by Corey Ostman
“All floors had lift access,” Grace scoffed.
They kept climbing. At the fifth floor, Raj looked over the rail down to the lobby and the last of the natural light from the broken doors. He looked up and sensed a vast, open center, but could see nothing. He glanced back to Grace just in time to see her foot catch the marble base of a bronze dragon, partially inset between the stiles of the staircase. She came down hard on the other foot, causing a single loud thump that echoed up the building’s hollow core.
“Raj. The collision sensor idea thing really isn’t working,” Grace said.
“Sorry, Grace. If I had more time—”
“Not complaining. Just that I’m gonna have to light the way with the ptenda or—”
“You want me on point?” Raj stammered.
“I’ll be right behind you, Doctor.”
Raj wasn’t a covert man. His instincts screamed for him to retreat downstairs. But Grace wasn’t going to abandon what she saw as her duty, and he was much safer with her than alone. Even in a place like this.
As Raj moved ahead of Grace, a phasewave crackled far above. He estimated the distance with his grafty and the floor plan.
“Grace—that’s—fifteenth floor.”
“They’re climbing higher in an effort to find the bogey,” Grace said. “I just hope the squad isn’t shooting blindly.”
As they reached the sixth floor landing, Raj saw a door to the left was ajar. A welcome, faint light came from within.
“You see that light?” he said.
Grace nodded and walked over, glancing inside. “Empty.”
“Yeah, but why is there any power?”
“Dunno. But I see other doors beyond. Let’s have a look.”
They walked from one door to another. Offices. A conference room. Raj paused at the fourth door. He heard something. A faint voice, perhaps? He wished he had upgraded ears.
“Grace, do you hear that?”
She opened the door and they looked in, but the room was empty. Raj walked around, stopping beside a small transmitter. It was a fact agent. He turned up the volume.
“Martial law remains in effect. If you have not received a work assignment, please report to the Elysium Dome Authority,” said the fact agent.
“Thanks, but no,” muttered Grace.
“Transportation will be restored to local vehicles by tomorrow morning.”
“Well that’s promising,” said Raj.
“Maybe we can reach Tim tomorrow. Good,” said Grace. “But we’ll have to check in later. No time now. Let’s bounce.”
Raj switched off the fact agent. After the rest of the rooms proved empty, they continued back up the stairs.
“So Grace, I have a question,” said Raj as they passed the seventh floor.
“Yeah?”
“That last discharge was a single shot. Trigger happy soldier or sniper fire?”
“Thinking like a protector, huh, Raj? I like it. Suits you.”
No, he thought. I just don’t want to meet a trigger-happy soldier on the fifteenth floor.
They ventured further into the rooms on the eighth. All offices. Not the kind of place a kid would live. So what was that scream? Raj had heard it from downstairs and outside the building. Had the cavernous center changed the sound as it carried down and out? Had it come from a balcony? Another building? Raj started to confound himself with all the possibilities. Soldiers were on the fifteenth, but maybe higher now. Or lower. Was the sniper up there, or did they pass him? And the scream? When he was a kid, he had screamed for all kinds of reasons. Raj wished Grace would start being less curious and more regretful about dragging them into this building.
They entered another office space. Terminals, cubes, walker pads. A lunchroom in the back. Nothing.
“Grace,” began Raj, “Maybe we should just—”
Telemetry flickered on his lids and two warning dots flashed red. He saw a blue outline on the floor ahead.
“Just what?” said Grace, standing blind in the dark.
“Shhh! I think there’s a casualty—a soldier, maybe. Up ahead. My lids are seeing a lot of metal and metarm armor. No vitals.” He grabbed her wrist. “Ten steps. Six for you.”
“Enough of this stumbling around.” She drew her phasewave and switched on its light. Martin’s phasewave. Raj knew that she hadn’t used it since his death. He wondered if it bothered her.
She pointed the weapon forward and its light fell on a deactivated twofer.
