“With respect, Doctor,” Reaper interrupted, not very respectfully, “our orders are to locate and neutralize a present threat. It’s not to retrieve some” — he smiled dismissively — “science homework.”
She crossed her arms. “That science homework is the core study of a nine-billion-dollar research program. You got the nine bil, fine, cough it up, pal, I’m sure UAC’ll call it quits.”
“Give me the address,” Reaper said blandly, matching her glare for glare, “I’ll send a check.”
They exchanged scowls for a moment. Then she went on, “I’ve got an idea, why don’t you ask your CO what your orders are?”
Everyone looked at Sarge, a noncom but the closest thing to their CO.
Sarge thought for a moment, then recited, “Contain and neutralize the threat, protect civilians…and retrieve UAC property.” That contradicted what the suit had said — which was no surprise.
“We finally done here?” Sam said. “’Cause I’ve got a job to do.”
Reaper winced. She’d checkmated him again. She always had beat him unmercifully at chess.
Sam knew what he was thinking — every little thing between them had some kind of nagging family-history resonance to it — and she gave him a chilly look of triumph. Then she turned on her heel and strode off, heading for another computer, giving Reaper’s shoulder a push, as if he were rudely in her way, as she went. Reaper watched her go, thinking maybe he should go after her, have everything out. Including the pecking order here.
Sarge took Reaper aside, spoke in undertones. “You chose this, Reaper,” Sarge reminded him. “Is this gonna spoil my day?”
“There’s gotta be someone else —”
“Is this gonna spoil my day?”
Reaper let out a long slow breath. “No, sir.”
Sarge nodded — as if to say: That’s right, it won’t. Then he went off to talk to Hunegs.
Duke and Destroyer ambled over, Duke nudging Reaper. “Tell me you didn’t let a fine-lookin’ piece of ass like that get away from you, Reaper…”
Evidently Duke thought Sam having the same surname as Reaper meant “ex-wife.”
Sighing, Reaper prudently decided against punching Duke in the nose. “She’s my sister.”
Duke blinked in surprise. “Really? No shit…”
Destroyer shook his head at Duke as Reaper walked away. “Don’t do this again, man.”
Duke feigned innocence. “Do what?”
“There are three sections to the labs?” Sarge was asking, as he walked beside Sam to the air lock. Hunegs was close behind her, with the squadron.
She nodded. “Archaeology, Genetics, and Weapons Research…”
“You test weapons up here?” Portman asked. Articulating everyone’s puzzlement over the weapons lab. Not what you expected to go with archaeology and genetics.
Sam shrugged. “Mars is a dead planet. You want that stuff tested up here where it’s safe — or in your own backyard?”
They were following her down a corridor. A sign on the wall said, TO AIR LOCK. “This is primarily an archaeological facility. The genetics labs are only here studying the structures of various forms of fossil life. Weapons research is in its own separate area. It has nothing to do with Dr. Carmack’s work.”
Reaper wasn’t sure he bought that. Could be they’d found something that needed…special weapons. If they hadn’t — why bring the squadron here?
“How many inside when shutdown occurred?” Sarge asked.
Sam considered. “Only Dr. Carmack’s team. After he maydayed, we tried all the internal comm systems and the data lines, but there was zero response.”
She’s acts like she’s really on top of things, Reaper thought, annoyed. Hell, she probably is, knowing her.
Though Reaper still thought of her as his little sister, he knew better than to underestimate her.
They reached the outer door to the Research Labs division. Two UAC security guards stood at the high-security door — they just managed to drop their looks of excruciating boredom as Sam walked up to the door.
Turning to the others at the door, she went on, “…except in one of the carbon-dating labs there was an internal phone left off the hook. The line was live to an admin station upstairs.”
“Give you any information?” Reaper asked.
She looked at him with a kind of blank disbelief, as if it was just penetrating to her that here was her brother, in full combat regalia, right in the midst of her crisis.
Then she turned abruptly to the UAC security officer. “Hunegs. Play him the tape.”
Hunegs took a small handheld tape recorder from his coat pocket, hit REWIND, then PLAY.
Static, as Reaper bent nearer to hear. Then a woman’s voice. “Jesus please help me…oh God…Mother!” She whimpered — then shrieked. Screaming. “Keep away! Get away!” A piercing cry that made Reaper draw back a few inches, wincing. Then another order of sound entirely — the sound of something being torn apart. A gurgling…
Static.
Hunegs pressed STOP. Sarge grunted to himself, then turned to his men. “Any questions?”
They had lots of questions. But they knew there weren’t any answers yet. A few minutes earlier, on the way in here, Hunegs had said: “We’re not sure what the threat is. We need you to find out.”
So the squadron cocked their weapons and tried to look like they were all balls and no nerves. They almost managed it, except for the Kid who was chewing his lower lip.
“Open the door,” Sarge said.
Sam pushed the green button, the pneumatic bolts hissed and gnashed, the door opened.
Sarge pushed past her and headed into the air lock. The others followed — except Hunegs.
The surface atmosphere of Mars was thin, unbreathable. The labs were supposed to have breathable air but the integrity of their interface with the planetary surface could be breached, hence the air lock.
It was a small stainless-steel cubical room, just big enough for the squadron and Sam. Once the door to the Ark and command facility had sealed behind them, Goat and Portman both pulled handheld particulate scanners from their belt clasps, squinted into them.
“Magnesium, chromium, lead. Normal,” Portman announced.
The LAPT in Goat’s hand blinked, and chimed; he glanced at its little screen. “All clear.”
Sarge motioned, and they opened the door into the corridor.
It was pitch-black out there. Their gun-mounted flashlight beams swept the darkness of the corridor beyond the air lock, scarcely seeming to penetrate it.
And Reaper took the lead, stepping out into the shifting darkness.
Five
THE CORRIDOR WAS cold and dark, and there were disturbing, undefined smells in it. Like something you smell as a small child on your first trip to a zoo.
Reaper could smell something reassuringly human, too: his sister’s perfume — could feel the warmth of her body close to his right elbow. She’d never admit it, but she was sticking close to him in here. He wished once more he’d found a way to keep her from coming along. She wasn’t even armed…
“Pinky,” Sarge was saying, into his headset, “get us some juice down here, damn it.”
There was a response from Pinky, but it was crackly, distorted. Reaper wasn’t sure if he’d said yes or no can do.
Sarge didn’t wait for more light; he moved down the corridor, leading the way, the narrow flashlight beam from his gun probing ahead. Their gunlights swept over bare walls — not quite bare, there were brown stains, in places: big splashes of dried blood. Wires hung from gaps in the ceiling; the occasional pipe. In the narrow beams of light the dangling wires looked like filaments of living tissue. And the darkness itself seemed to squirm, hinting at shapes just beyond classification.