by Jon Lymon
“What? The plans were clear. We’re building the Martian equivalent of the Pentagon.”
“Yes, sir, but something somewhere went wrong and it ended up having six sides.”
Haygue rubbed his fingers across his multi-lined forehead. “Everything else has gone to plan?”
The driver nodded. “It’s been a bit of a rush, but we’re ready.”
Stock and M Krugler joined them in the transporter which drove them back to the hangar where the Prospector III was waiting.
“So we’re flying there now, are we?”
“Yes, sir. It’s quicker by air.”
“It would have been quicker to walk.”
Haygue stormed off the transporter and onto the ship that had been fixed, cleaned and refuelled.
It didn’t tke long for M Krugler to reacquaint himself with the controls, and after a short delay which infuriated Haygue, they flew the hundred miles to the SEC facility. As they approached the landing strip, Stock peered out of his side window, eager to catch a glimpse of their destination.
“You’re on the wrong side, Stock,” said Haygue.
Stock walked across the cockpit and looked to where Haygue was pointing. Down below he saw a white, hexagonal building, its hollow middle covered by a tall, white marquee.
“Wasn’t that meant to be a homage to the Pentagon?” Stock asked.
“Don’t go there, Stock.”
Haygue pointed to the airstrip adjacent to the building and M Krugler nodded.
“So what’s happening out here then?” Stock asked.
“All in good time, Stock. All in good time.”
On landing, Haygue had arranged stringent security checks for Stock and M Krugler before they could enter the facility. Everything was scanned from hairline to retinas to teeth to lungs to stomach to anus to kneebones to feet.
“You can’t be too careful,” Haygue told them, as he enjoyed watching Stock endure the invasive examinations while he himself breezed through the checkpoint uninterfered with.
Most of the SEC staff at the facility recognised Haygue, many nodding their respect to the man they knew was the driving force behind the project, but those who offered him a high five were left hanging. Sure, he was pleased with how things had progressed in the past few months, but if he’d had his way from the beginning, this thing would have been in the bag a long while back and he would have been back home with Bette and his Congressional Gold Medal.
Once all the checkpoints had been cleared and clothing adjusted, Stock and M Krugler followed Haygue down a long metallic corridor that formed one of the spokes that led to the centre of the facility. At its end was a bright white light.
“Where are we going?” Stock asked. Haygue just turned round, smiled and beckoned them to follow. As he walked towards the bright light, Stock was reminded of the scenes that people who have near death experiences describe.
Only Haygue was no angel. But, he figured, if Haygue had wanted to kill him, he would have done so by now. And M Krugler was there too. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who’d go down without a fight.
Just as the white light was getting too bright, a SEC guard stepped in front of them, halting their progress. He recognised Haygue, saluted him and handed him a pair of sunglasses. Haygue directed the guard to hand pairs to Stock and M Krugler. Once the men had fitted their shades, the guard turned on his heels and led them towards the light.
What Stock saw next caused him to let his iPad slip from his grasp. And he never let his iPad slip from his grasp.
Under the white canvas ceiling of the marquee, surrounded by small white vehicles that were circling it and ladders and ropes that were draped over it and cranes that were leaning over it and men who were scurrying around it, there it was.
It wasn’t as big as he thought it would be, was Stock’s first thought. Must have been four storeys tall and maybe four hundred metres wide. But that didn’t stop it being the most magnificent thing he’d ever seen.
Haygue was no less awe inspired. He’d heard descriptions of the asteroid from those who’d discovered it and hauled it back to Mars, but nothing could match the sensation of seeing it with his own eyes.
“How…”
“Sssh.” Haygue wanted to enjoy the view without interruption. Even behind the big, deep shades he was wearing, the asteroid dazzled. The beams from the facility’s lights bounced off its surface as men moved huge drills into place around it. “I don’t think Onamoto’s picture does it justice, do you?”
“Man, that’s worth flying millions of miles to see,” said M Krugler.
Stock nodded. “Can I take a photo of it?” He reached for his camera phone, but realised it wasn’t there. “Where’s my handset?”
“You’ll get it back when we leave the facility, Stock. Just enjoy the view. Commit the image to memory. Describe it to your fans later.”
“How did you get it here?” Stock asked.
Haygue beamed. “We tied a net between two ships and dragged it here. I’ve got the fishermen back in Cape Cod to thank for that idea.”
“But all those people out there looking for it…”
“Wasting their time. You can post that on your website, Stock. Share it with whoever you like. No one will listen. No one will believe you.”
For once, Stock knew Haygue was right, and for twice he was too interested in marvelling at the operation happening in front of him to worry about sharing the news with anyone.
On the facility’s landing strip, convoys of shuttles were moving into place, ready to be loaded up with chunks of diamond. Elsewhere in the six-sided Martian Pentagon, groups of SEC pilots were being briefed on the dangers they were likely to face on their journey back to Earth.
“And all this is going back to the States?” Stock asked Haygue.
The SEC guard intervened. “The asteroid has only been here a couple of days. It’s proving more difficult than we anticipated to cut up. But we’re working on it.”
