Markus waited until his commanding officer was out of sight before punching the window transparency. The thud turned the heads of guardsmen passing by. Cydonia staff looked up from their tables in the café. A media drone spotted the disturbance and closed in for a better view. Markus hit the window again but someone caught his arm as he raised it for a third blow.
‘Time and place,’ said Robert. Markus shook his arm free. Robert smiled at the drone. He smiled as if the world watched him and spoke as if it listened to his every word. ‘It’s been a long night and long voyage. I’m sure you’ll be looking forward to some rest. I know I am.’ Most of the onlookers looked away, conversational murmurs rising again.
‘I must return to my duties,’ Markus said.
‘You always say that,’ said Robert. ‘Was that Hameed? Is everything all right? Is he angry that I went to Naktong?’
Markus was about to answer but he had lost Robert’s attention. His friend stared passed him at a sleeping figure slouched across three couched seats near the terminal’s airlock.
‘Pauly,’ Lieutenant Barnsley appeared from somewhere and asked. ‘Shall I make arrangements for a secure flight to the city?’
The figure slept with her head pillowed on her helmet but flinched awake when she heard her name.
Robert gazed at Sarah as if she were still lost in the Martian wilderness. Sarah jumped to her feet, the helmet dropped to the floor. Robert ran to meet her somewhere in the short space that still divided them. They embraced, ignoring the media drone that still hovered over them and the onlookers that lingered to watch the reunion.
‘It will be some time before we get either of them back into a flight cabin,’ said Barnsley.
‘Find Dino,’ Markus said to his lieutenant. ‘Get Alex too. I have news.’
‘Sir,’ said Lieutenant Barnsley. Markus followed his lieutenant through the crowd.
‘Markus,’ he heard Robert call.
‘Get them together,’ Markus said to Barnsley. Robert was smiling; Sarah’s arm was curled into his own. A media drone still followed them.
‘Are you staying in Cassini?’ Robert asked.
‘I’m leaving tomorrow,’ said Markus.
‘Good, so are we,’ Robert said. ‘But you must meet us later – lunch, dinner – I don’t even know what time it is.’ He laughed.
Markus nodded.
‘Thank you getting us out of the desert,’ said Sarah. As if to confirm her gratitude, she smiled and leaned forward, offering her hand.
Markus hesitated. Sarah was the reason for the rescue operation. At least some of iMicor’s force must have died when they met him in the wilderness. The Cydonia Corporation would have allowed anyone else’s imprisonment rather than risk lives to prevent it, and rightfully so. If she owed him gratitude for the rescue, Markus though, she must also take responsibility for its casualties. Markus considered this as he shook her hand. He raised his eyes to the media drone that watched him and knew that two worlds watched him, and he had no response apart from Redbourn Security’s motto. ‘Be safe,’ he said.
A wasp hummed over Cassini Crater’s rocky sediment. The breeze rocked it gently on its course to the crater’s centre where the dusty turf gave away to a black, patchwork landscape as alien to Mars as those who inhabited it. The wasp found its destination and dipped towards the surface. Slick panels on hundreds of greenhouse roofs were, like the wasp, coloured black. The wasp hovered above a greenhouse marked CC412. A slotted vent on the structure’s side opened and then shut in a deliberate breathing rhythm. The wasp slipped neatly through the closing gills and coasted through a carbon dioxide inlet that, as if by design, fit cleverly around the robotic insect’s buzzing wings.
The greenhouse CC412 was turf-floored and could sustain a selection of customised crops. It was maize’s turn in the rotation schedule and the wasp joined dozens more of its species, circling the tall stalks. Unlike their earthen counterparts, the vespid drones carried no sting and built no nests, Cydonia’s neural network was their queen. The sun-lamps dimmed, the simulated day with a simulated Earth sunset. The wasps kept diligent, electric eyes on the crops and none of them noticed the lone figure that slunk from corn rows. The man-shaped intruder crept silently to the greenhouse’s airlock. He drew a small, glass sphere from somewhere on his person, tossed it casually over his shoulder into corn, and then he was gone. A web of hairline cracks clicked across the ball’s shiny surface as it hit the soft earth. Gas spilled into the thick atmosphere. The wasps signalled the alarm as the finely tuned and carefully nurtured crops burst into violent flames.
Robert fell hard to the gymnasium floor. He rubbed his raw palms on the mat and grimaced up at the training frame. Gleaming text streamed across the crossbar: Your muscles will waste away without exercise. There were other men and women in the gym, toning redundant muscles for a planet that didn’t need them. ‘Can we eat now?’ Robert asked.
‘I can,’ Sarah replied. She leaned on the frame, fingers closed around a water bottle. ‘You have three more sets.’
