Finder

by Suzanne Palmer

  The tiny green light on the side of an energy rifle caught his eye as it emerged from around the corner. Hardly believing he dared, he reached out a hand and found the arm gripping the gun, and before the soldier could shout or pull away, Fergus put as much energy as he could into one good spark.

  The soldier jerked and fell to his knees, and Fergus grabbed for the gun. This close, he could see the soldier’s wide, dazed eyes, see the status lights inside his helmet flickering back on already. Fast-rebooting suit. Military grade.

  And then it clicked: it was a suit that could both conceal him and tolerate his newly acquired physical problem, at least for a while. Maybe there was a way to escape after all.

  He grabbed the soldier’s wrist, zapped his comm unit, then pointed the gun at him. “Give me your suit, please,” he said, keeping his voice low. “And remember, I asked nicely.”

  * * *

  —

  The exosuit fit, although it wasn’t until he’d pulled it fully on that he realized the soldier he’d taken it from—hardly more than a skinny, scared kid once he’d peeled himself out of the suit and handed it over—had wet himself when Fergus had zapped him. The internal environmental systems would eventually clean it, but that didn’t make him feel any less gross.

  He left the kid inside the gate with instructions not to make noise or else. He shifted the suit into stealth combat mode, shutting down all external signaling; the last thing he needed was a live homing beacon wedged up his ass as he tried to evade the rest of the unit. The gun he ditched in the deepest shadow he could find. As he expected, seconds after he’d disappeared from sight, the kid started screaming his head off. Could’ve at least given me a five-minute head start to make up for pissing in the suit, Fergus thought crossly.

  Even after years away, he wagered he knew these tunnels better than the MCA ever could. He detoured the long way around the fringes of the ballpark’s underside, not taking the closer exits, not taking the shortest path to any of the others. He knew a way out of the city, out into the sands, but he couldn’t think of any way to get to the rent-a-bunk and get Mari without being spotted. And surely by now the MCA knew he had one of their suits.

  He took a deep breath, tried to shake off the panic and shame still coiled around his mind. Moving around a building-sized brick of machinery that whined and clicked with atonal regularity, he glanced back over his shoulder for the millionth time and collided with someone on the far side of the block.

  Reaching out in surprise, he caught the man before he fell over, steadying him. It was an older man with the multilayered thinness that went along with a life spent in the underground. “I’m sorry!” Fergus said.

  The man pulled back, yanking his arm out of Fergus’s loose grasp and backing up, a mix of fear and anger on his face. Out of the shadows, another man stepped forward and bent down to pick up a length of pipe from the ground.

  It was Fergus’s turn to step back. He put his hands up, showing that he wasn’t armed. “It was an accident,” he said.

  “And now you’re going to have one yourself, MCA scum,” the man with the pipe said.

  Fergus blinked at him as what the man was saying sank in. “Oh,” he said. “Oh! I’m not MCA! I stole the suit!”

  The man with the pipe stopped moving but did not lower it. “Riiight,” he said at last, although he didn’t advance. “And that’s why you’re all alone down here without your buddies?”

  “If it makes you feel any better, when they catch up with me, they’ll definitely kill me.”

  “So maybe we should help them, then,” Pipe Man said. “Why not?”

  “Because Marsies look out for each other?” Fergus said.

  Pipe Man laughed. “You’re no Marsie.”

  Fergus gritted his teeth. Damn Harcourt, he thought again, digging up my past and setting it loose to haunt me. “I was here during the ’49 Riots. I was here when they capped and gassed Ares Seven,” he said, hating himself for it. And then, worst of all, “I was in the group hiding out in the dunes of Nereidum Montes that took back Sentinel.”

  “Now I know you’re a liar,” Pipe Man said. “Only five good Reds came back out of those hills.”

  “Four good Martians,” Fergus said. “Tophe, Kaice, Dru, and Abhi. And one sad bugger from Scotland.”

