by Allen Steele
In all the years he’d spent on Mars, he’d seldom felt a moment of awe as he did just then.
He almost regretted reaching the platform on the opposite side of the gorge.
The final platform was only a short distance away, erected in the center of the canyon floor. They detached the pulleys for the last time and took off their harnesses, then picked up the containers and carried them down a short flight of stairs. At the bottom of the tower was the trail leading from the gorge to Base Camp Three, a couple of kilometers away. Before they started walking, though, they peered up at the massive bluffs rising above them.
“Still want to make that hike, Doc?” McGrath pointed to where the narrow path traced a nearly invisible line up the canyon’s western wall. “There it is.”
Bacquart stared at the path. “How are we going to get the vase all the way up that?”
“Guess we’re gonna have to carry it.” McGrath looked at Baynes. “Unless you persuade someone to bend the rules a little and send an airship down here.”
Baynes didn’t reply. He wasn’t looking forward to carrying a heavy artifact uphill either. On the other hand, he doubted this would be an issue. The vase was probably destroyed. This trip was just to convince Camille Bacquart of the truth.
They reached Base Camp Three around dusk, as the last light of day was dimming in Ius Chasma. The base was a large, inflatable dome with its own toilet, air generator, and solar array. There was no point in trying to go any further that day, so they entered the dome, switched on the heat, settled in for the night. Dinner was freeze-dried stew from their supplies, rehydrated and warmed. They took the opportunity to recharge their suit batteries and CO2 filters, then unfolded the cots stored in the dome. It had been a long day, so they went to bed early, although Baynes was kept awake for awhile by loud snoring from the other side of the small room. McGrath, of course.
Next morning, Baynes and McGrath checked out the two rovers parked beside the dome. Both were protected by tarps, which in turn were covered by sand from recent dust storms. They swept away the grit, removed the tarps, and inspected each vehicle. Both were usable, but one was a bit less battered than the other. Baynes switched on its solar collector and let it bring the batteries to full charge while they loaded their gear aboard, and by mid-morning they were ready to go.
It wasn’t the first time anyone had driven through these parts. Tire tracks led east along the valley’s north wall, just visible through the most recent deposit of wind-blown sand. It would have been convenient to simply follow the tracks, hence avoiding the countless rocks and boulders that threatened to obstruct their way, but Baynes was careful not to succumb to temptation. Although it was the narrowest part of the Valles Marineris, Ius Chasma was still wide enough that they could easily miss the lander if they hugged the valley walls.
Baynes took the first shift at the wheel, with McGrath sitting beside him. The rover had a small observation dome just behind the front seats; Bacquart stood within it, bracing herself with one hand while using a pair of binoculars to search the terrain. Once they cleared a small mesa squatting in the middle of the valley not far from the base camp, Baynes steered to the right, taking them out of the tire tracks and toward the valley’s midline. Soon the towering north wall no longer spread its shadow upon them, while the ridgeline that ran down the Ius Chasma’s center loomed to their right as an irregular row of jagged peaks.
The trip was rough. The rover had six fat wheels mounted on an independent suspension system, but they didn’t save its passengers from the constant bumping and jouncing that came with every rock and pothole they rolled across. It was all Baynes could do just to keep the wheel steady; he let the other two look for the lander while he concentrated on avoiding as much debris as possible. He’d hoped to make good time, but soon discovered that he was doing well if he managed twenty kph; at times, he was forced to slow to a crawl that a man on foot would have outpaced.
Around midday, they stopped to take a lunch break and change drivers. By then they’d put seventy-three kilometers between them and the base camp. Not bad, but not very good either.
Bacquart had taken the worst abuse during the ride. At least Baynes and McGrath had the benefit of seat belts. She’d stood the entire time, and as a result she’d bruised her shoulders and bashed her head a couple of times against the observation dome; her legs were stiff and sore when she finally sat down. Baynes volunteered to take her place at the dome, and once they’d finished their sandwiches and taken turns visiting the small chemical toilet in the back of the rover, he reluctantly planted his feet where she’d stood and prepared him for the ordeal to come.
