Moses rolled on to his back, bringing the foreign limb with him. This caused the standing man to fall onto the floor on his back, one leg across Moses’ chest. He finally released the foot, making note of the heavy work boot that was now attempting to find purchase on the ground but finding instead Moses Truman. He jabbed his elbow as hard as he could into his opponent’s groin. The anticipated moan was accompanied by the unknown man’s leg being immediately lifted from Moses as the attacker rolled into a ball.
Now the moment of decision was at hand. Should he continue to retaliate until he could disable the man and then discover his identity? Or should he flee the lab to prevent discovery of his own identity? There were benefits and disadvantages to both courses. But there was no time. He had to decide now or the man would recover and resume his attack.
Rebecca needed to be found before she, too, was killed by the person who had already eliminated two people from Homestead IV. If she wasn’t already eliminated. And this man could be the way to find her.
Moses climbed onto his hands and knees, pushing through the debris on the floor. He felt his way to the other man’s head, and he began punching. Every blow he landed brought white-hot pain to his side. His fists would join his other body parts in the injured reserve tomorrow. But for now he let out his frustration and disappointment at not being able to quickly identify the killer. At losing Rebecca. At being attacked due to his own careless lack of attention down in this lab. The man began grabbing at his own head, trying to avoid the blows. A knee came up into Moses’ gut, nearly knocking him over, but instead he climbed on top of the stomach of the man. As he began to alternate fists now, heavy impacts to the bigger man’s face, giant hands encircled his throat.
The hands squeezed. Now it was hard to breathe again. His knuckles were bloody. He stopped pounding the face of the assailant and reached for the fingers, trying to force them off of his neck. Trying to allow air back into his lungs. The light of the workstations glinted off of the other man’s eyes, giving them a blue-green glow that seemed demonic.
Slowly, darkness began to close in on Moses’ vision. Darkness even greater than that in the lab. It started at the edges, covering the flickering lights and moving images that always appeared when he had his eyes open in the dark. This new darkness was complete darkness. There were no imagined threats floating in it. There were no blinking lights from electronic devices. The darkness continued to creep in from the edges, eventually leaving only the blue-green eyes in the center of his vision. Those eyes that were the same color of the tiny hybrid plant-bacteria that grew in the tanks in the next room.
His resistance against the hands on his throat was fading quickly. It was becoming hard even to lift his arms. Just as his vision was completely obscured by the greater darkness, the other man spoke. Struggling to breath himself, the man grunted in victory as Moses faded from consciousness.
“Got you, “it said.
Chapter 14
When Moses regained consciousness he was immediately startled fully awake by the sound of water moving. Once his eyes were opened and he was able to process what he was seeing, he scooted away from the edge of the catwalk. He was precariously close to the edge. Below him was a giant vat of off-color water. It was one of twelve vats that filled the space above the mycophycology labs. There was two meters of musty air between him and the toxic water. The air was thick and burned in his throat. His nostrils and eyes felt hollowed out by the intense aroma. It was like the chemicals were scouring the surface of his airway.
He had to get out of here right away. The water was deadly. The fumes would cause rapid respiratory shutdown if he had to breathe them for more than twenty minutes. He didn’t know how long he had been in here, but it couldn’t be longer than ten minutes. That gave him ten more minutes to figure out how to escape from this room. Was this what had happened to Rebecca? He couldn’t think about that right now. He had to go. Now.
He stood to leave and knocked his head on the ceiling above him. It was coated in thick bubbles that occasionally swelled and dropped into the vats below. The clearance between the catwalk and the strong but transparent plastic bottom of the lake that lay above him wasn’t enough for him to stand completely. He was already light-headed from the fight and the fumes. If he wasn’t careful he would end up with a concussion as well.
He didn’t even know which way to go. It was dark in here, which meant it was also still dark outside. There was just enough light reflecting off of the metal catwalk to know the difference between crawling along the structure or falling into the algae tanks. The dim light also played off of the surface of the water below him, giving off a faint, blue-green tint to everything around him. Rather than rush blindly in a direction that would only leave him more lost, he took a moment to study what he could see. The walkway was moist with condensation from the fumes that came off of the vats. He knew that these fumes were the very thing that had boosted the transformation of the Martian atmosphere. Following that logic, there would be some sort of conduit that carried them to the surface, venting them into the harsh thin air of the red planet.
He concentrated on feeling the movement of the air around him. Yes! He could feel the hair on the back of neck moving in a light breeze. There was a small current of air flowing from behind him toward the front. That must be where the ducts to the surface were. Moses had no desire to climb up into the poisonous conduit along the entire height of the underground facility, but they would also have to have access for maintenance and repairs. That was the direction he needed to go.
