Mars Rising (Domeworld Saga Book 1)

by John Corwin

  Creed almost wished he had his stunner batteries with him. It might be entertaining to stun the man just to let him know he was good as dead, and let him live for a hunt another day. Unfortunately, leaving an unauthorized human loose in the jungle habitat would throw the entire environment into chaos. The scientists would whine, and Creed's professionalism would be cast into doubt. Though he hated ending the game, it was best to give the intruder a quick, merciful death, and leave his body to the swamp.

  How this maintenance worker had found his way past security and into the habitat wasn't his concern. Even if he took the man back alive, security would question him and require Creed to do a mountain of paperwork before the inevitable conclusion—a swift execution for the worker. Though it might seem cruel to Creed's prey, this was for the best.

  The ranger stood and followed the tracks to the right. When he stepped past the fringe of bushes, out of sight of the man hiding beneath the lily pads, Creed lowered himself to the ground and slowly pushed the muzzle through an opening beneath the leaves. He adjusted the scope and found the lily pad with the bulge of a head beneath it.

  Creed eased his finger over the trigger. He tried to resist shouting one last taunt at the man, but finally gave in to the urge. "It was a good show, lad, but now, I'm afraid it's over."

  The ranger waited to see if the man burst from the water and tried to run away, but apparently the worker decided to remain still in the hopes Creed thought he'd cornered him in the jungle.

  "The lily pad was very clever, but I'm afraid I saw right through it." Creed pulled the trigger. A blast of red streaked across the water and exploded against the lily pads. A clod of peat moss beneath the plant exploded into flames.

  "Yeah, it was a good show," said a gruff voice behind him.

  Creed rolled onto his back, but before he could bring the rifle to bear, a rock extinguished the light.

  Max slammed the rock against Creed's face until the ranger twitched one last time and went still. Panting, Max stared at the brains on the rock, the blood dripping from his hands. He'd sent people out the airlock to feed the father and seen them dropped in the grinder to feed the daughter, but he'd never actually killed a person with his own hands. Max swallowed a lump of nausea and walked away from the body.

  Creed had shown how clever he was earlier and laid bare Max's inadequacies. Thankfully, the ranger had continued to underestimate his prey, and Max had taken advantage of it, hiding in the bushes where his false trail led. If Creed had continued to follow the footprints just a few more feet, he would have found Max. Instead, he'd stopped in a place where he'd have a clean shot at the lily pad. Otherwise, it would have been Max lying dead instead of the ranger.

  The swamp water rinsed Max's hands and face, but it didn't cleanse the stain he felt on his heart. Despite how his insides twisted, killing Creed was necessary. Kill or be killed. That was the one rule of the jungle he'd learned in his short stay here. With the ranger dead, that put Max on another deadline.

  The scientists who sent the ranger into the habitat would eventually declare him missing and send someone looking. The habitat pulsed with dangerous life, hazardous even to someone as skilled as Creed, so it seemed likely a backup ranger existed. The scientists were probably accustomed to the ranger being gone for a day or more, especially if tasked with patrolling the entire habitat. That gave Max perhaps another day or two before he had to worry about a replacement ranger searching for his comrade.

  In the meantime, Max had to divine a long-term solution. Though Creed hadn't answered any questions about the existence of other habitats, it seemed likely more existed. This place proved the founders had been thorough in their preservation efforts, and Max had seen dozens of different micro-habitats at the science campus zoo. It stood to reason that this wilderness dome was only the beginning of something much larger.

  Once Max found food, it was time to begin a search for more airlock doors. If they were concealed like the one through which he'd entered this place, it would be difficult to spot them.

  Max returned to Creed's body and stripped it. The shirt and shorts were a bit snug, but it felt good to peel off the worn feeding suit and change into something marginally cleaner. The shoes were a size too large, but it was better than them being too tight and causing blisters. Creed's backpack was full of useful items—three battery packs for the blaster, an epad, a half-full canteen, and at least a dozen sealed plastic bags labeled as rations. A sheathed knife on the ranger's belt was the best thing Max could have found. Butchering a kill would be so much easier once he ran out of rations.

