Mars Fire - Chapter XXXVI - Sol 16

Previous Chapters: Chapter I , II , III , IV , V , VI , VII , VIII , IX , X , XI , XII , XIII , XIV , XV , XVI , XVII , XVIII , XIX , XX , XXI , XXII , XXIII , XXIV , XXV , XXVI , XXVII , XXVIII , XXIX , XXX , XXXI , XXXII , XXXIII , XXXIV , XXXV

The alarm siren was already pulsing into its second cycle when Burrows finally came to his senses. The darkness of his bedroom was strobing with the one-two, one-two flashing red lights, and the sharp audio tones stabbed through the apartment space at a frequency barely shy of a gunshot report.

He was up and out of the bed within moments, limbs heavy and unresponsive, and almost fell face-first into the wall when he stumbled across something on the floor. A singlesuit, black in the red-tinted light, tangled around his feet. Bleary eyes looked down, then back at the bed, where Tilda was also struggling awake, hands over her ears and her face scrunched up against the unholy noise.

Hands on the bedroom door frame. Two deep breaths, on repeat.

The air was still good, thankfully.

A distant part of his brain recognized the Level 2 colony warning siren - reserved for matters of critical importance just shy of an actual catastrophic breach - even as he stumbled out of the bedroom and lurched into the kitchen area. All of the apartment lights were pulsing in sync here, following the one-two, one-two pattern of the siren, and the kitchen was a red and black labyrinthe of chairs and uncleared dinner pieces. Burrows managed to make his way through it without any collisions, only to smash his foot against one of the lounge pieces immediately after. The sudden pain helped to clear the fog in his head, somewhat.

The apartment’s intercom panel was flashing, showing someone waiting outside, and Burrows was about to haul the door open when he realised that he was still as naked as when he had fallen into his bed just after dinner.

What time was it even, now?

There was a small closet with spare clothing besides the bathroom area, which he rooted through and found a singlesuit in moments later. The alarm was blaring directly overhead, shrill and piercing from its location above the apartment door, and every shriek sent stabs through his brain as he fought himself into the garment with leaden limbs.

When his legs were at least in the right holes, Burrows slapped at the door release button, and the siren died mid-shriek. The door pulled open at the same time that the hazard lights also stopped flashing, and Burrows was left peering out of a darkened apartment at the duty staffer waiting outside.

“Captain Burrows, I am so sorry for having to wake you this way,” the staffer began, and Burrows already had his mouth open for a sharp rebuke when his brain finally caught up to what he was seeing.

They had sent a staffer to wake him, with the infamous Red Compad already held out for him to take.

“I tried the door buzzer several times, but there was no response.” The staffer was young, one of the admin juniors that Burrows had seen around the main dome area a few times, and had what looked like an apologetic grimace plastered across his face. Burrows could not immediately remember his name, except that it started with an M. “The message is quite urgent and they wanted a reply as soon as possible, so…”

The staffer trailed off, and held up the Level 2 burn key in his other hand.

“Hmm.” Burrows grunted, before scrubbing his hands across his face - hard. The pressure helped to relieve the fatigue fog a bit, even if it was just temporarily. “What’s your name again? Maykel?”

“It’s Michael, sir.” The staffer offered the red compad again. “It’s really important that you read this as soon as possible.”

Burrows knotted the arms of the singlesuit around his waist before taking the proffered device. The corridor air was cool against his naked chest, and the flooring underfoot was not any warmer either. The Red Compad system came directly from the CDM, and contained an eyes-only message for whoever had the matching biometrics to unlock it. Hand-delivered messages were rare in their digital age, unless the content was serious enough - or unusual enough - to warrant it.

The device needed a full ten-finger grip to unlock, touchpads pulsing in sequence around the circumference of the device as it scanned flesh and skin whorls, and then the message was scrolling across the front. Burrows squinted hard at the squiggles, rubbed his eyes again, and started reading.

Captain J.E.R. Burrows

I need you and your full team at Stockton by 12:45 today. Your testimony about the Marsden Mines buildup will be needed for the announcement at 13:00. We have already started working on the data uploads from Specialist Franklin. Bring the sensors and raw footage as well.

