six, and the last thing I feel about you and your playmates is jealousy.”
She stretched and yawned. “Almost a hundred, but you’re still in good shape. You never know you could last another century. I saw this story in the Big Sis about a man who’s still alive at two hundred seven.”
He leaned back and the chair shifted to match him. “Travis McSheen, the two-hundred-year-old vegetable, I scanned it. He can’t even get out of his med-bed. I don’t want my family saying I’m alive just because my body still processes essentials. I’d rather be recycled. No, the best I can hope for is one hundred sixty, seventy tops, but that still gives me plenty of time.”
“Scanned it, that’s ancient old.” She giggled. “Well, the point is you don’t have to travel lonely. There are plenty of minds you could enjoy connecting with.”
Craster kept his tone casual. “I know you won’t share this, but I like having a reason not to jump into the head of anyone that flashes their brain at me.”
“But when they flash it, it only means that they like you.”
He began to get flustered at her pestering. “Does my own personal taste count for anything? I share my mind with one, my mate, and she only shares hers with me.”
“Monogamy.” She flopped down between another pair of panels set farther apart. An energy mattress caught her, absorbing all the impact. “I can’t believe people still do that.”
Craster glared at her. “We have a permanent personal relationship, my spouse and me. We help make our lives work, and we don’t let anyone else interfere in that. I won’t have you scoffing at me for it.”
Her stare turned icy for a moment. “Why haven’t I ever met your mate? We’ve been partners for a while now.”
He replied,“Our partnership is professional. Management put us together because of our skill sets. I don’t mix the personal and professional parts of my life, and you shouldn’t either. You’re not my first partner of course, and none of them ever met Trelle.”
Rex sat forward with an earnest look on her face. “You’re my fourth partner, but the others introduced me to their families.”
He nodded. “And all your other partners asked for reassignment. That’s one reason we’re together. I know that work and play don’t mix.”
“You going to make a brat with her?” As Rex leaned against the wall part of the mattress molded up to cushion her back.
Craster paused, weighing how much to tell. “We’re thinking about it, but ordering a baby changes a lot. We’ve been together about thirty years, so we think we’re ready, but’s it’s still a big responsibility. Plus, there are so many forms you must fill out. The child manufacturers want enough info to fill a data slip, endless ‘what if’ scenarios to determine what program we need to assist us in parenting. We’re supposed to plan out his first five years in advance, and then give annual reports.”
“His, so a son then?”
“That’s another thing we haven’t decided. Trelle wants a girl. Let’s get dressed.” Craster pulled his bag into his lap, and after a moment Rex did the same.
Once it was open, he reached in and pulled out a grey body suit with twin blue stripes running from collar to wrist. Shrugging out of his robe and undergarments he pulled the elastic material over his bare skin until it covered him from neck to feet. He linked his brain-computer with the battle suit and felt the familiar shifting as it attuned to his body. The suit expanded until it took all definition from his form, turning the shape of his muscles into straight lines across his profile. The weapon stripes on his arms flashed blue, signaling ready to use.
Rex finished pulling on her red suit, also expanding to hide the shape of her curvy figure, and her gold weapon stripes flashed. They pulled their robes back over the suits and the material adequately hid the advanced technology. The gloves and boots did nothing to give away the offensive power.
“It looks like the contact is late,”she remarked.
Craster checked the time with his brain-computer, 6:23. The mission file said their Martian contact would locate them in their room at 6:15.
“He’s an ugly runt,” Rex sent, finally browsing over the information about their trip which included a photo of their guide on Mars. By accessing the file, it merged with her memory, and she knew the information as well as any other.
“Maybe you won’t let him upload you,”Craster sent without holding back a snarky tone.
Rex let out a throaty laugh. “Good one. It says we have to retrieve Zigurae Milnip from Down Town, but I don’t know why or anything about the location.”
Craster gave her a flat stare, satisfied over withholding part of the file. “Do you download anything besides people’s minds?”
“That’s what I have you for, Cras.” She beamed a smile at him. “Then there’s always music and talkies to consume. My sister craves silent stories, but I never could get into them.”
“They’re a bit too subtle for you,” Craster responded and that finally earned him a glare.
“Who is Milnip?”she asked.
“You know that blast last week in Hong Kong?”
Rex nodded. “Sixty-four thousand bodies blown to bits, so they must have tracked it back to this Milnip.”
Craster nodded with her. “It was an intentional bomb, not a malfunction in the city energy coils like was reported in the Big Sis. Milnip is a member of a Free Mars society. There have been other bombs reported as accidents around the home-world. Management tracked them all back to the same society that gains revenues from these gambling houses. There isn’t even a name for this group in the Big Sis.”
Rex wrinkled her face in confusion. “Free Mars from what?”
Pausing at her ignorance, he stared back for a moment. “From Earth. They want Martians to control the planet instead of taking orders from Management.”
Rex laughed and looked around the room with furnishings that could be found on the home-world. “It doesn’t look like things are too bad for them. What would they do different? What will we find in Down Town?”
Craster held up his hands in an empty gesture. “We can only guess. There is nothing current about it in the Big Sis, but I can only assume you know about the Mars mineral rush?”
Rex reported like a petulant student for a teacher. “A new rock was discovered on Mars in 2072 that made really good fuel. Mining companies rushed to the planet along with individual prospectors. In 2097 some corporation found a way to synthesize the mineral and started mass producing it. End of the rush, or at least that’s what the Big Sis says.”
Craster took up the tale, “Most of the companies had spent their fortunes to set up operations on Mars and went bankrupt. Some did not even leave themselves enough capital to get back off world. They dug so deep during the rush that miners stopped transporting to the surface and just lived underground in mining camps. Down Town is one of the largest communities. After a few generations, the people born in Down Town, Blister Brain, Dead Rush, Star Caves, and Risky Rock started calling themselves Martians and demanded to be free of Earth control, hence the Free Mars society. From what we know Down Town is a hovel in a man-made cave, a lawless pit outside of the Big Sis.”
Rex shook her head, disapproval clear on her face. “I can’t process why they don’t leave this dried up rock and head back to Earth.”
He shook his head. “They can’t. Anyone born on Mars is not automatically a citizen of Earth; they must petition for it. As we both know, petitions take a long time unless you know someone.”
Rex chuckled. “It’s even better when you are someone. The mission profile didn’t say we’re married this time. Too bad; I like playing your wife.”