  “Yes,” the older man spoke up. “I knew Tophe and Kaice. If you knew them, you knew Kaice’s nickname.”

  And I still do, Fergus thought. “Yes. Kaypop.”

  “Let me see your hair.”

  Fergus obliged, pulling back the suit hood. “Shit,” the man said. “You are the guy who stole Sentinel!”

  “I’m the guy who stole it back.”

  “What in the name of Ares are you doing down here in this fucking basement wearing an MCA suit?!” Pipe Man said.

  “Running away from the MCA in it,” Fergus said.

  Pipe Man looked around. “Which way did you come from?”

  “From under the ballpark. I went around past the reservoir tanks and the sewage plant before heading this way.”

  “I know the area,” the old man said. “I had tickets to that damned game. And we were ahead. Always wondered if it was sabotage to get the games moved back to Titan turf—”

  Pipe Man shook his head. “Not this again!”

  “You were really at Nereidum Montes?” the old man asked.

  “I was. It was bitterly cold, and the parts that weren’t terrifying were boring as hell,” Fergus said.

  “That I bet.” The old man held out a hand, and Fergus carefully shook it. “I’m Sunset Alvarez,” he said. “You here on a mission?”

  “I was, but . . . it’s gone all wrong,” Fergus said. “I got separated from my partner, and I don’t know how to get to her.”

  “She’s down in the tunnels?”

  “No, she’s up in a rent-a-bunk, and I don’t know if the MCA knows about her yet. She’s not from here, and isn’t a part of any of this. I don’t have any way to warn her.”

  “I could get word to her. Least I could do. You’re a hero.”

  “I’m really not,” Fergus said. “It was stupid luck and that’s it.”

  “If it weren’t for stupid luck, wouldn’t be no one alive on Mars in the first place,” Alvarez said. “Tell me the secret of how you got Sentinel away from an entire squad of elite MCA troops, and I’ll go warn your friend.”

  “A dumb trick,” Fergus said. “We intercepted a ground runner, and I took his uniform. Then I hiked out to their secret encampment, which we’d been watching for days, and told them the Reds were coming and they were under orders to destroy Sentinel before they got there—something they knew no Martian would dare say about such an important historical relic. So they set up the charges and hunkered deep down in their bunker, and by the time they figured out the charges weren’t going off, Kaice and Dru had it up the dunes and over. Abhi and Tophe laid down covering fire as the MCA troops tried to come out, and I got away in the chaos and rejoined them for the trip back.”

  “What order was the runner actually carrying?”

  “The same one. They’d arrested some of our people domeside and found out we were out there. That’s what made it so plausible—didn’t have to forge a thing.”

  “And dangerous! If Sentinel had been—”

  “They couldn’t anyway. I got into their storage depot the night before and I’d disabled the charges.” And nearly lost three toes to frostbite getting back, he didn’t add. It had taken him two years to be able to afford med-tech good enough to have the toes regrown. And that was still two years sooner than the Free Marsies the MCA had rounded up at random afterward were released: never charged, but silent, scared, scarred, and permanently broken. Dru.

  Sunset shook his head. “Well, it worked, right? History is history.”

  “So, can I ask you something?” Fergus asked, des
perate to change the subject. “What are you doing down here in the underground?”

  “Came here as a kid with my mother and three sisters,” Alvarez said. “We were fleeing the Texas Republican Army crackdown right before they declared war on Arizona. Arrived only days ahead of the Blue Invasion, and I lost everyone except one sister in the dome collapse. We were evacuated here to Five, and I’ve failed to become a well adjusted, repatriated colonial citizen ever since.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Fergus said. The Blue Occupation was established fact before he’d even been born, but it was still-living history for many people on Mars. “I need to get moving before the MCA catches up.”

  “Which way you heading?”

  “Trying to get topside along the northwest arc,” Fergus said. “There’s a maintenance garage there. If I can steal a buggy, I can get clear.”

