Mars Fire - Chapter XXXVII - 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 , XXXVI

The kilometres and hours rumbled past, thick dust and thin sunlight chasing them as they drew closer to their destination, and eventually Stockton’s distant shapes began to appear on the horizon. Everyone except Dixon had managed a shave in the galley, and the fatigue of the early morning had been replaced with grim anticipation.

The cause of the grimness was the veritable flood of propaganda broadcasting coming out of the Union.

The first report of the morning, with the offer of sanctuary for anyone fleeing Bear State, had been followed with a non-stop barrage of news segments about how Bear State was crumbling apart under the current administration. Reports of settlements being evacuated and abandoned around the DMZ areas, some going back as much as five years, were phrased in such a way that the Union’s contribution to these same events - the harassment, the destruction of mining machines, the sabotaging of mining claims - was never brought into scope. Reports of settlers being attacked, driven off their lands and even killed were common - but the second part of the explanation, where the supposed settlers were actually Union agitators infringing on existing land claims, was glaringly absent. Bear State colonists and prospectors being harassed and fired upon by Union teams, was never mentioned. Any reporting about Carol Jeffreys, who had been shot down in cold blood - and on video - by Union scouts three years ago, was non-existent. The disruption of the rail line west of New Hopetown, brought about two weeks earlier by the Jade Junkfall, was raised time and time again as an example of how poorly the Bear State administration was looking after their logistics network, and how badly prepared their emergency teams were to repair the damage in a timely manner. The fact that the disruption had been caused by Union space junk, was a footnote which conveniently did not get mentioned.

It went on and on, a flood of disinformation that barely skimmed the truth and seemed to come from some parallel reality that had little to no bearing on what everyone else had been experiencing on Mars.

Video footage of Dayfield and Mannerfield, the derelict shuttle fields from New Hopetown and Culheimer respectively, also featured, along with comments about how key infrastructure in Bear State was being neglected - neglect which was now affecting emergency transport options. Cloverfield, in Rhodes, was not mentioned - probably because it was still operational, and handling short-haul shuttle hops from the northern Liberty Zones along with certain CDM functionalities. Burrows and Dixon spent a while mulling over why the Union would focus on the shuttle fields, until Reyn proposed something which offered a bleak yet likely answer: by reminding people in Bear State that their shuttle fields were down, the Union wanted to push more people to take their own evacuation options.

The fires of Phobos were being stoked, and without much subtlety.

The mounds and covered honeycomb stacks of Stockton drew closer, and soon they were passing into the southern outskirts of the colony. Local rovers and buggies appeared on the roads, trundling back and forth with the everyday bustle of the city, and Pope had to take their speed down several notches to avoid running over smaller, slower vehicles. There was no discernible panic or distress in the movement of people on street level - but, as with New Hopetown, the surface life of the settlement was only one small part of its actual population. Burrows kept an eye on the clock, and they pulled into the CDM compound on the south-western side of the city with only twenty minutes to spare before the scheduled announcement. Electronic handshakes between the Exeter and the compound gates began even before they reached it, and the portal was open and waiting for them by the time they turned off the dust-packed street. Khaki-suited guards waved them in without stopping them.

The compound, Fort O’Neill, was buried into the side of a natural rock formation, which gave an impression of great size and considerable activity judging by the number of shuttered windows and visible panels carved into its coffee-coloured flanks. Uplink towers and cooling stacks squatted atop the rocky crown of the small hill, reinforced with concrete barriers and revetments. The garage bay at the bottom was a simple, smoothed concrete tunnel that took them out of sight of the streets, and once the doors had rolled shut behind them, the Exeter dropped like a stone as an elevator shaft took it down into the depths underneath the city. The rocky exterior of Fort O’Neill, bustling and glowing aboveground to any enemy observer, was a total sham. As far as Burrows knew, it served only two purposes: to distract any possible enemy attacks, and to ultimately act as the mother of all plugs - in case of emergency - by collapsing into the elevator shaft they were currently descending down.

