Colony Down: Battlefield Mars Book 2

by David Robbins

  Katla and Trisna swapped glances.

  “It’s not as if they can up and vanish into thin air,” Carla said.

  “Did the newscast say who they are?” Katla asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t remember their names. I only caught the tail end of the report,” Carla said. “One was a man from the Maintenance Center and the other was a woman who works at the Broadcast Center.”

  Trisna went slightly pale. “Maintenance men are always going down into the tunnels and conduits to repair things. And the Broadcast Center is the heart of the colony’s communications.”

  About to lead them to the elevator, Carla said, “Yes. So?”

  “So nothing,” Katla said. “She was just making small talk.”

  “Ah,” Carla said, and beckoned. “If you don’t mind my saying so, ladies, you people from New Meridian are weird.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The Thunderbolt was approaching the last of the farms when Sergeant Kline, who was riveted to the sensor display, excitedly called out, “Heat signatures, sir.”

  “How many?” Major Howard said as he began their descent.

  Archard could see the display from where he sat. It widened and enlarged as Kline zoomed in, the heat sigs standing out in red.

  “Three,” Sergeant Kline said. “Two in the house. The third is down in the agripod.”

  Kylo Carter smiled. “Finally. A stroke of luck. The Martians haven’t struck here yet.”

  “They could at any moment,” Archard pointed out. He scanned the rocky landscape but didn’t detect any sign of them. Which wasn’t all that reassuring.

  “We should extract these people, Major,” Carter was saying. “We’ve made good time and can spare a few minutes.”

  “Consider it done,” Howard said, and turned to Sergeant Kline. “Get into an EVA suit and I’ll drop you off. As soon as you bring them out, I’ll land again and take you on board.”

  Kline unstrapped and rose from his seat.

  “Why land twice?” Carter said.

  “It will take him a good ten minutes,” Major Howard said. “And I don’t think it would be smart to keep this bird on the ground that long.”

  Archard agreed. The Thunderbolt was less vulnerable in the air. “It will go quicker if I help. The sergeant can take the house, and I’ll go down into the growing area.”

  “It’s fine by me if Mr. Carter is all right with it,” Major

  Howard said.

  The planetary scientist looked at Archard. “I’d rather not risk losing you. You’re our expert on these matters.”

  “I doubt I’ve learned much you don’t already know,” Archard said. In fact, he suspected that the government knew more than Carter had revealed. “And those people need rescuing before the Martians show up.”

  “I suppose,” Carter said, and nodded. “Very well. But be quick about it.”

  Unstrapping, Archard joined Sergeant Kline over at the rack of EVA suits. They were military issue, more lightweight than civilian suits, and easier to don. He shrugged and tugged into his, and did a quick systems check. His breather was functioning as it should.

  Next to the suit rack was a recessed arms compartment that contained six Individual Combat Weapons, standard issue for United Nations forces. In the old days, it would be called an assault rifle, but the ICW was much more. The butt, the chamber, the fore end grip, and most of the barrel were sheathed in polymer, with a slot at the bottom for the magazine and a feed tube for grenades. On the side was a selector button, controlled by an internal microchip that let troopers choose between 5.56 mm rounds, frag grenades, and incendiaries.

  Sergeant Kline opened the compartment, took out an ICW, and offered it to Archard. “Here you go, sir. Let’s lock and load.”

  “Gladly,” Archard said. Truth to tell, he’d been uneasy about being unarmed. He slapped in a magazine, slid extras into external pockets on his EVA suit, and loaded up on grenades.

  “About to touch down,” Major Howard announced.

  The Thunderbolt settled so lightly, Archard barely felt it. He moved to the rear airlock and Sergeant Kline followed.

  Major Howard swiveled in his chair. “Gentleman, I don’t need to remind you, do I, that once I take to the air, there’s not a lot I can do if the Martians swarm you. I can’t fire if you’re close to them or you’ll be fried, too.”

  “Understood, sir,” Sergeant Kline said.

  “And you, Captain?”

  Archard hefted his ICW and smiled. “Let’s do this.”

