S Morden - No Way

Frank went to check on the guy whose hand he’d hacked at. It turned out the man hadn’t managed to close his suit anyway. His faceplate was thick with frost from his last breath, and smoke was starting to spiral out through the open hatch as his fluids boiled away. He was beyond saving.

By the time Frank turned back round, Lucy had marched her prisoner down to the lower deck at sword point, and forced him to his knees. Fan stood over the woman brought down by Frank, and he stepped away to allow her to be turned over.

Frank found himself looking down at someone who was just a kid. Early twenties. Wide-eyed, unblinking. Breathing hard, fogging the faceplate momentarily before the fans cleared it. Frank looked at her, looking up at him. The absolute terror. The imminence of death.

He knelt down and he pressed his helmet against hers. He could hear her now, her panicked, whistling breath.

“Feng Yun. Tell me where she is.”

“In the ship in the ship she’s in the ship with Justin don’t don’t she’s alive I swear she’s still alive—”

Frank pulled his head away, and leaned into Fan. “She’s in the descent ship with the boss. Alive, she says.”

“How do we get her out? We can’t cut our way through like we did with the hab.”

“Should have brought a can opener.” Frank looked around, then came back into contact with Fan. “Let’s get these jokers outside. We’ve got to think of a way, and quickly, or we’ll be the ones running out of air.”

He hauled the kid off the floor and shoved her in the direction of the rent, which now hung loose. He kept one hand on her shoulder as he pushed her through first, keeping close behind her. He needn’t have worried, as Isla was already there, sword poised and looking fierce.

Lucy’s prisoner was next, then Lucy, and finally Fan, still dragging Leland’s empty suit after him.

They tied the two M2 crew members to the steps leading up to the airlock. Frank and the others put their heads together.

“Does he know we’re coming for him?” asked Lucy.

“He knows all right,” said Frank. He looked back towards the cave. “I’ve got an idea.”

[Transcript of private phone call between Paul Leander (CEO XO) and Marjorie Bellingham (PL’s Personal Assistant) XO headquarters, Tower of Light, Denver CO 3/10/2049 0822MT]

PL: Mags, has there been anything from Bruno?

MB: No, sir. I’ve talked to his people—actually, his people’s people—and they don’t know where he is.

PL: Have you tried Gold Hill?

MB: Sir, I’ve tried everywhere. Mr. Tiller and the entirety of Mr. Tiller’s staff have dropped off the map. They’re not answering their phones, or their emails, and no one seems to know where they’ve gone.

PL: I’m not happy, Mags. I’m not happy at all. This business with the Mars base is dragging on. XO stock is down, and the board are asking questions. Bruno should be in front of the cameras, not hiding from them.

MB: I hear you, sir. I will keep trying every avenue.

[transcript ends]

It all needed to go like clockwork, and there were too many ways for things to go wrong for Frank to feel any certainty at all. But it was literally all they had. Justin knew what they were outside for. If he hadn’t wanted a confrontation, he could have sent Yun out to them. He’d had plenty of time, but there’d been no move, no attempt at communication. They were going in.

They couldn’t force their way into the descent ship’s airlock. There was a manual release, but that could be blocked from the inside. Even with the sliding, rather than hinged, door, they’d need to essentially break it.

And then they’d have to do the same thing again with the inner door. And once they were in, the ship would be depressurizing the same way the hab had. Justin would be waiting for them. They’d have to fight their way past him to get to Yun, and get her into a suit, all within thirty seconds. Max.

It was what they’d been going to do if she’d been in the hab—but access to a plastic hab and access to the interior of a metal spaceship were two entirely different scenarios, and now they needed a new plan.

Frank had explained what he had in mind, and, since time was short, the others had agreed all too quickly. Given that these guys were supposed to be the smart ones, and he was just a construction worker from San Francisco, they were all scraping the barrel. No pressure, then.

In the back of the cave, he found the makings of a second hab, the one that Jerry had told him they hadn’t had enough energy to make air for, or heat. Everything was there: the rings, the bolts, the cover. And, critically, the airlock.

The four of them dragged that part out and carried it over to the rocket. Isla disconnected the oxygen cylinder from the cannon, and Frank put both that and the spare spacesuit inside the unpressurized compartment. Then they stabilized it, using ratchet straps wrapped around big blocks of fallen masonry from the cave roof.

It all took time. And the external spaceship cameras were watching them.

Fan positioned himself next to the airlock. He knew what to do. Maybe he’d wanted a go at Justin himself, but since he was the doctor and had trained for decompression injuries, this was his job. It was up to the others to extract Yun.

Frank mounted one buggy, and drove it over to the ship, reversing it up to one of the landing legs. He paid out some cable, and Lucy threaded it around the leg, carabiner locking on to the cable itself. He wound in the slack, and she climbed up behind him, tapping him on the shoulder to let him know she was ready.

What were they going to find inside? Who knew? Maybe Yun was in her spacesuit. And this Justin, this mad leader of a failed mission, was naked to the air. That would make everything so much easier. Maybe Yun was already dead. Maybe Justin was too. That would also be easier, as it would mean Frank hadn’t had a hand in killing either of them.

But this wasn’t about what he’d find easier to live with. This was about getting a certain result and damn the method. A result that in the cold, pale light of the Martian day stood about as much chance as a snowflake in this particular unpressurized hell.

He turned his rear-view cameras on. In the little picture on the console’s screen, he could see the edge of the ship, the leg and, in the distance, Isla turning the second buggy around, ready for her run.

Either this would work, or it wouldn’t. Lucy had assured him it would… in theory.

In practice, it was a total crap shoot.

He sat, fingers curled around the steering column, and waited for the signal. Maybe something else would come to him, so that he didn’t have to do any of this. So that they could come up with another, better scheme.

Lucy put her hand into his eyeline and gave him the OK.

Well, crap. Time was up.

He squeezed the controls and kept one eye on the screen in front of him.

The cable he’d paid out went abruptly taut and his body jerked forward against his harness. The tires scrabbled for purchase through the dust and against the rock, spurting red fog up and out.

“Come on, you bastard.” He gave the wheels maximum grip and gunned the engine.

If this were Earth, he’d be able to hear the tensioned cable sing and the spaceship’s metal leg groan. All he heard was a deep bass growl as they started to drag the whole ship across the surface of Mars.

That was not what they’d intended at all.

He glared at the screen and hauled the controls around to the left. There was a crater. If the leg wasn’t going to give way on its own, he was going to have to let the terrain lend a hand. Of course, moving the ship was pulling it away from the airlock, and away from Isla, but goddammit, they had to get it down somehow.