“Grab sidearms or bayonets, and let’s look sharp, people. The top brass is going to be eye-balling us up close now.” Burrows shut down his terminal and got up, standing back to let Pope and Reyn pass first. Glowing light strips flashed past outside the cockpit windscreen, counting the levels as they descended into the bedrock. “Dixon, that beard of yours better look good on camera, else Colonel Hayes is going to have my ass on the line for running a ragged outfit.”

“Your poor little ass,” Dixon tutted, before rummaging through his bunk and producing a small plastic bottle. “I’ll make sure you boys don’t get any of the attention, don’t you worry.”

Pope, about to retort with something, got an elbow in the side and a head-shake from Reyn, and the two of them focused on the crates with the battle sensors instead. Ian watched with furrowed brows as Dixon shook the content of the bottle out onto his bare hands, before massaging it into the thick black beard he had managed to sprout over the eight days of the Marsden Mines patrol. A scent of peppermint and something smokey began to fill the rover, tickling the back of Burrows’ nose.

“Are you…” Burrows began, then stopped. The smell was deepening, and surprisingly calming too. “We’re here for a debriefing, damnit, not for a job interview at a skin joint.”

“Why not both?” Dixon winked at Ian as he pulled his gloves back on, and got a red-faced blush in return. “Honestly? I’ve been wearing a helmet for eight days, and I am tired of smelling my own breath for all that time. Allow a poor man some small mercies, mm?”

There was a rumble from outside, and the lift platform finally began to slow. Burrows just shook his head, and watched as Pope shuffled into the airlock with the first sensor crate.

Dixon did have a point, after all. The patrol had been rough on all of them, especially with the quick turnaround time this morning.

The bay around them darkened as a blast shutter slid across the roof above them, sealing off the lift shaft, and then brightened again as orange flood-lights sprang on from the walls around them. A rumble started up somewhere outside, felt through the decking, and the bay atmosphere began to build. Sliding deck segments lifted and began to edge the Exeter sideways, moving it off the central elevator pad and into one of the demarcated parking areas on the side of the bay. Burrows took the time to buckle on his sidearm - a chunky Mercator compact, firing a cut-down version of the standard Martian 5mm round - and then added a compad on the other side of the belt to balance out the weight. He rarely had a need for a pistol, finding his bayonet more versatile as a tool, but when official duties called one had to be prepared to suffer a bit for the sake of appearances.

Everyone else had their bayonets buckled on, including Ian, by the time the Exeter’s airlock chimed a match with the outside bay pressure. Their helmets were off, but clipped to their belts for good measure. Pope hauled the lock open and disappeared out without his crate, after which Reyn stepped into the same space and began to pass the crates out to the waiting hands outside. One by one they all passed through the lock, until the entire team was assembled next to the Exeter with their stack of sensor crates.

The bay was an octagon of sorts, with two long sides and two short sides, and the elevator platform had initially delivered them right in the middle. Covered, pressurised plexglass tunnels lined the bay on several sides, and people were visible moving through them, oblivious to the just-arrived rover and other bay activities. Several other mottled CDM rovers filled the space, sitting in other parking areas not unlike their own. A side door had yawned open while they were unloading, and a flat-topped motorised cargo trolley rolled up even as they got the last of their crates out.

“Corporal Hicks, sir.” The driver of the trolley stood up to salute, then dropped back into his seat again after Burrows returned the gesture. He was young, probably in his early twenties by Burrows’ estimate, and had a new face that he did not recognise. “Colonel Hayes sent me to collect you and your team, sir. If you don’t mind hopping aboard?”

Loading the crates took mere moments, after which the young corporal took off even as the team was still scrambling into their seats. Pope caught Dixon by the belt just as he was about to bail off the back of the speeding trolley, and the murderous look that was thrown at the back of the corporal’s head was almost enough to blister the paint off the sensor crates. They zipped into one of the side corridors, walls and intersections blurring past, and came to a smooth halt mere minutes later at the end of a nondescript passage. Bright lights and two armed CDM Marines - the space-capable cousins of the Militia - waited for them there, flanking a shuttered portal.

“Colonel Hayes and his team are waiting inside, room B5.” The corporal dismounted and began to work on the portal keypad, while Burrows and the others hauled the crates off the trolley. The portal swung open moments later, and the corporal stepped back to let them pass. “Down the corridor, second left, look for the green lines.”