‘That one doesn’t count?’
Sarah tossed him the bottle. ‘What have you been doing while I’ve been gone?’
‘I’ve been occupied,’ Robert said. He stood and drained the water before shaking out his aching arms.
‘One more,’ Sarah said. ‘And next time find another training partner. This is embarrassing.’
Robert smiled. ‘You hurt me.’ His feet left the canvas and his hands closed around the crossbar. He pulled up against the planet that pulled down. Weights shackled to his ankles added to Mars’ gentle tug and his muscles burned with the exertion.
‘One,’ he exhaled. Painful seconds followed as he finished the set and dropped to floor again. ‘Ten,’ he said triumphantly. Sarah had gone. The gym was empty. He followed the sounds of voices to the adjacent room.
A growing audience of guardsmen and civilians alike gathered around a marked-out circle in which two brutes viciously kicked and punched at each other with bare feet and taped knuckles. Both were stripped to waist and built from the Redbourn mould, muscle moulded over bone with no body fat to spare. Robert searched for Sarah among the spectators but found Cassini’s dean first, watching the bout with crossed arms.
‘Dean Varda ben Aram. Small world,’ Robert said after he’d shouldered his way to where she stood.
‘Not small enough,’ Varda replied. ‘We’re projected to reach one hundred thousand by the end of the season.’ Uncommon among the deans, most of whom had served Cydonia since the Discovery Phase, Varda Ben Aram was a newcomer and the same kind of outsider as Robert, holding a high position with relatively low experience. Like Robert’s future, her success did not depend on her past, only on her present.
‘What’s wrong with that? I’ve lived in ghost towns on Earth with bigger populations.’
‘We already have too many people on this rock,’ said Varda. ‘But we’re spending more money than ever on warm, soft bodies. We should be spending it on automation.’
‘Spoken like someone with a job for life,’ said Robert.
‘You think I’m an academic,’ said Varda.
‘You are an academic.’
‘You’re one to talk. And I’m an academic with a voice. That’s why you’re here. Is that right, pit bull, to secure my vote?’ In the circle, the sparring pair had tangled themselves in a kind of half-hug, arms locked around each other’s necks, and they filled the space between them with fists and knees.
‘I am working the election, but that’s not why I came here,’ said Robert.
Varda scowled as one of the guardsmen fell to the canvas, blood drawn from a gash above his eye. The man stood and touched his palm to the cut. He examined the hand and grinned when he saw blood. He offered the bloodied hand to his opponent who chose a bow instead of a handshake.
‘Good,’ Varda said. ‘You can tell Mitchell to deal with me in person. I won’t barter my vote with her proxy and certainly not negotiate with her dog.’ A double-beep sounded to end the dual.
Two fresh fighters stepped into the circle and bowed. ‘Do you think you’ll actually meet her?’ said Robert. I rarely see the Director General – her attention is on the war, not the election. Deal with me or feel free to cast your vote as you wish. No one meets with Grace Mitchell.’
‘I’m meeting Grace Mitchell for breakfast tomorrow,’ Sarah’s voice interrupted, ‘you can take my place.’
‘There you are,’ Robert said. ‘I finished my workout. You missed it. We can go now – it’s getting stuffy down here – too many warm bodies.’ The gym was buried deep beneath the Martian surface along with most of the living quarters. This offered protection from radiation – if the air doesn’t kill you, a solar storm will. The vaulted chambers were filled with generous measures of exhaled CO2 and second-hand moisture, a micro-climate of humanity.
Varda smiled, not put off. ‘The lady of the hour,’ she said. ‘I’m glad the Director General has made time for you – family first, war effort or no.’
‘You want to trade with me?’ Sarah asked, ‘any time.’ One of the fighters kicked his opponent’s chest. The force rammed the man into a section of baying spectators where a dozen helpful arms thrust the guardsman back into the circle.
‘I’ll wait for an invitation,’ said Varda. ‘But you don’t need an invitation to have dinner with me. The DG isn’t the only one capable of hospitality and it’s not every sol we host a true hero.’
‘You mean leaving this and eating? If you insist.’ said Robert. He made an effort to follow the fight but the fighters were quick, and he lost track of who was hitting whom.
‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ said Varda. She looped her arm through Sarah’s and led her away. ‘Enjoy the fight,’ she called over her shoulder.
‘And finish training,’ Sarah added.
‘Three rounds, three minutes,’ a voice said. Markus Arundel appeared at Robert’s shoulder from nowhere. ‘And a thirty-second rest between each round. This is the Suicide Circle – the worst ten minutes of your life. We put new prospects in a circle with a recruitment officer. If you leave the circle on your own steam, you get to apply. Everyone else is advised to rehydrate and invited to try again after two weeks.’
