Beast

by Patrick McClafferty

  The older man snorted. “Are you insane? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “It’s your bumps and bruises then,” he rumbled, sitting down and buckling his seat belt.

  As they approached the Fontaine Estate, Solomon could see that two of the eight turrets on the main house, as well as several smaller buildings, were burning. Four wrecked assault-style vehicles were burning in front of the building, and although battered and smoking, the front gate was still closed.

  “My God!” the young pilot whispered.

  “I don’t think God had much to do with this mess, unless you happen to pray to Mars,” Solomon said before turning to Giuseppe. “Mr. Fontaine, would you be so good as to call your forces in the house and tell them that the cavalry has arrived? I don’t fancy being shot by the potential survivors.”

  Giuseppe pulled his phone from an inside pocket and began speaking rapidly in a low voice.

  “There!” Solomon pointed. “Those idiots parked the balance of their vehicles close together behind that large sand dune. They must believe that they are safe there.” He let out a diabolical laugh. “Let’s disabuse that notion, shall we?”

  The pilot chuckled.

  “Pilot, activate the ECM Pod and make sure they don’t send any messages home or get a radar lock on.” Sol armed one of the Spectre missiles and moved the red targeting caret over the cluster of a dozen vehicles and scores of people.

  On the ground, two or three attackers exited the vehicles and began to wave at the incoming shuttle, mistakenly assuming that it was reinforcements for them. They were still staring and waving when he launched the munition.

  “Pilot, you might want to get us out of here quickly. The AGM 182 has a rather big bang.”

  Giuseppe stumbled when the shuttle banked hard to starboard and began to climb like all the demons of hell were on their tail.

  Solomon glanced at a small screen, selecting view astern. One vehicle had actually started to move when the missile struck. The occupants might as well have been outside waving, for all the good it did them—the fireball consumed the vehicles, people, and half of the sheltering dune. The blast wave shook the retreating shuttle, rattling Solomon’s teeth.

  “Did we get them?” the copilot asked, picking herself up off the deck with a hand from Giuseppe.

  Solomon studied the targeting screen then glanced out the windshield as the pilot turned back to the estate. “Most of them. I think… I don’t believe it,” he murmured as he watched the three surviving vehicles barrel down the road, away from the estate. “It must be the Martian atmosphere that makes people stupid. Their force was attacked by an aircraft, so what do they do? Run away down a straight road, nose to tail, with barely a vehicle length between them.” He shook his head as he activated the Gatling gun. “Follow those idiots,” Solomon growled to the pilot.

  It had been many years since Solomon used a weapon as ancient as the old Gatling gun, so he carefully sighted on the last vehicle in the line, fired, and let the speed of the shuttle walk the deadly anti-tank rounds up the three vehicles. There was a deep, almost subsonic braaap, and the entire shuttle shook when the gun fired. It was a satisfying, visceral experience. When he took his finger off the trigger, nothing was left of the fleeing APCs but shards of smoking wreckage no bigger than a piece of carry-on luggage.

  When the shuttle landed before the gate, they found the five surviving attackers had all piled their weapons neatly and were sitting several meters away in the rust-colored sand, their hands on their heads and worried expressions on their faces. Perhaps it was because the still-smoking barrels of the Gatling gun were pointed, more or less, in their direction. Solomon and Jacob exited the shuttle first, weapons drawn, just as the battered front gate of the Fontaine fortress, for that is what it had been designed to be, creaked open and four equally battered and limping men walked out. As the Fontaine family went to the assistance of the men they’d known for many years, Giuseppe stopped and turned to Solomon.

  “Call your marine friends,” he said in a no-nonsense voice. “Tell them to pack their bags, and a shuttle will pick them up this evening.” Giuseppe’s face was grim. “We’ll talk more about this tomorrow, but think about how we will ensure the safety of my family, Solomon.” He rested a hand on Solomon’s shoulder. “You seem to be saving our lives more than I anticipated.” Giuseppe’s smile was wry. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.” He glanced at the five prisoners. “What shall we do with these?”

  Solomon was surprised that Giuseppe had asked him, and he bit his lip as he thought rapidly. “Do you happen to have a research facility out in the deep Martian desert? One that might just need a few extra hands for… six months or so?” Solomon grinned. “Ship these men out into the middle of nowhere for six months and let them work for a living. With no way to survive if they run away, you won’t even have to lock them up. At the end of six months, offer them jobs in one of your more distant companies. I would guess that in six months, things will be settled, one way or another.”

