Mars Wars - Abyss of Elysium

by Abyss Of Elysium (Lit)

  Kirov laughed. "Petroskovich, did we not earlier agree that we could be successful at this whole affair because we had an advantage over Dimitriov?"

  "Yes, we did," Drobkiev agreed, sounding doubtful.

  "And what was the advantage?"

  "Our superior intelligence," Drobkiev spat. "But there was a wise proverb my father was fond of using on me while I was an indigent graduate student."

  Kirov preserved a little smile and respectfully held the seed of silence, waiting for the modest slice of wisdom.

  "He said, ‘…if you are so smart, then why are you not in charge?’"

  Kirov laughed loudly. "And what did you say to him?"

  Not even a hint of a smile stole across Drobkiev's lips. "I said that I was in charge of my own destiny."

  Kirov slapped his knee and roared with laughter. As he wiped a tear from his eyes, he looked at his friend, who was just staring at him quietly, obviously thinking him insane.

  "Petroskovich, what banal wisdom! Only a graduate student would dare say such to one's own father! A graduate student has about as much control over his destiny as an indentured servant.

  “Now let me tell you a story. I visited a colleague’s office while in Texas. He was a professor at a university there. For lunch he would take me to a cafe called "Burger King". They had a sign on their wall which said: "Have it your way", because they made sandwiches to your liking. Well, hanging on the office wall of this world acclaimed scientist was an actual Burger King sign he had stolen and defaced. It read, "Have it my way, or you don't get the son-of-a-bitch at all."

  Kirov roared with laughter anew, while Drobkiev sighed and looked at his friend with concern. The pressure was obviously pushing Kirov over the fine edge.

  Kirov settled down after he saw that his friend was only smiling politely. "I can see that you do not appreciate the American sense of destiny," he said gasping. Then he had a flash of inspiration. "Just for a moment, my friend, just for a single moment, imagine that American hamburger sign hanging over Dimitriov's desk in that little plastic frame behind her seat. Now imagine her looking at you, that sign on the wall behind her, with that despicable cigarette hanging out of her lips."

  Drobkiev's eyes flashed away to that scene in his mind. He too began to laugh, slowly at first, then along with Kirov; they both hooted and pounded on the walls of the chamber.

  19

  hen Lieutenant Robert Kerry's drogue chute opened, he was back in communications with BC1, barreling in toward the surface of Mars at supersonic velocity. The chute, designed for a Martian reentry, slowed the craft significantly, subjecting Kerry to an uncomfortable G-load. So much so, he took his headphones off and hooked them on a loop attached to his coveralls while he paced his breathing. In two minutes, the automatic reentry computer cut the chute loose and a second, larger drogue opened, slowing the craft even more.

  "Gumdrop, BC1, can you read us?"

  "Roger that, loud and clear. Second drogue is open. We'll be on the ground in a few minutes." His voice was clear, strong and supremely confident.

  Every man and woman at BC1 applauded Kerry's transmission. The most hazardous part of reentry was over. Everyone who was in a position to do so rushed toward an unoccupied window to see if they could catch a glimpse of Kerry dropping in from space.

  The second drogue chute cut away and the main chute opened uneventfully. It would slow Kerry's descent to a manageable velocity so that the retro rockets could finally ease him and Gumdrop to the desert sands.

  "Main chute nominal," Kerry reported conversationally. "Four minutes to retro-fire."

  "Roger, that, Lieutenant Kerry. We've got you on long range camera, now."

  Several good pairs of eyes spotted the red dot that slowly enlarged to a discernable disc and finally to a tiny capsule dangling beneath it. The community itself could barely contain their excitement as the capsule neared its destination. Peter looked to Francis who gave him a thumbs up.

  "Fifteen seconds to retro-fire," the flight controller said.

  If things went well, the main chute would cut lose at the same instant the solid fueled retro rockets ignited. They would fire for twenty seconds, just long enough for the capsule to settle to the ground.

  "Four seconds... three... two... one... fire."

