Owner 03 - Jupiter War (6 page)

Already two of his new conjoining robots were rolling off the production line. Both smelting plants were running, and producing components for both Robotics and the massive reconstruction of the station into a spherical spaceship. The robot mining machines on the asteroid had nearly filled both of the big ore carriers to keep that process going. However, power supplies were at full stretch, while all the building and manufacturing were nowhere near their proposed maximum, so Saul needed to limit their stay here. It was time to get things done.

‘Perhaps, when we are a lot closer, you should speak to him,’ he suggested to Var. ‘Your suit radio is in range of the base even now. You can tell him that I’ve come to rescue them, to relocate them to Argus; that his earlier actions are understandable and are forgiven.’

‘You fucking what?’

‘What else did you intend to say?’

‘Something, but I wasn’t going to talk about forgiveness.’

‘Try, anyway – and I’ll ensure that everyone there also hears your exchange. Perhaps if he’s not agreeable you can slant your persuasion at everyone else there . . .’

She glared at him suspiciously.

What she said didn’t matter all that much, anyway. Rhone would respond precisely as Saul expected him to. Gazing into the base, he could see a man struggling to find some solution to the insoluble, but certain that his grip on power was the right one. Such men always had a maximum response even for small outside threats. It made them feel worthy, useful, that they were
doing
something.

‘He’ll send his people out to take a shot at us,’ said Var.

‘Of course he will,’ Saul replied. ‘So we need to get to the cover of Shankil’s Butte before you speak to him.’ He picked up his pace.

‘I still don’t see how this advances our cause any,’ Var protested. ‘I can probably get us inside without him knowing . . .’

Looking through the base cams, Saul counted eight armed staff. Checking the records there, he saw that most of these were from Mars Science, though some were from Maintenance and Construction. The head of the latter, Martinez, was one of the corpses still lying on a gurney in the medical area, so obviously the eight here were the only ones Rhone trusted with weapons. Saul calculated that Rhone would send a minimum of four of them outside.

‘In fact you could not get us in without him knowing, since he’s paranoid enough to be running a recognition system through the exterior cams,’ said Saul. ‘I, however, can get us in, but what then?’ He glanced at her. ‘Eight of his people are armed.’

‘You’re as irritating as ever,’ she replied. ‘You’re not going to tell me what you’re planning, are you?’

Saul analysed that and realized that some human element of him was being wary of letting her know how ruthless he intended to be. He considered the idea of detailing his plans to her but then, deciding he did not yet want to explain the cold reasoning behind them, rejected it.

‘You’ll have to trust me,’ he said.

Var growled in irritation.

It took them an hour to reach Shankil’s Butte, a partially collapsed monolith of wind-carved sandstone cut through with layers of conglomerate. On the collapsed side, a path wound up through fallen rubble to the top and, without hesitation, Saul began to tramp up this for no other reason than to gaze at the view, which included the base itself lying a couple of kilometres beyond. As he wended his way up, the fuel drop tank launched from Argus Station, which was now well above the horizon but not visible in the daylight sky. Soon they reached the canted summit of the butte and gazed out at the base. The remaining hexes and linking wings were clearly visible, with stacks of regolith blocks and other building materials marking out where much of it had been disassembled.

‘Here,’ said Var.

Saul turned to see her prodding at something on the ground with her toe and then gazing back the way they had come. He walked over and peered down at an assault rifle clip lying by her feet.

‘It was from here that one of Ricard’s men shot my friend,’ she explained.

‘You killed Ricard and his men,’ Saul noted.

‘Will it ever end?’ she asked.

‘Everything ends,’ he opined, turning away and finding a rock to sit down on, and again studying the base.

Over to the right he could see the Mars-format space plane, parked by a low building to one side of a couple of fuel silos, at one end of a rough airstrip where rocks had been dozered to either side and holes filled in and packed down. Checking trajectories in his mind, he focused on the far end of the strip. Half an hour to go now.

‘Time for you to talk to Rhone,’ he said.

‘You’re sure?’

‘Have you ever known me not to be?’ he asked, not sure
what
she had known about him.

Var made some adjustments on her wrist console, while Saul reached out to the base and established multiple links between the radio receivers there and the internal public address system.

