Askel worked at the design and refined it with Bobby’s input until she had honed it down to something usable and effective. The command drones stood four metres high and looked very similar to the humanoid mech drones they commanded. This was important, as it prevented the enemy easily identifying and picking off the commanders. The command drones had space in the body cavity from where the commanders piloted them. The commander’s head was exposed to the front to allow the situational awareness that was at the heart of the program, but could be sealed off in a split second. A Plexiglas screen would instantly deploy to protect the pilot from any incoming threat. Once, in the training field, Bobby’s visor deployed when a bee harmlessly bumbled past at a distance of five metres.
The headsets the pilots wore relayed live information to them via audio coms and a head-up display. Advanced algorithms processed all available data and, based on the situational scenario, mission objectives and a detailed analysis of the pilots previous actions, would only display information deemed likely to be useful. Commands could be issued to the commander’s drones visually, verbally or via predetermined ‘situational’ responses. The drones had a huge array of fully customisable routines in addition to their independent heuristic evaluation techniques and constantly adapting AI.
Askel and Bobby had kept their relationship secret, fearing it would jeopardise their respective positions. They thought it might be perceived as unprofessional. The clandestine nature of their liaisons just added to the fun for Bobby but Askel had found it difficult. She took her job seriously and she hated the idea of the cliché that their relationship was; the serious professional woman bowled over by the rugged, handsome and rough-round-the-edges man in a uniform. To her there was more to it than that. She felt that she understood Bobby, having come from a well-known and wealthy family herself, and she knew that she saw a different side to him than he showed to the rest of the world. Bobby was the easy-going, up-for-anything guy, modest with it even though he knew how easily he fell to almost any task at hand, and he projected a what-the-hell, devil-may-care roguishness that the people around him loved. He was dependable, smart, just-a-bit-crazy-but-not-too-crazy and above all, something of a bad-boy. Crucially, not so bad that he was dangerous to know, but just bad enough that hanging out with him felt very slightly naughty. When you were with Bobby it felt like you might get caught and told off at any moment, and that was a good feeling. Askel knew that feeling; all those who knew Bobby experienced it at one time or another. But Askel felt she knew something that few if any others did; the real Bobby, the man at the core. That Bobby was sensitive, thoughtful and filled with a restless, searching melancholy. That was the true Bobby. Askel’s Bobby.
Bobby shuffled along the check-in line, observing his surroundings. The building was large and like most buildings on Mars was mostly underground. It was pressurised against the unbreathable and low pressure Martian atmosphere, with a minimum of the structure above the surface. The entrance bays were served by ramps sunk into the ground. Thick reinforced Plexiglas skylights made up the bulk of the above ground parts of the structure. The skylights were bordered by rails on which were mounted brushes and power-jets which periodically whooshed up and down them, clearing the ever-present Martian dust which accumulated whenever the wind got up, which was often.
They had transferred from the landing vehicle through an airlock into what was, in effect, a large coach. They were then driven the few short kilometres to the warehouse terminal. Another trip through an airlock and they were ushered through to this larger area.
Bobby was relishing the luxury of space as he moved slowly up the line. The journey from Earth had taken six months. Since he had stepped into the ‘bone-shaker’ HLV back in Ontario half a year ago this was the largest space he had been in. From the HLV he had transferred to an HEO shuttle which had taken him out to the interplanetary craft, where he had spent the bulk of the journey. That ship never landed; it was on a permanent elliptical orbit around the sun. Once every two years you could hop on near Earth, and hop off six months later at Mars. The eighteen month return trip was unmanned and used primarily to transport freight, the most precious of which was the deuterium on which the early Martian economy had been founded. A second interplanetary solar orbiter was on a different orbit; Mars to Earth in six months with the eighteen month journey on the return.
