Mars Rising (Domeworld Saga Book 1)

by John Corwin

  Back inside her tiny apartment, Scarlett cut up some potatoes and boiled them in the same water she'd used for the past three days, and cooked ground chicken parts. Expecting the door to burst in any minute with a vengeful Dominic and henchmen on the other side, she quickly ate her meal, determined to take a beating on a full stomach.

  Thankfully, he never showed up.

  Scarlett unfolded her bed from the wall and lay down, wishing she had a book to read. Unfortunately, she'd already gone through all the available fiction works twice, and civvies weren't allowed to read textbooks outside their aptitude. That restriction had rarely stopped her from borrowing books from others, but right now she didn't even have those to read.

  She turned on her side and stared at the gray wall. Max's sad blue eyes stared into her memory. Upon arriving at the airlock, he'd been absolutely shocked to find Scarlett standing there with two feeding suits. "Now it's your turn, you bastard," she'd wanted to say, but held her tongue for Sarah's sake. Scarlett wondered how Max would have felt if he knew she was the one who showed the duffel bag with the toughsuit to Simmons.

  Toughsuit or not, Sarah wouldn't have lasted more than a couple hours on the surface outside, and turning in Max rid the city of one more evil bastard. Now that she'd gotten rid of one bad constable, another had sprung up in his place. It was highly unlikely she'd have the opportunity to push Dominic out of the airlock, so Scarlett would just have to do her best as a deputy—again.

  She closed her eyes and saw a dead man looking back at her, tears in his eyes. Scarlett tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, but Max waited patiently until she was nearly asleep before reappearing, sometimes carrying Sarah. Scarlett pressed her temples. "Get out of my head, Max!"

  He refused and kept walking across the red sands away from Scarlett, Sarah cradled in his arms. At one point, Max stopped and turned around. A gaping skull stared out from the feeding suit.

  Scarlett jerked awake with a scream. The padding on her bed was soaked with sweat, and hair clung to her face. She got up and paced the cold floor, desperately thinking about unimportant things until Max's ghost left her alone. Despite the sweat, she shivered and wrapped herself in a towel.

  When at last she lay back down, Max looked back at her.

  Scarlett opened her eyes and stared into the darkness. "Reckon I'm stuck with you, Max Planck." She sighed and wondered how long it took ghosts to fade.

  Olga Birch waited in front of the station when Scarlett wheeled in the next morning.

  "Morning, Constable," the marshal said. "Got a minute?"

  "I'm not the constable." Scarlett unlocked the station door and took the bladewheel inside.

  "But I thought—"

  "Dominic Barnes is the new constable." Scarlett plugged the unicycle into the charger. "Perhaps you'd like to wait on him."

  Olga grimaced. "Goodness, no." Her shoulders sagged and she turned to leave.

  "Hang on." Scarlett stepped in front of the woman. "What did you want?"

  The marshal stepped back inside. "Well, when I talked to Max yesterday"—her eyes teared up and she took a deep breath—"I told him about some strange deaths in the brassworks."

  "Deaths?" Scarlett thought back to the last investigation. "You mean the one three months ago?"

  Olga shook her head. "Max said the same thing, but two more people died down there since then."

  "Two people?" Scarlett leaned against Max's old desk. "Why didn't we hear about it?"

  "Investigator Simmons said the deaths were obvious accidents that didn't need investigating."

  Scarlett held onto the first remark about Simmons that crawled into her head. "I know you're not here about those two deaths, so why don't you tell me what's really happened?"

  Olga smiled. "Max sure was right about you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He said you're sharp as a whip." The other woman seemed to relax a little. "Someone else died in the brassworks, but this time they weren't in a toughsuit."

  "Who in their right mind would go down below without protection?" Scarlett tapped her fingernails on the desk. "Sounds like suicide to me."

  "Well, maybe that's something you can determine." Olga motioned toward the door. "As the security marshal of mechworks, I'm formally requesting an investigation."

  Scarlett pushed off the desk and squared her shoulders. "I suppose since the constable isn't in yet, I'll go take a look." She bent down and spun the combination to the lock under Max's old desk and removed a forensics kit.