This was unwelcome news to Haygue. “Don’t keep me waiting too long,” he said. “I want to get some of this beautiful rock back home and in the hands of the President. The economy needs it.”
Stock wasn’t sure whether to be delighted or terrified by the prospect of being aboard a ship carrying the most desired payload in the history of mankind. And for the next few days he did not enjoy being in the company of Haygue who grew increasingly frustrated by the variety of issues that delayed his departure.
Drill bits were snapping, blunting and sliding off the surface of the diamond, such was its density. Haygue had specifically requested the toughest, hardest drills known to man, and was assured that was what had been delivered to the planet. Yet still they were no match for the huge diamond.
“We may have to blast it, sir,” a SEC specialist informed him.
“Blast it? I did not come all this way to destroy the most valuable object I have ever set eyes on.”
So while the experts regrouped to dream up a solution to the problem of breaking up the asteroid, Haygue, Stock and M Krugler returned to their sparse living quarters within the SEC facility. They were hardly on a par with those found at the Hilton or on board the Prospector III, but at least they had the option of leaving them and walking around the areas of the facility that were not restricted.
It took eight days before the SEC scientists declared they had created a drill bit that was strong enough to penetrate the asteroid. And after a small celebration, it was down to work.
But the work was cut short by a double explosion that shook the planet to its icy core.
37
Aurora was looking forward to seeing her sons and her sister, but was trying to work out the best way to deliver the double disappointment she was carrying with her. She stared at the pictures of them on her handset, wondering how to tell them about her husband’s death, and how to tell them all there was no diamond asteroid out there.
Remnant was impatient to get back to Mars but he didn’t want to get there at al
l if his theory proved wrong and his hopes were to be dashed. He had tried to make some sort of peace with Bettis, but the pilot wasn’t interested. He felt uncomfortable whenever Remnant drew near, threatened by his presence, compelled to confront this man from the other side of the tracks.
DT, as captain, felt a strong need to maintain peace aboard his ship. He classed neither man a true friend, but found himself siding more with Bettis, who reflected where he was in his life now. Remnant was DT’s past, poor and struggling and desperate and unwilling to give up on his dreams.
In between his efforts to keep the peace, DT busied himself thinking of ways to turn this fruitless trip into a business success. What if he set up the first jewellery store on Mars?
“Miss Aurora, what is the name of the Governor of Mars?” he asked, breaking a silence that had pervaded for at least three hours.
If Aurora could have spat on the floor and got away with it, she would have. “Why do you want to know about that bitch for?”
“I might have a business proposition to put to her.”
“Oh, well, she’ll be all ears, believe you me. There’s not a businessman’s idea that Dorothea Clarke won’t accommodate.”
DT made a mental note of the name.
Remnant shuffled into the cockpit after a lengthy rest that had included dreams of diamonds for what must have been the two-hundredth sleep in a row. He saw Mars looming large in the cockpit window. “How long until we land?” he asked Bettis.
“A matter of hours,” was the cold, curt reply.
Remnant took a deep breath to calm his nerves.
Several hours later, Bettis put out the now traditional call for the crew to take their seats. His eyes had been fixed on the fuel gauge for the last few minutes as it hovered agonisingly close to empty. Then a red warning light came on. DT saw it and looked over to his pilot. “That doesn’t look good,” he said.
“It isn’t.” Bettis didn’t look at him, instead staying focused on the data that was being fed onto his computer monitor.
The Baton Uric descended into the cloud that hovered above the Martian surface. It was thicker and blacker than the conditions that had greeted them when they first landed on the red planet.
“It seems we’ve picked an inclement day to be landing,” said Bettis, gripping the control stick. His eyes flitted between the various dials and measurements and readings and lights and needles on the dashboard. As they slowly lost altitude, the ship was engulfed for a few tense moments by black clouds that filled the cockpit windscreen with total darkness. DT looked at Bettis for a sign that they should be concerned, but the pilot remained calm, outwardly at least. Then, as suddenly as it had enveloped them, the black cloud loosened its grip and the surface below became visible for the first time.
Bettis and DT both gasped. Remnant, who’d had his eyes closed in silent recital of a prayer that featured a wish to find a sizeable lump of valuable rock below, opened them on hearing the gasps and was equally shocked by what he saw. Aurora, who was sitting too far back to see the surface looked to Remnant.
“What’s up?”
Remnant said nothing.
“Sye, what’s the matter?”
Remnant shook his head. “What the hell happened down there?”
Aurora quickly unclipped herself from her seat and rushed over to the front of the ship
Two giant craters pitted the surface below.
Aurora’s hand covered her mouth.
“What could have done that,” DT asked. “Meteors?”
No one answered.
“How far are we from Gasoline Alley?” Aurora asked Bettis, not recognising any of the surface below. The pilot quickly checked the controls to confirm his worst fears.
“We’re right above it.”
Aurora started to shake. “Oh no.”
DT stared open-mouthed at the destruction. “Was it some kind of raid by pirates?”
The filling stations were gone. The Hilton too. Along with the half-finished frames of countless abandoned construction projects.
Remnant wanted to, but didn’t know how to help Aurora. What should he do, leave her to herself, put a hand on her shoulder, arm around her waist, fingers over her eyes, what?