  The charge on the blaster's battery pack indicated it was half full, and one of the batteries in the backpack showed empty. Despite Max's familiarity with the pistol blasters he'd used as constable, handling this long rifle would be different. He held it up to his shoulder as Creed had done and peered through the scope. He might not be an accurate shot, but it felt damned good to be armed again.

  Max consumed one of the ration packs—a ham sandwich with potato chips. Every bite flooded his taste buds with ecstasy. Stomach rumbling in appreciation, Max leaned back against a stump and allowed himself to relax while he considered his next moves. It would be dark in a matter of hours, so he needed to find shelter soon.

  The epad from the backpack displayed a map when activated. It detailed all four zones of the habitat, complete with precise renderings of the wetlands. Max noticed a small arrow on the screen and realized it was centered on his location. He rotated the epad and the arrow turned to face in that direction. Each zone also bore a small green image of a house near their respective centers.

  The closest one was further into the wetlands. Max didn't have to be a genius to realize it must be some sort of shelter. It made sense—a ranger's duties might take him several days and walking all the way back to wherever he came from wouldn't be efficient. A green icon shaped like a door at the northwest end of the habitat piqued Max's interest. It might be the ranger's headquarters where the scientists worked.

  Max scanned the map for more icons, but found nothing indicating airlock doors. Creed denied knowledge of City 7 and the airlocks. Did that mean Alderman and his cronies didn't know about this jungle habitat? Were there more domes, each one unknown to the denizens of its neighbors?

  It seemed the founders were a tricky bunch.

  That posed another problem. What was the end game here? Was there any place safe for Max to go? Anywhere he could live untroubled by overzealous rangers and scientists?

  The walk into the red wastes outside City 7 had been only the start of what might be a long trail to death or survival.

  Max pushed himself up and dusted his hands before shouldering the backpack and buckling Creed's belt. He took a drink of water from the canteen and fastened it to a loop on the other side of the belt, then slung the blaster rifle over his shoulder. With food and weapons available, it was time to take care of one more unpleasant duty.

  Tomorrow he would bury his sister.

  Chapter 27

  Max followed the map to the shelter marked on the map and found a hut built twenty feet off the ground with four concrete pylons supporting it. Something slick coated the pylons, probably to keep animals from scaling them and getting into the hut. That left the problem of Max actually reaching the small abode.

  Two thick green pipes ran up the side of one pylon and into the hut. Max reckoned it might be for water, but it didn't offer an easy climb. He waded through the shallow water beneath the building, sending yet another snake slithering away, and found the answer. A metal rod hung from the foundation. Max gave it a tug. A motor whined and a trap door popped open. A ladder extended down, each section clicking into place until it hung a couple feet off the water.

  Max climbed up it and into a tiled room. Pressing a button collapsed the ladder and closed the trap door. A light flickered on overhead. Max looked around and blinked in surprise when he found a shower head against the wall with a tray of soap nearby. He went to the onl
y doorway and found a light switch on the wall. A bed, cabinets, and a small refrigerator sat in the neighboring room.

  "It's paradise," he murmured, stunned at this find.

  Max approached the sink and rocked back on his heels when he saw his face. Whiskers poked through grime and crusted blood, and leaves and mud covered his head. Rinsing his face in the swamp hadn't done much to remove the veil of filth.

  He lathered soap on his face and rinsed until it was clean. A small cabinet held shaving cream and a razor which he gladly used until a smooth face smiled back at him. After a quick hot shower, Max felt human again.

  Where are the towels? "Scarlett, grab me a towel—" The rest of the sentence died on Max's lips. "Why in the dome did I call for Scarlett?" A part of him seemed to think it was the most natural thing in the world. Then again, Scarlett had been his deputy. He'd told her to do things plenty of time. Half the time she ignored him.

