Girl on Mars (Girl on the Moon Book 2)
Page 17
Conn stood before the portal. “I’m ready,” she said, and she was—she was coiled, about to spring. She had an energy she usually didn’t have unless she was off her medication and manic.
Stoll activated the portal.
Conn sprung through.
# # #
The reception counter on the other side of the door to the moon portal wasn’t occupied. There went Conn’s plan: wrangle Persisting’s location out of whoever was behind the desk, who had to know him, or have records of some kind. Of course nobody would be at work at a time like this, Conn mused, and could have kicked herself.
Conn vaulted the reception counter and looked around for anything that might give her some information. The desk had a terminal, and it was active, but it wasn’t intuitive to Conn—she didn’t know how to use it, and had no way to learn.
There was a cabinet. It had paper in it. Lots of printed material.
She pawed through it, and got excited when she came upon some copies of what looked like invoices. There, not far from the front, was an invoice or some kind of report to Persisting, whose address was
District B-24
Traverse
810-G
. . . at least, those were the words that made the least sense to her. She separated the invoice from the file and vaulted the counter again.
She wound her way through corridors, trying to remember the way from the shipyard to the portal, and reverse it. She wasn’t confident she had taken all the right turns. Frustrated, she made for what seemed to be an open area, the size of half a city block, with knots of Pelorians scattered over it in an agitated state.
There was a loud FOOM and the ground beneath her vibrated. Nobody out in the open seemed to react to it, so Conn got the idea it was happening a lot. Had the Aphelials got through the force field? Were they bombing the center of the mountain, where there might be a hole in the force field’s coverage? Or was that what the bombs felt like going off on the force field?
She used a set of double doors to go out into the open. Pelorians skittered here and there, collectively making a background rumble. No one accosted her, no one seemed to notice her. She needed to ask for directions. That would be fun.
She looked out of place. The rumbling Pelorians were bluish and purplish scales covering three squat torsos, each connected to the other two radially. Three limbs on each torso. Various radially symmetrical slits and holes, probably ears and mouths and maybe eyes, but as far as Conn knew, no human knew for sure which was which.
On a set of tracks before her, a vehicle pulled to a stop and out came a Pelorian from the back of it. Was it a taxi? Conn hurried to it, and got in the back where she’d seen the Pelorian come out.
Another Pelorian sat in front, obviously the operator of the vehicle. After a time of silence, she heard in her head, in Basalese, “Where are you going?”
“Oh,” She said. Then she remembered she didn’t have to talk out loud. She did anyway. “Um—District B-24, Traverse. Um, u—unit, I mean, number 810-G.”
The operator seemed to regard her strangely, though it might have been Conn’s imagination.
She pressed her luck: “I’m an avatar.” What else would I be? she thought. Stupid. “My, um—” what was the word? “—original is there. I think he’s hurt and can’t get out.”
“’Original?’”
She didn’t know the word for the original Pelorian who uploaded his consciousness into clones to make avatars. “Right. My—my—”
“Are you talking about your mother?”
That would do. “Yes.” Was that the word for “original,” or did the operator think she meant her mother? It didn’t matter. “Yes. My mother.”
The operator shifted a lever and toggled a switch. “I knew you avatars were kind of blurry copies of the mother, but I didn’t think you were that—never mind.” The vehicle started along the track.
“Oh,” Conn said. “Wait. I, um . . . I can’t pay you.”
The vehicle slowed and the operator was still for a few moments, then said, “What are you talking about?”
She got the word for “pay” right, didn’t she? “Never mind,” she said. The vehicle started forward again.
Outside, the open area resembled a huge plaza, ringed by structures with doors and some windows. The surface was smooth, but above the structures and above Conn’s head the stone of the moon showed. The same lighting as the Sidereals had used in their caverns. The lava tube the Pelorians had settled in was enormous, with space enough for three or four major cities. It couldn’t have been less than two hundred meters high.
Soon enough they were winding in-between structures, before coming out into another plaza. More agitated Pelorians. There was another FOOM, the ground rattling, and this time, Conn heard someone scream out in the plaza. Mostly, though, nobody reacted.
“Getting closer. Don’t you think?” Conn said.
“The force field will hold,” the operator said. She wondered if everybody was as confident.
“Still, I’m not seeing many . . . of us at work today.”
“They made everybody go home and stay indoors. You didn’t hear that?”
Conn said she hadn’t. She had a good feeling about finding Persisting at his home, now.
She worried that she was starting to feel claustrophobic. She was under a mountain. She tried not to think about it.
Soon, after winding through another plaza, the vehicle pulled to a stop. One-story structures with doors and a few windows, all looking the same. The same as every other structure she had seen so far.
“Thank you, Miss Avatar,” the driver said. She apparently hadn't been very convincing.
“No, um. Thank you,” Conn mumbled, and she got out of the vehicle. It moved out and down the track.
With any luck at all, she was in District B-24, Traverse. Where was 810-G?
She waved down a passing Pelorian. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m looking for 810-G.”
