by Tom Barber
Miller had a sudden flashback to their two charred bodies up front in the cockpit.
Focus, he told himself.
‘What’s our ETA?’
‘Two hours, assuming we don’t hit any rough patches.’
‘Rough patches?’ Olson queried.
‘Debris. Rocks, old satellites, shit like that,’ Miller said quickly.
Suddenly, there was the sound of a quiet beeping alarm on the recording.
‘What the hell?’ one of the pilots said. ‘There’s a beacon coming from below.’
‘What kind of beacon?’
‘An SOS.’
‘Down there?’
‘Yeah.’
Pause.
‘Wait!’
‘What is it?’
‘What the- we’ve just been fired on!’
‘From Deimos? But that’s one of our-’
There was a sudden huge rumble.
The desk almost shook from the recording.
‘Jesus, we’re hit!’ one of the pilots shouted. ‘Both thrusters are out!’
The sound of alarms suddenly filled the control room, the familiar sounds from the vessel that Miller remembered when he regained consciousness.
‘Back up power also out. We’re losing altitude!’
The alarms continued to echo, the frantic efforts of the two men to regain control clear in the recording.
‘MC1! MC1! Mayday, mayday, over!
‘Shit! We’re still losing altitude. We’re entering #94’s atmosphere!’
Miller heard shouting from Sarge in the background, bellowing over the alarms.
‘Part of the rear bulkhead just ripped away. Two men out!’
‘Mayday! Mayday! This is Lieutenant Jack Deacon, Captain of the USSS Ford. We’ve been attacked by an unknown aggressor from Deimos #94. I repeat, unknown aggressor from Deimos #94. Both thrusters are out! We’re going down!’
‘Back up still not responding, sir! There’s a-’
There was a huge smash.
And the recording went dead.
The group stared at the flat line on the screen, mirroring the end of the lives of the two pilots and all but three of their passengers.
A long period of quiet followed, the pilot’s final words hanging in the room.
‘It came from down here,’ Miller said quietly.
The group looked at him, and there was a charged silence. Then Miller turned to Olson.
‘What aren’t you telling me?’
‘What do you mean?’ Olson said.
‘The pilot said something fired on him from down here. He picked up the SOS transmission coming from inside this room. We’ve been hearing gunfire and screaming and Keller just appeared out there in the middle of nowhere. What the hell is going on?’
‘You tell us,’ Weathers said defensively beside Olson. ‘We’re as confused as you are.’
Miller stared at them for a long moment.
Then he rose, turning away from the hologram and box underneath. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the scope he’d retrieved from Rodriguez’ body. It was a small metallic cylinder with red glass at each end. He rubbed it down with the sleeve of his BDUs, taking care to keep the lenses clean.
‘What’s that?’ Weathers asked.
Ignoring her, he lifted it to his eye and looked out of the windows into the darkness outside.
The still burning wreckage caught the edge of the view, a bright light that stung his eyes, but he moved the scope away and scanned the rest of the plain.
The scope recognised heat signature; it was a vital piece of kit for desert and camouflage warfare and would immediately show anything that was giving off heat.
Miller twisted the dial slowly and zoomed in very gradually, taking a close look, examining the entire moon as far as he could see.
Someone was out there somewhere.
Suddenly, he paused.
‘Hold on a minute.’
‘What?’ Olson asked. ‘You see something?’
‘There’s a second parking space in the garage,’ Miller said. ‘That means there’s a second vehicle.’
‘Correct.’
‘So where the hell is it?’
Pause.
‘How many of you work here?’
‘Five,’ Olson said, glancing at Garcia and Weathers.
Miller turned. ‘So where are the other two?’
‘Out at the Markers.’
‘What Markers?’
‘Two mining posts. They’ve been there for a couple of hours. You haven’t met them yet.’
Miller stared at the man, dumbfounded.
‘Jesus Christ. Gunfire, screaming and Keller appearing in the middle of the desert, and you didn’t think to tell me you had two guys out there?’
‘I didn’t think it was important. They do it every night. No big deal.’
Miller continued to stare at him in disbelief.
Garcia and Weathers glanced at each other, the atmosphere charged and tense.
‘So where are these Markers?’ Miller asked after a moment.
‘Over that ridge. Marker A and Marker B,’ Olson said, pointing outside towards the right, the opposite side of the moon from where the Spartans had crashed. ‘Two guys. Dawson and Harrison.’
‘Are they armed?’
‘No. Why would they be?’
Miller swore, walking over to the comms equipment. The buttons for the Markers were clearly marked; he pushed one with A printed on the key, not waiting for Olson to show him, severely pissed off at this sudden revelation.
‘Dawson, Harrison, do you copy, over?’
Silence.
‘Dawson, Harrison?’
Silence.
Miller pushed the button for B beside it.
‘Dawson, Harrison, do you copy over?’
Silence.
Miller’s anger rose by the second.
Stay here, his mind screamed at him. Stay here. You don’t need to go out there. They aren’t your responsibility. You only just met these people.
