Saturnius Mons

by Jeremy L. Jones

  Viekko watched as Cronus walked up the catwalk running his hand along the railing as if he were caressing the entire apparatus. The most blessed relic or a patch of ground tread on by the most holy person never received such reverence. He sat down at a chair in the middle of the horseshoe shaped control area like a god returning to his throne.

  “Physical keyboards!” Cronus exclaimed laughing maniacally, “They still used physical keyboards. Amazing! I haven’t seen one since the excavation of Old Seattle. It was half-buried inside the caved-in skull of some office worker. Before the wars.”

  To be fair, it was the kind of crazed god that fertilized the earth with his father’s genitals and threw thunderbolts around like rice at a wedding.

  Viekko glanced at the Houston who had an impatient air about him. Viekko called out across the room, “That’s great, Cronus. I’m happy for you, I really am. Listen, we look to be still on parole and they might be itching to throw us back in that hole if you don’t find somethin’.”

  Cronus reached out and slowly pressed a single key as if he were afraid the slightest touch might cause the whole thing to fall apart. When it didn’t his other hand touched another. As if remembering a skill long since forgotten, Cronus started typing. It was slow at first but, by the time Viekko, Isra, Althea and the Houston crossed the catwalk and stood behind him, he was typing at a furious pace. Images and numbers flashed across the five screens in front of him at a pace that could bring on epilepsy. Viekko wondered how Cronus's fingers didn’t get tangled at the pace they were moving.

  Then, Cronus stopped. Isra leaned forward and squinted at the screens. “What did you find?”

  Cronus sat back. “Nothing.”

  “Nothin’?” said Viekko.

  “Nothing,” repeated Isra with a touch more force.

  “I tried several different paths into the data servers, but I’m afraid the majority of the system is locked out and encrypted. All I’ve found is that the system is experiencing something called a ‘general shutdown protocol’.”

  Isra sneered. “Nothing more?”

  Cronus went back to work on the keyboard. “Well, there is something else. I can use a backdoor into one of the security systems. It’s somehow connected to the shutdown protocol. I thought it was just a hardware artifact, but let’s take a look.”

  The screens changed so that each one showed a complicated black and white diagram. To Viekko’s eye it looked like an impossibly intricate tangle of geometric shapes. A lot of those shapes, to Viekko’s dismay, were flashing red. In his, albeit limited engineering experience, that was not a good sign. “What the hell are we lookin’ at?”

  “System overview,” said Cronus, still typing. “There is some kind of complex to the east of the city, near the banks of the Ligeia Mare. The computer is reporting the shutdown or failure of multiple systems and more are failing as we speak. The system wants us to fix this first. It has locked down every other application. No data until we fix this. It must be extremely important.”

  Both Isra and Viekko turned to face the Houston. A good deal of blood seemed to have drained from his face. Isra pointed to the diagram on the screens. “Do you know what this is?”

  The Houston tried to compose himself, although beads of sweat were still forming on his brow. “Extractors and refineries left to us by the Kompanio. The last time they spoke to the people, we were ordered to keep them running no matter what the cost. We have workers there. Perfidulo. People we rescued from the forest. They must have deserted us.”

  Viekko examined the Houston for a moment. Something about the way he talked about the forest people made him suspicious, “Whaddya mean ‘rescued’?”

  The Houston straightened up, “Perfidulo. They live savage lives. They kill without thinking. They have lived without the light of the Kompanio for too long. We do what we can to help but it is difficult. They fight us at every opportunity.”

  Viekko’s mind went back to the spaceport and the piles of bodies burning. Was that their massacre or some kind of human sacrifice? Was the Houston genuine or just covering up the sins of his people?

  Cronus interrupted his train of thought, “Three more sections just shut down. I don’t think this is neglect. It’s all happening too fast and the systems are not shutting down in random order. This is not entropy, this is deliberate. Someone is doing this.”

