Mars Wars - Abyss of Elysium

by Abyss Of Elysium (Lit)

  "You’re about five seconds away from a long, unescorted walk back to Lipton's office," Francis warned solemnly, "...outside, in your underwear. You may be a Marine, but I’m a Navy Seal; and if you think that’s a fair match, then you may make the first move."

  "You’re threatening my life," Quinton said impassively. "That’s a felony."

  "Indeed," was Francis' only reply.

  Quinton glared at him, a murderous stare of detailed scrutiny. But Francis returned it coldly and neither man moved.

  "Your five seconds are up," yelled a voice from the crowd.

  "I'll be back to arrest the other criminals, and you," Quinton forewarned. And he added another malevolent threat never heard before on the planet in its short history, "And I'll be armed." Then he turned on his heel sharply and left.

  The colonists cheered, but Francis shuddered to think of an armed conflict in this fragile colony. Mankind had brought along his genius to this red world. Now it seemed he had unpacked his lethal disposition as well.

  obert Khun Hernandez embodied every executive's fantasy of an efficient, careful, intensely anal details man. The Deputy Administrator of BC1 was the consummate tracker, sorter and ultimate slayer of minutiae. He also believed in his boss, trusted him, knew his faults and did his best to cover for him when the time came. This was one of those times.

  Hernandez had arranged a hastily organized meeting of the key BC1 administrators while Lipton frothed and raged in the privacy of his office. The six key administrators met in the Director's conference room. Their faces were masked with profound worry. They had a series of problems to deal with, each so extreme that any one of them could destroy BC1 and America’s attempt at establishing a permanent base on another planet. Until Lipton became lucid, it would be Hernandez's problem to sort things out.

  "Friends and colleagues," he began, "we face four problems in this descending order of importance:

  “One: we have lost both communications links with the earth. We’ve not determined why and cannot effectively deal with the question until the professional staff makes themselves available for the detailed analysis we must effect. I don’t think I have to remind you of the seriousness of this loss. We’ve never experienced anything like this; I don’t know what has happened or the full impact on our operations.

  “Two:..."

  Lipton's voice interrupted him as he came out of his office into the conference room. "Two:" Lipton continued for Hernandez as his deputy took his seat. "The white room has been disabled. We do not know what damage, if any, this has done to the lander, which we must have, as you know, to survive the coming winter."

  Lipton stood at the lectern at the front of the room. His white sleeves were rolled up and he wore a navy blue sweater vest. His hair was still perfect and he sported a pair of clear reading glasses, perched on the edge of his nose. From his appearance and tone of voice, there was no indication that anything extraordinary had happened at all. It was Lipton at his best, back in full control.

  "Three: there are five criminals lose in the compound who must be rounded up, incarcerated and shipped off planet at the earliest launch opportunity. We can only assume that they plot further insurrection as we speak.

  “Finally, four: there’s a general state of moral malaise at BC1 which must be dealt with at all cost. It will be our responsibility to correct the problem as soon as possible. Now, let's have your ideas, beginning with the first problem," Lipton directed without emotion.

  The administrators felt better hearing Lipton's calm, intelligent voice, assuring themselves that the Director was firmly back in command. Now they began to plot their course.

  he colonists were not as calm and attentive. Nearly all of them were scientists or engineers, and each considered themself on the same professional level as any other. So in a meeting, especially one as emotionally charged as this one, control was difficult to come by.

  "Please! Be quiet!" Gorteau finally shouted above the din, standing on his chair. "Now we do not have much time to chart our own destiny. Lipton and his group could be sending armed Marines into our camp at any minute. We must determine our strategy as quickly as possible!"

  The group became hushed as Gorteau took his seat and continued speaking in the crowded dining hall. "The list of problems we face is long. First, armed Marines are on their way to take five of us into custody, myself included."

  "How are we going to defend ourselves if we don't have any weapons?" a voice asked from the crowd.