  "What's going on in here?" Dominic tried to fill the doorway by widening his stance.

  Scarlett thought he might have a better chance if he turned sideways. "Just in time, Constable. I'm going to investigate a death."

  He bared his teeth at her. "You don't do anything without my permission."

  "Olga, the mechworks marshal, formally requested the investigation." Scarlett shoved the kit toward him. "That means you have to do it."

  "Ain't doing shit." Dominic shoved the kit back at her. "And neither are you. I'm placing you under arrest for assault."

  Olga's eyebrows climbed high. "I don't think handing you the forensic kit is assault, Constable."

  "You mean, little old me roughed you up, Constable?" Scarlett batted her eyelashes. "I'll bet that'll make for interesting stories around town."

  His face paled. "You threatening me?"

  "With what?" She held up a hand. "I don't see how these dainty hands could've roughed up a man unless—" Scarlett let Dominic's tiny brain finish that thought.

  The new constable scowled. "Keep your mouth shut and go investigate."

  "Won't breathe a word, Constable." Scarlett tucked the kit under her arm and walked outside with Olga. They headed east on Main Street toward mechworks.

  The mechworks marshal gave her a sideways look. "What was that about?"

  "Just a little disagreement yesterday." Scarlett rubbed clammy palms against her pants. "It wasn't anything really." Dominic was a fool, but even he knew rumors of Scarlett putting him on the ground would emasculate him quick as a sharp knife. "Tell me more about the body."

  Olga seemed content to let the Dominic matter lie. "It's in the top level of the brassworks—the steamworks."

  "Identification?"

  She grimaced. "I was hoping you could do that." Olga motioned toward the mechworks compound ahead. "We'll need to go by supply and get some toughsuits."

  The mention of the protective gear brought Max's face back into focus. Scarlett bit her lip so hard she flinched.

  "You okay, Deputy?"

  Scarlett pressed her tongue to the inside of her lip. "Yep."

  "I can't stop thinking about Max," Olga said. "I miss him already."

  Scarlett stopped. "I keep hearing about how he was so great, Marshal, but all the evidence I saw points to the contrary." She shifted the kit under her other arm. "Mind explaining why you're gonna miss the man who rubberstamped anything the governor and his men tossed his way?"

  Olga looked at her warily. "I figured you knew already. Max said it was hard keeping anything secret from the perceptive Scarlett Flynn."

  Scarlett didn't feel particularly perceptive at all when it came to Max. Then again, she'd hated the man even before coming on as deputy, her mind full of notions about changing things for the better. Unfortunately, the deputy didn't have the authority to make the kind of changes she'd envisioned.

  "I reckon he kept a few secrets from me, Olga."

  The other woman pursed her lips. "I guess so."

  "Well, are you gonna tell me?"

  "I hope I can trust you, Deputy Flynn." Olga frowned. "If Max didn't tell you—"

  "Max didn't tell me because he knew I despised him."

  Olga shook her head slowly. "Your poor opinion was certainly misplaced. Max Planck may have been forced to feed the daughter and father with the lives of civvies, but he always did it with a heavy heart."

  "So you believe," Scarlett replied in a cool tone. "Who are yo
u to know the heart of another?"

  "I could ask you the same, Scarlett." Olga cleared her throat. "What you don't know is that Max saved at least ten other civvies from the grinder during his tenure."

  Scarlett couldn't believe her ears. "How in the world did he manage that?"

  "By not writing up reports about treasonous activity. By sitting down and talking with people who were on the verge of stepping into Investigator Simmons's line of sight."

  Scarlett regarded her doubtfully. "Treasonous how?"

  "Stealing food, questioning the rules, the usual trite actions that will get you killed."

  "Stealing food is a crime," Scarlett said.

  "But does it merit execution?"

  "No, of course not." Scarlett resumed walking toward mechworks. "Maybe Max had a few productive talks with people, but that doesn't mean he was a good man. I'm pretty sure he stopped caring a long time ago."

