Right. Now, in reality, you can still get lots of goods and services in your hometownits small, but it still has grocery stores, shopping centers, and so forth. Now lets add even smaller places. He quickly drew a series of even smaller dots around the town markers, four around each. Those are villages. They have fewer goods and services than the towns because they are smaller.
I get it. I go to town now and then for things I cant get in my own village, and I go to Metro for the things I cant get in town.
Yes. And if we add even smaller dotscall them hamlets and smaller oneshomesteads You get the picture. If you live in a hamlet you go to the village a lot, to the town less often, to Metro, which is farthest away, only when its really necessary. He tapped the tablet. These are all hamlets and homesteads. But each one is connected through a hierarchy of larger and larger places to Metroor MarsDome 1. And MarsDome 1, in turn, is connected to an even more cosmopolitan place, Earth.
In fact, on Mars, this model works even better.
Consider the things each of these hamlets absolutely must have: the equipment to produce and maintain a breathable atmosphere and drinking water, and the parts and tools to maintain the equipment, for starters. Eventually, all of that must come from MarsDome 1 or Earth. Heavy metals arent readily available here. Food is hard to produce in quantity. Maybe some of that comes directly from Earth in smugglers ships, but the cost would be enormous, made even worse by its illegality. No, there must be a tight network of trade, and it all leads back here, to the Metro, the central place.
I get it. The trail to wherever the underground is hiding
Starts right here. We dont start with that list of settlements. We start in Syria Planum and work our way out.
Hold it What about Olympus Mons and Solis Planum? Couldnt one of those be Metro?
Sure. Three central places on Mars, which still makes things pretty simple. I guess we could throw in Xanthe Terra, too, though its too small and young to really compete with the big three. But we start here, because this is where we are.
So how do we find the outward trail?
Think of this. These people in the hinterlandswhat do they trade for machined parts, for food, for new molecular filters, for power cells? There isnt that much out there, is there? Ive checked into it; most do some sort of mining or local processingiron, aluminum, various rare earths. Others produce curiositiesthe Mennonites make polished hematite bowls that are sold back on Earth to the very rich, for instance. But its hard going, very hard. Any valuable commodity you possessed would have to be used, simply to survive. Now, think. What commodity would the underground have to trade that would set them apart from everyone else?
Erik got it His eyes shone with understanding and admiration. Illegal scans.
Of course. So we dont need a list of these hamlets at all. What we need is a list of persons in Syria Planum who need Psi services that Corps members are forbidden to provide. He grinned evilly. Which, I might add, Ive nearly finished.
I am in awe, Mr. Bester.
I appreciate the compliment, but its only common sense. And Erik?
Yes?
We wont mention this to the local office right away?
Surely you dont think
Id rather leave nothing to chance, Al said, dryly. Anyone who actually lives on Mars should know what we just discussed without even having to think it through. Uhl didnt even bother to point it out to me. For whatever reason, she wants us to failor at the very least have a difficult time.
Okay. Where do we start?
Shadiest element first. Theres a certain man who seems to win an awful lot at poker.
Look at that. Erik grunted, pointing across the crowded casino. Its McCleod and Durst.
Yes, Al agreed, spotting the two local Psi Cops. And thats our man Cheo theyre questioning. Very interesting. Theyre one step ahead of us.
But they arent sharing. Want me to eavesdrop?
Ill do it You keep us quiet.
Gotcha.
Al focused his vision on Cheo, an overweight fellow with rather nondescript features and hair coiffed in intricately bound braids. He was sitting at a card table that everyone else seemed to have desertedthere were three other hands, in any event, all lying discarded. The hundred or so minds in the casino created a palpable murk, but as Al narrowed his attention, he began feeling the cadence of the mans speech. When normals spoke aloud, their surface thoughtsthat is, what they were sayingwere strong enough to detect within line of sight without scanning.
know nothin , he was saying. With a stubborn expression, he then listened to the reply. It seemed to be Durst doing the talking; he could make out her fiercely determined features. Al couldnt listen in on her, though. She would almost certainly notice if he did. And at this distance, without a direct scan, he couldnt get the reflection of her words off of Cheos mind, only a sort of an impression. It was like hearing only half of a phone conversation.
