Mars Prime (6 page)

Temporary hand-lines ran along both sides of the corridor. They led straight toward a three-dimensional ball of tangled humanity. It seemed to pulsate with a life of its own and grew larger and smaller as bodies were added and taken away.

Paxton pulled himself along and shouted as he went. "Come on . . . break it up . . . security here . . . out of the way ... the show's over . . . break it up . . ."

Most of the colonists headed back to their tiny fief-doms, but a few took exception to the orders and were dealt with by members of Paxton's security team.

Though few in number, the officers were experts at zero-G combat and worked in pairs. One would grab a colonist from behind, hook their legs around a rope, and hang on. Within seconds a second officer would anchor him or herself to the same rope, deliver some well-aimed blows with a nightstick, and the colonist would give in.

The moves were extremely well-coordinated, and Corvan's respect for Paxton went up a notch. The security chief knew what he was doing.

The crowd was thinner now, thin enough to see what lay at its center, and Corvan was amazed.

A harness had been devised, a contraption made of rope and bungee cords, that was secured to both deck and ceiling. The reop noticed that the arrangement left the occupant free to use both his arms and legs. Other ropes drifted free around him, along with drops of blood, sweat, and what might have been urine.

The man was enormous, at least three hundred pounds, and naked except for a grungy-looking jock strap. His skin was shiny with sweat and rippled with reflected light as a thick layer of fat rolled back and forth underneath it. His mouth made a huge hole in his dough-like face.

"Come on you chicken shit bastards! Just try me! I'll give you the same the last guy got!"

Corvan grabbed the nearest body. "Rex Corvan, Mission Information Officer—how did this start?"

The woman was Asian—Vietnamese or maybe Thai. She said something Corvan couldn't understand and pulled away. He grabbed another body, a man this time, and got lucky.

"Rex Corvan, Mission Information Officer— what's going on here?"

The man was thin, with a big nose, and slightly bulging eyes. Corvan maintained a medium shot. "It started as a bet. The fat guy paid some people to rig the harness, offered to fight all comers, and got a taker. The stupid son-of-a-gun had himself roped in;" The man shrugged. "The monster beat the shit out of him. It was simple as that."

Corvan nodded. The shot went up and down. "Thank you." The situation was nothing like Paxton had been led to believe. A pre-arranged fight, complete with bets, was a far cry from attempted murder.

The reop pulled himself up to the point where Paxton had stopped. The security chief looked the monster over.

The mountain of flesh saw him, made swinging motions with his ham-sized fists, and yelled obscenities.

"Come on you scum-sucking pig! Take your best shot!"

"You could cut the ropes, truss him up, and tow him to the brig," Corvan suggested.

Paxton looked around. A second crowd had gathered, further back this time, but a crowd nonetheless. They wanted some free entertainment.

"Yeah," the security chief agreed thoughtfully, "but that would be too easy. What these people need is a lesson, something they'll remember the day after tomorrow."

The reop was just about to ask what that would be when Paxton did a deep knee bend, soared upwards, performed a full somersault, bounced off* the overhead, turned end-over-end, and placed both feet right in the center of the monster's forehead.

It was then that Corvan noticed the cleat-equipped combat boots that Paxton wore and saw additional blood mist the air.

The monster gave a surprised grunt, shook his head as if momentarily dazed, and made a futile grab for Paxton's legs.

But the security man was gone and already coming back. His boots hit with a meaty thud, the monster swore, and missed again.

The next five minutes were like an aerial ballet during which Paxton carefully and methodically beat the other man senseless. The punishment was both horrible and fascinating to watch. Corvan found himself pulled both ways, admiring Paxton for what he could do but sorry that he'd done it. The beating was an example, yes, and a highly visible one at that, but was it right? And would it work? It was Corvan's observation that respect for the law is more effective than fear of the law. But they were a long way from Earth, and order had to be maintained, so Paxton might be correct.

Finally it was over. The monster hung unconscious, the security team moved in to cut him down, and the crowd drifted away. Corvan approached Paxton. He seemed no different than he had before.

"So what do you think? Did he kill Havlik?"