Confirm receipt of message soonest.

Colonel C. Hayes

Burrows swore under his breath. Why would Command now suddenly need them in-person? Between the sensor upload from Dixon, and his own report from the previous day, they should have everything they needed.

Unless…

He looked at the device timer ticking in the one corner, and caught himself from swearing out loud just in time.

It was already after 02:00, and the trip to Stockton was a ten-hour drive.

“Who else got these notices?” Burrows handed the device back to the staffer, who clipped it onto his belt.

“Everyone on your team, captain, as requested by CDM Command. Sergeant Reyn Heaney, Specialist Hank Franklin, and Specialist Fred Mann.” The staffer paused for a moment before continuing. “Ian Drees was not listed, but we know he is a part of your team now, so we sent a runner to his apartment as well.”

“Good call. You can send my confirmation back to Command, we will be there as requested.” Burrows started to turn back into the apartment, then caught himself. “Actually, do me a favour? Stay here for a second and check in with your other messengers. I want to know who in the team has responded versus not.”

“I can do that, sure.” The staffer pulled another compad off his belt and started tapping out messages. Burrows used the time to untie his singlesuit arms and pull the garment the rest of the way up and over his shoulders. The habitat corridors were quite a bit cooler at this time of night than the individual apartments - and a lot cooler than a warm bed with a naked wife.

Answering pings came back within moments as the staffer typed, and soon it was clear that everyone had been woken and acknowledged receipt of the message. Burrows sent the staffer off, and turned back into the dark apartment. Time to break the news to Tilda.

His bedroom was still dark when he reached it again, and the lounge lights - turned to their lowest, given the early hour of the morning - spilled in to softly illuminate the crumpled sheets and blankets where his wife lay. Only her hair was visible, peeking out from the top of the bundle.

“Do you have to leave already?”

“I do, unfortunately.” Burrows sat down on the edge of the mattress and placed his hand on the blanket pile on what he hoped was a shoulder. “Command needs us in Stockton tomorrow… this afternoon for the news announcement, and I think they have more questions about what happened on the patrol.”

A small, warm hand crept out of the blanket and snuggled into his.

“But I barely got to see you…” Her voice trailed off as he leaned in to kiss the side of her head. Her hair - in fact, the whole bed - smelled of the passion with which they had fallen into the sheets not even two hours ago. Tousled hair moved softly against his cheek as he nuzzled her ear before pulling back.

“I know. I was hoping for a slow day today, but duty calls.” He gave the soft hand a gentle squeeze. “I don’t think they’ll send us straight out again, at least. I hope not.”

“I hope so too.” Her head turned, revealing worried eyes. “Be safe out there.”

“I’ll try.” He leaned in once more, this time for a kiss, and it was a long moment before they parted again. “I need to grab some stuff, and then we have to head out. We don’t have much time now.”

Getting dressed the rest of the way and finding a new suit liner took only a few moments, after which it was time for a last kiss. Burrows left the bedroom with too many thoughts in his head, and not nearly enough sleep. The habitat tunnels were cold and empty as he trotted his way down to Admin One and then up into the vehicle bunkers.

The CDM bunker, where the Exeter had been parked mere hours before after its reloading at the main dome hangar, already contained Ian and Pope when Burrows cycled in. Neither looked like they had gotten much sleep in either, and Burrows was secretly glad to notice that he was not the only one who had not yet gotten time to shave.

“I don’t like this,” Pope grumbled by way of greeting. He was also wearing only a singlesuit, with his EVA suit spread out on one of the garage tables next to a stack of fresh liners. “These people really don’t need us for a damn press release.”

Ian, on the other side of the table, had his own khaki EVA suit spread out as well with a new liner halfway installed. He looked marginally more rested than Pope - an illusion which only lasted until he raised his hand to his mouth and cracked out a long, jaw-straining yawn.

