Mars Nation: The Complete Trilogy

by Brandon Q Morris

  Ewa turned around, sat down on the floor, and leaned against a box. Now she could say goodbye to that thing in her head. Would Friday try to stop her? She held the taser in front of her, pointing at her chest. It would be painful, but she would survive. Friday had told her that. But he would die. He would never again be able to force her to hurt someone else. Ewa stuck her thumb through the trigger and shut her eyes. Who had done this to her?

  And what would happen to their plans once she pulled the trigger? Would she be able to steal the giant drill without any assistance? Ewa realized that this question wasn’t what was making her hesitate. Without Friday, she would be totally alone. Her group had rejected her. She had never really needed the company of other people, but she was nonetheless scared by the thought of complete solitude. At the same time, all she had to do was wait until the second Spaceliner landed next to this first one.

  But there was no way she could do that. How many people were on board? Wouldn’t she once again attempt to kill as many people as possible? Ewa noticed that her thoughts were going in circles. She wasn’t making progress. It would be nice to solve the problem of Friday once and for all, but that wouldn’t be the smartest of moves. The thing in her head might be able to help her implement her plans. And if not—she wouldn’t let the taser leave her sight. If the alien creature in her brain tried to gain control over her, she would end its existence with one painful shock.

  Ewa stood up and stuck a second taser cube in her pocket. She wouldn’t need more cartridges than that. She stuck the gun in her waistband at the small of her back. It was time for her to start searching for an emergency exit for the robotic drill.

  6/14/2042, Spaceliner 1

  “Administrator, I finally have a response from Mars,” a female voice declared.

  Rick couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but he was happy that his new title was slowly being accepted. It had such a serious ring to it, in his opinion, and yet it didn’t promise anything he didn’t want it to. Unlike a president, an administrator didn’t have to be elected, and Rick had no intention at all of ever running in an election. Why would he let populists with conversation skills steal away the results of his hard work?

  For the first day or two, people had reacted with a certain degree of skepticism. Rick was glad that he could fall back on his surveillance bugs. They had revealed to him who was talking disdainfully about him, as well as who was supporting him. Of course, he couldn’t eavesdrop on the entire crew, but it was enough to have a few people to make an example of. He rewarded anyone who showed visible loyalty, and those who seemed resistant to him forfeited their privileges.

  Rick always arranged it so that he kept the public on his side. For example, when the leading scientist jeopardized the ship’s power supply during a failed experiment, it was evident that the administrator had to demote her. The evidence was so unambiguous that only the scientist and himself knew what had really happened. This should be enough to make most people rethink their opinions.

  “Please send the message to my cabin.”

  Rick sat down on his bed, which was wider than it had been a week ago. He was still in the same cabin, but he had used the opportunity that presented itself when two couples had formed. As a considerate gesture he authorized them to share cabins, which meant he had been able to clear out the rooms next to his own and connect them to his quarters. From the outside, everything looked as humble as it had before. Rick wanted to remain a ‘man of the people.’ He didn’t have all that many perks, but this was definitely one of them.

  His computer pinged, and he called up the video file. A man with short, slightly curly, black hair was visible in the thumbnail picture. He had the typical pale skin of astronauts of European heritage. The man looked quite young. Rick guessed he was less than twenty-five years old. He started the video.

  The man introduced himself as Mike Benedetti, the commander of the NASA mission. Rick was amused. If he was lucky, Benedetti had little life experience and could be easily manipulated. On the other hand, he might be dealing with one of those hotshot geniuses who never let anyone get a word in edgewise because, of course, they always thought they knew better.

  Rick had to confess that the NASA people worried him. He knew how they thought. They didn’t view themselves as employees of their organization, which they de facto were, but rather as government-sponsored heroes. They took mortal danger and deprivation upon themselves in the knowledge that they were enabling humanity to progress—and after their return, they would be revered until the end of their lifetimes. It must have been a particularly terrible shock to have these two certainties taken away from them. They were no longer acting in the name of humanity or even in the name of their marvelous homeland, and there wouldn’t be any reward for their deprivations after their return. They were on their own now. Maybe he could use this opportunity to reel them in. Doing something just for yourself—he knew what that was like.

  Now it would get interesting. Benedetti cut straight to his suggestion.

  “In theory, we are open to whatever your idea of collaboration might be,” he spoke into the camera as he rubbed his chin. “There are bound to be areas in which we could profit from one another’s experiences, or in which an exchange of knowledge or technology would be helpful. As a crew, we are in agreement that the formal structures you have in mind are not necessary for us. We see ourselves as an independent operation, as our contracting authority intended for us to be, which means we are not part of the private enterprise that you represent.”

  Rick leaned back. That was a clear refusal, but he had reckoned on that. Baby steps. He would give them some time now. His ship hadn’t even landed on Mars yet. But it wouldn’t hurt anything to plant the seed of doubt early on. He would make an offer to all the crew members, one they couldn’t reject.

  He started a new recording. He would splice the personal greeting in later, but for now he would focus on the lure he would send to the NASA and MfE people.