  “If I’m going up to find your partner, we’re heading the same direction.” Alvarez turned to his friend. “You coming?”

  Pipe Man shook his head. “I’m staying here. MCA doesn’t get a free pass to walk around in my underground.” The two men clasped hands briefly.

  “This way. I know the fastest route,” Alvarez said, and he led Fergus between a narrow row of pipes into another section of tunnel.

  “Thanks,” Fergus said. “I—”

  He was interrupted by his handpad chiming; he’d half forgotten he was carrying it. He opened the window to a close-up of a very angry Luceatan. Back again. This time placed calls to Luceatos, Crossroads, and Cernekan. Yelled at me. Bad breath. You owe me a drink, the note read.

  “Your mission?” Alvarez asked.

  “Yeah,” Fergus said, “until the MCA got in my way.”

  “Another Sentinel job?”

  They’re all Sentinel jobs, he thought, ever since some crazy-stupid Earther kid with a need to prove himself thought that if he could steal a motorcycle, he could steal anything and convinced other people to trust him.

  “Pretty much, yeah,” he said.

  This got a raised eyebrow. “Something important, then?”

  “Someone, yes. Kidnapped daughter of a Marsie friend.”

  Alvarez gave a curt nod. “So, your partner. How do I find her?”

  “She’s in the rent-a-bunks near the shuttle terminal. Number 4415. There’s a chance the bunk is being watched or even that they’ve taken her in. I just don’t know.”

  Alvarez led him down into another set of subtunnels, kicked open a door, then back up another access ladder. “She won’t know or trust me.”

  “Right,” Fergus said. “Do you know if there’s anyplace up on the restaurant levels that would have Celekai food?”

  “Ugh! Have you tried that stuff?!” Alvarez made gagging sounds. “One place, I think. Caters to the historical buffs. You know we get reenactors? And I don’t mean actual Veirakan Celekai, I mean people who put on goofy masks with assholes in the middle of their foreheads as if it gives some sort of meaning to their lives.”

  “I didn’t,” Fergus said. “But it’s a weird universe out there.”

  “That it is. So what’s the food for?”

  “You can say you’re just a delivery guy if anyone tries to stop you. And my friend will know you were really sent by me,” he said. “If they’ve called off the lockdown—”

  “There’s a lockdown up there? You did piss them off,” Alvarez said, brightening. “Good for you. People don’t like lockdowns; it reminds them they’re living under occupation. Some low-rank’ll be apologizing by morning for overstepping drill protocols. What do you want me to tell your friend? You want me to bring her to you?”

  And that, really, was the question. When Fergus had said they should come here, he didn’t know, didn’t understand that he’d been changed. With the MCA after him, was there any chance of them finding Arelyn? Did having Mari here improve the odds more than it risked her life? If he’d been honest with her about what was happening to him, maybe things wouldn’t have gone this wrong, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that now.

  “No, it’s not safe,” Fergus said at last. Maybe this time he could actually save someone, and it helped that she wasn’t there to object. “If you can get her to a woman named Alena at the Offworld Cable Office, have her contact a ship named the Gormless; they’ll send someone for my friend Mari. Whatever it costs, I’ll cover. And Alvarez—”

  “Yeah?”

  “My friend won’t want to leave. She doesn’t understand how dangerous things are. You have to convince her to go.”

  Alvarez climbed off the ladder and kicked open another door. “This is where we part ways,” he said. “Down this hallway is your buggy garage. If I can get to your friend, I’ll do what I can to help her. Do you want me to contact you after?”

  “Just let me know she’s safe and on her way home, if you can,” Fergus said. He held out his handpad, and after some maneuvering, Alvarez produced a battered old-model pad from his pocket and synced contacts. “Thanks for everything, Sunset.”

  “Yeah. I hope you find a way to win another one for Mars,” Alvarez said. He thumped Fergus on the shoulder, turned around, and disappeared back toward the underground.