“I think Colonel Hayes and his people want to pick our brains about what we saw at Marsden Mines.” Burrows pulled his own EVA suit from the crates next to the table, where it had been dropped the night before. None of the suits had been cleaned yet, and all of them still carried the odour of the previous patrol on them. “I suspect they have a lot of questions that they don’t want to entrust to the digital channels right now.”

“You think the press release thing is just a front?” Pope frowned at his hands as he undid a liner tab and redid it the right way around. Fatigue was written clearly across his face and movement.

“I think the announcement will be real. I’m not sure what exactly we’re needed for, and how much of that would just be a front, but it seems that the colonel has a plan for us. They don’t use the red compads for nonsense.” Burrows slowly and methodically worked to install his own new liner. His fingers felt slow and dumb after the interrupted sleep. “Maybe they found something in Dixon’s data that raised a red flag.”

“Maybe Dixon is the red flag, with all his damned cologne.” Pope shook his suit out after the last adjustment, and began to pull it on.

“I’m guessing this is a bit short notice for being summoned?” Ian finished his own liner installation, then went over everything again even as he talked. “I didn’t know they could wake us up with the alarms like that, it was a bit of a surprise for me.”

“That’s the point. I think most of us were too deeply asleep to hear the normal buzzers.” Burrows finished his own liner installation and immediately began to pull the suit on. “I know they don’t use the alarms lightly though, so that gives you an idea about how urgent it was.”

“My ears are still ringing.“ Ian gave another yawn and also began to pull on his suit. “I really hope it goes away soon.”

“It should fade in an hour or two. Sleeping in the rover will help a bit.” Burrows finished donning his suit, and gave the two emergency patches on his one knee a quick once-over. There had been no time to repair them properly yet, but it seemed like the patches were holding up.

Had it been three days already since they took out that Union rover?

Checking the knee patches also reminded Burrows of Ian’s patch issue, and he went rummaging in the one equipment locker to find the box of spare unit patches.

“Ian, do you still have your Union trophy from Saturday?” Burrows turned when he finally had the desired patch in hand, and beckoned Ian over. “We don’t have time for ceremony now, so I’ll give you the short version.”

“I think it’s still in my webbing, actually.” Ian looked up from where he was fixing the last closures around his ankles. “It should still be in the rover?”

“That should be fine. Let me show you how it works.” Burrows strode over and showed him the patch. “You’re one of us now, so you can finally wear this.”

The patch was a quick-detachable, velcro-style design that could easily be mated with the corresponding surface on any EVA suit, and was about half a handspan in diameter. A simple shield design with a background quartered in black and gold, it also had the outline of a 5 cut in the middle, creating a hole in the patch.

“See that hole in the middle? Usually there’s a red number five in there, for 5th Regiment, but we made it slightly different here.” Burrows showed Ian how to position the patch on his left arm. “When you get inside the rover, take some of that Union fabric and put it behind the patch, where the cut-out is. Then when you put it on, it will create a blue five in the middle of the patch.”

Burrows tapped his own left upper arm, where an identical patch sat with a pop of blue in the middle. On his right arm, the patch was a khaki shield with two diagonal lines - gold over black - behind a red 1.

“Current unit goes on the left, previous unit goes on the right arm. You’ve taken a shortcut and skipped regular Militia service, so you don’t get the khaki patch.” Burrows handed the patch to Ian before extending his hand. “Welcome aboard the 5th. You’re officially a Militiaman now.”

Ian grinned, taking the patch and Burrows’ hand at the same time - and then promptly gave another yawn, covering his mouth with his free hand and almost swallowing the patch in the process.

“Sorry - I’m still getting used to your time schedules here.”

“Don’t bother.” Burrows waved the apology away, covering a yawn of his own. “I’ve been here seven years now, and I’m still not used to it either.”

Reyn and Dixon arrived at the same time, bleary and red-eyed like the rest of them, and went through the same ritual of installing new suit liners while the rest of the team boarded the Exeter. Pope checked the galley supplies just to be certain, while Burrows sank down in the drone station and went through the same checklists he had gone through only hours before. Despite the fatigue and the early hour and the ringing ears, their duty and professionalism still had to come first.

