THE AREAD
Mars was growing in the port. The rust-red landscape was becoming detailed and familiar—the great volcanic shields of Tharsis, the long scar of the Mariner Valley, the circular dustbowls of the Hellas and Argyre craters. The Bow of Hercules appeared out of the black of the Asteroid Belt like a charging rhino. On board, the Cyborgs sat in rows like Viking rowers, while others crawled over the engines and the great laser, watching gauges and turning wheels. Riding the great ship’s bow like a tickbird, Maggie Moto spread her wings, and on her bridge J.B. and Jimbei handled the controls. The freetrader’s backswept wings were like a great bow, and the huge laser like the head of a crossbow-bolt pointed at the heart of the vast Poseidon Earthshaker in Phobos orbit. Maggie counted down in her incongruously sweet speaking voice:
“Ju, ko, hachi, shichi, roku, go…”
On the Poseidon, claxons sounded, and speakers barked orders, echoing up and down the corridors. Men raced for their posts as the ship lumbered about to confront its attacker in the pale pink sky. Throughout the Quasi-Police command—on the Grim-Visaged Ares riding Deimos through the skies, on the towers and donjons of the Pavonis mountain-top, and aboard the gleaming emerald of High Mars—agents and officers snatched up weapons and trotted to their places. This was not a drill.
On board the Bow of Hercules, the great laser began to crackle and glow like a thundercloud.
***
Quasi headquarters on Pavonis received a desperate mayday call mere moments after the attack alert from the Poseidon. The observation post atop Arsia Mons was under attack and troops from the Ancilius Group were assaulting the gun-emplacements there. These were not the ragtag Martian Liberation Front so despised by the Quasi-Police. They were crack mercenary troops, and the guns and lasers and rocket-launchers there, if they should fall into the enemy’s hands, could be trained on the Pavonis Spaceport from the only place on Mars that directly overlooked it.
Orders were quickly given. Shock-troops poured into one of the troop-carriers in the carrier-bay. The ship was called the Pegasus. It rose and came about in the huge hangar, then cycled through the great space-doors and roared off toward the southern mountain. Smoke was rising from the headquarters there. Attempts to contact the command were fruitless at first. Then there was static, and they heard the sound of gunfire and panicky voices.
“Opening blast-doors,” someone said.
The huge doors in the side of the building on the crater floor before them slowly opened, and the Pegasus prepared to enter. Something emerged from the door and raced toward them in the dust.
“What is that? A Rover? One of theirs or one of ours?”
“Uh, Sir? It looks like a spider.”
The creature raced toward them on six flashing legs, with two more raised in front as if to embrace them in its mandibles.
“Destroy it, whatever it is.”
The forward guns swung toward it, but there was a resounding clang as a great weight landed on top of the carrier. The lights flickered out and the hum of the engines dopplered down into silence. The guns stopped moving and hung limply, pointed at the ground, as the lights and gauges on the instrument panel winked out. Most frightening, the wheeze of the air-conditioning stopped, and utter silence fell over the ship. The spider stood on tiptoe and peeked in the forward port. The upper hatch spun open, and objects fell into the ship. Smoke spread throughout and the troops collapsed, unconscious. Only a few had been able to unlatch their seatbelts. The last thing the pilot saw was the shadow of a winged ship moving over them, and suddenly he was unconscious.
He awoke to find himself shackled in the gantry-office above the hangar at Arsia. Among the ships on the deck below were the troop-carrier Pegasus and a flying-wing freetrader. All about him, his co-pilot, the troops, and their commander sat shackled in their underwear, awakening groggily and looking about in confusion. Shackled with them were the small garrison of the Arsia Base. A bunch of strangers were scrambling into Quasi-Police uniforms and body-armour. The pilot recognized two of them from the wanted bulletins. One was Ali Karil of Mars, who was dressed in the co-pilot’s uniform. The other was a dark, handsome woman he knew as the notorious Loris of Ganymede, dressed in the clothing of the operation commander.
Everywhere, dozens of tall Martians were donning the Quasi-Police assault-armour. One was having particular trouble. She was much smaller than everyone else, and not even the uniform of the smallest female in the troop fit her. Her curvaceous naked little body was covered in serpent tattoos. Finally, Loris, laughing, managed to roll up her trousers and cinch the belt over her tunic, and fasten the helmet over her bald, snake-covered head. She swung a wicked-looking crossbow over her shoulder and almost looked dangerous. If you were not looking too closely, the pilot thought, and she stood in the background, she might be taken for a Quasi soldier.
Loris, however, was every inch the officer, in combat boots, black uniform, and double laser-holsters. She walked with total assurance, though moving with a dancer’s grace. She and Karil stood over him. “I quite like this uniform,” Loris said. “Especially this peacock badge.”
Karil laughed. “Oh, because Pavonis Mons means Peacock Mountain.” He looked her up and down. “Fits you real good in the back too, Lor.”
