She almost tripped over a hidden rut, a trail where trucks had been in the recent past, concealed using similar techniques. Hopefully that meant that they had transport on the base; risking calling out would be difficult, even if they agreed to it. Glancing up at the sky, she wondered who was watching her from orbit.
T
he haze might be hiding her from Tarrant and his lackeys, but it was also going to hide her from her
friend
s.
The faint outline of an airlock was visible on the side of the dome nearest them.
S
he could make out enough of it to recognize it as war surplus, one of the old prefabricated outposts that could be assembled in a day on almost any sort of environment. Hundreds of them were scattered across the Solar System, and more of the kits had been sold since the war.
W
ith a little luck, she’d be able to guess the layout.
No sign of anyone coming out to meet them, which could mean that the base had been abandoned. There were still places where you could find failed, abandoned colonies, even after a century – sites where it had not been deemed worthwhile to do anything other than salvage spare parts and oxygen, leaving everything else in situ. Every year, some of the more familiar ones would be havens for teenagers on holiday from school, daring themselves to enter the forgotten relics of the first colonial boom.
She waved her arm towards the door, reading the sensors. A trace of oxygen, outgassing from old equipment long past its best, a few micro-leaks that provided her with evidence that there was a safe environment inside, though that didn’t necessarily mean occupation. Reaching for the controls, she was immediately suspicious; there was no attempt at security. It was as though someone had invited her in, and if she’d had any other options, she’d have immediately declined. Pulling her pistol out of her holster, she tapped the control and stepped into the airlock, Harriet following.
The inner door opened, and Orlova cautiously stepped out, a smile creeping across her face as a wall of green beckoned her forward, plans leaping out of the soil all around her, trenches for irrigation running from underground tanks, water sprays in the hot and humid air.
“What is it?” Harriet said. “Crops?”
Looking across as she pulled off her helmet, Orlova replied, “In a manner of speaking. Cannabis plants, by the look of it.”
“Drugs?”
“You think anyone would go to the trouble of setting up a drill into the ice layer to sell water? I figured it was probably something like this.” She looked around, then said, “Though I’d have expected someone to be inside, at least. You could run this place man-tended,
just
the occasional visit by someone to tend the machinery, but security would suggest that there would be a guard at all times.”
“Quite right, Lieutenant,”
a
gruff voice said, echoing through the dome. “Very astute of you to find our little operation, and my compliments on your victory in the dogfight. We had an excellent view from down there; perhaps when all of this is done we can send you a copy of our recordings. You can reply, you’re only twenty feet from an audio pickup.”
“I take it you know who we are, then,” Orlova said.
“We watch the news out here,” the voice replied. “Enough to know that you are of significant value. There is a substantial reward for information leading to your capture, and I suspect I would get even more if I was to hand you over.”
Looking at Harriet, Orlova replied, “I need to get to the Ragnarok Embassy as quickly as possible. If you were to assist me, I’m certain that a reward of some sort would be provided.”
“Too thin,” the voice replied, “and you can’t give us the reward we want. Cash is irrelevant; amnesty would be better.”
“And you think you can trust the Security Services?” Harriet asked. “There are dozens of eager detectives who would love to bust this operation. I’m certain there must be more than just this going on.”
“Let’s be blunt,” Orlova replied. “What you really want is a license to operate without government supervision. Hell, some of your bosses probably think that you might be able to talk someone into legalization, as crazy as it seems.”
“No,” the voice replied. “That would give opportunities for competition that we haven’t any interest in. We’ll settle for an understanding that we can continue our work without opposition. You’ll find a pair of sleeping bags on the far side of the dome, and rations for a couple of days. There are plenty of water butts around, and it’s quite pure. Nothing but the best. You will be well cared for.”
“Valuable property,” Orlova said. “Do you really think that anyone will go along with this?”