The solar orbiters were functional but, necessarily, minimal. Space was at a premium. The ships had been designed so as to feel as big as possible to their inhabitants. The crew was limited to one doctor and one engineer, all other roles being fully automated or seen to by service drones. There was a gym, use of which was highly encouraged, and a combined refectory and day area in addition to the cabins. Cabins were equipped with entertainment centres, Immersive Virtual Reality (IVR) units and other home comforts. Customers could also opt for ‘Enhanced Sleep’ where, by means of drug therapy and careful electromagnetic manipulations of the subject’s brain, the user could sleep for extended periods of up to three or four days at a time. This was a good option where there was, essentially, nothing to do for six months, but too much ES could lead to extended feelings of fatigue and headaches.
When the solar orbiter was close enough to Mars the passengers transferred to an HMO vehicle which took them down the landing craft in Low Mars Orbit. From there it was a mildly hair-raising trip down to the landing site.
Bobby was now two people away from being processed. He could hear the two security personnel in front of him processing the line. It was standard stuff; name, occupation, purpose of visit. It was, he thought, largely pointless. No one gets to stowaway on an interplanetary space craft. Every person is checked and rechecked and monitored constantly through all stages of the flight and every transfer. If a passenger caught a cold the security services would know it before they did. This was just a hangover from an earlier way of doing things. It felt like this was how you should run a terminal, so this was how they did run a terminal.
Bobby stepped up to the first border guard, who did not look up. “Hold out your comdev and state your name, nationality and purpose of visit.”
Bobby moved his weight from one leg to the other. “Robert Harvey Karjalainen, USAN, I live here.”
The guard looked up, acting for all the world as if Bobby’s identity had come as a surprise to her. “Bobby Karjalainen?” she said.
Bobby looked her in the eye. “That’s right,” he said.
“Bobby Karjalainen the war hero?” The guard squinted at him.
“I served,” Bobby allowed.
The guard exaggeratedly gestured to her colleague. “Hey! We’ve got us a war hero here. How about that?” she said.
Bobby looked away. The guard said, “Mr Karjalainen, could you please turn your face toward me as I have to positively identify you.” It was nonsense. Bobby’s comdev, like everyone else’s, was biometrically encoded to him only and facial recognition at all points on the journey confirmed his identity. Whether a border guard thought Bobby looked like his most recent picture on file was neither here nor there. Any imposter would have been picked up on the ground at Ontario, and ever since then the system had had a lock on him.
Bobby continued to stare at a particularly uninteresting crate he had spotted halfway down the warehouse. The guard spoke, slowly and deliberately with ice on her words. “Hey. War hero. I’m talking to you.”
Bobby flicked his eyes in her direction without moving his head.
“Please turn your face full onto me so I can positively identify you,” she said, adding with venom, “Mr Karjalainen.”
“Can I please go?” said Bobby. “It’s been a long journey and I want to get home and rest.”
The guard nodded a gesture at her colleague, who followed her around the desk and stood behind her as she took up a position side on to Bobby. “Sir,” she said, with as little respect as she could give that word, “please place both hands palm down on the desk.”
Bobby eyeballed her. “Really?”
“Hands on the desk, sir.”
Bobby stepped to the desk and placed both hands on it as requested. The desk was low so he was slightly bent over. The guard walked behind him, kicking his legs apart. “You might think you’re a big deal, but you ain’t. Killing all those Asians? Big, tough character, huh? You don’t impress me. Anything in your pockets that shouldn’t be there?” She started patting him down without waiting for an answer. “I read your book. You come over like an asshole,” she said.
“Thanks for the review,” Bobby replied, “I’ll pass it on to the writer.”
The guard squatted down and started patting up Bobby’s legs. As she got to the top of his left leg he glanced down and winked at her. “Why, thank you Miss,” he said. The guard quickly span her hand around and grabbed Bobby’s balls, squeezing hard. Bobby grimaced, but was determined not to react further.