  "By using our brains," Gorteau replied. "I think we can safely assume Lipton does not want any bloodshed, so he is more than likely to order his Marines not to shoot unless their own lives are in danger. Therefore, we can probably simply refuse to go along."

  "What about that crazy jarhead lieutenant?" Mark Teiner asked.

  "Problem number two," Gorteau continued, ignoring the question, “is the lander. What is its condition?"

  "She'll fly tomorrow if we get our earth links back," said the chief engineer for the colony. "There'll be a load of trash and dirt floating around, but, she will fly."

  "No significant structural or heat tile damage, then?"

  "A few scratches. My techs are fixing it up right now."

  "Next problem," Gorteau pressed on. "Dealing with Lipton and company."

  "Screw Lipton," someone shouted which jacked the noise level back up again. Regaining control by pounding on the table, Gorteau settled the crowd back to hushed whispers.

  "The man may be a despot, but we must find a way to rationally deal with him until our case can be presented to the proper authorities on earth." No one liked what Gorteau had said, but every individual in the room knew it was true. Each person in the colony held a little piece of every other’s survival, and, unless they all worked together, they would all die.

  Gorteau also knew that in any group of such strong-willed, often stubborn, and highly intelligent individuals, it would probably be impossible to reach a meaningful consensus. They had to elect a leader to speak for them. He suggested this and in about half an hour, the crowd agreed to make nominations. Of course, Gorteau was unanimously suggested.

  "No, I cannot accept," he said. "I am but an old man with a closed mind and a rotten predisposition toward all bureaucracies and bureaucrats in general."

  "Then why did you lead us down this garden path," one colonist said, her face reflecting the frustration of the group.

  "You misunderstood my motives," Gorteau replied. "I think the person we elect should represent the best qualities in all of us; most of all, quiet equanimity, youthful energy and an open, fair mind. I nominate Peter Traynor," Gorteau said suddenly.

  Peter was not present, presumably in hiding with Francis, Toon and Ashley, so he could not comment on the fact that he had just been elected leader of the rebellion. Most in the group agreed that the designation was brilliant, even if it meant placing their trust in one of their members who had been named one of the most wanted men.

  No sooner had the election results been finalized than Peter, Francis, Toon and Ashley entered the room.

  orteau looked around at them with surprise. "You are supposed to be a long way from here."

  "Yes sir," Francis replied, "But considering our engineering projects of the last hour and a half, I doubt if the Marines will hit the beach for awhile."

  Gorteau stood and approached Peter, talking lightly and gesturing toward the crowd. Peter looked stunned, his eyes shifting over the group as Gorteau spoke. When Gorteau finished, he pulled a chair back, offering Peter to sit down.

  As he sat, the room burst into applause and most rose to their feet in the ovation. Peter sat, astonished at what had happened in his absence. Then he stood, embarrassed, and raised his hand for his fellow colonists to stop. Long minutes later, the acclamation dying away, he continued standing and addressed them.

  "I don't know whether what I’m about to say will offend any of you here or make you want to change your vote. But let me say that, just as the nat
ion of our birth could not long survive divided, neither can we. In fact, our days are strictly numbered unless we can reach some sort of peace with the administration very quickly.

  “The loss of the communications links with earth is serious and unprecedented, and in my absence, I’m wondering whether that situation has been resolved?" he asked, looking out over the sea of faces. Many shook their heads. Without doubt, that repair will be accomplished in just a matter of minutes or hours. Then one crisis will be replaced by yet another. Of course, I’m speaking of my own situation, which has led to all of this. Let me just assure you, that at no time will I act to sell you out. I know how much pulling away from the suffocating bureaucracy has meant to most of you, and now we have committed ourselves to at least ridding BC1 of Lipton and his rule." That sentiment drew another round of applause and cheers.

  "I can also assure you, that I will never willingly be taken from this planet, my home, again. If taken, I’ll be taken in chains. And I’ll never board a ship before Lassiter Lipton!" He couldn't resist this little speech. It somehow fit the occasion and was met with thundering cheers and applause, as he had known it would be.

  Ashley stood beside him and reached up her hand to gently touch his back.

