Mars Nation 2

by Brandon Q Morris

  “And if all they packed were clubs?”

  ‘They wouldn’t be as efficient. Believe me. You’ll find tasers in one of the crates.’

  Ewa stood up with a sigh. She tried to estimate the number of boxes she had already seen on board. There had been hundreds of them. But she didn’t have anything else to do, either. If she opened a box a minute, it would take her two days at most.

  She decided to leave the sickbay. There were crates sitting around in here, too, but if there had been any logic at all behind the distribution of the supplies, she could safely assume that all she would find here were medicines and bandages.

  The first storeroom was located right next door. Ewa moved a few boxes to the side. The room seemed to be set up as a kind of office. In any case, she could see floor- and wall-mounted desks behind the crates. Bureaucracy would also thrive on Mars, that much was certain. However, what she discovered in the boxes weren’t forms of any kind, but rather all sorts of electronics. Paper wouldn’t be a viable resource for the Mars colony of course. There wouldn’t be any trees growing here on Mars for at least ten thousand years.

  The next room was also an office, but the contents of its boxes were different. The main things Ewa found here were replacement parts. She didn’t know what they went to, and she didn’t have the time to skim through the packing lists taped to the inside of the crate lids. Whoever was responsible for unpacking the supplies would know what to do with them.

  Two rooms on, she found the first boxes of food. These dried foods would likely meet the largest percentage of the colonists’ calories, protein, and fat needs. The grayish-brown powder was packaged in transparent sacks. Ewa preferred not to imagine what it tasted like. However, if you cooked it properly and augmented it with fresh herbs and spices, it probably wouldn’t taste all that bad.

  Ewa slowly managed to get a sense of the crates’ likely contents based on their external appearance. There was clearly a system in place here. This significantly quickened her work, since all she had to do was open the supply boxes with shapes and colors she didn’t recognize. She still had to move box after box to the side in order to see the color and form of each container further into the stacks.

  Ewa walked into the next room, sweating profusely. She raised her arm and sniffed. Yikes. It was high time she got into the shower. Fortunately, she was all alone on the ship.

  Three hours later, she sat down wearily on a food box she had just opened. She had found rice cakes inside it—the perfect excuse for a quick snack. Ewa ripped open the plastic packaging and found herself holding a lid made of rigid material. She tossed it carelessly on the floor, but picked it back up again and examined it. She recognized the logo of a prominent food company. Did that company still exist? What could have happened on Earth? Perhaps the people who were coming on Spaceliner I would know more.

  Ewa sighed and flipped the top over. The expiration date was printed there. What day was it today? Ewa had no clue. Since their landing, she had been counting in Mars days, in sols, but how long had she already been on this planet?

  Ewa bit into the rice cake. It tasted slightly salty, just how she liked them. She felt the need to consciously remember how they tasted. At some point, all the rice cakes would be consumed if nobody had thought to pack rice seeds on board the ship. Her eyes fell on the plastic lid again. What looked like trash to her at the moment would someday become a sought-after resource. Mars certainly possessed the elements needed to create plastic, but it would be years before the corresponding reactors would be built. There was so much to do. Maybe she could help some with that. She would help the NASA people by taking them the drill from the ship’s hold.

  After she swallowed the last bite, she stood up and turned around. Eight crates were stacked one on top of the other against the left wall. She hadn’t checked those out yet. She recognized the color on three of them and knew they held replacement parts. The four lower ones had to contain more food. However, she didn’t recognize the dark green, blotchy-looking pattern on the last one. Ewa moved the other containers to the side, then reached for the green one. It was heavy, even in the reduced gravity here on Mars. Ewa barely managed to keep from dropping it. It had almost crushed her foot!

  Ewa knelt down. She opened the two clasps on the front, followed by the one on the back. Now she could lift the lid. It was made of wood, and the interior surface was rough. It even still smelled a little like the forest. Warm memories rose inside Ewa. And yet the woodsy smell was underscored by the scent of machine oil.

  The crate’s contents were packed in brown material that looked like oil-saturated paper. She reached in and felt hard metal. Tool or weapon? She pulled off the paper. Ha! What she was holding was obviously a gun, but definitely not a pistol. The object was black, its rectangular, yellow nozzle divided into two sections. The barrel was surprisingly thick. It looked like it had swallowed something that had gotten stuck in its middle, where the barrel reached its greatest girth.

  Ewa weighed the gun in her hand. It was very light. Ewa estimated it was about three hundred grams. What about its ammunition? She rummaged around in the box. She hoped they hadn’t packed the ammunition in some other crate. Her hand brushed against smaller objects, and she pulled one of them out. It was cubic in shape with two strange protrusions, and it had a yellow plastic cover. Ewa compared it to the gun. The cube should fit exactly into the muzzle. She turned it so the yellow cover was pointing away from the muzzle’s opening and shoved the object into the barrel. She heard a clicking sound, and then the cube was seated tightly. Ewa studied the weapon. Friday was right, she thought. This is a taser. Could she pull the trigger now? She didn’t see anything that warned her against doing that. The taser seemed to be complete. A lightning symbol had been printed on the yellow cover.