  “We do have such a facility roughly four hundred kilometers north of here, in the foothills of the Nereidum Montas Mountains. Their single communication tower can be seen for a hundred kilometers,” Giuseppe admitted dryly. “With only two men, they always need help.” He rubbed his jaw, his eyes becoming distant. “We also have another facility on the slopes of Olympus Mons.” Giuseppe bit his lip in thought then grinned. “We’ll send them there. That was a very good idea.” He looked to the limping security officer who was approaching. “Right now, I have more pressing things to attend to.” He sighed, turning away from Solomon and toward the other man.

  Elora touched his arm. “Thank you for saving us, Solomon.” Her voice quavered as she looked at the wreckage and body-strewn landscape.

  He thought of a dozen flip remarks to lighten the mood, but finally said simply, “You’re welcome, Elora.” Her eyes held his for a long moment, then he blinked when he noticed that all of the Fontaine children—from Xane, who was but a year younger than Solomon himself, to a wide-eyed Mila at a vulnerable thirteen years old—were all standing in a semicircle, facing him, their faces grave. Behind them all stood the regal Lucinda, her arms folded, a speculative look on her face. She always seemed to have that look, Solomon realized, when she regarded him.

  Except for the slight scent of char in the air and a faintly wild look in the eyes of the staff, things were nearly back to normal the next morning. The family ate in silence, however, each dealing with the consequences of the previous day. The second loyal Fontaine guard had died overnight from his wounds, but the last four were well on the mend. Reinforced by a half dozen grim-faced marines, with another dozen more expected within twenty-four hours, Solomon was reassured, and the family was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

  Giuseppe made a curt motion, and his half-eaten breakfast was whisked away as he looked at those gathered at the table. “Lucinda and I have been giving this problem a lot of thought. We’ve decided that we should send all the children off-world for a time.” He turned to face Solomon. “Have you ever heard of the Europa Hilton, Solomon?”

  Solomon frowned then nodded. “Isn’t that the name of the new hotel on the largest moon of Jupiter? They claim it has the most beautiful view in the entire solar system.”

  Giuseppe gave him a thin smile. “It is, and it does. I own that hotel, and I’ve made three or four fortunes off it already. Researchers stay there, as well as rich vacationing tourists and dignitaries. Asteroid miners come in to have a taste of civilization.” He laughed. “We have mineralogists on staff who can appraise ore on the spot and credit the miner’s account. Then we do our level best to clean out said account in our casino. One wing of the hotel is private, and I intend to send the children there for safety until this disturbance is all over.” He rubbed his chin. “Lucinda opts to send them all back to Earth to our home in Ecuador. The only other option is the Lost Horizon.”

  Solomon frowned. “I’ve never hea
rd of Lost Horizon. Is that a place or a ship or what?”

  Giuseppe laughed. “Or what, young man. Lost Horizon, named for the famous book by James Hilton, is the colony ship being prepared for the journey to our outpost on the world of Shangri-La. Right now, there are only fifty souls on that planet, and two hundred more colonists could make the difference between surviving and failing.”

  “I thought that FTL drives were still in the realm of science fiction.” Solomon tried to remember everything he could about the Shangri-La colony founded forty years in the past.

  Giuseppe sighed. “They are. The Lost Horizon is a ‘cold sleep’ ship, and the colonists and crew are put into suspended animation for the duration of the five-year trip. During those five years, thanks to time dilation, thirty will have passed on Terra. When they arrive at Proxima Centauri b, approximately three astronomical units from their target, the AI will awake the crew and maneuver the ship into orbit. Then the colonists will be awakened and transported to the surface.”

  “The AI does all the flying?” Solomon asked, frowning.

  “Of course, except for landing the shuttle on the planet, although I’m sure the AI could do that too, if they wished.”

  Solomon was silent for a long while as he mulled over the options. “I think it’s a mistake—for a number of reasons, the first being that you will never see your children again. You also have a defensible position here on Mars, and by the end of the week, you will have sufficient forces, I understand that they’re now calling themselves the Mars Marines, to repel any sort of attack, save an orbital bombardment. You have weakened the opposition forces, and here on Mars, you know who and where the enemy is. Your family would be safer here.”