  “You might be interested in this offer I’d like to make. If any one of you agrees to support our mission, I will name you my non-terminable representative. If you would prefer, you don’t need to tell anyone about your decision. It can remain between the two of us. All I require is your loyalty, and you won’t regret your decision. Take all the time you need to consider your response. However, you should understand that I can only keep this offer open until I receive the first positive response.”

  How would the NASA crew react? Would they discuss it? Rick imagined them playing the four personalized messages in disgust. “Me? Never!” they would say. But when they couldn’t fall asleep later that night, they would run the offer through their heads over and over again, until their doubt about the others led them to the decision to eventually click reply.

  Rick had time.

  Sol 80, Mars surface

  How did someone go about stealing a huge vehicle from a hangar bay? Ewa had tried for a long time to convince the ship’s comp that the drill was needed outside, but the program was putting its foot down without the proper authorization. Nobody had thought to incorporate an emergency mode with which someone could sidestep the standard protocols. And yet, what kind of emergency would necessitate the use of a giant machine that could drill a ten-kilometer hole into the planet, and do so within ten days?

  Together, Ewa and Friday had learned from the ship’s comp what the drill was capable of. With this machine, it would take the NASA people less than ten days to strike water! What made this all the more annoying was the fact that these fantastic abilities would have to remain slumbering in the bowels of Spaceliner 0 until the owner of the machine arrived. She recalled the outrageous message that the so-called Spaceliner administrator had sent to her. It was quite unlikely that that man would willingly agree to lend MfE or NASA one of the machines.

  No, she and Friday would open the hangar, regardless of the cost. They had checked the ship’s plans and seen how the vehicles were typically lowered to the surface
from the ship. The hangar was located on the lowest deck. Nonetheless, there were still five meters between that level and the planet’s surface. The lateral wall could be folded back to create an eight-meter-wide opening. Once that was in place, sturdy rails would extend from the floor to create a ramp down to Mars’s surface.

  Ewa’s plan had two parts to it. The first one was easy. She would blow the door open if the ship’s comp wouldn’t help her. The problems began once that was taken care of. As the breathable air in the isolated hangar dissipated, she would have to lower the ramp, start the drill, and drive it out of the ship—against the will of the ship’s comp, which would probably use every resource available to it to prevent the theft.

  All the same, she had one advantage. The ship was stuffed full of provisions. As long as the ship’s comp didn’t catch on, she could freely avail herself of them, which was precisely what she planned to do. Ewa had picked out a new spacesuit yesterday, and she was in love with it. The suit had never been used. The suit smelled like peppermint, not like sweat, urine, feces, or vomit. And it was much lighter and more comfortable than the old MfE model. Even the NASA people would be jealous, seeing as the corporation that had financed the private Mars colony had spared no expense on the development of these suits. The arm and leg joints had even been equipped with additional mechanical muscular enhancers. In this suit, she would be faster and stronger than all of the other Mars residents until Spaceliner 1 arrived.

  Ewa had gathered a stockpile of supplies in the drill’s pressurized cab. The ship’s comp had reported quite proudly that the drill could operate autonomously for up to a month. The oxygen and water supplies would last that long for a team composed of three crew members. Additional storage spaces were located on the deck of the ten-axle vehicle. Ewa had stashed three additional suits there.

  She had searched through all the crates for seeds and added some of them to her stores. She topped off all her crates with replacement parts that she selected at random. The NASA people would be able to find some use for these. There was more than enough left over for the Spaceliner I crew. At the last minute, she found herself holding a bottle of nitrogen, and she added that to her stash. Nitrogen was probably a much more valuable resource on Mars than on Earth, where it made up the majority of the breathable air.

  Ewa opened the door to one of the cabins. She’d found a ladder in here yesterday. She pulled it out from behind a few boxes and carried it to the elevator. She had to juggle things a little to fit it into the elevator car. The ship’s comp had refused to give her access to the transport elevator. She pushed zero, and the elevator started moving. The double door to the hangar was still open. She shut it behind herself and squeezed past the drill.

  She leaned the ladder against the hangar’s back wall, reached into her pocket, and pulled out the explosive. It had felt strange to simply put the explosive material into her pocket. But Friday had assured her that without the detonator, the substance was utterly safe. They had searched for the optimal location for the blasting charge. It would be perfect if during the explosion, the doors would tilt down to the ground as a ramp, but that was unlikely. There was also no way the ship would be gracious enough to extend the ramp down to the surface from the hangar’s subfloor.

  Ewa had offered to search everywhere for ladders and to bind these together to make a makeshift ramp. However, ladders were in short supply on board—and those she found were too long to fit in the passenger elevator. Now they were implementing Friday’s idea. A cold shiver ran down Ewa’s spine whenever she thought about this. But they were out of options. Maybe they would be lucky, and the doors would fall outward at just the right angle.

  She pulled the electronic detonators from the drill’s cab. They were small, cube-shaped modules. All she had to do was push them into the blasting agent. She could detonate them with a command transmitted via her radio. Ewa climbed back up the ladder and attached one detonator after the other. She had intentionally left her radio in the cab so that she didn’t accidentally activate the detonators prematurely. She wasn’t quite done with her preparations as it was.

