Mars Prime (19 page)

"Keep your eye on him," Kathy warned evenly, "he's making a move."

Otis turned, waiting for the other man to close with him, watching Kim from the corner of his eye. Nothing. The reop was too smart to close, or too scared, it was hard to tell. All right then, a flying kick to the head, that should do it.

Otis took three steps, jumped, and lashed out at the point where Corvan would be a fraction of a second in the future. But, just when the kick should have connected, the reop moved his head. Not far, but just enough. He started to fall.

Otis had been suckered and knew it. Time was on the reop's side. AH he had to do was wait. A witness would come along sooner or later, see the destruction wrought by the forklift, and call security. Yes, the security forces might fire on Corvan if ordered to do so, but only if the reop was stupid enough to continue the fight. And while Corvan was many things, stupid wasn't one of them. No, he had to close with the reop and close fast.

Otis hit the floor, rolled right to avoid the possibility of a kick, and came to his feet. The reporter was waiting for him. He tried a kick. It might have been dangerous once, back when Corvan had been a Green Beret, but not anymore. It was slow and poorly aimed,

Otis laughed, caught Corvan's foot, and gave it a twist. The protector heard a grunt of expelled air as the reporter went down.

Otis moved in and was preparing for the kill, when an unexpected weight landed on his back. An arm went around his throat and something sharp hit the side of his head. A weapon of some sort. It hurt but not that badly.

Otis grabbed for the arm and twisted his body to the left. Kim felt her body swing with the movement but managed to hold on.

Corvan stumbled to his feet, saw his wife swinging from Paxton's back, and threw himself at the security man's knees. He heard a cracking sound and all three of them went down. Frank screamed.

"What the hell's going on here?"

The voice came from the doorway, but all three of them ignored it.

Otis found Corvan's throat, wrapped his hands around it, and started to squeeze. The reop tried to resist but found that one of his arms was trapped by Paxton's good knee. The free hand seemed weak and ineffectual. Corvan's chest heaved as he fought for air.

The reporter's vision had just started to blur, when Kim used one hand to grab a handful of the security man's thick black hair and the other to stab at the side of his head.

The screwdriver slid through Paxton's head-jack, destroyed his implant, and embedded itself in his brain.

The security man looked surprised, bared his teeth, and screamed. It was a long drawn-out sound that lasted until all of the air in his lungs had been expelled.

Paxton slumped forward. His forehead hit Corvan's chest. Little flecks of white fire retardant flew in every direction. The reop drew a long shuddering breath and rolled out from under the security officer's body. Kim helped him to stand.
 

''Are you okay?"

Corvan shook his head. "Hell no. Are you?"
 

Kim started to cry. They were arrested a few minutes later.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

 

It took the better part of two weeks for the furor to die down. The first challenge was to convince the Mars Prime Security Chief, Lois Scheeler, that they had killed Paxton in self-defense.

Corvan found the task to be a good deal easier than he had imagined. It seemed that he had unwittingly left the implant on after the Sharma interview and thereby recorded the entire episode.

That, plus testimony from SIS and the results of the voice analysis, were more than sufficient to close the case.

And, given the fact that Corvan's eye cam coverage of Paxton's death had elevated his ratings even further back on Earth, he should have been something of a hero.

But no such luck. Not on Mars anyway, where the executive council would have preferred a quiet burial to all the publicity Paxton's death had received and still saw Corvan as a thorn in their collective sides.

Especially Scheeler, who didn't appreciate his amateur detective work. He had requested a meeting and she had reluctantly agreed. They were seated in her office. It was nicely decorated, something of a surprise given where they were, and a testament to Scheeler's ability to improvise.

There were some chunks of carefully lighted Mars rock, a piece of metal sculpture executed by one of the welders, and a luxuriant houseplant. It was a long way from home and would have died if exposed to the ultraviolet rays outside.

