by M. D. Cooper
Hank guffawed. “Dr. Gould will never let that happen.”
Bat shook his head slowly. “I’m going back down there tonight. I’ve got to get proof in front of the entire MB before it’s too late. It may already be too late.”
Hank stood up. “Whoa. What you’re talking about will end you up in jail.”
“I don’t have a choice. If I don’t do something, the shit’s going to hit the fan. I came here for peace and quiet, not for a gang war.”
“Bat, have you wondered, if there really were Martians, then why hasn’t someone down on Level Seven seen them yet? Wouldn’t someone have seen something when they were drilling?”
“I think that’s why the three residents were killed. They must’ve seen Martian scouts or something.”
“Scouts?” He shook his head. “I was wrong. You won’t end up in jail. You’ll end up heavily medicated and strapped to a bed.” He put a hand on Bat’s shoulder. “Good luck, buddy. But, stay away from me.”
Bat frowned as his only friend (sort of) walked away. Then, he went back to eating his salmon-flavored Mars bars.
It was four hours later before both the MB and Bat’s gastric system quieted down for the night. He put on his rubber suit—this time he wasn’t taking any chances—and headed back down to Level Seven. He cautiously approached the end of the hallway where Big Bertha stood before a wall of bedrock. Hairline cracks fractured out from where the drill bit penetrated the iridescent stone.
Bat walked up to the drill bit and examined it. He knew nothing about mechanical things, so he suspected this would be a bit of a challenge. The drill bit looked solid enough, and he traced the bit back to where it connected to the drill. Sheets of metal protected the front and sides of the machine. However, the back of the drill was exposed. There, he found a panel of switches, along with several wires and cables.
Bat tugged at a red wire that looked important. Nothing happened. He tugged harder. Then, pulled at it with both hands. When it finally came loose, it broke off and he stumbled back, nearly falling. He yanked out a couple more wires for good measure. Confident that drilling would be delayed—hopefully long enough for him to acquire proof (again) and convince the MB of the risk—he headed back to Dr. Stevens’s pod.
He swiped the deceased doctor’s key card at the door, but nothing happened. He swiped again. Still nothing. “Damn it,” he muttered, and slid the useless card back into his pocket. He turned and began searching the hallway for Martians.
He was on his hands and knees when a woman’s voice behind him called out, “What are you doing, Mr. Johnson?”
He scowled and looked over his shoulder at Dr. Gould who was standing with two guards. “I lost a contact lens. I’m looking for it.”
“In your hazmat suit?”
Bat pushed to his feet. “I told you before, I was breaking in the suit. There’s no law against that.”
“No, but there is a law against tampering with MB equipment. And there’s a law against stealing another resident’s key card.”
Bat cocked his head. “Is it really stealing when the resident is already dead?”
Dr. Gould scowled, and motioned to the guards. They rushed Bat, and had him pinned against the wall before he could brace himself.
“You’re under arrest, Bat Johnson,” a guard said. “For vandalism, larceny, and the murder of three MB residents.”
Bat froze. “What? Whoa! I didn’t kill anyone.”
“I think we’ll soon prove otherwise,” Dr. Gould said. “I find it too much a coincidence that a string of deaths started within a day of you landing on Mars. In fact, I’ve already put the request for your juvenile files back on Earth. I don’t know how you did it, but I intend to find the truth.”
Bat nodded toward the bedrock. “The truth is right in front of your eyes. That hard bedrock isn’t rock. It’s part of a perimeter that protects a Martian city from us. They think we’re attacking them.”
The guard next to him laughing. “Is this guy serious?”
The doctor sighed and looked to the guards. “Secure him for the night. Dr. Exeter will be down in the morning to perform a full evaluation. It’s clear Bat Johnson is suffering from severe space sickness.”
“You have to stop drilling, and you’ve got to shut down Level Seven before it’s too late!” Bat cautioned as the guards walked him past the doctor.
Dr. Gould held up her hand, and the guards paused.
“Bat,” she began. “If we stopped expanding, the MB would be cut off from Earth. For the past twenty years, they’ve been looking for excuses to cut funding to the MB to start a new colony several miles to the west of here. So, even if I believed you, we couldn’t afford to stop.” Her lips curled. “Though, the idea of Martians is ludicrous, albeit quite entertaining. This planet was a dead rock when we arrived. Trust me, the only living things on this world were imported from Earth.”
Bat’s gaze narrowed. “You really aren’t covering anything up, are you? You really don’t see what’s so obvious?”
She sobered. “I see it clearly. You’ll go down in history as the first murderer on Mars.”
And then all hell broke lose
“I don’t like that woman,” Bat said as he sat in his tiny gray cell.
“It’s safe to say Dr. Gould doesn’t like you either,” the guard outside his cell responded.
“She doesn’t like the truth, is more like it,” Bat muttered.