She grinned, then turned to the pilot. Her grin faded and her face became hard and her eyes cold. “We are going to take over the Pavonis base,” she said to him in a calm voice. “You will help us. Karil will be sitting next to you in the co-pilot’s seat. He will be seriously put out if we don’t get inside without trouble. What is the docking procedure?”
The pilot was quite forthcoming. “We will return and hover outside the space doors. I will request permission to enter and will be asked for the password. Meanwhile, the ship’s transponder will be checked. Then the doors will open, and we will enter. It’s quite routine.”
“Atty?”
“He speaks the truth, Loris,” said a lovely, disembodied voice.
“All right.” She bent down and removed his shackles. “You will come with us. You will not be harmed unless you betray us. If you do, you will be the first one to die.” She turned to the troops in general. “Let’s go. This squad will remain and guard the prisoners. Arachne?”
She saluted. “Yes, Sir.”
“You will stay and help guard the prisoners. If anyone gives you any trouble, eat him.”
“Yes, Sir.”
It was generally known throughout the System that robots will not harm a human being. It was easy to believe this of the polite and soft-spoken androids that one was likely to meet in a corridor, but almost no-one knew anything about the aerostat repair-spiders, and Arachne was quite intimidating. A look of consternation appeared on several faces.
“No, I’m kidding,” Loris said with a straight face. “Tough, stringy soldiers. You’ll want fat security guards. Come with me.” She set off down the ramp, and Arachne dutifully followed her across the hangar and up Atalanta’s cargo ramp into the ship. She clung to the web of cargo netting in the hold, looking even more spider-like than usual. Loris swung onto the bridge, strapped into the pilot’s couch, and started the engines.
“You are making fun of my friend,” Atty said.
“I know. She’s wonderful.”
Loris’ troops climbed into the troop-carrier with Karil and the pilot. Claxons sounded and the space-doors opened under Atty’s control. The troop carrier rose and sped out the doors, followed closely by Atalanta. The space-doors remained open to vacuum, just in case some of the prisoners might free themselves and seize their guards. The fatal Martian atmosphere would lay between them and the ships in the hangar, which had been rendered inoperative in any event. All-in-all, it hardly seemed worth contemplating.
As soon as the ships left the caldera, Atalanta sped forward, came up beneath the Pegasus, and attached herself remora-like to its hull, with the clank of powerful magnets. Her profile was completely hidden from above by the carrier’s wide wings, as Mount Pavonis swept toward them.
***
Hidden by dust-storm, a cavalcade of sand-rovers raced up the Mariner Valley. Most had been fitted with mining lasers to serve as weapons. Jay and Brandy were in the lead, and as they passed communes on the way, others came out to join the throng. Aaron, in his souped-up rover, darted back and forth, up and down the line, Chi-Chi Li proudly riding in the bubble on top, swivelling about with the turret-gun. Aaron spoke on the commune gossip channel, encouraging and thanking the volunteers.
As they emerged from the Ghost Dune Field of the Labyrinth of Night, Jay turned off and his crawler nosed into the hangar at Tharsis Commune. The hangar was full of people loading crawlers with supplies and children. His job, as intellectual heir to Progeny, was to organize the evacuation. For many years, there had been no political activity of any kind at Tharsis, but it was closest to Pavonis and well-known to the High Companies as the former Home of Progeny and Terry and the place where the Rebellion began. Everyone was certain that if any place would feel the retaliative wrath of the Quasi-Police, Tharsis Commune would be the first.
Jay and Aaron sent good luck to each other, and Aaron rolled on across the Tharsis heights, followed by a convoy of sand-rovers. The pillars of the Maglev under construction loomed out of the dust clouds and the work-gangs found themselves surrounded. They were taken at gunpoint into the construction shack dome, had their helmets and tools confiscated and the communications smashed, and were locked inside.
A select group of Martians with construction experience climbed into the huge sand-movers. The bulbous segmented eyes in the prow lit up, the six huge robotic legs stirred and walked, and a phalanx of giant ants marched across the plains, surrounded by sand-crawlers and sand-rovers as a party of huge army-ant soldiers might be surrounded by smaller workers.
At first, the guards at the elevator site at the base of Pavonis paid little attention to the approach of the work-vehicles, riveted as they were by the ship-battle shaping up above on their screens. They assumed the work-gangs had been called in for their safety during the emergency. And then someone noticed an unusual number of vehicles and triggered the alarm. The Quasi-Police guards went out to meet them and their commanding officer was alerted.
***
Armand Solla, in his office above, responded and stared at the screens about him, watching a mechanized army on the march. Hundreds of vehicles, perhaps, including the huge sand-movers. But one vehicle grabbed his attention—a fast rover, or more like a speeder, with lasers in the bow and a turret-gun on top. Obviously, this was the leader of this rabble.
