The Martian Conspiracy

by Read, John

  Putting on my pants and a shirt, I headed to the kitchen for some coffee, which I could now make without worrying about a quota.

  Shortly after I was showered and dressed, Avro and Kevin showed up at my door. Kevin carried a canvas bag that looked like something from an army surplus store.

  “I hear you had an eventful evening last night,” Avro said, giving a slight bow, and shaking Amelia’s hand with both of his.

  “I know that voice!” Amelia said, “You’re the one from the alley!”

  “You got me,” Avro said.

  Amelia looked at Kevin. “Nice shirt.” Kevin’s shirt showed an active battle between two large drones with laser guns for arms.

  “If it’s too distracting, I’ll shut it off.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “These are for you,” Kevin said, handing the bag over to Amelia. She set the bag on the kitchen table and began pulling out items of clothing.

  “Not bad,” Amelia said, holding up a blouse. “Where’d you get these?”

  “Did John tell you about our party?” Kevin asked.

  “He did,” Amelia replied.

  “Well, the warehouse had a fire suppression vat or some such thing. I don’t really know. Anyway, there was a pool.” Kevin paused, smiling. “So at about midnight, twenty guests decided to do a little skinny dipping.”

  Amelia dropped the shirt she was holding.

  There was an awkward silence, until Kevin spoke again, “Anyway, I thought the clothes might come in handy. I used Smart-Bleach when I washed them.”

  “Ah, thanks,” Amelia said.

  “Is anyone hungry?” I asked. My guests nodded. Avro and Kevin exchanged small talk with Amelia while I made an afternoon snack of Cheerios and chocolate almond milk.

  Amelia asked what we did for fun since I didn’t have a VR unit in the apartment. Kevin mentioned that we spend most of our time hanging out at Applebee’s, which was true since Leeth had been kicked out of the bar. Amelia laughed, while Avro turned a bright shade of red.

  We all sat around the kitchen table as Amelia told her story.

  “The Multinational Defense Force is not here just for training. Only the officers know this, but we’re here to protect the Alamo.”

  For a moment we just stared at her.

  “Protect them from what?” I asked. “That doesn’t make sense. There’s no reason they need protection. The Alamo is just a gated community. They live there because they can afford to. No one’s going to protest that.”

  “Agreed,” Amelia said. “Not yet. But they’re planning something, something that could upset the colonists. We’re here to make sure nothing interferes with their plans.”

  “What plans?” I asked. “You must know something.”

  “I don’t know any specifics. Maybe they’re closing the mines, or firing a large portion of the workforce. I really have no idea.”

  Avro looked concerned. “Tell us why they arrested you.”

  “I’ll get to that,” Amelia began, “I’m an officer. There are only a small number of us. Ten actually, including me. Only we know we’re here to protect the Alamo. The other one hundred forty NCOs think we’re on a training mission. The officers have been developing and training for several contingencies.”

  “What contingencies?” Avro said, and we all leaned closer.

  “Protests, for example. It doesn’t sound serious, but protests can turn violent and the corporation needs to worry about that sort of stuff. Then, there’s equipment malfunction. A hydrogen explosion in the fuel cell system could lead to food and air shortages. You would expect there to be considerable civil unrest. There’s your run-of-the-mill space disasters, meteor impact, transport accident,” Amelia counted on her fingers. “Solar flare, subterranean magnetic shift—”

  “Okay, okay,” I interrupted, “but why the secrecy?”

  “Because they don’t want people freaking out. The colony has police, why move in the National Guard if there’s no trouble?”

  Kevin looked grim. “Some people are already freaking out about you guys, but most of us are sort of used to it. Military training on Mars isn’t new. But if you’re here to enforce anything, people should be pissed. Heck, I’m pissed. And there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.”

  “We can go to the media and talk to the Council,” I said.

  “We could,” Avro replied, “but why would they believe us? We’re going against their official story.”

  “What if Amelia goes on the news or in front of the Council and tells her story?” Kevin suggested.

  “It’ll never happen,” Amelia said. “They’ve branded me as a criminal, a coward and insane. If I try to go public, they’ll take me out. These guys mean business and I haven’t even gotten to the juicy part.”

  “You mean your arrest,” Kevin said.

  “Yeah, that,” Amelia said. “Like I said, we’ve been building contingency plans to protect the Alamo.”

  “That makes sense,” Avro said, “especially if you’re hired to protect people.”

  “Yeah, but get this. If there’s a protest and people fight to get into the Alamo, we have orders to shoot. They really don’t want outsiders in the Alamo.”

  “Holy shit, really?” Avro said.

  “Really. I know. Sucks, right? But that’s not what I got in shit for,” Amelia answered, “Listen. Most of our contingencies are designed to stabilize a situation. But there’s one contingency that’s different.” Amelia paused to take a breath. “It’s the category five storm contingency. Does everyone know about storm categories?”

  “Yeah,” Avro said. “This storm was cat-two. The categories are based on wind speed and storm duration. In really bad storms, you get lighting. They take that into consideration, too. In a cat-five, the wind speeds are two, two fifty, something like that, and the storm is strong enough to sustain itself indefinitely.”

