Mars Prime (18 page)

"Thanks, but no thanks," Corvan replied, and activated his eye cam. "I'd rather stand. The shot will look better that way.”

"Suit yourself," Sharma said cheerfully. "Now, what would you like to know?"

"Let's start at the beginning," Corvan suggested. "How did the trouble start?"

Sharma shrugged and smiled apologetically. "It was my own damn fault. I'd dropped some red zombies, washed 'em down with homemade hootch, and was driving too fast. A ravine came up, I couldn't stop the crawler in time, and went right over the edge."

Corvan raised an eyebrow. Sharma's confession was enough to earn him a month on Scheeler's chain gang.

"Your honesty is refreshing . . . but somewhat puzzling. Especially considering the penalties for drug use."

Sharma held his hands palms up. "I hope others will learn from my mistakes."

That seemed hard to believe, but the reop decided to let it slide. "Very commendable. So what happened after the crash?"

Sharma frowned as if remembering something unpleasant. "I was unconscious for a while. When I came to, I discovered that the crawler had landed in the bottom of the ravine. I checked, but found that the radios were dead, and most of the emergency supplies were missing."

At this point Sharma's demeanor changed from that of reporter to that of missionary. He shook his head sadly.

"That's the trouble with drugs. They trick you into thinking that nothing else is important. I had used the emergency supplies earlier and never bothered to replace them. I assumed the emergency locater beam was working but it wasn't. The search and rescue folks never heard a peep out of it."

Corvan zoomed even tighter. Sharma was a con artist all right ... or a total loon. The question was which.

"So what happened next?"

Sharma shrugged. "I had about thirty minutes worth of air left. It seemed hopeless, but I climbed out of the ravine and made my way onto the plain. Mars Prime was more than fifty miles away, but I hoped someone would find my body and give it a decent burial."

Okay,
Corvan thought to himself.
Here it comes, the all-time whopper.
 

"And then what?"

"And then," Sharma said dramatically, "Membu saved me."

Corvan looked quizzical. "Who is Membu? "

"Membu is the spirit of an ancient Martian," Sharma said simply. "She gave me oxygen and the secret of inner tranquility."

Corvan searched the other man's face for some sign of humor, of an incipient smile, but couldn't find one.

''You're joking, right?''

Sharma shook his head. "I understand your reaction, but no, I've never been more serious in my entire life."

"What did this Martian look like? And how did it communicate with you? "

A beatific smile came over Sharma's face. "Membu is beautiful. She was shaped like a worm and covered with iridescent fur. It shimmered when she moved. And she didn't
talk
to me ... she
thought
to me instead."

"Membu is telepathic?"

"Her thoughts entered my mind. Call it what you will."

Corvan wanted to say "bull" but managed to control himself.

"You said that Membu is a spirit, yet she was able to fill your tanks with oxygen."

Sharma nodded patiently. "Not just once, but many times. It took me five days to walk from the wreck to Mars Prime."

Corvan raised an eyebrow. "So Membu stayed with you for the entire journey?"

"Yes," Sharma replied serenely. "She used the time to heal my spirit."

"I see."

Sharma had gone completely around the bend. That much was clear. Still, there was an essential mystery here, and Corvan wanted to solve it.

"Tell me something, Citizen Sharma: if Membu could fill your tanks with oxygen, why not fix the crawler? Or call for help? Or whisk you here by telekinesis?"

Sharma looked at Corvan as if searching for something in his face. Time passed and the silence grew. The technician shook his head sadly. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"No," Corvan replied evenly, "I don't. You mentioned drugs. You were stressed. Is it possible that Membu was a hallucination?"

Sharma smiled gently, as a parent might do with a child. "Think about what you just said, Mr. Corvan. If I'm a fraud, or the victim of hallucinations, how did I get here?"

Corvan
did
think about it and couldn't come up with an answer. How
had
Sharma crossed the wastelands anyway? Maybe the wreck would offer a clue.

"Did you provide authorities with the wreck's coordinates?"

