Killing Titan Page 8

  Beyond the Millie lies the wreckage of six more Skyrine deuces, then, half-buried in dust and chunks of rock, a command orbiter and its lander, not unlike the one that brought us here but in no condition to ever fly again.

  We must be near the first Drifter, but I don’t see any rocky swimmer trying to complete a billion-year backstroke. The mounded head, shoulders, and sheltering arms must have been hammered over and over—

  Shoved under and drowned.

  Kumar gestures for Jacobi and Borden to take the seats across from us. Soldiers and Skyrines rearrange. Here it comes.

  “Commander Borden has thoroughly studied what some are calling the Battle of Mars,” Kumar says. “Before we arrive at our first stop, we should refresh ourselves on how it all transpired. Commander?”

  Borden stands behind the pilot’s nest and releases the data loaded into our angels. As she speaks, we view diagrams, short vids, approximations.

  “There were at least three major bombardments by Antag orbital forces—two comet strikes followed sometime after by a carpeting with megaton-class spent matter charges,” she says. “The first comet strike consisted of seven objects, all presumably redirected or harvested from the Oort cloud. These were the impacts that Master Sergeant Venn experienced on the surface, along with his comrades.”

  “You were in the open?” Jacobi asks.

  “Pretty far away,” I say.

  Jacobi looks at me, solidly neutral. That’s an improvement.

  “The first strike took out four settlements, including the largest Voor laager,” Borden continues. “Some of the pieces seem to have gone astray, or were intended not for the Drifter but for the Muskies. We don’t know, because of course we don’t have access to Antag planning and orders.

  “Surprisingly, about a hundred and fifty settlers escaped—including a group of Voors who were traveling to the Drifter. They encountered Captain Daniella Coyle’s Special Ops team, and against their will, carried that team to the Drifter. Captain Coyle had been put on Mars with orders to destroy the Drifter, by any and all means at her disposal.”

  “Who gave the orders?” Jacobi asks. “I mean, at the top.”

  Borden looks to Kumar. Kumar hesitates but finally says, “The instructions were relayed by Wait Staff in Washington, D.C., to Joint Sky Defense.”

  “You, sir?” Jacobi asks.

  “No. I was not in that chain.”

  “Coyle could have been me,” Jacobi says. “That team could have been all of us. Best we get that understood now.”

  Kumar tilts his head.

  Borden says, mostly to me, “Captain Jacobi trained with Captain Coyle. She was in command of the backup team.”

  “We’d have died inside there like Coyle, if we’d been picked,” Jacobi says. Her comrades are somber. The Russians are quiet, attentive. All eyes turn to me, waiting for my reaction.

  I look up and down the aisle. “Every one of you—Special Ops?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Jacobi says. “Make you uncomfortable?”

  “Fuck yeah,” I say.

  Jacobi leans forward. “We would have tried to kill you, Venn.”

  “That’s enough,” Borden says.

  Strain to breaking. Better get it all out now. I clamp my jaw and look down at my boots.

  Borden pushes on. “Captain Coyle was unable to complete her mission, and she and many of her team met puzzling ends within the Drifter’s crystal chamber.”

  “The Church,” Kumar says.

  I’ve had quite enough. “They used lawnmowers on the Voors!” I shout. “They carved them into lunch meat!” The old anger, the disappointment—the sting of moral wounds. I was there. Now I’m here. So many aren’t anywhere now. “But when they set charges, the Church—”

  “You saw the Church, didn’t you?” Jacobi asks, cool as ice. “You were inside. What was that like?”

  I twitch along my entire back. “At the end, awful,” is all I can manage.

  “Blood and treasure,” Jacobi says, with the respectful yet discouraged tone only an experienced warrior can manage. She gives me the benefit of another direct look, like a confession. I can guess what she’s thinking. It should have been her.

  But that’s not it, not entirely.

  I want out of this fucking Tonka. I’ll take my chances on the Red. I do not want to be any part of this cabal of butchers, whatever their rank, civilian or brass or grunt—dead or alive. I jerk forward as if to get up—but then close my eyes and force myself back.

