Martian Knightlife

by James P. Hogan

  "There's no way of identifying what would need to be selected?" June checked.

  "Exactly. It's not a simple one-to-one relationship, where you can say this bunch of connections defines that function or concept. Everything interacts with everything—like the way genes affect each other and turn each other on and off. It would be like having a book in Chinese. I can copy the entire thing onto another stack of paper, or into an electronic memory, photo film, magnetic image, anything you want. That's no problem. But don't ask me what any particular piece of it means."

  "So would it be the same the other way around too?" June asked, as if the thought had just occurred to her. She kept her voice even. "It wouldn't be possible to delete anything selectively either? For example, so that the Leo who gets reconstituted here ends up missing memories that the original Leo possessed downstairs?"

  "No . . ." Tom frowned, seeming to find it an odd and curious question. "Why would anyone want to do that?" His eyes betrayed no inkling of alarm or suspicion. He mulled over the suggestion for a second or two, and then his mouth curled in a parody of a grin, revealing uneven teeth. "Why, has Leo been forgetting things? What kind of stuff are you writing, June? This is starting to sound more like one of those thrillers with people getting brainwashed—" At that moment, his phone beeped. Ignoring his pocket unit, he reached out to activate the flatscreen on one side of his desk. A female voice that sounded like Herbert Morch's secretary upstairs answered.

  "Tom, I've got Herbert for you."

  He gestured toward the screen. "Excuse me for a moment, June. Rank is being pulled."

  "Mind if I have another look at the machine?"

  "Go right ahead."

  With all the activity around it through the final days, June had never really had a chance to see the reconstitution chamber since its last details were added. Stewart Perrel had shown her and Kieran the finished object briefly, but the lab had been crowded and distracting then.

  She set her note pad on the desk, got up, and sauntered over between consoles and a droning coolant pump. The inside of the chamber was cramped and close, full of sensors, scanning arrays, tubes, and cabling to the point where it seemed a human body couldn't be squeezed in among it all. Kieran had said it put him in mind of some of the early space capsules he had seen in museums. The volume where the form was reconstituted had to be enclosed because of the strict environmental controls that were needed, and the positioning requirements necessitated limb, body, and head restraints. Leo had described how his most vivid sensation on regaining consciousness had been the heat and the clamminess in there. Not for the squeamish or the claustrophobic, June decided.

  The walls of the chamber were bedecked with pipe and cable clamps, boxes and gadgets—even the inside of the access door, with its collection of labels and warnings: EXTERNAL LATCH OVERRIDE ACTIVE; CHECK PRES EQ; TEMP ALARM . . . She leaned in and stared around. Whatever motives may have taken possession of the original Sarda sometime before the crucial day, the guy had guts, Kieran had declared—he'd given him that.

  Something registered as odd about the inside of the door. And that was ridiculous, because this was the first time June had studied it in any detail. Yet the strange feeling persisted that something was missing. But how was she supposed to know how it should have been? It could only be from the replays of Leo's exit that she and Kieran had watched earlier that afternoon. Something was different.

  She looked back across the lab. Tom was still engrossed, talking to Herbert on the screen. June took out her comset and keyed in the code to access her personal net files, obtained a directory on the unit's miniature screen, and routed the replay through. The image was too small to resolve any detail. She slid out the spectacles from their pouch at the back of the case, put them on, and brought up a high-resolution image that she was able to manipulate like the version on the mural panel in the apartment. As she stepped through the frames, she saw what had triggered something in her recollections. In a close-up of Sarda emerging from the chamber, the interior of the access door that swung open behind him showed a patch of color that was not on the inside of the door that June was looking at now. She zoomed in, and the patch expanded to become a curiously vivid design of a purple disk inside a silver outer ring containing a spiral pattern of colors. June moved the spectacles down her nose and was able to identify the place on the inside of the door that it had occupied. There was nothing like it there now. Touching it with a fingertip, she felt a faint stickiness of what could have been a remnant of adhesive. Something had been there, sure enough.

