by Jaine Fenn
No one else down here, which was a relief. I had no way of knowing whether the pursuit vehicle currently stuck behind the broken airlock happened to be in the right place at the right time, was just quick off the mark when we tripped the alarm or was in possession of advance info. I didn’t know whether Nico and Gregori had been pursued either.
I’d set my suit set to ping the others. Nothing yet. Not that I expected to hear from them for a while, given how far apart our various exit points had been.
I turned the ’bug radio back on. Nothing but static. I breathed a little easier.
My suit pinged me. No voice, just a ping, but I knew what it meant. I smiled and looked up the slope. The ground was steeper here, as my ’bug crawled farther up the great expanse of Olympus’ skirts, but we’d chosen this route because it was relatively free of crevasses, broken ground or other obstacles. I couldn’t see anything that wasn’t red and rocky on the slope ahead, and there was no anomalous outline on the horizon. But I hadn’t really expected to see much.
I was nearly on the flyer before I got a visual. Its identifying pings had been getting more frequent, and its looming bulk had also appeared on my hud, if not in the real world.
Two days ago Mr P, or more likely another of his agents, had flown into Olympus airspace on, I’m sure, legitimate business. Or more likely, pleasure, taking advantage of Mount Olympus’ legendary thermals. They’d swooped in using two large, slow gliders, no threat to anyone, and stayed clear of any areas which might be considered sensitive by the authorities. The fact that only one glider had left after this harmless leisure jaunt had gone unremarked; Mr P had confirmed that no one had taken an interest before we set off. Obviously he couldn’t be sure the flyer hadn’t been found since, but given it was powered down, under a mimetic cloth making it invisible unless you were practically standing on it and its transponder had only awoken in response to my suit’s ping, I had high hopes. Hopes now realised.
Still nothing from the others. I drove the ’bug up to the camo sheet, snuggling in close on the upslope side. If no one else made the rendezvous I’d have to fly out by myself. Shiv had given me a few flying lessons back on Earth and I’d topped up with a single sim-session here but if it came to it, I’d be relying on the autopilot. I could hear Shiv’s voice now, telling me how anyone could pilot a flyer, if they were willing to trust their lives to a machine and not try anything fancy. Unfortunately, the next part of the plan required something fancy. Shiv had gone on to say, laughing, how flying was like driving except as well as stop/go and left/right you also had to allow for up/down. He’d said it took skill to master that, implying he had that skill. But he’d died in a vehicle like this.
No room for that kind of thinking. I could mope later, when I was safe.
The mimetic fabric covering the flyer was an LM invention, though I’m not sure whether they also came up with the dissolution catalyst; always preferred making than breaking, those Deimon founders.
A yellow warning appeared in the corner of my hud. Five minutes oxygen remaining. Of course: the original plan was to keep the ’bugs pressurised; my rebreather saved me after the cock-up in the airlock but it was designed for emergency use only, in this case getting from bug to flyer. It was about to fail. Good job there was another source of breathable air around here. But I had to hurry.
The dis-cat for the mimetic fabric was a short rod; along with the limpet-charges, we’d each been issued with one, and I grabbed mine from the tunnelbug’s tool pouch. I took the rod, wrapped a corner of the fabric round it and held it in place, waiting for the reaction to start. Seconds later the rod glowed and vibrated. I let go and stepped back.
It worked fast. One moment I was standing next to a massive, odd shaped rock, then, with a speed my eyes worked hard to follow, the fabric covering just disappeared, unravelling to constituent molecules and blowing away in the wind, to reveal a four-person flyer.
As I stepped back to admire our penultimate form of transport my suit pinged. Gregori. About time.
‘Everything all right?’ I asked over the suit’s com.
‘I attracted some attention.’
‘But you lost them, yes?’ I moved round the flyer, looking for the hatch.
‘Oh yes. I had great fun.’
Of course he did. Did this boy take anything seriously? ‘You’ve not had any trouble since you left the tunnels?’ Here we are. The hatch opened directly onto the tiny cockpit with its four skeletal mesh-seats. An actual airlock would have been too much additional weight in a vehicle like this.