Just as McGrath started up the rover again, though, Baynes happened to glance back at the way they’d come. Far in the distance, almost at the visible horizon, he spotted something odd: a small plume of hazy red dust swirling up from the center of the valley, almost exactly where they’d been only about an hour earlier.
“Hold it!” he snapped. “I think I see something!”
McGrath stepped on the brakes just as the rover began to move. Bacquart turned around. “The lander?”
“No…the other direction.” Baynes used the binoculars to peer more closely at the plume. Its base was too far away for him to make out, and it seemed to diminish even as he watched it. “I could have sworn…I don’t know, but it looked like another rover.”
“The one from the camp?” McGrath asked, and chuckled when Baynes nodded. “Don’t let your eyes fool you, boss. It’s a dust devil.”
Baynes was unconvinced. “I still think it’s…”
“Naw, I’ve seen those down here before. Wind plays tricks down here. Bounces off the walls, spins around, kicks up sand…looks like another rover, but it ain’t.” McGrath pushed the gearshift forward again. “Dust devil. Take my word for it.”
Baynes looked back once more. The plume had reappeared, but he had to admit that McGrath could be right. It might well be a natural phenomenon, not the sign of another vehicle following him. All the same, he couldn’t help but remember their encounter with the men from Wellstown, and how Smith had insisted on joining them.
Were they following them? It was possible, but it was just as likely that his suspicions were only getting the better of him. Baynes told himself that there was no sense in worrying. He needed to pay attention to where they were going, not what lay behind. So he kept his eyes trained on the way ahead and tried not to let himself get bounced around too much.
It was just as well that he didn’t let himself get distracted, for only an hour and a half later they found the lander.
The glint of sunlight reflecting off metal was what drew Baynes’ eye. He spotted it from almost a kilometer away and immediately told McGrath to veer left. He hoped it wasn’t a mirage, and it wasn’t. The reflection grew brighter as they approached its source, and within a few minutes they found the crash site.
The lander had come down hard, yet somehow remained upright, although listing slightly to one side. Its cylindrical engine module resembled a barrel crushed underfoot by a giant, with twisted hull plates scattered in all directions. The conical payload module had a big dent in one side but was otherwise intact. The emergency parachute had deployed, which was probably what saved the vehicle from total destruction; a ripped candy-cane shroud fluttering in the errant breeze was evidence that its lines had probably snarled during the descent, limiting its effectiveness. If the lander had been a manned vehicle, everyone aboard probably would have been severely injured or killed on impact.
Even before the rover came to a halt, Baynes told the others to put on their helmets and seal their suits. McGrath decompressed the rover, and he popped the hatch as soon as he put on the brakes. Bacquart nearly shoved Baynes out of her way in her haste to get out, but he begged her to be patient until he made sure that the lander was safe to approach; any fuel still leaking from the ruptured tanks might pose a hazard.
The hazmat detector he’d brought with him found only trace amou
nts of liquid oxygen and hydrazine; most of it had already evaporated. So he and Bacquart unloaded their equipment and carried it to the wreckage. McGrath remained in the rover to call Arsia Station and report their success.
Baynes was in luck. The recessed rungs of the access ladder hadn’t been damaged, with the lowest ones within reach. He took a few hand tools from one of the equipment cases and slipped them into the skinsuit’s thigh pockets, then carefully scaled the ladder. The payload hatch was badly dented and couldn’t be easily opened; after working it over with a wrench and screwdriver, he asked McGrath to fetch the cutting torch they’d brought with them.
The guide emerged from the rover with the torch’s carrying case in hand. Watching him from atop the lander, Baynes wondered what had taken him so long. His most immediate concern was getting the hatch open, though, so he had Bacquart toss up a nylon rope. He looped one end through the hatch’s hand rung, then dropped the other end to the ground and told McGrath to fasten it to the torch. Once he had it in hand, Baynes adjusted the portable laser’s focus, then aimed it at the hatch and switched it on.