The Pelorian pointed, Conn followed the direction of the point, and all she saw there was another structure, indistinguishable from those around it. “That’s 801,” the Pelorian said. “See?” Conn didn’t. “Eight ten must be that one or that one. Go look.” The Pelorian continued on her way.
Where was she supposed to see an “810?” She squinted at the building to the right of the one the Pelorian said was 801.
There it was! Carved into the facade of the building, “792.” She hurried over to the left of the 801 building. There it was: “810!”
She opened the double doors near the 810 designation. They opened into a small entryway, then a corridor. Each door along the hallway had a letter on it. She breathed a sigh of relief.
She knocked on the “G” door.
No one answered.
She knocked more urgently. “Persisting! Let me in!”
Nothing.
She pounded the door once and put her head down. Maybe one of the neighbors . . .
The “G” door opened.
The avatar who had rescued them from Mars looked surprised to see her.
THIRTY-ONE
Thugs
December 15 - 16, 2039
The mother Persisting—Conn suddenly remembered that Pelorians had three parents, no actual “mother,” in the sense of the opposite of “father”—was dead.
He’d been tried for collaborating with the enemy in wartime, sentenced to death, and executed. He was a traitor, same as Marcus Stoll—only the collaboration they must have meant was his collaboration with Conn. She’d killed him.
“That’s not true at all,” the Persisting-avatar said. “He sabotaged anti-spacecraft guns along the wall. He blew up a warship they were building. He hand-delivered technology to a human.”
“Marcus Stoll?”
“Exactly right,” the avatar said. “Anyway, that’s just the three things I remember off the top of my head.” He put his arm around Conn, as Conn’s eyes were leaking. “You had nothing to do with it.”
“I’m alive,” the avatar said brightly. “I have all his memories, his likes and dislikes, his personality, all up to about five years ago. He has two other avatars on Earth, one newer.”
“So—I mean, was this his address? I don’t get why you—why you get to live. I mean, here.” Another FOOM and mini-earthquake. Conn was pretty sure they were happening at regular intervals.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I didn’t mean anything by that—”
“Don’t worry about it. You don’t know how it works.” The avatar—Conn needed to start thinking of him as just Persisting—sat, and offered Conn a seat opposite him.
She shook her head. “No. We can’t stay.” She checked the time. “Gah. Twenty minutes. We have to get back to the portal in twenty minutes, or we’re stuck here.”
“I thought Marcus Stoll shut the portal down.”
“He did, but he activated it for me. And he’s going to activate it in twenty minutes. You don’t have time to pack, I’m sorry. Let’s go.”
Persisting hurried out with her. “You know, I think the force field might hold—”
“Then we can have a nice visit on Earth,” Conn snapped. “It costs you nothing to come back with me. It could cost you everything if you stay.”
“It’s difficult not to see the logic in that,” Persisting said.
Conn stopped. “How do we get there?”
“Ah. I have a vehicle. Come this way.” Persisting led her to a storage structure similar to a garage. Inside was a vehicle that resembled a snowmobile.
“I didn’t see any vehicles that weren’t on tracks on my way here.”
“It’s illegal to operate it below the surface,” Persisting said matter-of-factly.
“Oh. Will we make it, then?”
“Law enforcement is a little tied up at the moment,” Persisting replied, bringing the hover-snowmobile to life. He mounted it and got Conn on the back. Soon they were whooshing down alleys, and crossing taxi tracks. Persisting eased up on the speed when they passed Pelorians in narrower alleys.
“We really have to hurry,” Conn said, seeing fifteen minutes left. She didn’t have to shout, the vehicle was almost silent. Persisting got the hint and stopped slowing down.
They crossed one plaza. As they tried to head down an alley from the plaza, Persisting found his way blocked by three Pelorians.
“Excuse me!” he said.
“Humans,” one of the Pelorians said.
“We’re avatars.”
The Pelorian who had spoken crept around beside the vehicle. “She’s not.”
Persisting said, “Wait! I recognize you.” He dismounted from the vehicle, and regarded one of the Pelorians still in front of him. “Certainly. That’s your name. Right? You’ve been through the portal, done some business with Marcus Stoll. Haven’t you?”
“I’ve been through the portal,” Certainly said. “Not today. It’s shut off.”
“I know,” Persisting said. “Tough break. But I’m sure the force field will hold.”
Conn checked the time. Ten minutes.
“She can open the portal back up.”
“No, she can’t,” Persisting said. “For one thing, she’s not American and wouldn’t know Marcus Stoll if he bit her. For another, she’s on this side of the portal. How is she—”
The Pelorian beside her took hold of Conn’s arm and wrenched her off the vehicle. “Hey!”
Another came to help. The third got hold of Persisting and held him back. Conn could thrash hard in the lunar gravity, but the Pelorians had snaked their limbs under her armpits and over her shoulders, holding her fast. She dropped her breathing bubble and tried in vain to get them to let her have it.
“I’ve got her,” said the Pelorian who had taken her off the vehicle. “You two keep an eye on Persisting. Meet us at the portal in . . . let’s say forty-five minutes.”
Conn didn’t want to let on that the portal would be activated in eight minutes. She’d given Stoll her word, and she was disinclined to help these thugs anyway. And even if she got them to the portal in eight minutes, they wouldn’t let Persisting come.