‘This is Var Delex calling Antares Base,’ she said, her words echoing in his mind as he heard them at both ends. ‘I need to speak to you, Rhone. There’re some things you need to know.’

Saul watched the sudden panic stirred up at the other end. Rhone, who had been working at a console in Mars Science, now banished the supplies lists from his screen and called up control schematics for the communication system, immediately trying to shut down public address. Saul allowed him a few tries, then put up the words ‘Talk to Var’ on his screen, before freezing out his keyboard.

‘Can he hear me?’ Var asked on a private channel.

‘Yes, he can hear you,’ Saul told her, ‘and so can everyone else in the base.’

‘Listen to me, Rhone,’ she continued on an open channel, ‘the
Scourge
isn’t coming. In fact, Earth now has nothing capable of getting out here, and won’t have anything for years yet.’

Saul didn’t disabuse her of that notion, as she would learn about the huge orbital activity around Earth soon enough.

‘You can, if you wish, rebuild the base where it is or move it underground as we planned, but your chances of survival won’t be much different from before. However, I have an alternative offer.’

Rhone had now moved to another console and had summoned a few of his armed staff. He there used the dishes on the roof of the base to triangulate Var’s position. Saul let him do that, as he wanted Rhone to know precisely where they were.

‘Alan Saul is here on Mars, Rhone, and he is about to deliver fuel for our space plane. I’m leaving Mars with him to join him on Argus Station. All the staff of Antares Base are welcome to join him too . . . all of the staff, Rhone. I understand why you did what you did and, though I’m not prepared to forgive it, Alan Saul is.’

‘Shouldn’t you talk to her?’ asked one of those with Rhone.

Rhone rounded on him. ‘If we submit, Galahad will end up killing us. Var is either lying or doesn’t know what’s happening around Earth . . . and do you think for one moment that someone who has stolen a space station and launched an attack against Earth that killed millions gives a fuck about us?’

‘Still . . .’ replied the man, uncertain.

‘You saw that thing that came down?’ Rhone asked. ‘It had just one pilot, and I’m surprised it reached the ground in one piece. We have the advantage now, especially if Saul is outside. Just think how grateful Galahad would be if we could capture him alive or even have his corpse to show her. You two, take Piers and Thorsten out there.’ Rhone checked his screen. ‘They’re on Shankil’s Butte. Capture them if you can, or bring back their corpses.’

So far so predictable: he was sending his most trusted lieutenants to do this job. Replaying cached base recordings, Saul confirmed that all four of them were either directly responsible for or closely involved in the recent killings there.

Rhone now keyed into the frequency Var was using. ‘Var, what a surprise to hear from you.’ He grimaced as his own voice was repeated over the PA system. ‘I was sure that fall killed you.’

Of course Rhone had told everyone in the base that Var had suffered an unfortunate accident. Would she now let him get away with that?

‘Well, I’m alive . . . and I’m waiting for your answer to Alan’s proposal,’ was all she said.

Rhone shut off com and turned to others who had joined him. ‘They’re desperate to get to our space plane. We
do
have the advantage here.’ Those others, unarmed staff of Mars Science, spectators, nodded dubious agreement. He ignored them as he opened up com again. ‘I’ll be needing guarantees. Perhaps we should continue this discussion inside . . . Also, I need to confirm that Alan Saul is indeed with you. I don’t see why he would risk his life coming down to the surface.’

Var turned to him and Saul nodded and spoke. ‘This is Alan Saul. I came down to the surface of Mars to rescue my sister, whose married name is Delex but whose maiden name was Saul. Everything Var has told you is true. You must also be aware that aboard Argus Station we now have a working version of the Alcubierre drive, which effectively takes us out of the reach of Serene Galahad. We are also completely self-sufficient, have a great deal in the way of resources and can survive out here. Think very carefully about your next decisions, Rhone.’

Rhone sat back, his expression blank as he glanced at a screen showing his four recruits coming one after the other out of a base airlock. Meanwhile, the fuel drop tank had begun its descent and opened its first parachute.

‘Galahad is building ships, fast, and I’m told it’s likely they will have similar drive systems,’ said Rhone.