“Think you’re funny? You might be Charlie-Big-Potatoes back there, mowing down third-worlders and tellin’ everyone how great it was, but you’re in my world now. I’m gonna put a flag on you, and you’d better keep in line.” She let go and stood up. “If you spit on the sidewalk we’re gonna pull you in, and we’re gonna see how you were aggressive and uncooperative at Immigration, and we’re gonna think that maybe you need to be incentivised to get your shit right. You understand me?”
Bobby looked at her blankly. “Think so,” he said.
The guard strode back around the desk. “On your way,” she said. Bobby smiled at her and nodded to her colleague. He turned, walking toward the sign that said ‘Exit.’ The guard called after him.
“Welcome to Mars. War hero.”
Bobby stepped into a driverless cab just outside the port. He had ordered it from his comdev while he was in the queue at immigration. Immediately it set off down the tunnel-like roads, which were darkening now as evening fell. Looking through the clear roof of the cab and the Plexiglas ceiling of the road-tunnel he could make out the first few stars visible that night. He saw a particularly bright one and wondered if it might be Earth. The day he left he had come to the port in a cab very like this one, but on that day there had been a dust storm. The only thing visible then had been a wall of that muted bloodstain red colour the planet was famous for.
The Karjalainen’s family seat, as his father jokingly had it, was a few kilometres from the port. Bobby switched on the cab’s built in comdev. He flicked through a few news channels and was surprised at the amount of local coverage. From his earliest memories right up to when he left the news had always been predominantly about Earth, and mostly about the USAN. He felt he knew Earth. That had been one of the reasons he had found it so easy to leave his home to go there. The stories he was flicking past now were as likely to be about Mars as they were the home planet. Hospital staff were considering a strike at St Mary’s and Venkdt Mars Corp were due to make an announcement about their plans to start exploiting the asteroid belt.
Bobby had been following home planet bulletins on the trip out. Watching the news here in this cab he felt, for the first time in seven years, a very long way from Earth.
The cab slowed to a halt outside the house where Bobby grew up and he stepped out from it. The Karjalainens, being one of the pre-eminent families on Mars, had a dome fronting house in Central Marineris. Domes on Mars were expensive and generally only used for public spaces, but in some very exclusive neighbourhoods a dome would be the centre piece of a residential area with private housing about the perimeter. Bobby’s family’s house, like the others in this swanky burg, was mostly underground, extending back beyond the edge of the dome. A portion of the front, though, including the entrance hall, was above ground inside the circumference of the dome. The dome itself was eighty metres across and had been built by Hjälp Teknik, the Karjalainens’ company. Six other houses shared the luxury of the dome, but the Karjalainens’ was by far the biggest. The land in the centre of the dome was grassed and landscaped, and Bobby remembered climbing the trees there when he was a small boy. They were good memories.
Bobby tapped his comdev to pay the cab and slung his duffle bag over his shoulder, turning to walk up the path to his old home. As he reached the front door he noticed that it was already open and a slender figure was slouched in the doorway, in shadow from the light behind it.
“You’re back,” the voice from the shadow said, redundantly.
“Hey, Anthony,” said Bobby, breaking into a smile and offering his hand.
Anthony grasped the hand reluctantly and said, “Dad’s not here.”
“He’s not?” said Bobby.
Anthony shook his head. “At the hospital. Again.”
“Oh,” Bobby said, and took his hand back from Anthony. “Is it bad?”
Anthony turned into the house and Bobby followed him inside. Anthony half-turned and spoke over his shoulder, “Well, not good. Like the last time, I guess. I hope.”
They walked down the hall to the kitchen where Anthony decided he should, at least for appearances sake, play the role of a gracious host.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Have you eaten?” he said.
“I’m beat, Tony, I’m gonna turn in in a bit. Cola?”
“Sure,” said Tony. He took a cold can from the fridge and handed it to Bobby. Bobby cracked it open and took a swig.
“I saw you had a book out,” said Anthony.
“Yeah? Did you read it?” Bobby asked.
“I don’t like books about the military,” Anthony replied.
