by William Cray
Below it somewhere was his mission. The return of his IRH symptoms could be nothing at all. Just an increase in stress from a long trip, or is there a connection to this place and the past?
Duran drifted, but before the images of the dream could return, he reached forward and pulled the flyer off its clip, taking the last few minutes on the train to review the local news and environmental report. The lead story of the local flyer networks and skybands had been sensationalized all over the planet. A string of gruesome suicides plaguing the city. Before he could thumb the story onto the page, his mind wandered again into the past.
The rails slopped into the earth, diving deep under the cold Martian surface, and into the cut, away from the darkening sky and the radiation.
LEV Transit Station
New Meridian City
Hebes Chasma Trench
Mars
Within a few minutes, the Lev slowed to its final stop. The couch released Duran after holding him snug during the deceleration and dive below the porous Martian surface. He had traversed almost half the circumference of Mars to reach New Meridian on the 2E-LEV and had arrived in a little under six hours, which was not bad at all. Flying was faster, but the storms this time of year might have imposed unacceptable delays. A Commonwealth transport would have been faster, but he wanted to avoid attention. Besides, the slower methods of entry were always least secure and to an infiltrators advantage.
Rising to retrieve his L-bag and exit the car, Duran examined the station through the large open windows adorning the sides and roof of the train, looking for the man he was expected to meet outside. The station was sparsely populated, which he should have expected given the lack of passengers arriving on the Lev. Maybe forty passengers total. Meridian was still the oldest and most populated settlement in the Commonwealth Protectorate of Mars. The city had fallen on hard times, but perhaps he hadn’t realized where that fall had ended.
Meridian City had been one of the solar systems great manufacturing centers during the reign of Cannis the II. As Emperor Paulus pushed humanity far out from mother Sol in his miraculous super-light ships, Meridian had exploded in population and importance. People, scientific research and Imperial Hagues had flowed into the economy like a golden avalanche during those early years. The Stratospire orbital tower had been built then, but a war later and the heyday was over.
Separatist terrorism had struck the final blow over sixty years ago and now the city was a contrast between the light of the new city’s subterranean habitats and the shadows of the old city’s poisoned ground.
At the last moment, Duran grabbed a flyer off an adjacent empty couch, sliding it into an inside pocket in his bag. He checked outside again to see if his partner was impatiently waiting. No Hansen, but something else caught his attention.
Duran observed for a moment more before pulling on his gray redcoat and slinging his L-bag over a wide shoulder then heading for the exit. The few passengers stood, released from their couches and began collecting their things as the gangway extended. The nearest exits were sealed off, and everyone moved towards a central car. Duran followed a pair of engineer types and the young woman in the green dress as they passed forward. The same synthesized female voice thanked the departing passengers as the doors rolled open, clearing the exit.
The gangway thumped as the passengers shuffled along the twelve-meter long corridor. Duran made his way down the gangway, behind the engineers conversing in the language of structural integrity and geometry. Duran peered forward, through a bright light at the opening of the tunnel as the troupe ambled forward. As Duran neared the exit he began to scan the faces in the terminal for his partner, Eric Hansen.
Hansen had been the first to arrive in New Meridian when the alert went out. Already stationed on Mars, he had been dispatched immediately when word of a possible Intruder presence in New Meridian came from headquarters. Eric had been in the city for over a week, but an unsecured data network denied Duran access to his latest reports. With luck, Eric had the situation under control and the weeklong head start would speed things up. Anne Braiselle should arrive within a couple of days, but the rest of the team was still on their way from Earth with Thomas Anwar. It was unusual to dispatch the entire team to one location, but something had set off alarm bells. Every time he went out now, the mission weighed on him. The urgency of this one had done nothing to lessen his feelings.
Duran peered down the cooridor, looking for his old comrade in arms, Chief Warrant Officer Eric Hansen. They had served together even before the Vendetta. Both had accepted the meld at nearly the same point, before they even knew such things existed or the consequences of such radical changes. But the Vendetta had been a turning point for their relationship. After San Juan, and the terrible aftermath of all the dead and dying, they had gone out with the Vendetta fleet.
No one who came back from the Vendetta came back the same, including Duran, and the members of his team. They had seen things and witnessed a power they had never comprehended before. Revenge was exacted. But they also had brought something back from the Vendetta, something that made them unique. The army of scientists and experts that put them back together believed they returned with an enhanced perception to sense the presence of the Intruder influence. Duran and his comrades could resist being controlled by them. And for that, the burden of New Meridian was theirs. The Intruder race was dead and gone, but there were still those who had collaborated with them and they would pay for their crimes no matter where they were.
Duran edged his way forward, emerging into the quiet station. The other passengers veered off to waiting family or associates as Duran scanned the collection of faces in the arrival terminal. Hansen was nowhere to be seen. The five men he noticed earlier were now out of place and their demeanors were not the anxious disposition of travelers or people waiting to meet loved ones. These men dressed similarly and were trying a little too hard to appear casual. They arrayed themselves around the arrival gate in such a way that someone exiting the train couldn’t avoid near contact.