He sighed. “Set your brain-comp to remind you that I am a seeker of history, and you are my student assistant. We don’t have a lot of credit to waste, so no gambling, and it would help if you followed my orders, please.”
She shook her shiny curls, the stubborn smile back on her face. “I hate it when my brain-c nags at me. Just don’t tell me to do anything, and I won’t have to refuse. I hate how they put ‘recover alive if possible’ in the file, like it’s that easy. We haven’t had a retrieval yet that didn’t fight to the death.”
Craster grunted in agreement. “They probably want to put him on trial, and then recycle him on the live feed.”
“I never miss the executions.” Rex showed her white teeth in a wide grin.
He looked aside. “I don’t watch them.”
She sat forward, eager to share. “Sometimes they cry and beg, and even though the disintegration process is painless they still scream like it hurts. You’ve never seen one?”
Craster nodded his head slowly but did not meet her gaze. “I’ve seen a few.”
The door chime signaled a visitor, and Craster sent a command to allow entry. “That must be him,” he said aloud.
The door opened, and a small man stepped through the entrance keeping his shoulders hunched. His hands were cradled at his waist, as though constantly protecting his middle. He had pale white skin with limp brown hair, a rough beard, and wore a striped white and red coat with matching pants. Although rumpled, his clothes were clean. On his wrist he wore a gleaming three-inch band, and Craster’s brain-computer informed him it was an old style of communicator manufactured on earth.
“Hey it,” the little man said.
“Hey it back, rubber, you’re late.” Rex stood in a rush, towering over the smaller man. He stared back, unintimidated.
Craster noted her use of the word ‘rubber’ as a slang term used on Earth for ‘shoulder rubber’, or someone that lived an unprivileged life. Rex was showing her imperious side.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Filbet Rigberts.” The newcomer said his name as though embarrassed by it and kept glancing around, tense. His accent was coarser than Rex’s travelling companion, but with the same clipped words.
Craster’s brain-computer analyzed his voice, matching it to a copy of Rigberts saying his name for the record. He stepped forward with a smile and held out a certified credit card to the man, eagerly accepted.
“I am Professor Krenne from the Interplanetary History Society. This is my prize pupil and assistant, Rex Chandley. We would like to go to Down Town immediately.” His brain-computer alerted him of a power source on the man’s back consistent with an energy based projectile weapon.
“Hands up,” Rex told Rigberts and stepped towards him.
The hunched man glanced from Craster to Rex but complied. She reached behind his coat and pulled out a silver and black pistol. With the visual aid, his brain-computer analyzed the device, but could not match it to any known manufacturer, although it was a sophisticated design.
“What does a strapping young man like you need to carry a blaster for? These things are for old ladies,” Rex chided the Martian and bounced the weapon on her palm.
“Everyone carries here on Mars.” Rigberts attempted to snatch his weapon back, but Rex did not release her grip. They shared a silent tug of war, which Craster knew she could win anytime due to her battle suit. He muttered a few words under his breathe in Martian.
Rigberts declared, “Find another to guide you. Let go of my stuff.” He held out the credit card to Craster.
The faux professor held his hands up to appease the agitated man. “There’s no need to quit the job. She was only being thorough. We have heard that sometimes home-borns get hurt here on Mars. Will you go on record that you will not lead us to harm?”
“I won’t,” the Martian agreed.
Rex released the blaster. “Keep your scorcher,” she taunted him. “We don’t need them.”
Moving his eyes down, Rigberts tucked his weapon behind under his coat. The credit card he slipped back in his pocket before fixing Rex with a sullen stare. “I follow.”
She pointed through the door. “You lead.”
Bowing his head in obvious sarcasm, Rigberts led the way out of the room with Rex and Craster following. They shared a silent ride back down the elevator.
“I think I hurt his feelings,” she sent to Craster.
“He’s just a guide,” he responded, “but remember to act like a student.”
“Let’s get some dinner,” she said aloud.
“I’d rather handle business first,” Craster sent back.
She beamed a smile at him. “Students get hungry.”
With a frown, Craster signaled his agreement, and Rigberts continued to ignore them both. After returning to the lobby, they found the food court in the center. A square stone bar in the rectangle, it had floating cushioned seats that could be moved at will. Around them the array of lights and sounds spilling from the booths continued to the show the games consumption.
Rigberts looked around. “Not hungry. Find me outside when you’re ready.” He disappeared into the maze of blue material. Rex and Craster summoned seats to use. On the other side of the stone bar a tall, thin man with combed back white hair approached them. He wore a bright orange vest with loose white sleeves. When he reached the opposite side, he pulled his sleeves up to his elbows, a tradition on Mars. All food items had to be visually checked before consumption, so all orders were placed through the wait staff.
“I order two food, please it,” Rex said to the bartender. “One lobster and one strawberry ice-cream, and I want a liquid, vanilla.”
The waiter nodded. “And for you sir?”
“I’ll have peas and cabbage.”
“Your liquid?”
“Beer, alcoholic.”
The waiter turned and opened a small door in the wall behind him. From it he took two plates with two squares of firm flat food, two pink for Rex, two green for Craster and two tall glasses.
Rex took one bite of her first square, grimaced, and put it back on the plate. “That is stale,” she pronounced.
Hesitant, the bartender glanced from the plate to her as Craster stared ahead.
She lifted her chin and set her platinum curls bouncing. “It’s bad enough we have to eat this processed gunk off-world, you can at least get the flavors right.”
Craster tore a chunk from one of his squares and the flavor filled his mouth of cabbage simmered in chicken broth and butter. The other square was green peas with salt and pepper. He grew both in his garden on Earth, but it was not quite the same as Martian food. Yet, he tasted nothing wrong with either of his squares. After swallowing one mouthful he said, “Eat your food, Rex. I don’t want you whining later.”
Rex shifted her glare from the bartender, who quickly moved on to the next customer. She took a sullen bite from her other square. “This one’s okay,” she muttered.
Unaffected by her ire, he took a sip from his beer and found it uncommonly bitter. They finished eating, with Rex leaving the rest of her first square. Craster sent a message to Rigberts’ wrist band.
“Hey it,” their guide sent back over the connection.
“Meet us out front, we’re ready to move on.”
“Already out front.” Rigberts cut off the communication and Craster scowled at the impertinence. As they made their way through the blue cubicles, one woman in a sparkling green suit with a bun of purple hair screamed and jumped with joy, apparently scoring a big payout.