‘So why are they doing it now?’ Robert asked.
‘Training,’ Markus said.
‘The chin-ups don’t seem so bad now,’ said Robert.
Three rounds ended with no clear winner. The guardsmen shook hands and limped out of the Suicide Circle, one of them called out to the crowd, asking who was next.
Robert felt Markus’ hand on his back, shoving him into the circle. He turned, Markus followed. ‘Hold out your hands,’ he said. Robert did so, sensing the watching crowd. They pressed forward, eager to watch the Deputy Director receive his humiliation. Robert kicked off his shoes as Markus taped up his fists, soft gauze on soft knuckles. ‘I’d keep the ankle weights on,’ Markus said, ‘unless you’ve been training to fight light.’
‘Okay,’ Robert said. He was unwilling to back down but unable to find a tactical retreat without losing face. ‘Are you going to fight me?’
Markus shook his head and pointed at a guardsman that stood ready outside of the circle. ‘Guardsman Lim is the most junior guardsman in First Battalion.’ Markus smeared blue paste from a tube across the backs of Robert’s hands. ‘Paint him,’ Markus said, ‘and First Battalion will guarantee your safety wherever you wish to travel. Otherwise, you stay the fuck in the city until the war is over. Do you accept?’
Guardsman Lim strode into the circle. ‘This is infantile, Markus,’ Robert said, ‘even for you.’
‘Do you accept?’
Robert noticed a guardsman at the circle’s edge who carried a first-aid case. The man had tended to the bloodied guardsmen from a previous bout. He watched now, clutching his case and waiting for the next injury.
‘Redbourn medic?’ Robert asked.
‘Yes,’ replied Markus, ‘he’ll tidy you up after Lim is finished with you.’
‘Okay,’ Robert said. ‘Let’s do it.’
‘You sure?’ Markus asked.
Robert squared his shoulders and nodded.
‘Okay,’ Markus shrugged. ‘Three rounds,’ Markus said for the spectators to hear. ‘Three rounds, thirty-second rest.’
‘The worst ten minutes of your life,’ Robert finished in a voice that had addressed conference halls and been broadcast across worlds. ‘One punch wins me the freedom of my own planet.’ Robert grinned though he was, following his workout, exhausted. He had never before fought, nor had he ever been forced to fight. His opponent, as if to demonstrate a lifetime schooled in violence, shadowboxed with snappy movements too quick for Robert to understand.
‘Are you fucking kidding?’ Robert said to Markus. ‘At least make it fair.’
‘No one ever wins a fair fight,’ said Markus. ‘Begin.’ Someone’s PX device beeped to signal the start of the Suicide Circle. Though untrained in physical combat, Robert had built a successful career on dealing with enemies, against more testing opponents that could not be bludgeoned but needed to be beaten all the same. Robert watched this opponent and knew he couldn’t win. He needed only make contact to win Markus’ challenge, but he knew that even the smallest touch would be impossible. He tentatively moved his feet, making small elliptical orbits around Guardsman Lim who only watched back. The audience provided silence at first but started to jeer as Robert wasted more seconds. Markus barked something from the side and Guardsman Lim attacked. Robert screwed shut his eyes. He heard a low groan from the idiot gallery as he swung his right fist. His fist curved through the air finding no target. Lim didn’t need to block the wild punch; when Robert opened his eyes, Lim had vanished. And then Robert was on the ground. He sat up to laughter. Lim showed Robert his back, not bothering to hold his fighting stance, as he returned to his starting position. Robert stood quickly and charged, throwing clumsy lefts and rights. Lim slipped out of his path and brought him down again with an effortless trip. Robert watched the audience and took mental note of those faces that laughed. Markus wasn’t laughing. ‘I must really have pissed you off,’ Robert said to Markus as he stood. The crowd encouraged him with ironic cheers as he attacked again. Lim dodged and weaved, keeping clear of Robert’s blue-tinted knuckles, but never countering. ‘You’ve told him not to hit me,’ Robert yelled to Markus through burning lungs. ‘Why hold back?’ Robert lunged again but found the mat. A beep signalled the end of the first round. ‘Was that three minutes already?’ Robert tried to stand but his right leg folded awkwardly beneath him. Robert clutched the knee and thumped his fist on the mat. The medic approached and crouched over him. In an instant, Robert seized the man’s shoulder and whispered something into his ear. The guardsman stopped and regarded Robert, his face puzzled. He looked to Markus, then to Guardsman Lim. And then he smiled.
Markus frowned. Robert had found a way to win.
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