  As usual, the airlock seemed to take forever to cycle. Exchanging atmospheres was a complex procedure. The pumps, the blowers, the critical ratio of gases, everything had to be just right.

  Archard waited impatiently for the panel to show green. Beside him, Sergeant Kline was feeding frag grenades into his ICW.

  “You’ve fought these things before, sir. Any tips you can give me?”

  “They’re fast and they’re tough,” Archard said.

  Sergeant Kline paused with a grenade in his hand. “That’s it?”

  “Single shots are never enough to put one down,” Archard elaborated. “On full auto, you’re just wasting ammo, so three-round bursts are best. Aim at the middle of the carapace on the small pink ones. And try not to let them get within three meters. They can jump that far. Maybe further.”

  Kline grinned. “That’s better, sir. What about the big blue things like the one I saw you fighting?”

  “They’re something else entirely,” Archard said. “You can unload a magazine into one and it won’t go down. Your best bet is a frag in its face.”

  “I hear that,” Kline said, and finished loading his grenade tube. “Anything else?”

  “You already know they don’t have heat sigs,” Archard said. “Keep your motion sensor at max. And remember, nine times out of ten they come at you from underground. Even with the motion sensor, you might not have much warning.”

  “Wonderful,” Sergeant Kline said.

  There was a click and the control light turned green. The outer door slowly slid wide, filling the airlock with the pale glare of the Martian sun.

  “Good luck, sir,” Kline said as they emerged.

  “You too.”

  They separated, the noncom jogging toward the house module, Archard making for the agripod. The military’s EVA suits were streamlined so their movements weren’t restricted, and in the Red Planet’s lesser gravity, a trooper could run twice as fast as on Earth.

  Archard’s helmet filled with Major Howard’s voice.

  “Gentlemen, be advised that the family’s name is Parkhill. Husband is Frank. Wife is Lydia. They have a twelve-year-old daughter, Mandy.”

  “Roger that,” Archard said, and broke into long bounds to cover the fifty meters swiftly. At the pod bubble, he tapped in the U.N.I.C. override code. In case of emergencies, it enabled

  U.N.I.C. personnel to enter any structure on Mars.

  Once again, he had to wait for the airlock. As he stepped into the pod, he saw a civilian EVA suit hanging on the wall. Ahead was a stairwell leading below. Stairs were used instead of an elevator because each use of electricity was a drain on a farm’s generator.

  To the left of the stairs was a freight lift, but they were used exclusively for bringing crops to the surface at harvest time and for taking equipment below.

  Archard took the stairs two at a hop. At the bottom, it was like stepping into a whole new world. Before him spread acre after acre of green plant life. Climate controlled, the farms produced crops year-round. Wheat, corn, oats, vegetables, and more.

  Few sights on Mars made Archard as homesick as an agrifarm. It brought to mind Earth with her lush tropical jungles and her thriving forests and verdant plains. Compared to Mars, Earth was the Garden of Eden.

  Archard checked the heat signature on his helmet display. Whoever was down there was two acres away, on his left, in a field of corn. He increased the volume on his suit’s external speaker and called out, “Attention. T
his is Captain Archard Rahn of U.N.I.C. Mr. Parkhill, is that you? Come out, please. We’re here to evacuate your family.”

  The tops of corn stalks swayed as someone hurried along the rows.

  Archard’s motion sensors gave a slight ping. A ripple had appeared at the limits of the unit’s range. “Hurry, please,” he shouted.

  Out of the corn burst the farmer. Only it wasn’t Mr. Parkhill. It was the Mrs., a young woman in her twenties, dressed in overalls and a work shirt. Her worry was transparent.

  “What was that about an evacuation? Is my family in danger?”

  Before Archard could answer, the floor between them erupted in a clamorous shower of debris.

  CHAPTER 16

  The restaurant was called Barsoom. Katla vaguely recalled the name had something to do with a famous writer of long ago who penned a series about Mars. She was more interested in the menu and decided on a Dejah Thoris burger.