  All eyes could clearly see the bottom of the capsule erupt in sixteen bright candles of flame pointed at the ground as the huge, red main chute pealed off and dropped in a wad to the ground. The capsule slowed, just as predicted, and plopped down beside the main chute in a very short lived cloud of dust. There was a single second of silence while everyone held their breath and waited to hear Kerry's voice.

  "Touchdown!" he said, followed by the chorus of applause and cheers.

  "Please allow me to open the hatch," Kerry said. "I have to suit up, first. So please do not approach the hatch until I give you the signal," he said as insurance against an over anxious hand turning the latches before he was ready.

  Francis looked over to Peter as they walked quickly out the door of the control center. "The delegation is scheduled to meet together at the airlock. I've slated you, Ashley, me and Gorteau for the welcome wagon."

  Peter nodded, then added, "Ask Hernandez to join us."

  Even inside the crowded Gumdrop, Kerry was able to slip with ease into his pressure suit. His ability to suit up was considerably improved with gravity to assist him. It was really the best of conditions. In the reduced gravity of Mars, movement and leverage were at once both assisted and unhindered.

  Finally, he pulled his helmet over his head and pressurized. As the air hissed into his suit, Kerry lay back for a moment and fully concentrated on relaxing. His heart was racing, his muscles fatigued from this level of effort for the first time in over two months. The last time he had felt gravity was the spinning, artificial field produced in solar orbit.

  Kerry sat up and took a deep breath, ready to peer out the window. He hesitated before looking out the hatch and braced himself for the worst. If they were standing in front of the hatch with their weapons, he planned to blow it with the emergency bolts. This way, he could at least take one or two of them out with him before he went down. He looked out the window. This was the moment of truth.

  A MAT was parked 10 meters in front of the capsule. On its side, a crudely lettered sign read,

  WELCOME TO BC1 LIEUTENANT COMMANDER KERRY!

  His face relaxed into a wide smile. "BC1, Kerry here. I'm depressurizing Gumdrop," he reported in a jubilant voice.

  He toggled the necessary valves, and then cycled the hatch which indecorously released and plunked onto the sand. Kerry swung out of Gumdrop feet-first, dragging his flight bag with him on the way out. Before he could stand up, two people grasped his arms simultaneously. Reflexively, powerfully, he shook them off, knocking one of them to the ground, which he instantly regretted.

  He looked at their faces, laced with half smiles, half surprise. Their mouths moved, but he could hear no sound. His hands raced over the front of his suit, looking for the communications button. One of the suited individuals took a step toward him slowly, his hands raised so as not to alarm Kerry. Kerry put his own hands on top of his helmet and squinted his eyes to indicate he was actually harmless as well as embarrassed. The individual gently touched Kerry's communications switch and it crackled to life.

  "Sorry, Commander. We didn't mean to alarm you," said Geoff Hammond.

  "I apologize, as well," Kerry said. "I wasn't expecting so much assistance."

  "How do you feel? Can we assist you to the MAT?"

  Kerry breathed a deep sigh of relief. Things actually looked like they were going to work out.

  "Let me have a crack at it. Your gravity actually feels good," Kerry admitted, gingerly testing his first steps on Mars.

  Gumdrop had landed within 100 meters of the airlock, just nine meters off target. Several rather industrious individuals had marked the target with a one meter wide bulls-eye. A large "plunk-down" pool had been start
ed and the winner would be the one who was closest to picking the right quadrant and number of meters off target that the Gumdrop had actually landed. The official "plunk-down" pool measurement team passed Kerry's MAT and waved as they headed toward the Gumdrop. Geoff Hammond explained what they were up to. Kerry responded by laughing and complaining at not being allowed to participate in the pool.

  The MAT in which they rode pulled into the airlock and he could see through the windows Peter and his company gathered to greet him. The rest of the community had been asked to await Kerry's arrival in the dining hall.

  As the MAT pulled to a stop and the airlock began to equalize the pressure, Geoff removed his helmet and looked to Kerry as Kerry slid his off and gripped it under his arm.

  "Commander, I don't know what anyone has told you about us, but I want to give it to you straight," he said with a shaky voice.

  Kerry looked to him without expression. Was he about to be let in on the secret behind the facade?