  “Exactly, if there’s a cat-five storm, and all the energy reserves are drained—”

  I cut her off. “If there’s a storm, we ration. The colony can survive a year, or more, on reserves.”

  “I understand that,” Amelia said. “But listen, if somehow, the colony starts running out of energy, people will die.”

  “Of course, they would,” Kevin said. “Without the electricity powering the CO2 scrubbers, everyone would suffocate in a matter of days, or freeze from lack of heat. Not sure which would come first.”

  “Yes, but listen, if it comes to that, the MDF has one job. Reduce population. Specifically, we’re going to start blowing up domes!”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Avro said. ”Blowing up the domes?”

  Amelia said, “They justified it like this: The lives of the many outweigh the lives of the few. Star Trek shit, right? But the way I see it, the lives of the rich outweigh the lives of everyone.”

  “It’s a good thing we’ll have Project Bakersfield then,” I said.

  “You better hope it works, too,” Amelia said. “That’s the worst of the contingencies but it’s also why they canned me.”

  “What about you running from the training area and going crazy?” Kevin said. “One report said you were shooting shit up like a crazy person. Putting other soldiers in danger and stuff.”

  “They made it up.” Amelia said. “They had to charge me with something. I protested their contingency, said I’d go public, and then next thing you know, they’ve hauled me into a transport, dumped me on the field without a comm. After a few minutes stumbling around, trying to get away from the battle drones, the NCOs arrested me. They obviously had orders to do so.”

  “Shit,” Avro said, sympathetically. “Wait, how would they blow up the domes. That’s crazy. You mean they really planned this all out?”

  She said, “Yes, well, the plan is to take a vehicle into the storm and breach the dome with explosives. Again, only myself and the other nine officers know this. They’ll tell the rest of the soldiers the dome collapsed in the storm.”
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  “That’s ridiculous. These domes are strong, really strong!” I said.

  “Yeah, but think about it. If a dome collapsed with no other explanation, you would have to assume it was the storm,” Amelia countered. “Maybe lightning hit a hydrogen tank, I don’t know.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I agreed. “That’s the rational way to think about it, but people aren’t rational.”

  “How do you convince the MDF, an organization with peaceful roots, to kill innocent people?” Avro asked.

  “We don’t convince them to do anything,” Amelia replied. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. The officers do the dirty work and the soldiers come in later to clean up the mess.”

  “So what do we do now?” I said. “The people have a right to know what’s going on, and if I had any say, I’d have the Council order the military to turn themselves in. Have the police collect their weapons.”

  “I doubt they’d give in so easily,” Amelia said. “The Alamo’s not going to let them.”

  “What if we call Earth? Tell the folks back home what’s going on. See if they can exercise some political pressure.”

  “Listen,” Amelia said. “Believe me, you don’t want them finding out you’re trying to stop them. You’ll end up like me, on the run.”

  “So what do we do?” I asked. “If there’s anyone who can stop this, it’s us, the engineers. We control the electricity and that gives us a lot of power, literally. We also have access to vehicles, aircraft and spacesuits.”

  “We need time to think of a plan,” Avro said. “This is huge. In the meantime, we finish Project Bakersfield. At least that will prevent the worst of your contingencies. Amelia, do you have any suggestions?”

  “Honestly, no,” Amelia said. “I don’t know what to do. But I know this: you guys are really something. Leeth too. I mean shit, you seem like true friends.”

  Amelia wouldn’t let me sleep on the couch, insisting it was okay to share the bed. She noticed this made me uncomfortable and constructed a wall down the middle of the bed with a sheet duct-taped to the ceiling. The gesture meant a lot to me. It also turned my room into a fort and this made me smile. It reminded me of Branson and the couch cushion forts we’d built.

  On the second night, Amelia wanted to talk about something. We sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “I noticed you’re wearing a wedding ring,” she said.

  “You did, huh?”

  “Yeah, I did. Where is your family? Are they back on Earth?” she asked, pointing at the photos sitting on a shelf.

  “I don’t know where they are. We were in California during the impact. I was in Los Angeles, they were in San Francisco.”

  “I’m sorry,” Amelia looked into my eyes. I looked back into hers, noticing for the first time they weren’t quite blue, but more of a steel gray.

  “Until I know for sure, I’m not giving up hope. In my heart, they’re still alive.”

  “What if you never find out?” Amelia asked.

  “Then I can’t say I didn’t try.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Avro and I spent a year together on the Search and Rescue team. I swear we searched every inch of California.”

  “You must have saved hundreds of lives! You are a hero. Avro is a hero,” Amelia argued, trying to find some solace.

  “We saved thousands of lives. But that didn’t take away my anger.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Amelia said.

  “I was an engineer at NASA. I was in the control room when everything went down!”

  “It wasn’t your fault! That was an accident, plain and simple. Shit happens, John, and once it does, there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it.”

  Amelia was right. It wasn’t my fault. Deep down, I accepted this. Right then, I put my hands up to my eyes and cried. Amelia leaned over and held me. Her hair smelled like my shampoo, and for a moment, just for a moment, I felt at home.