Solla snatched up his gun belt and raced for the freight elevator. As it plummeted down the mountain, he grabbed a p-suit and suited up. He strapped his laser-belt to the outside and emerged from the elevator at the base with his helmet in his arms.
“I need a rover-driver. The best one you’ve got,” he called out.
Even before noticing the badge on his gun belt, the workers could not miss the stance and voice of command.
“That would be me, Sir,” said one man proudly.
“Suit up and start the best vehicle you have.” Solla said, looking him up and down. “Pick your favourite, as long as it’s one with an upper hatch. We’re going to take out the leader of that invasion force.”
“Yes, Sir!”
In a moment, the driver was suited up and at the helm, and Solla was standing behind him, rising out of the upper hatch and strapped in tightly, with his lasers on his hips and two laser-rifles clamped beside him. The vehicle roared out of the hangar, crossed the compound, and slipped out through the gate just as the first great sand-mover smashed into the gate. Solla ducked as his vehicle darted between the giant ant’s legs, and his chariot headed for Aaron’s.
***
Admiral Darius had been caught napping—literally. He was awakened out of a sound sleep by the claxons set off on the bridge. He bounded out of bed so suddenly that the young lady with him was thrown to the floor with a squeal. He slammed the comm button for connection to the bridge.
“What is it, man?” He stumbled into his pants.
“A ship, Sir. Accelerating out of the belt. Heading straight for us.”
“Launch immediately. I’m on my way.”
He was thrown off his feet by the lurch as the ship’s great drivers roared into life. Half-dressed, he stumbled down the corridor as it spun leisurely for artificial gravity, and he swung into weightlessness in the central shaft. Of course, they were following Phobos in the wrong direction and that vector had to be corrected, so precious minutes were lost. For too long the ship lay wallowing like a great whale, side on to the attacking ship.
A great white beam flashed into its flank and the movement of the Poseidon itself took out its starboard manoeuvring jets. The oncoming Hercules appeared in the port just as the Admiral arrived on the bridge.
“What the hell kind of ship is that?”
“I don’t know, Sir. It looks unfinished, like several ships welded together.”
“Launch fighters.”
“The fighters on the starboard side are damaged in the launching bays. Launching portside fighters, Sir.”
The tiny fighters shot out of the launching bays and headed in a long curve toward the attacking ship.
“Mayday. Mayday,” the Admiral called out. “Ares, respond.”
Grim-Visaged Ares was following Deimos, out past stationary orbit where High Mars dwelt at 20,428 kilometres high. It left the minor moon behind and fell inward toward Phobos orbit to come to the wounded giant’s rescue. Suddenly, a multitude of ships appeared around the limb of Mars. They were Belter ships, large and small, battered and repaired, fast and incredibly manoeuvrable, piloted by intrepid Belt-dwellers, who were every bit at home in zero gravity as in their own beds. Poseidon Earthshaker and Grim-Visaged Ares now seemed like wounded bears surrounded by angry bees. Hercules continued to slice bits off Poseidon like a chef with a carving knife. Ares raced to the rescue, but it was surrounded by the ragtag Belter fleet and its fighters were harassed from all sides.
The Bow of Hercules connected with the Poseidon Earthshaker and the lock was opened. Dozens of huge cyborgs swung into the ship and drifted down the corridors. Everyone who saw them coming surrendered to them on sight, including Admiral Darius. Several cyborgs sat before the console on the bridge and plugged their wrists directly into the controls. The engines stopped and the fighters were recalled. A number, having been destroyed, did not return. The Poseidon turned to face Grim-Visaged Ares and the new Captain demanded the latter ship’s surrender.
High Mars was left undefended. The Aegis rose from the dust-clouds and shot into the sky, the writhing head of Medusa on its shield glaring as if in righteous anger. Behind it came Fancy Dancer, soaring like a condor on a canyon updraft. They approached High Mars unchallenged. Fancy monitored the comm inside and took control of the hangar space-doors. The doors opened and the Aegis and Fancy landed inside. The doors closed and the hangar was re-pressurized. Belter troops pounded out of the Aegis, led by Eric and Sarissa. Genia and her Amazon bodyguard poured out of the freetrader.
They made their way down the corridor and stepped out into paradise. A vast landscape garden lay before them—rolling lawns, tall trees, flower beds, ponds and streams, little stone bridges and folly temples. Birds chirped and darted everywhere, and everything was in various shades of green. The Martians among them stood agape.
To the right, in the sky overhead, was a vast Versailles Garden, with flower beds laid out in precise detail like book-ended puzzle-pieces in various colours surrounding turreted French Chateaux, backed by acres of grapevines in neat rows on the rolling hills. Above and to the left was a landscape of thatched cottages surrounded by pocket woodlands, lakes, and sheep-meadows. Every cottage had a walled garden filled with a riot of brightly coloured flowers.