  I wanted to return. I wanted to see what really happened, how it all turned out. Now I’m here. Eyes back to my boots. I’m okay. The cup of my helm is filling with sweat. The suit draws it back but can’t hide my own stink.

  I’m okay.

  I can still feel Jacobi’s eyes.

  Borden continues. “The survivors from the Drifter managed to organize and break through Antag forces—a remarkable feat considering the pasting a fresh flotilla of our own orbital assets was delivering to the enemy and to the Drifter at the time. During a lull, with the Antags in disarray, landers were dispatched, and our troops were lifted to orbit and returned to Earth.”

  “Who ordered the pasting?” Jennings asks.

  “Gurus,” Ishida says. Jennings elbows her, but it probably hurts—funny bone intersecting metal. “Everyone just fucking wants it gone!” Ishida insists. “Why? What’s so bloody important?”

  That conversation won’t stop. The Skyrines buzz on. The Russians look aloof but don’t convince. Jacobi keeps watching me. She won’t give me a break. I’m the fucking linchpin.

  We have to get this done.

  “What happened to the Voors?” I call out, interrupting the others. “Litvinov carries pictures.…”

  “We’re here now to protect the settlers,” Borden says. By her look of nervous keenness, like a dog about to flush a partridge, she totally gets what’s happening in the cabin, the danger and the opportunity. We’re like a raw blade pulled from a hot flame. If she strikes with the right hammer, she’s got us—she anneals and strengthens. But one wrong blow… flying shards.

  Borden strikes. “Since there was no way to evacuate noncombatants to orbit, the woman known as Tealullah Mackenzie Green, who rescued some of our Skyrines, and whose camp was destroyed in the first strikes, was handed over to the surviving Voors. The settlers made their way across a hundred and fifty kilometers to an emergency cache they had established years before. Five of them survived the journey, and joined hundreds of other refugees from other camps.”

  “What sort of cache?” I ask.

  “An abandoned domicile, associated with a mining operation similar to the Drifter,” Kumar says.

  “How many of these moon things are there?” Jennings asks.

  “Fourteen fragments large enough to detect and map from orbit,” Borden says. “Two have been investigated. The first was mined extensively by Algerian settlers, taken over by the Voors—then abandoned when it was flooded by an underground river, a hobo. That first mine was called the Drifter. The second… The Algerians dug some ways in, how far is unknown, before they abandoned it. The Voors were never able to get back inside.”

  “No coin,” I say.

  “Correct,” Borden says.

  “Master Sergeant Venn came into possession of that coin,” Kumar says. “He found it in a pair of overalls in the Drifter. And he carried it back with him from Mars.”

  “Man of mystery!” Jacobi says.

  I flip her off. She smiles sweetly.

  “I came upon a copy of Venn’s… ah, report, but not the coin,” Kumar says. “Apparently, the coin itself was necessary to gain entry. And that was somewhere on Earth—so we thought. So we informed the Gurus, before Division Four made its move toward independence.”

  “Was on Earth?” I ask.

  “The coin is now on Mars,” Kumar says.

  That adds further confirmation to Joe’s picture in Litvinov’s pocket. The somebody I trusted at Madigan managed to get it to Borden, who pa
ssed it on to Joe. Joe carried it back to Mars. That’s what we all wanted, isn’t it? Does any of it make sense?

  “Why not just blow their way in?” Ishida asks.

  “Huff and puff,” says Corporal Paul Saugus.

  Borden looks down the aisle. “Force has proven counterproductive in these locations,” she says.

  “Silicon plague!” Mori says. Jacobi steps on his boot, not hard enough to break anything. The others yammer until Jacobi pointedly shuts them up. Then she stands and braces against a roof beam. “Commander, who are we really here to serve or save? Nobody gave a fuck about the settlers in the beginning. Why all the fuss now?”

  Kumar’s eyes are hooded. “Because of Earth’s embargo on communications from Mars, we knew nothing about these endeavors. When we revealed the existence of the first fragment and mining operation to the Gurus, they expressed interest. It seemed to me they were not surprised, though it is always hard to read their emotions—if they have any. Then—within weeks—the Gurus ordered us to locate and do all we could to block access to the mine, and to destroy it, if at all feasible. As well, we were ordered to locate and isolate settlers who had worked in or visited the mines. When we asked for explanation, none was given.