“I don’t know where to land,” Bettis announced.
“And where do we refuel?” asked DT.
Remnant was frantically searching for any signs of the hangar that had featured in his last few dreams. He was convinced the diamond was in there, but as he looked below, there was no airstrip, no hangar, no nothing.
“We need to land right now,” said Bettis pointing to the red fuel warning light which was now flashing.
“Can you land in one of the craters?” DT asked, panic clearly evident in his voice.
“I can, but we’ll be stranded. No fuel and no means to get any. There’s no oxygen dome either.” Bettis glanced at the dashboard. “Crew, seats for a crash landing,” Bettis shouted, the red flashing light now giving off an emergency wail. Aurora rushed back to her seat and Remnant grabbed the loop of wire that had served him well on previous landings.
“Brace yourselves, this could be…”
The ship hit the Martian surface without an ounce of grace or a drop of fuel left in its tank. It skidded along the charred surface, the crew fearing the fuselage would rip apart underneath them and expose them to the suffocating Martian atmosphere. Remnant wanted to let go of the wires and hold Aurora if this was to be his last experience of life. But she was sitting, staring bravely ahead, shock still writ large across her face. Bettis struggled with the control stick, letting it rock him from side to side as the ship bumped across the terrain. Despite the scrapes and the bumps, the Baton Uric held together before coming to a halt quite suddenly.
When the dust had settled, Aurora unclipped herself and peered out of the cockpit window. There was nothing about the devastated landscape that she recognised. No hut, no tanker, only blackened pits and smoking scars. It was like someone had charcoal sketched random shapes on the planet’s surface.
Aurora pulled an oxygen mask out of her bag. It was no bigger than a World War II gas mask, just as menacing to look at, but way more advanced. She rushed out of the cockpit. Bettis and DT looked to Remnant and then down to the other mask that had spilled out of her bag.
In the hold, Aurora stood on the rising plinth, looking up.
“Hold on,” Remnant shouted, wrestling with the straps on the mask. “How do I get this to work?”
Remnant leapt up to join Aurora. She quickly adjusted the straps and pulled the mask over his head, just as the roof tiles slid back to reveal the airtight thick perspex tube rising into the red Martian sky.
Aurora flicked on the oxygen supply to Remnant’s mask. He took a deep breath, hoping his lungs could work with whatever he inhaled. Feeling no ill-effects, he gave the thumbs up and put his arm around her waist, expecting her to pull away. She stayed.
The tube delivered them onto the roof of the Baton Uric, its shell bruised and blackened by the millions of miles it had travelled. They both scanned the horizon around them and the surface below them. It was obvious that trying to find survivors would be as fruitless as trying to find a diamond asteroid had proved to be.
Remnant gripped Aurora and she returned the grip, grasping in desperation, weeping into her mask for her lost children, her sister, the Martian community she was trying hard to feel part of. She pointed down and Remnant nodded then pressed the button on the perspex tube that lowered the plinth.
Back in the hold they removed their masks and held each other.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” he repeated softly into her ear.
Her sobs turned to full-on tears. “What am I going to do?”
Remnant shook his head. “You could help me get whoever did this. Make them pay.”
“How are we going to do that? We don’t even know who it was.”
Remnant held her at arm’s length and looked her in the eye. “It’s obvious. Whoever did this didn’t
want people nosing around Mars, or refuelling their ships on the way to the belt.”
“It could be pirates, or aliens,” she said.
“There’s no aliens,” he said, “and no pirates could get their hands on bombs big enough to do this kind of damage. Only a few nations back home possess weapons powerful enough to cause destruction on this scale. Mine. Yours. China. Russia. But only one has the ships to get the weapons out this far.”
“You think SEC did it? You think it was Haygue?”
“Don’t you? He killed your husband and his crew. Why would he think twice about taking out settlers on Mars? Haygue’s running wild up here. And we’ve got to stop him.”
38
The five suits, three male and two female waited anxiously around the boardroom table in Houston for the video conference connection to load. The older woman fiddled with her expensive bracelet, the young blond guy paced the room. The black guy checked his watch, resentful of being made to wait. The bald guy stared stoically ahead. The younger woman tapped her pen on her pad.
When the connection was made, the bright sun from the background of the image on the screen caused everyone in the room to squint. The man on the screen fiddled with a few buttons and soon the brightness was toned down to a level that made looking at it comfortable.
“Can you hear me,” the man asked, his accent strongly South African.
Everyone around the table replied in the affirmative.
“Right, I will get down to business, as I know we are all busy people. I am upset about the lack of publicity our efforts on Mars have received here on Earth.”
The black guy leant towards the conference phone. “Mr Haalange, the world is on the verge of war. I think people are a little more concerned about whether they’re going to get their asses blasted, than what happened to a few ex-cons on another planet.”
“Yes, but we are talking about two of the biggest explosions in nearly a century. Did you not get your best publicity people on the case?”
“It was just a case of bad timing,” said the young blond guy. “We blew it up on the wrong day. We weren’t to know about the raids on the US nuclear silos.”