The two flanking Marines, dressed in heavy flak armour and cradling carbines at the ready, eyeballed the Home One team without a word. Dixon’s wink at one of them drew no response, and Burrows had to chuckle to himself once they were inside and the portal had swung shut again behind them.

“What?” Dixon tried to look innocent, and failed. “He looked at me first!”

They had ten minutes left, and heading down the corridor to the second left took up half of that time. The tunnels were grey, concrete-lined affairs, with single light strips running along the top, and Burrows did not recognise the area at all from his previous visits to the compound. Fort O’Neill had always operated on a strict need-to-know basis, and Burrows’ previous visits to the location had always been brief.

Room B5 had another Marine on the outside, although this one actually nodded at them as they approached before turning to open the door and talking to someone on the inside. The Marine stepped back, and dark-haired Colonel Hayes appeared from inside, brushing off Burrows’ salute and going straight for a handshake instead. The colonel’s face was set, and his eyes flitted over the line of men with their sensor crates before snapping back to Burrows.

“Jack, good of you to make it on time. I need you and Sergeant Heaney inside for the press conference.” Hayes’ tone was clipped, each word sharp and precise, and Burrows could almost see the pressure vibrating behind the man’s dark brown eyes. Those same eyes switched to Dixon before continuing. “Specialist Franklin, I need you and your sensor data in the B9 debriefing room. Mann, Drees - you’re with him. There are some people from Division Seven who want to talk to all of you.”

Hayes stood aside and motioned for them to enter, and Burrows headed into the room with Reyn and Hayes on his heels. They were in a small antechamber, it seemed, with CDM staffers bustling back and forth from the multiple doorways that led into the space, and there was a hubbub of voices coming from the portals to their right. Once the corridor door closed behind them - shutting off the view of Dixon and the rest being led away by the Marine - Hayes pulled Burrows and Reyn together for a quick briefing.

“We’re going live on the national nets in less than five minutes now. You’ve probably seen that garbage that’s been coming out of the Union all morning - we suspect they’re trying to muddy the water before we get a chance to tell our side of the story. We have senators Heffmeyer and Vance here, along with General Maxdine, and a handful of the civilian labour representatives.” Hayes’ voice was low as his gaze alternated between the two men in front of him. “They’re going to make some announcements about the attack on the slow-gate, and then General Maxdine is going to talk about what you discovered at Marsden Mines.”

Burrows felt his heartbeat kick up a notch at the mention of Marsden Mines. If the head of the CDM wanted to make a statement about it - while Division Seven was grilling Dixon about his observations - then something big was about to happen.

“From you two, I just need stoic faces for now. You’ll be on stage with the rest of the talking heads, and when General Maxdine is doing his speech, he may or may not mention you directly.” Hayes continued. “There will be a slot at the end for questions from the news crews, and you may get something thrown at you. If Maxdine lets you answer, keep it short and vague.”

Hayes ticked off points on his fingers as he elaborated.

“You were doing a routine patrol. You were following orders. You found suspicious activity. You recorded it, and you got the hell out after that. Do not mention that Union rover you gutted, and definitely do not mention the second rover you saw heading east through the DMZ.” Hayes looked down at his wristwatch before continuing. “The last one is a sensitive point right now, and we can’t raise flags about that until Division Seven gets us better answers.”

“Questions? No? Then let’s get this over with.” Hayes turned even as he talked, and led them through the portal where the noise was coming from.

Burrows had never done a press conference before, and his first impression after stepping into the hall was the profusion of noise welling up from the milling mass of reporters, camera-men, streamer-heads and other news types who filled most of the space. The hall was laid out in a classic lecture room style, with rows of dark seats descending towards a small stage in the front. Lights glared from several angles, each camera crew trying to get their own optimal angle on what was happening, and several of the news crews were already recording segments, speaking into old-fashioned mics or using regular throat implants to record audio clips. Bright colours and corporate logos dominated the space - some well-known channels, others from the more obscure nets and data-stacks that spanned both Mars orbit and that of Earth and Luna - and the bustle, combined with the lights and noise, almost immediately brought back memories of Maputo for Burrows. The only difference was the heat: despite the press of bodies filling the room, the temperature was nothing like that of an African summer market.

