Lord Banshee- Fugitive

by Russell O Redman

  Finally, they told me to be silent and rigid. They clipped my suit onto a frame and carried me through the ship to the transport bays. The transport was spacious, and far better arranged to transport injured people than any military transport. My frame clipped into a bunk that normal people could have slept on, or surgeons could have used for minor operations in flight. There were closets on the walls that were labeled for meds, field stations, and surgical equipment. I recognized some of the names but could only guess what a closet labeled ‘vacuum autodoc supplies’ might hold.

  We four TDF members waited silently while our LR surgeon left and returned with the second CI agent. The CI agent had an LR medical unit with a reservoir for meds as impressive as my own. Spare field stations with labels from Valhalla and medical units labeled Quetzalcoatl were clipped together in a stack against one wall. The crew were completed when the LR Cap, Com and Nav came aboard, allowing us to detach from the ship. Our Com displayed the outside view on a ceiling monitor. They secluded themselves in a compartment that must have served as a bridge, a luxury that military transports omitted, leaving us some privacy to discuss our affairs.

  I had never seen an LR ship from outside except for the one that had gone to try to rescue the crew of the fake Hanuman. LR Quetzalcoatl was a long steel brick, like the Mao, emblazoned on the starboard side with its name and an image of the Aztec Feathered Serpent. It is hard to judge size in space, but it appeared to be even larger than the Mao, built to a much older design. Without weapons bays, it could devote far more of its interior to crew, hospital and engine compartments.

  As we pulled away, we could see the last of the stricken ships in the background, surrounded by three warships displaying what I assumed was the Imperial coat of arms, plus four other ships with different insignia. As we watched, three small vessels attached themselves to the hull of the disabled ship. One appeared to be attaching a small engine to the stern, but the other two clamped onto the normal docking ports. I wondered if they were fetching the last patients to the Quetzalcoatl, who would occupy the rooms we had just vacated.

  Commander Sa’id ignored me as much as possible. He and the other officer, who must have been Wep Thor Sinbadson, quietly discussed the overall situation. He said that some of the officers in the L2 fleet had briefly been demented but had recovered quickly once the LE token was made available. A new and much more secure version of the comm and medical OS was being distributed and installed as we spoke.

  Thule Station was itself well-armed, but against the massed firepower of the Martian fleet had rapidly followed Wang’s lead in welcoming the Martian commanders as friends. It was curious, and probably significant, that his official gratitude for Imperial assistance on the earth stations had been passed by MI to the Lunar, L1 and L2 fleets in real time. By contrast, their desperate cries for guidance from the Admiralty had been embargoed by MI and ignored until Wang had taken control.

  Nothing else was going well. Command and control of the Martian fleets near L1 and L2 was even more chaotic than I had been used to in the worst days of the Incursion on Mars, with different factions, clans and corporations making competing claims of ownership for each facility. He gave a few corporate examples, which I recognized as investors in the mines, refineries, and factories they claimed. None of them were sole owners. Now, I could place them in the faction map I had constructed and could anticipate serious factional disputes.

  Sinbadson mentioned that they all claimed to be “defending their people from pirates” but it was impossible from the confusing and overlapping claims to know which of the rival claimants were pirates. The corporate officers running the facilities acknowledged many of the claims of ownership but insisted that investors had no say in their day-to-day operation and ordered them to keep off the premises until proper arrangements could be made through their head offices. This outraged the factional officers, who demanded immediate and exclusive access to their property. The frightened and unarmed employees turned to the TDF for help, forcing their Com officers to act as mediators before the conflicts escalated into real fights.

  The TDF did not train its officers to be negotiators and was appealing to the Ministry for Negotiators on the Earth. The request, following protocol, had been passed first for approval to TDF HQ and ExA. Not surprisingly, the Earth remained silent. The Admiralty was occasionally able to offer advice from a contact on the Moon. Sinbadson wondered idly if that was the same contact who seemed to be advising the lawyers on the Columbia, Hai Ba Tru’ng, and Quetzalcoatl, and if so whether ze ever had time to sleep.