Im just a lucky son of a bitch, la , Cheo said. I dont need a sicky to win, so I dont keep one around. Besides, whats it to you guys? You never cared about the sickies before
Al suddenly felt as if nails had been driven into his head, many of them. He gasped and clutched at his temples, closing his eyes.
That shouldnt have helped, but it did. Immediately the pain dimmed, which, after an instant, he realized meant that the brutal scan hadnt been aimed at him, but at Cheo, and that Cheos pain had just run up his connection. He resolutely forced his eyes open, renewing the contact. Cheo was jerking in his chair as if being electrocuted, and the patrons of the casino, already keeping a respectful distance, quickly drew even farther away.
Al got it when they got it. A name, an address, the sketchy glyph of an appearance.
Erik. Lets go. Now!
You okay?
Yes. Come on, before they notice us.
So this is one of the towns were going to?
Al grimaced, hand on his forehead. He felt as if he had a monstrous hangover. The train gave little sense of motion other than acceleration, but when he opened his eyes it was to a chalky red landscape hurtling by with nauseating speed. Yes. A second-tier settlement. The next step on the trail.
What if Durst and McCleod beat us?
Al shrugged. Im not sure what would get them there faster than a train. A hoverjet, maybe, but there arent many of those. Helicopters dont work here, obviously. An ATV would be far too slow. My guess is that theyre on this train or will be on the next.
This is crazy, working against other cops.
I agree. But we dont know whats going on. They did an illegal scana hard, deep, obvious oneon Cheo in full public view. If you did something like that on Earthanywhereyoud be up on charges, at the very least. It seems that the Psi Corps enjoys a somewhat different status here. Cheo also implied that the cops dont normally care about Blips.
You think theyre in with them? That the cops here are traitors, helping the underground?
Al held up his hands in a shrug. Somethings going on. They might just want us out of the loop so they can grab credit for the bust themselves.
Durst and McCleod, you mean.
Or the local office. If they get credit for a successful hunt without the aid of hotshot outsiders, they might be able to resist future investigators being sent here.
But even that implies they have something to hide.
You catch on quick, Mr. Andersen.
They got off the tube car in New Harappa, a settlement of about six hundred people. A billion or so years ago, when Mars was young and wet, rushing water had carved a canyon almost a quarter of a mile deep. When the water flew off into space as ions, or locked itself beneath the planets skin, the fossil of that flood remained. Its narrow, almost sheer walls served as a reminder of how active the planet once was, and how silent and still it had been ever since.
Until now, of course. Today the polar ice caps were being melted, and carefully engineered microorganisms bred and metabolized in soils that made Antarctic permafrost seem hospitable.
The canyon had been roofed over with the same macromolecular glass that the domes were made of. Its soil had been chewed by machines, cut with organic compounds, seeded with bacteria, planted in peanuts, potatoes, and vetch. Wells had been drilled to find where the last of the once plentiful water rested in crystalline form. The settlement would then quicken it to liquid and vapor and component gases.
The town perched above them, vertical, dug into the red cliffs, built on ledges. Exotic and striking, it seemed Middle Eastern, somehow, or like the ancient pueblos of North America that Al had only seen in photographs.
He didnt have time to gawk, however. We want to go there, he said, pointing to a spot halfway up the right side. There should be an elevator down this walkway.
At first glance, New Harappa seemed to be laid out like a termite mound, a chaos of tunnels, but in reality it wasnt that hard to navigate. Elevators and steep-angled stairs had street names sidewalks running along the cliff face were avenues. All were glassed inMarsies had a well-earned historical mistrust of canyon roofs and domes.
