After half an hour, Navbutler delivered an analysis. There were actually quite a few public recordings left of Venix performing; for some reason those had not been classified like the files on Haruman Clarke.
Argus found this strange: the Fleet consistently undervalued Venix' importance. Was it intended, or had someone else made it so?
"All images match," Navbutler declared. "All except your description of the erased message."
Argus dared not think out loud - that the real Venix might be dead - that maybe she had escaped captivity - that she was in danger. But he could not know for sure. This was not enough. She might still be within the Kansler's reach. But if she found the right help -
"Nav, locate Boulder Pi."
"Sorry, your security clearance is not -"
"Okay, we'll do it again: Is he not on Earth..."
"Highest priority routine. I am not allowed to say more about Boulder Pi. Your security clearance is not -"
"Okay, I'll search. Outside Fleetcom. He's bound to crop up somewhere."
There was a near-infinite abundance of public channels, files and records to be accessed from the interplanetary computer networks. Unfortunately, when Argus tried to search specifically for the name "BOULDER PI", a censor program stopped the ship's computer.
Boulder Pi might still be on the Moon, under even tighter restrictions. The Kansler seemed to have thought of everything.
A search for "Venice Cherkessian" gave Argus many records of her dancing, and quite lovely ones, but they provided no clues to her whereabouts.
Out of the blue, Navbutler told him: "The Skysurfing Grand Prix tryouts are playing. Top-ranking event in the Universal PP Index. Kolya Keaton just broke a record, before his board burned up in re-entry. They are trying to rescue him now. Watch replays?"
"Never! I hate skysurfing. Ali beat some of his toughest opponents to a bloody mess, but he never ever killed anyone. Sports used to mean something."
"Sorry."
"Not your fault, Nav. Just don't ask again."
29: The Dead Astronaut's Canyon
Once the first generation of colonists had established permanent outposts in the Solar System, their offspring was forced to undergo genetic surgery to adapt to these harsh environments.
While the Jovians developed into small, robust low-gravity forms to manage scarce food supplies, the Venusians made only internal alterations and kept their outer appearances identical to Earthlings.
First- and second-generation Venusians were born impervious to the sulfur and carbon dioxide that slowly leaked into their domed settlements from the planet's toxic atmosphere - they only seemed a little pale and yellowish in the skin.
The first Earthborn "Martians" , impatient with the terraforming program to take effect on their new homeworld, first tried to bombard the atmosphere with icebergs from Saturn's rings. This quickly improved the conditions for imported plant life, but not nearly enough to make the atmosphere breathable for at least 200 years.
And in their near-fanatical mission to adapt, Martian colonists began to re-design their own unborn children: doubled lung and ribcage size, stronger hearts and thicker blood, leathery, furry skin and the capacity to store water in belly and buttocks. Also genes from native Eskimos and Mongolians were mixed in, to perfect a hardy future colonist who withstood extreme weather conditions, desolate terrain - and loved it.
And with these differences established, Terran citizens and the new "true" Martians began to despise each other.
Earthmen called adapted Martians "Hairies" and "Gorillas".
Martians , in response, called Earthmen "Pinks" and "Unborns".
But the ties to the homeworld could survive, as long as the first Earth-born colonists were alive.
Venix landed on Mars unaware that the original colonists were now dying of old age - and with them, the last shred of loyalty to "Mother Earth". Once the Earthborn Martians had died off, the "true" Martians were determined to wage war for their independence.
At this hinge moment, the Martians tensely regarding the campaign against the Jovians, fearing when the Kansler's attention would turn to them, any small spark could set the red planet ablaze...
***
Venix struggled to keep a reasonably steady course in the enormous, windy Martian canyon. Her flying parachute rippled frequent stabs of turbulence threatened to crumple it.
The air was crystal clear and no sand storms were in sight. She swung into a narrow cliff pass, no wider than 150 meters but winding at least a kilometer ahead.