The guard walked up to the plastic bars that separated him from Bat. “You know something? I don’t like you, either. Anyone who comes into my MB and thinks he can get away with killing my people is in for a world of hurt. You shouldn’t be worried about Dr. Gould. You should be worried about me.”
Bat glared right back at the guard trying to stare him down. “I didn’t kill anyone.” He pointed over the guard’s shoulders. “What killed those people is still out there, and you’ll see more deaths if you turn that drill back on.”
The guard chuckled drily. “That drill has been running since lights up. You think unplugging a couple cables would break a high-tech piece of equipment like that?”
Bat shrugged. “Yeah, I did.”
The guard brushed him off. “Dr. Exeter will be here soon. Try not to talk until then.”
The guard took a seat and put his feet up on his desk.
Bat tried to doze off, but he was still wearing his rubber suit, and it was hot. He refused to take it off, though, because sweating was preferable to getting zapped. Fortunately for him, Dr. Gould and the guards really believed he was crazy and let him keep the suit on. That they took his mask bothered him, but upon considering his odds, he figured he’d have an easy enough time protecting his noggin.
The guard’s radio squawked. “We’re getting reports of multiple casualties on the drill team on Level Seven.”
The guard’s feet dropped to the floor. “How many?”
“All of them!”
Bat’s eyes widened. “It’s too late.”
“What happened?” the guard asked.
“People are just dropping. We think the drill hit some kind of gas, but the air sensors show normal. We’ve seen some flashes of light. Maybe the gas is sparking.”
“They carry zappers,” Bat said as a matter-of-fact. “They’re actually pretty impressive considering the size—”
“Shut up,” the guard ordered.
The screen on the wall began to light up. The guard stood. “That’s impossible.”
“What is it?” Bat asked.
The guard snapped a quick look at Bat before grabbing his radio. “All units report to duty. Level Seven is off the grid. 911s have been called in from Levels Six and Five. Gear up with breathers. We don’t know what we’re up against yet.”
“You’re up against Martians,” Bat said.
Bat watched the guard as he pulled on hazmat suit.
“Your suit is fabric, right?” Bat said.
The guard shot him a look. “Yeah, why?”
�
�No reason.” He paused. “Can you let me out? Isn’t it now obvious that I didn’t kill those people?”
“Why does it matter what my suit is made of?” the guard asked, ignoring Bat’s request.
Bat leaned back. “Will you let me out if I tell you?”
The guard’s eyes narrowed. A tense minute of silence followed. Finally, the guard pulled out his key card. “Tell me what you know, and I’ll let you out.”
Bat pushed to his feet. “Let me out first.”
“No.”
“But, what if I tell you and then you don’t let me out?”
“I give you my word.”
Bat chewed the guard’s words for a moment. “Okay, fine. The Martians electrocute their victims. I’m sure it’s a bit more complicated than that, but I know that my rubber suit saved my life when one of those little red buggers shot me.” He motioned to the bars. “That’s all I know. Now, let me out.”
The guard seemed surprised. “I’m not letting a criminal run free.”
“You gave me your word!”
“You stole a key card. You tried to sabotage Big Bertha.”
“Oh, come on. I had a very good reason for doing both those things.”
Only the guard was no longer paying attention to Bat. He was now looking at the ventilation shaft. “What is that?”
Bat turned and squinted his eyes. “I don’t see—oh, hell.”
A hint of movement in the darkness behind the grid turned into dozens of little caterpillars hopping out from the vent. Several landed on the guard. He scrambled to brush them off him. Several small flashes of light sent the guard convulsing, and then he toppled to the floor, unmoving.
The little fuzz balls began to move toward Bat. He shook at the bars. Then, he saw the guard’s key card lying on the floor. He dropped down and reached out. The Martian nearest the key card fired, but the shot was stopped by the rubber of Bat’s gloves. In a rush he grabbed the card, jumped to his feet, and swiped the card over the lock.
His prison door opened, and he leapt over the Martians shooting at him from the floor and walls. Bat held his arms up to protect his head. His personal effects were in a box on the table. He lunged the last couple of feet to reach it.
He grabbed the rubber mask with one hand. With his other hand, he took the box and smashed the Martian nearest him. He slid the mask over his face and then turned to face his enemy. They were now a small army, pouring out of the vent. Many continued to shoot at him, to no effect.
He contemplated finding a quiet place in the MB to ride out the attack, and thought that seemed like a good plan. He picked up his key card and noticed the squashed alien under box. He cocked his head as an idea struck him.
Bat disliked adventure. Luckily for everyone at the MB, he disliked aliens even more.
The fuzz busters
The entire MB was under attack. Bat walked through the hallways, fast enough to move quickly past the Martians on the walls, but slowly enough to not wear himself out. After all, he’d never been the most athletic fellow.