  “I’m glad they gave us the vouchers,” Trisna Sahir commented after the waitress took their orders and walked off. “I have a lot of things I need to buy for Behula and myself.”

  Katla wasn’t feeling nearly as grateful toward the government, not after her talk with Chief Administrator Reubens. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that the world’s leaders misled everyone. Politicians had been lording it over the people they were elected to serve since forever.

  “You’ve been unusually quiet. Is everything all right?”

  “Fine,” Katla fibbed. To change the subject, she glanced at Piotr Zabinskis, seated beside her, and then over at Behula, who was across from him. “These two are about done in. We need to get them to bed early.”

  “I intend to turn in early, myself,” Trisna said, resting her elbows on the table. “I didn’t sleep well the entire time we were in the tank. I was too afraid the Martians would find us.”

  “We’re safe enough at the moment,” Katla said to ease the worry that blossomed in Piotr’s eyes.

  “You heard that lady at the Visitor Center,” Trisna said. “Two people have gone missing. Wasn’t that how it started at New Meridian? With missing people?”

  “Some farmers, yes,” Katla remembered Archard telling her.

  “I couldn’t go through the horrors of New Meridian a second time. Could you?”

  No, Katla wouldn’t want to. Not in a million lifetimes. But she had to face facts. It was very likely the Martians now knew about Wellsville. And if so, the second colony could be in for the same nightmare New Meridian suffered.

  “You look upset,” Trisna said.

  “Me? No.” Katla smiled and shook her head. Putting her hand on Piotr’s, she lightly tousled his hair. “And you, mister, can lose that frown. You should be happy the worst is over.” She felt terrible deceiving him, but he had been through hell and back again, and she would spare him as long as possible.

  A TV on the wall was airing a nature documentary about the African veldt. Shows about Earth were immensely popular on Mars. The screen showed antelope being stalked by a lioness. Suddenly, the image dissolved into random lines and dashes, and then the face of a newsman. At the same time, the TV emitted a series of loud beeps.

  Everyone in the restaurant stopped what they were doing and turned toward the TV.

  “Citizens of Wellsville. This is Clive Owlsley for W. N. News. We’re sorry to interrupt your regular programming, but Chief Administrator Evander Reubens has an important special announcement to make. Please stand by.”

  “This can’t be good,” Trisna said.

  Captain Archard Rahn glimpsed a huge form in the midst of the billowing cloud of dust and the shower of broken floor bits. A driller, he called them, enormous Martians capable of boring through the ground at incredible speed. The drillers were responsible for the network of tunnels the Martians used to get around. He saw the serrated ridges at the crown of its head stop spinning and a pair of eye stalks rise into the air. The eyes swung toward him, and in the time it would take him to blink his, the driller vanished down the tunnel it had made.

  “Captain Rahn? Are you still there?”

  Mrs. Parkhill’s panicked cry galvanized Archard into running to reach her before the Martians did. His EVA suit spared him from the swirling dust, and his sensors enabled him to avoid the gaping hole in a floor designed to withstand a Magnitude 10 earthquake. “Mrs. Parkhill, don’t move! I’m coming to get you.” Her heat signature was like a red beacon on his helmet display.

  She was swatting at the dust and coughing. “What was that awful thing? What’s going on? I don’t understand.”

  Archard was glad she was staying relatively calm, given the circumstances. “I don’t have time to explain except to say that your farm is under attack by Martians.”

  “But there aren’t any…” she began, and stopped.

  “We have to get you into your EVA suit,” Archard said. “I’ll guide you.” He went to put an arm around her shoulders, but she suddenly pointed and yelled.

  “Lookout!”

  Archard spun.

  Martians were scrambling out of the hole, the pinkish-red creatures that resembled crabs. The eyes of those nearest swung in their direction and the creatures flexed their grippers, and attacked.

  Planting himself between them and Mrs. Parkhill, Archard cut loose with his ICW. As he had instructed Sergeant Kline, he aimed at the middle of their upper carapace, where Kylo Carter said the heart was located. His first three-round burst dropped a creature cold. He killed a second, a third. More appeared behind them.

