Chapter 40: My Father’s Revenge

Kōngchéng Colony, December 19, 2141
My Father’s Revenge

The mobile laboratory built from the hull of a Chinese Luying Kuaile RV slowly approached the abandoned colony. Luying Kuaile (or as detractors put it: Lying Quail) was an Eastern Bloc built brand of Recreation Vehicles and the name translated to “Happy Camping!” The two men inside the mobile laboratory weren’t camping, they were on the clock. Max Stephan and Clyde Conrad were “fixers,” they could perform any task you wanted, results guaranteed. You just had better have a healthy checking account to cover their exorbitant fees.

They normally like to work in space. They have a CF-58, a Navy surplus landing craft that was armed to the teeth. It was designed to fight its way into a tough landing zone and fight its way back out. Normally, Max and Clyde worked in the Asteroid Belt, collecting ore samples from prospecting robots or convincing wildcat miners to mine somewhere else. However, this job was on the surface of Mars, and this is where the CF-58 showed its brilliance in design. Operationally, the back end was filled with Marines that were sitting in an armored fighting vehicle that the CF-58 would deploy. This time, it was an eight wheel drive Eastern Bloc built RV retrofitted to survive on Mars that wheeled out of the CF-58.

They touched down in a deep ravine about 15 km from the abandoned colony construction site, then Max and Clyde climbed out of the cockpit of the landing craft and climbed into the RV. Because there was no pressurized connection between the two vehicles, they had to wear lightweight pressure suits, skintight things with a helmet collar they called Jogging Suits. They weren’t insulated, so they wouldn’t protect you from the cold, but they would protect you from the effects of the vacuum of space or of Mars’ thin atmosphere.

They clambered into the Lying Quail, pressurized the interior, then fired up the reaction mass driven motor and warmed up the frigid laboratory. Once they warmed up, they unlocked from the CF-58 and headed out across the bleak Martian desert. Driving out of the ravine wasn’t hard. The Lying Quail had eight-wheel drive and climbed out like a champion. After orienting themselves, they drove overland through the dark Martian night and were at their target by dawn. There was something spooky about the place they surveyed. It looked as if it hadn’t been touched in decades. “Food poisoning,” Herb had told them. “A case of bad rice pudding wiped out the construction crew before the colony could open and the superstitious Martians abandoned the colony before it was complete about five years ago.”

“There’s no construction equipment,” said Clyde. “Herb said it was under construction when they abandoned it.”

“Maybe they were done and had packed everything up,” said Max. “Don’t over think it. Just get the samples that they want and deposit the check for doing almost nothing.”

The mobile laboratory stopped near a likely looking air lock on the colony outer wall and deployed its stability struts. “Here we go!” grinned Clyde. This job was going to net them ten million plus expenses.

Max moved from the driver’s seat toward the back where he took up station at the small robotics lab. “Deploying Fido one,” said Max as he booted up the robot that was slung under the RV.

“Ok, before we get into it, we need Mister Big Shot to define what he means by ‘Organic Sample,’” said Clyde. Their instructions were overly simple, “1. Go to the abandoned colony construction site. 2. Collect organic samples. 3. Put sample in a steel box and leave it outside Bradbury Canal Airlock 6.”

“Roger that,” said Max. “Deploying relay.” He pressed a button and on top of the RV, a small weather balloon began to inflate.

“Keep an eye on your screen!” shouted Alan over the roar of the powerful United Reactions N-30 engine, the most powerful engine ever installed in a fighter. “The target is coming up!”

“I can’t see!” shouted Anna. “It’s all blurry!” It was blurry because the spacecraft was shaking so violently.

“It’s that space station that’s lying on the ground!” shouted Alan. “See it?”

“I see it! Why did you put a space station on the ground?” she shouted.

“Because we had one? Just mark that position!”

“Marked! Now what?”

“Relax!” shouted Alan. “We have a whole orbit to enjoy before it gets fun.”

A very pregnant young woman was riding business class on the tube train from Perseverance City to Bradbury Canal on a fine Martian morning. The train shot through the plexiglass tunnel, riding smooth as silk. There was the occasional rumble as the tube split from a single tube to a double tube so they could pass a train moving in the opposite direction. They were rocketing westbound this fine morning and the eastbound commuter train was a bit early and waiting in the siding for them to pass.

“Do you live in Bradbury Canal?” asked the sweet old woman that was sitting to Christa’s right.

“No, I am a professor at the University of Northern North America in Saskatchewan. I was born and raised in Blackberry ... I mean Bradbury Canal.” She chuckled. “We called it Blackberry when we were kids. My little brother couldn’t say Bradbury when he was two.”

“Did you come here to have your baby?” asked the woman. So many young Martians emigrate to Earth, but they return to Mars when they are due so their babies will be born native Martians.

However, for Christa, the honest answer is no. She came here to find out why her family was murdered and ended up staying too long. Now she can’t travel home this close to delivery. She went with the next best answer. “Yes, I want my daughter to be born a Martian. Citizenship may not have prestige that it once had, but my brother and I are all that remains of our family, so we decided our children are going to be born on Mars.”

“All that remains?”