“Robot,” she said disdainfully. “Looks like it was deactivated with a phasewave.” She pointed to the blackened arcs on its chassis and the floor. “Then someone hit it with this.” She knelt and picked up the edge of a display screen.
Raj watched as Grace looked over the wreckage; he knew she had never seen a twofer before. Nothing like it on Earth, let alone in cloister. This one had four arms and two human-style locomotive legs. There was no human face, though. Just a flat, ovular display, which Raj assumed could have shown a human face or data, whatever it needed to transmit.
It unsettled him to see such a beautiful machine destroyed. The phasewave would have disabled it—there was no reason to vandalize it further. He picked through tiny pieces of debris. I would love to have time to dissect this, he thought. He looked at one of the severed arms and self-consciously touched his own mechflesh. Would his arm malfunction like the twofers had?
“Let’s go, Raj,” Grace said. “Our screamer, our sniper, and our squad are above us somewhere. Lobby to eighth floor is secure. I’m going with gun light from now on. Keep your eyelids peeled and hang back.”
Good, Raj thought. I’m not meant to be on point. He followed Grace out of the room.
On the ninth floor, they followed a similar search pattern, crossing the landing toward what Raj expected to be another bank of offices. Instead, Grace opened a door into a large atrium.
“Well, I’ll be. Plants,” she said.
And not ornamental, Raj realized. Grace’s light illuminated columns of green beans. Beside them were tiers of crimson tomatoes.
“We’d better scurry to the opposite side,” Raj said. “This’ll make me hungry.”
“No harm in taking one or two. They’re ripe enough to fall off unless someone harvests them.” Grace pointed to the walkway, where a few overripe tomatoes had already rolled.
“Have any salt?” Raj asked.
They each ate a raw tomato as they crossed to the other side. Raj consulted his infodoc.
“Residence over here,” he warned. “The door might not open.”
But it did, opening to a space Raj recognized as lavish. The offices had used functional forms and expanses of white plastic and metarm. This room had furniture made of genuine wood, upholstered in silk brocade—were there silkworms on Mars? It was a big probability the furnishings had been made on Earth and shipped here. Expensive endeavor, Raj thought. Amazingly, nothing was vandalized.
They crossed through a foyer. Dust passed like smoke through the beam of Grace’s light. Ornate mirrors reflected back. They passed a large wooden credenza, stuffed with books and framed pictures of happy people. Raj stopped for a moment to admire the portrait of a child: this one was an actual painting. Old-fashioned. He could see the raised whorls of paint undulating on the canvas, and when he leaned close, he could smell the spicy scent of turpentine. The artist had captured the glee in the girl’s face. It was a pixie’s face, with an upturned nose and a wide smile. He remembered when Grace was that age, that innocent. Like a kid sister. He smiled.
“Anything, Raj?”
Grace had walked over to the polarized windows.
His eyelid sensors were bothered by Grace’s light, so he turned toward the dark side of the room to reorient. When he did, he saw a flash of red dart behind a bookcase.
“Grace, wait. I don’t—”
A deep voice boomed out from the dark side of the room.
“Stop where you are, intruders!”
“But—”
; Grace signaled Raj to silence. He obliged.
“We’ve stopped moving,” Grace said aloud. She’d pointed her light down.
“I’m not a part of this dispute!” The voice quavered as it reached a higher pitch, aging Raj’s mental image of the man. “And I’ll shoot you where you stand if I have to. But I’d rather not. Leave now.”
The speaker was in front of them, near a divan. Raj’s lids outlined him in dull red, the correct temperature coding for a human. An extended arm held a cooler object, probably a weapon. Raj recognized he was in a crossfire zone and desperately wanted to melt into the floor.
“We’re not involved in the dispute either,” Grace said. “We just arrived from Earth. We were outside when we heard a child scream, and came up to see what was wrong.” She motioned to her ptenda. “I can transmit my credentials. I’m a protector. This is my friend. He’s unarmed.”
“Just arrived? From Earth?” The man sounded incredulous. “Impossible! With the twofer exodus, there haven’t been any landings in nearly a month. Ships have been routing to the moons or cold-sleeping passengers and crew.”