‘That’s true,’ said Saul, glancing at Var and seeing her frown. ‘But there are other truths you seem to be avoiding. A moment ago you wondered if someone like me, who has killed millions, would give a fuck about you all, yet you seem to be forgetting how Serene Galahad released the Scour on Earth and killed
billions
. Do you think she cares about rescuing you for anything other than punishing you on ETV prime-time?’

‘So you say,’ replied Rhone.

Saul saw no point in arguing further. This man knew for certain that the Scour had originated from ID implants. ‘I’ll want your decision soon.’

Rhone turned to stare up at one of the base cams, now aware that Saul had indeed penetrated the place. Maybe that would be enough to sway Rhone, but Saul doubted it. He swung his attention out towards the horizon, beyond the airstrip. The drop tank had now opened out its second and larger parachute and was inflating its gas bags. Saul estimated that it would be visible within the next twenty minutes. He looked back towards the base. All four of Rhone’s most loyal people were now outside, three of them moving away from the base in Saul’s direction while another was driving an ATV round from the other side.

The timing was almost perfect but – even down to his walking pace in getting here to this butte – Saul had ensured that.

Argus

Ghort’s first instruction, upon handing over a powered socket driver – the only tool Alex could first be trusted with – was: ‘It’s pointless trying to race the robots, but I’m fucked if I want them more than ten joints ahead of us by end of shift.’

The task was simple enough. Structural members were to be anchored to the top and bottom faces of the fifteen-kilometre circumference of the station ring. This first involved cutting away marked-out areas of cladding material to expose one of the stress beams – a beam nearly a metre square, precisely following the curve of the station and made of a complex lamination of bubblemetal and graphyne. With the section of beam exposed, they attached a jig, which Ghort positioned precisely with an integral laser survey device, before heaving the U-plate in to slot over the beam and then clamping it down. Akenon and Gladys then towed over their multi-weld unit and, using nickel-carbon and high-temperature epoxy wire, welded the plate in position. Then the three of them unloaded the beam-end joint from their dray and it was Alex’s turn, using his socket driver to tighten, to the correct tension, the eight bolts the others quickly started in their threaded holes in the U-plate.

The first time Alex had tried to tighten a bolt, he ended up spinning round in vacuum on the end of the socket driver, while the other three laughed. That was the limit of his hazing, however, for there was work to be done and one of the construction robots working along the adjacent beam had already finished its joint and was moving on to the next. Thereafter the work became just mechanical, repetitive and somehow comforting. Alex had assumed that while performing this task, he’d have too much time to reflect on his past, but it didn’t work out that way. All he thought about was the next thing to do, how he could position himself so as not to get in the way of the others, how quickly he could lean in to tighten the bolts and how best to position himself while doing so. However, as they progressed and the nearby construction robot ran out of joint ends and had to wait for one of its kin to bring another load, there was finally time for banter.

‘We’re fast becoming fucking obsolete,’ said Gladys, pointing back along their course around the rim, where a hemispherical robot on gecko treads was now pausing regularly beside each of their previously affixed joint ends.

‘What’s it doing?’ Alex asked.

‘Inspecting our work,’ she replied. ‘Used to be it was us inspecting
their
work.’

‘Don’t exaggerate, Gladys,’ said Akenon. ‘Last thing you inspected was the crabs on your snatch.’

‘Go fuck yourself, Ake.’

‘Sure, I got less chance of catching anything nasty that way.’

‘Right,’ interjected Ghort, as Alex leaned forward and began tightening down the latest set of bolts, ‘we’ll take a break after this one.’ He pointed across to the outer edge of the station ring, where there clung a mobile overseer’s station, overlooking the webwork of beams of partially constructed floors extending from the outer rim.

Alex wound in the last of the bolts and stood upright. They’d now been working solidly for six hours, and muscles he was unaware of during the most severe forms of combat training were now aching. This was the perfect reminder of something one of his instructors had once told him: ‘Never underestimate the strength of manual workers. You might exercise and train for three or four hours a day, but that length of time involved in hard physical activity only gets them as far as their first tea break.’ He stretched his back, then opened the gecko pad on the side of his socket driver, before stooping to secure the tool down by his feet. He quickly followed the other three as they headed towards the overseer’s station.