  Ewa turned around, sat down on the floor, and leaned against a box. Now she could say goodbye to that thing in her head. Would Friday try to stop her? She held the taser in front of her, pointing at her chest. It would be painful, but she would survive. Friday had told her that. But he would die. He would never again be able to force her to hurt someone else. Ewa stuck her thumb through the trigger and shut her eyes. Who had done this to her?

  And what would happen to their plans once she pulled the trigger? Would she be able to steal the giant drill without any assistance? Ewa realized that this question wasn’t what was making her hesitate. Without Friday, she would be totally alone. Her group had rejected her. She had never really needed the company of other people, but she was nonetheless scared by the thought of complete solitude. At the same time, all she had to do was wait until the second Spaceliner landed next to this first one.

  But there was no way she could do that. How many people were on board? Wouldn’t she once again attempt to kill as many people as possible? Ewa noticed that her thoughts were going in circles. She wasn’t making progress. It would be nice to solve the problem of Friday once and for all, but that wouldn’t be the smartest of moves. The thing in her head might be able to help her implement her plans. And if not—she wouldn’t let the taser leave her sight. If the alien creature in her brain tried to gain control over her, she would end its existence with one painful shock.

  Ewa stood up and stuck a second taser cube in her pocket. She wouldn’t need more cartridges than that. She stuck the gun in her waistband at the small of her back. It was time for her to start searching for an emergency exit for the robotic drill.

  6/14/2042, Spaceliner 1

  “Administrator, I finally have a response from Mars,” a female voice declared.

  Rick couldn’t remember the woman’s name, but he was happy that his new title was slowly being accepted. It had such a serious ring to it, in his opinion, and yet it didn’t promise anything he didn’t want it to. Unlike a president, an administrator didn’t have to be elected, and Rick had no intention at all of ever running in an election. Why would he let populists with conversation skills steal away the results of his hard work?

 
; For the first day or two, people had reacted with a certain degree of skepticism. Rick was glad that he could fall back on his surveillance bugs. They had revealed to him who was talking disdainfully about him, as well as who was supporting him. Of course, he couldn’t eavesdrop on the entire crew, but it was enough to have a few people to make an example of. He rewarded anyone who showed visible loyalty, and those who seemed resistant to him forfeited their privileges.

  Rick always arranged it so that he kept the public on his side. For example, when the leading scientist jeopardized the ship’s power supply during a failed experiment, it was evident that the administrator had to demote her. The evidence was so unambiguous that only the scientist and himself knew what had really happened. This should be enough to make most people rethink their opinions.

  “Please send the message to my cabin.”

  Rick sat down on his bed, which was wider than it had been a week ago. He was still in the same cabin, but he had used the opportunity that presented itself when two couples had formed. As a considerate gesture he authorized them to share cabins, which meant he had been able to clear out the rooms next to his own and connect them to his quarters. From the outside, everything looked as humble as it had before. Rick wanted to remain a ‘man of the people.’ He didn’t have all that many perks, but this was definitely one of them.

  His computer pinged, and he called up the video file. A man with short, slightly curly, black hair was visible in the thumbnail picture. He had the typical pale skin of astronauts of European heritage. The man looked quite young. Rick guessed he was less than twenty-five years old. He started the video.

  The man introduced himself as Mike Benedetti, the commander of the NASA mission. Rick was amused. If he was lucky, Benedetti had little life experience and could be easily manipulated. On the other hand, he might be dealing with one of those hotshot geniuses who never let anyone get a word in edgewise because, of course. They always thought they knew better.

  Rick had to confess that the NASA people worried him. He knew how they thought. They didn’t view themselves as employees of their organization, which they de facto were, but rather as government-sponsored heroes. They took mortal danger and deprivation upon themselves in the knowledge that they were enabling humanity to progress—and after their return, they would be revered until the end of their lifetimes. It must have been a particularly terrible shock to have these two certainties taken away from them. They were no longer acting in the name of humanity or even in the name of their marvelous homeland, and there wouldn’t be any reward for their deprivations after their return. They were on their own now. Maybe he could use this opportunity to reel them in. Doing something just for yourself—he knew what that was like.

  Now it would get interesting. Benedetti cut straight to his suggestion.

  “In theory, we are open to whatever your idea of collaboration might be,” he spoke into the camera as he rubbed his chin. “There are bound to be areas in which we could profit from one another’s experiences, or in which an exchange of knowledge or technology would be helpful. As a crew, we are in agreement that the formal structures you have in mind are not necessary for us. We see ourselves as an independent operation, as our contracting authority intended for us to be, which means we are not part of the private enterprise that you represent.”

  Rick leaned back. That was a clear refusal, but he had reckoned on that. Baby steps. He would give them some time now. His ship hadn’t even landed on Mars yet. But it wouldn’t hurt anything to plant the seed of doubt early on. He would make an offer to all the crew members, one they couldn’t reject.

  He started a new recording. He would splice the personal greeting in later, but for now he would focus on the lure he would send to the NASA and MfE people.