  Geoff finally began, "Peter Traynor is no criminal. He just did what he had to do. Lipton really did kill himself, and he had already been relieved by the shrink. Nobody here is out to get anybody. We’ve got no axes to grind; all we want to do is survive, that's all. That's all Peter or me or anyone else here ever wanted. And understand this; we’re all glad to have you join us. I mean that. We all mean that."

  Kerry smiled, more from relief at the gushing, unexpected confession. He reached his hand out to Geoff. "Thanks...," he said, then paused while looking for a name on the suit.

  "Geoff, Geoff Hammond," he replied, accepting Kerry's outstretched hand.

  "Geoff, I'd appreciate it if you’d give me a tour of BC1 tomorrow."

  "I'd be honored, Commander."

  "It's Lieutenant, Geoff. No one has promoted me yet."

  "You've been promoted, believe me."

  They passed through the air shower and airlock and in minutes stepped out to meet Peter. Kerry faced the colonists, his helmet fitted comfortably under his arm. He was quite attractive, an image that fit the intelligent voice quite well. His wide, Luke Skywalker smile, bright eyes and confident stride declared his poised style and self assured personality.

  eter stepped toward him, hand outstretched. Kerry looked uncertain for a nearly imperceptible second, then reached for Peter's extended hand.

  "I'm Peter Traynor. And you must be Commander Kerry unless you’re a stranger who’s been hiding somewhere on the Elysium desert."

  "You have my name correct, Dr. Traynor, but everyone around here seems to be a little confused about my rank. I’m a Navy Lieutenant, not a Commander."

  "We’ve promoted you, Commander," Peter said openly.

  "Who has promoted me?" Kerry shot back briskly, just on the edge of arrogance, betraying his Naval Flight Officer mind-set.

  "The community has accorded you that honor, Commander. If you don’t feel you can accept it, then you'll have to convince them," Peter replied, expertly sidestepping Kerry's opening challenge.

  Peter introduced him to Hernandez, Francis and Gorteau. Ashley had been standing behind the group but she stepped out to meet Kerry. "Commander, this is Ashley Alycone," Peter said, his own eyes blinking between them.

  Kerry said nothing. His eyes flashed and embraced hers. He grasped her fingertips gently, pulling her a step closer. He put his hand gently atop hers and after a few pregnant seconds said, "The pleasure is absolute. You’re an extraordinary woman."

  Peter flashed instantly into anger, his face flushed almost as red as Ashley's. Francis stood aside and saw it all in a single sweep, desperately choking back a snicker of laughter.

  "Well, let's be on our way, shall we?" he said another acute second later, feeling the slightest touch of guilt.

  Ashley tore her eyes away from Kerry's spell-binding gaze and dropped her hand from his, but not before Peter's eyes caught her receiving a momentary squeeze.

  She inhaled more deeply than usual and looked coyly away from Peter. If the lover's manual contained chapters on monogamous etiquette, in Peter's view, she had just trashed the whole book in less than one minute standing right in front of him.

  "We have quite the gathering for you, Commander,” Francis said, quickly adding, “Let's be off," in an attempt to further disarm Kerry's innocent faux pas.

  Kerry stepped up beside Ashley and flashed her another diamond smile. He offered her his arm. "I'd be honored if you'd accompany me, Ashley."

  She finally looked to Peter who's white, granite features and blazing eyes told the whole story. The seconds were painfully ticking away and Kerry's arm was still hanging in the blistering breeze.

  Peter released her as he turned away and transferred his murderous look to Francis. "Let's be off, indeed," he said, forcing the words so artificially that Francis finally had to turn away and snort a laugh that he attempted to turn into a sneeze. Hernandez innocently disarmed the whole mess with his naive, "Bless you."

  The community at BC1 had only to see the sight of Kerry enter the dining hall before the acclimation began in earnest. If Peter had counted on an exercise in catharsis, he got his wish. BC1 turned all of its fear and frustration into a wild evening of speeches, declarations, and finally, dancing. Where all the bootleg alcohol came from was anybody's guess. But it would be the rare individual who did not feel the dull ache of poorly brewed Martian moonshine the next morning.