  The Houston went even whiter. He opened his mouth a few times as if to speak and then turned and started walking back down the catwalk, “Malbono perfiduloj, mi mortigos ilin ciujin. I must go assemble warriors.”

  Viekko watched the screens for a moment. With all the activity, he’d all but forgotten that they weren’t alone on this planet. Laban was still at the base camp, probably fuming about being kept from the city. And then there was Carr; Viekko didn’t know when or if he stopped following them. If something strange was happening, it was a sure bet that they were both in the center of it all.

  He turned to catch up with the Houston. “Sir...uh, Houston. A moment.”

  The Houston stopped and turned. “Jes?”

  “We ain’t the only people from Earth running around this rock. I wonder, did you see bright lights or fire in the sky several hours ago? Before the sun rose.”

  The Houston paused. “Jes. I’m afraid a great many saw it. It was… unsettling for my people.”

  “Well, that ain’t the half of it. Those were shuttles. A couple of them. Packed to the top with people from Earth. They are here to do some harm to you and your world. We’re here to stop that from happenin’.”

  The Houston shook his head. “The Kompanio protects us. Nothing bad can come from the Earth.”

  Viekko threw his hands up, “Then they came from elsewhere. Point is, they are here now and they mean to do you harm.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  Viekko glanced back at Isra, not for his benefit, but for hers. Isra always had a strange way of knowing things. Just by looking at his face, she would know what he was planning. She examined him for a moment, closed her eyes and gave him a slight nod.

  Viekko turned back. “Let me go with them. Your warriors, I mean. Give me my guns back and the things you took when you locked us away. Also, get some of your men to go with me. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  The Houston looked back at the screens. He had a far-away stare that suggested that he would never consider a request like this in a million years. Of course, he’d never considered a threat like this in that time frame.

  He looked back at Viekko. “Very well. Come with me.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The domination by the Corporation was so complete by the twenty-second century that the CEO and his staff never foresaw war, even as a remote possibility. But looking back through the lens of history, it was inevitable. People cannot be oppressed forever. Anger, resentment and hatred mix with a longing for freedom and self-determination to create a volatile solution. The longer a society tries to keep it contained, the more it builds. Then, all it needs is the right spark.

  -from The Fall: The Decline and Failure of 21st Century Civilization by Martin Raffe.

  Viekko lead five of the Houston’s soldiers through the forest outside the city. It was unsettling at first, trudging back into the unknown of the dense forest with the Houston’s men. He couldn’t recall much about how he was brought into the city, but the pieces and parts he did remember flashed in his brain like moments of a nightmarish memory long repressed. They still wore the brown coats with collars that went up almost to their eyes. His muscles tightened whenever he looked at them.

  But, in practice, they were agreeable enough folk. With enough pointing and hand signals he was able to give orders and they followed. He even managed to learn their names in the process. Lucjo was in charge. He spoke some rudimentary English and was able to relay commands to the rest of the squad. There was Mikelo; he looked to be in his late forties and was the oldest of the bunch. More than a few scar
s crisscrossed his wrinkled face and he walked with a slight limp. Viekko reckoned he commanded a great deal of respect among the group by the way the others talked to him. He was a quiet sort but when he spoke, the others listened. By contrast, the youngest, Vilcelo, could barely get a word in. He carried himself like a man who had, up to now, landed the worst jobs in any position and was looking forward to several more. Then there was Jocjo. Viekko couldn’t tell if it was a quirk with the language, but Jocjo always sounded angry when he spoke. Viekko imagined that if he translated the world’s most beautiful poem into the man’s native tongue, it would come out like a declaration of war. Finally there was Alisa, the squad’s lone female member. Viekko didn’t know how many women served in the Houston’s army—the uniform made it hard to tell sexes apart—but he guessed that they were few. Alisa had the force of personality and bravado that comes from having to constantly prove one’s worth in a military boy’s club. She was shorter than the others, but Viekko suspected that, if it came to a scrap, she would use that to her advantage.