Al and Erik rode an elevator up Easy Street to Lowell Avenue and went quickly from there toward number 12, the address Durst and McCleod had torn from Cheos mind.
Al led the way, with Erik a few paces behind. He slowed when he identified number 11 and was just turning to give Erik final instructions when a bolt of superheated helium scorched past his ear.
* * *
chapter 3
« » Als reflexes took him down in a shoulder roll. His PPG was already out, and he brought it whining to life, its muzzle scenting wildly for a target as he spun on his stomach to face the direction of the attack. A second shot tortured another protest from the air, and then a third. Al felt a mind wishing to kill him, pointed at it, fired the PPG.
Erik was on his belly, shooting. Als brain was meanwhile assembling the whole picture from fast-motion glimpses. Erik had fired first, over Als shoulder, at a man stepping into the avenue from a recessed foyer. Probably Erik had actually felt himthe Swede was good at that, scenting impending mayhem. It was Eriks shot that had galvanized Al into his evasive maneuver, and it was a good thingbecause there really were people behind them.
Al and Erik were caught in a cross fire, two behind them, two in front still on their feet, and one down from Eriks first strike.
Als first shot hit the shoulder of one of those coming up behind them. The fellow staggered into the transparent avenue wall, and Al fired again. The burst of plasma hit the glass two feet in front of the man. Like the fluid it was, the PPG shot deformed a bit and slid on into him. Rapidly cooling, the helium was still hotter than the boiling point of lead, and the unfortunate fellow got it full in the face.
The other two were taking careful aim at Al.
Im not here . He hit them with the glyph of the empty avenue, hard, and hoped they werent teeps.
They werent. They looked uniformly astonished, whipping their heads about.
Mundanes! Al shot one in the heart and the gun hand off of the other. He spun, came up in a crouch
and found himself confronting Eriks PPG.
Each took a step to the left, sweeping the corridor. All three on Eriks side were down.
Keep me covered, Al said. The man whose hand he had shot off was climbing to his feet, breath coming in hiccups. Al shot him in the back of the knee, then in the other. The bursts of plasma seared through tissue and tendon, scorching the bones beneath.
You could have cuffed him, Erik noted.
This is quicker. There may be more.
The first shooter had stepped from the foyer of apartment 12. Covered by Erik, PPG held in both hands, Al kicked the slightly open door with the side of his foot.
McCleod sat against the wall, one side of his uniform drenched in blood. He tried to raise one arm weaklythe one still clenching his side arm.
Keep it down, Al growled.
No, you put yours down.
It was Durst, to his left. He hadnt noticed her.
Al kept the weapon aimed. Kill me, and my friend kills you. Probably Ill kill McCleod, if he isnt already dead. Why dont we just calm down and talk this over?
Because I dont trust you, Durst explained, tightly.
You dont trust me ! Thats very funny, Ms. Durst. Im just doing my job. I cant imagine what youre doing. Withholding information
Not very well, it seems.
Attempting to murder Mr. Andersen and myself.
Ive done no such thing.
Please. Your men, then.
You idiot. They arent my men. Who do you think shot McCleod?
Not me, thats all I can be certain of, Al replied. Drop your gun.
No. I
Al hit her with a mindflash. She was almost ready for it and almost strong enough to resist. She even managed to finger the PPG contact, but too sluggishly to hit Al as he dropped straight to the floor. Erik was a whirlwind spinning past him. By the time Al got up, the younger cop had disarmed the stunned Durst.
Now, Al said, smoothing out his uniform. Where is Chandler?
There, Durst managed, pointing. Al followed her direction and saw a light-haired man sprawled on a couch.
Dead?
No. Shocked out. Will you let me help McCleod?
Mr. Andersen, will you see to Mr. McCleod?
On it.
So these men attacked you, then us, you say?
It would seem.
Do you think were safe for the moment? Dont block.
She didnt. I think so. He didnt think she was good enough to fool him. She was telling the truth.
Okay. Im putting this up. He slid the PPG into its holster. Youre going to tell me whats going on, nowright?