At the top of the stairs leading to the surface they found their guide sipping from a plastic cup. When he saw them, he tossed it aside, splattering a brown liquid on the ground. He led them to his own vehicle. Rigberts’ vehicle was a leaning metal oval. Similar to the taxi, it was dirtier with only one long seat. Rex sat in the middle.
Craster looked from the discarded cup to their disheveled guide. “It seems Mars society has a loose policy on littering.”
“Huh? Oh, let the cleaning bots pick it up, that’s what they’re for.” Rigberts pushed a button on his console to start the engine and it rumbled and sputtered to life.
“Can you get one of your bots to service this machine?” Rex waved a hand in front of her nose as a burning smell wafted over them.
“As long as it flies, I don’t care what else it does,” the Martian grumbled back. He turned a knob on his console to bring the vehicle to motion. After a lurching start, they moved down the street at a much slower pace than their taxi.
Rigberts drove them to the far side of the dome, and after many turns stopped at a building that looked the same as any other in Powlett. Craster discerned that the route had many unnecessary direction changes, as though to disorient them. With his brain-computer it was nearly impossible for them to get lost.
The Martian parked his vehicle in the alley between two of the stone walls and took them to the front entrance. Fumbling in one pocket, he produced a small cylinder and pointed it at the dull metal door. Craster’s brain-computer analyzed the device, intercepted, and copied the code that the key sent to the lock. The segmented metal slid into the ceiling with barely a sound, and they took a narrow set of stairs down. Their motion triggered the ceiling lights, which followed them as they walked.
After a few dozen steps the lights illuminated a large circular room. In the center was a crest of Martian rock with an opening twenty yards wide. The floor of the cave was segmented metal, ten yards deep. The outer edge of the stone bore a detailed carving of a long, winged lizard with fangs bared. Its horned head was to their left, large enough to fit a human torso in its jaws. The sinuous body stretched over the top, and it ended on the right with a curled, frilled tail. The four stubby limbs seemed to grip the edge, making ready to leap at them.
Rigberts looked at Craster from the corner of his eye. “If you want to know the real Mars, you must go through the Dragon Gate.”
“Fascinating.” Craster stepped forward to study the shaped stone. The sculpture had intense detail of different sized scales and the outlines of muscles. Folded on its back, the wings had segments and veins; the claws and teeth were carved to sharp points. The forked tongue jutted from the snarling lips in a threatening gesture. The eyes of the reptilian creature had pupil and iris and seemed to stare at him; a condition his brain-computer assured him was psychological.
Craster asked, “How did this carving come to be here?”
Rigberts gazed at the Dragon Gate with adoration. “It was here before the dome, carved by some of the first settled men on this world. They had little to occupy their time when not working. Our scholars tell us that in the beginning mining the ore was so dangerous it was like walking into a beast’s mouth to claim a morsel from its gut. There were other carvings with mythical creatures, unicorn, griffin, manticore, basilisk, and the sculptures served as useful markers. The others were destroyed when corporations closed their mines, abandoning Martians to the underworld. Only the Dragon Gate remains.”
Craster stepped close to examine the craftsmanship but did not touch it. “No two scales are exactly the same. The detail is astounding.”
“We carve rocks with exceptional skill,” Rigberts told him with another side glance. “They’re all we have.”
“What’s a dragon?” Rex stepped up next to Craster and stuck her tongue out to imitate the statue.
“This is your star pupil?” Rigberts eyed her with a skeptical glare.
Craster looked from his partner back to their guide. “Unfortunately, yes. Shall we continue?”
They walked under the carving into the circular cave. With a quick scan he found no detection device, but power conduits running lengthwise around the wall provided light.
Rex said, “Uh, don’t gates have doors or something?”
Rigberts stomped his foot on the floor. “This is the door. It opens down,” he told her.
Craster noted the look on his face had changed from submissive to condescending. He reached out to connect to a computer but found only mechanics as the large elevator descended. Other tunnels sped past, blurs of light against the dark stone.
After a few minutes, Rex asked, “How long is this trip? I got a date with that cute hotel clerk.”
In a twist of character, Rigberts stood a little taller. He replied, “You’re brave to come down here.”
Rex tilted her head at him. “Don’t make me show you why.”
The elevator came to a stop at the one hundred sixty third blur. Craster’s brain-computer calculated the distance at 4.6 miles. A long, straight tunnel stretched off as far as they could see. Finger thick conduits pulsing with energy ran along the curved walls as they passed, providing a bright light with a bluish tint. More tunnels intersected at regular intervals.
A floating platform was waiting, chrome base with blue velvet rails. It was three yards wide and had ample room with no seats. Turning the handle, Filbet started the machine and took the first right turn into what was a complicated maze. Craster’s brain-computer kept track of all the turns, mapping not only where they went but everything he saw. He maintained a link with Rex and they combined their visual data into an extensive map of this level. As in Powlett, Rigberts was took an unnecessary route, unaware that his efforts were wasted. After ten minutes of twists, the Martian brough them to a stone wall that marked the end of their current tunnel.
There was a metal door in the far wall with a round handle. Craster stared and recalled he had not seen a manual door in seventy-nine years. Without a word Rigberts led the way off the platform to the door. Twisting the handle, he opened the thick portal. Beyond was a stone ledge with no railing that allowed them a view of a massive cavern. Craster stared in astonishment. He had never seen anything like it in the solar system.
“Down Town,” Rigberts said with pride, but half turned a sneer towards them.
Craster beheld a city many times the size of Powlett. The buildings reached to the edge of his vision. Unlike the square, uniform construction of the surface, the underground dwellings followed the natural contours of the stone from curving swells to jagged edges. It was a cityscape without straight lines, confusing to the natural eye, with streets both wide and narrow. Long, arching pathways connected the buildings above the ground. The walls of the cavern were inhabited, carved with balconies and windows. The stalactites and ceiling were lined with powerful lights, granting ample illumination. His brain-computer picked out specific dwellings based on energy patterns and emissions, water treatment centers and oxygen generators.
He saw a multitude of Martians milling about dressed in bright colors like those on the surface, going about the day as any would on Earth. There was some foot traffic, but he could see many Martians travelling by way of flying platforms with waist high railings. Scanning the scene before him, he estimated the population of Down Town in the millions.