  They carried the same weapons that Viekko vaguely remembered from his last encounter: long batons and bola snares weighted with four smooth, white stones. Effective, no doubt, but not lethal. Not that Viekko wanted anyone dead; the killing field by the spaceport was quite enough death for one mission. Still, other people always wanted him dead. So it was best to go into this conflict ready to kill if need be.

  But when Viekko asked the Houston for lethal arms, the leader was opposed. He said something cryptic about how his people fight Perfidulo but do not kill them. It made Viekko feel better about the conflict between the two peoples although it didn’t explain the carnage at the spaceport. And it also meant that Viekko was effectively on his own.

  Trudging through the forest underbrush, Viekko remembered an old saying that said, “You go to war with the army you have, not the army you want.” Right now, Viekko had five soldiers who were armed to capture stray cattle, not face the enemy. And up ahead was Sergeant Carr and whatever hell he managed to raise just for this occasion.

  As they walked through the forest, Viekko saw several smokestacks in the distance towering over the canopy. Most were belching thick clouds of some noxious looking yellow gas. A few weren’t, however, and it caused some anxiety among Viekko’s companions. They pointed to the empty sky above them and chattered excitedly. Viekko got the impression, just from the tone of their voices, that they were witnessing the harbinger of cataclysm.

  They emerged from the forest and came to a grey, stone wall about three meters high. One by one, Viekko helped them up and then scaled the wall himself using Titan’s lighter gravity to scramble up the side. Beyond that, there was another grassy open space pockmarked with boulder-sized chunks of broken concrete.

  The refineries were approximately four hundred yards away across the grassy, ruinous landscape. As Viekko walked closer, it looked like a huge, steaming tangle of metal pipes, scaffolds, and towers. One could hide entire armies in its twisting folds and any hapless fool approaching would be completely unaware.

  As they walked, the gas from another smokestack thinned out and disappeared. The five Titanian soldiers watched with their hands around the batons attached to their belts and a look of terror in their eyes. A gust of wind rippled through the grass that gave the area a false sense of peace. Faint hisses and clanks echoed from the refinery, regular like the beat of a heart. The refinery itself was still, nothing ducking for cover, nothing darting around the corner or lurking under pipes, just the regular timing of the machines. For a moment, Viekko dared wonder if the refinery problems were just that: refinery problems, unrelated mechanical glitches that were making everyone extra tense given the circumstances.

  He knelt down behind a rock and signaled for the others to do the same. He peeked his head up and watched the complex. When he was sure that it was clear, he crawled over the slab of concrete and motioned for the rest to follow.

  Once inside, the smell overwhelmed his senses. Not just the flatulent stench of petrochemicals that leaked and burst out of every pipe they passed, but the tangy, metallic scent of blood and the sweet rot of decay. A few dark stains on the concrete proved to Viekko that the horrors of this world weren’t confined to the spaceport; this place had seen more than a few.

  Walking through a narrow passage with thick pipes on either side, he stopped to listen. Somewhere metal strained and moaned like a predator defending its territory. The groan got louder and closer until it felt like it was only a few centimeters from his head. Before he could react, Lucjo pulled him back by the collar of his coat. Viekko spun around to yell but was cut off by a sharp crack as the pipe burst and sprayed seething-hot gas right where he was standing.

  Another moment in that spot, and his face would have melted off.

  He looked at the native soldiers under his command. “People work in these conditions?”

  Lucjo shrugged. “Jes. Nur Perfiduloi.”

  Viekko shook his head. “Whatever that means. Best find another way ‘round.”

  They climbed over a bundle of pipes and found a new path through the twisting metal and steam, all the while keeping a heightened appreciation for the unusual sounds and smells around him. For a moment, he was worried about his recent charges, but he noticed that they were faster to react then he was. Faster to jump out of the way when metal screamed in protest, faster to stop and determine if a particular path was safe and generally more aware of the hazards around them. They knew full well what existed here but he wasn’t sure why.