No unnecessary risks, Miller.
He checked his watch and swore, long and hard, his sense of duty overpowering everything else.
He turned to the trio, who were standing there silently, and focused on Olson.
‘Get the keys to the truck. We’re going to get them.’
‘You don’t need to,’ Garcia said. ‘Stay here. They’ll be back soon.’
‘He’s right, they’ll be fine,’ Weathers said. ‘They do this every night.’
‘Then why the hell aren’t they responding?’ Miller said, heading for the door with his assault rifle.
On the way, he grabbed the roll of duct tape from the main desk as he passed it. He strode out of the control room and moved down Stairwell A, Olson following close behind.
Miller headed down the ground floor corridor and passed through the two other doors leading to the garage. He walked down the steps and towards the Dodge as he checked his assault rifle then slung it over his shoulder.
He pulled down the rear gate and dragged out the bodies of Haas then Rodriguez, laying the two men carefully to one side.
Slamming the gate shut, he opened the back door to get Keller, but stopped in his tracks.
Olson joined him and noticed Miller had paused.
‘What’s wrong?’
Miller stared at the back seat in disbelief.
Keller’s body was gone.
THIRTEEN
Less than a minute later Olson and Miller were once again sitting side by side in the front of the Dodge, but this time were headed for Marker A at the usual relentless pace.
The moment after he’d recovered from the shock at the disappearance of Keller’s body, Miller sent Olson to get Weathers and ordered her to secure the station as soon as they were gone, not a moment to waste.
Whoever had taken Keller the first time had done so again without any of them seeing or hearing a thing, including Miller.
He prided himself on being
pretty damn alert and he hadn’t heard a thing or seen a hint of movement outside.
That meant rescuing Dawson and Harrison was already the next priority. As soon as he and Olson had driven out, he’d seen Weathers close the grille as instructed.
As he sat in the front passenger seat, Miller started attaching Rodriguez’ infrared scope to his M16 203 using the roll of duct tape he’d grabbed from the control room, his mind racing as fast as the Dodge was speeding as he tried to work out who the hell he was dealing with here. From now on, any time he looked down the scope he wanted his forefinger on the trigger of the assault rifle too.
He was still furious that Olson hadn’t told him there were two more men here, and was baffled by his complacency. He was either inconsiderate or an asshole and didn’t care about his team. Miller guessed maybe it was a bit of both.
‘They did it again,’ Olson said, his foot all the way down, the Dodge speeding across the empty plain. ‘Why the hell would they want his body?’
‘How big are these Markers?’ Miller asked, ignoring Olson’s question and ripping off a short length of tape.
‘Two floors, a drill at the bottom of each. They’re big enough to house us in case of an emergency, if the station caught fire or something. There’s spare food, water. There’s equipment inside that does read-outs and daily surveys of the atmosphere in case we need to be re-Cubed as well as drilling for potential ore.’
Miller nodded, holding the scope to the sights of his rifle and securing it onto the grip.
As he did so, he glanced up and quickly checked their surroundings, searching for any movement in the darkness and wondering just where the hell Keller’s body was now.
He’d heard about plenty of scavenging going on at the Frontier, but never with human bodies.
Something about this was very off.
‘I’m sure they’ll both be fine,’ Olson said. ‘You’re a cautious man.’
‘That’s why I’m still alive.’
Olson swerved around a crater as a tense silence fell inside the car.
‘Weathers told me Dr Bailey saved your life once.’
‘Yes. She did.’
‘What happened?’
‘I got hit as we were retreating from a skirmish. We were taking heavy enemy fire. As everyone else moved back, she saw what had happened. She risked her own life to get to my foxhole and got me out of there. Patched me up and saved me.’
He paused.
‘I owe her.’
‘Is that why you’re helping us?’
‘I guess. You ever heard of pay it forward?’
Olson looked blank as Miller finished securing the scope to the rifle; it was a crude job, but it would serve for now.
He glanced at his watch.
35:32.
35:31.
‘Here we are,’ Olson said, as they approached a small building, a giant white A daubed on the side. ‘Marker A.’
There were tracks from another truck leading to the building, but there was no truck in sight. Olson pulled to a halt, killed the engine, then reached for the handle.
Miller grabbed his shoulder.
‘I’ll go first.’
Miller opened his door and eased out, not closing it behind him.
With the scope taped to the end of his rifle, he scanned the surrounding area, sweeping in a complete arc with his finger on the trigger.
Nothing.
He glanced up at the night sky and saw the stars and the glowing red shape of Mars; he pictured his rescue somewhere up there. Then he turned and headed towards the entrance to Marker A, Olson beside him.
When they got there, Miller turned to him and put his finger to his lips.
Olson nodded.
The door to the station was closed. Miller beckoned to Olson to open it, settling into his rifle and looking down the infrared scope.
Olson pushed the button beside the door.
The panel slid up.
The lights were off inside.