  "Must be the stress," he muttered.

  The fridge held more ration packs and dark brown bottles. Max popped the lid off one and took a sip. Cold carbonated water bit into his tongue. The beer tasted so good, Max almost didn't recognize it for what it was. The swill and ale available in City 7 tasted like piss by comparison.

  Max took a ration pack labeled Beef Stroganoff from the fridge and tore it open. The plastic heated and steam wafted out. Max almost dug in with his fingers, then stopped himself and looked for utensils. He found a fork in the cabinet next to the fridge and speared it inside the pack. He withdrew a steaming piece of meat dripping with gravy.

  Max groaned with pleasure, chewing slowly to savor the taste of cooked meat and chased it with another swig of beer. He felt so happy to be alive right then that it scared him.

  "I lost Sarah." The words brought tears to Max's eyes, but it didn't make him feel any less grateful to be alive even if doubt clouded his future. With food in his belly and a safe place to stay for the night, it gave him time to think. "If I could do anything, what would it be?"

  Revenge on Alderman and his men would be sweet, but even with a full arsenal of weapons, unlikely to succeed. Continuing to live in the jungle habitat would be impossible once the scientists realized Creed was dead. Max could make it look like an accident and that might keep another ranger from hunting him, but it wouldn't take them long to realize extra food was missing from the shelters, or that someone else had been staying in them.

  Max finished the meal then examined the fridge. The appliance appeared ordinary, without any means of receiving meal packs. Max emptied Creed's backpack and counted fifteen plastic packs. At three meals a day, it was enough for five days. But if the ranger stayed in the shelters, he'd have no need of the extra packs.

  It stood to reason that the ranger himself restocked the fridges at the various huts. That would make it much harder for Max to remain undetected if indeed there were other rangers who shared Creed's responsibilities. That left Max with few alternatives. He could search for hidden airlock doors and other habitats. By splitting his time between various domes, he could use those shelters for temporary lodging and food.

  If the scientists and rangers running the habitats didn't know about their neighbors, that granted Max a higher chance of living out his years without detection. If his assumption about other habitats was correct, it would be something of an adventure, but it would also be a life constantly on the move with no place to call home.

  The other option was to find the place the scientists called home and assess their security. It seemed this place had its own complement of maintenance workers, scientists, and marshals to keep it running. Sneaking in would be difficult, depending on the security, but it might be worth investigating.

  Max examined the map and calculated the distance from the shelter to the door icon in the northwest. He tapped on the icons at the top of the screen. One of them overlaid a grid on the map, complete with distances. Max counted the squares and came up with a distance of seven miles.

  He whistled. "This place must be ten miles in diameter." Max counted the squares from one side to the other and figured the dome wall had to be about thirty miles around. How long did it take to build a concrete wall so long and tall? What feat of engineering did it take to cover the center with a dome?

  Max couldn't even begin to imagine. He wished Sarah was here so he could talk to her about it. She'd probably write equations calculating volume and discuss scientific facts Max didn't understand. What he wouldn't give to hear her sweet voice one last time. Instead, he'd left her to rot in the tunnel between domes.

  Tomorrow he'd rectify that before searching for more airlock doors.

  Max awoke confused and in the dark, the echoes of nightmares still vivid. He'd dreamed of burying Sarah only to have her body dragged away by bears or leopards. When he pursued them, he stumbled upon her half-eaten body. Sarah sat up and spoke to him, skin dangling from her mutilated face.

  "You let them kill me, Max!" Tears of blood formed in her eyes. "And now you let them eat me!"

  Gray light shone through the lone window in the abode. Max pushed himself out of bed and stared at the fog rising off the murky water. He couldn't bury Sarah in the wild. It was better that he put her back into the red wastes where no animals could eat her, and her body would be preserved.