‘Some chatter on the radio, but no one knows where we are.’
I begged to differ. Orbital eyes would have been scanning for us as soon as we broke cover – some friendly, some not. And the unfriendly ones wouldn’t take long to spot the uncovered flyer. ‘Fine. We need to get going.’
‘Nico is not here?’ Gregori said as he swung his tunnelbug around to park next to mine.
‘Not yet.’
‘Should we leave him?’
I was tempted. We were on a clock. Hell, I was on a clock: I could only pressurize the flyer cabin when we were all inside. But we wouldn’t have got this far without our smiling ex-soldier. ‘Only if we…’ my suit pinged. ‘Nico, that you?’
‘Yeah. Sorry. Had to take a diversion.’
‘You were followed?’ Not him too.
‘No, it was a tunnel closure, some issue with those crappy old tunnels, y’know?’
‘Right. Let’s get a move on!’
I took the seat next to Gregori; Nico climbed aboard a few dozen seconds later and sat behind. Even with one person missing, the cockpit felt crowded. As soon as Gregori shut the door I hit the O2 release. As the cabin began to pressurize my rebreather status hit red. I held my breath. I knew the timings: the cabin would only take thirty seconds to full atmosphere. A very long thirty seconds. Twin tides of darkness began to edge in from the corners of my vision.
The cabin pressure light lit green.
I yanked the rebreather off and took a massive, gasping breath. Gregori, who’d been prepping for take-off, rolled his own suit down and took a more measured one, then grinned at me. ‘We are ready to go. I advise everyone to strap in!’
Before I could take Gregori’s advice I had to get my backpack off. In the cramped conditions I ended up with it on my lap, hugging the Eye to my chest.
The flyer vibrated as the engines kicked in. Only minimal power was required to launch in this gravity, just a couple of old-fashioned but sturdy props tucked under each wing. And we faced downslope, giving us a head start.
We shot off the side of Olympus Mons like the proverbial excrement off a spade.
Nico whistled, whether in surprise or appreciation I wasn’t sure.
Once my guts had caught up with the rest of my body I said, ‘No fancy stunts, Gregori. Just get us to the rendezvous as fast as you can.’
‘Aye-aye!’ He banked the craft in a long loop; we needed to come round to follow the slope of the mountain, up, up and away.
The radio hissed, then a bored female voice said, ‘Calling unidentified craft on the southeast quadrant, bearing two-six-one. This is Olympus Central ATC. Do you read us?’
Of course traffic control would be wanting a word. I was more concerned about parties who wouldn’t announce themselves.
I shook my head to confirm we wouldn’t be answering that hail. ‘Anyone else out here?’ I asked Gregori.
‘Two other flyers.’
‘What sort of flyers? How far away?’ Actually only one thing mattered. ‘Have they got the height on us?’
‘Wait… One is higher up the slope than us, but farther round, to the west. They have recently launched I think. The other is well below us, heading away.’
‘And are they powered?’
‘I am not sure. The closest one, it is a small craft, so it must be, da.’
This was actually good news. On Earth, air superiority is about thrust and manoeuvrability. On Mars, with its thin
air and low gravity, what matters is sustainable lift. As with the tunnelbugs, we’d had to work with standard off-the-shelf civilian tech. But size was on our side. This flyer was big but light. It had a lot of surface area – a lot of lift. And we’d be getting some extra help.
I turned to Gregori. ‘Can we lose the engines yet?’
‘Not yet. A little more height….’
‘And what’s that nearby flyer doing now?’
‘Ah. I think it is trying to intercept us.’
‘And will it succeed?’
‘Not if I can help it.’
I left it at that. It wasn’t as though we were built for complex evasive manoeuvres, but I’d hired Gregori for his piloting skills. If anyone could lose them, he could. We banked hard right, spiralling upwards.
The traffic controller repeated her request, less bored and more annoyed. I told Gregori to block the transmission.