“It isn’t my job to worry about matters such as that,” the voice replied. “All I do is obey orders. And before you suggest that I might be personally recompensed for helping you, I will assure you that I have no wish to die suddenly, and that I will certainly receive a large portion of any reward money.”
“There will be a search team, you know,” Orlova replied. “Both sides are going to be hunting us down.”
“I’m sure that we can evade their detection. We always have in the past. I suggest that you head over to the sleeping bags, and rest assured that everything you say will be overheard. If there is anything you need, just talk to the plants,” the voice said with a chuckle, “and we’ll see that it is provided, within reason, naturally. As I said, my orders are to keep you safe. And secure.”
With a shrug, Orlova walked to the far side of the dome, taking care to remain on the well-marked paths, Harriet following her with a resentful stare at the loudspeaker on the ceiling. The promised equipment was there, but it was still going to be an uncomfortable stay
in the oppressive
heat, to say nothing of the periodic spray of water from
above
, simulated rain to keep the plants happy and them miserable.
Harriet dropped to the ground, perching on one of the sleeping bags, and asked, “What do you think?”
“That everything we say will be heard, but that in this case it doesn’t matter. I don’t doubt that either Tarrant or Norman would be only too happy to pay a bribe, probably a substantial one, but I don’t see them giving them what they want. Presumably our captors will take precautions to make sure that we aren’t traced back to here, but assuming one side or another do
es
n’t find this place, I foresee a prolonged stay.”
“Our people?”
“Again, a one-off bribe is one thing, but they won’t get what they are asking for.” She paused, then said, quietly, “This is precisely why we have to win this one.”
“This dome must have been here for years…”
“But now they think that they can bribe the impending government into helping them, into helping criminal activities, and I suppose there is still a chance that they might pull it off. Then what? Lawlessness at the top encourages lawlessness below, and everything falls apart.”
“It’s only cannabis.”
Gesturing around at the fields, she replied, “Though in this case, a hell of a lot of it. It goes a lot further than this, though. Harder stuff, protection rackets, all the dark, nasty things that we thought we’d left behind. All of it can come up to the surface again, too damn quickly.” Shaking her head, she replied, “Space is clean. Cleaner tha
n
this. We always seem to find a way to get ourselves stuck in the mud.”
Leaning forward, imitating despair, she started to draw in the dirt, hoping that Harriet would take the rather broad hint she had just dropped. There might be – must be – camera pickups monitoring them, but not from every angle; an installation like this wouldn’t spend that much on security.
“Suit status?” she wrote.
With a quick glance at her monitor, Harriet replied with quick marks, “Four hours.”
“Run when I do. Helmet on.”
She looked around the dome, hunting for the exits. There had been no attempt to search them or take her weapon, but there wasn’t much she could do with the pistol. Even if she could get through the hull material, which was beyond unlikely, the resulting decompression would stand an excellent chance of killing her. There wasn’t any obvious equipment, though no doubt a hunt would find some, but again, it would be for life support – and it wasn’t in her interests to damage that either.
Three airlocks, equidistant around the perimeter of the dome. All of them presumably sealed, though her hacker key would likely help with that. Once they got out, though, they would face a long walk to get anywhere, and an excellent chance of being captured wherever they came down. She sat back, frowning for a moment, then smiled. Certainly if she tried something they’d stop her. That she was counting on.
Quickly, she raced over to the nearest airlock, sliding her hacker key into the slot as she placed her light helmet on, Harriet following a few seconds later. There were no alarms or sirens, none of the panic and confusion she had been expecting – doubtless
soon
her guards would be on their way. It took almost no time at all to crack the security, and she slid the key back into the false pocket of her suit, slapping the seal down as she started to cycle the lock, stepping back onto the desert as the outer door opened.
As she expected, there were four people outside, waiting for her, summoned by the unseen voice of her captor. All of them had pistols pointed at her, and the leader gestured her to the door. She nodded, turned, then leapt up into the air, springing from a standing start, snatching her pistol from its belt and turning to point at the leader.