  “At this stage, a number of Wait Staff in Division Four expressed long-simmering doubts. We wished to learn more about the mine before it could be destroyed—but made sure to keep our interest secret from the Gurus. Within a few weeks, two members of the Wait Staff in India and Pakistan, team leaders in Division Four, convinced senior officers in the Pentagon, U.S. Joint Sky Defense command. Those officers secretly ordered a number of Skyrines and other personnel already on Mars to investigate the mine, and protect the settlers if possible.”

  “Joe,” I say.

  “Lieutenant Colonel Sanchez. Your team was to supplement their operation,” Kumar says. “Though you never received your final orders. Other divisions learned of those efforts, our officers were arrested, and their replacements ordered the training and fast dispatch of a Special Ops team. That team was commanded by Captain Coyle. They were to locate and destroy the Drifter, from within if possible. No one was to prevent them from carrying out that mission, including settlers and their fellow Skyrines.”

  “Shit,” Jennings says, shaking her head.

  “The competing forces arrived within weeks of each other, during a busy season of combat on Mars. They were scattered and disorganized both by internal sabotage and opposition from the Antagonists.”

  “The Antags also tried to destroy the mine—didn’t they?” Jacobi says.

  “That soon became obvious, and the size and strength of Antagonist efforts added to our suspicions. Why would two enemy forces in effect coordinate to destroy a potential source of fascinating data? With our efforts scrambled and conflict mounting within the Wait Staff divisions, we were forced to delay. Wait Staff gathered as much information as they could from the survivors of the Battle of Mars and devised a comprehensive threat analysis,” he says. “I personally presented those scenarios to the Gurus.”

  “What did the Gurus say?” I ask.

  “They expressed regret that the destruction had been delayed, then informed us that the so-called silicon plague might not be the greater worry. There was potential for the green powder inside the Drifter to become even more dangerous. Once we delivered our reports, orders were issued within days to renew our efforts to destroy the Drifter and its contents.

  “By this time, a number of us within Division Four were firmly convinced that the Gurus were not being truthful. Then, somebody at or near the Guru level ordered the quarantine of all personnel returning from Mars—followed by select executions. They called them necessary sterilizations.”

  “Fuuuuck!” says Jennings, drawing the word out with mounting rage. Jacobi puts a hand on her shoulder.

  “Master Sergeant Venn was the only one we could rescue. As we worked to establish a political counterforce, and absorbed the results of our few studies on the old ice moon, some of us drew further-reaching conclusions. We became concerned about the entire rationale behind our other ongoing conflicts, those in the outer solar system.”

  “Titan,” Jacobi says.

  “Yes, as well as several expensive exploratory expeditions to Europa, which seemed to come into focus as more than just idly scientific,” Kumar says. “These orders were followed by promises of more advanced technology, even more powerful weapons and faster ships.”

  “We’ve seen some of those,” Jennings says.

  “Not all,” Kumar says, then winces, as if he might be speaking ahead of his point. “Our forces were unable to complete their missions, but Antagonists were in a more advantageous position, and continued pouring down as much destruction as they could, plowing up the surface of Mars, then sending in additional battalions… no doubt depleting long-term reserves and putting them at a strategic disadvantage throughout the solar system. Why put themselves at such risk? Perhaps because they, too, had been ordered to do so.

  “When the activity subsided on Mars and Titan, Division Four split from other Wait Staff and started reaching out to those we suspected or hoped were in agreement. They turned out to be more plentiful than we expected.”

  “Split command. That’s fucked-up,” Jennings says.

  Durov and Federov divide their piloting attention to look back down the aisle, as if checking mood and temperature—or just observing a greater awakening to some new truth.

  “Who’s giving the orders now?” Jacobi asks.

  “Division Four no longer takes orders from the Gurus,” Kumar says. “We are an independent authority.”

  “What about the Russians?” Jacobi looks forward. Russians and Skyrines exchange glances. Federov keeps his gaze on the Tonka’s cabin.