“There’s only one way they could have this many people in that amount of time,” Craster’s tone changed from horror to disgust, “sexual reproduction. They’re breeding down here. This is in violation of genetic law.”
Rex snickered. “Humping like animals.” She turned back to their guide. “Do eat your own waste too? Sleep in hay, things like that?”
“Body sex is the natural way,” Rigberts said calmly.
“It’s the old way,” Craster blurted out, not wanting to believe what he heard. “You’re not just breeding people; you’re breeding disease and genetic defects. How many children do you lose every year?”
“Death is as natural as life. There are thousands of side tunnels leading to communities with even more people,” Rigberts told him in a low tone.
Craster and Rex heard the same threat in the guide’s voice, and they turned as one. Rigberts raised his blaster at them. A hologram of a section of the wall faded and three other men stepped forward. One had a chrome pistol and the other two held black rifles, all levelled at them. They wore tan coveralls with a dark red insignia of an open hand imposed over an image of Mars on the breast. Behind Craster and Rex a metal panel slipped over the open door to Down Town, blocking their escape.
“Don’t move an atom,” Rigberts told them.
The other man with the pistol, with white hair and dark skin, began to whisper into his wrist communicator. Craster’s brain-computer intercepted the message.
“Tell Bomo we have the Earthlings,” the Martian said.
“I think our cover is blown.” Rex cocked a hip as she looked over the four men with amusement.
Craster stared at the four and hoped his face showed the fear he did not feel. He sent, “Let’s knock them out. Which ones do you want me to take?”
She replied, “Oh, don’t bother. I’ll take them all. I’m just waiting for provocation.”
“What do you want?” Craster asked aloud, attempting to play the terrified professor. He put his hands up in defense.
Rigberts ignored his question and sneered at Rex. “You look strong, Earthling. Maybe we should show you the wonder of traditional sex.”
“That’ll do it,” she declared.
Gold energy lanced from the weapon stripes on her arms, searing out in four different angles. Each bolt struck one of the four Martians in the skull. They dropped immediately, filling the air with the stench of scorched flesh, and their unused weapons clattered to the ground.
“Hee-hee. That’s why we don’t carry blasters,” Rex taunted the dead men. The sleeves of her robe smoked where the beams had burned holes through them.
Craster searched Rigberts’ body and took the credit card from his pocket. He left everything else.
“How did they know we were here?” Rex asked, annoyed.
He shook his head. “If they knew who we really were they would have fired immediately. This was just a show of force, something to intimidate us. It may have been premature to kill them.”
She turned an icy glare on him. “Premature? He threatened to violate my body! Like some piece of flesh to use for his pleasure!”
He waved off her indignation. “But that was never going to happen, was it? He had no idea what he was up against, but you did. We should have questioned them for information. Let’s disguise ourselves in their garments.”
Craster pulled his beige robe over his head, and they looted the bodies for clothes more appropriate to Martians. They both avoided Rigberts’ red and white suit but claimed two of the coveralls. The potent beams had seared the wounds shut and spilled no blood to stain the clothes.
They stacked the bodies and their discarded robes together. After a silent command to his battle suit a concave disk two inches wide formed from the palm of Craster’s glove. He put the disk on the pile and sent a signal to activate it. A low hum came from the device with a bright flash, and the pile of bodies dissolved into dust. Each item was broken down into its basic components, including the device itself. The only evidence of their short conflict was a pile of smoking dirt.
After considering the closed portal to Down Town, he declared, “We have to move on, but it’s likely someone is watching this hatch. Let’s maneuver around into one of the side tunnels; it should not be too hard to find an entrance to the city from one of those.”
Returning to Rigberts’ floating platform, Craster took the controls, using his memory of the former owner’s actions. They moved through the tunnels, following their map, adding new sections as they passed. They soon reached another tunnel with a manual door, and once opened, Craster stared out over Down Town again from a new angle. His brain-computer analyzed what he saw and searched for any wearing the tan coveralls. They numbered in the hundreds, usually in pairs spread out among the population. He marked their locations to avoid them.
“Now for the fun part,” Rex sent but her flat tone did not sound hopeful.
Craster felt a burst of enthusiasm. “Actually, this just got easier. I thought we were going to some creation-lost hole in the ground. I imagined ten thousand people at most, a place where everyone knows almost everyone. We would need special introductions in a place like that, but this is different.” He shook his head as his brain-computer continued to catalogue all the terrain he could see. “No one could know everyone in a place this size. We can move around freely.”
She gave him a skeptical look and tugged on her ill-fitting coverall. “These are security uniforms. Any place like this must have their own form of Management and muscle to back it up. They’ll have a file of everyone’s face and voice, and we know they’re looking for us, or at least ‘Bomo’ is.”
“I’m already handling it,” he sent as his brain-computer reached out to link with the central system. His intention was to add their face and randomized names to the Martian database, but his probe found nothing.
“There’s no power grid,” Craster said aloud in shock. “No information system.”
“No grid?” Rex asked, turning her eyes over the city. “How does everything work? Where do they get their power?”
“It has to come from batteries,” he answered logically.
Rex stared at him in open mouthed shock. “They have body sex and use batteries? This place is pathetic.”
He shook his head to focus his thoughts and thought it best to return to private messages. “It will make it more difficult to blend in. If anyone of authority tries to pull our files, they won’t find any. We need to find our target and eliminate him quickly. I don’t see extraction as a reasonable option.”
“Was it ever?” Rex tossed her hair and crossed her arms over her chest.
He found her body language ominous, and the bright shade of her thick mane was distracting. Trying for a helpful tone, he offered, “Perhaps a less obvious hair color for you would serve us better.”
She smirked and after a moment her platinum hair shifted to a more conservative blonde. She batted her eyes at him and gently primped. “Is this okay? I want to look pretty for you.”
He smiled through her sarcasm. “Try black.”
She shook her head and grinned, pointing down at the city. “There’s plenty of blonde’s down there, in Down Town.” She put her fingers over her mouth and giggled. “What a stupid name.”
He found her relentless childishness annoying. “Whatever, just remember we’re trying to pass for Martians right now.”
They made their way down into the city on stairs carved into the stone, passing the first level of buildings. The doors were plastic molded to look like stone and had simple latches. Craster marveled at the workmanship surrounding them. Everything was sculpted with exquisite detail with no surface undecorated, and he noticed symbols that his brain-computer did not recognize. There were many human figures depicted in cave scenes, and animals were included with incorrect details, like fanged deer and fish with legs. Some he recognized from what he knew of Martian history, but others were pure fantasy. One that covered an entire side of a building caught his attention, a smiling young man flying through a sea of stars to reach Mars on the back of a dragon. The man was carved to life size and the creature closely resembled the one from the dragon gate. The planet the youth left behind was Earth.
