Red Planet Blues

FORTY-TWO





Still face down in the dirt, I brought my own hands up and tried to yank away the constricting ones, which were—

—which were naked, gloveless, exposed to the elements, and . . .

. . . and my vision hadn’t failed. Rather, someone had thrown some sort of bag over my head, then tackled me, driving me to the ground, and now these strong artificial hands were sealing the bag as tightly as possible around my neck.

I felt the bag inflating, filling out like a balloon, as air continued to flow through the tube from my backpack tanks. Pickover must have taken a fabric specimen bag out of his rucksack and thrown it over my head to create a makeshift helmet; it was him on my back now. “Alex!” he shouted, so that I could hear him without the radio, the headset for which had fallen away with the shards of my fishbowl. “For Christ’s sake, stop fighting me!”

I hadn’t been aware that I still was—but I guess panic had taken over. I took a deep breath in the darkness and was delighted that I could actually smell the musty bag. And although I couldn’t see anything, I could feel my eyeballs swiveling in their sockets again.

Pickover released his too-tight grip on my neck. The bag loosened, and I felt a blast of cold air, which was actually refreshing by this point. I brought my hands back to my neck, one to each side, and took over holding the bag in place.

“I’ll be back!” Pickover shouted, or at least I think that’s what he said; it was quite faint and muffled.

My cheeks felt like they were burning; I suspected they were getting frostbitten. And the sack did seem to be sticking to the top of my head, lending credence to my theory that I was bleeding there. It didn’t seem likely that any of the damage was life-threatening, but I wasn’t happy being out of the action. I lifted my neck and tried to pull the bag tight to my face, in hopes that I might be able to see through its weave, but there was no way to do so and maintain the air seal, and so I finally risked pulling the bag up off my face for a second and—

—and Pickover had run to Juan’s white-with-green-trim buggy. He was now in the driver’s seat, the canopy still up, and I saw him pound the dash, probably with balled fists, in frustration; the damn thing wouldn’t start.

I brought my left forearm up into the bag and spoke to my phone, telling it to transmit the ON sequence. Nothing happened; the bag had all but emptied of air, and my phone couldn’t hear me speaking, or, if it did, it didn’t recognize my voice. I tried with my one free hand to keep the bag’s mouth reasonably tight around my neck and wrist, and I waited for enough oxygen to be pumped out of the tube for the fabric to puff out a bit, and then I tried again. “Send the ON code to Juan’s buggy!”

I hoped I was close enough. I was still lying on the ground, and would have a devil of a time getting to my feet without using my hands. “Send the ON code to Juan’s buggy!” I shouted again.

The ground shook a bit beneath my chest. I thought perhaps Ernie was running—and that’s a sight I’d have paid to see—but then I heard the Mars buggy’s horn. I arched my neck and risked pulling the bag up enough to see out for a second. Again, there was a cloud of condensation and a blast of arctic air, but through the cloud, I made out Pickover in Juan’s buggy, about a dozen meters in front of me. He still had the canopy up. I pulled the bag down, held it around my neck again, and stumbled toward the vehicle.

I soon felt Pickover’s hands on me—he must have exited the buggy—and he helped me into its driver’s seat, and then he slammed the canopy down from the outside. I emptied my lungs, then pulled the bag up—tugging hard to separate it from the frozen blood on the top of my head—reached forward, hit the switch labeled “Pressurize Cabin,” and waited to breathe until I could feel and hear that there was enough air in the little chamber for me to do so.

I looked through the canopy and tried to take in everything that was happening. The situation had definitely changed: Ernie was standing with his hands held over his head. Lakshmi was back on her feet, air tanks attached and fishbowl securely on, and she had Ernie’s rifle aimed at him. Blondie, meanwhile, was still tending to the fallen Reiko—which I presume meant that Reiko was alive, even if she wasn’t moving.

Pickover was now standing beside the Mars buggy. He waved to catch my attention, then pointed straight ahead. I nodded and floored it, sending the buggy hurtling toward Lakshmi. It was three seconds before she realized what was happening, and when she did, she swung the rifle to fire at me. She managed to hit the windshield three times, each impact sending spider webs of cracks throughout the alloquartz, but she soon realized that she wasn’t going to be able to stop me that way. She bolted in the opposite direction.

I already had the accelerator flush with the floor and just kept going, confident I could mow her down. She was weaving left and right, and I had to yank repeatedly on the steering wheel to keep her dead ahead, but at last the inevitable happened: I was upon her, and—

And she did indeed still have Earthly muscles. She leapt up, up, up just as I was about to run her over, and came down feet first on the little hood of the buggy, her back to me. The springy front wheels compressed as she hit.

We were still speeding forward; I slammed on the brakes in hopes of dislodging her, but she leapt up again as I did so, did a neat half twist in the air, and came down once more, this time with her calves bent back so that she landed on her knees facing me, denting the hood. The buggy had stopped, and she placed the rifle’s muzzle against the center of one of the spider-web patterns her previous shots had made and she swiveled the barrel so she was aiming at my chest. Lakshmi was betting that a point-blank shot at a weak spot would go right through the alloquartz and into me—and that was a bet I didn’t want to take.

Suddenly there was an impact behind me and the car was rocking up and down. I swung my head around to discover that Pickover had jumped onto the trunk, and now was leaping up onto the top of the canopy. He leapt again, this time landing on the hood right in front of Lakshmi, her rifle barrel between his legs. She pulled the gun away from the alloquartz so she could shoot up at him.

There wasn’t room between the canopy and Lakshmi for Pickover to get enough leverage for a decent kick, but he brought his hands down, grabbing her arms just below the shoulders. His left arm worked its way down her right one until it was over the hand holding the rifle, and he tore it from her. He then maneuvered the gun around so that it was aimed at her face, and I waited for her own fishbowl—not to mention the gorgeous head within—to explode.

But Pickover couldn’t bring himself to shoot, and after a few seconds the terror ebbed from Lakshmi’s exquisite features as she realized that. She rolled backward onto her rump, her spine flat against the buggy’s hood, and kicked her legs up into Rory’s armpits, flipping him into the air and sending him sailing over so he came down headfirst toward the planitia. The fall was slow enough that he managed to break it by getting his hands splayed out, but that meant dropping the rifle. Lakshmi spun around on her butt, vaulted from the hood, and scooped up the rifle once more. She didn’t aim it at Rory, but rather at me, and although the canopy might protect me, it also might not, and given that I didn’t have a helmet, Rory clearly decided not to chance rushing her.

Lakshmi hurried around the side of the buggy. I was all set to gun it in reverse, but she stopped before she got behind the vehicle, and—

—and, crap, she reached into the side battery compartment and disconnected the excimer pack. The car’s electrical systems—including life support—shut down just as surely as if I’d sent the OFF code again. Lakshmi then hauled back and threw the battery with all her might as far behind the buggy as she could—which was pretty damn far, thanks to her Earthly muscles, the almost nonexistent air drag, and the feeble Martian gravity.

There was enough oxygen in the canopy to keep me alive for some time, I supposed, but if I cracked the lid to go retrieve the battery, I’d lose it. Lakshmi took off running in the opposite direction from where she’d thrown the excimer pack, and Rory hesitated, trying to decide whether to go after the battery or after her. I guess he decided it was more important to get my air circulating again, and he ran toward the rear.

A movement to the right caught my eye. It was Ernie Gargalian, making a beeline for his airplane. He wasn’t running, but he was walking fast, his arms working back and forth at his sides as he did so. He’d clearly decided to get away, and, in good Simon Weingarten fashion, apparently was content to maroon his partner here at the Alpha Deposit.