  Giuseppe looked grim. “I’m sorry, Solomon. My mind is made up. Xane is old enough that I will keep him here to assist me, along with your right-hand man, Jacob Eales, and, of course, the marines.” He nailed Solomon with his stony gray eyes. “I would like you and one of the marines to accompany the children to Jupiter and to watch over them. Since this significantly alters your original contract with the family, I’m prepared to offer…”

  “Please don’t insult me, Giuseppe,” Solomon snarled in a harsher voice than he had intended. “If you wish me to go to Jupiter to watch the family, I will go to Jupiter.”

  Lucinda turned and gave Giuseppe a hard ‘I told you so’ look. Solomon had gotten the same look from Addy on a number of occasions. Her husband, the Beast Fontaine, flushed in embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry if I insulted you, Solomon,” Giuseppe said in a softer voice. “Your presence with the children will reassure Lucinda and me.”

  Solomon took a deep breath. “When will we depart?” he asked, fearing the answer.

  “Tomorrow,” Giuseppe whispered. “An intersystem shuttle will be waiting for you at Lowell field.” He looked embarrassed. “The trip to Jupiter will be somewhat longer than the trip out from Earth.”

  Solomon snorted. “If I have the math right, the trip to the Europa Hilton will take three months.”

  Giuseppe had a pained look on his face.

  “If you have nothing more, Giuseppe, I have a very long day ahead of me before we leave tomorrow.”

  The elder Fontaine shook his head, and Solomon looked at the young faces around the table.

  “Those of you who are going, pack light. Those of you who are in school, see your teachers to get a curriculum for the next year or so and make damned sure that you download all of your books.” Solomon’s smile wasn’t at all friendly this time. “I will be checking on your progress periodically.”

  A chorus of groans rose from around the table, and from the corner of his eye, Solomon saw Lucinda struggling to conceal her grin. “Bring exercise clothes. The shuttle has a small microgravity gym, and you will all use it every day—”

  Another chorus of groans interrupted him.

  “As will I.” He gave Lucinda a wink and Giuseppe a quick nod before he turned to leave the dining room.

  The heavily armed marines exited the combat shuttle and spread out in a thoroughly professional manner, providing the Fontaine family a well-guarded corridor to the white orbital shuttle. Brigit Uí Dubháin, a red-headed former marine corporal who had been born in Dublin, was his backup on this particular junket. She led the row of Fontaines to the waiting shuttle, her blue eyes never stopping as they tracked from one side to the other, seeking targets or threats. She carried her Colt-Heckler M822 assault rifle in a professional manner, but Solomon wondered if it was really a good idea to bring the heavy weapon aboard a spacecraft, not that his own Sig Sauer P624 energy weapon was any less deadly. He shrugged, deciding that time would tell.

  Giuseppe, Lucinda, and Xane had all looked stricken as the Fontaine family boarded the combat shuttle for the short ride to the private airport, and Solomon wondered for the hundredth time exactly where the Beast was really lurking. It certainly wasn’t in Giuseppe Fontaine; on that, he was willing to bet. His last sight of Giuseppe showed him a worried and heartsick father watching as his family left on a perilous trip.

  Just in front of him, Elora had stopped and was staring out at the bleak Martian landscape. He touched her shoulder, and she turned slightly to look at him. Her smile was disconsolate, and her normally olive-toned skin, much the same color as Solomon’s own, was pale. “I get the feeling that I’ll never see Mars again, Solomon.”

  He looked up at the horizon and let the feel of Mars wash into him. Very faintly, he could smell sagebrush, and it seemed… familiar. As sure as he was standing there, he knew how to answer her unspoken question. “You’ll be back, and sooner than you think.”

  She turned to face him as a frown creased her young face. “What are you, Solomon Draxx?”

  He laughed, turning her back toward the waiting orbital shuttle. “I’m just an aging detective looking to make a little nest egg before I retire.”

  “Old?” she scoffed over her shoulder. “You look slightly older than Corban was before he died, and he was in his twenties. I would guess that you are about thirty.”

  “I’m almost forty, Elora.” He touched her elbow to steady her as she took her first step up the boarding ramp. “But thank you for the compliment.”

