Labyrinth of Night (7 page)

In the distance he could see the great mausoleum of the D & M Pyramid, the largest of the Cydonia artifacts. Even several miles away, its peak loomed over the tops of the two easternmost City pyramids. He couldn’t see the giant crevasse in the southeastern side of the pyramid, but he knew it was there. And, farther off, out on the edge of the eastern horizon, was the Face itself, a stark profile blindly staring up into the red sky.

The lost city of Mars…

Then, as Jessup watched, one of the Russian autotanks clanked into view in front of Pyramid C-l. Twelve feet tall, the AT-80 Bushmaster was as ugly in its design as it was in its purpose; a robot that strode upright on two backward-jointed legs, its revolving upper turret containing a 20mm recoilless machine gun. As it walked past them, its turret swiveled towards Jessup and the autotank halted for a moment, its cyclopean eye briefly scanning the newcomer.

‘Stop,’
Johnson’s voice said in his headset.
‘Keep your hands in sight and don’t move.’

Jessup froze. A quick burst from the machine gun could easily chop him in half, but apparently the Bushmaster’s AI system determined that none of them constituted an immediate threat. The huge war-robot lumbered away, kicking up little spits of sand with its immense flat foot-pads.

Jessup let out his breath; as he did so, he felt a chill surge of anger. He could almost thank the robot; it had reminded him why he was here in the first place.

Fuck romance,
he thought.
This is war…

‘So,’ Johnson began as soon as they had walked into Module Nine, ‘do you mind telling me what…?’

Little had been said amongst them during the long cycle-through in the Module One airlock. Since the airlock could accommodate only two people at a time, the two men had allowed Miho to have her privacy while they waited in the depressurized garage. When it was their turn, Johnson and Jessup decontaminated and climbed out of their skinsuits, dressing in the blue standard-issue jumpsuits which were in the airlock lockers. Sasaki had been waiting patiently for them in the access corridor; at Jessup’s insistence, she had led them down the tunnel-like corridor to Module Nine at the other end of the habitat, where the science lab and infirmary were located.

‘Just a second.’ Jessup carefully shut the hatch behind them. Then, without preamble or apology, he unzipped a breast pocket of his jumpsuit, pulled out a sealed envelope and handed it to Johnson. The astrophysicist turned the envelope over once in his hands, grunted noncommittally, unsealed the flap and unfolded the letter within. He quickly scanned the terse instructions and noted the signatures of the President and the NASA Chief Administrator, then handed it to Sasaki and looked at Jessup.

‘So…’ He paused, pursing his lips and gazing at the glassware on the chemistry bench. ‘Is this permanent, Dick?’

‘Only until the crisis is resolved,’ Jessup replied. ‘You’ve got to believe me when I tell you that it’s not my choice or decision. Everyone has complete confidence in your ability to lead this mission…’

‘Except that they don’t want someone who’s so chummy with the Russians.’ Johnson, a squat man with frizzled grey hair, chuckled derisively and shook his head. ‘Christ. I was in first grade when the Berlin Wall was torn down. I remember when they called it the end of the Cold War. Now that asshole President of ours wants to start it up again.’ He shook his head once more. ‘Jesus and Mary, save us from the politicians.’

‘Art…’ Jessup sighed and rubbed the back of his head, feeling the bump he had received during aerobraking. At least this was all he had suffered; Ben Cassidy had been violently sick on the way down. ‘I don’t like it either, but this thing can’t function as long as we’ve got a loaded gun pressed to our heads.’

‘Then what do you intend to do about it?’ Miho Sasaki folded the letter and gave it back to Johnson, then absently shook her long, straight black hair over her shoulders. ‘This says that you’ve relieved Arthur of command because of “military considerations.” What does that mean?’

Jessup had read Sasaki’s dossier. A doctorate in astrophysics from the University of Nagoya Institute of Plasma Physics by the time she was twenty-five, a NASD A research scientist on Mars by her thirtieth birthday. Shin-ichi Kawakami’s protégée. She spoke English with barely any accent. A very beautiful woman, and sharp as a tack. No demure geisha girl here. He would have to be careful of her.

‘I can’t tell you that right now…’ he began.

‘Of course you can tell us that right now.’ Arthur Johnson feigned breeziness. ‘Why, Dick, the two of us go back a long way. Junior year at MIT, if I remember correctly. There’s nothing you can’t tell an old frat brother about, is there?’