He wasted no more time. He crawled rapidly across the metal platform, the surface working like a cheese grater on his knees and palms. What little traffic made its way across the catwalk was certainly meant to be done in protective gear for the travelers involved. The rough unforgiving grating was meant to reinforce that idea. It worked. He would happily give up a minute of his limited time to put on some protective gear, but the man that assaulted him did not give him a choice. He must have been extremely strong and determined to get him up here.
He would be ill for days, hacking his lungs out and dressing the injuries to his extremities. But none of that would matter if he couldn’t make his way out of here. He knew that the base of the pyramid was large, but this catwalk seemed to go on forever. His breathing grew more troubled by the moment. His hands were nearly shredded.
When he was almost ready to turn back and go the other direction out of desperation, an illuminated panel appeared in the darkness ahead. With this new input, he was able to focus his waning vision on a goal. It allowed him to pick up his pace and pay less attention to his worsening status.
Once he reached it, Moses identified the conduits that led up and out of the facility. The panel against the wall was a control unit for the airflow system, controlling the fans that pulled the air outside. He knew that a control panel would do nothing unless there was a way to access it from outside, so he searched around the area for some sort of egress.
He found a small ladder leading down to a platform with enough headroom to stand upright. He immediately regretted the decision to stand, becoming even more light-headed than before. He didn’t know if it was from the concentrated fumes or from the beating he had undergone, but either way he nearly passed out. That would have been the end of him.
He crouched low, recovering his steadiness as best he could, then continued the search. Tucked away in the corner of the platform was a small door just big enough to crawl through. The handle must have been on the other side, designed for getting in to the vats and not getting out from them. Who would be stupid enough to shut themselves inside?
He knew he was down to mere minutes of survival. His breathing was now labored and rasping. He could hear and feel every breath, reminding him that time was running out. He turned away from the small door, got down on his hands and knees in spite of the pain in them, and began kicking backwards into the steel door. Every breath was sandpaper in his throat and nose. Mucus was drippin
g freely onto the grate below him.
Moses was starting to lose rational thought. He began to laugh; his kicking reminded him of a donkey that lived in his village when he was very little. It would launch its hind legs into the air whenever anyone came up from behind, squeaking out a loud bray that could be heard throughout the small assemblage of mud-and-grass houses. It had gotten one of his cousins once, and the girl had never been right after that kick to the head. With every kick to the door, he laughed harder and harder. But now he was also crying at the memory of his beloved cousin and friend. He could no longer see.
And then the door was gone. The momentum of the kick that opened the door threw him backward into the opening, flying off of his hands and knees into the void on the other side of the door. His face slammed into the grating as his body thrust outward from the small hatch. He fell, feet first, down into Stephanie Idleman’s office and personal laboratory. Still being carried by the strength of his last kick, his mass almost cleared the edge of the doorway and landed on his knees and face two meters down. The pain was a distant thing now, muted by the clouds of confusion and memory that filled his head.
He just needed to close his eyes for a second.
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He had no idea how long he lay unconscious and bleeding on the floor of Idleman’s office. The blood was still slowly flowing from his face, hands, and knees when he awoke. There were small collections of blood on the floor underneath him, but not a lot. He was either bleeding very slowly, or had only been out for a few minutes. One thing was certain: his thoughts were once again under his control. Freeing himself from the poisonous fumes of the vats also freed his mind.
He lay there and tried to breath clean air, filling his lungs with room air and expelling the carbon dioxide that had built up in his system. He coughed wildly for a long time, each time making his broken rib feel like a knife in his side. Eventually he was able to breathe deep and clear without hacking.
He gathered his thoughts together and collected them to a single purpose. Now he just needed to get his body to comply.
As he lifted himself off of the ground, every movement caused more pain. His skin pulled taught as his legs pushed to a stand, causing more damage to his knees. His hands sought purchase on furniture to help lift his body against the gravity of Mars, opening those wounds further. Every turn of the head or tilt of his body multiplied the pounding in his skull. It felt like his ears were sure to start bleeding soon because of the ruckus inside of his skull, but they never did. When he finally reached an upright position, he stood for a few minutes to let the dizziness pass. As it subsided, he looked around.
This was his second time in this room, and he would be perfectly happy if it could be his last. The furniture in this room was impeccable, not one chair leg out of place. No broken or toppled desks. Everything was in its proper place. That meant that whoever had caused the mess in the main work area didn’t need anything from the private office, or knew exactly where to find it. In either case, they knew the layout and contents of this room.
He staggered through the office to the door that led to the general laboratory and work space. Every step was excruciating, blood trickling down his hands and calves, dripping off of his chin onto his clothes. He had to move slowly or he would become too dizzy and fall down again. That wouldn’t be good; he wasn’t sure he would be able to get up again.
The security lights were back on in the large room outside of Idleman’s office. Whoever had attacked him must have turned them back on after they left Moses to die. He slowly worked the door open, pushing pieces of furniture out of the way with the door. The fight had left an even bigger mess. Now things were genuinely broken, not just knocked over. He strained against the door to force it open enough to get through, causing even more damage to his broken skin and pounding head.