Burrows thought of what was being asked of them - and then remembered the arms around him the previous night. The smiles, the whispers in the dark, the weight of a head falling asleep on his chest.

He, at least, had a good reason to make sacrifices.

* * * * *

The Exeter trundled out of the CDM bunker shortly after 02:30, with Pope at the wheel and Burrows at the drone station, and set off northwards out of the Home One crater. The plan was to have ninety-minute rotations, with two on duty and the rest sleeping, and there were snores coming out of the sleeping area even before they reached Larry and the other statues. Pope took them onto the perimeter ring road from there, heading north-west, and soon they were running along well-known paths through the darkness. Spears of white light lit up the landscape around them, reaching forth from the light array which Pope had deployed from the Exeter’s roof, and the desert was a ghostly white-and-tan dunescape around them. Navigation markers flitted past in the distance, tall and silent in the night, yet alive and bright on the radio-wave landscape that surrounded them. Burrows used one of the rooftop cameras to watch the star fields above them, orbiting spacecraft leaving white lines across the monitor as they headed back and forth high above the surface of Mars. He spotted a cluster of lights moving in formation, north to south, and wondered if things had heated up in orbit too, after the gate attack. There had been no official news about a change in the status quo between Bear State and the Union - but there had also been no official news or warning when the Union took Seven Craters either.

That thought was a hard one to shake after it had reared its ugly head.

At 04:00 there was a shift change, Reyn taking the wheel with Ian as his co-pilot, and Burrows took the opportunity to slide into his own bunk and pass out. His dreams were confused, his dream gestalt watching Tilda as she slept alone in her bed, whilst being completely unable to reach her. In his dream, she moved further away every time he reached out to her, until he woke with a start when Ian shook him awake for the next rotation.

The night passed in segments, alternating between console time and bunk time, and by the time the sun rose everyone was mostly awake, if not fully rested. They took breakfast in shifts in the galley, slowly working through noodle packets and fresh sauce packages from the cargo that had been loaded the night before. Yawns punctuated almost every sentence.

“What is this stuff even supposed to be?” Dixon held the steaming packet up to the light, and squinted at the lettering on the side. “It looks like beans and smells like cheese, and doesn’t taste like either of those? Is this even legal?”

“I never thought I’d hear you question the legality of something you’re going to put in your mouth, Mister Golden Bough.” Burrows sat on the other side of the galley table, chewing gamely. He was less bothered by the flavour, although the textures and scents seemed a bit jarring on that particular mix. The sips of tea were not really helping. “You’re talking about the eternal mysteries of Doctor Berube and his agri-lab team here. You know better than to ask questions. If we knew what went into these, we probably wouldn’t be so keen to eat them in the first place.”

“I like the part where you pretend that we are fine with eating these just because we don’t know what’s inside them.” Dixon lowered his packet and arched an eyebrow at Burrows, who gave a grin in return. “This is absolute barbarism, I tell you - barbarism.”

“It’s only going to get better from here on. With the gate down, all of our little luxuries are going to get scarce until the logistics can pick up again.” Burrows gulped down more tea, feeling the heat traveling down his torso. “That supply run we did a week ago was probably the last time we’ll get our hands on any of the good stuff.”

“If the Union was trying to piss us off - piss me off, specifically - then this is a great way to do it. I don’t know what they feed their people, but no-one here is going to be happy eating carbohydrate mush.” Dixon poured a liberal dose of table salt and pepper into the meal packet, before stirring it all together and upending it over his bowl. He made a point of looking away as the contents of the packet plopped and dribbled out.

“Actually, Ian, I have a question for you.” Burrows turned to where Ian was busy at the galley sink with a razor and soap. “What did you guys eat out in Planckstadt?”

“Mostly potatoes and rehydrated proteins, with vegetable condensates for vitamins.” Ian’s face, in the mirror, was a study in concentration as he fought to not cut himself while the Exeter rumbled along over the outside dunes. “Fish too, for fresh protein, but not a lot of it, and then some syrup mixes that the French came up with. It was supposed to go with the mushroom meats, but it never really took off in the colony. We had a theory that they didn’t do their taste tests out in Planckstadt, else it would never have passed.”