  But with his feeding suit ruined, he had no way of protecting himself from the harsh environment. Sarah's suit would never fit his larger frame. In City 7 where space was limited, burial was almost unheard of since anyone who died was fed to the daughter. Somehow it seemed right to return Sarah to the ground, even though Max couldn't say why.

  It was probably because the feeding ritual specifically said, "Return the dead to the soil so others might thrive." It had been hammered relentlessly into Max's head since he was a kid. How many times had Alderman delivered that speech? Too many to count.

  Max squeezed his eyes shut and ran a hand through his hair. Sarah was dead. All that was left was the lovely empty shell that had once housed vibrant life. The tunnel between domes was probably as good a resting place as anywhere else. Her corpse would decompose, but it would be safe from animals. Besides, what reason did Max have for ever going that way again?

  Killing Alderman, Simmons, Barnes, and the others was fantasy. City 7 was the past. The future was somewhere out here, not back there.

  Max wiped the tears from his face. It was time to push on. Sarah was already in her final resting place. He tried to rationalize it further, tried to convince himself Sarah would want him to not waste time going back and burying her, but he didn't know that for sure. In the end, it just didn't matter.

  Scarlett watches Sarah leave the house. The door shuts and she turns to Max. "Do you reckon she likes me?"

  "What the—" Max ran into the bathroom and splashed water on his face. No matter how hard he tried to tamp it down, the emotional turmoil was making him see things that weren't there. "Guess I'm just crazy," he said. It was better than being dead.

  Before leaving the shelter, Max tidied up and put some of the meal packs in the fridge in case another ranger came through here. He shaved his stubble, took another hot shower, and ate a meal pack with pancakes and bacon. It was the most delicious breakfast of his life, but also one of the saddest.

  He packed two beers in the backpack and searched the other cabinets in the abode for anything useful. He found a battery charger inside a wall cabinet along with two extra batteries. He put the spent pack on the charger and took the charged ones. A sliding door on the wall hid a closet with several sets of clothes neatly folded. Max noticed immediately that the left side of the closet held clothes matching the size Creed wore, while the others were for a thinner, shorter man.

  Max examined the shelves and concluded that since there were two distinct sets of clothes, Creed had a partner. For all he knew, the other man might be on patrol this very moment unless they rotated shifts so only one was in the habitat at a time.

  Hopefully, Max would find another airlock door and be on his w
ay before another human entered the equation.

  He took another set of Creed's clothes and stuffed them in the backpack then packed the rest of the items. Max held onto the epad to aid with navigation and exited the shelter via the trap door, dropping into the stagnant water below. Now that he was clean, he hated having to get his feet wet again. Thankfully, the boots and socks were made of water-resistant materials that quickly dried once he was back on firm land. They didn't, however, shed the bad smell.

  Max oriented himself due east and headed toward the wall, following a narrow strip of dry land running between lakes of murky water. A dozen snakes and two alligators later, he reached his destination, though he was probably a mile south of the black line indicating the precise eastern point.

  During breakfast he'd decided to go south from here, circling around to the first airlock and staying overnight in the southwest shelter. Just as it had been near the wall further south, a barren strip of hard earth separated the wall from vegetation and water. It would make the going much easier.

  Glancing at the map, he noticed a blinking icon in the upper right corner and touched it. A message appeared: Please report in. Yancy's getting anxious. P.S. How's the boar killing?

  Sweat broke out on Max's forehead. Unless he replied, he might have even less time than he'd thought. He hit Reply and tapped out a message. Everything is fine. Be back tomorrow.

  Max thought about the way Creed talked and wondered if that was what the man's response would be. He deleted the message, typed in another and erased it. "Fuck!" How was he supposed to respond?

  Creed hadn't said much to Max, but he'd seemed like the sort of man who felt in control most of the time. The fact that he'd instantly tried to kill Max and then hunted him showed that Creed felt he had the authority to do whatever he wanted. Yancy was probably a scientist—someone who irritated the likes of Creed and the other ranger, which made it likely this message was from Creed's counterpart.