Cops.
Duran evaluated his options. If they were there for him, a confrontation was imminent. On cue, as Duran emerged from the cluster of travelers, the five men moved simultaneously, reorienting themselves into more aggressive positions, cleaning lanes of fire, like big cats herding fleefoot into the killing field, maneuvering to isolate one smaller helpless animal. If it came to that they’d get a rude shock, Duran thought.
Duran mentally prepared for a confrontation, casually following the other departing passengers, doing some subtle positioning of his own to minimize their advantage. He heightened his senses, utilizing his training and feeling for the alien presence that could be threatening him now. These men were defiantly there for him, but he felt no immediate Intruder influence. He continued down the ramp, utilizing angles and proximity to create buffers and exits between them. Duran prepared for violence. Without warning, a sixth man stepped directly in front of him as he emerged into the concourse.
Nicely done, Duran thought as he looked down at the smaller man confronting him.
He had remained in character until the last moment, going undetected, too late for Duran to recognize the threat. The others were a diversion to position the man now standing in front of him.
He was whip thin, peering directly up at Duran. “Special Agent Duran.” It was a statement, not a question. The man’s arms hung loosely at his side, near a bulge under his redcoat.
Evaluating his options, Duran gave nothing away. “Can I help you…” scanning the other five stalkers to let the man in front of him know he was aware of them as well, “Gentlemen?”
The wire-framed man didn’t hesitate in his response, “I am Lieutenant James Floss with Lunae-Tharsis Constabulary. I am directed to escort you my headquarters.”
Duran returned the stare with a blank face. Eric Hansen was nowhere to be found. He didn’t sense the Intruder influence but these men knew his name and w
ere wary of him. They were prepared for violence whether they were used to it or not. Gambling on a minor escalation in an attempt to rebalance the situation, Duran reached slowly into his redcoat, pulling out his identification. “Lieutenant Floss, I am on Mars for official business.”
Duran bore down on the smaller man who took a step back as Duran’s tone dropped an octave. “As a professional courtesy to a Commonwealth Special Agent, I demand to know what this is about.”
Floss seemed to retreat momentarily, but he didn’t give much. “Sir, I am not at liberty to discuss that at this time. My orders are simply to take you to my headquarters.”
“My partner is supposed to meet me here.” Duran said, sensing something was wrong.
Floss lowered his eyes for an instant then replied in a flat expression…”I'm sorry, Agent Hansen is dead.”
Duran stared at him as the news struck like a hammer blow. Dead?
“How?” Duran asked, still processing the ramifications.
“Apparent suicide… I'm sorry I can't give you any more information.” Floss paused again. “I need you to come with me now Agent Duran. Commissioner Cole will be able to fill in more details.”
The diversionary men of Floss’s detail discharged their pedestrian act and moved into flanking positions, forming an escort. If Duran were going to execute an escape, it would be now, before they could further limit his options. Duran felt the weight of his sidearm under his left shoulder. He had no doubts about evading these men, but there would be consequences for others in the concourse and executing an evasion now would complicate the mission. The burden of being a fugitive would tie his hands but wouldn’t stop him. He could continue to purse his mission objectives, but it would be much harder and there would be collateral damage, starting right here and right now.
The phalanx of men tightened around him as Floss spoke again. “Agent Duran, if you will give me your carryall key, I will have my men retrieve your bags. We need to go now.”
Durn reached into his coat pocket, just inches from the hilt of his sidearm. The woman in the green dress turned to wave as she left the concourse with a girlfriend, oblivious to the confrontation taking place. Duran retrieved his key, handing it to Floss, committing himself to their custody, at least temporarily. Everything would depend on his cover story now.
Floss took the key and passed it to one of the five escorts and pointed the way. Duran started forward behind the flankers who began to push through the small collection of onlookers now taking notice. As they walked down the suspended concourse, Duran could see down into the trench of the city through the receiving stations large duraplast windows. Far below them, a mile or so deeper, he could make out the heated free running water along the canyon bottom. New Meridian’s city lights illuminated the Hebes Chasma walls like stars on a dark mural. He followed Floss in silence.
Suicide…
Duran’s escort came to the vehicle receiving area and Floss stopped again just inside. “I’m going to have to ask you for your sidearm, Agent Duran.”
“Am I under arrest Lieutenant?” Duran responded.
“Sir, for the time being you're in our custody. May I have your weapon please?”
Duran looked at Floss as he reached into his coat, removing his pistol from its holster, butt first. He handed the large black and chrome-finished weapon to Floss, who underestimated its weight. It barley fit his small hands. Floss muttered, under his breath, impressed with the black M335 Talon in a side-arm configuration.