Scheeler leaned back in her chair and tapped the tip of her nose with a pen. She wasn't especially pretty, but had a figure that wouldn't quit and liked to show it off. With that in mind she wore a summer-weight tank top and a pair of dark blue shorts.

Corvan knew he should keep his eyes off of her long slender legs but found that hard to do. He decided to watch the pen instead. It was silver. Light rippled as it moved. Scheeler smiled but there was no humor in it.

"You're a real pain in the ass. No wonder Paxton tried to kill you."

Corvan did his best to look innocent. "Sorry about that . . . but I thought you'd want to know."

"And I
would
want to know," Scheeler replied testily, "if there was one shred of evidence to support what you say.''

Corvan sighed. He'd already covered this ground with the security chief's subordinates. Now he'd have to do it all over again.

"There
is
some evidence. The man we knew as Paxton was actually a conglomeration of multiple personalities. One of them killed people to protect the rest."

Scheeler used the pen to point at a stack of printouts. "I know how to read, Corvan. The shrinks are still trying to sort the guy out."

And
figure out how he passed all of their screening tests, Corvan thought to himself. It was a scary thought. How many loons had made it all the way to Mars anyway? Not counting himself, of course. He smiled.

"Right. Then you probably noticed that the protector personality liked to immobilize his victims prior to killing them."

"And there was no sign of restraints around Ochoa."

"Exactly."

"So you conclude that someone else killed him," Scheeler said tiredly. "Sorry, Corvan. It's too damned thin. He could've been bored. He could've been in a hurry. He could've been anything. Hell, the guy was a fruitcake for God's sake."

"But what about the
way
Ochoa died?" Corvan insisted. "Paxton used his fists on the first two victims. Why not the third? Ochoa was thrown into the walls and ceiling. Not only that, he was a welder, a hefty guy. Wouldn't he struggle? Put up a fight? Get in some licks?"

Scheeler shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe Paxton cold-cocked him. Maybe anything. Sorry, Corvan. It just doesn't wash." She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What's the matter? Running out of news?"

Corvan got up to leave. "No danger of that. How's the labor situation going?"

Scheeler smiled. "Surprisingly well. Things have improved during the last week or so."

Corvan raised an eyebrow. "Really? And why's that?"

The security chief aimed her pen at him. "More people, more supplies, and more time off."

Corvan nodded. Things did seem a bit better, although he wasn't sure why. Was it the influx of people and supplies from the
Outward Bound
as Scheeler supposed? Or something a little less obvious? Most of the underlying problems, like the unremitting hard work and lack of entertainment, were still unresolved. So why were the workers increasingly happy? It didn't make a lot of sense.

But Corvan knew that the last thing that Scheeler wanted to hear was some more of his crackpot theories. He decided to let the matter drop. Kim would be proud of his good judgement.

Corvan took one last look at Scheeler's dynamite legs, thanked her for hearing him out, and headed for the door. Once outside he glanced at his watch. It was about 16:30. Time to meet Father Simmons.

The padre had asked for the meeting the day before and been very secretive about it. A sure-fire way to capture a reporter's attention.

Corvan sent out a mental call for the robo cam. It left the ledge where it had been perched, glided down, and landed on his shoulder. Robots were common enough that passersby didn't even turn to look.

Thus equipped the reop set off in the direction of the motor pool which, for reasons known only to him, was where the priest had insisted that they meet. It was a good ten-minute walk through the heart of Mars Prime, and the reop used it to gauge morale.

Almost all of the
Outward Bound's
colonists were dirtside by now, which meant that they outnumbered the firsties and were putting more pressure on the habitat's already strained facilities. And would continue to do so until the second half of Mars Prime had been completed. The result was crowded corridors, increased activity, and more noise. The kind of conditions that should lead to trouble.

But the mood verged on upbeat. Corvan even saw one firstie smile at a newbie and provide some directions. It was nice but puzzling. Whatever had happened to the "me firstie, you garbage" routine? Things couldn't change that quickly. Could they?