They could see, in the other cylinder, three landscapes of Eastern gardens, one of ponds and waterfalls and tiny teahouses, another of precisely raked stones and sand, surrounded by high hills of dragon-pavilions among pine-forests, where boats drifted down calm, glassy rivers between the rounded hills, and in the third garden was a sun-baked Moorish town with narrow, winding village streets and roof-tiled houses surrounding courtyards cool with blue tiles and splashing fountains.
“I have seen this as a black and white drawing all my life,” Genia said.
“I think one of the great crimes of the High Companies,” Eric added, “is that this is a forbidden place for Martians. That’s going to change.”
“Where is everybody” Sarissa wanted to know.
“They’re hiding, I suppose,” Genia said, “now that their security has taken off. But there should be some interior security of some sort, Park Police or something. Basically, every structure here is a hotel or a bed-and-breakfast or something. But there is…”
She was knocked off her feet by a bullet to the shoulder. Eric threw himself on top of her, then dragged her behind a hedge and drew his laser. Sarissa tended to her wound. All the soldiers had drawn their weapons and were under cover.
“I guess that’s the Home Guard defending the place from the evil Martians,” Eric said. “Does anybody have any idea where they are?” He peered up at the landscapes in the sky, berating himself for not recognizing a perfect setup for sniping.
“Never mind. In every landscape the central manor house or chateau is a control centre of some sort, and this one is the centre for the entire comm system. Over here, in the Manor House. There’s a bit of cover between here and there. I don’t know why they shot me, of all people.”
“Because you’re clearly the leader,” Sarissa said. “We’re all dressed like soldiers, but on you it looks good. You were talking and everybody else was listening. You can see that literally a mile away.”
There was a sound behind them, and they whirled about with weapons drawn. The great door to the hangar opened—of course there would be a way to move cargo into the cylinder from docking ships—and Fancy Dancer roared over their heads.
“Never fear, my dear,” the ship said over their suit-radios, “we shall draw their fire and their ire. Get under my wings, my little chickadees.”
“Just do what she says,” Wog told them.
She hovered over them, and they ducked and covered beneath her. They struck out across the lawn. Once in a while, a bullet would ping off Fancy and she would chuckle in amusement.
“Let slip the dogs of war,” she shouted and sent screaming tracers into the landscapes above—always, Genia noted, into an uninhabited place. The sheep around them stopped mowing the lawn and, bleating in panic, scattered in all directions.
“Look,” said Sarissa. “This way to the Sculpture Garden. I’d like to see that.” She pointed to a sign.
“Perhaps later,” her father said, “when there’s nobody shooting at us.”
Fancy hovered over them as they climbed the stairs into the Manor House. Genia found the door to the basement that brought them to the control room. They found a dozen people in servant livery cowering there. Genia noticed that those dressed as maids wore tiny little skirts. It was a holiday spot, after all.
“We mean you no harm,” she said. “Mars is changing hands at the moment. But I’m sure you’ll find it’s to your advantage in the end. Now, stay out of our way.”
She called up the plans of the other two landscapes, did a little geometry in her head.
“Fancy?”
“Yes, Genia.”
“Put a couple tracers into the big chateau at the winery up there. See if you can get them to shoot back at you.”
“Mais oui, ma Capitaine.” Fancy knocked a few chips off the fairy-tale tower of the chateau and received a few tentative pot-shots in reply. “That’s it, Genia. They’re in the crenelated tower in the centre. Shall I call down the wrath of Athena, Goddess of War, Wisdom, and Handicrafts?”
“I think so.” Genia paused to tap a few keys on the console and the whole system was scrambled. Quasi headquarters found itself unable to communicate with the commanders in the field, the Quasi cruisers on the surface were unable to speak to each other, and the fighters in the skies were cut off from the capital ships in high orbit.
They went out onto the front steps and saw Aegis emerging from the hangar doors and rising into the centre of the cylinder. It slowly circled, Medusa’s serpents gleaming in the sunlight, then faced the Chateau towers.
“We can wait here until we get the word from the Rebellion, and then restore communications under a Rebellion password,” Genia said. “In the meantime…”
There was a click behind them, and they turned to see an old man in a butler’s uniform point an old-fashioned revolver at Genia. Everyone was stunned and before he was cut down by a half-dozen soldiers, he shot Genia through the heart.
***
The troop carrier hovered outside the Pavonis Tower hangar, cameras above trained on it. The pilot dutifully requested permission to dock as per protocol. The control gantry gave it, and the space-doors opened. From beneath the Pegasus, Atalanta slipped forward into the hangar and opened fire in all directions. Observation-windows shattered, and shards of crystal rained down. Hangar staff dove for cover. In the noise and confusion, no-one noticed that there were no casualties, that in fact the bullets were carefully aimed over the heads of staff and guards.