He headed down the stairs to Level Two, stepping over bodies along the way. He needed to get to Level Five, which he suspected had already been completely overrun by Martians. There were so many Martians, the walls were crawling with the fuzzy-coated things.
Little flares of light constantly twinkled around Bat, and he felt pinpricks of warmth across his suit. He wondered if the thick rubber would last, and he began to jog. As he descended, he encountered fewer Martians and more bodies, and he realized that it was probably because there was no one left to kill.
When he reached Level Five, it was relatively quiet, though hundreds, if not thousands, of Martians still lingered on the walls and floors. Bat needed to check the screen to find the right room. He flicked a Martian off the screen as he scrolled through the map.
“There you are,” he said, and hustled down the hallway.
At the door, he used the guard’s key card and was relieved to see it open. He stepped inside and found himself standing before a large 3D printer. He ran through the printing wizard to design the item. Once he was satisfied, he selected Two for number of copies and pressed Print. In the meantime, Martians were trickling in from the overhead vent.
As his items were produced, Bat smiled. His fingers caressed the first one before wrapping around the handle. He picked it up and faced the incoming Martians.
How do you kill a bug?
With a giant electrified flyswatter, of course.
And, what was better than one giant electrified flyswatter?
Two giant electrified flyswatters.
He swung the three-foot-wide weapon. It smashed a dozen Martians with a resounding zakt. Bat laughed before swinging it again and again. Soon the room was devoid of any living Martians. He looked up at the vent to see the remaining aliens running away.
Bat picked the second swatter up from the printer bin, and held the two before him. “I shall call you fuzz busters.”
He then strode with confidence out of the room to face the alien hordes. Bat worked his way up, level by level, smashing and pounding his way through every Martian he came across. By the time he reached the ground level, he was exhausted and headed to the commons for a cold drink.
As he stepped inside the large hall, his jaw dropped. Here was where the residents had made their last stand. Much of the population lay on the floors and sprawled across the tables. Dr. Gould lay toward the back, nearly buried by a guard. Hank lay next to the food line, a meat cleaver held in a literal death grip.
Bat had no time for reflection, because there were still thousands upon thousands of Martians in the commons—and every single one of them was headed for Bat. His jaw dropped. “Oh, come on, already.” He sighed, raised his fuzz busters, and let out a roar. “Bring it on, you fuzzy fiends!”
He swung and took out a dozen Martians. He swung again. Bat continued to swing until his arms felt like they were about to fall off, and his suit was filled with sweat. The Martians kept coming, so he kept swinging. He became a mindless automaton, swinging at anything that moved. At some point, he realized there was nothing left moving, and he stood in the center of the commons, holding his battle-worn busters and surrounded by piles of caterpillars.
Bat wanted to collapse, but instead he pushed himself to keep going. He walked over to Dr. Gould and took her key card. Every level had a control room, as a redundancy measure, so he took the control room nearest him. Using her key card, Bat sealed off Level Seven—and Level Six for good measure. No one could accuse Bat of not being fair.
From there, he returned to Level Five and began printing off rubber suits, Fuzz busters, and vent covers. If the Martians wanted to return, he’d be ready.
Some time later, he returned to his pod, sealed the vents, stripped, and showered. When he collapsed onto his bed, pleasant thoughts flitted through his mind. He’d been right after all. He would find some peace and quiet on Mars. He frowned. And, a lifetime supply of Mars bars.
With a sigh, he pushed to his feet. After all, he was the undertaker of Mars, and he had a job to do.
THE END
— — —
Want to read more by Rachel Aukes?
The Fringe Series
After the colonization of Mars and Europa, it took us fewer than five generations to reach beyond our solar system and discover new planets capable of supporting human life. Too far away to be governed under Earth law, the Collective was formed. Several hundred years later, the Collective has expanded to a thriving system of six inhabited worlds, but power struggles are common, and a seemingly inevitable interplanetary war looms on the horizon.
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lying old airplanes across the countryside of the Midwest United States. Her latest series is the Fringe Series, a space opera about three space captains who find themselves on the front of an interplanetary war.
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Table of Contents
Delta-Team: A “Simple” Kidnapping
THE VAN GOES FTL
BACKSTORY
TOAST POINTS
PEGASUS STATION
BUGS AND INTEL
BOLLAM’S WORLD (OR MAYBE NOT)
GETTSMOON (MOST DEFINITELY)
NOT SO FAST
SHOW DOWN
SUBLEVEL NUMBER NINE
REUNION
TIDY LITTLE WRAP UP
The Methane Lake of Excruciating Tedium
DAY 51
DAY 52
DAY 55
DAY 58
DAY 59
DAY 60
DAY 78
DAY 80
DAY 82
DAY 83
DAY 84
DAY 89
DAY 90
DAY 91
DAY 108
The Last Bounty
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
Spaceberg
Chapter 1