Eager to share his conclusion, he sent to Rex, “Down Town is a massive work of art dedicated to their survival here.”
She glanced around, but her eyes followed the people. “Everyone needs a hobby.”
They continued to walk through the bustling city, occasionally passing Martians that smiled or nodded, but did not stop to talk. He quickly realized the populace did not question the authority of their uniforms. Rex received some lingering stares, but she always drew attention. Other than being built of stone, Down Town seemed as any other community of humans he would find. While they walked the streets, twenty yards overhead Martians floated past on travel platforms in ordered rows. They passed various shops, like tailors with colorful cloth samples, vendors with appliances, and markets with fresh produce and strips of meat.
That caught his attention. Martians long possessed the technology to produce gardens underground, but he saw no pens for livestock. After claiming a few samples, his brain-computer analyzed the meat and informed him it was a synthetic blend made to look and taste like poultry, beef, and pork. It alleviated his fears that they were in a society of cannibals.
Turning a corner, he spied a large open area called the K-Zone, covered in a dome. Clear globes carrying a single child bounced off the inner surface and each other. Watching closely, he saw the inhabited balls absorbed almost all kinetic energy from impacts, leaving hardly any to jostle the children inside. A sound barrier prevented him from hearing their screams of delight, but he could see their faces and genuine joy. On the far side of the zone a line of children waited patiently, their heads turned up watching the bouncing spheres. He noted that there were no supervising adults, but they seemed well behaved.
Uninterested in the recreation area, Rex used both hands to primp her mane of golden hair. “You done taking in the sights? Ready to go back to work?” She turned a smug grin on him.
He answered with an impatient glare. “I assure you; Management will want every bit of info we have on this place. Can’t you see how incredible this is? We had no idea this was here! None of this is connected to the Big Sis.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “All I know is I have to kill or capture a Martian named Zigurae Milnip. I prefer to kill because I hate dragging people around. That’s my mission. You coming?”
Rex walked away from the K-Zone, and he followed with pursed lips. Confident in her stride, she approached a trio of Martians wearing tan coveralls loitering in front of an oblong building. The front wall next to the door bore the same logo as on their breasts, and nearby were parked two of the railed platforms.
Craster sent to her, “I just noticed an important detail about our disguises. All of the others wearing these uniforms are men.”
She messaged back, “Finally caught on to that, huh?”
Craster looked around, knowing Rex was going to do something provocative. The closest Martians did not look in their direction, keeping their heads turned away. He wondered if that would change if they got into a fight with the security force.
With a broad smile Rex addressed the three in uniform, “We’re supposed to report to Bomo, but we’ve gotten lost. Can you help us find him?”
He knew her blunt approach to be born from arrogance, not incompetence, but it still rankled him that she did not even try to be clever. The closest, a narrow faced young man with curly dark hair, turned a scowl from her to Craster as he reached her side.
“Why are you wearing that uniform, breeder?” the curly haired one demanded with a pointed finger.
The other two Martians were both stocky men, one with stringy blonde hair, and another with a shaved head. They stepped closer to her with menacing glares.
Without a falter in her smile, she cocked a hip. “Haven’t you heard? Women are allowed in the ranks, now. Isn’t it great?”
“I don’t care if Bomo gave you that uniform himself, you’re taking it off now!” the bald man said and grabbed her arm.
Rex cringed and played at struggling against the grip. “Not here, please.”
“Take her inside,” the narrow-faced man said and turned to Craster. “Is this breeder yours?”
Craster shrugged and realized there was no point in being clever now. “I was told to report to Bomo with her.”
The young man sneered. “I’ve never heard of breeders allowed to sign up with the Defense Corps. What’s your designation number?”
Craster saw the other two men usher Rex into the station. “I’ll give it to you inside.” He put a hand on the man’s shoulder and turned to walk into the building with him. Applying adequate pressure, he dragged him along. The battle suit worked with his muscles, increasing his strength to beyond human limits. The young Martian whimpered but offered little other resistance as Craster forced him through the door.
Once inside, the guard stared in shock at Rex standing in the room unharmed. The other two Defense Corps members were lying on the floor unconscious, fresh abrasions on their faces. Craster pushed his prisoner over to Rex, who grabbed him and held him tight while he closed the door. The room they were in looked like a recruiting station. The hand over Mars logo was emblazoned in dark red on the far wall with two metal desks with matching chairs under it. A row of empty chairs lined the left wall, and a single door was the only other exit. Craster saw computer consoles on the desks and went to one, reaching out with his brain-computer to attempt to access it.
Unable to free himself from Rex’s grip, the Martian looked terrified. “What is this?”
She shook him. “Tell us where we can find Bomo, and you’ll live through this.”
The man stared at her wide eyed. “H-He’s at the compound, in the center of the city, but you’ll never make it in.”
As he hoped, the desk computer was wired to a network throughout the city. Putting his hand against the device, he tapped into its mainframe. The security programs were no match for his brain-computer.
Craster searched for mission relevant information, including a complete city map and the outlying areas. He found a list of political leaders. The other names meant nothing to him, but Mimram Bomo was the head of the Down Town Defense Corps. Zigurae Milnip was a medium ranking member. Craster surmised Bomo must have given the order to set the bomb on earth, information Management would want to have. He identified the Defense Corps compound near the center of the city. Milnip’s security code registered him entering, but not leaving.
While he worked, Rex played, giving the Martian a menacing snarl. “So, what were you and your friends going to do with me after you got the uniform off? Hold me down and take turns trying to impregnate me? Put me in my place as a good little breeder? You misogynists make me ill. The sooner I’m off this filthy planet, the better. Do we need this one for anything else?”
Craster copied the highest-ranking access codes to his brain-computer. He sent, “I have everything we need right here.”
With one blow Rex rendered her prisoner unconscious and let him drop to the floor. Craster felt her link with him to share the stolen information.
Rex smiled. “Off to the compound then?”
He stepped away from the terminal. “Of course. I share your disgust with this society. Let’s finish our mission and go home.”
Rex ripped the tan uniform off and dropped the garment on the unconscious man at her feet. “I don’t want to draw too much attention by wearing that.”