At the speed she was going, between 70 and 90 KMPH, an impact and fall to the canyon floor could damage her. It frightened Venix that she might end up crippled on an alien world, and perhaps never be found.
And just as she feared, the wind began to pull her toward the canyon walls. An eroded, brownish-red cliff face, 700 meters high, rushed past her - full of outcrops and sandy ledges. At its mist-covered bottom lay a muddy pool, connected to the much wider stream of mud that made up the "river", composed of water that had once been space ice.
She thought fleetingly of Captain Foss, who had flown one of the ships that ferried icebergs from Saturn's rings to Mars. Most of that imported water still only existed in mud, or as thin clouds and vapor; the atmosphere was yet too thin to keep open lakes and streams from boiling away.
She could sense the moisture in the air increasing slightly; the winds carried the water-clouds just above ground.
During the shuttle flight, she had studied and memorized maps of Mars; she was fairly certain this pass was called The Dead Astronaut's Canyon, after an accident in the last century. To glide-fly along the main canyon to cover some of the distance was tempting but too dangerous - too easy to spot her by radar and satellite. She had to move in cover of the cliffs.
Then, an unexpected wind tossed her toward the wall with greater force - and she put her feet out to take the impact.
"Unngh!"
...unngh! ...nngh! ...ngh! ...gh!
The rolling echo mocked her; she resolved not to cry out again - and kicked back from the cliff wall, but the wind kept pushing the parachute against it - the chute began to crumple up and she could sense the imminent fall.
Venix dangled toward the wall a last time - she held out arms and feet, squinted to keep flying dust out of her eyes. With a muffled, scraping thud in the thin, icy air, she grabbed desperately for a handhold, dug her fingers into the crumbling rock...
The chute caught more wind, and began to tug her away. In a split-second reflex she pulled the emergency strap, and the straps opened.
The transparent chute flew away from her, and danced down the cliff like a leaf. Not good - she should have buried the parachute.
Venix began to climb down the 300 meters to the bottom; the sun was still fairly high in the sky. She knew that during the night, her odds were even worse, for with cold air and clear night weather, she would stand out like a bright light in heat-seeking sensors.
The sun's rays gave her new strength and she descended faster, changing each foot- and handhold before it collapsed under her dense weight.
To adjust the amount of friction and suction of her feet, a skill she had learned a long time ago, proved almost useless on the eroding, sand-covered cliffs. But her fingernails served as climbing-spikes.
After what seemed, in her perception, an hour-long descent, she could put her feet on the ground. She had sand in her eyes, and her automatic cleaning system was struggling to wash it out; the irritation got on her nerves like a persistent itch, and she had to fight the urge to scratch her eyes.
Looking down at her feet, Venix realized that they were sinking into a bed of clay and mud; unlike Earth-dirt, this powdery reddish muck clung to her skin and made her white body membrane resemble an unwashed body-stocking.
"I hate this filthy planet, I hate it hate it!" she sobbed as she trudged through the ankle-deep, cold sludge, and deeper into the shadowy pass.
...ate... ate... this filthy... ilthy...
planet... net... net..!
She grabbed her hair, and tied it into a clumsy knot. Her usual grace seemed gone; she moved clumsily, like the first time she had come to Earth.
Venix looked up at the towering cliff walls, and hesitated: if she went farther into the pass, she might get trapped there. If she went out into the wide-open space of Vallis Marineris, the MSF could spot her - for the sand storms she was hoping for had not showed up, and the morning mist evaporated around her.
Venix stopped, and her dirty legs sunk a little deeper into the clay. Feeling very foolish, she realized that she ought to follow the edge of open valley, and turned around.
She tried to pick up the pace and run as she reached dry sand at the edge of the walls. Running proved impossible: there were so many small rocks scattered across the sand, and she kept stumbling on them. Venix wondered if she was losing her mind, but it was just ordinary despair.
She forced herself to look up at the top of the pass, where the narrow slice of dark-blue air with pinkish-yellow streaks shone down on her; she felt as if she was crying without tears.