Those eight minutes passed quickly. Her captor flagged down a much larger vehicle than the taxi had been—a bus?—and muscled Conn into the spacious back. The operator seemed unconcerned that she was thrashing and fighting and asking for help. Maybe it wasn’t unusual for an avatar to act out. Outside, the bombing continued.
Her captor directed the operator to an address two minutes away. Once there, he called into the structure for a Pelorian named Studiously to come out. Studiously did. He joined them in the back of the bus.
Her captor told Studiously that Conn could open the portal for them, and they were going there now. He asked for help pinning Conn down. Studiously was glad to give it. Conn had a total of twelve limbs holding her fast.
They went to five other addresses, and picked up a new Pelorian at each of them. Her captor said they didn’t need to pack or bring breathers—we’re just going to get the portal open and keep it open. He said they were convening at the portal in (by the fifth address) thirty minutes. Conn couldn’t check the time, but knew the portal would be dormant by now. She fought off the urge to cry.
The now eight-strong contingent—at one stop, two Pelorians had joined the party—arrived at the structure with the portal inside twenty minutes early. Two Pelorians, the ones that had been “keeping an eye” on Persisting, were early, and waited for them just outside. One had her breathing bubble. Persisting, she couldn’t see.
“Where is Persisting?” her captor asked them.
“He got away shortly after you left. He’s human-strong—”
“Whatever you say. Let’s go let this one activate our portal out of here.” A FOOM and vibrating ground punctuated his suggestion.
They filed inside, Conn’s captor pushing her ahead of them. He still had hold of her arms under her armpits. She didn’t know what they were going to do when she didn’t activate the portal for them. If she was going to get out of this mess and find Persisting again, she was going to have to slug her way out. After the hour she’d had, the thought made her smile.
They entered the room with the portal. Her captor told his comrade behind him to check to see if the portal was already working. He did, and it wasn’t.
“How does this work, now?” her captor asked.
“It doesn’t,” spat Conn. “The portal was going to be open one last time about thirty minutes ago. Now it’s off for the duration.”
“With you on this side of it? No chance.” He prodded her with another of his limbs. “Do it. Activate it.”
“Bite me.”
There was a commotion behind them. In the other room. They didn’t all fit in the portal room. It sounded like a scuffle.
Her captor released her to turn and see what was going on. Conn came down with both fists on one of his torsos. He screeched.
She didn’t let up. She kicked him, then punched him with the palm of her hand, both with super strength even greater than what she’d had on Mars.
She vaulted over her captor and pummeled the next Pelorian in line until he wasn’t moving. The Pelorian behind that one raised his limbs in a gesture that looked like he wanted no part of a fight.
By then, Persisting was in the room, and none of the Pelorians still standing wanted to fight. Not two humans in lunar gravity. Conn hugged her friend.
“Now, can you turn this thing back on?”
Conn tsk’ed. “No!”
“Then we’ll have to get out of here the old-fashioned way,” Persisting said. “But before we do that, I’m going home to pack.”
THIRTY-TWO
Hurry Up and Wait
December 16 - 17, 2039
The old-fashioned way would involve a spacecraft in the shipyard, not the same one Persisting had used to rescue them from Mars, but much smaller. Persisting was coy about how they would
fly it off the moon with the force field in place.
“Is everybody leaving that way?”
“No—no one can leave with the force field up.”
“Except us.”
“We can’t leave with the force field up, either.” He would say no more.
They noticed the first damage from the bombing: cracks in structures, chunks of rocky ceiling crumbling onto roofs.
“Even if the force field holds—” Conn began.
“It won’t,” Persisting said.
Conn blinked at him. “You sounded so sure it would.”
“I told you it might hold,” he said. “I told those thugs I was sure it would hold. Surely you can forgive me for lying to them?”
“Of course,” Conn said. “But you don’t think it might, anymore?”
“The force field was intended to stop two of those monster spacecraft up there from being able to take us out. It’s taking twice the punishment it was intended to. And they’re not going to run out of bombs anytime soon.”
“We saw them drop something into the force field, on satellite. Before the bombing,” Conn said. “What was that?”
“Radar buoys. Well, not radar, but you get the idea. Gave them a perfect map of the mountain and the outside of the settlement.”
“If they can get through, why can’t bombs?”
Persisting grinned. “Why don’t you make airplanes out of the same material as you make the little black boxes in the cockpit?”
Persisting packed, then insisted they get something to eat. It was late in the “day” on the moon, where the day-night cycle was by necessity artificial. It was four in the morning Pacific time for Conn.
“I couldn’t eat Sidereal food,” Conn said. “Well, I could, but it didn’t do me any good. Will I have any better luck with Pelorian food?”
“How should I know?” Persisting said. “I never touch the stuff, myself.” He led her outside, down an alley, and into another structure, this one with a window facing out on the alley. Inside, it looked like nothing so much as a diner. Without seats. Other patrons of the diner on the floor before tables stared at them when they walked in and as they chose a table. Persisting produced a chair and a small bench from the far corner of the diner, where a diner on Earth might keep the baby chairs.