“It’s not such a great book, anyways,” said Bobby. “Which hospital is Dad at?”
“St. Joseph’s. We can visit tomorrow, if you like.”
“I would. I’d like to see him. D’you think he’d be okay with that?”
Anthony shrugged. “He’s dying. You’re his oldest son. I guess he would.”
Bobby nodded. “I’ve sent him the odd message over the last few months. I think he’s thawing a bit.”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Anthony, uncommitted.
Bobby finished his cola, crumpled the can and threw it across the room into the bin, where it landed dead centre without touching the sides. He grinned and mock-shouted, “Score!” He wanted to think that he and Anthony were fourteen and twelve again. Anthony wasn’t having it.
“It’s good to be back, Tony,” said Bobby.
Anthony Karjalainen half-heartedly suppressed a sneer. “Is it?”
Bobby slung his kit bag into the corner and crashed onto his bed. He closed his eyes and thought about the day. Images from the exhilarating trip on the landing craft, the incident with the up-tight border guard and his uneasy reunion with Anthony floated about his head. He thought about his father and the illness that was slowly dragging him down. He tried to sleep - he was tired enough - but he just couldn’t do it. Opening his eyes he looked about the room, his room, or rather his twenty-one-year-old self’s room. The posters seemed a little silly now, but still bought a smile to his face.
He swung his legs around and sat up on the bed, reaching into his pocket to pull out his comdev. He scrolled through the contacts, stopping on one and tapping the screen. He held the comdev up to his ear and walked over to his old desk, listening to the dial tone. He flipped through an old notepad on the desk absentmindedly. The dial tone stopped and he heard a woman’s voice.
“Hey, this is Christina. I’m busy just now, leave a message. Buyee!” The recording stopped. Bobby coughed and paused a second, thinking.
“Hey, Christina, it’s me, Bobby.” He paused, searching for words again. “I’m back. Call me.”
He ended the call and lay back on the bed. This time, he was asleep in seconds.
C H A P T E R 4
Rumbles
Two Secret Service men with dark suits, dark glasses and concealed coms furtively stepped inside the door, one taking a position either side, both scanning the room and turning their heads slightly as they spoke into their concealed mics. They nodded to each other in agreement and pulled the door open. Tw
o further agents, a man and a woman, strode briskly into the room. Having analysed the layout two days in advance they knew exactly where they were going. The man moved directly to the far corner, where he stood with his back to the wall, surveying the customers and waiting staff as the early evening clientèle went about their meals. The woman went to a discreet opening at the back of the restaurant where, just out of view of the customers, was a tastefully designed and tastefully small sign reading ‘Staff Only.’ She took up a stance, side on to the kitchen and side on to the restaurant floor, with legs apart and hands loosely behind her back. She too whispered something into her mic.
A few seconds later Vice President Gerard White entered. He smiled and shared a joke with the maître d’hôtel, clasping one of his hands in two of his. The maître d’hôtel gestured to a table on the restaurant floor, and White thanked him and moved toward it.
White sat down at the table as another Secret Service woman slipped into position at the table opposite.
“Hello, Mr Vice President,” said Madeline Zelman.
“Hello, Ms Zelman,” White grinned.
Madeline flung her hand about the room, gesturing to the agents. “Do you ever get tired of all this rock-star nonsense?” she asked, smiling.
White smiled back, “No, never.” They laughed gently and easily.
“I know you don’t have much time so I’ve already ordered,” said Madeline.
“Good, good,” White replied, quickly adding, “Not the fish?”
“Not the fish,” Madeline echoed. “I thought we’d start with Pan-Seared Crab Cakes with Cajun Remoulade and have the Jambonneau of Duck with Wild Rice and Pine Nuts for the main.”
“Crabs and Ducks?” said White. “So you’re dragging me as near to fish as you can, huh?” He smiled at Madeline and she smiled back as she took a sip from her glass.
Ephialtes (Ephialtes Trilogy Book 1) Page 4