Duran continued, “I demand to speak with your Commissioner immediately.”
Floss, still examining the rare weapon stammered, “We are taking you directly to see Commissioner Cole.” Floss handed the gun to the nearest detective who had a similar response, glancing at Duran.
“We don’t see many of these.”
With the weapon transferred, the detectives led Duran outside of the receiving area and into the open trench. A black police van waited for them outside. A second pulled up behind them as Duran watched his carryall folding its limbs and loading itself into the rear storage compartment of the trailing cruiser.
Duran looked skyward to the trench opening. Down here in the trenches depths, the assets assembling high above him wouldn’t be able to reach him. He was alone.
Floss opened the door and indicated for Duran to enter. Within moments the van locked onto the travelway suspension grid and the car lifted away, heading deeper into the cavernous city.
2
New Meridian City
Hebes Chasma Trench
Mars
The travelway followed the suspended grid work of the city’s transportation lanes, flowing along the patchwork of girders and ramps, working their way towards the trench opening above. Strung in a spider web series of struts, ebony octagons clustered along the trench walls in chaotic pattern of structures. They were hung around the trench as if a great termite queen had burrowed into the earth and lay clutches of massive black eggs in a sequestered slit inside the deep canyon. Near the bottom of the trench were the lights of the shallow liquid sea of the Kinsberg Reservior, which flowed miles below them. The great Chandor Chasma Reservoir to the south fed into it from a massive series of subterranean aquifers. Duran could make out large water craft skimming the surface of the shallow waters below, adjusting and removing minerals contained within the Martian water and harvesting genetically adapted sea plants to serve as the food base for the city’s squalid millions.
Formed from the walls of the trench were the city’s exterior commercial enterprises, with exhaust stacks and waste lines pumping their refuge to the surface. Homes and living areas lined the walls of the chasm in random zones adjacent to miles of abandoned industries. The more prosperous dwellings were built a good distance away from the refined discharge of industry along the north wall. The city’s elite would live there with the commanding views and easy access to the heart of the city but their skyline was marred by engineering necessity. Duran never met a rich person who enjoyed living in a hole in the ground.
Along the avenues of prime real estate, great windows and terraces were shuttered. Intermittent lights traced wide swaths of unoccupied blocks. There were a few operating plants and businesses, but most of the heavy industry was dark. Small fires could be seen through the buildings open spaces. Figures huddled around them in the dark. It was a scene from the Pan Asian depression.
Duran looked on as the cruiser continued is spiral upward along the travelway towards the octagons. “Is it like this all over the city?”
“No… not this bad, but the radiation zone is the worst. Total chaos. We don’t send patrols in by themselves anymore, mostly just P-Teks. When we go in it’s always in force.”
Duran looked back outside. “People still live in the surface domes?”
Floss nodded, looking straight ahead, “Mostly in Habitation Dome 11. We call them Phelman’s children, for Avery Phelman. They’re primarily runaways, gangsters and hardcore scabs. They’re all mostly scabs.”
Duran knew the name. Seven decades ago, Avery Phelman was the leader of the Red Liberation Brigade separatists that blew up a reactor dome on the surface, releasing lethal doses of radiation into the atmosphere and driving the population of Meridian City into the ill prepared chasms below them. Meridian’s surface domes were built to screen out the daily atmospheric bombardment of radiation of the cosmos, but not the persistent and concentrated radioactive assault of a catastrophic reactor meltdown and residual core dump. Energy Generating Plant-3 still spewed out vast plumes of fallout when the Martian winds were just right in the long equatorial summers. The Lead Line, which was not really lead at all, but a composite material that lined the hulls of interstellar ships, was constructed about seventy meters below the trench surface to shield the city and its residents from the worst of the radiation. But it was becoming saturated and a new layer below the first would have to be constructed soon, further dividing the city and driving its inhabitants deeper into the trench.
Duran nodded. The military had experimented with the drug as an artificial radiation inoculation for operating on planets with high radioactive thresholds. But long-term resistance to radiation using the militarized version of the drug required a blood strip and synthetic plasma replacement that transported the drug through the body. The amphetamine accelerated the metabolism and helped the radiation to be processed and expelled. Although never injected in the impure quantities that induced the euphoria so popular with addicts, the side effects were bad enough to degrade a soldiers combat effectiveness over a couple of days. It was a potent accelerant. The military experiments were short lived. The shitlord that invented it probably saw his military contracts drying up and found markets elsewhere that actually preferred the side effects.
Floss fiddled with his tie, loosening it. “People all over the city are using the shit.” He leaned back in his seat and continued. “They make their way up there on RED days, make a buy, then entertain their wildest fantasies. They go back home to their jobs and families when the fun is over, like nothing ever happened. We think someone is manufacturing some kind of concentrated mutation out of one of the labs. It’s doing actual physiological damage to the brain, which is new. It’s killing people in and out of the zone.”