  Fergus stared after him for a while, awash in his own cowardice. Win one? Right, he thought. I’ve already lost, and I’m kidding myself if I don’t think I’ve failed everybody, and that I’m doing anything more right now than running away again.

  Long after Alvarez’s bootsteps had faded, Fergus leaned the side of his head against the door, his ear against the cold metal. He couldn’t hear a thing. Peeling back a suit glove, he raised a fist and knocked as loudly as he could. After a pause, he did it again. No answer. Pulling the door open a few centimeters, he peered around it. The bay was empty.

  He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Ahead was the docking lock, a dust-pocked window looking out over Mars, and as Alvarez had promised, a surface buggy. Rummaging through the tool drawers, he found what he needed, climbed under the buggy, and began dismantling the tracking beacon.

  Chapter 20

  Fergus slid out from underneath the buggy. The engines, drive train, and life support had all checked out fine, so if the buggy had any unfinished maintenance, it was either something he didn’t care about or something he would deal with if and when he needed to.

  Alvarez had not called.

  He will, he told himself as he climbed in through the buggy’s airlock and took the driver’s seat in the front cabin. The old fear resurfaced, that memory of trying to get word about the fate of his friends after the Sentinel job kicked off months of violent suppression from the MCA, long silence punctuated by occasional rumors of torture, and then eventual terrible proof.

  How many times had other people paid the price as he got away free? If he’d never gone to Cernee, Mari never would have left its safety. Not that it was particularly safe anymore, although that was probably at least partially his fault too.

  He drove the buggy into the adjacent garage bay, waited for the door behind him to seal, then watched as the outer door ground its way open to the orange-yellow vista beyond. Dust made a thick haze on the horizon. If anyone could smuggle him out of the area without alerting the MCA, it was the Free Marsies. He still had connections to the west in Ares Three, over near Elysium Mons, and there were enough independent townships scattered here and there in between that he could stop to resupply fairly safely.

  He reached down to put the buggy in gear, and his handpad buzzed. Please be Alvarez, he thought, picking it up off the seat beside him. He needed at least the small comfort of knowing that Mari was safely on her way off Mars.

  It was a message, not a live call. “Take buggy to NE city gate. Wait there. 20 min. —Sunset”

  Fergus stared at it. He didn’t want any more complications. He reached for the pad, not sure what his intention was, when a spark arced out o
f his fingertip. The screen flashed and went black, smoke curling out of the casing seam. The message was gone, as well as any means to reply.

  “Oh, fuck you!” he shouted up at the sky as loudly as he could, willing his words to fly the vast distance and smash themselves across the noses of those arrogant alien triangles who had done this to him. He either went to meet Alvarez and fell back into this whole mess, or he went somewhere else and was free from everything except his conscience, and his own unbearable uselessness.

  Swearing under his breath, he put the buggy in gear and drove out of the bay into the swirling sand.

  * * *

  —

  Fergus parked the buggy among the other municipal vehicles clustered near the surface road south to Ares Six. The goggles of his stolen MCA exosuit had better magnification than anything he’d ever owned. From this distance he could see the observation deck of the Welcome Center and the roped-off area outside it where people new to Mars’s gravity—or gravity at all—could get used to the feel of it by hopping around in the sand. He would have saved himself a lot of headaches if he’d done that when he’d first arrived, rather than learning the hard way through one ceiling collision after another.

  There was a group of people already out, most waving their arms as if to fly like birds, a few crouching down as if being squashed by an unseen hand. Once past a certain age, the spaceborn were rarely ever truly comfortable on planets.

  It had been eighteen minutes since Alvarez’s message.

  As that group trickled back inside, another emerged. Even at this distance, Fergus instantly recognized Mari. She was hunched over, ducking from the sky above. Moments later he picked out the two MCA ops in civilian exosuits who were discreetly following her. There was no sign of Alvarez. Dammit, Sunset, he thought, even as his heart soared to see her still free. You were supposed to get her safely offworld, not bring her to me.