Burrows looked back at Dixon, raising both eyebrows, and the tech specialist mimed a gagging reaction.

“I take it back. I am not going to complain about whatever the hell this is meant to be.” Dixon began to spoon the food into his mouth, all reservations forgotten. “Berube is a saint in comparison!”

“Where is he from? Doctor Berube, I mean.” Ian started on his other cheek even as he spoke, foam glistening in the cabin light. “He asked me a lot of questions when I went through the main Botany area the first time.”

“He’s from before my time, actually. He was already running the food labs when I arrived at Home One.” Burrows licked at his fork while trying to remember the original introductions. “I think he’s from the Free Red State? Or he studied there? I’m not sure.”

“He told me he spent some time in Golden Bough and also in Noctis, up north, but that was a long time ago. He’s a slippery one when you ask him about his past. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Dixon stared off to the side, looking thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. “Standard Liberty Zone type, for that matter. We don’t exactly come here for the strict background checks.”

“Explains a lot about you too, for that matter,” Burrows muttered into his bowl, and grinned when he got a theatrical groan in response.

“What was he asking about?”

“Mostly about my studies and my family,” Ian replied to Burrows’ question. “He seemed more interested in my parents and my siblings than in my aquaponics credentials. It just seemed a bit odd.”

“Oh no, that’s typical Berube.” Burrows snorted and shook his head as he remembered his own first conversation with the doctor. “He likes genetics and genealogy, and has some strange theories about Nature versus Nurture. I have a suspicion that he sees people like plants - or at least, more like plants than like people. He has experience with breeding the one, and so he thinks that the other is the same. If you ever ask him about the Golden Ones breeding programme in the Union, he is absolutely guaranteed to talk your ears off.”

“Crazy scientists and Union eugenics on Mars - what could possibly go wrong,” Dixon muttered. “If we all start peeing green and growing another set of arms, you’d know who to thank for that.”

“I never thought I’d hear you complain about the idea of having more hands,” Burrows retorted, and got an eye-roll in return. “Besides, Berube has been working with all of those Botany girls for years now, and none of them have turned out strange.”

“You mean aside from having raging hormones and making dubious romantic choices?” This time it was Dixon who got a scowl in response. “No, if Berube was doing anything strange there, we would have seen it by now.”

“Well, the Botany girls are pretty friendly,” Ian replied, so softly that only Burrows could hear it, and the two shared a grin while Dixon finished the last of his food.

After that it was Burrows’ turn to shave, and he fought the razor and the shifting floor gamely while Ian and Dixon took over the driving duties. Reyn and Pope dropped back for their own breakfast, and they were just in the middle of discussing the mysterious new noodle flavours when there was a call from the front of the rover.

“People, you need to see this. Channel 7, check the news.” Dixon’s voice was incredulous from where he was ensconced in the driving seat. “Am I imagining this, or is this real?”

Burrows, finishing up at galley sink, turned on the closest monitor and dialed through to the indicated channel. He pulled the monitor off the wall when he got the right channel, and angled the mount arm so that Reyn and Pope could also see the screen.

It was a news report from one of the Union channels, and a rare one in English too. A neatly dressed and perfectly manicured female presenter spoke into the camera in perfect, unaccented English, while a number of news banners scrolled past down the bottom and sides of the screen. Green trade and stock metrics, ticking upwards to show growth, dominated as usual. Union news channels did not allow negative news.

“...was decided to open the borders of the Asian Prosperity Union to all refugees from the failing Bear State. It is with gladness and open arms that we welcome anyone fleeing the oppressive, militant capitalist regime in New Hopetown, which has made it clear that it has neither the best interest nor the long-term survival of its citizens in mind. The mismanagement of the New Hopetown Fermium Transit Gate..”

“I haven’t heard anyone call it that in years,” Reyn muttered.

“...has sent a clear signal that the citizens of Bear State cannot feel safe and secure in their lands, as they are now almost completely cut off from neighbouring help. It is a sad day for the future of Mars, and Mankind, when isolationism and criminal neglect has become a weapon against neighbourly cooperation and co-prosperity in these difficult times.”