  She was still staring at the spot bemusedly when Tom joined her again. "I've been shut up in there myself a few times when we were building and calibrating it," he commented, looking past June's shoulder. "Pretty daunting, if you want my opinion. Better Leo than me."

  "Well, he's through it now," June said. "Time for him to be celebrating and relaxing, I'd imagine. It must have been pretty tense for him." Keeping her tone chatty, she remarked, "Too bad he doesn't have a Mrs. Sarda or current ladyfriend to share it with . . . at least, I've never heard him talk of one."

  "I think he mentioned somebody once or twice several weeks back, but I guess that must have passed. He's been too busy most of the time." Tom looked curious. "Why?"

  "Oh . . . just feminine nosiness, I guess." June stared at the inside of the door as if there were something mildly puzzling, and then pointed to the space she had been looking at. "Am I imagining something, Tom? Leo showed me and Kieran the chamber when he was here a couple of days ago. The place was full of people and it was all a bit hectic, so I could be mistaken. But was that space empty before? I seem to remember something being there—a kind of colored graphic design."

  Tom looked at the spot and shrugged. "I can't say I remember anything." Evidently he considered it a matter of no consequence. He turned his head and nodded back in the direction of his desk. "Anyway, where were we? I'm afraid I'm going to have to wrap this up pretty soon for now, June. Something urgent has come up. But we can continue again another time."

  "No problem. Let me know when you're free again. It's been interesting. Thanks."

  Tom was okay, June decided as she went back to her own part of the building. Selective erasure by manipulating the neural codes wasn't feasible. Mentally, she crossed it off the list of things to be pursued further.

  Kieran sometimes said that Sherlock Holmes had been wrong in his much-repeated quote that "When you have eliminated the impossible, then what is left must be the truth." When the impossible was eliminated, what was left was the possible. Only in the simple, artificial world in which Holmes existed did that always leave a single, straightforward alternative to be considered. In the real world it almost always left several, all equally plausible. The problem lay in finding which was correct. Sometimes it left nothing at all, which meant starting out again, all over. Real police work, and real science, began where Holmes left off.

  She wondered how Kieran was doing in following up with Trevany. That seemed an even more slender hope. And they didn't have a lot of time.

  10

  "Well, I'll be! What gives, partner? I didn't even know they'd let you back on the planet."

  Mahom Alazahad was six foot three at least, a coal-black Sudanese with the shoulders of a bull, chest of a gorilla, and handshake like a power vise. He greeted Kieran in a loose purple robe embroidered with flourishes of silver thread, a bright red fez sitting in a nest of fuzzy hair, and a grin like an organ keyboard splitting his ample, fleshy features. On a previous visit, Kieran had denied having anything to do with a series of strange misfortunes that befell a security company that had been getting over-zealous in persuading Alazahad of his need for business protection.

  "Good to see you too, Mahom. How's the machinery moving?"

  "Oh, you know how it is. Just trundlin' along. How about you? Still seeing that gorgeous woman you got—lives out on Nineveh, by the lake?"

  "You bet."

  "And how are you doing, guy?" M
ahom leaned down to administer Guinness a couple of powerful pats on the shoulder. "Hey, lookin' good, boy! Lookin' good. Is this man still causing all kinds of trouble?"

  "Actually, I'm here for purely domestic and respectable reasons this time," Kieran said, letting his gaze wander around the vehicles lined up on the lot, and the collection of miscellaneous machinery in the yard by the office building behind.

  "Yeah, right. That's how it always starts."

  "I do believe I detect skepticism." Kieran looked pained.

  "Who from? Me? What are you talking about? Okay, so, what's going on?"

  Kieran led the way over toward a selection of pricey but better equipped, high-performance models that he had spotted, grouped to the side for the more discerning. "It's time I found myself somewhere a bit more permanent here, Mahom—Mars is the center of a lot that's going on. That means I'll need to be able to get around. What have you got?"

  "You name it. If I haven't got it, I can get it—and for you, Knight, a better deal than you're gonna find anyplace else. What did you have in mind? I've got a hot contact in personal flymos right now."