Craster looked her over in the red battle suit, the straight lines refusing to sag or hang as typical cloth would. “I think you’ll still be getting some looks, especially with their views on women, but it doesn’t matter.”
Departing the recruiting office, they claimed one of the travel platforms. The railed disk was two-yards wide with a control panel at waist height. Rex took the controls this time, and he did not object. She directed the vessel to join the sparse flow of traffic above ground. They floated along at a quick pace, each machine sensing the other and keeping to its own lane of traffic. A specialized field kept air resistance from bothering them as they cruised along.
Twisting streets and oddly shaped structures zipped past beneath them, and he admitted Down Town had its own beauty accented by the carvings. The Defense Corps compound was a large stone pyramid in a walled clearing. It looked out of place among the uneven structures of the rest of the city. A long banner hung down the angled front with the corps logo, and tan uniformed guards stood at the banded metal gate in the wall.
“Shall we try the old ‘Hey I captured the Earthling’ trick?” he sent.
She shrugged at his suggestion. “Whatever gets us to the target.”
Rex directed the platform to land out of sight of the guards, behind a pastry shop. After passing through the narrow alley into view, Craster took hold of her arm. One guard had dark skin and bright yellow hair, and the other was pale with straight, black hair. They watched them approach, glancing at him, but staring at Rex. Between them the heavy metal gate had an access panel in its center.
Craster told them, “I’m bringing this prisoner in to Director Bomo. He’s expecting me.” He saw out of the corner of his eye Rex playing her part and looking around fearfully.
The guards looked at each other and back to him. “Prisoner? From where?”
He decided the least information he gave would have the least chance of triggering suspicion. “That’s for Director Bomo to know. Step aside.” His tactic worked, and the guards did not object as he approached the panel.
The yellow hair guard asked her, “What did you do?”
Rex let her lip quiver as she admitted, “I killed four men. They couldn’t resist this.” She ran her free hand down the straight line of her waist and hip. His jaw dropped in shock.
Craster put in an appropriate code, and the gate swung open. He pulled Rex through before she could ruin their ruse. Crossing the courtyard to the pyramid entrance, they reached the plastic door with an identical access panel. He used the same code in case anyone was monitoring them and opened it. Inside the building they found a long hallway of dull stone with plastic doors at regular intervals and light panels in the ceiling. At the end was a set of wider double doors.
Rex let out a dramatic sigh. “This place is huge, and the blueprints weren’t in the info you downloaded. How are we going to find the target?”
He had been thinking about that. “We find another console and hopefully they have some monitoring system we can use.”
The closest door opened and a short, uniformed man with pale skin and blonde hair stepped out. He seemed surprised to see them.
“How about we ask someone? I choose him.” Rex sent as she strolled over to the Martian.
“You’re supposed to be a prisoner!” he reminded her in vain.
“Not anymore. I don’t care if I have to zap everyone in this damn pyramid.” She smiled and casually put a hand on the Martian’s shoulder. She said out loud, “Hey it. Where can I find Director Bomo?”
Craster did not know what to expect from the man’s reaction, but he smiled hesitantly at her. “Director Bomo? He’s in the auditorium giving a presentation.”
“Great.” She stepped closer and put her arm around his shoulders. “Can you take us to the auditorium?”
The Martian glanced from her platinum hair to her battle suit. “It’s at the end of this hall. Is the director expecting you?”
She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Actually, we’re trying to find someone else, Zigurae Milnip. We thought he might be with the director.”
“Well, yes, they are both at the presentation.” The Martian began to look suspicious. “Who are you and what is your business with Brother Zigurae?”
Rex’s smile got a bit wider, and Craster felt a twinge of dread as she explained their plan. “We’re from Earth and as soon as we find Milnip, he’s a dead Martian.” She swung her fist into the side of his head and knocked him unconscious. Without letting him hit the ground, she shoved his body back through the door and closed it.
Craster felt his mouth hang open. “What if he wakes up before we complete the mission?”
She smoothed her hair back with her fingers and it shifted to platinum again. “I’m not used to people looking down on me for being female, and I’m one step away from turning this place into a Martian bloodbath. Now, that fellow said our target was at the end of this hall.” She started walking and Craster had no choice but to follow.
The double doors had simple handles and once through them they found the auditorium. The high ceiling room had forty long rows of stone seats descending to a broad stage. A small group of Martians dressed in different styles of bright color clothes was seated at the front. Four pairs of uniformed guards stood at attention between them and the stage. Standing behind a podium on the stage was a tall Martian with dark skin and receding black hair. He wore a coverall with reverse colors, dark red with tan logo. Behind him in a tan uniform was Zigurae Milnip, a short man with brown hair and light brown skin.
Bomo’s serious tone was amplified through the auditorium. “Brother Zigurae has returned from a trip to far away Earth. You’ve all seen the wonderful video of his launch and return to Martian airspace. He brought back many rocks from the surface for study, but there’s nothing like hearing about an alien world first-hand. Tell us what Earth is like, Zig.”
Milnip stepped forward as Bomo moved back. “Planet Earth is a barren, desolate wasteland.” He pointed a small device behind him at the stone wall. Large images appeared of jumbled rocks and frozen extremes, sand dunes and pointed mountain tops without a hint of civilization or vegetation. He narrated the shifting pictures, “Our legends speak of our ancestors fleeing Earth to find a new home here on Mars, but I could find no evidence that humans ever lived on Earth.”
“Incredible,” Craster sent to Rex.
“Hey, I’ve been there.” She sent and pointed to an image of a wide canyon. “But why is he telling these people no one lives on Earth? He planted a bomb on Earth and killed a bunch of people.”
Craster shook his head, amazed. “Knowledge is power, Rex. Obviously Bomo and his loyal forces are controlling the information to control the populace. It’s an ancient trick they ironically learned from Earth.”
An older man with white hair and a pea green suit stood to address the men on stage. “Is there any way we could colonize the world?”
Milnip turned to his display, and it showed an atmospheric analysis. “As this data shows, the air on Earth is toxic, and the only water is frozen at the poles. We could place a colony there within the next few decades, but to what purpose?”
Rex scoffed. “Why don’t those dummies go to the surface and meet some of the humans visiting from Earth?”
Craster replied, “We didn’t see any traffic to the surface on our way down. They obviously control all the transportation. This is amazing. Could they really have this entire population believing there is no human life outside of these caves?”