  “You might be interested in this offer I’d like to make. If any one of you agrees to support our mission, I will name you my non-terminable representative. If you would prefer, you don’t need to tell anyone about your decision. It can remain between the two of us. All I require is your loyalty, and you won’t regret your decision. Take all the time you need to consider your response. However, you should understand that I can only keep this offer open until I receive the first positive response.”

  How would the NASA crew react? Would they discuss it? Rick imagined them playing the four personalized messages in disgust. “Me? Never!” they would say. But when they couldn’t fall asleep later that night, they would run the offer through their heads over and over again, until their doubt about the others led them to the decision to eventually click reply.

  Rick had time.

  Sol 80, Mars surface

  How did someone go about stealing a huge vehicle from a hangar bay? Ewa had tried for a long time to convince the ship’s comp that the drill was needed outside, but the program was putting its foot down without the proper authorization. Nobody had thought to incorporate an emergency mode with which someone could sidestep the standard protocols. And yet, what kind of emergency would necessitate the use of a giant machine that could drill a ten-kilometer hole into the planet, and do so within ten days?

  Together, Ewa and Friday had learned from the ship’s comp what the drill was capable of. With this machine, it would take the NASA people less than ten days to strike water! What made this all the more annoying was the fact that these fantastic abilities would have to remain slumbering in the bowels of Spaceliner 0 until the owner of the machine arrived. She recalled the outrageous message that the so-called Spaceliner administrator had sent to her. It was quite unlikely that that man would willingly agree to lend MfE or NASA one of the machines.

  No, she and Friday would open the hangar, regardless of the cost. They had checked the ship’s plans and seen how the vehicles were typically lowered to the surface from the ship. The hangar was located on the lowest deck. Nonetheless, there were still five meters between that level and the planet’s surface. The lateral wall could be folded back to create an eight-meter-wide opening. Once that was in place, sturdy rails would extend from the floor to create a ramp down to Mars’s surface.

  Ewa’s plan had two parts to it. The first one was easy. She would blow the door open if the ship’s comp wouldn’t help her. The problems began once that was taken care of. As the breathable air in the isolated hangar dissipated, she would have to lower the ramp, start the drill, and drive it out of the ship—against the will of the ship’s comp, which would probably use every resource available to it to prevent the theft.

  All the same, she had one advantage. The ship was stuffed full of provisions. As long as the ship’s comp didn’t catch on, she could freely avail herself of them, which was precisely what she planned to do. Ewa had picked out a new spacesuit yesterday, and she was in love with it. The suit had never been used. The suit smelled like peppermint, not like sweat, urine, feces, or vomit. And it was much lighter and more comfortable than the old MfE model. Even the NASA people would be jealous, seeing as the corporation that had financed the private Mars colony had spared no expense on the development of these suits. The arm and leg joints had even been equipped with additional mechanical muscular enhancers. In this suit, she would be faster and stronger than all of the other Mars residents until Spaceliner 1 arrived.

  Ewa had gathered a stockpile of supplies in the drill’s pressurized cab. The ship’s comp had reported quite proudly that the drill could operate autonomously for up to a month. The oxygen and water supplies would last that long for a team composed of three crew members. Additional storage spaces were located on the deck of the ten-axle vehicle. Ewa had stashed three additional suits there.

  She had searched through all the crates for seeds and added some of them to her stores. She topped off all her crates with replacement parts that she selected at random. The NASA people would be able to find some use for these. There was more than enough left over for the Spaceliner I crew. At the last minute, she found herself holding a bottle of nitrogen, and she added that to her stash. Nitrogen was probably a much
more valuable resource on Mars than on Earth, where it made up the majority of the breathable air.

  Ewa opened the door to one of the cabins. She’d found a ladder in here yesterday. She pulled it out from behind a few boxes and carried it to the elevator. She had to juggle things a little to fit it into the elevator car. The ship’s comp had refused to give her access to the transport elevator. She pushed zero, and the elevator started moving. The double door to the hangar was still open. She shut it behind herself and squeezed past the drill.

  She leaned the ladder against the hangar’s back wall, reached into her pocket, and pulled out the explosive. It had felt strange to simply put the explosive material into her pocket. But Friday had assured her that without the detonator, the substance was utterly safe. They had searched for the optimal location for the blasting charge. It would be perfect if during the explosion, the doors would tilt down to the ground as a ramp, but that was unlikely. There was also no way the ship would be gracious enough to extend the ramp down to the surface from the hangar’s subfloor.

  Ewa had offered to search everywhere for ladders and to bind these together to make a makeshift ramp. However, ladders were in short supply on board—and those she found were too long to fit in the passenger elevator. Now they were implementing Friday’s idea. A cold shiver ran down Ewa’s spine whenever she thought about this. But they were out of options. Maybe they would be lucky, and the doors would fall outward at just the right angle.

  She pulled the electronic detonators from the drill’s cab. They were small, cube-shaped modules. All she had to do was push them into the blasting agent. She could detonate them with a command transmitted via her radio. Ewa climbed back up the ladder and attached one detonator after the other. She had intentionally left her radio in the cab so that she didn’t accidentally activate the detonators prematurely. She wasn’t quite done with her preparations as it was.