  "Leave the flymobile for later. Let's stick to wheels for the moment."

  "I hear you."

  "Fast but maneuverable. A good looker is always nice, but no fake cosmetics. Something tough that'll handle well off the road and deal with the soft patches. Full satellite com and nav, emergency backup on all essential systems. Probably gas or hydrazide turbine-electric. Military-spec shocks and suspension; pivot axle; individual wheel drives are a must. Forget induction pickup, optimizing overrides, and any smart automatics."

  They stopped in front of a Euromco Brigadier: gold sheen with dark strip inlays, sleek but with rugged foundations, tan upholstery. Kieran looked it over, then looked at Mahom inquiringly. Mahom shook his head. "Rich kid's toy. Okay for picnics and day trips around the domes. But the forced-flow oxidizer will kill your range out on the surface." He put a hand on Kieran's shoulder to draw him to the dark blue Kodiak next to it. Guinness stiffened and growled a warning note.

  "It's okay. Just say hello again for a second," Kieran said. Mahom stretched down a hamlike hand for Guinness to check over with his nose. "Friend," Kieran told Guinness. "Remember? Keep it in your filing system this time. Friend, okay?" Guinness wagged his tail, evidently happy.

  "Degenerate hydrogen reactor driving a closed-cycle turbine," Mahom said. "That's the way things are going to go. One recharge will last a year. Take you around the planet."

  "When they get it right. I heard this is practically a prototype." It was a new technology being pushed by one of the Martian home manufacturers running on a stretched budget and high hopes—but allegedly they knew their stuff.

  "It's solid enough," Mahom said. "But the competition is making them cut back too much on costs for the home-grown models here. They've put the know-how into a new, deluxe production design that'll be coming out of the lunar factories." He winked knowingly. "Loaded. Got double-sealed shells. Terran government subsidies picking up the tab. The word isn't generally out yet, but I got an advance order in for a few. What I'll do is rent you this until the first ones show up. You can get the feel of how it works, make up your mind then. Should be around a month. Does that sound good?"

  Kieran walked slowly around the Kodiak, taking in the light yet robust frame, generous ground clearance, splayed wheelbase for stability at speed. A chrome logo affixed to the trunk carried the proud message: SUPPLIED BY ALAZAHAD MACHINE. The dynamics of gravity wells made it actually cheaper to ship loads from the lunar surface to Mars than from Earth to Luna. And if governments back on Earth were trying to extend political influence to the Moon by making their taxpayers help him buy a car, why should he turn it down?

  "The new one'll have a version with collapsible rear seats that'll turn the back end into practically a hatch-top truck," Mahom said, following him with his eyes. "You won't beat that for versatility. CO-two compressor-reservoir boosted cooling, specially developed for Mars. For you, fifteen percent off the regular price. Flat four hundred a month on the rental in the meantime. That's a steal all by itself."

  Kieran opened the two doors on the side nearest him and leaned in to look and poke around. The interior was finished in soft black with gray trim, comfortable and spacious, though with minimal extras as Mahom had said. Guinness bounded in and took possession of the passenger seat, panting and looking back at Kieran as if to ask what they were waiting for. He seemed to have made his mind up, at least.

  "I have to go out to Stony Flats this afternoon," Kieran said, straightening back up. "Let me take it out there for a test drive, and I'll let you know tomorrow after I get back. How's that?"

  "Sounds like we've got a deal, Knight. I just need to take a swipe of your license in the office, and we'll pick up the key. Then you're on your way."

  They crossed the rear yard through a mix of commercial vehicles and various wheeled, tracked, and balloon-tired, earth-moving, digging, and drilling contraptions—even one on legs. There was a Chinese army personnel carrier that had found its way to Mars through God-alone-knew-what machinations, and numerous partly dismantled bodies and frames that would never, of their own accord, move again. Just before they reached the office door, Mahom beckoned Kieran over to a door in a square concrete building behind the office shack, which he unlocked. He flipped on the light inside to reveal racks and shelves packed with handguns, shotguns, assault rifles, submachine weapons, several plasma cannon, a row of machine guns, and seemingly every form of ammunition conceived by man, ranging from twelve-clips for automatics to hand-launched antiarmor projectiles and grenades. "I wondered if you needed to do any shopping in the accessories department too, while you're at it," he explained, beaming.