  "He definitely seemed like a lost soul at times," Olga said in a quiet voice. "I think he never lost sight of what was right, but in his own mind, he reckoned he had." She sighed. "Besides, stopping the governor and his men is about like trying to catch a blaster bolt with your teeth."

  "I don't agree," Scarlett said. "You saw how I handled Dominic."

  "Dominic isn't Alderman or Simmons."

  "He's just like them."

  Olga stared at Scarlett with confusion. "Maybe Max wasn't right about you."

  They entered the supply section of the mechworks, saving Olga from a scathing retort. The marshal went to the window and rang a bell. An old man with a twitchy right eye appeared and slid it open.

  "Howdy, Olga. I got them toughsuits ready for you."

  "Thanks, Twig." Olga smiled wide. "We'll probably need extra micro-breathers too."

  The old man's eyes twinkled. "Got you two each. Can't let our pretty marshal run out of oxygen, can I?"

  Scarlett rolled her eyes at the exchange. Olga had too long a nose and too big a mouth to look pretty. Then again, Twig was an old man, probably desperate for any sort of female attention.

  As if he heard her thoughts, Twig nodded her way. "How you doing, Deputy Flynn?"

  "Mighty fine, Twig. You got the stolen toughsuit back in place?"

  He nodded. "That fool Cooper boy left one of the back gates unlocked. That's probably how the constable got in." Twig shook his head sadly. "If Max had asked me, I probably would've given it to him. I'll bet he stole it because he didn't want me getting in trouble."

  "Why in the dome would you give him a toughsuit?" Scarlett said.

  Twig scratched the back of his hand absent-mindedly. "His sister, Sarah, got my little Jenny some meds from Science Division because they didn't have them available at the med station in Central. I reckon they saved her life."

  "Sarah did, not Max."

  "He got her involved without me even asking him," Twig said. "I don't know how he found out Jenny was sick. I guess he overheard it from someone."

  Olga turned to Scarlett and raised an eyebrow. "We'll get those suits now, Twig."

  "You got it." He pushed the bulky outfits and helmets through the window. "Just need your fingerprints right here." He slid over an epad.

  Scarlett and Olga pressed their index fingers to it.

  Olga patted the old man's hand. "Thanks, Twig."

  He blushed. "Anytime, Marshal. Anytime."

  "Better watch out, Marshal," Scarlett said when they were out of earshot. "I think old Twig's about ready to file a breeding petition for you."

  Olga giggled. "I don't doubt it. Unfortunately, I just got my breeding orders reassigned from Howard Jenkins to Paul Anderson."

  Scarlett's lips peeled back with disgust. "Reassigned?"

  "Howard was shooting blanks." The marshal sighed. "Just when I was getting used to the man."

  "Maybe you have to breed with him, but nobody's forcing you to live together."

  Olga snorted. "Maybe not outright, but it sure feels that way sometimes."

  They walked past rows of forging stations where men and women worked recycled metals into pipes with the use of molds. Hammers clanged and machinery whined. Huge tanks in the back of the room sent the molten metals flowing wherever it was requested. The entire room reeked of sulfur and superheated metals. Scarlett felt beads of sweat gathering on her forehead as they passed through. The people in here looked skinny and underfed, probably because they sweated most of their calories out for hours a day.

  Scarlett and Olga emerged from the metalworks and came upon a large red sign.

  Danger: No Entrance Without Proper Protection

  Olga took off her boots and tied her hair up in a bun. Scarlett followed her example. A nearby bench provided a convenient spot to sit down while they slid the suits on. Scarlett pressed her feet into the boots attached to the bottom of the suit, then stood and zipped it up the front until the high collar pressed firmly against her throat.

  "I don't think these things would actually work outside," Olga said, almost as a side though. "You'd need some sealer for the zipper."

  "It's got a rubber gasket inside," Scarlett said.

  "Yeah, but these suits aren't made for an airless vacuum."

  "Sound like you've put some thought into this," Scarlett said.

  Olga shrugged. "Max's execution just got me to wondering if whatever he had planned might actually work."

  "Even if you made this suit airtight, what would you do? Trot around on the surface until you ran out of oxygen and died?"