Durst nodded. Right. She sat down heavily, rubbed her eyes with one hand, then rested her forehead on her fists and her elbows on her knees. She spoke to the floor.
Things are different on Mars, she said. Its a frontier. Things get rough. A lot of bad people end up here. Someone has to keep order.
And that someone is you. Thats fine. I have no objection to that.
Were more respected here than on Earth. Marsies dont care much if we get a little rough, a little heavy-handedas long as in the end we protect them from the bad guys.
Im with you so far. Sounds like a nice place, one I might come to like. So why are people shooting at me ? He plucked his shirt. See? Same uniform.
Because for Marsies, a lot of the bad guys are back on Earth. Earth sent you.
Psi Corps sent me, Al corrected. Im sure you know the difference.
Barsoom Autonomous doesnt, however.
The terrorist organization?
Some are terroristsmost are businessmen, scientists, average citizens. Whatever you may have heard on Earth, most Marsies are in favor of independence. Most dont advocate violence, but you know how that goes.
Those dead men outside werent firing rhetoric at us.
Or us, Durst snapped. Because we were trying to find your rogue telepaths.
Uh-huh. Tell me about that.
There are Blips on Mars. Mostly we look the other way because they help the cause. They
Wait. You just made a logical leap that I find hard to follow. Last I heard, Psi Corps had no position on Mars independence.
Durst nodded. That is correct
But the local office does? Is that what youre saying?
Im saying were only effective here because people see we arent harming that cause. Mr. Bester, there are only forty of us
This song Ive heard sung before. Is Uhl with Barsoom Autonomous?
Not officially.
Which means yes. Who else?
Most of her officers.
But not you?
Sir, the Corps is mother and the Corps is father. McCleod and I were protecting the Corps.
You wanted to find the underground before we did, because you knew if we waded through to them we would find all of this out.
Yes, sir. And disgrace the Corps.
Wrong. Uhl
and anyone else who ignores a Blip for reasons of local politics has forgotten what their job is. The Corps would take pleasure in dealing with them, and setting an example. They deserve what they get.
Sir, I think you might be surprised. My orders were explicit locate the underground before you did andah, pacify it.
But your orders were from Uhl.
No, sir. Uhl probably tipped BA to ambush us here. We tried to hide our activities, but apparently we failed.
Youre talking nonsense. Geneva sent me, so your orders didnt come from there. If they didnt come from Geneva, and they didnt come from Uhl, who does that leave?
It leaves Department Sigma.
For a moment Al was stunned into silence. Department Sigma?
Yes. McCleod and I were both placed here by the department.
Can you verify that?
I think you know what a stupid question that is, Mr. Besterif youll pardon my saying so.
What were you supposed to do when you found the underground cell?
Contact the department. They were going to send reinforcements.
All the way from Earth?
She averted her eyes and said nothing.
Oh , he thought So the rumors must be true . Of a secret base on Mars, one which few even in the high command knew of. Even across interplanetary space, the director maintained a tight grip.
He nodded thoughtfully. Mr. Andersen, how is Mr. McCleod?
Hell live, I think.
Al looked back at Durst. Did you get anything out of him? He motioned toward the unconscious telepath.
Yes. He lives out here, but he goes into the city twice a week to get supplies for the underground and arrange contacts. He makes his money helping out gamblers, certain businessmen, and politicians. They rotate them in and out of hereits his turn right now, but in another week he was going to switch with someone else.
Does he know where the main base is?
Yes. But I cant get it out of him.
Bester quirked a sharkish grin. Let me see what I can do, he whispered.
There was not, unfortunately, much left of Chandler when Al got through. Reeducation would be able to do something with himpossibly even return him to full sentience, make him a working human being. But however that turned out, he would never again be Thurston Chandler.
Babylon 5 11 - Psi Corps 02 - Deadly Relations - Bester Ascendant (Keyes, Gregory) Page 17