“We were in sleep for three weeks,” Grace said. “We didn’t get notice. We woke up, my ptenda was full of messages, and then we landed.”
“You said you have credentials? Fine. Prove you’re a protector.”
Grace looked at Raj and shrugged. She fingered her ptenda.
“I’m Protector Grace Donner. You should see my credentials now. This is my friend, Dr. Raj Chanho.”
Raj offered an uncertain wave. “Uh, hi.”
There was a tense silence. Raj could see the man moving, but no light from a ptenda. Got a graft yourself, don’t you? thought Raj. Finally, the speaker lowered his arm.
The lights came on with no warning. In front of them stood a man, maybe fifty years old. He had curly white hair and brown eyes. Thick in the waist. Taller than both Raj and Grace. He wore tweed pants, a long-sleeved white shirt, and a dark wool vest.
“Thank goodness!” the man said, grinning. “A real protector. Not some promoted-yesterday street thug. It’s a relief, Protector Donner. A real relief. Yvette!”
At her name, a young girl appeared in a doorway. She was the girl from the painting Raj had admired. Her blonde hair was longer, and she looked a bit older. She was wearing a bubble suit, the child-sized helmet was clipped to her belt. She walked up and hugged the man’s leg, peering up at them, her blue eyes wide.
“Yvette, this is Protector Donner and Dr. Chanho.”
“Hi,” she ventured.
Raj felt suddenly self-conscious. After all, they’d walked into someone’s private home without so much as a knock.
“We left your door open. Sorry,” he said sheepishly. He went to the foyer, closed the door, and returned. Yvette was still hiding behind the man. Grace had walked up to them.
“Did Yvette scream? Did the soldiers bother you?” she was asking.
“No, Yvette didn’t scream,” said the old man. “But the soldiers crashed into our apartment and scared her about the sniper. After that, we didn’t know what to expect.”
“Is there anyone else who lives in this building? Someone with a young child, perhaps?”
“Not that I know of, no. All of the offices and businesses were shut down when the twofers malfunctioned, and most of the residents have left. My daughter and I are alone here.”
“Actually, I did scream,” Yvette offered shyly. “I was on the balcony.”
“I thought I told you not to go outside,” the old man said. He sounded less angry than disappointed. “The balcony isn’t safe.”
“I’m sorry, Poppy,” she said, frowning.
He motioned for Grace and Raj to sit on a nearby sofa, and waved the windows to translucence. Dusty red light filtered into the room. He sat down in an armchair and lifted Yvette onto his lap.
“My name is Richard Archdale.” He paused as though expecting a reaction, then stretched out his hand. Raj shook it and then Grace.
“A pleasure,” said Raj.
As if in response, multiple phasewave fire erupted several floors above, loud even where they sat. The four of them listened, frozen. After what felt like hours, the barrage stopped.
Raj turned to Grace. “Is that it? Is it over?”
“You tell me. You’re the one connected.”
“Oh, right. I’m on it, Grace. One moment.” Raj fingered his ptenda and looked up at the ceiling again. Local fact agents flooded his vision.
“There’s chatter from the squad. They’re taking the lifts down to lobby.”
“Did they find the sniper?”
“No. Some resistance, but the sniper must have escaped.”
“I should go check out the situation,” Grace said. She glanced at Raj, then at their hosts.
She’s going to leave me behind, Raj realized. To protect them, and him. But he wasn’t about to lose Grace. He was terrified, and she was trained in ways he didn’t even understand, but she needed him. She wasn’t prepared for Mars.
“There might be wounded,” Raj said before she could speak. “I’m coming with you.”
Grace looked at Raj. “I’d rather you stay here.”
“Don’t worry about us. We’ll keep the door locked,” said Mr. Archdale. “I’d much rather know there are no more snipers in the building. And if there are wounded—the doctor’s best off with you.”
Grace nodded. Raj could tell she wasn’t pleased.