The Pegasus drifted into the hangar behind Atalanta and settled to the deck. The hatches opened and soldiers poured out as soon as the space-doors were closed. In a matter of minutes, they were in control of the area, had sealed all the doors, and soldiers were trotting down the corridors to seal off the entire prison-wing. Prisoners looked up in surprise as the ersatz Quasi troops rushed in, handcuffed the guards, and began opening cells.
“We’ll take care of the prisoners,” the Ancilius captain told Loris as she emerged from her ship. “I think some of them were tortured, others look pretty exhausted. There’s someone here who claims to be an astrologer, for God’s sake. You’re free to look for Terry.” From the interior, sporadic gunfire continued to be heard, as the rebels encountered resistance from Pavonis guards.
“I have located Major Alexander’s office,” Atty said. She displayed it on a nearby screen as Karil and Loris and Baby Snakes gathered around. The Free Traders were so intent on the screen that they did not see Baby Snakes shucking off her uniform until it was lying at her feet.
“It didn’t take you long to take your clothes off,” Karil laughed. She stood nonchalantly in her underwear, with her crossbow in her hands.
“I can’t fire my weapon in those things,” she complained. “And do you want me tripping over that?” She kicked at the pile of clothes.
“No, I don’t. And frankly, I think you’re much more intimidating this way.”
Suddenly, Snakes raised her crossbow into the air and fired.
“What the hell?” Karil said.
A Quasi soldier tumbled off a balcony high above them and crashed to the floor, his laser-rifle pinned to his chest by a crossbow bolt.
“Never mind,” Karil said.
Arachne scuttled down the ramp and stood towering over Loris.
“You’d better take Arachne with you,” Atty said. “Follow the lights.”
The ceiling light over one of the branching corridors flickered. They followed the flickering lights down the hallway, turned left and then right, and the light over one particular door flashed repeatedly. Loris tried the door, found it locked, and pulled her laser.
“I can help,” Arachne said.
“Okay. Go ahead.”
She gripped the door in her pincers and ripped it off its hinges. Karil and Loris sidled into the room with guns drawn, but it was deserted. On the wall were a dozen screens revealing the interiors of the cells. They could see prisoners being released and taken to the waiting troop-carrier. Karil punched buttons, switched from screen to screen, but there was no sign of Terry.
“I can lead you to her,” said a voice. Karil and Loris whirled and trained their weapons on a door.
“I’m embarrassed to say I’m in the closet,” the voice went on. “If you let me come out without killing me, I can lead you to her. Save you some time.”
“Okay. Come on out. Who are you?”
The door opened and a uniformed man stepped out, his hands raised. “I’m Major Alexander. Sorry not to welcome you properly, but there are a lot of troops out there and some of them might be trigger-happy.”
“Loris,” Karil interrupted. “Look at this.”
On the screen was a bedroom and Terry was napping on the bed. In a flash, Loris had her hand on Alexander’s throat, and he was off the floor, against the wall.
“Please,” he gasped. “I want to co-operate.”
She thought a moment, then let go and he sank to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, looking around at them—the two dark figures in Quasi uniforms, the nearly naked, profusely tattooed girl with a wicked crossbow trained on him, and outside the door a giant robot spider.
“You are no doubt Loris and Ali Karil,” Alexander coughed. “Your reputation precedes you.”
“Never mind that. Take us to Terry and we’ll decide your fate afterwards.”
“Right this way.” He put his hands on his head, sidled past Baby Snakes, gave Arachne a wide berth, and headed down the corridor. Suddenly, a door opened, and a squad of Quasi-Police troopers burst through. Some of them hesitated at the sight before them. Alexander put up his hands to stop them, but the squad-leader raised his laser-rifle to his shoulder. He was torn apart by lasers and then struck with a crossbow bolt for good measure. Arachne knocked Alexander aside and galloped forward. To a man, the squad dropped their weapons and raised their hands.
“This area is in enemy hands,” Alexander said, scrambling to his feet and suddenly speaking in the voice of command. “You will surrender and co-operate with your captors. Is that clear?
“Yes, Sir.”
As the bizarre group passed them, the Quasi troops flattened against the wall and watched Arachne pass. She couldn’t help but stare at each of them with her numerous black eyes as she passed. Baby Snakes pulled her arrow out of the dead trooper’s body and tossed it into the quiver on her back. The troopers watched her pass with the same astonishment as they had watched Arachne. She winked at them.
In a few moments Alexander stopped before a door. “I’ll just get the key out of my pocket. These are my quarters.”
Loris started for him again, but he put up his hands. “No, no, I took other rooms, gave her my quarters. I tried to treat her as decently as I could. I’ve grown quite fond of her.”
“Uh-huh. Open the door.”
He took out the keys and unlocked the door. Loris pushed it open and walked through, guns drawn.