The corridor emptied into an open area. It swarmed with people, robots and machinery. The shift was about to change and people were getting ready. An arm reached out of the crowd and grabbed Corvan's elbow.
 

"This way."

An access door hung open. The reop saw little more than the back of Simmons' head and a blue jump suit before he found himself inside a maintenance tunnel with the door closing behind him. There was a grating underfoot, cables draped along both walls, and dim red lights that marched away into the distance.

Corvan started to say something, but the other man put a finger to his lips and produced a little black box from one of his pockets. He pressed a button, waited for a row of green lights to come on, and nodded his approval.

"Good. The immediate area is clean. For the moment anyway. They have bug-equipped microbots, you know. Homemade but effective nonetheless. An area can be clean one moment and contaminated the next."

Corvan frowned. Clean? Contaminated? What the hell was the padre talking about? Everyone was familiar with the habitat's surveillance system. SIS ran it under Scheeler's supervision. The vid cams were standard units, visible everywhere, and no more threatening than a doorknob.

After all, which would you rather have, a monitored hallway or one where people could lay in wait for you? Any concern that people might have had for their privacy had been left back towards the turn of the century when the crime rate had soared completely out of control.

Still, there were laws against infiltrating audio-video devices into private homes, or allowing them to roam public places.

'' SIS uses bug-equipped microbots?''

Simmons frowned as if Corvan was being unnecessarily thick. "Not SIS,
them."

"Them?"

"Yes, them. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Sharma and his so-called monitors. I assumed you knew."

"Sharma as in 'walk around in the wastelands for days and show up unharmed' Sharma?"
 

"The same."

"What about him? I interviewed the guy, even did a story on him, but didn't take the whole thing too seriously."

Simmons nodded. "And neither did anyone else. They still don't. But that will change after tonight."
 

"It will?"

"Of course. Once the executive council
sees
proof of what Sharma's up to they'll put a stop to it."
 

" 'Sees proof?"

"Yes," the priest said earnestly. "That's where you come in. I produce the proof and you take the pictures."

"Swell. Tell me something . . . how come Sharma is free to do whatever he wants instead of breaking rocks?"

Simmons shrugged. "He sold Fornos and Jopp some line of bull about 'seeing the light,' 'giving up drugs forever,' and 'teaching others to lead a better life.' "

Corvan shook his head in amazement. "Okay, Father. Just supposing I went along . . . what would I see?"

Simmons shook his head stubbornly. "Sorry, Corvan. No previews. I suggest that you come, look, and draw your own conclusions."

Corvan considered pressing his case, saw the padre's intransigent expression, and gave in. Simmons seemed like a level-headed sort, and whatever had gotten under his skin would probably be worth taking a look at.

"Okay, Father. I'm in. What's next?"

Simmons smiled. It was easy to see what he'd looked like as a little boy. "Great! Follow me."

The priest turned and headed down-corridor. The reop followed.

Corvan opened the interface and ran a check on the robo cam. All systems were green. He switched to Kim.

"Anyone home?"

There was a short pause followed by one of Kim's typical answers. "Of course. Somebody's got to do the real work while you run around and have a good time."

"Yeah, hanging out with Scheeler's a lot of fun."

"Did she buy your theory?"

"Hell, no."

"She has nice legs."

"Really? I didn't notice."

"Where are you anyway?"

"You won't believe it. Here, take a look at this."

Corvan activated his eye cam. Kim saw the same thing he did: the back of the priest's head, and the dimly lit corridor beyond.

"Where is he taking you?"

"Beats the heck out of me. The padre says he has a hot story . . . but insists that I see whatever it is for myself."

"Be careful."

"I will."

"Check in from time to time."
 

"If I can."
 

"Love you."
 

"Love you, too."

The interface faded and she was gone.

Simmons paused, forced Corvan to do likewise, and opened an airtight access door. Just a crack at first, then more, until a rectangle of white light passed through the opening and hit the opposite side of the corridor.

"Follow me."