“The Bradbury Canal blowout,” sighed Christa. It still hurts, but everyone knows about the blowout and nobody asks for details. “We lost my mom, dad, aunt, and cousin. It’s just me, my brother, my uncle, and now little Alana.” They often include Tammy and Sheila in the blowout when telling the Scarlett family story because nobody knew what happened to them for sure ... until two weeks ago.

“That’s so sad.” Then she asked, “How many children does your brother have?”

“None, his fiancée was just injured so that set their plans back a lot longer than they expected.” She felt little Alana kick, and she smiled and stroked her tummy.

“This is your first,” said the old woman. “I know that smile.”

“Yes, this is my first.” It was nice having a little friend inside, someone she can whisper to in the night, and make plans with. “I’m going to take her to Fiji.” Just then, the phone mounted in the seatback in front of her started ringing. She picked it up and said, “Hello?”

“Hey sweetheart, how are you doing?” said the kindly voice of Ray Clark.

How did Ray know she was sitting here? Normally, these phones are used for outbound calls, so how did he call in? Seats aren’t assigned, just the cars that you sit in. But then, Ray was one of her best agents. “We just passed that passing siding near Jezero crater, we’ll be there on time.”

“Good, your brother just started his entry burn, he should be on time also.”

Christa leaned over and looked up at the sky and saw very high up a white streak dart across the sky. She never expected him to be a showoff, but her sources say that he’s a damn good fighter jock.

“Burgman,” he snarled into the telephone handpiece. Not “hello,” not “Doctor Burgman” not “This is Doctor Burgman,” not even “Hey, it’s Herb!” Dr. Herbert Burgman answers the phone with “Burgman” and you’re expected to know the rest and feel honored that he lowered himself to speak to you.

The connection was crackly and filled with static. It was a radio telephone relaying off of a balloon mounted antenna. It was cheaper than a satellite and it got conversation over the horizon. “It’s Max, we want to verify what kind of sample to pull. Over.”

“Max who? Over” boomed Dr. Burgman. He was sure that the louder you shout, the clearer the radio reception will be at the other end of the conversation.

Max sighed. The idiot is yelling again. It overdrives the cheap microphone in his cheap telephone and distorts everything. “Max Stephan. We’re at Kilo site. What kind of tissue sample do you want? Over.”

“Tissue! A brachium! A crus! A Cranium! Whatever you do, don’t touch it. You’ll uh ... you’ll ruin the results. Over.”

“Roger out.” Max slammed the phone down. The fucker wanted an arm, or a leg, or a head, and provided them with a robot that could collect skin samples. What a dick. If he wasn’t paying so damn well, he would have pulled out weeks ago.

Max looked at the little bot that Burgman supplied them with and realized that it couldn’t do the job. There was no way those little arms could carry a human leg. “Suit up, we’re going to do this the old fashioned way,” said Max.

Clyde grinned. “Roger that!”

“Coming up on our mark!” shouted Anna. Thank God! She was exhausted from the rattling and shaking.

“Roger,” said Alan. “Coming up on primary entry burn in three ... two ... one ... Mark!” Anna didn’t hear him say ‘Mark’ because at that moment their main engine exploded, but it didn’t fly apart. It held together and just kept exploding. The roaring bellow couldn’t be heard in space, but it rang in Anna and Alan’s ears. They were being shaken like a napping squirrel in a young dog’s mouth. The Gs they pulled slammed them into their seats and trapped them there. Alan couldn’t lift a hand to the control panel. They were helpless to the entry burn programming.

A white hot tongue of flame roared out of the N-30 engine for ten meters before it disappeared in space. Anna wanted to scream, but she didn’t have the energy. She couldn’t monitor the radar screen because everything was a blur, so she closed her eyes and prayed that when they exploded, they would take out the bastards that killed her Tasha Kikina.

And then it stopped. The G forces were gone and the feel of weightlessness returned, but they were stopped above the target, 10,000 KM above Kōngchéng. And they were falling. “Why are we doing a straight drop approach?” asked Anna.

“Couple of reasons. One was it was the fastest and most efficient accurate release. I didn’t want to release from orbit, we only have one bomb and I want to be sure we hit that target.”

“What’s the other reason?” asked Anna, dreading she knew what the answer would be.

“It looked like fun.”

“I knew it,” muttered Anna. She checked the flight profile checklist. They were going to get pretty busy soon, as her squadron commander would say, ‘might as well do it right and enjoy the view.’

The phone rang again, and they still hadn’t made it to Bradbury Canal. “Doctor Scarlett,” said Christa, out of habit.

“It’s Ray. He’s on his bomb run.”

“Thank you, I’ll call from the office when we’re done.”

“Scarlett?” said the sweet old lady. “Oh my. I heard of an uproar about a young Navy boy named Scarlett a while ago.”

“That was my kid brother Alan.”

“Oh could he get a crowd worked up!” said the woman.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Pardon,” said the lady with a sweet smile. “I’m Elinore, but you can call me Omega.”

Christa laughed. Omega was the hidden protection detail that Ray had covering her. She knew there would be an Omega agent somewhere on the train; she didn’t realize that the agent would just plop down next to her. “Thank you Elinore. Are you traveling alone?”