  "Mahom, I'm just driving out to see a geologist, not starting a war. But if I ever decide to, I promise I'll let you know."

  "Okay. Just checking." Mahom turned out the light and locked the door again. "But in the meantime I'll be looking into getting a good flymo for you. I haven't forgotten about it."

  "I'm sure you haven't, Mahom," Kieran agreed with a sigh.

  11

  A road climbing a series of hairpin bends through one of the side canyons, then upward between crumbling buttes of wind-worn rock and sandy hills, led out onto the more open plain. The air was hazy, the sky above, a curious pale pink that seemed faintly luminescent. For the first ten miles or so, the landscape was being submerged by a rising tide of interconnecting living complexes, bubble towns, industrial buildings, and farm canopies, all tied together with a thickening web of roadways, tracks, power grids and pipelines—the ground-level testimony to the spreading of humanity that Kieran had seen in his descent from orbit. Farther out, the desert reasserted itself to preside over a scattering of domes and isolated structures. Kieran remembered scenes he had seen in Japan, where cities flowed away into the distance until the details of individual houses merged and were lost in continuous ribbons that looked like glaciers filling the valleys between the mountains. He wondered if it would be like that here one day.

  Stony Flats was the new, hardly-more-inspired name for what had once been designated Marineris Central 2, one of the original bases from the first phase of manned landings and consolidation on Mars. Since then, the early huddle of domes and dugouts had grown to become a collection of transport depots, maintenance hangars and freight buildings clustered beside an airfield that had a rail link to the Cherbourg spaceport. This was where off-planet shipments through Cherbourg connected to the surface air, road, and rail network. Kieran called ahead and was directed along a ravine to one of several truck-size airlock doors built into the base of the escarpment on one side. Above the locks, the slope was cut into terraces of building frontages with windows looking toward the airfield, where long-winged, gooneybird-like soarers and thrust-assisted STOL/VTOL transports came and went, stirring up flustered clouds of pink Martian dust.

  After negotiating the double-lock doors, Kieran drove into a bri
ghtly lit, concrete-walled cavern containing a number of ground vehicles with people working around them in the main floor space, a workshop area to one side, and a row of enclosed offices on the other. Large double doors opened through from the center of the wall at the rear. He identified the gray-headed figure of Walter Trevany, wearing dirt-stained olive coveralls, standing with a man and a woman, both younger, in front of a large, square-built truck suggesting a military version of a miniature mobile home or RV. Its side doors were open, and a litter of boxes and equipment lay around outside. Trevany watched the Kodiak draw to a halt and came over as Kieran got out to be greeted by the noise of riveting from the far side and the intermittent flashes of welding in a screened-off corner of the workshop area.

  "Dr. Thane . . . ? Ah, yes. I remember your face now."

  "Hi."

  "You found us all right, then?"

  "No problem. Your directions were fine."

  "Oh . . . You're not alone." There was uneasiness on Trevany's face as he stooped to peer into the car.

  "Stay," Kieran told Guinness, who was watching him inquiringly, ready to get out. Guinness emitted a resigned snort, shook his head, and settled back down. Trevany looked relieved. "Not keen on dogs?" Kieran said.

  "Oh, I don't mind them. In fact, I've had a few. But in here . . ." Trevany swept an arm to indicate the surroundings. "Machines and things. People would get nervous."

  "I understand." Kieran stood looking over the vehicle with interest. Trevany had described it over the phone as a mobile lab. There were a lot of electronics inside, a desk extending from one wall with chairs facing on either side, a work area with bench space, closets, tool and instrument racks.

  "I'm only recently in from Earth," Trevany said, following Kieran's gaze. "Which is why I've been staying at the Oasis. I'm joining some colleagues who have been setting up a base camp out in the highlands at Tharsis, as I think I said. This lab will be leaving for there in the next few days."