  Peter still smoldered for hours while Kerry danced with Ashley for many more numbers than his share, which in Peter's opinion was none. Eventually, Francis sat beside him, blinked his red eyes at Peter and focused in with some difficulty. Then he put his arm around him and poured him half a glass of clear liquid.

  "You’re a genius, Peter," he said.

  "Oh?"

  "Yep, look all around you. Your plan worked beautifully. Not a sad face in the house," he said, his breath reeking with booze.

  "Rat's a genius, too, Peter," Francis continued in an even voice. "Rat is a genius, Peter," he said again.

  "You already said that," Peter replied, downing half the glass before he realized he was about to require an emergency tracheotomy just to catch his next gasping breath.

  "Rat is a genius, Peter," Francis continued. "While we have been brooding over our own problems, Rat has been busy bottling up medicinal ethanol. Have you ever wondered just where the hell Rat gets his down home wisdom? His grandfather, that's where. Did you know that our own kitchen wastes were not thrown away here in this magnificent kitchen? No, Rat has been saving them, freezing them, working miracles with them..."

  Peter's last rational minutes were spent tuning out the babbling Francis, watching Ashley and Kerry talk beside him as they had all evening, sharing what appeared to be a common infatuation for one another. But Peter passed the point of rationality quickly, finally exchanging it for a few fascinating minutes with Francis in an animated discussion of Rat's potential as a degreed alchemist before he could not remember anything more.

  ew things are as wretched as an alcohol induced sleep. But at the top of that very short list is waking up from an alcohol induced sleep. A sharp pain emanated from Peter's midbrain and arched over his dry eyes. As he opened them, and turned over, the pain between his eyes became worse. His whole body felt as though it had been run over by something very large with knobby tires. He could clearly remember Francis saying Rat had made the moonshine with kitchen garbage; the taste in his mouth this morning would verify that.

  He sat up in bed and looked around him. He was not in his quarters; he was in Francis' bed. He did not have the slightest idea of how he got there. The pulse of adrenalin that surged through his body caused him to leap quickly to his feet and the pain and dizziness that followed forced him to stumble back, moaning.

  "Francis, where are you?" he groaned as he looked over the side of the bed. Francis lay unmoving and asleep, curled up in a blanket on the floor. He did not appear to be anywhere near ready to wake up.

  Slowly, Peter stood and looked at the clock. It was jus
t shy of five in the morning. He wanted to rush out immediately, back to his quarters. But he realized it would not be a good idea to wander down the hallways in his thermal underwear.

  As quickly as he could, Peter dressed and left Francis' quarters for his own. In minutes, he had his door open. His bed was empty and obviously, it had not been slept in all night. He stepped inside his apartment and slammed his fist against the wall. Where was Ashley? Did he really want to know? In a fit of rage, he kicked a chair across the floor. Then he sat down and lay his aching head in his hands.

  How could this happen? Then it occurred to him that he was actually jealous. The thought so unnerved him, that he forced himself to slowly undress and take a shower.

  The warm water washing across his face felt good. But, as with all showers at BC1, it ended much too quickly. Calmly, he attempted to sort through his feelings. He had far too many responsibilities to allow this hostile, resentful feeling to dominate his thinking. It could only lead him down the same path Lipton had followed. But as Lipton had tragically discovered, such judicious forethought had little to do with the smooth coupling of emotions with coherent behavior.

  Peter dressed and stepped out of his door, intending to go to the dining hall for some strong coffee to clear his slightly spinning head. His heart, however, caused him to hang a left down the passageway and he found himself standing in front of Ashley's door. His rational self screamed at him not to do it but his emotions compelled his knuckles to rap on the door.

  A few seconds later, she opened it slowly, peering sleepily outside. "Good morning, love. Are you okay?" she asked with a sleepy voice.

  "I'm fine. May I come in?" he asked with too much energy.

  She opened the door to let him in and his eyes flashed instantly to her bed, which was empty. He walked in, again torn by what he should say and what he wanted to say.

  "How did I end up in Francis' bed?" he demanded, although he had not planned for it to sound so harsh.