Mission Mars (31 page)

“But why would it be this deep? Why under all the other fossils dated thousands of years ago?” She stared at her husband, who didn't immediately return her gaze. When he did, his brow was furrowed, his full mouth cinched in a tight line.

Deacon picked up the piece and tossed it into the back of the rover. “It has to be alien tech. It just has to be. There has to be someone … something … out there who can help us. Right?”

From inside her helmet, April smiled at him, trying to appear encouraging, but this time, she wasn't sure he was right.

Their discovery could be bigger and more complicated than either of them realised. They'd come seeking alien life and a possible ally. But what had they found instead?

The onboard lab confirmed what they already knew: the material was a former commonly-used metal included in past NASA missions.

“How did this get on Mars?” April demanded for the fifth time in five minutes.

“I don't know.” His hands shaking, Deacon almost dropped the tablet before he examined the embedded letters, swiped it, then compared it with the ancient script on the screen.

“It's worn on all the edges, so it's hard to tell what size—”

“I said, I don't know!” Deacon shook, his voice deep. April recoiled at his retort. She took a step back and watched his shoulders drop. “I'm sorry. It's just that I don't have enough old text data here to translate it. This isn't something I anticipated. It's possible there may not be anyone around who can still translate it. We're going to have to send this information back to Earth and hope for the best.”

April hugged her arms. Yes, they'd found something amazing, but somehow she knew this wasn't the great discovery that would grant them notoriety and put them in the good graces of everyone back home. In fact, she feared it could mean something terrifying.

Deacon called Lieutenant Whitman to their barracks.

When the man arrived, his eyes were bloodshot and his face drooped. He listened in silence while Deacon showed him the samples and told him the rest of the story. Whitman's face was blank. Emotionless, he said, “I'll send in holo-pics and get back to you. As of now, we're on lockdown.”

Deacon stepped forward. “What? Not now? Not when we've finally found something!”

The lieutenant held up a hand. “Sit tight, until you hear from me. No one but me. Understand? And don't leave your quarters.”

April and Deacon stared at each other, then at the lieutenant. “It's not just you. The entire colony will be contained. I can't say anything more. “As the lieutenant headed to the door,
he stopped and turned, “Oh, and your food will be brought to you.” Once outside, the man punched the button. The door closed behind him.

Two days later, April and Deacon took turns pacing in the doorway of their lab, while the other finished the last soil and fossil samples. All their calls to their friends had been blocked. In fact, all their communications to Earth had been shut off. Time seemed to stutter. Once or twice, when April looked at the digital readout, she was sure that time had spun backwards.

As the hours turned to days, April's sanity diminished. She could not stand to see the same walls for another moment. Her nerves felt raw and her muscles pulled tight as violin strings. She was sure every time she moved, some part of her would snap. Her mind raced, her stomach gurgled, bile burned at the back of her throat. When would they let them out? What was going on? What was so important about that piece of metal?

Two weeks after first handing the information to Whitman, the man returned and handed the piece back to Deacon. “Let's sit,” he said.

They all sat in silence for a minute. Whitman wiped his face with a hand. April's stomach lurched. She already knew she wasn't going to like what he was going to say.

“Central Archives sent the holo of your metallic curiosity to the New Federation Security Association.” He held up his hand to stop their protests midstream.” It's protocol in these situations.”

“Can you at least tell us the results?” she begged, rising from her chair, which nearly tipped over in response.

“Right up until ten minutes ago, when we got this message,” he held up his tablet, “I would not have told you. But now, Earth's security protocols will no longer make any difference.” Whitman hesitated and choked on his words, “Everyone … everyone … we don't have people on Earth to worry about anymore.”

Tears in the eyes such a formidable man shocked April. His moment of weakness ignited a burning fire in April's chest. The bile threatened to burn its way up her oesophagus. She fell heavily back onto her chair, the weight, though slight, was enough to push it backwards.

“Two weeks ago we received word that tensions between New Korea and Russia were heating up. New Korea infiltrated the Russian government's net. Russia retaliated. They injected a virus into the New Korean banks, which collasped. Things escalated. Suicide bombers, troop build ups.” Whitman ran his fingers through the dirty brown scruff on his head. “Yesterday, they reached the boiling point. Russia launched a top-secret biological weapon. In two days, what was left of the civilised world was wiped out. Everyone annihilated, including the Russians.

April's breathing grew erratic, her chest heaved, sweet, salty tears ran down her face as the realisation hit her. They were all gone. All of them.

Even the problems she had with her parents did not ease the pain of their loss. April sobbed. And little Ella, her brown hair in a tangle of curls around her face. Her chubby fingers squishing in play dough or paint. Terrorising the family dog.
Deacon's mother and father, Lord, so many people who weren't even in the second phase of colonisation. If only she had bought her grandmother's wool. Something more than the little she had. I thought there would be time.

“There are only 150 people on the next shuttle,” Whitman continued. “And, the launch window was accelerated to the point not all safety protocols could be followed. They launched it only minutes after the weapon was released.” April gasped.

Deacon cleared his throat. “So, we won't know until they get here if they're infected.”

“If they're alive at all. In six months, we'll know.”