The presenter disappeared, and was replaced with a video showing several white rovers - all of them common, generic models available throughout most of the various Liberty Zones - pulling up outside a domed settlement somewhere amidst the Martian dunes. The red-and-yellow flag of the Union fluttered valiantly from a nearby sensor mast. Blue Union rovers, with blue-suited Union personnel bustling around them, greeted each arriving rover, and there were several shots of suited figures leaving the white rovers and enthusiastically shaking hands with the Union personnel waiting for them. Smiling faces were everywhere, and there was not a gun or a polarised visor in sight.

“Our border stations have already been receiving a steady flow of refugees that have abandoned the chaos and instability of the illegitimate government in New Hopetown, and our teams are working hard to assist these refugees with further transportation to other destinations on Mars, and also into orbit. Of course, many of the refugees have also applied for sanctuary directly in the Asian Prosperity Union, and we have been…”

“This has to be a parody video. Like that nonsense with the data angels on Phobos.” Pope had an incredulous look plastered across his face, the food packet in his hands completely forgotten. “No way is this real.”

“Vietnam, in ‘87.” Reyn’s frown was deep as he nodded along. “Kayla told me about this. The Union used exactly the same story there. This is not good - this is not good at all.”

Burrows just shook his head, and returned to the sink to finish up. The pattern of behaviour did fit that of the Union, all right: every failure by an outside agent was immediately pounced upon as a way to amplify the glory of the Union by contrast.

It was also blatantly obvious propaganda, framed in a way - and in a language - that made it obvious who their target audience really was.

“Oh hey, that’s us again.” Pope called from the table, and when Burrows turned around the mining engineer was pointing at the screen with a grin on his face. Burrows saw the damaged Glorious Leader footage again, by now almost two weeks old after their encounter outside Cora Springs.

“Attacks against Asian Prosperity Union research teams have also increased in recent days, and a surveyor craft was the target of a vicious assault in the contested border regions west of Outpost 17. The survivors of the attack reported that they were set upon by Bear State paramilitary forces masquerading as news media teams, and that their vehicle was greatly damaged before they managed…”

Pope’s face was flinty by the time the presenter finished. Reyn just continued eating in silence, head shaking slowly between bites.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” the big miner growled. Burrows saw white knuckles on the edge of the table. “We pretended to be reporters, and attacked them? And they managed to escape? Who comes up with this shit?”

“Who knows. Maybe that’s what happened with that rover that was high-tailing it on Sunday.” Burrows wiped the last of the foam from his neck, and began to rinse out the sink. The running water was a faint, gurgling counterpoint to the chatter from the screen. “Because the rover we took out on Saturday definitely doesn’t fit that story.”

“Unless it magically repaired itself and drove all the way back to Marsden afterwards. With a dead crew.” Pope snorted, and Burrows could hear the disgust even before he turned around. “Anyone who listens to this is going to think we’re a bunch of clowns that mess around in the DMZ for kicks.”

“That’s probably the only point here, yes. These are Union government news channels, they don’t get paid to tell the truth.” Reyn pushed his bowl aside and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes were dark as he studied the screen with a frown. “Anyone who believes them, is going to think that we’re antagonising them and looking for a fight. The centrists, who want to be morally grey on everything and not take sides, will assume all of us are guilty of messing around to some degree.”

“...and the people who don’t believe the Union propaganda, are going to be dismissed as fascists and ultras.” Burrows nodded along, before tossing the shaving kit at Pope. “People, this is not new. They have been doing this for years and years. They have a lot of experience with this by now, and they are going to work extra hard now to paint us all as monsters.”

There was a stubborn jut to Pope’s jaw as he glowered at the screen.

“They should be careful what they wish for,” the miner finally grated out, before getting up. “We might just give them exactly what they want.”

Burrows saw the tension in the big man’s frame as he moved off to clean up, and wondered if the Union truly understood what people were capable of when they were pushed too far.

Next chapter: TBC