Risking being overheard, she said, “Are you willing to die today? Your friends might kill me, but I will certainly kill you.”
“Nothing to what will happen if you get away.”
“Or if I am killed, yes? They’ll shoot to wound, and I will live through this. I am a good enough shot that I can guarantee that you will not. Your call. Or, perhaps, theirs.”
One of them glanced over at a patch of sand about fifty feet away, a spot where the ground was discolored. Well camouflaged, certainly, but not quite well enough, and she bolted for it, firing a pair of wild shots to buy her a few seconds of advantage. Harriet was left behind, two of the guards covering her with their pistols while the
others
moved after Orlova. She felt awfully exposed, giving two armed men an excellent target, but
with only a thin layer of suit between her and the Martian atmosphere – or what passed for it – any good shot could kill her
, and their potential paychecks would shrink to nothing.
Their greed stayed their hands for just long enough, and while bullets cracked behind her, they were fired to try and pin her in position, not to kill her. Psychological warfare as opposed to physical, and she’d been shot at often enough in the last few years that it phased her considerably less than it once did. She had to tell herself that they would not shoot her, and she could focus on the task at hand.
It must have been a poor shot, she thought, as the third bullet smashed into her arm, sending blood trickling down her sleeve as the suit sealant fought a losing battle to repair the damage, the
automed
pumping stimulants into her to get her moving, keep her on her feet, give her a chance to reach shelter. Long-term, that wasn’t going to help her recover, but in the short- term – the next few minutes – it would keep her alive.
The hatch was just beneath her, and she slumped down into it, filtering out the shouts and screams coming from behind. It was an old fashioned ladder airlock, dropping down a few painful feet into a shelter below, the automatic systems working as he hung limply from the ladder, gasping for breath, her suit sensors flashing grateful green as they realized they could stop fighting a losing battle to keep the atmosphere within the suit. It had only been seconds since the gunshot, but it felt as though it might have been centuries as she staggered across the room to the waiting console, leaving a red trail behind her on the dirty floor.
It was a conventional set-up,
ripped whole
from some abandoned shuttle in the receding past, and her left hand worked the keys while her right hand hung limp. She could hear the lock cycling again behind her, distant as though in a dream, and a gray fog began to descend upon her, her suit medical systems deciding that it was time for her to take a rest, to let the rescuers help her. With everything she could, she fought back, trying to open up a channel, though she had no idea whether she had been successful.
“Orlova...to Alamo,” she gasped. “Tell the Captain…”
She collapsed in the dust, slumping slowly back to the floor as arms reached out for her, gently supporting her, lowering her down comfortably
to the floor
. Floating above her was the face of Harriet, briefly seeming to morph into that of Carpenter, or Nelyubov, or Caine, or Zabek, before finally the ghosts of the past pulled her into unconsciousness, the faces and voices around her fading to black.
Chapter 13
“We’ve got to go and get her,” Harper said, looking around the communications suite of the Ragnarok Embassy.
Frank Nelyubov looked up, nodded, and replied, “I agree. We’ve got at least a rough location of her current position. About an hour and a half if we leave right now. Ambassador, can I borrow a couple of squads.”
“Wait just a minute,” Senator Harper said. “A rough estimate, and you want to take a force out onto the desert. I hate to remind you, Lieutenant, but you are a wanted fugitive, and the last thing we need is to lose you as well.”
Nodding, the Ambassador said, “He’s right, Frank. Lieutenant Talbot can run this operation. I know that you’ll hate to sit back and watch, but the Senator has a point.”
“Good,” Harper replied. “Now that’s settled, I’ll go and get suited up.”
“No,” the Senator said. “You’re staying right here.”
She gave h
im
a look that spoke daggers, and turned to the Ambassador, “If you’d get a couple of trucks ready with the men I’m going to need, we’ll be on our way in a few minutes.”