  “Back up!” Archard shouted, and backpedaled. He felt Mrs. Parkhill’s hand on his shoulder, heard her frightened breaths close to his earpiece.

  “My family! My husband and daughter!”

  “They’re being tended to,” was all Archard had time to say. Then the Martians were on them. He raked half a dozen with controlled bursts, momentarily clearing the aisle. Switching to frag grenades, he fired one into the tunnel.

  “Get down!” he bellowed, and pulled Mrs. Parkhill with him as he dropped onto his shoulder.

  The explosion spewed more dust into the air, along with Martian body parts. No more poured out of the tunnel.

  Wasting no time, Archard hauled Mrs. Parkhill to her feet. “We have to move!” He pulled her with him, skirting the tunnel with his ICW trained on its dark maw.

  “I don’t believe this!” Mrs. Parkhill exclaimed. “How can this be happening?”

  “It’s happening,” Archard said, and pushed her ahead of him. “Go on. Get topside and into your suit.” He covered them, expecting more Martians to emerge. Strangely, none did.

  As he reached the foot of the stairs, his helmet crackled.

  “What’s going on down there, Captain?” Major Howard snapped. “I need a sitrep.”

  “I have Mrs. Parkhill,” Archard reported. “What about the others?”

  “Sergeant Kline is bringing the husband and the girl. They just came out of the house. Hurry it up. My motions sensors are going crazy.”

  “On our way,” Archard said.

  Mrs. Parkhill was sealing her EVA suit when Archard rejoined her. “Stay close and do exactly as I say.”

  “My family?”

  “We have them.”

  “Thank God.”

  Keeping an eye on the stairs, Archard activated the airlock. He didn’t understand why the Martians weren’t after them. The creatures had one attack mode and one attack mode only; full-bore.

  “I have so many questions,” Mrs. Parkhill said.

  “Not now.”

  They entered the airlock. Archard endured another interminable wait, his nerves on raw edge. When the outer door opened, he gripped Mrs. Parkhill by the arm and broke into a sprint.

  Off near the house, Sergeant Kline and the father and daughter were hastening toward the rendezvous point.

  The Thunderbolt was on its landing approach.

  Archard smiled, thinking that maybe, just maybe, they would get out of there with their hides intact. He should
have known better.

  Over a low rise to the north swept a wave of Martians.

  CHAPTER 17

  All eyes in the Barsoom were glued to the large TV screen on the wall. Except for a few whispers, an expectant silence had fallen. Special Announcements by Chief Administrators were rare. Everyone present sensed that something important was in the wind.

  Katla looked around. No one appeared particularly worried, though. They should be. If she was right, they were in for a hellstorm of horror.

  Trisna bent toward her and whispered, “Do you think he will tell them about the Martians?”

  “If he has any brains, he will.”

  The newsman had a finger to an ear and was listening to someone off-camera. He nodded, then announced, “I give you Chief Administrator Evander Reubens.”

  The scene shifted to an imposing office, and to C.A. Reubens seated behind his desk, smiling. “My fellow Wellsvillians,” he began. “I apologize for this intrusion into your day. In a few short minutes, the emergency sirens will sound. When you hear them, please proceed immediately to your home or work station, if you are not already at either, and remain there until the sirens sound again to signal the all-clear.”

  “He’s going to tell them!” Trisna whispered.

  Katla wasn’t so sure.

  “As you might have heard in earlier new reports,” Reubens continued, “two individuals have gone missing. You might be wondering how that can possibly happen in contained environments like our bio domes. We were wondering the same thing, and now we have an explanation.”

  “Here it comes,” Trisna said excitedly.

  “Gas,” Reubens said.

  Trisna straightened. “What?”

  “Our Maintenance Center personnel have discovered a gas leak,” Chief Administrator Reubens said. “As some of you are well aware, we use certain liquefied gases in various chemical processes in the routine operation of our colony. I’m sorry to report there has been a break in a line.”

  “A gas leak,” Katla said in disgust.