Hayes led them down the left side of the room, staying behind a cordon manned by CDM staffers, and Burrows could almost feel the gazes noticing and tracking them from the rest of the room. The CDM personnel were the only ones wearing EVA suits and carrying helmets, and even then not all of them looked like Burrows and Reyn in their stained and patched garments. Burrows was suddenly very conscious of the leak patches along his one knee, and the pistol riding on his hip, but he kept a bland expression on his face and made sure to stuff the nerves down deep.

On the stage, behind the simple podium and the line of seats - some already filled - was a deep blue wall, with two banners hanging from it. The one on the left was the official flag of Bear State, and showed both the bear and the original De Beers blue diamond in great detail, while the one on the right was the city flag for Stockton, in greens and whites. Below these, the seated figures were a mix of familiar and unknown faces to Burrows, and he gamely followed along behind Colonel Hayes as they were led to the end of the row. Here, on the last two open seats, Hayes indicated for them to get comfortable.

“You boys get to enjoy the limelight for now. I’ll be waiting in the wings in case the news people come up with anything technical.” Hayes, standing behind the row of seats as they sat down, clapped them both on the shoulders before leaning down. “Remember your brief, and try not to fall asleep.”

With a wink and what could have been the ghost of a grin, Hayes disappeared behind them, and Burrows shared a glance with Reyn. The blond engineer looked every bit as apprehensive as he felt. Burrows leaned over, and Reyn obliged by leaning closer as well.

“Think of it this way: at least we’re being paid to sit here and look pretty now,” Burrows murmured without moving his lips, and sat back as Reyn raised his hand to his mouth to cough. The hand could not entirely hide the smile that flashed there for a moment, and Burrows had to fight to keep a grin from spreading across his own face as well.

As if on cue, the noise in the hall began to die down, and Burrows looked over to his right, down the line of seats, to where another side door had just opened. Senator Lyle Heffmeyer, for Western District, was the first to appear, dressed in an emerald green singlesuit with a black suit jacket over the top - an archaic custom of administrative dress which Bear State had retained from its DMBC days. Heffmeyer was sharp-faced and noticeably paler of skin than the tanned CDM staffers which formed the cordon - the benefits of an admin job, Burrows thought to himself, and wondered how many rad-hours the senator clocked up on the surface of Mars every year.

Behind Heffmeyer came Senator Leonard Vance, from Southern District, and the multitude of lights in the room painted a harsh moonscape of craters and angry welts across his face and head. Vance had been a CDM major out of Taylor Base before an incident on patrol had left him with burn wounds over more than fifty percent of his body. He had survived - but the rest of his team had not, and Vance had gone into politics after that. He wore a deep yellow jacket verging on mustard over a black singlesuit, the colours of Southern District, and was the only career politician here that Burrows saw semi-frequently on newscasts and other admin functions in their district.

General Gerald Maxdine came last, short and bullish as ever, and had a radiation tan that made his khaki CDM singlesuit look almost white in comparison. Unlike the senators, he had no ceremonial uniform for this occasion, and the only indication of his rank were the subdued black stars on his shoulders. His bald head gleamed under the overhead lights, and the look he gave the assembled news teams made Burrows glad that the general was on their side. There were rumours about the general and some of the things he had done - or helped to do - on the old Seven Craters border when they were still fighting against the Union, and he was a hands-on, bloodied-knuckles leader by all accounts.

Senator Heffmeyer was the first to approach the podium, slim and tall behind the simple black stand, and launched into the statement without any preamble.

“As you all know, two days ago, the Cecil J. Rhodes slow-gate facility in New Hopetown suffered a massive failure due to multiple explosive blasts inside the facility.” Heffmeyer was always a smooth and captivating orator, and this time was no different. Burrows could see the various news teams shifting their focus as the senator began to draw them in. “It was a terrible incident that has unfortunately claimed a number of lives, and we are thankful to the emergency response teams, both from the CJR and from the surrounding facilities, who stepped in so quickly and so efficiently to help mitigate the scope of this incident.”