When the door was opened enough to squeeze out of, he picked his way through the room, avoiding sharp fragments of screen and splintered wood. It wouldn’t be good to add puncture wounds to his growing list of injuries. It was difficult to find a handhold among the scattered remains of desks and dividers, so it took even longer to get through the large work area to the lift than it did to get out of the small office.
He nearly lost his balance when he reached the end of the room, and grabbed the wall to hold himself up. He covered the call button with blood, making it glow red. After what felt like an eternity, the doors opened. The lift was empty at this hour. He continued in and managed to push the button for his floor. He could treat his wounds when he made it back to his clinic, maybe find something to put out the noise in his head, and then resume questioning Idleman. There was no time to stop. Someone was out there who knew that the murders were being investigated. He didn’t think they would have been able to identify him in the dark laboratory. He had to get answers before they started looking for him. Before they realized that he hadn’t died in the vats, disintegrated and released into the atmosphere, having done his last bit to help everyone on the planet breathe a little better.
But he had one advantage over his attacker. He could treat his own wounds. They were mostly to his body and inside of his mouth. He cover them up before anyone else saw them. Make it hard to figure out who had been attacked. The man who had attacked him would have injuries as well, and his would be concentrated around his eyes and mouth from Moses’ pummeling. And that person only had one avenue for help. They would have to come to him. And then Moses would know who was behind all of this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Moses roused Stephanie Idleman, still asleep on the exam table. The mild sedative he had administered was strong enough to knock out the scientist, but only because she had been exhausted. It only took some gentle shaking to wake her. He couldn’t help but think of how lucky he was that she didn’t wake up while he was in her labs; he hadn’t counted on the extended visit and subsequent battle for survival. He was almost ready to collapse himself.
Her eyes fluttered open and he had to prevent her from rising too fast. The wound on her head wasn’t deep, but could be enough to cause her to pass out if she got up too rapidly. He didn’t want her unconscious. Not anymore. Now he needed answers to some questions. And quickly. He had to treat his own injuries and get some rest before someone came looking for him, or for help for their own injuries. He needed to be in good shape before the mystery man came to the clinic.
“It’s probably best if you stay down. I don’t want you to do more damage than you’ve already done.” He looked down at her as he sat beside her, zero compassion on his face.
“Oh, my God. What happened to you?” She rubbed her forehead where the dressing covered the broken skin.
“I was checking on the damage to your lab,” he said. “It seems that all of the damage was minor except for one station. That should be a relief, one less thing for you to worry about as you recover.”
“Oh,” she stammered, “that is good news. Is everything OK down there? There is supposed to be someone on site at all times in case of a breach in the vat room. You shouldn’t have taken me out of there. There weren’t any alarms going off, were there?”
He met her gaze without giving anything away. It was difficult to refrain from jumping to the things he needed to know. “The vat rooms are fine. I checked on those, too.” She felt for her ID badge, eyes going wide as she realized it was missing. He held it up so she could see it.
“This got me in to your office, not the vats. The man who did this to me left me unconscious on the crawlspace over the vats without a suit.”
She gasped, genuine horror on her face. That was not the reaction he had expected.
“You’ll be glad to know that your office is fine. I even checked out your workstation. It looks like everything is untouched in there. Even the programs are running. The loss of power didn’t have any adverse affect on those background functions.”
Her face transitioned from horror to an abnormal combination of guilt and relief.<
br />
He continued, “You want to tell me about how you got access to the pollinator program?”
She was quiet for a long time. He couldn’t tell if she was formulating some lie to cover up her access, or deciding where to start explaining how she got it. He waited. He learned a long time ago with difficult patients that silence was a great way to get someone to answer a question they didn’t want to answer. They always ended up hating silence more than exposure of their fears and secrets.
“Harold Petersen accidentally gave me access to the program.” She wiped perspiration from her upper lip. Moses remained quiet. “He was worried that Adrie was going to damage his work and was losing focus, and I was worried that she was destroying my research with her stupid investigation. It wouldn’t kill all of the plants in the facility to expand the mycobacterial work, and Adrie was set on getting to the bottom of the cause of the dying trees. I went to Harold when she wouldn’t listen. He understood. He let me look through her findings because I told him I wanted to make sure she was wrong before I continued with my plan to expand. If it was deemed unprofitable or unproductive to continue the algae research, then his program would get scrapped too. He gave me access so I could check it out. I swiped her program when he left me alone in the beehive. Then I used it to reprogram a small segment of the drones to carry some of the spores out of the lab. Not enough to cause any harm to anyone, just enough to expedite the production of greenhouse gasses to expel into the Martian atmosphere. It’s better for everyone if this process goes faster. Even Harold. That’s why he let me do it.”
The Homestead Page 16