Somewhere out there Gus was fighting the war, and didn't know she was in this cold mud pit on Mars...
***
Still feeling very small, soiled and miserable, Venix reached the main canyon valley, and marched on alongside the southern wall. Pointed peaks and mesas, similar to Grand Canyon's on Earth, lined the edges of the wide valley and stood in her path.
The ground changed; here, in the sunlight, it was covered by hard moss and lichen - hardy, engineered plant-life, created a hundred years ago to transform Mars into a living world, and now growing like a weed in the deserts.
She could run on it without having to trudge; the moss felt elastic, like a rubber mat. Venix broke into a run, then a sprint; she felt in control now, and forgot about her irritated eyes.
Her speed increased to 40 KMPH, she ran with her former grace, and skipped over the rocks and boulders that stood in her path. The wind rustled through her ears, and a faint rumble rose over it...
She slowed down and scanned the skies.
The aircraft were many, coming in from a few hundred meters above, and their paths were converging on her. Venix hoped, knowing it was futile, that the caked dirt and mud on her body would prevent body heat from giving away her position.
The aircraft came closer, grew louder and larger; she counted at least ten of them, each capable of holding a squad of troops. In a few minutes they would land. Several laser-sight dots danced about her feet, locking weapons onto her exposed body.
Fear gripped, paralyzed her; she would be imprisoned again, clutched by guard robots with claws and tasers...
A question occurred to her, and at first she couldn't understand where it had come from: What would Ali have done? The terror awakened a part of Argus that was in her mind - the exchanged thoughts from when they had fused minds in Old Copenhagen.
She felt what Gus would have felt: Only fight when you have to, fight only to win. In his thoughts, she found inspiration:
I'm metal and plastic, I don't have to breathe; my reflexes are a hundred times faster than theirs, even with their neural implants. They are many, but slow, clumsy Terrans who can't breathe the atmosphere.
If I get close enough - if I act like a machine - I can gain the upper hand. Just for a short time, I'll be a war machine.
But it will get all over the Solar System, like that smear campaign. My relatives will hear that I'm not just a machine, but a vicious killer. Damn you, Kansler! You're the only human being I really, really want dead... or I'll help Gus kill you.
Venix clenched her teeth, and made a circling run for the closest of the approaching shuttles - a dull-orange bulbous beetle shape, sprouting thin legs and antennas, tracing her with searchlights and laser-sights.
Quite rapidly, it hovered down toward the ground in a cloud of dust, carried by silent rotor blades. Before it touched ground, Venix leaped into the air with her hands outstretched.
The men inside the craft glimpsed a filthy female figure with bared, very white teeth, hurtling at them like some sort of supernatural apparition.
The men were drugged, like all Fleet troopers, to feel no fear or lust in combat, only obedience. But the cold, searing look in the woman's ice-blue eyes was enough to make the troopers hesitate...
30: A Storm Coming
Venix ran, leaped five meters into the air, flew seven meters forward, grasped with scraping, steel-hard nails and caught hold of the emergency door on the shuttle's side.
She had already figured out how to take over the descending shuttle, before its crew of ten humans and one robot pilot could react.
On her internal display, she set a stopwatch to start counting minutes, seconds and microseconds:
00:00.254
She faced only human enemies, no robots. Even the slightest hesitation would almost certainly get her captured, possibly killed. Back on Earth, in Fleet propaganda movies, MSF's men were "the red frontier's steel-eyed guardians of justice" - but many Terrans openly called them "thugs in spacesuits."
00:01.639
The emergency door had no key, only two handlebars in niches, and opened easily. She shoved herself in under as it slid up. Suddenly, with her back to the floor, she was inside the cramped passenger cabin, where ten heavily armed men in armored spacesuits were fumbling with their safety belts.
The foremost two MSF troopers sat just within arm's reach of her. Ten pairs of human eyes stared down at her. Perhaps the squad had expected to capture a grossly overweight skysurfer - and not a slender, athletic female with long copper-red hair, seemingly dressed in a filthy white bodysuit with a single black stripe.