  If L1 and L2 were a mess of competing claims, out here in our clump of factional warships it seemed that no law at all applied any more. The Imperium claimed authority but could back it only with superior firepower. Every ship had at least some of its lasers deployed, what looked to me like advanced rail guns of a design I had never seen before, and one from each faction had a missile bay open. No one was firing, but everyone was on hair triggers. Our transport was a tiny bubble of peace in a void filled with tension.

  Looking around, MacFinn and my CI colleague were listening even more intently than me. It was probably their first introduction to the scope of the crisis, and I was sure the whole discussion was for our benefit.

  At last, I was introduced to the group as Head Accountant Benjamin Lomond, who had been attempting to unravel some serious financial irregularities at Thule Station when a particularly stressful incident had occurred that for reasons of security could not be clarified. It was not mentioned that Thule Station was the home of the TDF fleet at L2, nor that it housed Valhalla, nor that the usual complement of military vessels had been called away from the base to defend the civilian population of L2. Everyone on the ship probably knew that much already.

  My current medical distress was specified in considerably more detail; a small explosion had lacerated and lightly burned much of my skin, and my medical monitor had depleted its reservoirs in the confusion of the past weeks, resulting in considerable internal damage that was not related to the external injuries. My memories of the event had been suppressed until we could return to the Moon for proper therapy.

  My CI counterpart was introduced as Agent Margaret Lakshmi-Lee, a relatively recent hire. She had been assigned to investigate discrepancies in the financial reports from LUVN, which had in the last year become incomprehensible and sometimes unrelated to the business the facility was supposed to be conducting. Real reports had continued to be issued, mixed amongst the nonsense, and locally all had seemed to be on track until Agent Lakshmi-Lee had uncovered illegal arms amongst the supplies and illicit drugs in the food shipments, along with indecipherable reports written in her own name amongst the outgoing data streams. She had been threatened into apparent silence but had continued collecting evidence. She had been able to call for help surreptitiously and had been expecting relief within the next week when the pirate attack overrode all other considerations.

  She mentioned that the pirates had been surprisingly polite. They had made only the threats needed to enforce compliance from the staff. The violence had started when Superintendent Rouseth had armed some of the staff with the illegal guns and had sent them out to assassinate, not the pirates, but the key officers in control of LUVN. The pirates had attempted to defend the officers and had elicited the aid of several staff members in moving them to apparent safety aboard the pirate vessel. She had heard on the Quetzalcoatl that they had been locked in cages and told that they were now slaves. The dead in the freezers were mostly victims of Rouseth’s campaign of assassination, either as targets or in a few cases as suicides when the amateur warriors could no longer tolerate what they were doing.

  Agent Lakshmi-Lee herself had been shot by Rouseth’s gang but had managed to hide amongst the supplies stored between the bacterial vats and the extraction and stabilization facility. She had watched the Oxaquino sisters rescue several staff members from Rouseth’s gang, helping them escape toward the pirate ship at considerable risk to thei
r own lives. She hoped that they had survived the fight. I remained silent, but Commander Sa’id allowed that he recognized the names amongst the survivors rescued from the pirate ship by the TDF Columbia and Hai Ba Tru’ng. He also mentioned that any testimony she could supply to clarify the events of that day would be extremely helpful, and he recommended that she begin preparing a deposition as soon as possible. She smiled and said she was done already, but LR would not permit her to send documents that might be politically sensitive.

  She then turned to me and asked if I had been the source of the extraordinary document that had been delivered anonymously. I smiled weakly and wondered if anyone alive would admit to having authored a document so dangerous that it had to be delivered anonymously. She flushed deeply red as she realized her gaff. She stuttered that it had opened plausible explanations into parts of her own evidence that had seemed incomprehensible until that moment and hoped I would forgive her indiscretion. We agreed not to mention the existence of such a document again, and I suggested that an insight had come to her while she had time to rest and consider the full implications of her data.