Miller looked down his scope and crept forwards, edging his way in.
The place was empty and dark.
He paused and listened, focusing his hearing.
It was silent, the drill not going, their footsteps making the only noise.
The walls of the room were lined with control panels, the floor scattered with old beer cans and food wrappers.
In the corner of the room were boxes of tinned food and large barrels of water.
Emergency supplies.
But no one was here.
As the two men crept inside the small two-floored building, Miller noticed a space in the floor in the far corner with a fixed ladder coming out of the top, enabling quick access to the lower level and the drill.
He glanced at Olson.
Judging by the expression on his face, he didn’t want to go down there either.
Don’t do it, Will.
Just get back in the car and go back to the colony station.
You’ll be out of here forever in thirty five minutes.
Miller stepped forward, looking down into the darkness through the infrared sight. His survival instincts were yelling at him not to go down there.
However, Olson suddenly stepped forward and grabbed the top rung, which surprised Miller.
He was taking charge for his team; finally.
He climbed down, disappearing out of sight; when Miller heard him drop to the ground below he checked around him, making sure Harrison hadn’t suddenly appeared having heard the noise of their arrival.
Below, Olson clicked on a flashlight, some of the light coming up through the hole in the floor as Miller waited.
‘They’re not here,’ Olson said.
‘OK. Get back up.’
Olson didn’t need to be told twice, climbing up and re-joining Miller as quickly as he’d gone down.
Standing together, the two men looked around the dark empty building.
It felt as if no one had been here for a while, no traces of cigarette smoke, no smells of beer, food or any hint of recent human activity.
He recalled the tracks in the dirt.
‘Marker B,’ he said.
Olson nodded.
‘They’re probably both over there drinking beer and ignoring the radio.’
‘How far?’
‘Half a mile or so from here.’
Miller nodded, looking around the empty building one last time. ‘Let’s go.’
FOURTEEN
The Dodge rumbled and rattled along again on the second half of their journey, Olson driving at breakneck speed as per usual, Miller constantly checking around them as they raced towards the second Marker.
If the two men weren’t there then he and Olson were going straight back to the station and locking themselves in with Weathers and Garcia until the transport arrived. Miller’s conscience was fine with that; he’d done all he could to locate them. They weren’t part of his squad, so his concern for their well-being only went so far. If they wanted to stay outside and get drunk with gunfire coming from somewhere nearby, they could deal with the consequences.
As the thought crossed his mind, he suddenly realised it could have been them who’d made those noises earlier. They might have a gun, and one of them could have shot the other by accident, the man screaming in pain.
But as the possibilities occurred to him, they quickly evaporated. The gunfire hadn’t come from a .22, which was the only weapon they had here, and one of the two men would have contacted the station for help if the other had been shot.
He focused ahead of the vehicle, the memory of Keller’s body suddenly appearing in front of them flashing into his head.
He thought back and remembered grabbing the steering wheel and veering off course to avoid a crater.
They’d surprised whoever had been stealing the dead man, who’d dropped him on the ground.
Or whatever had been carrying him.
As they’d braked, he’d heard that awful shriek.
Whoever they
were, they’d disappeared in a heartbeat and there’d only been one set of footprints in the dust.
Keller’s.
‘How far?’ he asked, focusing on the task at hand.
‘Almost there.’
‘When we-’
Suddenly the Dodge slammed into something.
The force of the impact catapulted both men forward, activating the airbags as the front of the truck smashed into what felt like a brick wall.
The bags’ deployment saved both men from serious injury but nevertheless they hit the dashboard hard.
The engine had buckled from the impact and started making an odd whining noise as part of the windshield fell inwards into the front of the car.
Both men sat momentarily dazed in their seats.
The Dodge was a heavy duty vehicle but something had stopped it dead in its tracks.
Groaning and wracked with pain from his second crash in as many hours, Miller leaned back and rubbed his head, feeling blood coming from the wound on his eyebrow which had opened up again. He’d hit his knees too which hurt like hell.
Wincing, he slowly turned his head and looked at Olson.
‘You OK?’
Olson nodded, blinking, in similar discomfort, rubbing his neck.
‘What did we hit? I didn’t see anything.’
‘Neither did I.’
Grimacing in pain, Miller leant across to turn the lights and ignition off, then pushed open his door, staggering out and aiming in front of the truck with his assault rifle.
There was nothing there.
Just barren landscape and dark moon.
Taking a few steps forward, he looked at the front of the 4x4.
It had been annihilated, as if it had hit a brick wall, but there was no obstacle in front of the vehicle.
He lifted his rifle and looked through the infrared scope taped to the weapon, doing a full 360 panoramic sweep.
There was no red indicator other than Olson, who had stepped out the other side of the Dodge, holding his left arm.
He too checked the damage to the truck, then looked around.
‘What the hell did that?’
‘Switch the lights back on,’ Miller said, sweeping the area.
Olson stepped back to the front of the car. He fumbled around for a moment and the lights came on.