‘Okay, then, I
won’t
tell you about it,’ Jessup replied. ‘First I want Sasha and Oeljanov in on this, and I want to give them a chance to remove the Bushmasters and the CAS voluntarily. That’s my decision, not George White’s.’

‘What a hero,’ Johnson said sourly. ‘What do you have up there, a nuke?’

Jessup ignored him. ‘I would like for the two of you to be here when I confront them. If and when…if they refuse, I want the two of you to quietly spread the word for everyone to take cover. Inside the City would probably be the best place…’

‘That’s the
worst
place…’

‘Then at least within the habitat, just as long as they’re out of range of the Bushmasters. Who’s piloting the
Burroughs
these days? Is it still W. J. Boggs?’ Johnson slowly nodded his head. ‘Okay, then, get Boggs to take the
Burroughs
up and out of here—way out of here, at least twenty klicks—and to make sure Cassidy’s on it when he leaves.’

Johnson stared at Jessup for a moment, then nodded his head. ‘Aye-aye, sir,’ he muttered. ‘You’re in charge. Right, Miho?’

‘Does this mean there’s going to be a military strike?’ Sasaki asked.

Jessup looked at her but said nothing. The slender young woman stepped closer to him. ‘Who do you think you are, Jessup? Japan and the ESA are neutral parties to this mission. What gives you the right to attack without our permission?’

‘Miho, your government and the Europeans have been consulted at the highest levels.’ Jessup met her gaze and forced himself to remain calm. ‘You may think you’re uninvolved, but you know as well as I do that those weapons can be used against anyone and everyone here. Paul, Shin-ichi, Art, yourself…you’re all potential hostages. Your government recognizes this as well. That’s why the
Shinseiki
is being used as the staging vessel.’

‘For
what
?’ she demanded. ‘Is it a tactical nuclear strike?’

Jessup hesitated. It worked to his advantage to hold his cards close to the vest, but if Miho Sasaki erroneously believed that a nuke strike was in play, this could work against him. Sasaki’s great-grandparents had been
hibakusha,
survivors of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima during World War II; distrust of American nuclear forces was traditional, but it ran deep in her family. If she spread word that the
Shinseiki
had a warhead aboard, it would not only spread unfounded hysteria, but could also prompt Oeljanov to take hostages.

‘No nukes,’ he said. ‘I won’t tell you what’s up there, but I will promise you, a nuclear strike isn’t being planned. You’ve got to trust me on this.’

‘Miho,’ Johnson said. Sasaki looked at the American scientist, and Johnson solemnly nodded his head. She took a deep breath and slowly nodded her head as well.

Johnson looked at Jessup. ‘Okay, what’s next?’

Jessup unclipped the beltphone from his jumpsuit and passed it to Johnson. ‘Call Sasha and Major Oeljanov and ask them to come here.’

Johnson took the phone, switched to Channel Two and tapped in a couple of numbers. ‘Dr. Kulejan, Major Oeljanov, please report to Module Nine at once.’ He gave the phone back to Jessup. ‘You know, Dick, Sasha hasn’t been crazy about this situation either. It’s been Oeljanov’s doing all along. He’s been caught in the middle.’

Jessup nodded. ‘I’ll try to remember that. Thanks for telling me.’

A few minutes later, Sasha Kulejan and Major Maksim Oeljanov arrived together at the laboratory. The module had been crowded with only three people inside: now, with two more people present, the meeting was almost literally face to face. Kulejan had not been at the pad when the lander had arrived; the slender, bearded Russian grinned and seized Jessup’s outstretched hand between both of his and squeezed it warmly.

‘Richard!’ he exclaimed. ‘So good to see you once again! Welcome to Mars!’

Jessup forced an uncomfortable smile. ‘It’s good to see you again, too, Sasha. I wish it could be under happier circumstances.’

Kulejan’s face changed from warmth to puzzlement, and Jessup once more felt vague, condescending amusement for his old acquaintance. Sasha was an excellent scientist, one of the very best in the Russian space community—but he could also be incredibly naive, deliberately isolating himself within an eggshell-thin sphere of theory and investigation, rarely peeking out at the harsh realities surrounding him.
Wake up, Sasha,
Jessup wanted to snap at his friend.
You’ve been surrounded by your own country’s armor…don’t you want to ask why?

No. Sasha knew, all right. He was just unwilling to admit the facts to himself. Before the Glavkosmos astrophysicist could say anything more, Jessup turned his attention to Oeljanov. The CIS Army major—tall, with a prize-fighter’s build and thin, receding dark hair—was standing at parade rest next to the hatch. ‘Dr. Jessup,’ he said formally.