It took about ten minutes to cut through the hatch’s ruined lock. Once that was done, he was able to finally swing the hatch open. Switching on his helmet lamps, he peered inside. As he’d expected, everything was thrown around. Crates and boxes had snapped their tie-down lines and fallen against one another, their lids bursting to spill their contents; everything from bagged mineral samples to underwear lay in a jumble.
On hands and knees, Baynes pushed aside the junk, searching for what he knew to be the largest object in the module. It took him several minutes to find it: a large, octagonal sphere, its panels draped with the deflated sacks of its airbags. He’d just located it when he heard a hollow thump; twisting around, he saw that Bacquart had climbed up the ladder and crawled into the payload module behind him.
“There it is!” she shouted. “Open it, quickly!”
“Just a minute. Hold on.” Baynes had to look hard to find the panel marked ACCESS OPEN. It was sealed with lug nuts; he used a rotary hex wrench to unfasten them, then lifted the panel away. Its interior was filled with gelatin capsules; as Bacquart crowded in beside him, he used his hands to scoop them out and drop them on the deck around their feet.
Suddenly, there it was. Within the beams of their helmet lamps lay a large and decadently ornate vase, the figurine of a war god perched on its lid regarding them with an impetuous gaze as if to say, Well, what took you so long? Not broken. He was glad that Jenkins hadn’t taken that bet he’d made.
Bacquart sighed with relief, murmured something in French. “You and me both,” Baynes replied, even though he didn’t understand what she’d said. “You were right…the container did its job.”
“I thought it would.” Her voice was choked. When Baynes looked at her again, he saw tears on the other side of her faceplate. “Merci…merci beaucoup.”
He didn’t know whether she was thanking him, the container’s designer, or a higher power, but it didn’t matter. “Don’t be too thankful,” he said. Withdrawing his hands from the container, he slapped a hand against its side and gave it a quick once-over. “Here’s the bad news…there’s no way we’re going to get this thing out of here. Not without the forklift they used to put it in here in the first place.”
“We can’t take the container?”
“Uh-uh. Just the vase.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “It’s not all bad. We can put together another container once we’re home. Maybe not with all the safety features this one had, but good enough to get it back to Versailles.”
Bacquart hesitated. “All right, but we’ll have to be careful. Perhaps there’s something here…?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Squatting on his thighs, Baynes rummaged through the stuff which lay around them until he found what he was looking for, an aluminum crate about the size of a beer cooler which had broken open during the crash. Dark blue stains and broken bottles attested to what had once been in it: Martian sauvignon noir, probably from the famed hydroponic vineyards of the DaVinci colony, to be shipped to a wealthy wine collector back on Earth.
“This will do, I think,” he said, and he was right. The crate was large enough to hold the vase. Working together, Baynes and Bacquart delicately removed the vase from the shipping container and lay it down in the crate, padding it at the top, bottom, and around the sides with gelatin capsules. The crate’s lock was damaged but still usable; they could seal it later with duct tape.
“We’ll have to carry it all the way uphill once we get back to the gorge,” Baynes said, “but I think we can manage.” He patted one of the handles attached to either end of the crate. “If you’ll get me the rope I used for the torch, please…?”
McGrath was standing at the bottom of the lander when they finally emerged from the payload module. He watched as Baynes and Bacquart pulled the crate through the hatch and, each holding the rope, carefully lowered it to the ground. Baynes noticed that he was unusually quiet, but it wasn’t until he and Bacquart reached the ground that they discovered the reason why.
Another rover was stopped a short distance away, on the other side of the lander where it couldn’t be seen from anyone inside the lander. Baynes immediately recognized it as the second one from the base camp. It must have arrived only a minute or so earlier, because three men were walking toward them.