  We tossed around a few more ideas about corporate involvement, and I suggested possible lines of inquiry to try to understand the role of Martian families and factional disputes in the event, with some warnings that things were likely to become extremely complicated and possibly even dangerous over the next weeks and months. Like the rest of us, she had been watching the Martian warships on the ceiling and accepted that warning without comment.

  An announcement from the crew warned us that we would soon be disembarking on the Imperial Cruiser Lansdorp, commanded by Captain Maranatha Cabrera. A keening filled the back of my head and every Valkyrie in Valhalla rode through my skull as a wall of fear collapsed on top of me. I had been dispassionate about travelling with the Martians while it remained an academic exercise, but faced with the immediate reality, every part of me knew the risk I was taking. I tried four times to switch back to the Ghost, but each time the fear was so great that I triggered back to the Cripple who was near panic.

  With my last gram of will I was able to activate the Ghost and Cripple together. My desperate need to protect Leilani gave me permission to be rational because travel with the Martians was the only possible route forward. The Agent chimed in that we were about to meet again the beautiful, wonderful, dangerous people of Mars, people that I wanted to claim as friends. The Cap wanted to try again to help them heal, the Assassin wanted to atone for his errors, and even the Kid wanted to say he was sorry for having been a very, very bad boy, without even a hint of smart aleck.

  MacFinn arrived at my side a moment later, concerned by my sudden panic, but by then I was back under a semblance of control. He gave me a tranquilizer to calm me and help me sleep, assuring me that this time at least it should be peacefully dreamless.

  2357-03-15 06:00

  Homecoming

  I woke with a cool draft on my face. I lay quietly, listening to my surroundings. I was still in my armour, apparently still attached to the field station, but without the helmet and mask that would have kept the breeze off my face. Without the helmet, I could not turn up the microphones, but the room I was in was remarkably quiet. There must be ventilators to create a breeze, but I could not hear the usual low shush. We were in zero-G, probably well started on the trip to the Moon. A low shudder of fear ran through me, quickly suppressed as I switched back to the Ghost.

  MacFinn’s voice beside me said, “Ah, lad, ye’re awake. Your medmon works better attached t’the field station, which tops up the meds as required. Ye run through a lot, ye do.”

  I pried my eyes open, then blinked a few times at the riot of colour that surrounded us. Zigzags of orange blending to brown, curlicues of vivid green dotted with lavender, slashes of black and white that drew the eye around the room. An involuntary smile spread across my face as I recognized the artistic style of the Hellas Pentapolis, five cities around the Hellas basin that had consciously chosen to encourage the visual arts. Their debates were almost unintelligible to outsiders, loaded with artistic terminology that no one else used, but the results spoke brilliantly of their skill and understanding.

  I thought to myself that Raul should spend a week here. His stick figures would improve immeasurably just by exposure to real art.

  None of these walls had the grey monitor surfaces that lined most rooms on the TDF ships we had seen. These walls were plain steel, but Mars had always been desperate for colour and had indulged every opportunity to splash it around. After the ship had been in space for ten years, I expected the paint would be a centimetre thick and would have to be peeled off before they started again. That, at least, was typical of how Martian cities worked.

  “It is beautiful. It feels good to be home.”

  MacFinn startled. “Ha ye been t’Mars? Is that why ye’re so hot to travel with em?”

  I breathed in the colour with a nostalgia so strong it felt like love. “A long time ago, and things were better for almost everyone. The war did terrible things to Mars. Surgeon MacFinn, I am not sure I can even explain how deeply I hope the Imperium brings a true and lasting peace.

  “When I was there, it was all like this, only different styles, different colours in each city, farm and co-op. Their clothes were even better. Martian fashion would sell on the Moon like cinnamon croissants if they could find a way to ship the fabric. I can think of twenty fashion houses on the Earth who would be eager to adapt their styles to the changing seasons. It could probably be organized electronically, to avoid moving actual cloth. In my ideal universe, I want food and education from the Earth, justice from the Moon, and fashion and art from Mars. Do not tell that to anyone, though. It does not fit my cover.”