Sharma spread his hands palm downwards. "No, I wanted to, but Membu took the memory away. It seems that the ravine is an ancient burial ground and she doesn't want anyone to disturb it."

Corvan was about to challenge that when Kim broke in via his implant.

"Rex! I need your help . . . I . . ."

Then Corvan heard a crash, followed by a shout, and the contact was broken.

He turned, ran down the corridor, banged his way out into the reception area, bumped into a woman on crutches, yelled "Sorry!" as she fell, and made his way out into the main hall. He ran as fast as he could, careful of the light gravity, yet pushing his movements to the limits. The killer was in the com center and Kim had minutes, maybe only seconds, to live.

A lab tech dived out of the way and vials flew in every direction. They fell slowly, tumbling end over end, reflecting shards of light in every direction. Corvan ignored them.

The words came out in rhythm with his pounding feet. "Oh please god . . . please god . . . please."

 

 

 

 

Chapter Thirteen

 

 

The buzzer buzzed and a fist hammered on the door. Kim felt her heart jump into her throat.
 

"Yes? Who is it?"

"It's J.D. Paxton. Come on . . . open up! I have a message for you."

A variety of thoughts raced through Kim's mind. Paxton! Paxton was the killer! SIS said so, and more importantly, voice analysis said so too.

The Havlik murder had gone unobserved, and the killer had managed to neutralize the
Outward Bound's
video surveillance system prior to Rosemary Parker's death, but the conference room where she had been killed was equipped with its own voice-activated recording system. A convenience for staff meetings and the like. But since the system was not hooked into security, and the better part of nine months had passed between the murder and the investigation, no one had thought to check it.

No one but SIS, that is, and in the absence of orders to the contrary she'd assigned the task a rather low priority, waiting until Ochoa's death to run an analysis. An analysis that required the computer to compare thousands of voice prints and ate an enormous amount of processing time. A fact that had surfaced in the routine reports that Paxton received and led to the present situation.

The fact was that Paxton's voice print matched the killer's, a situation that had thrown SIS into something of a quandary and caused the computer to call Kim.

So, was Paxton's arrival the result of pure coincidence? Or had he checked on what SIS was doing? The second possibility seemed most likely.

If the security officer could silence Kim, it would be a relatively simple matter to dump a portion of the computer's memory and write it off as some sort of software glitch. And with that problem out of the way Paxton would be able to derail the investigation just as he'd done from the beginning.

Kim needed help and needed it fast. Not security, because they'd never believe her, not in time anyway, and that left Rex. She opened the interface.

"Rex! I need your help . . . I . . ."

Something heavy hit the door with a loud crash. Kim made a noise, part-scream part-challenge, as she pulled the jack from the side of her head.

The thing hit again and a wedge-shaped piece of metal came through the door. A forklift! Paxton had a forklift and was using it on the door. Kim looked around. She needed a weapon of some kind. But what?

Otis rammed the lever into reverse and stomped on the accelerator. Rubber screamed as the forklift backed away from the door.

"I don't like this," Frank whined. "It's too risky."

"Shut up," Norma replied testily. "Who gives a shit what you think? Otis has no choice. SIS told her about us. Kim has to die."

"Die, die, piece 'o pie," Morey added nonsensically.

There was a loud bang and metal screeched as the forklift hit the door. It shuddered and came loose from its rails. Otis threw the machine into reverse and backed away. Most of the door came along with it, sparks flying as a corner was dragged across the floor.

Kathy was cool and distant. "Move quickly. Time is of the essence. Help will arrive any moment now."

Otis jumped down from the forklift, heard a shout, and turned in that direction. It was Rex Corvan. The reop had been running. It was hard to slow down. He used the forklift to stop.

"J.D. . . . What's going on?"

Otis did his best to look concerned. He gestured toward the com center. "It's the killer! He locked the door ... I used the forklift to get it open!''

Corvan looked around. "Where's Kim?"

"She's in there ... but I think she's okay."

"You think? What the hell's the matter with you? Let's get in there and find out."