The security chief's eyes narrowed. "On the record or off?"

Corvan focused the eye cam. "Both. On the record first."

Paxton nodded. He'd done this sort of thing before. "We're doing everything we can to find the person or persons who killed Dr. Havlik. This man is not a suspect at the present time but will become one if the evidence warrants."

It was a standard police-type response and meant nothing at all.

Corvan shut the eye cam down. "Okay, off the record."

Paxton shook his head. "Off the record I'd say no. I'll be surprised if this guy is anything more than he appears to be. Think about it—most of the colonists attended the ceremony. If he was there, people are bound to remember him, and he'll have an alibi. We'll check, but the odds aren't very good. How 'bout you?"

Corvan shook his head grimly. "No, I don't think so either. But what about the medical records? What if the monster had some sort of relationship with Havlik?"

Paxton was silent for a moment. "Tell me something, Corvan, what kind of relationship are you and I going to have? Friendly? As in reop and cop work together to keep the lid on? Or antagonistic? As in reop and cop go for each other's throats?"

Corvan started to give Paxton a flip reply but stopped when he saw that the other man was serious. Here they were, the same old problems all over again. What was he anyway? Rex Corvan, PR man? Or Rex Corvan, journalist? The PR man would be happy to work hand in hand with security. The journalist would try to maintain his independence. But how independent could a reporter be when other people controlled the very air he breathed? Corvan produced a crooked smile.

"Friendly, as in reop and cop work together to keep the lid on, providing it's for the greater good."

Paxton grinned. "I think I'll take your statement at face value, although I'm sure that we could have a long and rather convoluted discussion about what 'the greater good' is.

"In any case, here's the answer to your question about the medical records. It seems that the person or persons who killed Havlik forced him to scrub his rec-cords."

"All of them?"

"Every last one."

Corvan gave a low whistle. "And you want me to sit on it?"

Paxton nodded. "Yup. Why give people ideas? Besides, it's something only the killer knows and would come in handy if we got a confession."

"Okay," Corvan replied. "I'll leave it out. But let me know what you find. A deal's a deal."

Paxton grabbed a hand-line and pulled himself towards the corridor. "That's a roger. Stay in touch."

Corvan hung around for a while, rolled on a couple of eyewitness accounts, then headed for the com center. There was work to do. Lots of it. Kim and he had agreed to produce a half-hour news show every day.

The first fifteen minutes of the show would consist of reports from Earth. A predictable mix of religious riots, food rationing, birth quotas, plane crashes, atmospheric tinkering, and yes, news from the construction team on Mars.

The second fifteen minutes would focus on the
Outward Bound.
Jopp had sent Corvan a list of what stories to run and what order to run them in. She thought the departure ceremony should come first, followed by a keep-up-the-good-work message from Fornos and a watered-down version of the murder.

The message had taken the form of a suggestion, rather than an order, so Corvan had talked-Kim into some changes. The murder story would come first, followed by the departure ceremony, Fornos, and some human interest stuff mat Kim had gathered with a mini-cam. Footage of the departure ceremony, plus the murder, would be sent to Earth. Assuming that Fornos and Jopp approved, that is.

The upshot of all this was that Corvan and Kim had a lot of writing, editing, and administrative work to do. Work that would normally be performed by a sizeable staff.

So, by the time they had obtained the necessary approvals, and faded up from black, both of them were exhausted. Corvan jacked into the shipboard feed, allowed himself to free-float next to the editing console, and closed his eyes. First came the open, then the murder report.

It was all there. The hard facts, the silly rumors, and the way people felt. The report wouldn't find the murderer, erase people's fears, or make the whole thing go away. But it would provide the colonists with what information was available, serve to reassure them, and kill some of the more outlandish speculation. And that, Corvan decided, was a job well done.

As for reaction from Earth, well, that would have to wait twenty-four hours or so. Murder in space. The tabs would eat it up.

He fell asleep ten seconds into the departure ceremony, and failed to notice when Kim removed the jack from the side of his head, pushed him into contact with a velcro strip, and kissed him on the lips.

