Grayson scanned the file and didn’t find anything malicious attached to it. Out of curiosity, he opened it:
HELP ME.
ALICE
Two words and a name. Grayson scratched his head. He immediately ran a full system scan for malware. It came back negative. His other scan showed minimal ghost activity - the kind that wouldn’t trip the IPTA’s scanners. Not knowing what else to do, Grayson ultimately deleted the anomalous file and decided it was time for bed.
It took him longer than normal to fall asleep; planetary gravity was subtly different from rotational gravity. The anomalous file ceased irking him as his consciousness faded.
In the morning, he took the tube back to Chimborazo. The briefcase made it through the IPTA scans like he knew it would. Yet, he found himself unable to shake a feeling of unease: the sense of some presence followed him up the elevator into space.
One of the Martians from yesterday rode the gondola as well. He wasn’t snapping pictures of the sky this time, but looking pensively toward the horizon from deep set eyes. Grayson studied him and wondered why his trip was so short. The man’s outward appearance gave little away. His straight black hair was cut into a bowl. He had a wiry frame, crooked nose, and slightly sallow complexion. Grayson pegged him for a skilled laborer. His body displayed the right hardness, but a common worker could never afford the trip to Earth. Although the man and his party had been on the transport from Mars with Grayson, Grayson never took the time to know any of them.
The man’s eyes flickered to Grayson, who acknowledged him with the slightest of nods, and then flickered back out the gondola windows as the atmosphere outside thinned into the vacuum of space.
The gondola came to a stop in high orbit at Gagarin Station, and Grayson found himself and the man sitting next to each other on the hopper that would take them to Theia Prime, where a Mars convoy was preparing to disembark the following day. It was the largest lunar city besides the eponymous capital and its transition to urban center from spaceport was the reason for the founding of Theia Secunda, which now found itself slowly undergoing the same process. Nevertheless, Theia Prime still hosted a large volume of traffic.
“Leaving so soon?” The man asked with a middling Martian accent. Martians never fully closed their vowels.
“I could ask the same of you,” Grayson replied.
The man shrugged. “Family emergency. Can’t be helped.”
Grayson grunted. “Bad timing, that.”
The man agreed. “And you?”
“Business trip.” Grayson had little desire for small talk.
“Ah. No time to stay and take in the sights? Must be important business…”
Grayson was acutely aware of the briefcase beneath his seat. “Not particularly. I just prefer it spaceside. After so much time in rotation, planetary gravity makes me queasy.”
The man laughed. “Reverse space sickness? Never heard of that one before.”
Grayson patted his belly. “Weak stomach I guess.”
“Where you off to now?”
“Mars.”
“No kidding? We’re probably on the same transport again. What are the odds of that.”
“Dunno.”
“I’m Shreiv.” It was a common Martian name. He extended his hand.
Grayson shook it. “Grayson.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” And with that Shreiv finally let the conversation die.
2
MARS
The Mars convoy departed Theia Prime in fourteen hours, and they would not allow the passengers to begin boarding until the other cargo was in place. Grayson did not feel like spending money to secure a private room for such a short period, so he spent the time waiting inside the spaceport. Shriev also seemed to be hanging around close by, but he did not inflict himself upon Grayson.
The spaceport was equal parts departure hub, amenities, and market. Grayson wound his way through the throng, spying likely diversions. He stopped into an antique bookseller and roamed the musty sweetness inside. He appreciated the tactile medium paper books provided even if they weren’t as efficient as a datapad. In his perusing, he nearly bumped into a young woman as he rounded the corner from fiction and into histories. Her auburn hair, shaved underneath on the sides, stuck in his memory.
Further down the promenade, he found a peddler of gadgets promising relief from the various tedious aspects of spaceflight. At last, he settled on a lively cafe packed with the more cosmopolitan sort of travelers. It overlooked the promenade from a level up. Grayson seated himself at a bar along the railing and settled in to watch the people pass by below. He picked out Shreiv among them.