  A snort echoed back from the young woman. “I’ll have to see a birth certificate before I believe that. Almost forty,” she mused, “would make you about the same age as…” She turned her head to stare at Solomon.

  “What?” he asked as the flight attendant closed the door behind him.

  “Some other time,” Elora whispered, never taking her eyes off him.

  Solomon took a seat in the front of the intersystem shuttle for takeoff. Every seat, regardless of the row, was identical in leg room and width. Half again as large as the Daedalus, the shuttle that had transported him from Terra, the Icarus actually carried less cargo and much more fuel for the extended journey. The howl of the turbojet engines shook the sleek craft then faded out a few minutes later. A throaty rumble replaced it as the ramjet engines took over, propelling the shuttle up through the supersonic ranges to where the scramjet engine would engage, lifting them into orbit. The g-forces pressed him back into his seat when a streak of a contrail caught his eye and a heavy crash shook the shuttle. A flight attendant was suddenly screaming as she pounded on the locked flight deck door, and beneath him Solomon could feel the shuttle nose down to begin its long fall back to Mars. With little effort, he picked up the distraught woman and set her in the aisle behind him.

  “See to the others,” he hissed as oxygen masks popped out of overhead compartments. Blood sang in his ears, and his vision was beginning to turn red. The flight deck door was a heavy carbon-fiber composite designed to stop weapons fire, so Solomon drove his fist into the thinner wall beside it and managed to grab the edge of the door. A small part of his mind noted idly that the hand he’d used to grab the door was the color of Martian sand, but since the information didn’t affect his immediate survival, he ignored it. With a squeal of tearing
metal, the door came loose, and for a moment, he gazed into the heart of bedlam. Wind screamed like an insane beast through the shattered windshield, and there was no sign of the copilot, save a gaping hole on the right side of the flight deck where the surface-to-air missile had struck. The pilot and navigator were already turning gray from asphyxiation. He pushed the flight deck door shut behind him as he gingerly removed the pilot’s body to sit in the still-warm seat. He’d flown a number of craft in the marines, but nothing even vaguely resembling an orbital shuttle. The control yoke bucked under his hands but slowly came back as the nose of the shuttle tipped up. His right hand seemed to reach out on its own and slowly, gently reduced the thrust. The howl of the wind reduced slightly, and he could hear the alarms screaming.

  “Missile coming up on your three o’clock low,” the voice of Brigit Uí Dubháin shouted almost in his ear. She’d obviously entered unseen behind him in the midst of all the confusion.

  “Fuck! Hang on.” Banking to port, he shoved the control yoke all the way forward, and the shuttle plummeted toward the planet, still many kilometers below them. It shuddered violently as the SAM exploded where they should have been, and several more alarms began to wail. Blinking in the windy flight deck, he watched the altimeter unwind then turned to his impromptu copilot. “Go back and have everyone prepare for a crash landing… yourself included. This ain’t going to be pretty.”

  She hesitated a moment.

  “Go!” he shouted.

  She went, pulling the door closed behind her. It wasn’t until she had gone that he realized she had been wearing an oxygen mask the entire time—and he hadn’t. He pulled the control yoke back again, ignoring the small nagging question of why he was still alive.

  Through the cracked windscreen and far below, all Solomon could see was endless dunes of red sand. From their altitude, he could just make out a dark smudge of mountains on the far eastern horizon. The shuttle shuddered and bucked under his hands as he fought to bring the craft back to the original heading. From the maps he’d seen, there was nothing before them to the north but sand, and a shuttle could slide for a long way on sand and decelerate slowly—theoretically, at least. With rocks, it wasn’t as easy. The shuttle was still several dozen meters in the air and traveling at four hundred fifty kilometers per hour when he cut the thrust to zero. Save for the hiss of the wind through the shattered windshield and side window where the copilot had been, the shuttle was as quiet as death. He had long since silenced the alarms. Solomon eased the nose up gently, watching the speed ratchet down. He would have gotten on the PA to announce their imminent arrival, but he didn’t know where that switch was located. He was just bringing the nose back down to prevent a stall when the tail of the shuttle slapped down on a particularly high dune—and suddenly the craft was down in a tooth-loosening bang. It slid for several kilometers before a huge dune loomed up before them and—