00:01.969
Venix was on her feet, hunching down in front of the first soldier on her right. He grabbed her collar. From her point-of-view, he reacted so slowly she could evade his every move.
00:02.447
As the trooper began to try and wrestle her away, she had already grabbed the knife in his belt - and stabbed him between his helmet and chest-armor plate, upward and into the helmet.
00:03.081
The tear in the soldier's punctured suit sent out a high whistle of escaping air - his hands flailed to grab her, but now she had her hands on the mini-gun turret on his right shoulder.
It wasn't enough to depressurize his suit; he would stay conscious long enough to shoot her - and the suit was the common self-repairing type. With one strong twist of her left hand, she aimed the turret at his head - her right hand squeezed the gun-trigger that was sewn into the palm of his glove.
00:04.002
The soldier's transparent helmet suddenly went dark and cracked up, spouting smoke - she twisted the turret again - and shot the remaining nine soldiers with a volley of lasers and high-speed bullets.
00:06.070
Only one of them managed to fire back with his shoulder-turret, and hit the wall just behind Venix. She heard a sharp noise from the cockpit, and the ship began to lurch in its almost completed landing sequence.
00:07.084
She unclipped the mini-turret harness from the dead trooper's shoulder, grabbed the ammo-pack from his back, and tore off the trigger cable from the arm of his suit - but the gun-trigger, still stuck in the man's suit, was ripped apart.
00:10.851
She put on the shoulder-turret, rubbed the exposed wiring against her hair, and produced enough static electricity to set off the firing-mechanism. As she covered her face, the mini-turret fired again. The cockpit door lock exploded, leaving only a blackened gash.
Venix pushed aside the door and dashed inside the even smaller shuttle cockpit, ignoring the small scratches and burns the explosion had made on her outer skin.
00:13.017
The shuttle hovered just inches above the ground, and the stray shot from the MSF trooper had wrecked the pilot-robot; the craft ran on its emergency autopilot.
00:13.623
Venix spotted the PRESS FOR MANUAL CONTROL b
utton, flashing on the control panel - and hit it with her fist, nearly smashing the panel. The seat holding the pilot robot swiveled aside, leaving the control-seat and its in-built throttle open to her.
00:17.500
She got into the seat and pulled the throttle toward her; the landing rotor engines squealed. This was not the modern type of vehicle with frictionless drive-plates. The autopilot's synthetic voice automatically asked to assist her, and requested a flight route.
"Map a course for the Martian capital," she told the autopilot. "Take us there now.
The autopilot voice said in a formal tone: "Course mapped and in progress." Then: " Command control authority override! Your shuttle's weapon systems are now shut down. Surrender to MSF personnel when we land in the Martian capital. You are being monitored and cannot escape. Thank you for cooperating. You are now wanted for the deaths of ten MSF personnel."
Venix looked around, and found a bottle of water-rations with spray-lids, in a small cabinet next to the pilot-seat. She squirted water into her eye sockets, and managed to clean out the sand and dust that her internal workings couldn't get to.
Then she saw the many very small cameras placed in various spots in the cockpit, all plugged into the MSF computer network. Using a metal tool, she smashed the cameras one by one, under the polite protests of the autopilot-voice.
"There," she said, a trace of weariness in her soft, husky voice, "I guess you can still hear and follow me. Let me think..."
Her shuttle had now ascended and folded up its rotors, and accelerated through the valley escorted by the pursuing MSF shuttles. Did they really think, after all this, she was just going to surrender?
That the Kansler needed her alive to pressure Argus, she knew. But that was no absolute safety guarantee; the war might end, and then the Kansler might decide both cyborgs had served their purpose.
It horrified Venix to think how helpless Gus was against the Kansler's mysterious remote-control. It could be the key to everything, if only she learned how it worked. Hopefully, "they" might help her once she had found safe asylum in the Martian capital.
Yngve, AR - The Argus Project Page 20