Smith and his friends. And they were carrying guns.
Firearms were uncommon on Mars. There had never been much need for colonists to have guns; no threats from native animals, and disputes among settlers were generally settled through peaceful arbitration or, if that failed, marshals carrying nonlethal weapons.
In recent years, though, guns had begun to make their way from Earth. The separatist movement was responsible for this. Believing that revolution was inevitable, political extremists had begun smuggling handguns and rifles to the colonies, albeit only two or three at a time, in expectation that they would use armed force to take control of settlements during an insurrection. So when Baynes saw Smith and his companions were armed, he knew at once who they were and what they had in mind.
“You’re not getting it,” he said, stepping between them and the crate.
“Wanna bet?” Smith hadn’t yet raised the .45 semi-auto in his right hand, but the two men following him did. “Make it easy on yourself. Step away from the box and no one has to get hurt.”
Baynes glanced at McGrath. The guide stood quietly nearby, neither coming to Baynes’ aid nor lifting a hand to help Smith. Not that Baynes believed for a moment that he wasn’t involved. McGrath must have seen the other rover approaching while he and Bacquart were inside the lander, yet he hadn’t warned them. Just as he’d known that the plume Baynes had spotted a couple of hours earlier wasn’t really a dust devil.
“I’d do as he says,” McGrath said. “I know this guy. He means business.”
“Funny that you neglected to tell me that earlier,” Baynes growled. “When did you get in touch with him? Before we left Arsia, so he’d be there when we arrived at the descent station?”
McGrath didn’t reply, but he looked away when Baynes said this. “I don’t understand,” Bacquart said. She stood beside the crate, staring in disbelief at Smith and his men. “Why would they want the vase? They can’t possibly sell it or have any use for it.”
“Sell it, no. But use it, yes. They’re secessionists…part of an underground movement that wants to liberate the colonies and join the Pax Astra.” Baynes gestured toward the crate. “I’m guessing that they see some advantage in stealing a valuable artifact.”
“You got it, chief.” Smith’s grin was visible through his helmet faceplate. “I got the idea when it was being shown in Wellstown. Pretty piece of junk like this must be worth something to somebody. Maybe you can’t sell it, at least not out there, but you can sure hold it for ransom. Guns, supplies…or maybe just hold on to it as a bargaining chip for when the time comes for some…y�
��know, forceful negotiations.”
“So why didn’t you just steal it in Wellstown when you had a chance?”
“It was under lock and key most of the time, and there wouldn’t have been any way to hide it even if we did get it. Out here, though…” Smith shrugged. “Anyway, you get the idea. Let’s stop wasting time.” He turned to the two men standing behind him. “Go on, go get it. They’re not going to stop you.”
“No,” Bacquart said. “You may not have it.”
Smith laughed again. “Lady, you ain’t got no choice.” He raised the gun in his hand. “Stand aside, Frenchie, or take a bullet. Up to you.”
“Then I do have a choice, don’t I?” Her voice was tight. “Very well, then…”
She sat down on the crate.
Baynes stared at her, utterly surprised by what she’d just done. “Camille, are you out of your mind?”
“Very possibly, oui.” Sitting bolt upright, she placed her hands on her knees. “Nonetheless, I will not be moved. They will have to shoot me first.”
Smith’s men stopped. They too were stunned by what she was doing. “Dude…” one of them began, looking helplessly at their leader.
“Look, lady, I’m warning you.” Taking a step closer, Smith grasped his gun with both hands and took aim straight at Bacquart. “Get off the box. Now.”
Bacquart didn’t move. “No.”
For a second, Baynes had an impulse to rush Smith, perhaps tackle him and rip the gun from his hand. But he was standing too far away and his finger was within the trigger guard; any sudden action would be fatal, either to him or Bacquart. Yet Smith wasn’t tightening his finger on the trigger. He had a dead bead on her, but it seemed as if he was hesitating. Perhaps…