He ordered, in alternating rounds, pints of stout and cups of espresso, and passed five hours in this fashion until a man thrust himself into the chair beside Grayson. He practically threw his briefcase onto the ground next to Grayson’s. The man had beady eyes, and his business suit seemed slick at first glance but upon closer inspection revealed itself as eminently affordable. His tie was pulled low and collar open as he spoke with overbearing import into his phone.
“No, YOU tell Hicks that what we agreed on and that’s how it is going to be… uh huh… uh huh… no, no…. no, no listen. Listen, put Hicks on the line I’ll deal with him myself… Not in his office? Well connect me to his personal line…”
The harangue continued long enough for Grayson to consider abandoning the spot, when the man abruptly slammed the phone on the countertop.
“Can’t get any good damn help these days!” He said to no one in particular. He punched a new number into his phone and pushed his chair out. “Hi, Gabriella? Change of plans. I’m getting a hopper to Lunar City.” The man spun around to leave and snagged his briefcase.
Grayson looked down and saw a dark brown briefcase lying on its side next to his chair, but tt wasn’t the case he got from Benedict. The leather was too new. His case swung from the arm of the beady eyed man as he pushed his way out of the cafe.
Grayson jumped from his seat with the man’s briefcase and pushed his way through the crowd that threatened to cut him off. The man moved so quickly. An urgency rose in Grayson’s chest as he chased the man down a broad flight of stairs. He was able to make up some distance since most people crowded the escalators. He felt if the man made it to the main promenade, then he would surely be lost in the crowd.
Grayson lunged and grasped for the man’s shoulder just as he came upon the promenade.
The man jerked his shoulder away and tried to keep going.
Grayson grabbed the fabric of his coat.
“What’s your problem - get off me!”
“You have my briefcase,” Grayson said.
“The hell do you mean?” The man squared up with Grayson.
Grayson held up the man’s briefcase. “You took the wrong one when you left the case. You grabbed mine by mistake.” He held out his hand to make the exchange.
The man glared at the case Grayson held up and then looked down at the one in his hands. He shoved the mistaken case into Grayson’s chest and snatched the correct one before rounding the corner onto the promenade.
“Asshole…” Grayson muttered. He inspected the case and decided to not set it down like that again. It was a fluke but too close a call nonetheless.
The transport was an older Acrellis class modular light freighter. The drive module was also older, utilizing a tokamak fusion reactor. The torus was set towards the fore like a halo, and three double rows of solar panels branched off the main hull for secondary power. The cylindrical passenger module ran perpendicular to the main hull and was capable of rotating to reverse the direction of the internal gravity during deceleration instead of requiring the whole ship to flip. Five large spherical modules trailed next: the cargo holds. Lastly, fusion micro-rockets the size of refrigerators were set in clusters fore and aft. The transport was joined by four others of varying design to make up the convoy.
Shreiv arrived at the same time as Grayson to board the transport. T
he Martian laborer grinned and gave a friendly wave. Grayson nodded. As it turned out, it proved hard to avoid him on the small transport, but he had a naive amicability the was ultimately disarming. After several encounters, Grayson found himself liking the man and passing the time with him.
Shriev had informed opinions on a wide variety of topics ranging from Martian affairs to interplanetary ones. He regaled Grayson with his solutions to the deadlock between the arcologists and the terraformers on Mars and also how to best reunite the outer rim with the inner worlds (Grayson was personally against the latter idea, but Shriev showed an optimism that made Grayson suppose it wouldn’t be the worst thing). For a laborer - even a skilled one - Shriev was remarkably well read, and for a time Grayson imagined himself a younger man again, fancying himself an intellectual avant grade with enough optimism to solve the problems of the solar system over beers and done before bed. They touched on numerous topics over the two week journey except for why they were both returning to Mars.
Towards the end of the journey, two Earth days out from Mars, they were talking per their usual in the ship’s dorsal observation lounge.