  The marshal nodded. "That's exactly what I'd do. It sure would be nice to see what in the dome we've been dying and feeding all these years." She picked up the helmet and screwed in a micro-breather to the lower valve. "It sure doesn't seem the scientists have changed much at all out there. Makes me think maybe this whole thing is—" She shivered and stopped talking. "Apologies, Deputy, I shouldn't say such things."

  "Maybe, but I sure won't arrest you for it." Scarlett smiled before sliding the bubble helmet over her head. She found the neck latch with her gloved hands and twisted it tight. Maybe this thing would last outside. For now, she hoped it survived what came next.

  "Ready?" Olga said.

  Scarlett nodded.

  "Let's go." Marshal Birch led Scarlett down the long, winding metal staircase into hell.

  Chapter 11

  They went about a hundred steps down to the first sublevel of the brassworks—steamworks, where solar power converted into energy. Scarlett couldn't help but glance down over the stair railing and wonder just how far down it continued. Another level down was the shitworks where water was reclaimed from raw sewage and solids turned into fertilizer. The gasses were used for more energy in something called a catalyzing fuel cell—at least that was what a worker once told her it was.

  The first level of underground stretched nearly as far and wide as all of Central with long tunnels reaching out to the farms and ranches for cabling and plumbing. The heart of the beast lay just west of here.

  Olga pointed ahead and walked across the grated catwalk to the concrete floor. Even with the suit on, heat seeped in from all sides, increasing the temperature inside the suit until it was uncomfortably warm.

  Pipes ran all along the ceiling, many converging on large green cylinders where they attached to the front. The rumble of machinery vibrated deep in Scarlett's stomach, making her feel a bit queasy. A blast of steam erupted from an overflow valve inches from Scarlett's helmet. She shrieked and stumbled backwards.

  Olga stopped and turned, a smile on her face. She said something, but the words were lost in the muffled roar.

  Thankful the helmet protected her from the full fury of the heat and noise, Scarlett took a deep breath of the cool air flowing from the micro-breather and followed Olga between the huge generators lining the floor.

  Thick cables with bright red insulation ran from the back of the generators and into wide cable trays affixed onto the ceiling. Scarlett wondered how the insulation didn't melt from all the steam.


  Olga continued forward, sometimes vanishing into a billow of steam, or walking up a short set of stairs to cross a particularly large steam pipe. Scarlett spotted a few workers here and there, all dressed in toughsuits and wielding huge wrenches as they wrestled with the miles of stainless pipe feeding the generators.

  One of the men glanced up from his work, his face gaunt and blistered. Scarlett might have gasped at the sight if she hadn't seen it before. Brassworks workers often had scars on their faces from day after day of heat and intense sweating. Their water rations obviously weren't enough to overcome the dehydration—ironic since they worked around water all the time.

  They passed from the power generation plant and into a quieter area where the pipes ran in from the tunnels leading out to the wall and up to the dome. The last time she'd come down here with Max, he'd asked a worker how the steam stayed so hot coming all the way in from the dome, down the walls, and then miles underground.

  Scarlett had never given it much thought, but considering how far the tunnels ran to reach the wall, it seemed impossible that the heat generated from the solar panels in the dome was enough to keep the water turned to steam all the way down here.

  The worker had simply shrugged and said, "Do I look like a lab coat to you?" and Max had dropped the subject.

  Olga turned a corner and stopped. Scarlett saw at once they'd arrived. A figure with terrible steam burns lay next to a section of burst pipe. The steam to this section was off, presumably controlled by the large red valve at a nearby junction. Scarlett crouched uncomfortably in the bulky suit and inspected the body. The face and neck had been utterly obliterated, flesh melted down to the bone by a blast of high-pressure steam. She'd seen worse accidents before, so the sight didn't sicken her as it had during her earlier days.

  Scarlett looked up at Olga and tapped the helmet. "Can I take this off for a minute?"

  Olga checked a gauge worn around her neck and nodded. She undid the latch to her own helmet and pulled it off. "Air is clean, and the temperature is low with the steam turned off in this area."