  After three days stuck in my apartment, Amelia was going stir crazy. I guess being a homemaker wasn’t for her.

  We watched the media coverage of her escape on the news, which basically consisted of several low ranking soldiers wandering around the central dome and looking confused. The Martian Council made a statement that they wouldn’t help track down Amelia unless formal charges were filed. Amelia assured us that they were looking for her but was confident the red tape provided a much needed distraction.

  Amelia insisted on going out, so we came up with several locations that didn’t have security cameras. The research bio dome was the most relaxing place on Mars and would provide the greatest amount of freedom for Amelia. The bio dome rose a few hundred feet above the rest of the colony, granting a clear view of the entire circumferential. We just needed a plan to get her there without being caught.

  We decided we could use Avro’s Electro-Davidson. Except for the whine of the electric pistons, it was a relatively discreet way to travel. The bike had a fifteen-kilowatt battery, producing over two hundred horsepower. Most importantly, the helmet visors were tinted, allowing the rider, or riders, a level of anonymity.

  Letting Amelia ride the motorcycle made me nervous. If she crashed, she’d be discovered and would end up back in the hospital. But Amelia told us to “grow a pair,” grabbing the helmet the moment she heard about the idea. So down in the parking structure, Avro taught Amelia how to ride.

  As an added precaution, Amelia dyed her hair red and shortened it to about six inches. Using hair gel, she molded a cowlick in the front and sculpted the remaining hair behind her ears. To complete her new look, she popped the lenses out of the novelty glasses and wore those as well. With her transformation complete, she looked like a pop star, a far cry from the military officer she actually was.

  Amelia even started talking about turning herself in. She reasoned that once Project Bakersfield eliminated the storm threat, her secrets were a lot less dangerous. Her plan was to meet in secret with a psychiatrist, admit to being insane, and convince the shrink she was no longer a threat to herself or others. Then, she’d turn herself in to the Martian Council and ask for a fair trial.

  At worst she should be placed on the next cruiser back to Earth with a discharge from her unit. At least that’s how we reasoned it anyway.

  Three weeks later, on a Wednesday, our drones screwed in the last solar panel and Project Bakersfield was complete and ready for testing. The cable-laying trucks had finished laying the anti-storm coils, and the cabling crews headed back to the colony after their long expedition around the planet.

  The following Saturday, the Martian Council held a party or sorts, celebrating the end of the storms. It was nothing like Kevin’s party, basically just sandwiches and alcohol-free tang, but it was nice to be recognized. The celebration was held in the central pavilion, and a few hundred people gathered as members of the Council made long speeches, thanking the various people involved.

  I stood with Avro and Kevin near the podium and looked around at the crowd. In attendance were several young men and women from the mining operation, who tended to dress casually. Then there were the engineers, standing around with their sleeves rolled up (Kevin being the only exception). The folks from Central Control all wore matching golf shirts. A few of the colony’s police officers stood nearby, looking bored like police typically do.

  But I noticed something strange. In every speech, they were thanking the gracious benefactors from the Alamo. People looked around and clapped every time this was brought up, but curiously, none of the folks from the Alamo, including H3, were in attendance.

  The speeches were followed by a ribbon cutting to declare the project complete. It was here where we met Jeff Watson from Environmental Engineering and Director Jackson from Central. We drank champagne and shook hands but it was pretty low key.

  After the ceremony, Leeth joined Kevin, Avro and me in the bio dome with a case of Martian IPA. We stood at the Look-Off, a secluded section of the park with a great view. Be
hind us, birds chirped in the trees, and several joggers passed by on the trail that snaked around the research complex.

  “What a view,” Avro said, nodding in appreciation as we stood facing the circumferential, admiring the storm coils emanating from the colony.

  “Yup,” I said, taking a sip of the cold beer.

  “Yup,” Leeth added.

  “Yup,” Kevin repeated.

  “Yup,” said a female voice, from behind us.

  “Ack, woman!” Kevin said, “Where the hell did you come from!”

  “I was over there, on that bench reading a book.”

  “Glad you could make it,” Avro said, putting his arm around her.

  “Well, now that you’re all here, I’d like to propose a toast,” Leeth said, pulling out his flask.

  “Is that Kevin’s moonshine?” I asked, pointing at the flask.

  “Sure is,” Kevin replied, pulling out a flask of his own.

  “Classy,” remarked Amelia.

  “To the end of the storms,” Kevin said, raising his flask and taking a sip.

  “To the end of the storms!” we all repeated and passed the flasks around.

  That evening I found out why no one from the Alamo was at the ceremony. Kevin sent me a text telling me to check NewsFlash. I accessed SpaceNet from my holovision and brought up the report.

  Robert Bowden stood in a pressurized mining canal while autonomous trucks rumbled by. He waited for them to pass before starting.

  “Red Planet Mining Corporation has issued a statement regarding the future of the mining activities here on Mars. As many of you know, recent advances in drone tech have enabled greater automation in the mines, and several new drone models arrived during the recent launch window. The company reports that productivity gains from these devices have been outstanding, and the need for human oversight in the mines is rapidly declining.”