  MacFinn gave a nervous laugh, “So ye ha just told everyone listenin that ye have a cover and ha been on Mars. Lad, ye’ re scarin me again.”

  “And where is the surprise in that? Of course, I have a cover, coming from Thule Station. I am not ashamed of what I have been working on, even if I cannot remember the recent details. I want to talk with these people, to exchange information and find how we can merge our services. I have no idea which of my cases served their interests and which worked against them. We have much to teach each other, and much to learn.”

  “Whaaah. Well then, we ha the first demonstration in an hour. Do ye want t’be awake or asleep? We could do it with a cadaver, but the medics’ll be workin wi their own troops, so they’ll want t’see us takin the same care they do.”

  “Oh, awake for sure! I will want to hear what you say as well. What is on the menu for discussion?”

  “Basic diagnostics. Is the patient alive or dead, any bones broken, heart troubles, liver damage, muscle damage in each limb? Ye’ve got all o’that, and we ha records o’what ye looked like dead. Make a good test case, ye do. I’d rather na look into y’head this time. Too scary an ye do na ha much medically wrong there anyways.”

  “Dead? I do not remember that part. But then, I suppose I would not, would I? Probably just as well that I do not remember everything that has happened.”

  “Aye. B’tween now an then, I’d like t’get ye washed so ye do na smell like ye bin in that armour for a week. Which ye pretty much ha, o’course. Do ye want clothes or no? If we can be quick, we’d do it without, by preference, but the medics seem to prefer some kind o’gown and it’s blitherin chilly here.”

  “The gowns would probably be useful, given how cool the air is. I remember how easy it was to sleep in the cool under a warm comforter and it was a sensible temperature for heavy exercise, but I have become too used to the subtropical climate of the earth stations and would shiver if I had to be naked for long. Besides, Mars has different mores for nudity and when it is appropriate. Just like on the Earth, where people in some places flaunt their bodies, and in other places hide themselves many layers deep.”

  Something niggled in the back of my mind. I pondered this briefly and realized that I had enabled the Ghost
and Agent, but not the Cripple because he had only second-hand experience with real Martians. He did have a better ethical perspective, so I added him, which still gave a triple weight to the Agent, double to the Ghost and allowed a conscience that neither of my earlier selves had exhibited in proper measure.

  MacFinn tugged off the armour and detached from it the catheters and injectors for the field station. He swapped the field station from the armour to the attachments on my body. As he worked, I considered the ethical considerations of our brief conversation. I did want to be awake, to listen to the presentation and how the medics would respond. If I participated, however, I would almost certainly start a debate. Ghost, thy name is provocation. To the extent possible, I should remain silent and unresponsive throughout the demonstration.

  MacFinn grunted as some of the false scarring washed away, revealing fresh new skin beneath. “Looks good. Y’back’s still a mess. We’ll ease off the pain killers a wee for the demo. Ye will na like that, given the way the LR meds work, but it’ll be good t’show how the field station responds t’real pain. Marines ha t’deal wi a lot o’pain, an I expect the Martian soldiers do too.”

  The blood spots I had seen on my pajamas had mostly been on the back. “Can I ask what happened to my back? I do not remember anything that would have damaged my back.”

  “Well, ye would na remember much o’that. Ye were asleep in a coma most o’that time and a mercy it was. Your skin started t’dissolve as the mix o’meds got worse. Ye’re lucky that happened first on y’back, where the armour fitted a bit snugger, and not on y’face. When we had t’fix y’innards, it was safest to go in through the back where we did na ha t’cut livin skin. The sound o’the lass’s voice when we turned ye over, I’ll not hope t’hear that again, though her medical judgement remained sound through it all. I hope she’s got someone t’talk to.”