Rex grinned. “Time for an education.” She shouted, “Lies, all of it! We’re from Earth, and it’s full of people! You could go there right now if these assholes would let you!” Every eye turned to them. The audience was shocked, but Bomo and his soldiers stared with fury.
“Lockdown the compound!” Bomo snarled and stabbed a finger at them. “Kill them!”
With the link between their brain-computers, Craster and Rex could coordinate their targeting systems in an instant. While the eight soldiers were still pulling hand blasters from their holsters, beams of gold and blue energy struck them down. Only Bomo, Milnip, and the terrified audience remained. An instant later, another gold beam flashed out and took Milnip’s head from his shoulders.
“That’s for Management, now let’s get off this stupid planet,” Rex sent and led the way back through the double doors.
Making their way down the long hallway, the last door opened. The Martian that Rex knocked out earlier staggered into view holding his head.
Grimacing, she ran down the hall at him, and sent, “I’m going to make this little turd regret his existence.”
Sighing, Craster did not bother to call her back, knowing she would not listen. When the Martian saw her charge, he leapt back into the room and slammed the door before she could reach him.
Rex stopped and grinned back at Craster. “Not all these Martians are dummies.”
The door opened again. The same man leapt at Rex with a small object in his hand with a flashing red light. She barely had time to turn her head towards the danger.
“Free Mars!” he screamed.
An explosion blinded Craster and a tremendous shock wave knocked him off his feet. His battle suit engaged automatically, putting a specialized field around him. It was able to deflect anything from physical impacts to energy projectiles, but the protection had limits. Craster struggled to regain his bearings through his aching body and ringing ears. In a moment of panic, he realized that he could not move. His brain-computer informed him that his suit sustained critical damage and had locked in place, trapping him inside. A self-diagnostic program informed him of cracked ribs, but he set his brain-computer to deal with it subconsciously. He focused his conscious mind to determine Rex’s state, but he still could not move. He heard footsteps and looked up to see Bomo standing over him. He had a look of pure hatred on his face and a blaster in his hand. Behind him, members of the audience stared, some with rage, others with fear.
Bomo pointed the weapon at Craster’s head. “Free Mars,” he said and fired.
Craster imagined these would be his last moments, but his force field deflected the bolt to take a hunk out of the wall. Able to move once more, his right weapon stripe lanced out a beam that caught Bomo under his chin, dropping his body and head separately. The audience members screamed and fled back down the hall.
Aching, Craster sat up and looked to where he last saw his partner. Most of Rex’s body was still intact due to her battle suit. She lay unmoving on her back with a scorched wound across her chest, and her charred skull was smoldering, hair burned off. Fearing she was dead, he searched for Rex’s brain-computer but found no spark of life. She was gone.
He received a signal from her ruined battle suit that it initiated self-destruct. It smoked and sparked, burning through the micro-circuitry, and leaving nothing the Martians could use. Craster struggled to his feet and ripped off his tan coverall. He limped past her body, unwilling to look at her face. As for the Martian he could see almost no trace except a few splatters and burn marks on the wall. The blasted hallway was cracked, but still structurally sound.
At the pyramid exit the plastic door was lying a few yards away from where it was blown off its hinges. He could hear an odd, warbling alarm and knew he would face more hostile Martians. Stepping through the warped doorframe, two blaster bolts immediately struck him, turned aside by his battle suit. He identified his assailants as the two guards he lied his way past, standing in the open gate. He ordered a retaliatory strike, but only one thin beam of blue energy struck the left guard down.
His brain-computer detected another critical failure, and panic seized him as his battle suit locked up again, immobilizing him for several seconds. His repair programs attempted to fix his problem, but his attention was focused on the yellow haired foe in front of him. The remaining guard looked from the dead man to Craster to the ineffective blaster in his hand. The Earth agent knew he had no field to block another shot and decided on another bluff.
“Leave here with your life,” Craster commanded. The rage from losing Rex granted emotional weight to his tone.
Relief replaced his fear as the Martian turned to run from the seemingly invincible Earthling. In the same instant his battle suit re-engaged and processed his last command, sending another beam of blue energy to strike him down.
Although Craster could move again, he still felt trapped. If his suit froze at the wrong time, he could die, but he would never escape Down Town without it. He made it through the outside gate without being shot again, but on the other side of the wall a crowd had formed. Tense and frightened Martians, half of which wore the tan coveralls, stared at him as he staggered out of the compound gate. Fortunately, he detected no weapons among them.
He decided a little more deceit would be prudent. “Help! Director Bomo has been killed by assassins! They fled through the other side of the compound!” He pointed back the way he came as he lurched forward, not having to feign his injuries. He searched for the travel platform, but it was missing.
A few members of the Defense Corps stepped up to assist him, but he waved them off. He began to weave through the crowd, most of which parted to allow him past. Without warning a hostile grip on his arm held him back. Turning, he looked at the faces of the three men he and Rex accosted at the recruiting station. Their angry expressions told him that they would quickly expose him, and his brain-computer reacted in his defense. Blue bolts of energy lashed out at the Defense Corps, cutting down the three Martians without harming anyone else. The killings were so efficient that most in the crowd did not notice, staring at the pyramid. Those that saw the three die fled in numb horror.
Craster’s brain-computer used the map he gained to pick a path to the outside tunnels, and he ran. The battle suit corrected his limp, allowing him to keep a fast pace as he fled through streets and alleys. Martians stared at him, but none interfered. He was glad that his route did not take him by the K-Zone again, not wanting any children to be caught in a potential fight.
A queer sensation caused him to shudder. He stopped in mid-stride, balanced on one foot, with the other waiting to reach the ground. He had just enough time to quietly panic before he was able to move again. The battle suit alerted him to a critical decision he would have to make. Gritting his teeth, he ducked into a nearby shop to take time to sort through the data. His heart sank as he realized his brain-computer was barely keeping his suit functional. The problem was the blast he survived damaged his power supply and interfered with the shielding program. It was attempting to permanently engage, which was causing his loss of movement. He needed to give the order to switch off the field, and he reluctantly did so. From this point on he was defenseless against range attacks and that would change his exit strategy.
“Are you with us?” he heard behind him and turned into the face of a smiling Martian woman with dark brown skin and orange hair. She wore a dress of bright green and lavender swirls with silver bracelets on her wrists.