Corvan turned his back on Paxton and headed for the door. The other man looked around, made sure there were no witnesses, and followed. He'd been lucky so far. Lucky that he'd pulled a check on what SIS was up to, lucky that no one had ventured down the corridor, and lucky that the reop had been gone when the computer called.

"Now be patient," Kathy advised coolly. "There's no reason to panic. Let him enter the room, see his wife, and move toward her. That's when you kill them and call for help."

Frank began to cry. "But they'll arrest us! Take us away! Lock us up!"

"Not if you'll shut up they won't," Norma put in.

"Now Norma," Susy said placatingly, "there's no reason to . . ."

"Fair's fair," Morey put in. "They were warned."

"Stop it," Kathy said coldly. "Otis, make your move."

Otis obeyed, following Corvan on silent feet, reaching for the nightstick at his side. It was covered with black tape. Tape he could peel off and feed into the recycler. The needier would be faster, and more instantly lethal, but easier to trace. Besides, there were M.O.s to consider, and a match would be helpful. He could keep the serial killer thing going that way. Find someone to frame in a month or two, kill them during a chase, then let the whole thing cool out.

But that was then and this was now. He had to concentrate, had to do the job right, had to watch the splatter factor. Blood would be a dead giveaway. Dead giveaway . . . get it? Morey laughed.

"Rex! Behind you! Watch out!"

Corvan heard the words, took a microsecond to process them, and turned. Paxton was behind him, face twisted into a horrible grin, nightstick falling toward his head.

The green beanies teach you a lot of things and have ways to make most of them stick. Corvan stepped forward, caught Paxton's wrist, and swiveled beneath the other man's arm. He twisted and pulled downward at the same time. Leverage plus light gravity did the rest. The security officer went sailing through the air and into the com center.

The results were less than Corvan had hoped for. Paxton stayed airborne longer than he would have on Earth and used the extra time to turn a complete somersault. He landed on his feet none the worse for wear.

The reop was reminded of the fight in F-dorm and the way that Paxton had beaten the fat man into submission. The man was a world-class gymnast. And the feet... he must remember Paxton's feet.

The security officer grinned and strange words came out of his mouth. It sounded as if different people were talking, each having its own personality and way of speaking. The first was high-pitched and sounded distinctly female.

"Don't play with him, Otis. You don't have time. Kill the bastard and be done with it."

"Yeah, Otis," a male voice said. "Don't play with your food. It isn't polite."

Corvan looked to the right and left. What the hell was going on? And where was Kim? The answer came with unexpected suddenness. His wife stepped out of the shadows, aimed a fire extinguisher at Paxton's face, and pulled the trigger. A stream of white liquid hit the right side of his face and obscured his vision.

Otis swore as the fire retardant hit the body's face and forced himself to step left. The strategy almost worked. Corvan's flying kick hit his right shoulder rather than the center of his chest.

Otis allowed the body to fall, rolled backwards onto the top of his shoulders, then reversed the motion and came up on his feet.

Corvan was there to meet him, throwing a right followed by a left.

Otis blocked both blows, batted Corvan's arms aside, and struct with the heel of his right hand. The motion was intended to hit the reop's nose.

The strike missed, hitting Corvan on the right cheekbone instead, but did throw him back. The reop back-pedaled, tripped, and fell.

Otis was about to kick Corvan in the head when Kim swung the now empty fire extinguisher. It hit the body across the kidneys, caused Otis to arch his back in pain and fall backwards onto the floor.

Kim drew her boot back, and was just about to kick Paxton in the head, when Frank began to whimper. He sounded like a little boy.

"It hurts! Please lady! Don't hit us anymore!"

Kim paused and immediately paid the price. Paxton rolled in her direction, knocked the editor's feet out from under her, and used the resulting confusion to stand. The body's back hurt like hell and it was hard to breathe.

"Finish it now," Kathy advised grimly, "or we all pay the price."

Otis rebelled. Here he was, knocking himself out, while she gave him orders. "Hey, weren't you the one who missed the fact that the conference room was wired? Give me a break."

Corvan was up now and circling to the left. He didn't understand the bizarre conversation that Paxton was having with himself but was happy to take advantage of it.