  "Until this colony is appointed a new, legitimate director, and until this whole situation is straightened out, I would like to appoint Dr. Gorteau as my Chief of Staff. Dr. Gorteau, if you accept, I would ask you to appoint a board of directors of the colony to meet in one hour. Also, contact Lipton and set up a C2-conference call three hours from now. I’ll make that call available to the public channels so that everyone can hear our negotiations, and please record it for retransmission to earth.

  “Until then, please, friends, go to your places of work to reestablish the communications channels with earth or prepare the lander for liftoff tomorrow. Tonight, we will set about trying to decide who will be on it.”

  Then Peter considered something, looked to Ashley, then back to the assembled colonists. “I can assure you of two people who will not be on the shuttle – neither me nor my wife!”

  The crowd paused for a full minute. They all knew of their marriage, but this was the first time it had been acknowledged in public. They began to applaud and cheer yet again as he kissed her ceremoniously, with great relief, having kept the so-called secret for so long.

  “Well then, go on back to your quarters and your duties,” he said, embracing Ashley. “The excitement must be over for one day."

  He was wrong.

  nited States Marine Corps Lieutenant Mica Quinton stood at attention in his best dress uniform before his boss, Lipton. They were alone in Lipton's office.

  "Lieutenant Quinton, stand at ease."

  "Sir!" Quinton barked, snapping to an equally ill-at-ease parade rest.

  Lipton loved it. The picture of the perfect Marine in a flawless uniform, ready to respond to his orders, without challenge, would have appealed to Lipton under normal circumstances, but in light of the last few bizarre hours, Lipton was more than ready to slip back into this mode of absolute and total control.

  "Lieutenant, I want you to round up these individuals," Lipton ordered, tossing five personnel files on the desk in front of Quinton. They were the files of Peter, Francis, Toon, Ashley and Gorteau. "I want them in your firm custody and ready to board the lander at 0600 tomorrow morning. I don’t want any bloodshed or injury to any other personnel, and, for heaven's sake, no more property damage!"

  Then he paused for effect, finally adding, "As far as the prisoners are concerned, I don’t want them seriously injured."

  Lipton paused again, and then flashed an almost imperceptible smile at Quinton. Lipton used words with exceptional precision. His delivery and inflections were just as precise and carefully linked. The Marine, however, was trained to communicate on a different, much more subliminally primitive level and missed the significance of Lipton's allegorical expressions altogether. Unknown to Lipton, he had just released any inhibitions Quniton may have had left.

  ergeant Irving Brinker, Corporal John Tyler and Corporal Pamela Hiraldo stood at attention before Lieutenant Quinton, dressed in their silver and red pressure suits, chosen to be the prisoner recovery party while the last two Marines remained behind for Lipton’s “security.” Quinton walked up and down before them several times, dressed in his own suit, a .45 caliber handgun tucked into a makeshift belt at his waist. The officer paced before them several times, hands behind him, and said nothing.

  Sergeant Brinker caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and glanced over to Hiraldo who wiggled her eyebrows and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. The whole ridiculous spectacle made Brinker unable to suppress the first choking cough of a chuckle, but he caught himself just before Quinton would have seen the smirk.

  To Brinker, the idea of shipping the best Marines in the country off planet to this frozen hell was insane to begin with. Now, he was about to march off to battle in a tiny colony of plastic tubes to collar five eggheads, led by this school boy whose only knowledge of war was from reading a few books while hiding from the winter snows, somewhere in a Quantico library.

  "Sir," Brinker said, "excuse me, sir."

  "What is it Brinker?" Quinton asked, irritated at the interruption of his complex cerebral strategy developing on the fly.

  "Why don't you let Hiraldo and me go on in and bring these folks out? Not only do we know this facility very well, but we also know these individuals. I can be out in two hours with all five in tow." It was the wrong thing to say to Quinton and as soon as Brinker saw the officer's face, he knew it.

  "Who pulled your chain, Marine?"

  "No one, sir."