“Alexander?” It was Terry’s voice, and she came out of the bedroom, blinking the sleep from her eyes, her blond mane tousled. She threw herself into Loris’s arms, grabbed Karil and pulled him into the embrace. She turned to see Alexander with his hands raised and Snakes with her crossbow trained on his back.
“You’re Baby Snakes. I remember you well.” She peered at Arachne outside the door and laughed out loud. “God, I’ve missed you guys. Is Jay all right?”
“He’s evacuating Tharsis Commune,” Karil said. “We weren’t sure how safe it is.”
“I’ve been watching your war out there,” Terry said. “Figured you be around sooner or later, if you could. Hoped so, anyway. I guess Atty’s here.”
“I am, Terry. So happy to see you safe and sound,” said Atty’s dulcet voice from a speaker in the wall.
“Oh, it’s nice to hear your voice.”
She walked up to Alexander and punched him in the face. He collapsed in a heap. “I know you were watching me, you sonofabitch. You wanted me to like you, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” She hugged Karil and Loris again. “Can you get me out of here?”
As they turned to leave, Alexander spoke up. “Hurt me,” he said.
“What was that?”
“Injure me in some way. Please. Or they’ll send me to…” He screamed as a crossbow bolt thudded into his thigh. Everyone turned to look at Baby Snakes.
“What?” she said.
In a few minutes, they were aboard Atalanta and streaking across the Tharsis plain. Below them, a great battle of sand-rovers was taking place at the foot of Pavonis Mons.
***
Solla’s sand-rover darted and weaved among the clashing vehicles, quickly gaining on the Battle of Qadesh, Li saw it coming and recognized the Quasi-Police logo on the side. She strafed it and the bullets only dented the vehicle’s armour. Solla drew his hand-laser, struck the side of the Battle just below Li’s gun-dome, and left a long burn-mark. Li switched to laser-fire and nearly holed Solla’s suit. He holstered his hand-laser and came up with the more powerful laser-rifle. Aaron’s craft took off.
“Faster!” Solla yelled into his helmet radio. The driver heard him from the cabin speaker even above the roar of the engine. “Get as close to that vehicle as you can.”
“Are you serious? This is rough terrain.” But the driver sped up as much as he dared. He was beginning to regret volunteering. As the sand-rover bounced across the rock-strewn plain on its great tires, Solla was thrown about in the hatch-well like a rat in a terrier’s jaws.
“Wish I had a nice, padded bubble to ride in,” he said to himself. “I must send a memo about this. We could use something like that.”
Aaron’s rover was ploughing into a mass of oncoming Quasi rovers and Li was swivelling in her gun-dome left and right, disabling them with devastating shots. They spun out, collided with each other, crashed, sputtered to a stop. Solla watched with envy. He realized that the exceptional stability of the enemy rover was in its great wheels and suspension. He became so absorbed in analysing it that he forgot to shoot at it, but he really had to stop the devastating thing and get it into the hands of the Quasi-Police technicians, so they could reproduce it.
But that gunner was dangerous. As his own driver began to gain on the speeding vehicle, he recognized Chi-Chi Li from his meetings with Governor Almak. That meant the driver might well be Aaron Ben David. Now, he really had to bring them down, capture or kill them. Either one would restore his standing with the High Companies.
“Ram it,” he said.
“Are you insane? We’ll crash.”
“So will they. Those two are Public Enemy Number One and Two on Mars. Bring them down and you’ll get a promotion, and we’ll have that vehicle to reproduce. I’ll see that you get your hands on one.”
After a moment’s hesitation, the driver accelerated. Solla’s vehicle came up behind Aaron’s and pulled up next to it. Solla took a bead on the left rear tire and sliced it with his laser-rifle, but the inherent stability of the six-wheeled vehicle allowed it to keep moving at high speed over the rough ground. Li swung her weapon toward Solla, but he was too close. She could not shoot straight down, and the fire went over Solla’s head. They hit the rim of a small crater and the two vehicles collided, then separated a good three meters.
Solla lifted his laser-rifle to his shoulder and put a beam straight into Chi-Chi Li’s bubble. She reached down, grabbed her helmet and clapped it on just before the bubble exploded, saving her from the explosive decompression, but shards of quartz struck the suit’s computer. Aaron slammed on the brakes and the Battle of Qadesh slid sideways, striking Solla’s vehicle, which swerved out of control and toppled on its side. For a few moments Solla was stunned.
Aaron unstrapped and ran back and climbed up to check on Li. She was hanging limp, did not seem to be breathing, but he dare not remove her helmet. He put his ear to her heart and heard nothing, though the humming and sparking of the suit’s computer was distracting. The life-sign indicator flickered into the red. Then it faded and went out.
For a second, he could not believe it.
Chi-Chi Li was dead.