Below us, the vast slopes of Olympus Mons scrolled past. It was possible to imagine we were flying on the flat, towards a distant horizon, rather than up the side of a geological feature big enough to swallow a small country.
Above us, unseen and – hopefully – undetected, something interesting was happening. Well, a couple of things, one routine and the other highly unusual.
‘We are high enough that the engines are of little use now, Ms C.’ I insisted Gregori called me that, despite what we got up to outside work hours.
‘Then let’s ditch them.’ And hope our friends in orbit are ready – both of them.
‘What is that English saying? Chocks away!’
The flyer shuddered, dipped, then bucked upwards. Gregori had detached the four prop engines, leaving them to tumble down to the red slope below us. In doing so he’d jettisoned half the flyer’s net weight, excluding passengers. Back on the surface this vehicle would now be light enough that, had it not had a footprint the size of a circus big top, the three of us might have lifted it between us. By reducing our weight this way we’d just added five percent to our lift and speed. Possibly more, given Mr P had come up with that figure based on there being four of us in the flyer; perhaps Ms McIntyre’s betrayal had a small upside. But we needed an additional advantage to ensure a clean getaway.
And that, finally, was where our tech teen in space came in.
The grand plan, when humans first settled Mars, had been to terraform it. One of the first acts of the proto-government of Mars – a council of corporate interests plus some national representatives – had been to establish the Mars Terraforming Treaty, which sounded grand and effective but hadn’t amounted to much so far. Terraforming was a vague and over-ambitious plan which no one country or corp would take the lead on – as witnessed by schemes like Project Rainfall, where what could have been a game-changer in making Mars habitable had become a source of short-term profit for one company. But some projects had been completed over the years under the auspices of the MTT: atmospheric enrichment schemes, introduction of tailored organisms like the hardy-lichens, and, most ambitious of all, the orbital mirrors. How much the space-mirrors at both poles and in geostationary orbit over the Tharsis region actually warmed the planet was still debated, and the payments that corps and nations grudgingly made to maintain the MTT barely covered their upkeep, but they were up there. And they were, apparently, hackable.
Ana should have taken control of the Tharsis mirror overnight, and had it refocused ready for dawn. But we were dealing with slow physical processes here, undetectable save by their knock-on effects. If I knew how bright a Martian morning usually was I could maybe have seen, or used my hudglasses to see, what Ana’s efforts were achieving, but I didn’t. I had to take her part in the plan on trust.
‘How’s that pursuing craft looking, Gregori?’
‘I think we are losing them.’
‘You think we’re losing them?’
‘They are keeping pace with us, so they must have highly efficient engines. Ah, wait.’
‘Don’t tell me: they’ve transformed into a glider too?’
‘No. But we are being contacted.’
‘By our pursuer?’
‘The caller is not using a transponder but yes, the signal originates from that direction.’
‘Oh go on then. Might as well hear what they’ve got to say.’ It would take my mind off worrying about whether Ana was doing her job. We were in her hands now, hers and Gregori’s.
‘I assume I am speaking to Ms Choi?’ A male voice, speaking perfect Mandarin.
I was past lying. But I was also past negotiating. ‘Assume what you like. How can we help you?’
‘It is more how we can help you.’
‘We’re doing fine actually.’
‘I am not sure the same can be said of your mother.’
‘My… What are you talking about?’
‘Ms Choi, I know it is a long way to Luna, and our influence there is not as great as on Mars, but I am sure you –’
‘Wait up. You – on behalf of Everlight I assume – are about to tell me that if I turn myself in you’ll, what, arrange for her to go free?’
‘Actually it was more stick than carrot, as the saying goes. If you do not give up the Eye now, then we have contacts on Luna who may –’
‘No.’
‘Do you understand what I am suggesting?’
‘You’re not suggesting, you’re threatening. Or possibly blackmailing. And I’m not having any of it.’ I reached across and cut the transmission.