“However, as much as it pains me to say this, we cannot call this incident an accident.” Heffmeyer’s gaze swept the room, and Burrows caught the look that flashed in the senator’s eyes. The man was determined, and letting it show. “What happened at the CJR facility was not an accident. It was an attack, and a well-planned one at that. The forces involved were aiming to cripple both the slow-gate itself as well as the data centres that power it, and in that regard they have succeeded. As of Sunday morning, the CJR slow-gate facility is non-operational. It is unable to send or receive cargoes in any way at this point in time, and our initial estimates are showing that it will take several weeks, at the minimum, to return the facility to full functionality again.”

“You might be wondering why I call this incident an attack. Let me share with you some details of what transpired at the CJR to make us conclude that this was, in fact, an attack and not an accident.” As Heffmeyer spoke, a display screen unfolded from the ceiling behind him and lowered itself over the Stockton city flag. Burrows had to resist the urge to twist around in his seat to look at the screen, and instead focused on the senator’s voice as he continued speaking. Colours began to reflect off the back of Heffmeyer’s jacket as the screen lit up with images. “As you can see here, remnants of military-grade explosive devices were recovered from almost every single one of the blast sites. Each blast was targeted to disable key components and systems required by the slow-gate to function, from mechanical linkages, to the magnetic coil arrays, to the data processor lines. In the data centres, the blasts targeted key data pipeline junctions - and not only these junctions, but also the duty stations for the CJR staff present at these locations. The culmination of this multi-point attack was the systematic destruction of multiple interlocking systems inside the CJR facility, in a way that bypassed our safety and backup systems, and which required intimate knowledge of the design and operation of the system.”

“I will say it again: this was no mere accident.” Heffmeyer’s gaze slowly swept the assembled news teams, who were hanging on his every word by now. This information was new to everyone present, including Burrows. “This was a calculated, well-planned, and well-executed move to intentionally disable the CJR facility. It is a testament to the planning and mindfulness of the generation of engineers at the CJR that the entire facility was not lost to depressurisation, and that the damage was ultimately relatively contained via the relevant emergency systems.”

Heffmeyer paused for a moment, and Burrows found himself gripping the arms of his seat with stiff fingers. Letting go of the seat arms and crossing his hands on his lap took a conscious effort of will.

“As for the identity of the attackers, we are unfortunately at a sensitive point in our investigation which precludes us from divulging any specific information about them. What I can share with you, is this: these agents were operating on orders from outside of Bear State, with a clear aim to maximise the damage dealt to our state. Our surveillance systems inside the CJR have recorded clear images of the attackers, and while their identities must remain secret for now, I can assure you on this one point: the hunt for these agents is ongoing, and will not cease until they have been brought to justice.” Heffmeyer gripped the podium with both hands, before slowly leaning forward and speaking directly into the closest bank of cameras. “These men will be found, they will be returned to our jurisdiction, and they will face justice.”

Burrows thought, again, of the rover they had spotted on Sunday afternoon, racing eastwards towards the Union - but the timing did not match up. Assuming the attackers at the CJR had been on-site, or nearby, at the time of the attack, there was no way that they could have travelled all the way from New Hopetown, in the west, to the middle of the DMZ in less than a day. Not when Burrows and his own team had still been more than a day’s worth of driving away from their own Home One destination, which was all the way out in the middle of Southern District.

Of course, there was no reason to assume that the attackers had been in or at the building during the attack, on the other hand - and that thought gave Burrows pause. If they made the assumption that the gate attack was executed as retaliation to the Union rover they had destroyed on the Saturday, and the bombs were planted with timers shortly after that…

Burrows caught himself just as he was about to shake his head at the expanding web of possibilities. With the cameras watching, any sign of disagreement or dismissiveness towards the senator’s statement could be interpreted the wrong way - and that was the type of troubled waters that no-one needed right now. The timing issue was something they would have to discuss with Colonel Hayes, and the Division Seven spooks.

Burrows forced himself to sit back, look calm, and listen passively as the press conference continued.

Next chapter: TBC