He was seized by a white-hot rage. He turned and looked out at Solla’s vehicle, which was lying on its side, wheels spinning. The driver was not moving, but the gunner was extricating himself. Aaron returned to the Battle of Qadesh’s controls and found trouble-lights blinking and power indicators dark. He ripped off the lower panel and found a broken connection, struggled to reconnect it in his pressure-gloves. He was rewarded with the roaring of the engine into life and the dash-panel lighting up. He looked out the port again.
Even in his scratched helmet, the man’s face was recognizable to him. It was Armand Solla. He was coming on slowly, stumbling, dragging one twisted leg that seemed to be broken. It was a wonder his suit had not been ripped. The man seemed indestructible, and he still had a laser. But so did Aaron. He reached for the Battle’s trigger-assembly, but the bow-lasers would not move. They were broken.
He hit the accelerator and headed straight for Solla. The man reached down, drew his laser, took aim at Aaron’s viewport, and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. He glanced down and saw that his weapon was damaged. He looked up in shock and tried to throw himself to one side, but the speeding vehicle drove right into him with a thud, and he vanished beneath it.
Aaron looked at the rear-view screen, but Solla’s body was not lying back there. He could not tell if the big balloon tires had rolled over him or not. Aaron climbed out of the cab and looked underneath. Solla was caught in the under-carriage, hanging by his holster-strap, half unconscious. His laser was gone, his helmet remarkably still unbroken. What did it take to kill this man?
He turned and looked into Aaron’s eyes. He was not begging for mercy. He was proud, haughty, indomitable, superior. This man had murdered Ch-Chi Li and he was pleased with himself. Cold as ice, Aaron climbed back into the crawler and put it in gear. The vehicle moved forward, dragging Solla over the rough ground. The Battle of Qadesh roared over the plains, dragging Solla with it. Aaron kept his eye on the rear-view screen to see if Solla might appear, ripped from under the vehicle. Aaron intended to back up and roll over him, again and again, until he was just a redder smear on the Martian surface.
Aaron faced front again and saw the rock too late. “Adonai!” he shouted. The sand-crawler careened into it at high speed and the front end crumpled. Aaron’s helmet hit the quartz windshield and cracked. His head struck the quartz, and he was knocked unconscious. A few seconds later he was dead of asphyxiation.
***
Atalanta landed outside the Tharsis Commune and was directed to mate with a lock. Inside, the commune was in shambles. Not only was it undergoing evacuation, with Martians being loaded into sand-crawlers and taken down the Mariner Valley to be sheltered in other communes, but it was a triage zone for the surface war.
The underground hangar was filled with crawlers and people on stretchers. They would be brought in, checked and treated by medics and put aboard other crawlers to be evacuated. There was still fighting going on outside and the place was dangerous. Not every Quasi soldier or pilot was bored and sick of Mars; some were fanatic believers and still trying to kill Martians, even if they could no longer hear orders from their commanders.
Jay was riding herd on this chaos, directing people here and there, conferring with medics, loading crawlers and shuttles, and sending them off. At least the dust-storm had stopped for now. When Terry saw him, she ran across the hangar and threw herself into his arms. A chorus of cheers went up and for a moment there was joy. Then everyone went back to work, and Terry was pressed into service as clan-mother. Jay could almost relax.
Terry asked, “Where’s Shagrug?”
“All the children went out in the first crawlers. Secret destination.”
Jay greeted Karil and Loris and little Snakes with bear hugs. There was no need for thanks. Arachne squeezed through the lock and Jay greeted her as well. She was happily put to work pushing wheeled stretchers around, with Baby Snakes assisting by riding on the stretchers, holding up plasma-bags.
“What can we do?” Loris asked.
“Well,” Jay said, “some of these people can’t wait for a long crawler-ride to a hospital, and our clinic is not big enough or well-equipped. We need them to be flown to the Margaritifer, where they have a decent hospital wing.” He glanced over at Terry, who was helping the medics transfuse a patient. “And you can get Terry the hell out of the war zone.”
“Of course. But what about you?”
“I still have work to do. Wog and Gay are on their way, now that High Mars is… Oh! Genia is dead.”
“What? How?”
“She was shot on High Mars. It just seems so…random.”
A crawler came down the ramp. Four men got out and pulled weapons. They got off a couple of wild shots. Arachne put herself in front of Karil and Loris, who pulled their lasers and fired between her legs, killing the attackers. In a moment, people stopped screaming and went back to what they were doing.
“So, now you see what I mean.”
“Right.” Loris whistled. SPIDER and Snakes looked up. She gestured toward the lock and Snakes nodded. More than one patient forgot his or her pain as they found themselves being shoved into the ship by a giant spider, as a nest of vipers held up their plasma bottle.
“Jay,” someone called. “You have to see this.”
He went over to a crawler and looked at three patients who had just been brought in.
“Jesus Christ!” he said. “Karil! Loris! Come here!”
They joined him.