“We’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said.
• • •
The stairway was still dark.
“You want more light?” Raj said, touching Grace lightly.
“No, let’s stay dark. No sense making ourselves a target. Tell me if I’m about to do something particularly foolish.”
“Like walking up the stairs in the dark?”
Grace snorted. “Other than that.”
Through his lids, Raj saw Grace stretch out a hand to feel the wall as they moved forward, upward.
The center pillar of the building tapered as it angled with the dome wall. There were more turns in the stairs as they climbed higher. On level eleven was a restaurant court. Floor twelve was an entertainment promenade. Thirteen and fourteen were dedicated to apartments, though smaller than the one occupied by the Archdales. A cautious search left them with no leads. All empty, or locked.
The fifteenth floor was quiet. Grace drew her phasewave, touching her way along the wall. They paused by the first door.
“Going in,” she whispered.
He stepped behind her and followed her inside. His lids showed the area in front of Grace clear. Then he noticed a reddish patch by her feet.
“Grace, stop! There’s a—”
She stumbled and fell forward. He expected to hear her hit the deck, but instead there was a muffled thud. He drew closer. Grace had fallen, and there was a body lying under her.
It moaned.
“Raj, there’s somebody here,” Grace said, her voice faintly accusing. She pushed herself up and flicked on her weapon-light.
“Sorry. You stumbled just as I saw the heat,” said Raj.
He knelt in the aura of blue light. A man was crumpled on the floor of an otherwise abandoned apartment. His helmet was fastened with the visor barely open. The scorching of the helmet and the disintegration of the gaskets meant a phasewave blast to the head. Raj heard raspy breathing.
“Hello? My name is Raj. I’m a doctor. We’re here to help you,” he said, reaching out to pry open the visor.
His stomach dropped. A kid. Teenager, but young-looking. His face didn’t seem damaged, though the boy squinted and twisted his mouth as waves of pain wracked his body. The after-effects of a phasewave blast.
“Can you understand me?” Raj asked.
The injured kid shivered and then tilted his head toward Raj.
“I’ve been hit,” he rasped.
His right arm shook as he placed it over his chest.
“They were shooting blindly. H
it me in the chest. In the head. Went right past me. I—I—I don’t want to be conscripted. Help me!” The boy seemed frightened. Desperate.
“Why’d they fire on you?” Grace asked. “Wouldn’t they refrain from damaging recruits?”
The kid squirmed. “G-guess I shot at them first.”
“So you’re the sniper,” Grace said.
Raj reached down to the pouch on his right leg. He pulled out a small laser torch.
“I’m going to open this suit so that I can help you,” Raj said looking into the boy’s eyes, waiting for compliance or a shred of reason.
“No, no!” the kid said. “Air—!” He began to cough again, curling into a fetal position.
“Are you having trouble breathing?” Raj said.
The kid nodded.
“Then trust me.”
Raj sliced open the suit from collar to mid-thorax and peeled it away.
“There. I can help you now. Relax.”
The kid began to breathe less shallowly. Raj examined him. His forearm was metal, and a dispersion cannon had been crudely mounted just above the robotic hand. Raj had seen this tech before, and he was sure Grace had, too. Protectors often used low-power phasewave cannons like this for crowd control. It could target many people at once, but it didn’t do much damage. Felt like a punch to the gut. Enough to deter a mob, but not the weapon of a sniper.
The boy, on the other hand, had received several state-of-the-art phasewave blasts. The burns would need treatment. He would convulse for a few hours. His muscles would be sore for weeks. And there were potential complications with his brain.
Raj put two fingers on the carotid. The pulse was erratic, but strong. He used his lids to scan the boy’s brain. Blood flow looked normal, but the structure was a bit off.
“I’ve done what I can with what I have,” Raj said. “He’s stable, but he’ll be in and out of consciousness. I don’t think he’s too bad, but you know how phasewave blasts can be. He’s going to need monitoring.”
Grace nodded. “Is it safe to lift him?”
“Just go slowly.”