‘Major Oeljanov,’ Jessup replied with equal formality, ‘I’m here as a representative of the United States government. For the time being, I have officially replaced Dr. Johnson as the American co-supervisor of Cydonia Base.’

Oeljanov gazed unwaveringly at Jessup. ‘Yes? Please continue.’

Jessup took a deep breath. He had been rehearsing this moment even before he’d left Earth, when the duty had been thrust into his hands, but he still felt himself shivering. Making ultimatums, particularly to a Russian military officer, was not something to which he was accustomed. ‘We have problems…’

He stopped, took a deep breath and started again. ‘Major Oeljanov, we cannot tolerate the presence of autotanks or combat armor at this base. They’re destabilizing to the international nature of this investigation and a threat to the well-being of its members. As a designated representative of the United States of America, I’m asking you to remove all Russian weapons from Cydonia Base.’

Oeljanov remained impassive. ‘Speaking as an official representative of the Commonwealth of Independent States…’ There was a slightly ironic tone to his voice ‘…we believe that the deployment of our armor units leads to a greater stabilization, on the other hand. And no one has been harmed by them, have they?’

Behind him, Jessup heard Miho Sasaki move restlessly, but he did not look around. Sasha Kulejan looked uncomfortable, embarrassed. Jessup kept his eyes on Oeljanov’s face. ‘I…we don’t share that view, Major. Again, I ask you, please withdraw your autotanks from Cydonia Base.’

The officer skeptically raised an eyebrow. ‘And do what with them, Dr. Jessup? Abandon them in the wasteland?’ He shook his head. ‘No. That’s unacceptable. We have gone to considerable trouble and expense to bring the AT-80s to Mars. My own CAS isn’t that…eh, far removed from the design of your Hoplite II armor.’

‘It’s armed. That’s difference enough.’

Oeljanov shrugged indifferently. ‘Be that as it may, I’m afraid that they must all remain operational at Cydonia Base.’

‘Then you refuse?’

Oeljanov’s mouth twitched. ‘Officially, yes, that is what I just said, Dr. Jessup.’

Jessup did not bother to repeat the ultimatum to Kulejan. Although Sasha was technically the Russian co-leader of the base and held equal authority with himself and Sasaki, it was tacitly understood that, in matters military, his authority was superseded by Oeljanov. Indeed, repeating the demand to Kulejan could be embarrassing for his friend, whom he had known from meetings at space science conferences on Earth. Such nuances could be reported to—and misinterpreted by—Sasha’s superiors in Minsk. The old Communists might be long out of power in the CIS, but hierarchy of power had withstood the test of time, neo-capitalist democracy or not.

He was operating under orders. Oeljanov was operating under orders. Everyone on the goddam planet was operating under someone else’s orders…and, despite the political rationalizations, they had less to do with politics than with who had the most toys on Mars.

‘Then…’ Jessup paused to pick his words carefully, trying not to tip his hand. ‘The United States and its Mars allies will have to take appropriate measures.’

Oeljanov started to say something, and then stopped. He folded his hands behind his back and stared impassively at Jessup. The challenge was clear in the expression on his, face:
try it, but remember that you’re outgunned.

Okay, Jessup thought, but it’s not like I didn’t ask nice first…

‘Excuse me,’ he said, and edged past the Soviet officer to step through the hatch. Behind him, he heard Johnson speaking in rapid-fire Russian to Oeljanov, apparently trying to placate the major, and Oeljanov responding in phrases punctuated by the only commonplace Russian word Jessup understood:
nyet…nyet…nyet…

Have it your way, you stubborn bastard.

Cydonia Base was a small installation; nothing in it was more than a few steps from anywhere else. Jessup walked down the access corridor until he found Module Two, the command center at the opposite end of the habitat. Shutting the hatch behind him, he immediately ordered the duty officer to radio the
Shinseiki,
using a priority frequency which the ship’s command crew was monitoring. A set of code-numbers established the validity of his contact and a few seconds later captain Omori’s voice came over the comlink.

‘Yes, Dr. Jessup? How did your meeting go?’

‘No go,’ Jessup replied tersely. ‘Go with Steeple Chase, code Romeo Delta two-triple-one. Repeat, Steeple Chase, code Romeo Delta two-triple-one. Please affirm, over.’