Neal Asher - The Departure

A look of panic fitted across her face – perhaps signifying another of her attacks, or the reaction of someone who, having lived a life without choices, was now being confronted with them.

‘Arcoplex Two contains state-of-the-art research and surgical facilities, in fact even more than you had down on Earth,’ he noted. ‘Whilst you decide precisely what you want to do, perhaps you can occupy yourself there?’

‘More than I had down on Earth?’ Hannah echoed numbly.

He nodded, glad that the option was now firmly implanted in her mind.

‘And if I want to return to Earth?’ she managed.

‘That option stays open. A space plane would need half a full fuel load just to counter our present velocity, and one could be fuelled and made ready before we reach the Moon.’ He paused contemplatively. ‘But I wonder if you’d really want to return to Earth aboard a plane that would need to be crewed by Inspectorate military?’

‘No,’ she replied firmly. ‘So this station definitely isn’t going back.’

‘It isn’t.’ He shook his head. ‘Mars, I feel, is just going to be a stopping point on a very long journey. You need to decide how you’ll fit in here, now. That means more decisions and choices for you – they come with the territory known as freedom.’

‘Will anyone really be free aboard this station?’

‘Freedom is not an absolute.’

21

All the Lovely People . . .

A belief was once prevalent in ‘modern’ societies that the killer of humans, the murderer, is an aberration. At least this was what the rulers wished their subjects to believe, though, as they ordered their soldiers to war, they knew that the veneer called ‘civilization’ was as thin as whatever ideology they themselves espoused. The truth is that an aversion to killing anyone outside of immediate family is a product of societal indoctrination (and then only in that slightly more than half the population who are not sociopaths), whilst within immediate family it is merely the product of that contradiction in terms called ‘genetic altruism’. It is in fact a harsh reality that he who believes killers are an aberration is also he who has the boot planted firmly on his neck; whilst amongst those who rule the aberration is the one who is not a sociopath, and therefore reluctant to kill.

Antares Base

Some cams had survived the grenades, but when she saw the extent of the wreckage through them, she almost wished they hadn’t. All that valuable equipment destroyed: computers, hardware, infrastructure, and items like the crawler lying wrecked out there – all of it vital to their future survival here on Mars. Through the cams she’d also seen an enforcer crawl out of that same crawler, issuing vapour trails from his breached suit. She watched as he managed about three metres away from the wreck, before he started suffocating and desperately clawing at the ground.

Using what cover he could, one of the three enforcers risked loping out to his fallen comrade, and gently turning him over on to his back. What he then saw through the man’s visor told him all he needed to know, and he scurried back to join his fellows as they entered the garage through the open crawler lock. It was crucial that they enter the garage, for Var now needed it open to the Martian atmosphere for all of her plan to work. She had expected them to go in through one of the adjacent bulkhead doors, but of course there was no need now.

Once inside the garage, they didn’t resort to grenades, because here there were so few opportunities for an ambush. Soon they were out again and moving round close to the wall, towards the next window. From her perch up beside the roof hatch, Var felt another blast as they destroyed the window, then through a roof cam she observed a further plume of wasted air. More explosions as the enforcers secured that section too, then appeared outside again, edging up to the last exterior window.

‘Okay,’ she said, ‘they’re now going into the final bit.’

‘I’m not sure I can do this,’ Carol protested abruptly.

Var peered across at her, but could think of nothing useful to say.

Minutes ticked away as the enforcers searched this last section, then one of the snipers waiting outside the base stood up and loped in. Obviously, now that the enforcers had searched all the outer sections, Ricard thought it safe to send in Silberman as his deputy, though apparently it still wasn’t safe enough for Ricard himself. From inside the hex, a fuzzy cam view showed the three enforcers on the move. Var tried tracking them for a moment, then gave up and switched to a workable view of the corridor leading straight towards the reactor room below her. About a minute later the first of the enforcers stepped into sight, with the other two close behind. At the door they hesitated, and turned as Silberman joined them, waving a hand to complement whatever instructions he was giving them over com.

‘This is it,’ said Var. ‘They’re right outside.’ Her stomach felt tight as a rock. ‘Carol, I want you to crawl over to the edge – up there.’ She pointed to that side of the hex beyond which Ricard had positioned himself. ‘Silberman is now with our three enforcers, but Ricard himself is still outside. He’s got a scoped rifle on a tripod, so has every chance of killing you if you show yourself, so don’t take a shot at him unless he actually stands up and starts heading in.’

That put Carol safely out of the way, since if she was not sure she could do this , she might be a liability in the coming firefight.

‘Okay.’ Carol’s jerky nod of agreement set her swaying on her rope.

Firing erupted: the chatter of an assault rifle accompanied by the sounds of ricochets inside the reactor room. Var glanced down and saw five bullet holes stitched across the door. Air began screaming through them, and the corridor outside began fogging up, those in there lost from view.

‘Lopomac?’

He was peering up at the electronic control panel alongside the roof hatch.

‘Not yet,’ he said.

The shrieking continued, slowly reducing in intensity, until it became like the wailing of wind over a desolate landscape. In the corridor the fog began to clear, and Var could now see the enforcers poised by the bulkhead door. They had laid their assault rifles on the floor and were now holding machine pistols. Plastic ammo, just as predicted. Var momentarily wondered if those assessing her in her childhood had chosen right about her education. Perhaps they should have trained her for the Inspectorate military instead. She felt some gratification in having got it right every time, yet her thinking all just seemed like the logical working of a machine, so there was no joy in it.

‘Now,’ said Lopomac.

He keyed something into the control panel, waited a moment, then tried again. Outside, at that instant, one of the enforcers was handing his grenades over to Silberman. Var did not understand the reason until the same enforcer picked up one of the assault rifles, removed its ammunition clip and ejected the shell from the breech, then stepped over to the bulkhead door and balanced the tip of the barrel against the floor. Letting it go, he leapt back so the weapon toppled against the door. They’d obviously assumed this door might be electrified too.

‘Fuckit,’ growled Lopomac. ‘Fuckit!’

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Pump’s fucked.’

He started working a handle back and forth till the hatch doors began to bulge downwards and, with a clonk, the seam opened. He tried the panel again, and this time was rewarded with the familiar hum of a hydraulic pump in action. Slowly the doors continued hingeing downwards.

Immediately outside the bulkhead door below, the same enforcer tentatively stepped forward and tried the manual handle. The handle crunched over but, with the weight of the forklift pressing against it, the door would not lift from its seals, and therefore could not swing aside on its upper pivot. The enforcer drove his boot against it, but the door moved not at all.