Deacon fingered the lettering on the piece of metal. “What about this? What did you find out?”

Whitman laughed, short and without mirth. “I wouldn't have believed it, except I minored in ancient history in college. Before the brain trust got blown to bits, they speculated that the language is pre-Sumerian. Meaning the earliest known written language came from some other language—cuneiform. They speculate that at some time in our ancient past, humans must have lived on Mars, ruined it, then moved to Earth. Ironic, huh?”

April touched the metal plate. “But what does it say?”

Whitman pulled out a bottle of rum from a pack and poured three glasses. “As close as they can figure, ‘Dust Echo'. Whatever that means.” He offered each a glass and they took it.

Long into the night, the bottle of rum lubricated the conversations, which flowed easily from one subject to the next. Reminiscing about the smells and colours of spices in busy markets, bright red apples that were so fresh the juice ran down your chin, and steak seared over an open wood fire.
They spoke of blue skies, white clouds, and cleansing rains. It was as if the end of Earth acted like some kind of truth serum, ensuring they spilt long-held secrets until there were no more. Thankfully, the rum would help them forget most of it. April's eyes stung.

Except there was the ship. A ship full of potentially sick colonists, heading their way. Earth was gone. No more supplies would be coming. And they would have to make do with what they had here.

One time, a long time ago, they'd done this before. And if they survived, they would probably do it all again. History had a way of repeating itself.

The emergency team brought Ciotti back in a pressurized ground-car, hydrated and fed him, and, as soon as it was humane, turned him over to Mars Office—with their compliments. Until they knew whether he was going to be treated as hero or a criminal, no department wanted him on their books.

Of the officers on duty that week, Investigator Ted Forrest turned out to have the most experience with deviants and loners. And the chief trusted him “to keep his damn mouth shut,” as he put it.

That's how Forrest came to be one of the first to hear what Ciotti had found in that cave, and why for now, it was considered classified material. Forrest's task was to read the file, interview the man, figure out what part of his story was true, and what part was invention.

His chief had told him, “We have to find acceptable reasons
to detain him and keep him locked up.” After interviewing the man, Forrest was to report directly to the Mars Office CEO that evening to give his summary analysis of Ciotti's story. As Forrest was leaving his office, the chief barked, “And make damn sure that Ciotti does not speak to anyone before the Council has the chance to evaluate his discovery.”

Forrest took a seat on the pedestrian belt moving toward the jail. After fifteen years on the force, he was no longer surprised by strange new assignments, but he had a feeling this one was likely to take the prize.

He expanded the virtual screen on his wrist viewer, ran Ciotti's file from headquarters, and rubbed at his mustache absently as he read. When Ciotti had first arrived from Earth, his head was full of ideas about corporate corruption on the home planet and the promise of Mars independence, but his wallet was clearly empty. As a result, he was assigned to one of the dozens of low-level jobs in waste recovery. Perhaps the least glorious job in the colony, thought Forrest—even if most of the direct contact with the waste was by machines.

Ciotti eventually managed to get transferred to General Stores and Supplies—where his record as a clerk was undistinguished. Although he was affiliated with the Independence Party politically, he rarely attended party events. Forrest ran down the list: no listed relationships, long or short term; he kept mostly to himself when he could; and he played the saxophone, but was not part of any musical group. Classic loner profile.

After Ciotti's transfer, he continued to live in the hastily assembled First-Gen crew barracks, even though ordinarily he would have been given better housing for his GSS rank. At
first, Forrest was surprised, but then he realized that Ciotti's requests for better living quarters had come at a period when shiploads of colonists, all hungering after more independence and less corporate control, had put particular pressure on housing. Forrest remembered that his own promotion had not brought him and Anna a better place to live for another two years.

It was during his fifth year as a supply clerk (and after his third request for a change in quarters had been rejected), that Ciotti apparently decided to take his unofficial excursion to the slopes of Arsia Mons. Forrest, a geology buff in his spare time, wondered what had put the thought of that particular volcanic cone into the man's head. Forrest himself liked Arsia, with its majestic flanks and wide opening at the top. It was his favorite of the four giant volcanoes that towered on the Tharsis plateau, and he was intrigued that parts of the volcano's walls showed evidence of having been eroded long ago by ice glaciers. But that was a personal preference, and he didn't expect others to share it. Most tourists and colonists tended to prefer Olympus, the largest of the Martian volcanic giants.

Forrest returned to the practical aspects of the case. Where did Ciotti get the vehicle and supplies he took with him? Forrest entered a screen-memo to check whether supply runs on Ciotti's watch had greater-than-average reports of inventory shortages. Next, he listened to the report that the two-man rescue team had radioed back to headquarters when they had first responded to the clerk's emergency signal.

It seems Ciotti had driven from the main base to Arsia Mons in the Schiaparelli rover, a late-model, pressurized
vehicle, built for longer-range excursions. Authorization for its use was always required, and the database showed proper sign-off by two levels of supervisors. He shook his head. It was another example of just how slack things had become. He decided to make a quick vid-call to one of the supervisors, and after he implied that heads could roll if he did not hear the truth the first time, the man was only too ready to explain.