  “On the fence,” Kumar says. “But so far cooperating, perhaps to gain traction for some of their own initiatives.”

  “What about Jacobi’s squad?” I ask.

  Borden answers that. “Captain Jacobi and her team have agreed to the new command.”

  “You trust them?” I ask.

  “Fuck you,” Jennings says.

  “Silicon plague turned everything upside down,” Ishida says. “Every one of our sisters who came back got locked up—and then executed.”

  Pause on that.

  “Enough trust, asshole?” Jennings asks me.

  “We couldn’t save them all,” Borden says.

  Another quiet spell.

  “None of that tells us who’s in charge of the sappers,” Jacobi says.

  Sergeant Durov says, “We return fire and kill. Not to ask or to think.”

  “Why rations with vodka,” murmurs Federov.

  I’m reminded of the MREs attached to the bunch of Russian tents that saved our asses last drop. Vee-Def straggled in off the Red and invaded our tent, scaring us and waking us up. He stuck a piece of reindeer sausage up his nose as a joke, then snorted it out, covered in snot. That nose is still out here somewhere. Along with the rest of his head. So why doesn’t Vee-Def talk to me, if I’m being haunted by dead Skyrines?

  Because he did not turn glass.

  That conclusion is so stunningly obvious that I wonder at my stupidity not to have thought of it before.

  The Tonka rumbles and jounces over deep ruts.

  “We should be in the Chesty and the Trundle, on weapons,” Ishikawa grumbles from the back.

  “Our best soldiers man weapons,” Durov says. “Polkovnik riding with them, keep you safe. In good hands. He is why you are not dead.”

  The Tonka slows and runs alongside a high gray ridge that stretches across our entire field of vision. We swing left with a shudder and a couple of slams and roll up a rise of undulating, cracked basalt about half a klick long that forms a bumpy ramp to the crest of the ridge. The Tonka noses down and halts. Sergeant Durov has expertly arranged to give us a tourist’s vantage. Skyrines and Russians crowd up front or glim through the side ports.

  Jacobi, still broodin
g, is invited forward by Borden—a crook of one gloved finger. She squeezes in between me and Borden. Doesn’t want to touch me if she can avoid it. Weird fucking emotions. I did not know about the other executions. Somehow, I always assume my misfortunes are special. I’m suspect in part because I’m not dead and some of their friends are. Better and better.

  Through the dusty plastic, we see the rim of the biggest crater we’ve yet encountered, maybe eleven klicks across, a massive, scythe-shaped upthrust that mingles old surface basalt and lower crust. The crater’s far wall is an irregularity along the horizon, interrupted by a dark, jagged peak that rises a few hundred meters out of the center.

  “This is the Drifter?” I ask.

  “Until recently,” Borden says.

  “It’s gone.”

  “Huge impact,” Borden says. “The smaller surrounding craters are backscatter, ejecta. The prominence is the central peak. There’s still a big portion of the fragment left below, but it’s pretty shook up.”

  “With more activity than anyone could have expected,” Kumar says.

  “Perhaps due to nitrogen from cometary ammonia,” Borden says. For the moment, I ignore that as irrelevant—though a conversation flashes into memory: the old Voor talking about essential ingredients, stikstof—nitrogen.

  I make out a series of beige level surfaces this side of the peak. Could be lightly dusted frozen lakes—something I’ve never seen on Mars.

  “The hobo is still flowing,” I say.

  Kumar agrees and points. “Look there. And there. Those are not dust devils.”

  Beyond and to the left of the peak rises a thin white plume, and then, almost invisible, four or five more. Venting steam. The magma under the Drifter is still hot, still coming in contact with the hobo. But it’s no longer capped off, no longer sealed under the fragment of moon.

  “There’s magma close to the surface,” I say. “Too hot for Voors or miners. All that’s left down there is probably dissolved or melted.”

  “Possibly not,” Kumar says. “As we said, there is still activity. We do not refer to seismic activity.”

  “Everything in that hole is brown or gray but the center,” Jacobi says. “Why’s that peak so dark and shiny?”