  "Then shut up until you’re addressed. Don’t ever interrupt me again, is that clear?"

  "Yes, sir," Brinker replied sharply. This officer was even more naive than Brinker had first thought. Most officers, even ring-knocker academy types, are told long before they reach the real Marines that you never, ever cross your leading enlisted type. Succeeding or not usually depended on the experience he gave you or chose not to give you. It was an unspoken, ugly but irrefutable truth handed down over the centuries. Authority, command and accountability came with the commissioning certificate signed by the President. Such testimonials had nothing whatsoever to do with experience... or survival.

  Quinton stepped away from his troops and returned dragging what appeared to be a heavy plastic box. He carefully opened it and withdrew an object from it which he held tenderly in his hands, then held it up to his company. Brinker' eyes widened. Quinton was holding a black, shiny, automatic 12 gauge shotgun with laser sight.

  "I brought along several of these weapons, Marines. And you’ll each be issued one for this operation."

  "Sir, I hardly think...," Brinker began.

  "Since when did anyone ask you to think, Sergeant? You’ve been on independent duty far too long, Marine, and I’ll ensure that your evaluation reflects that."

  Brinker was tiring of this B-rated movie charade. He relaxed, fished his cigar stub out of his pocket and popped it into his mouth. "Go ahead and write me up, Lieutenant, sir, but I think you should know something about use of that weapon here."

  "Okay, Sergeant, now that you have our undivided attention, go ahead. But it had better be dammed good!"

  "At two meters, the shell from that weapon will blow a hole in the walls of this colony as big as my ass. Whether you actually hit your target or not, it really won't matter. The depressurization will suck the victim, you, me and anything not bolted down through that hole whether it fits or not," Brinker spit out, nearly biting his tongue to keep from mentioning Quinton’s recent experience with such environmental effects.

  Quinton was so outraged that he dared not reply. Uncontrolled stammering was not conducive to good combat leadership, he reasoned. Instead he grasped a large clip of shells and thrust it at Hiraldo. "See to it that each man has one," he rasped, his voice clearly shaking.

  Hiraldo could hardly s
uppress asking whether she were allowed a clip, too, but she wisely decided against it. She glanced at Brinker, who was nervously looking around the compartment, flexing his legs in quick jerks, bouncing off the balls of his feet. Hiraldo had seen this before; Brinker was furiously considering their options. As Hiraldo handed a clip to Brinker, she slowly moved her ear as close as she dared to his lips, then she nodded.

  hile Quinton plotted his next move, Peter and his staff met to discuss the colonists’ strategy. There were no surprises in the makeup of his staff. It consisted of Peter and the six highest ranking colonists.

  They decided to discharge their plan in two phases. One, Lipton was to be sent a private message, immediately, informing him that the colonists were in possession of his lockers and that a complete analysis had been accomplished, revealing their contents. If he chose to resign and rescind all complaints against them, then they would destroy the lockers upon his return to earth and no one would officially know of their existence. If Lipton refused, then the second phase of the plan would be effected.

  The second phase was to keep the colonists’ sectors separated from the administrative sectors, allowing exchange of personnel, information and materials relating only to survival. They would wait however long it took for the authorities on earth to send out arbiters to mediate the dispute.

  The colonists felt certain that this suggestion would force the immediate resignation of Lipton and his staff. They not only held damming personal evidence against Lipton, but, when faced with the largest talent pool, allocation of space, equipment, and resources firmly in the colonists control, Lipton would have no choice but to talk and eventually acquiesce.

  The message to Lipton was transmitted as Quinton and his troops made their first advance.

  he colonists’ quarters and laboratories were separated from the administrative structures by three tunnels. Francis, Peter, Toon and Ashley had not only depressurized the tunnels, but they removed the master pressure cylinders from both sides. The tunnels could not be repressurized without the missing parts. Then they locked the doors from the inside with improvised latches made from wire rope and stainless steel bolts. Next, they disabled the only four airlocks leading directly outside in the same manner and posted guards by them with radio communicators they called PC2’s.