  She walked back into the cabin the ship’s comp had made available to her. Her old spacesuit was lying in the corner, its stench unmistakable. A metal tag with ‘Kowalska’ written on it was pinned to its chest. Ewa unpinned the tag and stuck it in her pocket. She was grateful to the suit that it had brought her here. However, she was glad to never have to climb into it again.

  In farewell, she looked around one last time, but there weren’t any personal items sitting around. She didn’t have anything she couldn’t afford to leave behind, except perhaps the radio that Theo had given her. It was sitting in the drill’s cab. Ewa closed the door behind her and took the elevator down to the hangar.

  She had placed an exercise bike in one corner of the hangar. The new suit was skin-tight and saved her part of her training, but she would feel safer if she pedaled for a while and lowered her blood nitrogen content. It only took three minutes for the sweating to start. After another twenty minutes, she climbed off the bike. That should be enough.

  She got completely undressed and stood up straight. She cautiously ran her fingers across the tortured skin on her joints. Her injuries were almost healed. She pulled on her diaper and her thermal underwear over that. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t need all this since in a few minutes she would be sitting inside the warm cab in her fitness suit. But if everything headed south, the suit would keep her alive for a while. Ewa preferred to not dwell on what all could go wrong.

  Ewa packed the taser into her tool bag and sealed her suit, but she didn’t put her helmet on yet. She inspected the hangar one last time. She had removed all the covers from the vehicles. The loader was parked in front of the back wall that they were about to blast off. A light was burning in its cab even though no one was in there. She could steer the vehicle by remote from the drill. There were no technical obstacles to this. They hadn’t even needed to ask the ship’s comp about it. Nevertheless, Ewa wondered why the comp hadn’t asked even once about why she was making a mess down here. The computer’s intelligence was obviously confined within very narrow parameters. As long as she wasn’t trying to break into the command bridge or leave the ship, nothing would happen to her.

  She touched the loader’s huge front tire. The material was vibrating. That had to be the engine, which was already running. It really was a shame she had to leave it here. They could have made good use of the loader, but the drill was more critical. The other vehicles in the hangar were, for the most part, undrivable in their current conditions. These two giants were the only pieces of machinery the engineers hadn’t expected the astronauts to have to assemble once they reached their destination.

  Ewa took one last breath. She smelled oil and rubber, but she also picked up a hint of cold sweat—her own. She hoped they had correctly calculated the amount of blasting agent. If the blast was too weak, the hangar wouldn’t open. The ship’s comp wouldn’t give them a second chance. If the explosion was too strong, the loader could potentially be damaged—and without it, their crazy plan wouldn’t work.

  She shut her helmet. Ewa would stay on board the ship as long as possible. After a lengthy discussion, they had settled on this as the safest course of action. After all, the robotic drill might tip over as it exited the hangar, burying its glass cab beneath it.

  “It’s time,” she said aloud. Her voice sounded muffled. How quickly she had forgotten how the helmet changed the acoustics!

  ‘Detonation,’ Friday replied through her mouth.

  Ewa had positioned herself between the tires of a buggy that was parked against the hangar’s back wall. The vehicle should protect her from the resulting blast wave. She lifted the radio and switched it on. The display glowed. She used the dial to set the radio to the same frequency as the detonator.

  Ready. Now all she had to do was press the send button.

  Ewa inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, and leaned against the hangar’s
hard wall. She then pressed the button.

  A white flash streaked through the hangar, followed by a crash. The suit immediately lowered the sensitivity of the external microphone, but Ewa’s ears were still buzzing. The buggy was set instantly into motion. It was pushed in her direction, but the tires slowed it down as they collided against the wall on either side of Ewa. A siren started to blare. The suit lowered the external microphone’s sensitivity even more. This was followed by a tearing sound that made Ewa’s hair stand on end. It was as if someone were slowly ripping a sheet of paper right beside her ear.

  For about thirty seconds, this sound drowned out the siren. Then the hangar grew bright. It was a light that didn’t belong in here—the warm, brownish-yellow glow of the noontime Mars atmosphere, broken up by flashing red warning lights. All breathable air was sucked out of the hangar, sending a jolt of fear through Ewa despite the fact she was wearing her suit.

  She climbed over the buggy’s tire. The drill was standing in front of her. A short ladder was fastened to its side, which would provide her access to the cab. Ewa ran toward it. A powerful air draft pushed her to the side. What was that? Ewa whipped around. Who had opened the hangar door into the interior of the ship? Air was now escaping through the opening. But that wasn’t all. Ewa saw an outline of something move through the doorway. It had two legs, that much was certain. It was about twice as wide as a human. She had been afraid of this—the ship wasn’t going to simply let them leave. It must have activated a robot. What could the machine do? Ewa had no idea, and she decided she didn’t want to find out. She preferred to make a dash for the ladder. She climbed up it as quickly as she could, jumped through the open door of the cab, and shut the hatch.