He finally took in his surroundings and saw he was in a clothing shop. Examples of garments available for purchase hung from the walls or decorated mannequins set about the floor. He saw robes, shirts, pants, and head wraps of a dizzying blend of bright colors and subtle styles. A long, divided stone counter ran the length of the far wall with a door behind. He realized the woman had greeted him as soon as he entered, but he was distracted by his battle suit diagnostic. Her smile faltered as he stared at her, and her body language shifted into a suspicious stance.
“I think he went in here!” someone from outside said and pushed open the door. Craster turned to see a burly Martian with pale skin, black hair and beard wearing the Defense Corps coverall poke his head into the shop. With one quick punch across the face, he rendered the man unconscious with blood spraying from his battered mouth.
The woman screamed in alarm and leapt back as a young boy with dark skin and straight black hair came through the back door. She wrapped the boy in an embrace as she pushed him back and closed the door behind her. Craster casually dragged the unconscious man into the shop, slammed the front door and used the manual lock to secure it. Other shouts outside informed him that his hiding place was known. He moved around the counter and followed the woman and child.
He found them in a storeroom cowering against the far wall, surrounded by stone shelves stacked with folded garments. In the woman’s hand was a large pair of scissors for trimming cloth, and she kept the boy behind her. There were two other plastic doors from this room, and he could tell by the thermal readings on the farthest one that it led to the outside.
Not wanting to harm them, Craster held up his hands. “I will not hurt you if you do not attack me. I’m leaving.” He pointed at the exit and moved towards it.
Terrified, she glanced at the door and looked back at him without answering.
He gave a weak smile as he inched forward. “Please do not attack me.”
She looked at her scissors and lowered the meager weapon.
Pushing through her grip, the boy stepped in front. “Who are you?”
Sharing his identity would only endanger them, but he did have a message he wanted to tell. “I am a human from Earth.”
Their shocked expressions were expected, but he did not have time for lengthy explanations. The Defense Corps might come crashing into the shop at any moment, but he hoped caution would keep them a while longer.
“Earth is a dead world,” the boy said. “We learned that in school.”
“That is a lie,” Craster told him. “Earth is full of water and so much life that you would marvel at what you saw.”
The woman said in a hollow voice, “My grandmother told me when I was a little girl about oceans on Earth. The neighbor boy told on her, and the Defense Corps took her away.”
Craster nodded. “They are controlling you with deception. Everyone on the surface knows the truth.” He took a violet robe with red stripes from one shelf and handed her the cred card he had reclaimed from Rigberts. “This will be of use on the surface, and you can determine for yourself if I am lying.”
She accepted the payment with a blank expression. “We were told the surface was not safe.”
“Most of it isn’t,” he admitted. “There are some protected places with breathable air, though.”
“Can we come with you?” the boy asked, excited. Still suspicious, she put a firm hand on his thin shoulder.
Craster shook his head. “That would put your lives in danger. I am attempting to leave these caves, but the Defense Corps is trying to kill me. I will tell my people about Down Town, and they will send someone to help. Despite what happens to me, though, you should speak the truth of what I have said. Band together with other Martians and demand answers from those who lead you.” He pulled the robe on to disguise his battle suit. Pausing at the door, he listened for soldiers but heard nothing.
With a last smile to the Martians, he opened the door and exited into a narrow alley with an opening at either end. He wondered why the soldiers had not attempted to apprehend him yet and did not like his conclusions. There was a slim chance that he had frightened the Defense Corps enough to abandon the chase. He thought it more likely they were waiting to locate him before attempting to bring him down with ranged attacks. Not detecting a threat, he crept to the edge of the alley. Once full of Martians, the streets of Down Town were now deserted. He saw across the street another alley and calculated it would take him less than two seconds to sprint the distance. Readying his nerve, he leapt into motion.
Scarlet bolts of energy scored the ground as Martians missed several shots. After he reached the opposite alley, he kept running, turned a narrow corner and pushed off the wall with his foot. His only chance now was to outrun pursuit, but he was confident his enhanced speed would allow him to escape. The miles ahead daunted him, though, and he would have preferred one of the travel platforms. Yet, as he picked his way through the seemingly endless passages of Down Town, he did not see another of the railed disks. He wondered in awe that they could remove this much of the populace from the streets this quickly. Across the city the warbling alarm continued to sound, and he surmised that it was a signal to get off the streets.
Knowing the Martians would keep shooting at him, he picked out a route through the narrow alleys to maximize his cover. It took longer, but he was not shot at again. Finally reaching the edge of the city, he sheltered against a wall to consider his options. There was the broad gap to the stairway that would lead to the outer tunnels, but crossing it would expose him to blaster fire.
With no other options, he left the side of the building and made toward the cut stairs with all speed. Slower than he expected, blaster bolts began to rain down after him, some close enough to singe his new robe. One blast struck him in the side, spinning him around. Through the flash of pain, he could see several snipers perched on the travel disks between the buildings. His eyesight was enough to target his attackers, and blue beams zapped two of them from their vessels before the rest scattered to cover.
With no more pursuit, he made it up the stairs and into the tunnels. Rigbert’s railed platform was where they had left it, and he leapt back on, directing it to the quickest route back. He retained the violet robe for a disguise on the surface since someone might recognize a battle suit. His blaster wound itched as the suit began to help his body repair the injury and fight off infection. Miserable about returning alone, he changed over to the larger lift and began the long ascent to the Martian surface.
Somewhere in the solar system, Rex’s family was unaware of her demise. She could have lived another century, but instead she died in a place few outside this planet knew about. That would be a harsh reality to accept.
Craster emerged hurting but whole through the Dragon Gate. He glared back at the stone lizard, remembering that Rigberts told him the real Mars lay on the other side. He had thought the man was trying to impress them, but it was an arrogant warning.
After all the jobs Management sent him on, having his partner killed was a new experience. Out of danger, Craster thought of Trelle and how close he had come to death. He decided he would request an end to these missions and focus his life on raising a child with his wife. He hoped Rex Chandley had left a better legacy exposing the lies of Bomo and his Defense Corps. He doubted he would ever find out as he vowed to never return to Mars.
Using his copied code, Craster opened the segmented door to the night and left it up. Scorning Rigberts’ dilapidated ride, he walked through the straight streets of Powlett on his way home.
By Aaron Ward
Published by Aaron Ward
Copyright 2013 Aaron Ward
Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Original Literature 