  Then he heard something that wasn’t mechanical. At first, it was nearly indistinguishable from the rhythmic hisses and impacts of the machinery. But as it grew, Viekko could make out stray voices along with a series of rapid footsteps on metal. He crouched behind a concrete pylon and listened.

  There was frantic discussion in the distance. He peeked over the concrete to see three of the forest people, Perfiduloi as the Houston called them, making for the open ground outside the refineries. They were the first of their kind Viekko had seen alive and he immediately wondered what they were doing here. Of all the places on this karaasan moon, why this slice of hell? Others followed fast. They had the same long face and gangly build but they were all dressed in loose, brown clothing. The type that only had two functions: to cover up any parts of the body considered indecent and to make everyone look like everybody else. From the way they ran and scrambled over the banks of metal pipe, they looked tired and thin. So much so that Viekko was shocked that they didn’t collapse.

  The Houston’s soldiers began talking among themselves. Something in their tone suggested a debate that was heating up. Viekko glanced around them and, satisfied that nobody heard them yet, shushed them. “Quiet! What’s this about?”

  Lucjo whispered, “Perfiduloi. Job not done. Never see Earth. But too much danger to rescue.”

  Viekko watched the last of the Perfiduloi run away. There was something sinister in the way the term ‘rescue’ was thrown around. The people he saw were fleeing and Viekko got the distinct impression that they were running from whatever ‘help’ the people of the city were providing. He didn’t have much time to work out the situation in his mind before the wind shifted and Viekko spun around. There was an added component to the air now. Aside from the chemicals and death he picked up something else: Carr’s awful aftershave.

  Viekko leapt over the concrete divider and yelled, “On our six! Take cover!” Before any of the five soldiers could react, the first shot split the air like a whip crack. The youngest, Vilcelo, grabbed his throat just as a torrent of blood began to pour from between his hands.

  The others followed Viekko’s example and crouched on the other side of the divider before machine gun fire followed. Viekko pressed his back against the slab even as bullets whizzed overhead, ricocheted off metal pipes, and slammed against concrete and stone. Gas hissed through the new holes.

  In the distance, someone yelled, “Stop! Stop! Cesigi! Cesi
gi! Damn it all, I told you guys to hold your damned fire!”

  Viekko recognized the voice as surely as he recognized the smell in the air.

  “Viekko Spade!” yelled Carr when the bullets stopped, “Was that you I saw out there?”

  “Sergeant Carr!” Viekko called out. “Funny seeing you out here. Especially since, according to the treaties, you and your kind ain't supposed to be anywhere near us.”

  Viekko took a quick consensus of their situation. Four of the five—Alisa, Lucjo, Mikelo and Jocjo—were crouching nearby. Viekko put his finger to his lips then waved his hand down to indicate they should be quiet and stay low.

  “The funny thing about treaties is that once you break ‘em they do not exist,” said Carr in the distance.

  Viekko risked a glance toward the voice. There were ten more Perfiduloi among the pipes, vats, and twisted metal. They all were waving some kind of gun that couldn’t possibly exist on this world. Viekko had never seen a weapon like it and, judging from the way they were being handled, neither had the people holding them. They were different from the people he just saw fleeing. These men were lean, muscular and had a fire in their eyes. Given how they spaced themselves out through the complex, they weren’t the most organized militia that ever existed, but they were far from the lawless rabble the Houston described.

  Viekko ducked back down behind the concrete divider. So, they were outnumbered by a factor of two and spectacularly out-gunned. Never mind winning this encounter; if he got out alive at all it would be a victory. Viekko gulped. “You ain't wrong, Carr. But when word of what you did gets back to Earth, it will cause no end of trouble for the Corporation. You’ll probably lose Titan in the process.”