“And that is why the best option is a compromise,” Shriev was explaining, “you terraform the canyons and cave systems that are easily enclosed, and you transform the mountains like Olympus Mons into arcologies - which it is already halfway there. It will be generations before anyone would need to go any farther towards terraforming the whole planet.”
Grayson sipped a coffee. Although there was no true morning or evening in space, his biological clock told him it was too early for beer. Besides, Shriev was a teetotaler. “Makes sense to me.”
“So what is in that briefcase of yours?” Shriev asked.
“Excuse me?”
Shriev waved at the case. “You always carry it, but I’ve never seen you open it.”
Grayson shrugged. “It’s work stuff.”
“You can’t leave it in your capsule?”
“No.”
“Uh huh. So that’s what brought you to Earth and back then?”
Grayson put the case beside him and draped his arm over it. “Partially.”
“Super secret, I get it,” Shriev seemed put off.
Grayson decided to shift the focus. “I don’t think you ever told me what cut your vacation short. You said it was some kind of family emergency? I don’t suppose you’ve gotten any updates - are things alright?”
Shriev shifted in his seat. “Things are… stable for now. My mother has cancer.”
“I’m - I’m sorry,” Grayson said. He recalled the satisfaction helping people get better gave him as a doctor, and Shriev was the kind of person one especially liked helping. Sarah flickered in his thoughts.
“It’s okay. It looked like the treatments were having some bad side effects. I’ve been there the whole way, and she had to beg me to take some time to go on this vacation. I knew I should have stayed.”
Grayson nodded. “Immunotherapy or nanite therapy?”
“Uh…both.”
“Both?”
“Yeah, it’s in the advanced stages, so the doctors are throwing everything at it.”
Grayson furrowed his brow. “You mean they’re staggering them? You can’t do both at the same time. The nanites interfere with the leukapheresis necessary to upregulate the T-cells. But I’ve never heard of staggering them.” Then again, Grayson had been out of things for a long time, and oncology was Sarah’s field.
Shriev stood suddenly. “What, you supposed to know something about it?”
“A little. I was in the medical field.”
“Yeah well I didn’t ask for your opinion.” Shriev left.
Grayson sat befuddled and downcast. Shriev’s reaction surprised him, and at the same time he worried that something he said had set the man off.
Grayson didn’t see much of Shriev the next two days. They were scheduled to dock at Mariner Station, permanent home to about five thousand in addition to the ebb and flow of travelers and commerce. Grayson was treated to a view of the orbital ring under construction from the observation lounge as the convoy waited its turn in queue - taxiing in orbit to maintain nominal gravity. The ring had been in progress for a decade now. It was billed as the gateway to the belt and beyond, guaranteed to turn Mars into the most important destination between the inner worlds and the rim; however, that was before the Jovian rebellion. Years in bureaucratic hell and its fair share of governmental corruption stymied its progress, but the citizens of Mars had recently organized to rejuvenate the construction effort.
Grayson was on his way back to his capsule to prepare for disembarkment when Shriev came running down the corridor.
“Grayson, you must help me!” His eyes were wide, imploring.
Grayson met him “Help with what?”
“A message, from mother’s doctors. I don’t know what it means or what to do. Can you help me?”
Grayson was taken aback considering Shriev’s reaction the other day, but he was happy to make amends. “Of course, what does it say?”
“I need to pull it up. Can I use the console in your quarters?”
“Yes, of course.” Grayson’s quarters were only just around the corner. He keyed in the code and the door opened for them. “There’s the console,” he said, pointing.
“Thank you, thank you!” Shriev said. He took one step towards the console then turned and laid Grayson out with a right cross across the jaw.
Grayson dropped the briefcase. He fell against the bulkhead, staggered. His surroundings went dark around the edges, and he fell to one knee and toppled over.