I didn’t feel good about my decision, but it was possible harm for my mother versus ending up in prison myself, along with my accomplices; assuming Everlight even bothered with due process. If they did hurt Mum, I’d have a load of guilt to deal with, but deal I would. I wouldn’t blow the job, and betray my compatriots, on the chance Everlight would make good on their implied threat.
Gregori was looking at me like it was his mother I’d just condemned. ‘What?’ I snapped.
‘I only wished to tell you, we are now higher and faster than I have ever been!’
No, it wasn’t angst or condemnation, just that charming boyish excitement, bless him. And he wasn’t wrong. Several readouts were near their max. More strikingly, the view ahead showed a dark sky beyond the false horizon of the mountain; although were still on Olympus’ slopes, we were approaching the edge of Mars’ atmosphere. ‘That’s fantastic. And have we lost the pursuit?’
‘They are falling back. No one can catch us now, not with this speed and altitude.’
Had our pursuers launched a glider, that being what this flyer was now, then they too might have taken advantage of the exceptional thermal lift we were now getting off the expansive slopes of the solar system’s largest mountain, as heated up by the solar system’s largest space mirror. But they’d sent a small powered craft after us. And now the atmosphere was too thin for its engines, and we’d left it for dead. Despite the hiccups, the plan had worked. The final rendezvous was imminent.
‘I am sorry about this.’
It took me a moment to register who’d spoken. I turned in my seat to see Nico pointing a large gun at me. ‘Oh for… Seriously? Am I going to meet anyone today who doesn’t work for Everlight?’
‘I don’t!’ chirped Gregori, oblivious of this latest double-cross.
‘And nor do I.’
‘Really, Nico? Then what is going on?’
Beside me, Gregori turned in his seat and saw what Nico was holding. ‘Oh,’ he murmured, then turned back and hunched down, like making himself small enough might save him.
‘Please do as I say now, Ms C. I will tell you where to land this craft.’
He was nervous, which was both understandable and potentially useful. ‘I think you owe us an explanation first. You’re not Everlight so who… is it the Triads?’
‘They have my wife and child. I must do as they say.’
My mind started working out ways we could solve this, some course of action that allowed us to save Nico’s family without blowing the job. T
hen I caught myself. ‘You’re divorced; your ex-wife is on Earth. And you have no children.’
He smiled his winning smile. ‘You have me there. I thought you would do your research, but it was worth a try. Families can be our weak points, can’t they?’
‘And to think I liked you, Nico.’
‘You know it is nothing personal.’
‘Like murdering my brother was nothing personal?’
‘I did not murder your brother.’
‘But the Triads did.’ He didn’t deny it so I carried on, both to buy us time and because I had to know. ‘Why did they kill him?’
‘We only wanted to talk to him. He refused to co-operate, and tried to break free. His flyer was too badly damaged to land.’
That ‘we’. I’d been carrying Earther assumptions about the Triads not letting gwailo be more than runners, but Nico must be in deep with them; deep enough that his connections hadn’t shown up in my, or Ika’s, searches. Cross ‘offer him double’ off my short list of options. ‘Why did you want to talk to him?’
‘Our patron is very secretive. And you have been very discreet. This is why I had to wait until now to act.’
‘Thanks for getting our hopes up, Nico. And now we’ve done your dirty work you’ll take the Eye of Heaven and blame us for the theft?’
‘Very good again!’
‘I thought you and Everlight were on the same side. Approximately.’
‘They will be glad to get this object back, from whatever source. You don’t even know what you’ve really done today. Enough talking I think. Gregori, stop trying to fly us higher, and bring us down at the location I will provide.’
Gregori, who had been making subtle moves over the flyer’s console, raised his hands.
‘Or what?’ I demanded. ‘You’ll shoot us?’
‘I can fly this vehicle myself if I have to, Ms Choi.’
‘I was thinking more about the risk of damaging it. That’s a heavy needler, isn’t it? You do know how thin the membrane on this flyer is?’
‘A stungun would be no good against your skinsuit. As for damaging the flyer,’ he lunged forward, and pressed the needler against Gregori’s ear, ‘it depends where the shot goes first.’