“It’s Aaron.”
“No!” He was clearly dead, his helmet cracked, his face showing the effects of terminal oxygen deprivation. It seemed like all three of them were dead. “Look! It’s Solla.”
“He’s still alive,” the medic said.
“You’re kidding. Aaron Ben David is dead and this guy’s still alive?” Karil and Loris looked at each other.
“No,” Jay said. “We can’t do that. We have to take him to the hospital and do our best. Otherwise, what is all this for? Maybe he’ll die anyway. I can’t believe he’s not dead already. Look at him.”
“I know,” Karil said. “He’s a fucking vampire. Can’t be killed. Not so long ago, I had a chance to rid the universe of him forever and I passed it up.”
“This one’s still alive too,” said the Medic.
“It’s Li,” said Jay.
“Is she really still alive?’
“The life support readout on her suit is broken. Says she’s dead, but she’s not. Not quite. She’s in really bad shape, but the suit is still keeping her alive. It has to be removed in the ICU. We need to get her out of here.”
“Okay,” Loris said. “Stabilize these two for transport and put them aboard Atalanta. And anyone else who has to go immediately.”
Jay went over to talk to Terry. Karil and Loris watched Li and Solla being loaded into Atalanta.
“Jay’s right,” Karil said. “It seems perfectly random to me.”
“It’s called war. Hundreds of people trying to kill each other. Some of them succeed.”
Karil was watching Jay and Terry. “Look,” he said.
Loris watched them. Terry put her hand on her belly.
“Ah,” Loris said. “She’s pregnant. Probably happened on the Fair Aphrodite, which is a good omen, I guess.”
“You knew about this?”
“She told us they were going to try at the meeting on Ganymede.”
“Is that why this whole war happened? The Quasi thought you were planning some big assault, but you were planning, what, a fucking baby shower?”
“Well, we were reporting to each other on things the Quasi would probably already have known about, so yes. We just happened to be near each other and thought we were secure.”
A few minutes later, Jay returned with Terry. “She’s going to go with Li,” he said, as if it was her idea.
“Right,” Loris said. “So, let’s get her the hell out of here.” She turned to Jay. “We’ll take Snakes and leave you Arachne. She seems to be making herself useful.”
“Glad to have her. We’re almost finished here. When Wog and Gay get here, they can take the last group. I’ll go with them.”
Jay and Terry embraced. The most severely injured and the medics treating them were loaded aboard. Terry joined Karil and Loris and Baby Snakes on the bridge.
“I’m so glad to see you again, Terry,” Atty said.
“Love you, Atty.”
Atalanta rose over the Tharsis Dome and sped off down the Mariner Valley. Jay listened to her roar of departure and turned to his work, preparing the last group of passengers for Fancy Dancer’s arrival. When that was done, he took one last look around the commune, climbing the ramp into the dome. He found Arachne following him.
“I must have someone to protect,” she said. “Everyone is waiting for the ship.”
“I’m glad of your company. You’re a good friend to Atty and…” He heard whispered voices and followed them into the pocket woodland beneath the dome, where he found a young couple making out beneath a weeping willow.
“Get out of here,” he said. “It’s still dangerous. Go.”
Giggling, they ran down the ramp, nearly colliding with Brandy.
“There you are,” she said. “Come on, Jay. We’ll be back here soon.”
“All right. I’m coming. Make sure those two are evacuated.”
Brandy turned away and Jay started to follow her.
***
On the Poseidon Earthshaker, Admiral Darius was being escorted to his quarters by two huge Cyborg guards. Suddenly, he darted through a doorway and locked it behind him. One of his guards pounded on the door with a steel fist.
“Come on, Admiral,” his voder said. “You know we can get you out of there.”
Silence.
“Darius!” The cyborg yanked open the door, breaking the lock, and suddenly it was shut again by sudden vacuum on the other side. They heard an engine roaring into life, then turned and pounded back to the bridge. They saw a fighter dropping toward the surface. The Captain of the Cyborgs started to call the fighter on the comm and realized there was no connection anymore.
Instead, he got online to the Belter ships. “Stop that fighter that just launched from the Poseidon. It’s Admiral Darius trying to escape.” A dozen fighters peeled off after it. Wog and Gay saw it pass them in a power dive and pursued it at top speed. Wog switched off Fancy Dancer’s higher functions and swung the gunsight into place in front of him. He flipped the safety off and took the trigger assembly into his hand. When he realized it was too late, he pulled up the prow and went into a steep climb, presenting the ship’s hardened keel to the explosion.
Jay saw it coming. It strafed the dome and panels exploded outward. Brandy turned back as the air-pressure began to drop, and Jay saw the blast-door shut in her face. Arachne threw herself on top of him, uselessly. The fighter crashed through the dome, and it exploded, sucking both Jay and the SPIDER out into the near vacuum of Mars.