Shriev grabbed the briefcase and quickly unlatched it to look inside. He studied the contents only a second before closing it again. “Sorry, pal,” he said, his Martian accent vanishing like a well played bluff once the chips are down. He produced a bundle of zip ties from his pocket and approached Grayson. “It’s nothing personal, you know. Someone from the crew will find you after docking. I just can’t have you following after me.”
He knelt beside Grayson and grabbed one wrist, then the other.
Grayson stirred and grabbed ahold of Shriev’s shirt. He yanked the fabric and jerked Shriev off balance. Grayson rolled atop Shriev and scored a pair of crosses himself before the other could bring his hands up in defense.
Grayson grabbed the case and brought it down on Shriev. Once to break through his defense. Twice to daze him. A third time for good measure.
Shriev lay motionless but still breathing, and Grayson took the ties intended for himself and bound the unconscious man. He grabbed the case, his rucksack, and scrambled for their airlock to be the first off the ship once it docked. His jaw clicked when he tested it. Grayson hoped it wasn’t dislocated.
Others gathered around the airlock. The gravity shifted as the ship matched the rotation of Mariner Station, and what had been the wall became the floor. The sound of pressure seals clicking into place signified the final phase of docking was complete.
The simulacrum of a female voice came over the ship’s PA: “Docking complete. Disembarkment may now begin. Please exit the airlock in an orderly fashion.”
Mariner Station’s shape resembled a spinning top with tapered spires extending from a central saucer section. The airlocks lined the exterior bulkhead of the saucer section and opened directly onto the promenade: a logistical oversight from the early days and one of the many reasons why a new structure like the orbital ring was needed. The inner wall hosted shops, cafes, and entertainment. Between the two, a wide boulevard circled the station - the promenade. The whole station was spartan in design with the bare steel of the bulkheads and deck plating left exposed, but the populace had done its part trying to liven the atmosphere. Fake greenery adorned every corner (for water was too precious to grow plants outside of the arboretum), colored lights were strung in the walkways, and banners and tapestries covered the most unsightly bulkheads.
Owing to the confrontation with Shriev, Grayson set foot on Marin
er Station on high alert. He was still processing what it meant. His story, the accent - was it all a ruse? He looked down at the case. Were others after it, and had Benedict known? Trade in engrams and the other components of personal identity could be exceptionally lucrative, but Grayson had never heard of violence breaking out over it - apart from the rare showdown between the IPTA or some other authority and a cornered smuggler. However, if Shriev were IPTA, he would have just used his authority to arrest Grayson and have the transport captain confine him until they reached Mars
Grayson exited onto a section of the promenade opposite an arcade and some cafes with seating out front - nearly full. Grayson stepped into the flow of the station. The throng was thick enough one had to keep moving to avoid being bumped, but ease of movement within the flow was not difficult. Nevertheless, Grayson nearly tripped upon seeing the man seated outside the cafe ahead of him: the very same who mistakenly took his briefcase on Theia Prime.
Didn’t he say he was taking a hopper to Lunar City? What were the odds he would have done that and also come here, making it before Grayson no less. It seemed like too much of a coincidence for his liking, and after recent events he was not keen on coincidences. Grayson ducked to the side behind where two bulkheads joined to get himself out of the milieu and take a longer look. There was no mistaking it. It was the same man, only this time he was calmly reading while drinking a coffee.
Presently, a woman passed Grayson walking in the opposite direction from which he came. As she passed, her eyes flickered toward him momentarily, and he realized that he recognized her too. Inky hair, long and straight, but shaved up on the sides. The hair was a different color - it had been auburn then - but it was the same woman he nearly ran into at the bookseller. She continued walking and he watched her fade into the crowd.
The other man was still at the cafe. When Grayson looked, the man looked down. Grayson gripped his rucksack and briefcase with white knuckles and strode with hurried pace; he wanted to find a secure spot to regroup and plan. He kept one eye over his shoulder. If there were two, then there could be more. What did Benedict get him into?
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