But Otis watched the rest of the show, as did Kathy, Susy, Morey, Norma, and Frank. And they enjoyed it, especially the part about the murder and the fight on F-deck.

But there was some concern as well. This Corvan character could be a threat. Otis wanted to act, wanted to counter the danger, but the others weren't so sure.

"Let's give it some time," Norma counseled. "There's no reason to panic."

"And what if Corvan starts to close in on us?" Otis inquired. "What then?"

"How about a warning?" Susy said brightly. "Something to scare him off."

"It won't work," Otis said heavily. "This guy doesn't scare that easily."

"Maybe, and maybe not," Frank put in. "But it's worth a try. Kathy, what do you think?"

There was a long pause. When Kathy answered, her voice was cool and distant.

"It's worth a try. I'll take care of it."

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

 

 

The editing room was small and comforting. There was no illumination other than that provided by the glow of multitudinous indicator lights. Kim preferred it that way, like the inside of a cave, or a walk-in closet. If only she could smoke. Then things would be perfect.

She had straight black hair, long once, but cut to pageboy length in deference to the requirements of shipboard life. It fanned out around her face as Kim swallowed the last of the breakfast biscuit, wondered what it was made of, and decided that she didn't really want to know. Given what she'd learned about recycling and hydroponics, the answer would probably amaze and disgust her. She gave the drink dispenser a squeeze and used the last squirt of coffee to wash whatever it was down.

Kim had a natural affinity for all things technical, features that were slightly Asiatic, and a figure that turned heads. Taken together they made a formidable combination. Something Kim knew but didn't spend much time thinking about.

Kim steeled herself against what she knew she would see, touched the in-ship com screen, and watched it come to life. She selected electronic mail, entered a password, and scrolled through the reams of electronic garbage that Jopp sent out every day. There were general orders, dos and don'ts of every kind, and endless notices. They made for hours of reading, or would have, except that nobody actually read them.

But here and there, sprinkled in between the official boiler plate, were the personal messages that people actually cared about. These ran the gamut from, "Kim, how 'bout doing a story about the engineering section?" to, "Hey Kim, lose the one-eyed freak, and join me for some R & R." Useful at best, annoying at worst, but nothing to worry about.

Not until a few hours ago when Kim had discovered a message that was different from all the rest. A message that sent a chill down her spine. And there it was, blinking on the screen, filling her with dread.

TELL YOUR HUSBAND TO LEAVE US ALONE. TELL YOUR HUSBAND TO LEAVE US ALONE. TELL YOUR HUSBAND TO LEAVE US ALONE. WE KNOW WHERE YOU ARE. WE KNOW WHERE YOU ARE. WE KNOW WHERE YOU ARE. WE CAN KILL YOU. WE CAN KILL YOU. WE CAN KILL YOU.

Kim took one last look at the words, marked them, and hit the delete key.

"Delete text?" the computer inquired. "Y or N?"

Kim touched "Y." She wanted a cigarette and popped a mint instead.

The words disappeared but the fear remained. Who had sent the message? The most likely answer was Havlik's killer or killers, but that didn't make much sense, since Rex wasn't anywhere near discovering their identities. Or was he? There must be some reason for the warning. And what did the "we" part mean? Were a number of people involved? Or was that a ruse designed to throw the investigators off?

Kim stared at the empty screen. Why hadn't she told Rex? It was the obvious thing to do. Because he'd go crazy, that's why. He'd react like a bloodhound on the scent, head straight for danger, and get himself killed. Then where would she be? On Mars, that's where, all by herself, minus the one person that she cared about. No, there had to be another way, a strategy that would allow her to defend against danger while avoiding her husband's self-destructive tendencies.

And that brought her to the task at hand. Rex was away, off looking for the source of the mysterious booming sound, so this was the perfect time to bring Martin back to life. If a computer, even a sentient computer, can be said to "live."

But Kim was a pragmatist and classified such questions as little more than academic constipation.

Martin could acquire, reject, and process information. He could modify his actions based on past experience, he knew right from wrong, and he had feelings. Not the full range of emotions that humans experience, but feelings nonetheless, and all of those things taken together made Martin more than a machine.